Mornings Up In the Plum Tree

Privind inapoi pe acelasi drumAugust. The month when I was still on vacation at my grandparents, running through the corn field and climbing the trees with my friends.

My grandparents had a large garden in the back of their house. They also had owned a few patches of land scattered around their village. But by the time I came into the world, the communists took the land from them. So, they were left with only this piece of property.

Most of it was planted with corn for the cows.

Plum trees surrounded the land and I was in charge to pick the plums that were falling on the ground, and feed them to the pigs. Grandma Buna used to make plum jam and stewed fruit for winter, but she knew that most of the harvest had to go to my grandpa’s plum brandy.

Early in the morning, when my grandpa milked the cows and grandma was busy by the stove in the summer kitchen, I liked to sneak out of the house and get in the garden. I was still in my pajamas  and wearing the new slippers grandma Buna made for me from an old pair of shoes. The dew was cold and wet, and I knew my friends walked barefoot, but I was a city girl and could’n stand the moist on my soles.

There was my favorite tree in the garden, one plum tree with low branches I could climb easily. Half the way to the top, it was this thick branch that grew horizontally. I would sit on it and eat plums.

Wearing his shabby hat, the next door neighbor Bace Sandor was walking his field and examining the crops. Two plots away, Nana Maria was feeding her chickens, and on the far right the pasture was filled with cows from the communist units.

I could see everything from my secret spot, while nobody could see me.

I wanted to be a detective.

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