Dragonfly Summer

School-age children wait all year for summer vacation.  You either went on a trip with your family, or if you were like me, helped around the house and garden and had “sleep-overs” with your friends. 

Thursday was laundry day.  Momma always wanted to get the clothes done before the weekend.  One of my chores was to gather the clothes from the clothesline in the backyard my Daddy had installed.  Momma loved the smell of laundry that had dried in the hot Mississippi sun.  I was not overly fond of this particular chore because I had to stand on my tiptoes to unpin the clothes, not yet tall enough to reach that high.  I can still remember breaking a sweat lugging the huge wicker basket inside to the ironing room, which doubled as my sister’s bedroom. This was not my idea of summer fun, but that’s how it was living a rural life. 

My Mother had an elegance in her movements.  I remember watching every move she made.  It was like standing behind an artist as they brought paint on a canvas alive.  Whether it was folding towels or making one of her many cakes, it always seemed to end in perfection. She hummed as she worked, and if she ever noticed my constant voyeurism, she never let on.  Observing was my window to the world.  You could learn so much if you just sat quietly and watched.

Each Thursday morning, Momma or Daddy would pick up a black woman everyone called Ole Lou to help with the ironing.  I never even knew her full name, but I still remember her clearly.  She lived somewhere in our community but in the quarters.  It was years before I realized the term was derogatory; it was just what the black section of the community was called.  She lived alone and had chickens running free and a couple of hound dogs that barked when you drove up to the house.  She had a circular gravel drive and in the center were flowers of every variety.  Some in pots and old tires, others planted in the ground.  You could tell she spent a lot of time outdoors and her flowers were the benefactor.

She wore cat-eye glasses on a chain that hung around her neck, a cotton dress with an apron that had big pockets on the front, and her hair was always styled in a chignon. She always chewed gum and made a popping sound as she worked.  Ole Lou was a master ironer.  Momma, having high standards for our appearance, loved having our clothes ironed with such care.  We had the best Sunbeam iron a middle-class white family could afford and a large can of spray starch waiting each week.  Ole Lou came in, set her purse down and heated up the iron as she surveyed the piles of clothes thrown across my sister’s bed. Momma sorted them into separate piles according to the owner.  Always asked to help, I would be in charge of gathering the empty hangers from the closets to make a stack on the little side table next to the ironing board.  I would then settle into the little rocker in the corner and watch as she ironed each piece with the precision of a master. I noticed she always started with my Daddy’s clothes first. Occasionally, she’d stop and pull out a tiny pair of scissors from her apron and snip a thread.  I knew she kept a pack of Juicy Fruit gum in one of the pockets of her apron.  If she was in good mood, she’d offer me a stick.

One Thursday, Ole Lou seemed in the mood to talk, not something she was very often.  As always, I was a willing participant and began to ask her questions. 

“Ole Lou? Why does everyone call you Ole Lou? You do not look old to me.” I inquired.

She just laughed which sounded a bit like a cackle.  “Cause I’s old, child.” She continued smiling and popping her gum as she ironed my Daddy’s handkerchief.

“Well, that’s not very nice, don’t you think?  Momma always said asking a lady her age or implying something about her age is not polite.” I countered.

“Yo Momma is a fancy lady, and she just trying to bring you girls up proper like good little white girls. You listen to what she say, you hear?”

Not necessarily satisfied with her response, I persisted with my questions.  Even as a young girl, I sensed the energy of people around me.  There was always a slight sadness to Ole Lou.  Something in her eyes.

“Ole Lou, are you married?” If Momma had been nearby, she would have given me “the look”, the one that said I was being nosey.

“Naw.” she answered.

“Do you have any children?” I continued.

“One daughter, her name is Ophelia. She my angel and one day, she gonna fly me right on outta here.”  She had such a look of pride on her face as she calmly hung my Daddy’s work pants on a wooden hanger to keep the creases intact.

“Where is she?”

“She live in Detroit, Michigan.  She smart.  Got on outta here after she finished at the county high school.  Won one of dem scholarships that paid her way, Praise God.  She studying to be a doctor.  My baby girl gon be a doctor!” Ole Lou just beamed when she talked about it.  I loved to see her smile as she had a gold tooth right in the front.  I wondered how much money she had to spend to get a beautiful golden tooth?  I bet she had to iron a lot of clothes to pay for it.

“Does she come visit?”

“Naw, I told her to leave and never come back, just fly me on outta here when she can.” A large stream of spray starch flew across the ironing board onto Momma’s best Sunday dress.  I loved its starchy smell. 

Tact was not my best strength at the age of ten, so I continued to plow her with question after question.

“Well, if you have a daughter, how can you not be married?” Having already heard the importance of marriage from my Momma and Preacher Mitchell at church, it was not conceivable to my mind for someone to have children and not be married.

“Easy. Just don’t get married. Besides, he was no count, he run off as soon as he heard I was in the family way.  Just as well, one less mouth to worry about.” Lovingly, she ironed down the lapel on my sister’s jumper with the little daisies embroidered on one side.

“Preacher Mitchell would say you’re a sinner since you have a daughter and never married.” I boasted.  Obviously, the how-to part was still a bit of a mystery, but I knew that it was only supposed to happen after you were married, or else you were a big fat sinner, and people talked bad about you. I was very confident that I knew what sinning was.  My sister, Amy, said I sinned all the time just by breathing.  I was still trying to figure out how I was sinning by breathing.  Until I figured it out, I made sure to ask God to forgive me every night when I prayed before bed.

“Everybody a sinner. I’d just as soon deal with God as I would a no count man who steal yo money and never around. I’d like to ask Preacher Mitchell who the bigger sinner be?” Ole Lou replied.

By this time, it was close to lunch and Momma came to the door to ask Ole Lou if she was ready for a bite.  Noticing me rocking away in the corner, she immediately scolded me and told me to run and wash my hands.

“Lou, I hope Molly has not plied you with too many questions.  She is an inquisitive child.” Momma fingered the ironed dresses hanging on the closet door. “As usual, your iron knows nothing but glory, Lou.”

“She is dat, Ms. Katherine. A child full of mystery is a child who will go far.”

Ole Lou set the iron on a small towel and turned the knob to off.  She always looked forward to lunch at Ms. Katherine’s.  She was known all through the quarter as being the kindest white woman and the best cook in the county. Not like some of those other ladies she ironed for.  Ms. Johnson made her eat out on the carport regardless of how hot it was. Ms. Katherine sat right with her at her fancy table and served her fresh vegetables from the garden on her dishes with the little pink roses. She even used fancy cloth napkins.  She had never used cloth as napkins before. 

By late afternoon Daddy was home from work and Ole Lou had ironed every scrap of cloth Momma needed ironed.  I was usually busy playing or talking on the phone to my best friend, Tessa, but I happened to be out on the carport playing with our dog Skipper when Daddy and Ole Lou came out to leave. 

“Daddy, can I ride?  Please????” I begged, jumping up and down.

“If your Momma says it’s okay, I guess you can go, but you must sit in the back and behave, understand?” Daddy held the door of Momma’s Buick open in the front for Ole Lou to get in.

“Yes, Sir!” I ran to the screened door and yelled at Momma.  She quickly answered in the affirmative and I was in the backseat before Daddy could even get in the driver’s seat.  Seatbelts were not a required law yet, so I did what all of kids did in the early 70s, hung over the middle of the seat so I could hear and see everything.  

As we got closer to the cutoff for Ole Lou’s, we saw a truck pulled over on the side of the road.  All the roads were gravel once you turned off the main highway.  Dust flew up as Daddy pulled over next to the truck and Ole Lou lowered the passenger window.  A black man wearing a straw hat stuck his head out of the truck.  He had to be the blackest person I had ever seen, and he smiled when he recognized my Daddy.  He was so black, his teeth looked like giant white lima beans my granny cooked.  I quickly averted my gaze, remembering that staring was not polite, but every now and then, I would take a quick peep.

“Hey, Mr. John. Yo sho is a site for sore eyes.”

“Hey, Big Mo…you got truck problems?” Daddy inquired.

“Yessir, just went dead.  Got gas, got a new carburetor, not sure what de problem is.  Just been sitting here thinking bout what to do.” Big Mo tipped his hat at Ole Lou, who never spoke and only gave a nod of recognition.

“Well, let’s take a quick look under the hood.  Let me move out of the road.”  Daddy pulled up just a bit in front and opened the door to get out with a look over his shoulder at me.  “Young lady, do not leave this car.”  He slammed the door, and I could see him and Big Mo looking under the hood of the old pickup.  Ole Lou just sat with her head back and her eyes closed.  I figured standing up all day ironing made you tired.

For once, I obeyed and stayed put, and it was less than five minutes before Daddy was back in the car. He pulled out and made the turn that led to Ole Lou’s house.  As we pulled up in the circle drive, I noticed there were tons of dragonflies flitting around all the flowers. Ole Lou’s two hound dogs came from around the corner of the house and was barking up a storm.  

“Lou, I hate to be a bother, but Big Mo needs a little help getting his truck started.  Would you mind much if Molly sat with you on the porch until we can get him back on the road?”  Daddy asked in his polite voice he used with Momma as he helped her out of the car. 

“Nom, Mr. John.  She be fine right here.  You go on and help Big Mo.  His wife told him a hundred times that ole truck not good for nothin’ but the county dump.  If he’d stay out of the juke joint, he’d have the money.” As she climbed the five steps up onto her porch, her tone suggested there was no love lost on Big Mo.

Her house was built high on concrete blocks, and you could see straight through underneath.  I had never seen a house sitting on blocks before.  I squatted down and could see into the backyard.  Ole Lou had a clothesline too!  I wonder if she ironed her clothes like she did ours?  Something told me she did. 

“Well, I won’t be gone long and just make her mind as you would your own.” Daddy turned towards me and said, “Molly!  Molly, look at me.” I stood up from surveying under the house.

“Yes, Sir?” 

“I’m going to help Big Mo, but I won’t be gone long.  I expect you to be on your best behavior, stay on the porch and do not touch anything.  Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl!”  Daddy patted the two dogs and waved as he got back in the car and made the circle out of the drive.  I joined Ole Lou on her porch swing.  Her two hound dogs followed me up and I leaned down to pet them.

“What’s their names?”

“White one is Whitey and the black one is Blacky.” she replied.

I’m not sure if she was thrilled to be saddled with me while Daddy was gone, but if she was, I could not tell.  We swung in peaceful silence, and I noticed what seemed like dozens of dragonflies in her garden.  When I commented on how pretty they were, she immediately smiled and got this far away look on her face.  For a minute, it looked like she glowed.

“Let me tell you a story.  My granny was born in the summer of dragonflies. Everyone knew she was special the minute she was born.  The old grannies of the community called it “having the veil” but it always seemed to happen when the dragonflies came.  She de one who taught me how to iron and sew.  Said a woman would always have a hard time in a man’s world, but a woman could take care of herself as long as she had a skill.  She was right.  Ole Lou been able to keep dis house over her head and food growing in the garden.”

I loved stories and this was the first adult that had really talked to me as an adult.  I felt privileged that she was sharing with me, so I twisted around in the swing so one foot was under me and the other foot dangled. 

“But what does that have to do with dragonflies, Ole Lou?  Why was she special?” I asked, excited to hear more.

“You ever watch a dragonfly?  Like really watch one up close?  Dey wings like glass with tiny veins running everywhere, with wings that move so fast, yo eye can’t even keep up.  Just like magic, fly from here to there in no time. Old voodoo women say if a child is born in a dragonfly summer, dey gonna be smart, and lucky, and fly far away on with wings of gold. I’s like to think it a little bit of God’s magic right here on Earth.”

I was enthralled at the idea of having golden wings to fly away.  Maybe that was why she had gotten herself a gold tooth – as a reminder.  I wondered how beautiful Earth looked from below or if you had so much to see up that you forgot to look down. 

She continued, “My Ophelia, she was born in a dragonfly summer.  Dat’s why one day she gonna fly me on outta here.  She lucky just like my old granny.” Ole Lou was still looking out into the horizon.  Her spirit felt very far away from this swing with the two of us in it. 

“Why do you want to leave, Ole Lou?” 

“Same as anyone, child.  I’s want to go where I can spread my own wings and be somebody other than a black woman named Ole Lou. I’s want to be myself.” Her tone implied that I had asked a dumb question.

“But can’t you be that here?” I had no clue of the obstacles she faced, nor really, would I ever.  After all, I was born with white skin and that automatically meant I was seen differently; I was seen. 

“Child, you ask so many questions.  Some things you just won’t understand, and I’s tired.  Here comes yo Daddy anyway.  Go on down the steps, he be pulling up.” Ole Lou suddenly stood up and the dogs ran down the steps to greet the car as Daddy stopped right in front of the steps.

I climbed in the front seat next to Daddy while the two of them chatted for a minute.  I looked back at her house, noticing that it seemed to be covered in some material that looked like shingles instead of brick like our house.  Everything was neat and well taken care of, although not expensive. Somehow, I understood that life for Ole Lou was not easy, but she seemed peaceful.

She came to iron every Thursday for a few more years, but then Daddy surprised Momma one Christmas with a brand-new washer and dryer.  After that, Momma didn’t need Ole Lou’s help as much because the dryer cut down on the ironing.  Momma still loved hanging clothes on the line, but she reserved that for sheets and blankets.  I remember asking about Ole Lou and Momma told me that she had gone to live with her daughter in Detroit.  I missed seeing her.  I wondered if anyone was taking care of her flowers.

As I rode my bike, a dragonfly flew in front me.  I just smiled to myself knowing that Ole Lou got her wish.  She flew right on outta here.  As I chased behind the dragonfly, I realized one day, I will too!