My Grandmother's Garden

Reads: 227  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Being a young girl who hates bugs but loves nature, read my journey walking through a forest and going to my grandmother's garden.

Submitted: February 11, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 11, 2018



The crunch of the earth beneath me, is making me jump with every step I take. Did I just crush something? I look down. No, it’s just a twig again. I keep moving. CRUNCH! Just another pine cone. I groan.

‘’Hurry up!’’ My grandmother calls back. She is way ahead of me. I wonder if it will be quicker to go back home than try to keep up.

‘’This forest is covered with pine cones! I keep thinking I am crushing little animals!!’’

My mother laughed, a few feet behind my grandmother. I quicken my pace, ignoring the sounds of snapping twigs and crushing leaves. ‘’it’s not funny. What if it were a snail, or a small mouse?’’ I say.

‘’Can’t you speak a little louder, dear? I can’t hear when you mumble.’’ My grandmother says.

I widen my eyes at her. I had already taken great risks in speaking earlier, with so many bugs flying around in the woods, it’s a miracle nothing had flown in my mouth yet. I keep my lips tightly shut, and my breaths only as often as necessary, since with every inhale through the nose, there is risk of a small bug being sucked in.

It is cold in the forest. No sunlight for warmth. There are rays of gold light shinning through the roof of leaves above us here and there. It is quiet, with the occasional sound of a whistling bird echoing through the woods. I look around me. Shadows dancing beneath the trees, rustling bushes all around, maybe it’s a rabbit running away from something. A swarm of flying insects huddle in the middle of the path we are walking on, forcing me to stop, as they hover in a bundle, inches away from my face. I look past them pleadingly, at my grandma and mom, still walking and not looking back at me. I hold my breath, pinch my nose, close my eyes and quickly rush through them. Waving my other arm in front of me, hoping they will fly away. I manage to pass them safely. Thank, goodness. I run forward to my grandma and mom, pulling my shirt over the bottom half of my face, as I gasp through the fabric filtered air.

How long has it been? We must be walking for hours now. ‘’Are we there yet?’’ I whined.

‘’Almost. Just over that hill.’’ Mom replied.

Ahead of us stands a steep hill the size of a ten-story building. My grandmother grabs a long stick from the bushes, breaks off the protruding twigs and leaves, and uses it as a cane to help her up the mountain. My mother does the same. I don’t want to touch a dirty, ant infested tree branch, so I make my way up the hill slowly and carefully.

Half way up and I am already tired. My legs hurt. Stepping on a muddy patch, my foot slides backwards, and I fall on my hands and knees. My mother helps me up. Ew! My hands has chunky pieces of wood and dirt on them. I quickly wipe them on my pants. Praying that there aren’t any bugs crawling on me right now. I hold my mother’s hand and she pulls me up the hill with her.

Eventually, for what seems like ages, we finally reach the top of the hill. Looking down, the forest looks much smaller from up here. Oh! I think I spotted an orange squirrel with a bushy tail run up that tree! I turn to tell my mother and grandmother, but they had already started walking down the other side of the hill. I follow.

Probably a million years later, the gates of the gardens are peaking through the tree trunks, close ahead. And after walking another hundred years through other people’s patches of land, we are finally walking through the little rusty green fence that surrounds my grandmother’s garden.

‘’Mama, give me my Gameboy, please.’’ From her purse she pulls out my little green device, hands it to me and goes behind a hut that stand in the middle of the garden. My grandmother unlocks the wooden hut and disappears inside to get her gardening tools. I walk past the bed of flowers, step onto the grassy patch, sit down and switch on my game.

It’s a warm June day, as a fly came buzzing past my left ear, making me flinch. The grass prickles the skin on my legs, but I ignore it and keep playing. The sound of the rustling leaves in the wind block out the music of my game. I increase the volume. I throw a Pokéball on a wild Pokémon. Voices of my mom and grandmother somewhere on the other side of the garden, asking about the kettle. I caught it! Come on, stay in the ball… Don’t escape. I scratch an itch on my leg. Stupid prickly grass.

‘’Ja?ia, would you leave that stupid thing and come help Bab?ia pick strawberries?’’ my mom calls. ‘’A bit later!’’ I call back.

I just need to catch that wild Pidgeot. I get an itch on my cheek. My hand lands on my face with a soft tap. That’s odd…I can feel something big and fuzzy under my fingers. Unable to react, my hand is paralyzed on the side of my face, feeling the hairy lump pressed up against me. A painful sting forces me to swipe my fingers and throw the creature into the air. I scream.

My mom and grandma rush to the little grassy patch I’m sitting on, and see my swollen cheek. ‘’It hurts, it hurts,’’ I cry repeatedly. My grandmother laughs, ‘’It’s just a little bee sting! Don’t make such a fuss.’’ She walked into the little hut and a moment later comes out with half an onion. ‘’Here, press this on the sting, it will help.’’ But it just makes it sting more. ‘’OUCH!’’ Moving the onion away. ‘’No, no. Keep it on your skin! It will soon stop hurting you.’’ She goes on to continue her gardening.

I hate this place. It always takes us a thousand years to walk through the woods till we reach here, and then even when we finally reach the gardens, we have to walk past a million other people’s gardens till we reach my grandma’s. There is never anything to do here anyway, just sit around and get eaten alive my bugs. Sure, all the flowers are nice, but I can’t even touch or smell them because they all have some sort of insect living in its petals. I hate insects. You’d think because they are so tiny they would be afraid of us giant humans, but no, parading on us is their favourite thing to do. Stupid bugs.

My cheek is stinging. I’m not even sure the onion is making it any better. I get up and go to see what my mom is up to. Walking through all the flowers and bushes, careful not to let them brush against me, because I know whatever insects are on them will hop on me. I slowly step over the uneven rocky path. Past the wooden hut, and onto the next grassy patch, where my mother lay on a lounge chair in her bikini, tanning. I hate tanning and I hate the sun. ‘’Mama, you’re going to get skin cancer, laying like that in the sun.’’  She ignores me. The birds are chirping somewhere in the trees all around us. ‘’You will get burned,’’ she ignores me again. I look at the blue berry bush on my right; it has a million blue berries growing on it.

‘’Here, put some of these blueberries in this bucket, will you?’’ my grandmas arm appears through the bush holding a small half empty bucket. I grab it and wonder how she hid so well behind the lush leaved bush. Her hand disappears once again.

Balancing the bucket handle on my elbow while still holding the onion against my cheek, I manage to slowly pick the blueberries off the bush. They smell nice. Examining each berry for bugs or worms, I drop them one by one into the old plastic bucket.

‘’Ja?ia, give me a few blueberries to eat, please.’’ My mother says from her chair.

‘’But they aren’t washed,’’

‘’It’s ok.’’

Confused and grossed out, I hand her the bucket. She takes a handful of blueberries, rubs them between her fingers and blows on them, she then starts eating them one by one. ‘’Mmmm, so good.’’

I look at all the blueberries in the bucket, take one out, examine it closely, blow on it and throw it in my mouth. The sweet juice gushes from the crushed berry between my teeth and trickles down my throat. I have another one and another one. I plop down on the grass next to my mother’s chair and she and I start devouring the entire bucket. Watching my grandmother water the plants, makes me want to help her like I used to when I was little.

‘’Mama, where is my little watering can? I want to help Bab?ia water the flowers.’’

‘’It’s in the hut.’’

‘’Can you please find it for me?’’

‘’You go get it. I don’t want to get up.’’

‘’Please,’’ I whine.

She gets up impatiently, and goes into the wooden garden hut. I stand outside of the doors looking up at the spider webs on the corners of the ceiling, I spot a few spiders. They are huge with long legs. I always avoid going into that hut. My mother appears with my little pink plastic watering can with a big flower at the end of its nozzle, where the water would spill out of its plastic petals. I hesitantly take the can from her, worrying about spiders that might be on it. ‘’Did you check for spiders?’’ I ask.  ‘’There are no spiders. Take it.’’ She says and hurries back to her lounge chair.

I fill up my water can and ran towards my grandmother. She smiles seeing me with my old watering can. I tip it and watch the water drizzle through the plastic flower nozzle onto the real flowers, making them glisten in the sun.

‘’After you water all the flowers, you can pick some of them, and make a lovely bouquet for the table at home.’’ My grandma says to me.


On the living room table, now stands a vase with irises, lilies, dahlias and roses, which I picked from my grandmother’s garden. I can smell these flowers all I want, because I know for sure, they are not infested with bugs.

© Copyright 2019 Jasminka. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Non-Fiction Short Stories