Our small apartment on the corner of Greaves and Mays holds many memories. When my husband and I came back to my hometown after he was discharged from the Navy, we lived with my mother for a short while, then rented our own place.
The house was old and had been made into two apartments on each side with screened in porches and making a straight shot from the front door, took you upstairs where the landlord lived.
It was a beautiful home with antiques galore that he furnished the entire house with. Needless to say, I felt rich on such a small payment we made for the rent.
The lawn, I cannot express the beauty. There were trees and flowers of all kinds. My neighbor, Mr. Fairley, in the next apartment was the retired city engineer and had landscaped the city hall grounds therefore, he was the keeper of my landlords', also.
Andy and Kayla my niece and nephew came often to visit me in that apartment but, played mostly outside or on the porch and really I had no worries of them because traffic was little or nothing there. However, one day:
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY SILVER LEAF MAPLE?" My landlord was letting my Andy have it with all fours.
I looked out the window and he was chasing Andy to my door. What in the world?
We reached the porch screen door at the same time. Andy threw down a hatchet someone had given him as a toy, but had the axe of one that could do damage.
"Aunt Polly, I didn't do nothing!" He exclaimed as he ran past me into the living room.
"Oh, yes he was!" My landlord contradicted. "He was chopping down my Maple tree" He was furious. "That one little tree is my favorite," he calmed down.
I walked out with him to the tree and found no damage had been done, so he left smiling, to go to his own apartment. I assured him that nothing would happen to his little tree. That would mean I would have to hide the hatchet which I did.
Kayla's mom came soon to drop Kayla off and Andy and she were out to play. They were seven or eight that year. Kayla wore a red sweater and Andy wore a blue one with their jeans that day. Their colors, mixed with the autumn leaves that year were just picture perfect. Their cheeks were a rosy red, indicating they were healthy children.
Looking out the window, I could see they were swinging by their arms from an oak tree across the street. Yellow leaves were lazily falling and upon reaching the ground, a sudden breeze would wipe them away with one swipe. The sky was a lovely blue and it was just a joy watching the two of them and thinking about when I would have my own.
I was so far into my thoughts, I did not hear someone knocking on the door.
"Aunt Polly!" Kayla called. "There's a lady here!"
I went to the door. She seemed so excited but, I thought 'what tha?"
"I am Gertrude Anderson, with the Times," she introduced herself. "Are these your children out here?"
"Oh, no!" My heart fell to my knees. "What now?"
I answered. "They are my neice and nephew."
"Come in," I told her.
"I will. I sure will." I could still see excitement in her face.
She sat down and I offered her a drink which she declined.
"As you can see, I am a photographer." She indicated the camera on her shoulder.
"Yes?" I didn't know what else to say.
"I saw these adorable children across the street and they would make a perfect front page for fall," she continued. "I would like permission to photograph them in that same tree and swinging from it the way they were doing."
"Well, that's fine with me." I told her. "My sisters should be here shortly. They are their parents."
Later I was to find out that Gertrude was THE most renown photographer in the state and of the many awards she had earned.
Everything was worked out, media releases, signatures of parents, etc. and a few days later Kayla and Andy greeted us from the front page of the Times, rosy cheeks and all.
And, it was, indeed, a beautiful picture - one that my mother (and the rest of us) cherished.
Thank you, Gertrude for changing a down day to upside and needless, to say Andy never asked for his hatchet back.
When I brought my baby home from the hospital, there was snow all over, but, on my steps was the prettiest bowl of pink camellias I had ever seen. Mr. Fairley was found dead in his apartment, all alone, a few weeks after we moved into our house.