Deep in the woods off a gravel road in Ironton, Missouri there is an old sedimentary boulder. A huge mass of sand and minerals all beaten together from years of erosion sits implanted on the side of the road as if the road was built around it. These huge boulders are known around this area of Southeast Missouri, where Elephant Rock State park is a popular attraction. This particular ancient rock is not as big as an elephant but spreads a foot and half into the tall grass that nearly covers it from the world. There is a horrible sense of quiet, dark, moist, loneliness creeping up and over the land like a black cloud. Through the decaying of its surrounding the rock still stands, never leaving its place.
Sun shining through the oak trees that surround the rock and reflecting off the couple pieces of rough, crystallized mineral that is attached to it. As if it is trying to get the attention of the very few cars that pass. Birds peck mercilessly at the flakes of red paint peeling from the giant piece of earth making a faint clicking sound. Red peelings float to the ground as if the rock is crying small red tears from its abandonment.
Grandpa was not very happy when Grandma wanted to paint the rock with red paint over 10 years ago. He said the rock was a part of nature that should not be tampered with. Grandma insisted on painting the rock because it was a dull gray color. Grandpa helped her paint the rock a bright shade of red. Then one day Grandma even decided she wanted to remove the rock. Grandpa knew a mass of that size was not going to move easily, but he loved Grandma so he would try to remove it. Knowing that it was not going to work, he got in his jeep and pulled the rock with a chain and it did not budge. Eventually they learned to live with the huge, red boulder that lived at the end of the driveway to their beautiful cottage.
Barley standing a couple feet down the drive way is a crumpling cottage. Vines are climbing over the building, choking the life out of it until it looks as if it may collapse into a dead pile of greenery and family memories. Two planks of wood crisscrossed and nailed over the once always open door trapping the residual laughter and happiness that once filled the old cottage. Colonies of wasps building their nest around the old piece of driftwood that Grandpa engraved “Our place” in still hangs above the door. Wooden boards, beginning to crack and splinter cover the shattered windows, but still let slivers of light shine through the cracks into the kitchen of the cottage. High pitched tones of cricket chirping come from the inside of the cottage. Daddy long leg spiders cling to the moist, water logged walls of the inside of the kitchen.
Grandpa installed the two windows in their get away spot. He put one in the bedroom and one in the kitchen. Grandma would stand at the kitchen window and cook breakfast every morning. While Grandma would cook, Grandpa would use the old red rock as a table for his rubber bullets and he would shoot at clay birds. When the scent of home made biscuits overpowered the smell of his gun he would make his way inside to eat.
Long gone are the smells of Grandpa’s gun and Grandma’s cooking. A rotting wood frame that resembles a deck is attached to the back of the old cottage. More wasps are building their nests in the corners of the falling down frame. Wood chips cover the ground around the deck along with Perfect little termitarium piles of dirt. Termites: culprits of the cracks and crevices that cover the wood planks Grandpa used to build the deck with.
Grandpa built the deck for Grandma so they could sit outside and enjoy the peaceful quiet piece of nature they had together. Sometimes their three grandchildren would spend the summer at the cottage, and two of them would join their grandparents on the sitting deck to watch the sunset. One of their grandchildren, the oldest girl of the three, would sit on the big red rock every evening. Sometimes Grandpa would come and sit on the rock with her and he would tell her stories of his childhood until the stars began to appear in the sky like big silver nightlights. Other times Grandma and Grandpa would sit on the rock together and watch their grandchildren play in the lush green grass.
Dark, tall, hard; hay like grass now covers the special family spot from the world. Wind sounds bounce off the rock that almost sounds like remnants of the stories Grandpa used to tell his grandchildren while sitting in that very spot. A warm breeze spreads over the land through the shattered windows of the cottage letting out a whistling sound of emptiness.
Grandpa was not feeling well one day. He thought he may have come down with flu. Grandpa knew it was more serious when his head began to throb. Grandma rushed him to the hospital seven years ago in September. On September 27, 2001 Grandpa left this world from complications of a brain aneurysm. Grandma left their sunny little cottage behind and moved closer to her family shortly after.
The summer breeze gently forcing the hard spikes of grass to separate and letting the world get a glimpse of the huge red mass. Glimpsing deep in between the tall patches of grass it is obvious the rock is not alone with its’ memories. Grandpa’s oldest grandchild is sitting there with her son. She is telling him the stories that her Grandpa used to tell her. With every material thing Grandpa built dyeing around her, this is the place she can remember him the best, sitting on Grandpa’s rock.