Under the Oak Tree
Lessons from a Bowl of Beans and a Storytelling Grandfather
It wasn’t fancy. Just an old oak tree and a few lawn chairs—metal-framed with that webbing that left stripes on the back of your legs if you sat too long.
But under that tree is where the real stuff happened.
We’d gather in the shade outside my grandparents’ house, a big metal bowl between us and a brown paper sack or a dented old bucket full of fresh-picked green beans. Or maybe ears of corn that needed shucking. Sometimes both.
The work wasn’t rushed. That wasn’t the point. We’d sit there for hours.
The real show was my Pa—the best storyteller south of the Mississippi. He could hold court with the best of them, weaving tales that had us crying from laughter. He was our very own Jerry Clower, only better… because, well, he was ours.
I didn’t realize it then, but something sacred was happening under that oak tree. We weren’t just prepping vegetables for Grandma to cook or can—we were being rooted. In stories. In family. In values that still shape me today.
Because sometimes the best things in life don’t happen on a screen or a stage.
They happen under an old oak tree, with a bowl of beans and a man who knew how to make you laugh while he was teaching you how to live.
Did you have a “tree” like this growing up? A place where the ordinary somehow turned holy? I’d love to hear about it. Leave a comment below or hit reply and share your story—I think we all need a few more of those moments in our lives these days.
Reading this and a listening to a song, I think it's called Mamaw's House by Morgan Wallen, are the only 2 times I've been able to close my eyes & be back on my Grandmother's lap, shucking corn, snapping peas, shelling others... oh to have those moments as a child, back as an adult. I think I'd hold on to them just a little longer, commit them to memory a little more. To have that moment in the garden back that I had taken for granted so many years ago. Thanks so much for this Tami. Exactly what I needed to hear today.
Reminds me of my grandparents. We shucked beans for grandma when she asked us to. Spent a lot of time hanging out in their backyard. Grandpa, a surgeon, had great stories to tell. Mostly funny stories from his job. Like the one about the person who came in with an ear cut off. He carefully stitched the ear back on. When he was done, he touched her chin and she looked up at him. He tilted his head as if puzzled and said, “What a fine job I did with those stitches. But it looks like I put it on upside down.” He winked. Shocked, she jumped up to look in a mirror. He did fine work with a great sense of humor, and he worked back in the day when he would make house calls as needed and took payment in form of vegetables or ears of corn, or whatever the people could afford to pay.