Sometimes we'd go after school. We'd ride our bikes to the edge of the forest and rest them behind the tree that was struck by lightning even before the town was built. We walked through trees for about twenty minutes, sometimes we played tag at the same time, or we just ran around laughing. Her house was small, only two rooms (not counting the bathroom). The main room was a small living room like area, with a fireplace, a rocking chair and a big floofy chair in the corner, two book shelves, both full with books piled beside them as well, her small round table (and she always had a vase with fresh flowers in the center), then along the wall behind the table was a kitchen area, with a sink and counter top and cubbords. She had potted plants everywhere, everywhere there wasn't a cat curled up asleep that is. Dozens of cats, it seemed, some with names, some not. She said some were her cats, and to others she was their human. Her bedroom was in the back, quilts and needlework all over the place, and another rocking chair, and oil lamps. She had no photographs anywhere in her house, she said something once about preferring living moving memories or better yet, life. I guess that's why we thought she had no family. We thought that was too bad, she would have made a good grandmother, even though she didn't seem all that old. Her hair was dark gray, she said when she was young it was jet black. Her eyes were clear brown, they reminded me of stained glass. She made a lot of her own clothes and bought some others (she sold her needlework in a booth at the swap meet, to get things she needed that she couldn't make or grow on her own). She always had a plate of gingersnaps waiting for us on the table, in fact to this day the smell of gingerbread reminds me of her, and flowers, it always smelled like flowers in her house too.
We went a lot when we were eight and nine, but once we started growing up our visits became less frequent. When we did go we could tell that she'd missed us. The last time I went I was fourteen, and I went alone. I hardly remember what we talked about as we sipped herbal tea and ate gingersnaps. I remember looking around and noticing that many of the plants were gone. She said when I asked her that she'd given some away and planted some outside. There was also fewer cats around than usual. When I was about to leave she looked a little sad. I asked if there was something wrong, she just patted my cheek and said it was nothing I needed to worry about. I gave her a tight hug and left.
A few months later I was riding around near the forest when an ambulance drove past me (its siren and lights weren't on). I rode a little way and came to where we'd always leave our bikes. There were two cop cars, policemen talking to a woman who looked to be in her forties or fifties who I could see had been crying and was trying to fight back more tears. I sat on my bike a few feet away, curious but not wanting to butt in. After a while one officer and the woman walked into the forest, in the direction of the house, and the other officer went back to her car. I went to her and asked what had happened. She said the old woman who lived in the forest, who always had gingersnaps waiting for our visits, had died in her sleep a few days ago. I was too stunned to cry. The cop left, and I sat on the broken tree for hours, just thinking. The other cop and the woman came out of the trees carrying bags. I went to the woman and asked if she'd known her. The woman looked at me with the same clear eyes and said, "yes, she was my mother." We talked for a while, and I helped her pack up the books and everything else that was left. I took one of the cats home with me but it kept running away back to the house, so then I just brought food to the house twice a week.
The woman's daughter and I talk sometimes. She herself had a daughter who is about to have a child of her own. She told me that her mother and father had built that house in the forest, as a place to get away by themselves if they ever felt the need. After her husband died she moved in there permanently. She hadn't stayed close to her daughter because of differing beliefs, in fact the old woman had only met her granddaughter once as a baby. She gave most of her mother's things to charity, but wasn't sure what to do with the house. I offered to take care of it for her. That was years ago. I live there permanently now. It's still surrounded by trees, but it's only ten minutes to the edge of the forest now. Soemtimes some of the kids come to visit me there, I server them gingersnaps and tell them stories about the old woman, and how life was when I was their age. Soemtimes I could swear she's there in her rocking chair by the fire listening and smiling as the children brush the crumbs off their hands.