Granny Birdsong

Granny Birdsong had a salve, a healing sweet-smelling ointment she made from pine resin and other ingredients that helped wounds heal. My maternal grandmother’s mother, her lengthy hair woven into a bun, she gave me pecans she shelled herself and fried in butter. I thought she was born old. Her house was cool and quiet. A mantle clock ticking time and sounding on the hour. She was herself a healingness, a “salve unto the nations” so when the preacher spoke of salve-ation, I understood the meaning.