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PatchWork |
Last Updated 04/30/07
Email: joy@our-town.com
May Your Life Be Filled With Whistle Tarts
by Joyce Whitis
My sister, June, when she was really little, used to ask my parents to buy her a “Whistle Tart”. They were perfectly willing to get one for her, but nobody that they asked, seemed to know what one looked like, least of all June. Every time Dad went to town he searched all the stores for a possible Whistle Tart and asked all the clerks but nobody had one, nor had any idea where they could get one. In fact, they didn’t have a clue as to what one was! And so Dad, as dads will, kept asking and looking for that one thing in this world that his little girl really and truly wanted. In the meantime June kept asking for a Whistle Tart and shaking her head every time something was held out to her. “No, that’s not it,” she’d say and sometimes there were tears.
June was thirteen when I came along and had long ago stopped crying over evasive Whistle Tarts but when I heard about her childhood search, I decided to find some for myself. I started thinking about what a Whistle Tart was and most of all how I could get one or two. At first I thought it must be made of celluloid and would be found in Woolworth’s in Vernon, along with other wonderful things. So every time we went shopping there, I’d look up at the toys and wonderful doo-dads on the counters and silently search for the one thing most precious in all the world, that prize that would have made my sister smile. Although I never found it for her, I did start to find Whistle Tarts for myself. I began to find these the day I understood what a Whistle Tart really was.
A Whistle Tart is a moment, often an unexpected moment, when a feeling of complete happiness and well-being surrounds and holds you close. Whistle Tarts can be found anywhere, at any time, in unexplored places. When located, they can be stored away and brought out whenever the notion arises. I’ve been storing them since childhood. My very first Whistle Tart was an overnight camping trip with my brother in our back pasture. He let me drink black coffee boiled on an open campfire and we ate eggs fried crisp in a little tin skillet he set on the coals. After supper he tucked me inside an Indian print blanket Mother had given us and as I lay beside the campfire, he told stories about the animals that lived in the woods and how they got ready for winter and what they ate and how they made their homes. Later he got out his guitar and sang songs about cowboys and horses. I went to sleep thinking that this was everything that I ever wanted.
Another Whistle Tart was a doll bed Daddy carved out of wood from an old combine. He disappeared from the house for several hours one rainy day and when he came back he was carrying that wonderful doll bed he had made with a maize-heading knife. That was a great surprise and on that day everything that I ever wanted.
Through the years other Whistle Tarts have filled my life, bringing happiness…a July church revival when I was thirteen and accepted Jesus….a winning football season…the day Dad let me drive our old Chevy by myself…that June my special guy and I stood before the preacher and said we’d stick together no matter what…the birth of a son…..the birth of a daughter….a boat ride on a lake as smooth as glass…the first time I stood up and skied through the waves….the first time a magazine published one of my stories….the taste of that first spoonful of homemade ice cream on a steamy summer day…. and oh so many others.
My life has been filled with beautiful Whistle Tarts, some I didn’t recognize until almost too late but they have all been there, as they are for you. Hold them all close for as long as you can, and when you let go be content with the shower of memories.