The year was 1824 and we had moved from Tennessee to the foothills in Alabama after our crops in Tennessee had been gathered in. I had bought 20 acres of land in the valley below the mountain plateau I first crossed with General Jackson in 1812.
When we were settling into the new homestead, we immediately began cutting logs for a small cabin. We figured the land on the downside of the mountain would be the richest ground. So that’s where we cut the first trees for our house, gaining logs, and clearing a cornfield at the same time.
Continue reading “Praying for Rain”
Growing up in the South without air conditioning in the 50’s and 60’s was normal for most folks. You do not bemoan the lack of anything if you never have had it; most people in those decades did not have air conditioning in their houses or cars. We had window fans, that gave us a little reprieve on the dog days of summer. Our vehicles had only “4-60” air conditioning—roll all the windows down and drive 60 mph.
Continue reading “The Wind”
I was raised in a farmhouse built in the late forties. When I was a teenager, my room was in the very back of the house equipped with a space-heater. I preferred to sleep without the heater. Fortunately, my mother was a quilter, so there was an unlimited supply of quilts. When it was very cold, I slept with a big pile of quilts on me. I felt so warm and cozy under all those quilts. On a rainy winter morning with the rain making music on the metal roof, it was difficult to crawl out and hit the cold floor.
Continue reading “Staying Warm (An Analogy)”
Growing up, I lived three miles up a country road from a major four-lane highway. Traveling up Sand Valley Road as a child of ten years old, I could name every family of every home on that three-mile stretch. Fifty-seven years later, many of those homes are filled with strangers.
Continue reading “Community”
NOTE: Happy Father’s Day! This post is about hardworking men with dirty fingernails because it is Father’s Day, but we love and appreciate hard working women too!
I have an old grubby cap they I usually wear when I’m working outside. It has never been washed and probably never will be. At this point it has its own history. It was promotional cap from a business, so I got it for free. The ole cap is well broke in about like me. There are some frayed threads, stains, and the dark color has faded from the sun and rain. When I eventually throw it away, I will revisit a few memories.
Continue reading “For the Men in Grubby Ole Caps”
I remember when I was a boy looking at old men in wonderment. They were either my grandfather or someone else’s grandfather. I knew my granddaddy was once a farmer and he still dabbled with farming. He helped my Daddy with a few things, had a garden, and sometimes had a little patch of corn. He got a few dollars every month from the plan put in place by FDR.
Continue reading “Old Men”
When I was in elementary school, my mother would tie up five quarters in a handkerchief on Monday for my week’s lunch money. Yes, lunch was only a quarter. Lunch was on a light green rectangle tray with sections for the different foods. White milk was our only drink option which means there were no drink options. I loved Fridays because it was either a hamburger or a hot dog plus the other stuff. The fish sticks with the dark spots I hated.
Continue reading “Quarters for Lunch”
Somewhere along the way, Christmas became morphed into a nice “Hallmark Channel” feel-good story told with hot chocolate in hand before a cozy fire. What is there not to like about a young couple away from home delivering a baby in a stable? Light the star, cue the shepherds and “Action!”
Continue reading “Christmas, More Than a Cute Story”
Many children’s stories opened up with the phrase, “Once upon a time…”. When I was a child, the old timers started many of their stories with, “When I was a boy…”. It was the men in Liberty overalls form of “Once upon a time…” Now, I am probably labeled an old timer by most even though I don’t wear overalls.
Continue reading “Once Upon a Time…”
We were at a reunion gathering of our extended family when a distant cousin excitedly called his wife over to see my dad’s hands. He was amazed that Daddy’s hands looked like his deceased father’s hands. I looked at my hands and they looked like Dad’s. Two of my brother’s hands are also similar.
Continue reading “Hands of My Father”