#4: Childhood House/Chrissy

Ten minutes...ready/set/GO!

My grandma died in 2005 at the age of 93. On the way to the cemetary, we passed the "old farmhouse". Three generations were present in the car and each of us shared the same thought, "I remember it as being so much bigger!".

The farm consisted of acreage, several ponds stocked with catfish, a barn, a henhouse, and more than one clothesline. My daddy was the oldest of 10 and he loved his mama. His dad had died when he and his two brothers were young; grandma remarried a man with 5 children and they proceeded to add two more to the bunch. My aunt recalls a life filled with cooking, work, cleaning, work, and work.

The cellar was under the kitchen. We creeped down the narrow steps while running our hands over the damp dirt walls. Grandma sent us into the darkness to fetch potatoes, pickles and assorted preserved food. Fortunately, no one ever pulled a prank on me there--I think I'd be battling fierce claustrophobia if that had been the case. On the side porch, grandma's washer and wringer held center stage. Want a good arm workout? Try wringing the wash water from 10 sets of overalls and assorted clothing!

The kittens ruled the world of the musty, dusty barn. Hens layed eggs each morning and grandma would let me hold the cloth-lined basket. I loved listening to her encourage and praise those chickens! She was not generous with her words of love to humanity, but the hens knew their place in her heart. I knew she loved us because she baked lep cookies and left Brach's caramels in strategically placed glass cut bowls.

Wandering down the driveway towards the mailbox seemed to take an hour. We threw stones, gathered hickory nuts, and blew dandelion fluff. Gazing upon the house that day in March was bittersweet. Some things are best...remembered.