When I was in the fifth
or sixth grade, we were given a writing assignment. We had to choose one from a few pictures and
write a story around it. A few kids were
asked to read theirs aloud to the class.
They were really good, showed great imagination, and took the story down
paths I never would have thought of. That
said, I’ve chosen a picture and I’m going to attempt this assignment once more.
Way Out
in the Country
When I was a young girl, I remember visiting my
Aunt Sadie and Uncle Silas who lived way out in the country. There lived four of my cousins. The oldest was Henry, then Mattie, then
George, and Sarah was the youngest.
Mattie was one year younger than me.
Like I said, they lived way out in the country. Way out.
The drive took almost an hour, but we made the trip about once a month
in nice weather.
They lived in a two story farm house that had the
best porch ever. And that porch had a
creaky old swing. Its rhythmic sound was
peaceful. Us girls would swing and tell
stories and laugh and giggle. I loved
that old swing. The kids' bedrooms were
upstairs. From Mattie and Sarah’s
bedroom, you could see for miles around.
The windows were wide open, and the cool breeze felt like heaven. We played with dolls, colored pictures, played
house, and pretended we were princesses. I loved that old house.
Uncle Silas was a farmer. He had cows and chickens and grew corn,
beans, peas, peanuts, tomatoes, squash, and lots of other stuff I don’t
remember. He stayed busy, but always
took time to sit for a spell and visit with us kids. He grew up in that house and told us tales of
his life as a boy, how he swam in the pond, stumbled upon deer, played with
frogs in the creek, picked apples from a tree, drank from a spring, hiked up to
a hill above the meadow, stretched out on his back and watched the clouds. I could close my eyes and imagine I had the same
adventures.
When we went outside for our own adventures, Henry
always looked after us younger ones. He
made sure we didn’t get into any trouble.
He was a good kid. I looked up to
him. Mattie and I played with Sarah
since she was the youngest. She was the
cutest little girl with curly hair and an adorable laugh. Mattie took good care for her little
sister. Henry and George were brothers
and best friends. I guess that’s because
they lived way out in the country.
Outside, we played kick ball underneath the tall,
shady trees. Hide and seek and tag were
other favorite games. We skipped rocks
across the pond, chased each other around the trees, played tic tac toe in the
sand, and all kinds of things that kids did in the country. The girls and I would pick wild flowers for
Aunt Sadie to put on the kitchen table. We
always had fun. Lots of fun. I loved being way out in the country.
As we rested on the porch, smells from the kitchen
wafted out the windows calling us in for a wonderful meal Aunt Sadie had
cooked. Fried chicken or roast beef,
mashed potatoes or yams, green beans or peas, carrots or tomatoes, fried
cornbread or biscuits, and sweet tea.
And always a luscious dessert.
Apple pie or peach cobbler or strawberries and cream or banana pudding. Aunt Sadie was a chubby lady who always had
an apron on. Always. Her cookie jar had an unending supply of sweet
cookies. If she wasn’t cooking delicious
meals, she was canning vegetables, or snapping beans, or freezing something or
another. She was as busy as Uncle
Silas. But, she always made time for us.
As we grew older, the visits became fewer and
fewer. After Uncle Silas died, George
and his family moved back to the country house with Aunt Sadie to run the family
farm. Henry had moved to the city and had some very important job. Mattie got married and had three children of
her own, all boys. Sarah married a young
man from a nearby farm way, way out in the country. And so our families drifted apart.
Recently, some thirty years later, I went for a
ride, way out in the country, to look at that old house. It was weathered but still standing,
overgrown with shrubs and vines, but I could hear the sound of a creaky old
swing and the faint sound of giggles drifting out the upstairs windows. I loved that old house. Way, way out in the
country.
