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| Riding the Indian Paint ponies19), whooping like little savages — bareback — racing the trains on the tracks out behind the farm along the full length of the property, with the engineers waving to us all the way across. Telling my brothers they’d better not chew that gum without asking and laughing so hard when they did it anyway, and found out later it was Ex-Lax20). “Going to town” on Sunday mornings to the Sunday School that taught us to sing “Jesus Loves Me” and “God is Love.” And, to the church service afterward and, on Wednesday evenings, where the pastor preached hellfire and damnation21). And, showing up for Vacation Bible School every day for two weeks in the summer. And, the “Ice Cream Social” at the end, with homemade ice cream being cranked in a churn22) and sugar cookies with colored sugar sprinkles, to celebrate our latest “graduation.” Hot afternoons reading books like, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Or, learning new words by doing, “It Pays to Increase Your Word Power” in Reader’s Digest. Working in the garden, helping pick vegetables that would be carried to the house and used for supper, or be cleaned for “putting up23)” — to be used when wintertime came. Shelling peas, or removing the ends of snap beans, while sitting on the old glider24) out on the screened-in porch, with Nonny telling us stories about life back in the “olden days.” Drying dishes that Nonny washed in a big metal pan in the sink, while Pappy Lee sat in the kitchen, next to his radio, listening to a baseball game — or, listening to us, because he cared about what we had to say. Heading to the pond with Pappy after supper to fish, watch the dragonflies25), listen to the cicadas26), and maybe even catch a turtle on the line, big enough to make turtle soup. Catching lightning bugs and putting them in a jar, with holes punched27) in the lid, to see if we could get enough to read by. Watching Nonny and Pappy play Bridge on Friday evenings with Mr. and Miz Roberts, and all four of them smoking cigarettes, and drinking iced tea (which they shared with us), loaded with sugar and fresh mint28), and nobody worrying about second-hand smoke or making the kids hyper-active. And, being fascinated by how Mr. Roberts could keep his cigarette in his mouth while he played bridge, and talk around it, and grow a two-inch ash, and still get it to the club-, or diamond-, or heart-, or spade29)-shaped ashtray before it fell. Going to bed at night, after a bath with Ivory soap, kneeling beside the bed, reciting, “Now, I lay me down to sleep ... ,” listening to the lonely, quiet, wonderful, sound of a train as it whistled its warning way up30) at the crossroads, and waiting for it to pass. And, listening to the bull frogs over at the pond. And, smelling the foot-wide white flowers that bloomed at night, on the Moon Vine outside the window. And, lying there facing that window, with just a thin cotton cover, watching a bazillion stars twinkle, as if inviting us to reach out and touch them, and holding us in awe of the universe. |
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