Ira hoes in the garden while he keeps an eye on the little boys. They throw rocks in the creek and chase frogs.
The whole neighborhood gets together for picnics. They invite me because I’m ‘lonely’, but I catch on quick; they need an extra set of eyes on the kids so they can relax a bit.
And me, I’m five years older...busy all the time. Got to teach these girls how to quilt and can and cook pinto beans. They never saw a cake stirred up from scratch or tomatoes turned into barbecue sauce. Seems like there is an emergency almost every day. Granny is so handy to call!
The trucks roll up and down in front of my house at the shift change and the sawmill and the chain saws make a big racket. The men get out in their yards and bang away working on their cars. (I believe they must take those cars apart and put them back together again every weekend!) When they run out of that, they get out their guitars and amplifiers and practice their songs for the services or else they play basketball.
The women yell to each other clear across the creek and the babies cry.
And sometimes I try to remember how it used to be up here in this holler...so peaceful and quiet...with a chipmunk to run by once in a while, or a big coon to investigate my kitchen scraps.
Here comes April now. She has a path of her own, from their back door to mine. She gets tired of those little brothers. Now she’ll be wanting me to read her that same story book again. For the hundredth time I bet. And Debbie’s waiting.
Oh, my, how did I ever get into all this?
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About the Author:
Mary Rice Somerville wrote this book to capture some of the memories of life in Boone County West Virginia. She was born in 1933 in Asheville, North Carolina, and has always been a homemaker.
The Big Black Trunk
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