Summer of my Childhood |
|
The sounds of whipporwills, hoot owls, and tree frogs make me remember spring in my childhood. Living in the country, there were no city noises to distract me. All about me were the sounds of nature. I knew spring was near when the frogs starterd to holler, even though sometimes my parents said they might be looking through glass windows soon if the threat of winter weather hadn't passed.
I loved growing up far from the hustle and bustle of city living. I ran barefoot through the grass, caught crawdads in the creek, and squished the sandy dirt between my toes as I followed dad's tractor, my mom and my sister on the tobacco setter, putting to right any plants that didn't quite make it into the ground properly. I played in the dirt as my parents worked out the garden, and admired the morning glory vines that inevitably snaked their way through the tobacco field. Spring gave birth to summer while I ate fresh corn on the cob until my mother said I would surely have a stomach ache and explored the many storage buildings looking for forgotten treasures from years gone by.
I fled the house every time my mother and sister enjoyed fresh cucumbers rolled in corn meal and fried in oil, trying to escape the smell that turned my stomach into knots. I shadowed my dad as he tended the dogs and played with my beagle Queenie, my goat Alora, or the big red rooster who was blind in one eye. I explored the paths between my house and my grandfather's house at the mouth of the holler or my aunt's house at the end of the holler and spent countless hours in the barn with the ancient ponies, Watson and Blackie. I traveled to the head of the holler where the beaten path ended and then blazed my own a little farther into the woods, where I was sure no one had ever gone before.
The summer seemed never ending, and I was glad because there was never a happier time in my life than the summer of my childhood deep in a holler in Lawrence County, Kentucky.
- April Blevins
I loved growing up far from the hustle and bustle of city living. I ran barefoot through the grass, caught crawdads in the creek, and squished the sandy dirt between my toes as I followed dad's tractor, my mom and my sister on the tobacco setter, putting to right any plants that didn't quite make it into the ground properly. I played in the dirt as my parents worked out the garden, and admired the morning glory vines that inevitably snaked their way through the tobacco field. Spring gave birth to summer while I ate fresh corn on the cob until my mother said I would surely have a stomach ache and explored the many storage buildings looking for forgotten treasures from years gone by.
I fled the house every time my mother and sister enjoyed fresh cucumbers rolled in corn meal and fried in oil, trying to escape the smell that turned my stomach into knots. I shadowed my dad as he tended the dogs and played with my beagle Queenie, my goat Alora, or the big red rooster who was blind in one eye. I explored the paths between my house and my grandfather's house at the mouth of the holler or my aunt's house at the end of the holler and spent countless hours in the barn with the ancient ponies, Watson and Blackie. I traveled to the head of the holler where the beaten path ended and then blazed my own a little farther into the woods, where I was sure no one had ever gone before.
The summer seemed never ending, and I was glad because there was never a happier time in my life than the summer of my childhood deep in a holler in Lawrence County, Kentucky.
- April Blevins