I was very blessed to have had my mother in my life until January 2001. She was a very strong lady and one who never met a stranger. She raised six children under much more difficult circumstances than I had raising my two sons and and I've often wondered how she did it. We were a real challenge for her, I'm sure, however, the rules were different then. We never dreamed of "crossing my mom" as we knew it would not be allowed. The only time she and I ever had words I was a teenager, and I went into one room and cried and she did the same in another. Our little tiff was short-lived as we got along really well. Things were a lot more black and white and the rules were the rules. We had chores to do but lots of free time for play as well.
We had so much fun growing up that children now never get to experience. We made our own fun; we didn't wait for someone to provide it for us. We were creative and innovative, if not a little bit daring with some of the things we did that were down right dangerous. We climbed on rafters in the large barns where tobacco was cured and slid down the huge poles that had not yet been put in place as rafters in the barn. We scoured a neighbors dark forest near a small stream, hunting for arrow heads from when native Indians camped there. We could almost see their campfires and tee-pees and found much evidence that this was true. Besides, even if it wasn't, it sure was a lot of fun re-creating that Indian Village. We swung on grape-vine swings, literally taking or life into our hands doing that. We climbed one tree to get to the first branch of the bigger tree (where my sisters had to hold onto me to make sure I did not fall out of the tree. My brother would go out in the pasture, wave his arms at the horses and get then to chase him. He would then scamper up the two trees like a monkey to get away from them. However, we all reached adulthood without having a broken bone or a trip to the hospital, other than the time my older brother tried to push the lawn mower from a stuck place with his foot. . . . hurts to remember it as I saw his foot go under the mower. He was bruised and short one toe-nail with another toe cut, but was very fortunate it was no worse.
There was a horse in a neighbor's pasture named "Ole Nell". I doubt she was old, she was a Rome Red but that was the name that stuck. When we went into that pasture to pick blackberries, she would chase us out. When we walked to school, she would pace along the fence whickering & neighing to us and absolutely scaring me to death. We all were deathly afraid of her when all she may have wanted was someone to play with her. None of us ever got up enough nerve to do that.
Another time, I remember a hurried trip to the "storm cellar" when a storm was so severe we thought it would blow out house away. We picked fresh blackberries and strawberries, peaches and apples, grew our own garden and ate far better then than people do now. Our foods did not have preservatives and we also had fresh eggs, chicken, pork and beef. No antibiotics, no steroids or human growth hormones, just really good fresh foods. My mother's biscuts were legend and none of us could ever duplicate them. I've often thought that was why my parents had a long and healthy life; they ate pure uncontaminated foods.
My Mom lived to almost 83 and my Dad died 6 months after turning 90. When Mom died, we all felt Dad might not last long as they had been together about 65 years. Sure it was hard for him, but as we checked on him often, cooked his meals in advance and doing other things for him, he began to feel he needed to be there for us after Mom died and I do believe that kept him going longer than he might have otherwise.
Remember your mother and father this year and if you still have them, go visit them and do something meaningful with them. Your fond memories of doing so may make you want to write about those times also.
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