Eddie Lowe
Just A Thought
Some of my fondest memories of my childhood were running in the yard with my cousins as we gathered at Grandma’s house for Sunday lunch. For a trip back in time, one only needs to see the modest kitchen where so many great meals were prepared and aunts and uncles seem so young and vibrant in my memory. A Sunday lunch usually consisted of pintos and potatoes and fatback and biscuits or cornbread. Green beans were a staple. They were grown just outside the door and canned right there on the stovetop. My grandma always wore a dress and kept her hair pinned up. The first time I spent the night I was amazed at how long her hair was when she took it down before bedtime.
My grandpa dug the well by hand, after which he built a well house beside the home in which canned goods were put up. Their cabinets were filled with snuff glasses, which beckon us back to a simple time. A small radio on top of the refrigerator, or “Kelvinator,” as she called it. In the early morning hours, the small radio would be tuned to an AM station for the obituaries, then weather and local news would play.
Sometimes I’d spend the night. To this day, I’ve never understood why we went to bed so early! Tucked under several blankets, it seemed I’d lie awake and listen to crickets and a lone Whippoorwill in the distance for the longest time, only to wake long before the sun came up. At my grandparents’, there was a room in the back with a large cabinet-style television. This room was seldom used and I only remember my cousins and I watching a football game once on the large television. A clothesline stretched between locust posts and a tractor shed was surrounded by smaller buildings, all of which had a lock with the key to each one hidden above the door. Perhaps I’m describing your grandparents’ home, also?
The setting I’ve described may seem mundane to some, but to me it’s a place of fondness, where the 1970s and 1980s passed marked by Sunday visits. As I think back, my heart warms thinking of family, many of which have since passed. Beehive hairdos and small talk filled the air. Years have gone by and the gravel ridge road has since been paved. The small shack and buildings are gone. My cousins and I are all grown with lives and kids of our own. I hope all of you have a special place in your mind you can hearken back to, where cousins laugh and hills are rolled down or there’s a creek to be waded in and lightning bugs to catch. A place frozen in time, where cares melted and family gathered.
