Fall is one of my favorite seasons. The leaves turn colors; they blanket the ground. There’s a hint of coolness in the air and sometimes snow (though never in Texas that I remember)! This morning it was coolish outside and for some reason I took a trip down memory lane. I possibly needed the distraction.
Fall makes me think of Thanksgivings at Grandma’s house- lots of home-baked bread, and pies; the hay barn and King of the Mountain Games (where my cousin, Shane, inevitably won- as he was biggest). Gathering eggs from the hen house. And when I was very young, Aunt Mary would take me to see the pigs! They looked so huge when you’re 6!
There was running through the garden to pull out a pumpkin, for another, made from scratch pie, and a constant flow of visitors to the farm house; it was on a highway and my grandparents always had a produce stand. So that meant people all the time were stopping in. Complete strangers. Yet they seemed like family. I suppose that’s what you get when you have a small farming community in Kansas.
Oh, and let me not forget the early mornings, when I’d get up at 6:30 to help Gramma with breakfast. She’d make waffles on request; and the most heavenly cinnamon rolls ever. Someday, I’ve got to see if one of my Aunts has her recipe. Otherwise, it died with her. Meals were whipped up rote. There was no need for a cookbook. Pie crusts were made without thinking. Someday, maybe I’ll be like that in the kitchen.
I was always allowed to have cookies whenever I wanted, and she’d tell my mother, “This is grandmother’s house. My job is to spoil these kids.”
Grampa would stand out by the road with me and count railroad cars when I was really young. As I got older I remember him sitting at the kitchen table, praying for rain, and asking *mommy*, as he called my grandmother, for another cup of coffee.
There was never any question, during the annual Thanksgiving Dinner (or Christmas for that matter), where there was an inflow of people through out the day, that we could eat until the food had been blessed. After that, the rule went something like, “every man for himself, so long as you keep one foot on the floor at all times.”
Strangely enough, I don’t recall the television being on that much. I had many other things to do. Life seemed so much more simple then. Makes me wonder how as people grow old, they tend to forget about the good things that happen in life.
Thanks for bearing with my writing trip. I’m in a better mood now than I was when I awoke.