This time of year when the markets are open and the vegetables are fresh I think back to the summers on the farm. Every night we had fresh corn, beans, tomatoes, and my all time favorite butterbeans. Before we could enjoy them, we had to pick, shell, snap and shuck every one of them. But, I must say it was well worth the effort. Nothing is any better than a plate full of fresh veggies with Grandma's cornbread on the side.
It was a very orderly place, well, structured I guess is a better word. You could tell what day of the week it was by what meat was served with dinner. Most nights it would be some form of pork or chicken. They raised pigs and chickens. Rarely if ever did we eat beef. On Thursdays Mr. Green would come by in his truck loaded down with fresh fish and candies for us kids and assorted items of interest for all of us. My grandmother would purchase the fish for Friday's dinner and we would get our ration of candies for the week.
Saturdays were chicken plucking day so we could have fresh fried chicken on Sunday morning. My grandmother would set her sights on a hen and before long feathers were flying. She didn't even need an axe (PETA please don't call me). I could never watch this, but I always seemed to manage to eat the chicken.
Thursdays....oh how I hated Thursdays. Laundry day. Everything was washed, hung on the line to dry, and then ironed - by me. And, when I say everything I mean everything down to my Great Uncle's underwear. I can remember being so hot I thought I would pass out before the pile of laundry was done and put away. I slept good on Thursday nights.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
No More Pencils, No More Books, No More Teacher's Dirty Looks....
I can't believe there's only one more week of school then the kids are out for Summer vacation. Summer means the beach, camp, pools, staying up late and catching fireflies, and going on family vacations.
When I was a kid I spent many summers on my grandmother's tobacco farm in North Carolina. It was a place to go so that my parents wouldn't have to worry about me and the brother that went with me. It was usually me and one of my older brothers. Some years I just didn't want to go, but no one asked. I packed up and left town the week after school ended and went back home at the end of the summer.
It was a working farm and I mean work. Sometime my uncle would wake me up about 4 am and tell me to get ready to help barn tobacco. Nasty work. Years before the picking and stringing and cureing were done by big machinery. Every summer some farmer's barn would catch on fire and lose part of his crop. The summers weren't all work, but they were very lonely for me. Except Sundays. No one worked on Sunday and we all went to church, morning and night. Sunday nights were best. That's when we would do lots of singing and socializing.
It was those summers that made me fall in love with the moon. My bed (a pallet of handmade quilts) was facing a window where the moon would shine in. Some nights I would pray that my mother and father would come and get me, but they didn't. They couldn't.
I don't regret the summers spent on the farm, but I will admit to being jealous of my friends back home with their summers spent at the beach or the mountains or just hanging out. I think I was about 16 years old when we went on our first family vacation. I got to bring a girlfriend with me. We were going to rent a camper and go to the mountains for a week. The morning we were to pick up the camper, it had not yet been returned, so we decided to head out anyway and just stay in motels. It worked out ok. We went to Maggie Valley, NC. Grandfather's Mountain and Tweetsie Railroad. We actually had a pretty good time.
My parents worked hard, especially my mother, and they did the best they could. I know that now, I appreciate that now. But back on that farm I just didn't get it.
When I was a kid I spent many summers on my grandmother's tobacco farm in North Carolina. It was a place to go so that my parents wouldn't have to worry about me and the brother that went with me. It was usually me and one of my older brothers. Some years I just didn't want to go, but no one asked. I packed up and left town the week after school ended and went back home at the end of the summer.
It was a working farm and I mean work. Sometime my uncle would wake me up about 4 am and tell me to get ready to help barn tobacco. Nasty work. Years before the picking and stringing and cureing were done by big machinery. Every summer some farmer's barn would catch on fire and lose part of his crop. The summers weren't all work, but they were very lonely for me. Except Sundays. No one worked on Sunday and we all went to church, morning and night. Sunday nights were best. That's when we would do lots of singing and socializing.
It was those summers that made me fall in love with the moon. My bed (a pallet of handmade quilts) was facing a window where the moon would shine in. Some nights I would pray that my mother and father would come and get me, but they didn't. They couldn't.
I don't regret the summers spent on the farm, but I will admit to being jealous of my friends back home with their summers spent at the beach or the mountains or just hanging out. I think I was about 16 years old when we went on our first family vacation. I got to bring a girlfriend with me. We were going to rent a camper and go to the mountains for a week. The morning we were to pick up the camper, it had not yet been returned, so we decided to head out anyway and just stay in motels. It worked out ok. We went to Maggie Valley, NC. Grandfather's Mountain and Tweetsie Railroad. We actually had a pretty good time.
My parents worked hard, especially my mother, and they did the best they could. I know that now, I appreciate that now. But back on that farm I just didn't get it.
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