OUTDOOR MEMORIES

Mama walking my niece around on the farm, with Rascal, the steady companion for many years. Sharing the love of the outdoors with the next generation.

June, 2004, Mama and Aunt Gwen planting daylilies. It seems odd now to see that cigarette in her mouth but she didn't quit smoking until 2008-ish.

My family loves the outdoors.  I could probably write a whole book for this section.  Mama grew up on a farm and enjoys gardening and flowers and lots of outdoor activities.  She tried to pass this along as well -- and has -- though probably more selectively than she would have liked.  

Fishing

I’ll start with the most enjoyable -- to me, at least.  One of the greatest rewards (and most frequent) as we were growing up was to get to go fishing.  It was sometimes bribe, sometimes reward, sometimes stress relief, sometimes recreation that we could afford. 

I remember when we lived in the old white house there was a pond across the road.  I was young and the memories aren’t very specific, but I do remember fishing across the road and conversations about a Grandaddy catfish.

During the years at New Hope, living at Cousin O’Dell’s house, I don’t have very many memories of fishing, but the times at Pleasant Hill are replete with fishing memories.  Sometimes we would traipse through the small section of woods that led to the creek and fish there.  Often, we would fish from the roadside as the creek fed into Hilton Cox’s pond.  Hilton gave us permission to fish at the pond, too, so those are my very favorite fishing memories! 

At the end of a day, when work was done, we would go digging for worms.  Sometimes Daddy was home, too.  Sometimes, Grandmama came over. (As I remember it, she was often the impetus for our fishing trips. . .)  We would find rich soil -- oftentimes areas that Mama or Daddy had created for the purpose of drawing/breeding earthworms for fishing.  Digging worms was often part of the adventure itself, although we often got whiny if they weren’t abundant and easy.  Sometimes it took several tries to find the right spot for lots of worms.

Once the worms were collected into a can or a bucket and all the fishing gear was gathered, we would walk down to the creek, roadside, or pond and settle in.  We knew we needed to be quiet or the fish wouldn’t bite -- or at least that’s what the adults told us.  In retrospect, perhaps just for a little peace and quiet.  It was probably a moot point anyway, but we did try.  Quiet moments by the pond are some of my favorite childhood memories -- catching fish, turtles, and even eels.  Oftentimes, just drowning worms, but we were doing it together. 

Somewhere along the way, someone has gotten the idea that I don’t enjoy fishing anymore.  That is absolutely not true.  While it is difficult for me to carve out time from my other responsibilities at a time that is appropriate for fishing, and I don’t enjoy the heat of the summer always, and I really, really hate mosquitoes and gnats that sometimes come with fishing, I LOVE fishing!  I love the peace of it, the quiet anticipation, the shared experience, the sometimes-excitement of the catch.  It’s a legacy that lives on . . . 

The Clothesline

I had a love-hate relationship with the clothesline.  Mama taught me to hang clothes out from the time I could reach.  Even before that, I would hand her clothespins or hang out while she was hanging out the clothes.  I loved the smell of sheets after they had dried in the sun.  I’ve never smelled sheets that smelled like Mama’s sheets off the line.  It’s a beautiful sensory memory from the New Hope days that I treasure -- so soft -- and THAT smell. 

Some days I didn’t mind hanging out clothes -- or taking them in.  There’s a comfort to it.  I love the smell and the stiff-yet-soft feel as you’re gathering them up.  The orderliness of shaking them out before hanging them up.  The cool dampness of the fresh-from-the-washer clothes on a hot summer day.  Even sometimes, the quick adrenaline rush of a quick unexpected shower and the mad dash to get the dry clothes in before they get wet again.

Some days, not so much . . .I don’t know why.  I don’t know if there was a reason beyond my fickle childhood moods.  Often it was my job.  Sometimes I despised it, sometimes I tolerated it out of obligation, but sometimes I relished it and reveled in it.

As an adult, I’ve had times where I’ve hung out clothes, and where I’ve strictly used the dryer.  Both have their positives and negatives.  Sometimes I long for the feel and smell of air-dryed laundry.  Sometimes I beg Shane to put up another clothesline.  Then he reminds me that I work full-time and we are rarely here in the daylight and it would be a moot point.  He’s right, but the memory is strong, and sometimes I sure do miss it.

Flowers

I remember at times having probably 30 or more African violets in our house.  Mama loves plants and she has always been great at nurturing them and nursing them back to health even from “almost-death”.  She would grab an African violet for 25 cents that looked like death and pretty soon it would be vibrant and thriving again.

For a while, Mama really got into Gloxinias and we had them everywhere.  They had beautiful showy trumpet-shaped flowers, and we enjoyed them for quite some time.

She loves anything green, and especially anything that flowers, but outside ones are her favorites.  She loves planting them and watching them grow and bloom.  

Mama always prefers living flowers over cut ones and often Daddy would get her a new rosebush for birthday or Mother’s Day or some celebration.  She had quite a collection of Roses at Pleasant Hill -- Mr. Lincoln and Peace were the two I remember most vividly.  Mr. Lincoln with its deep dark scarlet hues and Peace, looking like a swirl of orange sherbet, vanilla, and lemon sorbet, with pink lemonade accents.  I loved the variety of Peace’s blossoms.  

Long after I married, and once Mama and Daddy tried to get the nursery business established, they really got into Daylilies and we would take family trips to the daylily farm to peruse all the newest, showiest varieties and add a few new ones to their collection.

I remember once at Pleasant Hill, I wanted to establish a little bed of the tiny little wild violas.  I loved them!  Mama helped me carve out a spot in the yard and plant a few to try to get them established.  I have no idea how well they did, but I always appreciated her taking the time to help me with something I enjoyed.  

Our tastes in flowers tends to be very different, along with a lot of other things in life, but just like everywhere, variety keeps things interesting and makes life better!

Gardening

We’ve had a garden as long as I can remember, and growing up, it was definitely a family affair.  

Even though I’m probably the least farm-oriented member of the family, I still enjoy the feel and the smell of fresh-turned dirt, watching things grow, and eating things fresh from the garden.  That appreciation comes from Mama and Daddy both.

Growing up in a gardening family was such a blessing, and it has spoiled me in many ways.  There is NOTHING like a big slice of fresh garden tomato whether you’re eating them with pork chops or on a sandwich (with Miracle Whip of course).  Grocery store tomatoes do NOT compare!

It was Mama who taught me to pick the worms off cabbages, how to pick butterbeans and string beans.  She showed me when cucumbers and squash are ready and when you need to toss them, save them for seed or feed them to “the animals” (depending on which ones they had at the time)  Because it’s always been something we do together, in this area, it’s hard to tell where Mama ends and Daddy starts and vice versa.  Together, they taught me a lot about gardening.  We’ve spent more hours than I can count shelling beans, snapping beans, shelling peas, “looking” collards, picking cucumbers and squash, shucking corn, silking corn, “squishing” strawberries, and lots more.

One area where I know it was Mama is the cooking of garden-fresh fruits and veggies -- prepping and cooking, freezing, canning were always Mama’s domain. Because of her, I know how to easily peel a bunch of tomatoes or peaches using boiling water.  I know how to make strawberry punch bowl cake (a family favorite during the strawberry-growing years).  I know how to blanch vegetables to put them in the freezer.  I can peel potatoes using a knife (even though she still would complain that I leave too much potato on the peelings. . .) .   I can peel and slice cucumbers and tomatoes, though never as evenly as she can.  I can cook new potatoes and green beans.  I can boil peanuts.

Because of her teaching, I don’t throw out a whole fruit or veggie just because it has a “bad place”.  I know how to work around that, saving the good.

Because of her encouragement, I am willing to try lots of different foods, and I will eat almost anything, although turnips are at the BOTTOM of that list!!!!!!!!

Even though I’ve chosen a professional life and my continued “extracurricular” activities don’t allow much time for gardening, I so appreciate all the lessons that came from the time spent in the garden, and using things from the garden, and I appreciate all the effort that went into helping us eat well and eat healthy from the garden that continues even now!  What a blessing!

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Last Easter, Mama brushing Nala. She's the latest farm dog, and nobody rubbed her ears the way Mama did.

I don't have nearly the green thumb that Mama had, but I love watching things grow and flower and this bed at my driveway is full of flowers that Mama shared.