Life as Simple as a Straight Back Chair

The little house where I lived as a child had a good front porch - not large, not railed, not even painted white - just plain boards nailed on a wooden frame. It was not spacious and grand like the wrap around Southern porches where genteel families enjoyed iced tea and lemonade. No definitely not fancy, but still it was nice and memories were created on and around it - wonderful memories of home and security:

Loving parents, best friend neighbors, lots of kids in the neighborhood playing old fashioned outdoor games – Hide and Seek, Red Rover, Tag You're It – up until and sometimes even after dark when the games often turned to catching "lightning" bugs in mason jars or telling ghost stories around a fire.

My mother sitting in the morning sun on our front porch rocking a neighbor’s baby in a white, straight back chair...clip clop, clip clop, clip clop…no curved rockers on the bottom of that chair, just wooden spindle legs sounding a rhythm as they alternately hit the floor. There was a seemingly endless procession of babies – one born each year for a number of years – and my momma was more than willing to help out with the little ones.

That same straight back chair that momma used to rock the babies also served well for churning buttermilk in a one gallon jug...clip clop, clip clop, clip clop…cradling and rocking just as if it were a baby too. And as us kids grew older we were drafted into helping with this chore...clip clop, clip clop, clip clop...it seemed to take ages to get butter from that stubborn sour milk!
We had four of those straight back chairs and they survived the rigors of active living and vigorous playing for many years. They were moved with us to several different houses with varied porches.
As our family grew up and apart – one brother went away to the Army; I married; the other two brothers married; dad passed; and now mother is gone as well – only one chair survives that I know of. It is safe in my home studio waiting for a broken slat to be repaired. Sometimes I want to sit down in it and rock...clip clop, clip clop, clip clop...but I am afraid of breaking it and maybe loosing memories of my childhood when life was as simple as a straight back chair.

Unfortunately, I haven't located any photos of the little house described above. I have several old photos of our life on that place but none of the house itself. The two photos below are other houses where my family lived. The first was taken circa early 1950s and the other was shot in February 1966.

In this old family snapshot, my brother Joe sits on the hood of one of dad's old vehicles playing with a "toy" that is nothing more than a simple paper "poke" full of air. In the background to the left, you can see the corner of one of our simplest of front porches. It was rustic, to say the least, and certainly not pretty but it served a purpose and, believe it or not, holds funny childhood memories. I was very young when we lived here, and certainly not old enough to participate in my three older brothers' rebel rousings. But  there are stories of them using this porch as a launching pad for various activities.

Our family always had farm animals - chickens, cows, goats, etc. - and this story revolved around a big Billy goat that we had. It seems two brothers would hold the goat below the deep end of the porch while the third launched a "trick jump" onto the poor critter's back and would then hold on tight for a wild ride around the yard. The one who stayed on the longest was declared the champion of all goat riders. Of course there was the devil to pay when mom got wind of their shenanigans. In their defense, I will say we were "poor" and had very few real toys with which to play and, as they say, necessity is the mother of all inventions.

Speaking of inventions, notice the utility pole in front of our outdoor toilet. If you're wondering, no we did not have electric lighting out there.

We moved several times between the place above and the one below. I have memories of all of them but unfortunately no photos of the houses or their porches.

Things started looking up when we moved to this “modern” house in the mid 1960s. Two bedrooms, running water in the kitchen, color television, party-line telephone, and a concrete front porch were special upgrades. We still had an outdoor toilet, however, but still no electric lights out there. No heat either and I shiver to think how bone chilling it was to go out in the snowy cold to “sit a while”. That’s the kind of memory that makes us appreciate what we have now. Indoor plumbing is certainly a blessing!

On this front porch I kissed my first date good night in December, 1965 and two years later I married in the living room of this house.

That cute little Fiest Rat Terrier sitting on the steps was my mom’s best friend and squirrel hunting buddy. Her name was Sissy and she was a very good dog.

As for those four straight back chairs...still hanging in there baby.

What to do with the trash? Put it on the porch!

What do you do with the trash when the neighborhood is full of hungry stray dogs?

That's easy. You put it on the porch. Way up on the porch!

And why is all that other stuff out in the yard? Because there's no room for it in the house, silly.

You've got to love a humble little Appalachian home with a flag flying in the front yard. Just goes to show the American spirit lives on. Also looks like they're all set for tonight's weiner roast. Wish I was invited. I love a good hot dog!

Back on the Porch, Wishing To Be A Little Girl Again

Wanda Reed is a very special new friend who has given me the greatest gifts of all...inspiration, hope and kindness. We met at the health center where she works and where I have been going, trying to regain some of the strength I have lost during the past year. Wanda has shared with me kind conversation as well as her very special talent. She is a country gospel singer/songwriter and has just released a compact disc featuring songs written by herself and her mother. This spirit filled music reminds me of the songs I heard during my childhood while attending old fashioned gospel Baptist churches with my mother and grandmother. I love singing along with her songs when riding in my car...while all alone of course...Wanda has a much greater talent than I do, thank you Lord!

In her own words:

"This CD has a very special place in my heart because it comes from the heart. Nine of the eleven songs on this CD were written by me, with the strong inspiration of Jesus Christ. Without Him, I could do nothing. The other two songs were written by my Mother, Elizabeth Keck, and Dorothy Keck Davenport, and were arranged by me. I hope you can find some inspiration in some part of this work." Wanda Reed

To hear a sampling of Wanda's talent go to:

http://www.myspace.com/wandareedmusic

*The CD cover photo features Wanda now and as a little girl. It is published here with Wanda's consent.

Grandpa’s Honey, Grandma’s Biscuits, Delicious Memories For One Scared Little Girl

Ada & Larkin were "Grandpa & Grandma" to me

When I was a little girl I sometimes spent the summer months with my mother's parents in Madisonville, Tennessee.

Grandpa and Grandma lived a hard life in a modest two-bedroom, gray-shingled house with front and back porches. They had eleven children, made a living farming and had very few modern conveniences. Their water came from a rain-filled cistern well near the back porch. There was no running water in the house and no indoor facilities...no ceramic tubs or sinks or anything like that. Baths were taken in a galvanized tub which was also used for rinsing laundry along side of the ringer washing machine. Clothes were hung on a closeline to dry in the wind. Their toilet was an outdoor wooden structure – a "two-hole outhouse" they called it – 60 feet or so from the back porch and down a slight hill to the right, as I remember.

On the rare occasions when they were not busy around the house and farm they were rocking – on the front porch on sunny afternoons and in the living room in the cool of the evenings. Grandpa always wore a fedora hat and smoked cherry flavored tobacco in a crooked pipe as he rocked. Grandma always wore a cotton dress and thick nylon stockings rolled just below the knees. Only on Sunday mornings going to church was she seen without a cotton apron over her dress. As they quietly sat and rocked, they both seemed very old to me, when I was only five.

Grandma's house was clean and tidy. The room where she and grandpa slept was cozy and inviting. The bed was made up with a lovely chenille spread and pretty ceramic whatnots adorned the night stand and dresser. A yellow bulb in the bedside lamp gave the room a warm glow. There was a radio that played in the evenings but no television.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table watching grandma kneading biscuit dough in a big round aluminum dishpan and wiping her floured hands on her ever present apron. It seemed she was all the time elbow-deep in some kind of bread makings, while her delicious meals simmered on the stove.

Grandma came from an era when families ate three home cooked meals each and every day. She never adapted from cooking for a family of twelve to preparing a meal for just the two of them. There were always leftovers to snack on between meals and perhaps that's how I came to appreciate a good cold biscuit. On occasions when family visited she was still right comfortable making huge trays of piping hot "cat-head" biscuits to go along with crispy fried chicken and creamy mashed potatoes. ("Cat-head" biscuits were so named because they were hand formed and as big around as a cat's head.)

Grandpa was a skilled beekeeper and sweet succulent honey with comb was always available in a covered glass dish on the table. One of Grandma's hot buttered biscuits smothered in Grandpa's clover honey was the best treat in the whole world and nothing has ever been more delicious. And I loved chewing on the honeycomb, it was the closest thing we had to chewing gum.

Grandpa and Grandma are many years gone from this earth now but I still have that covered glass dish. Instead of honey it now holds many precious memories from my childhood visits with them. Although their life was difficult and filled with hardships they remained kind and generous and never did I hear them complain. And they always managed to make a visiting little granddaughter, who was scared to death of being so far from home, feel safe and loved.

Grandma’s egg basket and cornflakes from the big red rolling store

There was an handmade, split white oak egg basket that always sat on my Grandma's ironing board in the spare bedroom where I slept during childhood visits to her and Grandpa's Monroe County home in the mid-1950's.

Each morning Grandma and I gathered fresh eggs from the chicken house nests then washed and dried them and carefully placed them in the basket, which was lined with a worn dish towel softened by many washings.

The eggs stayed nestled in the basket – except for the ones used in her own cooking – and grew in number until once a week when the man with the rolling store came around. Grandma traded the valuable eggs for staples such as flour, sugar, salt and coffee.

One time I was allowed to pick something in the trade and chose a big box of Kellogg's corn flakes. I remember clutching the brightly colored cereal box, with the big crowing rooster on the front, to my chest as I climbed down from the big red truck. (Everything is "big" when you are five years old.) Our breakfast meals usually consisted of bacon, sausage, eggs, gravy, biscuits and milk. Cereal – even plain ole' corn flakes – was a very rare treat.

Rolling stores were common during those days and served the basic grocery shopping needs for folks who had no convenient means of transportation for quick shopping trips in town. I suppose today's convenience stores are the equivalent of yesteryear's rolling stores only now we feel the need for soft drinks and assorted other junk foods. I wonder if they even sell plain ole' corn flakes these days? Most of today's cereals are sugar coated and pastel colored. And it's a safe bet there are no stores around that take eggs in trade.

Grandma's egg basket and one of her cotton aprons came into my guardianship when my mom passed away a few years ago. I treasure these simple homespun items and the memories they keep close to my heart.