Growing up on a farm the word vacation was not in our vocabulary . When school was out for the summer our work began in earnest. Weeding the cotton , corn , peanuts and potatoes, gathering the vegetables as they ripened , canning the excess, churning butter and making buttermilk filled our days. We toiled in the hot Alabama sun and thought nothing of it, turning almost as brown as a pecan.
Evenings we would sit on the porch and make peach ice cream from scratch. The taste of it is still to this day on my tongue and I love all things peach. There was no TV but we had an old radio that we listened to the Grand Ole Opry on and we'd sing along with it. Life was good and we thought we were living " high on the hog. " We'd often jokingly ask "Wonder how the poor folks are doing?"
I'll never forget one day in July when our cousins from Michigan visited us for the first time. They had never been to their Mom and Dad's hometown and being from Detroit were really amazed by what they saw. We picked Okra, Corn, Tomatoes, Green Beans and Squash from the garden to fix supper for them, and killed our prize plump chicken to fry up and served with homemade cornbread and buttermilk. Of course, homemade ice cream for dessert. They declared they'd never had a better meal.
The next day as we were about to pick cotton our cousins, with fair skin and red hair, begged us to let them try it. My sister and I threw them our sacks and lay back in the shade of the back porch waiting. About 10 minutes later they appeared, exhausted and bright red from the sun.
Little did I know then that I would leave the world I knew as a child and young adult and settle in the North. But I'll never forget that summer when my cousins came for a visit and discovered things that children growing up in the city could never hope to experience.
After moving to Chicago I visited them years later in Michigan and we talked and laughed about that summer they spent their vacation in Alabama.
Written by Carolyngail at Sweet Home and Garden Chicago All rights reserved
Sweet memories of summer days and cousin get togethers - they are magical indeed. My muse is here: http://gardeningasylum.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=2975&action=edit
ReplyDeleteThat was wonderful! You were so rich and what I would give for my father to be alive with his 50 acres still! mom sold it I sure do miss his farm in Virginia!
ReplyDeleteYour muse took me back to my childhood days when as the cousins we would help picking the strawberry crop on my uncle's farm - fond memories :) My monthly muse is up now ~ happy July to you Carolyn.
ReplyDeleteAs a child I was the city girl visiting my cousins in the country. Oh how I longed to escape the city permanently. And now I have :)
ReplyDeleteMy muse today takes my in the direction of another way to remember summers past..
Carolyn, thanks for sharing these wonderful childhood memories. I never picked cotton, but I can certainly relate to everything else you describe. Helping my mother put up green beans, tomatoes, fresh peaches, and everything else that came from our garden was part of the summer routine. And walking beans to pull weeds from the soybean fields on a hot and humid Illinois day had to be almost as bad as an Alabama cotton field:)
ReplyDeleteMy Muse Day post is finally up, too.
What an idyllic life Carolyn. I grew up in Chicago, but My mother and father grew up on farms in Ireland. How we used to love through the years listening to the stories about the wonderful food they grew and the animals they raised and the games they played in the open fields.
ReplyDeleteGreat post, we all need to remember our roots every so often.
Eileen
Thanks for contributing, Cyndy. I look forward to reading your muse.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Janet. Glad you have fond memories of your Dad and the Farm.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Anna. My Dad wouldn't let me near the strawberry patch because I ate more than I picked.
ReplyDeleteI look forward to reading your muse.
Hi VP,
ReplyDeleteOr should I say city slicker :-)? We went in opposite directions it seems-you to the country and me to the city.
I look forward to reading your muse.
Hi Rose and thanks for stopping by. I would say that you have indeed had a taste of what work it is to live and work on a farm.
ReplyDeleteI look forward to reading your muse day post. Thanks for joining.
Hi Eileen,
ReplyDeleteDidn't know you were first generation Irish. Just had my daughter's parents-in-law from Cork stay with us for 17 days. I've learned a lot of new words such as "brolley " for umbrella, " plaster " for bandaid and "trolley " for cart.
I've visited some farms in Ireland and they are really interesting. We are planning another visit, perhaps next year.
Love your painting Carolyn, the evocative memories, and the quote. We spent many vacations on my grandparents' farm in MO, and also visited the farms of our Nebraska relatives as children. Those visits, the feelings, sights, sounds, tastes, and love I experienced with them are among the happiest of my childhood memories. Among other things I learned in those times is that being rich has little to nothing to do with money or 'things.'
ReplyDeleteLOL - my word verification for this comment is 'fambli' ;) There's nothing better than "fambli!"
Great memories of special times. I'm glad you enjoyed a visit later on. Have you been able to visit more recently?
ReplyDeleteCarolyn, I love this story. It brought back memories of the meals I ate on my Grandma Nita's back porch, and watching fireflies and eating peach ice cream.
ReplyDeleteI've never picked cotton, but I know it is grueling work. I bet your cousins about died. Okra, corn, green beans and new potatoes, cornbread, fried chicken. Yum.~~Dee