If I could go back to my childhood again And recapture a bit of its charm, I’d pack all my memories in a valise And head back to my grandmother’s farm. I’d look for the boulder that stood by the road Where we’d play by the hour in the sun. The “Grit” magazine was spread out on that rock Til the “Wishing Well” puzzle was done. We’d walk up the road which curves back of the house, Gath’ring peaches from trees on the lawn. The wild flowers blooming along the old fence Closed nightly but opened at dawn. Grandma’s porch was unpainted and needed repair. For a step, Grandpa’d placed an old rock. I remember the doors of that weathered old house Grandma never would bother to lock. The kitchen smelled often of freshly-baked bread. Grandma cooked all the things that I love. Oil cloth was spread on the old table top And a fly paper hung up above. The water pail rested upon a low bench; The dipper hung down from a nail. Some kindling was piled by the back kitchen door With a few pieces stuck in a pail. The pantry led down to the cellar below Where apples were stored with great care. The aroma was pungent and mellow and sweet; Grandpa grew the best fruit anywhere! In the bedrooms upstairs were the large feather beds Where the children were tucked in to sleep. Heavy quilts were spread over to keep us all warm; In the mornings, thrown off in a heap. Outside the back door were the washboard and tubs; Hanging near were the old broom and mop. When Grandma’d need water, we’d go to the well And crank buckets full to the top. In Grandpa’s large orchard, gnarled apple trees stood; He grew the red-striped apples, too. Grandpa took SO MUCH pride in his orchard back then In a way that Most men seldom do. We’d hunt for fresh eggs hidden out in the barn And chase the old hens from their nests. We’d pet the new calves in the sun-filtered stalls And clasp baby chicks to our breasts. I’ve stood on the hills there behind Grandma’s house And surveyed the lush meadows below. If Heaven surpasses the view from this spot, Believe me, I’m anxious to go ! ©Mariane Holbrook Used With Permission All Rights Reserved By Author Website Mail

Sequenced by Dick Anderson
Dick Anderson's Country Midi Guitar