Sunday, May 12, 2013

In Honor Of Mother's Day

When I call to remembrance the unfiegned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also. II Timothy 1:5

My favorite book is When I Was Young in the Mountains by Cynthia Rylant. Hers was a mentor text for me to write in honor of my Grandmother. Hope this post brings fond memories to your remembrance as well.

When I Was Young

When I was young, I lived just up the path from my Grandma and Papa. The privet hedge that separated my house from the path was my time tunnel. I lived in the twentieth century but they lived in the past.

When I was young, I helped Grandma draw water from the well. We drank sweet water from a common dipper in the bucket in Grandma’s kitchen.

When I was young, Grandma would hold me up so I could see the robin’s nest in the hedge just outside her bedroom window. We would watch the mother bird feed her babies fat juicy worms and little green bugs.

When I was young we sat under the oak tree and peeled peaches for peach ice cream. We took turns cranking the ice cream churn until our arms ached and the crank no longer turned. Then we would eat peach ice cream until it gave us a brain freeze.

When I was young, we chased birds around the front yard with a salt shaker. Papa said if we put salt on a bird’s tail, we could catch it. In the evening, Papa would call bob whites up to the edge of the yard. I tried to whistle too. Sometimes the bob whites would answer my call.

When I was young, Grandma taught us to play mumbledy peg with Papa’s pocket knife. It would easily stick in the pine boards of Grandma’s kitchen steps.

When I was young, we spent winter evenings around a coal heater in the sitting room, playing checkers while the sleet beat against the windows. We didn’t have any story books but Grandma was a good story teller.

When I was young, Grandma made all my dresses for school and church on her treadle machine. She tatted lace for my collars. Once she let me help serve when the Women’s Missionary Union met at her house.  She always made me feel special.

When I was young, I never wanted to go to the city. I never wanted to fly in a plane. I only wanted to slip through the hedge and down the path to my grandparents’ house.                                               Based on When I Was Young in the Mountains
Perhaps you have a favorite book that brings special memories of your mother or grandmother to mind. Please let us know.   Blessings.
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