Seven little boys and girls set in a straight line there on an old cement porch. They are so cute and innocent setting there every which way. One little girls face is turned away from the camera looking up at a grandpa and grandma setting there in two old chairs, each holding a baby boy on their lap. The grandpa is a big man, holding that little boy on one knee, his arm tight around him. Grandma a small petite little lady setting there in a plain dress. A kind, gentle smile on her dear face. Nine little cousins in all. That was the year of 1957.
An old 58 Chevy pickup is parked in the driveway of grandpa and grandma's farm house. In the background stands a tall barn reaching into the sky. Fourteen happy smiling young faces look out at me. One little boy sets proud there on that old pickups cab roof. His daddy owned that old Chevy pickup. Ten little boys and girls stand every which way there in the bed. One little boy's head is cocked to the side. Two little girls each hold up little boys who are to young to stand. Down in front stands two older boys and one girl. They were close to teen years. One boy has his arms crossed in front of him, a ornery grin plays in his lips. The other young boy stands there, one arm leaning on the bed, a serious look across his face. The poor young girl is held up with crutches. That was the year of 1964.
It is a beautiful warm late summer afternoon. A group of 33 adults, some standing, some setting pose for one last picture together. Behind them my brothers green corn reaches into the blue sky. On chairs set five white haired uncles, and four beautiful white haired aunties. Behind them stands all the cousins that were able to attend. They have all grown up since that photo in the old Chevy pickup, Some have spouses beside them, Some have pictures of grandchildren in their purse. Some have nieces and nephews they are so proud of. They all have one thing in common. They all have a smile on their face and love in their hearts. This was the year of 2008. This was our last "cousin get together"...our special one before we lost so many and so much.
Inside a nice neat metal building sets tables in a u shape, all ready for our last "reunion" Over on the north wall sets a "special" group of picture frames. In one is my jolly fishing buddy. Lyle. We told him good-bye on January 27, 2004 at the age of 53. Beside him in her own frame is his beautiful little sister Susie. We sadly told her good-bye in the year of 2006. A couple looked out at us in a frame, each with a smile on their faces. Our dear Uncle Ray and Aunt Loraine. A bigger frame sets there. In it is that grandma and grandpa who were holding two little boys on their laps. In a wooden frame stands a sweet old lady. She is leaning on her cane, one arm raised in a wave. This is our dear grandma Dorothy. The words "Gone from us but never forgotten" lay there among those frames.
Cousins week. What beautiful memories. I venture to say they were our privilege every year until we all started to marry and have lives of our own. I am so glad that I can say today...my cousins are very special to me. I am talking about every one I call "cousin". My cousins are this to me because a grandpa and grandma, mother and dad, uncles and aunts found it important to plant that "seed of love" in our young hearts.
It is a warm August night. The soft, yellow moon hangs low in the east. You can hear the old bull frog down at the pond. Through the open front door of the old farm house comes the music of an old piano, a guitar, and an old violin. Songs like " Red River Valley", "Green Grass of Home", and "It Is No Secret" floats out and into the quiet night and all around the little cousins playing hide and seek, or walking hand in hand, or setting there on grandpa and grandmas front porch.
An old pickup makes its way down that dirt trail, past a cut wheat field, a plowed field ...up to the pasture gate. In the back is a load of excited kids, their fishing poles. a can of worms, an old five gallon bucket. They park the old pickup on top of the hill and out scrambles the kids. Aunts and uncles grab the can of worms, and that old five gallon bucket. They start down that steep hill to the pond, fishing poles swung over their shoulder.
The evening was cool and just right for fishing. The old gallon bucket was dipped in the pond and filled with water and sat loop sided there on the hillside, waiting for that first fish. Aunts and uncles were busy bating the hooks. Little people sat here and there holding the pole with both hands, little legs bent at the knees, talking as fast as can be. Some stood there and you would hear a laugh here and there. Someone was taking this quite seriously when they said "Fishes don't like noise you know."
Lyle, Chuck and I got tired of "just setting" so we decided to test our luck on "hooking a frog" After all grandma Dorothy promised to fry frog legs if we had good luck. Quietly, slowly we creep around the pond as close to the water we could get. Shhh....slow....STOP...there's one. Slowly....easily they let down the hook right in front of him and yanked. I really can't remember if we feasted on frog legs or just had fun.
There was a cave built back in the hill not far from the pond. Some of us would walk over to it, just ambling along, chewing on a piece of stick, talking, laughing.
Remember Alcove Springs and the waterfall. We loved to go there and play beside the waterfall. It was on the Oregon Trail right before they forded the Big Blue River. We would take a sack lunch with us sometimes,
Then there was grandpa and grandma's big dining table. Right beside it sat grandpa's easy chair. I remember crowding around that table and making sure we sat by just the right cousin. There was food, food and more food.
Grandma Dorothy's kitchen was a busy place. There was a little pantry of sorts on the south wall. Do you know what gooseberries are? They grow wild in the pastures. I remember some of us kids decided to make those gooseberry pies in that little pantry. The bad thing about it was that grandma Dorothy was trying to make a meal at the same time. She was a real sport!!
Grandma passed away when we were quite young. Grandpa found our new grandma Dorothy and brought her home to us. I don't know what she thought but we loved her.
There were evenings we would gather around the old piano and Aunt Nita would ask "What do you want to hear?" She could play about anything by ear. Uncle Gene would drag out the guitar and someone the old violin. "Old Shep" was the one that would send everyone for the Kleenex box!!
"In a vine covered shack in the mountains....Bravely fighting the battles of time...there's a dear one who's wept though life's sorrows...It's that silver haired daddy of mine."
Every time I hear the words of this song, my mind travels back to an old grandpa setting there in his chair, his cane leans up beside him, his arm bent at the elbow, both feet planted on the floor. He is listening as a short little lady with gray hair sets on the piano bench...her whole body dancing, her feet barely touches that pedals.
In my mind I see a mother, dad, aunts and uncles who's brown hair has turned a beautiful silver. I see them setting there, faces gentle, wise, still planting seeds of love into the hearts of us kids.
I see moonlight nights, fishing poles, grandmas kitchen. I hear laugher. I see a big old barn, a two story old farmhouse full of memories and music. I see home....I see love
An old 58 Chevy pickup is parked in the driveway of grandpa and grandma's farm house. In the background stands a tall barn reaching into the sky. Fourteen happy smiling young faces look out at me. One little boy sets proud there on that old pickups cab roof. His daddy owned that old Chevy pickup. Ten little boys and girls stand every which way there in the bed. One little boy's head is cocked to the side. Two little girls each hold up little boys who are to young to stand. Down in front stands two older boys and one girl. They were close to teen years. One boy has his arms crossed in front of him, a ornery grin plays in his lips. The other young boy stands there, one arm leaning on the bed, a serious look across his face. The poor young girl is held up with crutches. That was the year of 1964.
It is a beautiful warm late summer afternoon. A group of 33 adults, some standing, some setting pose for one last picture together. Behind them my brothers green corn reaches into the blue sky. On chairs set five white haired uncles, and four beautiful white haired aunties. Behind them stands all the cousins that were able to attend. They have all grown up since that photo in the old Chevy pickup, Some have spouses beside them, Some have pictures of grandchildren in their purse. Some have nieces and nephews they are so proud of. They all have one thing in common. They all have a smile on their face and love in their hearts. This was the year of 2008. This was our last "cousin get together"...our special one before we lost so many and so much.
Inside a nice neat metal building sets tables in a u shape, all ready for our last "reunion" Over on the north wall sets a "special" group of picture frames. In one is my jolly fishing buddy. Lyle. We told him good-bye on January 27, 2004 at the age of 53. Beside him in her own frame is his beautiful little sister Susie. We sadly told her good-bye in the year of 2006. A couple looked out at us in a frame, each with a smile on their faces. Our dear Uncle Ray and Aunt Loraine. A bigger frame sets there. In it is that grandma and grandpa who were holding two little boys on their laps. In a wooden frame stands a sweet old lady. She is leaning on her cane, one arm raised in a wave. This is our dear grandma Dorothy. The words "Gone from us but never forgotten" lay there among those frames.
Cousins week. What beautiful memories. I venture to say they were our privilege every year until we all started to marry and have lives of our own. I am so glad that I can say today...my cousins are very special to me. I am talking about every one I call "cousin". My cousins are this to me because a grandpa and grandma, mother and dad, uncles and aunts found it important to plant that "seed of love" in our young hearts.
It is a warm August night. The soft, yellow moon hangs low in the east. You can hear the old bull frog down at the pond. Through the open front door of the old farm house comes the music of an old piano, a guitar, and an old violin. Songs like " Red River Valley", "Green Grass of Home", and "It Is No Secret" floats out and into the quiet night and all around the little cousins playing hide and seek, or walking hand in hand, or setting there on grandpa and grandmas front porch.
An old pickup makes its way down that dirt trail, past a cut wheat field, a plowed field ...up to the pasture gate. In the back is a load of excited kids, their fishing poles. a can of worms, an old five gallon bucket. They park the old pickup on top of the hill and out scrambles the kids. Aunts and uncles grab the can of worms, and that old five gallon bucket. They start down that steep hill to the pond, fishing poles swung over their shoulder.
The evening was cool and just right for fishing. The old gallon bucket was dipped in the pond and filled with water and sat loop sided there on the hillside, waiting for that first fish. Aunts and uncles were busy bating the hooks. Little people sat here and there holding the pole with both hands, little legs bent at the knees, talking as fast as can be. Some stood there and you would hear a laugh here and there. Someone was taking this quite seriously when they said "Fishes don't like noise you know."
Lyle, Chuck and I got tired of "just setting" so we decided to test our luck on "hooking a frog" After all grandma Dorothy promised to fry frog legs if we had good luck. Quietly, slowly we creep around the pond as close to the water we could get. Shhh....slow....STOP...there's one. Slowly....easily they let down the hook right in front of him and yanked. I really can't remember if we feasted on frog legs or just had fun.
There was a cave built back in the hill not far from the pond. Some of us would walk over to it, just ambling along, chewing on a piece of stick, talking, laughing.
Remember Alcove Springs and the waterfall. We loved to go there and play beside the waterfall. It was on the Oregon Trail right before they forded the Big Blue River. We would take a sack lunch with us sometimes,
Then there was grandpa and grandma's big dining table. Right beside it sat grandpa's easy chair. I remember crowding around that table and making sure we sat by just the right cousin. There was food, food and more food.
Grandma Dorothy's kitchen was a busy place. There was a little pantry of sorts on the south wall. Do you know what gooseberries are? They grow wild in the pastures. I remember some of us kids decided to make those gooseberry pies in that little pantry. The bad thing about it was that grandma Dorothy was trying to make a meal at the same time. She was a real sport!!
Grandma passed away when we were quite young. Grandpa found our new grandma Dorothy and brought her home to us. I don't know what she thought but we loved her.
There were evenings we would gather around the old piano and Aunt Nita would ask "What do you want to hear?" She could play about anything by ear. Uncle Gene would drag out the guitar and someone the old violin. "Old Shep" was the one that would send everyone for the Kleenex box!!
"In a vine covered shack in the mountains....Bravely fighting the battles of time...there's a dear one who's wept though life's sorrows...It's that silver haired daddy of mine."
Every time I hear the words of this song, my mind travels back to an old grandpa setting there in his chair, his cane leans up beside him, his arm bent at the elbow, both feet planted on the floor. He is listening as a short little lady with gray hair sets on the piano bench...her whole body dancing, her feet barely touches that pedals.
In my mind I see a mother, dad, aunts and uncles who's brown hair has turned a beautiful silver. I see them setting there, faces gentle, wise, still planting seeds of love into the hearts of us kids.
I see moonlight nights, fishing poles, grandmas kitchen. I hear laugher. I see a big old barn, a two story old farmhouse full of memories and music. I see home....I see love
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