“The Forest at Pontaubert” , 1881, George Seurat. Image from a page of the 2012 Desk Calendar, courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art Store

Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go…

That old familiar song, “Over The River And Through The Woods”, popped into my head while I was out walking our dog the other day.  I don’t know why I thought of a wintry song, when we have had some of the hottest days of the year so far.  Perhaps I was trying to cool off subliminally.  The thick summer air, the intermingling fragrances of evergreen trees, dry grass and honeysuckle, all reminded me of the summers my sister and I spent at our grandmother’s house.   Being bathed in the heat and these heavy natural scents all caused me to smile and led me down the proverbial memory lane.

“The song may be out of season, but my memories of the summers spent with my grandmother never are…”

Although my grandmother’s house was less than an hour away from our home in Erie, PA, traveling “out to the country” as we called it, made me feel like I was in a different world.  I’d loved being lured out of bed very early each morning to the sharp smell of strong coffee brewing, followed by the sweet trail of hot pancakes smothered in melted butter and golden syrup.  With our bellies full  and our minds bursting with curiosity,  we’d dash outside right  after breakfast. I can almost still hear the sound of the screen door smacking the frame of the house.  My sister couldn’t resist taunting and teasing the large rooster strutting his rust breast and plump white-feathered hens that had roamed from the chicken coop close to the house. They’d squawk and flutter around so much I thought for sure they’d fly away without leaving any of their eggs behind for us.  Those honey-brown eggs were very important ingredients for grandmother’s yummy baked goods.  Oh how I loved licking the batter out of the bowl after she’d popped a cake into the oven!

Our days were filled with romping in the fields, always  taking the time to enjoy the lazy grazing cows in the pasture; the way they swatted flies with their tails used to make me giggle. The hunting dogs barked and bayed at us when we got close to their quarters. I often thought that their cute little  houses were the perfect size for our dolls  instead.  We’d wave at the folks who sped past in their pickup trucks or chugged their tractors along the road at the foot of the hill in front of the house.  One time, my sister was brave enough to climb up onto “Patches,” the horse at the farm across the way.  I was far too timid, content to just give the regal looking animal a few pets on his muzzle.

The long days of exploration ended with us safe and snug in bed.  We slept in one of my uncle’s old bedrooms. I never minded sharing the room with my sister, because the nights at grandmother’s house were pitch black; it didn’t make a difference whether your eyes were opened or closed.  The sound of the crickets lulled us off to sleep, with the promise of another day full of wonder awaiting us at sunrise.

My grandmother, Rose Ann (Fucci) Singleton

Although my trip back in time didn’t cool me off, (nor my dog; he started panting near the end of our walk)…it did warm my heart. My grandmother is gone now, but I still thank her, for all of those wonderful times. I shall cherish them forever.

Wishing you all a wonderful day to cherish.

Peace,

Felecia

Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2014