On Friday afternoon of last week, Papa and I drove out to see the home where I grew up.
My Dad built the house when I was five, in 1962. My Mom sold it in 1999. The couple
that bought the house welcomed us and invited us to walk all around.
So many memories were made on the homestead! My playhouse, where I spent years of make believe, the wishing well grill I built with Daddy, the front yard where I sat on top of a crank ice cream maker several times each summer while Daddy cranked a batch of home made ice cream and Mom invited friends to share it with us. I sledded down the front yard on snowy days, right into the fence down the hill, the front porch where I made tents over the wrought iron furniture on rainy days, so I could sit outside to listen to the rain, the tree on the side of the house, where I had a tree house, the fence across the driveway, where I fed our mules, Jack and Jill, fresh shucked corn, the garden behind the garage, where I hoed the corn patch one year and cut down all the green beans.
There are many happy memories...
