Summertime
in the Country

 

By Jeanne Moseley

 

My mother’s family lived back off a dirt road just outside DeWitt, Arkansas. None of the residents had much of anything, but the one thing they did have was the perfect place to spend a summer afternoon.

                                                                                                                            

Lunch was served early but was meant to be enjoyed throughout the day.  I remember a table full of freshly cooked vegetables, baked breads and homemade pies. My aunts would cover it with a red gingham tablecloth.  Often during the day, we’d return to grandmother’s kitchen for a bite or two. 

 

With little else to bring relief from the hot summer afternoon, my cousins and I created our own form of air conditioning.  On my grandparents’ back porch was a shallow well. With a speckled old metal ladle, we’d scoop our share of cool water and slowly let it drip from our shoulders, then down our front and back.  Sometimes we’d fan each other with one of grandmother’s kitchen towels.

 

Whether or not we cooled off, I don’t remember.  I do, however, recall having fun in the process.  We didn’t worry much about ruining our clothes because boys and girls alike, none of us wore shirts or tops.  At such tender young ages, we basically all looked the same.

 

The women relaxed on the front porch, and it was here where my mother and her sisters would swap places among a collection of mix-matched chairs and an old porch swing.  Their mother was always right in the middle of this merriment, and it was one of the few times I ever saw any of them take it easy.

 

The men gathered on the front lawn amidst a sea of card tables.  Uncle Sock provided cigars, and they’d linger in the shade all day playing card games.  They’d yell out a few words, now and then, that children weren’t supposed to hear, and so we pretended we didn’t.

 

My cousins, sister and I participated in a variety of activities including “Hide and Seek,” “Red Rover” and plain old “Chase.”  There was never a better audience for our antics than my grandparents, who were solidly convinced they had a talented bunch of great singers and dancers in the family.

 

All this commotion would eventually take its toll and we’d collapse on my grandmother’s quilts that had been laid under the shade trees for us. We’d giggle at each other until, one by one, we’d drift off into a blissful afternoon nap.

 

Cigars never smelled so good and my mother’s laughter never rang so sweetly as it did those summer afternoons in the country.

 

For a family who didn’t have much, we seemed to have it all.

 

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Mother was the youngest of 8 children, so when the Hornbecks gathered, there were plenty of aunts and uncles, not to mention cousins.  With such a large family and because we lived so far away, I never developed a close relationship with either of my mother's parents, and yet I remember them fondly, especially Grandmother Hornbeck and her loving hospitality on summer afternoons.

Copyright ©2001 Jeanne Moseley