I love the mountains....especially the North Georgia mountains. I think I know why....not only are they serene and majestic, they bring such an inner peace because of the warm memories I have of them. I grew up mostly in those mountains........staying many weeks of each summer with grandparents and cousins. And an occasional weekend during school term.
In the summertime, my cousins and I found much to entertain. From playing in the hayloft, to swimming in the icy cold creek where within 10 minutes our white skin would turn into a soft blue from the cold. We played make believe, paper dolls, and when really bored, and when Aunt Polly would allow it, we rode Old Bob, the plow horse. I thought that was the highlight of the summer!
Of course, we did CHORES. Our primary daily task was to carry a bucket of water to my Granny's house. My aunt had the spring finally piped into her house, thus running water. My Granny did not, so she had to have fresh water each day and we accommodated that need. My cousin and I would share the load, stopping at the half way marker. The marker was the Big Rock where we proceeded to swap the pail from one set of hands to the other. I never realized that half way was really not half way and I seemed to carry the pail longer, and I remember how steep that uphill was. My cousin was two years older and wiser than me and she probably had this figured out precisely when we should hand off the pail of water! No worries though, Granny appreciated the help and we were pleased to share in her happiness.
Rainy days were the best, almost. We would plant ourselves on granny's front porch in those metal back chairs; remember those? Granny was kind; she gave us B
ologna sandwiches and orange K
ool-aid to eat right there on the porch so we could continue watching the rain. The only obstacle to our rain-gazing was when the thunder and lightning drove us indoors.
There were those summer days when Granny would send us out to pick tomatoes from her garden. We were always allowed to partake of the succulent red, ripe tomatoes straight from the vine! Of course one of us had to make a run into the house for the salt shaker. There was nothing better tasting than those bright, ripe red tomatoes. To this day I can still taste them popping in my mouth.
Summer days in the mountains meant we shed our shoes and went barefoot, and always invariably would stub our toes. Why was it that the BIG toe always got stubbed? My how that hurt especially when you stubbed the same toe over and over again.............
One of the best memories of the mountains was when the Fair came to town. We would spend all summer saving our nickels and dimes to take to the North Georgia Fair. We would wait for weeks for the Fair to get closer to our town. The excitement was
unbelievable. On the day of the Fair, my cousins and I would ride in the back of my aunt's truck which had tall wooden slants. The ride to the Fair was exhilirating; our hair would blow wildly from the wind and we didn't mind the slight chill to the air. In those days, there weren't so many rules governing riding in the back of a pick up truck so we felt very safe! That ride was the prelude to the fun we anticipated to have at the Fair. And fun we did have. Whirling, lifting, spinning on the rides, playing games, winning those little prizes that we treasured so much. And for days afterwards, we would pull out those adored prizes and ooh and
ahh over them as if they were the Hope Diamond.
Summer was simple in those days and filled with simple fun; lighthearted and carefree. A true break from problems at home or school or troubles in the world. How I long for those days again. I suppose we all do, yes?
