The corn barrel. It has been on Grandmom's front porch for as long as I can remember. It was always a treat to be the one to throw the corn on the front walk. The feeling of reaching into the barrel and filling up the can was a powerful moment. And then we'd sit on the porch and/or steps and watch the deer and peacocks make their way to the feast.
We would hear Doesy-Doe's neck bell long before she made her appearance. Other deer would slowly emerge once Doesy-Doe made it evident they weren't in any danger. The peacocks would take the opportunity to strut for the peahens. The males would put on one heck of a show for us as well. Beautiful tail feathers that we were forbidden to try to pull!
I always stop at Grandmom's house on my way to the river. Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to the corn barrel. I have to open the lid even though I know the barrel is empty. Sitting on the front steps and listening to the ditch gurgle along its path brings back a rush of memories. I can close my eyes and hear the rustle of tail feathers and Doesy-Doe's bell jingling as she makes her way to the yard. It is a good memory. And the corn barrel serves as a constant reminder that I am fortunate to have such fond memories of years gone by. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment