If I Told You My Story....Part 1

If I told you my story I would begin with a little blonde headed girl growing up in the sticks of Kentucky. My life was filled with fishing on the banks of the pond with my dad, night fishing off the dam and listening to the water lap the boat. I would tell you of learning to mow the yard (poorly) on a tractor instead of a lawn mower. I would describe cutting up old shirt and tying them to bamboo poles to create something for our rows and rows of beans of vine up.

I would describe hot summer days sitting on the porch with cornbread pans balanced precariously on my lap, fresh green beans in one half and the stringy remnants of them on the other. Big green Tupperware bowls sitting on a table in the middle of me, mom, my dad, and sometimes a random friend that got strung along for the job. I would try and describe the sound of my mom rinsing the beans in the sink over and over again in the sink and the familiar whistle of the canners as they sat on the stove. I would steer clear of the kitchen just in case they exploded on us just like that old lady that lived down the street when my mom was young. Falling asleep to the sound of the lids popping as the seals set filled those summer nights.

I could tell you of the squeak that the back door makes that always alerted me to the fact that we had a visitor on those summer morning when I struggled to wake up. Sometimes it was an uncle or my grandpa. Sometimes it was the old man down the road who visited the bread factory every morning and drove around delivering apple pies, honey buns, and other yummy sweets to all his neighbors in Swiss Colony. I loved waking up to the sound of voices in kitchen and I would go downstairs to find my mom serving coffee and offering to cook a meal for whoever else was sitting at the table.

I would remind you that while my childhood wasn't always problem free, it was about as good as it could get. My parents taught me the value of hard work. We spent hours in the garden, weeding and hoeing and pruning. My favorite part was when my dad would dig for potatoes. No matter how old I got I still loved to watch him turn over the dirt and I would yell "there's one!" each time a yellow, round vegetable would tumble over the shovel. It was a country girls version of hide and seek. I would walk with salt shaker in hand down to the garden when the first tomato reddened on the vine. I didn't worry about fertilizer or insects as I sat eating one after another, juice running down my face.  I would eat grapes off the random grape vine growing in the middle of the yard until my belly ached.

If I could tell you my story, I would tell you that this is just the beginning...