Friday, June 4, 2010

Down the Hill and Over It

What we didn’t have much on the farm, we made do with what we could find. Jump ropes were measured to fit and handles were woven by Dad. The weight of the rope worked better than any store-bought jump rope. We even had a long one for two to twirl so we could do ‘run through’ or one of our little jump rope jingles.

Dad made birdhouses for birds. A swing seat for the swing in the barn. A few pieces of wood could become many things. I don’t think I ever realized how handy he was until I married a man who wasn’t quite so handy.

We were making sale when the old stilts appeared. It was just too much to pass up. June and I both had visions of the success we would have than the cold reality of age versus memory. The Loxley girls were at it again.

Rides in a wheelbarrow, playhouses in the stables and corncrib, swinging in the barn were part of farm living. We were lucky kids.

I wanted to show my granddaughter what Brenda and I used to do as kids.

“Now lay down on the grass like this,” I said lying at the top of the hill. “Let’s roll to the bottom.”
My grandma body didn’t seem to roll like it did back in my childhood.

“Let’s do it again, Grammy,” Sydney cried.

I stood up and couldn’t see for a few minutes. With battered bones I looked back up to the top of the hill where onlookers were getting a good laugh. Man, when did I get so old?!

The farm offered adventure, room to roam, places to swing and handmade items made just for us. I could not recapture a time, but I would hold on to the place.

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