I’ve said it before but I must say it again, memories are
funny things. When the good ones come to
mind, triggered by a sound, a smell or a tangible object, it’s like taking a
mini vacation. Transported back in time
to a place that warms your heart, makes you smile and laugh to yourself. No one else can really travel there with you
but oh how I love to share the story as it appears in my mind! I love to share those moments with my kids in
hopes that one day, when something triggers a memory for them, they will think
about me and the stories I told them.
Still to this day I think the reason the hot dogs at Bunyans and Dick
Howell’s (fine bbq joints in Florence Alabama!) are so flat is because my
grandfather use to tell me that there were large women in the kitchen who sat
on them before they wrapped them in paper and handed them out. Truth is, they probably use a griddle but
that’s not the story papaw told me, and I like my memory better (as long as I
don’t think to hard about someone’s back side sitting on my hot dog).
We have been at the lake for almost 2 weeks. Monday we had “gone into town” (that’s what
you say if you are going from Langston to the big metropolis of Scottsboro) and
on our way back I spotted an older man and woman on the side of the road. As we got closer I realized they were picking
blackberries. I almost couldn’t contain
my excitement as I pointed it out to Abbie and Michael. They however, were not nearly as interested
as I was. But that was because it wasn’t
just a man and a woman I saw. In that
split second I saw my mom, my Aunt Judy and 4 little grungy looking kids –
picking blackberries. Mom and Judy use to
load us up and take us to pick blackberries.
Now I’m not talking about a play date to a blackberry farm, nope, I’m
talking cow pastures, side of dirt roads and WAY off the beaten path kind of
places. And did I mention it was always
at least 120 degrees in those places?
And LOTS of briars? We hated
it. All four of us kids. But still they took us with them. And then we would return home with our black
gold, having eaten almost as many as we picked and sporting a nice sweat ring
under our necks. I know what your
thinking- that doesn’t sound too much like a “good” memory, more like a
torturous one! But that’s the thing I’ve
learned about memories- as most of them are being created I’m not thinking to
much about how “one day I’m going to look back on this with fond memories.” Except for last night. After dinner Abbie asked me to go on a walk
with her. Honestly, I really didn’t want
to. We had just eaten dinner and cleaned
the kitchen and I had just plopped myself down on the couch. And I’m at the lake, everyone knows you don’t
exercise at the lake! But then it hit me, these are the little things that
memories are made of, so I put on my socks and shoes and started out the
door. Before we headed out, I decided to
grab a plastic bag in case we saw any blackberries. Abbie didn’t seem as thrilled about the
prospect as me. So we walked, and about
a half a block away from the house I spotted the first gold mine. And like a beautiful bush loaded with berries
will do, it drew us in, briars and all.
I watched Abbie as we got deeper into the brush and when I heard her
say, “wait, just let me get these few more”, it was at that moment that I heard
my own voice and that of my sister and cousins, in some cow pasture miles and
years from where I was standing and it was good. Not torturous but a memory that made me smile
and laugh to myself, and some 40 years later I start a memory with my own
daughter, 120 degree heat, briars and sweat, but even more beautiful than the 40
year old ones in my head. I’m glad I didn’t
say no to the “exercise”.
