This past weekend, not only did I accompany Trevor to his gymnastics meet at West Point (where he did well enough to qualify for finals in pommel the next day) but I also got to spend time visiting with my brother – Larry, his wife – Sue and their son – Chris. I also got to check in on my folks who have moved to Connecticut from Virginia.
Pommel and the Army. This says it all.
It was a great visit with lots of reminiscing about “the good old days” (and can I just say that it starts to get a little scary when the “good old days” are *your* childhood.) As we were getting ready to leave, Larry gave me a box of photos that he had rescued from my parent’s house during the move. He knew that Marc is interested in genealogy and he also knew that Marc would diligently scan every photo and put them in a share box for the rest of the family to enjoy.
The folks – looking good in Connecticut.
I spent a few hours yesterday going through those little gems.
As a writer and storyteller, I have been telling my kids stories of my youth their entire lives. The problem is that some of these stories sound so fantastical that my kids only sort of believed them (sure, you were a goalie on the neighborhood ice hockey team, wink, wink.)
What I found in that box, was photographic evidence of my stories. One photo had captured the long driveway that we had to shovel every time it snowed (and it seemed to snow a lot more in my youth than it does today.) I mention the length of that driveway to my kids every time they complain about shoveling our miniscule driveway which is not really a driveway but rather a pull-off from the road.
“You should have seen the driveway we had to shovel,” I’ll say as I push my groaning kids out the door. “You should consider yourselves lucky.”
The photographic memories went on and on. Here’s the cat I brought home, here’s the first color TV that we got. “Look!” I squealed, “Here’s the lamp post at the end of the driveway.”
In the next few weeks, I’ll be bringing out some of these stories and sharing them on this blog but for now, take a look at this photo of my Grandfather who is in a pensive stance worthy of the greatest novelist.
If you look over on the left side, you’ll see that not only is he deep in thought, but he’s also seems to be sharing his life reflections with a chicken.
Early lessons learned from the flock
Apparently this whole lessons-learned-from-chickens thing is in my blood.
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Wendy Thomas writes about the lessons learned while raising children and chickens in New Hampshire. Contact her at [email protected]
