The voice of my Memaw softly waking me up to help with breakfast.
The crackle of bacon then eggs sizzling in the skillet.
The screech of the oven door creaking as my Memaw put a pan of biscuits in.
The plodding of my brother's little feet coming into the kitchen as he'd rub his eyes and say "Mmmmm. . .biscuits!".
The egg song coming from the chicken house.
The "tarump, tarump, tarump" sound of the rice canal pumps being started in the spring.
The squeaking of a disc set cutting fallow ground in the field.
The groaning and creaking of plows making rows.
The acrid smell of an arc from having to hot wire the old tractor. And yes, I was ten then.
The odor of burnt oakum wadding after firing the shotgun while dove hunting.
The song of a Rain crow announcing the start of a monsoon season.
The chatter of squirrels scolding each other.
The sound of a big gator bellowing down in the bottoms.
The lonely song of a whippoorwill on a cool night.
The rumble of a freight train in the distance.
The sweetness of honeysuckle wofting in on a cool summer nights breeze.
It may have been tough growing up, but it was much simpler time. I miss being a kid.
Three days slow... that's the problem... three days slow.
YB Normal?
Three days slow... that's the problem... three days slow.
YB Normal?
