Big House Little Girl

The house I grew up in was a 2 story shotgun house on a deadend street. It might look a bit scary to some people passing by. But then again not people would have reason to come to the end of Pine Street unless they were lost. Even the mailman didn't come down our road, our box was at the end of the street. Next to the house was the railroad tracks on a 6 foot raised embankment. Tall weeds had covered the banks, but we had trampled some down to get across. The other side of the railroad tracks was the continuation of the street and it led on into town.through a quiet little neighbor. The house itself was built somewhere in the early 1900s. They must have liked 12 foot ceilings back then, because that is what this house had. There were transoms over the internal doorways. I bet you don't even know what a transom is, do you? it is like a glass window. Most of them open out to let air circulate. The house was covered in white clapboard siding that was in need of a good paint job...which was funny because that is what my dad did for a living...he was a house painter. A very large tulip poplar tree took up most of the front yard. A homemade rope and board swing hung from it's lowest branch. I spent countless hours on that thing. On the south side of the house was a large fenced flower garden. My mother's pride and joy. She could have made rocks grow probably, she had that knack. She had old fashioned flowers like sweet peas, four-o'clocks, bleeding hearts alongside irises, peonies, tulips, roses, asters, and many more. If you could buy the seed from Henry Fields catalog, she had it. My favorite was the lilac bush. The fragrance remains in my memory yet today. On the north side of the house were three plum trees. The tart red ones that dripped luscious juice down your arm when you bit into one. Way in the back by the chicken coop and garden was my favorite thing in the whole wide world, black raspberry briars. During the warm summer months, when I awoke and came downstairs I would find a fresh smapling of fruit, picked that very morning. Yellow cherries, probably Rainier, black raspberries, sweet strawberries or fresh plums would be waiting on the table in a small bowl or cup, still warm from the sunshine that had dried the dew off the grass. Now you see why all my happy memories are tied around food. While you are savoring the thought of freshly picked fruit, close your eyes and smell the lilacs and listen to robins and bluejays fussing on the branches outside the kitchen window. Check back tomorrow and we'll tour my favorite play places around the old 2 story house on Pine Street.d

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This is not really Hello, as much as I have been away on vacation and now I am back. My other site got hacked, which is a real bummer--is that…

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