My Grandfather

Long Ago and far away, in a land called childhood, this was a special time of year. Not because I was going back to school, which I hated. But because we spent so much time at my Grandfather's farm. One of my earliest memories of him is feeding the chickens. I think I was only a little taller than the chickens, and there were a lot of them. They would peck at the feed in my little pail, I tried gamely to scatter it, but I was soooo scared! But my grandfather would urge me on and soon I learned not to be scared. Then we would gather eggs....which was always mysterious to me. Exactly how did that chicken make that egg. I had an idea and I wasn't about to eat any of those. But at this time of year, there were apples, bushels and bushels of them to be picked in the orchard, remnants of it remain. The smell of coal smoke , will always remind me of picking apples. The big treat was to wander up to the edge of the woods and pick hickory nuts, the fragrance of their husks lingered on my hands and I loved it. I recall their mellow flavor and how very hard it was to free the nutmeats from the shell. That mammoth sprawling tree is long gone. I would bring home the husks in my pockets,their fragrance quickly faded.