Mixsonian Rosalieand Wilbur


Looking down hill at Papa cutting wood--seeing the ax hit the log but not hearing the sound ‘til later. Going after the calves for Papa on a frosty morning, so he could milk old Daisy. Making a hole in the tall sandspurs with my big toe, so I could walk being bare-footed and frost on the grass.

Making soap, smoking meat, watching the fire so it wouldn’t be too hot and spoil the meat. Watching the meat turn brown. Getting crackers and cheese at the store to eat coming back from the mill, having the corn ground into meal and grits. Coming back late at night--the stars bright and fire-flys flying about.

In the early spring, cutting bushes, putting out stable fertilizer on the land for string beans, our money crop--planting corn and peanuts too. How everyone loved to go fishing and cook over a wood fire at the pond--the fish, grits, and coffee made from pond water tasted so good. We nearly allways camped at “Old Field” pond every Thanksgiving, after the boys got large enough. We would borrow the tent from Maxie. After putting up the tent, Adrian and his Dad would go hunting for squirrels, while the little boys and I fished. I think they enjoyed camping. When Arnold was almost ready to leave for the Navy, he wanted us to have a fish fry and we did. Morris and Adrian were already in the service. How I missed those boys. My heart stood still I think until they were all home again. But never were they ever home again to stay.

Once looking out the window on a windy spring day, I saw a father and mother quail and a dozen baby quail no larger than your thumb going across the lot. The father going ahead looking for danger, then the mother, next the little ones. They were chirping in a low quail talk that was hardly heard. It was a beautiful sight.