Monday, April 7, 2014
Most people have the memory of Waking up on Easter morning to find a big Easter basket filled with chocolate, peeps, and heavenly hash eggs. I on the other hand have memories that I will never get to relive with the people I love and miss. I remember piling up with my cousins in my grandpa's truck , riding thru the cane field to where his childhood farm( house) once was, and stopping along the way to cut chadrons or thistles . I can still smell the red dirt, the smell of wild flowers, and see the purple martins flying in the sky. Sometimes we would stop to pick buckets full of blackberries and then dump them in a number 2 tub. Our Easter clothes would now be the color of red dirt, and later they would be the color of blackberries.
The Easter fun continued at home as we would clean the chadrons or thistles so we could make a salad with vinegar, salt, and pepper. The blackberries were cleaned with water , some mashed and others kept whole. Mom and grandma would then later make blackberry dumplings.
I wish I could be that little girl again. The little girl with the red-dirt-stained dress eager to find a giant bush of blackberries. I wish I could relive the moment of riding in the truck with grandpa. The memory of him still lingers in my mind. I can still see him wearing his flannel shirt, the window rolled down, and his arm resting on the door of the truck. I don't know who was more excited, grandpa or us? How wonderful life was on Easter Sunday so long ago.