And The Wind Does Blow

Actually, it blew last night, but my Nexus would not let me post this:

I love the sound. The wind blew quite a lot in Colorado, when I was a child there. It’s a very comforting sound to me. We used to visit my great-uncle up in the mountains. He lived in a cabin in the woods and kept wolves. He was actually from Maine, originally, and had been and still was a trapper, I think. I remember animal skins pegged to the outside walls. There were tall pines all around, and the wind sounded like a train coming through. The smell of the pines was wonderful, too. And wood smoke. There was a river quite a distance from the cabin, and I would go there with my mom to pick watercress. Fond memories.

It was the cottonwoods that made the soothing rustling sound around our house. I remember long evenings at my grandparent’s house, sitting on the porch swing and just listening. I lived with them, right across the alley from my parent’s house, til I started school. There was huge old cottonwood in their front yard, and I could walk around it, feet and hands clinging to the rough bark, never touching the ground. My cousin Glenda, who lived with them, too, and I would rake the leaves into ‘rooms’ in the autumn to play house in. Hearing the wind blow always brings those days back to mind.

I miss, that, sometimes. My grandfather killing a chicken for tomorrow night’s chicken and dumplings, my mom and my gramma baking bread and making apple butter. Fresh-from-the-oven bread, with butter and hot apple butter from the pot it was cooking in. God, I grew up in the Walton’s. We even had a little store us kids would walk to. Once a month, my gramma would send me down to pay the store bill, and the man would let me pick a small bagful of penny candy. When I started school, I would stop in every cash-rich morning and buy two peanut butter cups for a nickle. Still my favorite candy.

Reminiscingarticle-0-154A6CE5000005DC-143_634x864. It’s a good thing.

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