Simple Times

The years fly by and you become nostalgic. You wish times were simple again, and your life not so complex. You withdraw to your inner mind, to find the peace you so badly need. You remember your childhood, and growing up. You fondly remember your grand parents, spoiling you with love, (and sugar) and teaching you new things. New to you, but passed to them from their grandparents with care and love.

Passed from old to new, new to old. The cycle of life, and how we learn, never really changes that much, just the form. I remember one grandfather teaching me how to milk the cows, feed the hogs, collect eggs, and use the heck out of that man or beast salve in a yellow can from Watkins. Grandpa used that stuff for everything on the farm, from cuts to greasing a gear. The stuff stunk like sulfur, but worked great. Grandma loved to make cakes and popcorn for me. And that home made cake icing just could not be beat.

My other grandpa taught me how to shoot, and fish. How to build a box trap for rabbits, set a snare, and how to hunt rabbits with only a stick in the winter. Grandma used to make the best oatmeal cookies, with raisins and walnuts. God, those were good with real cow butter on them, and cold milk. She kept them in a granite pot, with a tight lid, and a slice of apple to keep them soft. On a cold wet rainy day i would skip school and sneak in the house and butter a few, grab a glass of milk, and go hide in my cabin out back. I would curl up with a comic book and a old blanket, and dream. She loved to cook on that old cobs, and coal stove. She had gas, but to cook in the winter you could not only cook your meal, you could keep your house warm, and save money too. Folks were a lot more thrifty then, not like today's throw away style of living.

Time was simple then. On summer vacation, I would climb grandpa's apple tree to the top. I had a old burlap sack my dad gave to me, nailed, between two branches like a hammock. Can you just imagine how that felt, on a warm summer afternoon in the top of that tree. Your eyes closed, swaying with every cooling breeze. It was like you were adrift in the clouds, and one with the universe. Sounds corny don't it. I used to tramp the old munchkin drainage ditch line through town. Hunting and fishing in that old ditch seems kind of silly now, but not then. My fondest memory's of some of my friends, are in that ditch line. Patty, Benny, Ginger, Rusty, my good friends, how I miss you.

Patty, a cocker spaniel, loved to run with me but would always stop at the fence line and stay on top of the bank. Benny, a mix of lab and Heinz 57, was a short slick black haired dog, game for anything, and would chase muskrats all day if I let him. Ginger, a beagle, was a dog you could hunt rabbits with, without a gun. Just listen for her last yelp, and you would find a rabbit. Rusty, a Shepard, was always on the lookout for something to chase, dig out, or fetch what I shot. I remember one time we were trying to get this groundhog, and he looked so funny with his butt sticking straight up in the air ninety degrees, tail swinging in circles, and half way in the hole on the top bank.

As much as we would like to have simpler times, unfortunately, it is not possible now days. The closest we can come to that now, is to unplug, turn down, and just sit still for a few minutes.

No, wait, If we do that we might miss something. Too late, I am in my memory's, off in another world of my own, with my friends. Please take a note, I may be gone for some time. My friends, my friends want to play.