Sweet Memories
When I was a child, living in Montgomery, Alabama, we had a tiny porch on our house, but it holds no memories. The one I remember, with fondness, stretched across the front of Granny B.’s house. Sadly, I have no pictures of her porch, but the one in this article comes closest to how I remember hers.
There was a path from our home to Granny’s and we blazed over it many times each day because we knew she would always have something delicious to eat and whatever the treat might be, she never cooked or baked it. It was store bought!
On pretty days, while we played Red Rover, Dodge B all or Hide and Seek, Granny sat on a metal chair with a fan-shaped back, keeping an eye on us. After we played hard and needed to cool down, she provided the treat we seldom got at home…ice cold Coca Cola in the original small bottles and maybe cookies from the little store at the end of her street.
A Roomer Becomes a Friend
Granny lived with her son, who reveled in providing anything she needed, except time to sit and talk. Just before we moved to our country house, Uncle brought a man he worked with to check out the spare room. They agreed on the price and rules of the house and soon, J. moved in. Over the years he lived with them, he provided company on the front porch or took Granny and us kids to the drive-in movies.
Once at the movies, he insisted we must be hungry, although we always ate supper before going. Slipping from the car, he returned with enough junk food to satisfy any child’s appetite.
The Jewelry Box
Spending the night at Granny’s, she filled the hours with stories of her childhood, marriage, and the passing of her husband. Invariably, she opened her big jewelry box of costume necklaces, rings, and bracelets. We looked through every piece until she found ‘just the thing’ for a girl my age. Granny had quite a bit of jewelry for my age of seven or my cousin, Sheila, who sometimes joined us for the overnight party. One of the last pieces from that glorious box was a clear, glass ring shaped in a triangle and resting in a 10-carat gold setting. I still have it today.
Burned It a Little Too Much
Granny cooked very little, but gamely tried when brother and I visited. I remember one evening, with the smell of burned food in the air, Granny announced, “I browned those a little too much!” The sad pan of charred chicken filled the house with smoke. With no fans to remove it, we adjourned to the front porch with banana sandwiches and milk from the dairy truck that came by three times a week. Mama got milk from the store and I am certain it was no different from that on the truck, but it never tasted quite as good.
Before my eighth birthday, Daddy bought a small farm thirty miles away from Granny B. It should not have been a problem because Granny K. lived with us. Somehow, I never had the same closeness with her as I did Granny B. For a few brief years, I continued to visit and spend the night. We sat on that porch, talking about things she knew I enjoyed or we went blackberry picking down by the train tracks. Uncle loved to cook those berries into mystery pies, where he put the crust in first, and then the berries. Magically, the crust rose to the top of the pie.
Moving Away From the Porch
All too soon, boys moved into my life and Granny’s role lessened. No more spending the night, unless she spent it with us. No more front porch chats unless I took a few precious moments out of a busy life to spare for the woman who always had time for me.
Losing the Woman Who Made the Memories
One day Granny came up for Mama to give her a permanent. There was a huge sore on her forehead. It turned out to be cancer. She passed away soon afterward when it destroyed her brain. Before she died, she receded into childhood and for very short time it was I who played the games she wanted to play, talked about things she wanted to hear and held her when, as a ‘child’, she cried over something that went wrong that day.
There were other porches in my life, but Granny’s porch was the one a little girl cherished because of the beautiful woman who rocked in that metal fan-backed chair, laughing while keeping an eagle eye on her grandchildren.
You and my brother spent more time with granny than I did, but my memories of her, her home and life style are still very fresh. As a pre teen, I spent the night with her about once every three months. She and J were the most often seen. Uncle M was rarely seen and to this day, is still a mystery that I as a child mused about quietly. I understood he was a genius in his own right, an artist. The pieces of interest to him ( trinkets) must have some how rubbed off on me because I love the exotic, the different. I still believe he wanted a lavish lifestyle and may have had that, had things been acquirable. Granny was a petite but round bauble of a person. When we sat on mom and dad’s porch and talked of boys, she would giggle and point her toes, displaying her ankles…”I pulled up my skirt for a boy once. We were standing at a well and I showed him my ankle !” She would say. Then she would giggle mischievously, as though she had done something unspeakable.
Her innocence was like a refreshing piece of ice in a cold drink. Delightful…especially now.
She and John, Uncle Murphy’s friend and their boarder, made childhood magic when we saw them.