Rain fell onto the tin roof, in a house nestled in a holler far from anyone and anything. The long front porch needed paint as did the rest of the place, but painting wasn’t considered to necessary as it didn’t provide a service. There were two rusted out broken and stripped of parts trucks in the side yard. One still sitting below an old oak tree with a rope tied around a sturdy branch. That’s where the engine was pulled out some twenty years ago, I suppose. The other truck had turned into a flowerbox of sorts, not by choice mind you, but mother nature saw fit to put some wildflowers there and different kinds of vines and such. Momma said it was beautiful and peaceful so it will sit there at least until she passes on but probably a lot longer.
Back in the early years of my life, my folks would take the eight-hour drive to go visit Granma and papa, arriving in time for breakfast which grams made from scratch. Eggs from her chickens, milk from her cow. Bacon from a butchered pig and grits with lots of butter. There were several different homemade jams and always a big bowl of fresh fruits. With full bellies, we would walk around their property, which took a couple of hours to see. The old tobacco barn still stood, but a good storm would probably see the last of it in pieces. There were a few other sheds that once were filled with farming equipment, but they were all sold at the auction a few years back.
The land grew back what nature had put there after decades of farming, all that remained were a few old run-down buildings that are mostly hidden with growth of all kinds and memories of sweat filled days and star filled nights. The old dirt road that once took moonshiners to their destinations was all grown over with one unlucky truck sitting at the bottom of a hill and left there to rust and be forgotten. So much history in these hills. I never grow tired of coming here and walking among the spirits who called it home and listening to the story’s grandpa shared on the front porch with an ice-cold sweet tea and family.
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