Roots in Boots

I have shared small memories from my childhood before because as much as I want this to be a journal of the kids as they grow, I think it is important for them to know where they come from.

When I was a kid, I used to take weekend trips with my Dad. We lived in the city, but on these weekend trips, I would spend the days with my Grandma on the Farm. The days were long then. I would wake to the smell of scrambled eggs and ham. Then, we would head out to pick eggs, feed the chickens, and dabble in the garden. After lunch, we would usually bake chocolate chip cookies, and spend a couple of hours swinging on the front porch watching the cars pass on the highway.

This is a picture of the swing we sat on. It is smaller than I remember, most of the paint has gone, and the rose bushes that used to bloom below are no longer. Still, the view nor the quiet stillness of the air has changed.

Behind the house, these small buildings were where the chicks were kept, and beyond, the chickens. One of my favorite things to do was to unlock the chicken house, sneak quietly inside, and pick eggs. I remember my Grandma always warning me to check for snakes before sticking my hands in the dark boxes. Thinking back, I was never scared.


This is a picture of the garden that sat to the left of the house. My Grandparents grew everything from tomatos, to cauliflower, to cucumbers, and squash. Even though the gate now leads to a plot of grass, I still remember the garden at its fullest, and how one weekend covered in Calomine lotion quickly taught me never to pick the vegetables without a tall pair of rubber boots and my Grandma's gloves.

Finally, around back of the garage is where we spent many hours cleaning the eggs, making sausage, and cleaning the vegetables from the garden. As a bonus, my grandparents had two deep freezers against the back wall of this garage that always had ice cream pies. They were my favorite, and the perfect summer treat!

While this is what I remember, the memories for my kids will not be all that different. Instead of a weekend a month, we will try to visit once a year. Instead of a porch swing and view of the highway, my daughter and I sit on the gator with a view of the ranch.

We have cows...

and drive tractors...

we fly kites...

and have fun slumber parties in big quilted beds.

We continue to share memories with fond loved ones, are making memories with a new generation, and may just be making a Texan out of one Baltimore Boy.