When I Was a Little Girl....

When I was a little girl, a very little girl, the mention of going to Uncle David and Aunt Hilda's house made me so very happy. It was so different there, from where I lived and it was so much more fun. To throw things for Lassie to chase, to go on King or Dolly for a little ride, to poke about among the dust and cobwebs of the barn, to lick the cows salt block, even though we were told not to, such are the things that delight the heart of the child that I was then. In my mind I can hear the sound of the steel door mat, clinking on the cement steps just before you walked into the shadowy, gloom of the entry. There is no clear river of memories that flow through my mind, just snapshots of moments in time. The kitchen table sat under the big windows on the right as you entered from the porch and at the furthest end of it was a china cabinet, one of those old cabinets that had the dark, almost tiger striping of wood grain, and the glass on the front was bowed I think. I don't remember the china within, but it was the place where Uncle David always took his little Borax 20 Mule Team and Wagon from. I remember him putting them out on the table in front of us and we could play gently with them but only for a few minutes. Then he would put them away til next time.

What else do I remember? I remember the cows coming in a line from the fields, time for milking and they knew like they had little Timex's hidden somewhere that no one had ever noticed. In through the door and each stepped into her place. The sound of peaceful cows, munching and shuffling their feet was a gentle music to the soul. Through the cracks in the old barn, the sunlight peeked in and the dust floated like the finest glitter. I remember that one or two cows always had their tails tied up to a string that hung from the rafters over their stall. Ladies that found it a little presumptuous that anyone would manhandle them in such a familiar way, determined to protest with a good smack to the ear when it was least expected. But the tail string solved that problem. And I remember the one cow who didn't need a string. Her name was Stinky, who knows why now, but she had no tail and I remember Aunt Hilda telling me that one winter it had been frozen right off about half way down.

And I remember that as Aunt Hilda or Uncle David pulled up a stool, shiny bucket between their knees, often the barn cats would line up like a little chorus line, waiting, anticipating their moment. A warm, white jet of milk might suddenly come their way. A little messy perhaps, but a good reason later on to indulge themselves in the endless ritual of cleaning that cats are inclined to do and for the moment, a wonderful treat. How much milk actually wound up inside a cat is highly debatable, but the possibility of coming away with only a dirty face didn't seem to stop them from putting in an appearance.

The time with Uncle David was the best times of those years in my life. And while Uncle David held my heart in his big hands, Aunt Hilda was there supporting his hands. These are things that I remember when I was a little girl.