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that granddaddy always kept there. The door itself was painted or white-washed white. It had no knob or handle but a wooden latch or slide bar.
I could go on and on with the details of the house and its contents, but my story would take up too much space. I chose some of these memories to give some insight into the clearness of a child’s mind. The family difficulties mentioned earlier were resolved and my brother and I went back to our parent’s home. We weren’t with grandma everyday then, but visited mostly on weekends.
I then remember grandma being sick. I didn’t know what it was, but I remember she’d be in bed at times. Sometimes she couldn’t eat or drink. Now, I know it was cancer. She’d had surgery a year or two before, and had she not gone back to working so soon it might not have re-occurred.
She was lifting five gallon buckets of water up from the damned up stream to help granddaddy fill the 400 gallon tank on the sprayer, when she felt something “pull loose”.
Granddaddy wasn’t well either as he’d had a stroke a while back and was diabetic too. He still did what he could. I know that he’d hired Carl Partlow to assist on the farm. I often think how much granddaddy grieved after grandma’s death. For he died only five months later, in April 1960. He was just fifty-seven years old.
Daddy was getting back on his feet too from having his hip broken. I remember him driving with his good leg, the old blue and white ‘54 twodoor Ford car when we went up to our grandparents. One day Mama had baked a twolayer coconut cake to give to grandma.
Mama also used to walk
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