Looking Back
When the wind blows, it takes me back to my childhood in rural West Virginia.
Though I’m all grown up, I can still feel the peacefulness and see the pastoral beauty of my childhood home in West Virginia.
My parents, three older brothers and I lived in a huge old house on a ridge. Often I felt the wind on my face and in my hair. When it blew hard, I was sure that if I jumped, it would pick me up and fly me over the mountain. I could never seem to jump high enough, though.
A wooden table stood in the center of our kitchen. From my chair I watched Mom move from counter to sink. Our water came from a hand pump. To get it flowing, Mom pulled the handle up and pushed it down with all her might. No water since has tasted as good.
Occasionally I was permitted to sweep the yard. My grandchildren didn’t believe me when I told them I’d used a straw broom to clean the hard clay and stone. But it was fun and a challenge to keep the wind from blowing the dirt onto my brothers as they played.
Fern, a close friend of Mom’s, visited our mountaintop from time to time. She liked to walk over the pastures and would take me with her. One afternoon, an airplane flew close to us. I had not seen many planes, so this was exciting. We could see the pilot, and Fern took off her floppy hat and waved at him. He waved back.
At night the stars seemed close enough to touch. They covered our ridge like a blanket. It didn’t dawn on me to be afraid of the dark.
Being a young child, I’d have to get up at night to go to the outhouse. I would tiptoe into Mom’s bedroom to wake her. She was never cranky; she would simply put on her coat, bundle me up and walk with me. She let me hold her finger as we walked, counting the birds we heard and telling me their names. The owls often answered my shrill hoots.
My upstairs bedroom was cold on winter nights. Mom must have piled half a dozen quilts on top of me. The weight of them held me snugly. I’d breathe through a tiny opening and feel the cold air on my face while the rest of me was warm. I slept well.
I remember feeling safe in that house. Maybe that’s why I still love the mountains.