5 Feb 2009

When all was right with the world

It’s another cold day today; snowfall last night in my area was mild compared to other areas of England. At the moment there is a warm air current that is melting the snow off the trees and roofs and I can hear the dripping sounds of water running off my roof. It’s a peaceful sound, reminding me of long ago days when I spent nights at the home of my great-grandmother, listening to rain falling off her galvanised roof on a cold morning – waking up to the pleasant aroma of home-grown, home-roasted coffee.

I spent many an idle hour at her home as a child (a lot under 10 years old) watching water droplets fall into her drains, seeing them splash and bounce and fall again into the drain.

I remember my great-grandfather chopping firewood with his axe, splitting first logs then the smaller pieces till they were thin enough and short enough to fit into the chulha. Stoves weren’t as common as they are now. He also planted a small kitchen garden were he grew corn, and peas, bodi, and other things. I remember the fun of walking through the corn rows, feeling out the ears of corn and looking for the ears that were mature enough to boil or roast.

I also remember the countless chickens running around in the yard, until it was time to feed them and seeing them running coming for the rice grains or cracked corn thrown out for them. Usually used as a ploy to get them to come also when the  demise of one was imminent. (^_^)

My great-grandparents also had one of the biggest pomerac trees you ever saw, with some of the biggest, reddest (so red they were almost black) fruit you ever saw, and the red flowers formed a thick carpet under the tree just before the fruits began to bud. I learnt to climb trees on that one, hauling myself up the smooth truck where there were no branches, then climbing up to the top where the wind was in your face and swaying the branches.

pomerac

The old chaitaigne tree (not chestnuts) with the laglee dripping from the bark, a source of sticky bait for the young boys in the village to catch wild birds…

The trees are gone as is my great-grandparents home and indeed as they are. The memories are there though, and for some reason, the water dripping off my roof this morning took me back to those days when all was right in the world.

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