Screen doors and front porches

Little skinny girl with baby fine hair running amok through the house, usually chasing or being chased by my little brother. We plow through the screen door and the sound of the wood banging shut against wood, and bouncing back for a repeat, and the metal door latch clangs and swings. I so love the sound of a wooden screen door banging shut. I love the little grove the latch makes over time as it swings with the movements of company and family in, company and family out. I like peering out through the screen door at the seasons changing. At who is coming up the lane. At the sheets and towels gently swaying in the breeze on the clothesline. At daddy coming home from work, swinging his lunch box in one hand~and I knew there was going to be a candy bar for me and my brother to call dibs on. And some warm mornings would find me in a chair positioned in front of the screen door as momma french braided my hair so I could leave for school. And I watched the sun rise over the hills and complained about the braids most of the time. So now I am a homeowner and I chose to have a wooden screen door (or two) custom made for my little cottage of a home. I still cherish the same sounds and feelings evoked by the banging of the screen door. And then I sit on the front porch in my rocking chair enveloped by the evening air. Usually with a book. Or maybe some crocheting. Maybe just solitude watching the kids play on the lawn, or riding their bicycles up and down the lane. I take my childhood with me and I bask in the tranquil sounds and sights that made growing up in a small country town priceless and one of my greatest treasures. And I can call them up whenever I want. I just bang the screen door and sit in the rocker on the front porch for good measure.

G'ma Emily

This is the time of year for growing, renewing, and enjoying. Out in my front yard is a mound that seperates my yard from the neighbors. It is profuse with quakies whose leaves shimmer in the slightest of breezes. Roses and English Yew grow in a meandering fashion throughout. The earth around is piled thickly with bark that smells just like the Kaibab once a long time ago. I love sitting on the grass and watching everything grow and change and makes any time spent there relaxing and joyful. A yard takes a lot of work. A lot of watering. A lot of tlc. And money here and there. So we enjoy what we have helped to create. I always think of my g'ma Emily. She was a petite, proper, white haired g'ma. I adore her. I admire her. For many reasons. She reminded us, often, on no uncertain terms, that we were not to "cut across" someone's yard. We were to go around, preferably on the path. She would say, "Whether your name be James or John, the path was made to walk upon." That also went for her yard. That also goes for my yard......