This is not a work of fiction. Instead, it is written by a seventy-two-year-old man based on memories of his childhood. As a result, some things may be off regarding time, size, and other details. All rights to these materials are reserved although readers may share them provided they are appropriately attributed to the author.

After my wife and I had our Thanksgiving dinner last evening I thought about how much things had changed since I was young. A time when the holidays meant for families to gather and have conversation, played together, maybe even enjoyed a football game on either the radio or on television. When political events were not the subject on conversation, or at least, were no reason to end friendships or enjoy time together. Yes, things have changed, but not always for the better.

The old white house was located about four miles from the nearest town, in the center of fields and farmland used primarily for cotton but not anything even close to Tara or the other plantations so romantically described in literature and movies. It was a four-room house with attached porches on both the front and the back. I know little about the old house other than it, at some point, may have been inhabited by the landowner. I say this because the outbuildings around the house included sheds for storing seed and for smoking meat, a large building for chickens, and a mid-sized barn.

The white house was in a big yard with several really large white oak trees along with a few cedar trees. There were flowers of all types, from the tall, multi-colored hollyhocks to small daffodils, some in beds and some just scattered through out the yard. There were peach trees between the house and the large vegetable garden which was shared by the family each summer. From my earliest memories until the late nineteen-sixties, the house was inhabited only by my grandmother.

While there was electrical service to the house, there was no running water and, as a result, no indoor plumbing facilities. Heat, in the winter, was provided by a single, wood burning stove located in the living room. I also remember cooking being done on a wood burning kitchen stove in my early years although that stove was replaced by an electric range sometime in my childhood. The house was of simple design. It was basically a square, or perhaps a rectangle, divided into four smaller squares, the rooms. Each room was connected to the two adjacent rooms and the two front rooms opened onto the front porch while the two backrooms opened to the back porch. Each exterior wall had two windows, one in each room on that side of the house.

The house sat atop several concrete peers thus offering an open space about eighteen inches high under the house. Like I said earlier, there was no running water in the house. Instead, there was a hand pump a few feet outside the back door and water was pumped and carried into the house in buckets. Similarly, wood for the stoves was carried in a few pieces at a time from wood stored on the front porch or from wood stacks a bit farther away.

My grandmother’s family would be considered large today but at that time was probably common. She had four daughters, one who died early in her life, and four sons. All of her children were born in Tennessee, but the family moved to Arkansas when my mother was young. I never knew the reason but suspect it was because they could find work there. On holidays, it was common for the majority of my grandmother’s children to visit for at least one meal and often for the entire day. As the family grew older some were not able to visit every holiday because they had moved away but they were always welcomed when they could visit.

On these holidays not everyone could fit into the kitchen for eating so the children were often relegated to eat in another room or to eat later than the adults. One cousin and I were close to the same age, so we tended to play together. Most other cousins were several years older, so they also tended to visit together.

Near the white house, beside or amid the cotton fields were a large pecan tree and another large nut tree (I can’t remember the variety) where the men often collected nuts during the harvest season.

I will always remember the holidays as a great time for visiting with family. While we all had different lives, lived in different places, and had different friends, we were also family and could share things with each other. I remember times that were not so great and times that were truly celebrations. And from these things, we became closer as a family. I even remember some funny events, like the time when an in-law brought an apple pie for the holidays. When she arrived, she asked who had brought the ice cream to go with it. When no one answered, she said, “Well, I’ll just put my pie back into the car since you can’t eat pie without ice cream!” Of course, this led to many jokes as the story was repeated for many years after.

The old white house is no longer there. Nor are the fields where cotton, and later soybeans, grew. If fact, the area is no longer in the country. The city has grown, and all of this space has been absorbed. The old gravel roads have been paved and now have now have street names. But the memories remain, at least for the few of us who were around then and are still around now. But our numbers dwindle, just as do the memories. Hopefully, today’s children are building there own memories to share with those who follow and not all memories will be left forever on machines and in social media.

I hope that readers and their families had a chance to get together on Thanksgiving. If not, I hope you still had a happy holiday. And, with some luck, you had ice cream to go with your pie. Enjoy the holiday season and many more.