August Then . . and Now

All I wanted to do was write in my diary this morning. I am working from home on Fridays, this year, and this was the first one of those Fridays, at home.

I rose early enough to see the first light of day. Fog was hanging in silvery ribbons- like remnants from a midnight celebration, over the fields. I love foggy mornings . . if I am at home. Driving in it is another story.

It wasn’t long, before I was at the “morning table” with a cup of coffee, ready to write what has transpired in the ordinary life of a country woman, these last few days. Thankfully, there was nothing of any urgency to report, for there before me was a “new way” of writing on my blog. Is nothing sacred? I wondered. Must everything be complicated? Or am I really that old? I suppose I am.

I had to get a new cell phone last week, as my other one drowned. I can barely answer the new one. School is a whole different ballgame too. It was all so much nicer, when I used to use a phone with ease, and work in my familiar way . . and write from that dreamy place that writers slip in to. I miss “old hat”.

Gradual changes are one thing, but being shocked in to change is about as pleasant as having a bucket of cold water tossed on you. . . and these days, change has ramped up and is constant.

I accept change much more gracefully, when it is necessary. I understand with all of my heart, the altered ways of life with covid. I practice my safety and the safety of others with diligence and I do not complain. I have learned how to shop on line for groceries. . . but my writing . . for goodness sakes that ought not to have been tampered with, as well.

I am adjusting to the new way of teaching music. My classes are outside, unless it rains. In that case, we head to the gym. The heat is awful, but being outside is the safest place to be. I work from home on Mondays and Fridays. That is why, I was on the territory at the slowly cracking dawn.

Here and there the purple loosestrife is just starting to open and the floss flowers are donning a tiny flower occasionally. The cherry tree is almost bare of leaves. The stalwart phlox and likewise, the rose-of-Sharon still bloom . the rudbekia is in its’ glory. The roses are not.

I went out to hang clothes on the line, and was greeted by a female cardinal. She perched on the line and seemed startled to see me. Off she went in to the late August sky without a proper good bye. . .a flash of red in the gray sky, like a parting prize, I thought.

I was always melancholy, as a child, in August. Back then, school opened just after labor day and continued til just before Memorial Day. My sister and I always got new shoes, a book bag and a new coat. We got several new dresses and school supplies. Nothing would cheer me. I never wanted to go back. I loved the farm and the folks I had to leave. School seemed artificial-detached from real life. I was a good student and had a lot of friends, but town smelled funny to me and there was hardly a tree on the grounds. The playground did not perk me up a bit, for it was an uninteresting place, full of tame equipment. It lacked the luster of huge shady grapevines, to play under and the cafeteria did not smell like Grandmas’ kitchen.

There wasn’t a dog lying around anywhere-nor any animal . . .and why would there be, without a barn in sight. I was “homesick”, I realise now.

In the afternoon, I was sure that schoolbus took the longest way home.

Oh how good to run in the door of “home”- where Mama was starting supper. The country air smelled like tobacco drying, mingling with scent of slightly over ripe apples. The ponies were in the pasture and a dog waited faithfully for us to change in to play clothes. This world made good sense to me. Within a short while, the cousins came and the neighbors , the Purvis boys too. We played til dusk, when Aunt Josie would call Chuck and Chris in for supper and homework. Mama would chime in from our own door, “Suppers’ ready!” Often, Aunt Agnes would call looking for Faith, about that time. Faith would always say ” I am not doing my homework,” and I bet she didn’t! Ruby, Christine and Cookie mounted bikes and the Purvis boys, walked as they lived just beyond the curve, which wasn’t far.

Well those evenings were many moons ago, but the memories of them always flash in my mind, in late summer, when the world is drowsy, and only the dragonflies are not.

I have just never been good at saying good bye to something beautiful.

20 thoughts on “August Then . . and Now

  1. It is hard to say goodbye to something beautiful. I suppose that it is why it is important to carry beauty forward, when you can. Unfortunately, we live in an unbeautiful time right now. I won’t see my children until a vaccine is developed. Clif and I will be spending Christmas alone. First time ever. But onward! This is our time to be stoic and steadfast. Mostly we are, but not without a great deal of sadness.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. Yes, one daughter lives in Asheville, in your neck of the woods. The other lives in New York City. Even the New York City daughter is too far away for us to easily fetch. Thank goodness for Zoom.

        Liked by 1 person

    1. An awesome memory Darlene! I loved those days. And I wouldnt trade them for anything…I loved going to your house..playing in the back yard, front yard in boxes! and in the pasture. I remember slipping over to your grandmamas and granddaddys occasionally and playing on that ramp…good ole days!
      Love you much!❤
      Have been remembering your family in my prayers

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh what a beautiful post dear Michele! Your descriptions are so vivid, it makes us all share the beauty and wholesomeness of country peaceful living, of freedom, of family unity, of fresh air and the wonder nature.
    I totally agree with you on the frustrations with the new technologies, which become so complicated to do simple tasks…for those of us who only need a phone to call in case of emergency, and those of us who enjoy writing a blog… suddenly have to take a course to be able to publish a simple post… adding more frustration to a task which should be enjoyable and relaxing. 🙂

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  3. What a beautiful serene post, Michele. I love coming here and this time is no different. Change is bearable when it is gradual and I understand completely how shocked we all as a world have been again and again with these out of the blue changes. I’m learning to make my own life even in times like this and it reminds me of how you choose to live at home. Simply. And happily. I could never write a post from my phone. No way! And if you are talking about the new editor there are ways to get the old one back. I refuse to let go my classical editor!! I encourage you to do the same. xo

    Liked by 1 person

    1. thank you dear Amy- There has been so much change and I ought not to complain, for it could be so much worse, really. You keep seeking beauty, for you always find it. Now I was able to get back to my classic editor before, but this time I couldn’t. Oh well, I sure do miss it! love Michele

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  4. I can relate so much to this! As a child, I never wanted to go back to school either, even though it wasn’t a bad experience while I was there. I’d just rather stay home and have the freedom to do what I wanted to do. As for the changes being foisted on us, I agree….it’s one bucket of cold water after another. Why did Word Press pick the middle of a pandemic as the time to change how we can write our blogs? Did they think we didn’t have enough stress in our lives already?

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I agree and shame on wordpress-It took me three times as long to get through that post-and my whole writing time, was not that usual beautiful experience, I love. Once, I was told a way to get back to classic-and it worked-but not this time. I will practice til I get it!! Bless you dear Ann-and thank you, love Michele

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  5. Ann from Muddling Through My Middle Age suggested that I come here and how glad I am that I did. I have too many memories of my growing up days which I don’t quite care to revisit. But by reading your posts, at least I can share in a beautiful past. It is also what I can build upon for my own present.

    Thank you!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. So glad you came and how good to meet you. It was kind of Ann to send you to the rabbitpatch- I really like her. She is so very sensible and writes well. Thank you Caitlynne Grace-such a pretty name-and come as you can.

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  6. I had a “stomach ache” pretty much every day of school.
    As you can imagine, I NEVER wanted to leave my mother.
    I remember getting off the bus each day, and she would have an after-school snack waiting for us.
    Butterscotch Krimpets were my fave, and to this day, eating one will transport me back to a kitchen on Lakeview Road, sometime in the early seventies.

    All my best,

    Scott

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh my-my stomach hurt too!! Mama made cookies some days and like you . . .I remember. I so hope all is well with you and your loved ones. I saw a movie-“Togo” recently and thought of you-it is a true story of a dog-sledding dog. I hope you see it. You will like it. take care x Michele

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Dog lovers everywhere are glad to see Togo’s life on film. For the longest time, a dog named Balto was hailed as the greatest hero of the lifesaving serum run to Nome, and I believe a statue of him is erected there. As you know from seeing the movie, Togo was probably the most heroic of lead dogs in this race to save lives, but finally had to give up the lead after hundreds of miles, leaving Balto at the lead when the sled arrived in Nome.

        Paz

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      2. I should have known you were familiar with the story. I have been thinking about dogs a lot of lately-and especially the dog sled teams. My dad had a samoyed and the poor thing is now lost without his master. He clings to my mom now, but she has never been a dog lover but tolerates him. Well- I always think of you when it comes to dog and sleds= I guess you have seen “Stone Fox”? I read the book but the movie is very good. be careful and love your life-Michele

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  7. Weren’t those wonderful days? My summers were like this when I was little. When I was fourteen, we moved to the country and Daddy built a farm. From that point on, it was unending work. Daddy worked rotating shifts at a paper mill. We worked on the farm when he was home and he left work to be done when he went to work. We had a hundred acres to clear and fence. There was always brush to pile, post holes to dig, posts to set, hay to haul. The work was endless.

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