By LAMAR THAMES

Travel can take on different meanings and dimensions for different people. For me, one of the lures to being a Wandering Tourist is that a particular destination can be what you want it to be. By that, I mean I can go where I want to, when I want to — in my mind.

My recent visit to Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’ homestead in Cross Creek, Fla., evoked memories of a long ago place in a long ago time: my father’s parents house on the outskirts of Geneva, Ala., circa 1940s and ’50s.

It was a magical place of childhood memories exaggerated by the passage of time, with the certainty that Grandpa and Grandma’s house is as I remember it, not as it really was. And that is OK with me because the warmth that stems from distant times is part of what makes me me and you you. My childhood was idyllic, blissful, marred only by a few unpleasantries that would spoil those cherished moments if I allowed them to.

So, let’s get on with this walk down memory lane and a tour of the old homestead.

TREASURES FROM GRANDMA’S HOUSE

There wasn’t much to the old place, but in my mind’s eye it was a mansion, housing treasures that one still dreams about. There was the old pot-bellied stove in the middle of the living room that served as the primary heating source for the whole house.

Boy, would that thing crack and roar when stoked with a new piece of fat lighter pine. It would get so hot that you couldn’t get closer than 5 feet or your skin would practically start to burn. Of course, while the front side was roasting, the backside would suffer from frost bite. Therefore, you had to keep turning around. Then when the fire went out in the middle of the night, you would have to dig yourself deeper into the pile of quilted blankets set aside just for that purpose.

The only other thing in that living room was a single over-head bare lightbulb, two beds, Grandma’s rocker, a white plastic Phillips radio for listening to gospel music, a firewood storage bin and a plastic-covered sofa that made into one of the most uncomfortable beds you ever spent the night on. That is where I slept until a I graduated to one of the feather beds in the back bedroom, which I shared with several other cousins.

My all-time favorite memory from Grandma’s house was her pie safe, in which she kept day-old biscuits just for my enjoyment, I think. Those fresh homemade biscuits were an epicurean’s delight, and especially so the next day when Grandma would remove one of them from the safe and sprinkle a spoonful of sugar over it just for me. That may have been the start of my diabetes, but hey, the biscuits were delectable.

My father inherited the safe from one of his brothers or sisters after Grandma passed away. He eventually dismantled it with the intention of refinishing the wood and restoring it to its former glory. To make a long story short, he didn’t finish the job and I took possession of the safe, only to see it rot outside my house years later. Too bad. I miss that old safe. And the sugared biscuits inside it.

A CHINABERRY TREE AND THE GRASSLESS YARD

The outside of the old homestead housed another treasure trove of memories, from the washtub on the back porch, to the hand-pumped water well in the backyard, to the outhouse (yuck!) down the path and finally to the chinaberry tree, which I learned to climb one summer and where I think one of my cousins broke an arm in a fall.

For some reason, the chinaberry tree resonates as a fond memory for me. Maybe it is the sing-song nature of the name, or the large shady spot it cast on a yard as barren of grass as you can imagine. In today’s world of manicured lawn perfection, it does my sensibilities well to harken back to the image of Grandma “raking” the dirt in her yard, creating quilted-looking patterns wherever she went while rooting out the little patches of “crabgrass” that would try to take hold of her otherwise pristine landscape. As I recall, that crabgrass looked suspiciously like St. Augustine. Think of the untold amount of money we spend nurturing our crabgrass patches. I think Grandma had a better idea.

I always looked forward to pumping water from the well out back. I would always get a favorable comment from Grandma about how “smart a young man that Lamar is,” as well as a sugared biscuit for my efforts. I know that my cousins who lived with Grandma liked to see me coming, too. That would mean they didn’t have to pump water while I was there.

THE STORY OF MY COUSIN OLEANE AND THE CREEK

Oleane and I were proverbial “kissing cousins,” and while I don’t ever remember actually kissing her, I do remember that I would have liked to if it hadn’t been such a taboo subject. Her mother Aunt Gladys once almost made a mistake by allowing Oleane and  to sleep in the same bed together because of a lack of sleeping space at their house. I think I was 5 or 6 at the time while she was a year older. I thought it would be a good idea but Aunt Gladys thought better of it and had me sleep with Oleane’s brother, who was about 4. Rats!

Anyway, most of Grandma’s children and grandchildren gathered at the homestead one Easter for a reunion and egg hunt. After church, the cousins were dressed in our Sunday finest after church waiting for the meal to be served and for the egg hunt. We were told we could wander down to the creek nearby but with stern warnings not to get our clothes dirty or wet.

Right away, daredevil Oleane fell into the creek and soiled her brand new white Easter dress. I felt so bad for her that I suggested we all jump in the water, too. “They won’t spank all of us, will they?” I suggested. Boy, was I wrong! Our parents not only could spank us all, but they did. I don’t think any of my other cousins spoke to me the rest of the day. Except for Oleane, of course.

WHAT ARE YOUR MEMORIES?

This piece is getting fairly long so I will bring it to a close for now. I would like to suggest, however, that if you have memories of long ago days that you would like to share, please feel free to add a comment to my piece, or send me an email at lthames@mac.com and if I can, I will publish it on this site. From time to time, I may add more of my own memories of childhood places.

The internet is a great way to archive the past and leave a lasting legacy for your children and grandchildren, who surely have their own memories  to share with others. Thanks for reading and if you enjoy this, please let me know. I will add some images to this post when I find some more of them.