TALES FROM CHILDHOOD

    Memories....the stuff of novels, dreams, reunions and love affairs.  They are woven into our lives in so many ways that at times we live with our minds holding onto part of one memory while we take a piece of another and meld them to make the we "remember." Do you recall overhearing a family story at a reunion and thinking, "that's not how it happened?" Your Mother tells a childhood story and everyone says, "I remember that!"  As their laughter fills the room you begin to seethe because you know it didn't happen that way. Then you start to recall a thing here and one there; maybe it did happen almost that way!

    A few years back, I wrote a collection of short Memoirs from my childhood.  I called them "Because I Said So, Tales From Childhood." They come from my growing up in the little Virginia mountain village of Belspring in the 1940s and 1950s. It is my hope they will depict the joys, sorrows, humor, mistakes, goodness, fortitude and tenacity of the mountain people who lived in this little village of about 350 persons.

    Let me set the "stage" so you will be able to "see' in your mind where the action takes place. Belspring is nestled in a small valley bordered by hills and mountains on three sides and the New River along its eastern boundary.  Standing on the hill above the Kirkwood house, your eyes would soon make out an "under the tree Christmas village.  A ribbon of a creek covered in watercress, meanders below the hill. Turn slightly to your left and see the asphalt highway which bisects the village.  The majority of the houses on the left of the road seem to have been carefully placed there in neat blocks. This is no illusion because when Belspring was called Churchwood it was laid out in grids in anticipation of its becoming a boom town.  At that time the railroad ran through the middle of town. Its course was changed by the railroad owner to avoid a steep grade, sending it along the river.  That did in the plans for a bustling town. 

The name was changed from Churchwood to Belspring after the sound of a spring in the hollow near the edge of town.  The spring has long since dried up and the sleepy little village remains as if caught in a time warp.

    Looking down from the hill again one can see three church steeples..... the Methodist on the road to the train station, the Baptist on a rise behind the houses set neatly in blocks, and the red brick Presbyterian on the left as one enters the village. There was always a post office, usually sharing a building with a grocery store and one time an appliance store.  There were two service stations,the train station, barber shop and for a few years a beauty shop in one side of a service station. The largest and most imposing building was the large red brick school which housed grades one through seven.  Next to it stood the "teacherage" where unmarried teachers lived.

    This was not a perfect place but it was a good place to grow up. As children we ran and played on the hills and in the creek. We caught "craw dads" and ran from snakes.  We built forts in the broom sedge and climbed the apple trees.  We rode our bikes in the summer and slid down the hills in the snow in winter.  We did chores; raking the colorful leaves of autumn, helping to harvest the garden crops, and looking after the younger children. The war came and we felt the rumble of the explosions from ammunition tests at the Arsenal.  We learned to use less sugar and butter. The family car did not move as often--gas was scarce and rationed and new tires were a rarity.  We did not complain about the darkening shades and 'all lights out."  For in our little world, life was good.

     This post is getting long.  I will write another soon about life in the village of Belspring.

Comments are invited.