LEAVES TURNING BRING BACK MEMORIES

As a young child I don't think I paid much attention to the change of seasons, except for winter which brought snow and Christmas. Life in the Blue Ridge Mountains could be a challenge no matter what season. As I grew older I found myself looking forward to fall when we were surrounded with brilliant reds, golds, and vibrant oranges.  The sounds are still playing out in my memories---the Blue Duke Marching Band,  the shouts of anxious fans for the game to begin,  the cheer leaders cheering on the crowd to join in the,"Two bits, four bits, six bits a dollar, all for Dublin, stand up and holler." 

Then there were the smells---the spicy aroma of slow cooked apples and cinnamon that magically turned into apple butter---buttery smell of corn popping--my mother's pumpkin pie, fresh from the oven.  If we were lucky she would make an applesauce cake with a mixture of aromas--walnuts, gathered by the children who carried the tell-tale stains from the tannin in the walnut covering.

There were always school events and fund raisers to attend in the fall.  How I recall those Cake Walks in the school basement.  Soon it was Halloween and trying to put together the scariest costume ever.  We had never heard of Trick or Treat. My church usually gave a great party.  We would "bob for apples," except for those who didn't want to put their faces
in water.  Many of the adults took part by dressing up.  Some of them were masters of disguise and we could never guess their identities.  When the took off their masks we laughed ourselves silly.They had fooled us again..

There was always a lull after Thanksgiving until about two weeks before Christmas. The beautiful colored leaves were gone, frost had killed the the fall flowers and the landscape was bleak.  Decorations and Christmas merchandise were not placed in stores until closer to  the big day.  Christmas was not near as commercial as it is today.  it seemed so long between Thanksgiving and when Santa Claus would arrive.  I'm certain our parents tired of "how many more days until Christmas?" This is a good place to add that most of the parents in my little part of the world developed a way to keep the children from dwelling on the dangerous places their fathers worked---some were coal miners and many worked at the 'arsenal where gun powder and other explosives were manufactured.  Deadly explosions could and did happen.  We didn't talk about it but we knew the danger was there. We were Innocent children who liked to be with other children roaming the hillsides, wading in the creek, and playing in the snow.

It was not a perfect childhood but it was one filled with good memories.

Your comments are encouraged.

Darlene Bays Eichler
Teacher of Memoirs
Writer of Books