My most favorite place has always been my grandmother’s house. This is the place I would have to go to before and after school. I have always loved my grandmother’s house because it made me feel safe and warm. There was a smell of coffee in the air at all times. It seemed as if all my grandmother did was make coffee. If I smell coffee, I instantly think of my grandmother’s house. My grandmother’s house will always be filled with people.
I can remember sitting in a chair watching her do hair.
She would take a comb and straighten her clients’ hair. The smell of burning hair would linger in the house for days. The house had one of those older heaters that used firewood. The house was old. My grandmother lived in this house most of her life. The house was white with black trimming, but most of the paint was chipped away. On the back porch there was always fire wood.
No matter if it was winter, spring, summer, or fall, there was always firewood on the porch.
I can recall putting wood in the heater, and taking a poker to stir the flames. I would get so excited and would always volunteer to poke the fire. In the summer, we would play at the pond behind the house. It looked more like a swamp than a pond. The pond was black as night and home to the snakes, tadpoles, frogs, and fish. We would go to the pond to catch the tadpoles and fish. At night we ran around and catch fireflies. In the summer I also help my grandma plant peas, collards greens, and corn in the garden.
The corn grew up like a forest. I can remember running through the corn field and playing hide and seek. After all the fun I had, picking the vegetables and shelling peas was not my favorite moment. On Sundays, Grandmother had prepared a big Sunday dinner. Everyone was expected to come to her house after church. The men would be in the den watching television while the women cooked. They cooked chicken, collard greens, macaroni, and sweet potato pie. If family came from out of town, the food supply would seem endless.
Afterward, everyone went home knowing that they were full and happy. Recently, I return to my grandmother’s old house. It seemed so empty because no one lives there now, since she move in with her daughter. Some of the windows are broken, and the house is run down. The once illustrious garden is now a patch of dirt. The wonderful pond is now dried up. I closed my eyes and imagine the family sitting at the table, enjoying Sunday dinner. Things now just don’t seem the same anymore.
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