Changing Seasons Part 1

Last week, I had an opportunity to see my grandmother who is in her mid-eighties. She currently lives at the Mennonite Retirement Center in Harrisonburg, VA. All five of us and mom make six, jumped into the suburban after church on Sunday and we headed across the mountain. I would guess that we have made that trip some 648 times since we have lived here in Louisa (don't ask how I figured that). It is always a peaceful and exciting drive to notice how things have changed and how some things have not changed over the years.


Ten years ago, we would have been heading to Broadway, VA, where my grandparents lived for an enormous amount of time together. I can still picture it now, we would have turned left on 33, where the huge, yellow cement mixers are parked and the old Broadway Ford dealership used to stand. Turning on 33, we would have crossed the railroad tracks and there on my right would have been the Presbyterian church where the live donkey used to be tied at Christmas. I later learned that we didn't see the donkey anymore because one night some young people took baseball bats and beat the donkey up. Across the railroad tracks and to the right would have been the Bar-b-que shack where just about every Saturday, my grandfather would work with the local Ruritans in preparing the finest Bar-b-que chicken. About a hundred yards past the chicken shack, we would take a right on what my Grandfather used to refer to as Cripple Creek Road (it wasn't really named that). We would cross the Bridge where the beautiful Shenandoah river flowed freely most of the time. Across the bridge, we would take an immediate left on Strooptown Road and then we could see the house on top of the hill. This was heaven for me and all of the cousins that would be coming by at some point. There was nothing in all the world that I would rather do than to go see PaPa & Grandma, spend some time on the Sari-Red ranch and unleash the potential that life had waiting. Man what was it about this place? The smell of cut grass and country air. There was Carl Gray, the neighbor, bailing hay down in the field. If you have ever grown up on a farm, you know the fun it can be in a natural simple way. Somehow, on the Sari Red ranch, things were going to be ok. Just the people in the valley made you feel that way. I remember Kenny, a guy who lived next door and never got married (he was a cross between Floyd and Goober on the Andy Griffith show). Kenny would just stop in for no apparent reason, come in the living room and just sit down and talk. My grandfather would oblige him and ask him more and more questions. I was intrigued that the extent of their conversation never went past the difference between a Briggs & Stratton and a Tecumseh engine. And just as quickly as he came, Kenny would be gone across the field back home. There was something soothing about listening to the simplicity of their conversation. I asked my grandmother recently about Kenny and she said that Kenny still lived back in Timberville somewhere but she hadn't heard from him in some 20 years. I long for this way of life again in the midst of sometimes chaos and busyness. My question is what has changed? What is happening? Anyway, just some thoughts that I have. Let me know if you think I'm crazy. I will continue later.