Aunt Ed died when I was only two years old, but I have vivid memories of her. I both admired Aunt Ed and was a little afraid of her.
Aunt Ed lived in the family home-place with her brothers and sisters who either never married or were widowed. It was like having a whole houseful of grandparents to spoil me. I absolutely loved it there, of course.
The home-place was way down a dirt road, out in the country, in the middle of hundreds of acres of farmland. Aunt Ed and her siblings were farmers as were their parents before them. You could see no neighbors from their home. It was secluded and wonderful. Full of good smells and barnyard sounds. It remains my favorite place on this planet, although it no longer exists. I've never found a place that could possibly rival the happiness I experienced in that old farmhouse.
We used to visit every Sunday. I loved those visits.
The house itself was nothing special. There was no electricity in it for most of the time my family lived there. The indoor plumbing was not installed until the late 1950s, so you had to use the outhouse out in the yard. The house never saw a lick of paint in all its many years sitting among the hill country of western North Carolina. But I'd be lying if I told you it was anything other than special and magical to a little girl like me.
They had a well just off their back porch. The water you would draw from that well was so clear and cold and delicious. Even in the dog days of summer the water was like ice. I'd dip the old metal dipper into the bucket attached to the rope and drink as much as I could hold. So good I can still close my eyes and taste it.
Aunt Joe, Aunt Ed's sister, was always in the kitchen making wonderful smells come out of the old wood cook stove. You would NOT believe how good. They had a smoke house, so they always had meat and they grew wheat, so they always had flour and excellent homemade biscuits. The cows gave fresh (as in out of the cow that morning) milk, so there was always cream and fresh churned butter that I used to sneak and eat out of the butter dish every chance I got. It was that good.
The chickens' eggs were brown and fresh laid and gathered by my Great-Uncle George, another sibling.
Aunt Ed didn't spend much time in the house that I remember. She was always in the barn taking care of the livestock or milking the cows, or she was in the garden. Aunt Ed always wore a white old-timey bonnet when she went outside. The only memories I have of her without her bonnet were her last days when she was lying in her sick bed. I used to go sit with her and talk to her. She was lonely laying there all day sick.
Uncle Byard was in his sick bed in the room too, but they were both so sick that they didn't feel like talking to each other, and the beds were end to end instead of side to side, so they weren't really set up for talking. Both Aunt Ed and Uncle Byard lit up like a Christmas tree when I arrived though. They loved me so. I would save the pennies people gave me at Daddy's store and buy and sneak them hard candy. I'm not sure they ever felt up to eating it now that I look back on those days, but it pleased them for me to give them something, so I did.
Those were the sad days. Both Aunt Ed and Uncle Byard died in July 1957. Uncle Byard went first. Then two days later Aunt Ed joined him. I cried and cried when they were no longer there. I loved them so. Everyone said I would not remember them, so I made it a point to think of them every single day so I would never forget them. I still think of them often, and they've been gone 60 years this year. They are gone, but as long as I breathe, they will never be forgotten.
Yes. I remember.
The worst thing I remember about Aunt Ed was the time she was teaching me how to milk the cow and she got really mad at me for crying.
You see, I really was only two years old when she passed away. Just turned two a month before she passed, but I wasn't quite two when she was teaching me to milk. I remember it well.
Aunt Ed had a three-legged milking stool that she sat beside the old gentle cow, and then she sat me on the stool. I clearly remember that my legs did not reach the floor of the barn. Then she told me to grab the cow's teat and squeeze as I brought my hand down. It took both hands, but I did make some milk some out. I was so proud!! Then Aunt Ed was distracted by something and stood up leaving me on the stool alone. The cow switched her tail really hard trying to swat a fly or something and hit me with her tail, which made me lose my balance on that three-legged stool, so I fell off it onto the barn floor, which was dirt and nasty, of course. I was afraid Mama would whip me for getting so dirty, so I started to cry.
I guess Aunt Ed was afraid Mama would be mad at her for making me cry, so she fussed at me for crying which hurt my feelings and made me cry even more.
There was a big hoo-ha about the whole thing with a lot of fussing going on in the house when Mama saw me, and I felt responsible and terrible, but I still loved that Aunt Ed taught me how to milk the cow. She didn't mean for me to fall.
My milking the cow with Aunt Ed was not as good as the little girl in the above video, but I'm thinking this is more what Aunt Ed imagined would happen. My life never quite works out perfect like this though.
Oh well...imperfect lives are more interesting, I think. I'll tell you more about mine by and by....
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