Pine Needles

Up the road from the house in Beaver was a hill laden with pine trees.  Wanda and I used to go up there and then slid down, rolling and laughing...sometimes screaming when we got stuck with the needles.  Wanda was several years older than I, but we were good friends and kept in touch for years.  Her parents did not have dentures, but they had no problem chewing a good piece of meat!

When I was there a few years ago with Renee and her boys, Chase and Ross, we saw that the hill area had been dug out and a filling station/garage occupies that corner.  On the right, past the filling station, is a cemetery where many of the Lilly family are buried.  I know Mom's parents,  John and Mary Griffith Lilly are there; also, Mom and Dad.  Alongside the cemetery is the Primitive Baptist Church.  I wonder if it is still standing.

Across the road was where I would go to find Dad when supper was ready.  He let me sit on his lap at the bar and sip a little of the foam from his beer.  I giggled...he thought it was funny, too.  It took a while for him to budge.  Rarely Mom would have a couple of relatives or friends for dinner.  She let me help set the table.  My particular idea was to place a toothpick at each plate.

Meals were cooked on the coal burning stove.  Managing the temperature to cook everything to such wonderful goodness took special skill.  Mom also heated the irons to keep the starched whites looking brand new.  Her washer was on the enclosed back porch...the clothes had to be washed, rinsed and then put through the wringer.  Mom carried the loads out back and hung them out.  I stuck my hand in the wringer once...nearly pulled my arm off, "they say." The rain barrel was just under the down spout from the roof; it seemed to always have enough for Mom to scoop out to water the vegetables and flowers.

Saturday night was bath night; when I was very little the big, old galvanized tub came out.  Water heated on the stove filled the tub...I was bathed first; then anyone else who wanted to took theirs.  Actually, the kids had all grown up by then; the boys were in the Service and the girls were either married or working. Melba was divorced about when I was born.  So, since I had been weaned, she went to Huntington to Beauty Culture School.  She found a room to live in and got a job doing hair and nails.