Goodbye Yellow House
I titled this with house rather than home because a house is just a house.
We can’t say goodbye to a home because a home is who we are.
As a couple, as a family- as long as we’re together we are home. Jeff and I learned this first hand. Over and over…and over again.
After 15 moves in our married life, we know - “home” is us. It’s who we are.
We decorate it—we fill it with furniture, family and friends and some sweet memories. We fill it with cooking smells—that are divine (pound cake and cookies)—and sometimes— smells that are not so divine (burnt popcorn).
This month we say goodbye to our childhood home. It’s the only one I have the most memories from my growing up years, and it’s the only one my youngest two siblings remember.
Although some people may see this as a sad event, I tend to look at it with eyes of adventure for my folks. “Grandleria and Grandbuddy”, as they are known to all our children and grandchildren, will get much more time with those teenagers and toddlers. And I hope there will always be toddlers (one of our daughters and her husband are foster parents).
Can I tell you about some of my memories?
This sweet yellow block home with the brownish-rust-red roof and fence was built by my dad, a LOT of help from uncles, some friends who were block and brick layers, and my pawpaw Bradley.
I was there the day the footers were dug. I was there following his footsteps when tree roots were dug up and blocks were laid. It was in that very back yard my pawpaw taught me how to use a chainsaw to cut small trees for the fireplace and how to use an axe to chop kindling—or what we called “lightered” (you have to say it with a strong southern accent). I was probably 12 or 13.
I held boards in place when we built the first barn. I shoveled a dump truck load of dirt—because I was whining about having to wash dishes and my dad said, “okay, let’s trade”. Well, of course I didn’t last long. Maybe an hour, tops. So, I really didn’t shovel the whole truck load of dirt….just an hours worth.
I painted the fence with mother. I cut grass with mother. I picked squash and okra across the road in a garden spot with mother. Then she planted the small garden in the back yard. That’s where she has taught all her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren the value of growing your own food.
I learned to sew and cook from mother on her machine in that little house. When the baby bed was in her room, the sewing machine was in my room….I accidently sewed my sister’s finger.
Watching her, my mamo, and my granny taught me a great deal about life—women who worked just as hard as men—and had soft, sweet arms and hugs. I learned life isn’t always fair or fun. But you take what comes and give it to God and let Him make good from it.
I got my first “healing” that I actually remember in that house—in the first bedroom down the hall on the left. My mamo left her lunch preparations to come to the house to lay hands on me and pray—because to her, praying at her home at that moment wasn’t enough.
Once, I almost burnt the kitchen down. Wanda and I thought it would be so great to fry squash for lunch one day. I was the oldest—and we stayed home by ourselves during the summer months. Mother could trust us—and we had an aunt and uncle and passel of cousins right across the road, and grandparents within two minutes of the house in case of emergency. But up to then, we had never had an emergency.
I think I was about 13 at the time, I had never cooked with oil or Crisco, but I thought, "really, how hard can this be?" So, I washed and sliced the squash. I think I even remember calling my aunt Evielean to ask her what she used—self rising or plain flour. Aunt Evielean has always been my go-to for all cooking questions when I couldn’t get mother. She still is.
Anyway, while the “Crisco” was heating up in the black cast iron skillet, I got the squash ready. Who knew it didn’t take long to heat up? Who knew I shouldn’t have used Crisco? Who knew it would smoke then blaze? Certainly not this 13-year-old. Mother had never had a fire. Except in the fire place—and I knew all about building one…but I had never put one out before. Hint: you do NOT put water on a grease fire. PUT A LID ON IT. Then remove it from the heat and wait… geesh!
The walls of the kitchen were black. My stomach was literally in my throat. Wanda’s eyes were as big as saucers…and I knew mother would beat the fire out of me. (She never beat us—but we did get the switch when we needed it…but not nearly often enough for me.)
Well, I cleaned. I called aunt Evielean to tell her what happened. We didn’t eat squash. Probably peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, which is what we should have had in the first place!
After I washed the kitchen walls, calmed my raging nerves—mother was home. No use hiding it. I probably missed some spots and you could probably still smell it.
I didn’t get a whipping. I didn’t get a lecture. I think she knew I had my own punishment in what happened. MANY lessons learned that day. Many memories made.
Let’s move on.
Some precious memories were times singing around the piano, talking and praying the sunroom, and even the barn. Having prayer together has always been the best blessing a child could grow up with--even if as kids we didn't always see it that way. As we all grew older, moved out and started our own families, coming back home was always a special time. Eating together, talking, listening and playing games around the table later stored up some funny memories for each of us.
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| Sharing in song and words of encouragement, April and Aimee |
I could tell you some funny things…but really you would have had to be there to actually get it.
We used to have a huckleberry bush beside the swing set in the back yard and as kids, we would pick huckleberries in the summer and eat until our fingers and teeth were blue. We never waited to wash them—just ate them right off the bush…right out of our germ-ridden hands. We had fun.
Outside was full of things to do. When my little brother was born, Aimee got a swing set and a new baby doll. We all had fun on the swings even though it was mainly for the younger ones.
I remember going so high that the legs would lift up out of the dirt on the back side. I wanted to fly.
There were always chores. From grass to cut, to leaves to rake and burn (mother supervised this), we never ran out of things to do and we never -ever complained of being bored. There would be a fence that might need painting if we even hinted of boredom. (I say this from memory--because I did complain and soon found myself with a paintbrush in my hand.)
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| Outside chores, a good time to reflect and pray |
Our bikes flew around the drive way. I rode and rode in circles and never grew tired of it. We lived there. We loved there. We survived quite a few hurricanes and week-long power outages…and never lacked for food during those storms. I learned just this week that the deep-freeze (what we always called the chest style freezer), was about 57 years old and had never been worked on—EVER. During those week-long power outages the freezer kept the food completely frozen and we never lost anything.
I could fill a book with memories of home and you would certainly get weary of reading—you have your own memories of your home—some good and some not so good…just like us.
That yellow house held us tight and safe—but as we move on to the next stage of life, we get to hold on to the memories. Every single one. They are priceless.
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| Jeff and me with our grandchildren |
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| Carmel Assembly of God Church |
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| Mother giving from her abundance. |
If you listen in the fall of the year, as you walk through the woods and hear thecrunch of the leaves under your feet, you might hear the steps of the LORD as He comes along beside you…He will you know. If you ask Him to.
I learned to pray in that house and the value of prayer. That screened in porch at the barn was a special place of praying and talking to Jesus. I hope you enjoy it. I hope you feel the peace that we always felt there.
As we leave this house behind—we tuck tight our memories. We are thankful for the heritage of faith—the teaching and training we received from our mother—the example of waiting on the LORD and the sweetness of the fruit from that wait.
New family—as you settle in…be sure and dedicate that house to God. He set this up for you. It was an incredible miracle that we have watched unfold. Mother prayed for you. She knew He would send you.
As your children grow up—remind them of the miracle that took place. It certainly has been for us. God is good. All the time.
We are all headed to our Heavenly Home soon. I feel it in the air! I hope you all see the signs and prepare your hearts and homes.
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| Aimee, me, and mother. Missing Wanda and little Jeff. |
Thanks for hanging out with me today and listening to my rambling memories of a sweet homeplace—and of our great Father God in heaven who has prepared our REAL Home. Soon we shall see it!
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| Grandleria and GrandBuddy |
© Angie Knight July 2020. All rights reserved. Used first in the 2020 August edition of StreetTalk Magazine.
That was so good to read! I felt like I had grown up there, too! You are an amazing writer, Angie! Love you all...
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