Friday, February 26, 2010
And here's the view from my porch now
I had brought some old family pictures with me--pictures of my grandparents when they were courting and of my mother and uncles when they were children. I wanted to ask my uncles to give me more information about who was in some of the pictures and where they were taken. That led to their getting out even more old photos, as well as diaries and other memorabilia. What followed was a story fest, as my uncles relived their childhoods growing up in a small mountain town in Virginia in the 1920s and 1930s. Afterward I realized that something magical had happened. I had heard so many stories that a hologram of the town had formed in my head. I could stand at the end of the swinging bridge that led to the school and watch as boys (being boys) tried to swing the bridge and scare the girls. I could look up and see Uncle Jack as a small boy playing on the flat roof next to the apartment he lived in while the family's new house was being built. I could look up the steep street in front of that house and see my Uncle Harrell coming down on a sled, with his friends keeping watch at the intersections.