The Front Porch.

[seoulsearch]

The wig.

When we were younger, my wife had a wig for every occasion. On a visit to my grandparents, she was showing my grandma how easy it was to wear them, when they decided to see what grandma looked like in a long black wig.

Grandpa was sitting in the rocking chair reading the paper, and I was sitting on the edge of the porch watching my sons' play ball in the front yard. My wife and grandma slipped out the door, sat down in the swing and started talking to each other. I don't know what was said, but it got my grandpa's attention. He took one look at my grandma and her hair, and tears started running down his cheeks. He said, "Mama, you look like you did the day we got married."

What started out to be a joke, turned out to be one of the most precious moments of my life.

What an amazing story, thank you so much for sharing this!!

 

[Lanolin]

aw those are sweet stories. And funny
I'd love a swing seat or covered deck so can start telling stories. But it's kinda not the thing here to have them anymore. Also the fences where I live are quite high but one neighbour keeps her ranch slider open that has a narrow covered deck so I can talk to them while they are in the lounge on their sofas from the driveway.

Funny things house design.

 

[Billyd]

The picket fence.

My grandparents had a big grassy yard, but Grandma insisted on having a picket fence around the house. She insisted on having no grass inside the fence. She had yard broom (a bundle of dried bush limbs) that we (four and five-year-olds) loved to sweep the yard inside the fence. We didn't sweep up leaves and such. We erased the footprints. When Grandpa came in from work, he would brag on the great job that we did, then proceed to the porch. We would fuss at him for messing up the yard all the way to doorsteps. One day he took the yard broom from us and erased his footprints behind him. When he got to the doorsteps, he started laughing at us and said, "Who's going to mess up the yard now?"

Back to the picket fence and the dirt yard. Grandma told us that it was the best way to keep varmints (snakes and rats) out of the house. I don't know if it was the reason, but I never found a varmint in the house.

 

[seoulsearch]

The picket fence.

My grandparents had a big grassy yard, but Grandma insisted on having a picket fence around the house. She insisted on having no grass inside the fence. She had yard broom (a bundle of dried bush limbs) that we (four and five-year-olds) loved to sweep the yard inside the fence. We didn't sweep up leaves and such. We erased the footprints. When Grandpa came in from work, he would brag on the great job that we did, then proceed to the porch. We would fuss at him for messing up the yard all the way to doorsteps. One day he took the yard broom from us and erased his footprints behind him. When he got to the doorsteps, he started laughing at us and said, "Who's going to mess up the yard now?"

Back to the picket fence and the dirt yard. Grandma told us that it was the best way to keep varmints (snakes and rats) out of the house. I don't know if it was the reason, but I never found a varmint in the house.

This was a wonderful story, thank you!

I love the image if all the 4-and-5-year-olds scolding Grandpa for messing up their hard work!!

And it sounds like your Grandma held the secret for running a varmint-free household.

 

[Billyd]

The hornets' nest.

One of my favorite times of the year was our summer fishing trip. My dad would drag out the tarp, and we would get our poles ready. Then it was bait digging time. More about that later. Grandma and my mom would fix us a bucket of bacon or sausage and egg biscuits. We put the tall side bodies on the farm truck, loaded everything on the truck and headed to our favorite spot on the river. We got there a couple of hours before sundown. Dad and I set the trotlines, while Grandpa and my cousins set up the camp site and built a fire. While we set the trotline, I spotted the hornets' nest. I told Dad that I was going to get my rifle and knock that nest into the water.
Dad laughed and said, "not while I'm out here". The rest of the trip, all I thought about was knocking the hornets' nest into the water.

The time finally came. Dad and Grandpa were in cab of the truck with the windows rolled up. I should have got the message, but thirteen-year-olds know everything. As Dad started the truck and we started to move I shot and broke the branch holding the nest. The nest landed in the water, hole up, and out came a swarm of hornets straight for the truck. Needless to say, Dad speeding out of the campsite didn't out run all of the hornets. My cousins and I got a few stings.

Later that afternoon, while Mom and Grandma were frying some of the fish, we were sitting on the front porch and Grandpa burst out laughing. He said, "Billy, I know where there are two more hornets' nests are, are you ready to take them down?"

 

[seoulsearch]

The hornets' nest.

One of my favorite times of the year was our summer fishing trip. My dad would drag out the tarp, and we would get our poles ready. Then it was bait digging time. More about that later. Grandma and my mom would fix us a bucket of bacon or sausage and egg biscuits. We put the tall side bodies on the farm truck, loaded everything on the truck and headed to our favorite spot on the river. We got there a couple of hours before sundown. Dad and I set the trotlines, while Grandpa and my cousins set up the camp site and built a fire. While we set the trotline, I spotted the hornets' nest. I told Dad that I was going to get my rifle and knock that nest into the water.
Dad laughed and said, "not while I'm out here". The rest of the trip, all I thought about was knocking the hornets' nest into the water.

The time finally came. Dad and Grandpa were in cab of the truck with the windows rolled up. I should have got the message, but thirteen-year-olds know everything. As Dad started the truck and we started to move I shot and broke the branch holding the nest. The nest landed in the water, hole up, and out came a swarm of hornets straight for the truck. Needless to say, Dad speeding out of the campsite didn't out run all of the hornets. My cousins and I got a few stings.

Later that afternoon, while Mom and Grandma were frying some of the fish, we were sitting on the front porch and Grandpa burst out laughing. He said, "Billy, I know where there are two more hornets' nests are, are you ready to take them down?"

Ok, so I'm dying to know...

Did you attempt the other 2?!

After all, practice makes perfect...

 

[Billyd]

Ok, so I'm dying to know...

Did you attempt the other 2?!

After all, practice makes perfect...

Would you?

 

[seoulsearch]

Would you?

Sad to say, yes.

I had a hornet's nest the size of a football growing on the side of my house several years ago.

I flooded opening with Raid, let it sit a few days, and then knocked it down.

I had never dealt with one before and this was before I could look things up on the internet so I wasn't sure if I was approaching it correctly or not.

But fortunately I wasn't stung, so yes, I would be willing to take on another one!

 

[Billyd]

Sad to say, yes.

I had a hornet's nest the size of a football growing on the side of my house several years ago.

I flooded opening with Raid, let it sit a few days, and then knocked it down.

I had never dealt with one before and this was before I could look things up on the internet so I wasn't sure if I was approaching it correctly or not.

But fortunately I wasn't stung, so yes, I would be willing to take on another one!

I hope you don't miss the opening. I'll assure you that they can fly faster than you can run, and they seem to know who the villain is. I just call the exterminator.

 

[seoulsearch]

I hope you don't miss the opening. I'll assure you that they can fly faster than you can run, and they seem to know who the villain is. I just call the exterminator.

I understand.

I was lucky in that the nest was low enough that I could stand on the stairs and blast the opening to it with almost an entire can of Raid. I then waited a few days, figuring it would take a bit for the poison to work through the nest and for the wasps to carry it to each other (at least, that's what I was hoping.)

I finally knocked it down with a broom -- and ran back inside the house (it was right near the door.)

The nest split open when it hit the ground, but I didn't see any activity...

I waited another day. I sprayed what had fallen to the ground again, waited another day, and then went to go clean it up. So it took several days to take care of, but I was surprised at how relatively easy it was.

Maybe I went about the whole thing in a terribly stupid way (I'm definitely not the brightest bulb in the bunch!), but I was blessed to not suffer a single sting -- or even really see any wasps flying around.

 

[Billyd]

The rolling store.

Every summer we spent every Tuesday morning on the front porch waiting for the rolling store. It was a mini market on wheels that carried a variety of groceries like can goods, fresh foods, and other odds and ends. The most important item on the store was the candy rack. It was a rack in a window next to the split door where the driver sold his goods. It was stocked with a variety of penny candy.

Cash money was rare those days, but we had found something better. Soft drink bottles had a penny deposit on them, and the store man would give us a penny for every bottle. Every week we would scavenge enough bottles off the side of the road to get each of us at least one piece or pack of penny candy. Once in a while we would get enough bottles to get a nickel's worth of candy each. That was a bonus of an extra piece. It didn't matter whether it was a penny week or a nickel week, we were in "hog heaven" for the rest of the day.

I was just thinking how easy things are for us. The rolling store has been replaced with the online store. We can shop at the online store 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Whatever we buy is delivered to our front door within hours. And we don't take the time to enjoy the candy.

My groceries were just delivered, so I'm on my way to the swing to watch the birds.

 

[CarriePie]

I grew up in the country. My family didn't have big enough porches to gather on, but we certainly set outside together often under the shade tree to tell stories and/or snap green beans or shuck corn or just have a cold beer.

I remember asking my grandmother how she met my grandfather. They got to know each other by riding their horses to school together. Back then, they would have picnic auctions. A girl would prepare a lunch and put it in a basket, then she and other girls would be "auctioned" and whichever boy placed the highest bid would get to have a picnic with that girl. My grandfather bid the highest on my grandmother and they were together for the rest for their lives. Food has always played a big part in love in my family lol.

We'd tell "ghost" stories sometimes too. There's lots of stories like that out in the Osage. I lived just over the hill from what I called the Little Creek, but it's actually called Lost Creek. My uncle had told us that one time when he was walking over the Little Creek bridge at night, he saw snakes slithering across the bridge. He thought they were glowing. My grandmother added that when she was young and used to walk over the bridge at night, she always got a spooky feeling. One of the neighbors claimed he saw something big and furry further down in the woods from there.
So, I invited some of my friends over for a sleepover and after dark I talked them into sneaking down to the Little Creek bridge. We snuck around the further backyard and then over the hill. I'm leading the way. Just as I was at the bridge, I noticed my friends weren't with me. I shined a flashlight back and they were only about halfway down the hill. They wouldn't come any closer. Well, I didn't see anything and I didn't have time to look around because they wanted to leave lol. So, back over the hill we went. I don't believe anything was spooky on that bridge, but I thought it would be fun to check it out at night.

I have plenty of fond memories of life in the country. Sometimes instead of stories we'd just talk about our day/week while sitting under the shade tree...trotlining and fishing stories, rides in the back of a pickup truck, many swims in the creek (which I've been told that I pronounce it "crik" lol), swimming with snakes, playing with crayfish, collecting aquatic critters for my stock tank, going over to my friend Tina's house to play croquet, picking vegetables in my grandmother's gardens, picturesque country drives, eating wild game, tending to the chickens and guineas (and sometimes turkeys), eating my grandmother's chicken & noodles, country fish fries, country calf fries, and other country memories. Eating peaches from my grandmother's peach tree is another fond memory. They were so tasty. I've never eaten a peach as good. They taste like heavenly fruit. And eating yellow meated watermelon. That was my favorite. Also, picking blackberries for my grandmother to use for making cobblers. My uncle would make vanilla ice cream to go along with it. Food is another level of smashingness in the country!

 

[seoulsearch]

I grew up in the country. My family didn't have big enough porches to gather on, but we certainly set outside together often under the shade tree to tell stories and/or snap green beans or shuck corn or just have a cold beer.

I remember asking my grandmother how she met my grandfather. They got to know each other by riding their horses to school together. Back then, they would have picnic auctions. A girl would prepare a lunch and put it in a basket, then she and other girls would be "auctioned" and whichever boy placed the highest bid would get to have a picnic with that girl. My grandfather bid the highest on my grandmother and they were together for the rest for their lives. Food has always played a big part in love in my family lol.

We'd tell "ghost" stories sometimes too. There's lots of stories like that out in the Osage. I lived just over the hill from what I called the Little Creek, but it's actually called Lost Creek. My uncle had told us that one time when he was walking over the Little Creek bridge at night, he saw snakes slithering across the bridge. He thought they were glowing. My grandmother added that when she was young and used to walk over the bridge at night, she always got a spooky feeling. One of the neighbors claimed he saw something big and furry further down in the woods from there.
So, I invited some of my friends over for a sleepover and after dark I talked them into sneaking down to the Little Creek bridge. We snuck around the further backyard and then over the hill. I'm leading the way. Just as I was at the bridge, I noticed my friends weren't with me. I shined a flashlight back and they were only about halfway down the hill. They wouldn't come any closer. Well, I didn't see anything and I didn't have time to look around because they wanted to leave lol. So, back over the hill we went. I don't believe anything was spooky on that bridge, but I thought it would be fun to check it out at night.

I have plenty of fond memories of life in the country. Sometimes instead of stories we'd just talk about our day/week while sitting under the shade tree...trotlining and fishing stories, rides in the back of a pickup truck, many swims in the creek (which I've been told that I pronounce it "crik" lol), swimming with snakes, playing with crayfish, collecting aquatic critters for my stock tank, going over to my friend Tina's house to play croquet, picking vegetables in my grandmother's gardens, picturesque country drives, eating wild game, tending to the chickens and guineas (and sometimes turkeys), eating my grandmother's chicken & noodles, country fish fries, country calf fries, and other country memories. Eating peaches from my grandmother's peach tree is another fond memory. They were so tasty. I've never eaten a peach as good. They taste like heavenly fruit. And eating yellow meated watermelon. That was my favorite. Also, picking blackberries for my grandmother to use for making cobblers. My uncle would make vanilla ice cream to go along with it. Food is another level of smashingness in the country!

I loved reading these stories -- thank you so much for taking the time to share them.

I'm picturing you leading your army of friends to unknowingly take on an entire army of Whangdoodles that must have lived under that bridge!! I bet they chickened out the minute they saw you coming.

And I loved the story about the picnic lunches -- and their makers -- being "auctioned off."

No boy would ever try to bid on my cooking skills, I guarantee that.

I'd have to fall back on my "winning personality" (and hopefully winning takeout) instead!!

 

[CarriePie]

I loved reading these stories -- thank you so much for taking the time to share them.

I'm picturing you leading your army of friends to unknowingly take on an entire army of Whangdoodles that must have lived under that bridge!! I bet they chickened out the minute they saw you coming.

And I loved the story about the picnic lunches -- and their makers -- being "auctioned off."

No boy would ever try to bid on my cooking skills, I guarantee that.

I'd have to fall back on my "winning personality" (and hopefully winning takeout) instead!!

Your beyond winning and smashing personality is an asset that excels! I think that outweighs cooking skills!

I live on the edge of the country now and I still enjoy sitting out under the shade tree. These days though, it's just me and the birds and critters. I see more critters on the edge of the country than I did when lived in the country. Just last month I went over to my coffeemaker and there was a snake just chillin' up on the counter there. He has good taste, picking the coffee area lol. I gently coaxed him along. Last year, I had a bit larger one that got inside at least twice. I named him Roph. This one was a bit smaller, so I figure he must be Roph Jr. Maybe they'll be a deterrent for the Whangdoodles lol.

The adventures of country life!

 

[Churchgoer]

Funny when I was in southern Italy, Naples area, the villas are on hills, everyone has big fence and doors, there is no way for neighbors to look over and talk. But their property are kind of right next to each other.

In USA rich area, neighbors don't see each easily, big properties separate them.

In ny on my block, we see all neighbors activities from the front window. We are all next to each other. So very often neighbors talk to each other by the front. It is a nice home feeling when we know each other and help out each other.

 

[Billyd]

The treehouse and swing.

My grandpa had a huge oak tree in the side yard. It was a Sunday afternoon, and Grandpa was sitting in his rocker reading his Bible. The cousins decided that we needed a tree house in the huge oak tree. We scavenged boards and made a ladder on Grandpa's blind side of the tree. We took his bowsaw and trimmed small limbs so we could make a floor for the tree. We drug several boards up the tree and started making the floor.

I think every family had a rope swing in a tree in the yard. Grandpa had made us one with a rope and worn-out tire. We hadn't noticed where our limbs were falling, but Grandpa did. We had a pretty good pile around the swing. Grandpa took advantage of the situation.
Four boys already in the tree with a bowsaw, and several big limbs that needed to be trimmed. You got it. No more tree house construction. We spent the rest of afternoon pruning the oak tree and dragging the limbs to wood pile. We thought we were through, but Grandpa kept staring at the top of the rope holding the swing. Yes, you got it. We had one more limb to trim. We had to cut the big limb holding swing about two feet beyond the rope.

That day we learned a valuable lesson. Grandpa could read his Bible and watch his grandsons too. It's always best to ask him before we started a project.

Yes, we built the tree house later. It, and the rope swing survived many years until a huge hurricane took the tree down.

 

[Billyd]

My stick pony.

This is how my mama told it.

One of my favorite pastimes as a three-year-old (just turned) was riding my stick pony that my grandpa had made me, or Santa Clause had brought me. Maybe Santa had a hand in it, but that's another story. I usually rode him to the corner of the fence and watched my uncle plow with his mules, but on this particular day I had another adventure planned. My pony and I decided to run away from home. The road led straight to Grandpa's, (about a half mile away) and Grandma always had a cookie jar full of cookies, so we had a great destination. Unfortunately, Mama saw me before I got my pony up to a full gallop. She, switch in hand, caught up with us before we got to the crossroad about halfway between our house and Grandpa's. The switch caught my pony's back side, or maybe mine, and he turned around and we went at a full gallop back to the front porch.

I learned two lessons that day. It was safer to ride my pony to the corner of the fence, and Mama could run faster than me and my pony.

I never got a real pony. Cars, trucks and tractors made it to our community, and every boy's dream turned from four legs to four wheels.

 

[Billyd]

Target practice.

My older cousins and I were sitting on the front porch of my uncle's house. I had been rabbit hunting, had was going home empty handed. They decided that I needed some target practice. The outhouse was about 50 yards away and faced the front porch. They had a small white target on the front of it. They took my rifle and shot a few rounds into the target, then they handed me the rifle and told me the hit the target. I missed it several times. My older cousin told me to squeeze the trigger, not jerk it. After a few rounds it the target we sat on the edge of the porch and were enjoying some of my aunt's cookies, when we saw my uncle's dog running toward the house with my uncle with a leather strap in close pursuit. We scattered like chickens with a hawk in pursuit. We just knew that he had been in the outhouse and he was coming after us.

The dog ran under the porch, and my uncle tried to get to him shouting a few adjectives at him, then looked at us and said he was going to beat that chicken chasing dog to death. We breathed a sigh of relief and decided then and there that target practice using the outhouse was to be preceded by a check to see if it was occupied.

As for the dog, he stopped chasing chickens that day, and every time my uncle walked out of the house the dog ran under the porch.

Me. Well, I brought home many rabbits after that lesson. After my cousins left home, I'd often leave my aunt a rabbit or two.

 

[Billyd]

Tankus.

On my way back from a rabbit hunt, just after sundown, I stopped by my uncle's house to give my aunt a couple of rabbits. My older cousin put in to tell me about his missing dog. He said that the last time he saw the dog he was running under the bridge between his house and mine. It was the second dog that he had lost the same way. Both times the dogs disappeared just after dark. Tankus must have got them.

I was nine years old and prided myself on not being afraid of anything. Besides, I had my trusty rifle with me. He continued about Tankus for several minutes while it kept getting darker. I had to get home, so I laughed at him and headed home. The closer I got to the bridge the slower I walked. I wasn't sure now that Tankus wasn't there. As I got about halfway across the bridge, my flashlight hit the water reflecting back through the crack in between the boards on the bridge. About the time I spotted the light, I stepped on a loose board that squeaked and moved under my foot. I probably set a record for the hundred-yard dash from the bridge to my house.

Needless to say, for the next year or so, I made sure that I got across the bridge before dark.

 

[seoulsearch]

Tankus.

On my way back from a rabbit hunt, just after sundown, I stopped by my uncle's house to give my aunt a couple of rabbits. My older cousin put in to tell me about his missing dog. He said that the last time he saw the dog he was running under the bridge between his house and mine. It was the second dog that he had lost the same way. Both times the dogs disappeared just after dark. Tankus must have got them.

I was nine years old and prided myself on not being afraid of anything. Besides, I had my trusty rifle with me. He continued about Tankus for several minutes while it kept getting darker. I had to get home, so I laughed at him and headed home. The closer I got to the bridge the slower I walked. I wasn't sure now that Tankus wasn't there. As I got about halfway across the bridge, my flashlight hit the water reflecting back through the crack in between the boards on the bridge. About the time I spotted the light, I stepped on a loose board that squeaked and moved under my foot. I probably set a record for the hundred-yard dash from the bridge to my house.

Needless to say, for the next year or so, I made sure that I got across the bridge before dark.

Tankus must have been the troll that lived under the bridge?

I HAVE heard that trolls are often fond of dogs... (as an appetizer.)