Memories of being 7

My education career came to soon to my vagabond days and I had to settle into a structured day. I remember my first teacher as if I had just spent time with her today. Tall elegant, her brown hair pulled into a bun and a string of pearls about her neck. Her big smile, yes Ms Grace Boswell. But even in school where I advance quickly and devoured books by mind always returned to my little world around our house and I couldn't wait to get home,
The world outside our little one bedroom house, across from the movie drive in. In our front yard we had a huge tree that held our tree house. It was easy to hear and many a night we sat in our tree my brother and I and watched movies on Friday night.
I played in cotten fields and chicken coops and romped with our stray dog Butch. He ran with me, collapsed with me and licked my toes and made me laugh. That old yellow dog I loved so much I saw again many years later in the face of Old Yeller.
Awe life was good at 7.

Memories of my Life age 6

My dad would pull the sofa away from the wall and drape an old bed sheet across the top making a tent. My brother and I crawled in the space with my dad and spent the following hour or two in rapt attention listening to my dad recite poetry. His voice was mesmerizing and carried the perfect measure and unction to perfect poetry. How wonderful literature was when it came from my dads memory.
Whether we went down roads not taken, or sat by Walden's Pond, sometimes even being scared by the Raven, we never moved. The love remarks from a red red rose to Hiawatha we learned of a love of reading and took many trips to far away places.
Sometimes my eyes would droop and he would carry me to bed and hold me as he sang me to sleep with Mother the Queen of my Heart(not your typical bedtime lullaby) Sometimes breaking into a resounding yodel. Awe life was good at 6.

Beginning Series of Memories of my Life Age 5

Hog rendering day was fun. As they butchered the hogs to hang in the smokehouse, I learned at an early age the use of every part was important. From the boiling pot to render the fat and lye into soap and candles to the butchering section, everyone had a job.
We all gathered in the side yard, my great grandmother was blind, but she sat by the pot and
stirred with a huge wooden paddle.
My dad and grandpa did the deadly deed.
I and my brother usually stayed in the side yard listening to the squeals and hating it. These were sows I had probably rode or hung around there necks loving them.
But at a certain time we were called over and we got to cook the tails over the fire and the crunchy treat was indeed the highlight of the day.