When Shadows Fall

When purple shadows fell and fireflies would come out to dance in the summer’s deepening evening sky, I would listen to the songs of a whippoorwill on a fence post at the edge of my grandfather’s Raymond Miner’s field. Sometimes a pair of mourning doves would add their sad sounding tones to the chorus of crickets and frogs from the swampy area behind the chicken house. I remember sitting on one of the two green Adirondack chairs and settee that claimed spots on my grandparents Miner’s wide concrete porch. It extended across the front of my grandparents Miner’s large two-story farmhouse. There was another settee made of twisted grapevines and sapling pieces, but very few people sat on it because the ribs of the twisted vines made the seat uncomfortable for people to sit.

Four tall hemlocks guarded the entrance of the brick walkway. They spread their branches to protect the house from the heat of the sun and the chill of winter winds. The porch became a shady haven for me where I often played or sought a quiet refuge beneath their thickly needled limbs. It was a cool sanctuary on the hottest of days, a dry shelter when the rains poured down, and even protection from the cold winter winds.

Grandma Miner would store her rugs on the Adirondack settee in the winter. They made a great cocoon where I could to burrow deep into their warmth away from the cold and the noise of aunts, uncles, and the horde of cousins still inside the house. It was a blessed relief after the activity, boisterous voices, and accumulated heat of Gram’s wood burning cook stove and the mass of people gathered inside.

Gram’s house had one other sanctuary. It was found in their formal sitting room. Children were forbidden to step foot inside, but if I was careful and quiet enough, I could slip inside unobserved and crawl behind the bulky sofa. It was clad in pale blue stiff, almost porcupine-feeling plush fabric that was prickly and rough for any kid to sit on when they were wearing shorts. The stiff fabric caused bare legs to itch almost to the point of being unbearable. It eliminated a child’s ability to sit still for more than a few seconds.

Sometimes my memories fade as I age and shadows fall blurring facts or hiding names and places from my remembrance. That’s why I share these recollections in writing as they emerge from the past. I want my thoughts to be captured before they become lost as the darkness falls and the lights fail.