I looked up and there, on the metal roof of the rear of the regular house, to see one of my mother's sisters putting pieces of fruit (maybe apples, I don't remember) on the roof. To me, this was a strange thing for anyone to do. I was told that the fruit was being put there in dry in the hot sun and that drying the fruit was one way to preserve it for use in the winter.

Sometimes, we'd eat with Grandma and Grandpa. I thought Grandpa's way of drinking his coffee was very odd. He would lift the cup slightly, then tip it just enough so that some of the coffee ran over its lip, down its side and into the saucer. He would sit the cup on the table, grasp the saucer placing his thumb and middle finger extended apart under the edge of the saucer and his forefinger crooked up and over the saucer's edge to hold it down, a kind of pincer hold. As he raised the saucer toward his mouth, he would lean forward and bend a little downward to meet the rising saucer. With the saucer to his lips he would sip the coffee from the saucer. Every time he wanted another drink, he would do it again. When I asked him why he drank his coffee that way, he told me that pouring it into the saucer cooled it a little. He could have a drink of coffee without waiting for the whole cupful to cool enough to drink.

In those days, there weren't as many different cereals as you can find today. For Grandma and Grandpa, Post's Toasties were it. I don't remember having any problem with that, but when I didn't see any milk on the table, I asked for some. I was handed a creamer containing Carnation Evaporated Milk and was told to only put enough on my cereal to dampen it because the milk was very strong. It was a very strange taste for me and another reason I was glad when we moved to Rylie, Texas, where we went back to using whole milk.

One day, Grandpa and I walked down the road going to the right from his place. We hadn't gone far when he showed me a field covered with a sea of large green leaves. There was a man in the field, not far from the fence, who was dressed in overalls the same as Grandpa. When he saw us he said hello and told us to come on into the field. We went through the fence and that's when I noticed that, amid the leaves, were watermelons just lying on the ground. They were everywhere and different sizes. I had never seen anything like that before. Back in Baltimore, I had seen peddlers with their horse-drawn wagons that had lots of watermelons stacked high on them, but these were on the ground and all over the field. Grandpa told the man that I was his grandson. He shoke my hand and said that he was pleased to meet me.

Taking a penknife from his pocket, he asked if I liked watermelon...does an anteater like ants? Shyly I told him I did. He opened out the blade from the knife and stuck it into a large watermelon beside us, cut out a piece and handed it to me. It was the freshest I had ever had. He asked if I liked it. Grandpa chuckled and asked him if there was any of that piece of watermelon still in my hand and I told him it was good. He gave that watermelon to grandpa and the whole family enjoyed eating it later. Before we left, the man told me that I could just come into the field and get a watermelon anytime I wanted to. I know I went back to that field to marvel at all the watermelons, but I don't remember if I picked up any of them; they were too big for me to carry.

From Grandpa's place to the left, over the railroad tracks, past the grocery store and a bit farther sat Woodville Grade School where I spent two weeks in the second grade before we moved to Rylie, Texas. I remember that two weeks as a very pleasant time. The teacher was very nice and so were my classmates.

The teacher had us all stand and perform a routine to a song she would sing and have us singing with her. It was about a village blacksmith and started something like, "Under the spreading chestnut tree." As we sang those words, we raised our arms outward from our sides, each of us portraying a chestnut tree with its branches spread. I don't remember the rest of the words, but it continued describing the village smithy, busy at his anvil, pounding away with his hammer on something. As the song went on, we would imitate the smithy pounding on that something. I think we did this almost every day during those two weeks and I remember it as a fun thing to do.

I've not yet tried to find that poem, but I'm fairly sure I've seen it, briefly, somewhere along the way. The only name that comes to mind is, "The Village Smithy." Someday I may try to find it. Of course, if some kind soul who knows, will pass the name of the poem and its author along to me, I will know what to look for and can find a copy of it.

UPDATE: Thanks to my sister, Rosalie, and a little research, I now know that the song was based on a Longfellow poem, "The Village Blacksmith."

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