Country — January 17, 2018

58 COUNTRY-MAGAZINE.COM FEBRUARY/MARCH 2018

I Remember the Mountains

LOOKING BACK

When the wind blows, it takes me back to my childhood

in rural West Virginia.

T

hough I’m all grown

up, I can still feel the

peacefulness and see the

pastoral beauty of my

childhood home

in West Virginia.

My parents, three older brothers

and I lived in a huge old house on a

ridge. Often I felt the wind on my

face and in my hair. When it blew

hard, I was sure that if I jumped, it

would pick me up and fly me over

the mountain. I could never seem

to jump high enough, though.

A wooden table stood in the

center of our kitchen. From my

chairIwatchedMommovefrom

counter to sink. Our water came

from a hand pump. To get it flow

ing, Mom pulled the handle up and

pushed it down with all her might.

No water since has tasted as good.

Ann (in her cousin’s arms)

grew up under the loving

care of her mother.

SUNRISE: NEIL GONZALES

BY ANN WILKINSON Crystal River, Florida

WORDS of WISDOM When you are good to others, you are best to yourself. — Benjamin Franklin

Occasionally I was permitted to

sweep the yard. My grandchildren

didn’t believe me when I told them

I’d used a straw broom to clean the

hard clay and stone. But it was fun

and a challenge to keep the wind

from blowing the dirt onto my

brothers as they played.

Fern, a close friend of Mom’s,

visited our mountaintop from time

to time. She liked to walk over the

pastures and would take me with

her. One afternoon, an airplane

flew close to us. I had not seen

many planes, so this was exciting.

We could see the pilot, and Fern

took off her floppy hat and waved

at him. He waved back.

At night the stars seemed close

enough to touch. They covered our

ridge like a blanket. It didn’t dawn

on me to be afraid of the dark.

Being a young child, I’d have

to get up at night to go to the out-

house. I would tiptoe into Mom’s

bedroom to wake her. She was

never cranky; she would simply

put on her coat, bundle me up and

walk with me. She let me hold her

finger as we walked, counting the

birds we heard and telling me their

names. The owls often answered

my shrill hoots.

My upstairs bedroom was cold

on winter nights. Mom must have

piled half a dozen quilts on top of

me. The weight of them held me

snugly. I’d breathe through a tiny

opening and feel the cold air on

my face while the rest of me was

warm. I slept well.

I remember feeling safe in that

house. Maybe that’s why I still

love the mountains.