It’s a wonder we kids who grew up on Bull Creek made it out of grade school without dying from snake bite, malaria from mosquitos, or tetanus from stepping on broken glass and tin cans.
The day that school let out in May, we headed for the creek and alleyways to play outdoors. Even I the bookworm played outside sometimes, but usually I was sitting on the lowest limb of the apple tree, reading, while the rest of the kids played ball in the chicken yard.
There was a little walking path on the north side of our house between the fence and the house that was almost overgrown with honeysuckle and snowball bushes. We little girls turned it into our “house” where we made mud pies and played with broken cups and dishes as though they were fine china.
Someone put up two swings on a strong round post between two hickory trees. We swung and swung, “pumping the swing,” we called it, until we almost reached the sky. I am pretty sure one year Velta Lee went over the top of the swing.
We loved to play in the chicken house. I can remember thinking of ways to “decorate” the chicken house to make it look pretty. Of course, it was already decorated with straw and chicken poop, worn-out wood, and chicken wire, in the prettiest design.
Sometimes we played school. Of course, since I was the oldest, I was the teacher.
We played church. I preached, Frances, Velta Lee, and I sang, and Ross Edward our little brother took up the collection. Frances, Velta Lee, and I grew up to sing specials in church when we were in Jr High, while I accompanied us on the piano.
Everything we are today, we owe to the Lord and to our mother, who believed the scripture which says, “Train up a child in the way he (or she) should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6. KJV