Sweet Florida Memories On My Mind





Leigh Ann Kingston

 
© Copyright 2024 by Leigh Ann Kingston



Photo courtesy of the author.
Photo courtesy of the author.

My feet are firmly planted on Texas soil, yet a piece of my heart remains back in Florida where I was born. I spent the first three years of my life in a small rural town near the banks of the Suwannee River. Naturally, I have no memories of that time, but the years that followed provided me plenty as my family and I made annual trips back to visit our loved ones.

The excitement felt each time we neared my dad’s old home place could hardly be contained within the confines of our car! Even without a map, my brother, two sisters, and I knew our destination was not far when the Spanish moss appeared, draping the massive live oak trees. Along the last stretch of miles, Daddy pointed out places that held special meaning, repeating stories of his own childhood. We never tired of hearing him recall his adventures and tales of mischief.

Enthusiasm grew with each passing field containing neat rows of leafy-green tobacco plants, until at last we spotted the old country store, and beyond it the weatherworn home of our grandparents. Our car pulled onto the sandy driveway as family gathered to greet us. We’d move to the comfort of the screened porch and share light conversation and details of our trip until we all felt reconnected. As the sun set on the day, the cicadas would join in with rhythmic chirping.

How I loved exploring Granny and Papa’s old house during our stay. The floors creaked beneath me as I wandered through the rooms. Papa’s study and a small bedroom flanked the front porch. Then a long, wide entryway led to all the other rooms: a living area, which always held a fancy glass candy jar full of peppermints or butterscotch; his and her bedrooms for my grandfather and grandmother; and a dining room with a large oak table and a china cabinet holding an abundance of pretty glassware and dishes.

I recall one particular time when my sisters, cousins and I helped ourselves to some of the delicate crystal glasses, filled them with water and drops of red food coloring, and sat at the table pretending to drink sherry. We felt so grown up!

The kitchen adjoined the dining room, and it often sent forth delicious aromas of fried chicken and hot, buttery yeast rolls, drawing us around the table time and time again. The hot and humid room was made tolerable with an old oscillating fan Granny kept on the Formica and chrome dinette table.

The bathroom, at the end of the entryway, had sheer ruffled curtains that moved softly in the summer breeze. A large clawfoot tub stood in the corner, and Granny’s vanity, near the window, held her face powder and other beauty aids. I’d sit on the dainty stool and pretend to get ready for a beauty pageant.

A narrow stairway led to an attic containing treasures of old books, toys, clothes, and my favorite, a well-used wicker baby pram. We had to be accompanied by an adult up the stairs, so the begging would start the first night of our arrival. To this day, I fondly remember the musty smells of my grandparents’ attic whenever I walk through an antique store.

My aunt and uncle lived nearby and farmed tobacco, and they were often in the midst of harvesting their crop when we arrived. Work continued as they invited us to join in the family operation. The weather was hot, and the tobacco leaves sticky, but camaraderie between the workers, and my aunt’s wonderful meals, made it all worthwhile. And at the end of the day, we’d sometimes load up in a pickup truck and head to the nearest springs to cool off. The reality of the ice-cold water usually kept me standing on the bank until I finally worked up my courage and took the plunge. Then I screamed with shock as my body adapted to the chilly temperature. The adults tossed watermelons into the water to chill and sliced them on the tailgate after we swam. Seeds and juice spilled down our chins and onto our swimsuits, but we’d jump back in and wash it all away.

Daylight faded into evening, and the cousins headed to our grandparents’ yard, running barefoot and catching fireflies in mason jars or playing kick the can or tag. We caught bits and pieces of the adults’ conversation drifting from the porch, telling stories and laughing without a care. Their joy made us feel safe and secure.

If time permitted, we took an excursion to a nearby beach. It was a fishing-camp atmosphere, with old frame houses on stilts and scrubby palm trees. There wasn’t much to look at, but we came to dive for scallops, not for the view. We’d take the boat out at high tide and jump into the water with fins and snorkels, searching for scallops as if hunting for Easter eggs. We’d catch our limit and haul them back to the beach to clean and fry up for dinner.

There was an old pier that we loved to run down and cannonball into the shallow, clear water. We could easily see sting rays scooting along the sandy floor, and I was so scared, I tried not to touch the bottom. I’d tread water for as long as I could, and then climb the rickety ladder back onto the pier and lie there in the sun feeling the water evaporate off my skin.

The days, too, would evaporate, and it would be time to head home. Once again, we gathered to say our goodbyes. Hugs were exchanged, and a few tears shed, and a familiar ache in my heart resumed. We were back on the road to our regular lives, only we were better for those special moments in time.

Way down upon the Suwannee River,
Far, far away,
There’s where my heart is turning ever,
There’s where the old folks stay.

(Old Folks At Home, Official state song of Florida)

*****

I live in Texas with my husband, two dogs, and a cat. We have two grown children. I’ve loved the written word since childhood and in the last few years started penning stories about my family to preserve treasured memories. I have joined two writing groups and feel very grateful to be around such gifted authors and editors.




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