Thursday, February 17, 2011

The Young Parson's Family

Yesterday we had a view of the neighborhood in which we lived back when. Here is the family seated in front of the parsonage. Sister, Daddy, Me, and Mama.

This village is the site of my earliest memories, as we moved there when I had just turned one, and we moved away the day before my fifth birthday.

Behind the house was a wheat field. I well remember the threshing crew cutting the wheat, carrying the sheaves to the steam powered threshing machine. Beyond this field was the railroad track on which the interurban cars ran.

The goat was tethered behind the house, and there was a shed for shelter when she needed to get out of the rain. It was on the back porch where I fell and cut my right hand when the glass I was carrying broke. The scar has migrated up my wrist and currently dwells four inches above the base of the palm.

Not all of my early memories were pleasant ones, but many were. I mentioned the magic radio in yesterday's article.

My sister deals with parsonage living in her blogpost today. You'll enjoy reading it.

6 comments:

Lin said...

It is amazing how vivid your memory was of that time! Isn't it funny how the details of the wheat and the goat just stick?

Vee said...

I don't remember anything there, but heard about your finger being smashed by the windmill, and how God answered your prayer for a white goat for milk. This picture is the only "baby" picture of me that exists - as far as I know.

Grace said...

What a good looking family - (your Dad was really good-looking)

vanilla said...

Lin, of such little things are our lives woven.

Vee, I would guess you have the picture of the two of us when you were about three?

Grace, Dad was very handsome, as was his father. Guess the thread ran out when it got to my generation. ;-)

Elizabeth Glass-Turner said...

I can't decide which is more fascinating, parsonages or church folk! :) I have amusing, exasperated, unforgettable memories of both the parsonages and the people who sat in the pews! (One couple kept their potatoes in the church basement...)

vanilla said...

Elizabeth, on one of Dad's charges, the church basement was the parsonage! We kept all our stuff in it.

Some of the people who lived in the parsonage were a bit strange--
not the parson, I hope. ;-)