Remember When

A visit to see what was growing at Uncle Perry Scott’s farm in Winnsboro was a big change compared to our Victory Garden.

Everybody there had red clay beneath their fingernails, with farms all over the place.

However, there’s not as many people plowing right now. Uncle Perry said most of the local boys are wearing military uniforms and fighting in foreign fields. 

A friend of Uncle Perry had this big old farm, which supplied bunches of vegetables to the Fort Jackson Army base.

Something big was going on down at Dr. Strait’s old homeplace. 

Since it was only three houses up Chesterfield Avenue toward town, I decided to mosey down there to see what all the commotion was about. 

After talkin’ to some of the working fellas, one of ’em spilled the beans.

“Son, they’re gonna build a brand new grammar school right here on this hill,” he said. 

Boy, that was good news for me. It meant I wouldn’t have to go across town to Central School.

I walked by the county jail and library on my way to Lancaster High School just about every day.

I was always fascinated when I stopped by the old library at the corner of Gay and French Streets.

To me, it was amazing to watch librarian Miss Robbie Horton work. 

While I struggled to find stuff using the formula Melvil Dewey devised, she never did. 

Shucks, Miss Robbie made it look easy; she knew where every book and volume was. She was the best book finder and put ’er backer I ever saw.   

Eating your own words (or thoughts) isn’t always the most appetizing thing on the menu. 

Like castor oil, it can get something stuck out of your system.

You know, I’ve read my share of letters to the editor from folks who want to thank others for doing the job they are paid to do. 

And most of the time, I made light of their letters. 

However, that chicken has come home to roost and is crowing away atop a house gutter.