Another thing we did in the summer was we would ride to this place. These people must have had hundreds and hundreds of pigs. We could smell them before we could see them. We would sit on our horses and watch the melee of these pigs in the huge fenced area. We would laugh and just watch. I don't know why it gave us such a thrill. The people who owned the pigs, never paid us much attention. I kept telling my Dad about them and finally talked him into getting on a horse and coming with us. We rode over and we got to the place and we were sitting there just laughing watching the pigs and my Dad looking at us like we were crazy, because he couldn't see anything funny. The man came out that owned the pigs, and said hi to my Dad and called him by name. We sat there with our mouths hanging open. Dad knew that man? How could Dad know that man who owned all of those pigs?
They chatted for awhile. Come to find out the man would pick up the produce trimmings from Dad's grocery stores and that was what he was feeding his pigs. They laughed about it. Dad introduced us and apologized for us sitting there laughing at the mans pigs. The man was very gracious, and said we could come anytime.
That place lost its fascination for us after that. We just never went back. There are houses built there now. I always wonder if the people who live there ever smell pigs when they work in the yard.
Summer brings back memories. It must be the heat and how time just slows down. Gone are the dirt roads and the cotton fields. There are no more sounds of the frogs at night. Just the sound of the cars traveling on their ways. I find sometimes even now, the memories come in and become more real that the things that remain now.
Have a lovely Sunday.
and understands all my secrets.
---The White Horse Girl and the Blue Wind Boy,"
---Rootabaga Stories, Carl Sandburg, 1922