We shared a large breakfast of fried eggs in various stages of doneness, piled on one large platter, so that each could find that one most to his or her own preference. Also there was ham
and fried potatoes, with a bowl of gravy. More than I was accustomed to for my first meal of the day, but I had no trouble eating my share.
My father had finished eating before we all began, and was leaving for work. As he walked out, I noticed there was nothing said in farewell, as all the children were busy with their food, and even Ruby seemed too occupied to do more than wave, as he shut the
door.
After breakfast,Ruby suggested that we children all go for a stroll in the woods, and enjoy the morning.
David became the guide, and we all walked the short distance to the edge of the treeline, and proceeded to the left, where there was a small creek, cutting it’s way from the higher elevation of the woods, down to the front of the house, into the larger Trego creek.
We followed the creek up the hill, finding small pools of water, and at one point where the ground tabled to a lesser incline, there was a considerable pool maybe ten feet across,
and twenty feet long. The depth was about three feet. At the end was a lovely little waterfall, which was perhaps two feet high. Moving higher up the stream, the water trickled to about a foot across, and in the middle of the bed great rocks appeared.
I remember one formation of four large rocks, two on either side of a flat rock and one standing straight up to the rear. It formed a giant chair. My sister Barb, named it the
“King’s Throne”
The times I spent in these woods at different times in my life, have created some of my fondest memories. I’ve returned there many times as a youth, and as a young man, just to walk and enjoy the peace of nature. I remember lying prone on the forest floor, raking
back the decaying leaves and putting my nose deep within the dead, and soon to be living,new growth, the aroma of life!
Within the woods I found a row of daffodils in line with rotting stumps where at one time had held a fence,and beyond was a chimney standing like a monument to the ruined cabin which had once housed a young couple who had crossed the big Ohio River, from Kentucky,
and who would someday be my grandparents. Not so many springs ago I found the daffodils still there.
The only thing of my father’s I ever claimed as my own, not true ownership, but as one might claim a remembrance, is the forest that I came to love.
My life was about to change, and remembering this time would be my refuge.