a little piece of country.

when i was a little girl, we used to travel to "the country" to visit my great granny on "the farm".

"the country" was western virginia, in a town i still only know to be called "dogtown".  this always confused me as a child because the entire town was completely overrun with stray barn cats, like hoards of them, but i never saw a dog.  it should have been called cattown.

"the farm" was my great granny's farmhouse.  i think she was born there.  we like to say it's where it all began.

great granny went completely senile when i was still little, but i have very fond memories of her nonetheless.  she was a surprisingly talented artist and she taught me how to draw stairs, and houses, and other little architectural drawing tricks.  she also made really good scratch biscuits.  i still remember her flouring up the counter and rolling them out.  i used to string beans with her and granny on the back porch.  it was always hot there, and it always smelled fantastic.  that hot, country, cowpie, supper in the oven kinda smell.  it's the stuff my heart is made of.

my favorite memory of great granny is watching her comb her hair.  the last few times we went to visit her, i think granny had to comb it for her because she couldn't anymore.  but she always sat in the living room of the farm house in a straightback chair and took her hair down.  she kept it in a tight bun all day long, and i remember always being shocked whenever she let it down.  it was so long.  down past her back.  long, gray, silky hair.  she only let it down at night to comb it and braid it right before bed.  she would stare out the window while she combed it.  i remember peaking through the door and watching her from behind so she wouldn't see me.  it was so ritualistic that it almost seemed sacred.  i always watched very quietly and wondered what she was thinking about while she did it.  sometimes i think she was sad.  but it was always this kind of peaceful, resigned, dutiful sadness.  a sleepy sadness.  i guess it's like that when your mind starts to go.

my second favorite memory of great granny is sitting on the porch swing with her.  she would always wring her hands.  and she always wore a farm dress and apron that had been worn and washed so many times that it was thin and soft and smelled like sunshine from hanging out on the line long afternoons.  sometimes now i catch myself slouching and notice that my shoulders hang and my tummy sticks out the same way hers did.  i kind of like it.

i have always said that when i'm old i will let my hair grow long like great granny's was.

and i have always, always wanted a front porch swing.

billy put it up for me yesterday.

i sat on it with my daddy for a little bit last night.  and i swung finn on it this morning.

it might just be a swing i found on craigs list, but it's more than that to me.

it's memories, and traditions, and a dream come true.

my very own front porch swing.