Sharing Memories 2012 (Week 3): Dunaway Farm

Me, about 3 years old

Among those earliest memories before we moved to Louisiana was spending time with my Grandma and Grandpa Stogner at their home on the "Dunaway Farm".  I assume they rented a house on the farm because I don't think they owned a home until they moved to Wiggins Road in Columbia when they were older. 

 I remember walking to the cow pasture with Grandma and watching her while she milked a cow.  She then made some homemade biscuits- I used to love her biscuits!  I remember her telling me she was giving me a special treat and she skimmed some of the cream from the top of the pail which held the fresh milk.  Grandma and I then sat at the table together and enjoyed "sopping" our biscuits with the rich cream.  

There were two wooden rockers in the living room and I can remember sitting in one rocker while Grandma sat in the other.   

I also recall following Daddy Charles into the woods near the farm and watching him cut up logs for the fireplace.  The house was cold and drafty in the winter and the fireplace in the living room gave us at least some warmth.  I would bundle up in one of Grandma's quilts and sit close to the fireplace in one of the wooden rockers.  Grandma would sometimes back up to the fireplace to "warm her britches", she would say.

  

I remember watching Daddy Charles set up wooden traps near the edge of the woods then returning to the traps the next day or so to see if anything was in them.   I don't think he ever caught anything during the times I was visiting, which was a good thing because I would have probably begged him to let it go.

One of my most vivid memories I have of spending time at Dunaway farm was the day I got bit by a mouse.  I was outdoors near the old house and spotted a mouse.  I remember running inside to the kitchen and grabbing a biscuit.  It was my good intention to feed the little mouse.  I don't know how long I sat there, at the edge of the house, trying to lure the mouse to my gift for him.  I remember holding out my little hand filled with biscuit crumbs and watching him come a little closer.  I placed a few crumbs on the dirt ground next to me.  I'm not sure if I tried to catch the mouse but the next thing I remember is being bit- and I started crying.  Grandma heard my cries and came running.  I told her what happened and the next thing I remember is her coming out of the house with a broom.  She chased that poor little mouse and beat it with the broom while I stood there crying, begging her not to kill it.  Grandma then took me inside and pampered me a little while washing my hands good with soap and water.  Needless to say, I never tried to play with mice again.