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| Larry & Connie on Cowgirl Cir. 1961 Hinton Road |
So often as I reflect on my life, some memories hang there like warm sunshine on winter grass. They drift through my mind feeling comfortable, golden, and warm, and always, always, still holding the fragrance of a promise. My childhood was filled with days that have left me with an abundance of those comfortable memories and it seems that each moment in time has it’s own set of memories, and each set of memories has their own textures.
It is much to my mothers disbelief, and perhaps chagrin, that many of my favorite memories are those that I acquired while living in a small rented house on an old abandoned chicken farm. It is a place known to my family simply, as the house on Hinton Road.
To refer to the ram-shackled property as a farm would be a stretch at best and our living on it certainly never changed that mental reach. Oh it was indeed rather farmesque in that there were a few chickens, Bantams actually, running loose around the yard. And, there were a couple of horses and lots and lots of dogs and, lest I forget, one rather sad and lonely skunk, being the property of my ever doting brother Jay. Other than these regulars, from time to time there were also a few transient animals. One notable creature, that I remember rather fondly and quite vividly, was an emaciated milk cow. The reason that I remember that cow was primarily because of the way it arrived. It was a typical warm and quiet day when my brother came loping into the house in his usual nonchalant manner and abruptly announced to our mother, “mama, come see what followed me home”. I must confess that I had never heard of a cow following anyone home before that particular occasion nor have I heard of one doing so since. Now having said that, I must add that such events were not so terribly unusual and were rather the normal run of things around our house.
When I reminisce and ponder the house on Hinton Road one of my most vivid memories is coming home from school and walking up “Our” Road. The school bus stop was under a giant Live Oak tree on the corner of Hinton Road and Sharp’s Ferry Road. Sharp’s Ferry Road was a narrow two lane paved road and back then Hinton Road was just a rutted sand road the color of dirty gray lime. As we walked South toward our house there was a pasture on the right side of the road and some mixed fallow and corn fields on the left side. The barbed wire fence that ran along the side of the road and enclosed the pasture was covered with mostly wild blackberry brambles and various other errant shrubs. As I recall there seemed to always be a Mockingbird or two in the brambles along that fence and as we’d approach these vocally gifted birds would take off with a whirl of gray/white propellers and a ruckus of melodic mimicry. It was often, as we trudged up the road on over warm summer days, it felt as though the sand was so hot it would burn our feet through the soles of our shoes. Sometimes it was so hot that we would struggle to walk in the sparse shade provided by the blackberry brambles and brush and in spite of the meager shade we were certain that our feet would blister.
It was about a quarter of a mile from the bus stop to the drive going up to our house and as we walked along we could see the tall, long needle pines that were scattered around our yard. As we got closer we could see the little, white, tin roofed farmhouse sitting on the corner of the property just by the neighboring pasture. We could see the small covered front porch surrounded by ligustrum shrubberies and the screened back porch sticking out the back like a lean to only with wood on the bottom and screen on the top. Since our little house faced East, sometimes on nice days our mama would let our sisters play on the front porch. With the youngest, Valerie, and later Irene in a playpen and Gena toddling around while older sister Connie would be popping in and out the screen door. That scene of our sisters would often be the first view my brother and I would have as we came up the drive and it always gave us a feeling of everything being alright.
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| Connie & Gena Easter 1961 Hinton Road |
Behind the little house was an old tractor and work-shed. The tractor, that I don’t remember ever actually running, was under the shed on the right side. The work-shed was to the left and it was there that our dad’s tools were kept along with saddles and various other tack. Just to the left of the work-shed was an old water tower and to the right of the shed was a large mulberry tree that seemed to us to have been grown in just that spot just for us to play in.
The rest of the little farm consisted of three large fenced areas. Two of pasture and a third being land that held approximately six long chicken sheds and a metal utility barn. All of these structures were in disrepair and in many cases collapsing on themselves but, I must say what a kids paradise for exploring and playing it was.
What I liked most about living on Hinton Road was the feeling of freedom that it gave both me and my brother Jay. We roamed rather wild on that little chicken farm. It was the kind of place where a young boy’s imagination could run rampant and for my brother and I it did. We spent many long hours roaming the fields either on foot or on horseback. We were forever building things and exploring. We were forever being boys in the Florida country.
