For instance, laundry was always performed on Mondays. All of us girls would gather the laundry and transport it down to the creek. There we would use lye soap and a rubbing board to get the clothes clean before hanging them out to dry in the fresh breeze. Some Mondays, we would take along our cane poles in vast anticipation of catching some fish. I can remember hearing the croaking bullfrog and how much the noise made us jump. There was always a bird singing a beautiful medley awaiting our arrival to the creek. Another chore, which was performed daily, was gathering the smooth, warm, brown hen eggs without disturbing the hens. Boy, those mother hens sure could get mad at you for taking their eggs! We also picked the fresh vegetables from the lavish backyard garden. We knew when we brought in a basketful of brightly colored lettuce, tomatoes and radishes that we were certain to have a crispy salad for supper that could make you wish for a yearlong garden. Each of us would take turns gathering water from the deep well in the front yard. The rusty pulley made a ghastly whine as we hoisted the bucket up from the deep, dark seemingly endless black hole, where as a child, I was certain lived a troll. The well, made of dark, red, sandstone, brings back memories of working in the dusty fields with Daddy. We would be covered from head to toe with gritty, red dirt produced from one of the many, notorious Texas windstorms. There was nothing better on a scorching, hot day than having the thirst-quenching, cold well water travel down your throat and settle in your belly. It was almost good enough to make you forget the wet, salty taste of sweat that had been dripping into your mouth and down your face for the previous two hours.
When our chores were completed, we were free to do as we pleased until it was time to help Mama prepare supper. Some days, I would do nothing more than grab a good book and head to my bedroom to read and relax while the warm breeze softly blew on me through the screened-in porch.
