Big Sandy

It was the best of times. It was the best of people. It was the best of sunrises and sunsets, of summer barbecues and homemade ice cream. It was the best of forty mile long garden rows of purple hull peas and green beans. It was the best of frogs croaking on lily pads at the pond, us covered in mud, and not a soul caring as long as my sisters and I made it home to wash up before dinner. It was the best of singing around the piano and endless gin rummy. It was the best of building houses from pine straw and hiding in our majestic barn. It was the best of hoop cheese and canned Mountain Dews. It was the best of “the branch” and the infamous cold cold Big Sandy Creek. It was the best of cows, chickens, kittens, and horses. It was the best of driving our grandfather’s old Chevy in the pasture, down that country dirt driveway, and crossing the highway all the while staying on Kings Loop Road. It was the best of church musicals, VBS, camps, and the skating rink. It was the best of “He can’t hear you, Honey; speak up” and “you make sure you sit in that chair like a Christian!” It was the best of Dad removing all the doors from their hinges so no one could slam another one to making the three of us sit “in the middle” of the car after listening to us argue over who was sitting by the door for a month. It was the best of Saturday football games with hotdogs, boiled peanuts, and cheeseballs to Tuesday night softball games with a cooler full of Gatorade, bologna, and chips. It was the best of cow sales and thanking God we arrived without that bull jumping off the pickup. It was the best of putting on your jungle-ready attire knowing you were about to pick the okra quickly or it would bite you back and knowing that tomato sandwich would hit the spot for lunch when you removed all the extra pieces on your way back to the house. It was the best of walking up that red dirt road with my grandmother hoping like crazy I’d get a glimpse into that old house I just knew was haunted. It was the best of fishing for bream, crappie, and catfish as well as inviting everyone from school to Sunday school so they could understand fishing of a different kind. It was the best of Conecuh sausage and Golden Eagle syrup smothering Mama’s pancakes and then watching her make chocolate oatmeal no-bakes until I learned how to do those myself. It was the best of times. It was the best of people.