Carrot Cake and Kool-aid

I grew up in the heart of Little Rock but, during the summer I would have the privilege of going to visit my family that lived on a small farm just outside of Monticello. What a wonderful change of pace. Especially for a small boy.

The farm was owned by my Great-Aunt Margaret and Great-Uncle Turkey. I never did figure out why we called him "Turkey", its just what I always knew him as. On each side of their house were the houses of my cousins, Katie, Charlsey and her husband Billy.

They were such a tight knit group, it always amazed me. Aunt Margaret would always cook, there was very little fast food. The entire family sat down for dinner. They always held hands and said a prayer before you touched anything. She always made sure I had my favorites, sunshine flavored Kool-aid and a carrot cake. She would always make a special trip into town to get these for me and the carrot cake always had to be made from scratch.

I was given free roam of the place. Some days I got to walk down to the pond to fish. The old way, with cane poles and bobbers. Other times I got to 'help' Uncle Turkey feed the cows. At least once per trip they would take me to the T-shirt shop in town that was owned by their neighbor that lived across the highway. It was one of those where you get to pick the design and the shirt then they would iron it on for you. I was allowed to get one shirt.

On Sundays it was church, no arguing. Uncle Turkey always sat in the choir without a hymnal. I questioned that once and was told that he had been in church so long that he knew all the songs and therefore didn't need it. I wonder if it had more to do with his bad eyesight.

One summer, Katie took me to my first rodeo. I was about five years old at the time. They even bought me a new pair of cowboy boots. One of Katie's friends was riding that night. I don't even remember him or his name, I just remember meeting a 'real' cowboy. To a five year old boy this was the greatest thing to ever happen.

When I was fifteen my father past away and I went to spend a few weeks with them. During that visit Billy asked me if I knew how to drive a standard transmission. When I told him that dad had started teaching me but never got the chance to finish, I was told that I would learn. They put me out in the middle of the field and told me that I was not to come back to the house until I could drive the truck. The hungrier that I got, the easier it was to shift.

Perhaps the memory that is burned into my head the most is that every night when I went to bed I could hear Charlsey and Billy reading their bible together. I don't know why this had stuck with me but, it has. Maybe its the dedication that was there. Not just with the reading, but to each other. Most of us don't even sit down together anymore, much less pray or read. For that matter just spend time visiting.

At the time I didn't see it but, Aunt Margaret was like my grand-mother. My real grand-mother, her sister, died when I was very young, before I got the chance to know her. Yet, somehow I feel like I did know her, through Aunt Margaret.

Several years ago I was out riding my motorcycle. Just going to be going, no destination. I found myself near their church. The old kind of church with a cemetery next to it. I pull in to see Aunt Margaret and Uncle Turkey's grave. As I stood there, I could not help but smile and think of the last time I saw them alive. I was about twenty, in the Air Force and just home from the middle east. My mother and I went down to visit for the day. At lunchtime I looked on the counter and there sat...carrot cake and kool-aid.