Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Fireplaces; built from stones gathered from the fields and nearby streams.
Served as a good place ,for family story telling, and events of the day.
When our family was young, mother shared nursery Rhymes with us, and short stories she had memorized .
Sometimes she would read to us from books she'd managed to save over the years.
Mothers only light for reading, was the light of the fireplace, and our kerosene lamp.
Us children would huddle around the glowing embers of the fire.
Where often the embers were hard to see, because of the ashes surrounding them.
When the weather would be windy and cold outside, the wind sometimes drifted down the open chimney.
Smoke would fill the room ,and it would take a while for it to clear up.
The smell from the smoke and fumes of the kerosene lamp, lingered in the house for long periods of time.
Most of the time, we didn't pay it no attention, but occasionally, it was difficult to fall a sleep, when we went to bed .
Life wasn't easy by any means back in them days, but our family had love and some exciting times.
Listening attentively, to Mother's fireside story's.
In our little two room house, with a fireplace made of field stones , walls papered with Sears Roebuck catalog pages, and windows fitted with curtains made of flour sacks.
Until Next Time. God Bless.
My Meditations by, Coleman