It's always a pleasant experience to get to go down memory lane especially if you can do so literally.
Yesterday afternoon was just such an experience as my nephew the Rev. Jerry Dillon, longtime resident and pastor in Madison County, and I met up at his old home place on Lower Lake Road in Walthall County to fish the 2-acre lake we have fished so many times as small lads growing up.
He and I could not believe how low the lake was from the drought our area has been experiencing.
Thankfully, later on into the night a refreshing heavy rain came in and hopefully has begun the end of the drought.
Jerry had restocked the lake with catfish and he and I both managed to catch a good size catfish that made our efforts worthwhile.
But the rewards were not the fish, the replay of our growing up days was our reward.
As we sat and enjoyed the occasion, fond memories flooded our souls when we would romp and stomp barefooted all over the property getting the large herd of cows into the lot of the dairy barn where every morning and every evening, we would help his parents “juice them jerseys.”
Just down the hill from where we sat and fished and in and around the community were his first cousins by the dozens who likewise ran a dairy, and we would all meet up in the morning after milking to play 'doll head ball' out in the field around the lake.
Those were the good ole days looking back.
Back then we were looking ahead to better times, them were the better times, we just didn't know it.
Just behind where we sat is his old home place, the oldest occupied residence in the county and where his dad Preston was raised in along with his 14 brothers and sisters.
In fact, Preston's mother and two of her sisters raised off 47 children and lived within dinner-bell ringing distance of each other.
(If I was a single man, I would not court any lady in the county lest I would be courting my cousin!)
Preston died in the same bed he was borne in after living 94 years in and around that old home place back in February 2021.
After fishing, we made our way back to the old home place where his mom, my sister Jeanette, had cooked a big pot of mustard greens and cornbread for us to eat just like she always did all those glory days of yore.
She will be 90 next month and as we sat and ate her good cooking, we made a few more memories once again to relish in a very short time when she will be gone as Preston.
Jerry and I are all grown up now and have made our mark, but Father Time has made its mark and is doing a number on each of us — our get up and go has got up and gone.
Our playmates, his cousins, are leaving us way too many and too fast but what remains is these precious memories that flooded our soul yesterday.
Most of you who are reading this can relate to all I am saying today and have the same privilege to return to your old playground of yore.
Sadly, a few can't due to health concerns or maybe the old home place has been torn down and removed or other concerns.
But for Jerry and I, we were at it once again.
God bless you and God bless America.
