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This husband of mine…
Grew up in Fife some 65 years ago…consisted of ranches…fields…a cotton gin that’s no longer a cotton gin… Lived in a house…big…creaky…some would say haunted…a house that’s no longer a house… Across the street was a store…a long ago stagecoach stop…a place to socialize…grab a drink…and for a five year old…be treated to an occasional candy on a stick… A store that’s no longer a store…torn down a few years back…too many trespassers…too much vandalism… Walked the grounds…listening to the stories…he still seeing those buildings…his lovely wife…seeing empty space… But if one looks closely…the signs are still there…on the ground where that store once was…rusted bottle caps…keys to open cans of meat… An homage to days gone by…where little boys picked cotton before school…swam in the river…had friends named Old Man Utsey…handyman Boots and Cowboy Mutt… An homage to that long ago town with a population of fifty…a town that meant more to a little boy than it will ever know…a town…that is no longer a town…but comes alive once a year…when someone stops by…to say hello… And this husband of mine…agrees…
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This Old Gal
Devoted Wife Magical Mom Retired Teacher Embracing life's grand adventures with humor and grace. Archives
March 2026
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