During the 60's, she loved to go to her Aunt Lou's and visit, at times staying over night. Aunt Lou's house seemed isolated from the small town atmosphere she was accustomed to. Even though it wasn't really way out in the country, it seemed as though it was. Aunt Lou's house was nestled in the country setting just west of town. And during the day, was a place to stir a little girl's imagination. And at night, her imagination would completely unearth.
It was a place with no indoor plumbing. There was a pump in the yard and one at the kitchen sink. The bathroom was several feet from the house. One may possibly think this displeasing, but it added to the imagination of a 10-year-old girl. Playing there was truly exciting. The out buildings would magically turn into places of adventure, as well as the woods on the edge of the property.
She was a writer, one with character and imagination. Most of the time she would make up poems. After all, she may perhaps become a great writer someday. She always carted her paper and pencils with her for her visits to Aunt Lou's. She could go to the cellar and sit at the table and find many things to write about. She found the cellar exciting and would write stories when there. She could sit for hours and write about the adventures of her day. Sometimes making things up, putting her imagination on paper.
On one of her visits while in the cellar, the door in the corner intrigued her. The door was a small passageway to a place she had never been. When she inquired as to what was behind the door, Aunt Lou told her it was just a very small room that went under the porch. It was dark with a dirt floor, and there is nothing in there. Aunt Lou told her she would not find it a fun place. Satisfied with that, she began her writing. Yet the door was still there,and motivating her imagination.
As she sat thinking of what she was going to write about, she kept looking at the door in the corner, and knew there was something behind that door. She could hear sounds coming from within the room. She heard scratching along with other sounds. She even knew that she could hear whispers coming from the room. Not wanting to make her presence known, she sat quietly and listened. What could possibly be behind that door?!
As she sat there quietly listening, she knew there must be people living in there. She could imagine an entire town filled with tiny residents. If they knew she was there, they might want her to enter the room. The thought was exciting, but she wondered if she went in, would they allow her leave? After all, this was their secret neighborhood. Every part of this made for a good story, so she decided this would be the topic she would write about. So, her story of a town peopled with tiny individuals was created.
She would be leaving her Aunt's house soon and needed to retrieve her paper and pencils from the cellar. She ran down the steps and gathered them together, then stopped and looked at the door in the corner. She thought of what she had written about and was eager to show her parents. It was after all, a pretty good story.
I often think about the times I spent with Aunt Lou. They were innocent times. Times when a 10-year-old girl could use her imagination to visit places unseen. They were exciting and fun times.
Now I live in the country not far from town, however; it seems as though it is. Here is where I have created a place for my grandchildren to explore. A place to experience adventure and have fun. A place where they are surrounded by nature, and where their imaginations can grow. They can go exploring by the creek, and into the woods. They can play hide and seek by the trees. They use their flash lights to investigate the night. We gather around the campfire and tell stories and look at the dinosaur tree.
Someday, I hope they will sit down and write stories of adventurous places, write about the memories of visiting at Grandma's house.
Read more articles by Cindy Odom or search for articles on the same topic or others.
Very nice. When I was a small child, I thought the music coming from the speakers behind the back seat of my father's car was being played live by little people inside the trunk. Strange, I know, but your story reminded me of that.
My favorite place to write is in my local library. The Lowell, Indiana, Public Library is truly an amazing place!
May God continue to inspire you to write such interesting works! Sincerely,