Summer Memory

Reads: 404  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 9

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young woman reflects on her childhood in the country.

Submitted: August 17, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 17, 2013

A A A

A A A


The sun was preparing to retire for the day, after working a stressful twelve hour shift of lighting up the sky. I was relying on the remaining light from the fading sun to keep the road that I was driving on visible.

The road that I was on, Range Road, was a single, fifteen mile long road that connected several towns together in the deep South of Mississippi. The road served as a longer route for those who detested the chaotic, rumbling of the vehicles on the expressways. It was a desolate, unpaved, road that was surrounded with trees on each side that were one hundred percent pure nature.

I was heading home, after spending an entire day visiting my parents who had a small house in the heart of Mississippi. Despite moving away to the city for college, I couldn’t deny that I was a born and bred country girl, with characteristics that were innate in my conducted based on my childhood in the South. 

I had always enjoyed the fresh country air that was free from pollution, one of the reasons that I had chosen to make the three day journey to and from the country by car. I had been driving from my parent’s house for a little over an hour. The windows in my car were rolled down with the dim breeze and noisy sounds of nature lingering through the open spaces in the vehicle.

When I was a little girl, my grandfather would take me into the woods with him to go hunting. I would carry my grandmother’s basket over my thin, bony wrist, to collect the berries from the many bushes that were stationed throughout the woods.

Grandfather would wear a thick, brown vest over his flannel shirt and for foot wear he would have on heavy, timber lake boots, that helped him trek through the ankle high grass that covered the surface of the woods. He often reminded me of a solider the way he dressed himself up and the way he held his rifle whenever we entered the woods together. 

He always intended for his hunting target to be any deer’s, bears, or foxes that were unfortunate enough to cross his path, but a majority of his hunts would result in him returning with small animals such as squirrels, birds, or rats. One thing I had learned about grandfather at a young age was that he made sure that when he went hunting that he didn’t return empty handed. 

Once night grandma and I had waited up for him until midnight for him to return from a day long trip he had spent in the woods, hunting. We sat on the back porch together, since it faced the entrance to the woods, she was in her rocking chair, knitting me a new sweater and I was busy reading a book to her. I recall stumbling over many words as I read to her, since I was a fairly new reader.

When he finally did return home, he at first appeared as a silhouette when he exited the dark woods. Grandma and I watched the figure, that we knew was him, move through the dark until he entered the light that was provided from the lantern that we had sitting on the porch, and his face became visible to us. Grandfather took strident steps up the short stairs of the back porch as if it were normal for a man to return home from the woods after midnight.

He then held up the corpse of a small possum to reveal the results of the entire day that he had spent hunting. 

“That’s it?!” my grandmother asked in a frustrated way. “You spent entire day hunting and that’s all you got.”

“Yep.”

Grandfather made sure he didn’t return home empty handed from a hunt.


© Copyright 2019 Sad Little Turtle. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

More Flash Fiction Short Stories