His name was Porky, and I don’t know why we were allowed to have a pig in a pen in our yard in the middle of a town of around 5,000 people. I think I was 4 or 5 years old, and Porky, a huge fig tree, and Miss Janie Morgan's shop are about the only things I remember about living on Columbus Street.
To this day, I love fresh figs, but they are difficult to find, I guess. Recently, I found two pints at the Edmond Farmers Market, and the lady told me they were grown in Texas. How I wish I had bought both pints! I used to sit under the fig tree in our yard on Columbus Street and eat figs until I was literally sick. And Porky was my pal, until one day I came home and Porky was gone, and my heart was broken. I don’t recall eating lots of bacon and sausage that winter, but we probably did.
Miss Janie Morgan’s floral shop was across the street from our house, on a side street, and sometimes I was allowed to walk across the street to watch the ladies in the shop making floral arrangements and wreaths. I heard lots of stories about the newly deceased and how pretty such and such a wreath would look on his/her casket. I think Miss Janie was married, but in the South, all children called ladies they knew, married or unmarried, Miss (insert first name). It was cool in the shop because of the fresh flowers, and since we had no air conditioning in our house (neither did anyone else I knew), it was a great place to spend some time on a hot summer afternoon. The best thing about going to Miss Janie’s was the small fish pond outside the front door. It had been built up above the ground with pretty stones and brick. In that pond were the biggest goldfish I had ever seen, and I would stand and watch them as long as my grandmothers would let me stay.
Both my maternal and paternal grandmothers were widows and lived with my parents and me; I guess it took both of them to keep up with me, an only child. My mother worked at a local factory, and my father worked at a local furniture store, so my parents had built-in babysitters.
To this day, I love fresh figs, but they are difficult to find, I guess. Recently, I found two pints at the Edmond Farmers Market, and the lady told me they were grown in Texas. How I wish I had bought both pints! I used to sit under the fig tree in our yard on Columbus Street and eat figs until I was literally sick. And Porky was my pal, until one day I came home and Porky was gone, and my heart was broken. I don’t recall eating lots of bacon and sausage that winter, but we probably did.
Miss Janie Morgan’s floral shop was across the street from our house, on a side street, and sometimes I was allowed to walk across the street to watch the ladies in the shop making floral arrangements and wreaths. I heard lots of stories about the newly deceased and how pretty such and such a wreath would look on his/her casket. I think Miss Janie was married, but in the South, all children called ladies they knew, married or unmarried, Miss (insert first name). It was cool in the shop because of the fresh flowers, and since we had no air conditioning in our house (neither did anyone else I knew), it was a great place to spend some time on a hot summer afternoon. The best thing about going to Miss Janie’s was the small fish pond outside the front door. It had been built up above the ground with pretty stones and brick. In that pond were the biggest goldfish I had ever seen, and I would stand and watch them as long as my grandmothers would let me stay.
Both my maternal and paternal grandmothers were widows and lived with my parents and me; I guess it took both of them to keep up with me, an only child. My mother worked at a local factory, and my father worked at a local furniture store, so my parents had built-in babysitters.
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