At the Base of a Tree
The first major cold front finally blew into our area. It offered us relief from unseasonably warm temperatures that followed our seasonably hot summer. Along with a welcome change in weather, Autumn has brought back memories of that season on our small farm in Louisiana. The pecan harvest fell to women and children on our farm. My father commuted thirty miles to the university where he taught and when he was home, any work he did was related to the cattle. I would pick pecans after school, but for me, the real work —and the real memories—belonged to Saturdays. On those mornings, I woke early and dressed in my warmest, oldest clothes. Blue jeans that could take wet, grass stained knees and a too-large coat–previously the property of my parents or older sister– were basics in my pecan picking- ensemble. A quick breakfast and then I headed outdoors, grabbed a bucket and prepa...
