The world today reminds me of the magic slate that was a fascinating Christmas gift from Santa years ago. The tablet had a black base covered by a gray plastic sheet with a second clear plastic sheet over top. I could write or draw a picture with a wooden stylus, lift the two layers and it disappeared.
Like that magic slate, an unseen hand is making my past disappear. While I was growing up, we lived in five different farm houses–only two remain standing. The Dobson and Putnam country grade schools that I attended have been hauled away making the farm fields where they stood on Moate Road and at the corner of Best and Laube Roads a little larger. I rode a yellow bus from our farm northwest of Durand into town to attend junior high and high school. That combined building has been knocked down. The area is now a paved, parking lot for the education complex on the other side of South Street.
Last fall, the big, old elm next door was sawed down. The tree was leaning and the owner didn’t want it to fall on her neighbor’s roof. Kim, who lives across the street, will keep warm burning the wood piece by piece in his stove.
I thought of Sherrill, the mother of the family who formerly lived in that threatened house. She and I spent many summer afternoons sitting in the shade while our six kids played around us. My three cops howled like sirens and pedaled their bicycle squad cars chasing her three who were robbers. When the group wanted to play Wiffle Ball, our neighbor, Cliffie, allowed them to use his vacant lot at the end of the block. Sherrill has passed away and so have her Junior and my Linda.
What do you miss that has disappeared like lifting a magic slate?