SUMMERS COUNTY, (Hinton News) – As the trees once again erupt in glorious buds, my mind can’t help but wander back to the springs of my youth. Front porch sitting was all but a national pastime in the country. I was always so excited to see the little wild violets pop up in the yard, seemingly overnight. I never failed to pick a big handful, and Momma would take them to be pressed between the pages of a heavy book so they would last forever.
Another memory from being eight or nine years old in spring is that it always meant revival season was coming to our country church. My Daddy used to tell of tent revivals on the river where he was forcibly dragged up the aisle to repent and come to Jesus. I was half afraid the preacher coming to our church would drag me up the aisle if not careful.
Momma always had me dress in my best Sunday go-to-meeting clothes, and here we went to the first night of the revival. Seats were jammed packed like I had never seen before. We were squeezed between people we didn’t know from Adam. Momma whispered in my ear real loud that I had better not squirm. I remember thinking, “How could I?” I could barely breathe, or so it seemed at the time. Daddy always joked that his nose itched, but he ended up scratching the nose of the guy beside him because we were so jammed in the seat.
To a nine-year-old kid, preaching never seemed to end during the revival. Then, when they finally got ready to sing, it kept going a while longer. My squirming little self did not know what to do if the preacher didn’t dismiss soon. Finally, the last “Amen” was said, and we headed home. In the car, I told my Mom I didn’t think that guy was ever going to stop preaching. I was treated to a dirty look for that comment.
Little did I know those were some of the best days of my life; no real worries or responsibilities. Just Mom, Dad, and me getting our fill of that ole time religion. It’s still good enough for me.