While I was working in the garden soil, planting onion sets, making a trench, placing each little onion, smoothing dirt over the row again, I suddenly remembered what fun I’d had when I was a little girl playing in the dirt beside the porch at Grandma’s house.
She and Grandpap lived in a row house, the third family from one end. The porch ran the length of the house. There was an icebox on the porch but I don’t have much memory of that. It must not have been long before they got an electric refrigerator.
There was very black soil right beside the porch. Nothing was growing in it. I remember one time that I so much enjoyed making roads and houses, –planning a little village in the dirt. It was a very unlikely activity for a little girl, –to play in the dirt. I wasn’t making mud pies. I liked making little houses, and roads. I don’t remember if I had a little car to run along the road, but it seems like maybe I did. I also don’t remember if my little brother played houses and roads in the dirt with me.
I think I remember my mom and my aunt being surprised that I was playing in the dirt. I don’t think I was allowed to do that again. I think I only got to play houses and roads that one time. There were bits of broken glass in the dirt and I was carefully making windows for the houses. I suppose they were concerned that I would cut myself, –but I was very careful with the glass and did not get cut.
Funny thing, every Christmas I have a bit of an urge to make a a Christmas village. Until now that I’m writing this, I never related my interest in making a little village to that time when I was building houses and roads in the dirt beside the porch. I don’t have a big enough space for a Christmas village. Instead I paint fist sized rocks or slightly bigger into little houses.
I wonder if I really should work on this secret wish to invent a village with roads.