I waited on the porch early Sunday morning at Daddy's while he got ready to go to Hardee's for his favorite biscuits and gravy breakfast. I sat in the same chair that Papaw had used many years ago when he chewed tobacco so he could spit into the yard or when he taught a kitten to climb the leg of his overalls and sit in his lap. It was the same chair in which Mom had sat as she broke beans that were freshly picked from the garden or bounced a grandchild on her knee. Daddy sat in this chair late in the evenings while playing his guitar and singing cowboy songs such as "Patanio the Pride of the Plains" and "Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie." It's where I sat on weekday mornings and watched for the school bus to pass so I'd know it was time to go wait at the road for its return.
The air lay thick and heavy in the valley on this Sunday morning. Wallens Ridge was almost obscured by the dense fog and I could feel the mist against my arms. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something moving. I looked to my left and saw a deer grazing alongside the road. Oblivious to the human just a few yards away, she lazily continued up the hill, enjoying her morning meal before turning and disappearing into the woods. My attention returned to the front of the house where I saw a rabbit come out of the weeds across the road. His cotton ball tail stood out against the green and brown grasses as he circled a fence post and scampered back to his hidden home. A leaf loosed its hold from the oak tree in the corner of the yard and began its descent, twisting and turning before finally landing in the grass. The silence of the morning was broken only by the occasional call of a crow.
For a few moments, I was transported back in time to my youth. I was home.
