In the Blackberry Patch with Paw Paw

I am the middle son of three. I have never doubted that I was loved by my parents.  Sometimes, my older brother, but that was long, long ago on a distant planet of a remote solar system. I have ADHD with a touch of dyslexia and a natural bend toward depression. These three statements are the foundation of my life story.

Only at this writing, I am beginning to understand some of the events of my early memories.  The one I recall today is spending a couple of weeks with my Aunt Reba each summer.  Those weeks were the best memories of my entire childhood.  Aunt Reba and Uncle Doc lived in what was then a section of southwest Louisville, Kentucky.  They lived in a semi-updated ancient log cabin on a hillside and just at the edge of a wild forest.  It was rich in adventurous living.

I now wonder if my visits with Aunt Reba were not so much for me as for Mom and Dad.  I don’t think I was able to walk to the beat of their parenting band.  They needed a break from me. Setting me free with a nurse, Aunt Reba, and the wild woods seemed to be a win-win. 

Neighbors to Aunt Reba were my maternal grandparents, Paw Paw and Grandmaw.  Saulsbury was their last name, but I never really considered them to have a last name at all; what we called them was enough.  Of my four grandparents, Paw Paw was my soul mate.  From him, I have the most incredible sense of acceptance of all the people I have known in life, except for Jan and the kids.

One mid-summer, Paw Paw came over to get me just as the sun was beginning to rise.  I was going blackberry picking with him.  We walked up a gravel road deep into the hills behind our houses, carrying two small pails and one large bucket.  We walked until we came to his large twisted mound of wild blackberry brambles he had been watching for picking time.  We picked and munched until the bucket and pails were full, and the sun was hot.

Aunt Reba met us at her back door to take the buckets and lead me to a bath in salt water.  The purpose of the saltwater was to kill the chiggers and ticks.  That bath must have worked because I do not remember any scratching that night at the supper table.  However, it may be the delicious blackberry cobbler she had made for us drowned out any discomfort in life.  I can still feel my feet silly-dancing after supper from the day’s delight.  My soul breathes sweetly and deeply in the knowledge I share Paw Paw’s given name, Fred.

There will be other opportunities to tell stories of my life with Paw Paw in this blog.  Today this one is special.  No real reason, other than once again, my Paw Paw passed through my cognition.  Thank you, Holy Spirit, for reminding me you were with me all the way to here!  You will continue to be with me until there.

Such visits from my older days are welcomed interludes in the push to make it through an average day.  More than the events themselves, how did my Creator knit a bundle of nerves in my skull that would record, retain, and replay events?  You might join me in the amazement of the scope, apparent randomness, and detail of all creation, but it’s our memory which astounds me today.  As I ponder the wonder of “memory,” I hear my soul call me to worship.  O, how I worship the One who so loves me!  Who loves each human being and gives such wondrous gifts so freely! Indeed, God is good, very good!

Photo – This is a picture of Paw Paw I took, developed, and printed back in the early 1970s.