once upon a hillside..(for the bunny collector)

Momma has a poem called Hill After Hill. In it she says “and years from now you know they are what made you.”

A.T. challenged me to think more upon what it is about those hills that haunts me, haunts us all.

These are just some of the memories that were made upon those hills.



I think sometimes the memories are getting blurry, but then I start to think about them, and they all come back to me like that freight train passing quiet through the night. When I remember it most clearly I am about 10 or 11 years old, a little freckle faced, red headed girl with a head full of dreams. If I was 11 that would have made the one we sometimes called Mary Poppins about 13. I wanted to be her so badly, with her beautiful brown eyes and her soft spoken ways. The Tom Boy, her, sister would have been about 10, just six months behind me. Strangely, I wanted to be her too! So wild and free, the complete opposite of her older sibling. And I could never quite make up my mind which one I wanted to be more.

The Bunny Collector was grown by then, or so we all thought. Sixteen years old and long since leaving behind those childhood games for basket balls and guitars. But still the sweet, genuine boy was there who had cared so dearly for his bunny friends, only now he was trying hard to be a caring man.

My little shadow would have been about nine. I had still had a few years before she would rebel against me in attempt to strike out on her own. In my mind she still thinks I hung the moon and stars and she follows Mary Poppins and the Tom Boy and me around as we pursue the Bunny Collector through the hills of the Ozarks.

It is Autumn in the Hills and when we find him the Little Man is with him. He is about five or six but he looks eight. He is so grown up but still there is wonder in his eyes. Wonder and wisdom and love. Its no surprise the two are hiding together under the fort they have made from sticks and fallen trees. They are versions of the same song played in different decades but with the same soft melodies.

The leaves are crunching below us as we try to sneak up behind them; they give us away. The Little Man smiles but I think I see a bit of disappointment cross The Bunny Collector’s face, no doubt he has enjoyed the time away from his crazy girl cousins. We huddle close to them intruders upon the fort, but soon we are all laughing. The hills are alive with colors but we are so consumed with each other that we hardly notice them.

There will be a feast for dinner later, Cornish hens, mashed potatoes, parsnips, me-maw rolls and pumpkin pie. We would be allowed to sit at the table if we could keep our napkins in our laps and sit up straight. “Now, Girl!” Old Bad Fox would say and look at your elbows. Quick! Get them off the table! He smiles.

Later there is snow on the ground. It is Winter in the Hills. Momma says she heard the snow fall in the night and when we look outside we are thrilled to see that she is right. We all live in places in the South like FL, GA, TX, MS and TN so snow is an old friend we rarely see. We all bundle up and I’m jealous of Mary’s white fur coat. The Shadow throws a snow ball at The Bunny Collector’s head and it breaks The Old Bad Fox’s car window. She lies when she tells him that she didn’t know there were rocks in it and we all keep our mouths shut.

We hike slowly down the old hill to the lake below. Careful to hold Little Man’s hand so he won’t fall. The lake is frozen but not solid enough to go out on it. Our noses are cold and our hands are freezing even through our mittens. The Bunny Collector wanders off into the snowy woods and I wonder what it must feel like to be a teenager. We head back inside for stew and cribbage.

Its Christmas Eve in the Hills and I am lying beside the Tom Boy on the pull out couch that Me Maw calls a divan on the sun porch. The old clock is singing its night time song in the distance and I can’t wait to see what Santa has brought. In the morning there will be cheese bread and coffee. Christmas Sweaters. Family Sing a Longs and some one will read Grandma Barker’s old poem.

The Three Girls are all home. The Music Maker at the piano, the Singer of Songs holding the hymnal, and The One Who Marches to Her Own Beat making them laugh.

The Bunny Collector’s older siblings are here too. Sweet Sister. Ok, that settles it! Forget Mary and the Tom Boy, she is the one I want to be just like. With that curly hair and great laugh! I hope I will be so cool when I grow up. I have a secret crush on the Second Son. I think he is so handsome. His new wife is with him and she is pregnant with their baby. She is beautiful to me. Before we go to sleep The Oldest Son and his wife tell us the most amazing story I have ever heard. I love how they tell it together. How one finishes the others lines. I would realize later that it was C.S. Lewis’ The Silver Chair.

Its Springtime in the Hills and My Shadow and I have on the sister dresses Me Maw gave us. Little Man in in a white suit. And oh my! Look at The Old Bad Fox in his pink suit and Easter egg colored tie! He clips roses for the girls to pin to our dresses and we feel like we are little ladies. So pretty. “Pretty is as pretty does” Me Maw reminds us. Where have I heard that before? We all take pictures with the iris and then off to church.

Spring time means lots and lots of flowers and we follow The Old Bad Fox through the garden as he snaps pictures. “You see that stump over there, Girl?” He asks. And I smile. “I’m never cutting it out.” I know why and he hugs me.

I sleep in the Red Room with My Shadow and Little Man. We bundle together in the in the twin beds and fight over who gets to sleep in the middle.

It is Summer in the hills and Me Maw is taking us on a picnic. We pack our lunches and head to Kabool to the park. The mayonnaise on the sandwiches has gotten hot but I eat mine anyway because she packed it for me. Later she takes us down to the old creek and we wade out in the water rolling up our pants legs we go out too deep. On the way home we pick Queen Ann’s Lace. When we get home we discover we have leaches from the creek!

We go over to the to Uncle Bob and Aunt Nita’s for fishing. He has rigged up an elevator of sorts to get up and down their steep hill. It creeks and moans. What fun! They never had children of their own and so it is fun to play with them. Aunt Nita shows us her paintings and I love to just sit and listen to Uncle Bob talk, his handle bar mustache moving as he speaks.

Later there will be watermelon from the garden.

As I think back I realize it is the people who come to mind. It is the hills, yes, but the people I loved who lived among them. And maybe it is the hills that I could see in them that I long for now. They grew up in those same hills. The same seasons passing. An Old Bad Fox and his Bride. Over fifty years of passing seasons and still I saw him cry when we laid her down into those very same hills.

I guess it’s the passage of time that I long for. The innocence of childhood that I seem to have left there somewhere along the way. It seems as though Mary and The Tom Boy, Little Man and My Shadow, The Bunny Collector and his older siblings, The Three Girls-The Music Maker, The Singer of Songs and the One Who Marched to Her Own Beat, The Old Bad Fox Himself and His Bride, it feels in my minds eye that they should all still be there, playing with the little freckle-faced red-headed girl, shaping her dreams.

Once upon an
Ozark Hillside
Lived an Old Bad Fox
And his Elegant Bride.

Nesting upon that hill
Three girls at their feet,
A Music Maker, a Singer of Songs
And a Little One, Who Marched to Her Own Beat.

The three would grow,
Each with her turn to shine.
Each would have her own brood
In her own time.

And year after year
No matter where they had gone
Each would return to that old hill
And bring their children along.

What joys! What laughter!
Memories that will never fade!
The Old Bad Fox telling stories
And oh! The suppers he made!

And his Bride, our Me-Maw
Was there ever a sweeter sound made
Than to hear her soft voice whisper
That you were her Babe?

I don’t think they knew the impact
That hill would make
No matter how far our roots run
Or which paths we take.

Once upon an
Ozark Hillside
Lived an Old Bad Fox
And his Elegant Bride.

Resting now upon that hill
Their beloved Ozark pride!
Home with their Maker
And forever side by side.



.