This is the time of year when I can feel the memories of small towns and country days come alive. I'm thankful for the gift of remembering because wherever we are, memories are a special gift from God.  I can still see and smell the fall air mingled with the scent of crisp leaves, sunlight dancing on pumpkin patches, campfires and cider mills.

In the month of October each year, our family spent weekends with grandparents and relatives in the northern part of Michigan. We would start out on a well traveled highway from the city, until an hour away from our destination.  Then, Dad would take the backroads to the area where he and my Mother were from.

Riding by dormant fields, already harvested for the winter, the remains of summer corn stalks were still visible.  Tall silos were filled with the wealth of hard work. Many farmers had pumpkins and squash in the garden close to their homes, while hay bales were bundled and stacked away for another season.

Smoke would fill the air as we drove through the country.  Leaves which had been radiant in color, were now being burned along with dead brush under the watchful eye of someone who waved as we drove by. Chimney smoke reminded us that the area we were visiting was colder than the city, and fireplaces in homes were heated as the autumn days would soon turn to winter.

While riding along the country road, the trees stood tall and regal, heavily decorated with a mass of fallen leaves that lay on the ground against their mighty trunks.  Perched on a limb high above, we could see the birds of the season, the pheasants, and watch as they took flight, their graceful wings in motion and along side their mates, flying to a hidden area away from the eyes of the hunter.

Upon arrival, our grandparents always had a pumpkin glowing with a smile.  It might be before Halloween, but Grandpa grew pie pumpkins and cooked the seeds with salt for us to eat.  Often the small town would have a homecoming parade on Saturday morning, and we eagerly walked the two blocks to the main street where the school band would start off the festivities.

Shopkeepers and store owners would come out of their establishments and greet the folks from town and country who came to watch the parade. Often a speaker would make announcements from a small platform. The town Lion's Club would have a tent set up with a pig roast and all the trimmings.  Church women's groups would have a variety of desserts laid out on tables with colorful cloths along the sidewalk to raise funds for a
special cause.  Children played together and adults talked, often this was one of the few occasions people could take time away from their work to be together.  What fun it was!  Homecoming and harvest time was a special celebration for the whole county -- everyone was part of it.

Before daybreak, early in the morning, Dad would meet some men and they would go to an area owned by family, and wait for the pheasants. Although pheasant tasted good, I secretly hoped they would let the colorful birds fly.  They helped make the country beautiful.  Homecoming parades, a county fair, the harvest moon, picking fall apples and fun gatherings of a small town, were as special as the empty cornfields, the sunshine glistening on the last colorful leaves, and the beauty of pheasants in flight.

All of these things are safely guarded in the place where memories are stored.  As time goes by, the events of days past become more precious to me. Wherever I am as I drive down a country road, I once again picture scenes from the small towns in northern Michigan, where a simple beauty with so much love was part of a special harvest.  copyright, Diane Dean White, 2003

Diane is a former newspaper reporter and freelance writer. Her stories have appeared on numerous websites as well as in Stories from a Soldiers Heart, Women Emerging Courageous and Chicken Soup To Inspire a Woman's Soul. She is the author of the book Beach Walks, and her new book Carolina in the Morning has just been released. You may visit Diane at her online home at www.DianeDeanWhite.com