Have you ever watched a TV mystery or maybe an old Perry Mason and a witness is asked to remember a certain scene? The lawyer might say, “Just close your eyes and imagine you are back at (wherever the action occurred).” Funny thing is, this technique of “remembering” actually works. It works for me, not that I’ve ever been interrogated nor do I ever wish to be. But, I can close my eyes and imagine a scene as if I am there. For instance, I can remember running barefoot over rocks and grass when I was a child. I can feel those sun-warmed rocks under my feet and the tickly grass between my toes. This also works for writing a scene in a book. I may never have been in the situation Darcy finds herself in but if I close my eyes and block out the real world, I can imagine the scene I’m writing in detail; the feel, the scent, what I see.
Yesterday started with rain. It was pretty nice to be safe and warm inside while rain pelted the trees and grass and bounced off the deck. I found myself wondering what a rainy day must have been for my mom in her home at Etta, maybe a hundred years ago. In my mind, I was there, on that dark front porch of the Latty farm house, the cool boards under my feet, the roof sheltering me from the rain. Ma Latty’s old dishpan filled with rose moss was on the railing, the stems hanging down and trailing bright flowers. Rain splatted off the large, flat rocks that were the steps. Across the road, Pappy’s barn stood gray and solid in the shower while I glimpsed one of the horses or mules just inside, out of the downpour. Closer to the porch, the springhouse sheltered crocks of milk, cream, and eggs. I saw it all and in my imagination, I was there. It was a contented, warm feeling.
A bright bolt of lightning sizzled across the clouds, thunder jarred the house, and I was back in the here and now. But it was nice to go to Etta for a visit.
The Heritage of Etta Bend
by
Blanche Day Manos
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