|The farmhouse where we lived|
The year I turned 14 years old was memorable on so many levels. Why, you ask?
First, know that memories are locked into our brains by the sensory experiences involved. Second, know that these sensory images do not have to be good to be effective.
|The north porch, where the air was fresh and cool|
At fourteen, I was apparently blossoming into an attractive teenager. I didn’t know it; my brothers kept me humble by pointing out my faults. My father helped them. My mother kept silent.
|June 1966--Note that I am hiding on the far right, with my evil brothers around me|
It wasn’t until we had attended a sister church’s revival in a nearby town that I met the teenagers from other churches. Teenage boys…good looking boys. Many asked to sit by me; many followed me to the car and wanted to know where I lived. Heck, I didn’t know what they were thinking.
|This is what a revival can look like if we were lucky.|
Weeks later on a Saturday afternoon, a car showed up at our farm and two of the cutest boys from the revival got out. I sat and talked with them for a few hours.
They kept coming back!
What is so amazing about that?
|No, no. They are NOT cute.|
That summer we were experiencing an infestation of animals under our 120 year old farmhouse: skunks. Man oh man. A million skunks, and we couldn’t get rid of them. We tried everything.
|How to get rid of skunks!|
So while these adorable young men were courting me, we were trying to ignore the perpetual skunk odor that erupted from beneath our house.
That is why U is for…Underneath the House.