• Out to Old Aunt Mary's

Out to Old Aunt Mary's

She was Aunt Martha to me, even though she was really a second cousin and best friend to my Grandma Stamps. Back in the Good Old Days, "Aunt" and "Uncle" were designations given to just about anyone who was an adult and whose relationship to us was too close to warrant "Mister" or "Missus."

Aunt Martha Jones lived less than a quarter-mile south of our home (although it seemed much farther then), and Grandma Stamps lived just over a stone's throw north. Hence, whenever Grandma -- walking stick in hand -- went by shank's mare to see Aunt Martha, she had to pass by our house. Often as not, she couldn't resist one, two or three grandchildren begging to tag along for a summer afternoon adventure.

And what adventures they were!

While Grandma and Aunt Martha caught up on family news and all the gossip a sleepy countryside could offer, we kids were free to run through the small fruit orchard and meadow just outside the house. We explored the fruit cellar that doubled as storm shelter for Aunt Martha when weather threatened. We caught frogs down at the pond or threw rocks in its murky water.

After an hour or so of unfettered freedom, we were beckoned to wash up and cool down inside for a little while. That had its own brand of fascination. Aunt Martha had a parakeet that filled her tiny home with a constant chatter. We had never been around a pet bird before. Sometimes Aunt Martha let Dickie out of his cage, and he would wing from pillar to post, settee to shelf. Dickie could even talk, although the most I ever heard him say was "hello" and "Dickie bird!" Both Grandma and Aunt Martha were widowed, but unlike Grandma, Aunt Martha had no grandchildren to chatter up the house. I guess Dickie filled the void of an otherwise silent household.

After Dickie was safely caged again, we were treated to a piece of Aunt Martha's wonderful apple pie or peach cobbler, along with a glass of tea. We sat around the kitchen table, youngsters listening to elders spin tales of their youth. We soaked up family history along with the wisdom of those well-worn women.

After pie and tea, we were released to our outdoor playground again while two elderly women wrapped up their visit. Grandma always brought fresh eggs from her chicken house to Aunt Martha, while her cousin exchanged that for a pint of jam or a small basket of fruit. Then -- clucking like a mother hen -- Grandma beckoned her brood of grandkids, and we headed back down the country lane home again.

Aunt Martha's house still stands, even though she has been dead many years now. Grandma's home was torn down over 40 years ago. Every time my path takes me back to the Missouri Ozarks, and I am drawn to the old home place, I pass by Aunt Martha's. As I drive by, I remember the visits of two old women and three young children. At least in fond memory, I again hear the chatter of Dickie intermingled with that of Grandma and Aunt Martha, wafting from her tiny home just like it did in the Good Old Days.

When I think of Aunt Martha, I am always reminded of the wonderful poem, Out to Old Aunt Mary's by the Hoosier poet James Whitcomb Riley. Riley is one of my favorite poets from the Good Old Days. I have several original volumes of his work. I hope you enjoy this visit:

Out to Old Aunt Mary's

By James Whitcomb Riley

Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine,
In those old days of the lost sunshine
Of youth -- when the Saturday's chores were through,
And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen too,
And we were visiting, "me and you,"
Out to Old Aunt Mary's? --

"Me and you" -- And the morning fair
With the dewdrops twinkling everywhere;
The scent of the cherry-blossoms blown
After us, in the roadway lone,
Our capering shadows onward thrown --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!

It all comes back so clear to-day!
Though I am as bald as you are gray, --
Out by the barn-lot and down the lane
We patter along in the dust again,
As light as the tips of the drops of rain,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

The few last houses of the town;
Then on, up the high creek-bluffs and down;
Past the squat toll-gate, with its well-sweep pole,
The bridge, and "the old 'baptizin'-hole,'"
Loitering, awed, o'er pool and shoal,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

We cross the pasture, and through the wood,
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood,
Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry,
And the buzzard "raised" in the "clearing"-sky
And lolled and circled, as we went by
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

Or, stayed by the glint of the redbird's wings,
Or the glitter of song that the bluebird sings,
All hushed we feign to strike strange trails,
As the "big braves" do in the Indian tales,
Till again our real quest lags and fails --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's. --

And the woodland echoes with yells of mirth
That make old war-whoops of minor worth! …
Where such heroes of war as we? --
With bows and arrows of fantasy,
Chasing each other from tree to tree
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!

And then in the dust of the road again;
And the teams we met, and the countrymen;
And the long highway, with sunshine spread
As thick as butter on country bread,
Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead
Out to Old Aunt Mary's. --

For only, now, at the road's next bend
To the right we could make out the gable-end
Of the fine old Huston homestead -- not
Half a mile from the sacred spot
Where dwelt our Saint in her simple cot --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

Why, I see her now in the open door
Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er
The clapboard roof! -- And her face -- ah, me!
Wasn't it good for a boy to see --
And wasn't it good for a boy to be
Out to Old Aunt Mary's? --

The jelly, -- the jam and the marmalade,
And the cherry and quince "preserves" she made!
And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear,
With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare! --
And the more we ate was the more to spare,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!

Ah! was there, ever, so kind a face
And gentle as hers, or such a grace
Of welcoming, as she cut the cake
Or the juicy pies that she joyed to make
Just for the visiting children's sake --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!

The honey, too, in its amber comb
One only finds in an old farm-home;
And the coffee, fragrant and sweet, and ho!
So hot that we gloried to drink it so,
With spangles of tears in our eyes, you know --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

And the romps we took, in our glad unrest! --
Was it the lawn we loved the best,
With its swooping swing in the locust trees,
Or was it the grove, with its leafy breeze,
Or the dim haymow, with its fragrancies --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

Far fields, bottom-lands, creek-banks -- all,
We ranged at will. -- Where the waterfall
Laughed all the day as it slowly poured
Over the dam by the old mill-ford,
While the tail-race writhed, and the mill-wheel roared --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

But home, with Aunty in nearer call,
That was the best place, after all! --
The talks on the back porch, in the low
Slanting sun and the evening glow,
With the voice of counsel that touched us so,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

And then, in the garden -- near the side
Where the beehives were and the path was wide, --
The apple-house -- like a fairy cell --
With the little square door we knew so well,
And the wealth inside but our tongues could tell --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

And the old spring-house, in the cool green gloom
Of the willow trees, -- and the cooler room
Where the swinging shelves and the crocks were kept,
Where the cream in golden languor slept,
While the waters gurgled and laughed and wept --
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

And as many a time have you and I --
Barefoot boys in the days gone by --
Knelt, and in tremulous ecstasies
Dipped our lips into sweets like these, --
Memory now is on her knees
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

For, O my brother so far away,
This is to tell you -- she waits to-day
To welcome us:  -- Aunt Mary fell
Asleep this morning, whispering, "Tell
The boys to come." ... And all is well
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.