I believe that I mentioned my great-grandfather's love of fishing in a previous post. I also spoke of spending time at Bummie and Bumpie's most Sundays, but our family were frequent visitors. Not that we were a real close-knit family or anything like that. Visiting family was simply the culturally accepted norm. Potluck dinners, impromptu picnics and birthdays were standard gathering times for us all.
Life in small-town America was both good and bad. As so often happens in rural towns not every technological and cultural trend had caught up with the population. Not everyone owned televisions. Telephones still had "party" lines. Computers wouldn't become popular (affordable) to the general public until the 1980s. Most people didn't lock their doors - AT ALL. Children played together or alone outside until called in for dinner or it got too dark to see. Times were simpler then.
Sometime right around 1964, my great-grandfather came chuckling up to the house on Ellison Avenue. Fishing pole in hand and a funny story on his lips. The fishing pole was left on the porch and he quickly whispered in Bummie's ear when he came inside.
