An early memory of mine is of my mother leaning her soft belly against the black slate sink as she washed dishes. She was 28 years old and stood just over 5 ft tall. Her light brown hair curled softly around her oval face. Six month-old Hunky was napping in his little crib by the open window that looked down on the door yard of my grandparent’s farm. Mom walked back and forth from the wood stove to the sink emptying the kettle of hot water into the enamel dish pan. The steaming water splashed over egg crusted breakfast dishes. Her right arm grasped the long handle of the pump and pulled down as cold water poured out of the flat spout to cool the dish water. Hunky moved restlessly in his crib and I patted his back as I had seen Mom do many times before.

Mom stood on her tiptoes to look out the small window over the sink. I heard giggling and knew Doug and Donna the four-year-old twins and Rita not yet six were in the pasture picking dandelions. Mom smiled as she watched Doug pull the red wood-sided wagon through the tall grass as the girls yanked dandelions blossoms and threw them in the wagon.

Soon the silence of the quiet summer morning was broken when the three tow-headed children ran up the stairs and burst through the thin wooden door with their arms full of dandelions for Mom. She quickly filled several jelly jars with water and placed the flowers in the center of the rough table top.

Another brief snapshot into my long ago childhood is shampoo time. Water was heated on the wood stove that stood near the back wall of the sparse kitchen. Rita was first to jump upon the wooden chair placed under the linoleum covered counter. Warm water from the kettle splashed into the small white enamel basin as Rita laid face up with her head over the edge of the black slate sink. Mom placed her hand on Rita’s forehead as she poured water through the short blond hair of her oldest child. She rubbed a bar of Ivory soap between her hands until the white foam squeezed out between each of her fingers and she gently rubbed the suds through the silky strands to wash out the farmyard dirt collected during the last few days.

Miss Greene from up the road opened the kitchen door just as mom was helping Rita down into the chair. Without a word mom pointed to a straight-back chair by the table and grabbed a well-worn towel and began to pat dry Rita”s hair. Rita jumped down from the chair and ran to Miss Greene and stood by her side, smiling up at her as Mom poured coffee from a dented percolator from the back of the still warm stove.

Miss Green said, “Irma I have an idea about a skit we can do at the grange this Saturday.”

The tight bun on the top of her head bobbed back and forth as she described the scene, her glasses slipped up and down on the bridge of her long narrow nose as she laughed at the punch line of the skit.

Mom laughed as she turned back to find Donna already lying face up on the counter. Doug was next then me.

I loved the feeling of the warm water flowing through my hair,and the feel of the ivory soap bubbles bursting on my scalp. The basin screeched as it was moved along the gritty bottom of the slate sink. The tin cup scraped the basin as it was filled with warm clear water and soon I felt the tickly sensation as the water flowed through my short blonde hair.

I was lifted down from the counter and sat in a chair while mom roughly rubbed the scratchy towel over my damp hair.

I opened my eyes to see Miss Green looking at me over her small wire rimmed glasses, she nodded toward the little crib and said, “How do you like your baby brother? I shrugged and quickly followed the girls out the door.

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