Over the past several months, I have had the occasion to make the drive along U.S. Hwy 90 between Madison and Monticello. That stretch of road takes me past the big white house where Mama Patrick and Papa used to live in Greenville. Most people (if they're old enough to remember) in Greenville probably knew them as Lamar and Ruby Patrick; but, to me, they were Mama Patrick and Papa. Since I was on the "younger" end of the grandchild succession, I was not the one who determined the moniker for my grandparents, I merely followed the custom that had already laid out before me.
I'm not sure when the house was built, I vaguely remember my dad telling me it was built sometime in the late 1800s. It sits right on Hwy. 90, just west of downtown Greenville. Sherrod's Lumber Company was right across the highway from the house. That was very convenient for Papa, since he worked for Sherrod's for a while. I would often go to the sawmill with Papa and sit with him while he waited for log trucks to come to the mill. He would weigh the trucks on their way in and then weigh them on the way out in order to determine just how much wood was brought into the mill. He actually taught me how to operate the scales and perform the calculations. That was kind of cool for a kid. Who knew that the simple math I was learning at Perry Elementary School had real world applications? Much of the time, Papa and I would talk or read. He would tell me stories about the "old days" when great-great grandaddy Greene walked home from the war using his rifle as a crutch; or when the family had to hide in the cornfield when Indians raided the house; or about how panthers will dig a shallow hole in the ground and "howl" into that hole in order to disguise where the howl was coming from. Some of the stories may have been "stretched" a little, but I loved hearing them just the same. Papa was a wonderful storyteller. I wish I had some recordings of his stories.
Anytime I drive past the house, I am reminded of those wonderful memories. The house is still standing. I'm not sure of who is living there now. There's some blue tarp on the roof, which makes me wonder if the roof leaks a little and the house can use a paint job. But the memories remain fresh and new, and they never fail to bring a smile to my face. I hope you have a "big white house" in your past that brings many fond memories for you.