It was a strong wood-frame structure originally designed for a very special purpose. But in the early 60's, my father converted it into an entertainment hall and a little cafe for young people. Though I never learned how to dance, one of the great thrills of my early life took place there when a young girl older than me did her best to teach me how to dance. There were times that I felt that our dad was the meanest man on the planet. Yet at other times, he was very cool and so in touch with everybody, even his kids, and their friends. Enough about daddy. This is about a structure before it was converted.
Before we said hello to the young people's cafe, we had to say goodbye to the 'Gristmill'. The Gristmill was a mill for grinding grain, and before we ever considered dancing on its floor, we kids spent lots of time jumping and playing in the big bin of corn and working in the mill grinding corn into cornmeal.
Those were the days when, sometimes for us kids, the lines were not well defined relative to where the playing ended and the work began. Those were the 'Good Old Days' when mom and dad raised and grew most of the food we ate. Our cow provided the milk and other dairy products so well produced by our dear mom. Our chickens provided eggs, mama's dumplings, soups, and delicious fried chicken. There were pigs, goats, and rabbits. There were fresh fruits and vegetables of all kinds.
I must say that generally there was very hard work involved in the production of most of our food, but in the case of 'The Gristmill', there was little that we understood as work. I tell you, we had more fun in 'the Gristmill' than a kid had any right to.
05262018PSContest, Gristmill Poetry, Craig Cornish
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2018