I was about 5 years old or so when the state department came through and built the interstate
– about ¼ mile in front of our house.
Our place ended at the service road, or feeder road.
At that time, I had several cousins who were truck drivers, and once they realized their routes took them this close to Momma’s house?
They would often stop, for a cup of coffee or to use the bathroom.
Maybe lunch, and maybe a nap.
They would use the phone to call home, or to call the dispatcher.
And more than anything, just to sit and visit with Momma
– give her a “peck on the cheek”.
It did not take long for word to spread among the truckers that Momma’s house was a safe place, and all were welcome
– any time, day or night.
We did not realize that word was quickly spreading even among car travelers.
No matter the weather, no matter the time, no matter daylight or darkness, no matter what was needed
– or just wanted
– Momma’s house was there, the door was always open.
When there was a knock on the door, or a “Hello the house” holler, I knew it was time to make sure there was coffee ready
– and if there wasn’t, get it done!
Many times, someone we did not know slept in our beds or sat at our table.
We have washed clothes for others, allowed them to bathe in our bathroom, or sit on the porch swing for a breath of fresh air.
Kids have run and played, expelling that traveling energy, all over the yards.
People helped gather the eggs, feed the chickens, slop the hog and milk the cow.
As well as weed the garden or flowerbeds.
Many told Momma it was a blessing just to feel “normal” in the midst of traveling.
And of course, there were hugs and laughter
– and sometimes, a tear or three.
Momma never charged for any of it.
Everyone found a way to either help while they were there, or in some way to give back.
Some returned with gifts and treasures, some with boxes and bags of food
– so Momma could keep doing for the next ones to come along.
Even the Sheriff’s and Highway Patrol, as well as the Highway Department guys, knew Momma’s house.
I cannot count all the times I have come home from school or gotten up at 1 am
– and found 1-5 officers sitting at the table drinking coffee and eating Momma’s “ugly cookies” (the ones she did not roll out cut into shapes).
In those years, we had the hoboes coming up from the back and the travelers coming in from the front
– all walks of life, with never any trouble at “Momma’s House”.
A life lived at the crossroads of a wandering world, a changing world.
Lessons learned run deep in the soul –
*Safety is something you create, not something you wait for.
*Coffee is a sacrament.
*A locked door is sometimes less holy than a guarded heart.
*Authorities can sit at the same table as the broken.
*Need doesn’t have to explain itself to be met.
Momma and her faithfulness with flour and coffee grounds.
Add comment
Comments