ONE HOT DAY
Maryam Peigahi
Merry Caston
Writing 115-Writing Blue
January 27, 2015
ONE HOT DAY: MY BIGGEST FEAR FLEW IN SPARKS
As a young child my greatest fear was fire. I am not certain what sparked this fear, or even why I would often dream about it only to wake up with my heart pounding and tears rolling down my cheeks.
It was a hot Labor Day weekend 1996. My husband, children and I lived in a Farm house built in 1864, one of the oldest houses in Lane County. The house had large plank floors, two front doors off the porch and large windows some with the original panes of glass. One door lead you into the Parlor and the other lead you into the Living room. A narrow hallway in the living room went to small winding steps that took you to a great room on the second floor of the house, this is where my kids had their bedrooms. The house was surrounded with the most amazing yard. The white picket fence enclosed a grape arbor, as old as the house, and underneath the grapes there were two small rope swings attached to the arbor for my kids. Outside the fence was a large orchard filled with apples, pears and plums: and a lovely garden that I planted each summer with corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, blueberries and raspberries.
I remember the day as if it were yesterday. We were getting ready for the long weekend, and my brother was coming down from Portland to celebrate my sister’s birthday.
The day started as a typical late summer morning. The sun was shining high in the sky, the birds were busy in the grapes and I was busy in the kitchen. My son was in the large claw foot tub playing pirate ships with soap bars and my daughter was on the computer in the living room playing her favorite game. It was a lovely morning.
With the warm breeze blowing through the open doors and windows I could smell a faint bit of smoke, but that was not unusual. Our house was tucked in between many mint farmers. They would harvest the mint in the late summer, then burn the
Merry Caston
Writing 115-Writing Blue
January 27, 2015
ONE HOT DAY: MY BIGGEST FEAR FLEW IN SPARKS
As a young child my greatest fear was fire. I am not certain what sparked this fear, or even why I would often dream about it only to wake up with my heart pounding and tears rolling down my cheeks.
It was a hot Labor Day weekend 1996. My husband, children and I lived in a Farm house built in 1864, one of the oldest houses in Lane County. The house had large plank floors, two front doors off the porch and large windows some with the original panes of glass. One door lead you into the Parlor and the other lead you into the Living room. A narrow hallway in the living room went to small winding steps that took you to a great room on the second floor of the house, this is where my kids had their bedrooms. The house was surrounded with the most amazing yard. The white picket fence enclosed a grape arbor, as old as the house, and underneath the grapes there were two small rope swings attached to the arbor for my kids. Outside the fence was a large orchard filled with apples, pears and plums: and a lovely garden that I planted each summer with corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, blueberries and raspberries.
I remember the day as if it were yesterday. We were getting ready for the long weekend, and my brother was coming down from Portland to celebrate my sister’s birthday.
The day started as a typical late summer morning. The sun was shining high in the sky, the birds were busy in the grapes and I was busy in the kitchen. My son was in the large claw foot tub playing pirate ships with soap bars and my daughter was on the computer in the living room playing her favorite game. It was a lovely morning.
With the warm breeze blowing through the open doors and windows I could smell a faint bit of smoke, but that was not unusual. Our house was tucked in between many mint farmers. They would harvest the mint in the late summer, then burn the