Memories Of

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Sitting round the kitchen table in the farmhouse where we lived. As children we had loads of fun, that we remember still. I can see mother baking in the pantry where she stood To mix her cakes, bread and cookies, that tasted oh so good. The frosting

dish we spooned out, and licked the dish without a doubt. I sometimes climbed on a chair to see if there were leftovers there

for me. With hungry stomachs to be fed, we loved when mother made

warm baked bread. She always had a table full because she was so kind and good.

The cows she milked provided milk and cream, with plenty left

over for homemade ice cream. Two full buckets of milk she separated each day, and in her

generosity, gave much of it away. While father fished and tended his nets, Mother worked around

the little farm she loved best. Always at home for her family and kin, we children felt her love,

every time we walked in. Mother never left home to go to the store, an unusual feat, seldom

heard of before. Her life was wrapped up in the children she bore, and in her

lifetime she fostered two more.

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