Unincorporated Townships

I miss home sometimes.

And even more than that, I miss the goofy little institutions of yesteryear and all the little memories that go along with them.

"Allie J, about what are you referring?"

I'm so glad you asked.

The Cart: the cart was (and still is) this weebly wobbly wooden piece of furniture that served as our kitchen island for quite some time. I remember my parents cutting huge watermelons from the backyard on it, and my mom kneading sourdough bread on it. I can still remember the smell and taste of that sourdough bread and the way the yeast looked fermenting in our fridge.

The Other Cart: the other cart was in the garage, and it held all the toys and other random stuff. Badminton rackets, baseball bats, baseball gloves, baseballs, kickballs, jump ropes, and an ancient set of lawn darts that nobody ever played with because they were at the bottom where all the spider webs were. What's funny about this cart is that I don't even know where it came from. It looked like a peasant donkey rickshaw. It had wooden wheels for crying out loud. It was actually several years before I discovered it was an actual cart. I just thought it was a toy bin.

The magnolia tree: It's still there. I used to climb it all the time because it was one of those nice, established trees that had enough branches that opened up. I'd write up there; I'd take naps up there; I'd just hang out in trees with my grass-stained shirt and dusty knees #DarWilliams. And, like, no one would bother me. When I was in my room, there was always the threat of mom coming to find me to fold laundry, or I'd have to listen to Bonnie bangin' on the piano.
But in my tree, there was peace. Except for that one time there was a huge spider. And then I never really went back after that.

Also, picking up magnolia cones? One of the worst yard jobs ever. By far.

Community: So I was a weird kid; I think this blog has established that. Once upon a time, I mapped out our backyard, all the paths in our forest, and I named them like it was a city. We called it "Community". Looking back now, it was actually really useful to have names for all the places so you know where your sister was talking about. Greeter's Path, Rocky Mountain Road, and Hole Avenue (that's where I lived because I always wanted to live on an avenue. I know. Weird.)

The Tar Car: While my parents were re-roofing our house in the middle of a summer, the Tar Car was the accumulation of old shingles in which my sisters and I somehow managed to sit in and pretend it was a car. I remember on this particular day, I was trying to learn multiplication tables from the back of a shiny ruler.

The time my sister found that arrowhead in the rocks that we used to have for mulch: I was so jealous that day. Over a stupid arrowhead. I think I was so jealous I even wrote about it. So jelly. So peanut butter and jelly.

The Ear Stuff: A liquid made out of vinegar, rubbing alcohol and magic. Used for putting in one's ears after swimming in the pool to prevent water from being logged in your brain indefinitely. But the feeling when the liquid came out of your ears onto the pillow and it was all warm and it made you shiver? ZOMG. Nothing like it.

The Swing Set: This is where I learned to make up songs and sing. Almost every day, I'd just go out there and swing and sing whatever like the birds do. When I saw the neighbors, I kept my volume down, but I was still out there singing and swinging. Snow White was pretty much my idol. No, really, you can ask my mom.
 One day, I was putting my heart and soul into it, and Dad was bricking the house. Unbeknownst to me, he came around the side of the house to mix a batch of mortar. Instead of mixing his batch and enjoying the free music, however, he decides to grab the hose and spray it at me interrupting my performance!!!

The Snot Sucker: The most feared tool in the blue bathroom. As the name implies, it got the job done, but it was disgusting. As was the homemade Tonic also administered when you were sick. The Jansens didn't mess around with illness of any kind.

My chapstick collection: this one's actually pretty scary. So, as a little girl, I loved chapstick. I still do. I used it obsessively, so I ran out quite frequently. Instead of throwing away the old tubes, I accumulated them in a box instead with the notion that I would one day grow up and find someone who could duplicate my favorite scents into more chapsticks. Creepy right? Yeah. A little creepy, but mostly unrealistic expectations of a fourth grader.

Anne of Green Gables: I think this may be the only fiction that my mom has ever read. I remember coming in from the pool on hot summer days, and after the Ear Stuff treatment, my mom would read those books to us in the den. And when I grew up, I learned that I was like the only person ever to live in a house that had a "den".

That mural on the wall: that everyone would always ask, "Who painted that?" to which we'd always reply, "It's wallpaper." It was just so farm-like and homey, like the butter section at Kroger.

And I have lost so many things,
TWS

Cheap Clothes; Whitley