On cold winter nights, Truman and I shared a feather tick under a mountain of homemade quilts. It was deliciously scary when the wind banged the big sycamore tree limbs against the house. Ghosts and strange creatures lurked in the “boar’s nest” — a dark, mysterious, and cluttered storeroom of dusty pictures, old clothes, trunks, broken furniture and a coat tree with a hat on top. Flashes of lightening or a full moon turned the coat tree into a creature looking in at us huddled close together under our quilts.
January 18, 2012 · 3:00 pm
Truman and Me (part 3) by Julian Martin
Filed under Essays on a West Virginia Childhood, Essays on Childhood: A Sense of Place, Essays on Childhood: Creative. Nonfiction. Writers., Writing
Tagged as ARMCO Steel, banking the fire, Big Coal River, Boone County WV, boyhood, Bringing In the Sheaves, essays, Essays on Childhood, family history, farms, grandparents, hollers, Julian Martin, Spicy and Isaac Barker, West Virginia, West Virginia Writers, When the Roll is Called Up Yonder
