Last week, I baked my first batch of Christmas treats for the year. I wanted to make a few things for the weekend. It seems more than half of the goodies I make have pecans in them. It’s a rare occasion to not be able to find a Ziploc of pecans in our freezer. My grandmother and mom are the same way. Usually this time of year Momma finds some to buy and we put them in our freezers to use throughout the year.
When I was a little girl, we’d pick them up and shell them ourselves, though. We’d go over to my Papa’s uncles house and pick them up until our backs and knees were numb. One cool morning, Granny and I had met one of her friends under the pecan trees to pick some up. I must have been about four years old and I picked up as long as my attention span allowed… which wasn’t long, I’m sure.
After a while, I started to walk around the trees exploring and found a furry little friend from the field. I say, little, but if my memory serves right, he was actually a pretty BIG, DEAD rat.
Granny was on her hands and knees picking up as fast as she could when I went over to share my new friend with her. I gently laid it across her back and proudly announced, “Granny there’s a rat on your back.” Granny, in true Granny-fashion, replied, “oh, there ain’t done it…” But I wouldn’t give up.. “Granny, there’s a rat on your back”… we went back and forth a couple of times, and finally Granny’s friend looked up and informed her that it was no joke, there was a rat on her back, indeed… a DEAD rat…
I don’t really know where I was going with that, or what it says about me as a child, but one thing’s for sure…Granny always believed me after that.