This is the kind of Sandbox my grandchildren had in 1990.
Read below for a different version of a Sandbox. Enjoy!!
This was written August 29,1995 by a cousin of mine who died April 11, 2007.
My Big Sandbox
“…Mine had no sides on it, nor did it have a bottom to it. And its size, why several children could play in it at the same time, and each could have his or her own farm with fields for cotton, corn, potatoes and a garden, plus your own house and barn with a chicken pen, a hog pen, a mule pen, a smoke house and an outhouse, of course. You could dig your own well for water, all on your farm, while next to you the child there, maybe your brother or sister or the child of the family whom lived close by, and farmed next to your house. This child might have on their land a country store or a small town where the schoolhouse was, the barber shop, the drug store, the one doctor for many miles around you. All in my Sandbox. There could be a road. We would dig a creek and make believe there was water and fish in it and build a bridge over it. You could drive your car or mule and cart to church on the Lord’s day, and go home with a brother or sister in the Lord and have dinner with them, then go back to church and stay late into the night, singing, praying and preaching, all In my large Sandbox.
Now my car or truck that I had was a brick, or sometimes it was a short 2x4 with four Pepsi Cola bottle caps tacked to it for wheels, and sometimes I had a trailer, another piece of 2x4 hitched to my truck with a short piece of twine and I would go through my fields or out on the main road. From one farm to another, visiting my neighbors or go to the store to get a piece of ice so we could have iced tea for dinner, All in my Sandbox. I know you are thinking, “he is crazy,” but for three years I had a very large sandbox, it had a cover over it.
I could play in it while it rained and not get wet. And one good thing about it, I was always close to mom and dad, unless they were working in the real fields of the farm. I could play all day under mom’s feet and never get in her way, and always, she could call my name and I could hear her and answer. You see my sandbox was the sand under our home. Six rooms, a front porch all the way across the house and a back porch. The sand was dry, my brothers and sister that were young enough during these three years spent many hours there learning what it was like in the real world of poverty.
Yet, I have met men in my adult life that never had a yard to play in as a child. Never knew the joy of sifting sand through their fingers, of pushing a brick for your toy car. Because you didn’t get toys, it was all dad could do to keep us from going hungry and keep clothes and shoes on us. But we were among the happiest people that I knew. And I thank God for My Sandbox.
…You see our house was built on brick pillars with no “sides” underpinning. Most farm houses were built that way.
…I pass this old place sometimes and the house is gone, but my childhood memories are still with me and in my mind I still enjoy My Sandbox.” ~James Lee Bell
My Big Sandbox
“…Mine had no sides on it, nor did it have a bottom to it. And its size, why several children could play in it at the same time, and each could have his or her own farm with fields for cotton, corn, potatoes and a garden, plus your own house and barn with a chicken pen, a hog pen, a mule pen, a smoke house and an outhouse, of course. You could dig your own well for water, all on your farm, while next to you the child there, maybe your brother or sister or the child of the family whom lived close by, and farmed next to your house. This child might have on their land a country store or a small town where the schoolhouse was, the barber shop, the drug store, the one doctor for many miles around you. All in my Sandbox. There could be a road. We would dig a creek and make believe there was water and fish in it and build a bridge over it. You could drive your car or mule and cart to church on the Lord’s day, and go home with a brother or sister in the Lord and have dinner with them, then go back to church and stay late into the night, singing, praying and preaching, all In my large Sandbox.
Now my car or truck that I had was a brick, or sometimes it was a short 2x4 with four Pepsi Cola bottle caps tacked to it for wheels, and sometimes I had a trailer, another piece of 2x4 hitched to my truck with a short piece of twine and I would go through my fields or out on the main road. From one farm to another, visiting my neighbors or go to the store to get a piece of ice so we could have iced tea for dinner, All in my Sandbox. I know you are thinking, “he is crazy,” but for three years I had a very large sandbox, it had a cover over it.
I could play in it while it rained and not get wet. And one good thing about it, I was always close to mom and dad, unless they were working in the real fields of the farm. I could play all day under mom’s feet and never get in her way, and always, she could call my name and I could hear her and answer. You see my sandbox was the sand under our home. Six rooms, a front porch all the way across the house and a back porch. The sand was dry, my brothers and sister that were young enough during these three years spent many hours there learning what it was like in the real world of poverty.
Yet, I have met men in my adult life that never had a yard to play in as a child. Never knew the joy of sifting sand through their fingers, of pushing a brick for your toy car. Because you didn’t get toys, it was all dad could do to keep us from going hungry and keep clothes and shoes on us. But we were among the happiest people that I knew. And I thank God for My Sandbox.
…You see our house was built on brick pillars with no “sides” underpinning. Most farm houses were built that way.
…I pass this old place sometimes and the house is gone, but my childhood memories are still with me and in my mind I still enjoy My Sandbox.” ~James Lee Bell
1 comment:
Love the sandbox story! I'll bet it was fun playing in the cool sand underneath the house!
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