There was a long stretch of a dirt road that ran along the fence line to the back of my Grandparent’s property. It was always a long hot walk, but even then I preferred the heat over cold. Once you got to the end of the road it opened into what Granddaddy called the sandpit. I never understood the name. I was a city kid by Granddaddy’s standards and to me it looked like dirt; a big half a hole of red dirt. We used to get into all kinds of trouble back at the sandpit. Continue reading
From My Father’s Knee-
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