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School days, school days, dear old golden rule days, reading, writing, and arithmetic taught to the tune of a hickory stick! That’s the way it was said… before they polished it up.
Those were the days, good ones too. Each day brought a treasure trove of memories.

My schooling began at age six in a one-room schoolhouse. No kindergarten, straight to grade one.

I remember the days leading up to my first day. My heart was a mix of excitement and worry. Scared, who wouldn’t be?

Laura, who raised me, packed my lunch in a paper bag. Later, Reg, her husband, bought me a tin lunch pail, with the Lone Ranger painted on it. Boy, was I proud of that.

But for my first day, I had a paper bag with sandwiches, an apple, a No. 2 pencil, a rubber, and a small notebook.

Entering the boys’ entrance, I was greeted by a woman teacher. I was seated with five other kids my age, all girls. Can you imagine that? Here I was, ready to make new friends, and what do I get? Girls.

Now, don’t get me wrong, girls are fine. I eventually married one. But on that day, I was hoping for boys to go fishing with, share secrets with, or eat lunch with.

A year later, a few boys joined, but they weren’t too friendly, they didn’t want to hang out with me, being so young.

The girls, though, were always there, pestering me, teasing me. Sometimes I hid at lunchtime to escape them.

Recess on my first day came mid-morning. Our playground was an old field. Off to one side were a few trees with swings, occupied by the girls. The boys were busy on an old baseball field, hitting balls and running bases.

Finding a cool spot under a tree, I sat down and took off my new shoes, as they were hurting my feet.

Off to the right, I spotted a big old bullfrog heading towards a stone fence. Figuring I had no boys to play with, I thought maybe the frog would welcome my company. But by the time I reached the fence, it had disappeared between the rocks. Darn, just when I thought I had a playmate.

When I returned to my shoes, the field was empty. Oh well, they must’ve gone for a walk in the woods. I put my shoes back on. Looking up, I saw my teacher marching towards me with a stern look.

“What do you think you’re doing out here, young man? Recess is over. Everyone’s back in school at their desks, where you should be.”

After a lecture on the rules, I was escorted back to the one-room schoolhouse by my ear. A memorable first taste of education.

At the end of the day, I stayed by her desk while she saw the others off. I thought I was in big trouble, but much to my surprise, when she returned, she gave me a hug.

“George,” she said, “I had to bring you in by your ear. Not to punish you, but because the older kids were watching. If I did nothing, they’d think they could get away with it. So, can we still be friends? Do you forgive me?”

“Sure, no problem,” I replied. “Didn’t hurt a bit. If it wasn’t for that darn frog, I’d have known recess was over, tomorrow, I’ll pay more attention.”

With that, she saw me off the school’s property, and I walked home, whistling away… feeling quite grown up.

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I remember one time a while back, I was chatting to my friend Clint while doing some shopping in town. Standing in front of a store window, I said, “Well, would you look at that, Clint, ain’t she a beauty?”

Clint nodded, his eyes twinkling. “She sure is, George. You don’t see many like her anymore… especially made up that fancy.”

I leaned in close for a better look and replied, “Yep, you’re right there. Every curve and line, she sure is something.”

Clint chuckled. “You know, she’s got that look of elegance that you just don’t see much of anymore.”

“Yeah,” I replied with a sigh. “It’s like she’s got a story in every line, and you just can’t help but get pulled in. I swear, every little detail is just so darn perfect.”

“You know, George, I kind of think she’s one of those that makes a lasting impression no matter where she goes.”

Right at that moment, a young feller walked by; he glanced at us, then at the display, clearly curious about what we were looking at. I nodded at him and said, “My boy, we’re just admiring something that doesn’t come along every day.”

The boy took a closer look and said, “Not sure what’s got you both so worked up. I don’t see anything so special.”

Clint and I looked at each other and grinned. “Oh, she’s something special alright, and once you get a bit older, you will see what we mean.”

With that, the boy crept up a bit closer to have another look. You could see he was trying to wrap his head around what we both thought was so special. Then, with a puzzled look, he shook his head and walked away.

I looked at Clint, and he looked at me. “Kids these days,” I said, shaking my head. “They just don’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, they’re too busy staring at their phones. Back in our day, we appreciated beauty in all forms.”

“Right? I mean, look at her! Hell, you can’t just walk past her without taking a second look.”

Clint nodded. “You’re right, George. She’s got real character, and you can tell she’s seen a lot in her day. You know, I’d wager she’s got more stories tucked away than that young feller could ever dream of.”

I grinned, shaking my head. “You know, Clint, I think we’ve made that saddle the talk of the town. Not bad for a piece of leather, huh?”

Just then, a soft voice interrupted us. “You think so?”

Hearing that, we turned to see a beautiful woman standing behind us, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “That saddle used to belong to me,” she said with a smile that could melt butter. “She’s got a lot of miles on her, but she still knows how to turn heads.”

Clint and I exchanged glances, our jaws dropping a bit. “Well, ma’am,” I stammered, “you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

She laughed and said, “Careful, boys,” she teased, “you’re not the only ones who know how to appreciate fine leather.”

With that, she tipped her hat and walked away, leaving Clint and me standing there, grinning like a couple of schoolboys. I suppose it just goes to show you that a good story—and a good saddle—can keep you guessing right up until the very end. Makes you wonder what else we walk past every day without really seeing the story behind it, doesn’t it?

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In the early days, there weren’t the vast chain stores of today. Most stores would probably be no larger than a 1000 square feet, some even smaller.

Today, stores are so large that you could spend all day browsing. Shelves are filled with goods of every kind, so many that it might take a week to see them all.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when most things were made or grown right here in our own country, which helped feed thousands of people. Now, though, things have changed. Don’t get me wrong, as I’m not against progress, but I do think that some of this growth has brought its own problems.

Let’s take one store that was usually in every town be it small or large. The hardware store. Years ago where I lived, we had one called Wilcox. The old wooden floors had a personality of their own, as when you walked upon them, they seem to talk to you. The owners in hearing these sounds would know exactly where or if there was someone in their store without even seeing them.

On entering the store, the smell of leather, steel, and other goods would welcome you as would the owner. One main ingredient that is missing today is the personalized service. Oh, they try hard like at Walmart with greeters at their door, or in other stores with folks in isles waiting to serve you, but it isn’t the same. The small store atmosphere was unique; you knew the owners, they knew you, and the best par was, if you were low on cash, usually they would let you have what you needed till you were a bit more flush.

You could even sit down on a keg of nails and join in a conversation, or just listen, without anyone giving you funny looks. I sure miss those days. Truth be told, there are a lot of little things like that I miss.

Old Mr. Wilcox said one time, just before he closed up, “It’s not about dealing with friends anymore, George. It’s all about business. People today like the big stores and all the glitter. It’s not their fault, though, as that’s their way of life. At our store, we offered free advice taken from years of experience, but these days they don’t even ask. They head straight to the checkout, then go on the internet. I can’t say I blame them, since they can get a movie showing them exactly what to do, usually for free.

They say it’s just a sign of the times, and in many ways, that’s true. But on behalf of the little stores, I’d like to add this: memories are worth sharing, and the people behind those stores deserve to be remembered.

If it weren’t for you paving the way, these giants wouldn’t be here. And just like in the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, even the biggest giants can be brought down, which is something we’re starting to see happen now

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