Put It On My Bill

Every summer I would spend time with my Grandparents at Lead Hill, savoring the sweet freedom from the rules of my parents and basking in Grandma’s love! Their little rock house smelled of fresh baked pie, cooled in the summer by their black Emerson fan that set on the kitchen table. Grandma’s kitchen had a white enamel table where she and Grandpa would have breakfast. She spoiled anyone who came into that house with meals fit for a King. Hot bread for every meal, big fluffy “cat-head” biscuits or golden cornbread baked in an old cast iron skillet that she had used since they married in 1921. Grandpa had a sweet tooth so jams, honey and sorghum set in the middle of the table on a lazysusan.

My Grandpa couldn’t slip out of the house without me wanting to tag along! He would check on the cows then on up to town. Pruitt’s was just a small country store in the 1950’s. I loved to go in that store with Grandpa, even as a child I realized the respect he had of his friends and neighbors. A closeness that is hard to find these days, they would smoke and whittle laughing and joking with each other. Politics and farm prices were discussed freely and opinions were welcome. Mamie Pruitt was always behind the big glass candy case where a penny would buy you a "poke" of sweets. She would ring up the groceries on that ornate cash register and place them in brown paper sacks for customers to carry home. Pruitt’s Store also had a meat counter with bologna and Longhorn cheese or long strings of hot dogs, customers would say, "Put it on my bill!"

To me it seemed like everyone in town knew my Grandpa and he loved visiting with his friends and neighbors. In small towns across America that feeling of trust and long-lived friendships still thrives. We need each other now more than ever, to confide in and encourage in these hard economic times.