It was her front porch that I remember the best, and her rocker with the worn cushion, the smell of lavender from the garden and grass cut with a push mower. And sweet tea in the late afteroons with sponge cake dusted with powdered sugar. And the ceiling fan. I remember the creaky comfort of the wicker furniture that aged as we did, taking our shape and wearing in the places where we sought comfort.
Neighbors came by without invitation and stayed through lunch. Sometimes they brought fresh tomatoes, warm from the sunny garden that Granny would slice and make thick sandwiches with white bread frosted generously with Hellmans.
