This is Plum Hollow

Plum Hollow. I grew up here. Moved away from here. Moved back here. I like it here. I don't plan on spending the rest of my life here. I hold memories of every emotion with just the mention of Plum Hollow.

In the cow pasture overlooking Plum Hollow. My grandparents, Burl (1905-1963) and Lucy (1906-1986), owned many acres here. The original farmhouse, where my mother grew up, was razed in 1990. The home in the foreground is my uncle's; the background is my aunt's; to the right, beyond the photo is another aunt's house and to the left just past the gigantic hemlocks, is my humble abode.

 

 

I was near the tree in this photo when I took the overlook of Plum Hollow.

 

One of my favorite memories: Granny's cellar. This is where I'd sneak in and grab a pint of canned blackberries when I knew the supply was getting low. I loved Granny's cellar. I helped her clean it every summer in preparation for the new canning season. Green beans, kraut, corn, tomatoes, tomato juice, berries, potatoes, and on and on. I remember when my cousins and I, as children, were able to crawl up on the rock wall of the cellar porch and sit by ourselves. We felt so "big". My Granny. She loved me as much as I love her.