cotton fields as a younger girl. She was what I always believed to be the essence of the south, by beauty, charm, and by nature. She was a kind woman, with only love and patience for me; I don't believe I have ever been loved by someone so much as by her. Not even by my own parents. She helped my daddy raise me from the age of 2 to the age of 7, him being a single father he needed all the help he could get. Patience was a definite requirement with me, as I was always getin into trouble, for as long as can remember back.
It had been a threatening morning, the warning sirens had gone off and we had spent what I had thought to be the better part of the early hours in Grannies cellar. In that old rickety house scurrying down to the cellar had become a routine with nearly every passing storm. There was not much air circulation 7 feet underground, so the smell was stale, and at times like this when it rained so heavily the humidity would all but take your breath away. Shelves had been built against one wall to store a small amount of water and a bit of food, "just in case.  A mattress was laid on the cement floor draped in eloquently designed quilts, each handmade by Granny herself. She always sat in her wooden rocking chair next to an old antique sofa table that was now used to store her yarn and crochet needles. She would sit patiently just rocking and crocheting, humming an old tune that her mamma used to sing to her. I was allowed to pass the time by either coloring or watching her crochet. She could sit for hours, making the tiniest of stiches on her intricately detailed doilies.
"Granny, why do you do that so much?  I asked. My boredom was beginning to take over and the countless, pointless questions that can be made by a 6 year old were to commence.
"Kellie-Ann, a lady should always keep herself busy. Besides, they make pritty place mats and gifts for friends. Maybe I'll make one for you some day, when you're old e...