CHESTNUTS by Pastor Ken Rickett

A BLOG BY PASTOR KEN RICKETT

One of the joys of the so-called “golden years” is the recall of childhood memories. That being said, it is usually true (for me, anyway) that childhood recollections are often triggered by something said, observed, or something experienced. If the truth be told, “senior citizens” expend vast energies trying to live and cope with the present or impending future possibilities (medical, financial, family issues), and therefore, specific childhood memories are “jogged” by some comment or activity.

Recently, while visiting my college roommate who lives in the mountains of North Carolina, I was relaxing when he grabbed several plastic grocery bags and said, “come with me.” We walked uphill to the house where his parents used to live, then we were under the canopy of a huge chestnut tree. On the ground lay quite a few empty chestnut burrs, and the ground was literally dotted with chestnuts awaiting harvest–either by humans or wildlife. Looking up at the magnificently-sized tree, it was obvious that the majority of burrs had not yet opened. However, the number of chestnuts on

the ground seemed so numerous that it was mind-boggling that the tree had thousands of chestnuts yet to be released by Mother Nature’s ripening processes. Handing me the plastic bags, my roommate pointed to the ground, and said, “get all you want.”

Bending my back and picking up chestnuts by the handfuls, I soon gathered three or four bags full of chestnuts. It would have been much easier to sit on the ground, and scoot here and there to pick up the plentiful brown nuts. But, if one has ever gathered chestnuts, the prickly burrs can easily penetrate the skin sometimes leaving festering sores! I was grateful to be wearing thick-soled tennis shoes! When moving around, picking up the chestnuts, I made no sudden moves; I did not want to fall on the burrs! This marvelous experience caused childhood memories to gush into my conscious mind as I eagerly grabbed the chestnuts within reach.

“Back in the day” as the saying goes, I remembered how grocery stores in those mountains sold chestnuts in the twilight month of September’s fading summer, and the delight of my brother and I as our grandmother brought home from shopping a bag of chestnuts for our after-school treat. We often sat in the swing on the front porch, hulling chestnuts and chomping on their yellow meat. An occasional “wormy chestnut” was tossed out into the yard. Our grandmother had an old wood cookstove, and several times

throughout my childhood, after building a fire in the stove and waiting for the oven to get hot, she would then put a panful of chestnuts in oven, occasionally stirring them, until they were roasted. Now, that’s a mouth-watering treat for those who like to eat chestnuts!

Chestnuts a’roasting! Yes, those were the days, my friend! Had it not been for the sultry, dry days of September, those chestnuts would have been put into an old timey popcorn popper and roasted over a blazing flame in the living room fireplace!

Today we enjoy singing, at Christmastime, a song that mentions “roasting chestnuts over an open fire” …and therefore, we sometimes get the impression that roasting chestnuts is a yuletide treat! But the reality, my friend, is that roasting chestnuts is rooted in the early fall season when September’s goldenrod is yellow with blooms!  However, just as we roast salted and buttered pecans at Christmas, we also preserve chestnuts until Christmas for roasting. So, upon arrival back home in Indiana, our bags of chestnuts were placed in the freezer until some chilly December night when we can roast them over an open fire outdoors…and memories will once again, come to mind…

Recent experiences, whether routine or surprising events, whether happy or sad, often trigger memories. Memories invite one to relive a certain day or time in their lives. We relish the memories that are positive, happy, engaging…and in a real sense, we are remembering God’s blessings.  While some memories are painful or embarrassing or unsettling, the truth is that we may often cherish the ways in which we moved on from those days…with God’s help.

Back in the NC mountains, I grew up in a small town in which my family had connections with an African American family, one of whom was Mary Alice Miller, a poet, who wrote wistfully, but aptly. She captured the power of memory in these words:

“A Simpler, Sweeter Time
A simpler, sweeter time
And I want to go back again
To feel the love
That we felt then…”