Each week I know I have a subject to write about when something comes into my mind and stays there like a child that keeps whispering over my shoulder. This week a story I often heard about my grandmother, Henrietta (or “Nanny,” as I called her), keeps coming to mind, so I better write it down.
When Henrietta was a little girl, she lived with her parents in a house on the corner of Bloomfield and Talmadge Avenue in Athens. If you’re familiar with this area, you’ll know that this is in the heart of Athens, but back then, there was a lot of pasture land around those houses. One of their neighbors owned a bull, and it grazed not far from my great-grandparent’s house.
Henrietta’s mother worked in my great Uncle Van’s furniture store, which was located above where Jackson Street Books is today, in downtown Athens. One day when Henrietta was about six years old (this was certainly a different era when it came to letting children run around on their own), she decided to walk to the furniture store to visit her mother. Unfortunately, she didn’t get very far before she found that old bull standing right in the middle of Bloomfield Street. It had escaped the pasture, and there was no one else around.
Shelli Bond Pabis
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