By Sheilah Queen
I remember her leisurely stroll to the mailbox
Placing a green laurel leaf between her hands and blowing
The high-pitched whistle filled the country air echoing through the valley
She taught her grandchildren to make the same mountain music
She had always lived in these hills
It was where she grew up and got married
Made a home
Settled beside a gurgling creek
Planted daffodils
Tailored dresses using a Singer pedal sewing machine
Started fires in wood heaters on cold winter morns
Sung lullabies to babies while holding them tightly in her arms
We loved and revered her
Will always remember her Southern cooking and words of advice
This warm and nurturing woman
We called Mom
