Every fall Mom would go into the field and bring in corn shucks, fresh, smelling the sun and the harvest, and stuff them in what looked like an enormous blue and white striped pillow. It was a bed-sized pillow with a slit in the middle, and she's keep stuffing those corn shucks in. Every Saturday she'd take the flannel sheets off the bed, wash em, hang em up on the line to freeze dry, bring em in, put em up behind the kitchen stove to soften and warm up. Then she's go upstairs. She'd stick her hand in the slit in the corn shucks, fluff em up pretty, sweet smelling.
People miss out on such simple pleasures, because they have dryers today.
Yes, they have dryer sheets. Not the same at all. You stick your hand in the slit and fluff up the shucks and, um, put the flannel sheets on and then usually she'd put a hot water bottle in for me to put my feet on, and I slept beautifully. The elderly woman rose now from the breakfast table and pointed to a gray painted portrait of a couple. My nice mother.