A Feast Made for Laughter

My memories of the small town and house in which I was born seem vital to the person I became, but the memories are as distinct as they are sketchy.

Town is really not the word for Sunflower, Mississippi. With a population then of fewer than five hundred souls, it was a small village. Our home was fairly handsome and solidly built with a front porch and a sleeping porch and polished floors, which I believe were walnut or oak. There was a fireplace in almost all the bedrooms, of which there were several, but the fireplace I remember most was the one in the living room.