I don't know the connection between the famous singer, Jenny Lind, and the construction of our farmhouse, but I remember hearing it called "Jenny-Lind" when I was a child. The entire outer wall consisted of 2x6 inch boards placed vertically as tightly together as possible. A one-inch-wide strip of wood had been nailed over each crack between the 2x6's, making it sturdy and airtight. Having no spare money for wallpaper, Mom made a paste out of cornstarch and covered the inside walls with The Record, a newspaper published in Spencer and mailed throughout the county. (My dad used the comic pages on the wall to teach me how to read.)

Over the years, Dad and Mom turned our 99-acre farm into a showcase. Stark Nursery had been in business for more than 100 years when Dad ordered his fruit trees from them. "They're the best in the country," he commented. It wasn't long before ours were bearing peaches, pears and apples. Dad added large fields of corn, peas, beans, tomatoes, as well as hay for the cattle. Cows, hogs and chickens were abundant, and we had one horse that we rode a couple of miles to Gandeeville occasionally. American chestnut trees were all over the place; and yes, I often munched on chestnuts roasted over an open fire. Our produce was sold in Spencer, bringing a nice profit, and soon Mom was putting "real" wallpaper on our Jenny-Lind walls, "oil-cloth" on the dining room table, and linoleum on the floors.

Mom often talked about the Christmas in 1935 when she first decided to invite her Westfall family members to her Jenny-Lind home. It was to be on the Sunday before Christmas, and she wanted it to be festive. So by the end of the first week in December, hand-dipped candles were placed in our windows, while branches from fir trees decorated tables throughout. A large red bow welcomed friends at our front door.

I was 6 years old when Mom sent out the invitations. Our cellar shelves were filled with home-canned foods. Hams were in the smokehouse along with dried apple slices. Other special dishes made this Christmas memorable for me: Chicken and dumplings, roast beef, pork chops with gravy, and Mom's tasty "leather-britches" green beans -- all derived from our farm.

Visiting family members brought all of the desserts. I was never much for desserts, but I remember that Aunt Effie brought a cherry pie with "lattice" crust on top. I had never seen a pie that had holes in the crust, so Aunt Effie explained how she had sliced the dough into strips and interwoven them across the top before baking. It was stunning to my young eyes and very tasty.

It was understood that the children would eat apart from the adults who were to be seated at the large dining room table. We sat quietly at a table in the kitchen so as not to bother the "grown-ups."

The honor of blessing the meal fell to the oldest man present. This year, Uncle Isaiah was the eldest. While the Westfall men tended to be short in stature, Uncle Isaiah was straight-stick-tall with a long gray beard, and I could tell that he was very religious. I was a little bit scared of him, but Mother assured me he was kind and loving, and I had nothing to fear. I don't remember the scripture verse he used to begin his prayer, but it was something sobering like this: What man is he that desires life, and loves many days, that he may see good? Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile. Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it. The eyes of the LORD are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry.

Then, he prayed for each family member by name, asking the Lord to bless them. He remembered each of my cousins, and I heard my name mentioned toward the last. Closing with, "The LORD bless thee and keep thee; the LORD make his face shine upon thee and be gracious to thee; and give thee peace," I was spellbound.

In the kitchen, we had bowed our heads waiting for the "Amen, Lord!" that comes at the end. Then we dived into the plates of food that had been placed before us.

Afterward, we gathered in the large "living room" next to the kitchen where gifts were opened. I remember a very special corncob doll, with dress and matching hat made from feed sacks. Women exchanged handkerchiefs, shawls, doilies, and other hand-made items. Men brought farm tools to give away that they had made themselves.

The food was left on the table afterward, while trips back for a bite or two were made all afternoon. My aunts helped Mom clean up in the kitchen -- a job made easier because Dad had mounted a water-pump beside our kitchen sink. While the men gathered in the formal -- and seldom used -- parlor before a roaring fire to "argue over politics and religion," my cousins and I ran up the stairs to play in the hallway that led between the eight bedrooms on the second floor. The whole upstairs was warmed by the fireplace below, and we had a grand time playing with marbles, ball and jacks, and puzzles.

Before dark, they were all gone. Head swimming with all of the good food and fun, I headed to my own room in the back of our Jenny-Lind home. With my corncob doll tucked in beside me, and a soft rain caressing the tin roof overhead, I fell asleep. God had been good, and all was well in my own little world.

Smith is a writer who lives in Charleston.