Growing up, I was the only girl in a family full of boys. I have only one brother, Trip, but on my mom’s side of the family, I have three male cousins. We’re all one year apart, like stair steps with me at the bottom, Trip at the top and Roddy, Richie, and Rusty between us.

I never let being the baby and only girl stop me from doing anything they did. I could hang with all of them and I was tomboy tough through and through.

Many weekends, summer days and nights were spent out in the country at their century-old farm house. There were tales of the house being haunted and I can still hear the creaking floorboards. Knowing which squeaking steps to avoid when going up and down the stairs. Hardwood floors were everywhere, except the worn and cracked linoleum that lined the kitchen floor. Door knobs were original crystal and brass knobs, that I always hoped still worked so I would not get locked in the bathroom.

My cousins only lived 25 miles away from us, but it still seemed like a vacation for me when I would visit. Their small rural town life was a stark contrast from the fast paced bustle of our growing Northern Virginia suburban neighborhood.

I owned independence when I’d stay at their house. We would walk, without adult supervision, a mile up the road to Curtis Grocery, the little convenience store on Route 1. I would fill with a brown paper sack with fireball candies for a dollar. You remember, the individually wrapped hot cinnamon jawbreakers that would turn your mouth red, but once you’d get used to them you could eat one after another. In the hot summer months, we’d buy Good Humor ice cream bars and hot dogs for lunch.  Hours were spent there, sliding one quarter after another into the Pac Man and Galaga arcade machines, trying our best to beat the high scores placed by the much older and tougher teenage boys.

I can recall distant memories of secret forts we built in the woods.  Made with leftover boards from Uncle Rod’s projects.  One time, a couple of my cousins, their redneck friends and I decided to experiment with smoking. Not cigarettes, but corn cobs. I can’t even begin to tell you what we were thinking. I was about eight or nine and I’m sure it was Rusty’s idea. He’s one year older than me and was quite an instigator. I only recall taking a few puffs and trying to keep it lit. After everyone passed it around a few times, we were overcome with fear that for sure we’d get caught. Afraid someone would smell it on our breath and clothes, I can clearly remember rummaging through their Granny’s bathroom searching her medicine cabinet for mouthwash. Hoping to find a minty green Scope to get the horrible taste out of our mouths. However, we only found Listerine, which was worse than the burnt corn cob taste.

Night times were spent staying up way too late playing board games, and using our imaginations to build with legos and lincoln logs as our materials.  Hours would pass faster than the electric race cars we’d race each other with. Plastic tracks were snapped together in every imaginable configuration twisting and turning from one bedroom to the other. Of course, we only did this after watching weekly episodes of The Dukes of Hazzard.

Aunt Judy and Uncle Rod’s house was just far enough in the county to have a few farm animals. Cows, chickens and pigs. I remember the story my dad used to tell about when their cow got loose and ran down the middle of the road on i95 causing a major traffic jam.

Holidays were always a time when everyone would gather at Uncle Rod and Aunt Judy’s house. Our family would arrive in the afternoon on Christmas day, then a week later we’d reconvene for New Year’s Day dinner… Always the traditional pork roast, sauerkraut, black eyed peas and mustard greens.

Summertime in Virginia was made for crab feasts. Tables were lined up end to end and covered with newspapers. Wooden bushels turned on their sides as hot steamed crabs with spicy Old Bay seasoning caked on them were spilled out onto the tables. Porcelain ramekins filled with apple cider vinegar and drawn butter were shared between each guest.  Family members, young and old would sit and pick crabs for hours, sharing life, stories and memories together.

As with anything life moves on and eventually we grew up, growing our each of own families.  Holiday traditions eventually split into other homes with our own kids and their own cousins. Do you have fond memories of your cousins and family traditions? Take a few minutes today to relive them in your mind. It will make you feel young again, I promise.