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Part of my childhood includes many trips my family took to Jackson Springs in Moore County. It is in a part of our state known as the sand hills, properly named given how much sand you find in your shoes upon returning home.

My maternal grandmother, Minnie Mae Auman, lived there with my uncle Jack, aunt Beulah Mae, and cousins Karla and Tina. Karla was closer in age to my older sister, Dorothy, and Tina was just a few days younger than me.

When we'd go for a visit, we'd leave our home in Greensboro early Saturday morning and return late Saturday night.

Sometimes on these visits to the countryside, we'd spend the night at their house, making pallets from blankets piled on the floor of my cousin's bedrooms or the living room. Country nights are very quiet and very dark. For this city child, it was a bit unnerving to not have the rooms illuminated by street lights.

If we did spend the night on a Saturday, we'd attend church with my grandmother, aunt, uncle and cousins in the little Baptist church my grandfather helped to build. We would walk to this church, which was a short distance from their home.

Everything about visiting our relatives in the country was different from my home in the city. There was a different feel, sight and taste to their lives and how they did things. I also remember a lot of gnats flying around, which drove me crazy. I know I must have swallowed dozens of them through the years.

While there, I would play with my cousin Tina, often sharing Barbie dolls or comparing our Sunshine Families. Sometimes we'd pull out our wooden Fisher Price Little People and play together.

As we grew older, we'd compare notes on what our schools and friends were like. At times, my older brother, Michael, would join us in our play. We'd play a game or go climb on the large pieces of foam in the basement where Tina's parents ran their upholstery business.

My aunt had a vase on the mantel in the living room that, to my cousin Tina and me, resembled the bottle Barbara Eden lived in on the TV show "I Dream of Jeannie."

We'd pull the bottle down and pretend one of us was Jeannie and the other was the astronaut. Most of the time I was Jeannie because there was no way I wanted to pretend I was a boy.

There was a shortcut through the sand under the loblolly pine trees around my aunt and uncle's house where a small country store stood.

We'd show up with pennies our parents gave us to buy Super Bubble gum or some other small candy. This was, of course, back when you could buy candy for a penny. The owner of the store would place our purchases in tiny brown paper bags.

I would visit with my grandmother while we were there, telling her about the things going on with me. I'd listen to her and my mother talk about things and enjoy looking at the things my grandmother showed us that she had made with her hands. Sometimes one of those things had been made with me in mind, and I got to take it home.

My aunt and my mother would trade trash bags full of clothes to be handed down to whomever was next in line for them. My sister's outgrown things would go to my cousin Karla before being given to me. My outgrown clothing would later be passed down to my cousin Tina, who was smaller than me.

During the day, while we were there, we'd eat dinner. It was always some combination of meat, mashed potatoes, green beans or butter beans and other good vegetables. After eating, my cousin and I would play a bit more, until my parents said it was time to head home. It took us two hours to get there and two more hours to return home, so the time to play with my cousin always felt too short.

From time to time, upon arriving back in Greensboro we'd talk my daddy into taking us to the McDonald's on Summit Avenue to pick up supper. This was back when going to McDonald's was a special treat and also when there wasn't one on every block.

These weekend visits to the Moore County countryside are just a part of what makes me who I am. They were a taste of a different life than the one I lived in the city.

Perhaps they were preparation for the day, many years ago, when this city girl moved to the countryside of Gibsonville with her husband to raise her own children.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.