I pulled back the layers of tissue paper and unwrapped the little drawstring bag, gently taking it in my hand. At one time a little package of thin papers was attached by a strip that wrapped around the bag. Some people wouldn’t give this tiny swatch of fabric a second thought and might even toss it away, but to me it is a great treasure. It no longer has the smell of tobacco nor has it been in anyone’s shirt pocket for over 50 years. I loosened the drawstring, opened it slowly and peaked inside. It was full of magic!
The magic is not in the little bag but rather what is contained inside. You might peek inside and not find even one little leaf of tobacco. When I look inside the worn-out tobacco bag, I see a wealth of treasures. One look transports me back in time. There I am, sitting with my granddad on the porch. I hear his voice as he tells me stories of life on the prairie. I hear the story of the hail storm that destroyed the family’s crops. With a laugh he adds the words of his sister, “Well, someone go milk the cow. We’ll not let this ice go to waste.” They made ice cream and had a party.
I peek in the bag again and see my brother being chased by the mad mama cow. Another look and I hear fiddle music as big rough hands draw the bow across the strings to make the fiddle sing and the fiddler’s fingers dance.
There are other treasures in that little bag. There are tales of cowboys and covered wagons. There are memories of wagon rides to the creek, climbing apple trees, playing in the hay loft, swinging on a rope, wading in the creek, walks in the pasture, and rides on the tractor. I even find a box of chocolate covered cherries in that little bag of magic. Carefully I place the little drawstring bag into the tissue paper and gently wrap it up again and place it back in the trunk. Another day, I will once again pull it from its wrapping for another dose of magic.
