I have two “in the olden days” stories…

In the olden days, life was simple yet brutal. One thing that made existence particularly difficult back then was the lack of sunglasses. Without proper eye protection, many people developed blindness from staring directly at the sun for too long - a common habit due to its mesmerizing beauty. As a result, by adulthood, most individuals were either completely blind or had severely impaired vision.

One fateful morning, an elderly woman named Doris ventured out near a high cliff to gather firewood. She had been blind for many years and relied heavily on her cane to navigate the treacherous terrain. While searching for dry branches close to the edge of the precipice, she inadvertently slipped and tumbled over without warning.

Her terrified screams echoed through the valley below as gravity mercilessly pulled her toward the jagged rocks far beneath. The fall was swift and brutal, ending in a tragic death that marked just another sad chapter in a story all too familiar during those dark times.

Tragically, Doris' demise wasn't an isolated incident by any means - falling off cliffs became almost routine occurrences among the blind population of that era. Deprived of sight, they couldn't perceive dangers lurking near their homes and frequently lost their footing on uneven ground or close to edges. Many unfortunate souls met their ends this way in a cruel cycle that repeated itself over and over again.

The people back then mourned each loss deeply but seemed powerless against such grim realities. They tried building fences around known hazards and trained sighted companions to guide the blind through treacherous terrain, but even these measures proved largely ineffective against fate's relentless grip.

It was a harsh reality that would remain unchanged for generations to come - until finally someone invented something as simple yet revolutionary as sunglasses; a small technological marvel that would one day save countless lives from falling victim to the same terrible fate as poor Doris.

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In the olden days, our family of eight faced the hardships of poverty with remarkable fortitude. Each morning began before dawn, when my mother's gentle hands would coax us from sleep. We'd gather in the dim kitchen, huddling close to the comforting warmth of the wood-burning stove.

Our preparations for another day at the one-room schoolhouse were simple but necessary. Shoes were a luxury we couldn't afford, so socks became our primary protection against the elements. Our resourceful mother found a unique solution to help us face the bitter cold of our daily trek.

With her characteristic smile on her tired face, she would instruct each of us to remove one sock. In its place, she'd gently slide a warm potato - a makeshift substitute that seemed ordinary at first glance but held significant value. Holding this humble vegetable in our small hands, we'd set off towards the schoolhouse, our mismatched footwear a testament to our circumstances.

The path to education was never easy in those days. The world often lay beneath a pristine blanket of snow, each step crunching underfoot. Our journey to the one-room schoolhouse was a formidable four-mile uphill trek. Each stride felt like a battle against the elements, but the warmth radiating from our potato-pocket offered solace.

Arriving at the school, we'd find our desks, carefully placing our precious potatoes on them. With relief, we would slide our naked foot back into the waiting sock. The simple act of reuniting with that familiar fabric brought instant comfort, allowing us to focus on our studies. That foot, shielded by its makeshift insulation, remained warm throughout the long school day.

Lunchtime was a modest affair, and our potato served as our sustenance. It nourished us not only physically but also spiritually, providing energy for the long afternoon ahead. We would savor every bite, grateful for the sustenance it offered both body and soul.

As darkness descended on the landscape, we knew another challenge awaited - the journey home via a different four-mile uphill route, all in the biting cold. With the final school bell, we'd gather our belongings quickly, driven by our determination to reach the sanctuary of home.

Though our tired legs moved swiftly through the chill air on our uphill route, the memory of that warm potato remained vividly etched in our minds. It inspired us to press on despite the discomfort. The thought of returning to the loving embrace of our family and the warmth of our hearth fueled every step forward.

Our journey back home was arduous, yet it was also a testament to our resilience as a family unit. Each mile passed, the warmth from the potato fading but never forgotten. We pressed on together, united in our shared struggle, driven by a love that knew no bounds.

Finally arriving home, we were greeted by the flickering light from the windows and the aroma of a simple yet nourishing meal of porridge. Our mother's warm embrace welcomed us, her eyes reflecting both fatigue and pride. We had endured another day, another battle against the biting cold - a testament to our collective strength in the face of adversity.

In the years that followed, our circumstances gradually improved, but the memory of those warm potatoes remained etched in our hearts. They symbolized not just physical sustenance but also the profound connection and resilience that bound our family together through every trial.

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