Mrs. Tildon waits and watches out her front window. Every Mother's Day her son Timothy arrives at 5:30 P.M. with picnic basket in hand and children in tow for their annual Mother's Day Celebration complete with sandwiches, pickles, brownies, chips, soda and fireworks.Timothy moved from Cloverdale to Tamworth on Tide eight years ago seeking better opportunities. The move was nearly catastrophic for Mrs. Tildon. Timothy is her only child and has been her rock and foundation ever since Mr. Tildon died ten years ago. Timothy begged her to move but Mrs. Tildon tearfully declined. Her life is sewn into the fabric of Cloverdale. The Clover Valley has been her home since birth and leaving it and her friends behind would be too much to ask from someone her age.
Timothy and the children visit as often as they can and Mrs. Tildon is no stranger to the Confederate Railways. She uses her Old Age Pensioner's Frequent Rider Card at least twice a month for visits to Tamworth on Tide. They are the highlights of her month, along with her weekly meetings with the Lutheran Women's Guild and her regular girl's night out playing Canasta with her friends.
This Mother's Day will be special. Mrs. Tildon got up early and fried up a deliciously plump chicken she'd purchased at the Piggly Wiggly the night before. The grandchildren love her fried chicken and on occasion, when the mood strikes, she succomes to their pleadings. It has been said by those in Cloverdale with the most discriminating palettes, that the chicken fried in the Tildon kitchen far exceeds anything from the Kentucky Fried Chicken on Main and Elm Streets in taste and quality. Such talk appears to embarrass Mrs. Tildon, but in reality, it is most welcome but never sought after.
It is 12:30 P.M. and a red car is seen at the top of the lane. Timothy has arrived. Mrs. Tildon will collect her things and step out from her brick bungalow and into the warm embraces of a son and grandchildren who love her.
