Beloved, Kentucky

Imagine a little mountain community nestled between the ancient hills of Appalachia. It is a community that was settled around a good year round spring and one of the largest salt licks in eastern Kentucky. Folks reckon that's why folks came to the valley and settled the little town called Beloved.

It ain't much, as towns go. There are only eight or ten streets in the whole town. Main Street never got busy enough to have a stop light. Folks don't hardly need the stop signs on some of the side streets.

Downtown consists of about twelve buildings. The biggest building is the grocery store. Down the street is Founder's Square. That is where the springs are. They still flow year round. There is a dug well close to the springs. That well is full of the sweetest water a feller will find anywhere. In the Square is a white enclosed gazebo sort of building that contains the body of Sleepy Jean Sizemore. Some folks say she is in there sleepin' since 1911. Most say she fell into a coma and died and her body is just preserved some way. If you get to know the family, they might take you in and let you get a glimpse of her body an' y'all can judge for yourself.

There is a Carnegie Library in town right down past the Phineas Nutt Masonic Lodge. The lodge is made from beautiful Tennessee sandstone brought from the Cumberland Plateau and worked by hand by some of the Masonic brothers back in the late 1800s. Men sit on benches outside of the Carnegie Library daily and whittle. They talk softly to themselves and tell tales and lie to each other only to swear each story is the "gospel truth". When school is out a group of youngin's gather often to hear the stories and watch as the old men carefully whittle.

Annie Pankey has a small shop not much further down the street. She calls it "Pankey's Hankies" and sells antiques, quilts and old lace good.

Outside the town are a few small homes, well kept and regularly painted. In that neck of the woods 'bout everything gets painted on a regular basis if it ain't movin' or breathin'. In the heat of the day folks can be seen gatherin' on the front porches or under shade trees to cool off.

Follow the main road out of town and you'll end right back up on Route 66. The main road is merely a loop off and back onto the big road. Keep on going up along the Red Bird River and you'll come to Beverly and the Red Bird Mission Hospital.

Go off some of the side roads and you'll find yourself windin' your way up Booger Holler Road or maybe Arnett's Fork, Old Punky Creek or Gilbert's Branch. Up on Booger Holler is Booger Holler Holiness Church where Brother Woodrow Budder is preacher. Folks around them parts say that Booger is a Cherokee word for a Medicine Man and Booger Holler is where a Cherokee Medicine Man lived. Other folks say it is called Booger Holler because Big Jim Arnett and Dick Gray had a spook callin' contest up near there.

The hills are full and a thousand shades of green during the summer. Springtime is the sweetest to the eye. The hills are full of dogwood, redbud, sourwood trees filled with blooms and a favorite stoppin' point for any honeybee anywhere near. The greens are tentative and slow to start. The flowering trees are not bashful and burst out in bloom like they was shoutin', "looky. looky, look at me."

Folks live at a slower pace in and around Beloved. Its sort of like they know that God took a slice of Eden and nestled it in them hills. They never forget to stop an' enjoy what they got.

Christmas in the Holler

Christmas Eve Service was always wonderful at the Booger Holler Holiness Church. Sister Hazel Budder, the wife of Pastor Woodrow Budder was in charge of the choir an' them folks practiced since summer on the songs they sang on Christmas Eve. The Church was decorated just right an' aromatic cedar trees were trimmed an' lighted to get everyone in the mood.

Brother Woodrow reminded folks the reason for the season in a short message of 'bout five minutes at the end of the singin'. Ms. Hazel invited Uncle Billy Gilbert to come over to her house for Christmas dinner. Since Aunt Del died Ms. Hazel had done set her hopes on Uncle Billy. Everyone but Ms. Hazel knew that were a lost cause.

He thanked her, but said he was goin' to stay home. Other folks invited him without the hidden desires Ms. Hazel had an' he would smile an' turn them down too. He told folks Old Dog needed company tomorrow. 'Course, they invited Old Dog then, but Uncle Billy Gilbert just would smile an' again say no.

Christmas Morning in Beloved was glorious. There was just enough snow to make a white Christmas like a greeting card in the little town. Annie Pankey's store, Pankey's Hankies, had the window lighted an' her Santa collection called to hearts young and old to stop an' look. Beloved Baptist Church had it's bells playin' Christmas Carols quietly all morning. Folks that lived in town got out an' swept the sidewalks, just as an excuse to visit with each other. The wonderful smells of Christmas dinners cookin' filled the cold mountain air.

Up in the holler, Uncle Billy an' Old Dog got up early, as usual. He put a pot of coffee on after he let Old Dog out. He sliced a piece of fruitcake (laced with rum, but I'm not a'tellin') that his son Bill sent him. Bill had tried to get him to come up north for Christmas. His son meant well, but that boy's wife just didn't have goodwill in her voice as she fussed in the background of that call. He declined graciously. He just wished Bill would come home one Christmas an' bring the grandkids to spend Christmas day with him.

He'd stirred the fire when he got up an' now he added some coal to make it burn long and slow. Some folks didn't like the smell of a coal fire, but Uncle Billy Gilbert knew the smell was the heart of the hills. Coal was the heart, the lifeblood and the burden of the mountains.

Later in the morning, him an' Old Dog dozed in front of the fire. He planned on goin' for a walk up in the hills sometime during the afternoon. Plenty of day left for that.

All around Beloved folks were celebrating Christmas with their families. Customs were a little different, but the basics were the same, family, cheer, the joy of giving an' little ones gathered close to see what Santa left.

Meals were served and bellies filled as the day past all too quickly. Belts slipped to the next notch an' quite a few folks sat and dozed while company droned on about work, family or the common woes of life.

Hap Ledford sat for a while studyin' on somethin' after an early Christmas dinner. Evelyn could tell somethin' was on his mind an' she asked him what was in his head.

"Would you mind if I didn't help with the dishes an' went down to take Uncle Billy a little plate or something?"

"My goodness, Hap, I was waitin' for you to ask. I have a basket ready for you to take. I baked him a loaf of sour dough bread like he likes an' sliced him a couple of pounds of that country ham. You know how he likes them country hams he cures, but won't hardly keep one for himself. You go on an' spend some time with him. Tell him we all love him."

Hap grinned as Evelyn walked from the kitchen with a basketx filled with bread, country ham, and some of her prize winnin' strawberry jelly. He thought Evelyn didn't see him as he stopped in the shed an' put a quart jar of his elderberry wine in the box. She was standin' inside the door watchin' through the window, grinnin' like a possum over roadkill.

Roscoe Collins was sittin' by his wood stove in that chair Uncle Billy had made him back in the summer. Roscoe swore that them store bought chairs just didn't feel near as good as a chair Uncle Billy crafted. He wondered out loud what Uncle Billy was doin' on Christmas Day an' Rhoda was out of the kitchen, through the covey of grandkids an' lookin' at him with her dark black eyes.

"Why don't you get out of that chair an' go see? You know the chair I mean, Roscoe? The one you asked Uncle Billy to make. The one he wouldn't take a dime for."

It didn't take him long to get his coat an' head for the door. Rhoda handed him a grocery bag filled with turkey, oyster dressing an' half of the stack cake she made. That cake was wonderful, seven layers with jam between each layer. For good measure she sent Uncle Billy a whole vinegar pie. Men needed a little sweetnin' this time of year.

Henry Kay Snoddy didn't need no proddin' over to Bear Rump. Orvina an' him had planned for this visit. Orvina hadn't slept good so she begged out an' sent Henry Kay with some fried chicken, city ham, sweet potato casserole an' a big bowl of home growed greasy beans. Uncle Billy gave her the seeds for them beans.

Daw Collins was already on the road as was Junebug Burns an' his Daddy. Each had boxes an' bags of holiday treats. Junebug had made potato candy an' fudge with his Mama an' made sure that most of it went to Uncle Billy who had never told on him for swipin' Ms. Hazel's prize winning tomatoes.

By the time Junebug got there the big livin' room of Uncle Billy's house was near full with men an' boys, all on an errand of love on Christmas. Uncle Billy answered the door an' his faded blue eyes filled with tears as he saw Junebug standin' with an open container of potato candy.

"Thought you might want a little o' my candy I made." Junebug grinned.

"Get in here, boy, or I'll be a tellin' on you."

Uncle Billy had opened all the boxes, bowls and covered plates as he placed them on the table. He got out every plate an' saucer he had along with all the forks, knives and' spoons in the house.

He spoke loudly, "Fellers, I know I can't eat all this before it goes bad. Now y'all are gonna have to help me before I let you leave. Henry Kay, I'll vouch for you with Orvina, so just you stay right there. If you don't mind, boys, I better say a word of grace."

The men an' boys stood, took off caps an' hats an' bowed their heads.

"Lord, I thank you much for the fellers that came away from hearth an' home to bring some Christmas cheer to this ol servant of yours. They humble me, Father with their love. The wives, Mamas and families they left at home to stop by here fill my heart right good with their generous spirit. 'Course, Lord, these is mountain folks an' You expect no less from us. Now, I thank Ye for the food, the love shown to each other an' the men that stand here, shoulder to shoulder. We have all stood beside each other before, balin' hay, puttin' up tobbacer, bowin' heads in church or lodge. This is my family, Lord. I am humbled an' blessed by their sorry ol' hides. Amen...Oh, an' Lord, keep Henry Kay out of hot water with Orvina for stayin' so long. Amen"

Men an' boys grinned through the tears that Uncle Billy's prayer brought. The lined up, oldest first down through the youngin's an' took plates an' feasted as only men gathered together can do.

No one noticed that Uncle Billy waited till every single guest was served before he went to the cupboard an' got a bowl. Every saucer an' plate was used. He filled his bowl with a little of everything, not wantin' to hurt any feelin's. When he went into the big room, no one had to get out of his chair, them fellers just knew it was his an' saved it for him.

Ol' Dog was a layin' by it, tail a thumpin' as Uncle Billy sat. That dog knew that Christmas dinner was goin' to be fed to him, one scrap at a time by Uncle Billy's hand. Ol' Dog had him trained that way.

There is nothin' better than men gathered together to eat, laugh an' talk. That ol cabin hadn't heard as much joy in a while. Uncle Billy sat an' grinned as he just listened an' watched each face. It was a good Christmas. He wished Aunt Del were there an' a secret tear fell down his cheek when no one noticed.

There was a knock at the door an' Junebug went to answer. A covered dish was left on the porch in front of the door an' Junebug saw Ms. Hazel's car drivin' away. He took the dish an' the note with it to Uncle Billy.

The note said, "Bill, I just know you are forgotten an' lonely in that cold empty cabin. Here is a little something to fill your sad, empty belly. Don't be too proud to stop in later tonight for a visit."

Uncle Billy grinned. He hated to be called Bill. His name was Billy, given to him by his Daddy. Ms. Hazel never would understand. He was alone since Aunt Del died, but never lonely. He was never sad an' obviously could never be forgotten by all the folks that loved him.

The cabin wasn't cold or empty, nor was his heart. It was filled with gladness of a life well spent.

Daw Collins came over about then an' started on a huntin' story. Uncle Billy knew he would have to put in his two cents about that story.

Men an' boys gathered closer as their grand ol' storyteller cleared his throat an' said, "Now, Daw, you left your part in all that out. Here is how I remember it."

There was a warm glow from the windows of that ol' cabin that night. A warm glow inside as men an' boys stayed late into the night.

Sunday Carry In Dinner

Sunday afternoons are a right lazy time in the summer round 'bout Beloved, Kentucky. Most folks belong to the local churches and still believe that Sunday is a day of rest. This is more important in a mountain community because the farmers and miners usually work long hours six days a week. That there is the reason that Knuckles Dollar Store and the Henny Penny over in Manchester, the county seat is always closed on Sunday.

Booger Holler Holiness Church had a carry in dinner after Sunday services and folks sat an' talked for a long while. Sister Hazel Burns had brought some of her prize winnin' pies and made a beeline for Uncle Billy with a slice of pie.

Now, don't get confused here. Sister Hazel Burns is a spinster, ain't never been married. Folks around Booger Holler knowed she thought it was a sin that Uncle Billy was still unattached several years after Aunt Del passed on. Don't get her confused with Sister Hazel Budder who is the pastor's wife. Brother Woodrow and Sister Hazel Budder were close to Uncle Billy and did all they could to keep Sister Hazel from sinkin her teeth into that prize apple.

"Brother Bill, I want you'ns to try this here pie an' tell me what do you think of it." Sister Hazel always called him Bill. His name was Billy and there was nothin' that offended him like callin' him Bill. 'Course, bein' from the hills, Sister Hazel made it "Bee-ull".

"Name's Billy, Sister Burns."

"OK, OK, just try the pie." she said as she shoved a big piece of what appeared to be apple pie in front of him and laid a fork down by it.

Uncle Billy knew she weren't gonna shut up till he gave up so he picked up the fork and took a big bite off the point of that slice. Now this weren't no chore, for ever'one in the community knew Sister Hazel Burns made the finest pies a feller would want to dump into an empty mouth.

The pie crust was light and flaky. Sister Hazel used Crisco and swore by it. She also made sure she handled the crust as little as possible. Keepin' it cool was her secret to flaky crusts.

Uncle Billy smiled when he took a bite and said, "Sister Hazel, I don't reckon I had me enough to give y'all a good opinion. I better take another bite."

He bit several more times. A covey of church ladies gathered around Sister Hazel, some wipin' their hands on their aprons as they waited for Uncle Billy's judgement.

"Well, mam, I do believe that is one of the best apple pies I have ever had. Ye done good, sister. My tongue pret' near beat my face to death wantin' 'nother bite. Jes' don't let it go to yer head. It was mighty fine, but I don't want sinful pride raisin' it's head here in the church basement." Several of the menfolks and two of the ladies said "amen" in agreement.

Sister Hazel Burns laughed and fanned herself with her apron. "Bill, I swan, I don't rightly know what to say," she grinned slyly and giggled like a youngin', "I have done fooled ye."

"Ya have? How's that?"

"There ain't nary an apple in that there pie."

"There ain't?" Uncle Billy took another bite, "Sure tastes like apples to me. What is it? Quince? Pear?"

"No sir, it ain't even fruit. There ain't been an apple in a mile o' that pie. Hit is a mock apple pie."

"Mock Apple, well I do declare. It is good, though Sister Hazel. What is in it?"

At this point, Sister Hazel Budder came out with a tray and paper plates of little ol' slices so's ever'body could take a taste. Folks gathered 'round and took plates and commenced to taste the mock apple pie.

Sister Hazel was in her own pond a quackin' now. "Hit is Ritz crackers. That is all hit is."

Folks went on an' on about that there Ritz pie. Sister Hazel gave the recipe out agin an' agin.

Finally Uncle Billy spoke up, "Sister Hazel, y'all know that mock apple pie was named for the mock turtle, don't ya?"

"Well, I have heard of it...what do they use fer mock turtle, beef or pork?"

"Oh no mam, neither one. The mock turtle ain't beef or pork. It is a type of actual turtle, y' know."

Sister Hazel blinked an' looked at Uncle Billy, "It is? Well I sure didn't know that one."

Uncle Billy had drawn a crowd with this. Many knew where he was goin' with his statement and drew up chairs. Others smiled and grinned behind their hands.

"Yes, mam. The mock turtle ain't one that is easy to cook. They is right stringy. That is why it is so uncommon on the dinner table. They grow right big and folks say they nest up in the willer trees. They have legs longer than most turtles, y' see. The big 'uns have legs two, maybe three foot long...and them legs is double jointed ta boot. That is how they can crawl into the willer trees. An' they have right long necks too. They can sit on the bottom of the pond or river and snake that ol' neck up an' look at ya without comin' to the surface. That's why folks don't catch 'em much."

Sister Hazel Burns listened for a right smart while. "They don't come up? But why in the world do they call 'em 'mock' turtles?"

"Well, mam, they is called mock turtles for the same reason the mockin' bird has that name. They can make calls an' squeeks an' carryin's on like other critters."

He went on, "One day I was sittin' on the bank of the Red Bird River - up route 66 an' was fishin' for catfish. An ol' mock turtle saw me when he stuck that ol' snakey head up for a little bit o' air and ye know what that sorry thing did? It started meowin' like a cat. 'Meow, Meow' it said. I got m'self up an' looked and looked for a little ol' lost kitten. Mr. Mock Turtle went on down an' had the hunk o' chicken liver I was usin' as bait for his lunch. There's a right smart bunch of 'em in the Red Bird River."

"Later he started cheepin' like a little ol' bird what had fallen outta his nest. I commenced to lookin' an' he had another bite o' chicken liver. That ol' mock turtle did a squirrel, a couple of coons a fightin' an' a snipe before I caught on."

"Gee-oh, I do declare. The country is sure a different place from the city. It is amazin' what I don't know" sister Hazel sat down in a fold up chair. "I don't reckon I'll ever learn all 'bout the country."

"They is one other thing about mock turtles folks need to know if they is gonna hunt 'em."

"What is that Brother Bill?"

Uncle Billy looked at Sister Hazel and looked up to the side at Hap Collins and winked, "The mock turtle has them long legs and sharp claws. I tol' ye they can climb into willer trees. When times is hard and the crick is down they go a climbin' into trees to rob nests o' eggs. If they get real desperate they can jump down outta the trees and wrap them long legs 'round unsuspectin' critters, even folks!"

Sister Hazel said a little wobbly voiced, "They do? Even folks?"

"Yessum, they do! Other times they come up outta the muddy river after folks, grabbin' at they's feet an' ankles. You'uns know what they do iffn they get hold of ye?"

Sister Hazel, three of the womenfolks and eight youngin's that were listenin' shook their heads "no".

Uncle Billy looked right serious at Sister Hazel and said, "They pull yer leg...jus' like I'm a doin' right now."

Henry Kay and Orvina

Cousins,
Last Sunday I was visiting Beloved Baptist Church. They recognized Henry Kay and Orvina Snoddy of Bear Rump, Kentucky for their upcoming 70th Wedding Anniversary on February 14th. They are being sent to Branson, MO on a bus tour with the Booger Holler Holiness Church this Saturday, so the preacher had to recognize them last Sunday.

They live in the same little ol' cabin over on Bear Rump they took up housekeepin' in 70 years ago. The preacher asked them how old they both were and before Orvina could nudge him, Henry Kay shouted out, "She's 86 and I am 85". The whole church laughed as Orvina blushed. No one realized it was her that robbed the cradle!

They are an odd couple in ways. He is only 'bout 5'4" and might weigh 120 drippin' wet in a soppin' turkish towel. She is close to 6' tall. There is no doubt that they still are in love. They hold hands all the time and Henry Kay is always pattin' on her and kissin' on her cheek as he walks by her.

The preacher asked them if they was always so in love and Orvina said no, there was rough times in their marriage, just like most. She got a little teary eyed and squeezed Henry Kay's hand even harder as they both grinned.

Then the preacher asked what made their marriage last.

"We got separate rooms" Orvina said.

The preacher said, "What?" before he could stop himself.

"Yessir. That is what saved out marriage during the rough times. We got separate rooms."

The preacher didn't know what to say, so he said, "Well, congratulations anyway, Orvina and Henry Kay." and he started to go on.

Orvina wasn't done.

"It was the snorin' that did it. Almost broke us plumb up. Made things real bad for a while. I reckon it would cause the foundations of the house to shake. What-nots would be shaked off'n the shelves in the parlor from the snorin'. " She confessed.

"Preacher, it almost tore us apart. Then we got separate rooms and all was well. We been together and happy as two bugs in a rug since."

Every eye in the church was on Henry Kay. He just sat and beamed at Orvina. More than one was thinkin', "What a saint that Orvina is." Or maybe, "Yes, us womens do have crosses to bear."

Then Henry Kay spoke up and said, "Yep, Preacher, We are plumb happy. And if the snorin' gets too loud, I just get up and shut Orvina's door and it don't bother me a'tall. Poor thang. She must have adenoids the size of mushmelons."

With that Orvina blushed again and Henry Kay kissed his bride smack dab on the mouth...right there in church!

Smokehouse Time

Daw Collins stopped by the cabin long 'bout 10:00 in the mornin' on a Tuesday. It was late fall and the weather had turned right cold. Even at 10:00 they was frost still on the ground under the shade of the big ol' cedar trees over to the side yard. The grape vines wrappin' themselves along the split rail fence still had some leaves on 'em and a few wizened grapes hung kinda lonely like from the vines. Birds will eat them soon enough.

Daw called to Uncle Billy a couple of times as he walked into the side yard. He knew Billy wouldn't be in the house, even though he saw a little smoke comin' out the chimbley. He called again and Uncle Billy answered and appeared at the door of the barn, coffee cup in hand.

Uncle Billy carried a cup of coffee with him 'bout ever where he went on the farm these days. He said he needed it to keep his blood warm.

Daw and Uncle Billy talked for a while and Uncle Billy showed Daw the pile of apple wood he was workin' on. It was hog killin' time round there and folks would start comin' with their sides of bacon, shoulders and hams for Uncle Billy to hang in his smokehouse. Fact is, Daw had stopped to see if the smokehouse was goin' yet.

It was for a fact and both men walked over to stand and jaw a while. Each drew in the sweet smell of smokin' apple wood. When the door was opened a feller could smell the hams and bacon hangin' inside. The smokehouse was dark and wispy smoke came from a raised area in the middle of the buildin'.

In the center was the bottom of a 55 gallon drum with smolderin' sticks of apple wood. Uncle Billy soaked the wood in water and a little cider before he would add it to the pit. Some small splits of hickory were on the side and occasionally would flare up with a small flame. Uncle Billy had rigged a lard can over the smokin' wood. It was on chains so he could raise it up an' down. He would fill the lard can with clear spring water. A few little bitty holes poked into the sides near the bottom of the lard can would weep and drip now and again onto the wood. It would hiss and smoke would rise in place of the flame.

None of the meat was directly over the raised wood pit. Indirect smoke for days made Uncle Billy's smoked meats the best in the state, or least that is what folks claimed.

Daw worked it out to bring over his meat the next day and him and Uncle Billy shook hands on it. When he asked Uncle Billy about makin' sausage, Uncle Billy told him he was a makin' one batch this year. It was a lot of work for an ol' man, even with help. Sometimes he would get a tear in his eye an' tell folks sausage makin' time was when he missed "the ol' woman" most. He would laugh and tell ya that was what they called each other the last couple of years, ol' woman an' ol' man. He would find some good reason to walk away 'bout then and not say much more for a while.

Some of the ladies over to Booger Holler Holiness Church had sewn the muslin sleeve/bags he would fill with his special blend of sausage meat, salt, pepper and spices. They would stop by on sausage makin' day to help Uncle Billy fill the bags and tie them shut at the open end. The strings would be long enough for hangin' from the nails on the long wood timbers on one side of the smokehouse.

On sausage makin' day folks would come with their meat and Uncle Billy would weigh it, write the weight on a paper sack he used for figurin' and put it through the grinder.

Everbody's meat went in together as he added spices, salt and lots of pepper. He worked it with a paddle an' his hands till it was ready. He then put it into the grinder with the filler fittin' on the end. He would turn the crank as someone held a muslin bag over the filler end. When the bag was near full it would be tied off and hung right away in the smoke house.

Days later Uncle Billy would dole out the sausage by the amount you brought. Say he took in 100 pounds of pork meat and y'all brought 10 of that. In the smokehouse they was 50 rolls of smoked breakfast sausage...you folks would get 5 rolls. That was how he worked it.

Folks could hardly wait to get home to fry some of his sausage up. They would pay him way more than what he asked and he would make a fuss an' all, tryin' to give it back to 'em.

His clothes would smell like sweet smoke for weeks as he worked his smokehouse. Since he had to get up a couple times a night to tend the smoke his cabin smelled sweet and smoky for months after. Womenfolks would hug him and tell him he smelled better than the hams. Uncle Billy would slap at 'em with his hat and tell 'em to get on now.

Know what? I reckon I would give 'bout anything right now for a big ol slice of ham from Uncle Billy's smokehouse. It is gone now. Just a pile of broken logs and rusty tin layin' in the weeds over on Arnett's Fork. I would give 'bout anything to see him standin' there in the door of the old barn, coffee cup in hand, wavin' shy like to folks who stopped to see if it was smokehouse time yet.