Well Cousins,
I have to tell you that the 4th of July in my hometown of Beloved was quite a big deal again this year.
Main Street was just loaded with buntings. Annie Pankey, owner of Pankey's Hankies (the antique and lace goods store in town) got hold of a catalog from a flag company an' used her business to get the wholesale price on buntings. Folks all up an' down Main Street kicked in an' bout them things to decorate storefronts, homes an buildings along the way. Y'all have never seen anything as wonderful as red, white an' blue buntings movin' gentle like in the breeze down a busy street in some little ol' town like Beloved.
The Carnegie Library an' Pappy Yokum Masonic Lodge #149 ordered the great big ol' buntings for their buildin's right in the center of town next to Founder's Square. The Square was decorated an' even the gazebo like buildin' that houses the still sleepin' form of Sleepy Jean had buntings all around. All that hammerin' an' carryin' on actually made Sleepy Jean roll over to one side for a week or two. Imagine that, after sleepin' for all those years undisturbed, she actually rolled over... course Sleepy Jean is another story.
You may have heard me tell the story of my Cousin Peanut's fried turkey a couple years back. Seems he injected a small tom he shot with a quart of cajun sauce and 2 gallons of the best moonshine that the hills of Appalachia ever produced. When that thing hit the hot peanut oil in the fryer, it took off, going interstellar almost and ended up feedin' them American boys what was livin' on that Russian Space station a fine turkey dinner complete with little plastic flags attached to each wing...but that ain't the point of my story.
Since it is customary to do fireworks on the 4th of July, the town Elders - that's John and Fred Elder who are the only folks who will come to the 4th of July plannin' meetin's, the Elders decided that usin' the basic idea of injectin' chickens, Cornish hens or turkeys with moonshine an' then firin' 'em off fit right in.
They was a Cornish hen race for the youngin's - ages 5 to 12. They each was given a one pound Cornish hen and four ounces of moonshine to inject into the tail of the bird. They was allowed to decorate it anyway they wanted as long as they didn't add more than the four ounces of shine and 1 additional ounce of decorations. They placed the birds in a trough made of gutter pipe with an open end an' aimed them dang birds no more than 12 degrees in the air. Longest flight wins.
Johnny Ray Sizemore added little bat wings to his an' painted it black in honor of his favorite comic book hero an' won! Believe it or not his bird went 17 miles before sputterin' out. Charlie Jenkins got honorable mention 'cause that dang coyote got a-hold of his bird before folks found it and measured. It may have went 16.4 miles or the coyote might have found it an' carried it that far before it was ate... no one knows so they gave him the benefit of the doubt.
For the adults they was a limit of a 7 pound turkey with no decorations an' 12 ounces of moonshine. The FAA put that limitation on due the the plain fact that last year's races messed up the flights of folks goin' in an' out of Lexington, Kentucky's airport. The winner was Birdie Sue Poovey who saw her bird go 4 miles into the air before explodin' in a show of outer space oyster dressin' filled with sparklers on little ol' hankie parachutes that floated down just a twinklin' like fallin' stars. 'Course her daddy is Percival Poovey, "Purveyor of Potent Potables"... that is to say, he makes the moonshine. We suspect he did up a special batch just for her. So she is "Flyin' Shine Turkey Queen" this year. We had a little ol' turkey crown made up with real Saworski crystals an' everthin'. The back end of the turkey fits on her head an' the tail hangs down on her forehead like some jewel. Man, was she somethin' to see.
We fried turkeys all day, but did not allow any to be injected with moonshine. FAA rules an' all, you know.
The night ended with fryin' hens filled with fireworks an' injected with just a few ounces of moonshine shot off about a mile or so into the air. The fireworks an' moonshine burnin' would cook them fryin' hens as they came down, explodin' them into nicely broasted legs, thighs, wings and perfectly split breasts done to perfection. Folks who had been there before brought sheets, butterfly nets an' the occasional bow an' arrow to try to snag a piece as it fell to earth in the fading light.
Dozens of youngin's ran around through the crowd chasin' each other like youngin's do. A few couple sat an' gazed deep into each other's eyes an' missed the whole display. Older folks sat an' talked quietly while they watched, rememberin' the way it used to be an' all.
It was a good 4th of July in Beloved. I can't wait till Sheep Dip Days. Now, that is one great festival!!!
Friday, July 22, 2005
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Come
Come go with me
Let's run away now.
Follow me to the hills
I'll take you to my secret place.
Run away now
Don't think.
Don't wait for the world
To talk sense into your head.
Follow me, come
I'll show you magical places
Where whipperwills call
So mournful you'll cry.
Walk deep into the hills
Step slow in the shadows.
Far under the tall hickory
Neath the giant oak.
Just walk away
Away from the rush.
Away from the hurry
The busy that robs the soul.
Stop an' listen a bit
Close your eyes.
Open your ears and wait
There, can you hear?
Do you see, smell taste
Oh, it is good.
It is clean an' new an' callin'
Can't you hear?
Won't you hear
Please just listen.
Don't be wooed
By the hustle an' rush.
Stop, don't run
Don't run back.
Them hills need you
Much as you need them.
Let's run away now.
Follow me to the hills
I'll take you to my secret place.
Run away now
Don't think.
Don't wait for the world
To talk sense into your head.
Follow me, come
I'll show you magical places
Where whipperwills call
So mournful you'll cry.
Walk deep into the hills
Step slow in the shadows.
Far under the tall hickory
Neath the giant oak.
Just walk away
Away from the rush.
Away from the hurry
The busy that robs the soul.
Stop an' listen a bit
Close your eyes.
Open your ears and wait
There, can you hear?
Do you see, smell taste
Oh, it is good.
It is clean an' new an' callin'
Can't you hear?
Won't you hear
Please just listen.
Don't be wooed
By the hustle an' rush.
Stop, don't run
Don't run back.
Them hills need you
Much as you need them.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Sky Dance
Cousins,
I was in my favorite place for the last few days - Kentucky, riding
with some of my reps. About 11:30 on Wednesday we stopped at a hospital
to make a call on a pediatrician. As we were going toward the door my
cell phone rang and I stopped to take the call while the rep went on in.
As I was standing at the side of the parking lot and talking I was
scanning the sky and looking at the wonderful blue background for the high
white clouds when I noticed a bird flying.
At first I thought it might be a smaller bird that was very close, but
I realized it was riding the thermals...circling and flying higher as I
watched. I hung up and stood in that spot and watched the show of a
lifetime. It was a red tail hawk (It eventually flew right over me and I
could tell) and was enjoying the clear sky like a kid at an amusement
park.
It would soar and catch a thermal to ride to the heights. When one
would give out I could see it keep wings spread but slowly fall to lower
spaces. then suddenly it would begin that familiar circling as a
wingtip caught another thermal. Up and up it would go again, over and over
it did this. If you imagine the sky above me like a horizontal clock,
I first noticed the hawk at about 11:00 on the horizontal plane.
For ten minutes it rode the winds as it made a slow circle all around
me. It rode up in circles then would soar till another was found. When
it was almost overhead I looked up and saw the patterns on its belly
and under wings and knew it was a red tail.
When I had watched for almost fifteen the hawk was in the sky behind
the hospital building. I moved several times to keep it in sight but it
finally was fully behind the building. I almost ran to the other end
of the small country hospital only to catch a glimpse of the hawk
soaring away...searching for another thermal to lift it up into the heights.
I thought of the connections my family has to the Cherokee, Choctaw and
Powhatan tribes and realized how precious those distant ancestors would
have thought that sight. No wonder many Native Americans felt the hawk
and eagle were sacred.
I hoped at first the lady I was with that day would come out so I could
show her. After several minutes I hoped she would remain inside so I
could stay as long as possible and see this amazing sight...and she did.
I suspect thousands could have stopped and seen the same sight if they
had looked up. I wondered as we rode on to our next appointment...who
shared that sight with me? Did anyone bother to take time from their
day and look to the heavens, did they look into the blue sky and just
scan the clouds that day just to "see" the world around them?
My guess is they did not. Most heads were probably down, grounded in
the grind of that moment. I feel blessed that I was privy to the joy of
that one lone red tail hawk as it danced the air for me.
I was in my favorite place for the last few days - Kentucky, riding
with some of my reps. About 11:30 on Wednesday we stopped at a hospital
to make a call on a pediatrician. As we were going toward the door my
cell phone rang and I stopped to take the call while the rep went on in.
As I was standing at the side of the parking lot and talking I was
scanning the sky and looking at the wonderful blue background for the high
white clouds when I noticed a bird flying.
At first I thought it might be a smaller bird that was very close, but
I realized it was riding the thermals...circling and flying higher as I
watched. I hung up and stood in that spot and watched the show of a
lifetime. It was a red tail hawk (It eventually flew right over me and I
could tell) and was enjoying the clear sky like a kid at an amusement
park.
It would soar and catch a thermal to ride to the heights. When one
would give out I could see it keep wings spread but slowly fall to lower
spaces. then suddenly it would begin that familiar circling as a
wingtip caught another thermal. Up and up it would go again, over and over
it did this. If you imagine the sky above me like a horizontal clock,
I first noticed the hawk at about 11:00 on the horizontal plane.
For ten minutes it rode the winds as it made a slow circle all around
me. It rode up in circles then would soar till another was found. When
it was almost overhead I looked up and saw the patterns on its belly
and under wings and knew it was a red tail.
When I had watched for almost fifteen the hawk was in the sky behind
the hospital building. I moved several times to keep it in sight but it
finally was fully behind the building. I almost ran to the other end
of the small country hospital only to catch a glimpse of the hawk
soaring away...searching for another thermal to lift it up into the heights.
I thought of the connections my family has to the Cherokee, Choctaw and
Powhatan tribes and realized how precious those distant ancestors would
have thought that sight. No wonder many Native Americans felt the hawk
and eagle were sacred.
I hoped at first the lady I was with that day would come out so I could
show her. After several minutes I hoped she would remain inside so I
could stay as long as possible and see this amazing sight...and she did.
I suspect thousands could have stopped and seen the same sight if they
had looked up. I wondered as we rode on to our next appointment...who
shared that sight with me? Did anyone bother to take time from their
day and look to the heavens, did they look into the blue sky and just
scan the clouds that day just to "see" the world around them?
My guess is they did not. Most heads were probably down, grounded in
the grind of that moment. I feel blessed that I was privy to the joy of
that one lone red tail hawk as it danced the air for me.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Daddy's Dulcimer
Cousins,
Back in about 1989 I purchased a McSpadden dulcimer for my Dad. He had
had an old electric guitar for years and plunked around on it. Daddy
admitted to everyone that he was a terrible guitar player. Never took
lessons, just sat and plunked and sang to his old dog he called "Red
Dog". I thought the dulcimer would be easier for him and it was something
that would tie him to out mountain roots back in the hills and hollers
of eastern Kentucky.
He played the dulcimer some, not as much as I would like. He still
loved to plunk on that old guitar. Daddy and Mama lived on Cherokee Lake - around
Bean Station, TN from 1976 till about 1996 when they moved to the Dayton
area to be closer to me and my brother. When he was living by the lake
he would gather goose feathers and play his dulcimer with them.
My Daddy died last year on May 15 of lung cancer. He was 79 and had
been smoking since he was 8 or 9, We found out on April 4 he had cancer
and he lasted only 41 days. My Mama gave some of his things away
pretty quickly - his clothes mostly. She gave me my Grandpa's pistol he
used as a guard at the Bluegrass Depot in Lexington, KY since I am named
after my Grandpa. Here and there she would come across something and
give it to me or my brother.
I didn't say much about the dulcimer, but I let my brother know
privately if something happened to Mama I wanted our Dad's dulcimer. (I bought
my brother one last year about the time my Daddy died, so he does have
one) Mama played the dulcimer a little sometimes and I didn't want to
ask her for something she might want to keep.
I was over there last week visiting and my Mama brought the dulcimer
out and handed it to me as I was leaving. She said she
wanted to make sure I got it, had been meaning to give it to me but it was
hard to part with things sometimes. After a hug and some tears on both
our cheeks I went home.
When I was home and alone I opened the case and pulled out the walnut
dulcimer. Under it were 3 goose feathers trimmed by my Daddy so he could
play with them. I had changed the strings 2 years ago and the old ones
were still in there, wound up. He had written on a piece of paper how
to tune the dulcimer by ear. Mama gave me his 4 dulcimer music books
too.
I got out my tuner and started to tune it. I noticed something on the
fretboard and had to put my glasses on to see. Daddy had used an ink
pen and written the number 7 at the seventh fret, an 11 on the eleventh and 13 on the
thirteenth in ink! I was mortified at first, then laughed to myself. Daddy
was plain and simple. He didn't have fancy mother of pearl dots or
anything, so he marked the frets himself.
I love that dulcimer better than meat loves salt, cousins. I tuned it
d-a-a-d, I like the soulful sound it makes tuned like that and played
for over an hour...My Old Kentucky Home, Farther Along, Amazing Grace,
Tennessee Waltz (the lullaby my Daddy sung to me as a baby.)
I am glad it has his numbers printed on the fretboard. It is
him...just like him to do that.
I have it now right beside my treasured dulcimers, one Bob Mize made
for me out of wormy chestnut, the Homer Ledford with the swan head.
(these are both treasures by the finest dulcimer makers of this day, though
Bob Mize died 2 years ago) If I had to give one up, it wouldn't be
that old McSpadden for it is truely a treasure.
It is one of those things you keep, things you treasure.
Back in about 1989 I purchased a McSpadden dulcimer for my Dad. He had
had an old electric guitar for years and plunked around on it. Daddy
admitted to everyone that he was a terrible guitar player. Never took
lessons, just sat and plunked and sang to his old dog he called "Red
Dog". I thought the dulcimer would be easier for him and it was something
that would tie him to out mountain roots back in the hills and hollers
of eastern Kentucky.
He played the dulcimer some, not as much as I would like. He still
loved to plunk on that old guitar. Daddy and Mama lived on Cherokee Lake - around
Bean Station, TN from 1976 till about 1996 when they moved to the Dayton
area to be closer to me and my brother. When he was living by the lake
he would gather goose feathers and play his dulcimer with them.
My Daddy died last year on May 15 of lung cancer. He was 79 and had
been smoking since he was 8 or 9, We found out on April 4 he had cancer
and he lasted only 41 days. My Mama gave some of his things away
pretty quickly - his clothes mostly. She gave me my Grandpa's pistol he
used as a guard at the Bluegrass Depot in Lexington, KY since I am named
after my Grandpa. Here and there she would come across something and
give it to me or my brother.
I didn't say much about the dulcimer, but I let my brother know
privately if something happened to Mama I wanted our Dad's dulcimer. (I bought
my brother one last year about the time my Daddy died, so he does have
one) Mama played the dulcimer a little sometimes and I didn't want to
ask her for something she might want to keep.
I was over there last week visiting and my Mama brought the dulcimer
out and handed it to me as I was leaving. She said she
wanted to make sure I got it, had been meaning to give it to me but it was
hard to part with things sometimes. After a hug and some tears on both
our cheeks I went home.
When I was home and alone I opened the case and pulled out the walnut
dulcimer. Under it were 3 goose feathers trimmed by my Daddy so he could
play with them. I had changed the strings 2 years ago and the old ones
were still in there, wound up. He had written on a piece of paper how
to tune the dulcimer by ear. Mama gave me his 4 dulcimer music books
too.
I got out my tuner and started to tune it. I noticed something on the
fretboard and had to put my glasses on to see. Daddy had used an ink
pen and written the number 7 at the seventh fret, an 11 on the eleventh and 13 on the
thirteenth in ink! I was mortified at first, then laughed to myself. Daddy
was plain and simple. He didn't have fancy mother of pearl dots or
anything, so he marked the frets himself.
I love that dulcimer better than meat loves salt, cousins. I tuned it
d-a-a-d, I like the soulful sound it makes tuned like that and played
for over an hour...My Old Kentucky Home, Farther Along, Amazing Grace,
Tennessee Waltz (the lullaby my Daddy sung to me as a baby.)
I am glad it has his numbers printed on the fretboard. It is
him...just like him to do that.
I have it now right beside my treasured dulcimers, one Bob Mize made
for me out of wormy chestnut, the Homer Ledford with the swan head.
(these are both treasures by the finest dulcimer makers of this day, though
Bob Mize died 2 years ago) If I had to give one up, it wouldn't be
that old McSpadden for it is truely a treasure.
It is one of those things you keep, things you treasure.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Double Creek
If you could drive back about 30 or 40 years an' turn off Route 66 near Peabody you would go up Double Creek. After a while your car would pass a big hole of water. This hole was where I spent my time on hot summer days, swimmin' with my little brother an' my cousin. It may not seem real big or real deep, but it was just enough for three young boys. We would jump from the low water bridge that crossed over the far end of the hole an' slither around the banks like mudpuppies, lurk underwater as if we were catfish just waitin' for a crawdaddy to come sneakin' along. The water would be cold an' sweet as we played.
Later we would dry off on the towels we brought with us. Youngin's were never allowed to take good towels out of the house. These were towels that came in boxes of laundry powder an' had been used for so long they were thin as bedsheets. Now, I don't reckon they did much dryin 'back then, but we didn't really care. Them towels were draped over out necks as we walked an' sometimes ran back to home. Maybe they would be rolled up into rat-tails an' used to slap the bare legs of my little brother or occasionally even me when them other boys was feelin' braver than they should. One lick on my leg - tanned dark as tobacco by the many days in the sun an' I was after them all the way back. I would hit 'em a lick an' run an' hit 'em another lick. By the time they was home the red welts made their legs look like patchwork quilts.
That hole of water was also the baptizin' hole for folks on Double Creek. There wasn't no official church there. Just a circuit ridin' preacher that stopped by the Double Creek School once a month on his circuit. My Aunt Mag, Aunt Bess an' Uncle Bill all were baptized in that hole of water.
Since we was Baptist there was not as much hurry to get folks baptized. Some churches down home, like Booger Holler Holiness Church felt that folks had to be baptized to get saved an' they hauled a feller off right away after church to the creek an' our little swimmin' hole. They would gather round an' the preacher, Brother Woodrow Budder would wade in in a white shirt, black pants an' black tie to wait for the new Christians to step into the water. I found out back then that the preacher kept an old pair of pants, shirt an' tie at their church to change into just for the baptizin'. We hid that preacher's tie once when we knew he might be doin' some baptizin'. Jimmy Lipps was feelin' plenty of conviction an everyone just knew a good ol' "hellfire an' damnation" sermon would get him out of his seat an' down the aisle. Brother Woodrow was fit to be tied when he realized his tie was missin'. It weren't proper to baptize in an open neck shirt so he wore his good one an' put the end of it in a samwich bag to keep it dry.
When Jimmy got saved they all headed down to the creek. Folks was waitin' an' when they passed the Baptist folks we all got in our cars an' trucks an' headed down too. Women stopped long enough to get pies, cakes, deviled eggs, green beans, dumplin's, soup beans, baked ham, biscuits, raised rolls an' all the fried chicken they had in baskets so as to have a dinner on the ground when the baptizin' was over. Even though we was different in some things, we all celebrated at the renewal of one come home an' from the paths of sin.
While folks got things ready for Jimmy's baptizin' the women from up an' down the creek was busy. There were some ol' planks that were laid up under a tree like a tepee so they wouldn't rot. They was left there just for such occasions. Some of the older boys placed the planks on concrete blocks left there an' made rough tables for the food to be spread out on. The young girls would spread blankets an' tablecloths out on the grass an help put out the dishes an' flatware.
Over to one side the men an' a few women that played any sort of instrument, guitar, banjo, fiddle, dobro, mandolin an' dulcimer would be tunin' up an' talkin' over what songs they would play an' in what order. Someone would confer with the baptismal candidate to see if they was some special requests an' what to play when they went down under the waters. Jimmy asked for "In the Garden", his Mama's favorite hymn as the one to be played as he was baptized.
Finally time was right an' all the preparations were done. The food smelled wonderful an' we all suspected that it was more planning than providence that caused such a spread to be laid out. As I said, folks knew Jimmy was ready to depart from his sinful ways.
Brother Woodrow was a large man. He was about 5'9" an weighed about as much as a young heifer. When he walked into the creek he floated a bit till he got his feet planted in the mud an' turned around. Jimmy started down into the waiting arms of his pastor who had a hankie in one hand to put over the baptismal candidate's nose so no creek water would get in an' drown a person.
About the time Jimmy was half way into the creek a big ol' snappin' turtle determined to stick his head up right behind Brother Woodrow. Mrs. Ledford screamed an' pointed. Brother Woodrow turned an' saw that turtle head right even with his chest an' he took off like a crazy man. He jumped plumb up straight into the air an' back down again, splashin' all gathered at the edge of the creek with more water than you could shake a stick at. He commenced to swim as fast as he could an' that snappin' turtle got real interested in Brother Woodrow's head. It came at him an' was winnin' the race.
Now, I don't know when a baptizin' was so excitin' I had been waitin' to sneak a deviled egg, but when I head the commotion, I ran to see what was goin' on. There it was, Brother Woodrow swimmin' to beat the band an' that snappin' turtle just a glidin' out after him.
When it got close it opened its mount an that ol' neck reached out about ten feet it seemed. When it got to Brother Woodrow's head it clamped down an' Brother Woodrow let out a scream. He kept on swimmin' an the snappin' turtle started pullin' in the other direction. We was all lookin' for blood in the water! Yet there weren't nary a drop.
Then the impossible happened. Brother Woodrow's scalp lifted away from the top of his head an' the turtle renewed its efforts till that preacher's hair came right off into that turtle's mouth. Women fainted an' Sister Hazel Nutt Budder, Brother Woodrow's wife turned an' walked away red as a beet. Men went into the water to save Brother Woodrow an' perhaps staunch his bleedin' scalp.
When they pulled him in he was exhausted. He laid on the bank with a dish towel wrapped around his head for a long time. When he caught his breath he turned white as a sheet an' reached under the towel to feel his head. As he felt around the towel slipped off an' we all gasped. Brother Woodrow Budder was as bald as a frog! He had some sticky tape on his head that must have been holdin' his wig on. More women fainted an' the men turned away in shame.
You see, it ain't fittin' for a man to have that much vanity. Brother Woodrow was so ashamed he got on his knees an' confessed his sin of pride right there. He asked forgiveness an' asked to be re-baptized right along with Jimmy. Some of the men of the Booger Holler Holiness Church did the honors an' Brother Woodrow came up a shoutin' an carryin' on like he had seen the gates of pearl.
From that day on, Brother Woodrow Budder preached every service as bald as can be, never ashamed of the little bit of hair that was his.
Now that was a baptizin'!!
Later we would dry off on the towels we brought with us. Youngin's were never allowed to take good towels out of the house. These were towels that came in boxes of laundry powder an' had been used for so long they were thin as bedsheets. Now, I don't reckon they did much dryin 'back then, but we didn't really care. Them towels were draped over out necks as we walked an' sometimes ran back to home. Maybe they would be rolled up into rat-tails an' used to slap the bare legs of my little brother or occasionally even me when them other boys was feelin' braver than they should. One lick on my leg - tanned dark as tobacco by the many days in the sun an' I was after them all the way back. I would hit 'em a lick an' run an' hit 'em another lick. By the time they was home the red welts made their legs look like patchwork quilts.
That hole of water was also the baptizin' hole for folks on Double Creek. There wasn't no official church there. Just a circuit ridin' preacher that stopped by the Double Creek School once a month on his circuit. My Aunt Mag, Aunt Bess an' Uncle Bill all were baptized in that hole of water.
Since we was Baptist there was not as much hurry to get folks baptized. Some churches down home, like Booger Holler Holiness Church felt that folks had to be baptized to get saved an' they hauled a feller off right away after church to the creek an' our little swimmin' hole. They would gather round an' the preacher, Brother Woodrow Budder would wade in in a white shirt, black pants an' black tie to wait for the new Christians to step into the water. I found out back then that the preacher kept an old pair of pants, shirt an' tie at their church to change into just for the baptizin'. We hid that preacher's tie once when we knew he might be doin' some baptizin'. Jimmy Lipps was feelin' plenty of conviction an everyone just knew a good ol' "hellfire an' damnation" sermon would get him out of his seat an' down the aisle. Brother Woodrow was fit to be tied when he realized his tie was missin'. It weren't proper to baptize in an open neck shirt so he wore his good one an' put the end of it in a samwich bag to keep it dry.
When Jimmy got saved they all headed down to the creek. Folks was waitin' an' when they passed the Baptist folks we all got in our cars an' trucks an' headed down too. Women stopped long enough to get pies, cakes, deviled eggs, green beans, dumplin's, soup beans, baked ham, biscuits, raised rolls an' all the fried chicken they had in baskets so as to have a dinner on the ground when the baptizin' was over. Even though we was different in some things, we all celebrated at the renewal of one come home an' from the paths of sin.
While folks got things ready for Jimmy's baptizin' the women from up an' down the creek was busy. There were some ol' planks that were laid up under a tree like a tepee so they wouldn't rot. They was left there just for such occasions. Some of the older boys placed the planks on concrete blocks left there an' made rough tables for the food to be spread out on. The young girls would spread blankets an' tablecloths out on the grass an help put out the dishes an' flatware.
Over to one side the men an' a few women that played any sort of instrument, guitar, banjo, fiddle, dobro, mandolin an' dulcimer would be tunin' up an' talkin' over what songs they would play an' in what order. Someone would confer with the baptismal candidate to see if they was some special requests an' what to play when they went down under the waters. Jimmy asked for "In the Garden", his Mama's favorite hymn as the one to be played as he was baptized.
Finally time was right an' all the preparations were done. The food smelled wonderful an' we all suspected that it was more planning than providence that caused such a spread to be laid out. As I said, folks knew Jimmy was ready to depart from his sinful ways.
Brother Woodrow was a large man. He was about 5'9" an weighed about as much as a young heifer. When he walked into the creek he floated a bit till he got his feet planted in the mud an' turned around. Jimmy started down into the waiting arms of his pastor who had a hankie in one hand to put over the baptismal candidate's nose so no creek water would get in an' drown a person.
About the time Jimmy was half way into the creek a big ol' snappin' turtle determined to stick his head up right behind Brother Woodrow. Mrs. Ledford screamed an' pointed. Brother Woodrow turned an' saw that turtle head right even with his chest an' he took off like a crazy man. He jumped plumb up straight into the air an' back down again, splashin' all gathered at the edge of the creek with more water than you could shake a stick at. He commenced to swim as fast as he could an' that snappin' turtle got real interested in Brother Woodrow's head. It came at him an' was winnin' the race.
Now, I don't know when a baptizin' was so excitin' I had been waitin' to sneak a deviled egg, but when I head the commotion, I ran to see what was goin' on. There it was, Brother Woodrow swimmin' to beat the band an' that snappin' turtle just a glidin' out after him.
When it got close it opened its mount an that ol' neck reached out about ten feet it seemed. When it got to Brother Woodrow's head it clamped down an' Brother Woodrow let out a scream. He kept on swimmin' an the snappin' turtle started pullin' in the other direction. We was all lookin' for blood in the water! Yet there weren't nary a drop.
Then the impossible happened. Brother Woodrow's scalp lifted away from the top of his head an' the turtle renewed its efforts till that preacher's hair came right off into that turtle's mouth. Women fainted an' Sister Hazel Nutt Budder, Brother Woodrow's wife turned an' walked away red as a beet. Men went into the water to save Brother Woodrow an' perhaps staunch his bleedin' scalp.
When they pulled him in he was exhausted. He laid on the bank with a dish towel wrapped around his head for a long time. When he caught his breath he turned white as a sheet an' reached under the towel to feel his head. As he felt around the towel slipped off an' we all gasped. Brother Woodrow Budder was as bald as a frog! He had some sticky tape on his head that must have been holdin' his wig on. More women fainted an' the men turned away in shame.
You see, it ain't fittin' for a man to have that much vanity. Brother Woodrow was so ashamed he got on his knees an' confessed his sin of pride right there. He asked forgiveness an' asked to be re-baptized right along with Jimmy. Some of the men of the Booger Holler Holiness Church did the honors an' Brother Woodrow came up a shoutin' an carryin' on like he had seen the gates of pearl.
From that day on, Brother Woodrow Budder preached every service as bald as can be, never ashamed of the little bit of hair that was his.
Now that was a baptizin'!!
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