Uncle Billy and Beloved
Over the year I have written much about my hometown of Beloved, Kentucky and the folks that live there. Folks like my Cousin Peanut, Birdy Sue Poovey, Brother Woodrow Budder and his wife (Peanut's sister) sister Hazel Nutt Budder, Annie Pankey and Bottlecap Bobby D. Clark.
My favorite has been Uncle Billy Gilbert. He is a genuine man of the mountains, a true gentleman, ageless and forever. Her is a composite of many of my favorite people; my Daddy, Uncle Bert Hollen, Great Uncles Bill Arnett, Jimmy Arnett, Chester Napier, distant cousins like Nels Lipps and many others who I remember, but names that I have forgotten.
Some of Uncle Billy is who I hope I become as I grow older... wise, loved and respected (but not alone in my old age. I want Oh My Darlin' to be by my side always).
This is a compilation of pieces I have written, mostly about Uncle Billy. some day soon I will add all the other pieces about Beloved together in one place.
Where is Beloved? It is up on Route 66 in Clay County, Kentucky, close to Peabody, not terrible far from Double Creek, Little Creek and Gilbert's Creek. It is just around the corner from Brigadoon, Narnia, Oz, Mayberry, Avalon, El Dorado, Hogwarts and Shangri-La. It is a precious place in my memory, a place that cried to me just as the hills cry out to those who are from the mountains.
This first piece is one of the few pieces I've written about Uncle Billy before Aunt Del passes away. I'll write more someday.
Morning At The Gilbert Place
Del Gilbert woke easily, well before the sun was up. Her husband,
Billy would be up soon. He patted her shoulder as she rolled to the
edge of their bed and sat up. Most mornings he would lay in bed and
spend a few moments in quiet prayer as he prepared for his day. His day
would start fast and go steady till their noon meal. He would be back
in the fields soon after and would finally stumble in, dog tired just
before dark to eat a bite, sip on some iced tea on the porch and listen
to the radio till bed time. Most folks called him "Uncle Billy" and he
was what folks call "a good ol' boy".
There was a
pretty good chance that one or more neighbor would wander by and stop
for some sweet tea and conversation in the early evenin' hours. Though
their home was off the beaten path and at the end of a road that
wandered deep into a holler, it sometimes seemed like Grand Central
Station to Del.
Del quickly made biscuits and pushed
the pan into the oven. Bacon and ham soon fell into a fryin' pan and
the little cabin tucked into the holler was smellin' wonderful. Grits
bubbled and steamed on the back burner right beside a little pan filled
with warm water in which she put a quart jar of maple syrup to warm.
Billy liked maple syrup in his grits and his own sourwood honey on his
biscuits.
Five bee gums (hives for the Yankee folks)
sat a little further back in the holler and were just about ready to be
robbed of the season's bounty of sourwood honey. The sourwood trees had
been just beautiful this year with all the rain. Their limbs had hung
low, laden with white, fragrant flowers that they could smell from their
front porch... or anywhere else in their humble cabin when the windows
were open.
The bees worked those trees steady for
weeks. Their buzzin' created a hum around the trees that was magical.
It seemed like the whole hillside was alive an' singin' glory an'
hallelujahs to the Good Lord above when the Sourwoods were bloomin'.
Del often took a chair out close to the trees on a nice day and sat in
the shade, listenin' to that hum as she pieced quilts or peeled taters
for dinner.
The biscuits came out of the oven and Del
cracked eggs into a little pan shined up with just a dab of bacon
grease... made the eggs taste good an made her cleanin' the pan easier
with a slick of grease in the bottom. Billy ate two and she had one,
all over easy. Since her layin' hens were goin' great guns, she fried
up a few more. Maybe Billy would want another for breakfast. Maybe he
would put a cold fried egg on his plate for dinner. Maybe one of the
neighbors would stop for coffee and have a biscuit stuffed with a fried
egg to gossip over.
"Better come on, ol' man. This breakfast is coolin' quick an' I am 'bout ready to toss it out for the dogs" she called.
"I
hear ye. I hear ye. A feller cain't even get his boots laced 'round
here. You threaten me every day with throwin' my breakfast to the
dogs. It ain't happened in 48 years and I don't reckon you'll start
now." Billy chuckled.
Del grinned and sat the plate of
eggs on the table. She wiped her hands on the dish towel that hung on
her shoulder, folded it and laid it by the sink. Billy and Del sat,
joined hands and bowed their heads.
"Now Lord, we ain't
got much to brag about. What we got is from You and we are humbled by
the bounty of this little patch of ground you have given us here in this
holler. We don't rightly know what we have done to deserve all we have
been blessed with, don't reckon our blessin's come from what we
deserve, but what You grace us with. For that and for this table we
give You thanks, Lord. Watch over us and them we love this day. Bless
our country, our President, them that govern and us that live free. Be
with the boys that guard and protect in the Armed Forces. Bless the
Governor of Kentucky and those folks we have elected to guide our state,
the local folks. Lord, give 'em some wisdom... give them government
folks a lot of wisdom, Lord. I just don't know about them folks
sometimes. Get 'em off their high horses an' back down to earth." Billy
prays.
Del squeezes Billy's hand and he chuckles;
"Sorry I went on so, Lord. Help us as we go about our work today. Help
us to be humble and to know You are God. Thanks for your son, Jesus.
I'm prayin' all this in His Mighty name. Amen."
They
squeeze each others hand, Billy leans over, as he does every day and
kisses Del. This is a custom he started their first day of marriage as
Del sat cryin' over burned biscuits an' crispy eggs. He leaned over
that mornin', kissed her, told her every thing looked wonderful and ate
every bite. From that day till this he would kiss her before his first
bite.
Breakfast is soon over. Billy grabs the bowl of
scraps Del has prepared and crumbles a biscuit into the bowl. He is out
the back door and into the barn to begin his day. Del sits back down
an' pours a cup of coffee. them dishes ain't goin' nowhere. She
listens as Billy calls his ol' Sooner dog. Sooner has been sleepin'
under the front porch but soon is up, has a good shake and trots - side
aways over to eat his breakfast as Billy throws cracked corn to the
chickens.
Sooner will follow Billy from chore to chore
all day long. When Billy begins to work, Sooner will go round and round
a few time and drop like he was dead to the ground... one eye openin'
occasionally to make sure Billy is there. At noon, man and dog will
head back to the house.
That's the way it happens most days. It is a simple life, a good life. It is, as they know, a blessed life.
Auburn Memories
The oddest things can make a feller remember times past. It can be
something as simple as a smell or as complex as a series of happenin's
that can make an' ol' mind wander down paths forgotten for so long that
weeds have done growed up in the way.
It was early
evenin'. Not quite twilight just yet. The birds was still carryin' on
around in the holly bush that growed by Uncle Billy's bedroom window.
They didn't bother him much durin' the day. He did, however, take
exception to them bein' his wake up call ever' mornin' at the crack o'
dawn. Now an' agin a Junebug would fly by, buzzin' and strokin' to keep
it's hardshell body afloat in the warm evenin' breezes.
The
day had been spent in the woods. It was mushroom time and folks in
these parts loved them sponge mushrooms. In town, there in Beloved,
they called 'em morels, but folks round the hills an' hollers out in the
country 'round about Beloved jus' called 'em sponges...or maybe spikes
if they was them long thin pointy ones.
When folks
found a good spot, they kept it secret like for as long as they could.
Didn't want no one comin' in on your sponge spot if ya could keep it a
secret. Most folks knew they was to be found around dead wood. Old
orchards were a wonderful spot to hunt 'em. A feller could find 'em by
the bucketful in the remains of an old orchard.
In
front of Uncle Billy was a galvanized bucket full of the rewards of his
day. Them sponges were big. He didn't go out right away, he always
waited a day or two and was always rewarded with big mushrooms.
As
he sat pickin' through 'em, he brushed dirt from each one and laid it
out on an ol' dish towel he had layin' on the worn boards of the porch.
He bent over to lay a handful on the dishtowel an' as he was a raisin'
up, something in between two logs caught his eye.
Now,
when folks have a log cabin, it is right handy to use the chinks between
the logs to store things. They was a butcher knife kept in a chink out
the back door. When ya brought a mess o' green onions from the garden
it was used to trim 'em up before they was brought inside. Uncle Billy
kept a couple old cotton rags in chinks here on the porch for gnat
smokes if the bitin' bugs got outta hand.
Today he saw
somethin' he hadn't noticed before. In between two logs, lower than he
would put things, somethin' caught his eye. He reached for it and
gently pulled it into the light. His hand trembled just a mite as he
looked at an old set of tortoise shell hair combs.
He
sat back and he almost stumbled into the memories the combs revealed.
In his mind's eye he saw Aunt Del, sittin on that porch long after the
day's work was done. They would sit an' talk, have one last cup
o'
coffee or maybe some sassafras tea with a little sourwood honey in it.
Neither one of 'em would talk much. Mostly they enjoyed the quiet of
the early evenin'.
As Aunt Del sat she would take the
hair pins out of her hair and lay 'em in her lap. Her apron would fill
with the handful of pins that held her hair in the tight bun she wore
all the time.
Uncle Billy sat back and saw her again,
unwinding her hair to it's full length. If she stood it would go near
to the floor. In the evenin' she would have a big ol' brush in her
apron pocket. She would take that comb out and brush through her hair
agin an' agin. He closed his eyes an' he could just see her sittin in
the rocker, brushin' her hair.
It had been many years
since it was the rich auburn it was the day he first saw her over to
church. Back then, years ago, she wore it long and hangin' down her
back.
First time he really noticed her, she sat in
church with a couple other youngin's. Her hair threw gold off'n it as
she flipped it over the back of the pew. He had sat and jus' watched
her laugh an' talk to some of the other gals as they waited for the
mornin's singin' to start. She looked back and her dark eyes flashed
bright when she saw Billy. Her lips broke to a grin and lashes lowered
as she blushed. He had got caught lookin'. He blushed in turn.
It
took him a while to find a reason to talk to her. He knew from that
day in church that she was the only one for him. She had been too. For
a week o' Sundays he jus' sat in the back o' the church and caught
glimpses as often as he could without gettin' caught. Once he talked to
her for the first time, he got up a head o' steam and never quit.
Uncle
Billy never stopped watchin' Aunt Del. She was the apple o' his eye.
She would always ask him what he was a lookin' at when she brushed her
hair. He would always tell her he was a watchin' some young auburn
headed gal throwin' her head back like a young colt, her hair a swingin'
this way an' that. Now, she never let him see cause she would always
turn her head and brush, but a smile crept onto her lips ever' time he
said that.
Uncle Billy sat and held the tortoise shell
combs and looked deeper. When Aunt Del finished brushin', she would
plait the long, heavy hank o' hair and wind it into a bun. Hair pins
would pin it in place for another day. Then she would place one comb
into the hair on either side of her head. Her brush would go into her
apron pocket an' she would sit back and sigh...each night it was the
same...a sigh to indicate her day was done.
Uncle Billy
came back to the present day and wondered why she had left her combs
there in the chink o' the logs. Why hadn't she had them on that day
several years back? He had searched the house for 'em after Aunt Del
died. Some of the women folks had come to help get things ready an' had
asked for 'em to fix up Aunt Del's hair.
His work worn
hand wiped a tear from his eye an' he sat back. Then he would have
give anything he had that day to be able to place them in her hair as he
said the last goodbye. Today he was more glad that he had not found
'em. He reckoned Aunt Del hadn't wanted 'em to be found. Tears flowed
agin his will an' he had to get his ol' red hanky out and wipe his nose
an' eyes more than once.
Old Dog came over to check on
his master, eyes seemin' to be full o' worry. "Don't worry 'bout me,
Old Dog. I am a just gettin' soft in my old age, now. Don't go a
worryin' 'bout me." he said with a gentle smile.
He put
the sponge mushrooms back into the bucket and sat back. For the rest
of the evenin' he sat and rocked, lookin' out at the hills he loved.
His eyes caught ever' movement, from the hummin'bird suckin' nectar out
a' the four o'clocks to the lightnin' bugs as they danced up out of the
grass to fly and court each other in that age old ritual of twilight.
As
the smoky fog came down the hillside to cover the holler, he sat and
looked out. In his hands, held tight were two tortoise shell combs.
His eyes looked, but his mind was focused on an auburn haired gal back
yonder.
Neighbor Beater Tomatos
Now, I just don't know how folks are where you might be from, but in
Beloved, Kentucky, folks are serious about their tomatoes. Tomatos, or
tomaters or just plain ol' 'maters they may be, but raisin' them
wonderful red fruits is a passion in Beloved.
Uncle
Billy Gilbert always worked hard to try to be the first to have ripe
tomatoes. He would start seeds inside with mason jars over the
seedlin's. Them seedlin's would be transplanted out to cold frames as
soon as the weather got passable and then into a garden when chance of
frost passed.
Other folks had theories, secrets and
special seeds saved from one year to the next. No one talked much about
how they did it...if they won.
Whichever lucky citizen
was the first with a ripe tomatoe would show up with the lovely fruit
in downtown Beloved with a smile and the prize to be shown off to all
who would stop to look.
In Beloved word would get 'round and everyone would stop to look.
Cousin
Peanut tried year after year to be the first with a "mater" but his
tendency to forget his garden made him an unlikely candidate for the
glory that would be heaped upon the victor. Folks felt bad every year
when Cousin Peanut would show up to see the winning tomatoe. He would
stand and stare for the longest time. Sister Hazel Budder, the
preacher's wife and Cousin Peanut's sister knew when he left he would
shed a quiet tear. Cousin Peanut was almost always an "also ran" in
about anything he ever tried.
'Cept that one year.
Folks
started early with their seedlin's under glass as usual. Uncle Billy
Gilbert actually showed Cousin Peanut how to start a little ol' "mason
jar greenhouse". Cousin Peanut put out his seedlin's ahead of a lot of
folks. Then promptly went back to his old ways of not tendin' the
garden much. His Daddy, Vergie was bad sick and his Mama, Mz. Chappell
wasn't much better.
That was why Uncle Billy called a
nephew of his that worked at the agricultural school at University of
Kentucky. He told that nephew, Johnny Gilbert, what he wanted to
do...asked if they was tomatos growin' in the greenhouse and if Johnny
would help. Of course Johnny said yes and the famous "Mater Caper" was
hatched.
A few nights later Johnny showed up in
Beloved. After dark him and Uncle Billy snuck over to Booger Holler
where the Chappells lived, dug up Peanut's sorry ol' scraggly tomato
vines and replaced them with beautiful vines laden with little green
fruit.
Cousin Peanut made a haphazard inspection of the
garden a day or two later on his way to the little ol' shack out back
an' was amazed that his vines were covered with baby tomatos! He went
everywhere braggin' about them little green marbles!
Then promptly forgot them again.
A
week or so later, Johnny made another trip and took a secret ride with
Uncle Billy over to Booger Holler. Tomato vines were traded and
transplanted again. Cousin Peanut found that his vines had grown and his
tomato crop was even better. My oh my how that boy did crow! Even
though Vergie couldn't get out to the garden, Cousin Peanut told him
about every little tomater! As Vergie an' Mz. Chappell sat in the house
together, they would smile and beam at the sudden success of their
wayward boy.
The secret gardening trips continued for weeks.
Then
Vergie got the pneumonia and Peanut forgot about his tomato plants.
Vergie didn't last long before he gave it up an' died. He was to be
buried in the Chappell graveyard up on the mountain under a sycamore
tree overlookin' the little farm he loved.
When Uncle
Billy heard that Vergie had died he drove his truck over to the Peabody
Post Office an' called Johnny. The night before the funeral Johnny an'
Uncle Billy made one more night time raid on Cousin Peanut's garden.
The
funeral was held at Booger Holler Holiness Church. Brother Woodrow
Budder preached a funeral sermon to beat the band. Folks expected no
less, seein' as how Vergie was Brother Woodrow's Daddy-in-Law.
Vergie's
casket was carried up the side of the mountain by six strong mountain
men. The crowd stood quiet like as final prayers were said and Vergie's
boy Chester read the 23rd Psalm. It was a lovely service and the day
was glorious up on that hillside. The sun warmed the bodies if not the
hearts of the folks gathered to say goodbye one last time.
As
folks walked together down the hill they visited and talked quietly.
When they got to the bottom of the hill each an' every man jack of 'em
stopped an' didn't go another step.
Finally, the
Chappell family came down. Mz. Chappell was holdin' on to a couple of
her youngin's an' a snifflin' an' such. She was the first to walk
through the crowd. She asked what everyone was a doin'. They all
pointed to Cousin Peanut's weedy ol' garden patch.
"Peanut, come here, son." Mz. Chappell called.
Peanut
made his way through the crowd and looked into his garden. There in
the weeds was one beautiful tomato vine, curled perfectly around itself
an' up a wood stake.
Hangin' from that vine was not
one, but two beautiful, perfectly round, red-ripe tomatoes. Peanut
reverently picked each and held them in the air for all to see. The
crowd sighed "aaahhh" in unison as Cousin Peanut grinned. Everyone knew
what this meant. Cousin Peanut had not just the first, but the first
AND second ripe tomato in Beloved. He had braggin' rights for a year!
Folks
offered right then and there to take Peanut to town. Someone found a
basket full of biscuits in their car and emptied out the biscuits so
Cousin Peanut would have a proper way to display his prize.
Folks
left quickly, followin' the truck that carried the champion an' his
fruits to the braggin' bench in downtown Beloved. Uncle Billy helped
Mz. Chappell an' some of the ladies of the church carry in the bowls of
food that friends an' family would gather to eat later.
As he went out for a big ol' bowl of potato salad, Mz. Chappell followed him out.
"They ain't no more, Mz. Chappell. This here is the rest of it." Uncle Billy said.
"I ain't here for carryin' no food. I know what you did."
Uncle Billy looked up the mountain, "I don't reckon I know what you are talkin' about."
"We
both do. I seen you an' your nephew in that garden late at night more
than once. Do you think it is right, Billy? It is cheatin', after
all." she said quietly.
Uncle Billy grinned a little,
"Nah, ain't no more cheatin' than all the other tricks we all try. They
came out of his garden an' he ain't the one that claimed they was the
first. I don't believe the good Lord is gonna bar the door or pull the
latch string in from Heaven's gate for this one."
Mz. Chappell smiled, snickered and slapped Uncle Billy, "I almost shot you'uns the first time I seen you out there."
"Wouldn't 'a been the first time I was shot at." he said with his orneriest grin.
Cousin
Peanut sat on that bench for days showin' off them tomatoes. No one
ever knew how good they tasted. He left 'em in that basket till they
was right rotten.
His picture ran in the Manchester Enterprise.
Funny
thing was, when Cousin Peanut talks about that year, it ain't never the
year his Daddy died. It is always the year he had the first tomatos.
Miss Hazel
One of the problems with bein' an older man in a small community is
the older women, or more specific, the older women what think a feller
needs another wife. Uncle Billy has his share of "women friends" as
folks call 'em.
He hardly has a week go by without one
of the ladies of the Booger Holler Holiness Church stoppin' by with a
hot pie...knowin' he has a weakness for pie in general an' berry pies in
particular. They drive up, get out of their ol' cars and start a
bellerin', "Bill, oh Bill! Y'all home? Howdy in the house." or
somethin' like that.
Well, first off, anybody what
knows Uncle Billy knows he don't take to folks callin' him Bill. His
Daddy named him Billy and he has been Billy from day one. If he is in a
feisty mood he'll plain tell folks, "Name's Billy".
He
don't mind visitors, he just don't want the church ladies to come a
courtin'. He's heard 'em talkin' 'bout how he needs a woman to take
care o' him since Aunt Del died. They took him on as a project, kinda
like makin' a quilt for a new baby. Them women folks saw he was alone
and they just don't like it one bit. No one bothered to ask his
opinion.
Ms. Hazel was the worst o' the bunch. She set
her mind on marryin' up with Uncle Billy and she was after him like a
chicken after a junebug. "Bill, O Bi-illl" she called when she stopped
by. "Bill, I was a makin' pies an' thought of you just a sittin' here
by your lonesome all the time. What with no woman-folks around to take
care of you. I thought y'all might like a little sweetnin'. Oh
Bill..." That was the words out a her mouth ever' time she stopped.
Uncle
Billy was sittin' out in the barn workin' on a chair he was a makin' for
Roscoe Collins over on Little Creek. Roscoe already had two of Uncle
Billy's chairs an' wanted two more to sit out on his porch. Said they
sat better than store bought chairs when a feller was takin' it easy in
the evenin'.
When Uncle Billy heard Ms. Hazel callin'
he jumped up an' looked our through a crack in the logs of the barn. He
had been meanin' to re-chink them logs, but today he was mighty glad for
the clay that had fallen out.
"Oh Lordy, it is Ms.
Hazel, Old Dog. She's got another pie." he looked to Old Dog for
support, but Old Dog was a sleepin'. "You ain't no help a-tall."
Uncle
Billy looked around. There was only the one door to get out. He had
thought of makin' another door in the back of his workshop to get into
the barn without goin' out and back in through the big barn doors, but
there was never much need...till now. He was like a cornered rat in a
corn crib. He scrambled 'round an' round lookin' for some relief.
Finally
he looked up into the hayloft. There was sweet escape. Without a
second thought he grabbed ahold of a plank and pulled his way into the
top of the barn and hid behind a tall stack of hay bales.
When
Ms. Hazel stuck her head in the door and called, "Oh Bill, Mr.
Bi-iilll." she saw no one and would have gone on, leavin' the pie in the
kitchen with a note she had already written. Old Dog, however had
turned traitor. Old Dog had woke up an' was sittin' an' starin'
straight up into the hayloft where Uncle Billy had made good his escape.
"Bill,
are you up there?" Ms. Hazel called. Old Dog wagged his betrayin' tail
and stared up into the hayloft ...and barked! Old Dog barked! It was
as if to say, "Here he is, hidin' like a treed coon. Shoot 'em down,
shoot 'em down."
Uncle Billy sheepishly looked down.
Hidin' was one thing, hidin' when a feller was caught was 'nother. "Lo.
Ms. Hazel. It's Billy, not Bill, mam."
"Oh Bill, I am
right proud I caught ye. I have a blackberry pie I made. When it came
out to the oven I thought of y'all sittin' here all alone. Why don't ya
come on down an' we'll have us a piece?"
"Much obliged, Ms. Hazel, but I reckon I'll be up here for a right smart while."
"Why's that, Bill?"
"Well mam, y'all never lived on a farm, have ye?"
Ms. Hazel laughed, "No sir, but I wouldn't mind a farm."
Uncle
Billy grinned a little, "Well mam, I reckon I better keep on lookin'
'round up here. They is a snake up here somewhere. One o' them hoop
snakes."
"Hoop snake?" Ms Hazel asked weakly as she stepped back a step.
"Yes mam. A hoop snake has been gettin' into the chickens an' eatin' the eggs. I reckon it is eatin' near a dozen a night."
"Hoop snake?" she asked as she stepped out the door and looked around.
"They is the worstest kind, Ms. Hazel. They don't crawl like mos' snakes."
"They don't?"
"No
mam. When they want to travel fast the get hold of their tail with
their teeth and make a round circle...a hoop like. Then them things can
roll down a hill like nothin' I have seen a whole herd of 'em rollin'
after a young deer. I reckon they could run down a youngin' or old
folks like us." Uncle Billy added this a little too gleefully as he
looked down from the hayloft.
"What do they do when they run a feller down?"
"Well,
they eat 'em I reckon. I ain't never stayed around to see. When a
critter is caught and starts to squealin', I usually get gone." As
Uncle Billy spoke, he took out his Case knife an' rubbed it agin the
log close by. It made a sad squealin' noise. He looked back into the
hayloft innocently.
Ms. Hazel heard the sound and
looked around the farmyard with eyes big as dinner plates. Then Ms.
Hazel remembered something she had to do in Beloved and told Uncle Billy
she would put the pie on the kitchen table. Her leavin' was faster
than it had ever been.
As her car pulled away, Uncle
Billy climbed down from the hayloft chucklin'. He stood in the yard and
watched the dust fly from Ms. Hazel's ol' car as she made her way as
fast as the dirt road would let her.
That very
afternoon Uncle Billy cut in a back door from his workshop into the
barn. He also made sure to oil the rusty hinges of the door leadin' out
into the field back of the barn. He didn't use it often, but a feller
never knew when it might come in handy.
Old dog slept on the porch that night...not at the foot of Uncle Billy's bed.
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, dont 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."
Sunday Carry In Dinner
Sam Hounchell sat in the shade of a big old sycamore tree, glad his old bones and the cane he walked with kept him from movin' tables and carryin' food. Several other old men sat with him and watched as church folks scurried here and yonder loaded down with food
Sam kept up a runnin' conversation, almost like a radio announcer calling a ball game. The other men, not much for talkin' listened and smiled as they watched.
"Lordy, will y'all looky at the tables out yonder under the maple
trees. They are plumb full of food. I don't know if the preacher will
be able to get done preachin' before his tongue starts a beatin' his
lips to death if he smells all this here good food. Mama used to say
they wasn't nothin' better than a dinner on the grounds here at Booger
Holler Holiness Church.
The Women's Missionary League
have set up four o' them foldin' tables. Ever' one of 'em is plumb full.
Why don't you'uns walk over an' take a look with me. Now keep your
hands to your own self. One thing I don't stand for is youngin's
stickin' dirty ol' hands into the food.
Looky there,
that first table has all the salads an' such. There is three kinds o'
tomatoes! Big ol' Better Boy beef steak tomatoes, regular slicin' ones
an a big ol bowl o' them little tommy-toes. I like them best. See
there, someone has sliced some o' them tommy-toes with onions an' poured
I-talian dressin' on em. Mmm, fresh from the garden green onions,
sliced bell peppers, banana peppers, cucumbers sliced both ways an some
in vinegar with onions sliced thin enough to read a paper through.
There is some of Sister Hazel Budder's layered salad an' beside it home
made slaw. I hope that is Sis Carpenter's slaw. She makes her own
dressin' don't you know. Oh, right there, big wedges of iceberg lettuce
an' fresh made Roquefort dressin'. I know someone is gonna have killted
lettuce, they just don't want it to sit too long, so they have to make
it up hot an' fresh. They is no place on earth with better fresh
vegetables than right here in Beloved, Kentucky, sure enough.
Well,
I better move on to the table with meats an such before I get full from
lookin'. There, I knew they would be fried chicken. I see 7 different
kinds of fried chicken. See that bowl there? It's Sister Delly's
chicken. She has a batter recipe I would give my right arm for. It is a
big secret though. She won the County Fair with it 10 years runnin'
before they retired her chicken an' made her the Fried Chicken Queen a
year or two ago. Oh, Looky, looky...Uncle Billy has baked a whole
country ham an' sliced it up right thin. Them is the beaten biscuits
he makes sittin' there. Since his wife died he has been makin' 'em with
her recipe. Chicken an' dumplins AND squirrel dumplins. There is a
city ham for folks don't like country ham. Cain't 'magine who that
would be though. Oops, almost missed the chicken fried steak an the big
ol' bowl o' milk gravy sittin' by it. Whew, looky at the plate o'
sliced beef roast.
Wait a minute, see there on the end? That kettle
with them boiled hot dogs in it? Can you imagine? Don't even think
about eatin' one o' them hot dogs. Yessir, I know it is terrible to
bring hot dogs to a spread like this, but they is another reason ...
Peanut Chappell brought 'em. Y'all don't want a thing he had hold of.
Just you take my word for it.
Well, come on now, we got
two tables to go. Green beans, fresh from the garden an' cooked long
an' slow with ham pieces. Some folk still use salted jowl or fatback. I
like them beans best. Gee oh, a bean pot full of baked beans. Now,
them is good eatin'. Course over there is a big pan o' baked beans with
bacon on top. Mashed taters with country gravy, sweet taters with
mushmellers on top, sweet tater casserole, fried Irish taters, tater
salads...four tater salads, one with bacon in it. Green bean casserole,
ham an' tater casserole, squash casserole an' stuffed zucchini boats.
Pickled beets, pickles o' ever' description. Little ones, sliced ones,
big ones, pickled eggs, pickled baloney, pickled okra, even pickled
green beans.
Well, better get a look at that there
dee-sert table 'cause it will empty first. Chocolate cake, carrot cake,
that there Mexican Fruit Cake Sister Budder makes an' ever'one has to
have the recipe each year. She comes with copies run off on the mimeo
machine 'cause she knows folks will ask. Apple pies, mock apple pies,
apple pan dowdie, apple cobbler, peach cobbler, blackberry cobbler,
blueberry cobbler, peach pies an' fresh, sweet peaches peeled an'
sliced. Pecan pie, shoofly pie, sugar pie, lemon pie, vinegar pie.
Strawberry shortcake with real whipped cream. There it is. Looky yonder
in the middle, a home made chocolate pie. I don't know who brings that
'un, but I am gonna cut me a piece now an' get the recipe before I
leave this here church today.
Well, fellers, we done
missed the card table set up with home made bread, biscuits, cornbread,
Mexican cornbread with hot peppers an' cheese in 'er, big ol' yeast
rolls, them twisty crescent rolls, bread sticks with butter an' garlic
powder sprinkled on top. I reckon that's my diet, missin' the bread
table!! Don't you'uns go spreadin that I am on a diet. I just am a
watchin' what I eat.
Oh, Lordy, we best go in an' start a prayin' for our sinful ways right now, cause I just got some gluttony flung on me!!!"
The old men finished their inspection of the tables and returned to the shade of the sycamore tree to wait for the prayer, each mind plannin' what they would fill their plates with.
Grandma's House Restaurant
Roscoe Collins opened the letter he had pulled out of the mailbox. He had lived in Hamilton, Ohio for many years but still missed home and enjoyed the letters from his sister Tootie May. Roscoe sat in his easy chair, pulled his glasses out of his pocket and began to read.
"Roscoe,
I don’t reckon you have heard, but me and Cousin
Peanut went into business together back in the fall. It ain’t much, but
if you drive into the middle of town and stop at what used to be
Lucinda Pigg’s old house – you know the one, white with all the
gingerbread trim all over and the big ol’ wrap around porch – anyway,
stop in there and see us.
Y’see, we have started up a
restaurant we call “Grandma’s House”. It is home cookin’ at it’s
finest. We started talkin’ about it back last year an’ just went for it
when the realtor, Joshua White, put the ol’ Pigg place up for sale.
Lots o’ folks laugh at that name an' think we made it up, but Mrs.
Pigg’s Grandma gave the land that Oneida Institute was built on.
When
you come in the door a music box plays a few lines of “Over the river
and through the woods”. We searched and searched to find old dinette
sets from the 50s for folks to sit at. There is three rooms with three
or four dinettes in each room. ‘Course, we have a counter for one at a
time an’ folks wantin’ to get in an’ out fast. Family pictures line the
walls an’ in the winter we have a wood cookin’ stove goin’ all the time
for a little warmth an’ for heatin’ the coffee pot till someone wants a
little more coffee. Most days there is a big ol’ pot of beans
simmerin’ there an' you can dip your own an' grab some cornbread.
We
hired Emma Sams, May Stevens and Elizabeth Collins to wait on folks.
They wear dresses an’ aprons just like our Grandmas used to wear. They
have nets on their ol’ heads an’ Emma chomps on her gum cause she thinks
waitresses should do that. They say stuff like, “Tell Grandma what
y’all want” an’ all. Yep, it sure is corny, but folks seem to like it
right well.
Sister Sally Arnett does all the cookin’
along with Miss Bess. It is family style. You order your main dish
separate an’ the rest comes to your table in big bowls for sharin’. You
can always get soup beans an’ cornbread. Most days you can get fried
baloney or fried ham sandwiches as well.
Monday is meat
loaf or chicken an’ dumplin’s night, Tuesday is fried chicken or pot
roast, Wednesday is steak fry night’. Bout all of Beloved is in
Grandma’s House before or after church an’ choir practice on Wednesday
night. Thursday is fried chicken, chicken pot pie, country ham or fried
pork chops. Friday night is all you can eat fish fry. There is the
best fried walleye or lake perch you ever eat that night with hand
rolled hush puppies an’ hand chopped slaw. Saturday all day we have
fried baloney AND fried green tomater sandwiches. Miss Bess slices
Parmesan cheese right thin on the top just before it is done fryin’.
Put that on some home made bread an’ your tongue will ‘bout beat your
face to death getting’ to that! They will have burgoo on the wood stove
you can dish up yourself an’ biscuits right there in the hot box. Real
butter an’ molasses make that a real meal.
Sunday
begins on Saturday for Uncle Jimmy Arnett as he starts the barbecue pit
an’ keeps it smokin’ with apple, cherry an’ hickory wood all weekend.
He smokes some beef brisket, pork loin, chicken halves an’ plenty of
ribs long an’ slow. He has hand ground pork sausage from Uncle Billy
Gilbert he smokes a little before Miss Bess fries it for Sunday Brunch –
along with eggs any style, sausage gravy, biscuits so light they tie
strings to them to keep ‘em off the ceiling an’ on your plate. Grits,
bacon, red eye gravy, hot fruit an’ a ton of other stuff that will make
you groan when you see it comin’ to your table.
Family
style means green beans cooked slow with ham, pinto beans, greens,
stewed tomaters, fried okra, mashed, fried, boiled new, home fried or
baked potatoes, three or four types of corn, includin’ corn on the cob
all year round. Your choice of breads, jams, jellies, molasses an’
always real butter.
When you push away from the table,
we want you to know you been to Grandma’s House” to eat. Y’all come an’
bring an appetite. Tell May I sent you an’ she’ll give you one of her
mason jars with the best sweet tea in the south…on the house.
Well, that is all for now, dear brother. come when you can. We miss you.
Tootie May"
Roscoe smiled as he folded the letter back up. "I reckon I'm gonna have to make a trip home. Yep, I think I'm goin' home this weekend" he said to himself.
Sweet Wood
Uncle Billy sat at his shavehorse for a long while, just to be out of
the house on the first day of June. It was cool, cooler than it should
be on a June day and he had pulled a flannel shirt over the thin denim
shirt he was wearin'. Together they were enough.
The
morning had been brisk and Uncle Billy started a fire in the wood stove.
There was always a bucket full of shavin's from his barn beside the
stove and as it lit you could smell the scent of several woods giving up
their particular odor...cedar, maple, a little apple and lots of
sassafras.
His shavin's were on everybody's list of
things to take home when they stopped by to see him. He kept paper
sacks full of shavin's in a box out the back porch door. End o' the
sack were tied with twine and the sacks were tight as a tick - filled
with aromatic shavin's Uncle Billy recommended to start any fire.
For
that reason he always kept a piece of wood around just to piddle with.
Sometimes he didn't make a thing on that ol' shavehorse. He'd just sit
yonder with drawknife in hand and feel the blade slide down the length
of a piece of maple. The curl of wood started almost like magic and
would follow the drawknife as it slid to the end. Sometimes he'd just
make shavin's. Funny how folks want shavin's.
The
aroma of the wood always snuck out as the drawknife slid through the
grain. No matter how dry, it gave up the sweet smell God gave it
beneath Uncle Billy's careworn hands.
Earlier in the
mornin' Uncle Billy, coffee mug in hand, left the warmth of the kitchen
to step out and smell the clean air of the holler he lived in. Old Dog
pushed through the screen door right behind him.
Just
out the back door he stood and saw a doe stopping at the branch to
drink. He kept a salt block there for the deer to lick. He never
hunted there, though. Said it weren't fittin' to trick 'em into
stoppin' near the house and then goin' after 'em.
The
dogwoods were almost done with their bloomin' and the redbuds were long
bloomed out. A few bees flew in the early mornin' mist. The mist was so
think in the holler that the bees would be damp to the touch if ya
caught 'em. Birds had been singin' for more than an hour. Uncle Billy
always kept his window cracked a bit for fresh air. "Them dang birds"
was his first comment most mornin's lately. They had nested in a holly
tree just outside his window.
As he looked up the
mountain he spied a big old patch of sassafras that he didn't realize
was so close. A feller can't miss it if ya know what to look for. It
has three "gloves" for leaves - a right hand glove, left hand glove and
mitten. There is a sock too - a leaf that has no split or "thumb".
"Reckon
I'll have to get me some sassafrass root for tea later today" he said
to Old Dog. It will be just a short walk to the trees. Not hard for an
old man or old dog.
He headed for the barn to put out
his maddock for later. Uncle Billy sat down his coffee mug and pulled
out the maddock and a saw to cut the saplings into lengths he could use
on his shavehorse. Thinking of the sassafras saplings made him think of
the fine sticks he put up in the winter. He pulled one out and reached
for his spectacles.
As he looked over the stick he sat
down on the shavehorse. It was natural for one leg to swing over and
to sit at it. The stick almost fell in place in the clamp and his foot
pushed gently on the bottom of the lever to clamp the stick.
Uncle
Billy sat at his shavehorse for a long while, just to be out of the
house on the first day of June. He looked at the stick for a while,
listened to Old Dog snufflin' round the barn for that groundhog what was
gettin' into the barn. "Get 'em Old Dog" he encouraged.
Finally
he picked up his drawknife. The edge was clean and sharp like a
straight razor. He wiped it with an oily rag and took both handles into
his hands. The blade bit and he pulled ...real slow like. The aroma
of sassafras oils released into the darkness of the barn made his stop
for a moment. There is something magical when a man takes tools in hand
and touches wood. It is earthy and elemental. It brings man into a
circle of creation that no other creature will ever know. It changes a
man when he crafts wood, or iron, or glass. It draws him and calls to
him.
Uncle Billy knew all this, though he would call it
"horsefeathers" if you flapped your ol' jaws about it to him. It was
something ya just didn't talk about. A feller just did it.
"Yessir,
I reckon I'll dig me a couple of sassafras roots today. Them saplin's
will make good sticks to work." His drawknife moved on, the wood curled
behind it and followed the blade to the end.
Rainy Morning
Uncle Billy woke about 5:30 as he always did. He hadn't used the old
wind up "Big Ben" alarm clock for years. Aunt Del used to use it when
there was a holiday to cook for or if it was calfin' time. She would
set it every couple of hours to get up and check on the mama cow. These
days Uncle Billy had his internal alarm set from scores of years of
farm work. Funny how even though a feller didn't need to get up his
body woke up at the same ol' time, day after day.
As he
lay there in the same ol' brass bed he had slept in since him and Aunt
Del had taken up housekeepin', he heard the rain fallin' onto the tin
roof. The sound made a constant drummin' that would lull him right back
to sleep if he weren't careful.
"It must be a rainin'
hard for them birds not to be stirrin'" he thought. There was a big
holly bush outside his open window and usually the birds nestin' in it
would sing "good mornin'" to him 'bout this time each day.
Every
now an' agin thunder crashed up over the hills surroundin' the holler
where his ramblin' cabin sat. It weren't no big ol' storm. Just one
that pleasantly rumbled and flashed just to keep things lively. The
rain was constant, though.
When he reached across the
bed for a pillow to prop himself up, Old Dog's tail started thumpin' in
time to the rain. Old Dog looked up without movin' his sorry head.
That dog knew the easiest way to do anything. No wasted motion for him.
"Old
Dog, I reckon we'uns might just lay her for a while yet. I don't
figure y'all will want to get yer sorry ol' backside wet doin' yer
business in the rain."
Old Dog thumped his tail harder as if to agree. Other than that tail there weren't a muscle movin.
Uncle
Billy pulled the quilts up closer to his neck and put his specs back on
the side table. He reckoned he'd close his eyes for just a bit longer.
At
6:45 his eyes opened and he sat up quickly. "Well, we have done slept
all day. Why'd ya let me lay here this long? I'm gonna have to get
shet of ya if'n I can't depend on ya to wake me." He rubbed Old Dog's
head hard as he chuckled.
Now, years ago Aunt Del would
bring Uncle Billy a washpan full of hot water, a wahsrag and a towel.
He'd wash up right there in the bedroom so he wouldn't have to parade
through the cabin half dressed. That offended Aunt Del's manners, ya
see. These days they was a bathroom an' Uncle Billy was by himself an'
didn't much worry 'bout offendin' Old Dog's manners so he strolled into
the bathroom in his drawers.
He remembered coffee and
wandered into the kitchen to start a pot... then back to wash up. He
carefully lathered his face with his shavebrush and shaved with the same
straight razor he had used for years. Wasn't a day went by that he
didn't shave. It were just the proper thing to do.
A
couple of eggs fried in bacon grease, storebought biscuits in the oven
and a little ham meat fried just before the eggs an' Uncle Billy was
set. He added some jelly an' butter to his biscuits. He still had
mason jars full of jellies and perserves Aunt Del put up several years
ago. He would have sweetnin' till the day he died, he reckoned.
Everything
was carried out to the porch an' Uncle Billy settled in to eat an'
watch the rain. Now an' agin a truck or ol' car would wander by and
Uncle Billy would throw up a hand. He would holler a greetin' if he
knew the folks.
Hap Collins stopped in the road and leaned over to roll the window down, "How in the world are ye, Uncle Billy?"
Uncle Billy got up and walked to the end of the porch with his ever present coffee cup. "Fine as frog hair, Hap. You?"
"Gettin' by, gettin' by."
"Ever'one OK over to your place?"
"Yessir,
Uncle Billy. They is doin' fine. Mama is mighty poorly, though. We
are a goin' over to London to see her come Saturday, I reckon."
"Tell her howdy for me. Tell her I might come a courtin'."
Hap
laughed, "Now that would perk her up, I gar-untee. I don't know if I'd
be a wantin' ye as a Daddy, though. I've seen ye at the supper table.
Mama might starve."
"Yessir, she might just. Why don't ya come on up for w while? I got coffee made."
The invite was sincere and was always offeredto friend, family ro stranger by Uncle Billy.
"Cain't
right now, Uncle Billy. I got to get the youngin's an' go over to town
for a while. How 'bout I stop with the ol' woman later tonight?
"I'll be here. Y'all drive safe, now"
"I will you an' Old Dog stay out the rain."
Uncle
Billy looked over his shoulder...Old Dog was up on the hill, doin' his
business. "I ain't goin' out for sure and I'd bet that is the only time
Old Dog gets hisself wet."
"Bye, Uncle Billy"
"Bye, Hap."
Uncle
Billy settled back in. Old Dog came up onto the porch, walked to the
end and shook hisself and walked over to fall in a heap at Uncle Billy's
feet. Uncle Billy reached into the chink between the logs to his right
and pulled out a couple of cedar sticks. His Case knife was already
open. He looked the blade over and was satisfied it was sharp enough.
Blade
hit wood and a long curl of wood ran from the blade to the end. He
looked up for just a second, "Old Dog, let's us jus' sit here and rest
our bones today."
Old Dog's tail thumped his agreement.
Sourwood Honey
Most folks around Beloved, Kentucky knew Billy Gilbert at Uncle Billy.
Though his son lived off in another state, he was the unofficial
patriarch of his hometown. A 75 year old force to be reckoned with.
He lived alone up a holler over on Little Gilbert's Creek since his wife
Dell slipped away home to Heaven five years ago. Uncle Billy was the
wise man that men went to when they didn't understand their women,
needed an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on... though mountain men
did not cry. Keep that straight!
The July morning was already hot when he rose up from bed. It was still
dark but his internal clock was most likely an old wind up Big Ben just
like the one that sat on the table beside his bed. He wound it
regularly but never set an alarm on it. The internal Big Ben had been
working just fine for many years.
His old dog Sooner sat up at the foot of the bed, yawned and stretched
before going to the door to wait. Uncle Billy put on his britches,
buckled his belt and slipped on his shirt before going to open the door
and let Sooner out. The old man and old dog had a routine that varied
little from day to day.
In the kitchen there was one of them fancy coffee pots stuffed back in
the corner of the counter that was seldom used. It had been a gift from
his son, Bill to Dell several years back. Uncle Billy didn't mess with
it, however. He preferred his coffee boiled in a pot like he had been
drinking it for over 50 years.
As he waited for the coffee to boil he put some country bacon in a pan
to fry. It was thick, peppered with the rind still on one side. The
smell brought Sooner to the kitchen door, his nose pushed to the screen
and inhaling deep. Uncle Billy laughed and opened the door. Sooner's
bowl was already full and waiting for him.
"Old dog, we are gonna go up into the hill today. The sourwood is
bloomin' an' I have been seein' bees goin' up the mountain from them
trees." he said to Sooner, as if the dog understood. Sooner raised his
head from the bowl and looked for a moment before returning to his meal.
"We need to follow some of them bees and see if we can get some idea
where they are goin'. I know there is a bee tree up there somewhere
before the ridge. I've sat and walked the ridge for several days and
don't see arry a bee on the top of the hill. They have got to be
somewhere on this side of that hill."
He absently turned the bacon as he stared off through a window. His
mind was already walking that hillside, remembering each path as he
thought of the sourwood and the bees that were as thick as the blooms on
the trees. Sourwood trees were late bloomers and their fragrance would
turn a woods into some sort of heaven as you walked up on them.
Sourwood honey was a prize in the mountains and much sought after by
locals and city folks alike. The seven hives in the backyard had
already been relieved of the wildflower honey in the honey supers just
as soon as the sourwood started to bloom. Uncle Billy always did his
first extracting just as the sourwood bloomed so the next honey in the
hives would be sourwood honey.
Seven hundred and thirty seven one pound jars of mountain wildflower
honey sat on the shelves over in his honey house, waiting to be sold.
Most good years he could expect at least one honey super from each hive
full of sourwood honey. That was about fifty pounds per hive, maybe
three hundred and fifty jars of sourwood honey that would soon line the
shelves that waited empty.
His studying on the sourwood honey led him to the refrigerator and to a
can of biscuits. Dell would skin him if she knew he was making store
bought biscuits. She swore "nary a can of store bought biscuits will
ever come in this house.". They never did while she was alive.
Uncle Billy didn't have the talent or the time to make the big ol'
cathead biscuits that his wife had made. Though they were a poor
substitute, a hot store bought biscuit with real butter from a neighbor
and some sourwood honey sounded pretty good to him.
Before long the biscuits were out of the oven and two eggs were frying
in an old cast iron skillet. The first couple years after Dell died his
eggs ate fine but weren't too pretty to look at. When a man lives
alone he has plenty of time to study on good lookin' eggs as well as
other things in life. the eggs that Uncle Billy slid onto his plate
were just a good as any mountain woman would ever want to fry.
"Old dog, we are gonna do some bee linin' today when we go up on the
hillside. I'll bet we find that ol' bee tree today. I sure would like
to get a couple more bee gums goin' down here. We'll find them ol' bees
yet." he said between bites of breakfast.
That was a man that didn't like for moss to grow under his feet. He
always was working on one thing or another. He made and sold brooms,
plain ones for local folks, fancy ones with unique handles for tourists
and visitors, walking sticks, wooden whistles, whirlygigs and gee-gaws.
He had a still in the barn where he cooked down sassafras to make a
concentrate he bottled and sold for tea.
When he walked the woods he would walk with a hoe. It was good
protection when he walked up on a snake and was needed when digging for
ginseng. He had a couple pounds hanging in the barn drying. Maybe as
he was bee lining he would walk up on some more.
Company
Gettin' dishes redded up is not an easy chore for most menfolks.
When a feller lives alone it is easy to do the simple things, like
washin' a mug you drank out of, or maybe swipin' at the plate you ate
off with a little water, soap an' a dishrag. Gettin' ready for company
comin' meant makin' sure dishes was clean an' spotless.
Well
sir, Uncle Billy had been dreadin' the time it was gonna take to wash
them dishes, but he didn't want his boy, Will to come an' him an' his
wife seein' dusty dishes an' start that racket about comin' to live with
them. He had heard it too many times.
"Daddy, we know
y'all love it here, but we love you. It is a lonely life here alone on
this farm with just that ol' sooner dog to keep you company. We have
decided to make a room for you in the basement. It's a walk-out
basement, all finished, don't ya know. We'll take your bed an' some of
the quilts Mama made an' fix it up right nice."
"Yes,
Father Billy, it will be lovely. The grandchildren will love to have
you there. You can play with them all the time. You can watch
television with them and even with us. I know you will just adore the
Ed Sullivan Show. Why, you will be right there and it will be wonderful
for all of us. It will give William and I opportunity to spend time
with friends more often too."
Uncle Billy hated it when
his daughter-in-law called him Father Billy. Made him feel like some
kind of priest or somethin'. He weren't too fond of her an' her high
falootin' ways anyhow. Called Will "William". That woman could make
"William" sound like she was cussin' sometimes.
Well,
they was comin' an' he was glad for that. It were proper for a boy to
come home to see his folks. It was a long time since Will had been home.
He reckoned it had been over two years since they had come down to see
him. Will wrote often enough, but since they weren't no phone lines in
these parts, it was hard to talk to each other.
His
grandkids weren't allowed to do the things kids should do. They was
always dressed too good to play in the creek or run the mountains like Will and his brother Johnny had done. They brought books an' read the
whole dang time they was there. Readin' was good, but a youngin' needed
some fresh air.
The dishes was washed an' the beds
made with fresh sheets. Uncle Billy had aired the quilts for the day
an' they smelled fresh with mountain air an' the hint of cedars that
grew beside the clothes line.
For good measure he had
gone over to Dobson's an' bought a little candy an' some storebought
cookies. They liked that soft sugar-stick candy right good an' the lil
ol girl, Margaret took to them mushmeller peanuts. He didn't know why
they called her Margaret. Not Mag, Maggie or even Marge...just
Margaret. The boy was supposed to be named after him, but that boy's
name was William III. Uncle Billy's name was jus' plain ol Billy. Not William or
even Bill but Billy, an' he tol' folks so.
Well sir, he
dusted right good an' swept the whole house out. The winders was open
an' he had got some sourwood flowers off the sourwood trees in the
hillside above the cabin. It was sourwood time an' the hills was jus'
full o' bees just a buzzin' round them sourwood blossoms. It were a
magical time. The air was sweet with the smell an' the bees just never
quit. He wished he could take them youngin's up into the hill to let
them sit with him an' jus' watch the bees a workin'.
Their
mother wouldn't even let that happen. She would jus' have a fit it it
were even mentioned. He could hear her now, "Bees are dangerous. We
don't want our children rushed to the hospital with thousands of bee
bites" she would say.
"Bee bites!" he grumbled to
himself. "I'll give her bee bites. She is the reason Will don't come
home. He loves this place. He gets rested in jus' the short time
they're here. I can see it in his face, Old Dog. She is jus' leachin'
the mountain out of him an' he don't know it."
Old Dog
looked up from where he lay an' his big ol' tail thumped in agreement a
couple of times before he dropped his head back onto the floor. Old Dog
agreed with most ever' thing Uncle Billy said. They was two halves to
one man, or so Uncle Billy said.
Old Dog was also too
dusty an' was always losin' hair all round the house, acordin' to his
daughter-in-law. He would be given to a neighbor to live the rest of
his days in the country if Uncle Billy came to live with them. He
needed to be in the country, was their reasonin'. Old Dog would jus'
pine away for the hills they said.
Funny how they saw that 'bout Old Dog an' not Uncle Billy.
Ever'
thing was ready an' the house was sweet with fresh mountain air an'
sourwood blooms. Uncle Billy sat on the porch swing with a mug of his
strong, black coffee in his hand an' waited for them to come up the
creek.
Will always started a honkin' that horn when he
got to the curve in the creek. Them kids would be a hollerin' out the
winders an' carryin' on any time now. 'Course the daughter-in-law
thought that was a terrible thing, but that was one time Will had a
little of the mountain backbone he was born with. He always did honk
that ol' horn to beat the band.
"Traffic through
Cincinnati mus' be terrible, cause they was usual here by now." Uncle
Billy thought as he sat round 'bout 2:00. "It can sure slow a feller
down is what Will always says."
At 5:00 Uncle Billy got
a little worried an' walked around the farm a little to get the kinks
outta his bones. Old Dog an' him looked over ever' plant an' fence in
the farmyard as he waited.
At 6:00 he decided he better not wait supper an' had a fried baloney an' tomater sandwich with a little mayo on 'er.
Uncle
Billy normal didn't stay up till 9:30, but he figured they might have
had problems. At 10:00 he went over to Hap Collins an' Hap drove with
him to the Post Office over to Goose Rock. It was a long drive, but the
Postmaster, S. B. Lipps, had one of the only phones anywhere other than
in Manchester. It was a party line an' S.B. had to get on the line an'
tell Sister Hazel Budder that Uncle Billy needed to make a call to his
boy to see if he was all right.
Will answered right off
an' tol' Uncle Billy that his wife, the daughter-in-law, didn't want to
expose herself to all that pollen from them trees blooming on the
hillside. "They are a terrible allergy producing bother." were her
exact words.
He said work was pretty busy these days,
anyway and the children were in summer sports, Little League and
swimming team. It just wasn't fair to ask them to give up their sports
to drive down and just sit in that cabin. If he could get television it
might be different for them.
Uncle Billy listened an' tol' Will to take care an' write soon.
As
Hap drove him home he seemed to age a year for ever' mile they drove.
He almost seemed to bend over with his age as the road took them from
Goose Creek back home. He fell asleep an' leaned his ol' gray head on
the cool window of the truck.
Hap woke him when they
got back to the farm an' Uncle Billy reached out his hand, as he always
did when he saw Hap. The two men looked at each other an' Hap saw a
tear fall down from the tired blue eyes.
Only time Hap
ever saw Uncle Billy cry in public was the evenin' Aunt Del died an'
Uncle Billy walked all the way up the road to ask him to go into town
an' get Charlie White, the undertaker. He stood at the foot of Hap's
steps that night an' cried like a baby, too upset to tell Hap what had
happened. 'Course, Hap knowed it was Aunt Del when Uncle Billy showed
up a' walkin'.
Uncle Billy looked him in the eye an'
tried to say somethin', anythin'. He shook his head an' turned away,
"Times change, Hap. Times change."
"They sure do, Uncle Billy. They sure do."
Uncle Billy turned an' waved over his shoulder as he went into the dark cabin.
Comes The Fair
A County Fair isn't something that springs up overnight in the hills
of Eastern Kentucky. It is more like a covey of quails, sneakin'
through the back roads an' wanderin' in when folks are asleep or lookin'
the other way. Maybe it is the gypsy nature of Carney folks that
causes this quiet entrance. Not like a circus with all the fanfare,
parades an' carryin' on. Piece by piece, truck by truck they come from
all directions to settle into the fairgrounds close the Beloved,
Kentucky.
At night you can hear the heavy grumble of
diesel trucks as they pull the Tilt-A Whirl or maybe a Merry-Go-Round
into the gates, free an' open to the public for anyone to watch. Shame
is no one stops to see the wonder of a fair bein' born. Listen close
an' hear the old pickup pullin' Collin's Famous Racing Pigs. As it
turns a corner the pigs are jostled from their rest and squeal their
indignation. They are stars and athletes after all. They need their
sleep.
At night folks can hear the rustling clank of
chains as machinery is tightened an' moved to place. Stop if y'all will
an' see a Ferris Wheel borned right before your eyes in a matter of
hours. First it is just a flatbed platform, waiting for birth an' then
with the help of strong men it rises from that bed to the blue
Appalachian sky, just waitin' to take youngin's up an' show them the
glory of the surroundin' hills. If they take time to look, that is.
Most likely they will only have eyes for their darlin's an' never see
the hills filled with holly, rhododendron, sassafras, hickory an' red
oak trees just up yonder.
The Carney folks get in
early, set up their village of tents an' travel trailers. They become a
village within our village of Beloved. Soon enough the Fair Board an';
all the volunteers will descend on the fairgrounds an' begin the
magic. Folks from round here will begin to come with baked goods,
baskets of the best of the harvest an' a whole rainbow of displays.
Soon
enough the 4H youngin's an' their families will pull in with cattle,
goats, sheep, pigs, poultry an' rabbits. The barns will fill with the
laughter of families separated by just a generation or two come together
to watch their brood compete just as their Mamas an Daddies, Aunts an'
Uncles did years back. Some folks will stay in the same barms with
their livestock that their Great Grandpas built, that their Grandparents
showed sheep or cattle in. They bring cots an' clothes in trunks to
settle in for the glorious week of County Fair.
You come too, they'll make room for you.
County Fair Part One
"County Fair days in Clay County", folks jus' plain ol' light up when
they hear them words. Womenfolks have been puttin' away canned goods
all summer just tryin' to get one of them blue ribbons. They fuss over
the way every cucumber spear looks as they pack jars for picklin'. They
carefully pour hot jelly into jars so no foam appears. They look like
they got somethin' wrong with 'em as they shake an' jiggle jelly before
it gels...tryin' to get bubbles out.
Uncle Billy walks
Old Dog out to the truck and loads him into the front seat. Old Dog
knows they are a goin' to the fair. His tail ain't stopped thumpin' for
near two days.
The back of the truck is loaded with a
cot, an ol' ladderback chair, a couple quilts and Uncle Billy's shave
horse. They is a suitcase in the front with his clothes for the week.
He has been goin' to the fair as long as he can remember. He has stayed
the week at the fair for more years than he cares to count.
He
stops an' studies the back o' the truck for just a while an' realizes
he don't have no wood to work with at the fair. He always takes his
shavehorse an' makes brooms an' milk stools each day in the exposition
barn. Back in the back Uncle Billy an several other ol' fellers will
set up their cots in stalls what once were used for calves before the
cow barn was expanded. 'Lectric fans sit in the winders an' keep a
breeze a goin' day an' night for to cool them ol' fellers. They sit
around in the evenin' an' talk up a storm. If they was a prize fer
jawin', one of them fellers would git it, that is for sure.
Uncle
Billy's stride is long as he makes his way to his work room in the
barn. He carefully selects about 50 sassafras sticks for brooms an'
half agin as many for legs for his milk stools he will make. He already
threw some lil' ol' maple logs from the woodpile into the back of the
truck for the seats o' the stools. Folks buy them as fast as he can
make them. Some folks know he donates all the money to the Oneida
Institute for youngin's what cain't afford to pay their way.
As
he is walkin' out he grabs his oilcan an' an Arkansas whetstone. Them
drawknives is gonna get dull usin' 'em as often as he will this week.
He
grins as he throws the sticks in the back an' reaches for the ol' truck
door. There is nothin' better than a county fair. He can jus' smell
the food now. French fries with a load of vinegar on 'em, them big ol'
crispy waffles an' some cotton candy for sure. He eats one of them ol'
sausage sammiches 'bout ever' day. 'Course, for supper he goes over to
the dinner tent an' has whatever the Eastern Star ladies has fixed for
the daily special. Usual Monday is fried chicken, Tuesday is chicken
an' dumplin's. Wednesday is that I-talian night an' he don't eat none
o' that ol' spaghetti. He jus' don' favor it none at all.
As
he drives he cain't help but grin. They is nothin' better than County
Fair. The horse show starts that evenin' an' goes through Sunday. It
always has been Friday to Sunday an' is the highlight o' the weekend.
The 4H judgin' starts Monday early with the rabbits an' poultry.
Next
weekend will be a busy time for Uncle Billy. He has auctioned the 4H
animals for years. They is new auctioneers 'round the county, but no
one has done the 4H auction for near 50 years. He loves workin' the
crowd, tryin' to git as much for them animals as he can. It ain't above
Uncle Billy to shame folks into raisin' a bid. A load o' youngin's
from 'round Beloved went to college with 4H money thanks to the shamin'
of Uncle Billy. He reckoned he was gonna have to turn it over to
someone one of these days, but as long as he is able, he was gonna do
'er.
The man at the back gate saw Uncle Billy through
the windshield an' waved him through. He pulled up an' rolled his
window down, "How's it lookin', Joe?"
"Lookin' right good, Uncle Billy. I reckon that Sizemore boy might win with that big ol steer he brung in. You seen it?"
"Yessir,
I did. It is as fine a steer as I have seen. How 're the sheep an'
goats comin' in? I heard them boys over on Martin's Creek ever' one has
an entry this year."
"That is a fact. They all look
good. Their Daddy would whup ever' one of 'em if they didn't keep them
animals up good. He won I don' know how many ribbons an' trophies in
his day."
"Well now, he did from what I recollect. Well I better get on."
"Have a good time this year, Uncle Billy"
"Y'all can bet on that one."
Uncle
Billy grinned as he drove into the fairgrounds. He pulls up to the
exhibition barn an they is half a dozen youngin's see him an' come
runnin'. They have his cot an 'bout ever' thing else in his stall
before him an' Ol' Dog can get out. They are a grinnin' as hard as he
is.
He rubs the burr headed Arnett boy with his big ol'
hand like he has done ever' year. "That's for luck." Uncle Billy tells
the boy. It must have worked 'cause last year he won for best of show
with his market turkeys.
Uncle Billy looked over the
hurry scurry of the fairgrounds and his grin got even bigger, "Yessir,
they is nothin' better than a county fair."
The Other Side of The Fair
Saturday morning started fast for Junebug Burns. He was up early to
get his sheep ready for the Clay County Fair. He had been in 4H for a
couple of years now. At 13 he thought he might be goin' to his last
fair as a 4Her this year. Truth be told, he stayed in 4H all through High School.
Junebug's Mama had called to
him at about 6:00 a.m. an' told him he better get a move on or his Daddy
wouldn't be a takin' him to the fair till later in the day. The
mornin' was cool in the holler where they lived. The creek that ran
down the holler kept the nights cool an' the days humid in summer.
He
was up an' dressed right quick. A white tee shirt, ol' denims an' some
P.F. Flyers was all a feller needed at the fair till judgin' day. His
Mama had made sure he had enough shirts, drawers an' clean socks. she
said no boy o' hers was gonna stink, even though they was a stayin' in
the sheep barn all week.
Lordy, he better hurry. If
his Daddy got on the tractor he would have wait an' go that evenin'. On
top o' that he'd have chores to do all day instead o' bein' at the
fair.
He ran out to the barn while his Mama was cookin'
breakfast. As he went out the front door onto the porch he could
hardly see the tobaccer field down the way for the fog. That fog was
heavy on the barn as he reached it, swirlin' around it an' makin' it
look like it was stuck off by itself. He could'nt see em, but he heard
the chickens a carryin' on an' his sister's banty rooster crowin' like
it was cock o' the walk.
As the big ol' door swung
open, his sheep started callin' to him somethin' fierce. All the
bleatin' made him smile a big smile. These were the best two sheep in
all the 4H group. Well, that's what he thought. His Daddy weren't one
to throw around words an he said they was good stock. That there was as
good as a ribbon to Junebug.
He got his cane an'
opened the pen. Them sheep was out an' into the barnyard quicker than
greens through a duck. He walked behind an' beside them as he herded
them toward the truck. His Daddy already had a ramp up to the back o'
the truck. It took just a shake to get 'em in an' close the back end o'
the pickup. They was big wooden slat sides on the truck that folks
would build to haul livestock in pickup trucks. Junebug had put plenty
o' straw on the bed o' the truck. He handed in some hay for the sheep
to eat as they traveled.
One thing can be said o'
Junebug's Mama. She weren't lettin' her menfolks go to the fair hungry.
Her table was an old harvest table made o' poplar by her Grandad. The
two long sides folded down when not in use an' could be pushed agin the
wall to make room in the kitchen.
Today it were
covered with a red an' white checked oilcloth tablecloth. Five plates
sat on the table an' cloth napkins were by each plate. The plates was
what folks call carnival glass an' had been won at the County Fair over
several years by Junebug's Daddy when they first took up housekeepin'.
The days before the Clay County Fair were always right special 'cause
the carnival glass dishes would come out. They was a warm gold color,
almost opaque.
The forks an' knives an' spoons was in
each drinkin' glass like always. Mama always set the table like that.
When folks was done they put their forks an' all right back in them
glasses an' set 'em over on the sideboard for washin'.
In
the middle o' that red an' white oilcloth was more food than a feller
could shake a stick at. They was a big platter o' fried eggs, a bowl o'
grits an' some fresh churned butter to dab on top. Down by Junebug's
Mama's chair was Bob White Syrup an' some buckwheat flapjacks. A big
ol' bowl held thick home cured hickory smoked bacon, sausages an' a
little ham meat. They was two kinds o' gravy on the table; milk gravy
an' red-eye gravy made from the grease off that ham.
Junebug's
Daddy grabbed his Mama's hand, an' Junebug an' his two sisters joined
the family circle as his Daddy prayed for the food:
"Dear
Lord, I am right grateful for all the food sittin' before us, Lord.
Y'all have done right by us from day one an' for that I thank thee. I
give thanks for this farm an' for the crops. That rain the other day
was appreciated, Lord Jesus, but I ain't gonna squawk none if y'all care
to give us another one. I'd ask y'all to watch over they youngin's an'
keep 'em healthy. Bless my Mam, dear Lord, cause she has taken the
palsy something terrible. She is a shakin' so bad that she cain't
hardly hold a glass o' milk. Now, Lord, y'all know I don't like to ask
no favors or want special treatment for us, but if y'all see fit, jus'
bless ol' Junebug with a champion this year. He has worked hard on them
sheep an' done a right good job. Amen."
Junebug had
opened his eyes when his Daddy started talkin' to the Lord about him.
His eyes was as big as hen eggs when his Daddy bragged on him to the
Lord Jesus. Junebug couldn't believe it. Them must be good sheep if
his Daddy was a askin' the Lord to bless him.
He didn't
stop grinnin' as he filled...an' emptied his plate. That grin stayed
on his face as they rode to town an' even when they unloaded the sheep
into their pen.
He had a sleepin' bag an' a suitcase
with him that he put in the pen next to his sheep. A dozen other boys
had done the same around him. At the other end o' the barn the girls
was layin' out their beds an so on in pens next to their sheep. A
couple of parents was there too, all set up in stalls in between for the
rest o' the week. They were the 4H sponsors this year an' would ride
herd on the youngin's in each barn.
Junebug hugged his Daddy an started to turn back to the barn.
"Ain't you a forgettin' somethin'?" his Daddy asked.
"I don't reckon."
"You ain't asked me for any spendin' money."
"Well sir, I saved a right smart bit this year. I thought I would do 'er on my own."
"Good
man, Junebug. That makes me proud o' ye." His Daddy sounded real funny
when he said that. Sort o' like he was chokin' or somethin'.
He hugged Junebug agin an' walked to the truck. "I'll be here Wednesday for the judgin', son."
"OK, Daddy. I'll be a seein' y'all then."
As
his Daddy drove away, Junebug stuck his hands in his pockets. He felt
somethin' in the left pocket where he kept his Case knife. When he
pulled it out he saw the $10 his Daddy had slipped in as he was a
huggin' him.
That grin crept to his face again. It didn't leave most o' the day.
Zambina
Junebug spent all day workin' in the sheep barn the first day o' the
fair. The 4H sponsors wanted to make sure the barn looked good as folks
went through. There were always chores to do. Junebug swept the lanes
between the sheep pens over and over to make sure no one stepped in
anythin'. He helped haul about a thousand wheelbarrows of sawdust to
scatter on them lanes too.
The fellers what was doin'
the sheep shearin' wasn't comin' till the next day, so Junebug had
plenty of time in the evenin' to walk around with his cousins an'
friends an' look the fair over. He had one of them cotton candys right
off. He went over to the Methodist Church booth an' got some chicken
an' noodles like he promised his Mama. He knew some o' them ol' ladies
would tell on him if he didn't try to eat right.
Him
an' Eddie Carpenter walked down through the rides an' into the sideshow
area. They were right strange things there, sure enough. Last year he
paid a quarter to see the biggest rat in the whole wide world. That
feller talkin' 'bout it kept on hollerin' about it all week till Junebug
had to take a look. After he paid his quarter he climbed up some
stairs an' looked down into a pen with a big ol' rat lookin' thing. He
sure didn't want to see that in his Daddy's corn crib. (His science
teacher later told him it weren't a rat but a capybara. Junebug looked
it up in an encyclopedia an' sure enough it was!)
Well,
Eddie an' Junebug stopped in front of a tent that had a sign said,
"Zambina the Gorilla Woman". The feller out front told them that
Zambina was the missin' link. Them boys had to see that missin' link
woman. They paid their quarter an' went inside a dark tent with a bunch
o' other folks.
When the lights came on the man from
out front was standin' on the stage with a nice lookin' red headed woman
in some kind o' zebra skin with grass stuck in her hair an' all.
Junebug looked real close. He thought the feller looked an awful lot
like the man with the giant rat last year.
That feller
tol' the folks that Zambina was the missin' link again an' said when she
was put in a hypnotic trance she "regressed through the various and
sundry stages of evolution to her ancient ancestor, the giant
ape...known today in modern science as the gorilla.". Eddie giggled
an' said she was really one of them orang-o-tangies cause she was
redheaded an' all. Junebug tol' him to hush cause the feller said it
had to be absolute silent.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys
and girls, I am about to perform a feat of hypnotism and cause Zambina
to regress back through millions of years of evolution. Please be
silent, because I cannot be responsible for what might happen if her
primitive urges get the best of her psyche. Quiet now as I begin..."
The
feller paused an' the woman stepped into a big ol' cage with iron bars.
He locked her in an' put the key in his pocket. Junebug's eyes got
real big as he saw her standin' in that ol' cage. He poked Eddie and
pointed. Eddie was as white as a sheet. This show had to be the real
thing.
"Zambina," the feller whispered right loud, "Think gorilla. Think Gorilla, Zambina. Gorilla, Zambina"
He
whispered an' muttered this over an' over. Then it some kind o' scary
music started up an smoke was a risin' all round. Funny lights started a
flickerin' an' Zambina started changin'. She humped over right funny
an' her arms an' face gor real hairy. She got bigger an' bigger till
she looked like one o' them gorillas, for sure. Finally she was a full
time, real for sure gorilla!
Then some woman screamed
an' all heck broke loose. Zambina broke out of her trance when that
woman done screamed. That gorilla lady broke open that ol' cage an'
jumped out. She looked around an' saw that talkin' feller that tranced
her. She grabbed him an started beatin' on him an' carryin' on somethin'
terrible. Man, oh man.
'Bout that time Eddie
Carpenter got scared an' ran out the flap as a big ol' man with a
shotgun came it. He fired it in the air an Zambina froze as she was
pickin' up the hypnotizin' feller. The big man pointed the shotgun at
Zambina and she dropped the feller to the ground.
Junebug
looked up at the top o' the tent an' noticed it didn't have a hole in
it from the shotgun blast! He turned to watch what was a goin' on.
The
shotgun man walked calm like toward Zambina, callin' her name an
pointin' the gun at her. He got a whip off a chair in the front an'
cracked it a couple o' times an' Zambina hunkered down like an' ol' cur
dog. Folks started cheerin'. Junebug reckoned they knew that feller
had saved their sorry lives.
Both them fellers got
Zambina in the cage an' locked it back. The hypnotizin' feller tol' the
folks the show was over since Zambina was stuck as a gorilla till they
got her calmed down. As Junebug left he saw the movie projector high in
the tent an' figured it must a been part o' the way Zambina changed.
'Course, he weren't gonna tell Eddie that. Sorry friend he was, runnin'
off like that.
When Junebug got back to the sheep
barn, Eddie was already tellin' ever'one there about Zambina. That show
as gonna make some cash over the weekend. Junebug threw in his two
cents here an' there, but didn't say much. It was Eddie's story after
all.
Junebug saw Zambina's transformation three times
that week. He later recognized Zambina walkin' around in regular
clothes. He said howdy to her an' winked.
Zambina
grinned, winked an' held her finger to her lips. Junebug made a zippin'
motion over his lips an giggled as he walked toward the rides back on
the back lot.
County Fair Part Two
The Clay County Fair was goin' full tilt. Sunday was always a good
day at the fair. Folks still came to the fair after church dressed in
their "Sunday go to meetin'" clothes. Little ol' girls had on their
dresses, white socks an' either black patent shoes or saddle oxfords.
Boys had their cowlicks pressed down with a little luck an' a lot o'
spit. Their shirts were pressed white and their shoes shined. Mamas
and Dads herded youngin's almost as good as the 4Hers in the barns did
their animals.
Uncle Billy sat outside the exhibition
hall takin' it all in. He had made brooms an' a few milk stools all
weekend till Sunday. He never worked on Sunday. Never did, never
would. He didn't sell any of his brooms on Sunday either, though he
didn't fault others if they wanted to work or buy an' sell. It was just
his personal beliefs was all.
They had a church
service on the fairgrounds for all the folks what were missin' church by
bein' there an' tendin' their animals or booths. Uncle Billy always
led the singin' with his deep bass voice.
A couple
years back a collection was taken up to buy some o' them Broadman
Hymnals. Each an' ever' one was stamped "Fairgrounds Church Meeting" on
the front in gold letters. Inside each one was the name of the folks
what donated it.
The preachers around the community
took turns doin' the service an' this year it was Brother Harley
Davidson's turn. The preacher would always appoint someone to fill his
pulpit while he preached at the fairgrounds. Brother Harley was from
the Church of God. He asked Jesse Gilbert to fill in for him. Jesse
was home from college an' was goin' to make a preacher when he got out.
Uncle
Billy watched the parade of folks as they walked 'round the grounds,
hands full of this an that, stuffed animals, painted canes, waffles an'
cotton candy. More than once a feller would stop an' pass the time o'
day with Uncle Billy. They talked about all the important things o' the
day...the weather, cattle prices, which youngin' was gonna take the
grand champion steer this year. Now that was a hot topic.
When
it got dark folks would start comin' round an' settlin' in around Uncle
Billy an' Homer Wilson. Both them fellers was storytellers an'
ever'one wanted to get as close as they could to hear all them fellers
had to tell.
They did a round robin, tellin' a story
then sittin' down whilst lookin' at the other, almost darin' 'em to beat
that one. Folks was as quiet as the dead, jus' wantin' to hear what
they said. It usually went on for two or three hours, goin' from short
funny jokes an' such to longer stories an' maybe a scary one or two.
Homer
Wilson said, "Now, that is the way I heerd it, an' I reckon fur as I
knowed it was true enough." He sat down an' looked to Uncle Billy who
stood an' looked over the crowd...
"Now, let me see here. That reminds me o' the time...."
County Fair Midweek
Uncle Billy sat on his shavehorse and inspected the sassafras stick
clamped in the jaws of the bench. It was dried well and was straight.
The bark was still on it an' would mostly stay that way. Folks at the
fair didn't much want a good kitchen broom or house broom. They wanted
somethin' pretty to hang on a wall or some such thing. He thought it
was nonsense, but the fancy ones sold, so he weren't gonna raise much
fuss.
He set his drawknife aside. It was too big for
shavin the sassafras stick. He only wanted to take the rough off the
bark an' maybe have a few places the wood would peek through. Folks
liked that real good. He picked up a spokeshave and set it to the rough
bark of the stick.
Folks standin' an' watchin' smelled
the sassafras as soon as he took the first stroke. Several of the
youngin's took deep sniffs real loud. Uncle Billy chuckled an' looked
up.
"Y'all like that smell don't ye?"
Course,
the youngin's nodded their heads to beat the band. Nothin' smelled
better than fresh sassafras. Uncle Billy set the stick he was workin'
on aside an' picked up one that was rougher an' not fit for makin' a
broom handle. He kept a couple o' sticks like that layin' round for
just such an occasion.
"Let me give you'uns somethin'
to carry round an' snort on for a while." he said as he picked up his
drawknife an' slid it quickly down the stick. The fragrance filled the
area around him with the sweet smell of sassafras. He quickly made a
small pile of shavin's and handed a couple to each youngin'. In the
back o' the group was a little ol' girl with blond hair an' brown eyes.
She was a grinnin but hid behind her mama as Uncle Billy approached.
"Come here, darlin'. I got a special one for you."
She timidly walked closer an' Uncle Billy took a long curl o' sassafras an' dangled it from her ear like an earring.
"What 'bout the other ear?" she asked.
Uncle
Billy laughed right hard when she spoke up. "Here ye are, darlin'.
One for the other ear. Gal's gotta look good for the fair."
She
felt each one as if to be sure they were in just the right place and
grinned. Uncle Billy handed out the rest o' the shavin's. More than
one grownup reached out a hand for their own shavin'.
As folks left Uncle Billy went back to work on the broom handle.
Later
in the evenin' he stopped to get a bite to eat. As he was headin' over
to the Clay County Pork Producers booth to get a big ol' grilled and
butter-flied pork chop he saw that little ol' gal walkin' with her mama.
When
she saw Uncle Billy she grinned an' pulled back her hair from her ears.
Right there, danglin' from each ear was a long curl of the finest red
sassafras the mountains o' Kentucky ever did grow.
Uncle Billy chuckled an' hollered out, "Are you a flirtin' with me? I'm too old for you now!"
Don't ye know, that little ol' girl grinned, blushed an' ran to catch up with her mama as fast as she could.
The Sweetest Tomatoes
The Clay County Fair was a goin' full tilt. The rides were full with
long lines for all the good rides. The feller at the pony rides didn't
have much to do till some proud mountain mama came along an' their
youngin' started squallin' about ridin' a pony. He would perk up then
an' grin. He could shame a quarter from even the poorest soul for a
pony ride.
The bench outside the rabbit barn was a
gatherin' place of sorts for many of the older fellers at the fair. It
was close to all the food vendors, but far enough away from the midway
and all the loud games an' rides that a person could get a little good
conversation in.
Uncle Billy sat by himself on the
bench. Several fellers had come an' gone over the space of an hour.
All had news to offer about which youngin' won in this or that 4H barn.
The turkey judgin' was goin' on an' Uncle Billy expected a report soon
from that contest.
He had spent most of the mornin'
makin' brooms an' talkin' with folks. His hands had another idea right
now, though. Ever' now an' again he suffered with a little arthritis.
Today it was worse than it had been all week. He reckoned it was
keepin' his hands wet an workin' with the broomcorn for such long
periods. He sat with one hand in the other. For good measure he would
rub the knuckles softly, hoping to rub the ache out.
As he sat there, he heard someone callin' his name. "Hey, Uncle Billy. Uncle Billy, over here. Here."
There
was folks goin' all different directions an' Uncle Billy couldn't see
where the voice was comin' from till Junebug Burns plopped himself down
on the bench beside Uncle Billy. Junebug had some sheep that were going
to be judged later that day an' he was right smart nervous about it.
Folks were sayin' that his sheep were the best to come through the
fairgrounds in a long time. Junebug hoped that was true. He could use
the money from a good auction to put away for college. He wanted to go
to college over to Cumberland Baptist College to study an' be a teacher.
He promised anyone who listened to him that he would come back an'
teach in his hometown of Beloved when he was done.
"Uncle Billy, you look right tired."
"I reckon sleepin' on a cot in a barn ain't as peaceful as I might like, Junebug. How 'bout you?"
Well sir, I just don't mind it a bit. They is so much to do here I don't sleep much anyways."
Uncle Billy chuckled, "I don't know that I would repeat that to your Mama, Junebug."
"No sir, that might be a foolish thing to do."
"How are the sheep this year, Junebug? Think you'll win it?"
Junebug
sat an' studied a little while before he answered, "Well, I don't
rightly know. Lots of folks have stopped by an' looked 'em over. I
think I got as good a chance as anyone."
Junebug watched Uncle Billy rubbin' his hands for a second or two, "Them hands hurtin' you?"
"Yessir, some days is better than others. They hurt more in the mornin's than any other time."
"Mine don't do that none."
Uncle Billy grinned, "No sir, I reckon they won't for another 60 years or so."
"You hungry, Uncle Billy?"
"Mountain men are always hungry. You?"
"Always."
Uncle
Billy chuckled. He figured Junebug had spent his money on games an'
was lookin' for a good meal. "Reckon you want to go over an' get
somethin' to eat with me?"
"Nope, I got somethin' for you an' me to eat right here."
Junebug
reached into a bag he was carryin' an' pulled out two of the prettiest
red, ripe tomaters Uncle Billy had ever seen. Junebug had a salt shaker
in his hand as he handed the bigger one to Uncle Billy.
"Those are nice tomaters, Junebug. I appreciate that. Nothin' better than a tomater with a little salt."
Junebug
already had a mouthful as he agreed. The two sat an' ate slowly, each
enjoyin' the sweet taste of the tomaters. Ever' now an' again a little
juice ran down their lips. Both were quick to catch it and place it
back in their mouths. The tomaters were just that good. A feller
didn't want to waste a drop.
Uncle Billy chuckled, "I
reckon we are both eatin like we are starved. Only thing could make
these better would be sittin' in the garden eatin' 'em right off the
vine."
Junebug grinned, "Onliest thing could make 'em
better is you an' me sneakin' into that garden after dark an' sittin'
between the rows eatin' 'em in the moonlight."
"Now, Junebug, what garden did you sneak into? Are these from someone's garden? When did you sneak out?"
"Uncle
Billy, I ain't sneaked off the fairgrounds. I promised Pap I wouldn't
an' I keep my promises. Just don't ask no questions."
Uncle
Billy looked at Junebug for a long time. He had slowed his eatin' down
at the prospect of eatin' ill gotten gains. He studied the small piece
of tomater he had left for a long while. "Junebug, they don't sell
tomaters here at the fair, do they?"
"No sir, they don't. Eat up, Uncle Billy. You are askin' too many questions."
Uncle Billy sat up. He knew something was wrong!
"Junebug Burns! Where did you get these tomaters?"
"Uncle
Billy, here is the way it is. Ms.Hazel bugs me to death at church all
the time. She tells me to stand up straight, wipes my face with spit
an' a hankie if she thinks she sees a little dirt. She tells my Mama on
me all the time an' I get in trouble from her carryin' on. Her
tomaters was already judged an' won a blue ribbon. They was a whole
basket full an' I felt like she owed me a couple."
"Ms.Hazel?
Oh, Junebug, if you get caught there will be no end of this! Of all
the folks to swipe tomaters from...Ms.Hazel. That woman is a thorn in
my side too, Junebug. She will have out hides if she catches us. I'll
have to go over to her house for a Sunday dinner to apologize. That
woman wants to get her hooks in me anyway, son."
"Well, I reckon we better eat up real fast, Uncle Billy. Don't want anyone seein' us eatin' her tomaters, do we?"
With
that thought, both man an' boy put the last bite of sweet, red tomater
in their mouth and swallowed hard an' fast. Both grinned a little as
they sat on the bench in front of the rabbit barn. Neither said
anything for a long time.
"Uncle Billy?"
"Yep?"
"Stolen tomaters is the best."
"Junebug!"
"They are, Uncle Billy. Sneakin' in an' swipin' a tomater makes it sweeter. You said they was good."
"I
reckon, boy, I reckon. Just don't tell anyone we ate Ms.Hazel's prize
winnin' tomaters. Just my luck I'd have to end up marryin' the woman to
end her shame."
Junebug looked at Uncle Billy with a
grin that sliced from ear to ear. They shared a secret that bonded them
that day. In the years to come Junebug would grow closer to the old
man. Eventually he would learn to make brooms from Uncle Billy. Years
later he would sit in a barn makin' brooms an' tellin' stories Uncle
billy told him on days just like this one. Them tomaters changed the
directions of Junebug's life.
Junebug was right. There is nothin' sweeter than a swiped tomater...
Unless it was pullin' somethin' over on Ms. Hazel. Man an' boy both enjoyed that sweet, red secret.
Junebug's Last Fair
A couple years later Junebug Burns was finally on his way with his last entry as a 4Her
for the Clay County Fair. He had an Angus bull named Sneezer that most
'round Beloved, Kentucky thought was the finest bull ever raised in the
hills of Kentucky. Junebug named it Sneezer when it was a calf because
it would sniff at things an' then just sneeze up a fit, sort of like it
was allergic to the whole world. No one ever believed that calf would
grow to win a prize as a year old bull much less be the amazin' animal
that it was.
Sneezer was loaded into the cattle trailer
an' was pushin' against the side with powerful shoulders. Junebug
could hear the metal of the trailer groanin'. He grinned and knocked on
the side of the trailer, whisperin' for Sneezer to stop that an' be on
good behavior. That bull was like a big ol' puppy dog with Junebug.
Folks said Junebug could probably teach it to dance if he took a mind
to. With just that one whisper ol' Sneezer relaxed an' stood still. It
was like he was a waitin' to get to the fair an show off in front of
all them folks.
In the back of the pickup was a cot, a
duffel full of clothes, two hat boxes with Stetson straw hats, a trunk
of gear an' several buckets an' bags full of this an' that. Most 4Hers
lived at the fair for the week. Junebug was sure goin' to be there an'
enjoy his last fair. He had shavin' cream to use when someone fell
asleep as well as a new whoopee cushion ordered from the back of a
Superman comic book. It was goin' to be a great week.
The
wallet in his pocket was full of cash this year. Junebug had saved for
a year so he would have the money to do whatever he wanted to do this
year. He was goin' to go out with a bang. Him an' Sneezer would have
the best year ever.
Junebug's Tattoo
Junebug Burns was one of the first to get to the cattle barn at the
fairgrounds. Carney folks had started arriving midweek and the midway
was setup as Junebug's truck pulled into the gates of the grounds with
ol' Sneezer in the cattle trailer. Sneezer was the only animal in the
trailer an' filled it from side to side. Junebug just knew he was goin'
to do well this year. His last had to be his best.
As
he unloaded his gear he headed into the back of the cattle barn. The
stalls an' such in the back had bigger bars for the big steers an'
bulls. Some of them big ol' Angus an' Bramas could lean on a
lightweight gate an' bend it sure enough. The small stall next to the
great big stall reserved for Sneezer was Junebug's home for the next
week. Cot, mattress, clothes trunk an' tack box all went into the
stall. When it was organized to Junebug's liking, he took one more look
around to make sure it would meet the critical eye of Mr. Jim Mosley,
the 4H advisor for the cattle barn.
Mr. Mosely was a
former Marine an' ran the barn like a boot camp barracks. "Keep it
clean, beds made, tack put away, clothes stored an' the poop scooped
up." was Mr. Mosley's mantra. Junebug had started the rumor two years
ago that Mr. Mosely had them words tattooed on his backside. Joey
Hoskins had the misfortune to believe Junebug enough that he asked Mr.
Mosely about the alleged tattoo. After Joey Hoskins was dressed down
like a new recruit, Drill Sergent Mosley came lookin' for Junebug to
chew on him for a while. There was never a plug of burley tobaccer that
was chewed any harder than that boy. 4Hers learned that you just
didn't spread rumors about the cattle barn advisor.
In
private Mr. Mosely shared the story with several of his buddies an' they
all had a good laugh. Uncle Billy Gilbert offered to pay for it if Jim
Mosley would offer up his backside to the tattoo needle. Jim Mosley
graciously declined. He did, however have his wife write the words back
yonder with a fine point magic marker. Late one night he walked into
Junebug's stall where he lay reading, dropped his drawers an' showed the
magic words in all their glory. He never said a word an' walked away
proudly afterward. Junebug just sat in teenage awe...not daring to
laugh or make a sound. He felt it was some kind of "rite of passage"
for Mr. Mosley to share that moment with him.
When all
was ready in his stall, Junebug made the over-sized stall ready for
Sneezer. Fresh water in the big bucket, the portable manger hangin'
from the side rail full of hay an' a few oats to make Sneezer feel
welcome. The dirt floor was well covered with straw, an' a grain shovel
an' pitchfork stood at attention outside the stall, ready for the whims
of nature to fall...ahem. Nearby was a wheelbarrow ready to haul any
"whims" outside to the compost pile.
With the gentle
hand of a farm boy who loved his animals an' the quiet voice of a
practiced handler, Junebug backed Sneezer out of the cattle trailer.
Cattle don't take much to walkin' backwards, so it was a testament to
the trust Sneezer had that he slowly walked back an' out of the trailer
with no hesitation. 'Course, Junebug had worked with the bull hundreds
an' thousands of times over the last several years. The pair paused an'
Junebug patted Sneezer on the nose. Sneezer responded by lickin' out
an' almost slappin' the boy's face with his big warm tongue. Junebug
laughed an' put his face to the bull's as they stood for only a moment.
They then walked through the door of the barn an' into the stall.
After
about an hour of brushing an' combing, Junebug was satisfied. It was
several days till the cattle judgin' an' the bulls were very last, so
there was no real need to have the bull combed an' fluffed quite yet.
Junebug reminded Sneezer that there would be plenty of company an' they
both had to look real good this year.
Before he left
the barn he took out the wooden sign his Daddy had routed out for him on
a solid piece of cherry wood an' hung it over the gate of the stall.
It said, "Thanks to the Farmers and Mercantile Bank for buying my
Champion Steer last year." Junebug had also showed a steer the previous
year along with a Jersey heifer. The steer had given Junebug a
Champion ribbon an' had provided a nice amount of cash to go toward his
college funds. Sneezer had come in as a Champion last year as a two
year old but did not win Grand Champion. Junebug had not auctioned off
Sneezer as a two year old since he wanted to enter him as a three year
old - the last year that Junebug an' Sneezer would be eligible. After
this year Junebug would be off to college an' Sneezer would be out to
pasture to sire dozens of offspring in the hills an' hollers around
Beloved.
A quick trip through the produce barn told him
Miss Hazel hadn't put out her entry yet. There was a tradition that
had to be kept. One or two of Miss Hazel's prize tomaters always came
up missin' each year after the judgin'. Junebug an' Uncle Billy Gilbert
would celebrate Miss Hazel's victory an' toast to her success with a
little salt an' a wonderful, sinful red globe in hand. Junebug Burns
figured Miss Hazel deserved this for all the chasin' of Uncle Billy she
did each year. Since Aunt Del had died, Miss Hazel had made it her
life's goal to end up with Billy Gilbert. 'Course, the fact she called
him "Bill" instead of "Billy" told most folks she didn't know a thing
about him an was about as likely to get him as a fish was to get fleas.
Down
at the end of the midway was a big tent, worn lookin' if folks got too
close in the day, but full of mystery at night as the barker would call
to the crowd to come see Zambina the Gorilla Lady. Zambina had become a
pal of Junebug's an' he looked forward to talkin' with her over hot
black coffee early one mornin' before the "rubes" showed up. Junebug
liked it that Zambina called folks "rubes" an' shared stories of the
road, circuses an' countless county fairs with him. She had showed him
all the secrets of the "Gorilla Lady" show several years ago when he was
a young pup. He had looked on with wide eyes as each secret was
revealed to him. True to his promise, sworn on the shrunken head of a
monkey, Junebug had never revealed the secrets to even his best friend.
Zambina was a late riser since she had late night shows, so he went on
by an' down the way.
The roll of money in his pocket
called to him. The promise of food an' games an' fun seemed just a flip
of a switch away. Come dark tomorrow night an' this quiet patch of
dust an' grass would become incandescent magic. The sights an' sounds
would pull at the wallets of even the most stingy. Junebug was lookin'
for the tattoo tent. His Daddy had told him he could get one small
tattoo. Although he wasn't a Marine an' probably didn't deserve it, he
had considered "semper fi" to honor Mr. Mosley. Instead he would follow
Eddie Carpenter's lead an' get a simple cross tattooed just to the side
of his hipbone where it could be hidden by jeans or underwear.
It
was goin' to be a good year at the fair. Junebug just knew it. After
findin' the tattoo tent, he went back to the middle of the fairgrounds,
picked out a bench an' sat down with his Case knife to whittle an' wait
for friends.
Soup Pot
Marie Lawson sat in the room that was her living room and bedroom.
It was the only room in the house she kept heated all winter. The room
was also the room that her Great Great Grandpa built first when he
homesteaded this here little holler in the hills of eastern Kentucky.
The outside of this part of the house was logs, but the inside had been
covered with layer after layer of newspapers stuck to the walls with
home made flour paste. Marie's Mama had gotten snooty, or at least
that's what folks said when she sent away to the Sears and Roebuck an'
ordered wallpaper to go over those layers of newspaper.
The
fireplace in front of her had a coal grate burning warm and a big ol'
pot simmered close to the coal fire. Inside was a thick soup Marie was
cookin'. She had started with a little bacon grease to coat the pot an'
to brown the deer meat giver to her by Hap Ledford. Some soup bone
stock had gone in next 'long with a couple quart jars of her prize
winnin' home canned tomatoes. Over to the side of the coal grate was
quarts of other home canned vegetables from Marie's garden waitin' their
turn to go into the soup pot. A salt celler an' pepper mill stood
guard over the event, waitin' to step in now an' again to add the right
taste to the proceedin's.
Marie enjoyed sittin' in her
rockin' chair every Wednesday in winter an' makin' soup. It was an all
day process. Folks just don't want to hurry good soup. It needs to
steep an' blend in a slow an' steady dance of tastes.
Right
now she was a' peelin' taters that she would leave sit in water till
time to throw them in. They was still nice an' firm with few eyes in
them just yet. Later in the winter she would go to the root celler an'
scrounge through the ol' wizzled taters to find a few that looked an'
felt good to the touch in the darkness of the root cellar.
Later
in the day, 'bout the time she added the quart jar of sweet corn, Marie
took time to darn a sock that had worn at the heel. Her darnin' egg
was placed in the heel an' she carefully pulled tread back an' forth
along the thin threads left in the heel. Back an' forth, back an'
forth, over an' under, her thread filled in line after line of the heel
till it was near good as new.
Although there was a
basket with quiltin' pieces layin' next to her rocker, Marie determined
it was time for a short nap. She laid her darnin' egg an' sock in the
basket an' folded her hands in her lap. Her Mama used to say that "idle
hands was the Devil's playground". She still missed her Mama to this
day, but was glad to have the peace an' solitude to do what she wanted.
She didn't happen to agree with that piece of theology an' proved it by
takin' naps most every day.
Lunchtime was called by
her ol' dog scratchin' at the door wantin' to eat. She had spoiled that
ol' dog by feedin' it three times a day, but it was good company. It
knew better than to get too close to her soup pot or the fixin's waitin'
to go in. A couple biscuits filled with country ham an' a little spoon
of her muscadine grape jelly to grease it down was sittin' on a plate
with a glass of cold milk. When it was this cold she didn't need to put
the milk in her Frigidaire to cool it down, she just left it on the
back porch after she was done milkin' an' covered it with a clean dish
towel.
Her ol' dog, Luke didn't know, but she didn't
ever feed him exactly what she was eatin'. She kept her food scraps in a
bowl an' brought it with her when she sat down. As she ate her
biscuits an' ham, she would reach in an get a little scrap from the
scrap bowl an' feed it to Luke.
"Well, Lukie, time to
add the beans an' taters." Marie told her dog. She had already added
corn, okra, peas an' carrots. The green beans an' taters was always the
last in the pot. She sat an' stared at the coal grate as the soup pot
simmered. As she sat, she could swear the flames made odd things as she
watched, pictures in the burnin' fire. Pictures an' faces an' places
Marie had only dreamed of would appear as she gazed an' daydreamed.
Later
in the evenin', Marie doled out the hot soup into Mason jars she would
seal an' take to the shut ins an' sick around her hometown of Beloved,
Kentucky. She sat aside a small portion to go into her own Frigidaire
for her own use. Twenty-seven jars later an' she poured one little bit
into a coffee cup. Quickly she sipped on the soup as she checked the
seal on each jar. She wiped each with her dish towel an' set them
upside down so they would seal. Most folks would eat the soup right
away, but if they was a reason it could not be eat, it was still good
for a long while, sealed like it was.
About six
o'clock, Uncle Billy Gilbert an' Sister Hazel Budder, the preacher's
wife would stop by to pick her up for Wednesday Night Prayer Meetin' at
Booger Holler Holiness Church. Uncle Billy had stopped to pick up
Sister Hazel just down the street so folks wouldn't talk as him an'
Marie delivered her soup on the way to church. They left an hour early
every Wednesday night just to deliver a bite to eat to the folks in
Beloved who might not have or be able to do for themselves.
Marie
would arrive at church just like everyone else. She didn't ever say a
word about her day long venture. She never told folks or bragged about
the good she did. Uncle Billy never even said much about pickin' Marie
up. They just did it. No need for braggin'. No need to talk about
it. It was just what they did.
Years later, when folks
talked about the saints they had known, two names always came up.
Uncle Billy Gilbert for the many things he did over the years for any
an' everyone in the community...an' Marie Lawson. When they talked
about Marie, they always called her "the soup lady, Marie". Funny
thing, no one could mention her without pausin' an' sayin', "she sure
knew how to make good soup."
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 and they had practiced since summer on the
songs they sang on Christmas Eve. The Church was decorated just right
and aromatic cedar trees were trimmed and 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.
He thanked her, but said he
was goin' to stay home. Other folks invited him without the hidden
desires Ms. Hazel had and he would smile and 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 and 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. The
Baptist Church had it's bells playin' Christmas Carols quietly all
morning. Folks that lived in town got out and swept the sidewalks, just
as an excuse to visit with each other. The wonderful smells of
Christmas dinners cooking 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 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 stirred the fire when he got up and
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 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 and 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 and quite a
few folks sat and dozed while company droned on about work, family or
common woes.
Hap Ledford sat for a while studyin' on
something after an early Christmas dinner. Evelyn could tell something
was on his mind and 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 several things
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 his country ham 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 she walked from the kitchen with a
cardboard box 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 the 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 Grand kids 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 grown greasy beans. Uncle Billy had
give her the seed for the 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 of caps an' hand 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 to
stop by 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 together can do.
No one noticed that Uncle
Billy waited till every 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, folks 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 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 and 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.
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."
Uncle Billy and That Old Dog
If I close my eyes even now,
I can still yet see them.
Sittin' yonder on that cabin porch
Unchanged, unmarked by time somehow.
Rugged cabin, hand hewn logs
Sittin' on the edge of the hill.
There's Uncle Billy, plain and simple
One hand restin' on that ol' dog.
They'd end up there 'bout every day,
Tired old man and worn out dog.
Always quiet, nary a word
Except the words he had to say.
Now and again the rocker'd creak,
Eyes would fade and head would droop.
Dog would moan and chase dream rabbits
Uncle Billy'd slumber and take a peek.
Did they hunt again together in an interwoven dream?
Man and dog, both young and virile.
Uncle Billy'd sigh, old dog whimpered
Were they resting by a remembered stream.
Tired, worn cabin by the edge of the wood
Worn out man and tired old dog.
They'd leave this life, this care , this toil
To forever hunt their dreams...if they could.
Time and Mortality
The old man sat on his porch quiet in the dusk
Examining his mortality like a treasured pocket watch.
Carefully turning it over and over in his hand
Feeling the weight of the watch chain,
Opening the back to see the inscription
Secrets known and read only by him.
Watching the hands go round the dial
Seeing his face in the face of the watch
Knowing some not so distant day
The watch would tick for the last time.
As the hands climbed toward midnight
He wound the watch once again
Looked at the time once more, satisfied
And put his mortality back for another day.
The Watcher
Old, feeling ancient,
He sits on his porch
Rests on his porch swing
Grizzled brown mountain cur
Curled up by his side.
Weary, bleary, rheumy
Eyes fixed on the road.
Watching, patiently waiting
Sitting so quiet, so very still
The soft, rythmic snoring
Of his worn little dog
Is the only sound to hear.
Way down yonder,
Far piece down the road
The sound of an engine
The dust rising from the road
Beat up old Ford truck
Shakes, rattles, rolls
Comes closer, closer
Slow, passes by.
Old man, most ancient
Throws up a hand
Driver responds
Nod, touch of the hat.
Truck rumbles and gone.
Old, feeling ancient,
He sits on his porch
Rests on his porch swing
Grizzled brown mountain cur
Curled up by his side.
Weary, bleary, rheumy
Eyes fixed on the road.
Watching, patiently waiting
Fly Away Home
(Note: this is an Uncle Billy piece, not the ending that I wrote later and which is below, but an Uncle Billy piece none the less)
Dusty road along a creek,
Chewed up dog layin’ on a porch,
Tin roof bright in the summer sun
Ancient logs daubed with mud.
Poplar plank porch worn smooth,
Sanded by passin’ of a thousand feet,
Th’ rockin’ of a hundred chairs
Tappin’ of a thousand toes.
Old man sittin’ there rockin’,
Shoulders planed down by toil,
Face sandblasted by a hard-scrabble life.
Yet eyes clear ‘neath craggy brow.
Call comes, “Fly away, Fly away home".
To green isles, rocky hills,
Ancestral shores as craggy as th’ ol’ man’s brow.
Callin’ him to his ancestral islands.
Icy blue eyes look backward through generations,
Back through tales of fairies and selkies.
Back to buried memories of ancestral hearths and peat fires,
Smokey memories, the sweet incense of a hidden history.
That ancient memory calls him home,
To a place he has never been,
To a people he has never known.
“Come home, Come home, Fly away home.”
Old eyes close and weep,
He sees a place his feet have never walked,
Hears songs his ears have never heard.
Old heart yearns for a home unknown.
Come away, come away, come away home,
Leprechauns laugh and beckon,
Red haired lasses wink and smile.
Rocks and rills cry out his name.
Old heart yearns as he rocks and slows, sighs,
His spirit reaches out,
His mind leaps across oceans,
Feet tap to the songs of pipes.
Old head nods, worn face smiles,
Rockin’ chair slows, stops.
Tired heart yearns…and stops.
Spirit rises, soars, flies away home.
Chewed up dog looks up,
Whines and watches his master go.
Old head drops, ears lift, listens.
Listens for pipes an’ a call, “Home dog, home.”
New Day
An old man lays quiet in a cold room. The only heat in this ancient log
cabin is a coal grate in a connecting room. Visitors and city folks
might call the place rustic or perhaps even rambling. The old man and
his weary dog call it home. "A place to get in out of the cold" is his
usual description.
It is a collection of rooms added on one at a time by several
generations. Old man and dog rest in the lower bedroom, cabin actually,
as that part was the first cabin built and that stood alone on that
spot for many years.
It is small and simple and also has a coal grate that has not often been
used. A Great Granddad built the original cabin when he moved his
family up the holler to avoid another raid by Yankee soldiers seeking to
destroy a local salt mine and keep Confederate soldiers from buying
salt.
The parlor is simply another cabin built a few years later. It was laid
out and logs were stacked fifteen feet from the first cabin. A dogtrot
of plank wood connected the two cabins and became a second bedroom for
several generations of kin. Along the full length of these structures
is a shotgun kitchen, it is filled with stove, tables, Hoosier cabinets
and a hand pump for water. A plastic tablecloth covers the kitchen
table, washed off so many times the pattern has disappeared.
The fire has been banked and ashes dumped into a bucket. The careful
red flames flicker slowly and occasionally light up a corner where
visitors might see peeling wallpaper... and underneath layers of
newspapers and Sears & Roebuck catalog pages carefully glued on the
walls by womenfolks intent on keeping the winter wind out.
Snow covers the ground all around the cabin. Footprints come and go
from the cabin to the barn. Footprints that themselves seem weary and
worn. Footprints of an old man and an ancient dog who faithfully
follows his master as he has for more than fifteen years. A milk cow
and a couple pigs sleep in the barn, their breath collecting as ice
crystals on their snouts. Their bodies and the muck around them steam
in the cold night.
Though nearly a foot deep, no attempt has been made to shovel the snow.
It really isn't necessary in the barnyard or around the cabin. Deep
snow is a good insulator for the cabin and safer footing for the old man
than patches of ice would be. His 1969 Ford truck sits safely in an
outbuilding, untouched by the winter weather.
A single path goes over to the smokehouse that is full of hams, bacon,
side meat, ham hocks and cloth-sleeved sausage, all butchered, cut,
cured and smoked by the old man who rests fitfully in the cold bedroom
yonder. The smell of burnt apple wood and hickory is sweet and ashy in
the chilled night air. The snow shows evidence of the door being opened
once and shut as a survey was taken of this smoky meat, as if to assure
the owner that all was well, supplies were taken in and safe. He could
weather any storm.
A similar path leads to the side of a hill, where there is a root
celler, full of Irish taters, sweet taters, apples, beets, turnips and
cabbages all covered with straw to insulate and keep rot away. Rough
shelves are filled with all sorts of canned goods, fruit, kraut, beans,
tomaters, pickles and jellies. Here and there are jars of home canned
meats like sausages fried, placed into jars and processed. Chicken,
beef and deer meat are clearly marked as to when they were processed and
canned. All are lined up in Mason jars that sparkle in the moonlight.
Not all are products of the old man's hands. Many are from neighbors
and well meaning widow women who have had their eye on the man since he
lost his wife years ago. Another brief survey is evident and the last
trail leads back to the cabin.
Inside an old man lays quiet in a cold room. He listens to the short
crackles of embers as they fight to stay alive till morning. His old
dog raises its head to listen for strangers who won't come in this snowy
weather. Satisfied, he lowers his head to his paws and closes rheumy
eyes.
On the bed, the man watches as memories play on his eyelids, memories of
youth and vigor, of running free through the hills, chasing rabbits
with his dog, now a pup in his mind's eye, up a holler and through miles
of brush. He dreams of friends, youthful and smiling, waving at him
from a forgotten porch, laughing at a joke he just can't catch in his
memories. He tastes hot meals, sips sweet tea and basks in the
remembered warmth of summers long past. Secretly, he savors his first
taste of moonshine once more. A gentle smile crosses his lips as his
mind lingers over his first kiss.
As he drifts between this world and the promise of sleep. He dreams of a
little ol' dark head mountain gal he teased in a one room school, who
he watched grow into a beautiful woman. He smiles gently as he
remembers their first kiss, their wedding day, their many days together
in this cabin.
A tear slides through a series of wrinkles as he remembers once more her
passing on, her promise to wait for him on the other side of the
Jordan. In that moment, his spirit decides, his body reluctantly obeys
and takes one last breath. The room stills.
As if a signal has been sent out, the embers seem to glow less. In his
sleep the old dog hears his master call and lets loose of the old bone
of life and lopes along into forever. He sees someone standing on the
far bank of a river and without hesitation he jumps in and begins to
swim.
On the other side of the river, a young man waits beside a beautiful
woman who is smiling bright as day. The dog pulls himself out of that
river and shakes his years away like water collected in his fur. He is
young, made new.
The new dog, man and wife turn once more, look over Jordan and smile a
sad smile, knowing others will soon follow. They turn and see a city,
bright and inviting. They step forward together and walk toward Heaven
and home.
