Dreams an' dusty roads

Y'ever wonder why we visit the ol' places lodged in our memories? Why we drive slow up to an abandoned field where once an ol' log cabin stood?

Do you find yourself smilin' as you drive "down home", grinnin' bigger as you get closer to the ol' homeplace?

Wonder why we sit sometimes an' just daydream of them places we once lived, where Grandma an' Grandpa toiled ever so hard?

Or ponder why sometimes in the deep darkness of night we close our eyes, squinch them real tight like and sift through them mind photos till we find that one place, pull aside the dusty curtains or memory and look, taste, smell and hear the ghosts of what used to be right there?

Oh, if I could find a spot as I wander, maybe just beyond the ol' rusty gate, in back of the abandoned barn, or up the holler where I could shift time an' space and slip through, back to them days, back to them places, back to where we all dream of bein'.

If only I could shed the weary and worn pieces of me an' be a youngin' once more, could run so fast to call out, "Looky here, here I am again!"

What if folks would look up, Grandma, Grandpa or Uncles an' Aunts, Mama an' Daddy, who would chuckle an' say, "Well, we didn't know you was gone."

Maybe run down to the creek an' walk right in, feel the cold water on dusty feet, soles callused so's that them ol rocks an' pebbles didn't even hurt a'tall. Bend over an' grab hold of a crawdad as it backed into the cover of a mossy rock, hold it high in the air an' whoop, hollerin', "Looky here what I caught!".

What if you an' I could find that hidden path back, play in the hills all day, hide an' seekin' in the hollers, an' then go a'runnin' right swift like back to the house when some of the women calls real loud, "Supper, come on y'all, its suppertime."

What if Heaven is just like that? What if closin' our eyes here on earth for the last time, what if that is the door we can slip through to find those things we dream of, where the folks we love are sittin' on the porch an' lookin' down the lane, lookin' for the dust risin' up as we come up the road?

What if the Good Lord is a'waitin' for us an' swings open a big ol' gate that creaks just a bit on the hinges an' says, "I've been wonderin' when you was gonna come on home. Go on now, just over yonder, follow them bright stars south. It ain't too far now. You're almost home. Listen close an' you'll hear folks a whoopin' an' hollerin' your name, cheerin' you on, glad you've finally come home."

Then He smiles an' says, "Well done, My Child. Go on now, youngin', they's a'waitin' supper for you.".

Summertime Memories

Cousins,
It is so easy for me to close my eyes and go back to those summer memories. Somehow about 40 years fall off and I am 11 and it is July in the hills of Kentucky.

Double Creek is where my Grandma moved after my Grandpa (my namesake Steve Hollen) died. I should say she moved back to Double Creek because that is where she was born. My Uncle Bert built his Mama a house right across the creek from the Arnett homestead. I was told my Great Great Grandpa built the log cabin back after the Yanks and Rebs kept coming by and taking anything that wasn't tied down.

The creek that ran through the little valley was the center of my day. My brother and I waded into the creek early each morning and wandered up and down about 2 miles of Arnett's Fork on Double Creek as we played.

Crawdads were a favorite catch for us as we bent over shallow pools filled with sand and small rock for our prey to hide under. Our hands wrapped around rocks as we cornered them or waited patiently as they would scoot backward into our waiting grasp. Our girl cousins were often chased by one or both of us. Hands full of crawdads. We didn't care that their claws dug deep into our tender palms as long as we could terrorize a sweet mountain girl.

Down where Arnett's Fork and Big Double Creek split off was out swimmin' hole. It was the deepest spot on the creek. It was also the most distant from Grandma's house at over a mile away. That wasn't much of a problem since everyone along that creek was kin. We waved as we walked the dusty road. Cousins, Aunts and Uncles waved back and sometimes called us in for a cold Coke or maybe some blackberry cobbler with sweet cream poured on top.

The family names up in the Arnett cemetery and along that creek were like a genealogy lesson...Hollen/Holland, Arnett, Gilbert. Smith, Bowling. All settlers in the early 1800s. All family on one side or the other.

The swimmin' hole was also the place where folks were baptized when the circuit ridin' preacher held services in the one room school house on Double Creek. He came once a month, preached, had dinner with folks and in the afternoon would baptize any folks that got saved in the last month or two.

My brother, my cousin J.M. and I practiced baptizin' each other many times in that swimmin' hole. Sometimes it was solemn and sometimes we would just grab someone and dunk 'em quick and hard.

As we would walk home the yellow dust from the road would cover our feet like magic shoes. We would run, fleet at the whitetail deer that would often stand on the hillsides. They would pause under the shade of a sweet gum or sourwood and watch as we raced home.

A quick stop at the creek to wash off the dust and we would run into the ol' cabin to see Aunt Bess, Aunt Mag and Uncle Bill or to Grandma's house to change and get ready for supper. Dependin' on where we landed we might put our feet under the table at Grandma's home or Aunt Sally's or Aunt Mag and Aunt Bess's table. I loved sittin' down to eat with all of them. They loved me and I always knew it and felt ...safe.

Supper might be fried chicken, mashed or fried taters, slow cooked green beans with a big ol' chunk of ham, plenty o' tomaters, green onions, fresh slaw and maybe even fried poke or maybe wilted mountain greens with chopped green onions and covered with a dressing of vinegar, bacon grease and a little sugar to cut the "whang" of the vinegar. Cathead biscuits (with real churned butter and sorghum or even home made muscadine grape jelly) would be our bread. If there was time to bake we might be surprised with butter rolls - sweet and filled with sugar, cinnamon and swimmin' in a buttery sweet sauce.

Cousin, I close my eyes and I float down that creek even now, back through 40 years to a simpler time. Jump in here , enjoy the cool creek water and let's float back down the creek together.

Aunt Mag and Aunt Bess won't mind me bringin' friends home for supper. I do it all the time. They'll be proud to see y'all.