Dr. Thomas Walker and the Gap Cave

It has definitely been a while since I've posted. for that I am ashamed. For ever so long I was pretty good about adding posts. Lately life has just been in the way.

Nevertheless, I'm back at it. I'll be adding posts, old ragged verse, stories and links to videos on YouTube.

I'm working to get my YouTube channel to 100 subscribers. apparently I will be able to have a specific link address when I do so. I'm at 44 subscribers right now.

No, I have no desire to make money or "monetize" as folks do. I just want to be able to preserve some of the ponderings, stories and histery I love to share about the mountains of Appalachia.

It's about the mountains. Always about the mountains.

Here's a link to an early morning video, part of an "Appalachia before Dawn" series I've started.

Take a look, watch it for a while. Length of time watched helps, apparently.

Like the video, subscribe if you would.

Thanks much!

The ol' Mountain Doctor

Doc Hollen

https://youtu.be/TXCtXrXQWUg

The mountains call

Ancient mountain pathways cry out to me
Beg me to come, to seek and find them
Hope even now that my feet will follow.
Groanings ancient, deep in the mountains 
Draw and tug at my hungry heart
Somehow know and call my secret name.
They know my lonely thoughts
They awake my feet, tug at my mind
Promise me hidden wonders.
My dream self runs ahead and waits
My hands reach out, fingers caress
Fine tendrils of remembering.
 

Mornin' in the Mountains

Though dawn is still far away
Old eyes blink once, twice, open.
Nothing stirs in the early darkness
Big Ben alarm clock steadily ticks
Counting time, keepin' the beat
Keepin' a steady pace, onward till morn.
The yellowed newspapers pasted tight
Against the walls are still unseen
Old news, oxymoron long forgotten
Now keeps out the wind an' cold.
Deep feather bed is a sleepy nest
Quilts are hand stitched security
Pulled chin high an' held tight
Against the day, the morn, the dawn.
Then high on the hill, just there
A lone robin wakes, shakes an' sings
Inside a blink, a yawn an' ol' leg creaks.
Ol' dog's long vigil held on the floor
Curled nose to tail on a braided rag rug.
Them creakin' bones made ol' dog stir
Tail thumpin' 'gainst ancient chestnut
Hand hewn, sandstone smoothed puncheon floor.
Deep in a holler, down the creek
An ol' ramblin' cabin sits quiet like
Coiled tight like a spring, waitin'
For the ol' Big Ben to ringle jangle
Mornin'! Good mornin', Get up an' go.
Soon lights will lighten, brighten windows
Push through the humid darkness
Coffee, boiled long, strong, aroma thick
Will seep through every door,
Curl in every corner, warmin' hearth an' heart
It is mornin' in the mountains.

Stormy Mornin' Chores - Part Two

Uncle Billy paused as he brushed ol' Joe and thought for just a minute before he began;"Mornin' to you too, Lord. This here is Billy Gilbert. I've got a few folks on my mind this mornin'. Thought I might lift 'em up to y'all an ask for a couple blessin's for 'em.

 First Lord, than you for my dear wife, Del. She is such a blessin' to me. I know I don't deserve her, just like I don't reckon I deserve Your love either. But I sure am grateful for both her and You.

I know that Will ain't where he should be with You. Don't know what to do about that. He just don't want to hear me tell him much of anythin' these days. He's my boy, Lord. He is just as hard headed as I am an' I suppose that is some of the reason why he don't come home much. He don't take much to farm life or mountain life either. Well, bless him an his wife Helen. Yep, I know she don't think much of us, thinks we are poor an' dumb. I don't reckon she cares for us, but as long as she loves him, well that is fine, just fine."

He brushed for a good bit, ponderin' an' studyin' on what he had prayed about. He sort of sniffed a little an' wiped his nose an' one eye on the sleeve of his shirt. That boy Will hadn't been home in several years. He wasn't much for writin' either. Now an' again Uncle Billy an' Aunt Del would go over to Hap Collin's house an' call Will. They would talk for several minutes to Will an' have a quick "Hello, how are you?" from Helen.

Those conversations always ended with Aunt Del cryin' an' Uncle Billy just wishin' they hadn't bothered.

He started again, a little more quiet than before, "Father, how do you do it? We stray, don't talk to you in years an' You still love us. I just don't know, Lord. I just don't rightly know." He spoke softly as he brushed.

"Anyway, don't forget to help out the Collinses up on Little Creek. That youngin' of theirs has the asthma. This past winter was awful hard on her. I suspect the coal grate they heat with ain't doin' her much good a'tall. Bless our pastor an' his family. Keep him preachin' the word, Lord. He is young but is doin' fine."

He brushed for a while an' studied on things a bit more, "Well, Joe an' you too Lord. I have to get in. Del will have breakfast for me an' I don't want her a'fussin'. Not that she does. She puts up with a lot, I reckon."

As if on cue ol' Joe snorted an' Uncle Billy laughed, "I don't need any comments outta you, you sorry mule. I swear if that mule wasn't listenin', Lord."

The mule was led to his stall. Uncle Billy threw a scoop of corn into the feed box before he left. He remembered the pan of eggs an' picked them up as he left the barn to head for the cabin. When he opened the kitchen door the lights were out still. He held the door open as Ol' Dog came in.

He knew Del had been tired, she just had not bounced back as quick this last time she was sick. Though he weren't much of a cook, he knew he could fry some bacon an' eggs. They was left over biscuits in the icebox he could warm up an' though she would fuss, she would appreciate him lettin' her sleep.

He carefully measured scoops of JFG coffee as he threw them into the ol' pot. He poured in the right amount of water an' put the pot on to boil. Some folks thought boiled coffee was awful strong, but him an' Del liked it that way.

The cast iron skillets were in the oven. He carefully lifted one out an' shut the oven door right quiet like. He put the skillet on the gas stove, turned the burner on to heat the cast iron before addin' the bacon. Now, this was what ever'body called "country bacon". It still had a rind on one side. He liked to gnaw on that rind after the softer part of the bacon strip was gone. Aunt Del tol' him all that grease weren't good for him. He was 76 an' still goin' strong. He planned on bein' 'round for quite a few years.

The oven warmed up for the biscuits as he fried the bacon. When it was warm he put five biscuits in to warm. He still crept around the kitchen, not wantin' to wake his wife. He knew he should drain some of the bacon grease off, but he liked his eggs good an' greasy. He cracked six eggs into the pan after it cooled a bit. Three eggs came out before the yellow was cooked through. He didn't like a cooked through yolk.

Breakfast was on the table. He even made gravy. Nossir, it was not up to Del's standards, but it would do. It would do. He quickly fed Ol' Dog then headed for the bedroom.

He walked into the bedroom and called, "Del, you better get your sorry self out of that bed. I have done made breakfast. The day is half gone."

"Del? Del, darlin', y'all better wake up now." He stepped closer as he called her name, yet she didn't stir.

"Del? Dellie, are ye alright? Sweet darlin', wake up now."

Aunt Del Gilbert didn't stir, she didn't move as he stepped right next to their bed. This was the bed her Daddy had made them when they took up housekeepin'. Uncle Billy's eyes started to fill with tears.

"Oh Del. Can you hear me? Wake up now, Dellie, honey. Open your eyes an' let me know you are OK." he pleaded.

His pleading didn't change a thing. In his heart of hearts he knew. Though he begged her to answer, he knew she never would answer again. He stood for the longest time lookin' at the bed, at the still figure of his wife. He hadn't realized just how thin she had become. When he looked at her now he saw she was tiny under the quilts.

He took his bandana out of his back pocket an' wiped his eyes. The tears didn't stop as he sat on the side of the bed. He gently took her hand, noticin' that her weddin' band was loose on her finger. He smoothed her hair with his other hand. Though she was only a year younger than him and was 74, he still saw that auburn haired gal he loved, that he teased an' tormented as a school boy.

Her glasses, hair pins an' the tortoise shell combs she kept in her hair were laid carefully in a small china plate she kept on the nightstand. He closed his eyes an' could still see her taking the combs out of her hair, pullin' the hair pins one by one as she placed them on the plate. She carefully took off her glasses, folded them before placing them with the combs an' pins.

When he got in bed the night before, he had reached over as he had every night he was home for the last 58 years of their marriage an' kissed her gently on her lips.

" Good night, sweet Dellie." he had whispered, just as he had on their weddin' night.

"Good night, Billy Gilbert. I love you, husband." was her reply that first night an' ever' night since. Last night was the last time he would ever hear those words. Never again in this lifetime would he hear her confess her love.

He sat on the side of the bed for hours, just holdin' the hand of his childhood sweetheart. There had never been another. Never would be another for him.

When he finally stood up he saw Ol' Dog layin' across the threshold, guardin' his masters, watchin' with eyes that knew with a canine wisdom that death had come to visit.

Each mirror he covered with sheets as was the custom in the mountain. He opened the face of the clock an' stopped the pendulum. The clock would not be started again till after his darlin' was buried.

He sat down and quickly ate his breakfast, the only meal he would have that day. Neighbors would try to get him to eat, but he had too much to do. He redded up the dishes an' washed them. No one was comin' into Del's kitchen to see a mess. It weren't goin' to be that way.

He got a pencil an' paper an' started makin' a list of what he needed to do. First thing was to go over to Hap's house an' call Will. Then over to the church to tell the preacher an' his wife. Hazel, the preacher's wife would arrange for women of the church to come an' wash Del's body an' dress her.

He went to the chiffarobe an' selected Aunt Del's best dress. He laid out a slip, stockin's an' shoes too so the church women wouldn't have to dig through his wife's things. He thought for a moment an' got Del's pillbox hat too. She would want to wear that hat even though it was more common for her to wear a bonnet around the farm an' even to town.

He looked again at his beloved, made sure her eyes were closed an' her hair smoothed. "Come on, Ol' Dog. I'm gonna need you to guard the door till the womenfolks get here."

He put the list he had made in his pocket, thought for a moment an' realized he needed to stop an' see Big Bill about diggin' a grave for Del. With another quick note added, the list went into his shirt pocket. He walked to the truck, got in an' just sat for so very long, lookin' at the little cabin they had called home.

It all changed this mornin'. The whole world changed was all he thought, over an' over as he started his truck, put it into gear an' backed up.

Big Dad Walker

Though the world has changed so much in the last 40 or 50 years, I can still remember the ol' fellers that would sit on the front porch over to Feltner's Store up on Spring Creek. They would arrive after chores were done an' just sit, talk an' whittle away with their Case knives. There is an art to whittlin' that most folks don't really understand. They weren't carvin' anything. They was just shavin' long curls of wood off the sticks they carried, just to have them curl off an' lay in great piles at their feet.

One of my favorites was ol' Big Dad Walker. Him an' Big Mom lived just up the road from the store an' he would walk down most afternoons to sit with the other fellers an' jaw for a while. I always had to laugh when folks mentioned Big Mom for she was about 5'2" and can't have weighed 100 pounds drippin' wet. Big Dad Walker was over 6' tall and a pretty big feller like his name said. Don't know why folks had to call his wife Big Mom.

I remember stoppin' by the store years ago. Big Dad  an' Henry Feltner were the only ones sittin' on the porch. Henry Feltner would come out an' sit with a cup of coffee when there was no customers. Henry was right quiet an' liked to listen to the others as they spun yarns. Both men greeted me as I climbed the steps an' they told me to not be in a hurry, to sit an' visit for a while.

Henry went back into the store to refill his coffee an' came back out with a paper cup of coffee for me just the way I liked it, two sugars an' enough cream to make the coffee all caramel lookin'. He told me Big Dad had been talkin' about the sheriff election an' that Gib Gilbert was about to be reelected again. Gib had been sheriff for as long as I could remember.

That was all the cue that Big Dad needed. Henry grinned an' winked at me real sly like as he sat back in his ol' ladder back chair. Big Dad peeled off one of the longest curls of pine off the stick he was whittlin' on, cleared his throat an' spoke up...

"Well sir, I heard some rumors an' goin's on about Gib Gilbert. Don't know as what you'll be wantin' to hear them, seein' as how y'all are kin an' all." he said as he looked over his glasses at me.

Big Dad knew that Gib an' I both went back to ol' Felix Gilbert who was my Great Great Great Grandpa. Gib was maybe my 5th cousin, maybe a 6th cousin.

I spoke quickly, not wantin' the story to get away, "Kin is kin, but politics is different, Big Dad. The voters want to know." Henry chuckled into his coffee cup, knowin' I was gettin' Big Dad primed, loaded an' ready to go.

"I know right smart," he said quiet like, "but I'll just tell y'all of one incident that happened when he was collectin' names on his petition to run. It is bound to make a feller stop an' think when they gets into the votin' booth.

Way I hear it, Gib Gilbert had been collectin' names on his petition of folks who would support his run. He started awful late, don't you know, just forgot to start the petitions, y'see, since he had been Sheriff so long.

When he realized he was almost a hundred names short on his petition the deadline was the very next day. Mrs. Gilbert told him she didn't think he had time to go round an' gather up that many names on the petitions. But ol' Gib is an inventive man, just like all the folks in your family. " Big Dad said with a sly smile.

That was true enough. My Great Grandpa had invented the paper airplane years before the Wright boys ever flew. They was cousins of ours, don't you know. They done stole his idea an' became famous, y'see.  Other kin invented them bobble heads they give away at the ball parks, the weed whacker an' even nicotine gum...'cept it was really just some country ham, sliced real thin like an' applied to the skin with a piece of duck tape,  smoked good an filled with nicotine after it hung for a year over Sophie Precious as she smoked 3 packs a day at the counter of her store, Precious Smoked Meats, but that is another story for another day.

Big Dad went on, "As I heard it, bein' inventive an' all, he loaded Mrs. Gilbert up in the truck, grabbed the clipboards with the petitions an' took off down the road. He stopped over to the graveyard by Booger Holler Holiness Church where your cousin, Hazel Nutt Budder is married to the preacher, Woodrow Budder.

They drove half way round the circular road through the graveyard an' stopped. Gib an' Mrs Gilbert got out an' Gib told her to start writin' the names on the stones on the petitions, usin' different ways to sign the names till they got the names they needed.

Now, Mrs. Gilbert knew better than to correct her man. After all, he was a politician an' he know how these things worked. Who was she to argue? They both went to work, signin' up the folks who was buried there.

After a while Mrs. Gilbert counted the names on the petition on her clipboard, went over an' counted the names on Gib's petition an said, 'Gib, we have done collected 131 names, more than you need to turn in your petitions. I reckon we can go on home now.'

Gib looked at her like she was some sort of Martian or Yankee or somethin'. 'What?' he said. 'Quit now? No mam.' Gib pointed to all the gravestones on the other side of the cemetery.

'See all them graves? Them folks have just as much right to vote as these other do! We are gonna work till we have ever' one of them registered.'

That is exactly what he said to her. That is the way I heard it told to me." Big Dad whispered to us with a crooked smile on his face.

Henry Feltner sat there for a minute or so studyin' on what Big Dad had said, shook his head, threw the cold coffee in his cup onto the ground an' went into the store.

I sat back an' laughed as Big Dad lowered his head, peeled off another long curl of pine an' grinned to himself, "Yessir, that is just the way it happened, least that was how I heard it an' all."

I can still see him there in my mind, gray hair pushed under his ol' beat up hat, long grizzled beard coverin' his chest an' much of the black tie he wore with his white shirt most days, black coat an' ol' work pants completed his wardrobe an' were always clean though well worn.

His smile an' them dark brown eyes were always full of orneriness an' stories. He always had a good word for folks, always was the first to laugh at himself an' the stories he told.

copyright 2014 Stephen  Hollen

Mountain Survival Guide for Yankees Part 1

For much of my life I have not realized that those of us from the mountains or the south, especially those of us from Appalachia, have an unfair advantage over the city born and raised, the Yankee and now the northern retiree with a pension to spend that comes to our hills, buys property and seeks to live among us.

Not that we mind them coming to the hills. They often find opportunity to buy vegetables an' fruits from our farmer's markets, junk from our barns when we have yard sales an' those knick knacks we might make an' sell.

A good example would be fellers who take ol' tobaccer sticks an' clean them up, spray with a little polyurethane, drill a hole at one end an' tie a leather strap through. They then sell them to the unsuspectin' Yankee for $10 each. Them Yankee folks think they got a bargain an' the farmer is glad to get rid of one of the thousands of ol' sticks in their barn.

Note; the above was for the mountain folks an' should be disregarded by you Yankees with money to spend. Them walkin' sticks are one fine deal an' I can give you a better deal if you want to buy a couple.

So, for those folks who still have their trainin' wheels on when it comes to mountain livin', here are a few helpful hints to make your time in the hills better!

First of all, understand that we don't give directions like you do. Often our directions are based on landmarks, or more important for you to remember, former landmarks that might no longer exist but are remembered by those who have lived here for generations.

Example: "Y'all go down this here road for a couple miles till you come to where Ray Bob Wilson had his cow barn. It is gone now, y'see. Turn left at the next road an' go, oh, I don't know, maybe a mile or two till you come to the field where Jr Simpson keeps his big ol' Angus bull. Now, he don't always have that bull in that field, but when you get to that field you take a right, go up the hill yonder an' look for a barn with squirrel hides nailed on the side of the barn. That is where Homer Poovey lives. Y'aint goin' to Homer's, I know. Charlie Jenkins is who you asked about. He lives right across from Homer in the single wide trailer there with his wife an' three youngin's."

Second, though we have our own dialect an' you may have to listen real close, y'all will get it after a while. We talk R E A L slow so you can keep up... bless your hearts.

First rule of grammer:understand the "Multiplicity Rule" of mountain grammer. Words are often spliced together for ease of use. An example of the word/words you might encounter?

TH'AIN'T. Words spliced? "They Ain't" How used? "Thain't no way I am gonna drink no espresso. I want coffee, black an' high test!"

Second, y'all will often hear the polysyllabic pronunciation of monosyllabic words. That is just how we say things down here in the hills. A good example is the word or name "Bill". Say it to yourself an' then understand when we say the same word/name it is pronounced "BEE-UHL". Not every monosyllabic word can be pronounced polysyllabically. Don't try to understand it. It ain't fittin' for you to do so.

On another note, don't try to imitate us. All of us in the hills have heard some northerner come down to the hills an' think it is funny to make a show of sayin' "You-all" or "Whut" instead of "What". It is offensive and will just honk folks off. Y'all won't make neighbors that way.

Last of all, don't think that because mountain folks talk slow or say "ain't" an' "y'all" that we are slow or stupid. Great men an' women have come from the hills an' the south. Dialect has nothin' to do with intelligence.

Yes, you may know Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton (all rich, by the way), but you might not remember Alex Haley, Mother Jones, James Agee, Homer Hickam, Jennifer Garner, Colonel Harlan Sanders, The Judds, Napoleon Hill, Dr. Bill Blass or John F. Nash, Jr., just to name a few famous Appalachians. (go ahead, google them)

They represent authors, musicians, actors, historians, engineers, a "rocket scientist" as well as other scientists, labor activists and businessmen/women. All of them might be called "hillbillies".

We are a proud folk with deep roots in them hills.

Oh, an' by the way... don't call us Lil Abner, Jethro, Daisy May or Daisy Duke. We all have lots of cousins an' know where y'all live. lol

Walkin' the Antenna Wire

Lige Wilson sat in a chair under a maple tree in the front yard of his grandson's home an' watched as the feller from the satellite company placed a dish on a post he had secured next to the house. When he heard that Matt was getting satellite he asked if he could drive over from Teges Creek to watch. Though he had heard about them dish things, he had to see for himself.

Television had not done well in the mountains. For some reason radio and television waves just didn't cooperate and bounce down into the hollers like they should. Seems they travel in straight lines an' just flew over the tops of the hills. No one could ever explain to him how the radio waves did land in the bottom of the holler after dark.

The boy from the satellite company was Tommy White, grandson of Chester White who lived over to Teges Creek. He talked with Lige as he worked, explainin' what he was doin', how things worked and that there were satellites high up above the world shootin' signals down everywhere. Lige told Tommy he weren't too fond of the idea of them signals hittin' ever'thing. It just didn't seem fittin'.

"Now, Lige, the signals don't hurt a thing. They are harmless, light waves an' sound waves are all around us, even before TV" Tommy said as he finished up. There was a Mason jar full of sweet tea waitin' for him there in the shade an' this was his last install for the day. He eased over to the shade and had a seat by Lige.

"Didn't you and my Grandpa share a TV antenna line years ago? I heard y'all were the first to have TV back in the late 60s."

Lige smiled, took a swig from his own sweet tea, "Well yes, but that was way different from this here. We had to string antenna wire up the mountain an' then only got two channels an' they was sometimes so fuzzy a feller didn't know if he was a watchin' a basketball game or a soap opery. An' they was always problems with that antenna wire."

Tommy grinned. He suspected they was a story comin' on. "Problems?" he asked innocently.

As if on cue, Lige leaned back an' started in, "Oh lordy yes, all sorts of things happened to that dag-gone wire. Y'see me an' your Grandad agreed to split the cost to put it up the mountain an' split it at the bottom of the hill. We bought several hundred yards of the wire. It were actually two wires, not coated an' separated ever' few inches by a hard plastic piece so they didn't touch. We walked the mountain unrollin' that wire, securin' it to trees with staples, clearin' branches an' brush to make sure it didn't get broke.

It took all weekend to get it up the side of the mountain. We only paused for church Sunday mornin' an' my wife Betty an' your Grandma carried on somethin' terrible about us workin' on Sunday. We had to though, we didn't want to lose a day of real work on our farms to string that wire.

At the top of the mountain we found a tall lodge pole pine up there on the ridge. We carried a ladder up there an' cut all the branches off'n it. We mounted one of them big ol' aluminum TV antennas to the top of that tree with metal straps an' guy wires an' dozen's of screws so it would stay in a big wind.

Folks came from all over to see the TV's when we was done. We had TV night 'bout ever' Saturday night at our place or your Grandpa's place. We took turns, y'see. The women fixed cakes or pies an' coffee an' folks usually brought somethin' to share. If was loads of fun."

"Sounds like it was" Tommy said, "a lot different from today."

"Yessir, it was," Lige went on, "it was more of a get together. You should have seen your Grandma an' Betty carry on when the wrasslin' show was on. They wanted to get in that ring with them fellers.

Problem was critters would break the antenna wire an we would have to walk the wire, lookin' for breaks an' repair the wires where they was broke. Squirrels would run the wire, y'know. We always knew when they was runnin' the wire 'cause you could see a fuzzy shadow of a squirrel runnin' across the picture."

Tommy nodded in earnest as he was listenin', unaware the story had gone from fact to tall tale all at once.

"Tommy, I remember one time we was a'watchin' a UK basketball game when all of a sudden these tree like things appeared real fuzzy like on the bottom of the screen. The picture went to movin', jigglin' an' goin' all wobbly like. Ever' body hollered an' me an' Chester grabbed our tools an' started up the hill. As we climbed, Betty hollered up that the picture got better for a while then went to bobblin' an' wobblin' agin. Strange noises was a comin'' out the speakers" Lige said.

"What happened then?" Tommy asked.

"Well sir, we climbed the hill, followin' the wires, lookin' for a break. Then we saw it! The wires had been pulled loose half way up the mountain. Staples were ripped right out of the trees. We saw the antenna wire on the ground an' it was a movin'! A snakin' this way an' that.

We followed it as best we could, seein' as how it was a twistin' all over the hill. We heard terrible noises, roarin' an' growlin' an' snortin' an' carryin' on. We knew we was gettin' close, boy, so we kept on goin' in earnest."

"Then what? Then what" Tommy was leanin' forward in his chair.

Lige looked Tommy right in the eye, "Son, when we got to the ridge they was a mama bear chasin' a huge 12 point buck all over the top of that hill! We had never seed anythin' like that. Mama bear was a roarin' an' growlin' an' all wound up in that antenna wire. She was chasin' that buck aroun' an' tryin to get hold of it.

Tommy, that buck was all wrapped up in that wire too! They was both hurt pretty bad. Then we saw what all the commotion was about. A half grown cup was a hangin' from antenna wire stretched between the rack of that 12 point buck! Sure as I am sittin' here, that is what had the mama bear all riled up.

That young bear must have been crawlin' on our antenna wire when the buck came through, got its antlers caught up in the wire that was hangin' low from the bear's weight, pulled ever'thing loose as it tried to get away. The mama bear heard the youngin' carryin' on an' came to save her cub. Both got all wound up an' mortally hurt tryin' to escape, get to the cub or just get out of the mess.

Both the mama bear an' the 12 point buck died from their wounds. I raised up that cub an' it still comes round home to visit when it is in this neck of the woods." Lige paused, took a long pull on his sweet tea an' sat back.

"Oh, ho ho! What a story, that was great. You had me goin' there for a while." Tommy laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair. "That was one of the best tall tales you ever told."

Lige looked serious, "That weren't a tall tale. Ask your Grandma. Better yet, they was 14 folks watchin' the game that day. They saw the whole thing play out in fuzzy shadow interference on the TV. They thought the UK game had been interrupted by some nature show. All over top of the UK game as they watched."

"Uh huh, Sure they did, Lige" Tommy chuckled.

"Tommy, let me ask you somethin'. You've been to our cabin. Y'ever notice that taxidermy deer mount on the wall? An' the bear skin rug hangin stretched next to it?" Lige asked.

"Yep, I sure have." Tommy still was laughin'.

"Have you seen all those stripes, bald streaks on that bear skin? An' how about all the wire wound around the antlers on that 12 point rack. Ever notice that?"

"Yes, but, but I figured that was just somethin' you had stuck up there. It weren't... it weren't?" Tommy felt a little confused. "You mean, they are? They are the real bear an' buck that was caught in that antenna wire?"

Lige just smiled, "Tell you what, Tommy, bring your Grandma over for dinner Sunday after church an' you can take a look for your own self an get the womenfolks to tell you the story."

Mrs. Chappell's Wild Ride

Well sir, yesterday was full of excitement over to Booger Holler and at the home of my Cousin Peanut Chappell! I was not there, but heard all about it over to Buster Hollen's Barber Shop when I stopped in to get a trim.

Seems Cousin Peanut's Mama, Mrs. Chappell (we pronounce it MIZZ in the hills, of course) had determined to face the 8 inches of heavy snow and get out of the house to get some root vegetables an' gather the eggs from her hens over in the henhouse. Now that henhouse is actually a shed sort of thing built onto the side of the barn and there is a door from the barn into it. This makes it easy to go into the barn, get some corn and step in to feed and gather eggs.

She put on her husband Vergie's worn out ol' work boots that she often wore in muddy or icy weather. She thought they had better soles than her day to day shoes an' they came up over her ankles. She sort of figured they would keep the snow off her feet better. As she left the house she grabbed a big ol' dishpan so she could gather the eggs in it an' carry in some taters an' other root vegetables from the barn to make supper later that afternoon.

Goin' out weren't no problem. She was careful an' grabbed onto the clothesline post along the way to steady herself. The deep snow was covered by a sheet of ice an' her feet crunched through as she walked.

Once in the barn, she shelled some corn off the cob and put it into her apron as she held the bottom hem up to make a pouch for the corn. Steppin' into the henhouse caused a flurry of feathers an' cluckin' as the chickens gathered round her to peck at the corn as she tossed it to the ground. Though there was a small door for the chickens to get outside, they hadn't ventured out much in the snow an' it had almost closed up their exit.

She was right disappointed that they was only three hen eggs in the nestin' boxes. This cold an' snow had put the layin' hens off for the last few weeks. She gathered the eggs into her apron and went back into the barn.

After she carefully laid them eggs in the dishpan, she went to the back of the barn an lifted the angled door that led from the barn into the root cellar. Vergie had been right smart to build the barn with the henhouse an' the root cellar built on. She stepped down the two steps an' turned on the flashlight that hung from some balin' wire just inside the door. It gave her enough light to grab some taters, carrots an' turnips before she went back out an' into the barn.

That is when things went from normal to excitin'. She put them root vegetables in the dish pan, went out the barn door, turned to make sure it was latched an' turned back to start to the house. She noticed that it had started snowin' hard again when she turned an' took a step.

It was that turn that did her in, I reckon.

Y'see, Vergie had got himself a new pair of work boots a couple years back because the old ones was worn out and the sole was rubbed as slick as a slate rock from years of work an' wear. When Mrs. Chappell stepped out an' turned around she lost her feet out from under herself an' went down on her backside.

She let go of one side of that dishpan an' the eggs an' root vegetables flew out. When she put her hands down to catch herself the dishpan somehow got under her backside an' she landed in that dishpan on that icy snow.

That was just enough to start her skiddin' over the yard an' toward their ol' Ford truck. As she saw it comin' up fast, she laid back like one of them luge sled fellers goin' feet first. She went right under the truck an' out the other side but went to her left an' right into the dry branch that runs along the yard.

Once she hit that dry branch it was all down hill an' feet first. She commenced to squallin' an' carryin' on to beat the band. Vergie is a good bit hard of hearin' an' he thought it was just the snow an' wind comin' down the mountain an' through the holler. He sat back in his easy chair, closed his eyes to take a little ol' nap, smiled an' just listened, glad to be in on such a bad day. He couldn't wait for the hot beef an' vegetable soup Mrs. Chappell was goin' to make that evenin' for supper.

Well, things weren't goin' so good for his wife. She was a goin' down that dry branch like a locomotive, squallin' into the wind, the snow hittin' her in the face an' beginnin' to cover her all over. Folks paused all over the mountain, wonderin' what they heard. Most thought it was just the snow storm that had hit.

Then her foot caught on the branch of a cottonwood tree an' she commenced to spinnin' round an' round in that dish pan! The spinnin' made her squeals an' squalls sound like some sort of police (pronounced po-leese) or sheriff car or fire truck. Ever' one knew they was no fire trucks close by an' a few, includin' Dr. Percival Poovey (a purveyor of potent potables - he made 'shine an' sold snake oil on the circuit), was hopin' the sheriff weren't comin' after them an' made themselves scarce.

Just imagine that sight! Some critter comin' down the dry branch, all white an' snow covered, spinnin' like a top an' bustin' your ear drums with its carryin' on. It scared several youngin's who was sleddin' behind Booger Holler Hard Shell Baptist Church. They ran inside the church, found the preacher an' confessed they had stole some cigarettes an' had a smoke! They wanted right there to get themselves right in case that was judgement that had screamed down the mountain an' by them

Mrs.Chappell commenced to doin' some very unladylike cussin' an' carryin' on as she continued her wild ride, twirlin' like one of them there dervishes folks read about in the National Geogramic. Snow had completely covered her an' she almost looked like a purdy white weddin' cake or some store bought sweetnin' spinnin' on display in a big ol' picture window.

Finally the branch started to level off an' she dug the heel of one boot into the snow to slow her wild ride down an' stop the spinnin'. She hit a log across the branch, flew into the air, still hangin' onto the dishpan an' landed on the hood of her middle boy, Walter Nutt Chappell's (Folks call him WalNutt) vintage AMC Gremlin. Her face smashed up agin the windshield an' the wipers started to clean the snow an' ice off her face.

WalNutt had been startled as a huge snowball landed on his Gremlin. Y'all can just imagine how shocked he was when the wipers revealed the face of his little ol' Mama, all squishy agin the windshield.

She blinked a few times, grabbed an' held the wipers and stared fierce like only a Mama can. She pointed a finger at WalNutt an' spoke quiet like, "Get me off'n here an' get me home.

He lifted her off the Gremlin, shook her good an' hard to get all the snow off an sat her down. She didn't take too well to the shakin' an' slapped him hard.

"I said GIT me home, boy! An' never tell anyone about this." She said to him as she looked up into his frightened eyes. She threw her dishpan into the back seat, got in the AMC Gremlin and sat starin' straight forward.

He swore he wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. He drove her home, helped her in an' went out to the barn to gather the eggs an' root vegetables. He was plain ol' shocked that not one of them hen eggs was broke. He took them into the house, woke Vergie to say "Howdy" and was on his way.

WalNutt Chappell went directly to Buster Hollen's Barber Shop an' waited till he was in Buster's barber chair to say, "Fellers, do I have a story to tell you!"

I didn't hear it first round. I was over to Knuckle's Dollar Store when I was told I needed to stop in the Barber Shop to hear about Mrs. Chappell's Wild Ride!

I heard it there and now have told it to you just as it happened. I wouldn't lie to you 'bout it! That is just how it happened. I'd rather eat fried chicken than lie to friends.

Stolen Heart

 My heart was stolen long ago
Not by a gal who winked an' smiled
Nor a beauty with angelic voice
It was not captured by feminine wiles
Or even kisses tender, soft

I cannot note a certain time
A point I knew it true
It was'nt love at the very first sight
Not second or even three
Wasn't smitten with much ado

My heart was taken away from me
In a quiet and subtle way
I did not know or realize it then
Just how my love had grown
How could I not have known

Then one day I just stopped and knew
Just had to look around
My heart was rooted deep you see
Sunk down, tied in, anchored deep
In the hills all around me

 In my dreams I wander there
Through oaks, magnolias, pines
I walk in hollers deep and old
Along a rugged ridge
Each footstep planned and sure

I trace the grain of chestnut wood
On planks of tobaccer barns
As if I touch my beloved's face
Or hold her tender hand
For I am smitten by this place
The mountains and this land.

Come with me to a place down home

There is a place, in my dreams and daytime imaginings, down yonder in the hills of home where the whippoorwill's forlorn cries sing counterpoint to the hum and buzz of cicadas. A place not so very far from my hometown of Beloved, just up the road from OZ and not so very far from Brigadoon. Way up a holler you'll find this place after you cross through two shallow creeks and over a low water bridge. You'll know you are goin' down the right road when you see an ol' swingin' bridge crossin' the river and an ol' red barn proudly remindin' you to "Chew Mail Pouch".

Down at the end of the road is a holler wrapped round the place in my dreams. The hills on either side rise up with the worn look of all mountains in Appalachia. Full of red an' white oaks, tall pines an' here an' yonder are sourwood trees aburden with blooms. Bees are a workin' the sourwood as you pull up an you can hear the constant buzz as they carry away the sweet sourwood nectar. Spring has filled the mountains with promise.

An ol' dog rises up in the yard to see who it is an' drops right back down, too worn out to make a fuss. On the edge of the hill chickens scratch an' whisper "cuck a cluck" as they seek out bugs an worms in the dirt.

There is a short white fence with gate wide open, more for looks than keepin' anyone out or in. Ramblin' roses follow along the fence, new red blossoms are layin' agin the white fence.

The ol' log cabin don't look so big from the front, but it fools folks when they see it. It is deep inside and wide open so those within can sit an' talk an' visit. Though it is still daylight you see lights in each window that welcome and wait for those who might be tryin' to get home.

Inside the front is open with plenty of chairs, love seats an' couches for folks to find a place an' rest their bones. A fire is already goin' in the stone fireplace an' you smell soup as soon as you walk in. Books rest on 'bout every table, a fiddle, banjo an' a couple guitars sit in stands. A couple dulcimers stand in a corner as if a band just walked away. You know somehow that they are there for you to pick up an' strum if you can.

Though the front room is warm and welcoming, you make your way to the big eat in kitchen where  Oh My Darlin' is busy with buttery rosemary yeast rolls in cast iron skillets. Mismatched soup bowls are stacked high on the counters an' soup spoons rest in mason jars. I am at the stove with a huge pot of soup foggin' my readin' glasses. I turn an' see you an' both of us stop to come over an' hug your neck. Others stand to greet you with hugs an' introductions an' the kitchen fills with joyful laughter as new friends become old friends, friendships are renewed as you find that one person you know an' love that was waitin' for you to arrive.

You just know it is goin' to be a wonderful weekend, filled with music an' stories, good food, laughter, maybe some bittersweet tears shared over a memory or remembrance of those gone home to glory. The basket full of goodies an' meal fixin's you brought are fetched out of your car and put away as a cup of coffee is put into your hands.

You warm your hands on the coffee and are invited to look around. As you look around you see that there are fewer bedrooms than folks an' wonder about where everyone will sleep... especially you as you seem to be one of the last to arrive. Yes, each room is laid out with huge featherbeds loaded down with beautiful old quilts. There are a few couches that could be recruited as a bed, but you suspect folks will have to sleep on the floor. It is a wonderful day, however an' you decide you will take whatever piece of floor offered to you.

Warm soup an' them rosemary rolls fill every belly an' folks settle down as guitars an' fiddle are taken up. Dulcimers find laps an' that ol' banjo is tuned up. An old feller pulls out a harmonica an' plays a mournful mountain tune. Others join in an' those that know the song join in. Oh My Darlin' opens an ottoman an' pulls out well worn songbooks, turns to the right page an' hands you a book.

Oh, we all wish that night would never end as stories are told, songs played an' sung, faces about to crack from laughin' an' smilin' so much. It is finally time to turn in. I accuse folks of bein' sorry ahead of time, knowin' sunrise come early in the mountains an' I plan on all of us hikin' to the ridge to see the sunrise. I hand out lanterns an' flashlights in preparation for the hike an' you ask where you can unroll a sleepin' bag you always keep in your car.

Folks chuckle at your question an' I take you by the arm an' tell you I'll take you to your sleepin' place. As we go to an' through the back door you get a worried look, wonderin' if I intended for you to sleep in the barn or on the back porch.

Others follow an' stand around, waitin' as I point into the holler an' up the hill. All around are lights strung in the trees that are filled with buds an' new leaves. The strings of lights are illuminatin' several elevated walkways and miniature swingin' bridges leadin' up high into the trees. Forty an' fifty feet an' more you see five small tree houses wrapped around ancient oaks an' hickory trees. Lights are on in each one an' folks are already walkin' toward them with bags an' suitcases. Each tree house is between 15 and 30 feet in the canopy of trees. The lights strung throughout the trees make the scene look like an Appalachian Fairy Land. You look around, expectin' to see elves peekin' from the trees.

Some of the tree houses have bunk beds, one bigger tree house has three sets of bunk beds, another has two ol' iron beds. All have featherbeds fluffed high an' covered with quilts, just invitin' folks to rest. Right in the center is a tree house with no beds but with a sink an' even runnin' water! Yep, there is even a compostin' toilet in there so you don't have to wander all the way to the cabin in the middle of the night.

You find a place to lay your head an' find that the day has left you and your roommates wide awake. You tell stories as each lay in bed too excited to sleep. Sleep finally sneaks in but all to soon I knock at the door, telling everyone that coffee is on, bathrooms are available an' "dawn won't wait for y'all!".

With travel mugs in hand we all make our way to the top of the ridge in the dark. Our lanterns an' flashlights bob along to illuminate our path but all are extinguished at the top. There are planks elevated on rocks so folks can sit an' sip their coffee as we wait real quiet like, as if a show is about to begin. Whispered comments are met with smiles an' muffled laughter.

Then it begins. You know then and appreciate why we chose that spot to live our lives together, Oh My Darlin' and me. Not jealous, but wishin' you too could stay there for the rest of your days, knowin' we were blessed. The wind is gentle as it pushes through the trees. Birds begin to wake, a couple squirrels bounce an' dance through last fall's leaves. Down the hill a deer walks cautiously along a path, stoppin' to nibble at new blades of greenery.

The sunrise is glorious with bright yellow, oranges and reds. The sky is so dark along the ridges but graduates to the purest silver blue high in the heavens. No one speaks for ever so long as we watch the glory of the mountains. Oh, what a grand day we have been given.

Together we walk back down an' begin preparin' a breakfast of cat head biscuits, dozens of fresh eggs gathered from our hens, ham, sausage an' bacon, country gravy peppered just right, fresh fruit in bowls, a deep dish of pears an peaches comes out of the oven, each one sprinkled with cinnamon and dabbed with butter. An ancient bowl is filled with fried apples that make your mouth water. Large pitchers of milk from our neighbor's dairy sit in bowls of ice. Over to one side a feller shows off his muscles as he squeezes fresh orange juice for all. There are grits, of course an' maple syrup an' fresh churned butter. Two coffee pots simmer on the stove, Tea cozys cover tea pots for those that choose tea. Of course there is sourwood honey, robbed back last fall from my four hives just out back by the sourwood trees.

We eat and sit forever at the long table. No one wants to get up, each enjoys the magic of good company. We laugh, remember, tell tales on each other an' finally smile as someone says, "That reminds me of a story...".

A Change of Weather Day

It was cooler than he expected when Uncle Billy Gilbert woke up. As he lay under the quilts in his ol' iron bed he walked through his plans for the day, deliberatin' on what needed to be done an' what he could put off for another day.  Cool weather got him thinkin' about a walk through the hills.

His ol' dog must have heard his breathin' change or maybe the creak of a spring or two. That big ol' tail thumped a few times, as if to say, "I know you're layin' there awake. Get on up out of that bed an' get goin.'".

"OK, OK, ye don't have to hound me like that ol' dog. I'm up. Y'all won't starve before I can get goin'."  Uncle Billy eased out of bed an' reached for his "dungarees".  Folks called them "bluejeans" these days, but he still called them "dungarees". The pair he reached for were faded an' worn but serviceable.  The short sleeve work shirt he had on the day before wasn't goin' to be enough, so he walked over to his chifferobe an' pulled a blue flannel shirt from a hanger.

Breakfast was two fried eggs, leftover sausage from the day before an' a couple left over biscuits.  He warmed the sausage an' biscuits in the fryin' pan by splittin' the biscuits an' placin' them in the pan with a lid on it (after he drained the grease, of course. He just didn't like ol' greasy biscuits.).  After Aunt Del died Uncle Billy learned that he didn't need to cook a big ol' breakfast ever' day.  He made biscuits, sausage or bacon ever' few days an' ate on them for a while before he needed to cook more.

Ol' Dog sat over by the door an' waited patient like for Uncle Billy to get his bowl, crumble a bit of biscuit an' sausage onto his dog food.  That dog knew Uncle Billy would throw a few goodies onto the top of his food an' his tail thumped his approval.

With breakfast done, Uncle Billy Gilbert cleaned up the kitchen, made the bed an' cleaned his ol' dirty self up.  Though he had a tub an' shower he had installed for Aunt Del, he still used a pan of hot water, soap an' washrag several days a week, just like he did for all of his life.

The one constant in his wash up was his shave.  He took a mug from the counter, picked up his shavin' brush, got the bristles wet and swirled it expertly in the mug.  The soap in the bottom of the mug foamed easily.  He never skimped on shavin' soap. That was his one luxury.  He applied the foamy soap with years of expertise and practice.  For many years he had used a straight razor, but he switched over to a safety razor a few years before his wife passed.  It was a bit easier, he had to admit.

The day's plans included feedin' the chickens an' checkin' the weeds around the barn for a nest.  That ol' dominique hen had a bad habit of wanderin' into the weeds an' layin' a nest full of eggs. He just didn't need chicks this late in the year.  Foxes were sure to get them if he didn't watch.  The rest of the chickens, includin' the old roosters always made their way safe into the coop.  But that dang dominique just didn't folllow the crowd.

Feedin' his ol' mule, his milk cow an' the steer grazin' in the field, checkin' the bees, cuttin' a few heads of cabbage for makin' kraut, checkin' the crocks full of pickles and pickin' some apples from his apple trees rounded out the morning.  He smiled to himself as he made his way from chore to chore.

Though he owned 149 acres, his farm covered only about 16 of those acres.  That had always been plenty for him, Aunt Del an' little Bill, his son.  The rest of the land was woods, hills an' hollers.  Three creeks an' one river made their way through his land, makin' it fertile an' green.

Lunch was a white bread sandwich with mayonnaise an' a big ol' piece of hand sliced baloney he fried.  Sweet tea in a mason jar, a tomato sliced an' sprinkled with salt an' pepper, he pulled several slices of cucumber an onions from a bowl (filled with a bit of vinegar, water an' just a touch of sugar to check the bite of the vinegar).  A feller had to have some sort of pickle with a fried baloney sandwich.

After he washed his plate, knife, fork an' mason jar, he wiped his hands, looked at ol' dog (who seemed to know what was up) and walked into the spare bedroom.  Uncle Billy grabbed his ol' 22, filled his pocket with a few shells and walked to the door.

"Ol' dog, it is a squirrel huntin' day.  Let's go now."  Ol' dog responded quickly, jumpin' to his feet an' runnin' out the door.  They would travel the hills all afternoon, walkin' with the experienced stealth of a mountain man an' huntin' dog.  If he was successful (an' he usually was) there would be squirrel dumplin's that night.  Squirrel gravy would be poured carefully over ol' dog's food and Uncle Billy would sit by himself at the table in the same chair he sat in for the last 40 years.  He would bow his head and pray out loud.  Ol' dog would wait patiently for the prayer to conclude and for Unlce Billy Gilbert to put his bowl down on the floor.

"Ol' dog, " he would say, "this is some kind of eatin'.  My tongue is about to beat my face to death tryin' to get to it".  Man an' dog would dig in, not a word spoken till every drop of gravy was gone.

Uncle Billy closed the door but didn't bother to lock it.  Like most folks up and down the creek, he knew that there weren't no need to lock his door unless he was goin' on a trip an' would be gone several days.

As he walked back the path that led past the old outhouse he pushed on the door to make sure it was shut.  It hadn't been used in years an' the door had a way of swingin' open.  He reminded himself that he should just come back with a hammer an' a nail an' just nail the door shut.  He then chuckled an' decided that weren't fittin'.  That ol' outhouse served well when a feller was in a hurry.

The path back the little holler was grown up a bit. He didn't travel that way too often these days.  Tomorrow or the next day he would cut the path back with his push mower to make it easier to get through an' to knock down a few little saplings that were growin' on the edge of the path.

Ol' dog followed a few feet back. Neither man or dog made much sound as they walked the path.  Sweet Annie an' goldenrod had bloomed in abundance since it started to get closer to fall. Honeybees were already working both, gettin' their hives full for winter.  Uncle Billy always robbed his hives before the bees started workin' the goldenrod.  It made the hives smell terrible an' the honey weren't much good either.  Some folks swore by the goldenrod honey.  They claimed it helped their fall hay fever. Uncle Billy didn't care if it cured ever' disease known to man.  He didn't like it, hated the smell from it an' just didn't care to mess with it.  Someone else was gonna need to cure hay fever.

As they eased up the trail the trees took over an the path was not as overgrown.  The hillside was filled with tall, old trees an' saplin's that seemed stunted in the shadow of the giant oaks, hickory and pine trees.  Along the edge of the woods an' close to the ol' fence row the cedars grew.  Some of them was right in the fence row an' the ol' rusty wire fence had grown into them.  Though he noticed each one that the wire was growed in, he didn't plan to do anything. He didn't run cattle back here anymore an' the fence weren't needed.

The sound of hundreds of bees workin' the flowerin' weeds was a soft hum as they walked along the edge of the woods.  The sun warmed his back an' neck each time he walked out of the shadows an' into the sun.  It was a great day to walk the hills.  His eyes were already scannin' the trees.  His ears alert for sound as they walked at an angle to the hillside.  When he was younger he might have charged straight up the slope an' head to the top of the ridge.  These days he walked a slow circuit around the hill and up at an angle.  Better on his ol' bones an' better for seein' the land, trees an' game animals.

When he got over to the backside of the hill he walked into a huge grove of pines.  The ol' man an' dog stopped, looked into the pines an Uncle Billy's mind wandered back to a time he was afraid for himself an' his own land.

Years ago this area, about 20 acres had been clear cut an' soon after had to be planted with pines.  Him an' Aunt Del had needed a little money an' he had sold the trees on nearly 50 acres.  Problem was the feller he had sold the trees to had lied to him.  They was supposed to take only the trees that was sixteen inches an' bigger.  When Uncle Billy noticed that they was haulin' out smaller trees he walked back to this side of the hill and found men cuttin' ever' tree in sight.  Huge piles of brush were layin' everywhere an' they was burnin' the piles with little concern that unwatched fires could catch the whole mountain on fire.

Though he was an ol' backward mountain man, Uncle Billy Gilbert had an education an' was no man's fool.  Before they could see him, he walked back to the house an' had Aunt Del get their copy of the contract from Mountainside Timber Company.

The contract was absolutely clear as to what they could cut an' it specifically said only trees sixteen inches an' bigger as well as a price per foot on the logs they would buy.  There was no mention of pulpwood - smaller trees that were not good for anything but chippin' an' the papermills.

He got on the phone an' asked Birdy Sue, who was on the party line (as usual) if she would mind hangin' up so he could make a couple emergency calls.  Birdy Sue said "Of Course" but waited a minute an' picked her phone up to listen in as Uncle Billy called Hap Collins an' a couple other local farmers, some church members who was big ol' boys an'  Bobby Bowling, the Deputy Sheriff who lived a few miles away an' just happened to be his cousin.

As men from nearby farms grabbed shotguns an' rifles, loaded up, stopped to get other fellers an' headed toward the Gilbert place, Uncle Billy made one last call to Anderson "Ance" Gilbert, his nephew an' a fine lawyer. After his uncle explained things, Ance told him to keep the fellers that was already pullin' into the farmyard to stay put for just a bit so he could get there too.  It was a thirty minute drive from Beloved, the closest town an' the place where Ance's law office was.

When Ance arrived, Aunt Del was feedin' the fellers who showed up friend baloney sandwiches an' coffee.  They were all waitin' for Ance to show up, but each man was madder than a wet cat that some city slicker thought he could just do what he wanted to a man's land.  Land an' pride was all most of these men had.

"Uncle Billy, we need to walk around the hill quiet like to see what they have done an' are doin'" Ance said calmly.  "I brought my camera an' will need to take pictures as we go in.  I brought two Polaroid Instant Cameras I borrowed too an' we need a couple of you fellers to take pictures.  I'll tell you what to take them of, but get some shots as we get there.  I have four packs of film when you run out."

Fourteen local men an' the deputy had left their farms an' were waitin' for Ance and Uncle Billy to lead the way.  Ance warned them to not point guns toward anyone, but to just have them on shoulders or pointin' down to the ground.  There were about twenty men around the hill accordin' to Uncle Billy.  They had heavy equipment, chainsaws an probably guns of their own.  No one wanted to start a modern day feud.

Ance and Uncle Billy sent three of the men and one of the Polaroid cameras up the hill and across the ridge so they wold come out on the other side of the land the timber was being cut on. They were to take photos as they walked down the hill, but to appear to be squirrel hunters just comin' down the mountain.  They were also to hold back and take pictures if there was any trouble.  The main group would wait a few minutes to give this group time to climb the hill and start down.

After a few minutes, the rest of the men followed Uncle Billy and Ance as they walked the path around the hill and into the edge of the clear cut.  Ance had the original contract in a folder under his arm.  He took pictures as they walked into the clear cut and directed Charlie Hoskins to take some with the Polaroid. 

Several of the men were more than a little nervous as they walked into the field.  They knew some of the boys that worked for this bunch an' they weren't exactly what a feller would call an upstandin' citizens.  The company was apparently known to hire men that followed orders, kept their mouths shut and would do what was asked, whatever that was.

As the group walked into the clear cut and the two men continued to take pictures, work went on without notice of the group walkin' into the field.  A big red oak fell into the hillside an' the feller with the saw turned to watch it fall.  As he did he saw Ance, the huddle of men with guns and the cameras.  He quickly shut down the chainsaw an' ran down the hill to a big truck.

Uncle Billy laughed as the worker gestured an' pointed at them.  "He seems to be right wound up at us comin' into the clear cut, fellers.  I reckon we are gonna hear from someone in just a bit"

As they laughed and continued to walk into the field, Ance an' the other feller continued to take pictures.  Ance directed the shots with the Polaroid so they would get shots of what was going on.  The man in the truck was apparently the crew boss an' he commenced to beller out orders to the men cuttin, stackin' an' burnin' all around the field.  One by one the crew stopped an' began to gather behind the crew boss.

Ance stopped the men he was with an' called Uncle Billy to his side.  "Let me do the talkin' to start Uncle Billy.  You fellers stand behind us, guns down or on your shoulder.  Don't speak or argue with them. Just stand behind us an' keep in front of our surprise guest."  The men chucked at the instructions and assembled as instructed.

The crew boss marched across the field, cussin' an'  shoutin' instructions to his men.  He was madder than a hornet an' from his instructions was goin' to "chase them dang huntin' hillbillies off his land".  He had a claim, don't ya know an' he was not goin' to let a bunch of idiots wander around an' get into things.

Uncle Billy said a few things under his breath, gettin' madder as he heard the shouts of the crew and the crew boss.  "Ance, do you hear him sayin' this was his land?  I feel trouble brewin'. I sure do"

Ance calmed his Uncle and the men down with a quiet word an' they stopped an' waited on a little rise.  He liked the idea of havin' the high ground an' them fellers havin' to come up the hill an toward his group.

As they climbed the hill, the crew boss who was older an' fatter than the rest began to huff an' puff as he got closer.  His cussin' an' carryin' on slowed down as he would try to catch his breath between curse words.

"Hey, you bunch of tramps and riff raff.  Get off my land. This is property of Mountainside Timber Company and you people have no right to be here."  he shouted as he climbed.  "You are tresspassing and halting our work.  We have a deadline and more than 50 acres to cut.  Get out of here or we'll put you off this land.  And you , you quit it with the cameras.  Give them to me, or give me the film and get outta here.  What do you think you are doing taking pictures of us?  We have privacy rights, after all."

His men shouted their agreement along with threats.  Funny thing was, not one of them had more than axes or chainsaws (at least that anyone could see). As a group they advanced up the hill, cussin' an' makin' threats no group of men could carry out.  Uncle Billy's squad stood their ground, several of them movin' their guns to their shoulders so the men below would see them.

Ance an' Uncle Billy moved forward.  "Who are you, mister an' who is the boss of this outfit?  What are y'all doing here an' by what authority?" Ance questioned.

"We have an ironclad contract with the ol' geezer who owns this land.  He gave us the rights and my boss told me what to do.  Now get before I throw you off.  I don't want to have to go over and take the geezer into town to swear out a warrant with me for every one of you.  He don't take kindly to trespassers."

Uncle Billy chuckled.  He didn't know of anyone ever callin' him an' "old geezer".  All the men in his bunch laughed.  For some reason their laughter enraged the crew boss.

"I said get. Now get or you are going to see some trouble." he shouted. 

As he shouted he pulled a little 38 pistol out of his pocket an' pointed it at Ance an' Uncle Billy.  The deputy began to ease through the group till he was in the middle an' had a better view.  His hand carefully unsnapped his holster an' his hand stayed on the butt of his pistol.

The men from the Mountainside Timber Company didn't notice the three men that had come from across the field an' were takin' pictures as they came.  When the crew boss pulled out his gun Ance, Charlie Hoskins and the boy in the group of three quickly took pictures of the gun aimed at their group.  Not one of Uncle Billy's men had moved their guns.

"Feller, my name is Ance Gilbert an' I represent the old geezer, as you call him. His name is Billy Gilbert an' he gave me his contract to review.  You did not have the rights to this land or to clear cut it.  Y'all were only give permission to cut trees 16 inches or over and y'all have violated the contract.  I reckon y'all owe the land owner a wad of cash for all the trees ye have taken off this land... plus the cost of restoration of his property."

With that several of the timber crew reached into pockets or belts behind their backs an' pulled guns on Ance, Uncle Billy an their men.  They took several steps up the hill, malice an' harm in their eyes. Four of the crew turned to run toward trucks with the intention of grabbin' rifles.  They were well rehearsed an' this was a common move for this crew of undesirables.

Problem was Uncle Billy's three men got their first an' stood in front of the trucks.  They didn't keep their guns on their shoulders but held them sort of pointed toward the feet of the men who ran for the trucks. It stopped the crew fellers pretty darn quick.

The crew boss apparently expected his backup to run up the hill.  He didn't wait for them to arrive as he got red in the face an' almost screamed.  His men all aimed guns at the local men.

"If you don't get out of here we will do what we need to do.  We have a contract and also a verbal agreement to clear cut 70 acres of this hillside an' valley.  William Gilbert said so himself in MY HEARING!"

Ance took a step toward the crew boss.  Uncle Billy stepped close and in the way too. If there was goin' to be shootin' his friends an' neighbors didn't need to get hit.

"Sir, let me give you this and this. My name is Anderson Gilbert, I am the attorney of record for Billy and Della Gilbert an' am representin' their interests right now.  The first is a copy of the contract for this job.  It is very clear as to what you can and cannot do. You an' your men an' the Mountainside Timber Company have clearly violated the contract and are in defiance of the law by threatenin' us."  Ance said with a clear an' deep lawyer voice.

"This is for you also. It is a cease an' desist order from the local judge.  You are hereby informed that your contract is null an' void. Y'all are ordered off this land, all your equipment is hereby seized for the debt owed to Billy Gilbert, owner of this property.  You may not remove trucks, tractors, bulldozers, lowboys, chainsaws or equipment owned by Mountainside Timber Company and must prove ownership of anything you personally own or it will remain in my custody till proof of ownership is provided."  he added with a smile.

Oh, by the way, since y'all are tresspassin' an' involved with a criminal act of felony theft by takin' these trees an' destroyin' the value of this land, an' because the value of the property y'all have taken is over five thousand dollars by my estimation, unless y'all have your titles an' registrations to your trucks an' cars with you an' can prove they are yours... well y'all are gonna have to either walk out of here or get a ride with the fellers who do have their titles and registrations."

"What gives you the right to do that?" the crew boss screamed.  He was in the face of Ance now.  "You have no right to take our cars and trucks.  We ain't leaving and you can't make us.  We might just have to take this into our own hands just now.  You are the ones violating the law.  We have an oral agreement with William Gilbert.  I was there and shook his hand.  I know our rights."

"Feller, before you say any more and get yourself into a shootin' match y'all are sure to lose, let me mention somethin'.  Your fellers that went for their guns are waitin' over there, without their guns.  some of the local boys are watchin' over them for us."  Ance spoke softly.

Everyone turned their heads an' saw the three of Ance;s boys holdin' the crew against the trucks.  The boy with the Polaroid was happily takin' pictures of the timber crew pointin' their guns at the locals.  He had already used up one clip of film and was workin' his way through another, handin' each photo to another of the men when it popped out of the camera.

Ance continues with a sly grin, "An let me introduce y'all to Billy Gilbert, who owns this hill an' all the trees on it.  Anyone from around here knows his name is Billy, not William an' he didn't enter into any verbal agreement with you or anyone else, did you Uncle Billy?"

"No sir, I did not.  Y'all are ruinin' my land an' breakin' your word.  I want y'all offen my land. An' like Ance said, till I have money in my hand an' satisfaction, not one piece of equipment is leavin' this holler." Uncle Billy said with a firm voice.

"Hey now, this ain't right.  You bunch of hillbillies don't have no right or authority to take our equipment.  There is laws, you know. "  Crew boss tried to stand his ground.

Uncle Billy spoke first an' stepped forward, right against the fat belly of the crew boss.  "This here is my land an' has been in the Gilbert family since my Great Grandpa, Felix Gilbert surveyed it back in the early 1800s.  Y'all are trespassin' an' have destroyed my woods.  An' I do have the right, an the law."  He turned an' pulled Bobby Bowling from the crowd. 

"This here is Bobby Bowling, Deputy Sheriff around here.  Oh, I thought is sort of silly when he deputized ever' one of us.  But the way I see it we are all deputies an' have seen y'all threatenin' us with your guns.  An' we have pictures!" he said even as Ance snapped more photos of the crew, their guns aimed at Uncle Billy an' the enraged crew boss.

The crew boss turned and waved his men away.  Not one of them had their titles or registrations with them.  They were forced to leave everything they had, including the keys to the trucks an' heavy equipment.  they all walked out of the field and down the creek to the main road.  when they asked if they could use a phone to call the home office... well, y'all now the answer to that, don't ye?

All the equipment was impounded, lawsuits were filed, legal papers were sent to the main office in London, Kentucky and a couple arrests were made for felony theft.  Fellers in suits weren't too happy when they were taken from their offices in handcuffs and hauled off to jail.

A couple big time lawyers from Lexington were hired an' when they tried to get the lawsuits thrown out they were showed the photos, over 100 in total of men holdin' guns on Ance, the Deputy and the land owner.  Photos of the clear cut, pictures of logs stacked on trucks that were not the proper an' agreed on size, a hillside that had already started to erode because bulldozers had pushed every sign of brush and saplings off so men could get to the trees better, all damaging to the Mountainside Timber Company.

Funny thing was, the lawyers worked out a pretty good settlement after that.  The company paid hefty fines, paid all that was owed to Uncle Billy for all the timber that was taken as well as damages for the ruined land.  Since Ance wanted Uncle Billy to get all that was owed to him, he included legal fees as a separate line item in the settlement agreement.

Early on, the company fired several of the supervisors an' the crew boss who was overseein' the job.  The crew boss immediately started squawkin' an tellin' all he knew, which only helped Uncle Billy's case.  A couple other land owners got word of what was goin' on an' they filed suit also.  they too won nice settlements.

Eventually all the equipment was returned.  A crew of men were sent to plant pine tree seedings on the clear cut.  It was impossible to return it to the former state.  All that hillside of trees an' woods gone for Uncle Billy's lifetime.

Uncle Billy had stopped an' was sittin' on a tree stump as his mind wandered over that day and the followin' events.  Ol' dog was layin' on the side of the path, waitin' patient like.

"Ol' dog, this here hillside of pines is how I had the money to get inside plumbin' for Del.  That an' sendin' Little Bill to college, that is the good that came from them boys robbin' me of my woods."

He sat for a few more minutes, ponderin' an' studyin' on the pine trees, what had been lost an' the day his friends an' neighbors faced down guns for him.

"Well, Ol' dog.  We have some walkin' to do an' some squirrels to find. git your sorry ol' bones up an' get goin'."

Dark and Damp Morning

It is a morning that is still dark and damp
The air is so very cool for a Summer day.
In the darkness there is no birdsong
They've not yet awakened to brighten the day.
 In the distance there is the sound of traffic
Men and women already rushing from home.
Minds wrapped around all they must accomplish
But it is a morning that is dark and damp.
 The world is still quiet, nature still rests.
The grass clings to the drops of rainwater
That so freely fell during the short summer night
Soon the sun will burn away the excess.
But the grass drinks quickly and deeply in the dark.
 Lights are blinking on in distant windows
Coffee is surely brewing, children are being roused.
Loud yellow buses will command the roads.
Little ones will appear hump-backed in the distance
Shouldering backpacks and talking loudly
Hiding their nervousness on the second day of school.

But it is still a dark and damp morning.
Nature still sleeps, waiting for the sun to slowly climb
Inch by inch into the empty eastern sky.

A few Saturday morning tidbits

Here are a couple pieces from the archives for a lovely Saturday morning:

 A piece of ragged verse called "Morning
http://www.mountainstories.net/2006/05/morning.html

Another simply titled "Sassafras"
http://www.mountainstories.net/2006/06/sassafras.html

Last of all, a short piece called "Good"
http://www.mountainstories.net/2006/05/good.html

New Day Revisited

This is a short piece I wrote in 2008.  I revisited it this morning, made a few changes and place it here for you. Take a moment to read it.  (and it never hurts to comment)

http://www.mountainstories.net/2008/12/new-day.html

Mountain Thirst (a favorite revisited)

 I wrote this on 5/25/08 and it is one of my favorites from this blog. It is a remembrance for displaced mountain folks who never forget the hills, never get the thirst of home out of their minds and memories.

There is a thirst that cannot be satisfied
A hunger that pains the insides
Of mountain folks long separated
From hill,home and holler.
It lingers on our minds like
A daydream never forgotten
Like a teenager's first kiss
Dreamed of and never matched.
It rolls around on the tongue
And in the belly like the sweet
Taste of sourwood honey.

Life in the mountains is hard scrabble
Never forgotten, under-appreciated
A struggle that we love
Filled with remembrances
Of coal mines, tobaccer sheds
Saw mills, truck gardens
Seinin' for ginseng to buy
Shoes for a growin' youngin,
A dress for a worn out mama.
Or flowers to sit on the casket
Of the old man, shrunk down
And shriveled by the cancer
By black lung and bein' on
The government dole.

But it gets folks sort of thirsty
'Specially on a Friday afternoon
Wantin' to get in the car
Drive back home for a few days
To sit on ol' worn out porches
An' listen to the rain fallin'
On ancient tin roofs.

Sounds of a Mountain Spring

Close your eyes for just a bit
Listen to the memory of bees buzzin'
Frogs harrumphin' in the distance
The sound of Junebugs zippin' round
The joyful sound of birds in the trees.
Off an' down the creek comes the sound
Of a sorry ol' hound dog
And the laughter of youngin's
Playin' in the creek.

Are There Really Dragons?

A little boy who is not yet a man sits on the edge of a porch
Playing with a handful of cars and trucks and plastic heroes
He is running hard hot and little boy sweaty and still full of go
Waiting for lunch since his Mama called him home.
Though he plays quietly, his open mind wanders
Up the hillside and into the shadows of tall pines.
Up there where the pine needles have made open pathways
Clear for a little country boy to wander and play.
"Mama," he calls through the open kitchen window
"Mama, tell me what do dragons eat? 
She smiles at the question and thinks just for a moment
"Why sheep, cattle and goats and prize horses, I think.
I've even heard that some of the worst eat sweaty little boys!"
He thinks and ponders on his Mama's reply for ever so long.
"No they don't, Mama.  That ain't right at all."
As they talk back and forth she laughs to herself at his imagination
How wonderful it must be to wander the woods and dream of such.
How innocent and a bit silly to think of a question like that.
"Mine has been eating skunks and a little coal to keep the fires burning
What bad breath he has, Mama.  How is smells when he burps."
"I'd be careful now son." she smiles and calls through the window
"Remember, they eat sweaty little boys" Mama added.
"Little boy furrowed his brow and thought long and deep
"Mine don't.  Mine eats skunks and a little coal, Mama"
"Hush son, stop being silly and come in here and eat.
There are no dragons, they don't eat skunks or coal
AND I am sure they don't even eat little sweaty boys.
Get that nonsense out of your head and eat.  Chores are waiting."
That sweaty little boy slips in through the screen door which slaps at his back
"Are you positive there ain't no dragons?  They ain't real?"
With the air of grownup knowledge wrapped confidently around her
She turns and faces her son, "There are no real dragons. They are not real."
Trusting her word, he washes his hands, clears his head and sits to eat.
Up on the hillside, yonder in the mountain just past the pines
A lonely dragon sits on its haunches and listens carefully.
As the little boys clears his mind and sits to eat the dragon sighs
His breath as he sighs smells a little of skunk and of coal.
Carefully he climbs to the ridge of the mountain
Looks over the valley on the other side of the ridge.
With sadness in his eyes he looks over his shoulder
Down through the pines and to the cabin below
Where a little sweaty boy, still full of go
Grew up a little too much, a little too soon.
Turning his long scaly neck and head forward
Nose into the wind to smell the scents of the world.
He spreads huge patchwork wings to test the winds
And flies away with careful strokes that lift him high and away.

Magic Dances in the Trees

 





Listen to the hidden magic among the trees
Hidden just over there they play and sing.
Magical things, wondrous things dance.
They dance and sing and laugh happily
Not bound by the rules of mere mortal men.
Can't you hear them, can't you see
Or have you grown too old, too stodgy?
Do you even believe there is magic
That fantastic things play there in the woods?
Run now with me deep into the woods
Sit there on a stump, lets wait, just wait.
Listen with your heart, your dreams
Listen for the hidden things.
They will come, they will sneak in
Quietly at first, afraid of your grownupness.
You'll think them little birds or mice or such
They'll laugh at you, knowing you to be fooled.
Then as your gaze goes fuzzy, your ears buzzy
You'll catch one of them from the corer of your eye
Hear them just over yonder, so close
As they dance and sing and laugh... with you.

Supper Time

Sliced maters, fried taters, green beans
Squash an' sweet corn, sweet peas too
Onions fresh an' long shoots green
Big ol' ham hocks fallin' apart in them beans
Sliced up cuke an' radishes spicy red
Oh Lordy, cornbread golden in a cast iron skillet
Hot and steamy from that glowin' woodstove
Table laden an' over flowin'
Red checkered tablecloth almost hidden
Plates a clatterin', glasses clinkin'
Come an' get it, now, come on here
Its supper time children, suppertime.