Come Home, Come Home

I am achin' for a peek at a hillside with some daffodils pushin' through the litter of old leaves - oak, maple and larch. Planted there by a forgotten mountain woman to brighten up the yard outside a common cabin. Maybe a redbud sort of hintin' that it plans to burst forth in bloom 'fore you know it.

Down a holler there is a sorry ol' dog just waitin' to lay on a porch just in time for me or you to pass. He'll raise his head to watch me as if to say, "where y'all been for so long?" Folks are sittin' on them porches even now, practicin' for warmer weather...comin' out with coats on to breathe deep the mountain air and clear the dusty winter from their lungs.

Cousin, if you listen close an' be right quiet you'll hear the sound of an axe splittin' some kindlin' up by the creek an' the soft steady currr, ruck, ruck cluck of a couple chickens as they peck at the warming earth. There, did you hear that? That was the sound of an ol' wood screen door slappin' at the door jam as someone goes out the back door to wander to the barn an' look over tractors ready for plowin'.

Look to the sky an' see the birds already comin' home to the hills, bellies full from their winter vacations. They are carryin' on somethin' awful, meetin' an' greetin' ol' friends an' neighbors.

Smell deep an' you'll catch the hint of coal fires an' hickory burnin' slow in fire grates. Maybe, if you're right lucky your ol' nose will catch a hint of chicken fryin' or beans simmerin' slow from over to Beloved. I reckon that Grandma's House Restaurant is plum' full 'bout now an' ever' time the door opens the smell of home sneaks out to tease an' call you home.

Look in the creek as you dream an see them crawdaddys snappin' out Morse code, spellin' your secret mountain name. The minners swim this way an' that, don't look too awful long cause they'll hypnotize you an' you'll never want to leave.

Now, I reckon your poor ol' shoes are covered with that yeller mud from down home. don't kick it off or rub the sides of 'em in the high grass. Be right careful and when y'all get home let that mud dry. Take it off them shoes real careful like an' put it in a little ol' bottle. Put it away in a special place.

When you get homesick for the hills an hollers, take that bottle out an' smell that sweet earth. Roll it around in your hands and close your eyes. Hold it tight, cousins 'cause it is in your blood already. Blood to earth, them mountains call you home. Blood to earth, you hear the secret songs of the sassafras as it waves in the wind, high on the hillside. Blood to earth, you hear the heart of the mountain cry out to your heart.

Come home, come home, come home

Grandma's House Restaurant

Cousins,
I don’t reckon you have heard, but me and my 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.

Fly Away Home

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.”

Farm Wanted

Cousins,
Dream with me of a little old farm somewhere in Kentucky, maybe Tennessee - just to satisfy my bride. It's not real big, maybe 50 or 60 acres, mostly. There, see it there...a house tucked into the head of a holler.

Don't think I am putting on airs over the house. It ain't anything big. Just make sure it has a porch full of rockin' chairs. For Oh My Darlin's sake wrap that porch around the house. She would like that real good. At the end of the porch put a porch swing for me to sit in and study the hills across a creek. That would be a good location to watch the occasional car heading up the holler. Good place to sit and wave to neighbors.

Inside I ain't fussy about, make it warm and comfortable, put a wood stove in the parlor to keep me warm as I grow old. I reckon a big old kitchen would be nice with windows facing a branch running out the holler to the creek.

Land the barn back up the holler a bit. Room for a mule I can ride through the hills of home. A place to putter and make brooms. A cool place for my old dog to lay in the heat of the day. Scatter a couple of sheds and smokehouses around full of mountain treasures...canned goods, crocks of kraut and country hams hanging, full of sweet smoky smells.

On the hillside find me some sourwood so the air will be filled with the heavy sweet scent and the bees will work the hillside all through the sweet spring. Lay in some dogwood, redbud and deeper in rhododendron to bloom in the hidden damp crannies of the slopes.

Make sure the summer grass is full of lightening bugs ready to dance in the twilight and entertain the youngin's. A right smart bunch of crickets to sing me to sleep and some of them treefrogs to remind us all is well with the world.

Find me some good hearted neighbors. Honest, hard working to stop and visit now and again. A preacher to come to Sunday dinner. A little white church on a hill with stained glass sending God's light in dozens of colors on those who worship inside.

Make it close to my hometown of Beloved, if you will. My heart is there already, in love with the odd and quirky folks who fill my life and my heart.

Christmas in the Holler

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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