Well, Cousins,
Y'all may know Annie Pankey. She runs "Pankey's Hankies" downtown in Beloved. It is a shop filled with antique lace, quilts, linens and cloth goods as well as the occasional antique. If you ever been in, you know Annie Pankey is sometimes different than other folks.
She moved back here about ten years ago when she retired from bein' a lawyer up in New York. Annie started out in Clay County, went to Berea College and made good as a fine New York lawyer.
In the last year or so she started readin' about that "in vitro" fertilization and started hankerin' to have a youngin' of her own. She read up on all that "in vitro" stuff an' went to them Doctors over to Lexington to the University of Kentucky Hospital. She told them she wanted her a baby an' wanted them to pump her full of hormones an' all an' "in vitro" her.
Well, we don't talk about that sort of stuff back home. I don't know where she got such talk.
They laughed at first, but when she started talkin' her lawyer talk and accused them of age discrimination, well...they gave up first.
So,them Doctors did what she wanted an' Annie found herself with child. There was a lot of talk went on in the churches an' businesses of Beloved, I'll tell you for sure. Annie walked proudly among us, tellin' anyone who would listen that she had been "in vitro"'ed an wasn't livin' in sin or such as that. Folks finally settled down an' even got real excited for her. Not many 75 year old women have youngin's in Beloved. I only know of one or two myself.
The day came an' Annie had her youngin'. It was a baby boy - 8 pounds an' 6 ounces, 21 inches long with the prettiest black hair an' deep blue eyes. It looked like Annie's Daddy, Judge Ancil Pankey, one of the finest men to ever live in Beloved, Kentucky. Annie did real well for a woman of advanced years. She said it was turnip juice an' clean livin'.
After she came home, the women of Booger Holler Holiness Church came to pay a call on Annie an' to see the baby. She came to the door an' told them the baby was asleep an'
they had to leave. They figured she was just nervous, bein' a new mother an' all. Honest, they was worried that her health might be poor. She was 75, y'know.
A few days later, Sister Hazel Nutt Budder, the preacher's wife stopped with Evelyn Collins who brought cheese grits an' some broasted chicken from over to the Henney Penny Restaurant. Don't you know the same thing happened. Annie didn't even open the door all the way an' told them the baby was sleepin' an' shut the door.
On Friday of that week, Sister Hazel an' three women from the Womans Missionary League stopped by. They were not goin' to take "no" for an answer.
When Annie came to the door, she told 'em the baby was a sleepin' an' started to close the door. Sister Hazel was ready for her an' put her foot in the door. It was real lucky Sister Hazel had her steel toe Hush Puppie walkin' shoes on, cause Annie 'bout crushed her toes as she closed the door.
Sister Hazel asked why Annie wouldn't let anyone see that baby. Folks were sayin it was ugly or somethin'. Annie said it weren't ugly, it was just asleep. Sister Hazel said they would tiptoe in an' just look.
"No, y'all can't" Annie said.
"But why, Annie? We'll be real quiet like." promised Sister Hazel. The other women shook their heads in agreement.
"Y'all can't see him cause he is asleep...an' I don't remember where I put him!"
Ain't age a curse?
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Daddy Song
Heartache of heartaches,
My Daddy is gone.
My soul cries out to him
But no answer is heard.
He has cast off his frailty
Like an old worn shirt.
Yet I cling to the hollow,
Afraid to let go.
His spirit left this place,
Fled to the mountains of home.
Walked one more walk
Neath the sweet sourwood blooms.
Washed his feet again
In the clear creeks up the holler
Ran like he did as a youngin'
Up the road to the homeplace.
Like a young deer his spirit
Jumps and leaps and runs free.
Clear eyes look at a cabin
Gone now for fifty years.
There, through the twilight
He sees the lights of home.
His loved ones wait, patient
Smiling at spirit found freedom.
My Daddy turns and sees us
Wants to say goodbye.
He waves like he always does
Then walks back up the holler.
His steps are easy now
There is strength anew.
He runs towards the lights of home
Turns once more, smiles.
"I'll be waitin'" he says
And grins his grin.
His eyes have a twinkle
Like he knows somethin' we don't
My Daddy is gone.
My soul cries out to him
But no answer is heard.
He has cast off his frailty
Like an old worn shirt.
Yet I cling to the hollow,
Afraid to let go.
His spirit left this place,
Fled to the mountains of home.
Walked one more walk
Neath the sweet sourwood blooms.
Washed his feet again
In the clear creeks up the holler
Ran like he did as a youngin'
Up the road to the homeplace.
Like a young deer his spirit
Jumps and leaps and runs free.
Clear eyes look at a cabin
Gone now for fifty years.
There, through the twilight
He sees the lights of home.
His loved ones wait, patient
Smiling at spirit found freedom.
My Daddy turns and sees us
Wants to say goodbye.
He waves like he always does
Then walks back up the holler.
His steps are easy now
There is strength anew.
He runs towards the lights of home
Turns once more, smiles.
"I'll be waitin'" he says
And grins his grin.
His eyes have a twinkle
Like he knows somethin' we don't
Sunday, May 16, 2004
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Springtime in Beloved
Cousins,
Y'all may find it hard to believe, but Spring just came bustin' in to my hometown of Beloved, Kentucky in the past few weeks. Winter wasn't much snow to speak of, but it was dreary.
If you go through town you'll see dogwoods blooming white, pale pink and a deep pink just like the cheeks of a blushin' country gal. The magnolias have bloomed and a few are droppin' petals already. Underneath each magnolia there is a carpet of petals like cotton candy snow.
On the hillsides surrounding the holler Beloved sits in, a feller can see redbuds bloomin' and wild dogwoods darin' the other trees to come out to play. When we have a frost in the mountains you can look out early in the mornin' and see a line markin' where the frost ends on the hill. It is like each hilltop is sprinkled with sugar.
Down at the one end of Main Street you can find "Precious Smoked Meats". Folks drive by just to smell the wonderful smells of apple, hickory or maybe some pecan wood smoke comin' from the barbeque pit. Wakin' up an' walkin' down there to get a fresh biscuit and country ham sandwich with a cup of coffee is a treat you can't miss. Seein' the wood smoke rise up to meet the mist comin' down the hillside makes a grown man want to swear he will never leave this magical little town.
Annie Pankey owns "Pankey's Hankies". She sells antiques, linens and old time lace goods. Annie ain't quite right sometimes, so most folks just smile when they see a plastic jack o'lantern filled with daffodils sittin' in her window.
Over to the Henny Penny farmers gather early for breakfast and to talk about plantin', rain an' politics. Plantin' and the weather is usually the more important topic. Most folks 'round here have learned that politics and politicians are 'bout all the same and as necessary as the mange on a dog.
The day is bright today and songbirds are on every tree right now. It is a day to stop and think to yourself, "This is the day the Lord has made. I reckon I'll rejoice an' be glad in it."
Yes sir, He makes 'em all mighty fine here in Beloved. When you come, stop by an' stay for a while with us. I'll fluff the feather bed an' put on a couple nice quilts just in case.
Y'all may find it hard to believe, but Spring just came bustin' in to my hometown of Beloved, Kentucky in the past few weeks. Winter wasn't much snow to speak of, but it was dreary.
If you go through town you'll see dogwoods blooming white, pale pink and a deep pink just like the cheeks of a blushin' country gal. The magnolias have bloomed and a few are droppin' petals already. Underneath each magnolia there is a carpet of petals like cotton candy snow.
On the hillsides surrounding the holler Beloved sits in, a feller can see redbuds bloomin' and wild dogwoods darin' the other trees to come out to play. When we have a frost in the mountains you can look out early in the mornin' and see a line markin' where the frost ends on the hill. It is like each hilltop is sprinkled with sugar.
Down at the one end of Main Street you can find "Precious Smoked Meats". Folks drive by just to smell the wonderful smells of apple, hickory or maybe some pecan wood smoke comin' from the barbeque pit. Wakin' up an' walkin' down there to get a fresh biscuit and country ham sandwich with a cup of coffee is a treat you can't miss. Seein' the wood smoke rise up to meet the mist comin' down the hillside makes a grown man want to swear he will never leave this magical little town.
Annie Pankey owns "Pankey's Hankies". She sells antiques, linens and old time lace goods. Annie ain't quite right sometimes, so most folks just smile when they see a plastic jack o'lantern filled with daffodils sittin' in her window.
Over to the Henny Penny farmers gather early for breakfast and to talk about plantin', rain an' politics. Plantin' and the weather is usually the more important topic. Most folks 'round here have learned that politics and politicians are 'bout all the same and as necessary as the mange on a dog.
The day is bright today and songbirds are on every tree right now. It is a day to stop and think to yourself, "This is the day the Lord has made. I reckon I'll rejoice an' be glad in it."
Yes sir, He makes 'em all mighty fine here in Beloved. When you come, stop by an' stay for a while with us. I'll fluff the feather bed an' put on a couple nice quilts just in case.
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Just a Question
Ever wonder where them little minnows are goin’ or what they are doin’ when they swim so very fast in the creek over by home? Have y’all sat down lately and let your feet hang close to the water as you watch the water skippers dart from place to place or seen a crawdad, dark as mud, creepin’ from rock to rock? Has your vision gone fuzzy an’ your mind drift off while watchin’ them go about their lives, not knowin’ you are sittin’ just over their world?
I didn’t think so. I was watchin’ you an’ just knew you hadn’t taken time to sit by a creek in a while. You have that hurried look about your sorry self. Sort o’ like you are too important to sit on a dusty bridge. Too uppity to just stare at an ol’ muddy creek. I reckon y’all think it matters to the world that you are off to a job where you peck at a machine, stack papers or shelve books or call folks for one reason or another.
Wonder when the last time was you took your darlin’ by the hand an’ walked quiet like through the mountains? Ever called in to that job an’ said you needed to get away and let your spirit lead as you wander through the hills of home? No? Have y’all ever sat in one place in the wood for so long even the squirrels forget you was there an’ went about their day huntin’ an’ diggin’ an climbin’?
I had a feelin’ you would say “no”.
Cousin, what you need is a liberation of the mind. A freedom of your spirit. First thing you got to do is stop an’ go outside for a bit. Shut up an listen.
If you are quiet long enough I reckon you will hear the hills callin’ your name. If you ever lived there, or your Mama or Daddy, or even your Grandpa three times removed, the hills know your name. They whisper it all day, every day, hopin’ you will stop just for once and listen. It is like a lover’s voice. I bet y’all have thought you heard your name floatin’ on an evenin’ breeze. Probably wondered who was a callin’ you.
Now, you’ll be askin’ how the hills know to call. It is the sweet earth, the rocks – slate an’ shale, sandstone deep in the earth with your family name etched deep on each rock. Your initials are carved into the hearts of the trees yonder on the hillsides. Your secret name is hidden in the tight buds of a magnolia deep in a holler that held your family homestead. That apple tree gone fallow now, standin’ in the shadow of a long forgotten chimney still bears a sweet apple waitin’ for you to pluck it, taste its sweetness.
Them hills know you, dear cousin. There is a thread tied from your heart to that holler where your spirit wants to stand. The deer waits and watches for you. The Red Tail Hawk soars over, checkin’ for you day by day. The Barn Owl cries “who, who” but knows who…it is you. The birds sing in hopes of your homecoming. The doves cry a sad song because you are not there.
Go, go as fast as you can. Do not stop till you are there. Run to the hills, fall to your knees and dig your hands into the rich earth at the feet of them worn out ol’ hills. Stomp your feet in your worn out brogans an’ dance in the tall sweet grass grown up ‘round the stones that are the foundation of that homestead, the foundation of your soul. If you dare, dance naked in the twilight. Throw your clothes in every direction as you spin the soft mist around you like cotton candy as it falls to the valley floor. Dance naked to the tune of a thousand tree frogs clingin’ to the sourwood, sassafras an’ cedars an’ be reborn to the mountains.
Dip your feet into the cold creek as branches flow from mountaintops, the very waters dancin’ at your homecoming! Sit on a bridge an’ let your vision go fuzzy an’ your mind wander. Watch them minnows an’ they will show you their secret…
They aren’t goin’ anywhere, they are spellin’ out your name.
I didn’t think so. I was watchin’ you an’ just knew you hadn’t taken time to sit by a creek in a while. You have that hurried look about your sorry self. Sort o’ like you are too important to sit on a dusty bridge. Too uppity to just stare at an ol’ muddy creek. I reckon y’all think it matters to the world that you are off to a job where you peck at a machine, stack papers or shelve books or call folks for one reason or another.
Wonder when the last time was you took your darlin’ by the hand an’ walked quiet like through the mountains? Ever called in to that job an’ said you needed to get away and let your spirit lead as you wander through the hills of home? No? Have y’all ever sat in one place in the wood for so long even the squirrels forget you was there an’ went about their day huntin’ an’ diggin’ an climbin’?
I had a feelin’ you would say “no”.
Cousin, what you need is a liberation of the mind. A freedom of your spirit. First thing you got to do is stop an’ go outside for a bit. Shut up an listen.
If you are quiet long enough I reckon you will hear the hills callin’ your name. If you ever lived there, or your Mama or Daddy, or even your Grandpa three times removed, the hills know your name. They whisper it all day, every day, hopin’ you will stop just for once and listen. It is like a lover’s voice. I bet y’all have thought you heard your name floatin’ on an evenin’ breeze. Probably wondered who was a callin’ you.
Now, you’ll be askin’ how the hills know to call. It is the sweet earth, the rocks – slate an’ shale, sandstone deep in the earth with your family name etched deep on each rock. Your initials are carved into the hearts of the trees yonder on the hillsides. Your secret name is hidden in the tight buds of a magnolia deep in a holler that held your family homestead. That apple tree gone fallow now, standin’ in the shadow of a long forgotten chimney still bears a sweet apple waitin’ for you to pluck it, taste its sweetness.
Them hills know you, dear cousin. There is a thread tied from your heart to that holler where your spirit wants to stand. The deer waits and watches for you. The Red Tail Hawk soars over, checkin’ for you day by day. The Barn Owl cries “who, who” but knows who…it is you. The birds sing in hopes of your homecoming. The doves cry a sad song because you are not there.
Go, go as fast as you can. Do not stop till you are there. Run to the hills, fall to your knees and dig your hands into the rich earth at the feet of them worn out ol’ hills. Stomp your feet in your worn out brogans an’ dance in the tall sweet grass grown up ‘round the stones that are the foundation of that homestead, the foundation of your soul. If you dare, dance naked in the twilight. Throw your clothes in every direction as you spin the soft mist around you like cotton candy as it falls to the valley floor. Dance naked to the tune of a thousand tree frogs clingin’ to the sourwood, sassafras an’ cedars an’ be reborn to the mountains.
Dip your feet into the cold creek as branches flow from mountaintops, the very waters dancin’ at your homecoming! Sit on a bridge an’ let your vision go fuzzy an’ your mind wander. Watch them minnows an’ they will show you their secret…
They aren’t goin’ anywhere, they are spellin’ out your name.
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