Old man lay in bed, stuck in a nursin' home.
All alone, no one left but him
To talk 'bout old days, remember Mama and Pap.
Laugh over family doin's or mourn
Those gone before.
Eyes rimmed with white and sightless
All the meat gone from his bones.
Withered hand moves ever, ever seeking
Maybe searchin' for a tool.
Lookin' for somethin' to do.
Neighbor stops in, from the room next door,
Just to pause an' talk.
Says her howdy, wheels her chair close
Asks how he has been
If the world is treatin' him right.
Old man turns his head t'ward her
Smiles a toothless smile,
Yes, he's doin' mighty fine
Then asks, how 'bout her,
Has she heard news from home?
Indeed, she has, she shares it now,
Of folks he never knew,
Stories of great grandkids an' her kin.
He closes his eyes an smiles a while,
Thinkin, listenin'.
When she is done, he thanks her then
An' asks a favor too.
If she were home, an' was able now
If she had folks a' comin' in
Just what would she be cookin'?
Old woman grinned a knowin' grin.
They played this game before.
For folks stuck in a nursin' home
It was familiar fare
To talk of food an' the way it once had been.
If folks stopped by, I reckon then
I'd have to start right early.
Peelin' spuds an' roots an' all.
I reckon I'd need a little help.
So, don't lay there long, get out your knife
An' start now peelin'.
I reckon I'd put some Irish taters on to boil,
An' ad just a bit o' milk,
Makes them taters smooth an white
An' gives a sweeter taste.
While we're peelin' add some sweet taters,
I'll make sweet tater cassarole.
Fry a hen, real good an' crisp
Now, thinkin, maybe two.
Soak some good ol' country ham.
Make coffee for red eye gravy.
An' you just know I better have
Cream gravy for them spuds.
Crack some pecans, shell 'em out
For on top the cassarole.
Now, let me think, I know they's more
More I better do.
Yessir, better go to the back
Gather in some things,
Sweet peas to shelly out,
An apron full o' string beans.
A pan of lettuce for to wilt,
Green onions over there.
Grab a few head of cabbage, sweet.
I'll need to fry us some,
Melt a big ol' spoon o' bacon grease
Chop up that head an' throw 'er in.
We'll watch an' cook 'er down.
Add radishes, carrots, cucumber
Oh what a feast
I know we're gonna have.
Old woman sat an' talked,
In her mind she cooked many things.
She toiled with love o'er every dish,
She fussed an' fretted there.
She knew how to cook, knew it was good
Friday, September 23, 2005
Sunday, September 18, 2005
September Song
I think often of the hills of home and long to be there,
Where the twilight is just the setting of a scene
For the eternal song of the hills,
Sung by the bats - high and unheard by folks,
Tree frogs join in their high chorus
Along with cicadas, crickets
And dozens of little ol' singin' things.
The hooty owl gives chase to the tune with a baritone "whoooo".
The bass is sung by the thunder rollin' through the hills an' hollers of home.
The listener is just plain mountain folks...
Folks who knew to stay and listen.
I yearn to hear that nightly concert,
Sung the same night after night like a siren,
Callin' to those who have the hills in their blood.
Callin' like a lover to me.
Callin' my name as if it has known me forever...
For it has, it truly has.
Where the twilight is just the setting of a scene
For the eternal song of the hills,
Sung by the bats - high and unheard by folks,
Tree frogs join in their high chorus
Along with cicadas, crickets
And dozens of little ol' singin' things.
The hooty owl gives chase to the tune with a baritone "whoooo".
The bass is sung by the thunder rollin' through the hills an' hollers of home.
The listener is just plain mountain folks...
Folks who knew to stay and listen.
I yearn to hear that nightly concert,
Sung the same night after night like a siren,
Callin' to those who have the hills in their blood.
Callin' like a lover to me.
Callin' my name as if it has known me forever...
For it has, it truly has.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Tears in Beloved
Cousins,
I won't go into the details of my Uncle Bert's death here and now, just know a dear person I loved went home.
I stayed at his home with family for many hours after his passing before leaving to stay at a cousin's home for a few days. I'll share more about all that later. Now I want to tell you of the journey in between.
On Tuesday I really needed some time to recover. It is a traumatic thing to see a loved one die. It is a blessed thing also, but it has such an impact on me each time I have been there... and as a pastor I was there more often than most folks. Being with my Uncle was a moment that will change me more than most, I suspect.
I made my apologies to my cousin and left for Clay County - over to Double Creek, Little Creek and Gilbert's Creek where my family has lived for over 155 years. My Great Great Great Grandpa and his brother were surveyors and between them they owned over 40,000 acres of the hills from 1804 on. They would go across Cumberland Gap and sell land they had surveyed and claimed to folks. They then took them to their property and helped them homestead. The brother was John Gilbert - a State Senator for Kentucky and pretty well known in the hills. If you have ever been in the Daniel Boone National forest in eastern KY then most likely you have been on family land taken by the government with little or no compensation.
First I went to the hillside where my Grandparents, Stephen and Myrtle Hollen lay. Later I traveled to the head of Double Creek and met an old man whose name was a Wagers and was a distant cousin of mine. He led me to the place where Jimmer Gray lived - another person in my stories - from "The Devil, The Dumbbull and Jimmer Gray" a true story I tell. I saw where my Grandma's family settled in 1844 and then went up to the fork of Big Double Creek to wander for a while.
I drove past Little Creek and the home where my Daddy was born. I saw where the old apple orchard once stood. My Grandma and Grandpa had a son they buried in that orchard 2 days after his birth. Grandma named him Stephen, after my Grandpa. He would have been my Uncle. I am the 3rd Stephen Hollen, you see.
I went way back on an old road just past the park on Double Creek. I drove slowly, way deep into the hollers and found a meadow full of wild flowers. I pulled in and turned off the car to just sit and think for a while.
As I sat there the air was filled with hummingbirds. Dozens of them flew through the meadow to feast on nectar of a thousand kind of wildflowers... cone flowers, black eyed Susans, Queen Anne's lace, purple loosestrife. Their buzz filled the air. If you sit quiet you can hear it and will recognize it as theirs. The flowers were azure, butter yellow, purple and blue and tiny bright yellow flowers that hurt the eye to see they were so beautiful.
Like a host of dive bombers, the hummingbirds flew through a thousand dragonflies. I have never seen so many dragonflies in my entire life. It was like a flying circus as they played on the winds and flew all around me in the meadow.
Then other movement caught my eye. Quietly, gently, not as dazzling were butterflies, black, yellow, blue and white. They flew low from flower to puddle and back again. As they flew they danced. They danced a dance of frantic, season-ending love. They danced a dance that has stepped to the rhythm of the seasons for all of creation.
I listened to the crickets, the tree-frogs and dozens, no hundreds of tiny musicians as they added their harmonies to the song of the hills. They sang and danced just for me, dear cousins. They sang of a Balm in Gilead; of a promise of more than this life. They sang of the hills that call to those it loves. They sang to me. They danced a dance of healing for me. It was as if the Creator called them from cleft and corner, from crevice and cave, from twig and vine to give me a gift me that day.
With tears in my eyes I said, "Thank you" for this precious gift. I sat for hours and perhaps I dozed. As I thought to leave I saw a movement in the far end of the meadow. Thinking it was a deer, I paused. It was not a deer, cousins. I was not sure what had wandered into my meadow.
I knew that elk had been released in that area, but had never seen one till that day. I sat and watched a cow elk pace through the tall sweet grasses and part them like a sleek ocean liner parts the waters of the sea. It was the "Amen" to a hymn of praise for the glory of the hills of my home.
I sat within a mile or so of where my ancestors had lived, toiled and died. Just a piece from where my Daddy was born, where Aunts and Uncles laughed and loved. I sat just down the creek from the best years of my childhood and it was like honey out of a rock. From that meadow a balm of healing was poured.
I wish I could take you there, dear cousins. I would that you had been at my side so I could grab your hand and say, "looky, looky there...and there, do y'all see it? Wait, there is more, over there, cousin, see, do you see?"
I have no doubt I was lead home, to be with Uncle Bert, to be home, to pause and be refreshed.
I have traveled a lot recently, not been home as much as I want. I am off to Delaware on Monday again and I needed that. I needed that. I needed to be there for my Uncle Bert and I am honored that I was called to his side. I am blessed that I found that meadow and the balm of peace it held.
I won't go into the details of my Uncle Bert's death here and now, just know a dear person I loved went home.
I stayed at his home with family for many hours after his passing before leaving to stay at a cousin's home for a few days. I'll share more about all that later. Now I want to tell you of the journey in between.
On Tuesday I really needed some time to recover. It is a traumatic thing to see a loved one die. It is a blessed thing also, but it has such an impact on me each time I have been there... and as a pastor I was there more often than most folks. Being with my Uncle was a moment that will change me more than most, I suspect.
I made my apologies to my cousin and left for Clay County - over to Double Creek, Little Creek and Gilbert's Creek where my family has lived for over 155 years. My Great Great Great Grandpa and his brother were surveyors and between them they owned over 40,000 acres of the hills from 1804 on. They would go across Cumberland Gap and sell land they had surveyed and claimed to folks. They then took them to their property and helped them homestead. The brother was John Gilbert - a State Senator for Kentucky and pretty well known in the hills. If you have ever been in the Daniel Boone National forest in eastern KY then most likely you have been on family land taken by the government with little or no compensation.
First I went to the hillside where my Grandparents, Stephen and Myrtle Hollen lay. Later I traveled to the head of Double Creek and met an old man whose name was a Wagers and was a distant cousin of mine. He led me to the place where Jimmer Gray lived - another person in my stories - from "The Devil, The Dumbbull and Jimmer Gray" a true story I tell. I saw where my Grandma's family settled in 1844 and then went up to the fork of Big Double Creek to wander for a while.
I drove past Little Creek and the home where my Daddy was born. I saw where the old apple orchard once stood. My Grandma and Grandpa had a son they buried in that orchard 2 days after his birth. Grandma named him Stephen, after my Grandpa. He would have been my Uncle. I am the 3rd Stephen Hollen, you see.
I went way back on an old road just past the park on Double Creek. I drove slowly, way deep into the hollers and found a meadow full of wild flowers. I pulled in and turned off the car to just sit and think for a while.
As I sat there the air was filled with hummingbirds. Dozens of them flew through the meadow to feast on nectar of a thousand kind of wildflowers... cone flowers, black eyed Susans, Queen Anne's lace, purple loosestrife. Their buzz filled the air. If you sit quiet you can hear it and will recognize it as theirs. The flowers were azure, butter yellow, purple and blue and tiny bright yellow flowers that hurt the eye to see they were so beautiful.
Like a host of dive bombers, the hummingbirds flew through a thousand dragonflies. I have never seen so many dragonflies in my entire life. It was like a flying circus as they played on the winds and flew all around me in the meadow.
Then other movement caught my eye. Quietly, gently, not as dazzling were butterflies, black, yellow, blue and white. They flew low from flower to puddle and back again. As they flew they danced. They danced a dance of frantic, season-ending love. They danced a dance that has stepped to the rhythm of the seasons for all of creation.
I listened to the crickets, the tree-frogs and dozens, no hundreds of tiny musicians as they added their harmonies to the song of the hills. They sang and danced just for me, dear cousins. They sang of a Balm in Gilead; of a promise of more than this life. They sang of the hills that call to those it loves. They sang to me. They danced a dance of healing for me. It was as if the Creator called them from cleft and corner, from crevice and cave, from twig and vine to give me a gift me that day.
With tears in my eyes I said, "Thank you" for this precious gift. I sat for hours and perhaps I dozed. As I thought to leave I saw a movement in the far end of the meadow. Thinking it was a deer, I paused. It was not a deer, cousins. I was not sure what had wandered into my meadow.
I knew that elk had been released in that area, but had never seen one till that day. I sat and watched a cow elk pace through the tall sweet grasses and part them like a sleek ocean liner parts the waters of the sea. It was the "Amen" to a hymn of praise for the glory of the hills of my home.
I sat within a mile or so of where my ancestors had lived, toiled and died. Just a piece from where my Daddy was born, where Aunts and Uncles laughed and loved. I sat just down the creek from the best years of my childhood and it was like honey out of a rock. From that meadow a balm of healing was poured.
I wish I could take you there, dear cousins. I would that you had been at my side so I could grab your hand and say, "looky, looky there...and there, do y'all see it? Wait, there is more, over there, cousin, see, do you see?"
I have no doubt I was lead home, to be with Uncle Bert, to be home, to pause and be refreshed.
I have traveled a lot recently, not been home as much as I want. I am off to Delaware on Monday again and I needed that. I needed that. I needed to be there for my Uncle Bert and I am honored that I was called to his side. I am blessed that I found that meadow and the balm of peace it held.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Junebug's Tattoo
Junebug Burns was one of the first to get to the cattle barn at the fairgrounds. Carney folks had started arriving midweek and the midway was setup as Junebug's truck pulled into the gates of the grounds with ol' Sneezer in the cattle trailer. Sneezer was the only animal in the trailer an' filled it from side to side. Junebug just knew he was goin' to do well this year. His last had to be his best.
As he unloaded his gear he headed into the back of the cattle barn. The stalls an' such in the back had bigger bars for the big steers an' bulls. Some of them big ol' Angus an' Bramas could lean on a lightweight gate an' bend it sure enough. The small stall next to the great big stall reserved for Sneezer was Junebug's home for the next week. Cot, mattress, clothes trunk an' tack box all went into the stall. When it was organized to Junebug's liking, he took one more look around to make sure it would meet the critical eye of Mr. Jim Mosley, the 4H advisor for the cattle barn.
Mr. Mosely was a former Marine an' ran the barn like a boot camp barracks. "Keep it clean, beds made, tack put away, clothes stored an' the poop scooped up." was Mr. Mosley's mantra. Junebug had started the rumor two years ago that Mr. Mosely had them words tattooed on his backside. Joey Hoskins had the misfortune to believe Junebug enough that he asked Mr. Mosely about the alleged tattoo. After Joey Hoskins was dressed down like a new recruit, Drill Sergent Mosley came lookin' for Junebug to chew on him for a while. There was never a plug of burley tobaccer that was chewed any harder than that boy. 4Hers learned that you just didn't spread rumors about the cattle barn advisor.
In private Mr. Mosely shared the story with several of his buddies an' they all had a good laugh. Uncle Billy Gilbert offered to pay for it if Jim Mosley would offer up his backside to the tattoo needle. Jim Mosley graciously declined. He did, however have his wife write the words back yonder with a fine point magic marker. Late one night he walked into Junebug's stall where he lay reading, dropped his drawers an' showed the magic words in all their glory. He never said a word an' walked away proudly afterward. Junebug just sat in teenage awe...not daring to laugh or make a sound. He felt it was some kind of "rite of passage" for Mr. Mosley to share that moment with him.
When all was ready in his stall, Junebug made the over-sized stall ready for Sneezer. Fresh water in the big bucket, the portable manger hangin' from the side rail full of hay an' a few oats to make Sneezer feel welcome. The dirt floor was well covered with straw, an' a grain shovel an' pitchfork stood at attention outside the stall, ready for the whims of nature to fall...ahem. Nearby was a wheelbarrow ready to haul any "whims" outside to the compost pile.
With the gentle hand of a farm boy who loved his animals an' the quiet voice of a practiced handler, Junebug backed Sneezer out of the cattle trailer. Cattle don't take much to walkin' backwards, so it was a testament to the trust Sneezer had that he slowly walked back an' out of the trailer with no hesitation. 'Course, Junebug had worked with the bull hundreds an' thousands of times over the last several years. The pair paused an' Junebug patted Sneezer on the nose. Sneezer responded by lickin' out an' almost slappin' the boy's face with his big warm tongue. Junebug laughed an' put his face to the bull's as they stood for only a moment. They then walked through the door of the barn an' into the stall.
After about an hour of brushing an' combing, Junebug was satisfied. It was several days till the cattle judgin' an' the bulls were very last, so there was no real need to have the bull combed an' fluffed quite yet. Junebug reminded Sneezer that there would be plenty of company an' they both had to look real good this year.
Before he left the barn he took out the wooden sign his Daddy had routed out for him on a solid piece of cherry wood an' hung it over the gate of the stall. It said, "Thanks to the Farmers and Mercantile Bank for buying my Champion Steer last year." Junebug had also showed a steer the previous year along with a Jersey heifer. The steer had given Junebug a Champion ribbon an' had provided a nice amount of cash to go toward his college funds. Sneezer had come in as a Champion last year as a two year old but did not win Grand Champion. Junebug had not auctioned off Sneezer as a two year old since he wanted to enter him as a three year old - the last year that Junebug an' Sneezer would be eligible. After this year Junebug would be off to college an' Sneezer would be out to pasture to sire dozens of offspring in the hills an' hollers around Beloved.
A quick trip through the produce barn told him Miss Hazel hadn't put out her entry yet. There was a tradition that had to be kept. One or two of Miss Hazel's prize tomaters always came up missin' each year after the judgin'. Junebug an' Uncle Billy Gilbert would celebrate Miss Hazel's victory an' toast to her success with a little salt an' a wonderful, sinful red globe in hand. Junebug Burns figured Miss Hazel deserved this for all the chasin' of Uncle Billy she did each year. Since Aunt Del had died, Miss Hazel had made it her life's goal to end up with Billy Gilbert. 'Course, the fact she called him "Bill" instead of "Billy" told most folks she didn't know a thing about him an was about as likely to get him as a fish was to get fleas.
Down at the end of the midway was a big tent, worn lookin' if folks got too close in the day, but full of mystery at night as the barker would call to the crowd to come see Zambina the Gorilla Lady. Zambina had become a pal of Junebug's an' he looked forward to talkin' with her over hot black coffee early one mornin' before the "rubes" showed up. Junebug liked it that Zambina called folks "rubes" an' shared stories of the road, circuses an' countless county fairs with him. She had showed him all the secrets of the "Gorilla Lady" show several years ago when he was a young pup. He had looked on with wide eyes as each secret was revealed to him. True to his promise, sworn on the shrunken head of a monkey, Junebug had never revealed the secrets to even his best friend. Zambina was a late riser since she had late night shows, so he went on by an' down the way.
The roll of money in his pocket called to him. The promise of food an' games an' fun seemed just a flip of a switch away. Come dark tomorrow night an' this quiet patch of dust an' grass would become incandescent magic. The sights an' sounds would pull at the wallets of even the most stingy. Junebug was lookin' for the tattoo tent. His Daddy had told him he could get one small tattoo. Although he wasn't a Marine an' probably didn't deserve it, he had considered "semper fi" to honor Mr. Mosley. Instead he would follow Eddie Carpenter's lead an' get a simple cross tattooed just to the side of his hipbone where it could be hidden by jeans or underwear.
It was goin' to be a good year at the fair. Junebug just knew it. After findin' the tattoo tent, he went back to the middle of the fairgrounds, picked out a bench an' sat down with his Case knife to whittle an' wait for friends.
As he unloaded his gear he headed into the back of the cattle barn. The stalls an' such in the back had bigger bars for the big steers an' bulls. Some of them big ol' Angus an' Bramas could lean on a lightweight gate an' bend it sure enough. The small stall next to the great big stall reserved for Sneezer was Junebug's home for the next week. Cot, mattress, clothes trunk an' tack box all went into the stall. When it was organized to Junebug's liking, he took one more look around to make sure it would meet the critical eye of Mr. Jim Mosley, the 4H advisor for the cattle barn.
Mr. Mosely was a former Marine an' ran the barn like a boot camp barracks. "Keep it clean, beds made, tack put away, clothes stored an' the poop scooped up." was Mr. Mosley's mantra. Junebug had started the rumor two years ago that Mr. Mosely had them words tattooed on his backside. Joey Hoskins had the misfortune to believe Junebug enough that he asked Mr. Mosely about the alleged tattoo. After Joey Hoskins was dressed down like a new recruit, Drill Sergent Mosley came lookin' for Junebug to chew on him for a while. There was never a plug of burley tobaccer that was chewed any harder than that boy. 4Hers learned that you just didn't spread rumors about the cattle barn advisor.
In private Mr. Mosely shared the story with several of his buddies an' they all had a good laugh. Uncle Billy Gilbert offered to pay for it if Jim Mosley would offer up his backside to the tattoo needle. Jim Mosley graciously declined. He did, however have his wife write the words back yonder with a fine point magic marker. Late one night he walked into Junebug's stall where he lay reading, dropped his drawers an' showed the magic words in all their glory. He never said a word an' walked away proudly afterward. Junebug just sat in teenage awe...not daring to laugh or make a sound. He felt it was some kind of "rite of passage" for Mr. Mosley to share that moment with him.
When all was ready in his stall, Junebug made the over-sized stall ready for Sneezer. Fresh water in the big bucket, the portable manger hangin' from the side rail full of hay an' a few oats to make Sneezer feel welcome. The dirt floor was well covered with straw, an' a grain shovel an' pitchfork stood at attention outside the stall, ready for the whims of nature to fall...ahem. Nearby was a wheelbarrow ready to haul any "whims" outside to the compost pile.
With the gentle hand of a farm boy who loved his animals an' the quiet voice of a practiced handler, Junebug backed Sneezer out of the cattle trailer. Cattle don't take much to walkin' backwards, so it was a testament to the trust Sneezer had that he slowly walked back an' out of the trailer with no hesitation. 'Course, Junebug had worked with the bull hundreds an' thousands of times over the last several years. The pair paused an' Junebug patted Sneezer on the nose. Sneezer responded by lickin' out an' almost slappin' the boy's face with his big warm tongue. Junebug laughed an' put his face to the bull's as they stood for only a moment. They then walked through the door of the barn an' into the stall.
After about an hour of brushing an' combing, Junebug was satisfied. It was several days till the cattle judgin' an' the bulls were very last, so there was no real need to have the bull combed an' fluffed quite yet. Junebug reminded Sneezer that there would be plenty of company an' they both had to look real good this year.
Before he left the barn he took out the wooden sign his Daddy had routed out for him on a solid piece of cherry wood an' hung it over the gate of the stall. It said, "Thanks to the Farmers and Mercantile Bank for buying my Champion Steer last year." Junebug had also showed a steer the previous year along with a Jersey heifer. The steer had given Junebug a Champion ribbon an' had provided a nice amount of cash to go toward his college funds. Sneezer had come in as a Champion last year as a two year old but did not win Grand Champion. Junebug had not auctioned off Sneezer as a two year old since he wanted to enter him as a three year old - the last year that Junebug an' Sneezer would be eligible. After this year Junebug would be off to college an' Sneezer would be out to pasture to sire dozens of offspring in the hills an' hollers around Beloved.
A quick trip through the produce barn told him Miss Hazel hadn't put out her entry yet. There was a tradition that had to be kept. One or two of Miss Hazel's prize tomaters always came up missin' each year after the judgin'. Junebug an' Uncle Billy Gilbert would celebrate Miss Hazel's victory an' toast to her success with a little salt an' a wonderful, sinful red globe in hand. Junebug Burns figured Miss Hazel deserved this for all the chasin' of Uncle Billy she did each year. Since Aunt Del had died, Miss Hazel had made it her life's goal to end up with Billy Gilbert. 'Course, the fact she called him "Bill" instead of "Billy" told most folks she didn't know a thing about him an was about as likely to get him as a fish was to get fleas.
Down at the end of the midway was a big tent, worn lookin' if folks got too close in the day, but full of mystery at night as the barker would call to the crowd to come see Zambina the Gorilla Lady. Zambina had become a pal of Junebug's an' he looked forward to talkin' with her over hot black coffee early one mornin' before the "rubes" showed up. Junebug liked it that Zambina called folks "rubes" an' shared stories of the road, circuses an' countless county fairs with him. She had showed him all the secrets of the "Gorilla Lady" show several years ago when he was a young pup. He had looked on with wide eyes as each secret was revealed to him. True to his promise, sworn on the shrunken head of a monkey, Junebug had never revealed the secrets to even his best friend. Zambina was a late riser since she had late night shows, so he went on by an' down the way.
The roll of money in his pocket called to him. The promise of food an' games an' fun seemed just a flip of a switch away. Come dark tomorrow night an' this quiet patch of dust an' grass would become incandescent magic. The sights an' sounds would pull at the wallets of even the most stingy. Junebug was lookin' for the tattoo tent. His Daddy had told him he could get one small tattoo. Although he wasn't a Marine an' probably didn't deserve it, he had considered "semper fi" to honor Mr. Mosley. Instead he would follow Eddie Carpenter's lead an' get a simple cross tattooed just to the side of his hipbone where it could be hidden by jeans or underwear.
It was goin' to be a good year at the fair. Junebug just knew it. After findin' the tattoo tent, he went back to the middle of the fairgrounds, picked out a bench an' sat down with his Case knife to whittle an' wait for friends.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Junebug's Last Fair
Junebug Burns was finally on his way with his last entry as a 4Her for the Clay County Fair. He had an Angus bull named Sneezer that most 'round Beloved, Kentucky thought was the finest bull ever raised in the hills of Kentucky. Junebug named it Sneezer when it was a calf because it would sniff at things an' then just sneeze up a fit, sort of like it was allergic to the whole world. No one ever believed that calf would grow to win a prize as a year old bull much less be the amazin' animal that it was.
Sneezer was loaded into the cattle trailer an' was pushin' against the side with powerful shoulders. Junebug could hear the metal of the trailer groanin'. He grinned and knocked on the side of the trailer, whisperin' for Sneezer to stop that an' be on good behavior. That bull was like a big ol' puppy dog with Junebug. Folks said Junebug could probably teach it to dance if he took a mind to. With just that one whisper ol' Sneezer relaxed an' stood still. It was like he was a waitin' to get to the fair an show off in front of all them folks.
In the back of the pickup was a cot, a duffel full of clothes, two hat boxes with Stetson straw hats, a trunk of gear an' several buckets an' bags full of this an' that. Most 4Hers lived at the fair for the week. Junebug was sure goin' to be there an' enjoy his last fair. He had shavin' cream to use when someone fell asleep as well as a new whoopee cushion ordered from the back of a Superman comic book. It was goin' to be a great week.
The wallet in his pocket was full of cash this year. Junebug had saved for a year so he would have the money to do whatever he wanted to do this year. He was goin' to go out with a bang. Him an' Sneezer would have the best year ever.
Sneezer was loaded into the cattle trailer an' was pushin' against the side with powerful shoulders. Junebug could hear the metal of the trailer groanin'. He grinned and knocked on the side of the trailer, whisperin' for Sneezer to stop that an' be on good behavior. That bull was like a big ol' puppy dog with Junebug. Folks said Junebug could probably teach it to dance if he took a mind to. With just that one whisper ol' Sneezer relaxed an' stood still. It was like he was a waitin' to get to the fair an show off in front of all them folks.
In the back of the pickup was a cot, a duffel full of clothes, two hat boxes with Stetson straw hats, a trunk of gear an' several buckets an' bags full of this an' that. Most 4Hers lived at the fair for the week. Junebug was sure goin' to be there an' enjoy his last fair. He had shavin' cream to use when someone fell asleep as well as a new whoopee cushion ordered from the back of a Superman comic book. It was goin' to be a great week.
The wallet in his pocket was full of cash this year. Junebug had saved for a year so he would have the money to do whatever he wanted to do this year. He was goin' to go out with a bang. Him an' Sneezer would have the best year ever.
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