Cousins,
My hometown of Beloved, Kentucky is all wound up as folks get ready for tomorrow and out world famous Thanksgiving Day Parade an' Turkey Fry. As usual the town Elders (Bob an' Roy Elder - they do all the plannin'for the parade) have asked me to bring my 8 trained squirrels, my little red wagon with the 8 hamster wheels welded to the tongue of the wagon in which my little squirrels run an' pull me through town as Santy
Claus. Alls I have to do is put some leftover candy corn on a fly rod, hold it out in front of them dang tree rats an' they take off pullin' me any direction I move the candy corn.
I named the squirrels special since they pull me as Santy. They are named Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet and Cupid, Donner...an' Fluffy. I had one I was trainin' to be Rudolph but the dang thing didn't
take to the foam clown nose an' run off with a fox squirrel from up on Buttons Poppin Holler.
The turkey fry will be as wonderful as always. Of course, in honor of my Cousin Peanut there will be a Turkey Fry Flyin' Contest. Each contestant will be given a quart of moonshine to inject in their 12 pound
turkey. They are placed in an empty pot to honor the first turkey of Peanut's that went a flyin' out of the hot grease when they tried to fry it (it had over 2 gallons of moonshine in it an' went into orbit! But that is another story) The turkey carcasses may be decorated but no extra moonshine can be injected. The FAA put a stop to fully injected turkeys a couple years back. They are lit in the pot an' the one flyin' the furthest wins.
Cousin Peanut has a demonstration after we all eat tomorrow. He had a 16 pounder injected with a full gallon of shine. A harness is on the bird - sort of like a dog harness up in Alaska. The other end has sort
of a para-sail that my Cousin Peanut will be attached to. He is hopin' to be launched way up into the upper atmosphere where he will release the turkey and float gracefully like "eiderdown" as he put it back to
the town where he will be greeted as the hero he is.
'Course you know there is some bad blood 'tween me an' Peanut since the first accidental turkey launch. I brought the squirrels an' the Santy suit down to be the highlight of the parade. The ol' back end of the
coat drug the ground all through downtown Beloved - all 1/4 mile of the parade route. Folks laughed an' said it looked like Santy had done dirtied his diaper... needed some Depends. Then Peanut not only causes his
turkey to go into orbit (accidental, might I add) but ol' NASA had to award him all them medals. Sheesh.
I suspect somethin' might go wrong with the harnessed turkey Peanut will be attached to. Bound to be a mishap, I reckon.
I'll let y'all know more after the events of tomorrow. In the meanwhile, Happy Thanksgivin' to you an' yours from me, the youngins an' Oh My Darlin'.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Note of Thanks
Dear Cousins,
This humble mountain boy wants to thank you for sojourning here with me as I write. This experiment in my storytelling blog continues to be a good thing in many ways. Foremost it is a venue for my dreaming of that place which I love - the hills of Appalachia... the hills and hollers of Eastern Kentucky in particular.
If you haven't noticed, the hills are being stripped bare very quickly right now. The wind and rain steadily pull the glorious colors from the trees. the squirrels and birds are plucking a bounty from the branches in the form of acorns, berries, hazelnuts, hickory nuts and the treasure for man and wild critters, black walnuts.
I see old men and women out in the fields with gunny sacks gathering the walnuts, most still in their husk. Hap Collins has a big ol' pile in his gravel drive. He runs over the nuts each time he comes or goes, thus knockin' off the hand staining husk. Eventually he will gather the walnuts up and help his wife shell them for her famous walnut coffee cake as well as a few fruitcakes that will be laced with bourbon (bought from P. Poovey who still makes small quantities of "red likker" from a 200 year old recipe that he alleges came straight from Elijah Craig of Georgetown, Kentucky... the father and inventor of Kentucky bourbon. Dr. Poovey as he likes to be called still cuts the oak for barrel staves, makes the small barrels he uses the age the white likker into red likker and hand chars each barrel with charcoal as the recipe calls for.)
There still are a few gardens holding on. Most have gourds, squash and punkins laying in the field till ready. A few will hide sweet and Irish taters in the ground, just waiting to be uncovered like tuberous treasures. The heavy frosts of the last week have killed all the tomato vines as well as what lettuce might be left.
It will soon become bleak in the mountains for many. It is a wonderful time, however. A man can walk the hills and rest on a stump for a while just to see Mom Nature in her sweet rest. Sit long enough and the woods mice will run out and dance right on the tops of your boots. I know, the have danced thus for me.
So, again my thanks, dear cousins.
I remain,
Stephen
This humble mountain boy wants to thank you for sojourning here with me as I write. This experiment in my storytelling blog continues to be a good thing in many ways. Foremost it is a venue for my dreaming of that place which I love - the hills of Appalachia... the hills and hollers of Eastern Kentucky in particular.
If you haven't noticed, the hills are being stripped bare very quickly right now. The wind and rain steadily pull the glorious colors from the trees. the squirrels and birds are plucking a bounty from the branches in the form of acorns, berries, hazelnuts, hickory nuts and the treasure for man and wild critters, black walnuts.
I see old men and women out in the fields with gunny sacks gathering the walnuts, most still in their husk. Hap Collins has a big ol' pile in his gravel drive. He runs over the nuts each time he comes or goes, thus knockin' off the hand staining husk. Eventually he will gather the walnuts up and help his wife shell them for her famous walnut coffee cake as well as a few fruitcakes that will be laced with bourbon (bought from P. Poovey who still makes small quantities of "red likker" from a 200 year old recipe that he alleges came straight from Elijah Craig of Georgetown, Kentucky... the father and inventor of Kentucky bourbon. Dr. Poovey as he likes to be called still cuts the oak for barrel staves, makes the small barrels he uses the age the white likker into red likker and hand chars each barrel with charcoal as the recipe calls for.)
There still are a few gardens holding on. Most have gourds, squash and punkins laying in the field till ready. A few will hide sweet and Irish taters in the ground, just waiting to be uncovered like tuberous treasures. The heavy frosts of the last week have killed all the tomato vines as well as what lettuce might be left.
It will soon become bleak in the mountains for many. It is a wonderful time, however. A man can walk the hills and rest on a stump for a while just to see Mom Nature in her sweet rest. Sit long enough and the woods mice will run out and dance right on the tops of your boots. I know, the have danced thus for me.
So, again my thanks, dear cousins.
I remain,
Stephen
Friday, October 21, 2005
Fall Dances in the Streets
It is wet and rainy tonight. The wind has been cutting into my sweatshirt as I walked a bit in the dark. The distant towns create a glow on a navy blue horizon and hint at civility. The promise of fall is stronger than it has been. It is a reality that goes beyond the warmth of harvest colors like brown, yellow, red and orange.
Tonight there is a willfulness in the air. A secret anger in the weather as if Fall is spiteful at being left so late in the year. It challenges the frailty of men and laughs in the wind as I hunch shoulders and cover my head with my hood. Tonight fall is a bully, pushing its way into time and my life. It dares me to try to keep warm and mocks my efforts. It sits and taunts, makes fun and laughs at my thoughts and what I have to say.
It belittles me and makes me feel small and worthless. It is a Fall that seeks to control, to drive me away, to drive me into a warm place.
When I am inside it will laugh and race up the hills and familiar haunts it has known so well from countless Falls loosed on the hills of home. Fall will swirl wet and dead leaves round like whirlpools of worthlessness. It will claim victory for the visiting team and crow in the moonlight a victory that it has claimed year after year, season after season.
Too soon it will be hushed like a cur dog, however. Too soon it will be crushed by the real giant - Winter. Winter will step into the valleys and claim present and place from meager Fall. It will tell Fall it is a mere transition, just a passing of time from Summer in all the green glory to Winter with pristine snowy whites and crisp frozen venues.
Fall dances in the streets tonight, but not for long, not for long.
Tonight there is a willfulness in the air. A secret anger in the weather as if Fall is spiteful at being left so late in the year. It challenges the frailty of men and laughs in the wind as I hunch shoulders and cover my head with my hood. Tonight fall is a bully, pushing its way into time and my life. It dares me to try to keep warm and mocks my efforts. It sits and taunts, makes fun and laughs at my thoughts and what I have to say.
It belittles me and makes me feel small and worthless. It is a Fall that seeks to control, to drive me away, to drive me into a warm place.
When I am inside it will laugh and race up the hills and familiar haunts it has known so well from countless Falls loosed on the hills of home. Fall will swirl wet and dead leaves round like whirlpools of worthlessness. It will claim victory for the visiting team and crow in the moonlight a victory that it has claimed year after year, season after season.
Too soon it will be hushed like a cur dog, however. Too soon it will be crushed by the real giant - Winter. Winter will step into the valleys and claim present and place from meager Fall. It will tell Fall it is a mere transition, just a passing of time from Summer in all the green glory to Winter with pristine snowy whites and crisp frozen venues.
Fall dances in the streets tonight, but not for long, not for long.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Cotton Candy Foggy Morning
Cousins,
Sometimes I just need to share a sight or observation. I hope you don't mind my wanderin's this morning.
This week is the first week that I am really seeing fall's welcome approach. Bein' a mountain boy I look for the change of color and noticed it a while ago in sugar maples, crabapples an' a few oaks. They just hinted that it was fall, but with harvest in full swing most folks didn't notice much.
This week was different. Oh My Darlin' an' I had to scrape a hint of frost off windshields yesterday mornin'. We pulled another ol' quilt out a couple nights ago an' snuggled a bit deeper into our down pillows.
Tthe colors on the hillsides are not bashful now and are beginnin' to be show offs as they prepare for fall.
This is a season of plenty in the hills. Farmers an' regular folks are puttin' up canned goods, dryin' apples for fried pies this winter, dryin' beans so folks will have shuck beans on the coldest nights to warm their bellies an' hearts. Some of the fellers around an' about are startin' their huntin' season, ready to fill their freezers for the cold winter ahead.
What I will remember most, however, about this fall is a sight I want to share... I was goin' up a road the other day real early. Only a few folks were even steppin' out into the foggy dawn when I came down a hill into a little spot where several creeks come together in a field. There are a few trees, mostly walnut but a few sumac that are already bright red.
When I looked into the field the fog was thick an' had such substance. It was almost like the good Lord had poured cotton candy into that field an' was usin' them trees to wrap the cotton candy around. The fog just hung tight to the trees like it was somethin' sweet, a treat for the eyes if not the belly.
The sweet grasses were like Velcro, holdin' on also to keep the thick mist right there in that meadow. A couple timid does wandered through an' I spied them as they would lift their heads with ears like radar sets movin', ever movin' an' lookin' for danger.
No danger there, though. I wanted to stop an' walk into that misty meadow, feel the thick dampness in my nose an' lungs. Choke out the automobile air an' suck in the scent of sweet grasses, the dampness an' musky scent of deer an' feel the wet mist wrap around me like cotton candy.
I was jealous of them trees, dear cousins. Oh, to stand there and let the dawn dress me, to swath me in robes of clouds. How lucky they are, how blessed.
I then awoke from my daydream an' went on about my mornin's tasks. Happier (if that is possible) for the seein'. Pleased at the secret I spied.
I wonder how many folks passed the same sight an' didn't even look away from the road to see that pleasant vista? How many thought if was wonderful an' how many were displeased by the drive in the fog?
The beauty was in my eyes that frosty dawn. It asked me to tell you, "oh, stop an' looky, stop an' see".
Sometimes I just need to share a sight or observation. I hope you don't mind my wanderin's this morning.
This week is the first week that I am really seeing fall's welcome approach. Bein' a mountain boy I look for the change of color and noticed it a while ago in sugar maples, crabapples an' a few oaks. They just hinted that it was fall, but with harvest in full swing most folks didn't notice much.
This week was different. Oh My Darlin' an' I had to scrape a hint of frost off windshields yesterday mornin'. We pulled another ol' quilt out a couple nights ago an' snuggled a bit deeper into our down pillows.
Tthe colors on the hillsides are not bashful now and are beginnin' to be show offs as they prepare for fall.
This is a season of plenty in the hills. Farmers an' regular folks are puttin' up canned goods, dryin' apples for fried pies this winter, dryin' beans so folks will have shuck beans on the coldest nights to warm their bellies an' hearts. Some of the fellers around an' about are startin' their huntin' season, ready to fill their freezers for the cold winter ahead.
What I will remember most, however, about this fall is a sight I want to share... I was goin' up a road the other day real early. Only a few folks were even steppin' out into the foggy dawn when I came down a hill into a little spot where several creeks come together in a field. There are a few trees, mostly walnut but a few sumac that are already bright red.
When I looked into the field the fog was thick an' had such substance. It was almost like the good Lord had poured cotton candy into that field an' was usin' them trees to wrap the cotton candy around. The fog just hung tight to the trees like it was somethin' sweet, a treat for the eyes if not the belly.
The sweet grasses were like Velcro, holdin' on also to keep the thick mist right there in that meadow. A couple timid does wandered through an' I spied them as they would lift their heads with ears like radar sets movin', ever movin' an' lookin' for danger.
No danger there, though. I wanted to stop an' walk into that misty meadow, feel the thick dampness in my nose an' lungs. Choke out the automobile air an' suck in the scent of sweet grasses, the dampness an' musky scent of deer an' feel the wet mist wrap around me like cotton candy.
I was jealous of them trees, dear cousins. Oh, to stand there and let the dawn dress me, to swath me in robes of clouds. How lucky they are, how blessed.
I then awoke from my daydream an' went on about my mornin's tasks. Happier (if that is possible) for the seein'. Pleased at the secret I spied.
I wonder how many folks passed the same sight an' didn't even look away from the road to see that pleasant vista? How many thought if was wonderful an' how many were displeased by the drive in the fog?
The beauty was in my eyes that frosty dawn. It asked me to tell you, "oh, stop an' looky, stop an' see".
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