I don't often talk of the city,
But a trip to Chicago left me breathless.
I should say the moment of leaving
Took my breath away.
As the plane rose
Grumbling at gravity in the dark night
The lights of Chicago appeared
Like Christmas lights to a child they drew me.
Standing in rows
Like a bright connect the dot game
Ordered rows and blocks of light
Reminding all that someone was home.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Monday, January 09, 2006
Winter in Beloved - Bud Clavins passes
Cousins,
The winter has been mild in my hometown of Beloved, Kentucky. The snow held off except for one big snowfall in early December. Over a foot of snow fell and unusually cold weather kept it on the ground for weeks. That was a historic week in the journals of Beloved as that snowfall saw the death of Homer "Bud" Clavens from up on Brushy Butt Creek.
Seems like Bud Clavens noticed his outhouse was pretty near full an' in need of the hole bein' filled an' a new hole dug. Those among us who have not had the pleasure of digging a hole for an outhouse would not know that digging through a foot of snow and six or seven feet of frozen dirt is a difficult task. It was also a task Bud did not relish.
Bud got the idea early in the Winter of puttin' sled runners on the outhouse an' waitin till it snowed real deep. He then planned on moving the outhouse to a new location and hang the backside over a steep ravine. He figured he would just push it to the edge, secure it an' never have to dig an outhouse hole again. Pretty good idea, as far as it went.
When it started snowin', Bud hiked the outhouse up a bit so the sled runners would be on top of the snow. Him an' his wife, Etta figured they would use other accommodations for a few days, haul the outhouse to the edge of that ravine an' be livin' in high cotton from then on.
There were several light snows but none big enouugh to move the outhouse. He decided to sit tight.
Then the big snow came and Bud knew it was time to make the move. He would do his usual chores and then drag the outhouse down the hill to the ravine.
Problem was, Bud was out feedin' his hogs early in the morning an' nature called. He couldn't make it back to the house, so he figured "one for the road" an' carefully stepped up and in the hiked up outhouse.
His weight in the outhouse made the dang thing break off the jacks an' land on the sled runners. Bud had just settled down and started reading when he felt the jolt. As he stood up to see what in the heck was goin' on, the whole kit an' kaboodle took off on them sled runners, headed downhill to the ravine.
Bud saw where the thing was goin' an sat down, dropped the a Sears an Roebuck catalog that he was readin' an' grabbed hold of the sides to keep from fallin' through the hole as he bounced over the river an' through the woods!!!
Bud looked around the generous sized outhouse (it was a two seater after all) for something to help him in his unusual situation. Above him in the rafters he spied an old Model A Ford tire rim and had a McGyver moment. Taking off his scarf, he tied it to the tire rim and held on to the side of the outhouse.
He planned to drop the old Model A Ford tire rim through the hole and use it as sort of an anchor to grab a-hold of a root or some other obstruction. The speed of the outhouse on the hard crusty snow should have been a pretty clear sign that any obstruction was totally covered.
Well, when he hit the edge of the ravine, the outhouse was movin' so fast he whizzed right past the edge (pardon the pun) in that two seater outhouse an' fell to his death over 100 feet to the bottom of the ravine.
The fall jammed the outhouse so deep into the ravine that his wife an' youngins decided it were a waste to undig ol' Homer "Budd" Clavins when he was near buried already. They threw a few buckets of dirt over the top of the outhouse an' left Bud to his eternal rest.
A lovely memorial service was held at the top of the ravine an' a mess of flowers was thrown over the side to rest on the mound of dirt below.
Homer "Budd" Clavins was 102 years old an' is survived by 17 children, 85 grandchildren an a mess of cousins, brothers an' his Mama, Eunice Poovey Clavins.
The winter has been mild in my hometown of Beloved, Kentucky. The snow held off except for one big snowfall in early December. Over a foot of snow fell and unusually cold weather kept it on the ground for weeks. That was a historic week in the journals of Beloved as that snowfall saw the death of Homer "Bud" Clavens from up on Brushy Butt Creek.
Seems like Bud Clavens noticed his outhouse was pretty near full an' in need of the hole bein' filled an' a new hole dug. Those among us who have not had the pleasure of digging a hole for an outhouse would not know that digging through a foot of snow and six or seven feet of frozen dirt is a difficult task. It was also a task Bud did not relish.
Bud got the idea early in the Winter of puttin' sled runners on the outhouse an' waitin till it snowed real deep. He then planned on moving the outhouse to a new location and hang the backside over a steep ravine. He figured he would just push it to the edge, secure it an' never have to dig an outhouse hole again. Pretty good idea, as far as it went.
When it started snowin', Bud hiked the outhouse up a bit so the sled runners would be on top of the snow. Him an' his wife, Etta figured they would use other accommodations for a few days, haul the outhouse to the edge of that ravine an' be livin' in high cotton from then on.
There were several light snows but none big enouugh to move the outhouse. He decided to sit tight.
Then the big snow came and Bud knew it was time to make the move. He would do his usual chores and then drag the outhouse down the hill to the ravine.
Problem was, Bud was out feedin' his hogs early in the morning an' nature called. He couldn't make it back to the house, so he figured "one for the road" an' carefully stepped up and in the hiked up outhouse.
His weight in the outhouse made the dang thing break off the jacks an' land on the sled runners. Bud had just settled down and started reading when he felt the jolt. As he stood up to see what in the heck was goin' on, the whole kit an' kaboodle took off on them sled runners, headed downhill to the ravine.
Bud saw where the thing was goin' an sat down, dropped the a Sears an Roebuck catalog that he was readin' an' grabbed hold of the sides to keep from fallin' through the hole as he bounced over the river an' through the woods!!!
Bud looked around the generous sized outhouse (it was a two seater after all) for something to help him in his unusual situation. Above him in the rafters he spied an old Model A Ford tire rim and had a McGyver moment. Taking off his scarf, he tied it to the tire rim and held on to the side of the outhouse.
He planned to drop the old Model A Ford tire rim through the hole and use it as sort of an anchor to grab a-hold of a root or some other obstruction. The speed of the outhouse on the hard crusty snow should have been a pretty clear sign that any obstruction was totally covered.
Well, when he hit the edge of the ravine, the outhouse was movin' so fast he whizzed right past the edge (pardon the pun) in that two seater outhouse an' fell to his death over 100 feet to the bottom of the ravine.
The fall jammed the outhouse so deep into the ravine that his wife an' youngins decided it were a waste to undig ol' Homer "Budd" Clavins when he was near buried already. They threw a few buckets of dirt over the top of the outhouse an' left Bud to his eternal rest.
A lovely memorial service was held at the top of the ravine an' a mess of flowers was thrown over the side to rest on the mound of dirt below.
Homer "Budd" Clavins was 102 years old an' is survived by 17 children, 85 grandchildren an a mess of cousins, brothers an' his Mama, Eunice Poovey Clavins.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Thanksgiving Plans in Beloved
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'.
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'.
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
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