Author: lbeth1950

lbeth1950https://nutsrok.wordpress.comNow that I'm done with the bothersome business of workday world, I am free to pursue my passion, capturing the stories I've loved all my life. The ones you'll read on my blog are good old Southern stories, a real pleasure to relay. Here in the South, we are proud of our wacky folks. I've preyed shamelessly on my family, living and dead, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances, often changing the names to protect the innocent and not so innocent. My mother illustrates my blog. I come from a rollicking family of nuts, hence the name of the blog Nutsrok Enjoy.
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SQUINT LEDBEDDER AND THE DEAD MAN© Harvey Hughett

This is a guest post by my friend Harvey Hughett. You can follow him on Facebook at Musing Appalachia

This story is about a man who lived in a holler close to Papaw’s place in the backwoods near Mohawk, East Tennessee. He was married to Miz Kitty. Everybody called him “Squint.” His real name was Commodore Ledbedder.

Squint was just a nickname, but he hated to be called Commodore because it was the same name as Commodore Hughett and he didn’t want to be confused with him. Commodore Hughett was known to git hog-nosed on Nathan Gulley’s moonshine ever so often and do things Squint didn’t approve of. Squint got his nickname from the funny way he held his eyes when he was about to get upset with somebody. He’d squint his eyes a certain way, and when he did that you knew you’d better get your butt out of his way. He got his left eye messed up when his first wife shot him in the face for messin’ around. She left him for another man, and Squint joined the army, went to World War II, and fought in France against the Krauts.

He was a big man, about six foot tall, and had big arms and a gruff voice from when he once drank some really bad hootch. There was a time when he served some time in prison for killing a man, but they let him loose because he got a mean lawyer, and they couldn’t make the charge stick.

However, all that was behind Squint. He quit drinkin’, quit carousing, and got religion. However, he didn’t attend my Papaw’s church very often except when there were homecomings and lots of food and activities with the boys in the parking lot. I write in detail about that in my book, Musing Appalachia (You can buy it on Amazon.com. Just search Musing Appalachia by Harvey Hughett).

For the most part, Squint was a loner and made spending money by trapping muskrats in Bent Creek, digging ginseng roots and selling ’em to the hardware store in Morristown. He wasn’t getting rich, but he and Miz Kitty made out good. And he treated her like a queen. Whatever she wanted, he tried to get it for her. Miz Kitty was French by birth. Squint brought two things back with him from the war: a 1901 Springfield rifle and a young French bride.

Squint was descended from strong Scotch and Irish people, and they say, along with his size, that made him a good soldier. His hero was another Tennessean, Sargent Alvin York. You can read about Alvin in Volume One of my book too.

Squint wasn’t without his strange habits. Other than being a loner, he didn’t like anybody coming around his place in the holler or, especially, gittin’ near his woman, Miz Kitty. She was easy on the eyes and had a quaint accent that everybody liked. Her language wasn’t like what the flatlanders talked.

Mamaw used to trade eggs to Miz Kitty and she’d send me over there to deliver them. As a young boy, I was a little afraid but I did what I was supposed to. Papaw always warned me, “Be careful and don’t you make him mad. He killed a man onest.”
The first time I saw Squint was when I was fishing on Lick Creek and ran into him. He was busy tending his trapline and I slipped away before he could see me. I went on fishing downstream.

A few days later, I was at Miz Kitty’s house delivering eggs and Squint was there. He squinted his eyes at me and said, “Boy, don’t you dare tell nobody where my traps is, you unnerstand?” I quickly replied, “Yes Sir. You bet, Sir. I ain’t gonna tell nobody.”

He squinted at me a little harder and then said, “Do you know they say that I killed a man? I answered, “Yes Sir.”

He said, “Well, that’s not all true. I wiped out a bunch in the war, and they tried to blame a killin’ on me after I got home. But the fact is, that man needed killin’. He was beatin’ his woman and kids.” Squint never admitted to killin’ his neighbor but people figured that since he was used to doing that kind of thing in the war, and suffered from shell shock in battle, he most likely did.

The facts are that he was a neighbor to the dead man and, being a loner and of a mean disposition, everybody suspected him of the murder. What got him in trouble was when they took him in for questioning and he said, “That scoundrel deserved ever thang he got!”

To clinch a solid confession out of Squint, the mountain sheriff did something that almost always got a man to fess up: he took him to the funeral home in Bulls Gap and left him alone in a room with the body for an hour. That usually unnerved superstitious mountain folk and they soon talked.

After an hour, Squint just said, “That man there is way better off dead than he was alive.”

Pretty sure that was almost a confession; the sheriff then threatened to leave him in the small room with the body all night, with the casket open and with no lights on. Squint, in his matter-of-fact way, just said, “I warn’t never skeered o that sorry bastard when he wuz alive and you can bet yore best coon dog, I shore in Hell ain’t now!” That pretty well sealed it and he was locked up until a smart lawyer got him off the hook.

I wonder if he squinted at the jury?

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Work

What job would you do for free?

I would gladly help someone garden for free. I’d also teach cooking or canning for free. I would definitely not want to clean for free. That’s an onerous task. If anyone out there wants to clean for free, please let me know.

Garden

I think a man thought I was trying to pick him up in the garden center yesterday. Like me, he was perusing the bargain plants. When I noticed he’d snagged a magnificent hydrangea, my plant lust kicked in. I fear he thought I was after him, rather than his plants. I merely coveted his hydrangea,not his person. He fended me off by hastily telling me his wife had just loaded his buggy up. Scorned, I assured him I was only after his hydrangea, not him. Fortunately, I found one of my own, so his was safe. It was the fifth one , I’ve been lucky enough to get this spring, hydrangea, not man, I mean.

I have a voracious appetite for plants but must restrict my expenditures in the interest of staying married, I make frequent visits to the markdown area where my favorite garden center typically marks plants down fifty percent, an extreme temptation. This frequently includes overstocks., a true blessing. My landscape plans are directly influenced by these bonanzas. For example, I had envisioned a purple and fuchsia scenario for one front bed but realized I could be equally happy with the numerous showy pots of purple and gold Wave Petunias I greedily grabbed.

I must confess. Plants lead me into deception. I do my best to keep them out of Bud’s direct view till I get them in the ground. I unload them in the front yard so as not to assault his sensibilities as he pulls into the garage. I’m not always in the mood to discuss the landscaping imposes on our budget. I understand it’s perfectly obvious that I’ve bought plants once they’re in the ground but I still practice this pointless subterfuge.

Gardening also interferes with my writing. I can’t wait to get out and get my hands in the dirt in the morning. My mind totally clears as I dig, plant, and ponder where each plant will flourish. Should a plant look unhappy, I look till I find it a happier niche.

For me, gardening is the purest joy.

Freesia
My hidden plants
Hydrangea

Wave Petunia

Community

How would you improve your community?

I could be more involved in my community. I live very quietly. I should get more involved in local and regional events.

Weather Madness

I live in a biome of extreme Northwest Louisiana. Ten months of the year, the weather is reasonably moderate. Winter assails us with a few frosty days, tantalizes the kiddies with an occasional impotent attempt at snow, and a rare, unwelcome ice event that deprives us of power, schools, and the robs the public of its ability to drive.

One memorable winter, we got six inches of ice. Bud drove the two of us to work in his Jeep, so we weren’t too much disfurnished. Mother is terrified of ice, so she moved in for the duration. The power and internet were off as expected. School was canceled so my kids were iced in with Mother. None of them were happy. Mother occupied herself by supervising them in the constant fetching of firewood and futilely trying to make the unmotivated kids do chores., reasoning it would be a nice surprise for us to come home to a spotless house. Indeed, it would have but not surprisingly, the lazy lumps didn’t share her vision. Her disappointment and their resistance grew each passing day.

Mother is cold-natured, so her firewood needs were extreme. She kept the temperature above eighty as much as possible. Frustrated at her demands, the unhappy, overheated kids escaped to their rooms where they threw the windows open. When not obsessing with keeping the home fires burning, Mother busied herself with cooking, though the kids were perfectly willing and capable of fending for themselves. Mother was confused by the variety and scope of my well-stocked pantry and gravitated toward combining multiple unrelated, easy choices. Her bizarre menu one lunch consisted of chili, fish sticks, and a tomato and okra combo she dubbed “gumbo,” despite the fact it contained no spices, chicken, sausage, or shrimp. The kids were repulsed and Mother judged them.

Time dragged for the prisoners. One the evening of day four, the street was slushy but well-trafficked. The kids suggested Mother could make it home. Irately, she refused. “I’d slide in the ditch. Besides, l’m out of firewood!” On day five, though the street was totally dry, Mother’s car tires were still encased in six inches of pristine ice. It wasn’t going anywhere.

Day six was balmy. As I pulled in the driveway, I was amused to see the kids industriously breaking up the ice behind Mother’s tires. I pitched in to help free it. I backed it out for her so she could head home. Coincidentally, Bud met her driving toward her house about twenty mph at the head of a long line of frustrated drivers.

Adaptation

How have you adapted to the changes brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic?

I don’t think a lot about Covid anymore. I do notice that I still keep the six foot space between myself and others. I strictly avoid anyone I know who is sick and crowds.

Just Desserts

Bean Pie0001Billy was a good eater. He was over six feet tall by the time he was twelve, worked hard every day and was always hungry. Since Daddy had known real hunger growing up during the depression, he encouraged him to “eat well.” Billy liked to drink his milk from a quart jar to cut down on troublesome refills, and he would hurt a kid over a piece of leftover fried Continue reading →

The Honorable Bacon Boy and Puppy Love PGA

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American Eskimo dogs stole our hearts many years ago when George showed up at our house and adopted us. No matter that we already had a Dalmatian and weren’t in the market for another dog. Unfortunately, George left us far too soon. It wasn’t long before another puppy baby puddled up our floors. I gave Bubba a fuzzy white plush toy to comfort him leaving his mom and siblings. He dragged it till it was nothing but dirty body parts. Just before it bit the dust, the UPS man showed up at the door with this plush toy we ordered from Beggin’ Strips. Bubba, like all dogs, believed that UPS man showed up only to steal our stuff, so was frenzied as always. He was overjoyed when we opened the box and he pulled Bacon Boy from the box. It was just as he’d expected, the UPS guy almost got away with the good stuff.
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Sissy, a female Eskie joined us when Bubba as about six. Though she had her own fuzzy white crib toy! she coveted Bubba’s treasure, but was rarely fortunate enough to snag it for more than a minute. I think her finest moments were when Bubba was outdoors, asleep or best of all, had to journey to the vet leaving her to savor an unmolested moment with Bacon Boy. Had Bubba only suspected the raw emotions she shared with Bacon Boy, there would have been Hell to pay.

Sadly, after Bubba went to his reward, Sissy grieved, but comforted herself with her darling Bacon Boy. Sometimes she got so cozy with him, we had to hide him when we had guests. Before too long, we got Buzzy to be her companion. Like the others, he got his own baby, but quickly realized what a prize Sissy had in Bacon Boy, and occasionally got to play with him. Those moments were few and far between.
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The saga continues today with Buzzy’s devotion as Sissy’s sad demise. He can’t sleep without Bacon Boy. As often as he is able, he slips Bacon Boy out to the yard, but we hustle him in as soon as possible after a game of keep away. Bacon Boy is showing his age. He’s lost the bacon strip he was holding on his arrival. I fear his is deaf because of his missing ears, mute and without a sense of smell since his nose and mouth are worn off and blind since his eyes are white with cataracts. I’m sure he has gastric distress as a result of numerous surgeries to replace his tattered innards. His fur is dirty and battered beyond what any washing can handle. I wish human elders were cherished the way Buzzy’s Bacon Boy is. Dogs can teach us something about unconditional love.

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Career Path

When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?

My mother shot down my career path early. When I expressed my intention of being a cowgirl, Mother stomped that out immediately. “No, you’re not going to be a cowgirl.”

She gave my needs no consideration. It never occurred to me to argue. She was my mother, after all. She was “the boss.” Fortunately, I had a backup plan. “Then I’ll be a ballerina.” I’d recently admired a tutu.

“No, you can’t be a ballerina. Dancing makes you have big legs.”

I don’t know where she got that.

“You’ll probably do just like I did and get married and have kids.”

“That’s stupid! I’m not doing that!”

She didn’t like that smart alec answer. so smacked my bottom and sent me on my way. Just so you know, I never became a cowboy or ballerina but I did get big legs.