danger

This is a guest post from my friend Harvey Hughett The STRANGE DREAM God’s Hillbilly Warrior Goes Yondering (Part 4 of 9)© Harvey Hughett

The train that was going to Knoxville wouldn’t pass by for several hours, so Berthy wandered around the carnival, curious and sometimes repulsed by what she saw. She was uncomfortable because her daddy had told her that carnivals were Satan’s playhouse. She again saw girls wearing short shorts and was tempted to call them to repentance, but the last time she’d done that, there were severe repercussions that took three years out of her life. As she passed the hoochie-coochie tent, she clutched her crystal hard, put a hex on a dime, and gave it to the scantily dressed woman taking tickets. Berthy smiled.

The air was filled with music, laughter, and the tempting smells of carnival food. She was hungry and bought a hot dog with chili but no onions. She hated onions and was suspicious of people who ate them. Up in the mountains, her brothers ate wild ramps they’d find in the woods. They were ten times worse than onions.

She was starting to relax and enjoy the less sinful sights of the carnival. As she was finishing up the hot dog, an overconfident man who obviously thought himself to be God’s gift to women approached her and said, “Hey there, pretty lady. How about you and me take a stroll around the carnival?”

Berthy, cautious, said, “Excuse me? I don’t think so, Mister.”

The man: “Aw, come on now. Don’t be like that. I bet we could have a real good time. I’ll pay for all the rides, food, and sideshows.”

Berthy: (firmly) “I said no. And I mean it. I don’t run around with men I don’t know.”

The man (reaching out and grabbing her arm) “Don’t be so uptight, sweetheart.”

Berthy: (swiftly) “That’s it! How many times do I have to say no?” Without thinking, she stabbed him in the eyes with her fingers, grabbed him by the neck, and knocked him to the ground. A swift and really hard kick to his crotch with her boot settled him down for the evening. Her brother, who’d been in the Army, taught her those tricks. He said the secret was to catch ‘em by surprise before they could react. He warned her that crotch kicks sometimes just enraged men and didn’t always work, so it was essential to have a Plan B.
The man: (clutching his groin and groaning) “Hey, why did you do that?”

Berthy: (calmly) “For not taking no for an answer. Now, git outta here a’fore I put my other boot to yore noggin. Hit’s beggin’ for a rearranging, and I think I could move yore face to the backside of yore head. From now on, you remember to treat womenfolk with respect, and you’ll be fine.”

Having had enough of the carnival, Berthy started making her way back to the railroad tracks to wait for the next train. As she did so, she was stopped by a gypsy woman with a colorful scarf and piercing eyes. “Let me tell your fortune,” the gypsy asked, holding out her hand. Curious, Berthy hesitated and nodded OK.

The gypsy took her hand, traced her fingers across the palm, closed her eyes, and murmured softly. After a moment, she looked up, her expression serious. “You will change lives on your journey. Your cats will be safe during your absence from home. Do not be discouraged by the obstacles you face, for there will be many. A higher power guides your path, and you will have an important dream that will help guide you.” Bertha wasn’t impressed and discounted the fortune but was intrigued that the gypsy knew that she had cats.

Berthy thanked the gypsy and continued to the tracks, pondering the fortune. She found an isolated boxcar parked on a sidetrack and hopped in. It was empty, and she found herself alone. She was tired and lay down for a quick nap. She soon fell into a deep sleep and had a strange dream.

In the dream, she saw herself standing on a narrow path on a bank above a raging river. On the other side, she could see a bunch of houses and a church house, all with lights twinkling like stars. The people were laughing and appeared to be happy. She was attracted to the lights, but the river seemed impossible to cross. Between her and the river, there was a barbed wire fence. A lot of people were crawling through the fence, trying to get to the river. Many were getting cut by the barbs and bleeding. Others went on down to the water and tried swimming across. Many people made it across, but others were washed away in the current. Berthy was tempted to climb over the fence but backed off when she realized how wild the river was. And she was filled with doubt. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer that she’d be protected.

Then, the river’s water began to calm, parting to reveal a narrow path of steppingstones. Filled with wonder, Berthy climbed the fence and started walking across the river. As she did so, several monsters jumped from the water and attempted to knock her off the rocks she was on, but she was able to fight them off. When she recognized that people who had reached the other side were not really happy and were scantily dressed and making lewd gestures, she turned around and climbed back up to the path. On the path were angels, and she followed them to a beautiful home where people welcomed her warmly and offered her food and shelter.

Berthy awoke from the dream with a start, the images still vivid in her mind. She felt that she had been forewarned that her journey to Chattanooga would be filled with temptations and challenges, but she felt a renewed sense of purpose and confidence. And she was determined not to wander from the path. She would be protected as long as she had faith and determination.
…
The train from Morristown to Knoxville was on schedule. She easily found the track it was on, leaped aboard, and found herself in a boxcar by herself. When she arrived in Knoxville, it was late. She jumped off, headed to an area where some empty boxcars were parked on a sidetrack, and climbed into one. The train to Chattanooga didn’t leave until 5 a.m. the following morning, so she took the blanket from her backpack, set her alarm clock, and fell asleep in the corner.

Knoxville was a key stop on the Southern Railway network, serving both passenger and freight trains. She easily jumped onto a moving boxcar now that she was getting the hang of it. The train started with a noisy jerk and rattled into the night, its rhythmic clatter a soothing backdrop as Berthy rested in a corner of the boxcar. She had the space to herself, the cool night air drifting in through the open door. The events of the previous day played through her mind, from her unexpected reunion with Wanda to the gypsy’s cryptic fortune and the strange dream.

A figure swung into the boxcar as the train slowed down in a bend about twenty miles outside of Knoxville. The stranger moved with a quiet grace; his features obscured by the shadows. Berthy’s hand instinctively went to Hercules, ready to pull it out if needed.

The figure stepped into the light, revealing a tall man with high cheekbones, a neatly trimmed beard, and piercing blue eyes. He wore a black coat and carried a small, beat-up suitcase. He looked cunning and sinister, and Berthy was afraid.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice surprisingly smooth and deceptively calm. “Mind if I join you?”

Berthy eyed him warily but nodded. “Suit yourself. Just keep to yore side, and don’t you dare come near me. I don’t trust people I don’t know.”

The man smiled and settled down across from her. They rode in silence; the only sound was the steady clack of the train wheels. Finally, curiosity got the better of Berthy.

“Who are you, mister?” she asked.

“Call me Lucian,” he replied. “And you must be Berthy. I’ve heard about you.”

Berthy’s eyes narrowed. “Heard about me? From who?”

Lucian chuckled softly. “Word travels fast among those of us who run the rails. I was behind you at the carnival when you bought a hot dog. Where are you going? What’s your story?”

Berthy responded, “I’m going someplace interesting, and it’s none of your business. “And Stories are for friends. And we ain’t friends.”

Elias: “Fair enough. But you might want to watch your back. Not everyone you meet is as friendly as I am. I can take care of you.” There was a coldness in his voice that hinted at a darker nature. He was twirling a silver ring on his finger.

Berthy: “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the warning. But I can handle myself.”

Stranger: “We’ll see about that. Why don’t you share that blanket with me? If we sit close, there’s enough room for two, and we can stay warmer.”

Berthy remained cautious and guarded, thinking the man resembled someone she’d seen across the riverbank in the dream. The stranger continued talking, trying to probe and gain her trust. She was on high alert, and her instinct was to think quickly and stay one step ahead of what the stranger might try. As he stood up and started coming toward her, Berthy said, “Mister, stay where you’re at.”

Lucian acted like he didn’t hear and continued toward Berthy. As he reached his hands forward, she sensed that he was going to grab her, and she said, “I think it’s time for you to git off this train.” Then, she surprised him by leaping up, screaming in his face, and pushed him towards the open door of the moving train. He lost his balance, flailed his arms, and tried to grab onto something, but it was too late. He tumbled out, his face a mix of shock and anger. He hit the gravel by the side of the track and rolled…and the train continued speeding into the night. She threw his suitcase out the door and took a deep breath, knowing she had made the right decision to protect herself. The night got quiet again, but she remained vigilant, aware that danger could be anywhere.

She tried to go to sleep, but she couldn’t shake the look on the stranger’s face as he fell into the darkness. She wondered if he’d been hurt in the fall. She worried that he might still be able to find her somehow and harm her, but after a while, the rhythmic clatter of the train tracks soothed her nerves, and she dozed off.
As the train neared the next stop, Berthy jumped off the train before the trainyard in case railroad bulls were inspecting the boxcars. Her eyes darted around, scrutinizing every angle. She kept her back to the wall, ensuring no one could sneak up on her. She wondered if the stranger might have gotten back on the train and could be looking for her. On high alert, she told herself, “Stay calm. Just keep moving.” Nothing happened, and the coast was clear. As the train started to move again, she hopped back into the boxcar.
From that time forward, Berthy’s hyper-vigilance becomes a constant companion, a survival tool. She would trust no one and rely on her instincts to navigate the dangers lurking around every corner. The uncertainty of the stranger’s fate haunted her, but it also sharpened her resolve to stay one step ahead of all strangers. And react quickly before they could get near her. It was her or them.

Her hyper-vigilance and distance made her a solitary figure, driven by the need to not be caught by surprise. Yet, deep down, the loneliness gnawed at her, a silent reminder of the price one pays for their safety.

As the train continued, Berthy felt a renewed sense of purpose. Her vision might sometimes lead her astray, but with her instincts and Hercules, she could navigate whatever challenges lay ahead.
God was protecting her.
……
I hope you’ll follow and share my stories with your friends and follow me on Facebook. I have plenty more stories from the same place this one came from. I also have books for sale on Amazon (MUSING APPALACHIA BY HARVEY HUGHETT) I may have written other stories on a different topic that may interest you. If so, let me know and I’ll see what I can come up with but don’t ask how I know about hopping trains :)

Hard Time Marrying Part 30

Mary Elizabeth Perkins and Roscoe Gordon Holdaway Wedding Pictu

My grandparent’s wedding picture, though this is not their story.  I am posting an extra story today as an early Christmas gift.

The situation Joe had most dreaded had come to a head at Anya’s most vulnerable time.  Making a run for it with two little ones and a newborn would be futile.  He’d just have to face this situation straight on.  No one was going to hurt Anya and rip his family apart after they’d struggled so hard to be together.  

Seeing Anya’s joy in Rose Anya was bittersweet, knowing what he’d have to tell her, but he could let her have this day unmarred.  Emma had left a pot of soup bubbling on the hearth.  Joe decided to do nothing but necessary chores and store up the joy of this day.  When Anya wasn’t holding Rose Anya, he was.  The little ones played happily in the warmth of family.

Joe didn’t allow himself to think of the preacher and sheriff’s impending visit.  The sheriff didn’t wait a few days, just showed up with the preacher the next morning, probably to avoid the problem of having to pursue them.  Joe greeted them gruffly.  The sheriff was a definite threat, and Joe had never known kindness, only judgment from church folk.

“I know why you are here.  I ain’t gonna let you make trouble for us.  My wife just gave birth to an early baby and she ain’t strong

“We need to talk to her.  I just need the preacher to say if she’s the same woman you married.  We won’t take much of your time.” The sheriff stood his ground. 

 The preacher rocked back and forth with his hands clasped behind him.  “Lord knows we hate to bother you, but the sheriff says this has got to be done.  I’d be obliged if we could get it over with so I can get back to town.  I got a couple that wants marrying.”

Grudgingly, Joe showed them in.  “Anya, this here is the sheriff and the preacher what married us.  I know you remember him, even though you was so sick.”

Anya’s eyes widened in fear, taking the situation in.  “Why shore I do.  A woman don’t fergit her weddin’.  Welcome preacher.  I cain’t git up cause I’m nursing my baby.  She’s a mite early an’ I don’t want to jostle her.  She ain’t strong an’ needs to nurse.”

“Why shore, Ma’am.  Good to see you again.  That baby is a tiny little thing.  I wouldn’t want to unsettle her. It’s good to see things working out so good for you.”  Anya took heart from his kind words.

The sheriff took his cue.  “Ma’am, I’m sorry I had to bother you, but I needed to git the preacher to identify you.  I am glad ever’thing worked out so good.  Joe, you take care of this fine woman an’ that purty, little baby.  I got to be going.”

“Sheriff, if you can wait a few minutes, this little one needs christening.  It’s a long trip to town an’ I can git the job done as long as I’m here,” the preacher addressed the sheriff.

“Why shore.  I’ll just wait outside.” He left them alone.  

The preacher faced Joe and Anya.  “I don’t know how I done it, but I realized after y’all left that night I never gave you a certificate.   I’d like to marry you again an’ make sure ever’thing’s right before I christen that baby if that’s alright with you. I disremember the date, but you can help with that. Then we can git that little feller taken care of.  The Lord wouldn’t want me to leave a job half-done.”

A giant load was lifted off Joe’s heart.

Global Warming Impact: Increased Hurricane Frequency Worries Baton Rouge Family

Once again, the Gulf Coast is bracing for a hurricane. My son and daughter-in-law live in Baton Rouge, so they are bracing for landfall. I know they’ve done all they can do, but I dread it for them. They’ve moved all the patio furniture and bird feeders indoors. One not only has to be mindful of the hurricane winds and flooding but the tornadoes Francine spawns. Should a person not believe in global warming, they should note the increased frequency of hurricanes and storms.

A Hog a Day

Photo from Library of Congress. Notice images of mother and child, fashionable young woman and Santa Claus, and other papers papers on wall.

“I had to kill a hog a day to feed them boys of mine.”  I was impressed.  Mr. Rose’s boys were grown and  gone, but I couldn’t get that image out of my mine as I looked around at the house the old man  shared with Miss Bessie.  Kids have the luxury of not having the responsibility of conversation, so I could enjoy the whole experience of listening, hospitality, and looking at everything as much as I liked, as long as I didn’t touch anything.  Believe me, I was not tempted to touch with both my parents vigilantly looking on.  The room was fascinating, but I did wish I could see those boys who could eat a hog a day.

No rug covered the white pine floor. Old newspapers and magazine pages were tacked  on the exterior walls of the room with no regard for their orientation served as wallpaper.  The loveliest was a beautiful young woman with blonde curls piled high on her head.  She wore a blue gingham dress with ruffled sleeves and carried an equally beautiful ham on a large platter.  That gorgeous ham was crisscrossed with slashes and garnished with pineapple slices, maraschino cherries, and cloves.  I practically salivated at its loveliness.  Its charm was enhanced by the fact that the image had been tacked upside down.  Somehow, seeing it upside down made it more memorable.  Though I have tried many times, I have never prepared a ham so lovely.

A large fireplace made of red iron ore rock centered one end of the sitting room.  The brick hearth extended out a few feet into the the  room.  Miss Bessie invited me and my brother to sit on the hearth and warm up.  I sat flat at a safe distance from the glowing embers.  Its waxy-looking orange and yellow coals looked alive.  I couldn’t look away from the story they seemed to be whispering to me.  Though the conversation was fascinating, both me and my brother eventually nodded stretched out on the heat-soaked hearth before the glowing fire in the way only a small child could.  I know now, Mother had to have had her eye on me to keep me safe from the fire.

Before dozing off, I heard Mr. Rose tell of the night the house almost caught fire.  He must have thought I was asleep or he’d never have told of being naked, a thrilling tidbit..  “It was way over in January, the coldest night of the year.  I banked the fire real good like I always do.  We was in bed soon as Bessie got the kitchen cleaned up, right after dark.  Seems like the cold went right through me.  I just couldn’t wait to git under them quilts.  I always slept naked, I don’t know why.  I just got the habit early and never changed it.  Anyway, I was dead asleep and Bessie woke me up.

‘Grady, git up!  I smell smoke.  The house is on fire!’

“I jumped out of that bed!  Sure enough, I smelled pine burning.  I seen where a spark had done dropped down where some mortar had fell down n the back of the firebox between a hole in the bricks.  I clumb  under the house and found where it had set the pine sleeper that run under the floor on fire.  They warn’t no flames yet, but it was getting ready to bust out.  I called Bessie to bring me a bucket of water.  She come flying up and instead of passing it to me, she doused me with that bucket of water.  I mean to tell you I put that fire out!”

Hurricane Beryl is Coming!

Even though we live in North Louisiana, we are preparing for hurricane associated weather. We are currently under a tornado watch with severe thunderstorms on the way. We made sure we have batteries, water, and food prepared ahead. A crockpot full of roast with onions and garlic gravy is simmering with potatoes now. Fortunately, we have a gas stove so we can easily reheat for dinner if the electricity goes out. It will go well with the leftover purple hull peas left from last night’s dinner. There is a quarter of an apple pie left, just enough to start a good fight. I can pull a peach cobbler out of the freezer in case of a dessert emergency. We have those sometimes.

I am hoping the people on the coast don’t get slammed. I am grateful to be retired. Health care workers who get caught on their shifts in bad weather are likely not to get relieved. I have gotten stuck at the hospital as long as four days during bad weather. I am always concerned for all essential workers who have to stay at their jobs, too many to name, fire fighters, police officers, utility workers, maintenance people, and so many more. When we are snugged in at home, they are at their posts, and so many directly in harm’s way. I am grateful for all they do.

Thank you for all you do.

Lady, Your Kid’s Stuck in the Ditch

A dispassionate young boy pounded on my front door. Looking at me dully, he announced. “Lady, your kid’s stuck in the ditch.” I wasn’t expecting that on a cold, rainy morning. The city had been installing a new sewer system. As soon as the ditches were deeply excavated the rain started. It rained and rained and rained. The ditches ran like a river. My five-year-old, John, hadn’t been out for days. Finally, the weather cleared.

John was desperate to get out. I made a bad decision, agreeing to let him play on the carport with a box of toy parts. I checked on him every few minutes, glad to see him deeply involved in his favorite pastime, disassembling his toys and building something else with the random parts. In combination with an erector set, this could occupy him for hours. His dog, as always, was at his side.

Then, I decided to vacuum, my second bad decision, hence the pounding on the door. The kid pointed to the overflowing ditches where John stood, thigh-high in the deep running water. His little dog was running up and down the ditch, barking desperately. Horrified, I flew out and grabbed his arms, trying to pull him out. He was stuck! What on earth? I waded in, braced myself, grabbing him under the arms and tugged. With a strange sucking noise he broke loose. We both rolled backwards in the muck. Instead of relief at being rescued, John wailed,”Daddy’s boots! Get Daddy’s boots!” There was no getting those boots stuck deep in that muddy ditch. It turns out, John had helped himself to his dad’s knee boots, sure he’d be able to ford the ditch. Retrieving them was his major concern.

All’s well that ends well. My kid survived being stuck in the “ditch.” About four days later, Bud took a shovel and dug his boots out of the mud.

Kathleen Carries On Part 7 or Kathleen and the Rapist

Kathleen, my eighty-year old mother was snatched from sleep at three in the morning by the sound of hysterical screaming and pounding on her front door.  Through the peep hole, she recognized her neighbor, a frail, single mother clutching her toddler and tiny infant, begging to come in.  Mother was horrified to hear of Melinda’s rape at gunpoint, the lives of her tiny children threatened.  Nonetheless, Melissa called the police and an investigation was begun.
The next morning, the neighborhood was in an uproar.  Residents stood in the streets discussing the details and studying the composite drawing.  Mr. and Mrs. Smith and their son Jeremy stood on the edge of the crowd listening intently.  Mother had been meaning to go meet them, so as a friendly neighbor, she pulled them into the conversation.
Of course, the rape was on everybody’s mind, so Mother launched into her rapist defense plan, boasting of the shotgun under her bed and her plan to shoot to kill, not mentioning the rusty shotgun hadn’t been fired in thirty years, and never by her. She didn’t even know if she had shells. She was ready.  Eventually, tiring of the drama, the crowd dispersed and went about business as usual.
About two hours later, Mother was surprised to answer her door to Mr. Smith and Jeremy.  She had liked them well enough, but hadn’t expected them to accept her invitation to coffee so soon. After chatting a bit, Mr. Smith brought up the rape. Mother launched into her plan for the rapist, getting more excited as she continued, embellishing the agony in store for him should he be so foolish as to cross her path.  She wasn’t one of those namby-pamby’s who feared killing an intruder.  She’d go straight for the heart.  Should there be anything left afterward, she’d empty her gun in him just for fun.  Jeremy, a sullen teenager, rolled his eyes as much as he dared in the company of his father.  He was a little smart aleck, but Mother still thought it was nice of him to come down with his dad to check on her.
Mr. Smith was still very concerned about Mother’s safety despite hearing of her excellent rapist deterrent plan. Inspecting her locks for security, he found scratches on her back door, showing the rapist had tried but failed to gain entry there.  He asked to see her shotgun, and upon inspection, found the safety rusted shut.  When he asked her if she had a pistol, it caught her by surprise, and she had to admit she didn’t.  Mr. Smith pulled an heirloom quality pistol from his jacket, showed Mother how to fire it, had her demonstrate, loaded it and left, Jeremy in tow.  Mother was touched at his concern and generosity, realizing the pistol would be a lot more good to her than the ancient shotgun with no shells, at least theoretically.
A few days rocked by. The Smiths moved.  Little Jenny Whitmore who lived opposite the Smiths recognized Jeremy from the composite photo.  He was arrested, confessed to the rape and sent back to Wisconsin to serve the rest of his suspended sentence on his previous conviction for sexual assault.  Now Mother understood Mr. Smith’s concern for her safety.  Melissa and her babies moved away.
Life settled back down.  Relieved to have this business settled, Mother’s little neighborhood once again felt safe, secure and friendly.  The only fly in the ointment was when Mr. Smith came calling a few weeks later to reclaim Mother’s/his lovely pearl-handled pistol, not so generous after all.

Uncle Albutt Part 2

Through a connection with his son, Uncle Albert somehow came up on a ninety-nine year lease on several acres on Dorcheat Bayou in Louisiana.  Ready to retire from farming, he decided a fish camp would provide a modest retirement income.  My father bought his farm and stock, but that’s a story for another day.  Obviously, he was a multi-talented man, able to turn his hand to any task.  His farm boasted two cabins.  He moved into the second cabin, disassembled the log house he was living in loaded it piece by piece on his old truck, and moved  it to his lease, where he went to work reassembling it just as it had originally been, except he added an additional bedroom, occasionally recruiting help from relatives with bigger jobs.  Once the reassembled house was in the dry, he took apart the second cabin, using the timber to cover over the logs and seal the house tighter.  One day, Daddy decided we’d go by and check on Uncle Albert’s progress. My older sister climbed on the unsecured log walls, tumbling them to the ground.  I was so glad she got to them before I did.  Neither Daddy nor Uncle Albert was pleased.  Daddy spent the rest of that evening and Saturday helping Uncle Albert get it back together.  None of us kids were invited along, for some reason.  When Uncle Albert was satisfied with his house, he used the rest of the salvaged lumber for fishing boats, a pier, fences, a bait shop, and outbuildings.  Soon he had a pretty good business going.  By the next spring, he had a large garden underway.

Prior to construction of his house, Uncle Albert took care of necessities,; first, a toilet before summoning all his nephews for the digging of a well, uphill from the toilet, of course.  They came, bringing all their wives and children, a festive day of barbecuing, fishing, children running wild, while the men took turns shoveling the hard red clay from the well site..  Only one man could be in the hole at a time.  The others stayed above ground, pulling the heavy dirt from the hole.  They all took their turns.  By the end of the first day, thanks to the high water table, water was beginning to seep in at a depth of twenty feet.  They dug a few feet more, set the curb so the well wouldn’t silt in, and came back the next day to build a protective well-housing.  Uncle Albert was able to draw a bit of water by the evening of the second day.

Along with all my cousins, I was desperate to be lowered by pulley and bucket as the fortunate diggers were, into the depths of that well.  Sadly, all the mothers and aunts were just as anxious to keep wayward kids out of the well, warning us away every time we came near.  However, were able to indulge in one other life-threatening activity as they focused on that well.  A gravel road ran down the steep hill along one side of Uncle Albert’s property where it intersected with another dirt road fronting his house alongside the steep-banked bayou. The occasional oil-truck, fisherman, or hunter who travelled that way would have had no expectation of kids running wild, since until only recently, it was nothing but woods.    Someone of my cousins had thoughtfully brought along their red wagon to Uncle Albert’s that day.  Naturally, we pulled that wagon to the top of the red-dirt hill, piled in as many cousins as would fit, and prepared for a thrilling coast down the steep graveled road.  There were no engineers among us.  Confident as only a cluster of kids can be, we set off for a bone-rattling ride.  That wagon clattered and bounced, held down only by the weight of kids.  A couple of the smaller ones were pitched out, left squalling in our dusty tracks.  The clattering, crying, and dust cloud caught the attention of the well-diggers and mothers who were laying out the picnic lunch, secure in the knowledge we weren’t falling in the well.  As they looked on at the screaming wagonload of kids hurtling down the hill, an oil truck approached the crossing at the bottom.  It slammed on its brakes, swerving enough to allow us to pass, though our unlikely survival was concealed by the massive dust cloud.  The wagon flew on toward the high bank of the bayou, where we were saved by a brush thicket just short of the water.

In the manner of parents at that time, once the loving parents found their children weren’t dead, they gratefully expressed their joy with beatings for all. I had one fine ride down that hill, but I never got another crack at it.

A Hog a Day

Photo from Library of Congress. Notice images of mother and child, fashionable young woman and Santa Claus, and other papers papers on wall.

“I had to kill a hog a day to feed them boys of mine.”  I was impressed.  Mr. Rose’s boys were grown and  gone, but I couldn’t get that image out of my mine as I looked around at the house the old man  shared with Miss Bessie.  Kids have the luxury of not having the responsibility of conversation, so I could enjoy the whole experience of listening, hospitality, and looking at everything as much as I liked, as long as I didn’t touch anything.  Believe me, I was not tempted to touch with both my parents vigilantly looking on.  The room was fascinating, but I did wish I could see those boys who could eat a hog a day.

No rug covered the white pine floor. Old newspapers and magazine pages were tacked  on the exterior walls of the room with no regard for their orientation served as wallpaper.  The loveliest was a beautiful young woman with blonde curls piled high on her head.  She wore a blue gingham dress with ruffled sleeves and carried an equally beautiful ham on a large platter.  That gorgeous ham was crisscrossed with slashes and garnished with pineapple slices, maraschino cherries, and cloves.  I practically salivated at its loveliness.  Its charm was enhanced by the fact that the image had been tacked upside down.  Somehow, seeing it upside down made it more memorable.  Though I have tried many times, I have never prepared a ham so lovely.

A large fireplace made of red iron ore rock centered one end of the sitting room.  The brick hearth extended out a few feet into the the  room.  Miss Bessie invited me and my brother to sit on the hearth and warm up.  I sat flat at a safe distance from the glowing embers.  Its waxy-looking orange and yellow coals looked alive.  I couldn’t look away from the story they seemed to be whispering to me.  Though the conversation was fascinating, both me and my brother eventually nodded stretched out on the heat-soaked hearth before the glowing fire in the way only a small child could.  I know now, Mother had to have had her eye on me to keep me safe from the fire.

Before dozing off, I heard Mr. Rose tell of the night the house almost caught fire.  He must have thought I was asleep or he’d never have told of being naked, a thrilling tidbit..  “It was way over in January, the coldest night of the year.  I banked the fire real good like I always do.  We was in bed soon as Bessie got the kitchen cleaned up, right after dark.  Seems like the cold went right through me.  I just couldn’t wait to git under them quilts.  I always slept naked, I don’t know why.  I just got the habit early and never changed it.  Anyway, I was dead asleep and Bessie woke me up.

‘Grady, git up!  I smell smoke.  The house is on fire!’

“I jumped out of that bed!  Sure enough, I smelled pine burning.  I seen where a spark had done dropped down where some mortar had fell down n the back of the firebox between a hole in the bricks.  I clumb  under the house and found where it had set the pine sleeper that run under the floor on fire.  They warn’t no flames yet, but it was getting ready to bust out.  I called Bessie to bring me a bucket of water.  She come flying up and instead of passing it to me, she doused me with that bucket of water.  I mean to tell you I put that fire out!”