RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT..... My HEROES growing up.

RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT…..My Heroes growing up.

What is a hero? I looked up the definition of hero in the dictionary, just to give you what it means.   A hero is a person, typically a man, who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities. HMMM very interesting, description of a hero. Why is it typically a man? Women can be heroes. I understand why a hero is admired. They are usually courageous and brave. They also possess qualities that noble and qualities we wish to see in ourselves.

Now you are probably wondering what the hell I am going to be talking about tonight. If you asked someone today who their hero is most young people and adults would probably say something like, so and so sports star, or some musician, even a politician maybe. Some would say a parent or a grandparent. A few years ago the slogan or catch phrase was, “I wanna be like Mike.” There was even a movie, “Be Like Mike.”  Yes Michael Jordan was a great basketball star. He made millions of dollars. And I’m sure that he has done some remarkable things with his money.

That doesn’t scream hero to me. When I think of hero, I picture brave men and women achieving something in the face of insurmountable odds. Like a fireman rushing into a blazing building to save a life, at the risk of losing his or her own life. The brave men and women, who on a daily basis put their lives on the line, and go by the name Sailor, Marine, or Soldier. To me these are real heroes.

Now when I was growing up in the last century…lol that would be the 70’s and the 80’s, my heroes were my Grandpa Jim and my Uncle Delmas. They were my heroes for different reasons. My Grandpa Jim was my hero because he rescued me out of a difficult situation. He had to put up with me during my teenage years. That is enough to make anyone a hero…lol Uncle Delmas was my hero from the time I was a small child til now. I remember being at Zane Buchanan’s stores with my Mom and Dad, I might have been 5 years old. Uncle Delmas came in, and was speaking to my Dad. Dad introduced me to Uncle Delmas, and he gave me a quarter.

Now a quarter does not seem like a lot of money by today’s standards. And it’s not. But for a child in 1975 a quarter could buy a lot of candy. There was something about Uncle Delmas that has stuck with me all these years since Dad first introduced us. It was a mix of things, like the way he carried himself, he was confident, and most of all he had compassion and kindness.

I remember as I got older and was able to do things. He would come and get me to help him on his farm. Uncle Delmas owned his own Construction Company, D. L. Shuler Construction. He started it himself and later brought in my Uncle JJ into the business. I’ll tell you about Uncle JJ sometime in a different story. But Uncle Delmas had a farm and raised cattle. So hay had to be cut and put up to feed the cattle during the winter months. So when I was old enough to help out on the farm he would get me to work for him. I loved his farm. We would work and do what needed to be done. And during lunch we’d fix bologna and tomato sandwiches with mayo and black pepper, and wash it down with an RC Cola. If it was work that allowed us to communicate with each other while we were working he would tell me stories about growing up when he was a kid. Or about the Great War, referring to WWII.  

Now it was during the summer of my 19^th or 20^th year. Uncle Delmas asked me to help him out for a couple of weeks putting up a new fence along the creek on his farm. He had a pile of old phone poles and we cut them into 10 foot sections. Then we shaved off one end to so it looked like a stake. These 10 foot post weighed over a hundred lbs. and it took both of us to life them up onto the spike end. Then we would maneuver it into position where Uncle Delmas wanted it. Then he would get on his backhoe and using the back bucket drive the post into the ground, with me holding the post upright, while he was beating it into the ground. Yes I was a little nervous, but I trusted Uncle Delmas with my life and knew he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.

We’d stop off each day for lunch and set on the patio with our sandwiches and RC Colas and I’d listen to him tell about life. His life. We were having lunch and he got to talking about WWII.  He was telling me about going to France and landing at Normandy. About the march from France through to Germany. He was there on D-Day. My Grandma Rubies brother Uncle Ray was there as well. Uncle Delmas saw him get blowed up. They were good friends and grew up together. I listened as he told me of the awfulness of war, and he hoped I never had to live through it. I set and listened to him as tears run down his cheeks about losing family and friends over there. And he wondered why he survived and they didn’t. My grandma Pauline’s Brother Uncle Bud was there with Delmas and Ray. Uncle Bud made to Germany. Then he was killed, blown up.

Uncle Delmas is 93 yrs. old. If he lives til May of this year he will be 94. And though he doesn’t farm or raise cattle any more, he is still pretty active. Last spring I went home for the funeral of my Aunt Ruth, Uncle Delmas’ sister. My Grandpa Carl’s sister. Though I don’t live back home as always it put a smile on Uncle Delmas face when I walked in. I followed behind him in the funeral procession, as we headed from the funeral home the cemetery at Mountain Creek Baptist Church. I let Uncle Delmas lean on me as we walked to the graveside for the preacher to say last rites.

I had planned to leave immediately after the graveside service and head back to Asheville. But I changed my plans because Delmas asked me to stay a while. I couldn’t refuse his request. Here was a man that I looked up too while growing up and hung around. Whatever he wanted I was glad to do.

Now my earliest memories have my Grandpa Jim in them. He was there all my life. His house was situated just below the house I grew up in. Growing up we ate supper at his house. Mom cooked supper every night for the whole family. There would be 15 to 20 people there at supper time. Papaw Jim watched me grow up. I was 25 yrs. old when he passed away on 06^th of August 1996. He was 80 yrs. old.

Now Papaw Jim saved my life. The summer between my 8^th grade year and my starting high school in the 9^th grade, my parents started having marital problems. I’ll not bore you with the details other than to say that their problems were causing me problems. To the point that one afternoon in the early fall of my freshman year of high school I got home from school and walked straight into Papaw Jims house and said we needed to talk.

He could tell that I was serious and that something important was on my mind. I think my request sort of came as a shock to him. I asked him to let me move in with him. He asked why. I told him that Mom and Dad fought and argued all the time, from sun up to sun set. I wasn’t getting enough sleep because of it and it was affecting my grades at school. Papaw listened to everything I had to say and my reason for moving out of my home and into his.  He studied on my request for about two breathes and said go get your things and bring them on down.

I walked up to the house. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen when I walked in. They were arguing about God only knows what it was about now. I walked straight to my bedroom and started packing the things I wanted to move in with Papaw. Mom comes in and asks what I thought I was doing and I told her I was moving in with Papaw Jim. She said NO YOU ARE NOT. And I said YES I AM. She threatened to give me a whooping if I didn’t put my clothes back in the closest. And about that time my salvation came through the door. Papaw walked in looked at Mom and said Deborah Jean the boy is moving in with me and that is the end of the discussion.

Mom tried to argue with Papaw, but he held up his hand and told her to be quiet. He told her that the fussing and fighting that she and dad were doing was disruptive and it was causing me stress. He said I didn’t need to be living in that type of environment. So I collected my things and left. A few days later Mom and Dad split up. Mom moved in with my Grandma Pauline. Dad stayed in the house, but I wasn’t safe from his anger and hate of Mom.

Dad would wait until Papaw left for his job each morning then he would descend on me as I was trying to get ready for school and cuss me out. Talk to me like a dog and then rake Mom over the coals. This went on for a couple of months before Papaw intervened and rescued me again. Dad came in one morning thinking that Papaw had left for work and started in on me. Cussing me like a dog. What Dad didn’t know was that Papaw was in the kitchen. Papaw listened to the cussing for just long enough for Dad to get wound up and going when Papaw stepped into the living and tore my Dad a new asshole. Let’s just stop and say that my Dad never again stepped foot into Papaw house while I lived there.

These two men Papaw Jim and Uncle Delmas were and are my heroes. I looked up to them while I was growing up. And even after I was grown I came to them for advice and guidance. Their words of wisdom to me as a young teenager and young man still resound in my mind. No they are not famous. They didn’t or don’t live in million dollar mansions. But I wouldn’t trade them for any sports start or movie star. Can you say that about your heroes?

WRITTEN 28FEB2016 

Ramblings in the Night Part IV, Never say i am BORED

RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT PART IV, Never say I am BORED….

            Kids today have it easy. Moms and Dads just about kill themselves to give their kids anything and everything they want. Most kids have no idea what the word responsibility means, let alone the value of a dollar. Kids today have video game systems, and spend many hours of the day and night glue in front of the TV. Cell phones, everybody has one. Social interaction is conducted via the cell phone. Now I’m not complaining, I’m just saying kids have it easy.

            When I was growing up there were two words that were never uttered in the presence of an adult. Those two words were, I’m BORED.” Now if you were crazy enough to make this mistake an utter I’m BORED in front of an adult when I was growing, their response was I can fix that for you. And they would, and it usually didn’t involve anything that was remotely fun. Oh NO, when adults had to find stuff for you to do to end boredom when I was growing up, it looked a lot like work. Mow the yard, weed the flower beds, hoe the garden, feed the animals, chop wood, all these things were up for grabs in the adult bag of tricks to end BOREDOM. Usually it was at your own expense, but Mom or Dads entertainment.

            Today when a kid says I am bored Mom or Dad drop them off at the Mall, shove a fifty or a hundred bill in their hands and say have fun. Most malls have movie theatres, food courts, clothing stores, and other kids who were bored and didn’t have anything else to do. Malls like TV’s have become baby sitters so the kids can have something to do and not worry the parents with, there’s nothing to do, and I’m bored syndrome.

            We had chores growing. Now there is a little used word in this day and age, CHORE.  One of my coworkers told me that her neighbor was raising his grandson. The boy doesn’t know how to do anything. He can’t even mow the yard. When I was growing up, mowing yards is how I made my sending money. I mowed during the summer. I helped put up hay. Hoe tobacco fields, sucker and top the tobacco. I’m sure a lot of you have no idea what suckering and topping tobacco even means. Trust me it’s not fun or easy work. I raked up leaves out of yards in the winter. I raised and sold strawberries.  I did those things to make money. I was taught money didn’t grow on trees.

            I learned responsibility at a young age by doing these things. I can remember going with my grandpa at 6:30AM every morning and milking Pet our milk cow. That was her name, don’t you laugh. I didn’t name her. But I was sure happy to have her. I am a big milk drinker. And Pet gave us the milk we drank. We didn’t go to the store and buy milk; no I walked out to the barn and got it fresh squeezed from the tit. Most kids today if you asked them where milk comes from would probably tell you the local grocery store that mom and dad buy milk from.

            Now what I am about to tell you really happened. I was there and it unfortunately happened to me. I was in my Grandma Rubies kitchen one afternoon. She asked me to go and slop the cows and the pigs. We kept a slop bucket outside the kitchen door on the steps. All the discarded food was dumped into the slop bucket which went into a trough to feed the pigs and cattle. Now this particular day, was sunny, just a beautiful day to be outside. I grabbed the slop buckets and headed off to feed. The trough was about 10 feet from the backyard, across the electric fence in the pasture. Most of the cows were off in other parts of the pasture or down by the creek. Except this one big ole red heifer that weighed 900 to 1000 lbs. Now this girl was some kind of mean. She was just up past the barn on the backside of the pig lot, about a hundred yards away.

            I set the slop bucket down that I was going to give to the pigs and started to dump the bucket for the cows into the trough next to the fence. Man that red heifer saw what I was doing and took off boggity boggity at a high run toward me and the food. When I looked up and saw her coming I sort of froze right where I was. I just knew that she was going to run me over.

            Now the space around the trough was grassless. It had been trampled down and wore out. It really was nothing more than a muddy piss and cow shit muck eye sore.  Well there I stood, froze in place with that heifer barreling down on me. When she gets to the spot where the grass ends and mud waller starts she dug in with her front hooves, to stop herself. When she did that, she caused a stray of piss, shit and mud and God only knows what else, to fly up into the air about 8 to 10 feet and cover me from head to toe in this shit.

            I’m standing there covered in all this nastiness and look up at the kitchen window and see my Mom and Grandma. Both of them are just laughing their butts off. They come out and Grandma grabs the water hose, to hose the muck off of me. My clothes are ruined. They can’t stop laughing. Trust me, I didn’t find this funny not at all, at the time. Now years later it is sort of funny.    

            Yes living and growing up where I did was never dull. And truthfully it wasn’t boring either. Yeah I had to work and had chores. But those things while they seemed harsh and hard helped to make me a better person. I learned what I was taught. Those lessons have helped me to be a better more capable adult. Even though I don’t live on the family farm today. I know how to take care of myself. I can grow a garden where I live and I can even have chickens if I want them.

            It is the life experiences that we have, that are the real teachers. Yeah you can go to school and memorize everything in a text book, make straight A’s, and not have the sense God give a blue jay. I worked at the University of Tennessee for many years. I used to get a new group of resident Doctors each summer. I worked in the Dept. of Radiology. Most of them were nice and easy to get along with. But on occasion you had one who let MD go to their head, and they thought they knew everything. When I would get those know it alls. I would always tell them, that I could take a pet monkey and train them to do the same thing. Learn from memorization. Until the resident doctors invented some new device or helped to find some new breakthrough in medicine, then all they had done was memorize what someone else bleed, sweated, and cried over to advance the cause of medicine. Hence pet monkey….lol

            Life wasn’t all work, when I was growing up. We had free time to play. My cousins and I usually would hit the woods. We spent many an hour combing the mountain behind Papaw Jims house. Those were good times. Shawn and I would go hunting on that mountain. Shawn still lives there today. In the house he grew up in, right above Papaw’s house and the home I grew up in. I visit my family as often as possible. Those were good ole days, where time seemed to stand still.  They are gone, but the memories are still there locked up inside my head.

            It is amazing that since I wrote the first Ramblings, thoughts flood my mind of things that happened during my childhood and youth. Things that I had forgotten or thought I had anyways. I try to write them down as they come to me, so I can discuss them later. Until next time.

Written 26FEB2016

Ramblings in the Night Part III, Memories of MY Childhood

RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT PART III, Memories from MY Childhood

           

            Now my ramblings have no rhyme or reason to a set period of time. I will have jumped from my early childhood to my teen years and back again. If it pops into my head then and write it down until the story has played out and I move on the next story. I do try to put my age at the time of the story, that way it does give a sense of time.

            Now my Dad is a big hunter. He lived and breathed hunting, fishing, and sports when I was growing up. Nothing wrong with that. I enjoy to hunt and fish as well. I even like some sports. Now Dad is what I like to call a steel hunter. Meaning that he only likes to hunt with a gun or bow, NO dogs. Now I like both. Certain animals I like to hunt with a gun or bow only. Then other animals I love to use dogs. I raised feist dogs to squirrel hunt with.

            I got my first gun at the age of 4 years. It was a Christmas present. I got a 410 shotgun. I spent the first part of the morning learning gun safety from my Dad, Grandpa, and various Uncles. So after Christmas lunch I was ready to learn to shoot the 410. I spent the afternoon practicing until I was pretty good. Now my Dad and Grandpa would tell you that they spent a small fortune keeping me in shotgun shell.  LOL. Which is probably true. But the more I practiced the better I got. So when I was old enough to hunt on my own, I was proficient in how to handle the weapon and I knew gun safety.

            Now the story I am about to tell you is a true story, it really happened. I know it did because I was there and I was the one that it happened to. Picture it. It was the Fall and hunting season was in full swing. My Dad said that we would go squirrel hunting after work the next afternoon. It was on a Thursday, I do remember that. So the minute I got out of school and made it to the house, I changed out of my school clothes and put on some hunting clothes.  Now my Grandma Ruby had made me a hunting vest. It had big pockets built into the inside and in the back. Now I had those pocket stuffed with bread bags. Yes, that is right, bread bags. You will understand later in the story what empty bread bags are used for.

            Now when Dad got home I was ready and biting at the bit to get going. I am a shotgun man through and through when it comes to squirrel hunting. I love the sound the shotgun makes when you pull the trigger. But now this particular day. I was low on shotgun shells, and we didn’t have time to go purchase more. So Dad talked me in to taking my 22 rifle with me as well. Dad was nice enough to carry the 22 while I was carrying my shotgun. I only had like 8 or 9 shotgun shells.

            Now we headed up to the head of Atoah. I grew up in the Atoah Community. The head of Atoah was 5 or 6 miles away from the house. We drove to the top of the mountain, up an old gravel road. Parked off to the side of the road. It started walking. Now we was perfect squirrel hunting weather. And we were not even out of sight of the truck and I had already shot and killed 6 squirrels. The squirrels were thick as thieves up on the mountain and the mash was plentiful. Within the first 30 minutes I had used up all my shotgun shells and was now hunting with the 22. Now 22 rifles are ok, I love a shotgun. Within the first hour I had killed nearly 20 squirrels and the evening was setting in. So we decided to head back to the truck. On the trip back I ended up killing another 5 squirrels. Now my Dad was off the side of the mountain picking up 2 squirrels I had killed making my count 24 squirrels.

            I was looking around for another squirrel when not 10 feet from me squirrel number 25 came down a tree right in front of me. I took aim and fired and hit the squirrel. It dropped like a sack of taters. So I assumed it was dead. I even poked it with the 22 rifle. Now hear is where the story takes a turn for the worse. I reached down to pick up that squirrel to put it in a bread bag, so I could put it one of the inside pockets of my vest so I could carry it to the truck.

            Well I grabbed that squirrel by the tail and hoisted up to put in the bag. When that thing come alive and latched onto my thumb. There was split second pause, where it took my brain time to register that something was causing my thumb major pain. Let me tell you I started screaming, cussing, and jumping up and down. If you had of saw me you would have thought you were looking at a crazy man. I was swinging my arm trying to get that squirrel loose and to let go of my finger. I looked around for anything I could get my hands on to help me. This squirrel was killing me. I finally saw a twin tree. That is where two trees grow together and become one and make a V shape. I ran my hand between them and started beating that squirrel between those trees til it finally let go and died.

            My Dad who was off the side of the mountain. Heard me screaming and hollering came a running back up the mountain two dead squirrels in his hands to find me stomping that squirrel and cussing like a sailor. As I look back it is a wonder Dad didn’t whoop me. I was saying some very nasty things. Dad looked at what was left of my thumb. Bandaged me up, and said I would have to go to the doctor the following day. Just to make sure that the squirrel hadn’t given me rabies. If it had, Dr. Johnson told me it would require 14 shots in the stomach. Something I was not looking forward to. Lucky for me, squirrel in NC don’t carry rabies.

            I did get my revenge on that squirrel. I made sure that Mom cooked him real good in a stewing and I ate him..LOL.

I will end here this evening.  Until next time.. Written 23FEB2016

RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT Part II Memories from my Childhood.

RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT PART II,  Memories from my Childhood

So I went to Aston Park Nursing & Assisted Living Facility the other evening. My Aunt Hester is a resident there. She has Alzheimer’s.  She was in her mid-forties when I was born. She was a beautiful woman when she was younger. I always got excited when my Grandma Ruby would tell me that she was coming in for a few days. I loved Aunt Hester, she was one of my favorites. She drove this big black Ford LTD Limited. We called them land yachts they were so big.

Well when I was about 8 yrs old. My family was having a big get together at my Aunt Shirley’s house one Sunday. Well the whole family was there and there is a lot of us. I got lucky, I come from a big family. Lots of brothers, sisters, and cousins. So loads of playmates when I was growing up.  Well any ways, let me get on with the story. We had go-carts, motorcycles, dune-buggies and such growing. Up well this particular Sunday that I am talking about. I had begged Aunt Hester to let me take her for a ride on the go-cart since she flat out refused to ride on the motorcycle. Well she finally agreed. That was her first mistake. She got on and off we went. We were riding all over the farm and heading back to Aunt Shirley’s and we had to go across a bridge to avoid the creek. Well my Uncle Toogie Red (Nickname) his real name is Ronnie. He came across the bridge about the same I did, in his dune-buggy. Well instead of stopping and giving him room to pass I hit the gas and the bridge wasn’t big enough for the both of us, so off the bridge Aunt Hester and I went. That is right folks right into the creek. Well Aunt Shirley’s house sets on a hill above the meadow and everyone in the family saw what happened and come a running down the drive to see if we were dead. Lucky for us, we landed on a ledge about a foot above the creek. Aunt Hester had like 3 inches of room before she would have been in the creek.  Uncle Toogie was setting on the bridge looking down at us to make sure we were both alright.

My Dad just about beat me half to death. Needless to say Aunt Hester and I were both a live and a little shaken up. But we were alive and not harmed. I couldn’t set for a week after Dad got finished beating me. I lived to tell about it years later..lol

Growing up my nearest non-relative neighbor lived about 5 miles from my house. Like I said I come from a large family. And growing up in a small mountain town, you were related to everyone or nearly related to everyone. It definitely made school interesting. Mom always told me that if I got in trouble at school, then I would get a whooping when I got home. Yeah having relatives that worked in the school system sucked. Because when I did get in trouble Mom was always waiting on the front porch when I got home from school with a hickory. Now for you uneducated folks, a hickory is a limb from a tree. Mom would use the hickory to dish out punishment for my misbehavior at school. Now Mom had two kinds of hickorys that she liked. The ones that when she swung it and it connected with the flesh of your bare legs, it would bounce back and hit you again before she got in another swing. And she liked the hickorys that when she swung they would wrap around your bare legs two or three times. Then Mom would pull back and the hickory would tighten up on your legs real good. That is when the pain would set in. Because Mom would jerk that hickory back real fast and as it was unwrapping itself from around your legs it would peel the flesh off the bone and leave these big welts in the flesh where the hickory had been. And all the time she was doing this, she would be saying that this was hurting her more than you. LETS ME STOP RIGHT HERE AND SAY THAT IS THE BIGGEST LOAD OF CRAP I EVER HEARD. She was not the one getting beat.

Now I didn’t get many whooping’s when I was growing up, BUT when I did, Mom left instilled in my mind that I didn’t want another one for a while. Now on this particular day, it was in the summer time, and I was like 4 years old. My Aunt Alma had asked me to pull weeds in her garden. Aunt Alma show me the difference between the plants she was raising and the weeds that were trying to overtake her vegetables. I had been pulling weeds for like 20 minutes, when my Mom sees me in Aunt Alma’s garden, yells at me to get to the house right this minute. So I stop what I am doing and go to the house. I had no reason to think I was in trouble, because I had not done anything wrong. BOY WAS I MISTAKEN. I walked through the door at the house and my Mom started beating on me. I had no idea what I had done. I was screaming begging for mercy. Begging for my LIFE.  Mom was killing me. Well at that same moment Aunt Alma came out and saw me missing from her garden and got worried.  So she headed to Moms to make sure something hadn’t happened to me. That is when Aunt Alma heard me begging for my LIFE. Mom was still beating on me. Aunt Alma came through the door at the house demanding to know what I was being beat half to death for. Mom said, I saw him in your garden pulling up your plants.

Well the look for sure horror went across Aunt Alma’s face. She looked at Mom and said, Debra Jean, if you ever lay a hand on your son again without first given him a reason to why he is getting a whooping or without hearing his side of the story. Aunt Alma said, I will personally bend you over my knee and whoop you. The look on Moms face was priceless.  Aunt Alma informed Mom that she had asked me to pull weeds out of her garden. But Mom never again gave me a whooping without explaining why I was getting the whooping or hearing my side of the story, if I had a side to tell.  

Uncle Vic had a farm at the head of Big Snowbird. We used to go up there and work on his farm during the summer. It is amazing how much work went into farming. That is how you survived and made your living. Uncle Vic raised cattle on the farm. And he had this big Black Angus bull. He was a big monster of a bull. Well we were setting in the dinner at lunch one afternoon, having lunch no one was saying much. We were busy wolfing down our food. Farming is hard work. So it makes you hungry. Well we were setting there eating and Uncle Vic looks around at all of us setting there, and says you know I really hate that bull. Well we were waiting for the reason when finally Terry looks at him and says Uncle Vic why you hate the bull.  Uncle Vic without cracking a smile says, that bull out yonder, his balls are bigger than mine. Well we all looked at each other and busted out to laughing. Now that is funny. No matter how you look at it. LOL.

Now for some of you who actually read this I’m sure that my ramblings sounds sort of crazy. And maybe even dull and boring. But unless you have ever lived in a small town or lived on a farm, you don’t know what it is like. You find ways to entertain yourself. We didn’t have internet when I was growing up, or Netflix, Facebook or any of those things that we have allowed to worm their way into our lives and eat up our time. I remember when the first video game system came out in 1981. Atari game system was advertised in the Sears Christmas issue wish book.  That was something that we didn’t have any idea what to expect. But my cousins got one that year from Santa Claus. And we spent hours playing Atari games. Video game systems have come a long way since then.

We would catch fire flys or lightening bugs. We played hide and seek. Or bat mitten over the power ling that ran from the power pole to the house.  Or we would explore the woods behind the house.

Well I will stop for now. I’ll ramble on some more again later. Until then enjoy.

RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT

RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT.

I grew up in one of the most beautiful places God ever created, the mountains of Western North Carolina.  Not 20 feet out my backdoor was the woods.  For a young boy of 6 years of age there were trees that needed climbed, thickets that needed explored, and a branch with all sorts of interesting life waiting to be discovered.  It was perfect. For a small boy who loved adventure.

We lived next door to my Grandpa, when I was growing up, My Mom, Dad, and I. I ate supper every night setting at my Grandpa’s table, Mom would cook the evening meal and have it ready by the time Dad, my Grandpa, various uncles, and Mom sister, and her children, who by the way were my playmates growing up.

Mind you growing up in the 70’s is totally different to how kids grow up today. My cousins and I had a whole mountain as our playground when I was growing up. Today most kids have playrooms in their homes, 4 walls, with a flat screen TV, and a video gaming system. Not us. We had the mountain.

Now growing in a rural area for some seems crazy. Now a days everyone eithers wants to live in the city or as close to it as possible. For various reasons, like work, or shopping, even entertainment. The slow laid back life of country living seems foreign to most. Atoah community follows Atoah creek to its head. Homes and farms dot the area. Most everyone is related to their neighbor in some way. Everyone kept an eye on everyone else’s kids. If one of us turned up missing then our Moms would call around until she found us.

I had chores when I was growing up. Mow the yard, stack wood for the winter, feed the dogs, weed the garden, put up hay, slop the pigs, just to name a few. Oh there were many more chores.  We raised tobacco. It was hard work, from the time it was planted until it was cut and hung in the barn. Many days and evenings were spent howing, fertilizing, suckering, and topping until Dad said it was time to cut. Once it was cut it was put on poles and hung in the barn to dry out and cure. Then after it had set for a while, Dad would say that the tobacco was in case and needed to be graded. Many long nights was spent setting in the cold in the barn striping the leaves off the tobacco stalk. Your hands would become black from the tar, during the grading process.

That is how we survived. Raising tobacco, paid the bills, bought the little extra things that we needed and a few things that we wanted.  We raised most of the food we ate. I spent many a summer working in the garden, raising crops of one variety or another. We had pigs, chickens, cows, and goats. We didn’t run to the grocery store every time we wanted to cook a meal.  We’d either get it out of the can house or the smoke house or freezer.

Now growing up this wasn’t all work and no fun.  In the summers we would go to the swimming hole at the Snowbird picnic area. It is located at the mouth of Santeelah Lake and Snowbird creek. Even in the summer the waters of Snowbird creek were bone numbing cold. But we didn’t care. There would be a big group of us there swimming. And then other times we would go to where the old John Carver boat dock used to set and lay out in the sun and swim in Santeelah Lake. Life was simple, but fun.

One of my earliest memories is of church. My family is religious. I grew up in a Baptist Church. Atoah Freewill Baptist Church was a stones throw from my home. I could walk to church from my house in under 5 minutes. The church had another name. It was called the Wild Hawg Church. This was because when it was built, the church was set on blocks and you could crawl under the church. Wild hawgs would root and waller underneath the church hence the nickname the Wild Hawg Church.

My Grandpa was the choir director at the church. He taught me and my cousins to sing the song before we were able to read or write. I loved to sing in the choir. Those old hymns would lift my spirits. The Bible says make a joyful noise unto the Lord. Singing gave me great joy. My cousin Irene played the piano and her Mom Eloise played the guitar.

The church doors were open on Sundays. There wasn’t any air conditioning, unless you count open windows and doors, with a breeze blowing as air conditioning. Uncle Vester would get early on Sunday morning before church and go unlock the church so those that wanted to get to church early could get in. Now he had ole dog named brownie and my Grandma had a beagle name Buster those two dogs were more faithful to the church than most church members. Those dogs were there every time the church doors were open. I know a few so called Christians that could take lessons in faithfulness to Gods house from Brownie and Buster.

Now growing up in a Baptist Church, we didn’t have a baptismal pool. So when someone received Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, they were baptized out at the Snowbird picnic area. Yep the old swimming hole is also the baptizing pool. Now as I said earlier Snowbird Creek is bone numbing cold even in summer.  My Mom was baptized in February when she was a young girl. She told me that she was worried that she might get sick. One the deacons of the church told her not to worry, she would be ok.  Well the day that she was baptized it was like 20 degrees outside. The baptism still took place; there was ice on the rocks. Oh yeah within two weeks Mom had pneumonia, she nearly died from it.

I come from a fairly large family. I am an only child. But Mom and Dad, had brothers and sisters. And my grandparents well let’s just say over a dozen siblings each. Like I said, I come from a large family. One thing we did often was family get together at my Grandma Ruby’s house. She had a nice farm, with cows and chickens. Big open meadows and Sweetwater Creek ran through the meadow behind her house.

There was a huge pine tree in her back yard that we could set up picnic tables and chair and have family reunions with the whole family and feast on the fine cooking of the women in my family. One particular Sunday, after feasting on good ole country cooking, that Grandma Ruby prepared. We decided to have a baseball game out in the meadow, where we grazed cattle. So there were fresh cow patties all over the field. We marked off bases keeping in mind that we need to be mindful of the patties, in order to avoid any type of accidents. It was loads of fun, until my cousin Robbie had a most unfortunate accident.  Picture it, I’m on second base and Robbie is up to bat.  The ball is pitched, Robbie swings bam bat and ball connect and the ball soars in to the outfield. I take off running toward home plate.  Now as you were rounding 3^rd base you had to be careful. You really needed to make and sharp turn in order to avoid a fresh cow patty. Well Robbie in all his excitement completely forgot about the pattie as he rounded 3^rd base. Instead of making a sharp left, he over shot the turn and ran right into that fresh cow pattie. Boom down he went and he slid from heel to head in that pile of cow doodie.

Now I have successfully made to home plate scoring a run for my team.  I was waiting at home plate to high 5 Robbie when he decide to take a dip in that fresh cow shit. I lost it. I was on the ground laughing my ass off. Robbie stood up looking for all the world like that anatomically correct man, covered in cow shit. Then his eyes locked onto me. Robbie turned beat red.

Well I took off as fast as my legs would take me cause I knew that Robbie was going to beat the crap out of me. Robbie was a year and a half older than me. He was short and stocky. While I being the younger was tall and lanky. I headed for the road. Old Sweetwater Road ran in front of my Grandma’s house and parallel with the meadow that we had been playing ball in. Now the road set about seven feet above the meadow. And the fence row ran beside the road or did I should say, until my Grandma’s second husband moved it to the bottom below the road.

I was nearly to the road when I realized that the fence had been moved. I attempted to jump the fence and not slow down. But for whatever reason I misjudged and I landed on top of a live electric fence. Now to say that what transpired next wasn’t just as funny as what happened to Robbie would be an understatement. It was funny, but not to me and not at the particular time.

Here I am twisted up in an electric fence that is sending electricity coursing through my body. I am doing a dance on the electric fence. It looks like I am having a seizure, I am shaking, attempt to call for help, but the electricity is causing me to stammer. What does Robbie do, he stops and watches me getting electrocuted. Yeah, Yeah pay back is a bitch, Robbie is now laughing at me. My Dad and uncle finally catch up to us. Uncle Charlie grabs me by a belt loop on the back of my shorts and yanks me off the fence. And all is well again. Robbie strips off his dirty clothes and we head to the creek to have a swim. Robbie walks down stream and gets cleaned off, then comes to the swimming hole and joins the rest of us for a swim. 

MORE TO COME.  Written 20FEB2016