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The old cows I was alluding to earlier were named Cowbell and Bessie. I had acquired some very colorful words that would make a sailor blush, and had quite a temper to go along with it. Woe be unto the cows if I happened to be in a bad mood when Ma sent me to fetch Cowbell and Bessie. The poor things would just look at me bewildered while chewing their cud, as they were called a variety of names; none of which sounded anything like Bessie or Cowbell. I didn't whisper the names, but in a loud voice where all the neighbors from miles around could hear. Voices would carry in the mountains unbelievably well. All the concerned neighbors would tell Ma what I was calling the poor cows, but Ma just wouldn't listen to anything bad about her "sugar baby". When we left the old house to move to our new dwelling, we sold the cows. because the menfolk didn't have time to build a fence.
One day at the new house, which was situated right beside the main dirt road, we had a nice gentlemen stop to ask directions. Picture this, an old post office(sign still on it) with a 5ft kitchen attached to it, 10 dogs and cats running around, 3 or 4 old cars in the yard, weeds 4 ft high, chickens and goats running all the yard and 2 little kids as dirty as little mud pies. Ma came out, shooing all the livestock away as she came. The nice man finds what he needs to know and Ma went back in the house. He had almost gotten back to his car, when he turned around and came back. He handed Adam and I a quarter apiece and said "go buy yourselves a soda pop". Then he got this inquisitive look in his eyes and asked "do you know what a soda pop is?" Well, that did it for me. By the time I finished telling him just exactly how much I knew about everything, he was entirely ready to get in his car and leave. He didn't even look back.
Daddy frequented the old beer joint up in Boones Mill a lot, shall we say. It was about 10 miles from our house and the name of the place was the "Blue Bonnet". Several times, Adam and I would be so fortunate as to get to go along. Of course, most of the beer at the table where we were sitting would be drank by me, so I always enjoyed myself immensely. I can recall on several occasions how we got Daddy home after our little visit to the beer joint. The old jalopy didn't have any head lights and try as we might, we couldn't get Daddy to leave before sundown. However, it was no problem if we left after sundown, because Daddy would put Plan A into action. "Adam", he'd say, "get out the flashlight and get on the hood of the car". "Eve", he'd say, "get over there and holler if I'm fixin' to run off that side of the road". I do not know how, but we managed to get home every time! It was pretty scary, especially when he would round the sharp curve just before crossing the little bridge to go to the old house. I can remember sitting there holding my breath, afraid we were going to run off the side of a steep embankment, but we never did.
Entertainment was hard to come by in the mountains and so we just had to make our own. The new house had a porch that Ma built. That was a good thing, and it was also a great source of entertainment for us. One of the planks on the porch was not nailed down properly and tended to fly up on some unsuspecting soul who might come to visit. We all knew which plank it was, but no one else did and for some reason, none of the menfolk ever nailed it back down. No one ever was hurt by the plank flying up when they stepped on it, and we always had our laugh for the day.
Our cousin Wilse Abshire was the Sheriff of the county. He didn't claim any of us and little wonder he didn't. My brother "James"(name changed) was, as I mentioned before, was a person who just didn't like to work for a living. Wilse would come by, step on the wrong plank, get composed and ask "Is "James" here"? Well, we all knew just what that meant. He was there to arrest him for something again. "James" would usually be there and come on out and go off with Wilse to jail for a little while. The sad part is that "James" is around 70 years old now, and just finished his last prison sentence of 14 years. He was a very handsome, intelligent man with steel blue eyes and black hair. He was a con artist. The last time he went into prison, I was asked to testify to the D.A. concerning sex crimes against me as a child. I did so, hoping that he would get help while in prison. I do not know if he ever did, as I have not had any contact with him in around 20 years. I have compassion for him and pray for him, but have not had an occasion to speak with him. My brother Adam keeps in contact with him quite regularly.(Update) For some reason, this Mother's Day, I felt that I should call "James". At first, he was quite unfriendly...surprise! I told him that I wished him well and a prayer for peace the remainder of his life. He accepted my well wishes and wished me the same. I feel so much better, knowing I have had contact with him, and made my peace, while there is still time to do so.
The events which led "James" to pursue a life of crime, was known by us all. The only difference is that he let circumstances ruin his life. We have all suffered immensely, but not to the degree of letting circumstances dictate our life.
One of the sweetest memories about the mountains that I have, was at the old house across the meadow. There was a little creek, winding it's way down to the big creek. The little creek held some special memories for me. There was an abundance of wild mint growing along the banks, and Ma would send me out there to pick some, when she wanted to brew a delicious cup of mint tea. I can still smell it.
The little creek had it's beginning right near our house. The water just came bubbling up from the ground. There was a spring there with ice cold water and rocks covered with moss held the little spring intact. We always kept a dipper nearby to take a drink of that clear cold water. The little creek also had another important function. We had one or 2 straggly cows and if we caught them in time, they would give tasty milk, without the wild onions. I would churn that milk until it turned to butter, then it would be patted into a beautiful mold and placed inside the spring box where the rest of the milk was stored. It always amazed me at the beauty of the block of butter with their designs from the molds they were put in.
I can now go and look at the land where the houses used to be, and not cry as I have done in time past . The old houses aren't there any longer as of 1969. My brother Adam hated the mountains so much, he became intoxicated one night and burned both houses to the ground. As I walk over the land, a sense of peace is mine now, and I choose to reflect on the beauty of the land and the simple way of life that is no more.
Al
US
One day at the new house, which was situated right beside the main dirt road, we had a nice gentlemen stop to ask directions. Picture this, an old post office(sign still on it) with a 5ft kitchen attached to it, 10 dogs and cats running around, 3 or 4 old cars in the yard, weeds 4 ft high, chickens and goats running all the yard and 2 little kids as dirty as little mud pies. Ma came out, shooing all the livestock away as she came. The nice man finds what he needs to know and Ma went back in the house. He had almost gotten back to his car, when he turned around and came back. He handed Adam and I a quarter apiece and said "go buy yourselves a soda pop". Then he got this inquisitive look in his eyes and asked "do you know what a soda pop is?" Well, that did it for me. By the time I finished telling him just exactly how much I knew about everything, he was entirely ready to get in his car and leave. He didn't even look back.
Daddy frequented the old beer joint up in Boones Mill a lot, shall we say. It was about 10 miles from our house and the name of the place was the "Blue Bonnet". Several times, Adam and I would be so fortunate as to get to go along. Of course, most of the beer at the table where we were sitting would be drank by me, so I always enjoyed myself immensely. I can recall on several occasions how we got Daddy home after our little visit to the beer joint. The old jalopy didn't have any head lights and try as we might, we couldn't get Daddy to leave before sundown. However, it was no problem if we left after sundown, because Daddy would put Plan A into action. "Adam", he'd say, "get out the flashlight and get on the hood of the car". "Eve", he'd say, "get over there and holler if I'm fixin' to run off that side of the road". I do not know how, but we managed to get home every time! It was pretty scary, especially when he would round the sharp curve just before crossing the little bridge to go to the old house. I can remember sitting there holding my breath, afraid we were going to run off the side of a steep embankment, but we never did.
Entertainment was hard to come by in the mountains and so we just had to make our own. The new house had a porch that Ma built. That was a good thing, and it was also a great source of entertainment for us. One of the planks on the porch was not nailed down properly and tended to fly up on some unsuspecting soul who might come to visit. We all knew which plank it was, but no one else did and for some reason, none of the menfolk ever nailed it back down. No one ever was hurt by the plank flying up when they stepped on it, and we always had our laugh for the day.
Our cousin Wilse Abshire was the Sheriff of the county. He didn't claim any of us and little wonder he didn't. My brother "James"(name changed) was, as I mentioned before, was a person who just didn't like to work for a living. Wilse would come by, step on the wrong plank, get composed and ask "Is "James" here"? Well, we all knew just what that meant. He was there to arrest him for something again. "James" would usually be there and come on out and go off with Wilse to jail for a little while. The sad part is that "James" is around 70 years old now, and just finished his last prison sentence of 14 years. He was a very handsome, intelligent man with steel blue eyes and black hair. He was a con artist. The last time he went into prison, I was asked to testify to the D.A. concerning sex crimes against me as a child. I did so, hoping that he would get help while in prison. I do not know if he ever did, as I have not had any contact with him in around 20 years. I have compassion for him and pray for him, but have not had an occasion to speak with him. My brother Adam keeps in contact with him quite regularly.(Update) For some reason, this Mother's Day, I felt that I should call "James". At first, he was quite unfriendly...surprise! I told him that I wished him well and a prayer for peace the remainder of his life. He accepted my well wishes and wished me the same. I feel so much better, knowing I have had contact with him, and made my peace, while there is still time to do so.
The events which led "James" to pursue a life of crime, was known by us all. The only difference is that he let circumstances ruin his life. We have all suffered immensely, but not to the degree of letting circumstances dictate our life.
One of the sweetest memories about the mountains that I have, was at the old house across the meadow. There was a little creek, winding it's way down to the big creek. The little creek held some special memories for me. There was an abundance of wild mint growing along the banks, and Ma would send me out there to pick some, when she wanted to brew a delicious cup of mint tea. I can still smell it.
The little creek had it's beginning right near our house. The water just came bubbling up from the ground. There was a spring there with ice cold water and rocks covered with moss held the little spring intact. We always kept a dipper nearby to take a drink of that clear cold water. The little creek also had another important function. We had one or 2 straggly cows and if we caught them in time, they would give tasty milk, without the wild onions. I would churn that milk until it turned to butter, then it would be patted into a beautiful mold and placed inside the spring box where the rest of the milk was stored. It always amazed me at the beauty of the block of butter with their designs from the molds they were put in.
I can now go and look at the land where the houses used to be, and not cry as I have done in time past . The old houses aren't there any longer as of 1969. My brother Adam hated the mountains so much, he became intoxicated one night and burned both houses to the ground. As I walk over the land, a sense of peace is mine now, and I choose to reflect on the beauty of the land and the simple way of life that is no more.
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