I would take a straight pin and bend the head around into a circle. Then with a pair of pliers, I would bend the sharp end into a U. That was my fish hook. I would go into the woods that came within 15 feet of the house and hunt for the perfect sapling to use for a fishing pole. I carried a hand-me-down Barlow pocketknife with one or both handles missing. But it was an honest-to-goodness pocketknife. Now I had a hook and a pole and now I need string and a sinker, and of course, the Prince Albert can full of juicy red worms. The string was a major problem. I would get into mom’s sewing stuff and steal her string.
And of course, sewing thread was weak so I doubled and tripled the line. And I fished off of an old oak bridge and needed a long line. I don’t remember getting fussed at over the string, but it could well have happened. Next, I needed a sinker to put that worm on the bottom. Sometimes a rock was sufficient but one time I remember using iron nuts for the sinker. Since the water was crystal clear I could lay on the bridge and watch for fish. There were hog suckers, horny heads, and an occasional trout. The creek was full of minnows and chubs and crawfish. I would see a sucker meandering along coming upstream and I would put that worm right in his path. Oh, it was exciting when he would take the worm. I would set the hook and jerk him up on the bridge. Sometimes in my excitement, I would throw the fish clean off the other side. Usually, I turned them loose but on occasion, I would put them in a wash tub and play with them.
The old oak bridge was a favorite place for me. I would lay down on it and look down into the water and dream. I would dream of playing baseball for the Yankees. Or being a good guy who saves the world. The old bridge had three logs across the creek and Sawmill oak lumber nailed onto them. They rattled whenever Con Davis came home from work or when someone came to our house. I always ran to look and see who rattled the bridge. I spent many an hour entertaining myself on that old oak bridge. A fond memory of long lazy days of summer, when times were simple and you could go loafer around all day and nobody got kidnapped or went missing. Another way I entertained myself was by making a workable bow and arrows. I would find a straight young Hickory sapling and shave the bark off and thin it down some, then I would put it behind the Kitchen cookstove to cure out. I made arrows out of any straight slender shoots that I could find. Chicken feathers were used but I cannot remember how I fastened them to the arrows. By the way, I used to take a corncob and put three chicken feathers in the end and a nail in the other end and throw that thing around for hours. The feathers would make it whirl and turn if they were put in right. I suspect there were hens running around with tail feathers missing most of the time. String for a bow was really a challenge. It had to be stronger than the fishing line. I would use baling string or anything else I can find to make the bows work. It was a lot of fun while growing up in the mountains of North Carolina, on South Hominy and Davis Creek.
Our neighbor was Con Davis. His son was Connie Gene. He was a bit younger than me so I got to be the good cowboy and he had to play the bad guy. Of course, he always missed me when he shot at me with his wooden gun, but I always hit him when I shot at him. That was the disadvantage of being younger.
We ran through the woods and fields playing cowboys and Indians. Being friends with Connie paid off big time because they were our only neighbors, And they got a TV before anyone else did. I got to watch TV over there many times. Davy Crockett, Ed Sullivan show, Old Yeller, Daniel Boone, and the cowboy heroes were so wonderful. I remember the test pattern and the national anthem being played when it came on and went off. I mean we had rabbit ears and an outside antenna and you could get
someone to go out and turn the antenna and one to watch the TV and when you got it just right you stopped. If there was no one available you might run back and forth several times trying to get the picture clear. Sometimes seems like getting a good picture on the TV was as tough as finding a good bowstring for my bow. I don’t know about you, those times seem like magic now. So much fun making slingshots too. Flirting with the girls at church I was going to every week. Trading marbles for the wonderful little nuts called chinquapins, riding saplings down in the woods with Connie or with myself. Going to Grandpa’s and Grandma’s and playing hide and seek or tag with other cousins. Or maybe just playing in the Barn was always a blessing. It seems to me like life was not as complicated as it is now. Of course, we’ve grown up we worked our whole lives and we’re supposed to be mature but I’m still a dreamer. I intend always be a dreamer and most of my dreams have not come true but as Howard Goodman said, ‘Enough of my dreams have come true that I’ll keep dreaming on’.
My dad worked hard his whole life at the Enka Plant and he made enough money to make it. The rent always got paid, we always had big gardens and lots of canned stuff. We had a hog or two to kill for winter. Some families had a cow to milk twice a day. Mom generally took care of the family and in truth she generally runs the show. I love to get in my old canoe out from the bank that I’ve ridden on the rivers of my memories for years. And it is reddish and Leaking a little bit now, and as I ride down the rivers of my memory I can’t wait to see who is going to take a ride with me. The old canoe is docked on the banks by the rivers on my memory. It’s an imaginary canoe, but the places and the people I visit are real memories that help me to forget the bad times and focus on the good times. It’s been a pleasure today. You be blessed because you are.