When I climb into my old imaginary canoe I never know where my “remembering” are going to take me. Sometimes the old canoe takes me to places I don’t want to go, and you will never know about some of them. Sometimes it takes me places I don’t want to leave. I’ve not been inclined to write much about the middle years. You know those years of work trying to get youngans through school and suddenly those years are gone and you look around and wonder where? When? 25 to 30 years-poof! Some vacations remembered. Jobs that were real good and those that were not are remembered somewhat. I always seem to gravitate back to way back when we were young. Its silly to girls but young boys could pee across the road and laugh and joke about that. It didn’t take much to entertain us then. The crust froze on a eight-inch snow and I had a lid from a washing machine from somewhere. I would go to the top and slide down and up the other side-for a long time before it finally stopped in the bottom. Only once did that happen, A good memory for me but does little for others unless they have a special snow sledding experience. The wasper nest in the blackberry patch that eat me up. Every time I see a wasp nest I think of that time-wasps and briars and a half full lard bucket spilled. Or maybe me and Cleo high on shine trying to put a grocery bag over a black hornet nest. Perhaps the dumbest thing I ever did was that, and a close second was drinking the shine. I might see Jock’s brother Larry when a bumper jack slipped on him and he grabbed it up and beat the bark off a pine tree saying words I never heard before-and the look when he saw us laughing at him. Still brings a smile. Or the old boy on Laurel who had a big railroad watch in the bib of his overalls with a big chain hooked to it. You could say, what time is it Locke? He would jerk it out and flip it open and always say, “By Grab, there it is”. He could not tell time… Or maybe today I will take another ride on Walker Hinson’s white face bull. It seemed my legs were stregthed out flat and his back an ax handle wide. Walker had the lead rope but I was still a bit scared though I never let on…Or maybe today I will go to the swimming hole in hominy creek and us boys will pray, wish, hope some girls would come and go skinny dipping with us. Never came to pass but we were faithful in our hoping. And of course the old Oak bridge and pin hook fishing, the hog suckers, hornyheads, chubs, mud puppies, snakes, and trout. A boy’s paradise. Or I may remember cutting kindling and slats for the cookstove, and bigger stuff for the heater. That’s where I started feeling good about contributing to the family. we didn’t call it that or think about it, but when you do a job, and do it well there is a satisfaction there. Seems we are missing some of those things you and I learned by doing. Carry water in, slop the hogs, get wood, wash the clothesline, pump water and pump some more for wash day, take a tub bath, crawl into that bed on coil springs and a mattress and a pile of moms quilts and the sheets stiff kinda and smelled and felt so good. from being sun dried. I remember my sister Leta when her tonsils were taken out, they started bleeding and I went out on the front porch at Hollis Roberson’s house which was about 1O feet off the ground, and looking down at a car and her going to it with a white towel covered with bright red blood. Con Davis’s bull that hated and loved me…l think he enjoyed me teasing him until I got scared and run the hundred yard dash.. Mostly from that time I remember the other boys and girls. And I think about how we all had dreams. We were going to make a fortune and I was going to play baseball for the Yankees. we all fell in and out of love over and over. We had fist fights but no one ever got hurt. And we run together the next day. The pretty south Hominy girls looked directly at us and we kicked the ground and looked sideways at them. Except maybe the first few grades when we sent love notes. Will you be my sweetheart? check yes or no. Will you be my valentine? Check yes or no. Kids can be cruel and I’m sure we were no exception-I don’t want to remember that. Or perhaps today I will follow my Dad and try once again to step in his footprints. Or maybe I will try to sneak into the bed without washing my “rusty” feet today, just to hear my Mom have a hissy fit. I remember going out of a night to pee and never going all the way into the woods to the outhouse, and walking barefoot in the dirt and wet grass. Looking up at Pisgah with the clouds and dark hollows and sometimes a hound would be having a good old time, and sometimes I would shiver and run to the house and a strong, firm hand and arm would lasso me and yep, wash them dirty feet before you get in bed and dirty up them clean sheets.. I never got away with much and I tried. But I knew I was loved. No matter the switches or the talking to’s I got, it never occurred to me that we were poor or that we were not loved. We were never poor, there was always enough-Dad had a good job at Enka… Wasn’t much extra, but Mom had enough to take pictures, which I cherish. I wrote these two books for my grandchildren and kin, partly because I realized how much those pictures of decoration day, my grandparents, Mom and Dad when young, us as children, mean to me. Priceless. I simply tried to answer some questions that will never be asked. The good old boys on Ginseng Diggers post pictures of sang and the woods. My heart aches for I love the woods but now I am old and I had my turn…l miss it but I am satisfied with the good memories…The good times help soften the blows of the bad times with Miss sorrow. But the lessons and Faith come from Miss Sorrow. Only God could do that. On page 299 I wrote a bit about finish first. I heard Mom say so many times You ain’t done yet. Or you are not finished. I learned from that simple lesson to finish what I start. I want to finish well . The old Apostle Paul said I have finished my course-he was satisfied right up until they lay his head on a chopping block and it rolled down a dusty street. Not pretty is it? You and I are suffering some over the way things are going in our great country. We are not immune. Bad things happen to good people. But God. But God. My pastor preached on, ‘finish what you start’ Sunday. I hope I can.
