I am thankful that I grew up on a farm at Herman Junction. No, I didn't like the work in those days but now I look back with fondness and even to some extent long for a return to some of those days. I have known a lot of great people who chose farming for a vocation. Our country around Herman Junction was full of fine men who farmed for a living. They never got rich but they worked hard against bad weather, boll weevils, weeds and grass, and a lot of other things and provided for their families well.
I've talked about Booie Woods. What a farmer he was. He had a 'B' Farmall tractor that had the seat over on one side and the front wheels spread far apart. He kept two things on that tractor at all times. (1) A box of snuff. (2) A box of Arm and Hammer baking soda. The snuff gave him heart burn and the baking soda relieved it. I can see him today as he drove that tractor through the field or pulled a wagon load of cotton off to the gin and would flip me a dime or quarter to open the gate for him. His philosophy differed sharply from the other farmers. As I mentioned earlier, he would turn out the cows, pigs, geese, and everything to eat the grass out of the cotton. I didn't know anyone else who did that. But, he made a very good crop every year and was more well off than we there with his chrome dinette set and new TV. He also had a new Ford truck that I admired a lot.
Jim Norwood, Clarence Rodgers, Opp Rodgers, the Faulkenberry men, and the Furnish's all farmed near our home. Now, the houses are all gone. I remember also the Spencer boys and their farming. Some of them still farm at Bay and it seemed that every year one of the Spencer boys would bring in the first bale of cotton and they probably still do. Cecil Ashlock was a prominent farmer that we worked for some. Later his son, Ernie (Buck) took over the operation and farmed until he died far too young.
Today one of my favorite people is Carrol Wayne Morris and he has farmed big-time for many years in Mississippi. His wife Myra taught school until she retired. It has amazed me to hear Carroll talk about how many bales of cotton that they pick nowadays in just one day. Our whole family worked really hard to pick one bale a day and sometimes we failed. Farming sure has changed. Carroll took me out to a farm one day and showed me a cotton picker that costs $450,000! I thought, "Man if I had $450,000 I wouldn't buy a cotton picker with it" but that just show how little I know about farming.
I wish that I could literally go back to Herman Junction for just one day and see all those farmers in the field making their crops. BUT, I DON'T WANT TO CHOP NOR PICK ANY OF IT!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
SCHOOL TEACHERS: POST #54
I haven't written much the last couple of weeks. There are a couple of reasons why. I got my Flu shot some time ago and thought that I would not have any problems this winter with the flu, a cold, or any such thing. I was WRONG! I have had a terrible sinus infection and felt rotten. Also, I tend to forget things more and more these days. Some days I can't seem to remember my name. And, then some days I can't seem to remember my name. But, maybe I can get back on track for at least a few days.
When I lived at Herman Junction we went to school at Bay. As I reflect upon my school days I am made to remember some really good times and good people. I especially remember some fine teachers. I never had any idea how much they would mean to my life later on and if I could have had my way I would have just stayed at home and passed school up. I have mentioned before Miss Una Pounds who taught everyone from the days of Noah on down in the first class of their schooling. What a kind and gentle soul she was. I moved on up in grades through the years and I remember Miss Helen Reed who later married Claude Montgomery who chewed the calf's ear nearly off. I recall Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Montgomery in the Fourth Grade and J. P. Taylor who was my teacher in the Sixth grade. J. P. had a little nephew or somebody who called him P. Joe and so I will never forget him. He later married Miss Jennie Sue Cooper, another one of the teachers. As I moved into Junior High and then Senior High I had a lot of teachers but one stands out in my mind. I listed her as my favorite teacher when I was a Senior. She was Mrs. Gatewood and she taught bookkeeping and I loved it. One of the highlights of my schooling as far as grades were concerned was when she gave me an A+ and wrote on my report card, "Outstanding" and I really liked that. I liked working with numbers and still do. Maybe that is why when someone counts the attendance at church I always come up with about 40 more than they counted because I was good with numbers you see. I also like Miss Carol Burns who taught English. I wish that I had studied more diligently in English class but I think that I studied the teacher more than the English. She was pretty and very much a lady. In my senior year she really encouraged My Lady to marry me one day and told her that she would make a great preachers wife. How did she know that I might be a preacher? Boy, nobody else seemed to think that.
Probably the most influential man in the school to me was Arthur Cooper, the Principal of the High School. Maybe that was because we spent so much of our time together in the sweat room. Although I incurred his wrath a lot of times, I respected him so very much. Many years later when I went back to Bay to preach, Mr. Cooper was there and was very gracious and kind in his comments about the sermon. He was another one who seemed to know that My Lady and I would get married and surprisingly he encouraged her in that union as well.
Good teachers have such great power in molding the lives of young people. Today they have a lot of duties that takes time from their teaching and that is sad. I know several teachers today who are just waiting for the day when they can retire because teaching school 'ain't what it used to be.'
My hat is off to you, teacher friend, and may you have no students like I was!
When I lived at Herman Junction we went to school at Bay. As I reflect upon my school days I am made to remember some really good times and good people. I especially remember some fine teachers. I never had any idea how much they would mean to my life later on and if I could have had my way I would have just stayed at home and passed school up. I have mentioned before Miss Una Pounds who taught everyone from the days of Noah on down in the first class of their schooling. What a kind and gentle soul she was. I moved on up in grades through the years and I remember Miss Helen Reed who later married Claude Montgomery who chewed the calf's ear nearly off. I recall Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Montgomery in the Fourth Grade and J. P. Taylor who was my teacher in the Sixth grade. J. P. had a little nephew or somebody who called him P. Joe and so I will never forget him. He later married Miss Jennie Sue Cooper, another one of the teachers. As I moved into Junior High and then Senior High I had a lot of teachers but one stands out in my mind. I listed her as my favorite teacher when I was a Senior. She was Mrs. Gatewood and she taught bookkeeping and I loved it. One of the highlights of my schooling as far as grades were concerned was when she gave me an A+ and wrote on my report card, "Outstanding" and I really liked that. I liked working with numbers and still do. Maybe that is why when someone counts the attendance at church I always come up with about 40 more than they counted because I was good with numbers you see. I also like Miss Carol Burns who taught English. I wish that I had studied more diligently in English class but I think that I studied the teacher more than the English. She was pretty and very much a lady. In my senior year she really encouraged My Lady to marry me one day and told her that she would make a great preachers wife. How did she know that I might be a preacher? Boy, nobody else seemed to think that.
Probably the most influential man in the school to me was Arthur Cooper, the Principal of the High School. Maybe that was because we spent so much of our time together in the sweat room. Although I incurred his wrath a lot of times, I respected him so very much. Many years later when I went back to Bay to preach, Mr. Cooper was there and was very gracious and kind in his comments about the sermon. He was another one who seemed to know that My Lady and I would get married and surprisingly he encouraged her in that union as well.
Good teachers have such great power in molding the lives of young people. Today they have a lot of duties that takes time from their teaching and that is sad. I know several teachers today who are just waiting for the day when they can retire because teaching school 'ain't what it used to be.'
My hat is off to you, teacher friend, and may you have no students like I was!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
HIGH TEMPER: POST #53
There are some things that a fellow who is about 7-8 years old just finds hard to understand. I had never heard the term, "High Temper" until I was about that age and I had no idea what it meant until it was used to describe something that I had just seen. At Herman Junction we lived next to a man who farmed quite a bit of land and we share-cropped with him. Dad worked on the railroad but he and the older boys worked making a crop and working with our neighbor, Mr. Claude Montgomery. Mr. Montgomery was a fine man but he had some peculiar ways that I didn't understand at all.
One day Mr. Montgomery's cows got out of the fenced in lot where he kept them. I guess that Mom or one of the boys saw him out chasing cows all over the place and so they ran to help. Cows were going in every direction, in the railroad ditch, up on top of the railroad, and right down the middle of old highway 63. Finally Mr. Montgomery caught one of the cows that was not yet fully grown but was not just a baby calf either. He tackled that calf, threw him down on the ground, and nearly chewed his ear off! I was shocked. I could think of ways to punish that cow maybe, but not by chewing his ear almost completely off. I just stood there like a stump! I suppose that I wondered what he would do to me if I displeased him in some way. After getting all out of that ear that he wanted, he let the cow up and it went straight to the lot where it was supposed to be. Little wonder! I suppose that I would have straightened up too. Well, when we discussed that later Mom said, "He has a "High Temper". So, now I knew something new.
I saw another example of Mr. Montgomery's "High Temper" later. One day his tractor would not start. He worked on it for some time and tried to start it and it wouldn't start and then he would do that again and again. After several failed attempts at getting the tractor running, he stood back from the tractor a little, took a big monkey wrench and beat the tar out of that tractor motor. He broke things all to pieces. It still didn't start! You know I have wanted to do that with my car or some other thing that wouldn't run when I wanted it to, but I have never followed through with it. I don't know what he did nor how much it cost him but I do remember the tractor running later.
A high temper never accomplishes good. I remember having a "High Temper" myself as a younger fellow. One time I kicked a hole in the wall of our living room. I don't remember why I did it. But, I will tell you that I was dreading when Dad got home and saw that busted wall. You know, he didn't do anything to me about it but he said, "If I had been here I would have made another hole with his head."
I have since noted that there was something funny about my 'High Temper" and I suppose that the same thing is true of most people. It was easy for me to lose my temper with my little sisters and brother and maybe with others who were younger and smaller than me. But it seemed that I could always control my temper in other situations. It seemed to me like a six foot, three inch, 153 pound guy didn't have any business losing his temper with a 200 pound six foot, three inch guy. For the life of me I cannot remember ever losing my temper with Waylon Russell, Winston Holmes, Bob Inboden, or a lot of other guys that I knew. It seemed so much easier to control my temper under those circumstances. Maybe it was because I loved my teeth too much. So, I have tried through the years to bring my high temper under control and I have made some good progress. And, when I do lose it, I don't try to find some cow so that I can chew his ear off. If I am around Herman Junction I send for Jack to take care of the problem for me.
One day Mr. Montgomery's cows got out of the fenced in lot where he kept them. I guess that Mom or one of the boys saw him out chasing cows all over the place and so they ran to help. Cows were going in every direction, in the railroad ditch, up on top of the railroad, and right down the middle of old highway 63. Finally Mr. Montgomery caught one of the cows that was not yet fully grown but was not just a baby calf either. He tackled that calf, threw him down on the ground, and nearly chewed his ear off! I was shocked. I could think of ways to punish that cow maybe, but not by chewing his ear almost completely off. I just stood there like a stump! I suppose that I wondered what he would do to me if I displeased him in some way. After getting all out of that ear that he wanted, he let the cow up and it went straight to the lot where it was supposed to be. Little wonder! I suppose that I would have straightened up too. Well, when we discussed that later Mom said, "He has a "High Temper". So, now I knew something new.
I saw another example of Mr. Montgomery's "High Temper" later. One day his tractor would not start. He worked on it for some time and tried to start it and it wouldn't start and then he would do that again and again. After several failed attempts at getting the tractor running, he stood back from the tractor a little, took a big monkey wrench and beat the tar out of that tractor motor. He broke things all to pieces. It still didn't start! You know I have wanted to do that with my car or some other thing that wouldn't run when I wanted it to, but I have never followed through with it. I don't know what he did nor how much it cost him but I do remember the tractor running later.
A high temper never accomplishes good. I remember having a "High Temper" myself as a younger fellow. One time I kicked a hole in the wall of our living room. I don't remember why I did it. But, I will tell you that I was dreading when Dad got home and saw that busted wall. You know, he didn't do anything to me about it but he said, "If I had been here I would have made another hole with his head."
I have since noted that there was something funny about my 'High Temper" and I suppose that the same thing is true of most people. It was easy for me to lose my temper with my little sisters and brother and maybe with others who were younger and smaller than me. But it seemed that I could always control my temper in other situations. It seemed to me like a six foot, three inch, 153 pound guy didn't have any business losing his temper with a 200 pound six foot, three inch guy. For the life of me I cannot remember ever losing my temper with Waylon Russell, Winston Holmes, Bob Inboden, or a lot of other guys that I knew. It seemed so much easier to control my temper under those circumstances. Maybe it was because I loved my teeth too much. So, I have tried through the years to bring my high temper under control and I have made some good progress. And, when I do lose it, I don't try to find some cow so that I can chew his ear off. If I am around Herman Junction I send for Jack to take care of the problem for me.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
FROM HERMAN JUNCTION TO iPOD:POST #52
My niece had a little thing in her hand while we were sitting at the funeral home with some friends and family. She kept punching around on it and finally I asked her what in the world she had in her hand. She said, "It's an iPod!" I asked her "What does the thing do?" She said that it has a lot of information on it and that she had 15,000 songs recorded on it. I couldn't believe it. I know all the songs in the song books that we have used at church nearly all my life and I thought that I was doing good, but 15,000 songs on that little hand held thing was just hard for me to believe.
You see, it was not long ago at Herman Junction that I was listening to the Grand Ole Opry on a radio sitting up in the window of the house on Saturday night. I moved from that into having a little tiny record player that would play one record at a time and then to a stereo where I could play albums with six songs on one side. Then I got eight track and cassette tapes and moved on to the CD's but that is as far as I ever intended to go in the electronic world.
Why does someone need 15,000 songs on a little hand-held gizmo? How many songs can one listen to at a time? Are all of those songs desirable songs? How long would it take me to listen to 15,000 songs and by the time that I listened to all of them some new ones would have been recorded and I would need to add them to the list. This electronic gadget age is driving me nuts. I like simple things. I mean, I know every song in the song book, "Songs of the church" and I thought that was pretty good but it is far short of 15,000 songs. My Pod was doing alright I thought and then comes this iPOD thing and confuses the daylights out of me. I used to get after the teenagers for passing notes during my sermons because I could see them doing it. Now, they text message and they can do it while looking me straight in the eye and causing me to think that they are listening. I just can't stand it.
I have no idea what else there is in the gadget world that I don't know even exists. I know that we bought our two Great-Granddaughters a little plastic computer each and they like them. They call them thier 'pooters' and don't want anyone touching them. Well, they and the rest of the world may be learning a lot of new things but back at Herman Junction we learned a lot of things in much more simple fashion. We listened to one song at a time, added up our figures in our head, wrote letters and sent them in the U.S. mail, and some folk even had a party line telephone. It was a pretty good system and I liked it. I say, "If it was good enough for Herman Junction it is good enough for me."
You see, it was not long ago at Herman Junction that I was listening to the Grand Ole Opry on a radio sitting up in the window of the house on Saturday night. I moved from that into having a little tiny record player that would play one record at a time and then to a stereo where I could play albums with six songs on one side. Then I got eight track and cassette tapes and moved on to the CD's but that is as far as I ever intended to go in the electronic world.
Why does someone need 15,000 songs on a little hand-held gizmo? How many songs can one listen to at a time? Are all of those songs desirable songs? How long would it take me to listen to 15,000 songs and by the time that I listened to all of them some new ones would have been recorded and I would need to add them to the list. This electronic gadget age is driving me nuts. I like simple things. I mean, I know every song in the song book, "Songs of the church" and I thought that was pretty good but it is far short of 15,000 songs. My Pod was doing alright I thought and then comes this iPOD thing and confuses the daylights out of me. I used to get after the teenagers for passing notes during my sermons because I could see them doing it. Now, they text message and they can do it while looking me straight in the eye and causing me to think that they are listening. I just can't stand it.
I have no idea what else there is in the gadget world that I don't know even exists. I know that we bought our two Great-Granddaughters a little plastic computer each and they like them. They call them thier 'pooters' and don't want anyone touching them. Well, they and the rest of the world may be learning a lot of new things but back at Herman Junction we learned a lot of things in much more simple fashion. We listened to one song at a time, added up our figures in our head, wrote letters and sent them in the U.S. mail, and some folk even had a party line telephone. It was a pretty good system and I liked it. I say, "If it was good enough for Herman Junction it is good enough for me."
It seems to me that the more electronic stuff we find the more complicated life gets. Some folks know all about it and some don't know diddly about it and that makes it hard to deal with. At Herman Junction everybody could turn on the radio and listen to a song or Young Dr. Malone, write a letter, etc. It was simple! Now, I've go to learn how to compute on a 'pooter', work an iPOD, work up a sermon on Power Point so I can show pictures in the church house, and all of that stuff and it's hard for a Herman Junction guy to do that. And, while I am pointing at stuff on the Power Point the kids are having a field day text messaging. I wonder what is coming next? None of this stuff is going on at Herman Junction today and that makes everything well at Herman Junction.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
'57 YELLOWJACKETS: POST #51
One of the great blessings of my life in being raised at Herman Junction was getting to go school at Bay, Arkansas. At one time there was a school at Herman Junction housed in one building across the railroad tracks from our house. When we moved there the school had already closed and we rode the bus as little folk to the school in the big city of Bay. To me it was a HUGE school and I may as well have been in New York City even though at that time I didn't know that there was a New York City.
Miss Una Pounds was my first teacher and it was called the 'Primer' class. I guess it was similar to a kindergarten class today. Miss Una taught that class from the beginning of time I guess. I know that she taught Noah's grandchildren after they got off the Ark. She was known and loved by everybody in the country. I moved from that class to the Second grade after the first year, skipping the First grade. I don't know why that was but it was OK to me. That is why I graduated from High School at barely Seventeen years old and several of my classmates did too.
Most of my early classmates and I went all the way through High School together. Our society was not as mobile as it is today and moving around was only from one to another share-cropping place but we stayed in the same school. Not too many moved away and not too many moved in it seemed to me. It was such a blessing to go to school with children and young people who would be dear friends to this very day.
Every year now there is a reunion at Bay of the '57 Yellow Jackets. There are only about three or four of our classmates that we cannot find and about Seven who have passed away. There were 46 graduates in 1957 and we usually have about 32-36 at our reunion and we really enjoy it. You know, when you get our age you need to have your reunions often because you don't know when you might be called for a funeral instead of a reunion!
Our class was made up of some really good people. Oh, we had our differences but that was OK. Gladys Jean Hines asked me in October 2008 if I was still spreading that church of Christ stuff around. She wasn't being mean, just showing her hard-shelled Baptist feelings. We talked about church quite often and argued about dancing, etc. but we loved each other in spite of our differences. Shirley and Peggy Ashlock were neighbors and both of them in my class. I told the church where Shirley attends that when we were youngsters we fought nearly every day and she started every one of them! We don't fight any more though. One classmate told me recently that the two of us had a fight once because I was trying to keep him from fighting with Jimmy Isbell. I don't remember that but he shouldn't have been picking on Jimmy anyway. I remember one time we were at a basketball game at Marked Tree and we were outside the gym during the girls game. Some guys wanted to fight us and one of the Marked Tree guys said, "I have a brother in High School." Dalton Weaver said, "I have a brother in the PEN!" That was the end of the fight and I sure was glad. I don't remember when Walton got out of the pen but he has been preaching now for about 50 years. (Now, he wasn't really in the pen...Dalton was just joshing.) I could tell a thousand stories but some of them would accuse me of not telling the truth on them so I will just hush before I get in more trouble than I am already in.
Yes, I am really proud to be a part of the '57 Yellow Jackets and look forward to seeing them time and again. In fact, I hope that I am the last one to leave this earth because I would not want to think what some of them might say if I go before them. May God bless you dear friends and may we have many more good times together.
Miss Una Pounds was my first teacher and it was called the 'Primer' class. I guess it was similar to a kindergarten class today. Miss Una taught that class from the beginning of time I guess. I know that she taught Noah's grandchildren after they got off the Ark. She was known and loved by everybody in the country. I moved from that class to the Second grade after the first year, skipping the First grade. I don't know why that was but it was OK to me. That is why I graduated from High School at barely Seventeen years old and several of my classmates did too.
Most of my early classmates and I went all the way through High School together. Our society was not as mobile as it is today and moving around was only from one to another share-cropping place but we stayed in the same school. Not too many moved away and not too many moved in it seemed to me. It was such a blessing to go to school with children and young people who would be dear friends to this very day.
Every year now there is a reunion at Bay of the '57 Yellow Jackets. There are only about three or four of our classmates that we cannot find and about Seven who have passed away. There were 46 graduates in 1957 and we usually have about 32-36 at our reunion and we really enjoy it. You know, when you get our age you need to have your reunions often because you don't know when you might be called for a funeral instead of a reunion!
Our class was made up of some really good people. Oh, we had our differences but that was OK. Gladys Jean Hines asked me in October 2008 if I was still spreading that church of Christ stuff around. She wasn't being mean, just showing her hard-shelled Baptist feelings. We talked about church quite often and argued about dancing, etc. but we loved each other in spite of our differences. Shirley and Peggy Ashlock were neighbors and both of them in my class. I told the church where Shirley attends that when we were youngsters we fought nearly every day and she started every one of them! We don't fight any more though. One classmate told me recently that the two of us had a fight once because I was trying to keep him from fighting with Jimmy Isbell. I don't remember that but he shouldn't have been picking on Jimmy anyway. I remember one time we were at a basketball game at Marked Tree and we were outside the gym during the girls game. Some guys wanted to fight us and one of the Marked Tree guys said, "I have a brother in High School." Dalton Weaver said, "I have a brother in the PEN!" That was the end of the fight and I sure was glad. I don't remember when Walton got out of the pen but he has been preaching now for about 50 years. (Now, he wasn't really in the pen...Dalton was just joshing.) I could tell a thousand stories but some of them would accuse me of not telling the truth on them so I will just hush before I get in more trouble than I am already in.
Yes, I am really proud to be a part of the '57 Yellow Jackets and look forward to seeing them time and again. In fact, I hope that I am the last one to leave this earth because I would not want to think what some of them might say if I go before them. May God bless you dear friends and may we have many more good times together.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
DUST, MUD, GUMBO: POST #50
Every road in the Herman Junction area was dirt except old highway 63 that ran right in front of our house. No, I did NOT say GRAVEL road, I said DIRT road. The roads in every direction from our house were just dirt roads and that made life interesting at times.
Herman Junction was the only place that I knew of where one could stand in mud up to his butt and have sand blowing in his eyes! Things could change that quickly it seemed. I hated DUST! It was awful to be walking down the road and a car or truck meet you or pass you and the dust would be so thick that you could not see and you could just feel it filling your lungs in spite of any effort that you made to keep it out. Dust was everywhere and covered everything. It could even get in the house around the windows and you could write your name on the end tables and other pieces of furniture. One would anxiously await a little rain and then it would come. When it came, we had......
MUD! I mentioned earlier that when I was very young I enjoyed riding in the wagon with the family and leaning over the side boards and watch the mud squshing up on the wheels and leaving a trail behind us. Even as I got older I enjoyed riding the tractor or a bicycle through the mud. It was kind of fun to make mud balls and fight with them unless you got hit square in the face with one and I have had that experience many times. Mud doesn't taste too good. A lot of time could be used taking a stick and making all kinds of designs in the mud only to have your little sister come along and mess it all up. But, I didn't really like the mud all that much and I was happy to see it dry up some. But then that dad gummed dust would come back and mess everything up again.
GUMBO! Do you think that I am talking about Louisiana Gumbo that one eats? Well, I am not! I am talking about the dirt out of Ben and Pete Harpers farms. It would be dry and dusty, then the rain would come and there would be mud and gumbo. We often wore shoes that were called, "Gumbo Boots or Shoes." I can hardly describe the feeling of trying to walk in a pair of boots or shoes through gumbo. I mean that stuff was like some kind of plaster or cement. You would get stuck and the only way out was to pull your feet out of the boots and then try to pull the boots out of the gumbo and carry them to dryer ground. When you pulled those boots out of the gumbo it made a sound kind of like we make when we put a big sucker in our mouth and remove it quickly. We would go to chop cotton and that gumbo would stick to your hoe and about every third strike you would have to stop and clean the gumbo off your hoe. When you were picking cotton because the cotton was dry but the gumbo was still a bit wet, when you got to the end of the row you would have about sixty pounds of cotton in the sack and twenty pounds of gumbo on your sack and feet. Barbara and I slid off a road one time and there was no way to control the car in the gumbo. We were going very slow and just gently slid off in a ditch. We had to walk a few hundred yards in the gumbo and you never saw such a mess in your life. We had it all over us by the time we got to a nearby house. It is cold black and as sticky as glue.
There are still come dirt roads at Herman Junction just exactly like those in days gone by. And, they are still dusty and muddy and that gumbo remains on those farms where we once chopped and picked cotton. Ain't it good to have nice paved roads?
Herman Junction was the only place that I knew of where one could stand in mud up to his butt and have sand blowing in his eyes! Things could change that quickly it seemed. I hated DUST! It was awful to be walking down the road and a car or truck meet you or pass you and the dust would be so thick that you could not see and you could just feel it filling your lungs in spite of any effort that you made to keep it out. Dust was everywhere and covered everything. It could even get in the house around the windows and you could write your name on the end tables and other pieces of furniture. One would anxiously await a little rain and then it would come. When it came, we had......
MUD! I mentioned earlier that when I was very young I enjoyed riding in the wagon with the family and leaning over the side boards and watch the mud squshing up on the wheels and leaving a trail behind us. Even as I got older I enjoyed riding the tractor or a bicycle through the mud. It was kind of fun to make mud balls and fight with them unless you got hit square in the face with one and I have had that experience many times. Mud doesn't taste too good. A lot of time could be used taking a stick and making all kinds of designs in the mud only to have your little sister come along and mess it all up. But, I didn't really like the mud all that much and I was happy to see it dry up some. But then that dad gummed dust would come back and mess everything up again.
GUMBO! Do you think that I am talking about Louisiana Gumbo that one eats? Well, I am not! I am talking about the dirt out of Ben and Pete Harpers farms. It would be dry and dusty, then the rain would come and there would be mud and gumbo. We often wore shoes that were called, "Gumbo Boots or Shoes." I can hardly describe the feeling of trying to walk in a pair of boots or shoes through gumbo. I mean that stuff was like some kind of plaster or cement. You would get stuck and the only way out was to pull your feet out of the boots and then try to pull the boots out of the gumbo and carry them to dryer ground. When you pulled those boots out of the gumbo it made a sound kind of like we make when we put a big sucker in our mouth and remove it quickly. We would go to chop cotton and that gumbo would stick to your hoe and about every third strike you would have to stop and clean the gumbo off your hoe. When you were picking cotton because the cotton was dry but the gumbo was still a bit wet, when you got to the end of the row you would have about sixty pounds of cotton in the sack and twenty pounds of gumbo on your sack and feet. Barbara and I slid off a road one time and there was no way to control the car in the gumbo. We were going very slow and just gently slid off in a ditch. We had to walk a few hundred yards in the gumbo and you never saw such a mess in your life. We had it all over us by the time we got to a nearby house. It is cold black and as sticky as glue.
There are still come dirt roads at Herman Junction just exactly like those in days gone by. And, they are still dusty and muddy and that gumbo remains on those farms where we once chopped and picked cotton. Ain't it good to have nice paved roads?
Monday, December 22, 2008
FUNERALS: POST #49
There were some sad times at Herman Junction just like there are sad times everywhere else. I remember them vividly. We came home from school one day and there were several people at the house on the other side of the track from us between Herman Junction and Davis Spur. The wife and mother of the family that lived there had died some time before. On this day when we got home and saw all the people there we learned that the father/husband of the family had just died. I believe that there were four children in the family and now they were without father or mother and I remember how painful the thought of that was to me. I don't know what happened to the children but I hope that they have each had a very good life as adults.
I hated funerals. I only went to two funerals and left both times before I began preaching and had to preach one. I went to the funeral of My Lady's brother, Pete and I had to leave because I could not stand the pain that completely filled that building. Pete was 18 years old and died of kidney disease. My Grandmother died and I went to her funeral but again I had to leave because I simply thought that I would burst with pain when I saw my Dad and so many, many, others who hearts were broken. I am an extremely emotional person and to this day I cry every time they open a new Wal-Mart store or something like that. Funerals are especially tough for me. I have come a long way though and was able to speak at both Dad's and Mom's funeral although later I crashed.
There were some things about Herman Junction funerals that I didn't understand and I thought were quite odd. Most of the time the body of the deceased was taken home for a day or so before the funeral and people in the community would come to the house and 'sit up' with the family. I remember a lady who lived there and when someone died she would just move in with the family for a couple of days. Sometimes she didn't even know the family but she would always go and just sit there and eat. You know, there was always a ton of food for the family when someone died and this lady would go there and just graze for a couple of days and I remember Mom and some others talking about that. I thought that I could surely find a better place to eat myself. When the funeral occurred this same lady would just wail and carry on like she had lost her best friend but after the funeral she was just fine and ready to eat again.
One of my Aunts had always heard that the body of the deceased was put in a casket with clothes that had a front in them but no back and she had always wondered about that. One time she decided that she would sit with the corpse and when everyone else was gone she would take a peek and see if that was true. But, there was one other lady who sat there too and didn't budge to leave. They sat there together all night long although they really didn't know each other very well. Later, my Aunt learned that the other lady was there for the same reason that she was but neither of them knew what the other was thinking.
One of my preacher friends preached an entire funeral calling the deceased by the wrong name. She had a twin sister and the living sister sat there and heard her own funeral preached! Her corrected it at the cemetery.
The people in the community in those days honored the deceased and the family in every way that they could. Work almost stopped. Traffic on the highway stopped as the procession made it's way to the church building and cemetery. If there was a crop in the field that needed to be tended, neighbors banded together and took care of those needs. If help was needed financially there was always someone to lead the way to gather funds and help. There was a bond in the community that is seen very seldom these days and everyone was willing to do whatever he or she could do to relieve the needs of their neighbors.
In Romania a funeral is so different and I was shocked one day when I saw one taking place. I was sitting in a big bus that was stopped and I was just looking out the window. My Lady and some other Americans were with me. Suddenly there was a three quarter ton truck passing by and up on the bed of that truck was a casket with a body in it and the top of the casket was turned across the front of the bed and the body was lying there all clothed but exposed to the elements. There was a rail across the rear of the truck and family members were holding on to the rail and behind them were other family members and friends. The truck was moving very slowly so the people could keep up with it and they were very, very, respectful as they made their journey to the cemetery. There was a lot of loud wailing and crying as they walked down the street. But, I was amazed at the body just lying there and I told My Lady and the others that if I die in Romania to please put the lid down on my casket because it is unusually cold over there.
I didn't like the funerals at Herman Junction but there were some funny things that happened sometimes and I guess that was alright because it helped to lighten the load a bit. I hope there isn't a funeral at Herman Junction today because it would have to be James or Ann Ritchie or my sister, Mayor Linda and I wouldn't like that.
I hated funerals. I only went to two funerals and left both times before I began preaching and had to preach one. I went to the funeral of My Lady's brother, Pete and I had to leave because I could not stand the pain that completely filled that building. Pete was 18 years old and died of kidney disease. My Grandmother died and I went to her funeral but again I had to leave because I simply thought that I would burst with pain when I saw my Dad and so many, many, others who hearts were broken. I am an extremely emotional person and to this day I cry every time they open a new Wal-Mart store or something like that. Funerals are especially tough for me. I have come a long way though and was able to speak at both Dad's and Mom's funeral although later I crashed.
There were some things about Herman Junction funerals that I didn't understand and I thought were quite odd. Most of the time the body of the deceased was taken home for a day or so before the funeral and people in the community would come to the house and 'sit up' with the family. I remember a lady who lived there and when someone died she would just move in with the family for a couple of days. Sometimes she didn't even know the family but she would always go and just sit there and eat. You know, there was always a ton of food for the family when someone died and this lady would go there and just graze for a couple of days and I remember Mom and some others talking about that. I thought that I could surely find a better place to eat myself. When the funeral occurred this same lady would just wail and carry on like she had lost her best friend but after the funeral she was just fine and ready to eat again.
One of my Aunts had always heard that the body of the deceased was put in a casket with clothes that had a front in them but no back and she had always wondered about that. One time she decided that she would sit with the corpse and when everyone else was gone she would take a peek and see if that was true. But, there was one other lady who sat there too and didn't budge to leave. They sat there together all night long although they really didn't know each other very well. Later, my Aunt learned that the other lady was there for the same reason that she was but neither of them knew what the other was thinking.
One of my preacher friends preached an entire funeral calling the deceased by the wrong name. She had a twin sister and the living sister sat there and heard her own funeral preached! Her corrected it at the cemetery.
The people in the community in those days honored the deceased and the family in every way that they could. Work almost stopped. Traffic on the highway stopped as the procession made it's way to the church building and cemetery. If there was a crop in the field that needed to be tended, neighbors banded together and took care of those needs. If help was needed financially there was always someone to lead the way to gather funds and help. There was a bond in the community that is seen very seldom these days and everyone was willing to do whatever he or she could do to relieve the needs of their neighbors.
In Romania a funeral is so different and I was shocked one day when I saw one taking place. I was sitting in a big bus that was stopped and I was just looking out the window. My Lady and some other Americans were with me. Suddenly there was a three quarter ton truck passing by and up on the bed of that truck was a casket with a body in it and the top of the casket was turned across the front of the bed and the body was lying there all clothed but exposed to the elements. There was a rail across the rear of the truck and family members were holding on to the rail and behind them were other family members and friends. The truck was moving very slowly so the people could keep up with it and they were very, very, respectful as they made their journey to the cemetery. There was a lot of loud wailing and crying as they walked down the street. But, I was amazed at the body just lying there and I told My Lady and the others that if I die in Romania to please put the lid down on my casket because it is unusually cold over there.
I didn't like the funerals at Herman Junction but there were some funny things that happened sometimes and I guess that was alright because it helped to lighten the load a bit. I hope there isn't a funeral at Herman Junction today because it would have to be James or Ann Ritchie or my sister, Mayor Linda and I wouldn't like that.
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