Friday, October 31, 2014

Little Ol' Towns

They ain't much very special 
About little ol' towns
Hidin' deep in the mountains
Not much business around.

Why, they can't even afford 
A single stoplight in some
They roll up their sidewalks
Before the sun ever sets.
Folks still sit out on porches
Ol' men whittle an' wait
Drinkin' sody pop an' Moonpies 
Chewin', spittin' to boot.

They tell lies, swap knives

Laugh at their own jokes
Their wives still are pesterin'
While they sit a' jesterin'

Women still gossip over coffee,
Tea and a fresh baked crumb cake
They rant, rave an' rail on
At the messes their husbands make.

Ornery youngin's wander yards,
 Back alleys an' half empty streets
Prankin' an yankin' a little gal's hair
Hootin' an' hollerin', fillin' the air.

It ain't much of a place
To raise youngin's ye know
Ain't even no movies
Not many places to go.

Yet as they talk of their town
The place they was raised
Folks get all misty, red eyed an'
Weepy, rememberin' how it was.



Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Foggy mornin' in the mountains

The fog is thick, as if the clouds dropped down to wrap misty arms around the mountains an' fill the hollers to the brim. Darkness latches onto the fog an' pushes hard agin the on-comin' day.

The thick damp mist muffles the sounds of dawn. Birds are feather fluffed an' quiet, waitin' for the sun that still hides behind the clouds. Roosters wander out of the hen house damp an' bedraggled, not willin' yet to crow an' call in the dawn.

Big Ben clocks ring harsh in the not yet day, unwindin' as they cry "rise an' shine". Ol' men reach out an' lift the clock to stare with sleep sandy eyes, seein' it ain't yet sunrise, thinkin' Big Ben must be lyin', must be wrong.

But mantle clocks an' that big ol' number 18 sized pocket watch, coin silver case an' 17 jewel sure both speak the same truth. Mornin' has come, no sun has risen, but mornin' has come home to the hills.

As they rise up, womenfolks sit on the side of the bed, gatherin' their long hair into buns, pullin' strands tight an' under tortoise shell combs. Aprons on, they head for the kitchens to throw kindlin' into cook stoves, light a fire, wash up an' get breakfast together.

The menfolks are more verbal as they stand, groan moanin' an' unsteady with mornin' aches to pull on overalls, drag on worn out socks and slowly tie up scuffed brogans. In cabins up an' down the creek they wander to the kitchen, wash up in the pans of water warm an' waitin' for them, grab a sup of water from the dipper before they lift the pail, head for the well to draw fresh water an' then to the barn to feed the mules, milk the cows an' begin the day's work.

It is mornin' in the mountains, hidden by the fog, not delayed.

Monday, June 02, 2014

Mornin' in the Mountains

Though dawn is still far away
Old eyes blink once, twice, open.
Nothing stirs in the early darkness
Big Ben alarm clock steadily ticks
Counting time, keepin' the beat
Keepin' a steady pace, onward till morn.
The yellowed newspapers pasted tight
Against the walls are still unseen
Old news, oxymoron long forgotten
Now keeps out the wind an' cold.
Deep feather bed is a sleepy nest
Quilts are hand stitched security
Pulled chin high an' held tight
Against the day, the morn, the dawn.
Then high on the hill, just there
A lone robin wakes, shakes an' sings
Inside a blink, a yawn an' ol' leg creaks.
Ol' dog's long vigil held on the floor
Curled nose to tail on a braided rag rug.
Them creakin' bones made ol' dog stir
Tail thumpin' 'gainst ancient chestnut
Hand hewn, sandstone smoothed puncheon floor.
Deep in a holler, down the creek
An ol' ramblin' cabin sits quiet like
Coiled tight like a spring, waitin'
For the ol' Big Ben to ringle jangle
Mornin'! Good mornin', Get up an' go.
Soon lights will lighten, brighten windows
Push through the humid darkness
Coffee, boiled long, strong, aroma thick
Will seep through every door,
Curl in every corner, warmin' hearth an' heart
It is mornin' in the mountains.

Friday, May 09, 2014

Stormy Mornin' Chores - Part Two

Uncle Billy paused as he brushed ol' Joe and thought for just a minute before he began;"Mornin' to you too, Lord. This here is Billy Gilbert. I've got a few folks on my mind this mornin'. Thought I might lift 'em up to y'all an ask for a couple blessin's for 'em.

 First Lord, than you for my dear wife, Del. She is such a blessin' to me. I know I don't deserve her, just like I don't reckon I deserve Your love either. But I sure am grateful for both her and You.

I know that Will ain't where he should be with You. Don't know what to do about that. He just don't want to hear me tell him much of anythin' these days. He's my boy, Lord. He is just as hard headed as I am an' I suppose that is some of the reason why he don't come home much. He don't take much to farm life or mountain life either. Well, bless him an his wife Helen. Yep, I know she don't think much of us, thinks we are poor an' dumb. I don't reckon she cares for us, but as long as she loves him, well that is fine, just fine."

He brushed for a good bit, ponderin' an' studyin' on what he had prayed about. He sort of sniffed a little an' wiped his nose an' one eye on the sleeve of his shirt. That boy Will hadn't been home in several years. He wasn't much for writin' either. Now an' again Uncle Billy an' Aunt Del would go over to Hap Collin's house an' call Will. They would talk for several minutes to Will an' have a quick "Hello, how are you?" from Helen.

Those conversations always ended with Aunt Del cryin' an' Uncle Billy just wishin' they hadn't bothered.

He started again, a little more quiet than before, "Father, how do you do it? We stray, don't talk to you in years an' You still love us. I just don't know, Lord. I just don't rightly know." He spoke softly as he brushed.

"Anyway, don't forget to help out the Collinses up on Little Creek. That youngin' of theirs has the asthma. This past winter was awful hard on her. I suspect the coal grate they heat with ain't doin' her much good a'tall. Bless our pastor an' his family. Keep him preachin' the word, Lord. He is young but is doin' fine."

He brushed for a while an' studied on things a bit more, "Well, Joe an' you too Lord. I have to get in. Del will have breakfast for me an' I don't want her a'fussin'. Not that she does. She puts up with a lot, I reckon."

As if on cue ol' Joe snorted an' Uncle Billy laughed, "I don't need any comments outta you, you sorry mule. I swear if that mule wasn't listenin', Lord."

The mule was led to his stall. Uncle Billy threw a scoop of corn into the feed box before he left. He remembered the pan of eggs an' picked them up as he left the barn to head for the cabin. When he opened the kitchen door the lights were out still. He held the door open as Ol' Dog came in.

He knew Del had been tired, she just had not bounced back as quick this last time she was sick. Though he weren't much of a cook, he knew he could fry some bacon an' eggs. They was left over biscuits in the icebox he could warm up an' though she would fuss, she would appreciate him lettin' her sleep.

He carefully measured scoops of JFG coffee as he threw them into the ol' pot. He poured in the right amount of water an' put the pot on to boil. Some folks thought boiled coffee was awful strong, but him an' Del liked it that way.

The cast iron skillets were in the oven. He carefully lifted one out an' shut the oven door right quiet like. He put the skillet on the gas stove, turned the burner on to heat the cast iron before addin' the bacon. Now, this was what ever'body called "country bacon". It still had a rind on one side. He liked to gnaw on that rind after the softer part of the bacon strip was gone. Aunt Del tol' him all that grease weren't good for him. He was 76 an' still goin' strong. He planned on bein' 'round for quite a few years.

The oven warmed up for the biscuits as he fried the bacon. When it was warm he put five biscuits in to warm. He still crept around the kitchen, not wantin' to wake his wife. He knew he should drain some of the bacon grease off, but he liked his eggs good an' greasy. He cracked six eggs into the pan after it cooled a bit. Three eggs came out before the yellow was cooked through. He didn't like a cooked through yolk.

Breakfast was on the table. He even made gravy. Nossir, it was not up to Del's standards, but it would do. It would do. He quickly fed Ol' Dog then headed for the bedroom.

He walked into the bedroom and called, "Del, you better get your sorry self out of that bed. I have done made breakfast. The day is half gone."

"Del? Del, darlin', y'all better wake up now." He stepped closer as he called her name, yet she didn't stir.

"Del? Dellie, are ye alright? Sweet darlin', wake up now."

Aunt Del Gilbert didn't stir, she didn't move as he stepped right next to their bed. This was the bed her Daddy had made them when they took up housekeepin'. Uncle Billy's eyes started to fill with tears.

"Oh Del. Can you hear me? Wake up now, Dellie, honey. Open your eyes an' let me know you are OK." he pleaded.

His pleading didn't change a thing. In his heart of hearts he knew. Though he begged her to answer, he knew she never would answer again. He stood for the longest time lookin' at the bed, at the still figure of his wife. He hadn't realized just how thin she had become. When he looked at her now he saw she was tiny under the quilts.

He took his bandana out of his back pocket an' wiped his eyes. The tears didn't stop as he sat on the side of the bed. He gently took her hand, noticin' that her weddin' band was loose on her finger. He smoothed her hair with his other hand. Though she was only a year younger than him and was 74, he still saw that auburn haired gal he loved, that he teased an' tormented as a school boy.

Her glasses, hair pins an' the tortoise shell combs she kept in her hair were laid carefully in a small china plate she kept on the nightstand. He closed his eyes an' could still see her taking the combs out of her hair, pullin' the hair pins one by one as she placed them on the plate. She carefully took off her glasses, folded them before placing them with the combs an' pins.

When he got in bed the night before, he had reached over as he had every night he was home for the last 58 years of their marriage an' kissed her gently on her lips.

" Good night, sweet Dellie." he had whispered, just as he had on their weddin' night.

"Good night, Billy Gilbert. I love you, husband." was her reply that first night an' ever' night since. Last night was the last time he would ever hear those words. Never again in this lifetime would he hear her confess her love.

He sat on the side of the bed for hours, just holdin' the hand of his childhood sweetheart. There had never been another. Never would be another for him.

When he finally stood up he saw Ol' Dog layin' across the threshold, guardin' his masters, watchin' with eyes that knew with a canine wisdom that death had come to visit.

Each mirror he covered with sheets as was the custom in the mountain. He opened the face of the clock an' stopped the pendulum. The clock would not be started again till after his darlin' was buried.

He sat down and quickly ate his breakfast, the only meal he would have that day. Neighbors would try to get him to eat, but he had too much to do. He redded up the dishes an' washed them. No one was comin' into Del's kitchen to see a mess. It weren't goin' to be that way.

He got a pencil an' paper an' started makin' a list of what he needed to do. First thing was to go over to Hap's house an' call Will. Then over to the church to tell the preacher an' his wife. Hazel, the preacher's wife would arrange for women of the church to come an' wash Del's body an' dress her.

He went to the chiffarobe an' selected Aunt Del's best dress. He laid out a slip, stockin's an' shoes too so the church women wouldn't have to dig through his wife's things. He thought for a moment an' got Del's pillbox hat too. She would want to wear that hat even though it was more common for her to wear a bonnet around the farm an' even to town.

He looked again at his beloved, made sure her eyes were closed an' her hair smoothed. "Come on, Ol' Dog. I'm gonna need you to guard the door till the womenfolks get here."

He put the list he had made in his pocket, thought for a moment an' realized he needed to stop an' see Big Bill about diggin' a grave for Del. With another quick note added, the list went into his shirt pocket. He walked to the truck, got in an' just sat for so very long, lookin' at the little cabin they had called home.

It all changed this mornin'. The whole world changed was all he thought, over an' over as he started his truck, put it into gear an' backed up.

Stormy Mornin' Chores

Uncle Billy Gilbert woke up earlier than usual but just laid in bed for a good while. His ol' bones ached this mornin' an' he knew just what it meant. He wanted to roll over an' get a bit more sleep, but it was goin' to be an early mornin'. He could doze in his chair later in the day, there'd sure be time later. His ol' bones told him so.

He sat on the side of the bed an' reached for his sock, slipped them on an' rose to put on his dungarees an' work shirt that hung on the ancient ladder back chair sittin' by the bed. He moved slow, not wantin' to wake Aunt Del. He stopped to hear her slow, steady breathin' and knew she still slept on. No sense in them both wakin' this early. Arthur would keep plenty of company, "good ol' Arthur-itis" he chuckled to himself. "You sure did wake me early. You an' that storm movin' across the ridges yonder." he thought.

Even as he dressed he could see flashes of lightnin' high on the mountain in the distance. He was hopin' to get the milkin' done before the thunder got too bad. His ol' milk cow Sue got cranky durin' storms an might either kick him or the bucket over. 'Course, folks used to say a cow's milk would sour if a feller milked durin' a storm. Uncle Billy didn't take no truck to them ol' wive's tales.

Uncle Billy eased toward the back door real quiet like. Aunt Del made him keep his work boots by the back door. His son Will had bought him some real fine leather slippers to wear indoors, but he was content with just his monkey socks if he couldn't wear his boots. The leather slippes sat under the bed, side by side. If Will ever came to visit he would slip them on an' brag on them heartily an' then slide them back under the bed when Will left.

"Billy, Billy are you up already" Del asked softly. Though no one else was in the ol' cabin she still whispered in the early mornin'.

"Yes, Darlin'. Storms a'comin'. I need to get ol' Sue milked." he answered.

"Get what eggs is our there too. That way I won't have to go out in the rain. You want me to start fixin' breakfast early?"

"Nah." he said, "Stay right there in that bed for a while. I'll milk an gather the eggs. Them hens won't be out in the yard this mornin' either. I'll feed them in the hen house. I reckon their layin' might be off if'n it storms hard."

"Yes, I'd imagine so. You sure you don't want me to cook you some breakfast now?"

"Lands no, Sweet Darlin'. I'd get my belly full an' never get the milkin' done. You jest lay there an' get a little shut eye. I'm thinkin' I'll brush ol' Joe this mornin'. He'll be wantin' out an' I don't want him a'boltin' when it commences to thunderin'."

"Alright, Billy. Maybe just for a few more minutes. I wouldn't mind dozin' a bit longer." She said as she laid back onto her feather pillow. "Don't let that dang mule kick you, you hear me?"

"Yes mam." he chuckled. Joe was a little ornery an' didn't like thunder one bit. He kicked through his stall more than once durin' storms.

Uncle Billy worried about Aunt Del right smart these days. She was awful frail an' just didn't bounce back when she was sick. "I'll be back in later. I expect I'll bring the milk in in a bit an' then back to feed the chickens an' brush Joe."

He sat down to put his boots on an' tie them up tight.  He called Ol' Dog who was layin' by Uncle Billy's easy chair. Ol' Dog had been watchin' an' waitin' for that call. His ol' tail started thumpin' the floor an' he stood up an' bounced over to the door. Ol' Dog would get breakfast when Uncle Billy did. While Uncle Billy milked an' saw to his other chores,

Ol' Dog would make his rounds, inspectin' the farm for any sign of foxes, coons or possums. If he sniffed up trouble he might disappear for most of the mornin', wanderin' back when he finally gave up his hunt.

When the door opened Ol' Dog ran out to the barn, Uncle Billy followed a good but slower, milk bucket in hand. Sue heard him as he headed for the barn an' let out a low beller, lettin' him know she had been waitin' what must seem like forever to a milk cow.

"Hold on Sue. I'm a'comin'. I'm a'comin'. He grinned as he walked into the barn, opened her stall an' let her out to the center of the barn. She walked over too the manger on the side wall an' waited as he filled it with silage. She started eatin' slowly an' turned her head to watch as Uncle Billy picked up his milk stool an' positioned it an' the milk bucket. He had filled another bucket with water an' carefully washed Sue's udder before he started to milk. With practiced care he leaned his head onto Sue's side an' began to fill the bucket. Warm streams of creamy milk squirted into the bucket. The smell of the barn, warm milk an' ol' Sue warmed his heart.

Sue was part Jersey an' had lots of cream in her milk. Aunt Del made butter several times a week an' had Uncle Billy take her around to sell her butter up an' down several hollers. She would churn it an' then mold it in one of her butter molds. Hard to believe but some folks didn't milk anymore an' even bought that nasty white margarine that had to be squished around with the yellow colorin' to get it to even look like butter. Give him real butter any day.

He took the bucket of milk inside an' sat it on the side table. Del was still sleepin' as he went back out, closin' the door quietly. He filled a pan with cracked corn which he scattered on the ground in the hen house. The hens were waitin' for him as he stepped in. He gathered the eggs, placin' each in the empty pan. He sat the pan an' eggs on a table an grabbed his curry comb as he walked over to Joe's stall.

He stopped to pull off part of a bale of hay that he put in the other manger on the wall opposite from Sue who was still slowly eatin' her silage. He opened Joe's stall an' Joe walked out an' over to his manger to begin eatin' his hay. Uncle Billy slipped his hand through the curry comb and patted Joe on the side.

As he an' the mule stood side by side, Uncle Billy saw the thunderhead movin' toward his place, pushin' up the holler pretty fast now. The sky lit up several times an' the thunder rolled an' echoed up an' down the holler. Rain hit the tim roof all at once. Man an' mule had turned their heads to see the lightnin' an' see the rain head toward them. Joe finally turned back to his feed an Uncle Billy turned to his task.

"Mornin' Joe. You doin' OK this mornin'?" he asked. Joe's ears perked up but the ol' roan mule just kept on a'eatin'. Uncle Billy Gilbert grinned, started brushin' his mule an' commenced his mornin' prayers...

"Mornin' to you too, Lord. This here is Billy Gilbert. I've got a few folks on my mind this mornin'. Thought I might lift 'em up to y'all an ask for a couple blessin's for 'em."