WHY IS EVERYONE PICKING ON ME?????

(Sequel to the Turkey Story)       By Sue Nell

As all of you may know, Mother always ordered at least 100 baby chicks every spring so we could have meat for the summer.  She usually ordered mixed, boys and girls for those who don't know what mixed is, so that she could have some hens and roosters.

 

Well, she received a very nasty and mean rooster one spring.  As he grew he thought he owned the place.  Every time that I went to the outhouse or garden or the well or just outside - he felt like I was invading his territory.  So he proceeded to let me know about it.  He would cluck and pretend he was surrounding his harem for their protection with his head toward the ground, and as soon as your back got turned to him, he would attack with his feet and scratch etc.  Hurt pretty bad.

Several times it happened.  I told mother each time, but I guess she felt like maybe I was aggravating him so she let it go, thinking that she could not do without one rooster.  Until one day she had her bonnet on, her dishpan   and hoe in hand to gather some things from the garden.  Mr. Rooster decided he would attack her also, since he never had before.  He probably didn't recognize her in her bonnet.  Well, Mr. Rooster did not survive that attack. He was met with mother's hoe and found himself in the pot to make some broth for dumplings.  I sure did enjoy that pot of dumplings.  You know it wasn't enough that I had 3 brothers (Tom, George, and Lex) picking on me with tearing up my playhouse -throwing corn cobs at me every time I went outside - scaring me and a lot of other things - I had to have an enemy in this rooster.  But God says that “vengeance is mine” - I am still around to tell the story of the rooster and the rooster has long since been deposited in the outhouse. That old rooster picked on me but he got picked in the end - oops I mean his feathers picked.

Bad Day at Minnow Creek Cemetery

Decoration Day is a Sunday set aside to pay homage to those who have gone before us and decorate their graves.  This old tradition predates Memorial Day. When friends and relatives are not all buried in the same cemetery it is impossible to be in two places at one time.  So, different cemeteries have Decoration Day on different Sundays.  You can visit a different cemetery almost every Sunday in April and May.  Sometimes in this part of the country, people bring a picnic dinner and even have some sort of community church service on the grounds.  This custom may seem a little odd to people who have never been to a decoration.  But, it is a great time for family and friends to visit and for the children to learn about their relatives who passed on before they got to meet them.  Another good thing about Decoration Day is that younger children get to learn about death and cemeteries under lighter emotional circumstances than those surrounding the death of a loved one. 

 Minnow Creek Cemetery is located a few miles east of Ludwig, Arkansas.  It is where Grandpa Dewey and Grandma Velma James are buried along with many of our relatives.  When you think of cemeteries, you may think of the sadness and sorrow associated with funerals, but every trip to the cemetery is not sad.  In fact, the mood around Decoration Day is usually pretty light-hearted and fun.  Recalling good times and stories about those buried here helps some to remember and others to learn about our heritage. 

Minnow Creek even has a shelter house pavilion. This pavilion is a relatively new (after 1960) thing.  I am sure back in the old days they built a brush arbor and probably held not just one service but rather a series of revival meetings.  After all, you wouldn’t want a good brush arbor to be used only once.

Truthfully, many of the children are not all that excided about learning.  They are more interested in playing and finding adventure.  There is no telling how many little ones have run and played completely oblivious to what the day is supposed to be about.  That is good; children ought to be able to enjoy being children, right?  Back in the 50’s Mothers did not always see it that way.  Some how, they confused Decoration Day with Easter.

They would dress up their little doll children to look as if they were going to pose for the Sears and Roebuck catalog and they fully expected us to stay looking like that all day long.  This seriously conflicted with the principles of fun and adventure.  The mothers would try to keep the children in check by telling them to stay close so that they would not get hurt.  There are many who have fallen and twisted ankles or had their heads bumped on tombstones.  Accidents do happened…but come on… those kids ran all over the woods and neighborhoods everyday of the week all the rest of the time.  So, mom who were you tying to fool?  It was all about the clean new clothes and you showing us off to the family.  It was Mother’s Day and you wanted to show what a great job you were doing.  I mean, we are talking suits and ties for boys and frilly dresses and white dress shoes for girls.  Most of the time children complied not because they were obedient as much as they feared the switch, belt, or hand swatting wielded by those moms.

Now, there were certain ones among the 1950’s children who not give up adventure easily and they were tempted to venture out in spite of the threats.  One Decoration Day, Donnie and Tony were standing with their parents in their pretty little suits when temptation came a calling.  It was Jimmy.  “Psssst! You guys ain’t gonna believe what I found over there!”  He pointed toward the fence dividing the cemetery from a neighboring pasture across the road.  It did not take much temptation and at first opportunity Donnie and Tony sneaked away to find the great thing Jimmy was talking about and pointing toward.  Oh my, a brand new pond! This thing could not have been finished more than a few weeks and rains all this week had filled it about halfway.  There is no telling how many wonderful Indian artifacts had been loosened by that bulldozer or if not that, at least a ton of good throwing rocks.

We knew we shouldn’t be there. But, how could we walk away from a brand new pond?  Sure, the dirt that had been stirred by the bulldozer had been turned into a sea of bright red mud.  But, maybe we could get close enough to throw a few rocks without getting mud on our pretty suits or the white dress shoes.  Then again, maybe not; soon the rocks were flying and the fun and adventure were in full swing.  It seemed like only a moment and then that piercing sound of some parent’s voice, “You boys get back over here and I mean right now!”  That is when we looked at each other and realized that the bright red mud was completely over our brand new shoe tops and our suits, shirts and ties were all spattered by the mud in tiny red spots.  Normally, we would have found that hilarious, but that parent’s voice had taken all the fun out of this adventure.  We were in for a whipping and a big one.

All of the boys got spanked and they were made to clean the mud off their shoes or at least try.  But, for Tony it did not stop with one spanking.  Hazel would spank him several more times throughout the day.  She would try to clean the shoes and then spank Tony.  She would try to get red spots off the jacket and then spank Tony.  Just ask anyone who was there.  They will tell you that Tony had a bad day at Minnow Creek Cemetery that day.  Better yet, go to Decoration Day this coming Mother’s Day and you will hear this whole story.  I know you will because I have heard it there every Decoration Day for the last fifty years.  I asked Mother how many times she spanked me that day.  She couldn’t remember, but, she said she thought about giving me another when she got that suit out to go to the cleaners.

The pond is still there and I look over there each year and say, Heck yeah!  It was worth it!

Epilogue: Nearly thirty years later, Elaine and Tony were blessed with their first child, James.  On Easter morning, when he was about two years old his mother had dressed him up in the most adorable outfit.  He even had brand new high top white shoes.  As we were locking the door to the house, James ran off the porch and into the front yard.  The day before, Tony had brought in a truckload of topsoil.  It was spread, grass seed was scattered and watering was complete.  You guessed it, James headed right to the middle of the yard leaving deep tracks and accumulating a large amount of mud on his pretty outfit.  Tony ran after him and carried him to the car where he sat James on the hood and began to remove James shoes to clean off mud.  Mother was already sitting in the car and I asked, “Didn’t you see him going toward that mud?”  “Yes” she replied, “I saw him,” Grandma Hazel had sat in the car laughing through the whole show.  I wonder what she was thinking?
And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples

The Great Turkey Challenge

The poultry business is a major Industry in northwest Arkansas.  Tyson plants for feed and poultry processing are scattered throughout the landscape.  Sometimes you don’t just see them, you smell them, and that can open some interesting conversations with people unfamiliar with the intense aroma.   Another part of that industry is the transporting of feed and poultry.  When following a load of chickens down the road, you could think it is snowing  or that there is some sort of road show pillow fight going on in front of you.  These feathery passengers occasionally escape their plight.  Some mechanical malfunction, like a door comes open or a truck has a mishap, and the birds run for it.

One time when Lytle was on the road, just such an event happened.  The road was littered with turkey feathers and broken cages.  Lytle got out of the vehicle to help clean up the mess when he spotted a survivor.   Bruised and dazed by the tumble from the truck, the turkey had stayed around the scene.    We were all raised not to let anything go to waste and an escaped turkey was fair game.  The turkey was taken to Grandma’s house and put in with the chickens.

Chickens were always around Grandma’s house.  They were allowed to roam around the place everywhere except the house and the garden.   Today, they would be called “free range” chickens.  They would pick, scratch, eat and fertilize the yard and everyplace else within a couple hundred yards of their chicken yard and chicken house.  They would be locked in the chicken house at night to keep them safe from predators.   I learned many things from watching those chickens and memories of them have caused me to consider other more serious aspects of life.  Like how is it that chickens instinctively know to go to the chicken house for protection yet we “smart” people often do not allow our family or our God to protect and shelter us?  Guess we need to be a little more like chickens. 

I recall, as a small boy, eating crackers or bread on the high front porch and allowing the crumbs and small pieces to fall in the yard below.  First one chicken, then a few, and soon all the chickens in the yard would be gathered beneath me eagerly snapping up even the smallest morsel of food.  That picture comes to my mind when I read in Mathew and Mark about the dogs eating crumbs that fall from the master or child’s table.  Then, I think there are still people today starving to hear the gospel.  Yes, I learned a lot from chickens.  So, the next time you see a child doing something that seems totally ridiculous, like sharing his bread and crackers with chickens, just wait.  It could be a teachable moment…for the child and maybe even you.

The turkey, on the other hand, gave me more immediate and hard lessons.  He thought that he was the ruler of the yard and had no tolerance for trespassers.  Just about every grandchild around that time has been chased, kicked, or flogged by that turkey.  After he sent one crying to the house, he would pace back and forth in the yard gobbling occasionally as if challenging the child to come back out.  Honestly, I do not know if the turkey started this war or if Jimmy, Donnie, and Tony started it.  I can’t remember if all the BB guns, bean flips, corn cobs and other hurled projectiles sent in the turkey’s direction were retaliation or intimidation.  All I know is that for a few seasons we did not leave the house or enter the yard without making note of where the turkey was located and what he was doing.

The big bad turkey eventually met his Waterloo because not only did he dislike children; he disliked Gerald.  The turkey thought he could challenge Gerald and he did… for a while.  The old Tom seemed to know better than to take Gerald head on.  He would wait in hiding and ambush Gerald on the way back from milking at the barn or working in the garden.   When Gerald walked by with his hands full of tools, vegetables or buckets of milk, the ole turkey would attack from behind kicking and flogging Gerald.  Lytle though it was funny.  But, Gerald did not share in the humor.  Of course, Gerald was and still is quiet and patient.  When Gerald finally gets pushed too far, however, his reaction is swift and accurate.  

The attacks went on for several weeks or months.  From a child’s perspective, it seemed that it went on for years.  One day, the turkey spotted Gerald going to the house with his hands full.  The turkey charged Gerald to give him his usual flogging.  Unfortunately for the turkey, Gerald’s hands were full alright.  They were full of a baseball bat.  Gerald hit a home run and the turkey went home to Turkey Heaven, if there is such a place.   

Gerald delivered the turkey to Grandma.  She and Gerald dressed out the turkey and it became the main course in the next big event dinner.

I do not remember hearing how good or how tough the meat was from the bird.  But, I know the grandkids all felt a lot better about going out in the yard to play.  Thank you, Gerald!  That’s just one more time you were our hero.

And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples

Grandpa was a Car Thief ?

When people learn that our family name is James, a common question is, “are you related to Jessie James?”  As a little cowboy, watching Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and the Lone Ranger and idolizing John Wayne, it seemed not only plausible but certain.  Later in life I discovered two truths about my assumption.  One thing I learned is that other people don’t care or value that you might be related to the infamous folk hero and train robber.  The second and harder truth to learn was that no matter how much genealogical research was done, Jessie is nowhere to be found in the branches of our family tree.   Now, that isn’t to say there were no horse thieves, bank robbers or other bandits in our history.  It just means that Frank and Jessie James are not related to us.  One such bandit was my grandpa, the car thief, well, sort of.

The family farm did not provide all of the income or food for the James family and most of the time Grandpa worked away from home to help provide for the family.   One spring he was working in a sawmill seven miles down the mountain at Jasper.  Dewey did not drive to work.  He would ride to town with someone else and after work he would catch a ride with whoever was going back out on the mountain.  One day, a friend dropped by the saw mill to visit.  “Hey Dewey, that was some storm that came off your mountain this morning!  Everybody alright out at your place?”   “What are you talking about?” Grandpa queried.  “Why I thought you knew, there was a big ole tornado came across the top of your mountain scattering barns and trees all the way down to Brasel creek.  I was just wondering if you had any damage up at your place.”  After the man left, Dewey spoke with the saw mill owner and told him he needed to go up and check on the farm and family.  That would be fine except the saw mill truck was not there.  So, Dewey set out to find someone to take him back up the hill. 

He walked in to town and around the square knowing he would find someone or some vehicle for the emergency run.  After a quick walk around the square, he spotted one possibility; the Sherriff’s car.  After all, this was an emergency.  No, it was not the official lights and siren equipped emergency vehicle, it was the sheriff’s own personal car. After a quick check in the court house and a few businesses, it was pretty obvious that the sheriff was not around.  But, the car and the car keys were.  A key being left in the car was probably more common than keys being taken out of the car back then and after all it was an emergency.  So, Dewey jumped in the car and took off up the mountain to check on things at home.  Fortunately, things were not as bad as he had feared and aside from a few limbs being blown down there was no damage to the place.  The car was returned and work at the sawmill resumed.

Saturdays were always special and festive around the Jasper square.  Not only was Jasper the county seat, it was the social and shopping center for the whole county.  People came to town on Saturday to buy, sell and trade and even if you didn’t have commercial business to do, everyone had social business to take care of.  Most of the county came out to socialize and catch up on news and make plans for the coming events.  Dewey and several of his friends were sitting and whittling on the court house lawn when the sheriff walked up.  “Hello boys, how you doin’?”  There was the usual round of muffled greetings.  Then Dewey looked up and said, “Oh Sheriff, thanks for the use of your car the other day.” “What do you mean?” came his response.  “Oh yeah, guess you didn’t exactly know I borrowed it, did you?”  “Dewey James, what in the world are you talking about?”  “When that storm came through last Tuesday, that’s what, I needed to go out and check on the farm.  I couldn’t find you.  So, I took your car and went out to check on things.  So, thanks Sheriff.”  “Dewey, you didn’t borrow my car!”  “Well, I sure did.  It was parked on the square, the key was in it and I took it!”  “Now, I did hear about the storm last Tuesday.  But as for my car and me, we were both in Fort Smith on Tuesday! So, you could not have borrowed my car with or without my permission.”  The boys around them were really enjoying the argument.  After a long pause and in typical Dewey James humor he finally said, “Well, in that case, Sheriff, has anyone reported a missing or stolen car this week?”  Till this day, no one has ever figured out who owned the car that Grandpa took and no one ever reported it missing.  We may not be related to the infamous Jessie James but Grandpa Dewey James was a car thief.  Well, sort of.

And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples