Howdy Introducing Ralph Jones
My wife, Peggy, and I have six wonderful children, and (at last count) fifteen grandchildren and one great grandchild. Although we live in Germantown, I still consider Pontotoc, HOME. First and foremost, I am a Christian and grew up in the First Baptist Church of Pontotoc. I came from a hard working family, one that taught me to respect everyone and follow the Golden Rule. As for politics, I’m conservative and vote for the man more so than for the party. After graduating from LeTourneau University in 1959, and working for a large homebuilder in Memphis for a few years, I formed my own Home Design Firm. Having been the chief designer for forty-three years I have now retired, and our daughter is taking over the business. We designed and sold home plans to be built all across the United States. A number of national magazines featured our firm and our home plans in their publications. It has been a very enjoyable professional career. Peggy encouraged me to begin writing in the 1990’s, and it has been a wonderful experience. You may have seen some of my articles in Miss Callie Young’s "Folk Tales, Facts, and Fabulations." Currently, The Pontotoc Progress uses me as a "Guest Columnist." What an honor! A couple of national magazines and several local ones are kind enough to carry my drivel. Each year I publish a booklet called "The Ramblings of an Old Geezer," just for our family. There is a full-length novel and a record of my growing-up years in Pontotoc being readied. The editors: Carl Wayne Hardeman, Wayne Carter, and I, think that writing is an extension of our very being, something we each love to do and are thusly driven. Be advised; another being may take over my computer sometimes and write the most outlandish things. Watch out for Ludlow Putnam, John Henry McFerland the mule, and others. By the way, you may have a writer sneaking around in the folds of your own mind. Why not set him free? Your stories of growing up in rural America are important to us. We want others to realize what a joy it was to grow up in a most friendly, less hectic, more relaxed place like Pontotoc. We welcome your comments and stories and are waiting to hear from you. E-mail us at editor@bodockpost.com . May God Bless! Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Journey With Us Welcome To The Bodock Post
We will try our best to keep the remembrances of days long ago stirring like a cool breeze on a warm summer day. Return with us once again to a place, near or far away and possibly a long time ago, to a day of quiet contentment. It was a place where we kicked off our shoes in May and didn’t even look for them until school was ready to start in the fall. This was a time and place where swimming was spontaneous, with or without proper bathing attire, and regardless of how muddy the water might appear. It was a time where cows, mules, pigs and chickens were always about, and a coal oil lamp lit up the oilcloth on the supper table. The happy fattening hog lay in the shade near his wallow with no thought of what fall would bring. It was a place where a few watermelons were always under the bed in summer, and a funny sounding horn could be made in a jiffy from a squash vine. Let’s make a trip over to the sweet gum trees at the cotton pen to see if there is enough "gum" for a good chaw. Then there’s the peddler who comes every Tuesday, and we’ll beg Ma out of enough eggs to "buy" an all-day sucker or a pocket full of hard candy kisses. There’s our meeting place at church where the air is conditioned with hand-held fans supplied by the local funeral home, and the starched and ironed white shirts are already beginning to sag well before we enter that sacred building. The sermons are not dampened with "political correctness" or watered down to tickle obstinate ears. Journey to an era where you knew your neighbors, and they knew you, and neither bothered to lock the doors at home. This was a time when you rushed home to "let down the windows" and collect the clothes off the line because a cloud was "coming up." Somewhere in the book of unwritten rules, it says the chickens have to be fed before they go to roost and the cows have to be milked soon thereafter. It is a place where boys’ dirty feet must be washed clean in cold water drawn from the well, before they are allowed to be stuffed down between Mom’s clean sheets. Yes, these are just some of the days that we will be visiting in the "Post." There will also be news of current events and happenings relevant to today and to our home of Pontotoc and elsewhere. You will be kept informed of how things grow and what to do when they don't. Our guest writers will inform and entertain us in their own very special way from their neck of the woods. If we can make your day happier and your outlook a little brighter, our efforts will have not been in vain. Our purpose is to write about things you want to read and to help all of our children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and those yet unborn, to be entertained and informed of how things were, and are, in our favorite part of Rural America. By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Sunday Leather Jacket Guest Writer ~ M. G. Russell
Yes, there were plenty of Sundays during that time, but when my mother said that you had to save your good clothes for Sunday, that’s not what she meant at all. Sunday clothes were those clothes that you saved for special occasions. Sunday had nothing to do with the situation. I grew up in the 1940’s and 1950’s in the hill country of Mississippi. New clothing was something we very seldom saw. In my mother’s eyes, there were three kinds of clothing, school clothes, our barn clothes, and last of all, our Sunday clothes. Of the three sets of clothing, the school clothing was the most important. These we bought one time a year, and they were often ordered from the Sears Roebuck catalog. Barn clothes were not a new set of clothing. They were the worn out school clothes of the previous years. They usually had so many patches that you could not tell where the clothes started, and the patches stopped. The year must have been about 1945, or 1946. By this time, my grandfather had managed to purchase a 1938 Plymouth. On the October day that my mother bought that leather jacket for me, we had driven to the largest city that was anywhere near. The city was Tupelo. That was my first trip to a big city. At the time, Tupelo was a city of at least eight thousand people. There were stores that were three floors tall. That was hard for me to believe, a building that had three floors, one stacked on top of the other. The store that everyone visited was called, The Black and White Store. As soon as we entered the store, there hanging on a rack was that leather jacket. I knew at once that I just had to own that jacket. At first, my mother refused to buy it. She said that I did not need a leather jacket. She said that what I needed was a school coat, not a Sunday coat. With much begging on my part, she finally gave in and bought that leather coat for me, but only if I promised to save it for Sunday, a Sunday that would never come. That was some trip for all of us. As usual, my father stayed home and took care of the cows. We had several cows that had to be milked two times per day. On that trip to Tupelo, if I remember correctly, there was my mother, my two older sisters, my grandfather and grandmother, my two uncles, and me. It was quite a car full; however, that old Plymouth was big enough to carry an army. We even went to a restaurant and ate our supper. No, not dinner. In our part of the world, you ate dinner at noon. You ate supper at night. I think my mother, and my grandmother and grandfather had planned this trip for some time, because it was the Saturday of the last day of the fair. The fair was the Mississippi and Alabama Fair and Dairy show. The distance from our farm to Tupelo was almost fifty miles. That’s not so far now, but in 1946, it was almost a full day’s drive to get there and back. We took the old gravel highway into Pontotoc. Then, we hit highway 6 on into Tupelo. Highway 6 from Pontotoc to Tupelo was one to remember. It had a concrete slab, not a double slab, but a single slab of concrete. The slab was located right smack in the center of the road. There was gravel on each side, because this was a two lane road. If there was no one coming from the other direction, or you were not topping a hill, then you could drive with both wheels up on the pavement. But, if someone was approaching from the other direction, then you had to share the pavement with them. After we had eaten, and purchased our clothing for the year, we headed for the fair, since this was the last day of the fair. Over the years I have wondered if there was another boy at that very fair. During that time he only lived a short distance from the fair grounds, and it was said that he often sneaked into the fair. Like us, his family had little money. Little did we know at the time that in less than ten years, that boy would change the face of the music industry forever. It would be almost ten years to the day that he came back to Tupelo to perform a benefit show. The difference this time was that he did not have to sneak in. As a matter of fact, it is said that it took the whole Tupelo police force to keep the women off the stage. Another thing that is amusing to me is that those two older sisters of mine, who were with us that day I got the leather jacket, were also at that performance ten years later. I have often watched the film of that show, and I always look in the crowd to see if they were perhaps two of the women attempting to get on stage with that performer who was clad in black. My mother had to sell the farm after my father died. The old farm house was moved away. I catch myself wondering at times if maybe that old farm house is still standing somewhere, and if it is, I bet that Sunday leather jacket is still hanging there waiting for that special occasion. Biographical sketch: M. G. Russell is a Pontotoc County native and grew up on a cotton and dairy farm in west Pontotoc County near the Lafayette County line. Russell and his wife, Jan, have been married for fifty one years, and have two children. Even though Memphis has been his home for over fifty years, Russell’s roots run deep in the soil of Pontotoc County. Russell retired in 2004, after 47 years in the transportation industry. Apart from writing, Russell enjoys running. Over the years, he has run in more than one hundred 5K, and 10K, races, including the Tupelo Gum Tree, and Pontotoc Bodock run... More details here
The Egg Man Put Food On The Table
"And whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward." ~The Holy Bible Matthew 10:42 Pa Tobe was the egg man. Carl and Eula Hayse were known all over Pontotoc and Lafayette counties as the egg man in the 50's and 60's. They bought fresh eggs wholesale, washed them to save a few cents a dozen, and sold them in flats and buckets door to door and on the square in Pontotoc and Oxford. There's no telling their countless miles and footsteps as they plied their trade. When my wife Mimi was a child, Pa and Ma, her maternal grandparents, would let her go with them to people's doors and sell eggs out of a bucket. My favorite story is Pa Tobe telling me about selling eggs in Oxford. He said at the University there were people of every tribe of the world. Such was his way of saying things in Biblical ways. Those were different days. The farm-to-market laws were respected. They got the required licenses, filed the forms, and paid the sales and income taxes. Nowadays health department codes have stopped this kind of sale in much of our nation. That's a shame, though I read recently where farmers’ markets are making a comeback. They never made a lot of money according to present day earnings. They were frugal people who raised much of their own food. Pa, never one to brag and always giving full credit to the Lord, once told me he could write a check on any bank in Pontotoc or Oxford. I am sure he could. In those days, stores kept blank checks for their customers. Pa was a carpenter, too. We, that is me, Pa, and my daddy-in-law Ralph Graham built the front porch on both of their homes. When I say "we," that is like Momma used to say: "We killed a bear, but Pa shot it." Pa's ruler was one of the old wooden types that unfolded. It would not straighten out or lie flat, but as long as it was the same on the board he was going to saw as the place he measured then it worked out most of the time. I remember some patching, but all in all we built good sturdy porches. Pa and Ma never missed services at Hurricane Baptist Church. Pa was a man of the Bible and could quote a lot of scripture and sing all of the old songs we don't sing as much anymore, since the young people prefer contemporary praise songs. What impressed me most about Pa and Ma was their commitment to their Faith. They were doers of the Word and not just hearers. He and Ma visited nursing homes. If they heard of someone needing help, Pa would quietly go there and mow the yard and whatever else needed done. Their daughter, Opal, is my sweet momma-in-law. She is just like them, and it's rubbed off on Mimi, too. Note: Egg photo courtesy RuralRamblings.com Carl Wayne, Editor | email rowsofbuttercups@yahoo.com
Ralph’s Tiller Keeps Going And Going God blesses my garden, but he doesn't weed it. ~ Author Unknown
But Ralph's tiller keeps on digging. His son-in-law and grandson-in-law now use it in their small gardens. There's just no comparison between home grown fresh vegetables and canned or frozen ones or those tasteless commercial hybrids shipped from hundreds or thousands of miles away. Ralph and Opal and that tiller have fed a lot of people from their garden for many years, including themselves, relatives, neighbors and friends. We continue to eat delicious frozen peas and butterbeans from our freezer. There's a lot of love and hard work in those bags of peas and butterbeans. I learned a lot from Ralph about gardening, hunting, fishing, faith, and hard work. My daddy died when I was twelve years old, so Ralph has been my daddy for the forty years his daughter and I have been married. One lesson I learned from him is to have good tools and to keep them well maintained. The tiller digs as deep and cleanly as it ever did, though used many years. All the tiller wants is a little gasoline, a little cleaning, an occasional oil change, and a place out of the weather. Ralph's tiller is doing even more good this year. It worked in a community garden which provided almost 3,000 pounds of fresh produce to the needy. It helped dig and create flower beds for several Habitat For Humanity homes. Ralph and Opal's giving keeps on giving and will, Lord willing, for years to come. Carl Wayne, Editor|email rowsofbuttercups@yahoo.com
Needing A Pickup Planning For Retirement About a dozen years ago, and sight unseen, I bought a small-sized pickup truck on the recommendation of my son-in-law, who lives in Belmont, Mississippi. The owner had died, and his family was trying to sell his 1987 truck. I made a generous offer; they accepted it, and soon my son-in-law planned to deliver it to my doorsteps…er, driveway. Helpful hint: If your son-in-law drives a muscle car, don’t let him drive your pickup. He was using the pickup to run an errand to the next town up the road and blew the engine on the way back. "No problem, Mr. Wayne, I can get you a used motor for a few hundred bucks," I recall him saying. I may have gotten a month out of that engine before it also bit the proverbial dust. My mechanic in Pontotoc recommended a new short block. Soon, I had more money in the pickup than it was worth, but at least I had myself a pickup. "I need a pickup to drive, when I retire, an old pickup," I mused. "And this one will be old by the time I am ready to retire." My live-at-home son didn’t think much of my pickup until his Chevrolet Beretta gave up the ghost. Suddenly, my old truck looked mighty good to him. The next thing I knew, he was driving it like he owned it. Oh, I could drive it on the days he didn’t need it for college or work, which translated to an occasional Saturday or Sunday. It didn’t really matter whether I drove it or not, because I already had a company car. However, there are some things for which a man needs a pickup, like hauling stuff to the landfill or driving to a rural lake to fish. My truck is my truck in name only. I pay the insurance and keep the title. My son pays for upkeep, licensing, and everything else, and he’s not interested in my selling it until he feels he’s recouped his most recent investments in repairs. To my son’s credit, he has kept her up. My pickup’s a she-truck, but I never got around to naming her. I dare say my son has spent more on the pickup than I did during the first year that it was all mine and that includes the purchase price. She still won’t bring what she’s worth, so we’re hanging on to her.
It’s insured and licensed, and the specialty tag I requested arrived as promised…in ten days or less. I gave some thought to getting a vanity tag with UUELSI on it to challenge the inquisitive before they figured out it was an alternate for my initials (see end of article*). Instead, I went with a plate honoring my alma mater, The University of Mississippi. I can’t wait for the former owner, a Mississippi State grad, to see his old truck with my new tag. For the past twenty-six years, I’ve regularly traveled the highways of several states, and if there’s any one thing that I’ve learned it’s to expect to encounter at least one driver ambling along at forty-five miles per hour on a two lane highway, where the speed limit is fifty-five, and that driver usually has traffic backed up four or five vehicles deep, especially along hilly terrain.
I grew up driving long before the supposed "energy crisis" of the seventies got so bad the government messed with price controls and created gasoline shortages, which ruptured tempers of motorists waiting in long lines at gasoline pumps. The Feds also lowered the speed limit to fifty-five, because vehicles would get better gas mileage at fifty-five miles per hour than at sixty-five miles per hour, virtually forcing consumers to conserve fuel and thus reduce—believe it or not—our dependence on crude oil from foreign suppliers. It is therefore quite difficult for me to abide by the 55 mph limit, and I do my dead-level best to drive as close to sixty-five as possible. However, when I retire, I intend to join the ranks of those who never exceed forty-five mph on the highway. My logic is a bit twisted, but I think of it as my way of giving back—or is that paying back—for the frustration caused me through the years by slow motorists. Regardless, it must be a fun thing to do, as so many folks are doing it. While any vehicle would work for my purposes, I believe bigger is better (a pickup is harder for the guy behind to see around than an automobile) and longer is better as a longer vehicle takes more time to pass than a shorter one. Thus, I’m presently looking for a rusty old horse trailer to pull behind my old Ford pickup truck, perhaps one with a short in the left taillight creating a blinking effect as though I’m going to make a left turn. Well, that’s my fantasy for how to spend my retirement, and while it will likely remain a fantasy, don’t be surprised if the old codger poking along in front of you on a two-lane highway is me. *UUELSI = wlc Addendum: Three weeks after buying the used Ford pickup, the engine began to miss badly. Six hundred dollars later, it was running like a top, but the dented tailgate was keeping the truck from achieving optimum gas mileage, or so I told my wife. Another six hundred dollars later, a new tailgate has yet to improve my gas mileage, but the truck looks like new. By Associate Editor, Wayne Carter, who still drives fifty to sixty thousand miles per year in his travels for SUPERVALU. Wayne Carter ~ Associate Editor | Contact Wayne at bodockpost@bellsouth.net.
Country Games Hoop Rolling And Cob Wars
When it was a pretty day, we might play baseball, hike the fields, swim in the stock pond, or play some other "homemade" activity. Rolling hoops was a good activity that gave lots of exercise and taught patience and skill. There was usually a metal band, about one inch wide and twelve inches across, from an old wagon wheel stashed somewhere handy. We would keep a narrow plank with a Prince Albert tobacco can nailed to the bottom and bent up on either side for a curb. The trick was to see who could roll the hoop the longest and furthest and maneuver around the most obstacles. We’d chase one another and see who could climb the tallest, steepest hills with the hoop. It seems like fun even today, but alas, you had to run to keep the wheel rolling and I’ve long since quit running, for any reason. When it was raining we would play in someone’s barn, the larger the barn the better. We would hide in the hay and explore all the nooks and crannies. After we got tired of that, a favorite game was to have a "cob war." There was always a good supply of corncobs lying around from feeding the horses and mules. Break a cob into about three pieces and you had a good throwing piece. When dry they did not travel nearly as far or as fast as they would when wet. However, when wet they would fly like "Ganders goose," and sting like the dickens when you were hit. As the battle raged and ammunition got in short supply you used any cob available, some were less than hygienic (to say the least). Once while having a cob war, Rex was hiding in a stable and looking out a hole in the door. The hole was about an inch and a half across used for the short chain that holds the door shut. He had one eye against the hole waiting to ambush someone coming down the wide barn entry. One of the Aston boys cautiously venturing along saw his eye in the door hole. Drawing back he threw a wet piece of cob at the hole. You must realize that the cob was too long to go through the hole in any way except end first. The odds of it going through that hole at any angle were about a thousand to one. The cob was wet with barnyard manure and rainwater and went swish, swish, swish as it sang through the air. As it flipped end over end, centrifugal force made the moisture spew forth. But, fly it did and straight into that hole just as pretty as you please. It hit Rex right in the eye before he could move. Of course he blinked just as it hit. and the nasty cob did not hit his eyeball, but it sure did make the eye turn red. After a few "golly, gee whillikers" were uttered to comfort the ailing Rex, we decided that was enough cob fighting for the day. After all, our ammunition was about all spent; we were down to the bottom of the barnyard, so to speak. What a great rainy afternoon we enjoyed, even red-eyed Rex. With no more than a pile of corncobs and some ingenuity, a bunch of boys entertained themselves on a dreary, rainy afternoon with a great "Country Game." By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Being Green Thinking About The Future Several years ago three counties in Northeast Mississippi formed an alliance, namely PUL, an acronym representing Pontotoc, Union, and Lee counties. Its purpose was to secure a suitable site and recruit a major manufacturer beneficial to the tri-county area. The site chosen, Wellspring, is near the community of Blue Springs in Union County, which practically adjoins Sherman in Pontotoc County and is about ten miles from Tupelo in Lee County. The cooperative effort resulted in Toyota announcing its intent in early 2007 to build a facility at Wellspring to manufacture its popular Highlander SUV. Now, Toyota is on target to roll the first vehicle off the assembly line in 2010. The job opportunities that the Toyota plant brings to our area are most welcome as are the jobs created by new facilities which will become suppliers of various parts to Toyota. Toyota has demonstrated its commitment to maintaining a quality environment by demanding contractors with rights to clear the timber from the manufacturing site remove or chip the un-sellable timber and underbrush rather than burn it. Recognizing a consumer trend we now call "green," Toyota introduced Prius, a hybrid automobile, worldwide in 2001. With rising gasoline prices feeding inflation and creating reduced demand for pickups and SUVs, Toyota announced in July 2008, it would make the Prius at the Blue Springs plant instead of the Highlander. This was seen as a positive move by Toyota watchers in Northeast Mississippi, as most observers believe high gasoline prices are here to stay and that consumers will be moving to more fuel efficient vehicles in both the new car market and the used car market.
Many of us recall a similar experience in the seventies. When gas prices
doubled in less than a year, prompting consumers to abandon their gas-guzzlers
in favor of fuel efficient imports from Honda, Datsun (Nissan), and Toyota.
America’s Big Three automakers were slow to add compact and sub-compact
vehicles to their lineup and foreign imports rapidly eroded the profits of
the American manufacturers. Car buyers didn’t realize it at the time,
but they were laying the groundwork for the automotive "greenies" to follow.
Eventually, inflation subsided (remember Reaganomics?), the economy rebounded (the Clinton administration rode the wave initiated by the prior administration), and the Big Three along with about every other automobile manufacturer returned to producing what Americans wanted, mega-vehicles or as they are more commonly known, vans, luxury pickups and SUVs. Apparently, as long as gas is comparatively cheap, Americans find it easier to think green while perched high above the pavement in a mega-vehicle. Once more, the price of gasoline is forcing consumers to rethink their respective means of transportation. Many will opt for smaller vehicles that get better gas mileage. For a while, many will worship at the feet of "Fuel Efficiency" and "Green," but once the economy stabilizes, family income levels finally catch up with inflation, and folks tire of small, lightweight vehicles with cramped interior space and poor visibility on the highway, the mega-vehicles will make a comeback. Americans are not ready to adopt serious forms of energy conservation unless there’s a payoff beyond the pocketbook savings on fuel. Green simply won’t cut it for today’s soccer moms or the next generation of moms scurrying and hurrying kids to participate in events at sportsplexes and stadiums. Kermit the frog said it best, "It’s not easy being green!" I predict we will witness a repeat of what happened in the seventies and eighties, but I think the changes ahead of us will happen more quickly than then. Once again, Toyota will be rethinking and realigning its production facilities in North America. Of those plants which will either be forced to lay off workers or close, the Blue Springs plant will likely be one of them. The Prius is but a short-term solution for our present and zany world and may be ill-equipped to survive the next era of man and his machines, or as I see it, Americans and their love affair with mega-vehicles. By Wayne Carter ~ Associate Editor
‘Lection Time Looking Fer A Leader Well now, have you evvr in yo life seed it this bad at ‘lection time? Now, I ain’t much on politickin, but this year is a might tough to decide who to vote fer. I sort of wish when they put all tha names on them balluts, they’d put one more line down close to tha bottom that say, "NONE OF THE ABOVE." That way I could be shore I’z voting the rite way. Obama say he is fer change and McCain, he is like the "Tar Baby," he jus sit there and don’t say nuttin. Obama say he gonna do this, and McCain say he already done that. They bof tell us about the problems we didn’t eben knows we had, nen they go to tellin’ us how they are gonna fix em. I jis wish one or tuther uf ‘em would talk about how they are gonna fix the high gas prices and how they will git good ol’ Merican English back. Mebey one uf um could tell us that we can dig our own oil in our own country, and say that tha caribou, polar bears, spotted owls and snale darters is gonna haf to fend fer tha own self jist likes they been doin’ since Mr. Noah’s flood. Huh! I might vote fer him, which ever one twas. Jis the odder day ol’ McCain done went and got him a purty good lookin’ runnin’ mate. Whut I think is, she outta kick McCain out and run her on self. She is smart as a whup, and cud lead good as some we’ve had in the past. She’d git my vote fer sure. Well, I’z still kinda undecided who to vote fer, but I hope you’ll git out and make yore mark, eben if you can’t vote fer someone, you can at least vote against someone. That’s my final answer and I’z stickin’ by it. Cousin’ Cornpone
Bodock Beau Mathematically Speaking
From a strictly mathematical viewpoint: How about ACHIEVING 101%?
Here's a little mathematical formula that might help answer these
questions:
H-A-R-D-W-O- R- K
Merry Christmas Requesting Submissions Are you thinking about Christmas yet? Perhaps not! However, you may have an interesting, funny, touching, or moving memory of the Christmas Season. Would you share those memories with our readers? Your thoughts may venture to a time of hardship, wartime, hospital stay, a special gift, tender caring moments, sacrificing parents, longstanding traditions, special acts of kindness/ charity, or a hundred other things. The readers of The Bodock Post would dearly love to hear your story. Please email it to: editor@bodockpost.com. The deadline for submissions is November 15. If possible, please limit your story from 300 to 600 words. Thank you for helping us make the December "Post" a memorable Christmas Issue!
Bubba Bodock Should I Sell The Boat Saturday morning I got up early, dressed quietly, made my lunch, grabbed the dog, slipped quietly into the garage to hook the boat up to the truck, and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph. I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio, and discovered that the weather would be bad throughout the day. I went back into the house, quietly undressed, and slipped back into bed. There I cuddled up to my wife's back, now with a different anticipation, and whispered, "The weather out there is terrible." My loving wife of 20 years replied, "Can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that rain?" I still don't know if she was joking. Three Cajuns One morning, three Cajuns and three Yankees were in a ticket line at a train station. The three Northerners each bought a ticket and watched as the three Cajuns bought just one ticket. 'How are the three of you going to travel on only one ticket asked one of the Yankees. 'Watch and learn,' answered one of the boys from Louisiana. All six boarded the train where the three Yankees sat down, but the three Cajuns crammed into a toilet together and closed the door. Shortly after the train departed, the conductor came around to collect tickets. He knocked on the toilet door and said, 'Ticket, please.' The door opened just a crack and a single arm emerged with a ticket in hand. The conductor took it and moved on. The Yankees saw this happen and agreed it was quite a clever idea. Indeed, so clever they decided to do the same thing on the return trip and save some money. That afternoon when they got back to the station, they bought a single ticket for the return trip and watched, while to their astonishment, the three Cajuns didn't buy even one ticket. 'How are you going to travel without a ticket?' asked one of the perplexed Yankees. 'Watch and learn,' answered the three Cajun boys in unison. When they boarded the train, the three Northerners crammed themselves into a toilet and the three Cajuns crammed into another toilet just down the way. Shortly after the train began to move, one of the Cajuns left their toilet and walked over to the toilet in which the Yankees were hiding. The Cajun knocked on the door and said, 'Ticket, please.'
Our Mission It is our desire to provide a monthly newsletter about rural living with photographs of yesterday and today, including timely articles about conservative politics, religion, food, restaurant reviews, gardening, humor, history, and non-fiction columns by folks steeped in our Southern lifestyle. Copyright © 2008 The Bodock Post Return to home page. Open This Issue with MS Word
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The other editors asked
me to introduce myself, but shucks, most of you folks already know me. Well,
just to please them, my name is Ralph Jones. However, I’ll still answer
to most of the nicknames you have given me over the years. I was born and
raised in Pontotoc County and graduated from high school there in 1955. Most
of you knew my parents Anderson and Lillian Jones; both worked at Pontotoc
High School for many years. Most of you knew Dad as "Alley Oop" or "Pa Jones."
You loved him, and he certainly loved you.
How happy we are to have you join us at
the "Post," right here in the heartland of our great country. Pull up a seat
and let’s visit a spell. The weather is always nice, and the tea is
cold and sweet. Ma is boiling some cabbage down and frying some okra for
dinner, and I can smell the cornbread baking in the oven. There’s a
boiled ham and plate piled high with fried apple turnovers in the pie safe
ready for us as soon as our dirty countenance has been washed. You see, in
the "Post," all the things you remember from times past can be conjured up
and enjoyed again and again.
The last time I saw that Sunday leather
jacket, it was still hanging in that special closet that my mother kept for
our "Sunday clothes." By then, it was about four sizes too small and had
just hung there and dry rotted. It was still new. I don’t think my mother
ever let me wear that jacket. She just kept saving it for Sunday.
The Tao says that when
the world lacks the Way, horses are bred for war. And save only when the
world has the Way, horses are sent to till the fields. ~Willie Nelson
Ralph's tiller keeps on digging in the
dirt and providing food and beauty. Ralph and Opal Graham of the Hurricane
Community no longer till the ground, having adopted less strenuous container
gardening. They raised a bountiful crop of tasty tomatoes, potatoes, okra
and greens this year in containers filled with hay and a little planting
mix.
I’m looking to retire in a year
or so, and when the opportunity recently arose for me to purchase a full-sized
pickup at a reasonable price I decided it was time to buy my retirement vehicle.
It’s a 2000, Ford F150 SuperCab, and it’s in excellent condition,
except for the dent in the tailgate where someone dropped it on a trailer
tongue.
On many Sunday afternoons our family
went down to Randolph and visited with my grandparents, Warren and Minnie
Phillips. Although I loved my grandparents, sitting around listening to the
adults talk of the weather and politics was not my most favorite thing to
do all afternoon. Rex Bray was about my own age and lived down the road just
a little piece. Often I would go down to his house to see if we could get
some fun things going. Usually we’d get the Aston boys, also from the
neighborhood, and figure out something exciting to play.
