From The Arbor Happy New Year
Most of our homes are heated and cooled automatically. Hot and cold running water abounds at each sink. Modern refrigeration keeps our milk cool and our lettuce crisp. Good wholesome produce and foodstuff is readily available at the local market. Most any kind of clothing one could want is hanging on the rack of a nearby store, just ready for our inquisitive eyes to behold. Comfortable automobiles and airplanes whisk us from here to there with incredible speed. Wall-sized television screens transport us in milliseconds to a live viewing on the far side of the world and beyond. Miniature telephones that will fit in the palm of one’s hand allow us to talk to virtually any place on earth, from any place in the world. Other tiny devices let us observe, gather, store, and send information, all at the touch of a button and at lightning speed. What a blessing to live here in these United States as we begin a brand new year, 2009! Isn’t it fun to commence this new year! It is like opening up a brand new writing journal and turning to the very first leaf. 2009 is a new place for a sentence not yet written, a clean, fresh space just waiting for someone to pen that first word. What will be written? Will it be a word worthy of the blessings we have received, or will it be a cold harsh complaint? One night two men stood looking out a window after the storm had passed. One saw the beautiful star-filled heavens; the other only saw the muddy ruts of a miserable and soggy road. As humans, we feel, hear, and observe what we focus upon. No doubt both men had to walk down that same road, however, one continued to enjoy the stars, while the other probably never even noticed. Although we have to live in a world of turmoil, uncertainty and unrest, may we keep our eyes focused on the promises of our Lord. God Himself said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deuteronomy 31:6, Hebrews 13:5) I choose to look at the stars, to believe there is hope even at the end of a miserable path. True, there will be mud on my boots at the conclusion of the journey, but I shan’t wallow in it along the way. Let us all be thankful to our Creator for the blessings we enjoy today and, by faith, thank Him for a wonderful new year, 2009. Happy New Year from all of us here at The Bodock Post: Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor; Ralph Jones, Managing Editor; Wayne Carter, Associate Editor and Publisher. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Note: New Year’s image courtesy September Brown;
Blue Boys On The Bowling Green Road My grandmother and I were the best of friends. Since she and my grandfather took me into their home and their lives when I was just a baby, I called her "Mama" and my grandfather "Daddy." Mama was born in 1900 and lived to see many unbelievable changes. Often she and I would sit, and I would listen as she told of some of those first-time sightings. She grew up about eight miles from the nearest town. A dirt road ran in front of the house, and there was not another house in sight.
After hearing her tell of the ordeal of washing clothes, I began to understand
why her generation wore clothes for more than one day. One washing day turned
out to be one that she never forgot. She recounted that the day started like
any other with building a fire around a big iron pot, boiling the clothes
in soapy water, rubbing them on a rub board and then rinsing the garments
in fresh water. The white clothes were placed in a tub with bluing, a stick
of blue chalk-like material, that while turning the water blue, made the
clothes as white as
snow. On this morning, Mama helped her mother with the washing and made every effort to keep her three little brothers safe from the fire. The weather was warm and sunny and the backyard where the washing took place was private. When the washing was complete and the clothes were hung on the line, the brothers stripped down to their birthday suits and went for a swim in the bluing water. Just as the three of them got settled in the tub, Mama said they heard and awful racket down the road. It sounded like a sewing machine, but lots louder. Curiosity got the best of the boys. They started running toward the road, forgetting the fact that they were naked as jaybirds. One shouted, "Look, it’s a buggy with no horses." Mama said she tried to catch the boys but couldn’t keep up with them. By the time she caught them, it was too late. They were standing on the bank of the road, buck naked and blue, like three statues. The three of them stood on the edge of the road as the contraption clicked by and out of sight. It took a while for them to realize that they were witnessing an historic event. That was the first automobile ever to bump down the Bowling Green Road in Holmes County, Mississippi. Mama often wondered who was the most surprised: The three boys seeing the buggy with no horses or the folks in the buggy seeing the three, blue nude statues on the Bowling Green Road. ~ By E. Mac Huddleston, DVM Biographical sketch: Mac Huddleston is a member of the Mississippi House of Representatives, a criminal investigator, veterinarian, and a Vietnam veteran. Dr. Mac is married to the former Flavia Hutchinson and makes his home in Ecru, MS.
Blue Baby 8th Street Pontotoc, MS Circa 1943 I have quizzed a number of folks regarding their earliest childhood memories and many have difficulty remembering much that transpired before they started to school. I can recall a lot of early childhood experiences, prior to my starting first grade, but I don’t think that makes me smarter than anyone, though it may make me different. Christian author and founder of Focus On The Family, Dr. James Dobson, claims to recall being held in his mother’s arms minutes after birth. Fortunately, my memory of my first few hours outside the womb are not recollected, else I’d perhaps have a vague memory of the look on the face of my Aunt Billie Carter as she remarked, "He’s the ugliest little devil I’ve ever seen." I was five years old when my family moved to Iuka, and the following year I started to school there, but my family lived in Corinth for three years before we moved to Iuka. And, I recall a lot of my preschool days in Corinth, not all of which were traumatic, but many were sickness or injury related. I was two years old when we left Pontotoc to live in Corinth, and while it may not be remarkable that I can remember a number of events that transpired during my second year, it is noteworthy. I remember my brother, six years older than me, harmlessly chunking a corncob at me that barely missed its mark, though it parted my hair in passing, and how I retaliated by throwing a brick at him. The brick caught him on the side of his head near his temple, and he almost bled to death before the doctor arrived. I remember playing with wooden spools at a neighbor’s house and pushing toys in our dirt yard. I remember trying to walk to town to see my daddy and someone taking me back home before I got too far up the hill. What I don’t remember is the day Mama left me to play in the washtub on the back porch while she hung out the laundry, and I got my hands on her stick of bluing. Unfortunately, Mama never forgot that day and often told me of the condition she found me in upon returning to the house. "You had somehow reached the bluing and got it in the water with you. Oh Lord, you were a sight! You were blue all over, from top to bottom," she would tell. "What’d you do, Mama?" I’d ask. "Well, I scrubbed and scrubbed, but I couldn’t get all the blue off of you. It had to just wear off." Mama’s no longer around for me to ask, and it never seemed important when she was alive, but now I catch myself wondering how long it took the blue to "wear off." Was it a day or two, three or four or more? I also wonder why she left me alone in a tub of water, as her natural state was one of worry, and she must have worried that I might drown before she got back to check on me. Yet, one thing’s for certain, for a few days of my early childhood, Mama had herself a blue baby. ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor and Publisher
A Different Poverty Explore The Possibilities Affluence creates poverty." Marshall McLuhan Poverty comes in many flavors. The worst are lack of food and love. Ghandi said something about food looking like God to a hungry man. One kind of poverty that is unnecessary and self-inflicted to most of us is the poverty of not experiencing the delights of nature. Many, maybe most, modern children grow up in sterile homes with almost sterile lawns. They are not allowed to intentionally get dirty, much less pick up a critter or make a mud ball to fling at a fat toad, or better yet, to fling at their sister or brother.
There is a richness in nature which must be experienced with all of ones senses. I pity the child with no place or permission to run in the wind and rain, to smell the damp earth, to stomp puddles, to wiggle toes in the mud, or catch a tadpole in a jar and watch it grow into a frog on one’s window sill. Even if one doesn’t have opportunity to visit a farm where there are wonderful sights and smells, one can enjoy many simple delights of nature in ones own park or yard. Wear old clothes, and be prepared to cleanup when you go back inside. Go to a park and lie in the sun, roll down a grassy hill, hunt for four leaf clovers (unless the park maintenance people have killed them with spray or mowed them too short), make a necklace or bracelet of clover flowers, feel the sharp serrated edges of some grass leaves, throw a stick, skip a stone across the lake, and see how many different critters you can spot, such as birds, bugs, butterflies, toads, frogs, turtles, and lizards. Go barefooted. Feel the ground and the grass and the occasional stone. We did as children, and drank water from a garden hose and lived to tell it. A bee sting, a small scrape, a bruise, sunburn, all are worth intimately feeling and knowing nature. Buy a cane pole and line and a hook or a ready-made fishing set for a few dollars. Many parks have ponds or lakes stocked with fish, and fishing is allowed, at least in the towns I have lived in. Imagine a child’s awe and thrill of getting a "bite" or actually catching a fish. You can toss it back alive. There are things to do in your own yard. Make a mud lick for male butterflies to visit. Plant three kernels of corn and three mammoth sunflower seeds in a small bare spot of ground and keep it watered. Watch with the children when birds and bees come to decorate and pollinate your corn and sunflower buffet. Have you and your children done these little things and savored the joys of nature? It’s simple and if not free, cheap, except for a little time, an extra load of clothes to wash, and maybe a scraped knee to bandage and kiss and make well. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
The Payday Lost All Work And No Play The Pontotoc Elementary School building burned around 1951. By 1953 it was being rebuilt by G & K Construction Company of Pascagoula, Mississippi. Fortunately, I got a summer job with that company at age fifteen. For a teenager it was good money, and the work kept me occupied every day except Sunday. The work was terribly hard and the weather was very hot, but it was regular pay and in a small town you take what you can get, especially as a high school kid. That first summer the boss gave me some of the hardest, hottest, and most awful work we had going. He was testing me. The work ethic already implanted in my being by my parents, helped me to endure. An older friend, Mr. Charlie "Peddler" York, who was also working there, gave this youngster much valuable guidance and instruction. Somehow when fall rolled around, "Peddler" York and this boy were still digging holes in sun baked red clay with pick and shovel, removing rubble (leftover from the old building), and pouring hundreds of yards of concrete one wheelbarrow full at a time. After that trial period, the contractor, Mr. Charles Gaskin, began to assign more pleasant chores like driving a truck and operating the machinery. He first wanted to see if I would work and if so, would I stay. The test had been given, taken, and passed. Payday was the happiest time of the week, and the method of payment was cash. Each week we received a small brown envelope just large enough to contain dollar bills. On the outside of the envelope was written the total wages less the deductions for social security, income tax, etc. It probably would not meet muster today but it did then and was always fair and correct. The workers did not mind in the least. Working six days a week did not allow time to spend much of the money and being so tired put a cramp in our nightlife to say the least. Banks did not have "extended hours" back then and it was almost impossible to get the cash deposited. Usually, I would just throw the envelope, money and all, into my desk drawer at home. It would collect there until Dad would deposit it to my account the next time he was at the bank. This went on all summer.
As fall set in, I settled down once again to my school chores. Mr. Gaskin allowed me to continue work on Saturdays and any other time that school was not in cession. It did not amount to much cash just some welcomed pocket money. Many Saturdays he would send me on the two hundred mile round trip to Memphis for supplies. Driving was always an easy and fun day for me. Not knowing the city very well, I got lost most every trip for a while, but it did not take long to figure out how to get around. One time while lost I passed Union (Railroad) Station twice, going opposite directions and never knew when I turned around. One cold miserable rainy day during the middle of winter, too bad to work, I decided to clean out the drawer of my desk. Throughout the year, my homework was done there; model airplanes, ships, and cars were built there, along with a hundred and one other small projects. It was just a wonderful place to do my "thing." As these interests came and went, the drawer filled with leftovers from these endeavors. Old instruction sheets, partial tubes of glue, small bottles of paint, extra parts, all filled the drawer to overflowing. It was one of those drawers that could have been dumped and nothing of value would have been lost. However, as I shuffled through, throwing away trash, and sorting the things to be kept, a small envelope appeared. It was a pay envelope from earlier that summer. Thinking to myself that this old empty envelope certainly could be discarded, I mused at how I must have enjoyed the money and how handy it would be now. Raising it from the drawer, to my surprise it was not empty. The bills gave thickness and the change gave weight; it was full of money! Hallelujah, a full week’s pay! Where did it come from? How did I miss it for so long? Who cares! It sure is showing up at a good time! I could hardly wait to tell family and friends of my newfound wealth. How fortunate can one teenage boy be, to find an entire week’s pay that he thought had long since been spent? It was like a gift from heaven. Over the years, other paychecks of much larger denominations have come and gone, but none have ever been more appreciated than this one, The Payday Lost. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
A Rainy Christmas Sleighs Need Snow It’s a very long way from The North Pole to the hills of Pontotoc County, Mississippi. All of the children knew that, even though the only communication we had with the outside world during that time was an old battery powered radio. The only station we could pick up was a Memphis station which was almost one hundred miles north of our farm, and we could only get that one when the weather was clear. So we knew that The North Pole was somewhere north of Memphis. We also knew that Santa needed snow, or at the very least, clear cold weather, to reach the hills where we lived. There would be no way he could get there if the weather was warm and rainy. We lived on a farm that was so far back up in those Mississippi hills that we did not even have gravel on our roads, just red clay and mud. So one thing that we knew for sure was that if it rained on Christmas Eve, even Santa’s reindeer could not come to our community by way of the road, and it would take some skillful driving even by sleigh to land at our house. The year was somewhere around 1945 or 46. Of course, my father had been telling us about Christmas for several days. He always did this. He would tell us that if we got our chores done early that he would build a big fire in the fireplace, and then after supper he would tell us about Christmas and Santa Claus. I think he enjoyed this more than the children. I also think that he may have been a little smarter than we thought at the time, and used this to get us to get the cows milked and our other chores completed early. Cold weather usually arrives in the hill country of north Mississippi about mid-December. Normally, that was plenty early enough for Santa to make his yearly ride through the hills. The big problem that year was that about a week before Christmas, the weather turned very warm, and the rain set in. It rained, and rained, and rained some more. Christmas was fast approaching and there was no end in sight for the low clouds and rain. How was Santa Claus going to get to our house without cold weather? My two older sisters did not seem all that concerned. Of course they were eight and five years older than me, and of course had been to school several years, so they knew much more than me, or at least they said they did.
When I would venture into the kitchen to ask my mother, she would just say, "You need to get out from under foot." But, my father never seemed to lose patience with me. He would just say something like, "Oh you never know," or, "probably so." By noon on Christmas Eve I had worn out my welcome around our house, and my mother told me to put on my rain clothes and go to visit with my cousin who lived over two hills and around a couple of curves. So I put on my rain coat and walked down to his house which was about a mile or so away. This did not help much. He was my age, and had also been pretty much kicked out of the house. He had the same concerns as me. That Christmas Eve seemed to last for at least forty eight hours, but night finally arrived at the farm house on the hill. When I say that night had arrived, that was an understatement. The rain continued, and those clouds hung so low that I knew there was simply no way that Santa would arrive. We finished milking the cows, which was about a two hour job, and headed for the house for supper. We could not wait for bedtime, but there was still that worry. It was so dark outside that you could not see anything. I finally gave up, hung up my stockings, and one last time, I asked my father if he thought Santa would come. Then I went to bed. As with all Christmas Eves, the night seemed to never end. Finally I heard my father making a fire in the fireplace. I called out to him and asked if Santa had been. He said, "I thought I saw something." That was all that I could stand. I rushed into the room that had the fireplace. My sisters were right behind me. Low and behold, there by the fire place were our stockings. They were stuffed with all kinds of goodies. There were pecans, walnuts, and even something we had never seen. Something called almonds. There was a Barlow knife for me, and there were all kind of things for my sisters. This Christmas had to be one of the best of all time. Oh, and about the rain! It turned out to be good because we were sure we found sleigh, and reindeer tracks in the mud the next morning. ~ By M. G. Russell Biographical sketch: M. G. Russell is a Pontotoc County native and grew up on a cotton and dairy farm near the Lafayette County line. Memphis has been home for him and wife, Jan, for over fifty years. Russell retired in 2004, after 47 years in the transportation industry. Apart from writing, Russell enjoys running.
Eggnog Remorse Where Did I Go Wrong
My mother, Frances, and her mother, Mama Nona, were both excellent cooks, and were my mother still alive, she’d be the first to admit her mother was the better cook. Mom never had any use for alcoholic beverages, though my grandmother had less disdain for alcohol than did my mother. Of the two women, my grandmother, Mama Nona, was more comfortable in "cooking for the public," something that made my mother extremely nervous on the rare occasions she agreed to make and sell someone a cake. Mom always worried her product wouldn’t turn out right or be her best effort. As for making eggnog, Mama Nona held a slight edge over Mom, largely due to spices that Mama Nona added for flavoring. Mom didn’t particularly care for nutmeg and her eggnog was simply boiled custard, the kind one could hand crank into homemade ice cream on a hot summer’s afternoon. Once, Mama Nona made a batch of eggnog to sell to a gentleman who also provided the alcohol he felt was needed for a full-bodied flavor. As I remember Aunt Jo, Mom’s younger sister, telling it, she and Altee Wages walked home for lunch and were pleasantly surprised to find the freshly made eggnog. Apparently, the two co-workers liberally indulged themselves of the alcohol-laced eggnog. It was only as they returned to work that they realized they had been drinking an alcoholic beverage (or so they later insisted). "Whooee," Aunt Jo stated, "We laughed and staggered all the way back to the café. And, that sidewalk looked like it was trying to rise up into my face." Mama Nona must have had a good eye for portions, because when she returned home to get the bowl of eggnog, she could readily tell some eggnog was missing. Aunt Jo was scolded for her mischievousness, demonstrating the Biblical admonition, "Be sure your sin will find you out." In the family of my youth, all of us enjoyed the eggnog (boiled custard) Mama made for the holiday season. It was something we looked forward to having, as the Christmas Holidays were about the only time Mama made it. My siblings and I were separated by several years, but I don’t recall if there was one of us who didn’t appreciated Mama’s eggnog. Something regarding the enjoyment of special holiday sweets went strangely awry with my own family. I wonder if it might be the result of mild affluence. Compared to my childhood, my children have not known hard times, so those things that were treats for my generation have become common fare for them. That and the explosion of everything from new candy bars to the various sugared breakfast cereals have served to saturate the world of sweets and dilute a generation’s aptitude for special treats. Whatever the reason, my offspring simply do not appreciate the fine qualities of eggnog. My grandchildren turn their noses up whenever I offer them some. I suppose it’s too early to write off my grandchildren as never developing a taste for eggnog, but I have a notion they won’t in my lifetime. Only my grand-dog, Zoey, likes it as well as I do. If she could fetch her own portion she would, but instead she patiently waits on me to finish a goblet in order that she be allowed to lick the interior clean. There’s no one in my family to make homemade eggnog for me, so I depend upon Barber’s Dairies, Inc. for my provisions. Barber’s eggnog is usually available in area grocery stores from late November to early January, which isn’t nearly long enough to suit me, but it gives me something to look forward to each year. There is an upside to my family not appreciating eggnog; I get to enjoy it all to myself. Sarah sometimes happens by, in which case I gladly share my abundance with her. And, with that, I must close and go and check my eggnog supply, as I wouldn’t want to be out if she drops in and miss the opportunity to enjoy my favorite holiday beverage with another eggnog lover. ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor and Publisher
Day After Christmas Carl Wayne And Mimi
Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house,
Everyone else was in recliner or bed,
Belle, the puppy, her treats all long gone,
I in recliner, remote control in hand,
Belle jumped in my lap, to sleep like a log,
But she needed walking, her tummy doing flips,
Then outside I heard such a clatter
The sanitation workers were picking up trash
But our stuff was stacked in the garage so neat,
I must have drifted off from way too much fudge,
She gave me that look and said Sakes Alive,
On vacuum, on sweeper, on dust mop, and broom
I said can I help, then I heard her say,
At last she was finished in time to watch Leno
Me and Belle napped with remote still handy,
Another Wonderful Christmas Mimi made blest, ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor and Poet Laureate
Duct Tape Recommended By Homeland Security
Of course Bubba is ever one to take advantage of a situation and the run on duct tape was no exception. Bubba planned to make lots of money on the terrorist threat and he wanted to know if I had a few bucks to invest. Naturally, remembering Bubba’s last plan to infect Osama with chicken pox, I asked for additional information. Bubba’s new plan was to load his pickup with duct tape and take it to New York where he figured on selling each roll for about five times what it cost. Bubba advised that his second cousin Marvelle’s husband, a man who only came south of the Mason Dixon line to find a real woman, called from New York and asked about that "duck tape." According to Bubba he couldn’t find any of it anywhere and all his neighbors were in the same boat. They thought it was something mainly used in the south to repair holes in our mobile homes. All southerners know that duct tape can hold about anything together: including cars, tools, appliances, lawnmowers, tractors and assorted farm equipment. In a pinch you can stem the flow of blood and connect the odd limb or digit that may have accidentally been severed. It was gratifying to hear the Department of Homeland Security tell Americans that duct tape is an essential part of our safety. What a lot of us, even in the south, didn’t know is that duct tape is much more than tape. There’s a guy in Kentucky making belts, hats, purses and lots of other stuff out of duct tape. Just think of the possibilities. If your plumbing springs a leak, grab that duct tape hat and patch away. If you get a flat just rip off your fashionable duct tape belt. Just a quick reminder that when you remove duct tape it will rip off all the paint and an eighth inch of wood and also the top layer of your skin. Hey the stuff’s made to last. It came as no surprise to any Mississippian that the Department of Homeland Security called upon us all to keep duct tape in the house. Maybe in New York people are running around saying, "Duck tape? What the heck is duck tape?" However, we Mississippians have known for many years that duct tape is an essential item for our very way of life. Well I didn’t invest in Bubba’s duct tape to New York scheme, but given the current stock market conditions maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal. At least I would have been taking money out of New York instead of sending it there never to be heard from again. My wife says there’s a leak under the kitchen sink, but not to worry, I’ve got duct tape. ~ By Jack Kean Biological Sketch: Jack Kean is a native of Sessums, Mississippi, who currently resides in Pelham, Al. He is the author of Deadly Sacrifice, What If The Winner Dies and Being From The South Doesn’t Make Me Stupid. Jack currently writes for several publications including Modern Senior Living, Tombigee Country Magazine and Oxford SO & SO.
Bubba Bodock Have A Laugh Or Two There’s more truth than fiction in the following: Letter to my Bank Dear Sir /Madam, In view of current developments in the banking market, if one of my checks is returned marked "insufficient funds", does that refer to me or you? Regards, Your Worried Customer Butt Dust
What, you ask, is 'Butt dust?' Read on and you'll discover the joy
in it! These have to be original and genuine. No adult is this
creative!
Our Mission Purpose - The Bodock Post 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.
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Happy New Year! To you, valued readers, we wish you a Happy and
Prosperous New Year! What a wonderful era to be alive. With all the new
technology that has blossomed, we are most fortunate.
I was
up before the light of day on Christmas Eve. I could not wait for sun-up.
I just knew that the rain and clouds would be gone, and there would either
be snow, or cold weather. It was not to be. There was nothing but clouds
and more rain. I had been worrying my sisters, and my mother and father for
days about the weather. My sisters had pretty much just begun ignoring me,
and my mother, who was very busy cooking, cleaning, and getting things ready
for Christmas, had come to the point of just running me out of the house
with the broom.
While wine is more universally recognized
as the nectar of the gods, I believe a less exalted beverage deserves
a shot at the title. Anyway, Proverbs 20:1 of the Bible states, Wine is
a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not
wise. Strangely, the Bible is silent on the subject of eggnog.
About a
year or so after the tragic events of 9/11 Bubba, who was known as BJ (Bubba
Junior) until his father, Bubba Senior died in a tragic fishing accident,
called to discuss his preparations for a terrorist attack. He was confused
by the Department of Homeland Security’s suggestion to buy duct tape,
believing with all his soul that every American had a few rolls of the stuff
in a tool chest, the garage or most likely under the seat of his pickup.
Telling Bubba to buy duct tape is kind of like telling a dentist to buy floss.
