From The Arbor Spring Forward
Carl Wayne, our gardening "Guru," is no doubt ready to get some serious gardening done. Wayne has probably cleaned and readied his cooker for some of his good grilled steaks. Me, well, I’m about ready to get to working outside. I need to rev up the ol’ chain saw and cut down something. Really, I think we all just need a good excuse to get outside and do something that does not require three layers of clothes, coats, hats, and gloves to stay warm. March may be upon us, but as I look out the window, snow is falling to "beat the band." But hang on baby, spring is coming! Not that we won’t get some snow over in March, but we can look forward to the springing of spring on March 20. We seem to have had our share of snow and ice for this winter. I trust you have fared well in all of it. Don’t forget to set your clocks on March 14 when Daylight Savings Time begins. Spring forward with your clocks, so you won’t be early or late for Sunday School, whichever it is; hard for us old codgers to figure which. Just set the blasted "electric rooster" ahead one hour before you go to bed on Saturday night, and let it be a surprise to you. And, don’tcha be a fergittin’ the wearin’ of tha green on March 17; that be St. Patrick’s Day, don’t cha know! Easter comes early this year, on the first weekend of April, with Palm Sunday on March 28; don’t let it sneak up on you. Those of you who plan to go to "Mule Day" in Columbia, Tennessee; it will no doubt be moved to the second weekend in April. I know you would enjoy Easter there, but if you want to see the most beautiful mules in the world, wait till the next weekend. Oh, by the way, if you haven’t ordered your baby chickens from Sears and Roebuck yet, time is awastin’. Happy Spring to all ya’ll from us here at the Post! Note: Under The Arbor is a regular feature of our newsletter from which our "Editor of the Month" introduces each issue, season, or theme, as the case may be. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
My First Paying Job Pontotoc Nursing Home It’s funny how a chance encounter with a friend after many years can open a floodgate to memories of the past. A few weeks ago, I picked up the Pontotoc Progress, my hometown newspaper. There was an article and photo of a friend from my teenage days, Mittie Joy Austin Montgomery, who presently lives in Pontotoc. Mittie has published a children’s book, God's Three R's for Children Words, of which I know she and her family are proud. My mother was employed by Mittie Joy’s parents, H.C. and Eunice Austin. Mom worked as the dietitian at the Pontotoc Nursing Home located on the western outskirts of Pontotoc on Highway 6. The Austin’s were kind caring folks, and they gave me my first real paying job in 1959.
Mrs. Austin kept me busy performing odd jobs throughout the facility. I dusted, swept, mopped, emptied patients’ trash cans, changed bed linens, and helped with laundry. At meal time I helped feed the patients. Many needed someone to feed them. Because I was young, patients seemed to respond to me more readily than to the regular workers. I learned quickly that elderly folks can be quite cantankerous! This was evidenced by one old gentleman who would not allow anyone to shave him. Finally, out of desperation, Mrs. Austin suggested I be given the razor! This really large obese man let me shave his face, and he did not lift a finger! Another example is I became quite the beautician while giving the ladies Toni home permanents. The ladies loved to have their hair done; even if it was just a shampoo or a simple comb out. Now, nursing homes have regular hair salons for the residents, but back then I was it! During the summer, when the workers took a vacation, I would fill in for them. I became proficient using a commercial ironing machine for bed linens. Mother took a month vacation during one summer to visit my sister. I was in charge of the kitchen. This entailed preparing breakfast, lunch and supper for the patients and staff. I had helped mom so much, I knew what to do, even how the patients preferred their coffee; some liked it very sweet, others black only. Medications were included on the patients’ trays at meal time as well. After the patients were fed, then there was cleanup and preparation for the next meal. I recall the day I poured drained grease from where I had cooked ground beef to make spaghetti, right down the drain! Surely, I knew better, but none the less, I did it. Mrs. Austin just went outside and banged on the drain pipe with a tool. No problem, the drain was working again. She was always around to come to my rescue if I encountered a problem.
The Austin family lived at the nursing home and the front room served as
their living room as well as the lobby to the nursing home. When Mrs. Austin
paid a bill, she would drop the receipt in the middle desk drawer of the
gigantic antique desk that sat in the living room by the stairwell. When
I first began working, my job was to create a ledger and post all those old
receipts. When I finally caught up, then it was easy to keep the books current.
I guess you could say I had my first bookkeeping lesson before I ever attended
Mrs. Jackson’s bookkeeping class in my senior year at Algoma High School!
There was an antique buffet near the entrance to the kitchen. It had a huge middle drawer where Mrs. Austin would store her collection of clipped recipes. It was quite a jumble of clippings. My job was to organize those recipes. The second and third drawers contained cut pieces of fabric that she had purchased at the fabric store in Pontotoc just in case she ever had time to sew. When all my other chores were done and there was time to spare, I would set up my "sewing studio" in her bedroom and make clothes for Mittie Joy. I guess Mittie was about ten or twelve years old at the time. I really enjoyed sewing for her and she loved the clothes I made. About this time, satin shirts for guys came in style. Mrs. Austin went to the fabric store in Pontotoc and returned with several colors of shiny satin. Herman, the teenage son in the Austin family picked out the color he liked and I proceeded to sew him a satin shirt. Well, being the prankster he was, he tried it on and complained that the sleeve buttons were on the wrong side!
Like most any other skill or craft, one’s true talent comes out in the
ability to fix a problem. So, I got busy and changed out the buttons and
button holes on the sleeves. Everyone had quite a laugh at my expense when
it was discovered that it was all a joke and that the sleeves had been correct
I graduated high school in May of 1961, and married in the fall. I continued to work part time for Mrs. Austin when she would need me. In 1962, I moved to Memphis continuing with my life applying many skills learned from my first job as a teenager at the Pontotoc Nursing Home. This is a picture of Mittie Joy and Herman. ~ By Jackie Crosby, Contributor. Photographs courtesy of Mittie Montgomery Biographical Sketch: Miriam "Jackie" Thompson Crosby was reared largely in Pontotoc County and attended schools in Algoma, Beckham, Ecru and Pontotoc. A graduate of both Algoma High School and the University of Memphis, Jackie is now retired from Civil Service work with the Federal Government. She and husband, G. A., have a son, a daughter, a foster son, and eleven grandchildren. Home for Jackie and G.A. is Cordova, Tennessee. To read more of Jackie's bio, click here. Sticks And Canes A Rewarding Full-Time Hobby
Retirees often find themselves with too much time on their hands and have trouble adjusting to an unstructured environment. Fortunately for Billy Clay, he happened upon something to keep him busy for the rest of his life or else for as long as he feels like doing it. That something is turning tree limbs into useful objects such as hiking sticks and walking canes. Billy Clay owes his newly discovered craftsmanship to a chance occasion. An uncle of his whose wife died in ’04, moved to Amory, Mississippi about three years ago in order to be closer to a family member. His uncle invited him over to work on a food plot for deer at their hunting club. As they entered the woods Billy Clay’s uncle picked up a small, fallen tree limb and used it as a staff or hiking stick on their journey into and later out of the woods. "As we started to leave, he pitched the stick in the back-end of my truck," Billy Clay recalls. "It lay in the back-end of my truck all during deer season." The stick remained there until spring, largely unnoticed. Then one day it caught Billy Clay’s eye, and it occurred to him to "fix it up for Uncle Ken." "I took my pocket knife and whittled it down to the main wood, sanded it down, put some stain on it, and then added a couple of coats of polyurethane on it, and finished it off with a rubber tip on it." Pleased with the results, Billy Clay called his uncle and told him he and Rhonda wanted to drop in for a visit. Uncle Ken walked out to greet them as they drove up to his house. "I reached over in the back of the truck and picked up that stick and asked him if he remembered it. He said, ‘I sure do.’ His eyes got about this big," Billy Clay stated, gesturing with his hands to show ovals the size of doughnuts. Billy Clay fondly remembers that day, a memory that’s become even more special with the passing of his uncle last summer. A few months after presenting his uncle the hiking stick, Billy Clay’s son Ryan, suggested his dad make a few hiking sticks for him to take on his church’s mission trip to the midpoint of the Appalachia Trail in Virginia. The church group makes available bottled water, medical supplies, etc. for the many hikers along the trail. Ryan knew many people used hiking sticks while walking the trail, but that some only discover the need for one after hiking a while. It was Ryan’s idea for his dad to make some hiking sticks to give to those needing one. On the mission trip, Ryan took some of Billy Clay’s lightweight hiking sticks, those made from Crepe Myrtle limbs, and he came back with a lot of video examples of hiking sticks. This inspired his dad to make still more and to add crafting walking canes to his emerging hobby. Billy Clay has since made hundreds of hiking sticks and walking canes, each one a thing of beauty and a work of art unto itself. He showed me numerous examples of each that he kept in the corner of his den and many more in a storage room. No two are exactly alike. Some are finished in their natural color; others are richly stained. Wood choices are as diverse as the area woodlands. Picking up an oddly shaped one from his collection, Billy Clay stated, "I want you to tell me what this looks like," as he laid it on the floor. "That came off a neighbor’s apple tree. I asked her if I could cut the limb and she OK’d it. I put it in on her porch steps and asked her what it looked like."
Billy Clay doesn’t limit his hiking sticks and walking canes to the castaways of Nature or to his ability to envision a cane inside a tree limb or a hiking stick among the limbs of a Crepe Myrtle or a vine wrapped sapling in the woods. He’s added parts of deer antlers to limbs and sticks, as well. "Here’s one similar to what I sold a guy who said he wanted it for a shooting stick," he stated.
It had two small tines of deer antlers epoxied to one end. Hunters often
employ a stick with or without a fork at the upper end to steady their weapon
when aiming at their prey.
Because all of Billy Clay’s creations are works of art I suggested he sign and number each of them. It’s something he’s partly done. He sometimes burns his initials into the wood and dates it, and, since his early days of crafting has created a signature mark. He reserves a small imperfection in the wood or else where a tiny branch was trimmed away from the main limb and carves a ring around the piece jutting from the stick or cane. In the finished product it’s hardly noticeable, but it’s there. In the shop in his backyard, Billy Clay spends up to ten hours a day, five days a week, taking largely ordinary looking objects and from them creating that which is both utilitarian and beautiful. Hiking and Walking Sticks by Billy Clay Rodgers are sold locally at The Gift Shop and The Antique Mall in downtown Pontotoc. For more information, email Billy Clay at billyrodgers@gmail.com. ~ By Wayne L. Carter, Associate Editor An Old Man’s Eyes Early Morning Thoughts Old men look through different eyes. ~ Carl Wayne
Some things from a man's perspective are surely different from a woman's
perspective, and different from a young man's eyes. It is dangerous to
generalize, but my sixty-three year old eyes see things differently. The
Good Lord gave men and women different yet complementary jobs, fortunately
with much overlap. After my daddy died when I was twelve, momma had to be
both momma and daddy to us five
children. Women generally prefer security and certainty, we men not so much. We like to be adventuresome. I imagine Mrs. Columbus would just as soon had old Christopher stay at home and help with the kids and yard work and bring home an occasional paycheck. Women think rules are rules. Men see them as guidelines and know all improvement involves change, often by bending or breaking the rules. Isn't the posted speed limit a safety recommendation for when we are not late for work or traffic is heavy? On this very early cold morning this old man finds peace knowing Mimi and her puppy Belle are toasty warm in bed, my children and their spouses and granddarlings are all well, my old truck Opie started yesterday morning so probably will this morning, and my pipes did not freeze last night. Soon the family will be stirring. Mimi will make this old man a hot breakfast for which he will give thanks for the breakfast and for Mimi. My son's family has already arrived for my grandson's ice hockey practice some thirty miles away. My son-in-law will soon arrive at the fire station for a busy twenty-four hour shift. There are more fires in cold weather as poor folks try to find ways to get warm. My home birds have an extra portion of feed this morning so they can have fat and protein to make body heat and stay warm. The doves, blue jays, mockingbirds, cardinals, sparrows, wrens, juncos, goldfinches, house finches, chickadees and woodpeckers are feeding on seed and suet. I have helped them survive another night and day. I am pleased in my soul. Except for my beautiful winter daphnes and Italian arums, my plants look dead. But I know the ground temperature in our beloved south is above freezing. The roots not only are alive, they are growing, and using the sugar stored up when they had green foliage. I am comforted knowing they are alive and thriving and will bring me beauty and bounty in warm weather. This old man will leave the hunting and fishing for younger men. I am content to stay in, stay warm, and be content knowing my family is safe and warm. I have begun to prefer security and warmth and things staying the same rather than being adventuresome. I even leave a little early to go to work and drive the speed limit as I am not in that big a hurry to get anywhere. I’ve begun thinking more like Mimi. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor Broken Bridge A Problematic Crossing
While Edna had fixed breakfast, O.T. had gone to the barn, milked the cow, and fed the mules. With breakfast eaten, he was on the way back to the barn to "catch out" the team. Bridling one mule then the other, he would continue to harness the two of them. First the thick padded collars were fitted around their necks, then the hames and back bands were put in place. Buckles were fastened, clevises were hooked, and chains were hitched. Trace chains were hung up on the horns of the hames as both mules were led to the wagon and backed, more or less, into place. The trace chains were hooked to the single trees on the wagon, front chains were attached to the tongue of the wagon. Walking around, all looked alright, and with a foot on the wheel hub he swung up into the farm wagon. Remaining in a standing position he clucked to his big team and they moved forward. Edna waited there with a folded quilt to make the spring seat a little more comfortable for the two of them. It was a nice day as they headed out toward Frank and Myrtle’s house for a day long visit. They were in good spirits, and so was the team. And, although O.T. did not require them to trot, the mules instinctively set out at a brisk pace. It was good to get out and stretch their legs now that crops had been laid by and there was not too much for them to do. After several miles they came to the bridge over a sizeable creek, as they approached the Oak Forest Community near Randolph, Mississippi. It was just a little country bridge with heavy timbers for support spanning from one side to the other. Heavy planks formed the top of the bridge running at right angles to the support timbers. The regular use the bridge got from the school bus, milk truck, mail man, and the countless teams and wagons had taken its toll. Several of the heavy bridge planks had been loose for some time, but they stayed in place. They did rattle and rumble as a vehicle rolled over them. Today was a little different. As the farm couple approached the bridge they noticed there were two short planks missing from the surface, probably floated off in a heavy rain. It was not enough to stop traffic, just enough to stop mules. When the team got close enough to see the bridge and the holes, they were not about to cross. Mules are a smart lot, regardless of how they are perceived by many people. They are not about to do anything that will bring harm to themselves. The mules could be guided around the holes that really posed no dangerous situation, but they would have nothing to do with the bridge. No matter how hard O.T. tried, they would not even attempt to step on the bridge. Those two black holes were serious obstacles to the team. Even shouting and giving them a little taste of the long leather lines, they would not go forward, only dance around in place, ears pointed and nostrils flared. O.T., being a good teamster knew that further force would only lead to frustration for all concerned so he decided on an alternate plan. Stepping down from the wagon, while Edna held the lines, he walked to the mules, patted each of them and talked to them in a pleasant voice. He pulled out the big red bandanna from the back pocket of his overalls, and covered the eyes of the first mule and tucked the loose ends into the bridle so it would not come loose. Since he did not have another bandanna, he took an old denim jumper that was in the wagon and fashioned a blind fold for the other mule. Now both mules were totally blindfolded. Positioning himself between the team, he grasped a bridle in each hand. Once again, he talked to his mules in a soft and pleasant voice. He called them by name, and then with a slight tug he began to walk forward still holding onto the bridles. The big team knew their master’s voice and they trusted him and began to follow him. He directed them away from missing planks. The other bridge planks popped and moaned as the team and wagon move across the creek. Thirty feet or so and they were all across, safe and sound on the opposite side. O.T. removed the blinders from their eyes, all was well, they were not afraid; they were calm and ready for the balance of the trip. How often do we find ourselves at a bridge filled with holes. We are so frightened we are afraid to even try to cross. No amount of coaxing or prodding will cause us to budge. Then the Master comes to us, telling of the love He has for us and telling us not to fear. Then He tells us to look to Him and follow in His footsteps. Don’t look at the problem, just take His hand and He will lead us safely to the other side. Just as O.T. would not allow harm to his mules, how much more does our Heavenly Father look out for us, leading us through danger to safety. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor Gardening With Tim Readying For Springtime The time has arrived to get those gardening chores all lined up. First off, take a tour of your landscape, and see what’s going on there. Pick up all the winter debris, and start raking those dreaded sweet gum balls before you twist an ankle. Take a look around at all those pesky green onions and consider spot spraying them or even mix up your herbicide and go around and paint them with a paint brush, and you don’t have to wait for a day that the wind isn’t blowing. The herbicide named "images/Image" is about as effective as any other. Anything with 2-4-D in can be used it with fairly good results. It will take more than one treatment. It’s time to trim your monkey grass, and there are several ways to do this. I am still partial to using my old faithful Weedeater. One of my gardening friends has his wife hold it up in bunches, and he cuts it off with his hedge trimmer. Hmmm, she’s awful trusting, don’t you think? Another tells me that his mower can be raised fairly high, and he just mows it down. This works pretty good, also. However you decide to trim the monkey grass, be sure and rake the clippings and haul them off to reduce possible black spot or fungal propagation. Now, for the hard work for all you rose growers like Miss Janet and me; grab those pruners, loppers, pruning saws, and heavy gloves. Remove all the old, dead canes from the center of the bush, being sure to cut them as close to the base as you can. These stems will have a grayish color and will be rough textured. Next remove all the old leaves left from last year. Be sure and cut out canes that are crossing or rubbing against one another. Now you can prune the remaining canes back about one third to one half their length. Look for an outward facing bud eye and cut the cane on a forty five degree angle away from the bud eye. I am a little more brutal as I cut most of ours back to knee high. Miniature roses are pruned in the same manner, except they can be cut back to about six inches. Climbers and old garden roses are a little different. Cut out all the old wood, but refrain from pruning the other canes until after the first flush of blooms as many of them bloom on last year’s growth. Once you have all your pruning done, clean up all the debris, and haul it off or bag it for the trash truck to pick up. You never want to compost old rose clippings, as they could be infected with black spot or insects that have wintered-over on them. Now, go back and seal the canes where you have pruned with Elmer’s glue or something similar. On roses that are prone to get black spot, once you have pruned, sealed, and cleaned up the debris, I suggest that you spray the canes and surrounding ground with a solution of lime sulfur. This will kill any black spot spores left over from last year. When you have finished all this, be sure and clean all your pruning tools with a bleach solution to kill any disease on them before storing them. I hope you will all join us at the New Albany Home and Garden Show Saturday March 27th from 8:00 AM till 4:00 PM. It will be a fun day filled with educational speakers, vendors, exhibitors, food, and maybe a surprise or two. You can also keep up with details on my Facebook page, www.facebook.com/mastergardner, or by visiting my website www.newalbanygardening.com. If you have any questions or comments, email me at colorsbytim@hotmail.com ~ By Tim Burress, Contributor Girdles ‘n Garter Belts Recalling A Bygone Era The time was July, 1953. The location was an office in which the temperature was almost 100 degrees F. Both windows were wide open because air conditioning had not yet been introduced to small towns in Mississippi. But everything was running as we were taught by our elders. Ladies did not leave the house with rollers in their hair or without makeup, shoes were never worn without nylon stockings, and white gloves were worn downtown along with dresses or suits which were appropriate office wear. The glass ceiling had not yet been cracked, and ladies showed proper decorum in all their mannerisms, performance, and dress. This was the situation into which I was introduced to my first job. I was fresh out of school, very apprehensive about a new job, and trying very hard to do everything right. At the time I was about five and a half feet tall and weighed less than 100 pounds. My mother took me shopping, bought me nylons, high-heeled shoes, a girdle, and a garter belt to hold up the nylons--the nylons in those days came in two pieces—a right leg and a left leg. When I insisted to her that I didn’t need a girdle because I didn’t have a stomach or a rear end to hold in, she told me that "proper" ladies always wore a girdle, that to go without one was crude and vulgar. So I wore one. I would get up in the morning, take a bath, and start with my girdle (some girdles had fasteners to hold the stocking which made the garter belt unnecessary). When I had wriggled into the girdle, I would very carefully pull on the nylons and fasten them to the girdle. Then I would put on my bra and full-body slip, top them with my skirt, blouse, and suit coat, and add the shoes. After breakfast, I would remove the slept-in curlers from my hair, brush it, add makeup and jewelry, and leave for work. All this was also done without air conditioning in the house. When I got to the office, the first thing I did was open the windows which had been closed at night for security. This let some of the accumulated heat out, but it also let more heat in from the pavement below. When I sat down at my desk, the elasticized girdle fasteners holding my nylons in place would snap taut under my skirt, making a flat surface for my lap, but allowing a bit of air underneath. I had to remember to walk around the office as much as possible, because if I sat too long at a time, my legs would perspire and cause the back of my skirt to be wet where I sat on the desk chair. By the time I got home in the afternoon, I would not have a dry thread on me, but the dampest portion was where the girdle was worn. The addition of air-conditioning to homes and offices was great. Better yet, gradually over the years, the wearing of girdles was not mandated for "skinny" ladies. But, surely God was smiling on the person who invented panty hose making the wearing of garter belts obsolete! ~ By Bettye Hudson Galloway, Contributor Favorite Western They Don't Make 'em Like They Used To
I don’t watch a lot of television, largely because I hate all the program interruptions by commercials, and yes, I know commercials pay for the programs. Whenever I’m done with my home chores, washing and cooking, and have tired of checking email and Facebook on my computer, I head to the living room to see what’s on one of my favorite channels besides commercials. NBC, CBS, and ABC lost my viewership years ago as programming moved away from variety shows like the Carol Burnett Show and wholesome comedies such as I Love Lucy or The Dick Van Dyke Show. Reality programs and what passes for situation comedies these days both drive me to despair. Thank goodness for the Food Network, Discovery Channel, The History Channel and a couple of movie channels that either don’t show R-rated movies, or bleep out offensive language and remove sexually explicit scenes from the movies shown. TV’s AMC channel recently dedicated a weekend to Westerns. And, as Westerns go, some of the movies were classics. During one of the commercial breaks, the host of the program mentioned an opportunity for viewers to vote on their favorite Western by going to the movie channel website. I’ve seen hundreds of Westerns over the years, mostly on TV, and I do have my favorites. As far as I am concerned, John Wayne was never in a bad Western, but it was near the end of his career before he won an Oscar, something he achieved for his role as Rooster Cogburn in True Grit. The Searchers, a Western starring John Wayne, was the number one Western selected by viewers. While I like that one, it’s not my favorite Western movie. Actor/ director Clint Eastwood got his start in the sixties on the television series, Rawhide. Eastwood’s successful career includes a number of Westerns, all of which I enjoy watching whenever I find them on the TV. In the viewer rankings are The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (2nd place) and Unforgiven (7th place). I suppose any method to rank favorite movies is difficult as through the years favorites of my generation lose ground to favorites of the next generation and succeeding generations. One of my favorite Western movies (though not many feel as I do) is "One-eyed Jacks." It’s a tale of a bad guy (Carl Malden) trying to escape his past by living respectably, only to be served up a bit of frontier justice by the one (Marlon Brando) he had previously betrayed. Another favorite movie of mine, The Magnificent Seven, holds 4th place in viewer ranking on the AMC Movie Channel and second place in my personal ratings. I may like the musical theme of the movie as well as the plot and the acting. In the movie, a group of gun-fighters show compassion for the plight of a Mexican village continually harassed by a band of outlaws. By the end of the movie, most of the gun-fighters are killed, but the village is able to fend off the outlaws and of the surviving gun-fighters, one sets aside his gun-slinging ways to win the heart of a lovely villager. It’s far more an action movie than a romantic one, which is probably why it ranks among my personal favorites. The movie that I claim as my favorite Western movie of all time is High Noon, which starred Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. A small town marshal is torn between leaving on his honeymoon or staying in town to face down a gang, the revenge-seeking leader of which has just been released from prison and will be on the train that rolls into town at noon (hence the title, High Noon). The drama of High Noon is as important as the action. The outlaws are such feared desperados that the marshal is unable to find anyone in town to deputize for the showdown. Finding himself between the proverbial rock and a hard place, the marshal chooses to face his foes alone. Tex Ridder, sings the theme song for the movie, "Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling." Portions of the song are interspersed with the drama, which is set in real time and adds to the suspense of the movie. Every time I watch the movie, I ask myself what I would have done had I been the marshal, and would I choose to live in the town that failed to support me when I needed help the most. High Noon is a Western classic, and it’s number one on my list. What’s yours? ~ By Wayne L. Carter, Associate Editor
Waiting On Spring Anxious To Start Planting
T.S. Eliot said in his poem The Waste Land: I once wrote a poem called Rows Of Buttercups. As we drove in the country and saw empty fields with rows of buttercups, Momma would say there is where a home and love used to be, and now there's nothing left but rows of buttercups. Hence my email address, rowsofbuttercups@yahoo.com rowsofbuttercups@yahoo.com.
Even the henbit was especially spectacular this spring. We saw whole meadows
of blooming lilac henbit along MS 302 as me and Mimi drove Bluebird, the
family van, 29 miles uphill each way to Southaven for Bubba to play ice hockey.
How can anyone call henbit a weed and spray it with a herbicide? I feel the
same way about beautiful dandelions. But then how can a town not have an
ice hockey rink or farmer's market? But I digress. I participated in the annual Great Backyard Bird Count again this year in February. You might go online and explore the results. We had about 40 observers who reported from around here. Check out the results by species and locale at: http://gbbc.birdsource.org/gbbcApps/results Check out the hummingbird migration progress at: http://www.hummingbirds.net/map.html They're on their way, so now is a good time to clean and set out your feeders. The early migrating males will be passing through here soon. I have seen one as early as March 31. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Muddy Roads Only For The Brave
That old country song from my youth haunted me for a long time; I hated muddy roads. While my wife and I looked for the rock formation at Calico Rock, Arkansas one overcast, drizzly day my driving led us down along the Buffalo River and onto a graveled road. With the rain drops beginning to splash regularly on the windshield her observation was to make haste and retreat up the hill to the pavement. She considers any road that is not asphalt or concrete to be a dirt (or impassable) road. Crushed stone, cinders, gravel, or the like, do not count; they are still dirt as far as she is concerned. No amount of my factual information could change her mind. In her mind, a non-paved roads equals a dirt road, and that is that. My idea was to continue our search, pavement or no. I saw no reason to turn back since most of my early driving career had been done on gravel or dirt roads, while none of hers had been off the pavement. Now don’t get me wrong, getting stuck was not my idea of fun, but driving through the soup of a rutted red clay road is sometimes just part of the whole scenario. As we reached the top of the hill and the tires began to sing on the pavement, it transformed her from a tiger to a pampered house kitty. We never did find the "rock" that day, but, in her mind, we were not swallowed up by a muddy road either. One point for her team! As a young boy some roads were very treacherous in winter. Those that had no gravel at all were sometimes impassable. It is said that some of the roads down in the river bottoms could not be crossed even in an airplane. Others were not much better. Different soils resisted better than others, and if the road was well shaped and drained well, there was the less possibility of a muddy stretch. Some vehicles like the U.S. Mail, school buses, peddlers, and the milk truck had to get through, wet, dry, or frozen. However, winter rains were often heavy and seemed like they would never end. In winter the ground would often freeze and when it thawed only about twelve inches of mush remained. The vehicles that had to travel the roads were usually higher off the ground than regular passenger cars. The heavy loaded milk truck, for example, had dual wheels on the rear and unless it was terribly deep, they went on through. The ruts he left sometimes looked like a couple of grand canyons. Trying to follow in those ruts with a car was not a good idea. If, at first, they were not too deep, it would only be a matter of time until they were. The car would begin to drag, and once that happened, you might as well get out and walk, or should I say wade. With the frame sitting on the semi-firm ground, the wheels could spin all they wanted too, but the car went nowhere. You were stuck with a capital "S." Nothing short of a couple of stout mules could budge you from your muddy stance. Sometimes a skilled driver with a bit of luck could get on top of the ruts and make it through the bad places. Running along the top of the ruts was risky, but did fairly well until that fatal slip or spin of the wheels and it was down into the bottom of the ruts and "high grounded" for sure. It seemed that dad liked to try to get through even when the road was terribly bad. I suppose it was sort of a challenge to him, and besides he did not like to think the mud and water had gotten the best of him. A section of road that led down to our relatives’ house in Oak Forest Community, near Randolph, was particularly bad. We traveled it quite often and mud was in abundance each winter. I hated that road with a passion. From Highway 9, it started out just fine, there was a dab of gravel on it, but the further you went the gravel petered out and there was only dirt. There was a long level stretch where the water did not drain, just stood there making a quarter mile long mud puddle. Dad would stop our old 1937 Plymouth and analyze the situation and then proceed, trying to stay on top of the ruts. Inevitably we would slip off into the goo. The tires would begin to spin, and I would begin to cry. I thought that if we got stuck we’d just die there most likely. Lying down in the back I would mash my face into the crack between the seat and the back rest and cover my ears with my hands, hoping to shut out the sound of the racing motor and the tires spinning. Mom would try and comfort me, but I think she was frightened also. Dad was an excellent driver and experienced in these bad road conditions and would plow on through. With all the dramatics and all the scary times, with all my crying and carrying on, I do not remember a time when we had to walk out. The off road, four wheel drive, "Mudders" of today look for places to get stuck, but unlike these guys and gals that look for a muddy road, my wife and I take the high road. I do not have to bury my face in the back seat anymore and if she has anything to say about it, we’ll never have to detour because of a muddy road. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor It Seems To Me Law Officers Appreciated It seems to me that we need to look ourselves squarely in the face, analyze our attitudes and make some important adjustments before things get completely out of hand. We have the most dedicated, efficient law enforcement officers we have ever had, yet we have less respect for them than any other segment of our society. When a crime is committed, we demand they apprehend the criminal immediately, but they mustn't lay a hand on him, no difference how violently he resists. If they do, we charge them with brutality, demand they be suspended, discharged, prosecuted and sent to prison for doing their duty. If a criminal is convicted and sent to prison, we scream about his rights, forgetting the rights of those who have suffered at his hands. He must not be punished for his crime. He is just a poor, misguided fellow who needs our help. He must have every modern convenience while in prison, including radio, T. V., daily papers and unrestricted visitation. He must be released soon, lest his spirit be broken and he develops an inferiority complex. If he is made to feel guilty, he may lose his will to try to be a good citizen. It seems to me we have lost our reason when we join the criminal element to demand all firearms be removed from homes and businesses and that our policemen not be permitted to have guns, but only night sticks to enforce the law. We viciously fight any law imposing a heavier penalty upon anyone using firearms in committing a crime. He is only doing the natural thing. It would be dangerous to try to rob a bank or hold someone up without a gun, he might get hurt. It seems to me we could go too far in abusing our law enforcement officers and coddling criminals. We might force these dedicated men to leave us to the mercy of our criminal "friends" and that wouldn't be good. I can recall, in the Indian Territory, when a man didn't dare go anywhere without his gun. No man knocked on a door. He hollowed from a distance, lest he be shot. No man greeted a stranger without his hand on his gun. In those days, criminals were punished when caught and the men who captured them were honored. We have come a long way since then, our property and lives are much more secure because of these dedicated men who watch over us. It seems to me that it is time for us to begin to show them our sincere appreciation. Let's do it. ~ Ernest Baker, by Charles Baker Note: Charles states, "I found a few articles which my dad, Ernest Baker, wrote for the Mansfield Citizen newspaper. Mansfield was the little town in Arkansas where he and Mom lived at the time. Here is one of them from February 4, 1972, thirty-eight years ago. He always used "It Seems to Me," as his byline. That way he could write about anything he wished. His topic this time was appreciation for our law enforcement officers."
Bubba Bodock What's The Trouble Bubba relies on emails forwarded to him for material to share in this space. If there’s less here at times than one expects, it’s because the humor received was inappropriate or else not much arrived over the past month. Two medical students were walking along the street when they saw an old man walking with his legs spread apart. He was stiff-legged and walking slowly. One student said to his friend: "I'm sure that poor old man has Peltry Syndrome. Those people walk just like that." The other student says: "No, I don't think so.. The old man surely has Zovitzki Syndrome. He walks slowly and his legs are apart, just as we learned in class." Since they could not agree they decided to ask the old man. They approached him and one of the students said to him, "We're medical students and couldn't help but notice the way you walk, but we couldn't agree on the syndrome you might have. Could you tell us what it is?" The old man said, "I'll tell you, but first you tell me what you two fine medical students think." The first student said, "I think it's Peltry Syndrome." The old man said, "You thought - but you are wrong." The other student said, "I think you have Zovitzki Syndrome." The old man said, "You thought - but you are wrong." So they asked him, "Well, old timer, what do you have?" The old man said, "I thought it was GAS - but I was wrong, too!"
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. Copyright © 2010 The Bodock Post. Return to home page. Open This Issue with MS Word Click to Subscribe to The Bodock Post
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It sure is good to visit with you again!
All of us here at the Bodock Post have survived the winter but now are ready
for spring.
I am sure the idea of my working on
Saturdays and summers was more to help my family than for the amount of work
I did for them, but at the young age of sixteen, I took on many tasks and
responsibilities. Looking back I can see that the many experiences
I gained while working at the nursing home have been very helpful throughout
my life This is my mother, Gertrude Thompson.
At Christmas time, Mrs. Austin bought
boxes of chocolate covered cherries to take to church so that every person
would go home with a Christmas gift. It was my job to wrap all those boxes
of candy. We loaded them into her 1957 Chevrolet and took them to the Pentecostal
Church for the Christmas program. This is a staff picture taken at Christmas.
I am the one in red slacks. Mom is in the back with only her head showing.
This
is Mrs. Eunice Austin sitting at that antique desk.
after
all! That was just the tip of the iceberg regarding the satin shirts. I do
not recall how many I made for Herman, but there were several.
Last year, my sister Sara Sue had
surgery on her knee, and in her recovery decided she needed a walking cane.
She found one to her liking that had been fashioned by the husband of one
of her good friends and former classmates. Billy Clay Rodgers married Rhonda
Martin not long after Rhonda graduated high school. Rhonda, like my sister,
found a career in teaching. Billy Clay retired a few years ago from working
in the furniture industry.
It looked
remarkably like a brown snake, with the head forming part of the handle of
the walking stick. I told him such a thing wouldn’t last very long at
my house, not with my wife’s fear of snakes.
O.T. Tallant had scooted his chair back from the
table after eating a good breakfast of sausage and eggs with several large
buttered biscuits on the side. His wife, Edna, had prepared a good "traveling"
breakfast for the both of them as they were to start out on a trip to visit
O.T.’s brother, Frank.
It seems the harder I try to escape commercials
by channel surfing, the more commercials I find. I’ve become something
akin to a magnet. This theory needs more testing to be scientifically accurate,
but itseems I can almost at will create a commercial break by simply picking
up the TV’s remote to turn on the television or to change the channel.
Detour - there's a muddy road ahead…
