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Wiggins Church

I was watching Springfield Community Church on WJHG this morning and it took me back to Wiggins Church in Napier Field. The pastor was A. B. Martin and he was a good preacher, and the choir was pretty good. The best thing about this church was the people and the songs that they sung before the 11:00 service. Some of the songs I can still hear in my head.
Also during the summer was the highlight of my memories, vacation bible school. We would do crafts, study the bible, play with everyone, and then...off to the big oak tree at the end of the lot. Under the shade of this tree was King Solomon's treasure. Tables 40' long piled high with every imaginable cookie and treat that you could imagine. It was more than I could handle. Every pocket and free hand that I had was stuffed full. I was going to take all I could home because it was going to be a long time before Christmas came again. The Nowell boys called me cookie hog, but I did not care. Later I found out that Benny and Wayne were also called this. but they did not worry about it either. Boy for the good old days.

Starbuck & Dakota

Starbuck's wasp

I started this blog to showcase and talk about my art. I don't know if anyone is reading it so I can change the format and then go back if I want to. The blog is blackwhiteinthesouth.blogspot.com/. I promise you that it has nothing to do with race relations. My black German shepherd, Starbuck, has been stung by yellow jackets and he hates them with a passion. Walking him and my other shepherd, Dakota, around the pond, yesterday, I noticed that he was involved in something in the bushes. Most times they are on the trail of a rabbit, squirrel, or coon. By the way he was behaving, I could tell that it was more serious than that. When I got closer I could see the wasps flying around and he was catching them in his mouth and killing them. Then he went over to the bush, shook it vigorously, grabbed the nest in his mouth and took off. Poor wasps never stood a chance, but I had to plan a new route. He never did get stung.

Red Head Rooster

Rooster

You know chickens have it pretty good until time to feed the family. Someone feeds them, gives water and shelter to them and all they have to do is keep their head down when it is raining. Roosters on the other hand have to impress all the chicks, fight off younger roosters and keep the neighborhood children in check. Such was the case of the rooster sitting on the gate across the dirt road from grannie's house. It was a sweltering dog day afternoon in early August and Benny and I were playing outside after our nap. Normally I did not pay much attention to chickens and roosters other than to watch my step. But for some reason that day I walked across the road(you could do that in the old days because if a car was coming it was moving at about 15 miles per hour) stuck my thumbs under my armpits, flapped my elbows, and crowed at that red-headed rooster. Even if I would have had a shirt on, I don't think it would have helped. By the time he sailed down off that gate, struck me on my white bony chest and tattooed me for about an hour(10 seconds max.), Benny was hollering shoo, shoo. Shoo hell, get a gun and kill this crazy fowl. By the time I was able to pick myself up out of the sand and assess the damage Benny was rolling in the dirt, laughing, and ignorant to the fact that he was rolling in the blood that I had lost from the lacerations on my chest. Here comes grannie running from the house, all hollering and screaming. When she saw that I was all right, damned if she didn't start laughing. That was the first time I can remember having fried chicken during the middle of the week.