40% Off Sale

The Christmas sale at C & S Signs was a success.  We sold a lot of turkey feather paintings at 40% off.  Also the rooster and eagle sold as well.  Thanks to all who participated.

The End of Hell(Part 4)

     Hell is a slippery adversary.  Just as you think that you have escaped, it pulls you back.  Sleep is the only escape, where for a short while, you can forget the pain and agony that is engulfing you.  Sweeping over you in a cold, frigid flood, washing away what little you have managed to bring back.  As I feel the tug on my feet, I struggle with all the fiber of my being to remain asleep.  This effort works for a while.
     I see myself back in Headland, living next door to Cleveland Lee's garage.  I am lying on the bed crying.  Dad is trying to comfort me, but I won't have any of it.  I don't know what caused me to be upset, but I will never forget him for his kindness.  He had to give up and go to work.  The following night, I had to go to the store across the street.  It was dark, but the street lights gave off enough light to see.  They also cast strange shadows, that to a five year old, looked like satan himself.  My short legs were moving like pistons in a 283 Chevy short block at full throttle.  I was moving so fast that everything was a blur.  Just as I made it into the yard and safety, satan grabbed me from behind.  "Help", I screamed at the top of my lungs.  Just then dad sat me down and rolled onto the ground laughing his ass off.  I knew that I got to close to that bush.  As soon as the fear left me, I laughed also.  It was funny and I was glad that I would not be eaten that night.
     Even as I laughed, I could feel the grip of hell getting stronger.  I was straining so hard against it, that my head hurt.  William was a friend in my late teens.  He was a big strong boy that shared my love for alcohol.  Nothing scared him.  He had broken his neck playing football for Headland.  I did not know him before that, but everyone said that it changed him.  We would do everything together.  Mostly that involved riding around in his car and drinking beer.  William had a great personality and everyone liked him, especially mom and dad.  A few times we go to Preston's Mill with dad and some of his friends, to swim in the snake infested river.  We were all so tanked up that the snakes had to leave.  What sober snake can stand to be around a bunch of drunks anyway?  Ah, those were the days, little did I know they were setting the groundwork for the rest of my life.
     Oh shit, here it comes again.  How many times have I been jerked back here?  The chains are almost my friends.  At least  I know where I am.  The utter desolation and loneliness keep my mind off everything, except for the misery that I am in.  Every time I come back here, the pain is more intense.  The longer that I am awake, the more tired I become.  I know that soon I will be able to escape again, if only for a short while.
    The moon is shining bright on the Newville Highway.  We were the only car on the road, and when we turned the headlights off we could see for miles on the flat road.  It was late and we had finished all the beer.  There was nowhere open at this time of night to buy more.  William and I were tired and needed some sleep or another beer to keep us from crashing.  We were doing fine then it changed.  In a split second we were arguing furiously.  After passing a few licks in the car, he stopped by the side of the road and I got out.  He sped off, leaving me stranded by the edge of the highway.  The moon disappeared behind a stray cloud and darkness engulfed me.  I was pissed off, but not overly concerned, for I was only about a twenty minute walk from home.
     I could hear the '61 Ford coming around the curve behind me.  The four barrel carburetor was pouring gas into the screaming 390 full block engine,  It sounded like a freight train barrelling up behind me in the dark.  I ain't even going to look back, just keep walking.  As hard as I tried not to, something made me look anyway.  What the hell?  I had to jump to the side to keep from being hit.  He went by me at over a hundred.  You fucking bastard, I screamed as I rose from the dirt, shaking my fist at him, knowing that he could not hear me.  I walked and cussed, walked and cussed.  Then I saw his lights coming toward me.  I was prepared for him this time and at the last minute, I stepped to the side.  Now I was concerned, for I knew that it was not over.  When he came back, it was at a slow snail's pace.  He pulled up beside me and asked "Are you o k?"
"Fuck you", I replied.
"I'm sorry, Charles, come on, get in."  he said sorrowfully.
     I got in and he carried me home.  We were not friends for a while, but we eventually friends again.  As we both married and raised our families, we drifted apart.  A few years ago, I got a call from Don.
     "Do you know where I am?" he asked.
     "No, where?", I answered.
      "I am at William's funeral."  "He had a heart attack while burning trash in his yard and fell into the fire.  We don't know if he died before he burned or if the fire killed him." Don responded.
    We only lived a few miles apart, but it might as well have been a lifetime.  Usually when I have escaped from hell I am happy, but not this time.
     Jimmy was a friend of mine and Williams.  He was a short stocky man and mean as a snake.  He whipped every cop in Dothan and blinded one in a bar fight.  He went to prison for that.  I saw him for the first time in forty years, when he walked into the shop.  He was out on work release and was able to stop and see me.  He told me that William was murdered by his mistress' husband and was thrown into the fire to cover it up.  That may be true, but what does it matter?  He is dead and nothing can change that.  a few weeks later, I saw Jimmy on the news.  He had been arrested, while in jail, for trying to solicit a hit man to kill the district attorney.  He received a life sentence for that.  I guess hell is relative to your situation.

Dedicate

Young Indian brave asking for blessings on his child.  I did this with charcoal on paper.

Coon

Charcoal drawing I did of a coon making sure that his hands are clean.  He had just dug up a yellowjacket nest on the fence line.  Ver good of him to do that.

Cardinal

This is a red bird, better known as Cardinal, that I painted onto a turkey tail feather.  The turkey feather came from a hunting plantation and the red bird hangs out around the barn. Visit charlessims.webs.com to view this and other artwork.

Walk

Moses, is that you talking to that bush?

The End of Hell(part three)

     Even a tiny sliver of light could not penetrate the heavy darkness.  After all this time my eyes had not adjusted to the pitch black.  I had to rely on my other senses to keep up with my surroundings.  I could hear the dung beetles rolling turds with their hind legs.  I knew by the sound when one rolled over on his side because he tried to push to much at one time.  The flies buzzed on all sides of me.  There must be thousands of them, their wings were deafening.  As annoying as they were, I was glad that they were here.  I have had no contact with humans for several years and the loneliness was devastating.  Trying to make friends with these little monsters was futile.  All they wanted to do was land on your face and track all around on their little stick legs.
     Loneliness is a constant companion, ever deepening and gaining weight.  It presses down on you so tightly that breathing is a hard labored chore.  Oh, just for some human contact.  Someone coming in to slap me around would be better than this nothing.  If someone would just appear and utter a kind word, I think that I would break down and weep uncontrollably. 
     With the absence of light, there is no way to tell time.  Just go to sleep when you are tired of doing nothing.  Sleep is my only friend.  When he comes around, he allows me to escape this deep dark pit that I am trapped in.  As you can imagine, when I escape, I go to a world completely opposite of this one.  The sun is warm on my face and the wind blows gently across my body.  The sky is so bright and blue that it hurts my eyes to look up.  I force myself to look at the brilliant white fluffy clouds.
     There are so many people around, children running to and fro, playing catch and hide and seek.  Daddy Frank had a large family and we all gathered up there on Sundays.  He and Maw had seven children and each of those had from three to seven kids.  Then there were friends and neighbors that stopped by.  There was always a crowd of over a hundred people there.  Definitely not lonely here.
     Walter was always amazing to me.  I could never get used to him being the way that he was.  He was a small man, with a small head.  He was always wearing overalls and never tired of asking everyone for a nickel.  Some of the older cousins would offer him a quarter, but he would not hear of it.  He would sit in the porch swing and smile as if he were in charge of the world.  His mind never developed beyond kindergarten.
     My other cousin, Denver(affectionately known as "Dimp") was younger but in the same shape.  He could care less about coins and money, but his Pall Malls and toy cars made him happy.  With his baseball cap pulled down to the left, almost covering his eyes, and his overalls buttoned on one side, with no shirt, he was a strange sight.  His enlarged tounge could never fit into his mouth.  But beware, do not make fun of him for he would pick up a rock and stone your ass.  When he died at sixty eight he had been a boy all his life.  Each pocket of his overalls would be stuffed with metal toy cars.  That was his funeral attire.  There was a crowd at his funeral and much weeping.
     The game of hide and seek this day had twenty two or twenty three kids.  Base was the steps at the front of the large wrap-around porch.  There was an endless supply of hiding places, even in broad daylight.  The barn was in disarray, with all types of things inside to get behind.  There were several other outbuildings, trees and every one's favorite, the outdoor toilet behind the house.  It was rotted pretty bad.  Since the pit was almost full, there was no need to repair it since it would be moved soon anyway.  Several boys and I were hiding behind it.  Charles Cook got so excited that he pushed against the wall to hard.  Oh crap, the wall gave way and he fell in.  None of us would help, all we could do was laugh at him.  He tried to get out of the mess, but he would slide back in again and again.
     The adults were eating Sunday lunch(dinner in the south) and when they finished eating they would just sit and visit.  It did not matter that you were hungry; don't even walk by and look in.  Wayne ran to get Charles' mom.  When she found out what was happening, she started cussing and fussing.  She threatened to leave hiim there and have another child to replace him.  All the men were tanked up pretty good and were having a grand old time at Charles' expense.  He did get cleaned up, but is still pissed off until this day.  Or should I say, "shit on."

The End of Hell(part two)

     As the water began to recede, I breathed a sigh of relief.  As in the past, the water never rose above my ability to breathe.  I knew that for a few days or even weeks, everything would return to normal.  The stench would be gone, slowly to return.  I would still be chained to the wall, not able to escape, but things were better.  For a while anyway.  I could function within my constraints.  Then I could return to happier times, growing up on the farm, where the day started out cool and damp.
     By mid-morning, the sun had dried the dew and warmed up the soil.  While grandpa and his hired hands picked cotton, mother laid me down for a nap.  What a glorious bed it was; the trailer was half filled with fresh picked, fluffy white cotton.  Quite a contrast with where I am now.  When I awoke, I was hot, thirsty and irritable.  All the hired hands were at the end of the rows, more than a quarter mile away.  All that I could see were the mules standing patiently.  Half asleep, resting one back leg and still hitched to the wagon.  The only sounds were the gnats buzzing in my ears and landing on my eyes.  The mocking birds were singing their song in the small trees close by at the edge of the field.  Thinking I was by myself, I started to cry.
     Just as I did, Benny came out from under the wagon where he had been playing in the sandy soil.  He climbed up the front wheel, looked over the side and smiled at me.  I was embarrassed, but shouldn't have been, cause he was lonesome too. 
     "Come on", he said, "I'll help you out and we'll play some marbles."  I was too young to play, but he didn't seem to mind.  He walked over to the shade of the large oak tree at the edge of the field.  From under the bush he picked up the "Daddy Bucks" gallon jug, filled with water.  It had been filled with ice and wrapped with yesterday's "Dothan Eagle" newspaper.  As he brought it back to me, I took a drink of the cool refreshing water.  We could not drink out of the jug, because that would not be sanitary, so he poured it into the metal dipper.  Everyone drank out of that.  By the time he put the jug back, everyone had returned to the wagon.
     Grandpa had nailed a set of cotton scales to the sideboard of the wagon and let it extend behind the wagon.  It was a chore to lift the heavy sacks of cotton onto the scales.  Some of the men and a few of the women had over a hundred pounds each of cotton in their sacks.  A few had rocks and cotton boles mixed in with their cotton, but grandpa would throw it out and chastise them.  After the weigh in, he would go to Boonie's store and get everyone a R. C. Cola and a moon pie.  By the time he returned, they had made a round and were ready to weigh in again.
     When I reached up to scratch my head, the chains clattered against the stone and woke me up.  I was irritated to be back here.

The End of Hell (as i know it)

     The dark frigid water is over my top lip, but if I tiptoe, I can raise another three inches.  There is no way that I can escape, the chains holding me to the wall are to strong.  The skin on my wrists has been torn and bruised by my panicked attempts to escape.  There is not enough time to pull my hands off and if I would, I don't think that I have the strength.  Besides my wrists have gotten bigger in the four years that I have been here, because of the inactivity.  Not only is the water dark, cold and swift, but there are things touching me that aren't supposed to.
     Even though the water is terrifying, it has brought a cleansing to my dark, cold and dirty cell.  With the chains only six or seven feet in length, I soon ran out of room to do away with my bodily wastes.  It took a while to become accustomed to the smell, but I could never become comfortable with the filth and degradation of living in my own waste.  How could I?  Indeed, how did I even get into this mess?  With that question, I forgot the rising water and drifted back to my earliest memory.
     Everyone was standing close together in the cold, small living room.  The out of place bed was highlighted by the flickering light of kerosene lamp, which was the only source of light in the small three room house.  The tired flames in the fireplace gave out a small amount of heat.  If we moved away from the front of the fire, the cold would attack our small fingers and sock less feet.  Mom and Grannie were crying uncontrollably.  Now and again we could hear them sobbing with low moans.  Dad and Grandpa were silent and forlorn, overcome with worry.  My brothers Wayne, Benny and I were too young to understand what was happening, but we did know that something terrible was going on.
     It turns out that mom was going to catch a bus to Mobile. where she would seek treatment for a nervous breakdown.  The Mobile Infirmary was across the state from home and mom was fortunate that her parents  could afford to send her there.  Dad joined her in a few days, just before she received  the shock therapy.  In a few weeks, when she returned home, nothing was ever the same.  We never spoke of it in the family, but I supposed that it was post-partem depression, since I was just a toddler.  Mother and I never bonded as she did with Benny and Wayne.  I blame that on the shock therapy erasing her short term memory of having given birth to me.  It has been a life long struggle for she and I to connect.  In 1950, who knew that this was a risky procedure?
     That and the following years set me up to be an independent and self reliant person.  I did not have good people skills, but I could take care of myself and do things that should not be done by one person.  I had so much confidence in myself that I did not need anyone, much less God.  However I did believe in Him, but why would He be concerned with me?  No one else was and He, being Omnipotent and omniscience, could not be bothered by someone as worthless as I was.
     The coldness of the water brought me back to the reality of the dungeon.  The stench of the cell overpowered me and I held my breath under the water until my lungs screamed out for air. When I raised my head out of the dark water the stench of myself hit me full in the face again.  This time it was mixed with fear and anguish emanating from the only part of my body above water.  Regret has a stench that is truly offensive to the senses.  Green, putrid, oozing, sticky and overpowering, it cannot be removed, no matter how hard you try.  The smell is unbearable and you begin to wonder if you will ever be able to escape it.
     So many regrets, some that were intentional and some that were not.  The end result is the same.  One of the unintentional regrets involved my grandmother and her three ducklings.  She was a kind soul and had a unique way with animals.  They all seemed to realize her kindness and bonded with her.  My great aunt, Collier, who was mom's age brought her three ducklings to stay on the farm.  I was a small child and left outside with the ducklings.  I had never seen anything like them before, but I did know that ducks could swim.  I carried them off to the mule's watering trough and held them underwater for much to long.  When I turned them loose, they sank to the bottom of the trough.  No matter how hard I tried, I could not get them to come to life again.  Even though I was a small child, when I saw the look on Grannie's face, that was a life long regret...............

Elba United Methodist

The Elba United Methodist Church, is one of a series of drawings for the Elba Chamber of Commerce.    The drawings were used as a fundraiser. This is a wonderful old building that has seen a lot of history in the city of Elba.  It has been flooded numerous times, along with the rest of downtown.  visit charlessims.webs.com

Grannie

My grandmother was the ultimate multitasker. Up before dawn, milk the cow, fix breakfast on a wood burning stove, make the biscuits from scratch, clean up the mess, go to the fields, leave there at 10:30 am, walk home and fix a substantial meal, clean up the mess, go back to the field, back at dusk dark, fix supper, clean up the mess, wash clothes, and still have time to relax. I'm tired just from typing what all she did. This is her when she was 45 and me when I turned 45. I never did pick much cotton.  vesit charlessims.webs.com

Starbuck

Starbuck is a Checzoslavakian Shepherd, with K-9 in his bloodline. Minds better than any dog I have ever had. When I clear out an area on the place here, I pile the brush and limbs where they can dry out. After a few months I will burn the pile and clean it up. In the meantime, rats and chipmunks make their burrows and nests in there. Starbuck and Dakota have a grand time digging up and chasing the varmits. In the ditch beside the last pile, the dirt is soft and red. Starbuck is black, but after about 5 minutes he is red with dirt. As a result of digging and swimming in the ponds every day, he gets eye infections. To treat this, Sheila gives him eye drops with a dropper. He hates this with a passion. When she comes around with the dropper in her hand he heads the other way.

     Always a very loving and happy dog, he runs to greet you everytime you come outside. One day I had them out of the pen in the front yard, and Sheila came out into the garage. Starbuck heard her and ran to meet her. The garage floor is polished concrete and very slick, especially when you have long nails on your paws. When she lifted her hand, he got a look at the dropper. Well, he tried to stop, but the floor was to slick, and he had to much speed built up. When he saw that he could not stop in time, he dropped his butt to the floor to stop. Well, that worked out very well, because when he did stop he was at Sheila's feet on his butt, sitting with his head up looking at her with wide open eyes. That was the easiest time she ever had of treating his eyes. He did not learn his lesson, though, because he still runs up to us at breakneck speed just to say hello. 
charlessims.webs.com

Feed Wagon

    Gone are the days of having to go to town on a wagon, pulled by mules, to do any type of business.  today it is more convienent to jump in the truck, turn a key, put it in gear and mash the gas.  back then you had to catch the mules, put on the harness, sit in the cold and smell the gas.  I still think back then was better.  Visit charlessims.webs.com

Looking Beyond

     In 2004, I did a fantasy drawing of an archway overlooking a waterfall.  The drawing was pen and ink.  A few days ago a watercolorist named Warren Thompson took the drawing and added color to it.  I think that he did a wonderful job. Visit charlessims.webs.com to view other artwork.

Eagle in Flight

     I have painted many eagles on turkey feathers, but this is my first attempt on canvas.  The size is 10x16 inches and is painted with oil paint.  Please visit charlessims.webs.com to view other art by me.

Blue Chevy Pickup

    You never know what you will find when you head off down a dirt road in southeast Alabama.  This old house was boarded up with plywood, part of the chimney broken off and furniture left on the porch.  At one time this was a nice family home, much different from the one that I was born in.  This house was still in pretty good condition, compared to some that I have seen.  Those have the roofs fallen in, the porches laying down in front and part of the floor missing.  The truck was in what shape, no one knows.  I do know that the back left wheel was missing.
Visit charlessims.webs.com to view this and other oil paintings.

Rooster on Turkey feather

Not to often do you see a rooster painted onto a turkey's small tail feather.  I had a hard time getting this one to stand still long enough to paint this on his butt.  Please visit charlessims.webs.com to view this and other types of art, including wood carvings.

Number Twenty Three

This is a painting that I did several years ago.  I don't know the name, but he played for the city of Eufaula, Alabama. The panel is plywood painted with oil paint.  I am not a baasketball fan, but thought that this would make a good painting.
  Please visit charlessims.webs.com to view paintings on feathers.

The First National Bank of Ashford

Plywood panel painted with 1-Shot sign enamel.  This was for a coming soon sign, for the first national bank of ashford.
to see more paintings visit charlessims.webs.com

Smiling

This cedar knot head is smiling, at what I don't know.  I am sure that he knows something that I should know.
please visit charlessims.webs.com

Dawson Mural

This is one of a series of murals that I painted for Dawson, Georgia.  It showed the heritage of rural agriculture with the mules and stacks of peanuts.  This type of farming was done when labor was available and willing to work long, hard and hot days.  The dust from this type of operation was a killer.  The building in the background is the old fire station.  It is still in use today.
to view other art by me, please visit charlessims.webs.com

Hey!

You never know what critters you will find in the woods or the mood that they will be in.  This little fellow was just glad to know that we had just finished eating.
to view this and other feather paintings visit charlessims.webs.com

Insomnia

Some days it is hard to just take a nap, much less get some real sleep.  Maybe a good stiff drink and some soft music?
charlessims.webs.com

Rooster on Stone Wall

charlessims.webs.com

My wife wanted a rooster to hang on the kitchen wall.  I remember this one from grannie's chicken yard.  Soon as he dries, I will frame and hang him.

Spot

This is a 12x20" oval canvas painted with oils.  It was commissioned by a client from Caryville, Fl.  I completed it a couple of years ago.
charlessims.webs.com

Two Pigs in One

This is a two-side carving on pecan wood.  I never realized that pecan wood is soo hard.  Glad that it is done and now I will start another one.

Wayne, Benny and Me

     The future looked bright for my brothers and I in 1959.  All in all, it has been a pretty good life.  Completely different than what I imagined, but still a good life.  Hope yours is also.

Sheila and the Yellowjackets

     There was a cool breeze coming in ahead of the approaching cold front.  Such a wonderful refreshment after this long hot summer.  With record temperatures over the hundred degree mark and the worst drought in my lifetime, the rain that had just ended was a welcome respite.  The change in the weather has put us into the mood to put up a fence around our property.  We had been planning to do this for a couple of years, but it had been pushed to the back for one reason or another.  Not only the weather, but my neighbor pushing his dead tree limbs onto my side, helped to make it happen.  So here we go, working hard on another project.
     Saturday, we had cleared a walkway around the perimeter of the property.  I used the 8-N Ford tractor and bush hog to do this.  As I rode and bush hogged, Sheila was clipping bushes that were so close to the trees that I could not reach them with the tractor.   I went between two nice-sized pine trees , the ground was covered with pine straw and fairly clean.
     Starbuck, as usual, was with me, but Dakota was with Sheila.  When those two walked between the pines, Dakota yelped in pain.  She was covered with yellow jackets.  Sheila was raking them off Dakota's fur with her bare hands, oblivious to the ones swarming around her.  As she caught one, she would mash it between her fingers and dash it to the ground, and grab another one.  She was furious and declared war.
     On Friday, the day before, one had stung Sheila on the leg and she let it slide.  However, today the picked on her baby.  She stomped down the lane with her butt on her hips, leaning forward as she walked with her arms swinging stiff.  I knew all hell was going to spill out over 1625 Ashford Road.
     "You stirred up that yellow jacket nest and I'm going to kill them all" she exclaimed.
"Yes ma'am", I murmured.
"What?"
     That was more a rhetorical question, but I felt that I needed to answer anyway.
"O K", I spoke a little louder.
     I had been on the receiving end of her anger before and I knew the yellow jackets were in trouble.  As I watched her walk away, I smiled, for I knew what was coming.  In a few moments she returned, looking as if she were a haz-mat worker.  Even though it was still in the eighties, she was covered from head to toe.  Three pairs of my jogging pants, two long sleeve shirts, a cotton hoodie and over that a rain slicker buttoned to the top.  A can of Raid in one hand and a bucket of hot soapy water in the other.  She set the Raid down and poured the hot soapy water into the entrance hole.  That gave her a few seconds to step back and grab the Raid can.  When the soldiers came boiling out, she blasted them with the Raid. 
     The fog of insecticide was so thick, they could not see her.  If one got past the spray, she would knock it down and stomp on it.  There were so many that you could not tell the swarm from the Raid fog.  It was touch and go there for a moment, but then the fog lifted and she was the only one left standing.  At that point, she picked up a long stick, poked it into the hole and twisted it around.  A few more came out and she promptly dispensed them.
     She had locked the dogs in the pen to keep them out of harm's way, before going to war.  She was fighting something and I was working.  Starbuck could not stand for that.  Sheila desperately needed his help to win.  If he was not supervising me, I would surely mess up the  job.  How dare Sheila lock him up.  He was furious and fit to be tied.  When we went in for the night, I noticed that he had almost dug under the fence.  Another few moments and he would have been out to rescue us.  Good wife and good dog.

My Dog Starbuck

     Last week, Starbuck and I worked on the dried up pond with the backhoe.  At the end of that day I had a hydraulic hose to bust.  As I worked on repairing it, Starbuck stayed right with me.  His favorite place in the whole world is on the deck of the backhoe.  Now that he is getting older. after about thirty or forty jumps up and down, the last few are a little more difficult. 
     The only difference between yesterday and last Saturday was the hose that busted.  This time it was on the opposite side of the bucket, but the hose was virtually identical.  After replacing the hose, we were able to continue on with our work.  I was clearing a road through the woods between my neighbor and myself.  It was tight getting the hoe between the trees and a few small ones had to be taken out. 
     At one point, I had to get off the 'hoe and stretch my legs.  Starbuck was off chasing squirrels or digging up chipmunks or some other such nonsense.  As I stepped off the hoe, I stepped into a hole that was covered with leaves.  My ankle was twisted pretty bad and I yelled in pain.  No one was around for a thousand feet in either direction, and the woods were thick anyway.  Out of nowhere Starbuck showed up to check on me.  He licked my face and used his front leg to scratch me as if to say "Are you ok?"  Yeah buddy, just relax a minute, I'll be ok.
     Now that is a good dog.

Choctawhatchee Fishing

If you ever want to travel in time and space, build a fire in the cool night air. There is something about the wood releasing it's energy as flame, heat and the smell of smoke that acts upon the brain. As you stare, mesmerized, into the flame and red hot coals, you become transported to another time and place. Sheila and I had cut down trees in the yard and piled them up. Using a large lighterd stump, I set the pile on fire. As the sun vanished and darkness descended upon us, she went inside to fry chicken and make a potato salad.



The dogs and I were tired, they lay down for a nap, I sat in a lawn chair and stared into the fire. I went back to a time when my body was fresh, no arthritic hands, sore back or dim eyes. I was ten again, fishing on the banks of the Little Choctawhatchee river. Dad had carried my brother Benny and I, Junior Key, Harold Key and Otis Cole to Mr. Woodham's place. It was located near the Sylvan Grove church in Dale county. My brother Wayne, who was fourteen at the time, had only one thing on his mind and fishing was not it. We turned off the paved road at the old grocery store, traveled down the dirt road a couple of miles, turned into a field road that carried us to a large scope of woods. After a few minutes of driving through the woods on the rough path, going around washouts we finally saw the river. At this point it was really just a large creek.



When we got there it was late in the afternoon. There was plenty of light left in the day to cut sticks and sharpen the ends. We walked along the bank and every twenty feet or so we would drive the sharpened end of the stick into the soft dirt of the bank. To this we would tie a nylon string to the end. At six feet or so in length with a large lead sinker and treble hook. For bait we carried a tub of chicken livers. We always only carried two 1 pound tubs of livers, but that was never enough. Before it got completely dark we would overturn dead limbs and rocks to find salamanders. This dirty job always fell to Benny and me, but we didn't mind. The catfish always went for them anyway.



Our next job was to gather up wood for the fire. To get it going, we would get a few dry leaves burning and then dad would throw a half cup of clear moonshine on the small fire. After the explosion, in any wood remained on the pile, it was definitely on fire The first few trips to check the hooks was taken by us all. By the third trip all the men had started a poker game and it was up to Benny and me. Benny carried the lantern until we got to the hook. If the cork was underwater he would hand me the light and he would pull up the fish. Then I would have to carry the heavy string of fish in the dark and slippery mud. However I did not mind. At that moment I could tell that I was soon to leave childhood behind. My father loved good moonshine whiskey, but the other men liked beer. I asked if I could have one of those beers and dad, thinking that I would not like the taste, said "yeah, why not". My first taste was like drinking nectar from the gods. Nothing before or since that crossed my lips, tasted so wonderful. I could not wait for my next can. For the next forty years, I could not get my fill. At fifty, I decided to not drink any more. Thank God, I was able to lay it down. I am not an alcoholic, but the wonderful taste of beer will always be with me.



There was a full moon that night and the light was soft and eerie. The woods were thick and stretched for miles in either direction. All kinds of creatures lived and died there. Sounds near and far were strange and terrifying. The grown ups did not pay any attention, but we could see them looking at us out of the corner of their eyes. Benny and I played it cool though and acted as if nothing scared us. And after a while, it didn't.



After the fourth trip, we had enough fish for a grand feast. After Benny skinned the catfish, I gutted them. Dad had a big cast iron frying pan full of hot grease. After he battered them up in beer and Adam's Mill cornbread, he fried them to a crisp golden brown. The white meat would just melt in your mouth. Along about midnight, after dad had won all the money, and everyone was tired of walking the bank and drinking, we called it a night. Some of us slept on blankets and some of us fell asleep in the vehicles. As the sun was coming up in the east, the trees on the other side of the river, shrouded in the mist rising from the river presented a glorious sight. That along with the blue wisps of smoke wafting up from the smoldering campfire, is a sight that I will never see again. The sound of the wood pecker hammering on the hollow tree, the great blue heron honking and the fox in the distance, is etched in my mind. I was suddenly brought back to the present by "Charles' supper is ready." Now that is indeed a glorious sound.

Back Hoe

Had a busy day today.  I had to remove door hinges and spray them with oil rubbed bronze paint.  While I was waiting for the hinges to dry so that I could re-install them, I had a few minutes to work on my pond.  Just as I was finishing. two minutes away from heading to the barn, I heard it.  The pop, whoosh of the hydraulic line busting and the spray of the fluid going all over the left side.  I knew that I had to shut it down.  The only good thing, if one at all, was that the hose that busted can be replaced by me.  I won't even have to stoop down or remove any coverings to get to it.  Thanks for that.

Deer Rocks

This is a 26x34 inch plywod panel, with arrow heads.  The space between the points is filled with crushed pottery and the antlers are made with cut pieces of pottery.  This was out of the ordinary for me but a very enjoyable piece to do.

Dirt Road

Charles, go to Mr. Boonie's and get me a 5 lb. bag of flour. With these words I knew that grandpa had forgotten to to get it at Pat Tice's grocery store in Midland City. I don't remember the year, but the farm to market road paving project did not start until 1957 or 58 and the road was still dirt. Grannie was a kind soul, but was quick to lose her temper and I was glad this time it was aimed at grandpa. She was "hard of hearing"(completely deaf) so when I stayed with her, which was most of the time, I had to entertain myself and my imagination was pretty active.
This was my first outing by myself and I was grown ..I was a man. Boonie's was about a mile away and I had to walk. It was mostly sand beds and hot, the sand beds were hard to walk in and there was a steep hill about 3/4 of the way there. All the sand had washed to the bottom of the hill and the dirt on the hill was hard red clay.
Since I was off on an adventure I did not notice the clay on the way, but I was getting tired on the way back. All the road was open on both sides until you got to the fall of the hill. Woods were on both sides with big oaks spreading over the road making a tunnel going down to the bottom and the closer to the bottom the darker and colder it became. By the time I reached the bottom it was so oppressive that I could hardly stand.
Where the stream went under the road, the dirt was cracked and I could see the smoke and brimstone and smell the sulfur from hell coming out of the cracks and the cries of the tormented souls came wafting up out of the bottomless pit. If I go across, the dirt will give way and I will fall to my doom. I had to get home so I tiptoed ever so lightly over the cracked clay. Almost over and I felt it......the devil had grabbed my ankle, I could feel his hot bony grip with his long fingernails wrapped around my skinny leg. I kicked, screamed, messed my pants, and called for Jesus to save me. That did it, the grip was loosed, the skies cleared up, the cracks in the ground were sealed and I was almost home.
As I rounded the curve with the fence post on each side of the ditch, I could see granny out in the yard. I thought that she was looking for me. That old crow was sitting on top of the fence post,pulling back on that cigar with a smug look in his eye. "Almost didn't make it did you boy?" Before I could answer him, feathers flew from his chest and he looked at me with a sorrowful expression, before he fell dead, to the ground Just then I heard the crack of the 22 rifle. Granny said with a satisfied voice, "That old crow has been worrying my chickens to death. I think he worked for Satan". You do not know how true that is, granny. Looking back now I know that I was saved then, long before I walked the aisle at Wiggins Church. True story.

Ozark Depot

This is the Ozark, Alabama train depot in 1934.  Traveling was harder back then, you did not have to buy gas, but you had to feed the mules, catch them, take them to the wagon and then hitch every thing up.  That was a lot of trouble, so few trips were made to town.

Indian Chief

Here is another cedar knothead.  I hope that y'all enjoy him.

Lady Libety

Sorry for being so fuzzy, something happened from camera to computer.

American Flag

This is an old flag painted onto a turkey tail feather with acrylics.  Glad to see that it is still flying under God.

Pass

In keeping with the opening of football season.  This quarterback is trying to find a receiver that can catch what he is about to pass,  The feather is 5 inches tall and 3 inches wide.  I painted it with acrylic paint,

Grannie's Chickens

This is a representation of my grandmother feeding the chickens.  The dog has learned the hard lesson of chasing the chickens and now has respect for my grandmother.

Green Bass

I painted this bass on a tertiary tail feather.  The feather came from a turkey in southeast Alabama on the Chattahoochee river.  I used acrylic paint.

Cardinal

This red bird is painted on the tail feather of a turkey from the Chattahoochee River system.  A friend of mine owns a hunting plantation there and gives me all the feathers that I will ever be able to paint.

Here's Another

Just finished another cedar block.  This started out as a practice piece.

Spring Plowing

This is an 11x17" pen and ink drawing that I did a couple of years ago, of rural life long ago.  We have come a long way since 1934.  This was an up and coming farm with the windmill and water storage tank.  Dogs haven't changed much, they still hang with their humans when they can.  Life was hard but much less stressful, I think.

Train Wreck

This is not a short story or a figment of my imagination.  These events actually happened.  Friday, Sheila and I were on the way home for lunch.  On Furnie Jackson Road as we were going uphill, a small toyoto truck came flying up behind us and just as he was about to hit, he pulled it to the side and went around us.  The lane he went around us was on a hill and no way he could see if anyone was coming.  I, being irritated, blew my horn and sped up just a little.  As we topped the hill, he was 200 yards ahead of us and gaing speed.  As the train came around the curve he never put on brakes.
     He hit the rear car of the train, which was doing about fifty, he was running at least seventy.  The impact threw him back instantly fifteen feet.  the impact was on his side and the front.  I fully expected to find him in pieces.  As we pulled up, he opened the door and stepped out.  The door was crumpled and I don't know how it came open.  There was not a scratch on him, even though his truck was demolished.  He was acting really weird, not the kind of weird that getting hit by a train would cause.(I am not an expert)  I am not a person that is afraid of other people, but I was leary of him.
     Any thoughts on this?  Was he human, demon or just extremely lucky?

Evil Arrives 2

Suez began to notice the way back to the ship was harder and more difficult to maneuver.  Instead of the forest parting in front of him and a foot path appearing under his feet, the forest was offering up vines and bramble bushes to scratch and hold him.  The foot path was hard and made up of unyielding rocks and sharp pebbles.  The stones were unsteady underfoot and caused bruises on his pampered feet.  After a long difficult walk back, Suez finally saw the ship.  What a magnificent sight it was towering above the landscape.  Hundreds of feet tall, it was longer than tall.  The sides were covered with precious stones and metal.  The sun, reflecting off the sides, illuminated the  surrounding area.  There, high up near the top, was the ship's name, Illuminati, spelled out in large cut diamonds.  Zeus thought, "How appropriately named as it illuminated the surrounding area, albeit falsely.  It is having to use the light of the sun to illuminate the forest.
     The change of innocence to world knowledge was accompanied by another change as well.  The ship, even though, still self sufficient for thousands of years to come could not move from this spot.  It's propulsion system was inoperative.  The cloaking device was still operating and only the crew could see it.  Also, since evil had replaced good, small things had reversed as well.  The name of the ship was "Itanimulli", when it had left port.  That is odd, thought Zeus, "I will have to ask Satan about this when I catch up to him"  "Who is Satan?", he thought.  He is becoming more confused.
     Not seeing Satan, right away and thinking that he might have passed him on the way to the garden, he doubled back.  Stumbling back through the unyielding forest, he finally reached the entrance.  He had seen these two before and they were not friends.  Standing tall before the gate, they were imposing figures, having fiery countenances and holding flaming swords.  Their intent was clear, no one or anything was ever going to enter the garden again.

Old Mountain Man

I am really having fun carving these things from cedar.