Full Moon

Sheila and I were riding our bikes around the ponds this afternoon to exercise the dogs, not us. There was a coolness in the air and a full moon rising over in the east, just clearing the top of the trees. All at once I was taken back about 50 years to that night in early September. Peanuts had been picked and the cotton was beginning to bust. Peanuts were picked with a mechanical picker, but most cotton was still picked by hand. It was the weekend, school was out, I had no bills, no interest in girls, no concern over how I was to make a living and no cares to cause me any worry. Now you know how my mood was when Benny and I and the two Nowell boys were to camp out that night. Maybe we were spending the night with them and just did not go to bed that night.
We started out that night playing in the barn loft, jumping from the rafters turning a flip and landing in the trailer full of cotton. We really packed that cotton into a bale before we were done. By the time we tired of that, everyone else had gone to bed for the night, so we headed out to the fields. The light from the moon was bright enough to see how to maneuver around without fear of stumbling into anything. The air was crisp without much moisture and you could see for miles around. We were running around yelling and hollering like a bunch of drunk red neck teenagers at a Bama Jam concert. The only problem was a deserted house on the edge of their cotton field that had been the scene of a murder. we went in to look at the blood on the walls. Thats what Ronnie and Wayne told us, but I think they were messing with us. It looked like red paint to me, but we were still excited and wondering if the ghost of the departed was to jump us at any minute. Some one moaned and we hauled **s.
The next morning Mr. Bounie McKay was at his store when we came in. When he found out that it was us screaming all night he was fit to be tied. We did not know that the cool crisp air would carry sound forever. It's a wonder he did not call the sheriff. He must not have told on us because we never did get into trouble for all that fun.

American Flag

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.