Stoopid Frog

     Late every afternoon, Sheila and I will take our dogs and ride our old syle bikes around the place.  I took the 8-n Ford tractor and box blade and made trails through the woods.  There is a lot of leaves and small sticks that will make it difficult to ride, but when I clean out a trail, it is a pleasure to ride through the woods.  I built a bridge over the ditch and we like to stop there and rest.  From there we go to the bottom pond at the back of the property and then come back over the pipe, behind the barn, around Starkota Pond and then over next to the neighbors.  It takes us about ten minutes to make a lap.  It is good exercise for us and the dogs.
     Before we started riding bikes, the dogs would run circles around us, go out in the woods to chase squirrels and chipmunks.  Now it is all they can do to stay up with us.  By the end of the first lap, they are just barely keeping up.  Two weeks ago, by the time we got back to Starkota Pond, they were tired and anxious to go for a swim. At that moment, Sheila saw a moccasin at the water's edge.  We stopped the dogs and looked around in the pond.  I could see four snakes with their bodies floating just under the water and their heads cocked like revolver hammers, above the surface of the water.  I walked to the house, shut up the dogs, grabbed my rifle and rat shot, and headed back.  I got rid of two, but missed the others.
     Next afternoon, I went out with the gun again and killed one, but the other escaped, heading for the drain pipe.  That pipe is ten feet long, so I grabbed a long slender pecan limb and held it on the ground above the pipe to make sure it would go all the way through.  At the back of the dam, the pipe comes out at about waist high.  I was very careful about where I stepped, looking at the ground with tunnel vision, making sure that when I put my foot down, it was nowhere near a snake.  I leaned over to look into the pipe, inserted the limb, and pushed back and forth, twisting it all around.  After a couple of minutes of this, I stopped and looked into the pipe again.  Not seeing anything, I told Sheila to watch the end of the pipe next to the water.  Reluctantly, she agreed.
    Here I go banging on the pipe again.  the snake, coiled up in the grass, next to the pipe, two feet from my head, said "If this man is going to kill me, I am going to have to go into the pipe."  Lucky for me he went into the pipe.  As soon as he moved, my body was stretched out forty feet, but my feet were still anchored to the ground.  After I left a pile, my feet came back to life, I hauled butt to catch up with my head.  After I gathered my stuff back togather, I started around the edge of  the pond looking for Mr. Snake.  My nerves on edge, I heard a loud plop.  I knew what it was as soon as I heard it, but my reflexes said "snake".  I felt like a fool for my reaction but it was too late. It was a bull frog with a twisted sense of humor, cause I could hear him laughing underwater, at my jumping when he jumped in.  Sheila had planted some azaleas  on the bank under the pecan tree, and we had a 5 gallon bucket there that we used to water them with.  I decided to turn it upside down and  let the jelly drain from my legs as I sat down. to wait for the snake to surface.
     Sitting there for a few minutes, I felt something staring at me.  I turned to the left and looked down. There at the edge of the water, was the biggest snake head I had ever seen.  No wait, that is a bull frog with a head the size of a Pillsbury bisquit, just staring at me.  So thankful that he did not bellow at that moment.  We looked at each other for a few moments, before he disappeared under the water.  I figured it was about time to call it quits for the day.  The moccasin made it through the night, but I got him the next morning.  I still hear the bullfrog croaking every night.

My First Cousin.

     The hangout at recess in the second grade, was the see-saw and swing area at the back of the building.  The third graders had outgrown them and the first graders were not able to take them over yet.  It was a cold, cold day and my cousin, Charles Cook, who was in the first grade, was talking to a girl that I had never seen before.  I went over to talk to him and asked him who this girl was that he was talking to.  Charles, don't you know that boys don't talk to girls?  This is my first cousin, Helen Taylor, he replied.  It's hard to figure out life, when you are seven, so I said, "then you are my first cousin too."  She looked at me with a stern hard look, pulled her long coat tight around her, stuck her hands into her pockets, and informed me. "I ain't kin to you"  It was in March of 63 before I spoke to another girl again.
     Some people just have a hard lot in life, and Charles was one of those people that stuff just happens to.  When he was five years of age, he was riding in the car with aunt Katie Bell, his mom.  She was involved in conversation and not paying attention to her passengers.  In 1956 you did not know to, or have the capability to restrain passengers.  As she went around the curve in the road, the door came open and Charles fell out.  The car following behind them stopped and picked him up.  He had a few cuts and bruises and a soft spot on his head.  They finally caught up with aunt Kate, a few miles down the road and returned Charles.  He never did cry, even though his mom was hysterical.
     Every sunday, we would all gather at Daddy Frank's house to visit and eat.  He lived in Midland City on the street behind Jeff Richards store.  There was always a crowd of fifty to sixty people gathered around.  All the kids would stay outside and play while the grownups ate and talked.  The smell of fried chicken and fresh vegetables wafting out of the kitchen was overwhelming, but we knew better than to go ask when we would eat. I saw a cousin do that one Sunday, and he has never been seen since.  When they finished , then they would call you to eat, and don't be caught between the food and the rush of kids coming to eat, or you would be hurt.     Back in the day, not everyone had indoor toilets.  Daddy Frank and Maw were ones that did not.  They did have a nice two seater out house, though.  Even as a child, I knew to hold on when using the facilities, or you might slip through the hole.  Well guess what?  When we were all playing hide and seek, Charles picked the out house to hide behind.  As he leaned against the back of the thing, one of the boards gave way and he fell in.  That was the biggest commotion I had ever seen.  All the grownups came running out the house, trying to figure out what all the screaming and crying was about.  When they found him and got him out, that was the most laughing and joking that had ever taken place there.  And believe me, there were some charactors in that crowd.  By the time he was cleaned up, that was the most humiliated child that had ever walked on the face of the earth.  Aunt Kate told him, it would almost be easier to have another child, than to clean you up.  He probably agreed.
     After that he had a pretty uneventful life until his early forties.  Alcohol played a large part of his life, as it did for many others.  Driving and drinking was an everyday occorance for him and his friends.  Driving on a dirt road in Dale Co. gave him a false sense of security and he became emboldened with each curve that he conquered.  However the one curve fooled him and he lost control and flipped the car.  Just like in 1955, he was not wearing a seat belt.  By the time the accident was over, his life was changed forever.  His neck was broken, and after a long stay in Birmingham, he returned home as a quadraplegic.  He has very limited movement in his arms and feet.  It is a shame and a waste that things like that happen.  He told me one time that he really missed swimming with bow-legged women.

Walter O

     Well, here it is; the last day of my freedom forever.  No longer will I be able to drown Grannie's baby ducks or sneak off down the hill in the ditch, to see David Jenkins.  Since she can't hear, there is no way that she can see me.  So what if I am gone for half the day, she will never know.  The only reason that I left when I did was because David kept picking up spiders in the barn and letting them crawl on his hands and arms.  He wanted to put them on me, but that did not work out very well.  When I finally crawled back up the hill in the ditch, I had the board of education waiting for me and it was mad as fire.
     All that is behind me now and I am walking up the concrete steps at Headland Elementary School for the very first time.  Not so bad right now, because I am with Wayne and Benny.  There was enough kids around, to fill up North Foster Street  in downtown Dothan, for the National Peanut Festival Parade.  I had never been inside a school before and I did not know that we would be separated into age groups and that they would put me in a room full of strangers.  I was scared to death and had to spend the rest of the day in Wayne's class.  I did not care that his classmates were laughing at me crying, I just cried all the more.  I know that Wayne felt like whupping the tar out of me, but he was gracious enough not to.  I knew what to expect the next day and I made it pretty well.  The third day at recess over near the swings, I was running as fast as I could around the corner of the building.  Judy Pippin was running around the same corner, but from the oppisite direction.  My front tooth hit her forehead, and folded back into the top of my mouth.  She had a nasty cut on her head and I had blood coming out of my mouth.  Mrs Kirkland made me walk home, about a mile from school, and mama pulled it back into place and it stayed,  The root is dead now and it is more yellow than the others, but at least it still works.
     Most of the boys went to school, as we did everywhere, barefoot and the soles of our feet were as tough as old leather.  We could walk over hot pavement and through sandspurs without much discomfort.  However we had a thermostat tht did not like cold weather.  Except for one; Walter O.  The names have been changed to protect the guilty. Walter was a big, rough and tumble, full grown boy.  As the weather grew colder, the rest of us boys started to wear shoes.  Not Walter, the colder it became the better he liked it.  I have seen him come to school and step on the ice in the mudpuddles and the ice water would shoot up between his toes.  He would just laugh and say "are ya'll cold?"  Heck yeah, and now more than ever.
     After butting heads a few times, I figured out that I needed to be friends with him, and that was a good decision.  In second grade we moved onto Oates Street, about 2 blocks from Walter's house.  This gave us an opportunity to hang out after school.  We played football in the vacant lot behind Dr. Morris' office, which was about halfway between us.  The most fun we had though, was terrorizing the neighborhood with our B B guns.  Every cat and every bird in sight, was in grave danger of being hurt or worse.  We were crack shots, but we could never figure out why we could not kill a mockingbird.  They lived a charmed life, I guess.  We were just boys and did not respect other's property.  We would take flashlights and hunt birds at night, roosting on the eaves of the neighbor's houses, until the man down the street caught us.  I don't know about Walter, but I got another board of education applied to my behind.
     Benny, Walter, and I were on Railroad Ave. one hot fall day, and the sun was glaring down bright with no wind stirring.  Across the tracks was the Headland Gin Co.  When they cleaned the cotton, they used a long conveyor belt to pile up the cotton burs.  The pile was about 25 feet tall and was like sand; spreading out from the center in a cone shape.  If you have never been on cotton burs with bare knees and feet then you have really missed out on one of life's most agonizing experiences.  Each bur has 4 points and each point is sharp as a tack.  Climbing up hill in a bur pile shows how little entertainment was availablle in 1960.  By the time we reached the top we were cut up pretty good, but not one of us would complain.  The skin would grow back soon enough.  We sat on that pile of burs like we were conquering soilders and nothing could hurt us.  All of us felt invincible at that moment and felt as if we could do anything.
     Walter said "look" and pointed toward Midland City.  Nothing good ever comes out of Midland City.( I have a lot of relatives there, so don't write and complain)  There they were, about a half dozen kids walking down Railroad Ave. coming our way.  What fun we were going to have.  We did not even plan it, it just happened,  We dug a foxhole in the top of those burs and got in.  When they got within range we ambushed them.  We were about 50 yards away and they could not hear the B B guns.  By the time the pellets reached their bare legs all the power was gone and no damage was done, only a small sting.  We heard them holler "Bees, Bees, Bees" and they took off.  They did not how true their words were, but it was metal B Bs.  We thought that was a lot of fun, but now I know that it was wrong and I am glad that no one was seriously injured.  Also glad that they went the other way, or Walter, Benny, and I may have been seriously injured.  Probably deserved it.

Sir Kenny

Long before computers, video games, a tv in every room, and movies on demand entertainment was easy to find. If the weather was halfway decent, most everyone was outside doing something. The grownups, if not working, were sitting under the shade tree sit with their feet propped up on the tree trunk. The younger kids were pushing 2x4 blocks around in the sand, pretending that they were dump trucks and cars. You could make a nice road with high ditches on each side. Others were shooting marbles around a ring drawn in the sand. A big shooter was a prized possession. Some were playing ball, with the stitches coming loose and the leather held on by hay wire wrapped around it. Grandpa's place would have fallen apart if it were not for hay wire. On cold days he would sit under the shed, the sunlight flooding over him and warming him up, pulling nails from old lumber. Banging them with a hammer to get them straight again. It was an art that he had perfected over the years, and very few of them got tossed away. Growing up in hard times made him use what he had and to thrive at it.
We were friend with the Nowell boys, who had horses that we all rode. Way back then all the roads were dirt and riding horses on the road was safe. Well, from being hit by cars anyway. You know that two young boys, such as Kenny and myself, and two horses were headed for fun for us, but fear for our parents. We had ridden for hours and the poor horses were worn out, when we found some cardboard tubes about six feet long, that roll linoleum came in, laying in the ditch beside the road. The magic number was 2 and the light shined on both of us at the same time.
He grabbed one, put it on his left arm, and rode off about 30 feet. I took the other one, put it on my left arm, and turned to face him. At the count of three(no one there to blow a trumpet or even to witness the spectacle) we dug off at each other. My legs, being longer than his, allowed me to wrap around the horses belly and stay on him. It did not however, lessen the impact and I can still feel the pain in my chest where the tube hit. Poor Kenny, though did not fare as well. He hit the ground with a thud and a curse. When I got my breath back, I laughed long and hard; so did he, albeit not as genuine as mine. He challenged me to another match, but common sense prevailed and I declined. I'm sure that he wanted to knock me off that horse and I'm sure that he would have. Maybe video games are safer.

WARNING!!!! DO NOT READ BEFORE MEALS

Some things will not be forgotten, even by trying, and since the world is round, everything happens over and over again. Different day same stuff. Back in the day, grandpa would go around the community, during the growing season and get kids to help hoe the peanuts. It started at daylight, before the dew dried up, You would walk through the grass at the end of the row and your pants legs would be soaking wet. Believe it or not at that time of the morning it was cold on my skinny legs. Come about 10 o'clock, I wished for that coolness. One of the perks of working for grandpa, was that grannie would feed you lunch. And oh what a meal. The best cook in the state of Alabama, she would have fried chicken, all you could eat, turnips, purple hull peas, butter beans, mac and cheese, and corn bread good enough to kill for. Dr. Danny Nowell still talks about her tea cakes.


Any way, there was 5 or 6 kids, grandpa, grannie, and me, fixing our plates before we sat down and blessed the meal. Noise so thick you could not think, and then it happened. I don't know why I was looking at the kid, but just as I glanced over, his nose discharged. Green and shiny, he tried to pull it out, but it stretched out as long as his arm, so he doubled up and grabbed it again, One of his buddies took a pocket knife and cut it loose. I don't know what happened after that, I was having a discharge of my own.

Several decades went by and Sheila and I were trying to figure out a vacation destination. Glenn Jones and Joe Walden came into the shop to order some signs for the nuclear plant. During the conversation, Glenn(a regular customer) and Sheila began to talk about places to go. Glenn and Joe, both at the same time said "Cedar Key". I had never heard of it, but they assured us that it was the destination spot of the century. I don't know why they were so mad with us. We never make reservations, we just go and have always found a good place to spend the week.

We should have known at the Hardees in Tallahassee to turn around and go back home. Standing in line to order a breakfast biscuit, I noticed that the guy in front of us was a free spirit. A long, dirty, gray, and stringy ponytail was his best feature. He had on a dirty t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, and the flops were the icing on the cake. His feet had not been washed in a while, and the lamisel monster had established a major city under his toe nails. They were about an inch long, curling up at the ends, wrinkled, and yellow. They looked like shelled pecans that he had glued to his toes. I was elbowing sheila to get her attention, It was like a train wreck and you wanted someone else to see it with you. She was oblivious to me, her attention was elsewhere, and when I found out where It was not a pretty sight.
Standing beside the lamisel man was his significant other. Some where in America, somebody will give you soap and shampoo. The first thing I noticed about her was her greying hair. No wait, that was not hair that was grey. Her shoulders were covered with a fresh frosting of snow, but not the wet kind, and it was coming from her head. We toughed all that out because we were hungry, and we tried to ignore it. I have a weak stomach in the best of times, but I did want a sausage biscuit, and now without the white gravy. Ok, we made it to the counter, and the black girl asked for our order. When I looked up, I could see that she had already sampled the gravy biscuit, because the gravy was stuck in each corner of her mouth. No, I replied, I left my wallet in the car.
We did stop and eat somewhere further down the road. Cedar Key is a long way off the interstate, and it was almost dark by the time we got there and found a place to stay. We went out that night and had a good seafood dinner and a few drinks. Next morning we got up and walked through the town. Did not take long, it is smaller than Headland. I thought Cowarts was full of rednecks, but they look downright sophisticated compared to these folks. We found a small cafe that was still serving breakfast, so we strolled in and grabbed a seat. I think Sheila is smarter than I am, because she took the seat facing away from the kitchen, Word of advice; do not sit where you can see the cook. We had finished our coffee and orange juice, and lo and behold, I thought I was back at grandpa's kitchen table. About the time I looked at the cook, she was pulling a wet green string out of her nose. It went to the end of her arm and she had to double up on it and pull again. It finally broke free and popped her fingers with a snap. Well, what do you know, it's time for me to go. We wound up at Indian River and had a good time for the rest of the trip. Moral of the story: Do not sit where you can see the cook.

FLUTE, XYLOPHONE, PIANO

I woke up at 5:30 this morning, after a good nights sleep. I looked over at the clock and saw that I had 30 more minutes before I had to get up. The bed was warm and comfortable, but I was tossing and turning with the problems of my daughter and her husband, and my parents and brother. My mind was racing like it was on caffeine. Should I have done things differently, should I have not interfered when my son-in-law assaulted my wife? Now what kind of man would I be if I allowed that? Then it swings over to my parents and the things that have happened there. Could I have done any different? No, it was out of my control.
My soul was a hard knot, hiding under my heart and weighing as much as the world. From the far corners of my mind, I could hear the soft low sounds of a flute,lightly floating over into my conscience. Closer and more clear it became, with the wondrous rhythem of a man and a woman. Then I could hear the xylophone with the soft taps. This continued to soothe my soul for a few minutes and then the piano joined in from the low end. Beautiful and soothing, the sound loosened the knot of my soul and it began to grow and spread.
As all the instruments joined togather and became louder and the tempo became faster, my soul soared and and grew lighter. Brightness was feeling warm on my face and I looked toward the heavens. As the music reached another level, I could see the countenance of God. My soul was filled with relief and joy unspeakable. I could feel God touching my soul with the soothing sounds of the music. Heaven must be a wonderful place. It could not get any better and I never wanted to leave.
The joy and peace is shattered. What in the world is that horrible, awful, terrible tormented sound? Oh no!!! It is the alarm clock. What a sad dissappointment. Oh well, I got up with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. When you all see an old person sitting with their eyes closed, they may not be asleep. They may be basking in the glow and letting God replenish their soul with the beautiful music playing in their minds, remembering things that were and never will be again.
No, Virginia I am not on drugs.

Our Move to Town

In late spring of 1956 we moved out of the country into Headland. Mr. Joe Parrish owned the house and lived next door. On the other side of his house was Cleveland Lee's garage. On the other side of us was another house that sat next to the Methodist cemetery. Across the road was Roy Henderson's store. a vegetable processing plant, and closer to town was the Cock of the Walk fertilizer plant. Between there and town lived Alto White and his family.
They were like the Limpnicke's, only much more intense. Several boys, a couple of girls, and Mr. & Mrs White, lived in a small rundown two-room house. The boys were older and looked mean as fire. Wayne and one of the boys (Eston) had gotten into a fight at school and it followed them home. We had a rock throwing duel at the cemetery. The boys were mean, but they could not throw rocks very well. As you recall from another blog, Wayne had a pretty good throwing arm, and to survive Benny and I had to be able to throw back at him. We were on one side and they were on the other. When all the rocks were gone from the center and piled up on each side, we all had cuts and bruises. We had expended our anger and our energy was spent. That gave us an opportunity to call a truce.
One of''m asked us to go to their home and play. Wayne said o.k. Not the last time he led Benny and me down the wrong road. It was dark when we got there and we went inside. The house was jumbled up like crazy, with stuff piled on top of stuff, stuff lined up against the wall. I think the house walls may have just been stuff. With just a small walkway from the front of the house to the back, it was really the only place to stand. A small child or animal probably would have gotten lost. I was six and I was worried.
Once everything settled down, the older boys got their B B gun and loaded it with a broom straw with a needle pushed about halfway into it. One would shoot and the other dummy would hold his hand against the wall with his fingers spread apart. If the shooter missed his finger, he would get to shoot again. If he hit his finger, the one that got hit would cackle with glee, because it was his turn to shoot. There was blood everywhere on the wall. I was a green hay seed of a boy, fresh off the farm, but I had better sense than that. I called them dummies, but we were the ones that were throwing rocks at them.
Wayne and I were talking about this a couple of weeks ago and he said that he participated in that game. I let him know that I was concerned about his sanity.
Dad told us that Mr. white lost his arm trying to dynamite fish. He had his arm raised to toss the dynamite in the pond, when lightening struck him detonating the dynamite. He also had a stick in his back pocket. When he came to, a bull was coming up to him and he ran to the fence. He realized his arm was gone when he tried to grab the fence and jump.
Some one carried him to Moody's Hospital in Dothan. The doctor thought that he dead and just moved him over into the corner. After about 30 minutes he raised up and said, Hell, doc are you going to help me or not? I thought that you were already dead, said the doc. Mr. white replied, Not yet, no thanks to you. Now that is a tough old bird. He lost his arm to one stick, no telling what damage the one in his back pocket did. That bull doesn't know how lucky he was that Mr. White got away.
I started first grade that fall and ran into Walter Oates. Some of you know him and some of you are related to him. In the coming weeks I will tell on us. Tell him not to worry, I checked on the statute of limitations and we are safe.