Cock of the Walk

     In the spring of 1956, our family moved from my grandparents farm to the outskirts of Headland.  We rented a house from Mr. Joe Parrish.  This particular Saturday, mom was cleaning and dad was off with uncle Tex fishing.  They left it up to Wayne, who was ten, to look after me and Benny.  I guess for a while he did pretty well, but since he was all macho man, we had to head off to the Cock of the Walk fertilizer building.  It was the largest building I had ever seen.  One hundred feet high and wide and three hundred feet long.  It was made out of asbestos sheets for the roof and sides.  It had a walkway at the top that ran the length of the building, with a row of windows on each side.  Most of the panes were broken.  Not by us, we could throw rocks pretty well, but they were too far off for our young arms.  The train tracks were on the other side, and the loading dock ran the length of the building, with piles of pallets and cardboard.
    The big doors were locked, but as small children, we could slip between them and the building and go inside.  There it was, on the inside, was our personal playground.  The white powder bat guano was piled to the ceiling.  Three different piles, each just a shade different.  Wayne had been there before and knew to bring a piece of cardboard from the loading dock. Motioning for us to follow, he headed up the stairs to the cat walk.  That was the best thing we had ever done.  Our hearts were pounding from the excitement of breaking in and the height of the stairs.  We could barely contain ourselves.  The bat doo-doo was about five feet below the catwalk, and sloped to the bottom in a cone shape.  Wayne jumped with the cardboard, hit with a smack and started sliding downhill fast as lightening.  Benny and I jumped onto our cardboard sled and followed after him. The dust from the commotion we caused was billowing up all around and made it hard to breath. Wayne was going so fast that we couldn't catch up, and he couldn't stop.  Just as he reached the bottom, he rolled off head first, only feet away from smashing into the wall.  When we reached him, all we could see were his legs sticking out of the bat crap, and kicking like crazy, up and down.  We grabbed a leg each and pulled him out.  We were laughing at him and embarrassed as he was he bounced each of us on the side of our heads.  Smaller and younger, though we were, we bounced back.
     When we tired of blood and bat crap, Wayne showed us some dynamite that they used to break up the guano when it clumped together.  Now at this moment, fifty eight years later, I know what happened to the windows.  It also explains why we could slip inside the doors.  Wonder if the building is still standing.  Wayne was smart enough to take only the blasting caps and fuses.  I think he knew that the dynamite was too dangerous.  On the loading dock was a three foot length of 2" pipe, a cinder block and an unlimited supply of rocks from the train tracks.  And every kid worth his salt, had a cigarette  lighter.  Well, with all these ingredients for a fun filled Saturday afternoon, what could possibly go wrong?
     Instead of aiming the primitive mortar across the tracks to the empty field, Wayne pointed it at the red house, a quarter mile away.   Wayne lit the fuse to the blasting cap, dropped it into the pipe, Benny dropped in a big rock and I got the hell out of the way.  No need to worry, the rock came out the end of the pipe pretty as you please.  You could see it flow through the sky and land on the tin roof of the red house with a loud bang.  The folks in the house

 scattered out of there like red wasps coming off the nest when you hit it with a corncob.  They heard thunder and the sky fell on them.  They were hauling ass somewhere, but where?  They never figured out what happened.  Are you going to tell them?  I sure as heck ain't.

Growing up Auburn

I just ran across this photo of a painting I did a few years ago.  I was commissioned by a family to paint their son with his toys on the family farm.  Obviously they also like John Deere.

Red Velvet Cake

Look, look, can you see

what Sheila has done for me?

Outside is a beautiful sight,

but inside is a tasty delight.

She did for me bake

a red velvet cake.

Collards, pork roast, corn

and potato salad makes me mourn

for more of that cornbread.

And with that I said,

get the hydraulic boom

so out of the dining room

I can get my fat butt

into the dining room, but

first one more piece of cake

that Sheila did bake.

For all the kitchen messing,

for all the blessing

You have bestowed on us

thank you, Lord Jesus.

Mule Shoe

This is a 3 and one half ft by 7 ft cypress slab of wood, 3 and one half inches thick.  I carved the letters into it on both sides.  This is for a four thousand acre hunting plantation on the Alabama side of the Chattahoochee river.

Indian

This is another little Indian that I carved from cedar.  I started it out as a practice for the eyes and I just kept on.  It is eight inches tall, three and one half inches wide and three and one half inches from front to back.

Damascus Road

As we go through this hard life a little help is welcome.  We start out enthusiastic and full of energy, but as time wears on,so do we.  Even though people rush to and fro in every direction and without direction, the final destination is in the same direction.  Wherever we fall is the end for us in this life, but  we merely transition over into a new one. We may think that we die alone, but we don't.  We are greeted by many that have gone on before. If you go by way of the cross, it will be a good life forever.  If not, it will be horrible for a long, long, long time.

Dale County Snake Dance

Carlile Farms was split almost in half by a pretty big creek that still flows over 300 gal. per minute. The side across the creek from the house was always known by the family as "across the creek". When grandpa farmed with mules, he would cross the creek in a narrow shallow spot. He would leave the barn and walk behind the mules about a mile and a half to get to the back side of his property. If he needed grannie to help that day, she would walk also. When he got his first tractor he was able to ride, but grannie did not trust his driving and continued to walk. Not me, I would sit on the left fender, because all the controls were on the right side. I don't know what she was afraid of, he drove so slow that she was always ahead of us.

The land sloped downhill to the creek and the old road was pretty rutted up with some good sized holes and grown up with dog fennels. A perfect snake habitat. Near the bottom of the hill, the road was lower than the sides and large oak trees with moss hanging down from the branches lined each side. The dappled light provided some cool shade that refreshed us all. At the bottom you could go to the pasture on the left or continue on to the creek by going to the right. Since the road split there it was wider and a little more clean since the sand had washed down the hill and settled there.

This particular day was hot and dry. Grannie was so miserable that she was fussing about something that grandpa had done. She was a kind woman, but had a hair-trigger temper. I wasn't concerned though, because it was grandpa's turn today. All of a sudden that old black snake picked that particular time to cross her path. I always thought she was old, but she was younger then than I am now. So she was able to whip that hoe off her shoulder and pin that snake's tail to the ground before he could get out of the way. She always carried a hoe with her to the field. The snake was long enough that when he stretched out he could almost touch her, but she was not about to let that happen. When he lunged straight, she turned to the side, when he went to the left, she went to the right, when he went to the right, she went to the left. When he went high, she ducked, when he went low, she raised her foot. Never once did she turn that hoe loose. Grandpa was yelling at her to kill it or turn it loose, but she was deaf and could not hear him. She was also stubborn and probably would not have listened to him, even if she could. I was amazed and sat there dumbfounded, listening to the soft strains of the Tennessee Waltz playing somewhere in the background.

When the snake realized that he was no match for grannie, he relaxed and lay down on the ground to catch his breath. Grannie told him, when I remove this hoe from your tail and you come at me again, your next dance will be with the devil. As he slithered off, she told me that was a Black Runner.

Grandpa's approach to snakes was quite different. Most of the time that they looked after me, I would stay in the field with him. At mid-morning, I was tired from walking since early that morning. He would plow the mule and I would follow along behind him in the peanut field. The Woods were off to my left about 30' from where we were. The peanuts were lapped together in the middle and about as thick as a field of kudzu. I was a sleep boy walking, when all of a sudden he yelled....Snake, go to the edge of the field. I probably stepped over 3 on the way there, but if I had not done as he said, there would be heck to pay. He never slowed down; if the snake did not bite him, he did not have time to fool with it. Following him in that field kept me out of trouble, but made me think that there must be an easier way to make a living.