Post twelve: I became an Indian, led the singing, then the real work started.

     At about ten years old, I was all into Indians. I decided to make myself an Indian costume. I had a belt around me, with a flap hanging down in front and one in back. I threw in a feather in my hair for effect. I had a tomahawk. Once, the girls were all on the porch, so I decided to show off my costume. I ran the length of the porch, jumped off real high, and gave a war whoop. It changed into a scream when I realized my costume had a flaw. Both flaps flew up. It seemed like I was in the air forever, then when I hit the ground, I could not get gone quick enough. The girls were rolling with laughter, and I still have to endure that story at every family reunion.
     Flossie Hull decided one Sunday at church that our youth, namely Annette Person and I, should play the piano and lead the singing. Annette had just begun to play, so she played at about half speed. I had to gear my singing back to half speed, dragging out the words as long as possible. Well, my singing was not safe at any speed, and although I supposedly was leading, I always waited for Flossie to kick in before I started. I'm sure Flossie realized her mistake quickly, but she was a good sport. We held this position for a long time. I'm sure it seemed like forever to everyone.
     Gradually, I graduated to helping Dad in the fields. Once, on Sunday, Dad decided that the corn needed to be fertilized because rains were forecast on Monday. Mom felt real bad about this, because working on Sunday was a major no-no. It was the only time I was ever asked to. She gave me money to go to the store and buy up a good supply of candy for that day. I was carrying a heavy bag of ammonium nitrate, spreading it in the middles, while Dad plowed it in behind me. Now, he was covering two rows at a time, me one. So, I had to move twice as fast as he did. It was a hard day. I figured up at the end I had walked thirteen miles that day, double time. But I sure was full of candy!
     Dad was a hard man. Remember, “The Gillums were not like other people.” But even though he pushed me hard he pushed himself even harder. And, as he was fifty-two when I was born, he was an old man by this time. I always felt deprived that he never felt like playing ball with me after work, but I now realize how I feel, at sixty-five, after a day's work, and not as hard as his days. We worked hard every day except Sunday in the summertime, but he began giving me Saturday afternoons off to go fishing.
     We would fill that barn loft full of hay, and it was as big as a basketball court, it seemed. Dad finally bought a hay stacker that hooked on the front of the tractor. We then built haystacks. I would shape the stacks and tromp it. After awhile, I got to where I could shape the stacks so that water would shed off the top. There's an art to that.
     We started growing a cucumber patch, a full acre. Barb, Jan, and I picked them every day for a month or so. Often, a “Spreaden-outer,” or bull-nosed snake would greet us when we raised up a vine. We carried each day's take to the post office. The mailman, Mr. Sims, on his way back to Ola, carried it to the Atkins pickle shed at Ola. After awhile, I would begin tearing and pulling at those vines, but they just kept producing cucumbers! The money from this crop went to buy our school clothes.