Barbara and I are about to head to Eastern Europe, to look at a part of the world we have not yet seen. I will be away from my computer until the middle of June. I will resume my "On the Road for a Year" series of posts. In the meantime, I am posting an expanded preview of my book, Spreading Wing, which contains 35 or so excerpts from throughout the book, to give you a better idea of what it's all about. Remember, you can get this book on amazon.com and Amazon Europe, book form or Kindle.
Thanks for reading, and I will be back in June!
*********************
Spreading
Wing by Pat Gillum -
Buy on amazon.com - True Stories
Thirty five excerpts from throughout
Spreading Wing. Read this for a good representative idea of what
Spreading Wing is all about!
The
first Gillum house at Wing, after they arrived in 1898, was built
atop the first ridge as the Ouachita Mountains arise from the north
side of the Fourche La Fave River Valley. Two miles of flat, fertile
bottom land stretches out below, cut by the meanderings of Stowe
creek, the primary watering source of the livestock. It is surrounded
by hundreds, or thousands, of acres of hardwood forests and fertile
fields. Many more fields appeared as more and more crops were
planted, but much reverted back to timberland, again, as the
overworked soil played out and row crops diminished and virtually
disappeared. The river, two miles away, flows lazily along the base
of the south mountains, Fourche mountain arising steeply from the
river bank. The south mountains curve into a dip, not unlike the
cleavage of a modest, beautiful woman, to allow Barnhart creek to
rush from the south mountains to meet the river. This is the sight I
awoke to every morning, for the first seventeen years of my life, out
my bedroom window. One might think it would become routine. But it
never did. My Dad arrived at that hill, a young boy of five. He was
destined to live out his life, on and around that hill. From the look
in his eyes as he gazed out over that valley, I don't think it ever
became routine to him, either. Dad moved four more times in his life,
but he was always within short hollering distance of that hill.
*
Dad
was once engaged, but his future wife died. Dad had built a house in
the meadow for her. Grandma, Hallie, and all loved her. When Dad and
Mom, Cornelia Irene Lazenby,
later married, they did not live in the house in the meadow at first,
but on the hill with Grandma and Hallie, Dad's unmarried sister, a
Peabody College trained teacher. There was no electricity in the
meadow house. Even though Mom was very hard working, kind, gentle,
and loving, Grandma, and even Hallie, on occasion, were harsh in
judging her. Her life was miserable. Sarah Turner said, “The first
woman, who died, is put up on a pedestal. No wrong can she ever do.”
I think that was at work here. After three children - Harry, Harold,
and Jonnie, Mom wanted out of that house. They moved to the house in
the meadow, with no electricity. Jan was born there. Then they moved
to a third house, the “other house.” (The Marion Turner house.)
It was bought by Dad along with twenty seven acres after it was
repossessed. It was larger than the meadow house, and the family was
growing. Barbara was born there. After Hallie and Grandma died in
1941, the move back up on the hill closed out the moving triangle,
all within “hollering” distance of each other.
Now that you have
somewhat of an idea what Mom faced, moving in with all those dominant
Gillums, I have a very fitting little story that I love. After Dad
and Mom married, a picture of Dad's dead sweetheart continued to hang
on the wall. After a time, a picture of Searce Pickens, Mom's old
sweetheart, showed up on the wall also. Stirring up the situation
somewhat was the fact that Searce Pickens was now working for Dad.
After a time, both pictures came down. Mom had beaten the Gillums at
their own game. A very rare occurrence.
I can find no other
source that gives anything other than the highest praise to Hallie.
She was obviously a wonderful influence in the lives of all her
students, and was dearly loved by all others who speak of her. But my
brother Harry related to me why life became so unbearable for my
mother in that house. He was there, in that house, and he was old
enough to see. And hear.
*
JR Turner was sweet
on Ruby, Mom's younger sister. The romance dragged on. Grandpa
Lazenby was not big on long romances without a wedding ring. His
oldest daughter had gotten into trouble like that. He asked, “When
are you getting married?” JR would reply, “I need to save just a
little more money.” This went on and on. He probably did need more
money, this was at least close to the time of The Great Depression.
But JR also had a wanderlust. He could not settle down to one place
easily, and I suspect responsibility for a wife at that time sat
heavily on his shoulders. The California sisters sent money, and Ruby
was headed for California. She entered into a romance with Homer
Greear. Marriage was looming. But before that happened, she went back
to Wing for a visit. The old romance started to heat up. Grandpa
Lazenby met JR At the front door one night, to again discuss his
intentions. JR still was not quite ready to settle down. Grandpa
called Homer Greear and warned him. Homer jumped in his car, drove
straight through to Wing, scooped up Ruby, fled to California, and
married her.
JR continued his
wandering ways. He would be here, then gone. Be here, then gone. For
many years. I always loved talking to him. He would show me gold and
other treasures, found in Mexico “a thousand miles off the
blacktop.” Such stories fueled that wanderlust desire in me. But
when my time came, and I had to make my decision after college to
“scoop Barbara Sue up and marry her,” or see the world, I saw at
least three other guys looming on the horizon who wanted to marry
her, also. I wanted her more. We raised a great family, Corey and
Kinley. They produced wonderful grandchildren for us, Caylie,
Christian, Jordan, Jackson, Carson,and Jett, who was, sadly,
stillborn. We retired. I was pleased to discover Barbara loved to
roam the world every bit as much as I do. So, after our early
retirement, we found ourselves spreading wing and seeing the world.
Barbara has seen all fifty states, and we have seen every continent
except Asia and Antarctica. By the way, you don't happen to know
anybody who would like to lease our house for a year, do you? It's
on the market. We have done this before, and if it happens again,
we'll be outta here!
For many years, when JR
saw a member of my family, he always asks about Ruby. At one
hundred, he still did. He looks great. He gets around well. But his
short term memory recycles very fast. When we have to tell him,
again, that Ruby has been dead many decades, he begins the mourning
process all over again. But it does not last long.
The last time I talked
to JR, His memories were essentially gone. He made no mention of
Ruby. He had, at last, been released from his lifelong agony of
loving, and losing, Ruby. JR passed away in 2012 at the age of one
hundred two.
*
When I went to town as
a small boy, I always did all I could do to avoid people. I would
normally cross the street to avoid meeting someone on the sidewalk.
Once, however, I saw a crowd, very large, gathered around a store
window. I just had to see what they were looking at. When I finally
worked my way up to the front of the group, I saw a box with fuzzy,
squiggly lines moving around on it. Every now and then I could see a
figure of a person on it! Some of the other people called it a
television. My world was changing, and fast.
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 back.
That's all. Not another stitch. 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 quickly enough. The girls were rolling with laughter, and I
still have to endure that story at every family reunion.
*
When I was five or so,
I picked up a big piece of metal at the shop, and a big blacksnake
ran out from under it toward me. I screamed loudly, and I saw Dad
running across the pasture to me. I was so amazed to see Dad running,
I forgot about the snake. I had never seen Dad run before. And never
did again.
*
Snippy was a short
haired, black, chunky feist. He was a dandy squirrel dog without a
hunter. Harold, my older brother, his hunting partner, had gone off
to college. Snippy spent his days, lying in the warm sun, dreaming of
days gone by. On cold winter nights, he would jump up through the
open crib door into the barn, work his way into the hayloft, and
burrow in for the night. One very cold winter morning, with the
temperature hovering near the single digits, I approached the barn.
Then I saw him. Snippy lay, curled up in the snow, frozen solid.
Above him was a closed, and latched, crib door.
*
I awoke with a start.
The moon was up, and an ominous wind blew through the tree branches.
An owl hooted in the distance. Although it seemed I had been asleep a
long time, the moon told me it was not yet midnight. My major
concern, however, was Tooter. I had never run onto anything in the
woods that frightened Tooter. But here he was, whining, crying
softly, pressing against me, staring into the darkness. A faint
rustling in the leaves came from the direction of his attention. I
picked up the .22, releasing the safety. The rustling, about a
hundred yards out, slowly circled us. With Tooter following every
move with his nose, whining, we strained to see through the darkness.
The circling continued, at intervals, throughout the long night.
Tooter and I pressed closer and closer together....
*
Early one warm summer
night we headed for the corn patch. No sooner had we reached it than
Tooter was on a hot trail. Mike and I ran down a corn middle. We
could hear Tooter running toward us, knocking down corn stalks as he
ran. A silent, furry shadow flashed in front of me, barely visible in
the dim moonlight. Close behind came Tooter. Reason and common sense
left me, and I joined the chase, momentarily not noticing that I was
doing as much damage to the corn as the coons were, tearing and
scattering stalks as I ran. Suddenly, the game changed. The big coon
turned to fight. Tooter, having better control of his senses than
anyone else at the moment, jumped aside. I don't think I really made
a decision to do what I did next, for I like to think my decision
making process is a little better than this display. And I knew about
coons. A coon like this can be a bundle of screaming and biting fury.
They often whip a dog, and can kill them if they get on them in the
water. I dived at the coon. I like to think I reconsidered in mid
air, but I don't really think I did. I sat on the coon, on my knees.
I held the ringed tail tightly in both hands, while the masked face
peered out from behind me. The coon was strangely quiet, giving me a
moment to consider my situation. I asked myself, “How do I get
off?”
*
Years later, a month or
so after Dad's death, I drove to the farm. When the farm came into
sight, I guess I was surprised to see that it looked just the way it
always had. I realized I had really begun to buy into the idea that
the farm would totally go to hell if Dad was not there to watch over
it. The land was exactly the same, the house had not changed, the
cows were all grazing contentedly – nothing, nothing at all, had
changed. Dad was gone, but everything there was the same as it had
always been. I just sat there and looked for a long time. And I
cried.
*
Toward the end of my
student teaching, I drove down to the Delta Dip, the local hamburger
hotspot one night. And my life changed forever. Little did I know, as
I drove to the Delta dip that night, that the love of my life awaited
me there. And I had forgotten to bring my great white stallion.
*
I had this problem. In
high school, I never dated much. Not totally my idea, but it just
never really happened. I was totally insecure and silent around any
girl I liked. So, I headed out to college, determined to start a new
dating life with a clean slate. Well, I did get to where I could
carry on a sensible conversation with a girl, and dated quite a bit,
as long as I didn't really like her. If I did, I just froze up. If I
REALLY wanted to date a girl, and after finally getting up the nerve,
I would call her up and say something really good like, “Hey, you
wouldn't want to go out with me, would you?” and then, if she
hesitated, even for a moment, I would throw in the clincher. “That's
OK. I don't blame you. I wouldn't either if I were you. Bye.”
*
I was nearly out of
transportation, having problems with my old Chevy. The fuel pump shut
down on me on University Avenue in Little Rock one day, and a cop
showed up and helped me get it towed back to a station. Fortunately,
my brother Harold, who I had bought the car from for several cows,
had saved an old fuel pump in the trunk. Said it would work in a
tight. Well, I was in a tight. I had it put on, and Harold was right.
It did work in a tight. Long enough for me to get back to the spot
where the first one quit, and it quit too.
*
Frank Broyles, the
Arkansas Razorbacks head football coach, flung a major insult at me
that year, though we had never met. After a particularly bad
razorback practice, he was so mad he told the press, “We looked
like St. Paul out there today.” Well, I was the only coach St. Paul
had, and as I looked around to see if maybe he was insulting someone
else, I didn't see anyone but me.
*
Such is the family I
married into, in 1966. Though I was never a Dunnahoe, they all soon
made me feel like one. At family reunions, I immediately had the
uncanny ability to sit down in the very middle of that large
gathering, and fall asleep instantly. This had the effect of Barbara
constantly being asked, "Don't you feel just a little nervous,
when he's driving?" When questioned about that ability, my reply
was always the same. "I just feel so comfortable, so at ease
around the Dunnahoes, that it just happens." And the strangest
thing of all is, It is the total truth.
*
We were shooting a
wedding in Little Rock. Our Hasselblad went down on us while
finishing up the pre-wedding shots. That sort of trouble just never
happened with that type camera, the most reliable of its day. That
was the model taken to the moon, the one they knew they could count
on. We had gotten a little too sure of it, and didn't take a really
good backup. We never made that mistake again on any job we couldn't
re-shoot. I ran to our bag for the backup camera, a 35MM I used for
wildlife photos, covered with camo tape. I ripped the tape off, then
discovered a small device needed to hook up the flash was missing. I
told Barb, again with panic in my voice, “Get in place for the
coming down the aisle shot. I'll go buy a part.” I drove madly to
Camera Mart. Fortunately, It was open on Saturday morning.
Fortunately again, they had it. When I got back to the wedding, the
bride was about to start down the aisle. I walked briskly past her to
Barbara, who was standing in position, smiling confidently with an
unusable camera. I slipped her the part, she hooked it up, and got a
great shot. Again, nobody ever knew.
*
I pushed with reckless
abandon against that gate with every pound of my considerable weight,
and every ounce of my inconsequential muscle, sweat running off me
and fear running through me. My mind was a blur. This could just not
be happening to me! This sort of thing does not happen any more, not
since the 1800's! But then, I had not been in this remote corner of
the world before. No telling how many angry Quechua Indians outside
pushed back, screaming at me, trying to force their way in---
*
I
arrived home with different feelings. Something unexplainable. We
were headed out for a short vacation with Barbara's sister's family,
upon my arrival home. As we toured around, I began to put my finger
on it. I was feeling like I was a true chick magnet! I felt like
every pretty woman we were around had eyes only for me. I even felt
sorry for the young, muscular, handsome men they were with, because I
knew their women was thinking only of me. This was a total and
complete, one hundred eighty degree change in my thinking. Barbara
was so lucky to have me, and I was sure all the other women around
were green with envy. How could I ever go back to Arkadelphia, and
work on my rental properties in shorts, as I did before? I knew the
young women would just never leave me alone, and let me work
*
Anyway, I wound up riding
in “wild child's” car. I went to sleep in the back seat, and
woke up to the sound of our windshield breaking, "wild child"
screaming, and screeching tires. When I opened my eyes, we were
lodged under a sixteen wheeler, crossways, right in front of the back
tires, and being dragged down the road at seventy MPH.
*
The
dressing room, in the middle of the building, looked like the best
place. Just as I started in, the wind really picked up. "Aw,
man, my awning is blowing away." Then a house trailer, or what
was left of it, mostly the frame, came through the front picture
window. The back windows of the building were sucked in, the
suspended ceiling around me was sucked down to the floor, and the two
swinging doors behind me slammed with a loud bang. I went in the
dressing room, lay the camera on the floor, and covered it with my
body. My thought processes ran something like, "We've got to
have something left to make a living with when this is all over."
I heard the most awful groaning sound I have ever heard, as my front
brick wall, three bricks thick, moved forward a few inches at the
top.
*
The
lights were on, cameras ready to roll, and Fredrica Whitfield was
sitting there in our living room, smiling, her notebook in hand. Now,
me, I'm not always a good spontaneous speaker. Never, I would guess,
with a national audience. I could not think of a single intelligent
thing to say, the best being a few "uhs" and maybe "duh."
I just knew I was about to become a major fool, on national TV.
*
We
checked in at the Villa Backpacker's Motel, billed as the nicest one
in New Zealand. Hundreds of young people. Once again, no other old
people. Many of the European women walked around with almost nothing
on. So, I had to apply what one of my pastor's had told me years ago.
“If you look at immodest women, you risk going blind. So, if you
must look, cover one eye. Only risk one.”
*
We
were in Ireland. We went to the poor house the next day. Now, don't
be alarmed. Not to live, but for a visit. Dad had strongly instilled
in all us Gillums a fear of the "pore' house," but I had
never seen one. It looked like a prison, was established in the mid
1800's when people were starving in droves from the Great Potato
Famine. It was designed to be so bad, that only starving people would
go there. Hard work, no family contact, a bowl of thin soup daily. A
lady at a B&B we stayed at told us about her father. He broke his
leg, badly, but he refused to go to a doctor, fearing the poor house
would be his next stop. He lived out his life with his leg broken
instead.
*
As
we walked through the red light district, prostitutes displayed
themselves like merchandise in little windows. Barbara mentioned,
"Did you see how pretty that last one was?" Naturally, I
had to walk back for a second look. She smiled, started opening the
door to welcome me in, and I quickly fled back to Barbara.
*
When
he got to Iraq, he assumed his Arabic identity. Those same buddies
arrested him one night, and he smiled and said, "It's me, guys."
They wouldn't believe him, and he had to show them his US Air Force
pants, on under his robe, before they would let him go.
Currently, he said, he
makes regular trips to the eastern US near Washington, D.C. The CIA
was never mentioned, but we understood..
The
next morning, he walked us out to our car. He had a small lecture for
Barbara. "You travel far too lightly about the world. People
will entrap you. You should never have let me in your car yesterday."
"We had you outnumbered." Barbara replied. He laughed. "I
wasn't worried." He waved Barbara's camera away. No pictures, no
address, no e-mail address. "But I will e-mail you." We're
still waiting.
*
When
we got to Pisa, we decided it didn't look so big. Surely we could
just drive around and locate a big, leaning tower. But no, we finally
had to board a bus to get there. Barbara has a problem with straight
and crooked, something we worked hard with tripods and cropping to
keep secret while we were in the photography business. She snapped
her first photo of the leaning tower, and in the photo it was
standing straight up! She quickly deleted it, knowing I would make a
lot of mileage out of that jewel.
*
We
caught our train back toward our house and our car, smooth as silk.
We're world travelers now, and we know how to act the part. When it
got to the border, it stopped. An announcement that we couldn't
understand was made, and people were starting to get off. There was
no train change on the way in, so we sat tight. After a few minutes,
we began to realize we were the only people left. That's a bad sign,
and just as that was sinking in, the train started back toward
Monaco.
When
we got there, we ran back to the ticket agent, who spoke a little
English. "You should have changed trains at the border."
"Any more trains out today?" "One is leaving right
now. You might catch it if you run. That's the last one."
We
ran. I quickly outdistanced Barbara. I was nearly there now. The
train started to move. I was even with the engineer, and I waved
frantically. The train slowed, and a door opened. Barbara was just
now coming into sight, a long way back, huffing and puffing. I put
one foot on the train, and kept one on the ground, and held my
position. If they shut that door now, they would have to squeeze me
in it. Once we got on, we found a British couple, who were going past
our village, and stuck with them like glue. So much for being big
world travelers.
As
we realized we must be nearing our village, Barbara asked, "Now,
what is the name of our village?" I didn't have a clue. It was
beginning to get dark now. We moved close to the door, and strained
to see something familiar. As the train slowed for a village, Barbara
screamed, "There's our car!" She bolted for the door, ahead
of me, and started pushing it open as soon as the train stopped. But
she was on the wrong side, and she was about to step out onto a live
track! Those trains run silently, are very fast, and are about a foot
apart. Stepping out on the wrong side could mean instant, silent
death. Several people tackled her, and pulled her back. We were sure
glad to see our cute little red car. We almost hugged and kissed it.
*
Children screamed and ran
when they saw us. We were the only white faces on the street and in
the church. Mothers apologized as their children screamed and ran,
saying, "My children have never seen a white person before.”
Barbara was determined to
win over a particularly frightened little girl. The little girl
screamed at the sight of Barbara, burying her face in her mother's
shoulder. Barbara approached her, smiling, and finally the little
girl accepted that without crying. Finally, Barbara was allowed to
touch her hand. After awhile, Barbara was allowed to walk two fingers
up her arm, softly saying, "Here's a little man, walking up your
arm!" Finally, a sweet little smile appeared on her face, and
she stretched her arms out to Barbara. The surrounding crowd laughed.
When we got inside the all concrete church, (can't be burned) and
they all started singing, "What a mighty God we serve," We
knew we would be all right.
*
We
drove up to the entrance. Yeen Lan told us to remove all jewelry,
carry no camera. People had died for taking pictures inside Kibera.
She
told the soldiers at the entrance what we were doing, when we should
be out. We walked in. There were no toilets in sight. Flying toilets
were the thing. Use a plastic bag, throw it up on the roof. Or out on
the walkway.
A
single, small, plastic water pipe led to the interior, where water
was sold by the gallon. The store consisted of a couple of butchered
goats hanging, and a couple of sacks containing beans and lentils, by
the handful.
At
intervals there were towering mountains of garbage, roamed by dogs
and rats. We saw people high from sniffing glue. It was one way to
escape one's surroundings, at least for a little while.
A
sweet little girl, in rags, ran out into our path, a sweet smile on
her beautiful face. "Hello," she called out to us. "How
are you?" Her smile broke our hearts. Barbara and I both just
wanted to take her hand, and take her home with us, away from this
place.
*
Many
large animals could be seen scattered throughout the plain. After we
had gotten a good close up look at a lot of animals, and were miles
from camp, a major storm blew up just before dark. Wesley got out
rain gear for us all in that open jeep, but it did little good in
this storm. The plain was flooded, and we got stuck, again and again,
each time finally managing to get out. After dark, I kept my face
covered to try to keep out some of the rain. I once looked out, just
as a big lion jumped out from in front of the jeep, and stared at us
hard. I covered my face back up. I really did not want to know what
was waiting outside our jeep.
*
When
we got to the border, things were just as congested as before.
Barbara picked the visa line she wanted, because it was manned by a
guy who seemed relatively friendly, and occasionally smiled. When we
got up to his desk, Barbara poured it on. Smiling, laughing, telling
all about us being missionaries, and on and on. She passed the visa
over to him. He was totally won over, and stamped our old visa, not
valid now, and smiling, said, "You have a great day." We
thanked him, and got gone quickly. Barbara just has a gift for having
her way with any man. But fortunately, she only uses it when I am at
her side. At least, I think so - - -hmmmmm - -? (Just kidding,
really.)
*
We
came to Nairobi just after the President agreed to sign a power
sharing agreement with the opposition. Thus the fighting tapered off.
While we were preparing to leave, the opposition seemed to be
beginning to think he didn't really mean it. Thoughts of more
fighting returned. Perhaps we chose a wise time to come, and perhaps
we are choosing an even wiser time to go home. Africa has a way of
getting into one's heart, making one always want to return. Most
likely, we will never see our wonderful kids again. Then again, maybe
we will. Either way, they will be in our hearts forever.
*
As
we flew out, we knew we would never see Europe again. We don't
backtrack. There's far too much of this world left to see. When we
got home, we found we were right on budget, thanks to so many
creative stays, and eating out of so many grocery stores and peanut
butter jars.
These wonderful people must
be the most honest, trusting, truly civilized people in the world.
Goodbye,
Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. You have been good and kind to us in
every possible way, except, maybe, at the cash register.
*
Not
all my memorable experiences at Wargo were life threatening. Once
Sport and I were asleep in our tent with only a very small hole in
our almost-zipped-up doorway. The thing about small holes, though, is
- it sorta negates being enclosed in a tent in the first place. In
the middle of the night, Sport roused me from my dreams with an elbow
to the ribs. "Pat," he said, " We are not alone."
I switched on my light. The prettiest, most bushy tailed skunk I had
ever seen was sitting on Sport's sleeping bag! We quietly enlarged
that hole, and slid outside in our whitey-tighties, and waited,
shivering. Fifteen minutes later, the skunk strolled out and off,
never having left his calling card.
*
If
you slide a fourteen foot flat bottom boat into the gentle waves of
the river at daybreak, maybe a family of beaver will be swimming
around, slapping their tails. Maybe an otter will be floating on his
back, his food on his chest. You may see a pair of wood ducks take
flight through the mist rising off the river. Perhaps a big
cottonmouth will swim by, floating like a long balloon on top of the
water. You might, hopefully, hear a big bullfrog roar, like his
namesake, in the distance. Possibly, a doe and a newborn fawn will
come down for a drink.
Paddle along quietly for
awhile, then just drift. And look. And listen. Then, you will know
why I love the river.
*
I
returned home after that first trip, washed all my fine gravel out
well, and lay them out in the greenhouse to dry. Son Corey happened
to walk by that drying gravel that afternoon, and said, "What 's
this piece of glass doing in here?" He started to pitch it out
in the yard. Before he could throw it out, I grabbed his hand. A
beautiful, yellow, one carat diamond. I had reached my goal, the rest
was just gravy.
*
One
day, hopefully in the far distant future, Barbara and I may one day
find ourselves spreading wing, yet realizing: The air beneath our
wing is no longer sufficient to carry us to distant lands, or finding
out that my back can no longer carry "half of what we own"
about the world. Yet our grand adventure will continue, as long as we
have each other.
