Stony Lonesome

     I just got back from yet another trip to Yell County.  I have been going up there pretty regularly lately.

     The Gillum’s have had a presence in Yell County since 1898. With my brother’s death recently, that presence has been dwindling. Only my sweet sis-in-law, Louise, and my nephew, Big Dan, still remain. I decided some time back that I had to always keep some sort of permanent presence there, if only for part time. Thus my son Corey and I have been in the process of putting a cabin up there for some time now.

     My nine acres is a spaghetti shaped parcel that stretches across the highest part of the old family farm. I call that mountain (hill?) top Stony Lonesome. Actually, I borrowed that name from my favorite author when I was a child, Jim Kjelgaard. I read his book, Big Red, and his other books that spun off that. Over and over. Just recently I located a copy of Big Red in the library, and I enjoyed it just as much as I did 50 years ago. The story is about a boy and his dog, and many of his adventures played out atop and around Stony Lonesome. At the time, I had a big dog, Tooter, who was my best friend, (No offense, Sammy Turner) and many of our cherished adventures took place on and around our very own Stony Lonesome. As a child, that’s where the whippoorwills abounded, just like in the book. They’re still there.

     As a child, we grew many grapes up there. Tubfulls. That mountain top has long been regarded as the best garden spot on the farm. Deep topsoil, with deep red clay below.

     Somebody, eons ago, moved the rocks off the very top of Stony lonesome, and made a long rock fence along the edge. Any surface rock on top of Stony Lonesome is lonesome indeed. That must have happened when they discovered what a good garden spot that is.

     After my brother Harold sold me that plot, he put many days in hauling rocks and gravel onto the road up to the top of Stony Lonesome. So, the road is still passable, but actually, I think it may be the roughest driveway in Yell County, what with all the erosion that has happened on that steep hill. The soil is mostly gone, only rocks remain.

     The cabin itself is pretty close to being finished, but the bathroom, and the associated modern day conveniences, is still far off.

     Big Dan and I placed a 500 gallon water tank behind the cabin, and rain water is funneled off the roof to it. I was excited when the recent six-day rain filled it up, but that faded when I saw that the valve at the bottom dripped. A lot. Three drops per second. So, I had to siphon that tankful out, and start over. Now, I’m holding my breath waiting for the next big rain, to see how the new valve behaves. (Late note: no drips this time – it worked) In the meantime, water off the back roof is funneled into a big trash can for utility use, just like the water barrel we used when I was a kid in Wing, avoiding many long trips down the hill to the well.

     As I grew up, our toilet was a two-holer down the hill. For now, mine is a porta-potty out in the thicket and a five foot deep hole. No need to build a surround. And the stay is more pleasant with nice fresh air coming in from all directions. The thickets grow really, really thick on top of Stony Lonesome. Just carve out a trail and a small opening. But I do have one big advantage: real toilet paper. (double bagged in zip lock bags.) No Sears and Roebuck pages for this generation of Gillums! We’ve moved on up! My nephew told me the other day that he had heard a rumor that my outhouse had no house. Just an out. I had to admit that was true.

     My son, Corey, and 9 year old grandson Carson were with me this trip. Carson finally talked his dad into accompanying him to the “bathroom” in the middle of the night, but he stirred up a whole pack of coyotes in the thicket. I’ve not heart such a fuss in many years, that close. Both from the coyotes and my city-boy grandson. But Stony Lonesome is making a Fourche Valley hillbilly out of him pretty quickly.

     My last overnight stay there with Carson, it was raining pretty hard. All the time. Carson kept wanting to build a campfire. I tried to explain the physics involved with building a campfire in the rain to discourage him. He just would not buy into that. A little later, I glanced outside. He and his dad were sitting beside a campfire blazing brightly in the driving rain.

     I need to give you a little background info here. When Corey was about that age, he was constantly challenging me to build a fire under the most difficult of circumstances, using only what I could find out in the woods and one match. It was a good chance to impress my son, so I worked hard at it. I guess my most significant achievement was building a fire in a snowstorm, and early one morning on a camping trip after it had rained all night. Next we moved on to flint and steel. My oldest grandson, Christian, was so impressed by that, he worked and worked until he had mastered that art too.

     Back to our story. I was so impressed with Carson’s driving rain campfire, I just had to investigate. He had used a store-bought fire log to get it started. That’s not fair, is it?