The Early Days

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     In my early days at St. Paul, I often went to Fayetteville, 35 miles away, to buy groceries and wash. Once, I was on the way. When I passed where a dirt road came into the Pig Trail, an old, old woman was standing on the roadside, and waved her arm up and down with authority, as if commanding me to stop, yet I could see fear in her eyes, as if afraid I would not. I turned around and went back. As she was getting in, she was saying, "I was beginnin' ta' think, I was jest' agona' have to lay out tonight." She then went on to say, She had been visiting kin, and lived in a little community half a dozen miles back toward St. Paul. When we reached Combs, I believe the community was, she pointed with authority up the road through town into the mountains. We passed a couple of young boys I recognized from school, and when they saw she was in the car with me, they pointed at us and just died laughing. I thought that was sure strange. She went on awhile about how those children were always scaring and annoying her. We passed through the village, but still she pointed on up into the mountains. A couple of miles into the hills, she pointed to a side road, little used. We went on until she pointed to a field, with a couple of bare, old tread marks across. A path that had not been traveled in a long, long time. Finally, the ruts came to a spot where a rushing creek cut the trail. I could not cross it, and I knew no one else had either, in my lifetime. She didn't say a thing, but I could see confusion and disappointment in her eyes.

      Well, all I knew was to go back to Combs, and ask around. I began to realize, she was taking me back up a trail to her past, where she was most likely now living, in her mind.

      When we got back to Combs, we were passing the spot where we had seen the two youngsters as we came up. Suddenly, a light seemed to flash on in her eyes. "Why, that there's my old house!" I let her out, I said goodbye, and she never said a word. As she went in the door, I headed out for Fayetteville.

      Over the years, I had forgotten this story. Then it all came flooding back to me a couple of days ago, as I listened to Anna Hartley, of the Hartley Family Bluegrass group sing a song she had written, inspired by one of many older ladies her and her family visits, who had Alzheimer's and was now living in her childhood.