Post 40: The thing about water - Part 3

      The thing about running water is, if moving at a constant speed, it can be used to answer age-old questions about ourselves, the kind we think about regularly.

      Once I was floating with my brother-in-law, Delton, down the White river to the Mississippi, then on down to Arkansas city. We reached the mouth of the White about sundown, and camped on a sand bar. The mosquitoes were beyond the edge of comprehension.(This is a sidelight, not getting to the root of the question here, but it is worth saying, so bear with me.) In pioneer times, nobody could live long here, with Malaria running rampant. The grave yard at Napoleon, Arkansas, a town down there that no longer exists but was there in pioneer days, has lots of tombstones. Few died that were older than 26. Anyway, we set up our tent, sprayed the doorway down good with mosquito repellent, dashed in, zipped it up quick, then we spent the next hour picking them off, one at a time. Then we could sleep. Or, we would have, if it had not been for the buck deer, who resented our presence so much that he spent a good part of the night dashing up and down behind our tent, stomping and snorting. Anyway, now we can get to the scientific work. By morning, I was stopped up, tighter than a drum. I took a good, healthy dose of Castor oil, the most horrible tasting stuff God ever created, but one of the most effective. We then shoved off from the mouth of the White, and by the time we reached the mouth of the Arkansas, I was rushing ashore to the bushes.

      The thing about floating a major river is, you have lots of time to think. By the time we reached Arkansas City, I had finished my calculations: It is 6 miles, 31,680 feet, from one river mouth to the next. The Big Muddy was moving at approx. 6 MPH. The human digestive tract is 23 feet long. Using that raw data, that means Castor oil runs through the human body at a rate of .0007 MPH, something I had always wondered about.

      The thing about huge, standing bodies of water, like the gulf, is, it can be used to answer questions that can make one famous. Or would have, if I had just been born several hundred years earlier. Once I was sitting on the balcony of our condo in Gulf Shores, overlooking the Gulf. I noticed the level balcony railing showed the horizon well above it in the middle, but the horizon dropped below it at the far edges of my vision. Bingo! I was looking at the curvature of the earth. It was round, not flat at all! I got to thinking further. My area of vision must be about two degrees of the full three hundred sixty degrees in a circle. From where the horizon dropped on the left to where it disappeared on the right, following the horizon, the distance must be something like one hundred forty miles. Two degrees covers about 1/180^th of a full circle. 180 x 140 miles gave me an earth circumference of 25,200 miles, a lucky estimate. Oh, if I could have just been born in 1400! But then, I guess, I would have been hard pressed to find a level condo balcony rail in 1400.

      Another sidelight – There is a chunk of Mississippi on the Arkansas side of the river down there, cut off when the river changed course. Not necessarily something for an Arkansan to be proud of, or even admit.

Post 39: The thing about water - part 2

      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 remaining. The thing about small holes, though, is that it sorta negates being enclosed in a tent in the first place. In the middle of the night, Sport roused me from my catfish dreams with an elbow in 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 in the middle of sport's sleeping bag! We quietly slid out that hole, in only our whitey-tighties, and waited, shivering. Fifteen minutes later the skunk strolled out and off, never having left his calling card.

      The thing about a family, chock full of pretty girls, is that sooner or later, a whole herd of son-in-laws will fill the old home place on holidays. Especially my mother-inlaw, Verla Mae Dunnahoe's house. She seldom spoke, but when she did, it was law. We were all there for Christmas.

      The thing about men, especially young men, is that they are chock full of testosterone. They are driven to seek excitement, in one or more of its forms, daily. It's a requirement of life.

We in-laws once were sitting around at the Dunnahoe farm, relaxing after a big Christmas dinner. Someone mentioned the river, and I woke up. I always slept through all those long discussions about farming. They bored me to death. “The river is really rolling, right now,” someone said. “Let's go see it,” someone else chimed in. “Why don't we take the boat?” We loaded up the boat and headed for the river.

      As I think about it, forty plus years removed, I realize only an irrational crave for excitement, or absolute insanity, could have brought about what happened that cold winter day.

      So, me and my in-laws loaded into the boat, and headed up river. The boat was far too small for that crowd. Not a life jacket in sight. Sport was the only one old enough to have better sense, but there was just no way, I mean no way, Sport would ever let himself be left out when a river adventure beckoned. Not even up to the day he died. The twenty horse motor pushed us up the rolling river. A rock levee extended well out into the river ahead. J. D. pushed the boat toward the levee end.

      The thing about rolling river water is, when it hits the end of a rock levee, a huge whirlpool can develop, sucking anything that enters down, down. J. D. steered around the end of the levee.. Suddenly we went down. Down into the heart of the whirlpool. All around us, even above our heads, was a tornado of water. Time to say our prayers. J. D. opened up the motor, full throttle. The motor strained. We whirled with the water. Ever so slowly, the motor pushed us toward the side of the whirlpool, then even more slowly, we climbed. As we finally pulled out, we were all ready to go back to that warm living room, ready to be bored for the rest of the day. Our appetite for excitement was sated, for that day.

      We once were camped, fishing, on the Arkansas river a mile below the last dam. The lines were producing well. We had 40 nice cats in J. D.'s brand new, custom made, metal fish box. The guys, Sport, J. D., and another in- law or two, wanted to go run the lines again at midnight. I chose to stay at the tent, well up on a sand bar, in my bag. The boat was overloaded anyway.

      The thing about loud horns, when fishing below a dam, is, sit up and pay attention. Well, this one sounded like a river boat over on the mighty Missisip', only a couple of miles away, I told myself as I dozed off. I was soon awakened by water sloshing at the tent. The dam had turned the water loose, and we had been warned. By the time I pulled the tent to higher ground, J. D.'s brand new fish box, and our forty nice cat, had disappeared. Finally, the guys in the boat struggled to shore, being pushed down river fast. The lines were now too deep to ever find that night, and the new box was never to be seen again. All we could do for the rest of that night, and until the current receded some the next day, was to keep pulling the tent to higher, and higher, ground.

Continued next post 

Post thirty eight: The Thing About Water

      The thing about water is – life, as we know it, is not possible without it. This just precludes any argument about water. But the thing about water, for me is, in more subtle ways, water has made possible so many things that makes life worthwhile. Like fishing. My pursuit of several animals that prowl below its surface, and near it, has held a lifelong fascination for me, pushing me to travel to the far corners of Arkansas, (wow!) and even beyond.

      The thing about catfish is, They reside in almost all significant bodies of water in Arkansas, but the concentration in the far southeast corner of Arkansas surpasses all. To my way of thinking, the entire delta, excluding the people I love who live there, is a bit bland. Until you get inside the river levees. Then it becomes transformed into one of the most wonderful places on earth. The concentration of almost all forms of water life, and wildlife in the surrounding forests, is great! They have been crowded out of the farmed portion of the Delta and concentrated into these long, crooked, stretches of natural perfection.

      The lure of these whiskered monsters of the deep in the river delta has brought about so many of the memorable occasions in my life, that I just have to tell you about some of them. Like my three very close approaches to death. All at Wargo. Wargo is simply one of many oxbow lakes off the lower Arkansas river.

      I once camped on a high bluff on Wargo. My partner in this adventure, as so often was the case in the old days, was Sport Dunnahoe, my father-in-law. I loved him like a father. He always had the boat ready when we got to Watson. An eighty foot tree, when we arrived, was leaning out over the water. Soon it would fall into the lake and disappear. Naturally, we moved our campsite well back away from it, just as a precaution. Our catfish lines were set and baited. We went to sleep. In the middle of the night, we awoke to an earthquake, or so we thought. We peeked out of the tent. The entire bluff, pulled by the falling tree, had caved off, leaving us, and our tent, perched on the very edge of the bluff. The entire tree had totally disappeared, buried under many tons of river sand.

      On another occasion, J.D. Dunnahoe, my brother-in-law, and I had just finished baiting our catfish lines on the far side of the lake, just at dark. A major thunderstorm hit as we started back across the lake in our small boat.

      The thing about water is, when pushed by heavy winds, rain, and lots of lightening and thunder, it can transform quickly into a place one does not wish to be. We made it across without incident. I dropped J. D. off to pick up the truck, then I turned into the teeth of the storm to head for the ramp.

      The thing about a small, light boat, which now had almost all the weight in the rear, was that the front end now sticks way up into the howling wind. I had just gotten started when a strong gust of wind picked up the boat, and I was airborne. Time slows down, up in the air. I had time to ask myself, “Why do I not have on the life vest?” and “Can I swim a lick with this rain gear on?” Then the wind dropped the boat back to the water, turned 180 degrees. I forgot about the ramp, and simply struggled for shore, and for survival.

      The thing about Wargo is, you have two choices. You can fish it and be cold, or you can fish it swarmed by an unbelievable number of mosquitoes. There is only a very small window between. I often chose the cold early spring.

      Camped alone, I struggled out of my tent one cold morning. My fire from the previous night was completely out, or so I thought. I picked up a gallon can of Coleman fuel, stood back, and sloshed a long stream on the remaining wood.

      The thing about fire is, it can come to life from a single small spark, instantly, and run up a long slosh instantly. I was left standing with a giant flamethrower in my hand, and I slung it. Far. I may not fish Wargo for a while, but when I do, I will be sure all my affairs are in order first.

Continued, next post.

My princess Barbara - Goodwill ambassador to the world

     Hello, dear readers, I'm very happy to be back in front of my computer, tickled to be sleeping in my very own bed, and relieved to be around people who are not all speaking those difficult languages. Fortunately, for us, almost all of them spoke passable English also.
      Wife Barbara and I just returned from driving around Sweden, Norway, and Denmark for 34 days. It was very high fun, but very difficult for an old dog like me, who picks up new tricks very slowly!
       When I drove around Southern Europe for a month a while back, my greying hair turned almost white, what I had left. I'm not kidding you. This time, I came home finding wrinkles in strange spots that I had not seen before. Driving in large cities without being able to read the signs, make sense of the maps, or without knowing the rules of the road was hard, and sometimes scary. Keep in mind that was not the natural habitat for an Arkansas Hillbilly, anyway!
       The most difficult thing was, not being wealthy and traveling on a shoestring as I told you before, those countries turned out to be very expensive, especially Norway. although it may be the most beautiful country we have seen. A hotel we pay $75 for in the US ran $250 up. Since our planned daily budget was $200, we had to be very creative. We also stayed in B&B's, guest houses, camping cabins, and hostels.
         My job was driving and carrying the bags, Barbara was in charge of ATM's, computers, and the like, all in strange languages, but where she really shines is in public relations.
         One night we were in a huge building that, I was told, was an "Old Folks Home" renovated into a Hostel. We were totally alone, not another LIVING soul in the building. I had already finished reading all the books I brought with me, so I started looking at Swedish books to take my mind off the strange noises coming up from the basement. I found a picture book about Princess Victoria, their Crown Princess. Hundreds of photos of her in different situations. I began to realize she was a lot like Barbara. Totally at ease in any social situation, perfectly posed in every photo, perfect make-up, clothes perfectly matching and wrinkle free. Just like Barbara. Knowing, as I did, that we were able to find a place where we could use a clothes washer only three times in thirty four days, that we washed clothes in our bathroom sink, dried them on a radiator or in the back half or our car while we traveled, I have no idea how she always looked so perfect, but she did.
       One of the most enjoyable things for me, in our wanderings, is watching her interact with the locals. Once, we were in a line of a dozen or so people waiting for a toilet. (Toilet is the only word that worked there. Ask about a restroom or bathroom brought only blank stares.)  Anyway, everyone was totally quiet. Not a word was said. Finally, Barbara stated, "You Swedish people sure are a quiet bunch." Immediately, everyone broke out laughing and talking, and before our turn for the toilet came, she had a dozen new friends who knew her well, and all about our travels there.
        Trying to place our order for Kabobs in a fast food place, where they do things very different than we do, she started asking people around her how you do this or that, and they all started helping. By the time she got our order, she was friends with everybody in the joint. Thinking of Hillary Clinton's book, I explained to them, "It takes a village to keep her going straight."
         I could go on and on, but you get the idea. She always keeps in mind that we may very well be the only Americans some of them ever talk to, and she uses her God-given ability to make friends instantly, and leaves a long line of smiling new friends behind her every day. How's that for a great good-will ambassador for America?
         By the way, Barbara is a great money manager. Though we haven't seen the final figures yet, It appears we are going to be right on budget, Thanks to eating out of a ton of grocery stores, where, of course, several women were quickly showing us the ropes and explaining what was what, and sleeping in as many camping cabins and hostels as hotels. Every room we slept in was amazingly clean. I could not have scraped up a thimble full of dirt in all of them. The people were very friendly, trusting, and helpful. I had heard before the trip that they may very well be the most civilized people in the world, and I now believe that. And, I have never seen so many tall, slender, truly blond and beautiful women in my life! Actually, of course, my favorite hair color is brown, like Barbara's.
     I will start my next story, "The thing about water," in a couple of days. I personally believe it is my best story. I hope you enjoy it. I'm glad to be back with ya'll, and back to the Ouachita Mountains!

Old Gillums Revisited - Conclusion

     Now lets look at my Dad. I think everyone in our branch of the Clan will agree, nobody shaped our branch of the family, in my lifetime, like Dad. I really don't know if Dad's WW1 experience affected him greatly. An early historian reports that he was in battles in France, and I assume she was in the know. All Dad ever told me about it was the trip across, getting close enough to the fighting in Germany to hear the guns before they were silenced, and his time there during the occupation of Germany. The Gillums were well off when Grandma called Dad back from the Oklahoma oilfields to run the farm when Grandpa Gillum died in 1922. In addition to land now a part of the Ouachita National Forest, which had to be sold off at $2 per acre during the Depression, there was bottomland that the government took when Nimrod Dam was built. The Gillum's also farmed lands down at Rover, also, I'm not sure if it was leased or owned. I assume leased, because of a story I recently heard. It seems once Dad was coming out of the Rover bottoms from his crop, and a Rover man hollered at Dad from his yard not to come back, or he would fix Dad good. When Dad stopped his wagon and got off to accommodate the man, the man went in his house. That was the end of that.

      Anyway, the gist of it is, the Gillum farm was thriving when Dad took over in pre-Depression days. Dad did little actual farming himself, but mostly oversaw the sharecroppers. But things started going bad in a few years. Nimrod Dam took much of the land, the Depression took a lot of it. Another problem to consider was, the land in Fourche Valley was beginning to play out, as far as crops went. Almost all row crops, except in the river bottoms now owned by the Government, played out by 1940.

After the sharecroppers had to walk, when the crops failed early in the Depression, Dad was left holding the note, with a lot of money to pay back, and no matter how hard Dad worked, that was a long slow process. Before the Depression, Dad was one of the Directors of the bank. After it, he never again borrowed money from a bank. With all crops failing, even feeding a family became hard. I remember Dad showing me how to build traps to catch quail, rabbits, and fish. He told me that during that time, if a rabbit ran across the road, chased by less than two people, one knew times were getting better. To my knowledge, after I came along, no Gillum in my family would ever think of eating a wild rabbit, because of bad experiences with rabbit fever during the Depression.

      Once the unusually dry weather was past, he was able to grow plenty of food, with a lot of hard work and foresight. Just spend no money not absolutely necessary, buy staples only. Once the Depression began to recede, Dad was never able to bring the farm back to the level it was back when his father died, no matter how long, and how hard, he toiled. I once saw Dad pass out in the hayfield, near the end of a very hot day. A great deal was lost to the Gillum farm, during his watch, through circumstances beyond his control. In his older days, his goal became: Work hard every day, keep the farm going, until Harold retired from the Air force and could take over for him. For the most part, only I saw how he pushed himself, far beyond what should ever be expected of him, as an old man. I did not fully appreciate this until now, when I am an old man myself. He kept this up until Harold took over. Then, suddenly it seemed, arthritis just flew all over him and shut him down. I now realize, there was nothing sudden about Dad's arthritis. Determination just simply just kept it beat back until the day he could relax. He met his goal. Then arthritis became his master.

      Dad once planned a fairly long trip to buy the finest herd bull he could find. A neighbor got wind of it, and told him to get him one too. Well, Dad did. The man then said he had changed his mind. Dad never had any use for that man again. From this kind of experience, and probably other experiences along the way, Dad began to get a general mistrust of most people.

      I think the factors I mention above combined with the strong “do right mechanism” Dad had always had shaped him into the man I met when I came along in 1944. Work as hard as you can, every day except Sunday; be careful about trusting people; don't buy food you can grow; save up enough food for years, the drought can return at any time; cut over every inch of land you have cleared, every year, or the woods will reclaim it. In the early 1950's, I was doing the pasture mowing. That was a very dry year, grass or weeds didn't grow much, but Dad insisted I mow every square inch of pasture, even though it looked exactly the same after as before. Don't think highly of lazy or wasteful people, lest you get like them; be honest, pay your debts first, before spending otherwise. If you feed a hobo, he will just be back tomorrow and the next day; keep your daughters away from men, until they are full grown; At least, as long as they live in your house; keep the sons away from honky-tonks, no good can come from that.

      I know much of this sounds extreme. However, if you look at the big picture, all six of his children, as adults, worked hard, were honest, fair, the do- right mechanism strongly in place. Dad was hard, but it worked. Can we ask more than that from a parent?

      I have a lot of questions rattling around in my head. Most can never be answered in this world. My Dad and I spent much time together in his older years, with very little conversation passing between us. How could I have been so wasteful? There are so many of the questions he could have answered, had I only asked. With only one more afternoon with Dad, now, I could find an answer to them all.

                                     ___________________

     Well, dear reader, as I told you when I introduced myself a couple of months ago, Our primary occupation is traveling the world. But, we are pore' people. So we have to let our bonus flier miles build up. Well, guess what! We have enough now to get to Copenhagen! (and back.) We have a car rented for 34 days, and plan to see as much of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway as we can squeeze in. No reservations made, so we can't get lost, as long as we make it back to Copenhagen when the plane flies out. I will pick up with my next story, "The thing about Water," about the middle of September. Let me just leave you with this little pearl: Average daily high, 72 degrees F.! Bring it on, Bubba!!

Old Gillums Revisited

      Since I first started researching and reading up on the Old Gillum's a few years ago, I have done a lot of thinking. I'm very good at thinking. One of the major frustrations in my wife's life is that when she starts talking to me, often I do not respond appropriately, causing her to look more closely at me, then realizing, no one is home. I am off some where, just thinking. Not necessarily thinking with great insight, not necessarily productively thinking. Just thinking.

      With enough thinking, anyone, even one such as I, can begin to get some good insight. Even a blind hog finds an occasional acorn, if it roots around long enough. I don't believe anyone influenced a generation of the Gillum Clan more than Grandma Martha Jane “Mattie/Tennessee” Tucker Gillum, even though she was not born a Gillum at all. Lets take a look at her.

      She was born in 1859, so the first several years of her life was in the midst of one of the most horrible times in our country's history, our Civil War. And I suspect there was no more stressful place to be than the South. At 16, she and her sister were attacked late at night by an intruder, in their house, who was lynched within the hour by her brother and Harry Poynter, her sister's husband. For whatever reason, she left her Father's house and lived with that sister and Harry Poynter until she married John Wesley Gillum.Why? Was it just too difficult for her to return to the spot of the attack? Nobody living seems to know, but I suspect so. Harry Poynter soon became a central figure in the Pope County Militia War, and he took Grandma and her sister up to Clarksville and hid them in a cave. For how long? I don't know. Could have been two years, the duration of that war. Did her sister have babies that were taken along? Probably at least one. She remained very close to Harry Poynter all her life, close enough that two Gillum firstborn sons were named after him, at her insistence.

      I have gained a little more knowledge about Grandma's milk cow rustling saga since I wrote the book. There were 4 cows, not 2. The cows were ranging in the south mountains, not the north mountains, close by, as I had assumed. The south mountains are two miles away, across the Fourche River. Since it was a very dry time, very hot, most people probably had to let their livestock range out like that to keep them alive. My Dad once said, 1930 had 100 days over l00 degrees. And, I saw on TV, .01 inch of rain fell in July 1930. It was customary for those growing crops along the river to fence the fields because the bottoms were full of free range livestock. Did the cows of the Gillum Clan get into someone's corn? Did that someone decide to take the cows in revenge? Were all those free range cows too wild to be taken, except for the four milk cows? Anyway, information I already knew is covered in the second or third post of this blog.

      We know that Grandma's life was full of enough trauma to make her a very serious woman. She and Grandpa Gillum seemed to be good at business, because before Grandpa died in 1922, they had accumulated a lot of land, lots of sharecroppers, and were obviously doing very well .If you look back at the pic in my last post, you see telephone wires coming into the house. Ironically, the telephone wires appear to touch a hoop, probably used on their covered wagon they came to Wing in. An old culture touching a new culture! The year had to be around 1910. I would guess few mountain folks had phones in 1910.

      Their children were all very well educated, for the times. If you look at all of their children, and I mean every last one of them, you see nothing but honesty, integrity, and hard work. The “do right mechanism” was already firmly in place. Think that's rare in a large family? Look around you today. Grandma saved up enough money from chicken and eggs to buy Lula Belle a car. My sister Jonnie said that as a small girl, somewhat unhealthy, she spent a lot of time sitting close to Grandma, in her chair. Though I did not know her, she seems to me to have been a very strong, dominant, serious woman, capable of great love for her family, but probably seldom ever openly demonstrating it. Strong enough to take over when Grandpa died early in 1922, and continue to be a major influence in the clan for many years. Only one lady from Grandma's early life was present at her last birthday party, in 1941. It seems the connection of the Gillum clan to the Tuckers and Poynters died with her that year. If you wish to gain some insight into the impact of Grandma on my mother's life, look in my book at the 1920's photo of my mother, the 1941 group photo of her on Grandma's last birthday, and any 1960's photo of mom. It's all in the book, and, I think, it says it all. Mom seems to have come from a very gentle family, readily able to express their love for each other, never stern and serious natured. Her life became very hard living with Grandma.

     When I first learned how Grandma made life hard for my mother, perhaps the sweetest woman who ever lived, I reacted the way I would be expected to. I thought badly of a Grandma I never knew. However, as I found out more and more about her life, I think she was a very strong woman who came along in the history of the Gillum clan at a good time, adding rock-hard stability and integrity to the clan still in evidence today.

TO BE CONTINUED, NEXT POST. THANKS FOR READING!

Frozen Time - Part two

     He was setting up THE PICTURE! Someway, somehow, I had been transported back in time to 1910! Thirty four years before I was born! I had not the slightest clue how this happened, but I decided to make the most of it. He snapped the picture, after telling them they had to be really still for a full minute. Then he said, “Little girl, you're smiling way too big. This is a serious occasion. And, if your smile fades, it will blur th' picture.” He snapped another. She still smiled, but tilted her head down to try to hide it. He gave up. I couldn't wait for lunch. Dinner, as they called it. I was really getting hungry. Finally, we all sat down. I made a point to sit beside John. I had a lot of questions for him. Maybe I could sneak in a few while we ate. We were eating catfish. Franz was talking. “John shore hit th' jackpot down on th' river yesterday. Caught 3 big cats!” I smiled to myself. I think I had heard this story, many years ago. “Two nine pounders, and a three, by any chance?” I asked. John looked at me in surprise. “'How’n heck do you know that!?” “Just a lucky guess.” Grandma was looking at John, hard. “You don't say no words like that, young man. You and I'll be visitin' th' woodshed after dinner.” “Yes ma'am.” We didn't hear much from John during the rest of the meal. Not that I blamed him. I had heard long ago what Grandma was capable of.
Anyway, when John and Grandma disappeared after lunch, I saw Uncle Arthur was about to leave. I walked out to where he was fastening his bag onto the horse. I wondered about Maude. “Is this all of the family?” I asked. “Maude and Lee are gathering corn today. They live over on Carter Hill.” “Over there?” I asked, pointing south. Uncle Arthur just stared at me. “Well,” I lied. “I saw a steep hill—with a house on it—on the way in.” I could now hear screams from around behind the house. Poor John!
“You're so young to be a doctor,” I said. “Yeah,” he said. “I just graduated from our new medical school last year.” He mounted the horse. “Sure is a tall horse,” I commented. “Bet that helps keep your pants legs clean, huh?” “Yeah, that's th' general idea. Someday, I'm going to get me one of those new cars. Sure would speed up my rounds, and keep me dry in bad weather.” “Cars will be getting cheaper, soon. Mass production is coming. Five years, and you won't need that horse.” “More like 15, I'd say. Well, I gotta go. Got to deliver a baby up in Wing.” “See you later,” I said, walking along beside him. “By the way, I said. “Be sure to spell the name right on the birth certificate. That's real important.” “Sure thing,” he laughed, cantering the horse away. I yelled after him, “And don't forget, Jerold is spelled J-e-r-o-l-d!” Too late. He was gone.
     I went into the kitchen. Aunt Hallie was finishing up the dishes. I approached her. “Are you married, Miss Hallie?” She turned around, looked at me, and laughed. “I'm way too old for you, young man! But to answer your question, no, I'm not. Dad says I'm too young, a professional woman and all. I'm only 23, just started teaching, an' all. Besides, the right man has not come around yet.” Thinking quickly, I said. “He will. And when he does, don't tell Gra- uh, your dad. Just elope. That sounds like it would be more fun, anyway.” She had forgotten the dishes, and had turned toward me, just staring. Maybe I had said too much. Since this strange thing was happening to me, maybe I could change the course of history. Who knows? At least I had to try. “You are indeed a strange young man. What did you say your name was?” “Just Pat. I'm not too sure about the rest of it.” “Well, it's nice to meet you, Pat Whatever. Got to go. Got some tutoring to do this evenin'.” She swished out the door, just as Grandma came in the back. She laid the long, keen switch in its place above the door. “Well,” she said. “If you and John are not just like two peas in a pod! John is goin' to be sulking awhile, but he'll be better in a bit. If you want to help him feed the horses and the jacks, I'll bet you two could get up a good game of ball. John just LIVES to play ball. You're mor'n welcome ta stay th' night. You can bunk with Franz and John. If you all lie crossways th' bed, you can all make it OK.” I couldn't figure out just how to approach this. Finally, I said, “Does John have a girlfriend?” “No, silly, he's way too young. But I've got my eye on one a th' Humphreys girls. She's just what he needs, when the time comes.” I had to think hard awhile before I could go on. Finally, I said, “Well, whoever he marries, just be good to her, especially if they live with you. She'll be missing her family awhile. You could really help her fit in, just bein' her good friend. I'm sure she'll look up ta you.” She seemed to be thinking that over for awhile. Finally, “We'll probably let John build his house in th' meadow, when that time comes. But I'll tell you one thing. If they ever live in MY house, she will do things MY way, I can tell you that!” This was looking like a lost cause.
     I went into the living room. Franz was at a small table, writing furiously. “Whatcha doin'?” I asked. He looked up. “I've decided I'm goin' ta write a poem. I've gotta hurry; Dad says some guys are supposed to bring some mares to be bred. I gotta help. Homer was supposed to, but he's off, courting Maggie, Saturday and all.” He went back to his writing, and I could see he didn't need my company.
     I went out onto the porch. Lula Belle was giggling and playing hopscotch, which was scratched out in the dirt. I thought awhile. “You are such a fun little girl,” I said. “Now, while you are young, is the time for you to really enjoy life. Make the most of it. You will be all grown up far too soon.” She looked up at me, and giggled. “You're one ta talk. You're just a kid, too. Why aren't you home having fun instead of running 'round, all over th' place? Ya wanna play jump board?” she asked hopefully. “Nah, I better not. My mom used to tell me, you could turn your liver over doing that. Besides, I'm too heavy for you.” She giggled again and ran off toward the bag swing. What could I say to this wonderful little girl? How could I tell her she would grow up, become cranky, survive a string of stillborn births, begin to treat her
husband so badly he would run off, and live out her life, alone and constantly at odds with many who love her, except me and the other kids? She always liked me, right up until the time I had to put Dad in the nursing home. But, I didn't want to think about those times right now. I couldn't do anything to change the way she was destined to be.
Da-uh, I mean John, came around the corner of the house. His mood was better now. “Hey, Dad's goin’ ta be busy with the mare breedin' and all at the barn fer awhile. Wanta play some ball?” I jumped right on this. “Sure,” I said. “I've been waiting for this, all my life.” “You're one weird feller, ya know that?” He ran for the old, worn out ball and the stick, which I supposed was his bat. We played pitch, warming up. As we threw the ball back and forth, I said, “Are there many fish in the creek?” “Yeah,” he said. It’s full of perch and goggle eyes. Maybe while we're feedin' th' jacks we can dig some worms, then give 'um a try.” I jumped right on that, too. “Yeah, let’s do! Down at the deep hole, under the hill?” He looked confused. “You came in from the southeast. How in –” He glanced at the porch. Grandma was still inside. “–HECK would you know about that?” He was looking at me strangely. I had messed up in my excitement. The deep hole was on the west. I was thinking fast. “Well,” I said slowly, “I was a little scared, coming in on strangers an' all. I rode around the place once, decided it was safe, then came on in.” He was buying it! Whew! “No,” he was saying, “Not the deep hole. Being Saturday an' all, the girls and Mom will be takin' a bath down there. “We'll have to go down in the pasture.” “Well,” I said, “ya sure wanta watch out for cottonmouths, taking a bath down there.” He glanced at the porch. “Heck, I'm not afraida no snake. I just run the suckers out, and jump in. They take off when I come 'round.” “Well, ya never know. My Dad used to tell me, “sometimes they will just come after a feller.” Somewhere, from far off it seemed, a sleepy voice called my name. “P-a-a-t!” I threw the ball back to Da-uh, John. John was fading out. Again I heard the sleepy voice, nearer now. “We've got to get up early tomorrow!” I saw John throw the ball, but it never came to me. By now, I could hardly see him at all. Then, I began to realize. My strange, wonderful visit was ending. “NO,” I yelled. “We haven't been fishing yet!! I've still got a lot more questions for you!! Everything was fuzzy now. I hollered, loud as I could. “Tell Grandma, Grandpa, and Hallie, I'll see them in heaven!! I'll be back!! Tell the others! Dad, you and I have lots more work to do together!!” I could barely hear him, just a faint whisper. “Mom! Come quick! The stranger's gone plumb loco!”
Suddenly, the haze cleared. I looked down. My left thumb was cut off, again. I was in my house. I stumbled to the mirror. I was an old man again. I stood there looking at that old man a long time. Maybe Barbara was right. Maybe I have been getting too deeply involved in the old Gillums. I should ease off a little.
     “I'm coming, Barb. Soon as I go to the bathroom. May take awhile. Go back to sleep. I love you! I crawled in beside Barbara. She was mumbling something about, “Have to get around early for nine o'clock church.” I just slipped my arms around her, and hugged her close—for a long time.
     This is a true story. Well, the first part, and the last. The place, the time, and the people are real. The rest of it—well, uh, I just sorta dreamed it up.