Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Other Stuff Table of Contents

Other Stuff, Table of Contents:

  • Joy in Washing a Car
    A little reflection on my grandson becoming a man.
  • Irene's Journey
    This is rough.  My mom wrote a summary of her life.  I just scanned the pages and put them in order.  It is a lovely account, though, well worth the trouble of dealing with the unpolished manuscript.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Tales from the Hogback, #13, Epilogue

EPILOGUE

I almost missed it.  To tell you the truth I'm not sure why I read the obituaries that day--I usually don't.  When I saw the name "James Robert Smedley" I just had to wonder.  It was he.  I had to look a couple of times; I'd never seen him dressed up, but clearly it was he.
I had listened to his tales over countless cups of coffee, yet I didn't even know where he had lived.  I thought, maybe a little selfishly, that I could find out about him from those who attended the funeral, that I could finally find out just where on the map Hog Back Ridge was located, that I could put a date to the beginning and end of Parson Smedley's ministry.
I guess it was at the funeral that I changed my mind.  The funeral director had asked me if I would mind helping to carry the casket.  No formal pallbearers had been selected, and the staff of the funeral home and I were about the only ones there who didn't look like candidates for the next funeral. 
What if he just made it all up--a lonely old man creating a past for himself and populating it with creatures of his imagination?  Maybe he was Smedley, Jim Bob, the preacher’s lanky son, but humility prevented him from revealing it.  Or, maybe there was no Hog Back Ridge, no little meeting house with a stop sign plugging the hole in the cellar, no mule-riding parson named Smedley.
I guess the whole thing had become too much a part of me.  I couldn't stand the thought of finding out that it wasn't that way at all.  Maybe when I'm older and braver I'll do the journalistically responsible thing, but for now all that I know about my friend is contained on a faded obituary that I carry in my wallet.  And, a bunch of wonderful tales that I carry in my heart.


Tales from the Hogback #12, Blue Ribbon: Rewards, True & False

REWARDS, TRUE & FALSE

Really there were much easier ways to get to the Jefferson County Fair, but as Smedley walked through the woods down the big mountain he was thoroughly enjoying himself.  He could have waited and gone with Flora Jean on the Jones's wagon.  It was piled high with quilts and carefully wrapped jars of prize preserves not to mention Joneses, but there was still plenty of room for Smedley.  For that matter he could have ridden Sairee.  In fact Smedley felt a little bad that he hadn't brought her.  He always felt a little foolish for thinking so, but he was convinced that she enjoyed the trip to the fair.  "Reckon she enjoys bein’ with her kind as much as we do with our'n." he reasoned.  Even if he was determined to walk he could have walked on the road and avoided the briars and occasional rough places, not to mention the spring branches he had to cross.
The parson prayed as he walked along.  Like a child at the dinner table he prayed with his eyes wide open thanking the Lord for whatever met his gaze.  "Lord, I thank you for the blue sky, and the clouds with the promise of rain.  But Lord I thank thee thet it ain't rainin' today, cuz it sher would ruin this beautiful time.  I thank thee Lord fer givin' that song to Mr. Bob White over in the thicket an' fer sendin' that gray squirrel to gather nuts along as I'm travlin' to town.”
It was a grand day, and Smedly, who was "about peopled out," was enjoying it immensely.  Just enjoyment, though, wasn't what motivated him to take this route to the fair; every once in a while he would spy evidence of the real reason he came this way.  No one else would have noticed, but here and there Smedley would notice the print of a cloven hoof in the soft ground.  A few times he saw some hair caught on a briar.
"Looky there," Smedley crowed to the crow in the tree, when he came to a patch of torn of up ground, "Looks like Mahershalalhashbaz is living right up to his name.  Sorry Mr. Squirrel, Ol' Maher got some a' yer acerns and ches'nuts, but if it's any consolation to ya, the hog thet et your dinner is the finest hog in Jefferson County.  He's gonna win a blue ribbon fer my boy."
Mahershalalhashbaz was the hog Jim Bob Smedley had raised.  He had hauled slop from three different neighbors to keep him supplied.  The Smedleys didn't have the money to buy corn to fatten the hog so every evening Jim Bob would take him to the woods where there was a good supply of chestnuts and let him root and eat his fill.  It was while watching him hasten to the spoil that Smedley suggested his name.*  Everybody that saw the hog told Jim Bob that he was a shoo-in for the big prize at the fair. 
Since the Smedley's didn't have a wagon and since the hog was tame as a dog--better than many--the Smedley clan came up with a plan for getting the boy and pig to the fair.  They'd leave a day early and just meander along.  Maher would have ample opportunity to feed and young Jim Bob would have plenty of time to get him all spiffed up once they got there.  It was kinda' an odd way to get a hog to the fair, but it worked out all right.
The next day the activity at the Smedley campsite began early.  Flora Jean had to get her quilt to the judging, and the younger children had new friends to make and adventures to get into.  Jim Bob & Smedley set in to make sure that Mahershalalhashbaz didn't live up to the reputation of his kind.  They washed him and cleaned his hooves with a scrub brush.  The ring in his nose shone in the morning sun.  It seemed the big porker must have known that something important was up, because he put up with it all pretty well, for a hog anyhow. 
By the time the cleaning operations were completed a considerable group of on-lookers had gathered to admire this fine specimen of swinedom.  Smedley and Jim Bob were particularly interested to see Jake Reardon admiring the Smedley entry.  Jake was the farm manager for the Widow Winstead, about the richest person, and owner of the finest farm, in the county, maybe the state, for all the parson and his son knew.  Jake had a reputation for having an eye for stock, second to none.
"Fine lookin' hog you got there, boy,"  he said to Jim Bob, with a wink.
"Yes sir," Jim Bob replied, trying to look calm.  But when Jake was out of sight Jim Bob couldn't resist slapping his dad on the back and hollering out loud.  "Didja hear that?  Didja hear what Jake said about Maher?"
"Now, jest calm yerself." Smedley admonished, though he was about as excited as his son, "It ain't over 'til it's over."  I'll stay here & keep ol' Maher outa' trouble.  You go & git yerself cleaned up so you kin show him."
When that boy and that hog left for the show ring there wasn't a prouder man on earth than Parson Smedley, and he had a right to be.
Smedley was used to seeing the typical mountain hogs that existed on what slop was left from the family table, which the way most folk lived in those parts wasn't much, and what acorns and chestnuts they could root out in the area available to them.  They often had worms, and were just, well scrawny.  The beasts that met Smedley's gaze at the fair were gigantic, but for size and form none were the equal to the animal standing next to his son. 
"Ladiiiies and Gent-le-men," the chairman of the county fair committee intoned.  "I am glad to recognize as the judge of our swine competition the honorable Rueben C. Galepoke." 
The crowd tried to suppress their shock.  Rueben was the County Commissioner and it was appropriate that he receive some honor at the fair, but the only thing that he knew about pork was that ham and eggs were good for breakfast. 
Smedley's heart sank.  But as each handler brought their entry into the ring Smedley noticed something that revived hope in his breast.  As Rueben circled each hog, pretending to look at it, he would glance up at Jake Reardon, who was sitting next to his boss in the front row.  A slight nod or lift of the eyebrows from Jake would follow some of the glances while at other times Jake's face showed no response.  After he circled each hog Rueben made marks on a piece of paper he was carrying.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the chairman again held forth, "our honorable judge, Commissioner Galepoke has chosen the following entrants as finalists in the competition."  As the names were read from Rueben's notes the crowd murmured its approval.  "Maybe the licker dealer, turned politician knows more about hogs than we thought." one gnarled old farmer commented.  Now Smedley was sure.  Jake Reardon was the real judge in this competition and now hope burned bright once more in the parson's heart.
"Quiet, quiet," the chairman hollered, as you know, by long standing tradition, Winstead Farms has made a standing offer of one hundred dollars for the blue ribbon hog in this competition.  Mrs. W. W. Winstead has asked me to announce that in honor of the Fiftieth Anniversary of Winstead Farms, founded by the late W. W. Winstead, that this year Winstead Farms is offering two hundred dollars for the winning hog."  Near bedlam broke loose in that arena, but finally the crowd settled for the big conclusion. 
Rueben followed the same procedure for the five finalists that he had earlier.  Smedley lifted his gaze from Jake Reardon only enough to see which hog Reuben was circling.  Jake's weather beaten face betrayed no emotion, until Rueben circled Mahershalalhashbaz.  Just the slightest lift of an eyebrow said it.  Rueben officiously made some marks on his paper and started back to the chairman when someone else caught his eye.  Sam Morrison the editor of the Mt. Elmo Star, looked Reuben right in the eye and patted something he had stuck in his jacket pocket.
After conferring with the chairman for a moment Reuben took another look at the hogs.  The behavior from Jake Reardon and Sam Morrison was just as before.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the winner of the yellow ribbon is Jasper Peters, for his hog Bluebell.  The winner of the Red Ribbon is James Robert Smedley, for his hog, Maher . . ."
Before the announcer could finish the name the crowd sighed, people looked at one another in wonderment and began to murmur, most didn't even hear when the winner was announced as Elmer Morrison of Mt. Elmo for his hog El Prezedente'.
The trip back home was much different than the trip down the mountain of just a few days before.  Jim Bob was trying not to cry and trying not to let any one see when he couldn't help it.  Smedley was wondering, "Why a man who runs his mouth fer a livin' cain't think a nuthin' to say to ease his own boys hurt?"  Flora Jean with her usual skill was keeping everything running along.
Life got back to normal after a while.  Oh sometimes Flora Jean and Smedley would think about that $200, but they tried not to.
They were reminded about what really matters a few days later by two items of news.  Mrs. W. W. Winstead died.  "Says here in the paper thet all the heirs is in an uproar over whose gonna git what.  The Lawyer came n' locked up the whole business 'til they kin git it sorted out."
"An' looky here, Says Reuben C. Galepoke was arrested last week fer sellin' illegal whiskey in his store."
The Winstead estate was tied up in court for years.  Jim Bob had forgotten all about Mahershalalhashbaz when it was finally settled.  When all the papers were finally cleaned out a letter was found in Mrs. Winstead's old roll top desk.  Eventually it found its way to Private First Class Robert Smedley, Fort Campbell Kentucky.

Dear James,

For over twenty five years it has been the practice of Winstead Farms to pay top dollar for the finest hog produced in Jefferson County.  My foreman informs me that though I have purchased the hog that won the blue ribbon, I have not obtained the best.  If you will be good enough to bring your animal by, my bookkeeper will write you a check for $200.

Sincerely,
Mrs. W. W. Winstead

Jim Bob just smiled.  "That was mighty expensive bacon we et."


[* The name of Jim Bob’s hog is taken from the book of Isaiah, 8:3.  It very roughly translates as one who is quick to grab up what he can.]

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