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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