Wild!

An unexpected benefit of the camping experience eventuated thusly.  Behind the RV, to Kent's left, is the woods.  The wild grapes were climbing the oak tree and the ash tree behind our vehicle.  Kent and his mother picked grapes, lots of grapes.

Following our trip home and a day to rest up, BBBH turned the grapes into jelly.  

And there is a gallon of wild grape jelly!  (Counting the bowl on the table from which we are eating.)

With no disrespect to Welch's™ their product does not come close to the lip-smacking flavor of this jelly.  Take it from a guy whose last choice in the jelly aisle is grape.  This stuff is flavoricious!

Making a Mountain of a Molehill

I read through Dora's diaries.  They covered her life from age seven to her eleventh birthday.  I shared a sample of the diligence and effort she expended in keeping the journals, and while entries were not made on a daily basis, they did present a picture of the life of a little girl in the Appalachian hills at the turn of the century.

My purpose in obtaining the diaries was to find stories from Uncle Jep as told in his younger day, a time before I knew him.  So I am not sharing further the intimate details of Dora's life, but rather I have selected a couple of stories as told by Uncle Jeptha and recorded by the youngster who listened to them.

Caney Creek
June 29, 1900

I was in Uncle Jeptha's garden today.  He was hoeing the corn.  Aunt Grace was picking snap beans.  I would help her with them later.

"Girl," Uncle Jeptha said, as he stopped and leaned on his hoe handle, "you see thet biggest ridge yonder?  The Great Ridge?  Do you know whut thet is called?

"Of, course, Uncle Jeptha.  It is Clinch Mountain.  Everyone knows that."

"Good.  But do you know how it come to be?"

"A course, Uncle.  God made it.  He made everything."

"Waal, yes, I s'posin' He did.  But do you know how He make hit?"  'Course you don't, but you need to know, so I'ma tell ya.  Way off north an' east a here, way up in Ol' Virginny, way back afore any these ridges was made, there live a mole.  You know whut a mole is, Girl?"

"Course I do.  Look yonder just the other side the fence, a runnin' through the grass there.  There is a molehill, right there!"

"Why, so there is, Chile.  So you know how it come thet a mole will burra in the earth, jes' so."  Waal, this here mole I'ma tellin' ya about was no or'nary mole.  He were the King of all the Moles, 'n he were the hugest mole thet ever was.  Why, he was so huge, thet when he stood on the ground his head reach mought nigh ta the sky!"

(I see Aunt Grace set her bucket down, stand up straight and lean against the fence.  She is looking square at Uncle, but he pays her no nevermind and go right on with his story.)

"So it happen one sunny day King Mole stick his head in th' groun'.  Mole don't like the sunlight, doncha know, 'n he start a flingin' dirt with his giant claws, twel he gone plumb underground, then he start to move along, as a mole will do.  An' he head off to'rd Tennessee, 'n he keep agoin'.  Why, he never come up out the ground twel he were all the way 'tother side a Rutledge.  You know where Rutledge is, Girl?'

"Course I do, Uncle.  My daddy come from Rutledge.  He grew up there.  He says the town is named for his people."

"Good Girl!  Why, yes hit were named for yer Daddy's people.  There is another story there.  But anyway, as you can see, that mighty molehill make by King Mole is now call Clinch Mountain.  Yep, thet were some mole, thet were."

"Now, Jeptha Miller," that was Aunt Grace a chiming in, "why are you fillin' the child's head with such foolishness?"

"Now, Hon, whut can I say?  Thet was the way hit was."

"Run along to the house now, Dora, Sweetie," said Auntie. " I'll be right in 'n we will make some nice lemonade, then we'll snap these beans."

So I did, and we did.
Good night, Dear Diary

© 2014 David W. Lacy 47

Salamonie 2014

Our September excursion took us to Salamonie Lake, Lost Bridge State Recreation Area.  We arrived and set up camp on Sunday afternoon.  Crystal clear late evening, spotted a gso satellite in the western sky.  Monday and Tuesday were gorgeous days, perfectly conducive to the visiting and playing we elders engage in when we get together.  (Think nothing more strenuous than Hand-and-Foot.)

 The satellite from 22000 miles, tiny hand-held camera, greatly enlarged.

 Son Kent and daughter JoLynn arrived noon Tuesday.  She knew Kent was coming, but Mom was pleasantly surprised when she discovered JoLynn came, too.  Tuesday afternoon fun with the kids.

 And some food prep for the evening pitch-in.  Make sure that is cool enough to bite!

 Must be Kent with the problem, whatever it might be.

 Got acquainted with a new friend, though it chose not to hang around very long.  Shutter snapped, insect gone.

 The fire, of course.  Always a couple of fire-bugs in the crowd.

Relaxing a beautiful evening away.  But we had seen the weather forecast.  Most closed their awnings, rolled up the carpets, packed in preparation for the storm.  Wise move, too.  We were on the road by nine o'clock Wednesday morning.  Clouds burst open just as I finished the chore at the dump station.  Drove home in the rain, but with a forty-minute stop at The Spencer House Coffee Shop for fabulous coffee and a visit with daughter Shari.

46th Annual Pork Festival is Over

Before

During

And the Parade

After
No picture available, because this reporter is not getting up at the crack of dawn to take a picture of litter and street sweepers.

Red Brick Roads #T

When I moved to Tipton 45 years ago, there were still several streets in town that were paved with brick.  Eventually they were all removed and paved with modern macadam technique, with the exception of a couple of short less-traveled sections which were simply paved over.  I turned down one of these short stretches on my bicycle and noted that winter ravages, summer storms, increased twenty-first century traffic have dug a hole in the tarmac, exposing brick beneath.

The first brick paving in Tipton was laid along two and one-half blocks of Jefferson Street in 1890.  This brick was common building brick, yet it survived the rigors of traffic for nearly a quarter century before it was replaced in 1914 with vitrified brick.  At that time, twelve miles of Tipton streets were paved with these bricks.  This allowed Tipton to boast the largest number of  "feet per capita" of any city in Indiana.*

I have a few of the brick pavers which were lifted from the streets of Tipton in the 1990s.  These bricks are quite attractive, and imagine if you can the thousands of wheels that rolled across this bit of history.

*Pershing, Marvin W. History of Tipton County, Indiana: Her People, Industries and Institutions, 1914

This is post number 1900 on String Too Short to Tie.  That works out to 26.9 posts per month over the life of the blog, or a post on 90% of the available days.  Conclusion:  This is not quite a daily blog.

Dora's Diary

The postmark was "Rogersville, TN."  I ripped the package open, and there inside were the two "books" Dora had written as a child, obviously very old but remarkably intact.  The edges of the paper tended to crumble a bit as I thumbed through them.

The covers of the books were pasteboard, carefully cut to enclose Dora's handmade pages.  On the front cover of the first one was painstakingly printed

DORA MARLENE RUTLEDGE

PRIVATE

VOLUME 1

The second book, or Volume 2, was labelled similarly, but it was done in cursive writing, appearing to have been written by a girl of ten or eleven, a little heart dotting the "i".  

I opened the first "volume" and on the first page, I read this, all in painstaking manuscript.

August 11, 1895

Caney Creek, Tennessee

Today is my birthday.  I am now seven years old.  My friend Myra and cuzzins  cousands Leroy and Effie came over for cake this afternoon.  Leroy give me a willow whistle he had carve, and Effie give me a hankie she had embroydee.  Myra's was the best, tho, coz she is my best fren.  I shall keep it near my hart, and you will have to guess.

Mama say now I am seven I kin go over to Aunt Grace and Uncle Jeptha house by myself tomoro.

Good night, dear diary.

Dora M. R

Second page:

August 12, 1895

Caney Creek

Oh, Diary! Today I walk by myself over to Aunt Grace house.  As I walk thoo the gardein in front the house, I hear Uncle Jep call "Dora! Over here!"

"Hidy, Uncle Jep!"

"Oh, my ain't you all grown up?  Those shoes are new.  Do they feel as good as they look?"

"Oh, yes, Uncle.  Mama and Daddy give them me for my birthday.  Acourse I know they's my new go-to-school shoes, an' I won't be a wearin' of them again until school, but are they not the pertiest shoes?"

"Sturdy, nice lacing, good support for yer ankles.  Bet they got 'em in Kingsport?"

"I don't know, but I surely like them!  Is Aunt Grace in the house?"

"Not really, cause here she come now with goodies for the good.  That would be you and me.  And her, a course."

Good night, dear Diary, Mama jus come in to put out my light.

Dora M. R

Editor's note:  The young girl was a credible writer, a fairly good speller, and faithful to the tales.  However, she was not much on punctuation, so some has been added for clarity.  Entries otherwise presented as Dora recorded them.

© 2014 David W. Lacy 46

Good Times, Another Time

Lin posted a back-to-school picture of herself and her brother at a somewhat-earlier-than-the-present point in her lifetime.  One can always depend on The Duck and Wheel with String.  It is infallibly entertaining.

At the conclusion of her post, Lin challenged her readers to provide pictures of themselves in their back-to-school finery.  Well, I am the sort of person who will take a dare.  Sometimes.  Thus it was that I got out mother's old shoebox of snapshots and started rummaging through the years gone by.

I found this, among other things.

On the front steps of the church where Dad was the pastor, this little family get-together took place on a sunny day, circa 1943.  Reading from left to right, as is our custom, Mother, Kid on Roller Skates, Sister Vee, Father with cousin Esther, Cousin Wilma, Uncle Wayne, Cousin Ruby, and Cousin Wayne Junior.  Given the structure of the composition and the evidence of the one missing, I am guessing that the shutter was snapped by Aunt Stella.  Although Cousin Charley Bill is absent, too.  No telling where he is.

We lived in Canon City and Uncle Wayne and Aunt Stella lived with their tribe in Granada.  Though 175 miles separated us, there were occasions when we all got together, either in Granada or in Canon. A 350 mile round trip was a significant day trip in that time, even in Uncle's 1937 Oldsmobile.  Yet I am fairly certain their visits to our place were day trips.  Accommodations perhaps being a factor, but more likely Uncle's aversion to being away from his beloved section on the Santa Fe.

Good times, good families, good memories.

Pork Time on the Square

Workers are driving tent stakes, moving bleachers, blocking off a fair portion of our lovely downtown area.  It is Tipton County Pork Festival time again and preparations are in full swing.

Festivities scheduled from noon, Thursday, September 4 until the end of Saturday, September 6, on the Square in Tipton, Indiana.

Think of this as my annual public service announcement.  Check the Festival website by clicking here.  More importantly, come and spend your money!