Winds of My Yesteryears Blow Warm

Ever how securely the veins were cauterized by that hot axe head determined how long the chicken would continue to function, and every time the chicken bumped into some obstacle in the yard, we were highly entertained. This "show" normally lasted for only a few seconds until the stored brainpower ran out. Then it was held by the feet and dipped into a bucket of hot boiling water to cause the feathers to loosen up. Mama would take over and clean and cut up that chicken, or hen, or rooster, whichever was chosen, and we knew we would have the most wonderful feast at lunch.

Sometimes Mama would make Brunswick stew for immediate consumption or sometimes for canning for a later feast.

The flavor and moistness of a freshly decapitated chicken which was immediately cleaned, cut up, battered and fried in that big iron skillet can never be matched. Sometimes, Mama would cook the bony pieces, the neck, rib cage, feet, gizzard, third portion of the wing, etc. and make gravy, which we were allowed to have for breakfast, along with browned homemade biscuits.

It was fine. Some memories never fade.

Grandpa Takes a Looong Nap in His Straight Chair on the Front Porch

One Spring morning in 1935, all the family members were over in the bottom land doing the usual farm work. Mama was cooking what we called "dinner" but in our more sophisticated life, we learned that this was really lunch. I was enjoying some of my privileges of being the baby in the family and I got to stay home and "help" Mama. I would have to bring in huge armloads of stove wood which was cut specifically to fit in the cook stove.

Of course Grandpa Charlie, Daddy's dad, was there with us. His morning routine was to get up every morning and get dressed and sit in his straight wooden chair and read his Bible before breakfast. He didn't read out loud, but he would move his lips when he read. This fascinated me and I would sit on the floor and "watch" him read.

It was my job to go tell him whenever his meals were ready. After breakfast he would go sit in the straight chair on the front porch and watch whatever "traffic" would come by. On rare occasions, a car would drive by but mostly, it would be neighbors on foot, horseback, or in a wagon and this wouldn't happen every day. Grandpa would always speak to whoever it was, and he gave no consideration to whether he knew them or not.

On this morning, Daddy and all the other kids had gone over to the bottomland to work in the field. Mama had gotten their lunch ready and packed for them. Daddy would send one of the boys home on a mule or horse to get their lunch and take it back to the bottomland. They would eat at the wagon in the shade of some grand ole tree, and rest a few minutes beforeDad would call back to work time.

Mama had Grandpa's lunch ready for him to come in the kitchen to eat.

She told me to go tell him to come on and eat. I went to the front porch and said "Grandpa, Mama said come eat." He didn't respond so I went over and shook him gently and talked louder, "Grandpa, Mama said come eat." No response. I ran back in the kitchen and told Mama I couldn't wake up Grandpa. I could tell that alarmed her a little bit, because she walked a little faster than usual from the kitchen to the front porch, with me tagging closely behind. She went over and put her hand on his shoulder and looked down in his face and said "Oh, my Lord, he's dead as a door nail."

She didn't know what to do. I was too young to go way over to the bottom lands by myself, and she couldn't go to get Daddy and leave me there with Grandpa sitting straight up in a straight chair dead as a "door nail"

with his hat on and still holding on to his walking stick, and she couldn't take me with her and leave Grandpa there all alone (though passed on).