Stories from the Hart

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Contents

Preface..............................................................................................................ixGravel and Grits.....................................................................................................1Pigs and Parades.....................................................................................................5Religion Ruled: God Beckoned, and We Followed (Or, If the Church Doors Were Open, We Were There).....................11The Church in the Wildwood...........................................................................................16Visitin'.............................................................................................................20Gifts and Gaffes.....................................................................................................24Characters Cast from Many Molds......................................................................................29Two Brothers.........................................................................................................35Two Billies..........................................................................................................38Dink and Choctaw.....................................................................................................41Part of the Family but No Kin........................................................................................44Treks, Trips, and Times to Remember..................................................................................49Bound Only by Imaginations...........................................................................................59Winter Wonderland—Better than Disneyland.......................................................................64Irrigation: to Water the Fields and to Cleanse Our Souls.............................................................67Intruders in the Roses...............................................................................................72Cold Enough to Kill Hogs.............................................................................................75The Green Bomb and Celebrations......................................................................................78Lights, Camera, Action...............................................................................................85Memphis and Music....................................................................................................89Saturday Nights Live.................................................................................................93Double or Nothing....................................................................................................96On Another Note......................................................................................................102School Daze..........................................................................................................108Pink Bows, Permanents, and Porch Parties.............................................................................117Stage Planks, RC Colas, and the Rainbow's End........................................................................123The Final Farewell...................................................................................................127Afterword............................................................................................................131Acknowledgements.....................................................................................................133

Chapter One

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Sometimes we joked that we lived so far in the country, we had to have sunlight pumped in. The distance into the country from town, on the gravel road seven miles to my home at Hitt Spur, made the journey one that not everyone cared to take, so a person had to be going there with a particular purpose. Hitt Spur is located about halfway between Webb (then population five hundred) and Parchman, the state penitentiary. The gravel road sometimes had too much gravel, making the navigation difficult, and it sometimes had no gravel. At other times the water got over the road so deep that a car could not pass. Neighbors were a few miles down the road—way beyond a "stone's throw." The gravel road was always a challenge. It kept the flow of traffic to a minimum, and so we were both isolated and insulated in our own little world in the country. It also provided a cloud of dust whenever a car or tractor passed by, so we made friends with the dust and didn't worry about things being dust free. We had many skinned knees and elbows from the rocks when we learned to ride our bikes, but we always picked ourselves up and dusted ourselves off and got right back on the very thing that had demoted us to the ground. We were stubborn, with heads just as hard as the rocks on the gravel road.

Traveling on the gravel road was not done frequently, so Groceries were bought in town on Saturday or grown in the garden. Daisy, the cow, gave five gallons of milk a day, and churning it would give us buttermilk and fresh butter. (Milk was poured into the churn, and a wooden stick with a wooden cross attached was used to pump up and down until the butter rose to the top. The butter was then scooped up and molded with a butter paddle and squeezed until all the milk was out and then, voila, butter. I did not know that milk could come in a carton all pasteurized and homogenized, and I would not drink it after Daisy the cow disappeared. It took a long time to get used to the store-bought kind. Even butter did not taste the same when it came from the store. Actually, we bought margarine, and my taste buds had been primed for that real butter. The butter paddle not only shaped the butter, but it shaped behavior as well. Mother found it to be a valuable resource in readjusting our attitudes.

Chickens provided eggs and drumsticks, and pigs contributed bacon, sausage, and other pork delights. There were no Wal-Marts or big chain grocery stores. The local merchants kept tickets, and at the end of the month those in debt paid up. There were no Visa cards or debit cards then, either. Credit was on a person's word.

Good food was the standard, and no meal was complete without meat, four or five fresh vegetables, cornbread, tea for the adults, and milk from the cow for the children. Some homemade dessert followed all of this so that we would leave the table "with a little taste of sweet." All food was prepared from "scratch" with no assistance from prepackaged meals or the microwave, since there was none at that time.

Sitting around the kitchen table sharing food for three meals a day was expected, and whether it was with the equipment salesmen or others who just happened to be there when the dinner bell sounded, it was a normal occurrence. If a friend happened to be around when it was time for dinner (lunch) or supper, another place setting was added to the table, and food was always in ample supply. The table would almost groan with the fresh vegetables and homemade cornbread (no sugar allowed there, 'cause Yankees cooked that way). No matter what was going on in our lives, supper would wait until everyone could come to the table. Daddy, who ruled over the table, usually delivered the blessing, which may or may not have included a roll call of relatives and friends in need of God's governance and guidance, either imagined or real. Good...