Vicki Lane's Blog, page 40

In Dreams

                                                                        

In dreams I travel To the peaceful place beyond--And all is joyful.

...

                                                                        

In dreams I travel To the peaceful place beyond--And all is joyful.

Josie and Mema's Art Gallery

Meema and I did some art. I did pictures of some of my Caslt People . . .




Meema did pictures of places. This is a creek we pass on the way to school.
And this is a big meadow by the river. Before the hurricane it was covered with goldenrod. Now it is a BIG MESS and looks like a desert.

 

Odds and Ends

 

Autumn Leaves in the Spotlight

                                                                                     

                 
                                                                                       

Early Voting!

And it felt great! 

Folks handing out info--though as a confirmed Yellow Dog Democrat, I didn't need convincing.





 

Hunters' Moon

 Lat night's Hunters' Moon called to mind a story I've posted here before. And here it is again:

                                            THE BARGAIN

I figured him for apreacher man, ‘long of that dark suit and the Bible tucked under his left arm.He come walking down our road, where from, I couldn’t say. Nothing up there butfields and woods and the old graveyard. I reckon he could of been visiting kinthat’s buried up there – folks do come from away and make the climb, just tobrush the gravestones clean or say a prayer for one that’s gone.  But it seemed right queer didn’t none of ussee him pass by on his way up the road nor even hear a dog bark. Course, we wasat church the most of the morning but Inez had stayed home, saying she feltpuny. And puny-feeling or not, Inez pays mind to what goes by on the road.

I’d been taking mySunday ease, setting on the bank aside the house, there where the dirt roadruns through our land. That new black and tan hound I’d just traded for, theone the girls had named Drum, was out there too, laying next to me. After lastnight’s hunt, I reckon the warm sun felt good to both of us. Ol’ Drum was stretchedout on his side, sleeping deep, but twitching his legs like he thought he was stilla-hunting. Down in his throat he made little yipping sounds and I wondered whatit was he was chasing through his dreams.

Leaning backagainst the old tree stump we use for busting stove wood, I sucked down bigbreaths of that dry fall air, so crisp and clean it put me in mind of bitinginto a good apple. Back in the house I could hear the rattle of knives andforks in the dishpan and Inez and Odessasinging close harmony on “Anchored in Love Divine” – them two get on right goodwhen they’re singing. They was a sight of them old carpenter bees buzzing roundthe house eaves and I could feel my eyelids getting heavier by the minute.

I knowed that Mama’dbe taking her rest – the only time in the week she’ll let them hands be stilland consent to set and rock without picking up her mending. Time was, we tookour Sunday rest together; time was . . . and my eyes begun to close and my mindto drift away to those far off Sunday afternoons. . .

“Howdy, there,”

The words wasspoke ‘most in my ear and I jerked awake. The stranger had slipped right up onme, catching me gape-mouthed and nodding, his fancy shoes stepping soft in thedust of the road. I blinked up at him, bumfuzzled with sleep and memory andSunday dinner.

He stood there inhis dark old-fashioned suit, kindly rocking back and forth on them fancy shoes,still shiny ‘neath the coat of dust from the road. The sun hit on his littleround glasses, dazzling my eyes. Hit kiindly put me in an ill temper, the wayhe’d come up on me unawares and the way he was looking down at me. Makes a manuneasy for a feller to have the advantage of him that way.

So I got to myfeet, taking my time and not yet giving him back a howdy of my own. It riled mesome to see Drum laying there, still a-sleeping and chasing dreams while thisstranger had crept up on us like that, making us both look the fool. So Ireached out my foot in its Sunday brogan and caught that dog a good un, righton his hindquarter.

Ol’ Drum yelpedand jumped up, whirling around to see what had got after him and his eyes litupon the stranger.  His back hair raisedup and he lifted his lip in the beginning of a snarl.

This aggravated meeven more. “Think you’re a watchdog, do you, you worthless pup?  Look at you, all stiff-legged and agitatin’when it’s too late. Lay down, you hear? Lay down!”

The strangerdidn’t appear overly worried about whether Drum might offer to bite buthunkered down right before him and held out his open hand for the dog to smellof.  Ol’ Drum sniffed at the long white fingersand his fur settled back smooth.  Then helay down with his head on his paws, not taking his eyes from the stranger.

“Hunter’s thename,” said the stranger, straightening up and putting out his hand.to me. “NimHunter -- Hunter by nature and hunter by name – my folks put the name of Nimrodon me and don’t the Book tell us that Nimrod was a mighty hunter before theLord?”

I took the outstretchedhand – soft and white like it hadn’t never done no hard work and with fingernailslonger than I’d ever seen on a man. “P. V. Henderson,” I said. “Pleased to meetyou.”

I looked up theroad, the way he’d come from, waiting for him to make mention of what hisbusiness was out our way, but he just rocked back on his heels again and lookeddown at Drum.

“This the hound Iheard baying up one holler and down another last night?”

He didn’t wait forme to answer, but went on. “He’s got a pretty voice on him. The sound woke meand I just lay there thinking as how I’d like to have me a dog like that again.Yessir, I used to be a fool for hunting dogs. Sweetest music there is, a goodhound with that deep bay like a church bell. I tell you what, friend, afterhearing this dog of yourn, I believe I’d like to buy him off of you.”

Well, it puzzledme some to know what to say. On the one hand, it didn’t set right somehow, thisfeller just walking down the road and wanting to buy my dog.  On the other, a man’d be a fool to turn down agood offer. I cleared my throat and spat, using the time to consider. I wasabout to ask where it was he’d stayed last night that he had heard  the sound of the dogs but it went right outof my head when he pulled a gold piece from his pocket and held it up to catchthe sunlight,

“Twenty dollargold piece,” says he. “But I’ll trade it for that dog there -- same one youjust kicked and called a worthless pup.”

Well, buddy, I’llnot deny I was tempted. Sore tempted.  I’d turned in what few gold coins I had backin ’33 when the government said we must but I fairly ached to hold that doubleeagle, to feel the soft warm weight of it in my pocket, to rub it betwixt myfingers and thumb. Ever since I was a man, I’d carried a gold piece in mypocket for luck but I’d turned my double eagle in with the rest, wanting tostay on the right side of the law.  Afterthat, I couldn’t stop myself reaching for it, over and over. Finally I took tocarrying a buckeye in that pocket but it weren’t the same.

Still and all,something in that stranger’s looks and way of speaking put my back up. It ain’tright, just to try and buy a man’s dog offen him without even asking was thatdog for sale.

The strangerflicked the gold piece with his thumb and sent it spinning into the sunlit air,curving in a slow, glittering path towards me. The light caught the coin,making it look like a whole waterfall of little suns coming right at me andbefore I knew what I was about, I held out my open hand.

The coin settledthere like a bird in its nest, warm and heavy and bright as if it had beennew-minted. I felt my fingers wanting to close on it and carry it to my pocket.A yearning was growing in me and it was all I could do to keep my hand steadyand my fingers straight.

 The stranger watched me, reading the hunger inmy eyes. “Feels right fine, don’t it?  Wegot us a bargain? You can find you another dog easy enough. I reckon I couldbuy several with that double eagle, was I to keep on down the road. But I’vetaken a notion to have this one for I like the sound of his voice. And I needto get on home.”

The strangerleaned over and took hold of Drum’s collar. I’d made it only the evening before– fresh-tanned leather with a stout brass buckle and my name, P.V. Henderson,burnt into the leather with the edge of the poker. Seeing that stranger grabhold of the collar and cover up my name with them long, pale fingers purelyaggravated me and I spoke right up.

“Now, just youhold on a minute,” I said, feeling the gold piece burning my open hand.  “I ain’t agreed to nothing and there ain’t nobargain.” I stretched out my hand to him. “Go on, now, take back that doubleeagle. You ever stop to think maybe this dog ain’t for sale?”

The stranger cuthis eyes at me and then over to the house where Odessa had come out to set on theporch with her little guitar. She looked just like a rose in her pretty pinkSunday dress. A slow smile spread acrost the stranger’s face. “Everything’s forsale, friend,” he said quiet-like. “We just ain’t reached the bargain yet.”

The way he lookedat my little girl like to froze the blood in my body. I didn’t say nothing justturned my hand over and let the bright coin slide off my hand to fall in thedust of the road.

The stranger didn’treach for it, just stood there watching Odessa pick that guitar. And when shebegun to sing “I’ll Fly Away,” in that sweet high voice of hers, the smile onhis face broadened till I could see clear to his back teeth.

I took a piece oftwine from out my overhauls pocket and put it through ol’ Drum’s collar. It wasin my mind to get him out of the stranger’s sight and I didn’t trust that fooldog to follow me.

“I got things todo,” says I. “You best pick up your double eagle and get on home, like you saidyou needed to.”

“Evenin’, P.V.,”says he, nodding his head.  “Be sure togive my regards to your pretty daughter.”

Oncet again, hiswords sent a chill over me. Yonder on the porch, Odessa had set her guitar downand was looking hard at the stranger and smiling. I didn’t give him a good evening nor nare word more, justhollered to Odessa to go inside and see didn’t her mama need her. Then I hauled‘ol Drum round the house and put him on the chain at his dog box.

By the time I comeback to the roadside, the stranger had gone and his gold piece with him. Goodriddance, I thought and aimed a long stream of baccer juice at the spot wherethe stranger had stood.

***

“Who was thatpretty feller you was talking to?” Odessa set the cornbread and buttermilk onthe supper table in front of me. “I told Inez he looked like a preacher.”

Mama mashed up hercornbread in a bowl and covered it with buttermilk. “Hit would be nice,” she said,“to have someone new to bring the Word. Brother Quarles is bad to give the samemessage, over and over.”

Inez was scowling,likely jealous that she hadn’t seenthe stranger, and then she come out with something hateful about folks withtime to set on the porch whilst other is slaving in the kitchen.

Odessa, who alwayswas as sweet-natured as they come, tapped Inez on her wrist and said in thatwheedling way she has, “Now, Sissy, tell the truth and shame the devil. Afterwe done up the dishes, you know you went and lay down – you said you had a sickheadache.”

Then Odessa turnedher eyes on me – eyes like her mama’s, blue as chicory flowers -- and commencedto quiz me – was the man a preacher, where was he from and where did he liveand was he coming back? And what was the nameof that pretty man?

All three womenwas watching close as I filled my bowl with applesauce. They just kept staring,like cats watching a mouse hole and at last I laid my spoon down.

“He didn’t act like no preacher,” I told them. “Andall I know is he come down the road from the graveyard. I ain’t got no ideawhere he lives but I hope Mr. Nimrod Hunter ain’t coming back.”

***

It was deep in thenight when I was wakened by the sound of a dog on the chase. I lay there underthe quilts, thinking as how the baying sounded a lot like ol’ Drum. And thelonger I lay there, the more I begun to believe that it was Drum and that either he had slipped his collar or that thestranger man had come back and stole my dog.

I got up quietlike – the moon was near full and its light just spilling in the window.  The springs creaked as Mama turned over but shejust didn’t say nothing and directly she was snoring again.

Outside themoonlight lit up the yard, turning the logs of the pigpen and the roof ofDrum’s dog box a sheeny silver, like a new dime. The silver lay on the links ofDrum’s chain too and it was pulled out to its full length to under a big oldbalsam where Bone, my last dog, had dug him a kind of nest. In the dark Icouldn’t see for sure but I thought I made out the shape of a dog curled upback in there. It was right airish out and I only had on a pair of drawers so Iturned to head back to my warm bed.

As I set foot onthe back steps, the baying up on the mountain commenced again, sounding so muchlike Drum that I knew I’d not sleep a lick till I made certain sure that Drumwas on his chain. So, cussing myself for all kinds of a fool, I went back,picked up the dog chain, and give a tug.

And it rattledover the hard-packed dirt to me, snapping back like a whip. At the end, theshackle I used to hold to the dog collar was just a-dangling free. Thereweren’t no collar nor no dog neither.

All the longnight, I lay awake, harking to the full throated sound of a hound on the mountain,chasing the trail of some critter through the moony night.

***

Come morning and Ihad a closer look at the chain. I couldn’t say for sure if maybe I hadn’tclosed the shackle tight or if someone, that someone being Mr. Nim Hunter, hadloosed it. Inez was busy at her sewing machine and Mama and Odessa was milking.Oncet I had fed the stock, I couldn’t rest till I had gone up the road to see couldI find my dog.  Howsomever he had come tobe loose, after a night running the mountain, it could be he was curled upasleep somewhere yonder.

I studied the roadas I went but there had come a little shower just before first light and thereweren’t no tracks to speak of. At the least there should have been the footprintsof the stranger coming down and finally, at a spot where a big elm leaned overthe road, I did make out his trace.

But only goingdown – and then near the edge of the road I thought I might have seen pawprints. I whistled and called, like I’d been doing all along, but it weren’t nogood.

The road ended atopa hogback ridge at the old graveyard. There was still a wire fence around itbut in several places, the postes had rotted and the fence was laying on theground. Ever since the Worleys donated that piece of land down near the church,the old graveyard ain’t used. On Decoration Day there’s those of us makes theclimb with swing blades and scythes to keep the woods from taking back theridge top and sometimes the preacher comes and we have a word of prayer but forall that, it’s an awful sad and lonesome place. My mama’s mama, who died beforeI was born, lays up here but my other kin are down in the churchyard.

I called again forDrum and listened hard, thinking maybe to hear him stirring about in the fallenleaves but there was no sound save the sigh of the wind through the pines andthe hammering of one of them great old woodpeckers. So I begun to walk theline, following the fence, and thinking that, long as I’s up here, I might aswell see could I prop up the fallen places.

At the far side ofthe graveyard, where the oldest headstones are, I called again. A squirrelbarked from a tree and in the distance I heard the clank of a cowbell. But noDrum. I begun to wonder if the worthless pup might have spent the nightcarousing through the woods and then taken off for his old home over t’otherside of the Walnut Mountain.

I pulled the lastsection of hog wire out of the long brown grass that had grown through it andstraightened the fallen post, putting it back in its hole with a few rocks to fixit there.  Needing one more rock tofinish the job, I begun to search around.

Afore long, Ispotted a nice chunk of orange-colored rock next to a mossy old headstone settingoff to itself.  As I made my way towardit, I saw something winking at me from the top of the headstone – a piece ofmica or pretty rock, I thought – some folks leave tokens like that when theyvisit their kin.

But as I gotcloser I saw that it weren’t no shiny rock but a twenty dollar gold piecetwinkling in that green moss. And there was Drum’s collar, curled up at thefootstone of that old grave.

***

There’s folks would say it’s wrongto take from a grave. And that had been my first thought, that maybe thestranger had left the coin as a token for whoever it was that lay there. But asI looked from the coin to the empty dog collar and back again, it seemed to methat if Nim Hunter had took my dog, I might as well have his money. The doubleeagle was in my hand and in my pocket before I could pause for another thought.I took back the collar too.

            Icame home and told them either Drum had run off or that stranger had stole himand told them all to keep an eye out for either of them. Inez and Mama noddedbut Odessa said she just knowed that a man as pretty as that stranger couldn’tbe no dog thief. That girl is a fool for a good-looking man.

That evening Iwalked over to Cantrellses place and asked them to let me know did they see mydog and when I fell asleep that night, I was satisfied that I’d done all Icould. It still rankled though and it was some time before I could fall asleep.When I did,  my dreams was uneasy andfull of hounds baying and gold pieces spinning and sun glinting off  little round spectacles. I was way deep downwhen Mama jabbed me with her elbow and whispered, “Listen there, P. V. – don’tthat sound awful like ol’ Drum?”

***

I set out in the moonlight,following the sound of the baying and hoping to find Drum afore he denned upsomewhere. It always seemed that he was just ahead of me and I kept climbing.At first light the baying stopped. I was red-eyed and weary but once again Iwas at the graveyard and like the day before, I walked all around, calling forDrum.

            Whenhe didn’t come, I gave it up. But I wanted to know whose grave it was NimHunter had left a twenty dollar gold piece on and I made my way to the mossyheadstone that loomed over the sunken-in plot where I’d found Drum’s collar.

           Squatting down, I triedto make out the words but the moss was too thick so I pulled out my Barlowknife and begun to scrape away the thick green covering. I commenced at thebottom and there was the outline of some animal -- might have been a running deer, might have been a dog.

 The dates showed next -- so worn that they washard to see. I ran my fingers over them till I could feel their shape – 1837 –1872.

            “Longgone, whoever you are,” I said aloud as I worked to uncover the place where thename should be. “I reckon I have more use for a double eagle then you do thesedays.”

            Asthe last sheet of moss fell away, I saw that the name was carved deep and big andthere weren’t no mistaking how it read: NIMROD HUNTER.

            Ijumped right up, catching my foot where the ground sunk in and throwing out myleft hand to get ahold of the gravestone to steady myself.

            Andthere beneath my palm, I could feel the smooth warmth of a second gold coin.

            Now,a man is bad to tell himself what he wants to hear and in that moment I toldmyself that this was likely the grave of Nim Hunter’s great great CHECKgranddaddy and that this second coin had been there yesterday and I just hadn’tseen it for the moss. I almost believed myself too.

            Bethat as it may, that second coin found its way to my other pocket and I leftthe graveyard feeling the two coins tapping ‘gainst my legs as I went and surethat, in the bargaining for ol’ Drum, I’d got the best of Nim Hunter.

***

Somehow I weren’t hungry whensuppertime came, but I sat there with Mama and my girls, supping at a glass ofbuttermilk and listening to Odessa tell about who all she’d seen at the generalstore and what the news was in the county.

It seemed thecotton mill was closing and John Avery was talking of pulling up stakes andheading off to Texas. Me and Mamma shook our heads at this, knowing that Johnwas just trying to get away from that young schoolteacher he’s been sparking.Odessa went on to say that Violet had invited her to come for a visit and Inezpoked her lower lip out and slammed out to the kitchen to start washing dishes.We didn’t none of us pay no mind – that’s just Inez’s way.

“…and, old MizGriffiths come in to buy lamp oil and we was talking of this and that and I mentionedabout that stranger man and asked did she know any Hunters in these parts. Shethought a minute and then said there’d been a family of that name lived up ourroad many a year ago. She said that her granny had used to talk of them, sayingthey’d been strange folk who kept to themselves and when the only son, who hadbroke his mama’s heart with his rambling ways, had died, they’d all moved away.”

Out in thekitchen, Inez was banging pots and pans about till it sounded like a war butOdessa poured herself another glass of milk and went on telling how MizGriffths’s granny had gone to the Hunter boy’s funeral and had always talkedabout what a handsome corpse young Nimrod had made.

“And she said thatthe family thought so much of him that they had laid him to rest with goldcoins on his eyes. Did you ever hear of such?” .

All at once themtwo gold coins in my pockets felt as cold as the grave and I made up my mind totake them up the road the very next day and put them back where I found them. Istill couldn’t make out the whys and wherefores of the matter but I was sure ofone thing and that was that those Double Eagles weren’t like to bring menothing but bad luck.

***

I slept awful badthat night, between the moon shining in on my face and the gold coins weighingon my mind. In my dreams I still heard ol Drum and mixed in with the baying ofthe hound, I seemed to hear Odessa picking her little guitar and singing a highsweet lonesome song.

 It wasn’t till sunup when I wakened, wore outwith riding the night mare through my sleep. The good smells of coffee andbacon and brewing coffee were filling the house and I could hear the womenfolkmoving about in the kitchen.

I pulled on myshirt and overhauls and, feeling some shamefaced for having overslept myself,slipped into the kitchen and set down to the table.

Inez put my mug ofcoffee before me, slopping some onto the table the way she always does. He facewas sourer than usual.

“Looks like it’sall on me and Mama today . . . here youare sleeping late and Miss Odessa went and lit out for who-knows where before Iwas even awake. She put on her good dress too, the pink one I ironed yesterday,and she took her guitar. I reckonshe’s taken a mind to go visit Violet. Somepeople-”

I don’t wait tohear no more but head out the door and up the road, those gold pieces weighingheavier and heavier in my pockets. I climb so fast I can’t hardly get mybreath. And all I can think is I got to give them double eagles back to NimHunter.

***

From the gate ofthe grave yard I can see Odessa’s guitar leaning against Nim Hunter’sgravestone, just a-shining in the morning sun. And her pink dress is spreadlike a coverlet over his sunken grave.

I pull the twogold coins from my pockets and slam them down atop the new-scraped headstone. “Nim Hunter!” I holler. “There ain’t nobargain! Give me back my girl, Hunter! Give me back my girl!”

The words comeback at me from the mountains all around… mygirl . . . my girl.”

 Snatching up the pink dress, I fling it to oneside, catching the smell of lye soap and of the flowery perfume Odessa wears ofa Sunday.

 Then I fall to my knees, and begin to dig.

 

THE END

Golden Sunrise

 

Unexpected Bounty!

One of the large collection centers in Madison County received a truckload of tomatoes and apples and has been urging folks to come get them. I was tempted but figured there would be others who needed them.
But yesterday my friend Kathy came to lunch and brought me, yep, tomatoes and apples. A friend of hers had received some and he shared with her, and she brought me some beautiful apples and ten boxes (quart size?) of perfect little Campari tomatoes. They are roughly the size of a ping pong ball and these were at their peak of ripeness. 
I put aside enough for a few salads and decided to roast the rest. I will put the roasted tomatoes in freezer containers for future use in all kinds of dishes. Roasted tomatoes add a wonderful depth of flavor and are great in pastas and pizzas and lots of other dishes.
It's a quick and easy way to deal with small tomatoes. Cut them in half, arrange on a baking sheet covered with olive oil. Make sure both sides of the cut tomato are oiled then arrange cut side up and sprinkle with salt and seasoning of choice. In the past I've used Cajun seasoning but, not having any on hand, used garlic granules, Jane's Krazy salt, and some hot paprika.
Roast at 300 for about 3 hours or till they are as done as you want. The aroma in the house is wonderful!

 

Feeling the Stress

                                                                                                                                                                      

 It's a tough time right now. 

The impending election is always on my mind--a choice between a man and a party of lies and denial, hatred, xenophobia, fearmongering, and threatened violence, and a woman and party that, though admittedly imperfect, have a commonsense, humanitarian approach to many of the problems that beset us. 

Yet many of my fellow citizens will choose the former, even against their own best interest.

Living in the aftermath of disaster has brought out the best in many--and now we are beginning to see the worst in some-- a distrust of FEMA exacerbated by widespread disinformation. Again, against their own best interest.

May we come through this trying time.