Grandparents

Time has past by so quickly. It seemed like just yesterday I was young and sitting in my Grandpa’s lap. Quietly listening to the stories he had to tell about his youth and how they lived. Never interrupting him least he realize it was late and send me off to bed. The old black and white TV in the corner sat quiet. It only came on at 10:00 p.m. so we could hear the news. There wasn’t a TV station nearby as the closest one was up in Ft. Smith, Arkansas. Most times you couldn’t see the picture but we would listen. The water-cooler in the living room window would vibrate with its attempt to cool off the Oklahoma heat that would find its way into my Grandparent’s house. Those sounds would be running through my head as I would slowly nod off to sleep.

I would awaken to find myself lying between my Grandparents in their big feather bed. There was no safer place to be and no other place I would have rather been. I would roll over and hug my Grandpa who would make it a big deal and tickle me. Grandma would laugh and get on to us for waking her up. It was early and their day was just beginning. Grandma headed to the barn to gather eggs and then to the kitchen to start on breakfast. Grandpa would get up and head to the bathroom to shave. I would watch him as he would lather up his shaving cup and brush the lather over his face. He would spread a little on my face so I could act like I was grown up too. I would watch in awe as he stropped his straight edge razor over the leather strap before he would shave. We would then gather in the kitchen where Grandma had put together a huge breakfast in what seemed like minutes. Homemade biscuits, white lighting gravy, fried eggs, fried salt pork and sliced tomatoes straight from the garden. Most all that she made they either grew, raised or hunted themselves. I would go with her many mornings to gather eggs from the hen house. Grandma would pray and we would settle down to it. Life was good and the times were special. After breakfast the leftovers were cast to the dogs that would seem to know that when the kitchen door opened something was coming their way.

Grandpa hunted and he always had dogs. All breeds you could imagine from black and tans to mutts to his favorite, ole Drummer. Drummer was a Tennessee Walker and was the best tree dog in the valley. You could hear Drummer bay from a long ways off. You always knew that when he treed there was something there. I remember following Grandpa through the woods chasing down Drummer on one of the many times he treed. You could tell it was Drummer as he had a long soulful bay. Drummer would always look at us, when we would show up all out of breath, like he was saying "what took ya’ll so long". Thing about a Tennessee Walker is they don’t hunt close by, they like to run awhile before they find something to tree. We would spend the next few minutes looking up in the trees to see what Drummer was baying about. He would bay and move around the tree like he was saying "there he is don’t ya’ll see him". Sooner or later Grandpa would catch a glimpse of something and raise up his shotgun and let it sing out. Down the tree would come the object of all this attention. “Get a couple more and we will have fried squirrel for supper.” Grandpa would say. Usually by the time we got back home we had enough for supper.

Winter would set in the valley with frosty mornings. I would run from my pallet on the floor and jump in bed with Grandma and Grandpa. Laughing I would put my cold feet against them and make them jump. Under the covers we were so warm. Grandma made most of her quilts and she would make sure each of us had plenty of them to stay warm. She had them piled so thick on your bed you could just barely turn over. Usually you tried to stay in bed until you heard Grandpa or Grandma stoking up the fire in the stove. Once you thought it was good and warm you would run over to the stove and stand near it to get warm. Many times I would stand there until my pants legs got so hot I would have to turn, yelping as they rubbed up against my legs. The days were all the same, up early and morning chores and then came that great breakfast. Off to work in the garden or fix something that needed mending. You never seemed to run out of things that needed doing.

Everyday a new adventure would arise and being a young boy I got into my share of adventures. One time old Drummer called out from a tree not far from the house. Grandma and I were the only ones home so she stopped what she was doing fetched up her shotgun and off we headed. I was only three or so and I struggled along behind her trying to keep up. Tree branches swinging back and hitting me in the face every now and then. I hurried as I didn’t want Grandma to get mad because I was slowing her down. Finally we got to where the dogs had treed. “Sit on that rock Tony” Grandma said. So I sat down on the rock she was pointing to. Then the fun began. The critter those dogs had treed was a fox. I guess it looked around and seen my Grandma with her shotgun and them dogs barking and carrying on. He must have figured I was the easiest one to get through. Grandma shot and the fox was moving about that time so it jumped out of the tree headed right toward me. I didn’t realize that at three you can move that fast. Believe me when I tell you I moved faster than that fox could jump. He hit the ground amongst them dogs and that was the last thing he remembered. They latched onto him and I heard howls of anger and howls of pain, as that fox didn’t give up easy, he fought to the end. Soon it was over and Grandma patted the dogs on their heads telling each what a good dog they where. Most of them were bleeding from the injuries suffered by the fox fighting for his life. They licked each other and seemed to be telling each other how good and tough they were. I looked over at Drummer who had stayed out of the free for all with the fox. His eyes sparkled as if he was laughing at his injured companions.

The valley wasn’t all work. On Saturday night we would load up in Grandpa’s pick-up truck and head over to a neighbors house. The neighbors usually lived no more than 4 or 5 miles away. It was exciting as it was a chance to see other kids who lived in the Little River Valley. We would get there and Grandpa and Grandma would go inside the house. As there were usually several families at these get togethers the kids stayed outside. The grown-ups played dominoes and a few played instruments and sang. Grandpa played the banjo and Grandma like to sing. The both loved to play dominoes but, the men folk usually crowded around the domino table waiting for the next game. The women sat around and caught up on the gossip about various things and people. We kids would stand around outside until everyone sort of got to know each other again. Off we would go running around the yard hollering and carrying on like someone was dying. Soon we’d get tired and thirsty and homemade cookies or better yet homemade ice cream and lemonade was brought out for all. We would find the coolness of the night and sit telling the stories that kids do. Some made up and some with a ring of truth to them. As the night grew long ghost stories would make there rounds. Soon we would tire and go find our parents or Grandparents and gather around them as if to let them know we were ready to go home. Soon people would start to leave, some toting sleepy kids off to the car,

The next day being Sunday we all would head to church. Not only church but Sunday School as well. Sunday’s were special especially if the church was having an all day preaching meeting. That meant that there would be vittles of all kinds to eat after church. We would sit through Sunday Preaching with some of the other regulars waiting for the “Fellowship to follow” to begin. The Preacher seemed to know that everyone was there for all day. He would preach and we would sing along with the piano player, when she was on the same song as us, or even on the same verse. She always looked like she was a hundred years old. We kids would snicker and make funny faces to each other like we really knew anything about piano playing. Soon the preacher would wind down and we would sing the Invitation song. Usually it would be sung through about three times before the Preacher decided that it was time. He would say the closing prayer and with the final Amen the kids would hit the door running. Time to eat and eat we did. Always fried chicken, Grandma’s was always the best, potato salad, sliced tomatoes, cucumbers and every sort of garden vegetable you could imagine. We would all sit with our families and after we had eaten until we couldn’t eat anything else we kids would go down to the playground. It had a couple of swings and a merry-go-round. We would play for a while and then find a cool shady spot to lie around and visit. The grown-ups would play softball and if you were deemed big enough you could join in. No one seemed to ever have any ball gloves so it was always funny watching the ball being thrown around and most of the time dropped. The grown-ups laughed and carried on like us kids had done on Saturday night. Later after the day had wound down the home made ice cream would start being passed around. The Preacher would decide to use this time to preach a little while. The evening service was always short as we were all tired. After a couple of songs we would gather the empty dishes and clean up before the drive home. I really enjoyed it when I was finally big enough to sit on the tailgate in the back of the truck and dangle my feet on the ride home.

A couple of times a week we would head off to the swimming hole. It was a small rock bottom creek that fed into the river. It had a swing rope and was just deep enough to go in over your head. I don’t know if we went to swim or if Grandma decided it was time for us to take a bath. Since we were on well water back at the house I believe now it was the later. The water was always cold at first and if you didn’t swing in on the rope and just go under you would dance around in the shallows waiting to get use to the water. As this was the swimming hole for most of the valley before long someone you knew would show up. We kids would swim around and small fish would nibble on our toes and legs causing us all to act like some big creature had a hold of us. I don’t know how clean we were after but we had to be better off than before we started.

Some days when things were caught up Grandpa would decide to go fishing. Now my Grandpa took a couple of things seriously, dominoes and fishing. If you went along with him you had better keep quiet, and make sure you didn’t get your fishing line hung up. He came to fish and fish he did. I remember one time we were in the small flat bottom boat out in the middle of the Little River the Valley was named for. The fish were biting real slowly so I threw my line over near the bank and something big snatched it up. I was able to bring in a nice size bass. It was the biggest fish of the day and I was really proud. I guess Grandpa figured he had enough fishing for the day and we headed home. I thought at first he was mad because I caught the biggest fish. When we got home we put up the boat and fishing poles and got the fish out to clean. When we got ready to clean the one I caught I watched as my Grandpa held it up. He hollered for my Grandma to come out, and when she did he told the story about how this fish had pulled our small boat all over the river. He went on about the size of my fish and what a great job I had done. As I look back, there is not much people have told me that have meant more to me than my Grandpa bragging about me and that fish. I will always remember how I felt that day.

I didn’t always make my Grandparents proud. I had made some friends one summer that had motorcycles. They weren’t really motorcycles but what we called minibikes back in those days. They came by and pick me up and off we were gone for most of the day. I got back home later in the afternoon and my Grandparents were sitting in the front yard under the largest oak tree in Oklahoma; at least it was to me. They were shucking corn and they looked up with unhappy faces when I walked over. I realized that I was suppose to have helped them with the corn and instead had run off with my friends. I could see their disappointment and I pulled up a chair and started to help. It was awful quiet for a long time you could even here the river flowing off in the distance. Soon we were finished and I helped Grandma take in the roasting ears, some for supper and some to be cut off the cob and canned, the rest she would freeze for later. She looked at me and said how they missed me today and it would have been nice if I had been there. I felt bad and said I was sorry, I probably didn’t really mean it. This happened more than it should have but one of my motorcycle friends was a girl. I was beginning to realize that there was something special about girls. Believe me when I tell you I was never considered an expert on them. In fact I still have a time figuring out how I am suppose to act around them. But she had caught my eye and I really enjoyed riding that minibike with her. I guess my Grandparents figured out why I was going off so often because they didn’t seem quite so upset when I would ride off. In fact Grandpa would give me a nudge and smile when I got back home.

As I got older and moved off on my own I would continue to visit my Grandparents whenever I could. Soon summers turned to vacations or weekends or just passing through. I would stop and help them with their garden or mow the yard or take them fishing. They aged more each time I would see them. One day while I was at work in Houston I got a call. Grandpa had fell ill and I needed to hurry. As I drove the several hours from Houston to the hospital, I thought of all the things my grandpa had taught me and what he meant to me. I didn’t want him to suffer but I also selfishly wanted him to stay around. When I got into the small town where my Grandpa lay dying I went straight to his hospital room. Grandma was there and looked so lost, as they had spent almost sixty years together, and now she was losing him. A stroke had taken my Grandpa from a man larger than life to this frail shadow of the person I saw lying there in that bed. I went over to his bedside hoping that I could give him some of my youth and strength. I told him I loved him, I don’t remember ever telling him that before. I just figured he already knew. I held his hand and cried, maybe for his suffering but more than likely because I was losing him. I walked out of the room to be with family that had gathered around. I would never see my Grandpa alive after that day. He passed on to Heaven when I was nineteen years old.

I proudly carried his coffin along with my cousins also selected for that special honor. I thought as I helped carry him how light he seemed. We laid him to rest in a small cemetery there in the Little River Valley. The sun was hot and the dirt road was lined with cars as far as you could see. I would go back there from time to time to visit him when I passed through the Valley. I know he had gone on to be with the Lord, but I still stopped and talked to him there. I shared events and told him of my family and the places I’ve seen. I would just sit there for a while and remember.

My Grandma lived many years more. I was able to introduce her to my wife and family. They grew to love her not just because I did but because of who she was and what she meant to them. We would visit with her in the house she and my Grandpa had shared for so many years. I worked her garden and mowed her yard as I had done when I was so much younger. She joined my Grandpa in Heaven a few years ago. I was able to tell her many times I loved her. I miss them both but I know that they are together, holding hands and walking with the Lord. I think back to my times shared with them, and realize that I am who I am because of them. My journeys still allow for the occassional trip to the Little River Valley where I stop…and visit with my Grandparents……. and listen to the river…………