| I grew up in the South.If you did too, you immediately understand what that means.Property, and it's acqusition (or inheritance) was king.Tribal Loyalties, Family with a capital F - not just your immediate family - Uncles, Aunts, Cousins (up to about 3rd), Godmothers, and anybody else that had been around when you were born were 'family'.You referred to them as 'my people', and could recite the family geneology back to at LEAST the Civil War.Just in case you forgot, the information was inscribed in the family Bible, handed down from generation to generation.'Your people' were front and center at frequent Reunions, where the few that had moved away were obligated to return for an appearance.The Bible was important for another reason - along with the strong thread of Southern Christian religion, Church was an all day social affair.Lots of food was involved, and much fellowship.In later years, I found that girls filled with the spirit after all that fellowship just could not WAIT to commit sins of the flesh, but that's another story entirely.The REA (Rural Electric Association) came through our family acreage in 1954 and brought electricity.No more coal oil lanterns.By then everybody except my great-grandmother had running water, so no more outhouses.There is no experience like an early morning visit to the outhouse on a frosty morning.We had lived with my great grandmother while my Dad (Verne) was building our house.Her house was a big (well, I was small), unpainted wooden one with a breezeway down the middle, and porches front and back for hot summer evenings.Her brother Kurt used to visit from South Texas and hold court on that porch, with his yellowish, snuff stained moustache, a Pearl Inlaid walking cane (also yellowed with age), and tales of being a Texas Ranger in the 1890's.Her house had a cast Iron wood burning cookstove on one side, and a Ben Franklin wood burner in the rooms on the other side.There was a well in back, with a complicated corrugated pipe looking thing to acquire water from.If you wanted a hot bath, there was lots of water to be heated.There was the slew in back of her house, called simply 'the bottom'.It had sink holes that would claim the odd cow, and a stream that ran through it that had bream and catfish entirely too large for the amount of water it held.There was petrified wood, and a few Indian artifacts.Up toward my grandparent's land were mostly cleared fields, used for farming when they were ambitious, and grazing cattle when they weren't.I patrolled these lands as a boy, and discovered many things - about the land, and about me.I still remember her Squirrel and dumplings and Tea Cakes - sugar cookies to those of you from elsewhere.She had a Rooster named Jojo, who was damn near as tall as me at that time.One day, he took exception to something I did, jumped up, and spurred me in the forehead.Well.I was (and still am) the last of the bloodline, so we had Jojo for dinner.Even at my tender age, I especially enjoyed the taste of revenge.Animals were just that - they were either useful, or a future meal.I watched many a Chicken, pig or cow die, and only thought of the amount of work to butcher them, or the future delights they would provide.Looking back, it's no wonder that I'm susceptible to food as comfort.Human death was serious business, but somehow fostered a carnival atmosphere.When I was growing up, you brought the body to the house for viewing, and everybody for 5 counties around turned up to cry, commiserate, and... oh yeah.Eat.Fried Chicken.BBQ Pork.Purple Hull peas.Snap beans.Corn.Potatoes - sweet or Irish, in more permutations than you could imagine.Cucumber salad.Cornbread.Every pie, cake, or cobbler known to mankind, and a few new inventions to wow the community.And there were plenty of opportunities for get togethers, because it seemed like a lot of people died.My dad died in 1955, the day after my sixth birthday.A tractor fell on him.I was there, but six year olds dont process human life and death clearly.I knew it wasn't a good thing, because Verne's face was purple, almost black undermeath the tractor, and everyone around me was just going berserk.I spent the next three days with Verne's boss, because my people were too distraught to keep up with me, so I missed the wake.I made the funeral though, and then we went home.There were ample opportuities for wakes later, as people I cared about, or barely knew, passed.Most of 'em by the time I was 12.Such events shaped my outlook on life and death at an early age.That world no longer exists, but I cherish the memory, and the knowledge that few people had the opportunity to experience the environment of my early years.East Texas in the 50's was a good twenty years behind the times, but I'm glad it waited for me. |
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