Smokey Mountain Breakdown

Too cute to not submit to The Ark!

Guys...if you have critter photos...cute or otherwise....do consider putting them up on The Ark.

As it happened, the morning was glossy with dew and the sun had not quite risen. John Rabbit marched Childe Rabbit into the gourd patch and said,

“Look here, Childe Rabbit, I wants you to stay right here and don’t move. There’s plenty to eat and I’ll come back for you round sunset, hear? I gots me some bidness to attend to.”

Childe Rabbit nodded gravely and watched his father scramble up the bank into the wood.

Then he set about the busy business of eating. Childe Rabbit ate clover and gourd leaves and nibbled on the gourds until his little tummy was quite full. Then he settled down for a long sleep.

When he awoke, the sun was high but where he rested in the gourd leaves was cool and damp. But there was a terrible noise.

Stomp, Stomp, Riiiiip! Stomp, Stomp, Riiiip!

And Childe Rabbit was sorely afeared. But he didn’t move…he was still, like his daddy taught him. But soon there were more noises!

Bark, Bark, Woof! Bark, Bark, Woof!

And Childe Rabbit was even more sorely afeared!

So he finally could stand it no longer and took off a-running!

But before his tiny legs could carry him up the bank into the woods, a great hairless thing came down and carried him far into the air!

“Well, what do we have here! I do believe it is Childe Rabbit!” said a big booming voice that belonged to the farmer woman.

At this point, the Bark, Bark, Woof, Woof noises got even louder!

And Childe Rabbit was so afeared that he squeaked most pitifully. And he wet on the farmer woman’s hands.

The farmer woman took the Barkers and Woofers and put them in the house and Childe Rabbit was less afraid.

Then she put him back in the gourd patch where he had been before and called into the woods…

Oh! John Rabbit!
Come git your baby, dangnabit!
Oh! John Rabbit!
Leave your philandering ways!



So...that was today's big adventure. Saving a baby bunny from the rabbit's bane hounds...also known as Cocker Spaniels. While I don't really want to raise it...I'll keep an eye out and hopefully its mother will come collect it tonight. If not...looks like I'll have a baby bunny to raise.

There was a bit of a breeze that day, but not much. The sunlight filtered through the giant giant chestnut trees, their broad leaves creating patterns in the shade of the morning. It was the sort of day that if you lay on your back in the forest and looked up, you could see the dust motes swirling like angels in the light. But there would be a storm coming soon. You could feel that on the air too, and smell the coming lightning.

Sadie was digging new potatoes when she heard the hoof beats and the muffled sound of male voices coming up the holler. She stood and cocked her head like a doe seeing a flash of white in the wood. She ran to the garden gate, brushing the soil from her hands on her skirts and grabbed her rifle from where it rested there by the fence.

The riders had come again to Raven’s Branch. She was certain of it.

“June Bug!” She called out to her sister who was sweeping the dirt of the yard. “Git your gun!”

In the darkening days following the Civil War, ragtag bands of marauders had cut a swath through the mountain hollers robbing and killing. They came in broad daylight and sometimes in darkness. They came for the children, murdering them before their mothers. Though the war had ended, they hadn’t had their fill of blood quite yet.

Her own man had yet to return from the war and she often times wondered if he would ever come back. It weren’t no matter to her. She’d kept the farm going through the long years, scraping together enough food and game to feed the family. She’d likely continue to do the same, even if he came home.

Sadie’s five-year old nephew was playing on the porch of the cabin. His feet were grimy with coal dust. He looked up at his mother in alarm as she emerged with a shotgun from the cabin.

“Ransom! Git over here now.” Sadie said, with an edge of desperation in her voice.

The child scurried to obey. She hissed to him, “You don’t make a sound or I’ll whup you…You hear? Do you?”

The little boy trembled and nodded, his lip quivering.

Sadie gathered the child up and stuffed him under her skirts and stood rock solid at the steps to the cabin, stony-faced as the ragged band rode up. June Bug took her place at her side. She pushed a strand of hair from her face and glared fiercely.

The two women watched as the men skittered their horses to a halt in the dirt, causing dust to fog the air.

The leader of the band sat his gaunt horse easily. His clothing was ragged and you could barely discern the blue gray of his tattered uniform.

“Woman. Where be your menfolk!”

“Ain’t no menfolk here.” She said. “You’uns can just move along. I ain’t got no bidness with you’uns.”

He looked at her with cold dead eyes. She tightened her grasp on the rifle and pointed it menacingly at him. Her sister followed suit.

Her eyes were cold and narrow. She stood solidly but did not try to move. Ransom had his pudgy arms wrapped tightly around her legs and his small body was plastered against her. She could feel the contours of his face, crumpling against her thigh as he stifled a whimper.

“Well, ma’am, it don’t seem right, us coming all the way up here to see you and not leavin’ with nothin’.”

He spat into the dry dust.

June Bug’s hands were shaking as she held her shotgun.

“Easy there, Junie, “ Sadie said. “You know that there thing has a hair trigger.”

Sadie, herself, spat into the dust and managed a grin like a feral she-wolf.

“Lookit!” She said. “There be a ham in the smokehouse. Why don’t you’uns take that and go on.”

The lean man looked at her narrowly. Then he nodded at one of his men, who dismounted and headed toward the smokehouse.

They all waited tensely. June Bug cut her eyes at her sister. Neither woman was sure how much longer little Ransom could stay still under Sadie’s skirts, like a fawn in the forest.

The man came back lugging a big joint of cured meat. He slung it over the pommel of his saddle and mounted up.

The leader touched his fingers to his cap and nodded at Sadie, in a mockery of courtliness. Then the group turned their horses and galloped down the path into the woods.

Sadie and June Bug stood stock still until they disappeared and they could no longer hear the horses and the laughter of the men.

Then June Bug lay her shotgun down and burst into tears. She pulled Ransom from his aunt’s voluminous skirts and drew him into her arms. She rocked him to comfort herself as much as she did so to comfort him.

Tears made muddy streaks down her face as she looked at her sister and said, “You didn’t tell me you had no ham? Where’d you git that from?”

Sadie lifted her rifle and sighted high into a chestnut tree. She shot, bringing down a fox squirrel with a clean head shot. It fell, lifeless in the dust.

“Oh. That were from the last time they’uns showed up here.” She said.

Then Sadie turned to her little nephew and said.

“Ransom! What don’t you go git that there squirrel for auntie and I’ll make us some biscuits!”

The companion essay to this ficlet is up on Feministe. It's called, "An American Brigadoon".

Caidy settled her little brother on her hip and gingerly eased her way down from the loft. He was groggy and starting to cry in great gulping yowls.

“Shhhhh…Shhhh.” She said, rocking him with her body a bit before handing the baby over to her mother.

“I think he might need a bit of tar and sulphur on his head, Ma.” Caidy pulled back the cap from the nursing baby’s head.

“I think you might be right, sweet girl. Can I ask you to take care of that for me tonight?”

Caidy blew her hair out of her eyes and grinned. “Yes Ma’am!”

“Don’t you have some starvin’ chickens waiting for you?”

Caidy grinned shyly and said, “I’ll just get the pone in the oven, first.”

“You’re a good child.” Her Ma said, tucking the hungry baby closer.

Caidy busied herself with the task of getting the breakfast started. She pulled the jar of cold milk and buttermilk from yesterday from the porch. The milk had ice crystals that chugged sluggishly into the earthenware jugs that she then set on the table. She cut slices off of a whole country ham and put them in the skillet to sizzle. Soon the cabin was warming up with the rich smells of baking cornbread, biscuits and ham.

She skittered out into the cold to feed the hens. She hopefully looked into the nest boxes to see if there were any eggs, but it was still too cold and dark for the hens to be laying much. She gathered six precious out of season eggs and secreted them in her pockets. She planned to save these for her Ma.

When she came back in, stamping the snow from her feet, her mother handed over the now full and sleeping Aidin. Caidy put her little brother in the crib and covered him with the baby quilt that their neighbor Lizie had made for him.

About that time the door sprang open letting a blast of cold into the cabin which had just begun to heat up. A tide of menfolk swarmed in, led by Caidy’s twin brother, Alvin.

Alvin heaved the large pail of milk up onto the table. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and said importantly, “It’s so cold that we didn’t get mor’n two gallons, Ma!”

Caidy was the only girl in the family. Her two oldest brothers were also twins, Caleb and Carter. They were out of school and working full time on the farm and favored each other so that you could hardly tell them apart. Each had a shock of red hair and freckles and they were very popular at church socials. Her next oldest brother was Joshua, then Random and Arthur. They all went to school at the Raven’s Branch Schoolhouse, except for Caleb and Carter.

Her father came up to her mother and kissed her on the forehead.

“How’s my pretty May?”

Her mother’s eyes shed the exhaustion and showed a glint of their pale blue as they were in her girlhood.

“Pretty May’s just fine today. And how’s my Jason?”

Her father straightened up and gave her mother a small smile. He was a tall, massive man with weathered hands and a gentle face. The bones of the mountains were etched into the lines on his face.

“Your Jason is in a fine meddle, I reckon. Now that you’re here.”

As many times as Caidy had heard the same words they spoke to each other, it never failed to make her feel safe and loved.

She smiled to herself as she started to get the food on the table.

I didn't get a post in yesterday since the storms came before I got to it and then it was too late.

At least we have some rain with today's storms. We really need it, much more than we need the dry lightning that takes out the phones. Tomorrow is market day and I will no doubt be short tempered and cranky at having to give up so much of my day to shopping and bill paying. Then the slew of tri-monthly doctor visit in K-town at UT. I will be mostly cranky for the rest of the week.

Betty Goat is looking more and more pregnant and like she's going to pop soon. She should be the first to go as we approach this mid summer kidding season.

I had a nice visit with my friend on Sunday and she spoke more about the custom of the "pie supper" that I heard about from Red. I just started to describe how they met and her eyes lit up and she said, "Oh , yes! That's a pie supper!"

They would also auction off walks. The young ladies of the community would offer up pies and the prize of a walk for auction. Sometimes they would auction off box lunches. It was how they raised money for school supplies and such.

One time, right after she was married and her husband was away in Korea, she and her sisters attended a pie supper. Betty asked them not to put up a pie for her, since she was now a happily married woman. Evidently her sisters went ahead and offered not only a pie, but also a walk with her

The gentleman who bought both her walk and her pie had just returned from the service on leave. She told the gentleman that she was now married and he could just take that pie and walk himself.

He was heartbroken. "But, you can't be married already! How did that happen!"

She smiled sadly at him and walked away.

What can I say? You snooze, you lose.

She also told me some bits about school lunches during those days. I'd already talked a bit about those in the article about the biscuits. Everyone took their lunch and it was a biscuit sandwich of some sort. Mainly because the weren't eating the squishy white bread the rest of us were eating. It was usually a chicken or ham or sausage biscuit of some sort. She says that was the case for everyone she went to school with.

On some special days, they would all bring in some food item. A bunch of carrots, some potatoes, cabbage or onions. They did have a little shed attached to the schoolroom where a wood cook stove was kept. On those days, the teacher would cook up a big pot of soup for the children with whatever they brought in. They would have the soup probably with cornbread.

I was immediately reminded of "The Stone Soup" story that was one of my favorites from childhood. It feels like an Appalachian stone soup tale, doesn't it? I shall probably have to write it, don't you think?

The television was blaring in the living room when Tarn came in from weed-whacking.

He liked weed-whacking. It was probably his favorite thing to do outside. He liked taking the lawn mower apart too. But weed-whacking was better. He liked the way the invisible line seemed to make the weeds fall down. But you couldn't see how it did it.

He wondered for a while how that worked. It was a great mystery.

The boy came in from haying and plopped down on the couch. He was hot and sweaty.

Tarn looked at him from the big overstuffed chair.

"I've been weed-whacking. I like to weed-whack."

"We know, Tarn." Said Buddy, rolling his eyes a bit. "Let's take apart the lawn mower!"

Tarn chewed his lip a moment. He knew he'd get in trouble if he took the lawn mower apart again. He'd just done it yesterday.

"Oh, no you don't!" Hollered Sadie from the kitchen.

Tarn wondered how she seemed to always know what was going through his head.

It was another great mystery. It peeved him, having Sadie know what he was thinking. He sure would like to take apart that lawnmower this evening.

Sadie came into the dining room and put down a plate of biscuits. The food for supper was almost done. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a slightly sour expression on her face.

"No, Tarn, you are taking a bath tonight. I mean it. It's past time."

Tarn screwed his face up. She had seemed to do it again. He wished she would get out of his head. He didn't know how she did that.

"Took a bath last week." He said.

"And you are taking another tonight." Sadie's tone broached no argument.

Tarn squirmed in his chair. He hated getting wet.

But Sadie was right. Tarn's thinning gray hair was slick with oil and dirt and plastered to his skull. The skin on his neck was dark with ground in dirt. He never really thought he smelled bad. But he sort of did.

He glued his eyes to the television in an attempt to ignore Sadie. A handsome man was on there holding an egg.

"I sure do like eggs." Said Tarn.

The TV man said, "This is your brain."

Tarn looked at it confused for a moment. He knew an egg when he saw one. Not that he didn't like brains. Brains were good, especially scrambled with eggs. The TV man must be confused, he thought. Brains and eggs were good eating so it was easy to confuse the two, thought Tarn.

"That's an egg. I like eggs." He said.

"No, Tarn, that's that there drug commercial." Said Buddy.

The screen cut to a close-up of an egg frying in a frying pan. It was all greasy looking and popping in the pan. Tarn felt his mouth fill with saliva as he imagined the smell of eggs frying in butter, their edges crispy and the yolk runny and done just right.

"This is your brain on drugs." Said the TV man.

"See, Tarn," said Buddy, "he's pretending the egg is your brain and if you take drugs, your brain will fry. Get it?"

Tarn was transfixed by that egg frying. It looked delicious.

"I like eggs. I 'specially likes them when somebody else fries them up for me. Yes, I do."

Buddy rolled his eyes.

The TV man came back on and said, "Any questions?"

Tarn thought the TV man was in his head. He did indeed have a question.

"Can we have fried eggs for supper? 'Cause I sure do like eggs. I really do."

The child huddled closer to his mother when she came inside the dusty confines of Timman's store. He'd been a good child and his momma had bought him a Payday candy bar. He grasped it protectively when the woman came in and stood with the door open.

The rain was blowing in but no one said anything.

The child's mother picked up a knife and stirred her cup of coffee, averting her eyes from the newcomer.

The woman's one good eye took in the farmers and folk in the store. Her bad eye rolled around at nothing in particular. She did something that might have been a smile. It might have been a grimace. It was real hard to tell. There was dreadful scarring on her face, just visible from the knitted scarf that hid part of her face.

Everyone was silent.

She moved awkwardly around the store, her left foot dragging ever so slightly. One of her shoes had one heel that was two inches taller to account for the shorter leg. The rain still blew in the front door, but no one said anything.

She brought her purchases up to the counter. Everyone parted to give her a wide berth. The were a packet of no. 7 sharps, several spools of Coats white cotton thread and a thimble. Timman rang them up and took her money for the purchases. Her bad eye wandered around looking at no one. A few people made surreptitious hand signs.

She wrapped her purchases and put them in her tapestry bag and hobbled to the door. She turned before exiting and looked back, focusing her good eye on the young mother. She made that thing with her face again. Could have been a smile, could have been a grimace. She giggled and it made a sound like a crow eating poisoned corn.

"Stir with a knife....trouble and strife." Her voice croaked out with the sound of a barn latch not used often.

The young mother started and pulled her child closer as the woman left. She left the door open and the rain blew in.

Timman came out from behind his counter, wiping his hands on his apron. He shut the door behind the woman and looked at his customers.

"Well, that were right interestin'." He said and moved back behind the counter.

The young mother looked up from her coffee and whispered, "What do you suppose she meant?"

"Don't you worry none, Lucille," said one of the farmers. "All that stuff you hear 'bout that crazy old bat cain't be true. She's just a sad, sad old woman."

One of the young teens in the store said with wide eyes, "My momma said she got like that when the rats tried to eat her face whilst she were sleepin'!"

Timman snorted. "Nah, she got caught in a barn fire. Ain't been right since."

Lester, whose farm was just up the road, chimed in, "She sure do sew purty, though. Heard she sold one of them baby quilts fer 50 dollar to some outsiders."

The young teen said, "My momma said them people, their baby died after they got that quilt. She says she sews hate into them there blankets. She says she wouldn't have one of them in the house fer love or money."

The young mother said again, "But what did she mean....trouble an' strife? She was looking right at me."

Lester laughed, "How can you tell? I sure can't tell what she's lookin' at!"

"The evil eye...that's what she's got." Said another patron.

"Pshaw!" Timmon said, wiping down the counter. "Ain't no such thing. It's just something she's always a'muttering."

One of the boys scuffed his boot in the sawdust on the plank flooring of the store. "Well, I heared that she keeps a big ole quilt that she never finishes. Every square got a hex on somebody on it. She sews a body's name on it and then you die."

"My Mamaw said she drownded her own baby in the creek and then ate it!" Said the boy's companion, in a fit of oneupsmanship. The boy looked peeved at his companion. He would have liked to reveal this detail.

Some of the patrons nodded grimly. They had heard all of this before.

"Awright, now! That's enough!" Timmon said. "She's just a hateful old woman. Don't you boys got chores to do? Get on out of here, you're takin' up air!"

The boys filed out into the rain, unhappy to leave the gossip in the warm dry store.

Later that night, the woman stitched another square onto an impossibly huge quilt on her frame. Her deft needlework embroidered "Lucille" into the details of hand-sewn panel. She sat back and surveyed her handiwork with much satisfaction. The quilt stretched over the frame and spilled over the edge. Each block had the name of someone or someone's child destined to die prematurely. She collected these names with malice and pieced them together with hatred.

She cackled to herself softly. "Yes, indeedy. Stir with a knife, trouble and strife."