TILLEY BOWMAN AND THE FOUR PICKERS

 

      "Father, I am NOT a piece of fruit!!" retorted Tilley, as she angrily left the parlor and sought refuge in her room.  Under his breath, Abram Bowman muttered, "But you're ripe for the pickin'."  Abram had six sons and one daughter, and it was time to marry her off.  "Now, go get your courtin' dress on, and don't talk back!" said Abram.  "Where's mama?!!" screeched Tilley, as she emerged with the garment.  "I can't get  this ol' fancy pantsy dress on all by myself!!!"  She threw it at her brother Joel, and defiantly prissed out of the house still wearing her overalls.  "Tilley, you can't make me hold this!!"  "I'll drop it, I swear I will!!" yelled Joel.  "Burn it for all I care!" she screamed; and shimmied all the way to the top of the Magnolia tree.  "Don't want NO pickers comin' after me", she pouted, "No sir, don't want NO pickers comin' after ME!!"  Trouble was, Tilley was pretty, and all the single young men from "Way Mountain" were looking to pick a wife.  (Way Mountain got it's name from the fact that it was way way way way up there.) On the mountain, men were raised to pick a wife like you were inspecting a vegetable or a piece of fruit, making sure it was young and tender, but not  overripe.  It's not as if they had any kind of formal training in regards to etiquette or social graces.  There wasn't much time for courtin' because the chores never let up.  The rule was passed down from father to son, and pretty much set in stone, "Make sure she's ripe for the pickin',  and don't kiss her like a large mouth bass."  Now, there's a formula for success if I ever heard one.  No wonder Tilley took to  a tree.  I would  too, and if I didn't have one, I would  climb yours. 

      So, there sat Tilley in the top of the Magnolia, gazing at her bare feet, and remembering  many of the times she had picked dandelions with her toes, and waded in the cool spring by the potato shed.  A caterpillar and a row of ants joined up to help with her distraction.  But alas, soon she was jarred back to reality by the sound of her mother's voice calling.  After all, it was "the" day.  Tilley's parents had agreed to entertain four young men who wished to meet with their daughter. Certainly it would be no debutante ball, but there was to  be a cordial meeting of sorts between Tilley Bowman and the four pickers.  Plans had been made, and a wagon had been sent for the suitors.  Most young ladies would have been at the brim of fainting from anticipation, but Tilley was just plain mad.  She was so mad, she vowed to get even.  "I'll show them!", she declared, as she made her way to the parlor, and deliberately ripped a hole right in the front of that fancy dress.  Right...in front of Lowell, Gerald, Lawrence, and Claypoole.  There they were, the four pickers, standing in the parlor as Tilley showed up and showed out.  Abram took his daughter by the hand and quietly seated her in the "reading" chair.  In return, the four young men  seated themselves on the sofa,  and each one silently prayed to die.  Despite her shocking behavior, Tilley was still very pretty to look at.   At that point, none of the pickers were brave enough to speak.  "Mama" was busy, offering tea cakes and fresh lemonade to all.  Outside, the brothers were chasing dogs, and the dogs were chasing chickens, and the brothers were catching chickens, and wishing to God that they could go inside.  In the meantime, Tilley was wishing she could go outside, the pickers were sweating, Abram was nervous, and the whole blame bunch was eating tea cakes and drinking lemonade.  Mama sat down.  If anyone was breathing, you couldn't tell it.  The room was so still and quiet.  "Mama", said Tilley, "You look very nice today."  Again, total silence.  Mama got up and left the room.  Abram got up and left the room, and Tilley was forced to face the pickers.  "My name is Tilley Bowman, and I don't intend to change it any time soon", she said, and then she looked away.  Lawrence was the first of the pickers to speak up.  With a smile he said, "Miss Tilley, my name is Lawrence Barling, and I don't rightly expect to be changin' my name either."  Claypoole , Lowell, and Gerald got up and  stood at the front door with Abram. With nothing else to do, they  mused over the patriarch's vast corn and cotton fields.   A relieved Lowell spotted a banjo on the porch, and the second he got permission, he went for that banjo like a fool after gold!!  Now, as everybody knows, there's nothing quite like music to set a mood, change a mood, or start a mood.  Lowell got to pickin' on the porch, and pretty soon drew a crowd.  Lawrence and Tilley came outside; and the brothers gathered 'round, along with Mama,  Abram, the other pickers, and all five dogs.  (Stringed instruments got made and played on the porches of many homes in the hills) You could hear the sounds of fiddles and banjos for miles around.  It was irresistible if there was a moon and a clear starry night, don't you know.  Lowell played away, and was soon joined by Lawrence who borrowed a fiddle from Tilley's brother, Joel.  After that, Claypoole and Gerald took turns playing, and it started getting dark outside.  Some neighbors showed up with food and drink, and next thing you know; more neighbors, more food, more drink, plenty of moonlight, and there was a mountain folk party going on with dancing and everything.  Tilley got real relaxed after a bit, and decided to sing.  It turned out she was real good in the key of "G", and could sing just about anything.  Lawrence was already smitten with her by then, and the other pickers knew it.  So, they decided to get the four of them together for a song, so as to celebrate the success of the "picking".  There were plenty of instruments to go around by then, so Lowell, Lawrence, Gerald, and Claypoole played "Take Me Home Mama", and Tilley sang on the second verse.  The mountain folk clapped and cheered so hard and loud, that it was almost scary!!  Tilley stood like a statue, and then started singing the first verse, and the boys joined in.  It was a successful time, to be sure as a new singing group was formed that night, called, "Tilley Bowman and the Four Pickers".  True to her word, Tilley didn't change her name (for business purposes), but she married Lawrence Barling, and they traveled all over with the band for years and years to come, and lived happily ever after.

AMELIA MARIE AND THE COWPOKE SPURS

 

Amelia Marie had a beautiful lacy shawl which she let me borrow for a barn dance.    I sure did hate to take it back, too!  It was a beautiful shade of lilac, and it brought out my eyes.  I felt like a glamorous fashion queen the night I wore it, and loved her for letting me use it! We were best friends, more like sisters!   It was hard to see her in her late "thirties", living by herself in the old  family farmhouse, but she  did a "right fair job" of keeping the place up.  My cousin Abe would stop by now and then to fix something for her, and of course, for pay, Amelia would feed him.  I think his wife, Erma Lee, got a little jealous over it, but that was her problem.    Bless her heart, Erma was ugly, and I don't know why Abe ever married her in the first place.  She and I never got along that well, unfortunately, but anyway, as I said, I had to go  to Amelia's and return the shawl.  It was so smoky in that old house when I got there, I had to fan myself to breathe!  Whew!  There was a new bird's nest in the chimney that day, and my friend was trying to build a fire; so of course, the chimney got stopped up, and that's why it happened.  When the smoke cleared, for some reason or another, I noticed something I simply hadn't noticed before.  "Amelia", I asked, "Why do you have a set of old rusty spurs on your wall"?  I could see that her face changed in a dramatic way.  She stared at the spurs.  I wondered if they had belonged to someone in the family, but had to wait until she turned to me for an answer.  She didn't say anything for a long time, so I had time to wonder some more.  I did wonder, too!  I wondered and wondered and wondered. I even imagined that perhaps she had met someone; maybe she never told me about him and that, after a brief romance with her, he had forgotten his spurs!  OH!...OH!... And maybe he gave her the lilac shawl, and  she kissed him under the moonlight beneath the sweet magnolias in the sprawling front yard.  What if they took long walks, and had picnics, and shamefully danced by the lake past dark.  Maybe that's where his spurs landed.  Oh, and what if they had a love child together?!!!  (It was possible, because she was gone for a few months, and I always questioned that story about her sick grandmother.)  I almost swooned at the thought of it! It was all so romantic, and mysterious.  I envisioned the cowboy as being very tall and handsome, with long wavy brown hair,  a beautiful smile, and big brown eyes...(like Amelia's)   Of course, he would have been a drifter, because that was the nature of his work.  His hat would have been worn, and stained...his chaps leathered and weathered,  soft and supple from the wear, covering his torn faded jeans.  How handsome and striking  he would have looked as he sat high in the saddle on a chestnut  colored horse!     I had to  fan myself again, not because of the smoke this time, but at the thought of how rugged, and ruddy he must have looked, and how his perfectly formed full delicious lips would have tasted on mine.  Did I say mine?!!!  OH, MY!!  I meant HERS!!  Then I woke up from my daydreaming about the cowboy that surely must have been hers, and  realized that it was really hot in there  and smoke was filling the house again.  This time, though, instead of the chimney, the smoke was coming from the kitchen.  Amelia had bought a sack of flour from the General Store the day before, and had two loaves of bread baking in the old wood cook stove.  She forgot about them, after being distracted by me, and they were burning!  I was so upset, I accidentally dropped the lovely shawl I had come to return!  It fell on the floor, and  I ran to the kitchen to help Amelia.  We quickly got the burning loaves out of the oven, took a deep breath, and sat down at the table.  Amelia started talking about how she was going to finish the quilt she was making with scraps from the forty pound flour sack, while I scraped away at the loaves, hoping to salvage some of the bread.    Looking to my left towards the parlor, I was horrified to see the lilac shawl lying on the floor!   "Oh, Amelia!"  "Your shawl!"  I tripped all over my long skirt running to get it!! Amelia called to me to be careful, and I scooped up the shawl, and held it in my arms again.    Amelia came over to me and gave me a hug.  I handed the shawl to her, and she strolled across the room, and gently hung it over the spurs.  That was curious to me, since there were dressers, and chests for such  items.  "Why?" I thought, would she hang that beautiful shawl on some old rusty spurs?"  So, I asked her why.  She explained to me that her mother had always kept them together like that.  After asking her again about the rusty spurs, Amelia told me that they had belonged to her MOTHER who had gotten them from a gentleman "friend" many years ago.  The same "friend" had given her mother the lacy lilac shawl. I hadn't noticed (until Amelia showed me,) but the garment had an embroidered  label sewn in a side seam, which read, "For my  little Amelia Marie".       

MERTA LEE BREAKWATER

Merta Lee Breakwater was a little woman, and truly "undergrown" for her age.  That's for sure, and no doubt about it!  My Scottish grandmother would say, "Sure, and she's a least little wallydrag". I heard that Lee Breakwater (Merta Lee's father), was quite a wee little man himself, although I never met him.   Grandpa called Merta Lee the runt of the litter, and so I decided "runt" sounded more fit and proper than a wallydrag.  Now, I'm not saying she would fit through a keyhole, mind you!  But you see, she ate food like a pigeon, oh, scarcely a smidgen!  Her shoes were quite tiny, but nice bright and shiny!  As small as could be, still a woman was she!  I was just about her size the first time I stood beside mama on Merta Lee Breakwater's front porch.  Of course I was only a child at the time, with the usual questions in my head like, why you can't eat mudpies, and how come butterflies don't speak.  Naturally, I was newly curious as to how a grown woman was no taller than me.  It was a cold day, but Merta Lee was on the porch rocking and reading a riddle. When she saw us, she leapt to her feet, clapped her hands, and danced with glee.  The gusty wind was making my teeth clatter and chatter and chatter and clatter!  Then Merta Lee suddenly, and very loudly, exclaimed, "Open your mouth child!".  "I thought I saw a woodpecker in there!!"  I laughed, and it warmed me up.  The place was bright green, and oh my what a scene!  There were forty ducks to my left, and twenty  guineas to my right.  Four rabbits, a white dog, and a pink pig swirled and twirled behind me.  Above my head there were bluebirds and ribbons, snowflakes and sunbeams.  Yes, that is indeed, exactly how I remember it, and I knew at the time that we would learn to love this new little neighbor.  Mama brought her usual gift basket filled with moonshine, molasses, mushrooms, and melons.  Mama was low on molasses, so she doubled the mushrooms.  My mama was different, just for the record, but she did teach me to think and dream, imagine and scheme.  She also taught me to accept people the way they are, and just the way they were born and meant to be.  Merta Lee was about forty years old, when she first moved to the little cottage down the hill from us.  I was about ten years old, and I loved that quaint cottage, and little Merta Lee.  We never found the age difference to be a problem, because Merta Lee could play hopscotch, kick ball, red rover, marbles, and just about anything else.  I never have forgotten that first time we met on her front porch, and treasure every memory since then.  I asked Merta Lee one time if it ever bothered her that she was so short and small for her age.  Her answer was not so profound as I figured when she said, "Of course it does, are you goosey?!!"  I liked the fact that not only could she play all the games with me, but she could also bake me a pie, or sew me a dress.  Merta Lee Breakwater had the biggest smile on the smallest face, and always kept her pigs in the pen where they belonged.  She was thoughtful like that.          

A GOOD PRICE

Charlie Price was considered the "black sheep" of his family.  The other Price children (all fourteen of them) were fine upstanding members of the community.  Not Charlie...he drank  too much, smoked too much, and cussed worse than you ever heard.  Then there was the gambling and fighting, which often landed him in jail for the weekend.  (He was a regular).  Charlie never kept a red cent in his pocket,  and couldn't even afford a sway back mule to ride.  If it wasn't for his chickens, and a good milk cow, I guess he would have starved.  Well, he could fish too, so that helped out.  My daddy was the exact opposite of Charlie, but he never had anything bad to say  about the man.  Daddy even tried to find something to give Charlie, but there wasn't much he could part with.  He did find an old broom, and Charlie was glad to get it.  It made a pretty fair fishing pole when he got done with it.  I used to think about how I was glad Charlie wasn't my kin, but that was before I fell into Watson's Creek.  I'll never forget that day, even if I lose my wits.  Charlie had taken his fishing broom down to the creek bank, and managed to hook two big catfish.  There were several of us kids wading along the shallow bank, and I was being careful to watch for quicksand.  Daddy said he "liked to fell"  into it before, and for me to watch out.  Lots of folks went to Watson's creek, and nobody ever stepped off into quicksand, so I figured maybe Daddy really didn't see it, but still, it couldn't hurt to watch.  I left the other kids and went to look at Charlie's catfish.  They were spectacular!  Of course, I wanted to pick one up because; well I don't know why, I just did.  That old catfish was a lot heavier for me to hold than it was for Charlie, and that surprised me.  I guess the catfish was surprised too.  He was suddenly free, and headed for home!  I couldn't let it happen!  After all it was my fault, and I knew Charlie was depending on having the fish for supper.  I had caught a suckling pig once, but the pig didn't have a big old dorsal fin, or whiskers which could stab you.  I got two big cuts, and a stab wound trying to catch that slippery, slimy, nasty, flopping, ugly...catfish.  I was bleeding bad, but hardly noticed.  My sites were set on the fish, and the fish had his sites set on the water.    By this time, I was on my belly, still trying to win the chase.  Charlie yelled at me to let the fish go, and tried to grab me by the foot, but he slipped and fell in the mud.  I slid into the creek with all my clothes and shoes to weigh me down, and suddenly felt the difference in the mud.  It was the quicksand Daddy told me about, and I was caught in it, hands first.  I couldn't keep my head above the water, even though it wasn't much deeper than a puddle.  The mud wouldn't let me free my hands, and I couldn't fight, so it didn't take long for me to lose consciousness.  I was drowning in a foot of water!  Charlie took hold of the broom pole, and slam-anchored it in the mud beside the quicksand.  With his right hand holding the broom pole, he stretched his long thin lanky left arm, and dug down till he had me firmly around my waist.  There was so much pressure on Charlie's arm that it broke, but he still pulled me out. It was up to him to start me breathing, but he didn't know how, so he just jerked that broom pole out of the mud and whacked me three good times on the back.   I woke up in my own bed with my hands bandaged.  Charlie and daddy were standing over me.  I had a hard time breathing, and couldn't speak at first.  It wasn't long  though, before I could ask questions, and that's when I found out what Charlie did to save me.  His left arm was in a splint, and I felt so bad for putting this trouble on him.  He told me not to worry, because the broken arm was a small price to pay for my life.  My daddy told Charlie  that he could never repay him for saving me, and Charlie said he could never repay daddy for the broom pole, which caught lots of fish, and kept him fed.  Even though a lot of people still considered Charlie the black sheep of his family, daddy always said that Charlie was "A Good Price".

THE WISHING MAN OF CULPEPPER MOUNTAIN

 

Clement Culpepper was only twenty one years old when he bought himself a mountain.  Yep, he bought the whole thing, complete with creeks and streams, rocks and wildlife, and...oh yes... "The Wishing Man".   Nobody had ever heard of the Wishing Man before Clement moved to the mountain.  It was all very mysterious, and glorious.  Imagine finding your very own Wishing Man on your very own mountain!  Mama said to be polite about it, and not covet, but still, I always wished I had a "Wisher" myself; and a mountain would be nice too.  But, that is the nature of wishing, isn't it?  I know what you're thinking; you're thinking that folks could go to the Wishing Man and get their wishes granted.  That only happens  at a wishing well, or in the Land of Bernethia, and I can't tell you how to get there.  Up on Culpepper Mountain, you had to find the Wishing Man, and then HE made your wishes FOR you.  Clement might have made that up, but who's to say.  Of course, everybody wanted to see the Wishing Man for themselves, but those were elusive wishes that never got granted.  I used to think about what it would be like to meet him myself.  I figured he would be real dreamy looking...like a cloud; and he would float around and glow, like a lightning bug on a summer night.  (My cousins wanted to catch him and put him in a pickle jar).  To get to the Wishing Man, you had to first find the tree with the ten bells and four whistles, but nobody ever ever did.  Folks would traipse all over that mountain in search of the "Wisher" tree.  Clement was a real good natured fellow, and liked to laugh about it a lot.  He was "all the time" engaging in conversations with the Wishing Man, and passing the messages to the townsfolk.  I can still remember a good many of the wishes Clement brought down from the mountain.  Clement told "Old Jack"  that the Wishing Man wished for Jack to buy a donkey.  So, Mr. Daniel (that was his last name) bought a donkey that day, and didn't even know why he did it.  I heard laughter on the mountain that night.  Clement said the Wishing Man wished that Miss Jane would take some biscuits and gravy over to the court house and feed everybody.  She did, and Clement's cousin (a widower who worked at the court house) ate good that day.  Sawyer Plum got a wish from Clement's Wishing Man that he would stand on the street corner and sing "O Danny Boy".  He did, and ended up in New York, singing on stage.  Clement didn't care too much for Jim Bob, but was "kind" enough to pass a wish along anyway.  With a twinkle in his eye, Clement told Jim Bob to start making soap for the choir, and tend to washing all the robes.  I got a wish once, to start writing stories, and been doing it ever since.  The wish that I remember the most was the one Clement passed on to Miss Louisa Snow.  He told her that the Wishing Man wished for her to marry Clement Culpepper.  She married Clement, and got the whole mountain, the creeks and streams, rocks and wildlife, and of course, "The Wishing Man".