John Deere

10/15/2013

Mamma was wearing her bonnet and daddy was wearing his hard-shell hat as they stripped the dry ears of corn from the stalks. The John Deere tractor was “put-putting” loudly, almost drowning daddy’s voice when he yelled to Pat to push the clutch lever forward to slowly move the tractor and wagon. Pat obeyed, with all the confidence of a five-year-old. When daddy yelled “Whoa!” she pulled the lever back and the tractor stopped. She was beaming as she watched ears of dried corn being tossed into the wagon. She felt so grown-up. She was helping gather corn by driving the tractor! Her older sister, Gayle, didn’t want to drive it. She was nineteen months older than Pat, but she had rather pull the ears off the stalks and toss them into the wagon.

Pat’s attention began to wane. She watched a black and yellow butterfly fluttering from stalk to stalk. It came to land on mamma’s dress and Pat knew that meant mamma would get a new dress, because she had told Pat so.

Sweat began to trickle from Pat’s bangs down to her cheek. It tickled and she rubbed it off with her hand, leaving a dirty smudge.

Daddy was calling out for her to move the wagon forward again, bringing her mind back to the present. Driving the tractor was fun, but she was getting distracted. Her stomach began to rumble and she thought of mamma cooking dinner. How could mamma cook dinner if she was gathering corn?

After a few more minutes daddy climbed up on the tractor and slid onto the seat, pulling Pat onto his lap. Mamma and Gayle were climbing into the wagon.

“You did a dandy job, Gal,” daddy said grinning. “ When you get a little older, you can ride on here and sew vetch seed for me, while I drive. You can be the ‘ little boy’ I never had.”

“I ain’t no BOY, Daddy!” Pat chided.

Daddy chuckled, “Just my ‘tom boy', Pat. Just my ‘tom boy'.” Daddy guided the tractor and wagon under the shed and stopped, shutting off the motor. Mamma and Gayle were climbing out of the wagon.

“You and Gayle go help your mamma fix dinner. After we eat and rest a while, we’ll shuck and shell some of the corn,” daddy said.

In the kitchen mamma began to peel red potatoes to fry. A pot of purple hull peas already sat on the stove. Mamma had cooked them earlier while she was cooking breakfast.

After washing their face and hands Gayle set the table while Pat got out the bowl for mixing cornbread. When mamma had the potatoes frying she mixed the cornmeal and buttermilk while Pat brought her an egg for the batter. Having an iron skillet heating with grease, Mamma poured the batter in. Pat heard the sizzling sound that she loved. Next, mamma cut thick slices of salt pork to fry and Gayle laid them in another skillet. A tantalizing aroma filled the kitchen, making Pat’s mouth water. Dinner was almost ready. Pat hoped that she didn’t have to take a nap afterwards.

5 Comments

Gayle Kirksey Jetton

10/18/2013 07:11:04 am

The following is part of Lou's memories that she wrote to me on 18 August 1998. This is just a part of Lou's letter. If youall want me to type all of it later, let me know & I can do it in sections. I am copying Lou's memories exactly as she wrote them to me.
"Gayle, I forgot to tell you that we moved to the Lee Place when it was cotton picking time because we were picking cotton & it came dinnertime & me & Bertha didn't have any dinner to eat & daddy was supposed to have had the furniture & mama there by dinnertime with us something to eat, but wasn't there. So, Ruth Lee (she was a school teacher) had us in the car with her & was going down the road & we met mama & daddy, & you. We stopped & daddy said we could go back & eat some bread, milk & apples & you know we didn't want that & said so, & then he told us to go on to town with Ruth & eat at Rigg's café & we did. We got a hamburger. Ruth dropped us off & picked us up on the way back. She went home to eat dinner. She wasn't married so she lived at home.
You know, when I think about it I feel ashamed as I know daddy didn't have the money for us any dinner. He liked to take light bread, sprinkle sugar on it & then pour milk on it & that is what he meant by bread & milk. I never liked it that way."
That is the end of Lou's letter. Ruth Lee that Lou mentions is the daughter of Mr Lee who let mama & daddy live in the house on State Line road. Mr Lee lived in town but had rented the farm. I think it was the Turberville Farm but Mr Lee rented it. On this day that Lou describes, we were moving into the old house on the farm. I was about 5 months old. The picture of me on the bridge holding the cat was made at this place on State Line Road.
Gayle

10/22/2013 07:33:36 am

I don't remember too much about gathering corn but I do remember one time when I helped. I had to pick the "down row" and it was no fun. The corn was flat on the ground from being run over by the tractor & wagon. Because I was little & close to the ground I was given that job. I do remember Pat was driving the tractor.

My favorite time was when the corn was green & tasselling. The corn smelled so pungent, earthy and sweet. The corn blades were sharp as razors & would cut through your skin before you knew it. It is almost ethereal to stand hidden among tall green corn stalks and see nothing but corn & the sky above. Pat I loved your memory.

Gayle Kirksey jetton

11/11/2013 11:45:56 am

Ben Hur Perfume
Ben Hur perfume had a fragrance that was deep, dark and mysterious. Pat and I could touch and smell but never buy. Mama said nice girls don't wear Ben Hur. That made it more alluring and mysterious. I wondered just what was inside that bottle of perfume!
Memory: 1940 years
Leachville

11/12/2013 12:41:04 pm

This little vignette is for you Pat. It reflects my feelings when I visit Grandma's old house place.
GRANDMA'S PORCH
I stood before the crumbling porch. The top had cracked and broken and sunken. The bricks that formed the foundation were mossy, broken and pushed out of alignment. Vines and saplings matted around the edge, their trunks thick and twisted from years of growth.
I stood there gazing at the rectangle of history. The day was windy and raw yet behind me in the grassy yard, hundreds of Grandma's daffodils were in splendid bloom.
The old two-story gray house loomed before me, its doors opening off the porch. I saw it as surely as if it were really there. My feet moved and for a moment I thought of entering what my soul saw, but what my mind knew was gone.
The wind rushed against me and I watched as the flowers nodded and blurred into a great mass of yellow. I turned to look at the mulberry tree where Grandma used to wash. The tree was split and mostly dead but sprouts had sprung from the trunk rekindling life. For a fleeting moment I imagined I saw Grandma bent over her wash tub. It was a spectral illusion for Grandma had been gone for many years.
The tall grass blew and whispered in the wind and little tree frogs peeped. The breeze swept waves into the shallow pool beyond the house. Spring fragrances swirled invisibly, dusting me with sweetness and bitter-sweet memory.
Then, I entered the old house and I walked again through every room. I climbed the dark old stairs to the attic and when I descended I carried a book in each hand. The odor of Grandma's house was sweet and ethereal, forever embedded in my soul and I breathed it again and again as I stood before the fireplace.
Then, in a swirl of unreality I was standing on the broken porch where no house stood, no soul lived. How could all life as I had known it disappear? How could the souls that once inhabited that grand old house be now gone? Nature had removed all traces of the old house and left nothing but a crumbling porch. Beneath my feet was life and death and my little girl steps forever ground into the heart of it. It was a Paradise lost, the death of time and lives.
Yesterday flamed bright like a full moon then faded to nothing. The old gray house blurred in the spring wind as Grandma's flowers spilled their perfume into the evening. The sun fell to the earth in blood red flames, devouring the illusions before me. Beneath my feet the porch blazed in the dying sun. The old house ebbed from sight, consumed by time and decay and God.
I stood on the cracked and crumbled porch as dusk blended with the shadows and obliterated everything except the faint images of Grandma's yellow flowers. Reluctantly I stepped off the porch into the cool grass that flourished in the Mississippi soil. In vain, I searched the duskiness for the old house, willing it to emerge from the depths of eternity, but there was nothing except its great imprint screaming in my soul. The memories were too surreal, too loved and too much to relinquish. Reluctantly, I turned away and stumbled through the pasture.

Patsy Kirksey Ross

11/15/2013 06:17:42 am

Gayle,
Thank you for the wonderful memory of Grandma's old house. I can see the four of us girls walking around the old cement porch, still standing in the tall, wiry grass surrounding it. I can see in my mind, the huge, grotesque-shaped root of the tree Grandma washed clothes under, near the 'smoke house' where their meat was cured. Do you remember Mamma warning us not to go near the spot where the old well was? The well that was so wide at the bottom, that you could 'drive a car' around in it? It was filled in, supposedly, because salt from the 'smoke house' had leaked into the well, tainting the good well water. Mamma always feared that we would somehow fall through that hole, down into the well. I doubt the new folks that bought that piece of property after all these years, even know there is a deserted well down there. There is no sign of it now; only the memories we share.

John Deere

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