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August 22 Porch SittinGood Evening Folks, Hope ya'll had a wonderful day. I found this site called Pamys Place, it was a real find, if you like the oldies and the ways of the folk who lived out in the country, this is just pretty much how it was when and where I grew up and I believe that the world was a much better place, back in those days. Check the site out, I think you will enjoy it. I put a link at the bottom.
Remember those on our Prayer Lists. May God bless you greatly. Lord willing, I'll see you next time.
“Porch Sittin’ ” Featured Story
By Pamela Perry Blaine© June 2005
“What are you doing?” I asked Willie as I passed by his house on my way home.
“Awwww I’m just doin’ some porch sittin” he replied as he swung back and forth ever so slightly on his porch swing.
As a child, I would often see Willie out on his porch. He was an older man who still worked hard around his place but he often took time off for some “porch sittin’”.
“I got the radio on and the Cardinals will be playing ball here in a minute if you want to sit a spell,” Willie said as he scooted over on the swing and patted the seat next to him as he adjusted the volume on the radio.
It was summertime and many other scenes such as the one I mention above took place everyday where I grew up. “Porch sittin” was a common activity. Nearly everyone had a porch with a wooden swing that hung down from chains that were held by hooks on the porch ceiling. Most swings held two or three people and if neighbors showed up to sit a spell then more chairs would be brought out from inside the house. The younger folks might sit on the porch steps while children played in the yard or found a tree to climb.
The porch was like an extension of the living room because it was cooler out on the porch when the summer’s heat became uncomfortable. There wasn’t air conditioning so houses were often built so that they were situated where the breeze would waft across the porch and there was a roof that protected porch sitters from the sun and rain. Essentially, all the work that could possibly be done outdoors was transported to the porch where it was cooler and it seemed to make the job more enjoyable just by being outside in nature’s living room.
It seems like a lot of living took place on porches in times past. At least it was that way where I grew up. Seeing a person sitting on their front porch was pretty much the same as an invitation for neighbors to stop by and pass the time of day.
Many people did part of their garden work on their porches. It didn’t matter if it was snapping beans, hulling peas, or peeling apples someone was apt to sit down beside you and give you a hand with the chore.
I remember a lot of visiting, discussions, and even problems solved while snapping green beans. Women learned from one another and often offered help for whatever need that was mentioned. “Try using a little corn starch on that baby’s diaper rash,” a young mother might learn from an older neighbor lady, “And next time you need to work out in the garden, just bring that little one over here and I’ll watch him, I kind of miss having a baby around,” the neighbor might say.
Those were good times when porches were used for many things. Women did needle work or rocked babies, men whittled or fixed things, and children played “pretend”.
Sometimes the porch was used to just get off alone for a time and read, meditate, or just do some thinking…“woolgathering” Momma used to call it.
Even if the sun wasn’t shining, there was nothing quite like the sound of rain on the porch roof. It was such a secure feeling and a perfect time to curl up on the porch swing with a quilt and a good book and listen to the soft pattering of the raindrops.
The summer nights were also very good for “porch sittin”. We made friends with the night sky as we enjoyed God’s creation. As a child I learned about stars and constellations from my parents. I learned how to identify the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, and then identify the North Star and the Milky Way.
There were all the different night sounds that were a little frightening at first until Momma explained the howling of the coyotes, the loud noise of the bullfrog, and the calls of hoot owls and whippoorwills. We also watched the mysterious twinkling lightning bugs flit around in the dark. A permanent picture is engraved in my mind of my mother standing in a long white nightgown, arms outstretched above her, as she caught lightning bugs in a jar for me one hot summer’s night.
Occasionally, when summer nights didn’t cool off enough to be comfortable for sleeping, some folks would sleep outside on their porches. My girlfriends and I thought that sleeping on the porch was a great adventure, except for that one time when the cat decided to bring us a gift and we woke up to find half of a mouse upon our quilt!
In later years, my parents enclosed our front porch for an extra room. I hated to see the porch closed in but I was glad when my parents simply moved the old porch swing and hung it from the huge old maple tree where the family still gathered. Daddy and my brother would often sit out there under that tree and play their guitars, usually with a dog or two stretched out beneath their feet as they played one more chorus of “Just A Closer Walk With Thee.”
I have always loved porch swings. After I was grown and married, the one thing that sold me on the house that we bought was the swing on the back porch that overlooked a pond.
I’m glad to see that some houses being built today are going back to adding porches. Yet, it isn’t the porches, it’s the people that make the difference. As I drive through neighborhoods these days I sometimes wonder, “Where are all the people? Are they all at Wal-Mart or inside watching television?” If so, they are missing out on a lot.
some “porch sittin”? Take something along to read or work on if you like but there’s nothing wrong with just sitting and doing nothing because it really isn’t doing nothing, it’s “porch sittin”. If practiced enough, you can become an expert at it.
It seems like “porch sittin” is nearly a lost art. Perhaps we can still revive it. If you don’t have a porch, don’t worry, a chair out under a shade tree will do. I don’t have a porch like I once had either but I have a great imagination and all of God’s creation is still right there to enjoy.
Well, it’s been a long day so I think I’ll go outside for a spell because it’s just about “porch sittin” time.
By Pamela Perry Blaine© June 2005
http://blaines.us/PamyPlace.htm Folks please go visit Pamys Place, you won't regret it. Click the above link.
September 03 Baling HayNew song, George Jones doing "Me and Jesus", this is for you Beth.
Evening Folks, This idea came to me in my sleep last night and it is, to try to write down my memories of being a young teenager, living on a farm in the "Grand Prairie" community, of western Arkansas. The first try, I think, will be one I have of baling hay. Here goes nothing.
"Baling Hay"
When I was a young lad, we lived on a farm, my Dad and Mom bought the old family homestead, from the last surviving Rogers sister, the last of three old maid sister's, Aunt Pearl(actually my Great Aunt)was a wonderful, sweet Lady, she and her brothers and sisters were born right there on the home place. We moved there in 1958, had been working on the old house for two years, before we moved into it. Aunt Pearl stayed with us a whole lot back then, in fact she was staying with us when she was taken sick and went home to The Lord, she died right in the same room she was born in, which just happened to be my brother, just younger than me Roger, and I's bedroom. I will never forget, as long as I live, just an hour or so before she left us, she had roused up and started singing "Angel Band" in her sweet, tired little voice, then in just a little while, she was gone. The Angel Band had carried her away to her reward. Ever since then, I have cried every time I hear that song, not sad tears, but happy tears for her, she knew, she knew they were coming for her, she could hear them singing and she was singing with them. (Wiping tears!)
Well, thats just a little back ground, but anyway we had cattle, we grew corn to help feed them through the winter months, but we also needed Hay for them. Dad had found a little Farmall cub tractor, with a mowing machine attachment, he bought an old horse drawn "Sulky Rake", we cut the tongue down and fixed it so we could pull it with that little Cub. He also bought an old Hay Baler(horse drawn) cut down the tongue on it also. Now the first hay baler that I had ever seen and I worked and helped bale with it, belonged to our neighbor, when we lived down close to Greenwood, it was not only horse drawn, but horse(or in this case Mule)powered, you hooked the animal to it and the animal walked around and around and around, which operated the baler. Then there was someone who placed the hay into the machine with a pitchfork, it had what was called a "Horsehead" which punched the hay down into the press, which in turn would compress the hay into bales. In order to seperate the bales, there was what they called "Blocks", when the bale got to the length you wanted it, you would place a block, the horsehead would drive it down in front of the press. Also there were two boys usually, who had to punch wires through channels in the block, one would punch the wires and the one on the other side of the baler would tie the wire, or actually twist it, but it was called "punching and tying, when the bale came out of the bale chamber it would expand, making the wires tight. OK, thats what Dad had bought, except that it had a motor on it, that took the place of the animal walking in a circle. My Dad worked at a job that he had to put in sixteen to eighteen hours a day, most of the time seven days a week, so that left the taking care of the cattle, the haying and whatever else, to Roger and I. My Mom, a lot of the time, would go to the hayfield with us and work right along beside us. But sometime's she couldn't go. Now down the road about, oooohhh, little over a quarter of a mile to the east, lived our closest neighbor's, the DeWitt's, two daughter's Barbara and Carolyn, son Robert, who was close to Rogers age, we ran all over that priaire, exploring, fishing, hunting, just being boys. Anyway, a lot of the time when Mom couldn't help in the hay, Robert would help us. Now when you would set the block, you had to be careful to do it at the right time, else it might tare up the block or your hand or both. Well one morning we were over in the prairie meadow baling, Robert, Roger and I, things were going good, about fifteen minutes til twelve, we would shut down and walk to the house, we knew Mom would have dinner ready(to us old Arkansas boys, dinner is the noon meal, supper being the last meal of the day), so we were walking along, came upon some mature Polk Salad had ripe polkberries on them, now the juice in those berries is just about the color of blood, so Robert got to thinking about how funny it might be to rub some of those berries on his arm and hand, to see if he could fool Mom, so he did, looked pretty real from just a little bit of distance. So into the yard we go with Robert holding his arm and doing his best to look like he was hurting something awful, just before we were fixing to go into the house, out the kitchen door burst Mom, in the best run she could do, towards Robert, "WHAT HAPPENED" she said and just about the time she got to ole Robert, he couldn't stand it any more and he burst out laughing and Mom was close enough to see what it really was, she stopped in front of him and said Robert you like to have scared me to death, now Roger and I did laugh a little bit, but we had seen that look in Mom's eye's before and we knew that if it had been one of us done that, we would have got a good lickin and I don't mean with the tongue either. But she handled it pretty good with Robert, she finally laughed about it, by the time we finished eatin dinner. We started back to the hay field, she told us to be careful and stay away from the polkberries.
We baled a lot of hay like that, Robert was our closest and best friend, we did everything together. Sometime's Mom would pack us a lunch, if we were caught up with everthing, and us three old boys would take off walking thru the woods, across those huge old prairie meadows, hundreds of acres. We might be gone all day, stop and eat our packed lunch, GREAT MEMORIES and a great way to grow up. I really wish things were still like that, I think people just grew up with better values, course Alcohol was around, but I had never heard of Drugs, until I went into the Army, in 1965, and I've to this day never had beer, I have tasted a little wine and other stuff, I'm thankful to be able to say, "I have never been drunk in my life", it just wasn't something I wanted to do, didn't see any sense in it then and still don't now. I just think the world was a lot better back then, than now.
A little ways on by the DeWitts house, on north and east, lived the Terry's, they were the next neighbors in that direction, there were four boys in that family, we were all good friends, they had horses and Roger and I Lovvvveeeeeddddd horses. They would get some once in a while that were young and not broke to ride yet, Gwen, their Dad used to let me get on them and buck them out, I loved to do that, especially in the winter time, when there was a snow on the ground, the snow kinda hampered the horses AND made a softer place for me to fall. WAIT A MINUTE! That's another story, I'll have to tell it at a later time.
I hope you can, maybe, get something out of my ramblings, a smile, a chuckle, an idea, maybe, of just how good we boys had it, back fifty years ago, when I was growing up on the "Grand Prairies" of western Arkansas. All I can tell you is: It was great!
May God Bless you each and every one. Remember our Prayer List, remember the Katrina refugees, Pray for all.
June 18 Robbing the Bee treeHello You Guy's, I'm gonna attempt to tell you of another memory I have of my Uncle Frank. As I've told you before, when I was a youngster we lived way out in the country, on a farm.(Somtimes I wish we still lived there) There was lots of timber on that farm, at that time, my dad has since cleared most of it away. Wellll, there was this old oak tree, no telling how old, but it was dead and we could tell that it was hollow in places, up high. for several years I had known that there was a wild Honey Bee Hive, way up there in a hollow limb. You could see the bee's working in and out of it, lot's of times I had set down in the shade and watched them. Now Uncle Frank knew about the tree and the honey, that he figured was in it, my dad also knew. Well, I believe it was on a Sat. one weekend, Uncle Frank had come to the house, brought his "Smoker" with him and he and dad decided they were going to cut that old tree down and "Rob" the honey from it. Now I don't remember exactly, but I was 16 or 17 years old, at that time, but Boy Howdy, I was all excited about it, I thought it would be soooo much fun. So we got everything we thought we needed together, carried it all down into the woods, where the old tree was, dad and Uncle Frank looked up at the tree, walking around it, trying to decide which way it was apt to fall, finally they decided it was gonna fall that way. So they set up to start sawing it down. You know, I can't for the life of me, remember if they were using a chain saw or the old cross cut saw, I wanta think it was the cross cut, because maybe they thought the chain saw would disturb the bee's to much. Anyway, they worked at it for a while, sure enough the tree fell right where they thought it would, now they hadn't thought to light the smoker yet, I was kinda standing back out of the way. The one other thing they hadn't thought of happened, when that old tree hit the ground, it just splintered, busted all apart and you know what happened then? Those wild Bee's went crazy, I know there had to be something less than two million of them, they were everywhere. I seen them start hitting dad and uncle frank, stinging them over and over, well I took off running, didn't get stung once, heck, they couldn't catch me, I was pretty fast back then, finally I stopped and looked back, uncle frank was down on the ground and dad was trying to help him up, still swatting at the bee's, uncle frank was trying to get up, but he couldn't stay up and dad couldn't keep him up by himself, something told me that I was going to have to go back and help dad, so I did, I got back to them, I got uncle frank under one arm and dad got under the other and we half dragged him out of the woods and up to the house. When we got there mom came running and they started trying to dr the stings, but uncle frank was getting worse all the time, even I could see that, he was losing consciousness looked like to me part of the time, so they got him in the car and took off for the doctors. My two brothers, sister and I stayed at the house and I don't know about them, but I was scared to death for uncle frank, I didn't know if he was gonna make it to the doctor or not, finally they got back home and I was relieved to see that uncle frank was with them, he still didn't look to good, but better than he did when they left. The doctor said that he had been stung, I think it was 16 or 17 times on the head, with numerous other stings to other parts of the body and that he probably wouldn't have made it, if it had been to much longer in getting him to the doctor, apparently he was allergic to them. Now I don't know how many stings dad had, there was quite a few, but he didn't react to them in a bad way like uncle frank did. I am forever thankful that they got him to the doctor in time. Now through all of that I didn't get stung, not even once, all I can think, is that the LORD was walking(or running) with a dumb teenager that day and Praise the Lord, he was with dad and uncle frank also, else it would have been a lot worse. After all this, you know what? We decided that those ole bee's could just keep their ole rotten honey. Wellllll folks, I hope you enjoy reading about this memory of my uncle frank, just half as much as I enjoyed remembering it and telling it, although there were a couple of places where I had to stop and wipe the tears out of my eyes. Uncle frank is still with us and I pray that he stays to create many more "memories" for me and others. We love you Uncle Frank! Larry May 13 Coon HuntingI got an e-mail from my cousin Debbie the other day, she was telling me about taking her Dad, my Uncle Frank, to the Dr., that the Dr. said he was responding well to the Cancer treatment that he's taking and how happy it made them both feel at the good news. Then they went on to visit Nancy, Deb's sister and they had a wonderful time telling tales about the old days, laughing at something that was funny, crying a little bit at something that was a sad memory. But when the day was all said and done, the Lord had given them a day that they will never forget, a day that will live in their memories for as long as they live. Now Uncle Frank and my Dad are just about the same age(Dad will be 86 his birthday)I'm not sure when birthdays fall, Uncle Frank may already be 86. Uncle Frank has always loved to coon hunt, I bet if you asked him to go right now, he would be sorely tempted, even though he's sick. I remember as a young teenager and even before I was a teenager, He would come to the house, to go hunting. We lived on a farm and there was open country all around. Man! I would get so excited, just at the thought that they might let me go with them, most of the time they would. Well, when everything was ready we'd turn the dogs loose and off we'd go into the woods, toward the creek and the lake. You could hear the dog's strike a trail, we would be kind of just amblin along, until the trail turned hot. Now I don't know if you've ever heard a bunch of coon dogs on a hot trail or not, but let me tell you, it was like beautiful music to our ears, our pace went from amblin, to a half run(sometimes it was a full run for me, trying to keep up with the men)thru the pitch black woods with nothing but a lantern and a few stars for light, then we'd stop to listen for a minute. They're tree'd, Uncle Frank would say, then we were off in a run again, trying to get to the dog's, to see what they had up the tree. Some time's it was a coon, other times a possum, then there was the times we'd come up on the dogs tree'd on the ground, both the dogs and the hunters got a skunk surprise, most of the time, I stayed back on that kind of deal, to get away from the terrible smell that the skunk had thrown off. Then we'd start trying to get the dogs away, course they didn't want to leave, but we would eventually get them off hunting again. I remember being sooooo tired by the time we finally quit and made it back to the house. I had no trouble going to sleep on those night's. I will NEVER forget those times. My Uncle Frank is, if I have a favorite uncle, it's him. I love him dearly and I wish I could see him more. There are so many more memories that I have of him, someday maybe I'll tell you some more of them. Uncle Frank, I know you'll probably never see this, but I want you to know how very much I love you and I hope I get to see you soon.
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