Holler Folk
This past Veteran’s Day, a dear and trusted friend of mine, in her usual subtle manner, suggested I return to my roots when writing. I spent this morning perusing the Bunker archives. It just may be that my honest broker and most favored critic is correct and I have wandered some. Thank you my good friend for the reality check.
From the Bunker Archives:
Some days, I need time and a quiet place to think. When I do, I find a nearby holler and drive the pick-up truck up it. Usually, I can find a good place to sort things out. Yes, we call them hollers over here in Wild Wonderful. Not hollows. A holler is a narrow valley carved out from a creek flowing through it. The local folk might call the creek a branch so if you come visiting and someone tells you a branch washed over the road, don’t go looking for tree limbs. A narrow road usually trails along side of the creek. Wherever the landscape is wide enough or flat enough to allow for it, houses spring up. They used to be old wood framed, clapboard houses, but nowadays you’re likely to find a double wide or one of those new modular homes. A person doesn’t live in the holler, they live up it. The entrance to the holler is the mouth and when you run out of road, you’re at the head of it. Consider that as your free holler geography lesson. Jerry West, NBA Hall of Famer, is one of our most famous holler folk. He’s from Cabin Creek. There are other famous holler folk out there among you (thankfully), but those who’ve left generally don’t brag much about their humble holler beginnings.
Hollers are more advanced today than they were when I grew up on Skin Fork. They’re mostly paved now. I remember them being dirt that was occasionally sprayed with a mixture of water and oil by the county road crews to keep the dust down. The environmentalists would have a conniption fit about that nowadays. It’s common to find cable television, satellites and yes, even the Internet up most hollers. Our holler folk are as well informed as most, but they’re happy about the distance they are able to keep between themselves and say Paris Hilton. Up hollers, you might find hogs still being slopped, cows milked by hand and hound dogs that are not leashed or caged. Holler life is maybe the last vestige of sanity and peaceful living one can find.
Traveling up the holler, it isn’t long before I spot him. He’s always there, sitting on the porch in a straight backed wooden chair. He’s a composition of the influential men in my young life. My Dad, a couple of my uncles and some others I listened to during my holler rearing. He’s wearing bibbed overalls of faded denim and a red and black checked flannel shirt. On the back of his head sits an old train engineer’s cap, cocked slightly to the right. He’s wearing a pair of ankle high work boots, might even be steel toes. Hanging out of one of his rear pockets is a red bandanna. In the pouch pocket on the front of his bibs is his smoking tobacco and a plug of chew. The smoking tobacco isn’t anything fancy. In my younger days, it would have been Prince Albert in a can or Bugler Boy. He might stuff it in a pipe to smoke it or roll his own. Either way, when this tobacco is smoldering it smells like someone lit a cat. The chew is Union Workman or Mail Pouch, neither are brands for the meek. His look hasn’t changed over the years and I expect his outlook hasn’t changed much either. He’s honest, straightforward and not too complicated.
Lying on the porch beside him is an old hound dog of no discernible pedigree. Could be part beagle from the long snout, big ears and eyes. Maybe part red bone from the drooping jowls and the color of his face. Then again, the slender waist and speckled markings makes you think there might have been a blue tick in the family. Holler folk will just call him a hound dog and leave it at that. If he can hole a groundhog or chase a rabbit from a thicket or a prowler from the back yard no one much cares if he’s pure bred or not.
Eventually, these images bring me back to my roots, the perspective from which I most like to sort things out. I’ll find me a quiet spot along the creek, get out of the truck and go sit. I’ll grab a hand full of pebbles, watch the squirrels chasing one another, listen to the birds sing and the running water and ponder the problems of the day while I chuck the pebbles one at a time into the creek. I’ll imagine myself asking the old gentleman about those problems…
“What do you think about this war we’re in?”
“War you say? War is an odd thing. I was in WWII, you know. With General Patton. Every American knew we were in a war for our lives then. Every American knew who the enemy was and knew that we had to beat him to survive. This terrorist thing, now that’s different. It’s a war about us surviving OK, but ‘bout the only people that believe we’re at war are the Soldiers. I don’t expect any terrorist is going to come up this holler and that’s part of the problem. People don’t feel threatened when they should. They can’t point and say there’s the enemy. They cry to high heaven about being searched at the airport and don’t even give up a thought as to why. And the politicians, they’re not much help. They should be out there every day, all of them, pointing Americans toward the enemy, but they ain’t. The next time we’re attacked, instead of figuring out how to fight back they’ll start investigating each other. I just fear the next attack’ll be much worse than the last. But, by then, the last one will have been at least well investigated. Yep, this war’s rather peculiar and I ain’t sure all of us are into winning it.”
“What do you think about the politicians? Especially those trying to be President?”
“I don’t think much about them. They have nothing in common with me, matter of fact, they don’t have much in common with most anyone ‘cept one another. One side’ll tell me how good I got it, the other’ll tell me how bad it is. Problem is, things never changed much one way or the other here in the holler no matter who calls his self President. I just look at’em and ask, do you reckon he’s ever seen an actual hog pen? Or, changed the oil in a truck? Caught a catfish and skinned it? Hoed weeds from a garden? Ever had less than 10 dollars between him and hunger? These people insist they know what I need? Most of’em are politicians for the sake of being politicians and they’ll do desperate things to get what they want. If you find one that you’re convinced is truly interested in taking care of you, me and America, vote for him.”
“What about us Americans as people, are we doing OK?”
He’ll pull out his pocket knife, cut a piece from his chewin’ plug and pop it into his cheek. He’ll hold it there for a while pondering the question while it softens up. He’ll bullseye the spittoon, then he’ll answer.
“I read once where President Lincoln said that God must love common folks, that’s why he made so many of them. Most Americans are common folks. See this old hound a layin’ here? I bet there’s five or six different breeds in this one, if you could even track’em all down. This here’s an American hound dog and just like most men, he’s far from being a pure breed. I’ve seen’im run and hunt with all different kinds of hounds and get along good with all of’em. Now we could call him a Beagle-American hound dog, a Red-bone American hound dog, or some such nonsense, but at the end of the day, he’d still be a hound dog a chasin’ groundhogs and cold biscuits for a livin’. He’s friendly, likes to be scratched behind the ears. Whenever a stranger wanders into the yard though, he’ll be out there to get a smell and make sure he ain’t threatening. When he confronts danger, he turns into a fierce, tenacious animal that defends his territory and won’t quit the fight until it’s over. He never makes a mistake about danger. Men could take lessons from him. Especially nowadays.”
By the time I chuck my last pebble into the creek, it’s suppertime. I hop back into the pick-up and head down the holler. The old-timer’s chair is empty when I pass by this time. I get the image of him sitting supper with the rest of the family, saying grace and giving thanks for what they have and where they are. I take a moment to give my own thanks for the good sense of holler folk. Then I feel better.
Copyright© JD PENDRY 2004 All Rights Reserved
Category: Politics
There were a couple of old timers like that in my young life. One was in his 90’s and was a kid when Sherman interloped though Atlanta (he was raised on a farm in New Hope, GA). Lord, the things he saw in his life. He liked indoor plumbing and running water the best. And it was a wonder to sit and listen to him and an old WWI vet talk. Good post, by the way. You do a good job with the written word.
Where I come from, a creek with water in it was a crick. If it didn’t have water in it except during rain, it was a dry wash. It an open field was more than a quarter acre with grass in it, it was a passle.
We raised chickens for food – meat and eggs. They weren’t pets. And a garden fed five people when money was scarce. Stocking up was something you did out of common sense, not because crazy people though the world was coming to an end.
I’ll bet that old porch-sitter had an icebox in his house, too, along with the refrigerator.
I don’t think much about politicians, either. I don’t think much of them, or about them. They’re only in it for themselves. Once the votes are counted, we no longer count.
You can pay me when you see me again, Josey Wales.
JD Pendry…Thank you for your article. I was raised out beyond the Cane Creek Township, in Mitchell County, North Carolina. “Up the holler”, as you wrote. Saw mill folks and a little tobacco farming. A “truck patch” for all the vegetables we ate in summer and those canned for winter. “Potato mounds”, where the few, small potatoes we grew were piled onto a two feet thick circle of pine straw, covered with two feet more of straw and then the whole mound covered in about a foot of dirt. It was the rare winter when any would freeze and never all of them. Just cut a hole through the dirt, spread the straw and grab what was needed. Then put the straw and dirt back in place.
Fond memories. Thank you again.
Thanks for the reminder – that worked for apples too
Sparks, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard of a potato mound, but it’s a handy thing to know about.
In the Midwest, in the cornfields, you needed a root cellar for the same thing. Everything stored for winter use, like potatoes, carrots, beets, turnips and other root vegetables went into the root cellar because it was below the frost line. At the same time, everyone had an ice house, with ice cut from the pond or river in the winter, stored in another below ground cellar and packed with straw against the summer’s heat.
If you ever go to Monticello, they still have the cooling room just the way it was when that house was built. And houses used to be built with keeping rooms, before central heating became available.
I can’t think of any good reason to stop using coal-fired furnaces for winter heating, other than someone decided they were polluters. The clinkers and cinders were always picked up by the road crews for use on roads in the winter. That was a lot less damaging than salt is.
The cinders were also used to make “cinder” block for building.
You’ll probably like Clara’s Depression-era cooking Poor Man’s Meal.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=3OPQqH3YlHA
I do the same thing, only I use Spam instead of hot dogs, and no sauce.
We did have root cellars. But the air entry point let the freezing air run into the bottom and freeze some things. We had a big smoke house where the hams, bacon, hocks, jowls and what not were hung to smoke and cure after, “hog killin’ time”. Richer people thought we ate poor because of those cured meats. What I would give now to have a real, no water injected ham, for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Or a slab of real bacon, cut thick every morning for breakfast. We ate ham one way or the other most meals. Sliced and fried with “red eye gravy”, grits and homemade biscuits with fresh churned butter. That was stick to your ribs (and arteries) food to walk to school on.
Sparks, this is for you. You’re looking for what is now called country ham.
http://bentonscountryhams2.com/
http://www.newsomscountryham.com/
And follow this link to an NYT article for further sources for what you’re after, such as Flying Pigs Farm.
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/20/dining/picking-a-flavorful-easter-ham.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0
Ex-PH2…Thank you! So very much.
Sparks, there is also one fairly local to me, also does the bacon! Yummy!
http://www.broadbenthams.com/
Thank you Candle!
2-3 years into this Depression we’re living through, I began to reflect on how my ancestors dealt with their Depression.
They learned to make do, and if they really needed something, they built it.
I reckon all of America could do with more of that attitude. It’s helping me a lot.
Me, too.
Occasionally, I do wish I could turn the clock back. In many ways, things were truly simpler.
“Lying on the porch beside him is an old hound dog of no discernible pedigree. Could be part beagle from the long snout, big ears and eyes. Maybe part red bone from the drooping jowls and the color of his face. Then again, the slender waist and speckled markings makes you think there might have been a blue tick in the family. Holler folk will just call him a hound dog and leave it at that. If he can hole a groundhog or chase a rabbit from a thicket or a prowler from the back yard no one much cares if he’s pure bred or not.”
That there, JD Pinder, ought to be the opening paragraph of your best seller. Capture all of the home-spun, down-to-earth wisdom that you can, wrap it in descriptive paragraphs like that, and the book will sell itself. Our world is far too busy and needlessly complicated by gadgetry. People want to slow down. Help them. Give them a place to go.
I second that.
I am sorry. Where Pinder came from, I do not know. But, hell, you know your own name so I don’t have to correct it. Do I?
no harm – been called worse and intentionally – i appreaciate your comment
It seems that country folk are pretty much the same all over the country. It’s that homespun good sense that will get us through this mess.
JD,
I really enjoyed that post. More please.
A few years ago I was lost in oklahoma, The road I was on was not on the GPS, one of us was real wrong and I was beginning to think it was me.
I came up on a cross roads, and there was a little country store, sitting in a chair on the porch of the store was a old man. He was some where between 60 and 400 years of age and he looked for all the world like he had been in that same place since sometime in the 30s.
I got out of my truck and As I was walking up to him, I said Im lost, can you help me out.
Without missing a beat he said, you aint lost. your’re right here with me and I know where I am.
That’s a classic.
Anyone besides me ever use a wringer washer? Or hang the clothes on the clothesline and use the clothesline pole to keep the clean laundry off the ground ’til it dried? Or wait until the chatting ladies discussing brownie recipes were off the party line?
Well, I have enough apples, nuts and raisins now to make my grandma’s chopped apple cake (more like a bread than a cake) and I will do that tomorrow. And cranberry bread next month.
I think we’ve all got it pretty good.
Electric or gas clothes dryer? Not.
More than one TV? Not.
More than one telephone? Not.
Microwave? Not.
Computer? Not.
Video game console? Not.
Air conditioning? Not.
Electric or gas dishwasher? Not.
A/C in car? Not.
More than one car? Not.
Separate freezer? Not.
Drones? Not.
Indoor plumbing?-Not. Hand Pump for water-Yes. Bathing in a #2 Washtub in the middle of the kitchen-Yes. Cast iron wood cook stove-Yes. Single pot belly stove for heat-Yes. Such was life on the small family farm of northern Indiana circa 1950’s/early 60’s. Hunting/fishing wasn’t so much for sport,it was meant to make meat.
My folks were often ahead of the power curve on having the latest and greatest, at least on a small scale. But, the first clothes dryer was a huge event. Same with a TV – but the only reason they got one was because they bought a house off post that already had an antenna. The next house did not, so that first TV sat quietly in the corner of the living room. Cable came through town about 20 years later, so they got 2 TV’s!
I had long since left home before they had a private line telephone. It was a town scandal because the telephone operators lost their jobs.
They did have an extension telephone added upstairs some time after I left home.
As much as we enjoy all our gadgets, I still like the feel of a book in my hands, and have enough around to keep us entertained during winter storms. Yes, we know how to live without electricity.
Never used a wringer washer, but remember watching my mom, aunts, grandmas, and neighbors use ’em. Still use a clothesline upon occasion.
OldSoldier54…My first “panic attack” was when I was about 8 years old. In the basement goofing around with the wringer washer, which fascinated me. I would put a wet towel in it and half way stop it and wrap the dry end back into the intake rollers to keep a continual circle going. It was just fun as heck to watch and play with. Though I had been told, “Don’t touch the washer! If you break it, we we don’t have the money for a new one and you’ll get your butt switched but good!” That was my “call sign” then to go mess with it. So to the point as I was manipulating my perpetual towel roll, I got my hand too close to the intake and yep, you guessed it, it pulled my fingers then my hand in. I PANICKED! Fear gripped me, from thoughts of getting switched to death, to losing my arm with someone saying “well we’ll have to cut it off now”. All in an instant. God looks after fools and children. I looked and thought, just throw the stop lever. So it stopped and as I began to regain my senses, I remembered when things too thick would get stuck, they would lift the release on the other side. I reached across and, viola! I was free! Now, damage reports. Get the towel out, then, make sure the wringer still worked…it did so no switching. Then my arm. Blue to my wrist bruised and being a typical somewhat ass covering, wanting to avoid a whoopin’ kid, I figured a good story to tell. “It was like this momma, I was in the stall putting oats in the bin for cow milking and she caught my arm between her and the stall and wouldn’t move so I smacked her on the backside a few times and she got off me.” (Momma) “You poor fella. I’ve told you and told you not to get between the cows and the stalls haven’t I! I outta switch you for not listening to me! But you’ve had enough for… Read more »
I have some of those t-shirts too, Brother.
OldSoldier54…Yep, I figured I wasn’t alone Brother.
I used to have a maytag gas hit and miss engine.
I will still hang clothes out.
I did go looking for wringer washers, which, in a sluggish economy, might be a bit pricey, but if you want something that will do the job and not run your well dry, the wringer washer works.
And Lehman’s sells them. Lehman’s sells everything.
http://non-electric.lehmans.com/search#w=wringer
It’s not the Maytage, which was the best, and it isn’t cheap, but by golly, it works. They also have the hand-powered wringer.
Actually, you could probably take apart a used electric washing machine to get the agitator and drum out of it and make a hand-cranked washer, if you had to. The washing machine was an early 19th century imvention, along with the closed stove.
I have a library full of books. They spill out of the bookshelves onto the floor. They are everywhere. They don’t require batteries or recharging. Why would anyone want to give up print books?
Thank you CSM Pendry. Your writing reminds me of Harry Middleton and I mean that as high praise. For those of you that have not read “The Earth Is Enough; Growing up in a world of trout fishing and old men”, I strongly recommend it.
I remember spending weekends at my grand parents house. I was about six. No bathroom, they had a outhouse. I remember walking in on granny taking a bath in a large wash tub.
A couple of years later they bought a house down the lane from the previous house. Source of water was a old pumper. They converted to running water. I have that old pump to this day. I use for a running water feature.
Still live on a dirt road (gravel really), got a functioning outhouse, and a root cellar, a stock pond for fish, our own gas well, and a hand pumped water well if needed, etc.
We’ve sorta cheated with the tech end of things though.