The first day of our new year came in on the wings of a cold north wind, bringing swirling snowflakes and frigid temperatures to our hills. Snow quickly covered each meadow and hillside, outlined the bare limbs of the trees in white, and froze on the roadways. It came as a shock after enjoying mild temperatures through the month of December.
The school children were overjoyed as they added another day to their winter vacation, and piled on sleighs, sheets of plastic and other impromptu sleds to revel in the snow. Commuters were not so happy however, as they braved the treacherous highways to travel to work.
Elk River runs green and cold, with snow-draped bushes leaning over its swift surface. No songbirds flit through the icy branches of the trees; they have all flown south for the winter. The wildflowers have been put to sleep for the winter, and covered with dry leaves and a counterpane of white snow. The earth is taking a long rest before spring arrives.
It seems that the first of a new year brings on a flurry of cleaning up, throwing out and generally de-cluttering. Criss tackles the refrigerator, which is one of his pet peeves. Perhaps it is a legacy from my mother who survived the depression, but it is hard for me to throw anything (especially food) out. I have to leave little dabs of this and that in the refrigerator until it turns blue or grows hair on it. Then I feel justified in dumping it.
He brings in a cottage cheese carton half full of some black objects, and asks scornfully, "Do you really want these cooked prunes?" I tell him gently (after all, he IS doing my work) "Those are not prunes -- it's black olives I put in there yesterday." I don't have any excuse for the funky-looking spaghetti sauce that is two weeks old. So I tell him to toss it.
Patty is working on the Christmas leftovers. "Mom, what do you want with two grass skirts still in the package?" she asks. I can't see myself doing a hula dance in this weather, but they ARE new. "Okay, okay," I give in without protest. I'll probably never wear them anyway. (Actually they are a gag gift from one of my sisters -- they all have a weird sense of humor.)
I'll have to admit that I am a pack rat, but what is most difficult for me to toss is paperwork. I can browse in these old files and happily go back in the past for hours. There are yellowed newspaper clippings of our young children receiving scholastic awards; now they are middle-aged men and women with grandchildren of their own. Who else but a mother would value these things?
There are hand printed notes in childish handwriting that states "I LUV U" and are precious now beyond words. Never mind that the writer is half a century old now and would probably be embarrassed by viewing this. I made the mistake of opening a folder labeled "Sentimental Stuff" and got stuck there.
Sometimes we find real treasures that have been hidden for some time. I ran across a poem that was sent to me by one of Uncle Myles' old CCC buddies in McKee, Ky. Wilford Barnett sent this from Cowen years ago.
The Depression Days
I remember the depression days
They were inconvenient in many ways.
Beans and 'taters were our daily grub,
And we took our bath in a three-bushel wash tub.
Things will not be that way again I hope,
Because I don't like that old lye soap.
We grew most of what we had to eat,
We killed groundhogs in order to have meat.
When the preacher came to visit we had chicken, dumplings and gravy too --
But after he left it was beans and 'taters the whole week through.
Well, we had no fancy clothes,
We used our shirtsleeve to wipe our nose.
Things have changed since away back there,
Because now we have food stamps and welfare.
We use the stamps to buy our grub,
And bid goodbye to the three-bushel wash tub.
While I didn't grow up during the Depression, I can identify with all of that. Saturday night baths were not just a joke. A wash pan bath sufficed for the week, but on Saturday night it was a real go-for-broke wash-tub bath. We had to carry our water from a pitcher pump in the Virginia office yard, heat it on the cook stove, and pour it into the described tub.
The first tub was for the girls, from youngest to oldest. Then the water was dumped and fresh water was heated for the boys. It was a chore carrying water from the pump in winter weather, when the bucket would tip and splash icy water down your leg. Then there was that memorable time when brother Larry stuck his tongue to the pump handle in sub zero weather. I don't know why, but he only did it one time.
Mom used to tell us that her mother sewed their underwear on for the winter, and it may not have been a joke! I can see why, when they had to heat their wash water in an open fireplace. We take our modern appliances for granted, and do a load of laundry just by pushing a button. If we had to go back to yesterday, I figure we'd sew our underwear on for the winter too.
The old Jackson County bachelor, Ed Gilpin, used to tell me that I was "a'warshin' them kid's clothes to death." He would hook his thumbs through his bib overalls and say, "When I get a new pair of overalls, they ain't never warshed! I jist put 'em on and wear 'em out!" That was obvious.
I'd just as well confess before someone else tells it. I'm back on my walker after another fall. I was taking a shower in my bathtub when I reached down for my washcloth, lost my balance and toppled over the side of the tub flat on my back. I knocked a big bruise on the nape of my neck, and hit my spine flat on the floor. There I lay like a big beached whale, slippery with soap, when Criss rescued me.
There should be a Bible verse to fit the occasion, but the only one I can think of is "Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall." (I Cor 10:12)
Contact Alyce Faye Bragg at alycef...@citlink.net or write to 2556 Summers Fork Road, Ovapa, WV 25164.
