The Sleigh Ride

 

     I went to work with my dad when I was thirteen and stayed with the job until I went in the Navy when I turned eighteen. I had no idea of the life experiences I would have and the memories I would hold forever. 

     When school was in session I would work on the weekends and usually every Saturday dad would want to go see his bootlegger (Grady) before going home. Regardless of the weather dad couldn't pass up an opportunity to have a few drinks with friends and pick up a to go bag. 

     Grady's place was located on the banks of the Cumberland River close to the mouth of the Stones River. It wasn't much of place, a couple of shacks to house Grady and his wife and another to house their daughter and grandson. The driveway was a long downhill curvy and at one time paved, one side  was an embankment dense with brush while the other side steeply dropped off into a wooded area with a sharp right turn at the bottom. If you missed the turn there were a few sapling trees that might stop your plunge into the river some fifty feet below. Rather sit around inside watching people drinking, I would find something of interest to occupy me.

     One night drove to Grady's place, it was cold and snowing. I didn't think going to Grady's was a good idea as we might get trapped at the bottom of the hill but we went anyway. When we got there we met a friend of dad's by the name of Ben, he was a likable character and a barrel of laughs. Ben had already had a few drinks.

     I hooked up with Grady's grandson Junior, we through a few snowballs and then Ben came out and joined the fracas. The next thing I know, Junior came up with a couple of sleds which we drug up the driveway and then the fun started. For the next hour or more we drug our sleds up the drive and rode them down the hill at what seemed like a breakneck speed. Miraculously we managed to not break through the curve at the bottom, all of our laughter and yelling got Grady and most of his customers outside to watch us.

     After a while it was time to go, we hopped into Dad's '58 chevy and headed up the hill, I don't know how he did it but we made it to the top.

     I grew up a lot in those years, between Dad's friends and the people I ran across with the job, I got a good education in life's lesson of interacting with people. In a way that I didn't realize at the time I became closer to dad, I didn't understand him any better but it was good to hear him introduce me to his friends, there was a sense of pride in his voice when he told people I was his number one (firstborn) son. 

     

     

The Sounds of Silence

 

     I'm sitting on my back deck reminiscing about the "Good Ol' Days", reminiscing has become a common occurrence for me. Seems that the older I get the less I like the changes I have lived through, embracing the world of today is difficult for me with all of the rampant technology, the woke generation, the me generation, the left, the right, so on and so on. So I often wind up looking backwards to a time long ago that only people my age can relate to.

     I live in a small town that is steadily getting larger and becoming more fast paced, more crowded with traffic and people. The noise, at times can be overwhelming with firetrucks, ambulances and police cars racing buy, then there are the loud mufflers. Peace and tranquility are hard to find in todays world.

     One of the things I like is to look out at what Kay and I have created for ourselves, her flowers are everywhere and their colors are beautiful. Birds are attracted to our yard, mainly because Kay feeds them but also because there are quite a few trees and places to build nest, in this I have helped by building at least a dozen birdhouses. Sitting here watching the birds and listening to their calls made me remember two birds I have not heard in many years. 

     When I was a young boy, I spent a lot of time on my grandfather's farm. He was a farmer of the old school, he plowed his fields walking behind a pair of mules, named Kit and Doc. He had cows, pigs and chickens all of which were tended to by hand. I followed him around just about everywhere he went.

     I remember, back in the 1950's, the distractions were a lot less than they are now, you were more in tune with the surroundings, in particular, the birds. There were the loud Blue Jays, Mocking birds, Wrens, Cat birds and others, they all had a song to sing and all you had to do was listen but there was one that really stands out in my memory - the Bob White Quail.

     The Bob White Quail is a small bird found only in the forest of the south, they had a very distinctive call, it was more of a whistling sound like no other. They were ground feeders and nested in the deep underbrush of the forest and raised a brood of six or more chicks. Once the chicks hatched mom and dad started their training and wherever mom and dad went so did the chicks. One of my best memories was walking down a shaded dirt lane with my grandpa. I looked up and not far ahead two adult Quails came out of the brush, one following the other, they in turn were quickly followed by six or eight freshly hatched chicks in a single file line behind the mom and dad.

     Unfortunately, the little bird was considered a prized target by hunters, they were nearly hunted to extinction. Their savior turned out to be the hunters, their hunger for the bird caused them to create brooders who would raise the birds to be turned loose on large hunting clubs where they would be hunted. But the hardy little bird turned out to be quite the survivor, the speed with which they flew when they were flushed made them hard targets. Today there are many birds running wild in south Georgia having escaped the aim of the hunter, conservationist in most southern states are reintroducing the Bob White Quail in their states.

     The other bird that I used to hear quite often is the Whippoorwill. When Linda and I moved closer to the lake in Mt. Juliet I could often hear the Whippoorwill late in the evening. I never saw one but they had a distinctive call that made them different from the other song birds. As far as I know they too were fond of the solitude afforded by the forest but the encroachment of people has destroyed much of their habitat.

     The last time I can say that I heard the call of the Bob White Quail was the late 1950's or early 1960's. The last I heard of the Whippoorwill was in the mid 1970's. I'm not against progress, I'm not a tree hugger, I leave that up to someone else and hope that someday mankind will learn from his prior mistakes. The sound of their silence is yet another reason so many of us elderly people often look back on the "Good Ol' Days".