SISTERS, BROTHERS, RIBS, AND CATFISH

My mom (on right) is 82 years old and out of her 6 siblings, only her brother Tom (center) and sister Nell (on left) remain. It’s getting harder for them to visit and be together. They are getting up in age and mom lives the furthest away in Kingston, Tennessee, with Nell near Huntsville, Alabama, and Tom in Florence, Alabama.

Tom is still the most capable of traveling; being around 10 years younger than the other two surviving Williams children, but even visits are becoming more infrequent. So, it is up to me to get mom to Alabama so they can gather and be a family for a little while a couple of times each year.

Nell is in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s and the other two siblings know that in time she will not remember them. Already she tells stories of their youth that neither of the other two remembers in quite the same way. During last week’s visit, Nell was telling a story of her and mom sitting on their grandmother’s back porch hammering nails when two Indians came out of the house. Mom and Tom do not remember anything about this, but I do remember being told that Grandmother Johnston’s brothers used to come visit her, and they were Indians. So, part of the story may in fact be true.

Great grandmother Johnston was a Morrison of North Alabama and was half if not full bloodied Indian. I’m not sure if she was from the Cherokee Indians of the area or another tribe that lived in the area. We know there were at least some Yuchi Indians around, but since we can’t verify much about the Morrison’s it remains unfounded. Most likely they were Cherokee.

Aunt Nell also was telling a story how great Grandfather Johnston first came upon his future wife, and Indian maiden, standing on the bank of the Tennessee River. The story goes he was very struck by her appearance and, to make a long story short, loaded her up and took her home with him.

That blood line and the Cherokee bloodline from the Mashburn side of the family is proof of my heritage. Maybe that’s why I always wanted to be the Indian when we played cowboys and Indians in the neighborhood. It was in my blood.

Anyway, I am moved to tears when I look at the photo of the three siblings sitting on Uncle Tom’s couch – Nell on the left and mom on the right of their remaining brother Tom. The literally had to be touching each other during the visit, as if they know time is their enemy. To make knowing that time will take each of them, they know that Nell may slip away from them even before she is gone.

In lighter moments, the evening we arrived Tom’s wife Carolyn had prepared BBQ ribs, potato salad, slaw, rolls, and other wonderful things like cheesecake for us. Uncle Lee and Aunt Nell drove down to eat with us and Nell and mom got to talk old times. That evening, Nell seemed to be completely together and they talked and laughed well into the evening. Also eating with us was one of Tom’s daughters, Amy and her beau Ken. I thoroughly enjoyed Stuart…he reminded me of my eye doctor, and seemed just as smart!

The last evening we all went to eat at Walton’s Restaurant near Elgin Crossroads, Alabama, and just a few miles north of Wheeler Dam on Hwy 101. Walton’s serves the best catfish in the North Alabama area and it is a “must” when we go down for a visit. The jalapeño hushpuppies they bring out for an appetizer “are to die for” and you have to force yourself to stop eating them or there will be no room for the catfish! Oh yeah, if you go, you must try the Possum Pie!

Nell and Lee and Tom’s daughter Gina met us there and we had a great time.

I always dread “going home” as mom refers to the trip, but once there I always have a great time. They are wonderful people and Judy and I enjoy being around them. Tom also entertained us with his new Wii and I pulled a “buttock” muscle bowling! You really can get a workout on those things! I also like the cow racing!

So, we made plans to go back in September when there will be a big Indian meet at Spring Park in Tuscumbia, Alabama. I look forward to that very much…maybe there will be some kinfolks there too!

TELAHNAY'S WALL

I took my mom to see her remaining brother (Tom with white beard) and sister (Nell is not shown) in Alabama this past week. She and we had a wonderful time talking about the old days and driving around the country side.

One stop was at Tom Hendrix’s (t-shirt with American flag) place and the rock wall he’s been building for over 20 years. It’s a fascinating story!

You should look so good when you’re 75 years old, however, you’ll have to work very hard and take the “medicines” (we would call them herbs) Tom Hendrix’s great-grandmother taught him about years ago. It’s to her, Te-lah-nay, that the rock wall Tom has built over the past 20 years is dedicated.

Hendrix’s wall is a memorial to his great-great-grandmother; a Yuchi Indian named Te-lah-nay, who was moved along the “Trail of Tears” with the rest of her tribe to the Indian Territories of Oklahoma in the 1830s. The wall represents her gripping journey there and her struggle back to her homeland in North Alabama. Hendrix has recorded her story in his book, “If the Legends Fade.”

“She is the only one to come back on record,” Hendrix says.

The wall is unique in many ways — its lack of cement, its various colors, the way it twists and turns about a quarter of a mile in mimicry of Te-lah-nay’s journey, and the way it seems to rise from the ground like a thick road or the remains of excavated ruins.

A late Lakota medicine man, whose name Hendrix said it is forbidden to mention in accordance with strict Lakota tradition, once walked the length of the wall and afterwards gave it the name it bears today — Wichahpi or “like the stars.”

Lifting about 2,700 pounds a day for 20 years, he placed each stone, taking them first from the ground to one of his 3 old pickup truck beds, to one of the 27 wheelbarrows he wore out, using one of the 1800 pairs of gloves he wore out to place the on the wall, one at a time just like the footsteps of her journey.

To date, he has placed nearly 7.5 million pounds of rocks in the wall. People bring him rocks too, some from every state, 127 countries, one from space, and even one from Mr. Everest. You can make an instant friend if you bring him a rock.

Tom is located on County Road 8 near the Natchez Trace in Lauderdale County, Alabama. Tom loves to talk to anyone that stops by, and his dogs will also greet you. The white one he calls Pavarotti, because he likes to sing, and the black one is Molly. They guard the wall by day, alerting Tom to your arrival, and the “rock faces” guard the wall after dark.

Oh yes, don’t stop by after 5PM…that’s family time he says, “We eat at 5:30!”

Visit Tom’s website by CLICKING HERE!

See my photos of the wall by CLICKING HERE! Read the info then click on Slideshow!

THE MOCKINGBIRD

Does anyone out there remember the Mockingbird Trailer Park (Court), in Florence, Alabama, that was a thriving community in the late 50s and early 60s? I think Fred Bevis owned the court and all the surrounding land.

I doubt anyone comes forward; it has been too long ago, and I was by the area not too long ago and it is not there – just some condos.

My family moved there when I was in the sixth grade, probably 1958 or so, and back again in 1961, when I was a sophomore. My dad and most of the families that lived there worked at either Wilson or Wheeler Dams, or the Colbert Fossil Plant for TVA.

The first time, the trailer park was brand-new and a very exciting place to live. The park had its own grocery store and gas station, barber and beauty shops, a laundry mat, a park with picnic tables, swings and slides, and a swimming pool.

The trailer spaces we evenly spaced and had concrete runways with high-wind tie down anchors for each house trailer. There was a little grassy yard in front, convenient water, sewer, and power hookups.

This was the best trailer park that we ever lived in and it holds fond memories for my entire family.

I learned to swim in the pool, play Marco Polo, do fancy dives, and bond with several kids my age.

I remember that once a pipeline installing crew moved temporarily into the park, only staying a few weeks, and my dad caught one of the dirty crewmembers bathing in the pool. My dad chewed on the guy pretty good, telling him that “my kid swims in that water” and that it was not for bathing! It never happened again.

I remember that a Mockingbird lived in a cedar tree near the pump and filter that would swoop down and pull your hair if you got too close to its nest in the spring. I hated that bird and tried unsuccessfully several times to kill it.

The owner’s son was the unofficial lifeguard and in charge of the pool. He organized a spring clean-up crew every year to bleach and paint the pool and get it ready for summer. I enjoyed this work and learned a lot about organization and delegation of duties from this Florence State student.

I also remember they used to put a railroad tie in the water to keep it from freezing during the winter. I once found something else floating in that water…a baseball glove my maternal grandfather gave me for my twelfth birthday. I still have the glove, but it was never quite the same after the thief tossed it.

It snowed that first winter, yes, even in Alabama, and I loved it! I did not want anyone walking through my yard and making it melt. I attributed footprints to aiding the snow to melt, and protected it from the other kids. They saw that I had a sore spot and picked at me, threatened to run through the yard, and when I made a snowball, they ganged up on me and began pelting me some of their own.

Not to be out done, I loaded my next round with a core of rocks. As soon as they started across the yard I threw as hard as I could – and missed!

“Crack!” The snowball hit our living room window and the rock continued inside.

My dad was immediately out the door and into the yard. “Who threw that,” he demanded. “Tell me!”

I looked around, but everyone else had long since disappeared. “I did sir,” I said, my lips already beginning to quiver.

There was the familiar sound of leather slithering from grey khaki work pant loops, and me already whimpering “No daddy! I didn’t mean to! They were in the yard, daddy, messing up the snow! Please daddy! Momma!”

That night I learned that I did not own the yard or the snow in it – daddy did! However, I became the proud new owner of a large living room window.

CHRISTMAS – MORE THAN JUST LIGHTS

I am back from Alabama and glad to report I had a wonderful time. I saw family I had not seen in quite some time and we shared some good food and fellowship.

I wanted to share one of the most interesting and beautiful sights of the trip. I am not usually one for the commercialization of Christmas, or decorating for that matter, but this story had some real meaning behind the lights that decorated about three acres of Wrights Family property in Spring Valley, a few miles from Tuscumbia, Alabama.

I personally have never seen so many Christmas lights in front of one home before, but I am sure there are those with many more. The story here is that a legend has grown up around this annual display. The false story is told that the family lost a daughter several years ago who loved Christmas, and the family continues to share their love for their daughter and Christmas with their community by spending long hours in preparing this display.

The actual daughter of this family contacted me on Flickr, and told me she is alive and well and that her family simply loves Christmas! I like that much better...don't you?!

My photos (click to make larger), of course, do not do them justice, nor do they give a sense of how many lights and displays are there.

Cars enter the family drive and reverently extinguish their headlights and slowing move up and around the circular drive. It is not necessary, but if you look real close on the left, just in front of the house, you can make a donation toward their power bill!

If you know more about this family and the story of the lights, let me know!

If you are ever in the “Tri-Cities” area of Northern Alabama around Christmas, just ask someone for directions to the Wrights!

ONE IS THE LONELIEST NUMBER

Well, it's not Sunday yet, but here's my witness...it goes out to someone special:

How do you survive as an only child, or as a lonely person? You have to find someone to talk to, and maybe someone who will give you a hug at just the right time. But it was a little difficult in my situation, but I worked it out in my own way.

I was born in a little town in North Alabama, in 1946, in my great-grandfather’s bed. Mom had gotten too impatient at the hospital and came home early. My dad gave ol’ Doc Cotton a five-dollar bill for his trouble. I was an only child until my brother came along when I was ten. As do many only children I talked with myself and spent hours in the company of imaginary friends. I even knew at an early age that I was the marrying type. I wanted to be needed.

I often pretended to be Flash Gordon as I played on mother's bed, and fiercely protected a pillow propped against my back, as I fought off all kind of evil aliens. The pillow was Dale, Flash's beautiful girlfriend, and just as real to me. I was there for her, and she was there for me.

My family moved on the average of every 1.3 years, which meant I attended nine different schools in my first twelve years of education, it was hard to get to know someone well enough to let them inside your head. I used humor to break the ice during my many first days at school, or when meeting new people. And even though I could not carry a tune in a bucket, I have always used music and movies to validate my feelings, and it still seems to work today to a certain extent. However, today I have found a better way to cope with loneliness.

"One is the loneliest number you'll ever do,” is a line from a song by Three Dog Night. This and songs like, "Tears of a Clown,” and "Tuesday is Gone" were songs I easily identified with. I was "one" for many years. I think this had a lot to do with me latching on to God by age fourteen. I could talk to Him at any time. He got me through the dark and lonely nights in Vietnam, as I stood post on the airfield at DaNang. He helped me through the University of Tennessee, and was with me as I drove back and forth from forty miles away for three solid years - alone.

It was to God that I held my only son up to, on a beautiful starlit night, just like Kunta Kenta, in the movie “Roots,” and asked that He might use him in is work. He also helped me when my first marriage ended in divorce, after the sin of pride invaded us both. This was followed by a brief marriage born out of loneliness and lust that was barely consummated. Having been raised and baptized a "good" Baptist this second mistake nearly ended my life.

In a drunken fit and rage born of loneliness, I hugged a shotgun and contemplated the worst. After realizing that it would be my mother who would find my brains in Picasso like patterns on the wall, I quickly threw the shotgun aside and went boldly before the throne: "You said you would never put on me more than I could take...well this was almost it. I can't handle it anymore! You've got to take care of it from now on or I won't be responsible for what happens."

It was barely two weeks later, after being pressured into attending a class reunion, that I was prodded into speaking to Judy, whom I had secretly admired through my junior and senior years in high school. Since then Ms. Judy and I have not been apart in twenty-six years. And since then I have not done anything without consulting my Heavenly Father.

One is not a lonely number anymore. Judy and I are one, and you see, He is One too! The difference between what one was and what one is now, is His ONE includes us all. We are all the same. We are all His children.

I am only telling you this because God asked me to. I encourage you to seek friendships that are joined as One. Seek like minds, like goals, and warm hearts burning to share love, as He first loved us. I do think we are failing in the instructions of Paul. We do not greet each other enough in “an Holy kiss,” and I submit that you cannot give a proper kiss without first giving a proper hug!

So how do you survive being lonely? Find a buddy, talk to them, hug them, and most importantly, keep talking to your daddy, as a friend often refers to God. He will be what you need. You might even try going to Church, joining a social club, or even start a blog! Yes, you will be surprised at the friends you find in the blogging community. You will find brothers and sisters with common interest and experiences are what you need. And start greeting your friends with a hug and maybe “an Holy kiss,” at least on the cheek!