Our Garden of Eden
A Valuable Education Begins

Dad came home that afternoon wearing the biggest grin! Was he doing his best “cat that caught the canary” impression? And then he shared the greatest news, and it was his best “Boll Weevil has found a home!” impression! The interview had gone well; the couple loved kids and two young boys would be welcome. The house was a single story, but large and roomy, and,… can you believe it?… clean!

Mr. “K” was a kindly Southern gentleman, a farmer, a hard worker, and especially these days, with rationing, his tractor was only started periodically to keep the machinery lubricated. He did his farming with “Bo” and “Erie”, pronounced “Ee-ry”, a team of tall, long-legged mules. He had a peculiar way of humming, which he did as he strolled here and there, tending his chores, crops, and animals, it sounded almost like a kid playing a tune on a tissue covered comb. It simplified keeping track of him; the tune was usually a familiar traditional melody from the Baptist hymnal. Mrs. “K” was a tall, reserved lady with an easy-going disposition who would give you a smile simply because you were there, and it seemed to be a long established habit of hers.

Approaching the house, it first came into view from about halfway up the lane that led to the shady foreyard from the unpaved road that led back to the highway, and town. The foreyard was separated from the front yard by a manicured hedge that concealed an ornamental woven-wire fence that was supposed to keep the chickens out of the yard.The front porch, or veranda, extended the full length of the front of the house, and was covered by an extended, overhanging roof, and was furnished with a half-dozen comfortable rocking chairs with homemade cushions. There was a porch swing with just enough squeak in the chains to perform a sweet evening lullaby. I was to find that it usually came with a comfortable lap to cushion a sleepy little head! It was a perfect place, after a day’s work, and chores, and supper, to sit and enjoy watching a cooling rain pull the heat out of the day, leaving the night air suitable for a good night’s rest, and sleep. 

The house was set, in picturesque fashion, among tall, mature pecan trees, oak trees, and accented by huge, old cedars and pines. It was a songbird’s paradise with Wrens, Threshers, Cardinals, Jays, Mocking Birds, colorful Orioles, and a variety of others, with Whip-Poor-Wills taking the night shift. After crossing the yard on a brick-paved walkway, and ascending a tall set of wide steps, crossing the deep, shady veranda, inside the front door was a wide, high-ceilinged,furnished hallway that extended all the way back to the dining room, and to one’s lefthand side, the kitchen. Bedrooms, siting room, or parlor, had doors opening off the hallway,which doubled as an informal sitting room. On either side of a hall-tree, were comfortable upholstered chairs, along with a library table, and assorted lamp tables, and chairs.

There was a fig tree, that I could climb, in front of the house, and apple, pear., and several varieties of peach trees. There were sweet potatoes and sugar cane that were better than candy for gnawing. Peanuts, water melons and cantaloupe were grown as cash crops, and the pecans were harvested and sold, but the main crop was cotton. The cane was made into Ribbon Cane Syrup, or molasses, there on the farm. All cultivation was done with mule teams, as were trips to town with the wagon. The family sedan was in the garage, on blocks, with the tires removed in support of the war effort, and especially for the two sons at sea.

Not too long after we moved and got settled in, the ladies decided that the “rules” for sharing the kitchen and dining room were too cumbersome, and they started preparing meals together, everything went on the table together, and we all sat down together and had our meals as one big family. Mr. and Mrs. “K” were like another set of grandparents to me and my brother. Mom was like another daughter and field-hand to Mr. and Mrs. K.  Having grown up on a cotton farm, she didn’t need a beginner’s course on “chopping” (thinning) cotton, and handled a hoe with the expertise of a Minesota Fats handling a cue stick! I carried the water jug and sack lunches and herded the geese; there were four or five adult geese and a string of half-grown goslings that “knew” to follow us to the field. They would eat the grass emerging alongside the cotton seedlings, and not touch the cotton. The best way to herd them is to leave them alone. Come fall, the hoes will be traded for  long canvas bags with shoulder straps, and the picking will begin.

I stayed busy during the day trying to stay in Mr. K’s tracks and follow him from field to field, chore to chore, if I could, and when I got too far behind I would run, and if that failed to close the distance, I would call out, “wait for me!”, which earned me the nickname, “Little Wait for Me”. He wouldn’t leave without me, but would call ”Hey, Little Wait-for-Me”, and Old Poochie, the Short-haired Collie, would take the lead and be our snake alarm. The cane field was the farthest from the house and it took quite a hike through the piney woods on my short legs, and wading a stream to get there. There he showed me patiently, while explaining meticulously how to lay 18 inch joints of cane in the furrows of the soil with a sprinkling of insecticide and plant food for the next season’s crop, just as if it would be up to me to get it done. The peanut field was the next in outlying distance in the opposite direction. My job, when there was anyone working there, was to take empty water jars to the house and bring a full one to the field. The water jars had a burlap wrap that would be soaked through so the evaporation would keep the contents reasonably cool for a while. If we had ice, a large chip would be placed in the jar before it was filled, which made me a very popular fellow when I arrived at the field with a fresh jar! We had a designated Sassafrass bush that provided shade for the water jugs, and on several occasions, a hot and tired little water boy!

In addition to the residence, there were various other structures that were essential to farm living and operation, There was a windmill that pumped well-water into an elevated tank on a tower, the base of which was enclosed with planking to provide privacy for a shower. There was no “hot” water, just what was delivered fresh from the well, by way of the tank. Showers were usually taken after sundown for added privacy. There was a smokehouse for the purpose of curing meat, some of the best bacon and sugar cured ham that could be obtained anywhere! A suitable distance beyond everything else, was the privy. It came with its own security guard, an overzealous gander, that did not discriminate. He hated everybody! He especially enjoyed picking on creatures smaller than himself, which included me! To the left of the smokehouse was the machine shop. It contained a forge, a coal pile, an anvil, all the tongs and tools required to keep the mower/sickle blades sharp, the muleshoes fitted, and a treadle grindstone to put an edge on Mom’s hoe. Back inside the gate to the back yard was the wash-pot. On washday, it would be filled with water, a fire would be built under it, so the laundry could be boiled in soapy water, then lifted out on the end of a weatherbeaten stick and removed to a tub where it would receive the rub-board treatment, wrung out, rinsed, whites with “blueing”  in the water, wrung and hung, most on the clothesline, but delicates and unmentionables on the back fence, away from prying eyes, where the wires had been cleaned so many times they gleamed like the “good” tableware. 

Farther to the left was the barn, big and roomy with a double front door where a team and wagon laden with hay could drive in without disturbing the load. The first room on he right was for storing melons that didn’t make the cut when the trucks were loaded to take them to market. Mr. K  raised Dixie Queens, a heritage melon that traces back to the 1880s, and Black Diamonds, both exceptionally red and sweet. Any blemish, such as a turtle-bite, would keep one off the truck. To the left of the front door was the peanut shed, After the vines were plowed from the ground, they were cleaned of dirt around the roots, dried, and then the peanuts were picked by hand off the vines, in the shade of the shed. The last room back and on the left was the corn crib. We would sit in the door of the crib while we shucked the ears of corn, and the mules would come up to the back door of the barn and take the ears of corn from us.

I learned so much at that early stage of my life, and I had not had a single day of formal education. What I had learned had been by hands-on learning by doing. That is not to say that I was really good at what I had learned, like the time I took out the gate post taking the wagon into the melon field! I think I can remember Bo and Erie giving each other funny looks as thoughts passed silently between them, but there’s other stuff that needs to be told first, I keep getting ahead of myself!

Your word-pictures are enviable, Ron. Thanks for sharing with us.

"Little Wait for Me" sounds like a Cheyenne name. Just mentionin'!

A.J.