NEWS FROM THE HILLS
Brown November has departed, leaving behind brown fields and bare trees, brown leaves on the forest floor, and meadows brown and sere. She was a glorious month, however, showering us with weeks of Indian summer-like weather. She is gone with scarcely a backward look, leaving December to bring in winter weather.
My Grandpa Hooge loved Christmas. When December rolled around, he grew excited. In a letter to my mother he wrote, “This is Christmas month!” There is a child-like spirit in most of us who greet the first snowflake with a feeling of excitement, and look forward to the holiday season with its extended love and cheer.
Grandpa Hooge lived most of his life down on Big Laurel Creek, where he and his wife Alice raised 11 children. They were poor by today’s standards, but rich in the things that really counted. My Aunt Eva, one of the older girls, was an accomplished poet, as was Aunt Addie. Here is one of Aunt Eva’s poems, written many years ago.
CHRISTMASTIME AGAIN
By Eva Samples King
When Christmas time came long ago and snow began to fall,
Around our little cabin home, but room enough for all.
The chimney filled with burning logs that sent the smoke so high,
To meet the snowflakes as they fell from winter’s laden sky.
The cookin’ in the kitchen that smelled so spicy sweet,
Ma made a stack of apple pies and cakes for us to eat.
Pa always had hog killin’ time, the sausage Mama made
And a bowl of souse with vinegar, red pepper and with sage.
Back bones and ribs in our iron pot, and tenderloin to fry,
It makes us hungry just to think these times have passed us by.
Most of us are on a diet, we can’t eat this or that,
No pickles, no fried ‘taters, no sausage and no fat.
You young’ens eat the food you like, before you’re old like me,
And I will eat what I’m allowed with sassy frassy tea.
We still can read our Bible, though it hasn’t changed a bit,
Since our Dad read it long ago when the oil lamp was lit.
We have the old songs we can sing that Mother used to sing,
About the birthday of a Child, but now a conquering King.
No more a tiny manger Babe when angels announced His birth
God gave to us His only Son, the greatest gift on earth.
The old log house has been gone for many years now, and the 11 children too have departed from this world. Aunt Eva passed away in January 1997, at the age of 93. Her poetry lives on.
The wind is blowing now, and a mist of cold rain is falling. It will undoubtedly turn to snow flurries before long. When we were kids, we usually retreated to the barn on days like this. The barn is gone now, but in memory I can see it still.
It was made of hand-hewn logs, with two stalls and a ladder to the loft. Sometimes in the summer, we girls would build a playhouse in one of the stalls. The manger filled with hay made an ideal bed, and we furnished the room with cracked dishes that were discarded, and an assortment of broken utensils and tin cans.
We would pound the glass liners out of the old zinc lids (do you remember how we canned with those lids and red rubber rings?) The little white liners made perfect playhouse dishes. Hours were spent “playing house” with the younger siblings, but the barn loft was really where we spent most of our time, especially in the winter.
The hay was piled loosely in the loft, and we would burrow back in the dry, fragrant mass. The roof was made of tin, and when it rained it beat out a steady tattoo that made us feel warm and cozy. Our imagination knew no bounds when we played there. Sometimes it was a pirate ship tossed on the ocean waves. It seemed that we could feel the motion of the ship as we rocked on the open sea.
The wind could blow around the barn and wail through the cracks, but we were safe and warm in our ocean vessel. Other times we would take a notion to sleep in the barn, and would drag quilts and blankets to make a bed in the hay. There we would bed down and tell scary stories, until we were sure that wild animals prowled outside, and were just waiting to pounce on one of us.
Sometimes I wonder if today’s children haven’t been cheated out of using their imaginations. Their sophisticated toys have been processed and homogenized until all they have to do is push a button and their play is ready made. We were active participants in our games, and came back to earth only when Mom called us home.
We have heard from several readers about previous requests that were made, and we are trying to catch up on them. June Cox of Winifrede sends a recipe for autumn olive jam that was requested some time back.
We are mailing out my books for Christmas giving, and they can be autographed and mailed directly to the recipient if desired. Contact WV Book Company at (304) 342-1848 or e-mail Alyce Faye Bragg at alycefaye@citlink.net. My address is 2556 Summers Fork Road, Ovapa, WV 25164.
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