Love Holds The Key

There’s a little felt hat hanging on the wall

A faded apron hanging behind the kitchen door

 Such cherished old memories so easy to recall

They are still hanging there like always before

He with his overalls, hair and beard of gray

She in her kitchen cooking on a woodstove

That tantalizing smell always made my day

Like cattle to market, they came in a drove

My heart still yearns for that little porch swing

In the warm, summer breeze, they could be found

Watching grandchildren grow, made their heart sing

That little house was a regular stomping ground

When the north wind blew making itself known

The old quilting frames were hanging down low

A masterpiece she made, each square was hand sown

Each stitch was in place lined up in a row

And the little work shed under the maple tree

I can see him there making handles for each tool

He took such pride in his work and artistry

Such a wise man, he never had much school

So much goings on, eyes were bright as the sun

Those cathead biscuits in the oven I still see

Oh how I miss his jokes and tricks, all in fun 

That crabapple sure didn’t taste like an apple to me

 Today the hat and apron are still hanging on the wall

The little porch swing squeaks, calling, calling to me

Although the house is quiet, my memories I still recall

To this granddaughter’s heart, love holds the key

                                                      ©Susie Swanson, 2013

My Mama's Cure

 

The old time ways are fading into the past except in our hearts, but my mama’s cure for the Thrash  (Thrush) lives on in many hearts and minds. 

She had a special way of doing it and it was her secret. If anyone ever found out about it, it wouldn’t work, that’s what she always said. It was handed down from her father. He told three women and each one of them could tell three men, so on and so forth. He told my grandma and my aunt ( mama’s sister) . They didn’t carry on the tradition like mama did. They kinda turned it over to her, and boy did she run with it.

 So many little children were brought to her that we lost count years ago. Some kept coming back in later years as well. Their parents found out that whatever mama did worked and word spread fast. There was a special leaf or herb that she used. We always suspected it was a leaf from some bush or tree. She told daddy over the years cause it was wearing her out to fetch it. I asked her about it one time and she said it didn’t hurt for him to know as long as he didn’t find out what she did. Daddy never did want her to tell him. He didn’t want any part of the doctoring as they called it. 

We could always tell when someone was coming to get cured of the thrash or bringing their kids,. When mama saw them coming up the road, she’d slip and tell daddy to go get the  medicine and he always slipped it into her hand when he came back.

 There were a lot of grown ups that came as well. Mama had to blindfold them so they wouldn’t see what she did. I can attest to that. She always said, there were three kinds of the thrash, red, white and yellow. They appear as little blisters in the mouth, usually inside the lower lip or on the tongue or jaw area. Mama could just look at it and tell if it was thrash and tell them what kind they had. 

I’ll never forget having it myself one time after I was grown. I told mama that my mouth was sore and she said, open your mouth. She looked at my mouth and told me I had the White Thrash. I knew something was bad wrong but never did think about it being the thrash.

 Whatever she used always seemed to be close by and in plentiful supply, even in the winter months. She ran over across from the house in the woods and came back and we went in the bedroom. She put a blindfold on me and told me to open my mouth. It wasn’t but about five seconds till she said, you can take it off now, I’m done. I never felt a thing inside my mouth or anywhere for that matter. I never asked any questions except for where she thought I might have got it at. She couldn't give me an answer for that but I’d heard her many times over the years telling people when they asked about it that it was sometimes caused by a kid chewing on a comb that had been used to comb hair or a nasty bottle nipple or paciefier that had been dropped in the floor and never washed before it was stuck back in their mouth. I asked her one time about grown ups and she said it was very often caused by something they’d had in their mouth that wasn’t clean but had no way of knowing.  .

We could always tell when a child or grownup had it when they walked in the door. Their mouth and lips were purple. That was the doctors method of treatment and mama always said it wasn’t worth a dime. After she did her thing they’d always get better. She always told everyone that it might get a little worse but after three days it should start getting better, and if it didn’t to come back and she’d do it a second time. 

I knew one older lady that had to come back three times before she ever got better. Mama said she’d depended on the doctor medicine to long. It went all the way through her. Yes, mama always said if that stuff wasn’t taken care of early on it could go all the way through a person’s body. They’d get diarrhea, fever, chills, etc. That lady had it all but after the third time she got better and praised mama the rest of her life. There were plenty of kids that it happened to as well. 

Between mama and God they always cured them, it may have took more than once but they always got better. Her own family doctor found out she was more successful than him and started sending his patients to her. It got pretty rough on her but she never did charge anyone a dime, said it wouldn’t work if she had of charged anything. 

Over the years there was this one man that kept coming to her to be doctored and he kept bugging her to tell him and she told him she would  if he promised to help her some. I don’t know if he ever kept his end of the deal or not. You couldn’t tell it by the way people kept coming. She wanted to tell one or two of my brothers and I begged them also to let her tell them so they could tell me but nope, they wouldn’t hear of it. She finally told one other man, and he and his wife are still carrying it on today. 

I’ve heard about a lot of different methods and cures over the years and whether they work or not is not to my knowledge but one thing is for certain, my mama’s cure worked and there’s a lot of folks out there today that are living proof. Mama’s faith was the cure, she would do it and walk away knowing in her heart it would work. 

Even though my mama is gone today she left some pretty big shoes to fill in more ways than one and especially when it came to curing the thrash. 

© Susie Swanson, 2013

Riding The Back Of A Truck

How many remembers riding on the back of a pickup when you were a young’un ? I’ve got fond memories since that’s all my daddy ever drove. He always had a truck of some kind and what time we weren’t hoofing it we’d jump on the back of the old truck. 

Daddy never did get in a hurry, he only drove 25 mph. We could’ve walked faster but we sure did love riding the back of that old truck. In the warmer months on many a Sunday afternoon he always took us on what he and mama called pleasure trips, and they were the only ones that rode in the cab. 

Those Sunday afternoon pleasure trips took us to lots of places. A bunch of kids out to explore the world with the wind blowing against our face, we thought we’d died and gone to heaven. And we’d always stop off at the old swimming hole. It was always called the Maple Hole cause so many maple trees surrounded it. The sun was never allowed to shine and the water was like ice even in the middle of the summer. We’d play a while and jump back on the bed of the truck. That sure did cool us off quite a bit.

 We rode down old dirt roads that I never knew existed and visited so many different places. Daddy and mama loved visiting old cemeteries. I couldn’t count how many of those we explored. Of course they remembered a lot of the people that were buried there and if they didn’t know them they knew their kin.

 We’d stop along the way and just look around, maybe eat a picnic lunch we’d brought along. We’d spread it out on the tailgate of the old truck or on the ground if we’d thought to bring a blanket. We always said the food tasted better outdoors. Daddy called it resting for a while.  Occasionally they’d go looking for poke salad, especially in the early spring, that’s the only time they liked it. Mama said it wasn’t any good once it got so big and she never liked those big stalks. 

They went into the snakiest places there were. They’d tell us kids not to follow or we’d get snake bit, go figure. One time when we were in school they went out looking for poke salad and found themselves in a big over grown pasture. They had to crawl through the barbed wire to get there. They didn’t think about any cattle being in the pasture when a big bull came out of the blue. Mama said that was the fastest she’d ever seen daddy run. He said, speak for yourself old woman you out run me. I asked them if they got any poke salad and they said they left it behind for the bull. We never did let them live that one down.

We all loved traveling those old back roads and we never knew what was around the next bend. Daddy knew everyone of them cause he’d been there before. He was all over the place and helped build most of the roads that we traveled down. 

Daddy lived to be ninety four and never had a driver’s license his whole life. Yep, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know if it was because he couldn’t read or write or if he just chose not to try. We used to kid him in fun about it after we got older. We told him that one of these days he was gonna wind up behind bars. He said, what are they gonna do with an old man like me, lock me up and throw away the key. He managed to get by without ever getting stopped or caught and that’s a blessing in itself. That’s the main reason we always took the back roads and he always chose the backroads going into town too. 

Daddy drove all of his life. He started out driving an old wagon hitched to two mules when he was a young boy before he ever knew what a truck was. I guess for the most part he still lived in the past to a certain extent and didn’t really think he needed a driver’s license. If he were here today he’d say, we live till we die, let’s not waste a minute of it, the road is to wide not to share.

Now days if people get caught hauling their kids on the back of a truck they’ll lock them up for sure, and it’s not safe at all but back then we never knew the difference. I rode the back of a pickup so long that when my husband and I were dating I’d jump on the back of his truck when we started somewhere. One day he told me I could come on down and ride in the cab with him anytime I wanted to.

I’ll never forget when daddy finally had to give up his driving. It was a  few years before he died. He knew he wasn’t able to drive anymore. His reflexes weren’t as good as before but it made us all sad just to watch him walk out there and crank that old truck everyday and just sit there listening to it run. It broke our hearts every time we saw him and I do believe he cried also.

I know times are different and things have changed, some for the better, some for the worse but I still miss those days when we were so carefree, we enjoyed life more. The little things in life are the most important and I’ll take traveling down an old country road on the back of a truck any day. The wind blowing against my face, with eyes shining bright with glee. That feeling of contentment in my heart is the best with every wind swept memory and daddy’s old pickup truck surely holds the key.

© Susie Swanson. 2013

Hog Killin Day

With Thanksgiving fast approaching I can’t help but remember my childhood memories many Thanksgivings ago. We called it Hog Killin Day. It always came at Thanksgiving cause the weather became cold enough by then to keep the meat. Sometimes if there were two hogs to kill, one was done at Thanksgiving, the other at Christmas. 

 It all began early in the morning before daylight. Daddy would build a big, roaring fire and sharpen all the knives. We’d get all the pans ready in the kitchen. The kitchen is where I stayed, didn’t want any part of the killing. 

Everybody would start gathering in about daylight. Family, friends neighbors and some we didn’t even know but they claimed to be kin. They all took part helping cause everybody wanted a big mess of fresh meat. When it came hog Killin Day, everybody pitched in and when it came their turn at their house it was the same.

It was an all day event and the working was hard. Those big shoulders, hams etc. were salted down and taken to the smokehouse to cure. There was nothing wasted but the squealer when it came to a hog. Every part was saved including the feet and I’ll leave out the part about the brains. The head was used to make souse meat and there was always plenty of sausage to can. We never knew what a freezer was until I was almost grown. A big pan sit on the back burner of the stove for days on end, rendering the lard. That sure did save on the grocery bills. 

 We looked forward to those big pans of tenderloin with hot biscuits come suppertime. We even had ham or tenderloin for breakfast with gravy and biscuits. Then the next day we’d have back bones and ribs, so on and so forth. And of course the Thanksgiving table was graced by hog meat. To say I was sure glad to get some chicken, is an understatement. That didn’t come to often either, just when we had a bunch of young fryers to thin out. They usually graced the Sunday dinner table when the preacher and all  the other folks gathered in. Mama would throw in a big homemade banana pudding for good measure. We cleaned the bowls, regardless of what kind of meat we had or not. In a big family you learn early on to eat what’s on the table. We eat three meals a day and there were no snacks of sweet doings as mama used to call them. Our snacks were a big piece of left over cornbread with some little green onions from the garden. Especially after we got in from school in the evenings before we done our chores. That was in the warm months of spring and summer.  By the time it came Hog Killin Day our mouths watered for some meat . I can honestly say I’ve never went to bed hungry a night in my life. If we didn’t have anything but cornbread and milk it was more than was promised. 

I know a lot of things have changed today, some for the good and some not so good but I can’t help but wonder what people would do if they had to go back to the old ways. My daddy used to say they’d starve to death for lack of knowing how to do. I long for that simple life when it didn’t take much to satisfy and what we had was worth all the money in the world. We were truly blessed and for that I’ll always be grateful.

 © Susie Swanson, 2013

If anyone would like a copy of my New Book the info is at the top in the right hand corner. 

I wish each and everyone of you a Happy Thanksgiving . 

I'm From Appalachia

I’m from Appalachia where the mountains are home
And the land is pregnant with age old meaning
The gardens are planted by the wisdom of the signs
The corn grows tall with jointed stalks bending

Fresh winds sweep across these ancient hills
 The echoes evoke like fragrant honeysuckle vine
The stars are more nearer and the sun shines brighter
On those old familiar pathways that were left behind

One can never know what lies beyond a hilltop
Clothes on clotheslines blowing in the wind
That dear, sweet voice calling, come to supper
Gathering around the table, where love is akin

Learning very early how to cook, can and preserve
From the rich earth that many wise have laid feet upon
Given freely and worth more than wealth of money
Such joy, knowing that now it has become my own

Such a rich heritage passed down through the years
Sweet as the apples, pears and each juicy plum
A way of life that no one can ever lose, take or break
Fine as that childhood wagon made from a black gum

And those spirit-filled churches, oh what joy to be had
Plenty of preaching and shouting echoes across time
Age old faith handed down through the generations
God surely did design it all with his grace in mind

 Wonders never cease across this beautiful Blue Ridge
The water runs crystal, clear down every hill and trail
Sweet as molasses from sugar cane stripped at the mill
Such a treat and humbly I accept, this life is so swell

These mountains I call home just beyond the horizon
My spirit dwells and in tranquil peace does shine
I will plant it firmly for those who follow after
In hopes they’ll never leave the chimney smoke behind

© Susie Swanson, 2013

If you would like a copy of my New Book, "Echoes Of Time" the info is at the top on the right. Many thanks in advance.

He's America's Son

My Husband, Basic Training 1966, Ft. Jackson, S.C.

My Son Basic Training 1993, Ft. McClellan, Alabama

A gallant, brave soldier

so fearless and strong

lies in the trenches

in a war torn zone

With visions of freedom

so courageous and true

with a longing for peace

helps carry him through

Jungles or deserts

wherever he may be

he’ll keep up the fight

no rest for the weary

His job is not over

until victory is won

he’s a fighting soldier

He’s America’s Son

©  Susie Swanson, 2013

I send my deepest gratitude and thanks to every Veteran serving or has served our country.
I am eternally grateful for your great sacrifices. May God Bless You All.

The Finest I've Ever Known

                                          We no longer raise gardens, chickens and hogs

                                          No more smoking chimneys, we now use gas logs

                                          There's no more hog killings on Thanksgiving Day

                                          Only turkeys and hams grace the tables today

                                          We no longer carry water in for the night

                                          There's plenty of running water and baths delight

                                          There's no more sitting by an old oil lamp

                                          A light hangs from the ceiling, an electric revamp

                                          No more traveling preachers, a thing of the past

                                          Big new churches, log churches are in the past

                                          There's no more Store Truck making its way through

                                          Like kids in a candy store, we stood like a statue

                                          An orange and an apple used to be a Christmas treat

                                          Now days electronics are the only thing that's neat

                                         Keeping a milk cow and churning our own buttermilk

                                         They now snarl their nose if its not store bought milk

                                         There's not many clothes now blowing in the wind

                                         We now have clothes dryers and washers that spin

                                         No one takes time to visit their neighbors or the sick

                                         My daddy's not here with his big walking stick

                                        The canning and jelly making days are almost gone

                                         Just a few old timers left to carry on

                                        There's no one left to cure the thrash (Thrush) anymore

                                        My mama's gone and her cure is no more

                                        There's no more prayer and recess in school

                                        It seems everything now has become man's rule

                                        Those old aporns they wore with money tucked away

                                        Is gone too, like their hair tucked in buns of gray

                                        And those old time zinnas my grandma so loved

                                        They now grace heaven with beauty and love

                                        There's no more plowing with an old mule now

                                        They use big tractors but that old mule sure could plow

                                        There's no more hunting foxes, possums and coons

                                        And sitting by a campfire listening to the dogs croon

                                        That good squirrel gravy and dumplins I still smell

                                        My mama sure could make them so yummy and swell

                                        There's no more sleeping with six in the bed

                                        With three at the foot and three at the head

                                        And sweeping the yard with a worn out broom

                                        Praying for some grass to grow really soon

                                        There's no more swinging on those old grapevines

                                        Or playing hopscotch in the sand with hand drawn lines

                                        There's no more crawling through the barbed wire fence

                                        Trying to escape the bull, we didn't have any sense

                                        Playing in the cold creek was a summer time game

                                        Claiming to fall in on a winter's morning wasn't the same

                                        Going fishing at the old mill pond with fishing pole in hand

                                        Losing track of time, the fishing was so grand

                                        Helping mama find Poke Salad in the early spring

                                        Climbing through the brairs and snakes was her thing

                                        Or picking creesy greens from the creek bank each year

                                        Not knowing the difference with mama not here

                                        Going to bed with the chickens on hot summer days

                                        No time change did we have, we got used to the same ways

                                        There's no more robbing the hen's nest in the early morn

                                        Those old hens sure could lay, fed good with corn

                                        Those wonderful old days I loved and once knew

                                         Is now gone and the old ways too

                                        The living was so good, the finest I've ever seen 

                                         I love to go back it makes my heart sing                                    

                                         ©  Susie Swanson, 2013

A sneak peek at my new Book, "Echoes Of Time". Published, 2013