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Jan. 14, 2005 Just another work of fiction began and finished 1/14/05 on another morning without much to do. I do hope you enjoy it though and find it to be a bit of a diversion from the on going dumb arguments that crop up from time to time; wherever they may be...PEACE “Cool nights and warm day feller’s that’s the best way to make sure the crop gets watered, don’t require nothing of us to do ’cept for weeding and a bit a hoein, yep sure is the right way to do things I say.” The only thing one could tell about the speaker was that there was no way anyone could guess how old he was. The times in the mountains aged a man, some would say to soon, others said not soon enough. His face like the ones that floated up in the early morning mist that covered the porch was in varying shades of decay. Some had more lines and some less but no one else spoke. These people had been in the hills of Eastern Tennessee some said since the first white men had been there and that longer than any one could remember. Only the old women had a rough idea from the scratches they made in a family bible someone or another had bought when a salesman and someone back behind had happened to be in town at the same time. “Finish up yer coffee boy’s and lets get to chasing the fog out.” Everyone knew it was work he wanted but few of them were of a mind to drink it up that fast, the day weren’t going nowhere and the sun’d be up soon nuff. “Can’t see the snakes in the dark Jake, give the boys a minute or two and they’ll right as rain get to the field and give ya what yer askin ‘em for. Have another spit of the coffee boys the day ain’t going nowhere.” That said a few strings from a guitar started to pluck and a toe started to tap out a beat, a fiddle string with its higher sound was plucked to hear its tune and the mist of the morning dawn seemed to lighten in anticipation. “Right Pa, yer right again.” Jake agreed as he reached for his own banjo left leaning against the rail of the porch running three sides of the cabin. A cabin that had seen paint somewhere back in time but like the rest of the family history no one remembered when. Jake had sat his blue ceramic coated tin cup on the rail that had seen more time than anyone on the porch and looked at the steam of it as he tuned up. “No better way to get the young ‘uns outta their night clothes than a bit a early morning stomping on the porch.” Jake laughed aloud at the thought of it. The porch went quiet for minute, everyone had tightened a string, plucked a chord and as one off they went at Jakes “Foggy Mountain…boy’s” The guitars and the fiddle danced right smartly around Jake and Pa’s banjos and the smiles of the players, smiles unseen by each other, but each felt a right proper way to greet the sun as it drove it’s team over the hills into the hollers of the Great Smoky Mountains. If there had been neighbors near by that weren’t on the porch at the moment the sound would have brought ‘em. Same as it brought the sun. The big upright bass had been brought out from inside and it pulled the percussion from the mist and the sun, they all knew, was charmed to not be too hot or too cold as it danced its way through the sky. “Glenning Hill” was all Pa needed to say to call a new tune. These men’d been playing together since they were big enough to pick up the bows and strings that remained in the family longer than some a the children had. A guitar never dies like some young ‘uns do and neither does a banjo but a consumption has been takin one of twenty of the kids for as long as they been here. No thoughts of them who’d passed on this morning though leave them off for the night time, that be the time for the saddest music sent to them on the other side. “Now that was right fine boys” Jake told the congregation of the early mornin temple as he reached for the coffee that still let a wisp of steam rise from its guts. From along the wall a solitary voice began a new tune without a pluck of a chord. “I sawed the timber for the cabin floor I built a plank fence out of locust board I worked the corn rows in the early morn and raised a family on a poor man's farm” On the second word the men of the porch opened a new tune catching Jake off guard as he lifted his cups to his lips. Made little difference though he picked it right up an off they were a little slower, a little sadder and not a one of them caring because there was music for the sun, music for the day and music for the man and this was man music each without thinking just knowing anything could break a man but what was worse yet was if you lost yer land yer family lost its home. 32 acres of bottom land Bought and paid for by my own hand Worth a fortune to a working man 32 acres of bottom land I planted a peach tree, now the leaves are dying I watered a grapevine; it's no longer mine The county's taken everything I own Cause it's on the right way for a four lane road The music stopped four beats after the singer did and the porch stayed quiet, each man lost in his own idea of loss. “Fella’s we ain’t leaving it there, the day won’t allow it, Pa won’t allow it and neither will you ‘First A the Mornin” was all Jake needed to say and off they were, Jake’s woman who had been standin inside the door listenin to the sadness feelin it as much as any man on the porch came out with pot that matched Jakes cup. Swaying in the flatfooted way the people brought from some old country or ‘nother she didn’t spill a bit on the planks as she refilled the cups. At the last of it she set the old pot down and really danced twirling along the great porch hands over her heads and feet beatin a perfect rhythm and time. Not that any needed a beat to keep ‘em on pace but her music only added and the smiles broke out agin as they each forgot about loss; each as one playin on. Guitars goin a bit quieter letting the fiddle take up the vacated space in the music to die down a bit for the banjo’s turn. As the first ray of the sun hit the decking of the porch the kids began to come out, some usual mornin mad and other normal mornin glad the players knew the difference by them that danced with their mamma and them that just stood there a scowling at the early light. Made no difference they played on knowing at their own homes the same was played out there too as the music cascaded up an down the mountain. The tune ended and Jake said Okey Dokey boys’ that’s ‘nuff for now finish up yer chicory and let’s commence to working the fifty acres we be here to work.” A small laugh and a few slaps on more than one back and that music ended; givin the night a good send off welcoming the day right as one should. One by one they moved off the old porch, leaving the instruments of their good feelin behind but takin their pleasure with ‘em. The sun shinin down now, the mist cleared from the mornin and the day ready for them to work a way through it, helping Jake do his fifty and the day after tomorrow another and then on till everyone who owned or farmed a patch got their done. 32 Acres traditional: composer unknown Lyrics provided courtesy of Bluegrass Lyrics.Com! ------------ About the author Mark C. Durfee: I am a retired person who takes only the big things seriously. I never sleep and I never exercise. I have manuscripts that are complete and and that is past I have more words in the can that I can pull out (see that's a joke) as the situation warrents but the biggest most important word I know is Peace. Email: mcd5255@hotmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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