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Mountain Music
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My cousins were some the best "pickers and grinners" in Virginia. The Banjo, Juice Harp, the Guitar, the Ukelele, spoons, you name it, they could play it. It was a grand time when we were able to hear them play.

We lived in the mountains in pure mountain style. If you've ever seen the movie "Tobacco Road", then you've seen our story of mountain living. The old log cabin across the meadow had long since outlived it's usefulness, so plans were made for a new dwelling across the field. The dilapadated Post Office building in Boones Mill was for sale, and this became our new home. It was quite a scene the day they brought it home on the back of the old jalopy truck.

Ma loved her new home, but there was one little problem. The old post office didn't have a kitchen and who else was there to build the kitchen, but Ma. The men folk buised themselves again, thinking if they ignored her, she would forget all about her newest project. Not so! I was just a child, but I felt sorry for Ma, she never received any help at all and was always trying to make things better in her own cute little way.

Now Ma was only 5 ft tall, and that's just exactly how high she built the kitchen door and the kitchen itself. She didn't have a ladder, so how could one possibly build any higher if one had no ladder? When you walked in the door, if you were over 5 ft, you either stayed bent down, or had a sore head. In order to hold the kitchen up, Ma had placed 2x4"s all around, and one must be very careful to not bump one of these, lest the entire structure fall in on you. Tiptoe through the tulips didn't even begin to describe the scene. You would have thought that then the men folk would have pitched in to help, but not so. Eventually, they did come together and build another room onto the old post office. But Ma's kitchen remained the same.

When Ma designed her plans for the kitchen, she had just one little flaw in her plans, besides the 5 ft roof of course. She neglected to include a window in the kitchen. Well that was soon rememedied, as the walls were just made mostly of tar paper anyway, she went back and used her hand saw and cut a square hole in the wall. Of course, there was never a window put in it, but we could at least see out. In the winter, we just hung a big blanket over the hole.

As I have told you, I was a spoiled brat and washing dishes was not my cup of tea. I always had a headache, sick to my stomach or something when it came time to do the dishes or anything for that matter. This usually worked just fine with Ma, but every once in awhile, she would get ired up. She had long since determined that I did not have a tumor on the brain, that I was just plain lazy. She would get her little "keen switch" and switch my legs until the blood ran out, I always seemed to have a miracle healing and was able to wash the dishes. One of my sadest memories was when I would run from the poor old lady. I never will forget running up the hill to get away from that "keen switch".

When I was forced to wash the dishes, I did so with much malice toward those beautiful old dishes. I do not know where Ma got them, but she had some very beautiful things. I would stand right by the window to wash the dishes, where the dishpan sat with water carried from the creek. I was about 9 or 10 I guess and I decided the best way to not have to wash dishes was to get rid of them, and that's what I did.

The best solution to the problem lay in the fact that around our "house", there were mile high weeds especially the summer,(no one had invented the lawn mower yet as far as the menfolk were concerned). Well, I thought, no one will ever see these dishes if I just toss them outside in all that tall grass. Very methodically, I threw nearly all Ma's dishes out the window. She became quite curious of course as to where all the dishware and silverware had disapeared to. I could have gotten away with my little scheme except for the generosity of a kind neighbor. The nice soul came up one day with his bush hog and cut all the grass down around the house. We all looked out in amazement at the big wide wonderful world we never got to see from certain parts of the house. Sounds very nice doesn't it? It wasn't for me, as soon as Ma decided to go around the house to where the window was and saw all her dishes and silverware lying around. I jumped and hopped around for at least 15 minutes trying to miss all the licks from Ma's "keen switch".

In later years, one of the reasons I would drink myself into a stupor was my treatment of Ma. I was just a pathetic, mixed up child, but I have always regretted not treating Ma with more respect. I have since overcome my sadness concerning my treatment of her, but I hated it even when I was doing it. The last time I saw Ma after being taken from the mountains, and before going to North Carolina and Chicago, was on a street corner in Roanoke, Va. Ginny had just gotten us all packed up, and we were headed to North Carolina. For some reason, Ma had gotten someone to bring her to Roanoke, probably to visit us. As we drove by, the memory of her standing on the street corner, dress blowing in the wind, waving, looking so sad, will be etched in my memory always. I'm the kind of person who never forgets a kindness anyone does for me. Ma did way too much wrong, but she did the best she could under the circumstances. When she passed away in 1969, my life was such a wreck, I did not even attend her funeral in Virginia. Her words "you'll be sorry sugar baby" have continued to ring true down through the years. I'll see Ma again one day, and I can give her a big hug and really let her know how much I appreciated and loved her.

Al. US