Dirt to Run My Fingers Through

It's been thirty-six years since I've been to Macon. I do hope things will be better there in Georgia than here. The newspapers say we're surely on our way out of the 'depression', whatever that is. I guess we were never rich enough to notice when banks went broke, we never had a dime in one, but we also had a hard time making a dime on our farm.

I was eight years old the summer of 1899 when Papa decided to move the family to Kansas for a fresh start. He said the earth was played out and he couldn't get anything to grow anymore. It was a small parcel to begin with; only twenty acres and he share cropped another fifteen, but when the farmer died who owned the fifteen his son sold the place and they wouldn't let us share crop anymore.

 "Papa, are you going to sell this place?" I asked.

"No child," he answered. "One of you younguns might want to come back some day. It'll be waiting for you."

We loaded our big wagon, hitched up the horses and headed to Kansas. Our poor cow, tied to the back, lost so much weight from the walk she quit giving milk. Papa traded her in Missouri for a heifer due to drop her calf in a couple of months. It wouldn't have been a fair trade but she got bred to the wrong bull and they figured the calf would be too big and maybe kill 'em both when it was born. The farmer was willing to fatten out our older cow and see if she could be a good cow again, or he could eat her; either way he figured to win.

We arrived in the dead heat of the summer. Mama was about to have her own baby and the travel was real hard on her. The man in town that sold Papa the 'new' farm had told him the roof blowed off the house in a twister earlier in the year. But there was an old soddie that might work 'til he could put on a new roof. I found out quick just what a soddie really was; a hole dug into the side the hillside with a dirt floor and a dirt roof. The front was made of layers of sod. It looked more like a glorified cave to me. Papa said it would be a good root cellar when the house was fixed.

Papa and me cleared a field and dragged the cottonwood trees back to the house. He made what he called rafters to support the roof. Then he cut shingles out of other trees and nailed them to the rafters. We were real tired after so many weeks of working dawn to dark, but we got it done and Mama said she was real proud of us

.

Mama had a baby boy, Adam, just after we got moved into the new house. She prayed every night for him to stay healthy. She had already lost three children to a bad influenza back in Georgia. We never did figure out how come I was spared.

I had to go get Papa out of the field he was plowing to plant hard winter wheat when the heifer tried to have her calf. She was having considerable trouble. Mama didn't want me to watch because she said it wasn't fitting for a young girl to see such things, but Papa told her it was nonsense. I lived on a farm and that's just what happened on farms. He managed to save them both and that was the biggest, prettiest calf I ever saw.

We planted a fall garden, but an early frost got some of it. Papa's winter wheat made it through all right though. I helped with loading fire wood onto the wagon for Papa when I wasn't helping Mama clean the house and watching my little brother.

I remember that one day a couple of years later I heard a knock at the door and when I opened it there stood two men with reddish skin, dark eyes, and long, black hair dressed in buckskins with a rifle over one shoulder and a pack of some sort over the other. All I could do was stare. We had never had Indian visitors before and I thought they were all on the reservation.

Mama finally pushed me to one side so she could talk to them. They were traveling north and one of their party took sick and they had stopped a few days to let him rest. They'd already gone through most of their provisions, which would have lasted the entire trip had they not stopped. They were nearly out of food and had almost no ammunition. Mama gave then some flour and corn meal and a few potatoes. She said she couldn't spare anymore than that with her family to feed. They said they understood and thanked her. Then one of them took off his pack and gave Mama a few animal skins and a pouch of little colored beads. Mama accepted the gift and they were on their way. She said she had heard they would trade for anything they got because they didn't like to have things just given to them. She didn't want to offend their pride so she took what they offered. Come Christmas my brother got a small fur hat and a coat and shoes made from the hide after the hair had been removed, and I got a beautiful crocheted broach with the little colored beads woven into the pattern. I was very proud of it. 

The winters were cold but we kept warm with comforters and quilts Mama had made. I lost count of the birds I had to pluck to get the fill for those comforters, but they sure were warm.

After we planted the garden we all got a pouch tied around our waists full of seed corn saved from the year before and we planted a row at a time until the field was done. Papa marked the rows and made sure we didn't run out of seed as we poked a stick in the dirt and dropped in the seeds. It us a full week, but we got it done and had a real nice crop too. We had enough put away for us for the winter, to feed the animals, and even to sell some. Papa said he was proud of us for working so hard to bring in a good crop.

Mama made me go to school in the fall. She said I was old enough to learn reading, writing, and figuring my sums. I couldn't go all the time, but often enough to learn something. I had a sister, Belle, and another brother, Jessie, by then and she said we would all go, but as my brothers got older the more of my previous jobs they seemed to get. I got stuck in school learning and at home learning how to cook and sew. My sister Bell didn't mind, but I did. I wanted to be outside working in the dirt, barefoot. Mama did have a time getting me to wear shoes.

It was up to the children to get in the last of the vegetables from the garden before the snow hit. We could see it coming for days. We just barely got them all in, but at least the canning kept us all too busy to worry about all that snow.

A late season twister came through and Papa had to plant the wheat all over again. It was beginning to be a pretty regular thing, so Papa started planting it later. It was barely up when everybody else's was all pulled up and ruined. He still had his crop though.

I'll never forget the excitement when one day Papa found that old hollow tree full of honey. He was scouting for trees to cut for firewood for the stove and for winter and came across a swarm of bees. He said that tree fairly dripped of honey. He donned a long-sleeved shirt and gloves and a big hat. Mama wanted to cover his hat with cloth to keep the bees out but he said he couldn't see what he was doing. He took an old can of oil and stuffed a piece of burlap feed sack in it and then lit it on fire. He said he was going to smoke the bees out and take their honey, but not all of it on account of they had to eat too. He brought home two big wooden barrels of it and said there was lots more, but he wouldn't be greedy about it, especially since they seemed to be getting mad at him. He got stung several times but he didn't seem to mind. He said it was worth it, and that honey sure was good. Mama was forever shooing us younguns out of it. 

There were a couple of years of drought and no matter what we did that corn just would not grow much more than we could eat or the animals could eat. We hauled water up from the creek for the garden, but not as much as we would have liked. Papa was afraid it would dry up too. We used as little as possible ourselves.

In 1905 a twister hit. It tore off part of the roof and a good many of the boards on the front of the house. Papa salvaged as many of the shingles as he could and put them back on but it still leaked so he patched it with pitch and tar. The boards were only good for kindling and he couldn’t afford lumber. Our trees weren't big enough to cut for the boards either, so he made a deal in town for some thick black stuff he called tar paper and some nails. He said that would have to do for walls until he could afford the boards. The house seemed harder to heat and drafty after that.

By 1906 there were eight of us kids in the house, two of which were twins. The house was very full. Papa and Mama talked about making the house bigger, even though there wasn't even enough money to replace the tar paper on the walls. 

Papa had barely got the garden plowed for Mama's spring garden when she told him about number nine.

A few weeks later an epidemic of the influenza made its way to the area. People were dying everywhere. Mama had her hands full for sure. Papa coughed more every day and finally took the fever and chills. If Mama hadn't threatened to tie him down to the bed, he'd have gone out even then

.

A neighbor boy whose family had already been through it came to milk the cow and feed the animals for Mama.

We got weaker every day because we couldn't keep anything down and we couldn't stay awake long enough to figure out what might settle good and eat it. When the children started dying off Mama sent for the doctor to come back. We lost John, he was six, Chester, he was three, and Jessie. The neighbor boy helped Mama bury them. She was so tired she couldn't even cry.

The doctor gave Mama the last of his quinine and said he didn't know what else he could do for our family. He was worried about Mama too. She hadn't gotten sick and neither of them could figure out why. They were worried her baby could get hurt by it though. She was exhausted but kept on going, and he was afraid she'd collapse at any moment. She thanked him for his concern, but wouldn't slow down for a minute.

 She gave us the quinine and tried to feed us toast and chamomile tea when we were awake. She prayed a lot too. When four year old Ruth died Mama became more desperate than ever. She said she wasn't losing anymore of her babies. She kept a big pot of tea always made on the stove to keep hot and a big stack of toast next to it. She started waking us up every thirty minutes or so one at a time to feed us just one or two bites and a sip of tea. She only stopped long enough to put a fresh cool cloth on our fevered heads. At night she dozed in her rocking chair by the fire, but awoke at every sound or groan from one of us. 

When I finally got where I could sit up without getting dizzy and hold down food better, I helped Mama. I sat in the bed replacing cloths on the heads of my sisters and fed then the toast, though Mama always insisted she do the tea because she wanted it to stay hot and she was afraid I wasn't strong enough yet not to spill it on them. I guess I was still pretty weak because I did my share of sleeping. Mama said that was all right because I needed sleep to get better.

Papa was down for nearly a month and it was too late to plant the corn when he was able to get out of the bed. Mama made him stay inside and regain his strength. That took another week or so. He felt bad because he said we might actually get rain and the crop would produce like it was supposed to. Mama just told him not to worry about it and grinned to herself like she had a secret that no one else knew about. And she did.

 Mama made Papa promise not to overdo it trying to catch up on things before she'd let him out of the house. Imagine his, and our, surprise to find that our neighbors had gotten together and planted our corn. They took turns making the rows and got it all done in less than a day. They did ours first because Papa already had the field plowed. Then they'd move on to the next neighbor, plowing and planting until everybody's was done. Papa shared his corn with them when it was ready. It was our best crop ever and Mama said it was because it was sowed with love and human kindness. Through the years we all tried to remember that lesson.

When it was all done and over and everyone was back on their feet, Mama took to her bed and we waited on her for a while. She surely did deserve it. She cried for her lost children but said she couldn't stay down for long. Life had to go on even though she'd miss each of them terribly every single day for the rest of her life. She still missed the three she had lost in Georgia so she knew what she was talking about. The dark circles under her eyes eventually did go away and somehow she managed to have healthy twin boys, Charles and Jefferson.

 We didn't lose any more family members after that and Mama had three more children, Sara, Virginia, and Andrew.

 We all learned to read and write and figure like Mama wanted us to. It was just as well; between the droughts and the high winds, and the constant replanting in the same place over and over, the top soil is gone. Now they call this area The Dust Bowl. You can't grow a thing. The children are all grown with families of their own and like the topsoil, they have scattered across the country with the wind.

 I don't feel bad about leaving because I guess Mama and Papa are together in heaven watching over all of us. Mama passed two years ago and Papa a year later. He said he just couldn't live without her anymore.

 In 1908 I married that neighbor boy who helped Mama during the influenza outbreak. We had five children and even they have grown and moved off with their families; the youngest was married just six months ago. In spite of this 'depression' we are supposed to be in the old family homestead in Georgia is still in the family and waiting for me. At least there I'll have dirt to run my fingers through once more and it might actually grow something. Tired as I am, I can hardly wait.

A Father's Day Tribute

Father’s Day is fast approaching. For many of us we have no father to send a card, or give a gift or give a call to, or even visit. This is my first year in that position and it is hard to swallow, as I am sure for many of us it is.

First of all, let me tell you that my dad was just like the man in the Brad Paisley song He Didn’t Have to Be. I was 7 years old when my stepfather adopted me and my siblings. I was so young when my parents split up that I don’t even remember my natural father, and I never got to meet him, although I did call him a few times and exchange letters sporadically. I had to find out through Ancestry.com that he had died because no one knew to contact me. 

But my dad, now he was different. He always seemed to know what I was interested in and what I was doing. He went to the opening night of the community theater plays I was in and clapped the loudest and cheered in spite of being extremely hard of hearing. I was in 4-H from the 4^th grade on and he knew when I was eligible to go to state competitions. Since my ‘thing’ was sewing, he bought me my very own sewing machine- a really nice sewing machine. I used it for 14 years before I finally wore it out. 

As a very young child, in kindergarten, I contracted every illness that came down the track, not unlike many kids when they start school. I had the mumps and chickenpox just a few months apart, but I don’t remember which one was first. I do remember that I was very ill and I had been sleeping a lot. I woke up in the late afternoon one day and had a teddy bear almost as big as I was in the recliner with me. I loved it. I had it until after I had my first child. When we moved it had to go. It had little to no fur left and one eye and an ear were missing. Most of the stuffing had fallen out over the years too. It was a sad looking thing!

He went fishing nearly every weekend and when we got to go along it was a real treat. He’d turn off the radio and my sister, mother, and I would harmonize with him and we would sing all the way there and back home again. It was a lot of fun. 

In later years he told me to always remember when I went out on a date that the headlights in the rearview mirror might be his! It kept me on the straight and narrow, I’ll tell you that. They never were his of course, but I always looked. 

He walked me down the aisle when I got married and gave me away to my fiancé. My youngest son shares his first name. He was there to talk to when I needed him until the end. His illness was short that took him from me and our family, and even though hard as I tried to get there, I couldn’t. He knew I was on the way but he just couldn’t hold on any longer. I’ll never get over that. I’ll never again hear him yell when talking to my mom on the telephone, “Hey baby!” because he couldn’t hear me. I miss him all the time. 

Happy Father’s Day Daddy wherever you are. And to all of you who have fathers still around, go see your dad, or call him, and let him know you love him. Never let time go by when he doesn’t know, because one day, he won’t be there.

Saying Goodbye to Dad

After a misdiagnosis of pneumonia, when my dad couldn't breath well he went by ambulance to the Doctor's Memorial Hospital in Perry Florida. They found the real problem: lung cancer. He made it 9 days after the diagnosis before he passed away. I tried to get to him but as fate would intervene, I wasn't able to get there in time. I had to suffer through flight delays and cancellations until it caused me to get there several hours too late. My grief is deep felt, especially since I didn't get to say goodbye. He knew I was coming, but he was just too weak to hold on.

When I was doing family history research several years ago he told me a few tales of his childhood. He grew up during the Great Depression being born in 1929. For a few years his father was caretaker for for a plantation in Orange Park, Florida. Dad always referred to it as the Palmolive Plantation. However, as I recently discovered it was actually called Mira Rio, which translates to River Watch from Spanish. It was owned by Caleb Johnson who was the son of the founder of the Palmolive Soap Company, now known as Colgate Palmolive. Today, it is a resort called The Club Continental.

Here are some links on the history of the plantation and Orange Park, along with a tour of Club Continental.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orange_Park,_Florida

http://clubcontinental.com/2014/02/10/2165/ 

I wrote a story combining several of the stories he told me and called it: The Adventures of Ernest
I hope you enjoy it. **I changed the last name!

                                          The Adventures of Ernest

“Ernest Easterling!” the eight year old heard his mother say.  “Where are your shoes?”  She stood towering over him with her arms crossed, tapping her foot.

 “Out in the yard,” Ernest answered, barely audible.  He was looking down at his dirty bare feet, waiting for the speech he had heard a hundred times.

 She lifted his face.  “Ernest, we can’t afford to replace your shoes.  There is a depression on you know.  We’ve tried to explain to you what that means.”  She sighed.  “We have to get shoes for your older brother and your little sister too.  Now you go out there and get your shoes before that dog carries them off again.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Ernest said walking to the door.  A scruffy, dirty white dog ran by headed for the abandoned shoes.  “Oh no you don’t!” he shouted, running to tackle the dog, which landed on its side.  “You can’t have my shoes again.  Mama says dogs don’t wear shoes, so you don’t need mine.”

Ernest retrieved the shoes and took them to show his mother that the dog hadn’t chewed on them before he put them beside his bed.  “Can I go back outside now?”

She looked at him and tilted her head.  “It’s ‘may I’ and I suppose so,” she finally said.

Ernest skipped happily out the door to the old wheel-less truck that sat in one corner of the yard.  He climbed in behind the steering wheel and sat as straight as he could, though he still couldn’t see over the wheel.  He fumbled in his pocket for the key and stuck it in the ignition.  “Vroom,” he said.  He bounced up and down in the seat and twisted the wheel back and forth.

“Ernest?” his older brother Johnny said, walking up with his school books.  “Where are you going?”

“Jacksonville,” Ernest answered.  “Want to come?”  His eyes were wide with excitement.

“We live in Jacksonville, Ernest,” Johnny said, roughing his little brother’s bushy black hair.

 “Not right in town,” Ernest informed him.  “You comin’ or not?”

“No,” Johnny said.  “I’ve got homework.  I’d better stay home and do it. I already had to stay after school for not doing it.  Besides, you know I have to milk the cow soon.”

“Okay, I’ll just go by myself.”  He started bouncing and twisting the wheel again.

Johnny watched him for a while then spotted the key in the ignition.  “Neat key; where’d you get it?”

“Sardine can,” Ernest answered.

 

“Does Mama know you got that?”

 “Don’t worry; it’s not from a good can.  I it out of the trash.  How would she open the sardines if I took the key off of it?”

 “You only thought of that because you like sardines.  If you didn’t, there would be a safe can in the house.”

Ernest looked sheepishly at his brother and giggled.

“Don’t stay out here too long.  Daddy will be home soon and Mama will have dinner ready.”

“Do you think we’ll have sardines?” Ernest asked.

Johnny made a face.  “Not for dinner,” he answered.  “It’s bad enough for lunch,” he muttered as he walked away.

A few minutes later Ernest watched Johnny carry the milk pail into the barn.  He removed his key and scrambled out of the old truck.  He ran as fast as he could to the barn.

 

 “You’ve been to town and back already?” Johnny said, sitting on the milking stool.

“Yep,” Ernest answered.  “I figured I’d better get back before Daddy got home.  I’d miss dinner.  Can I help?”

“You can try to keep that calf off her so I can get the milk.”

 Ernest chased the calf around the barn while his brother filled the pail from the squirming mother cow.  “Whew,” he said.  “That’s hard work.

Johnny laughed at him.  “I’m done, you can let him ho.  I know his mama would be happier if you did.”

Ernest could see his father coming up the driveway.  “Daddy’s home!” he shouted running out the door.

“Hello, Ernest,” his father said.  “Did you have fun today?” he asked his son as they walked to the house.

 “I sure did.  I drove to Jacksonville this afternoon,” he said, his wide eyes shining.

 “Did you have trouble getting that old truck to go?”

 “It runs like a top,” he said proudly.

 “Good,” he said.  “Hi honey,” he told his wife.  He kissed her cheek.

 “John, I swear you come home smelling more like those cigars you make every day,” she said.  “Why don’t you clean up and change for dinner?”

 “I won’t smell like that much longer,” he said.

 “You got the job?” she asked excitedly.

“I got the job,” he answered calmly.  “Twenty dollars a week and we get to live on the estate in the gate house.”

“Are we moving, Daddy?” Ernest asked.

 “Yes son, we are moving to Orange Park.  We’re going to live on a big estate on the St. John’s River, so I’ll be able to take you fishing.”

 Ernest’s eyes lit up.  “Fishing!  Oh boy!  Will you still work at the cigar factory?”

 “No, I’ll be the estate’s care taker.  I make sure the other workers do their jobs.”

“Boy, Daddy,” Johnny cut in, “It sounds like you’ll be really busy.”

 “It is a big job.”

“Boys, let your father get ready for dinner.  You need to get cleaned up too,” their mother told them.  “Celia, come get ready for dinner,” she said to her little daughter.

Two weeks later the family packed up all their belongings and headed for the palatial estate in Orange Park.  The children were amazed at its magnificent splendor as their father walked them around the grounds to familiarize them with the place.  They wandered through numerous gardens of roses and azaleas, and a Japanese garden.  They were awed by the many fountains and flowers.

“Daddy!” Ernest shouted, pointing, “There’s fish in the swimming pool!”

 “That’s not a swimming pool, Ernest,” his father said.  “It’s a gold fish pond.”

 “Oh, I guess we can’t swim in it then.”

“You can’t even wade in it.  You stay away from the real swimming pool too.”

“Okay,” he said, hanging his head.  “Are we allowed to play in the

“I don’t think so.  You can play around the gate house and the barn and stables,” his father said.

 

“Let’s go Johnny, I want to see the horses,” Ernest said.

“Is it alright?” Johnny asked.

“I guess so; just don’t try to ride them.  The stable boy can tell you what you can and can’t do,” he replied.

When summer break from school finally arrived Ernest spent his days ‘helping the black men with their daily chore of raking and hauling away leaves, branches, and hedge clippings.  Ernest always managed to talk them into letting him go with them and steer the truck.

“Charlie can I watch you butcher the chickens today?” Ernest asked, sitting on an overturned bucket.

“I suppose Ernie.  I’m only doing two,” the old kitchen servant told answered.

Ernest watched fascinated. One got away and he chased it until he caught it.  He carried the squawking bird back to his friend.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Charlie told him.  “Do you want to help?”

 “No, I don’t think so.  Daddy said he’d take me fishing again this afternoon.  I think could go by myself if he’d let me, but I don’t think Mama wants to cook that much fish.”

“You could sell them to my wife.  I don’t have time to fish.”

“If daddy says I can, I will.  A penny a fish,” Ernest said, getting excitedly counting the pennies in his head.  He ran off to find his father, ready to fish.

“If you leave them in the water on a stringer, the fish will stay fresh longer,” his father told him, giving him a few tips.  “And watch for snakes.  They like fish too.”

Ernest sold his fish for weeks, now spending most of his time at the river.  One day he left his line in the water while he went home to eat.  Upon his return he saw that his cork had disappeared.  He picked up his pole and dragged the heavy line through the hyacinths which had floated in while he was gone to eat.

“Boy, this is whopper,” he said, struggling to pull in the line.  “You’re a fighter too.”

At last the end of the line came to the surface at the edge of the river.  A large fish had swallowed the hook, but a larger snake was working on swallowing the fish.  Ernest quickly dropped the line and ran behind a tree.

 

A few minutes later he peered out from behind the tree.  He tip-toed to his fishing pole and took out his pocket knife and cut the line, making sure he kept an eye on the location of the snake.

“You can have the fish, but the pole is mine,” he told the snake before he ran home.

 “What are you doing home so soon?” his mother asked.

“When I got back to the river there was the biggest snake I ever saw on my fishing line!  It ate my fish!” he said, waving his arms.

“Your father told you to watch for snakes.  They lay in the sun on that rock ledge all day long.”

“I’ll be careful.  I think I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow to go back.”

“That’s probably a good idea.  Why don’t you go play with your sister?” she said.

“Mama,” he said, offended at the suggestion.  “She’ll want me to play dolls with her.  I’d rather help old Charlie kill chickens or one of the other men clean the barn or something.

“You spend too much time at the servant’s quarters as it is.  You’re probably in the way,” his mother told him.  “Why don’t you see if you’re father wants some help?”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s been in the office all day talking to those people he buys the azaleas from.  He’s planning on planting some more.”  After studying Ernest’s blank expression for a minute she relented.

“Okay Ernest, I see your point.  Go to the barns.  Just watch your step.  I don’t want you tracking the house with what ever is down there.”

“I can tell you what’s down there.”

“Ernest!” She said to his giggling, retreating figure, and then she sighed.

Ernest ran happily across the estate to the barn yard.  No one was around so he went into the barn.  He saw the stable boy heading to the stalls with a pitchfork.

“Hi Ernest,” the teenager said.

“Hi.  Can I help?” he asked.

 “You know where the tools are,” he said pointing.  “You do a pretty good job; I guess it won’t hurt anything.”

Ernest went to the tool shed and returned shortly with a pitchfork of his own.  “Where are all the horses?”

“The family has company today.  They all went riding.  I thought it would be a good time to clean the stalls.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Ernest said, trying to drag a pitch-forkful out of the stall.

“Why don’t you take smaller amounts, Ernest?  You’ll make it to the pile that way without losing so much.”

Ernest worked all afternoon on the one stall.  His face was streaked with sweat and dust and dirt, and his hands were nearly as dark as the boy who had cleaned the other stalls.

“Oh my,” his mother said when he got home.  “Take off those shoes and clothes on the porch.

“Mama, what if somebody sees me?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she said.  She got a sheet and pinned him up while he removed his dirty clothes.

He ran through the house to the bathroom where his mother had started a tub of hot water.

“Now scrub,” she said, handing him a brush and a bar of soap.  “I will check, so do it right or I’ll have to scrub you myself.”

“I’ll do a good job,” he said, rubbing the soap on the scrub brush.

His mother shook her head and went back to the kitchen to finish making dinner.

Ernest scrubbed all over and washed his hair.  He passed inspection when his mother checked on him so he was allowed to get out of the tub and dress for dinner.

The next day Ernest dug a big can of worms, tied a new string to his fishing pole, and headed to the river.  He caught many fish and put them on the stringer as usual.

      The hyacinths floated in as they did every afternoon and Ernest started watching for water moccasins more closely.  As the afternoon progressed he discovered a moccasin trying to eat the fish on his stringer.  He smacked at the snake with the end of the pole.

      “Go away.  Those are mine!” he said.  Watching the snake swim away, he pulled in his line and reached for the stringer of fish.  Just as he put his hand in the water a different snake struck, biting his middle finger.  Ernest screamed and started running for home.  “Mama! Mama!” he cried.  “I’ve been bit!”

      “What?” she said.  “You’ve been bit?  By a snake?”

      “Yes, here on my finger,” he said, holding up his hand.  He had big tears rolling down his face.  Blood was on his hand, coming from the snake bite.

      “Oh my God!” she cried.  “Be still.  I can’t believe you ran home.”

      Old Charlie ran up the steps, across the porch to the front door.  “Misses Easterling, I could hear Ernest screaming all the way to the barn.  Is something wrong?”

      “He’s been bit by one of those snakes.  Go fetch his daddy for me, Charlie.  We need to get him to the hospital.”  She ripped a towel into strips and made a tourniquet for Ernest’s arm.  She placed it high above the elbow.

“Mama, my arm hurts more than the bite.  Can you take off this thing?” Ernest said, tugging at the tourniquet. 

“Stop that.  It has to stay tight so the poison doesn’t spread,” she told him.

 Ernest scowled, sniffing.

     

 “John, can you go any faster?” she urged.

 “I’m already going twenty.  Do you want to get us all killed?” he asked.

 “No, of course not, just hurry.”

 By the time they reached the hospital, poor Ernest’s was numb and turning colors.

“Mrs. Easterling, you are supposed to loosen the tourniquet now and then.  It’s to the circulation doesn’t completely stop,” the doctor told her, after treating the snake bite.

“But I was always told that was to stop the poison from spreading,” she said to him.

“Yes, that’s true,” he said.  “Not too many people know to loosen the tourniquet.  It’s not your fault.  I just hope there isn’t any damage to his arm from it.  He should be fine, but I want to keep an eye on it. You can take him home in the morning.”

 “How much damage was done from the poison?” his father asked.

“If the snake that bit him was poisonous, he would have been showing signs of getting ill before he got home. He did run all the way.

“Thank you Doctor,” John Easterling said, shaking the man’s hand.

“Mama, I think I’ll give up fishing for a while,” Ernest told her before drifting off to sleep.  “I think I’ll play cops and robbers for a while.”