From The Arbor Spring In Pontotoc
T. S. Eliot wrote "April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs of the dead land". That may be true where he lived, but here in our beloved Deep South, March is the cruelest month. We gardeners have already planted English peas and onions on Valentine’s Day and will soon plant potatoes and cabbages on St Patrick’s Day. Some daring souls will plant sweet corn, thinking a frost will cost them a little time and money to replant. I am of that ilk. After all, most days are warm with bright sunshine, and Al Gore might be right. The buttercups and yellow bells (forsythia) are in gorgeous bloom. I once wrote a poem entitled Rows of Buttercups. When we would drive through the countryside, Momma would comment on the rows of buttercups where once there was a house, a home, and love. Click here to read the poem. The average last frost date in the Mid South is the third week of April, so we are tempting Mother Nature when we plant a month early. As a precaution and to impress my fellow gardeners, I cover the tender plants lightly with straw – a beauty to behold (the straw, not me). We continue to be blessed with more new subscribers, and more contributors. We believe there are untold numbers of stories waiting and needing to be told and shared. Be sure to read Tim Burress’ article on gardening. Unlike me, he has credentials and gardening tips you can use now. I see in one of Wayne Carter’s stories he was a "blue baby," not the Smurf type, but the wash rinse accident type. My oldest sister, Barbara Ann, was a "blue baby." She had a hole in her heart. Poor blood circulation gave her toes and fingers and lips a blue hue. This is routine surgery nowadays. She died at age five, the year I was born, 1946, premature, two days after Christmas. Momma said they used a handkerchief for my diaper. Mimi says you should see me now. In any case, this is yet another interesting way Wayne and I are connected. I also can relate to his interesting kite story, since I have been told to go fly one many times, and my Cousin Junior was in the "weekly wiper" for some kiting he had done – at the bank. Ralph Jones’ and Wayne’s picaresque stories will bring back a lot of memories of the good old days. And some say nostalgia ain’t what it used to be. March 21 is the Union County Home and Garden Show. I have been honored by being invited to speak that Saturday on sustainable gardening practices. That subject is near and dear to my heart, since anything that is less work appeals to me. Mimi has reminded me to not talk so fast that I say things I haven’t even thought of yet. Y’all come, and bring lots of good questions. The Bodock Post is indebted to Clyde Wilson for the kind words he wrote about us in the most recent issue of Tombigbee Country Magazine. He is accessible as follows:
Mr. Clyde Wilson, editor
Phone (662) 396-8551 Website www.tombigbeecountry.com Thanks to our exposure in Tombigbee Country Magazine, we were blessed with several new subscribers. This underscores our belief that there is a wide interest and need for sharing stories about the good old days in these here parts. I expect readers will enjoy Jim Arnold's skunk story from the Troy community of Pontotoc County. He’s a transplant to Easley, South Carolina. It's further proof we all have a story to tell. It reminds me of Mimi's pom-a-poo, Belle, losing a stare-down in our backyard. We cleaned up Belle but Mimi and I stunk for several days. Here’s a link to the poetry section on our website. http://www.rrnews.org/bp/poetry.html We are very selective about what we put there, so we believe you will enjoy visiting the Poets’ Porch. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Gardening With Tim March To Dos
It’s time to do some pruning in your landscape, so break out those shears and loppers. Crepe Myrtles need to be pruned if you haven’t done so already. Roses need to be pruned also. Most of the experts say not to prune more than one third of the length of the canes and to make your cut about one fourth of an inch above an outward facing bud eye. This will promote new growth to go upward instead of outward. It’s a good time to cut your monkey grass back before new growth starts up. I like to use my weed eater for this task. Be sure and gather the clippings and put them in your compost pile. Most shrubs can be pruned back this time of year also. I personally like to keep an eye on the long range forecast when I’m deciding to do my pruning to make sure there are no hard freeze warnings in sight. Another source tells me that it’s ok to wait until as late as Presidents Day to prune. It’s also a great time to relocate and plant trees, shrub, and roses. I prefer to dig my new planting site only as deep as the pot or root ball and twice as wide for a new plant. It’s the same for relocating a plant, just be sure and prepare the new planting site before digging up the plant to be relocated to minimize the time that your plant is out of the ground. If you haven’t taken soil samples lately, I recommend that you do this. Your local County Extension Office can provide you with soil sample boxes and instructions on how to take a good sample. On a final note, please be sure and keep those bird feeders filled up this time of year. Birds are starting their migratory routines this time of year and there is not a great abundance of food for them. Bird watching early in the morning while having your morning coffee is also very relaxing, not to mention how beautiful they are. If you would like to ask me a question, e-mail me at colorsbytim@hotmail.com ~By Tim Burress, Master Gardener Biographical Sketch: Tim Burress lives in New Albany, MS. He’s a thirty-odd year veteran of the paint and body business. Upon completion of the Master Gardener program in 2008, he soon became involved with the Saturday Farmer’s Market in New Albany. Tim is currently helping recruit sponsors, vendors, and exhibitors for the Lawn and Garden Show to be held in March. He and wife, Janet, are avid gardeners. The landscape of their home has numerous roses, daylilies, azaleas, and flowering plants. Tim writes "Gardening with Tim" which appears in the local paper.
Sledge Calaboose Not A Coed Facility Recently, I read with interest an article from my friend Newt Harlan of Humble, Texas about the demise of the train "caboose." They are missed on the back of a train almost as much as steam engines are up front. It reminded me of the pleasure in once seeing the little red box finally clatter by after a long wait for the train to pass. I almost bought an old caboose one time to put out back of our house and recondition it into a study/office for myself. However, it did not have a cupola on top (what I really wanted), and as Cuzin' Tennessee Ernie Ford used to say, "It had been run hard and put away wet." Besides, they wanted $10,000 for it, and it would have cost many more thousands to load and haul home, plus other thousands to restore it to a habitable condition. My thoughts quickly changed to other things like rent, groceries, utilities, etc.
In 1947, my dad was employed by the Butane Gas Company in Sledge, right in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. The town consisted of eight or ten stores on one side of Main Street and the railroad track and depot on the other side. Charlie Pride mentioned this little town in his song, "Cotton Pickin' Delta Town." It was in Sledge that I was first introduced to a calaboose. The calaboose in Sledge, Mississippi was a one-room concrete block building with a heavy wood door in front and a barred window in the rear. There was no plumbing, no bed, not anything in this single room. It sat about thirty feet off the main drag on the south side of town. When Saturday evening came, the field hands from all the huge cotton farms came into town to shop, go to the picture show, have an adult beverage, and, possibly, let off a little steam. Inevitably, some of the men would go overboard on the beverages, cause a ruckus, and the constable would arrest them. He would take them to the calaboose and lock them up for the night to sleep off their indiscretion. The building was large enough to hold about half dozen or so men. It was only used for a short-term lock-up. The more serious criminals were taken to Marks or Clarksdale to a real jail. As long as the prisoners were male, they just kept packing them into the calaboose, but should a woman be arrested she was treated with dignity. They removed all the men and put her in the calaboose by herself. This was decades before any co-ed housing. A majestic oak tree stood just a few feet from the building and it was at times like this that it changed from a civilian tree to a law enforcement tree. The constable had a long log chain, which he would loop loosely around the oak, and pad lock the ends together. Then the male prisoners were handcuffed to the chain, and there they could sleep off their overindulgence. It was a simple but effective solution. Nowadays, the constable, county sheriff, and the board of supervisors, not to mention, the city, county and state would be sued for all they are worth because a handful of drunks had to sleep on the ground while handcuffed to a tree. Cruel and inhumane treatment, pure and simple, they would say. Sledge’s old calaboose building is probably long since gone, and today’s prisoners are now housed in air-conditioned comfort with cable TV and an exercise room. Why, it’s almost worthwhile to get inebriated (if you’re so inclined) and cause a scene just to get accommodations like these, but here I go digressing again. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Railroad Underpass Gone Missing Though I am the second child of my parents, I was the first to be born in a hospital. It wasn’t the same building that is the hospital in Pontotoc, today, but it was near the present one. I’m told my mother had a hard time delivering me, which may account, in part, for the nine-year lapse before another child was born in my family. I never understood why my parents chose to have four children spaced never less than four years apart and over the course of twenty years, but I shouldn’t complain as I enjoyed being the baby of the family longer than anyone except my younger brother, thirteen and one-half years my junior, who is still the baby of the family. I’m told my family lived in a duplex with Colonel and Opal Austin on Liberty Street about a block away from the hospital, but I have no memory of my childhood until my family moved a couple of blocks west to a small house on 8th Street.
At the foot of our hill were railroad tracks, which I may have been allowed to walk down to see with my brother, but I can’t remember doing so. However the tracks were visible from anywhere in the road that ran in front of our house. In those years, the road didn’t go more than a quarter-mile past the railroad before terminating on top of the next hill. In 1944 there were only two roads in the city of Pontotoc with overpasses, and in both instances they were for automobiles to pass beneath the railways. One location was on Oxford Street; the other was 8th Street, where childhood memories began for me. The Oxford Street location was the sturdier of the two and was constructed of concrete and steel. While it could accommodate two lanes of traffic, it was restricted to vehicles less than fourteen feet and one inch in height. The 8th Street overpass was made of posts and beams that were preserved with creosote, and was only wide enough to allow one vehicle through at a time, plus it was too low for large trucks to pass beneath it. While I’ve used "overpass" to describe the roadway/ railway passageway, I grew up calling the structures underpasses, probably because it was something we drove under, and, too, my parents told me they were underpasses. Sometime in the late fifties or early sixties, and after the construction of the Hwy. 15 Bypass, 8th Street was extended from South Main to the Bypass and beyond. In the early seventies, Hillcrest Subdivision was built atop the hill where the street of my childhood terminated, and my wife and I purchased our first home, high atop that same hill in 1973. For the next twenty-six years, we saw a lot of the underpass at the foot of the hill. By then, the road was paved with asphalt and not the gravel of my childhood and boyhood memories. The underpass was still narrow and still too low for truck traffic. Though, that didn’t prevent the occasional adventurous or misdirected driver from taking his or her rig down the hill in hopes of a shortcut to his or her destination, only to realize it wasn’t possible to get beyond the underpass in a big truck. A few years ago, the railroad abandoned its line through Pontotoc. The iron tracks and wooden crossties were removed shortly afterwards. The property is to be developed into Tanglefoot Trail, a 44.5 mile walking and biking path, whose northern terminus will be in downtown New Albany and whose southern terminus will be Houston. Approximately twenty-three of the almost forty-five miles will traverse Pontotoc County. A few months ago, my wife and I were driving on 8th Street and were astonished to see the underpass had been torn down. Curious as to why the underpass had been removed, I contacted Jack Savely, who has served on Pontotoc County’s Rails to Trails committee. Jack was able to confirm my suppositions that the low and narrow underpass was a traffic hindrance. Jack stated MDOT, Mississippi Department Of Transportation, will one day complete the project and add a covered walkway connecting the trail, one with the proper height to accommodate large trucks. There are still two underpasses in Pontotoc, as a third one was erected during the Hwy. 15 bypass construction during the fifties. Jack said he expects the one on Oxford Street will soon be removed in order to widen the street. He further remarked it, too, would be replaced with a covered walkway. As for the Hwy. 15 Bypass underpass, Jack feels it will meet trail requirements once it is covered. I was simply born and raised in the wrong era. Had there not been railroad tracks through Pontotoc in my childhood, there would have been one less threat of a disaster to befall me and one less thing to worry Mom. ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor
Edible Cabbages Perfect For Porcupine Dishes Cabbage: A vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head. ~Ambrose Bierce Some plants do not enjoy the appreciation others do. Cabbage is one of those plants. It may not bloom as pretty as a rose or have a sweet aroma, but it makes for a delicious meal and besides, it's good for you.
If left over winter in the garden, edible cabbages may bolt; that is produce a seed stalk in one last desperate gasp to go forth and multiply before dying. This year we grew Bonnie cabbages for an early crop, Dutch cabbages for a large fall crop, and Winter Savoy cabbages for fun. The latter make small heads, but have gorgeous crinkled dark green foliage at least as pretty as ornamental cabbages. A few remain unpicked in our garden too small to eat just to see how they fare. After all, gardening is experimentation. Seed catalogs offer a wide variety to grow to impress your friends. Cabbages are the perfect plant to grow in a school garden, as they grow easily, can grow large and exciting, require minimal care and feeding, and grow when children are in school in the fall or spring. A summer educational garden for a school is almost impossible when most children will not come within five miles of a school during vacation. The Bonnie Plant Farm will supply seeds to schools and has a contest. Their program is described and amazing pictures displayed online at: http://www.bonnieplants.com/3rdGradeCabbageProgram/tabid/58/Default.aspx My wife Mimi makes delicious cabbage dishes. Our favorite is cabbage heated until soft in a stewer with butter and bacon bits. That and a crisp pone of cornbread cooked in a cast iron skillet makes a fine winter meal. Another dish we make less often Momma called porcupines. That's hamburger meat and rice seasoned and wrapped in cabbage leaves and baked in a tomato and onion broth. We will set out cabbage sets in our garden mid March if the ground warms some, and cover them with straw if a hard freeze is expected. They lived that way through Black Sunday on Easter in 2007, and seemed not to have fazed at all. We will grow a few broccoli and cauliflower, too, just for show, but the star of the spring garden will be, Lord willing, delicious three pound cabbages. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Phew Research A Coon Hunt Gone Bad In the days and nights of our youth growing up in Troy, hunting was a major activity. It mattered little what time of day or night it was or even what time of year it was. There was always something to hunt. Night hunting usually required dogs. Good hunting dogs were prized possessions in those days and there were not that many around. On this occasion, no one with dogs was available so we had to improvise. Mr. Joe Priest, the principal of Troy Grammar School, had two Belgian hounds that were excellent coon dogs. These dogs were known to hunt even without human companionship. We little knot-headed boys soon learned that if we sneaked through the woods close to Mr. Joe’s house, the dogs would come to us and the hunt was on! One cold crisp winter night, Zack Stewart and I decided we wanted to go hunting so it was off through the woods toward Mr. Joe’s house. On this particular night, only one dog, Fannie, showed up. We knew she could get it done on her own so we didn’t wait around for the other one. We struck out deeper into the woods and soon Fannie picked up a scent. The chase was on! It didn’t matter which direction Fannie went, our job was to stay as close as possible and not get out of hearing range. The sound of a good hound in pursuit was always music to our ears. Finally, Fannie began to use her "tree" voice, and we knew we were about to have some fun. The chase had lasted too long to be a possum so we figured it must be a coon.
After a thorough search, Zack announced that he was going up. He handed me the flashlight and told me to light the way. Some years later I heard the story told by entertainer Jerry Clower about Nugene Ledbetter and how he climbed a tree in search of a coon. Zack could have been Nugene that night. After reaching the first limb and relaxing for just a moment, catching his breathe, suddenly, Zack announced, "It’s a skunk". A chill went down my spine. "A skunk, eh?" I though. We’d never caught a skunk before. Zack climbed higher to get a closer look. Rational people, at this point, would have said, "Let’s leave him be," pat Fannie on the head and continue the hunt somewhere else. But nooooo.., we had to capture this guy since we had come this far. As Zack moved closer the skunk moved farther out. If Zack could make the skunk jump out, then we’d let the dog deal with him. The skunk went out so far and stopped. Zack shook the limb but to no avail. By then, I was almost directly underneath the limb holding the light on the skunk. It was a stalemate. All rational thought by now was totally gone from our brains. Zack proceeded to swat at the skunk with a broken branch. Suddenly, all heck broke loose. I could see this growing cloud of spray and hear Zack yell for me to hold the light on the skunk. There I stood, like an idiot, looking up, trying to shine the light through this cloud of spray as it descended onto my face and into my eyes. In the meantime, Zack was verbally attacking my ancestry and that of the skunk while feverishly swatting away. I could no longer see anything. My eyes were on fire. All I can do is listen to one heck of a commotion up the tree, try to shine the light, and wipe my eyes. Clear eyes probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway because there was still a thick cloud up there. Finally the skunk fell out. The hound was all over him. It didn’t take her long to dispatch the skunk, but then she started to vomit. I thought she would puke her guts out before she stopped. I was truly concerned about her, especially if she died and word got back to Mr. Joe. Meanwhile, Zack is working his way down the tree and mumbling some incoherent expletives under his breath. So there we stood, almost in a state of shock, stinking to high heaven, with one very sick dog on our hands and not knowing what to do next. Needless to say, that night’s hunt was over. We made the decision to work our way back by Mr. Joe’s house and then on to my house. The hound stopped at her home. Another great decision we made was to take the skunk home with us. He certainly smelled no worse than we did! Arriving late, my father met us at the door. He had been asleep, but apparently our stench preceded us. The temperature was well below freezing but Dad made us strip down to our birthday suits outside and leave our clothes before we could enter. He then broke out a number two washtub for a bath. The water was heated a little to temper it and there we took a bath in homemade lye soap. Neither Zack nor I were ever chastised for what we did that night. The adults in our life probably figured we had learned our lesson and a lesson well learned it was! ~ By James A. Arnold, Contributor
Biographical Sketch: James A. "Jim" Arnold is a 1956 graduate of Pontotoc High School and veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps. After graduating from the University of North Carolina, Wilmington with a BS in Physics, he embarked on a career in electronics and manufacturing. Presently Jim and his wife of forty-nine years, Juanita, make their home in Easley, South Carolina. Jim teaches at the Tri-County Technical College in Pendleton, South Carolina.
Oxford St. Overpass Disaster Averted The Bodock Post’s Associate Editor and publisher, Wayne Carter, has written a fine article on one of the railroad overpass bridges in this issue, and it sparked a memory of my own about another incident that happened at the Oxford Street Overpass during my younger years Angie Damuth and I were dating as we attended the "Junior-Senior Banquet" together in the spring of 1954. It was our junior year of high school. Angie was a sweet and attractive girl. What Angie ever saw in me, I’ll never know. We both played in the school band where she played trumpet and I trombone. She was a very accomplished player and they let me play just because they needed a trombone in the group, I think. It was here that we met and became friends.
Although we came from different backgrounds we did not let that stand in our way. Mr. and Mrs. Damuth were very warm toward me; even their huge Boxer bulldog seemed to like me. After the banquet at The Lodge Elysian restaurant was over, it was beginning to get late, almost 10:30 P.M. Many of us guys and girls headed out for the Dairy Bar in "West-town," to see and be seen. Several of us were driving in a "convoy" from the lake south of town, through town, down Oxford Street and under the GM&O (Gulf, Mobile, and Ohio) Railroad trestle. Oxford Street is a two lane concrete road, which passes underneath the tracks. The trestle has concrete walls on either side. These sidewalls start very wide at the bottom and narrow considerably as they extend upward to the tracks, making a steep concrete slope from street level up to the bridge itself. We came off the rise there on Oxford going west, and all the cars picked up speed as we hurried toward the Dairy Bar. Billy Wayne Lewelling was in front with his dad’s ’49 Chevrolet, Kenneth Hodges was next in their ’51 Ford, Billy Carl Austin was third in the family ’50 Chevrolet, and I was bringing up the rear in our ’49 Dodge. As Billy Wayne approached the overpass, he miss-judged where he was in the road and with the aid of some loose rocks and sand, the right wheels scooted up that concrete slope. At the speed we were going, his car drove up that concrete ramp and literally flipped over in the air and crashed down on its top in the center of the street directly under the overpass. Of course, tires were screaming as each car tried not to hit the other. However, a strange phenomenon happened. Kenneth Hodges being immediately behind Billy Wayne could not stop. He did something that probably saved our lives; he simply "gunned" the Ford V8 and shot through the slot while Billy Wayne’s Chevy was still in its mid-air roll. His action gave Billy Carl and me a few more feet in which to stop. We were left sideways in the road, but otherwise uninjured or damaged. All the girls had worn large formal dresses with two or three hoops in the skirt part to make them stand out. After our Dodge slid to a stop, Angie was sitting flat in the front floorboard with the hooped skirt over her head. The hooped part had almost filled her side of the car. I know, I know, we should have been wearing our seat belts, but alas, they had not been invented as yet. When the dust settled, we pulled Billy Wayne and his date out through the back windshield of his car, as it lay there with all four tires pointed skyward and both lanes of traffic blocked. They were shook up, bruised, and scratched, but not seriously injured. The car was a mess to say the least. Kenneth’s car sat cool a cucumber just beyond the wreck with not a scratch. We never did get to the Dairy Bar. However, looking back, it was a most eventful evening, and one that could have had deadly consequences. None of us ever forgot how one spring night a car jumped, flew, turned a flip, and another shot underneath it through the only available opening. Our guardian angels had to work overtime that night at the GM&O overpass on Oxford Street. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Kite Weather Favorable Winds Are Needed
I think my mother died believing kites were instruments of death. She had read a newspaper article or heard something on the radio about a youth being electrocuted when his or her kite became tangled in power lines. The fact that the flyer of the kite used a thin wire rather than cotton string was merely part of Mom’s selective memory suppression when she was bent on making her point of the dangers of kites. Thus, if she were aware that any of her children were going kiting, she'd warn them to keep the kite away from the power lines. Tossing her kite misgivings aside, each spring, Mom would often help with the kite construction chore, lending us her scissors, a few sheets of yesterday's newspaper, several well-worn nylons, and some homemade glue that she whipped up using flour and water. Mom's glue wasn't very durable, but it was better than no glue, and without it we'd have never gotten some of our kites out of the dining room. The kites we made used a couple of pieces of wood to form the t-shaped backbone of the kite. Finding two such strips of wood was sometimes a challenge. The wooden slats removed from discarded window shades were nearly perfect—lightweight and strong—but they weren't always available. Small limbs from shrubs or trees would work but were more unwieldy than slats. Stout twine was used to bind two sticks or staves to form a cross or "t." Twine was then strung to enclose the "t" by connecting all the endpoints of the cross. Newspaper was cut slightly larger than the frame of the kite and pasted onto the new rigging. Finishing touches included bowing the crossbar and tying it in the bowed position, adding a few nylons strung end to end from the tail of the kite, punching a couple of small holes in the paper along the vertical axis, then threading a piece of string through the holes and tying the loose ends to the vertical bar, creating a halter to which the kite string was attached. With some minor adjustments to the rigging, shortening or lengthening the tail of the kite, and a stiff breeze, most such contraptions eventually made it aloft. Some of them soon nose-dived into the ground or snagged their tail in a nearby tree, but none of our kites ever got close to a power line. We figured it better to play it safe, plus Mom might cut off our kite making resources if our kite got tangled on a power line. While it's true that store-bought kites fly higher, look prettier, and last longer than the homemade variety described above, there's a certain joy in making a kite out of scraps and whatever is on hand and watching that creation take wings of its own. It produces a sense of wellbeing and a pride of accomplishment that knows no equal; not even in a dozen of the store-bought variety. Find instructions for homemade kite construction at: http://www.djournal.com/pages/Features/photos/kite/page.asp ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor
Racing Tomatoes Competition Is The Driving Force It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato. ~ Lewis Grizzard Master Gardener Bill Colvard says there are four levels of tomato gardeners: casual, passionate, obsessed, and a durn fool. It has nothing to do with how successful one is raising tasty, vine-ripened homegrown 'maters. I suppose I'm in the last category. I love to race other 'mater lovers for the earliest and biggest 'maters.
Since he and Opal have slowed down a bit in the last few years, they raise their 'maters in containers. Last year they raised so many in 21 containers that the neighbors started dodging them when they saw them coming. Opal made tomato juice out of the surplus. I've been enjoying that all winter with a little salt and Worcestershire sauce. He doesn't mind revealing his secret since he says he will beat me again this year anyhow. He begins with black plastic containers that trees and shrubs come in and are discarded by nurseries. A minimum 10 gallon size is best, with drainage holes. He fills the bottom third of each container with hay to absorb excess moisture. The middle third is inexpensive top soil. The top third is premium planting mix. It contains no soil and is sterilized. This avoids the fungus among us and bacteria beside us from infecting his plants. He grows tried and true varieties like heirloom Marglobes and hybrid Early Girl and Better Boy varieties for early and reliable bearing. He keeps the container damp but not wet using gallon plastic milk jugs with the top cut out and pinholes in the bottom for drip irrigation. He uses MiracleGro foliar feedings, an occasional handful of triple 13, and alfalfa tea fertilizer. More on that in another article. I'm going to try that system in my own backyard this year. I plan to grow mostly heirloom varieties like Pink Caspian, Cherokee Purple, Mortgage Lifter, and Brandywine. I will also raise a few hybrid BHN640 plants I'll get from Wise Farms near Ecru MS when they have their festival and sale. They raise a large commercial crop in hay bales. It's worth a sightseeing tour to see them when they are bearing, and buy a few tasty and juicy 'maters from the shed. Just weigh them and put the money in the honor box. The honor box wouldn't last 24 hours in my town, and the shed itself might disappear. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Bubba Bodock While driving the other day, I heard these on Sirius/ XM radio as I listened to D.J., Bill Mack, on Willie’s Place. Pay Increase Requested
A maid asked the lady of the house for a salary increase. "What makes you think you deserve an increase?" "I can give you three reasons. Number one, I iron better than you," replied the maid. "And, who told you that?" asked the lady of the house. "Your husband." "I see," said the lady of the house. "The second reason is because, I’m a better cook than you are," stated the maid. "Who told you that?" "Your husband," the maid responded. "I see," said the lady of the house. "The third reason, I deserve a pay increase is because I’m a better lover than you," the maid asserted. "Who said that?" quizzed the lady of the house. "The gardener," responded the maid. The maid’s request was granted. -------------------------------------------- State Trooper And The Blonde Curious as to why the approaching car was driving erratically, a State Trooper turned on his flashing blue lights, did a one-eighty, and pursued the vehicle. The blonde driver did not respond to the trooper’s lights or siren, so the trooper pulled alongside the vehicle and observed the blonde was knitting. He rolled his passenger side window down and with his bullhorn, shouted, "Pull over!" The blonde glanced his way and yelled in reply, "Scarf!" -------------------------------------------- Neurologist Test...
The Bodock Post has not verified the claims of the following, so take if for what it’s worth: 1- Find the C below. Do not use any cursor help.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 2- If you already found the C, now find the 6 below.
99999999999999999999999999999999999999 3- Now find the N below. It's a little more difficult.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM This is NOT a joke. If you were able to pass these 3 tests, you can cancel your annual visit to your neurologist. Your brain is great and you're far from having a close relationship with Alzheimer. Congratulations!
Our Mission Purpose - The Bodock Post It is our desire to provide a monthly newsletter about rural living with photographs of yesterday and today, including timely articles about conservative politics, religion, food, restaurant reviews, gardening, humor, history, and non-fiction columns by folks steeped in our Southern lifestyle. Copyright © 2008 - 2009 The Bodock Post. Return to home page. Open This Issue with MS Word
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This edition of The Bodock Post is
technically the last issue of Winter. I like to think of it as the first
month of the gardening season. My wife Mimi and I spent three years in Omaha,
Nebraska one winter. May is the cruelest month there with frosts and an
occasional snow.
It’s time to get out your yard
equipment and service it for the new season. Change the oil, sharpen the
blades, restring the weed eater, and such. If you have weeds in your lawn
that are troublesome, you might think about spraying with a pre-emergence
chemical. There are several good ones on the market, just be sure and read
the label and follow the directions. Be careful not to do this on a windy
day as not to let it drift into your flowers, shrubs, and other plants. Be
sure and read the safety precautions on the label and dress appropriately.
"Caboose," is a word you don't hear much anymore,
and it brings up another vague word. Similar in sound and spelling
but in a whole different world, and that is "calaboose." Many, if not
most, young people do not know about a calaboose. But Newt Harlan being from
Texas and an old coot like myself, knows this word and may even know where
a calaboose still exists. I suppose because my hometown of Pontotoc,
Mississippi, was the county seat we were required to have a regular jail.
There have been no less than four different jail buildings used there that
I can remember, but I digress.
I recounted in an earlier issue of The
Bodock Post about being a "blue baby" and how a lucky toss of a piece of
brick almost sent my older brother to Glory, and I recalled a couple of other
happenings and memories from what were likely the eighteenth to twenty-fourth
months of my life, happenings that occurred while living in the house on
8th street.
You can buy ornamental cabbages if you want
a faux bloom in the winter. They are beautiful, but alas, inedible to man
and beast.
When we arrived at the tree, the
dog sat looking up with her low melodic voice announcing that the prey was
up there somewhere. Zack had the flashlight so he started searching while
I tried to get in position to catch a silhouette of the treed animal. Being
winter, there were no leaves for an animal to hide, but we found nothing.
Hunters always tell stories of "lying coon dogs" but we had never known this
one to participate in this unethical behavior on something as serious as
a hunt. She was just too good for that.
As it happens sometime, friendship
turns into courtship. If ever two people were miss-matched, we were. She
was quiet and genteel, very proper and studious. I was a redneck of the first
order, just sort-of hit the ground in the high spots, and red headed to boot.
The arrival of March in North Mississippi
signals spring is near, and with March being one of the area’s windiest
months, it also calls to mind the years of my childhood when March’s
strong winds provided a homemade kite the best chance of being flown.
My biggest competitor is my
daddy-in-law, Ralph Graham. He and Opal, my mother-in-law, live between Thaxton
and Hurricane MS. I'll admit right now he wins every year.
