RRN Online Volume 431

September 04 '04

Volume 431

Bodock 2004 Festival's Eleventh Year

My sister’s favorite community festival was last weekend. In case you don’t know Sarah very well, I should explain that I’m being mildly sarcastic, for you see, Sarah really doesn’t care for festivals and particularly doesn’t appreciate a Deep South outdoor event held near the end of August. Sarah didn’t choose to attend the Bodock Festival this year, though I have managed to drag her to Pontotoc’s event for the past two or three years. Festival booths with vendors showcasing crafts and edible goodies don’t fascinate Sarah, but there’s more to the Bodock Festival than food and crafts and include various rides for children, live entertainment, parades, an antique car show, historical re-enactments, a 5K run, and contests in post throwing and bodock ball tossing.

Around these parts the fruit of the bodock tree is called a ball. It’s also called a horse apple, but in the Midwest it’s commonly known as a hedge apple. Additionally, the bodock tree is called an Osage Orange in the midwestern states.

I’m not too much of a booth-shopper myself, though I normally walk through the maze of booths populating the park and surrounding area in downtown Pontotoc just to see what’s being offered. However, this year I strayed from my routine and only shopped a couple of booths, and in both instances I knew what I wanted, if not specifically then generally.

Gail H. Sappington and her brother Don Howell were once students at Pontotoc High School. Don was a few grades behind me, and Gail was a few grades behind Don. Readers will have to forgive my inability to recall exactly the birth order of the Howell children. After all, there were eleven of them. On a good day, I can name all of them, but that’s about it.

Neither Gail nor Don regularly read this newsletter but four of their siblings do. They are very much aware of the existence of Ridge Rider News and each report being exposed occasionally to our musings by a sibling with a subscription.

Don has a talent for woodcarving and sells a variety of painted carvings ranging from figurines to pins and pendants. He also introduced a line of wooden spoons and spatulas a year or so ago. Gail’s craft leans toward an inspirational theme. Scripturally inspired, she writes verse and draws scenes, creating unique note cards. She also displays and sells framed prints of her work.

This year, Gail showed me a new card inspired by the date palm tree.

She explained that she spoke to a group at Forest Baptist Church, Forest, MS, using the text from Psalm 92:12-15, which states in part, "The righteous man will flourish like the palm tree…yield fruit in old age…full of sap…to declare the LORD is upright."

Afterwards, Gordon Sansing, pastor of the Forest Baptist Church, asked her if she knew about the palm tree’s many uses, some of which he shared. Gail did some research and was inspired to create a new card.

"Now, I’ve got something I want you to read," Gail stated as she rummaged through a box beneath the table. "I’ve written a story about three palm trees. As you read it, keep in mind there are two young trees and an older one."

After I finished reading her story, I asked, "You are going to let me share this with my readers, aren’t you?

"Yes, I can do that," she replied.

I should have asked permission to photocopy the story at a nearby business, as getting Gail to answer an email is mostly hit or miss. I don’t have the article at this time, but if I’m lucky it’ll show up prior to Christmas. When it does arrive, I’ll share it with the readership of this newsletter. I think readers will find it "worth the wait."

Apart from Don and Gail’s booth, I personally shopped only one other booth, but I did help Barbara find Kerry Koehler’s booth so she could buy a few patriotic bracelets that Rayanne wanted. I needed a yellow-ribbon bow to replace the one that has faded while wrapped around the maple tree in my front yard. A support group for the families of National Guardsmen recently deployed for overseas duty had a table setup on the sidewalk near the Town Square Post Office. Habitat for Humanity’s booth, where Barbara spent most of her time, was adjacent to the Post Office. So, I really didn’t have to go looking for the yellow bow.

Jason and I had erected one of my canopies on Thursday afternoon for use by Habitat for Humanity. Bill Jackson provided a display table, and persons manning the booth on Friday afternoon brought their own chairs. The canopy would become a habitat for a human later that night. This is how Rev. Ken Corley recalled the events of Saturday morning.

"It was raining when I got here around seven o’clock. I parked across the street and sat in my truck waiting on the rain to slack up, some. As I looked toward the booth, I saw some movement, but I couldn’t make it out. I could see the top of the table, but the hedge kept me from seeing anything below the table. Every once in a while something would pop up, and I thought it looked like a hat, but I wasn’t sure."

"When the rain let up, I walked over to the booth to find a rough-looking guy getting up off the ground. It took me a minute to figure out he was one of the re-enactors and had camped out under the table, but I saw his rifle leaned against the wall and looking at his mode of dress I was able to put it all together."

"He told me he started out the night on his bedroll at the corner of the Post Office, but as the weather got worse he sought shelter under the canopy. But, with the wind blowing, he kept getting wet, so he finally got under the table where the table and a couple of boxes provided additional shelter from the wind and rain."

It was after nine o’clock when I got to the booth Saturday morning, but the Civil War re-enactor was still there and I got to meet him. I regret I don’t remember his name, and I never asked where he was from, but since he had a travel-trailer parked within a rock’s throw of the Habitat booth, I figured he was from out of town. Had I been in his shoes, I think I’d have spent the night in the trailer, saving the opportunity to sleep under the stars for a night that actually had stars.

Lochinvar is an antebellum home a few miles south of Pontotoc that was spared destruction by the Yankees when they occupied Pontotoc during the Civil War. The Pontotoc Historical Society gained permission from Lochinvar’s current owners to host a reenactment on the grounds. I gave some thought to driving down for the occasion but settled for viewing a scene portraying the historic raid on Pontotoc by the Union Army. The Historical Society is to be commended for its effort to bring history to life in an affordable and enjoyable fashion.

Rain returned around four o’clock, and some vendors left early. I wasn’t a vendor, but I left, explaining to Bob and Ken Jackson that Jason and I would take down the canopy early Sunday morning, since it looked as though it would rain the rest of the day. As it turned out, the festivities for Saturday evening went as planned, and the local newspaper reported vendors were doing a booming business well into the evening hours.

Barbara and I spent much of our weekend at the Bodock Festival and had no trouble going to sleep at bedtime on Saturday night.

"I don’t know how some people do it," she confided. "They set up a booth either on Thursday or Friday and they’re there all day on Saturday and then have to take everything down Saturday night. I don’t know where they get their strength."

I don’t know either, but it’s something some folks do several times a year as they market their wares in area festivals. As for the rest of us, we’ve no one to blame but ourselves if we wear ourselves out attending the festivals.

What’s In A Name Searching For Perfection

Blessed is he who has the perfect name. It’s not Biblical, though the Bible does state, "A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches," and I doubt it’s an ancient Oriental proverb, but it is truly a blessing for an individual to have a name with which he or she finds contentment.

Most of us were given three names at birth – names over which we had no control – by parents who may or may not have given much thought to the names selected. If we manage to receive a decent name at birth, we run the risk of gaining a nickname before starting school or else by classmates still later.

Some Dads are so proud to have a son, they feel compelled to give him their name, and the child spends the rest of his life trying to live up to his father’s name or, in some instances, trying to live it down. Others choose family names, or names popular at the time. Girls don’t have it easy either, as some receive a boyish name to compensate the father’s wish for a boy.

The name experts recommend mixing multi-syllabic names with monosyllabic ones. They flow better off the tongue and are more interesting. Thus, Mary Ann Mobley is more acoustically appealing than say Margaret Annette Mobley. If a person’s last name is a single syllable, it’s best to couple one or more multi-syllabic names with it, for example, Edgar Allen Poe has more appeal than simply Joe Poe.

I don’t ever remember being dissatisfied with my name, Wayne Lamar Carter. My parents explained my name was chosen because they knew someone named Wayne Lamar Conlee and Dad’s younger brother was named Lamar. I’ve often wondered if they would have chosen Wayne if they knew Wayne originally meant "wagon maker," especially if they understood Carter to mean "driver of a cart." In my youth, there were names I found more interesting, but they didn’t fit as well with Carter as what I already had. Long ago I decided my name wasn’t perfect, but it was okay for me.

My sister might have loved being named Sarah Sue, had mother never told her what she really wanted to name her. Mom’s choice would have been Teresa Rosemary, but Dad liked Sarah Sue better, perhaps because he had an Aunt Sarah and a Cousin Sue, but perhaps it was because he felt Mom’s choice was, as he expressed it, "too big of a mouthful." Thus, Sarah grew up under the shadow of the name that might have been, and probably feels her life would have been far different had she been Teresa Rosemary Carter.

Jim Hess is one of my best friends, and I won’t comment about his name except to say it’s more rhythmically pleasing to use all three of his names. Jim sent me a short article written by a young man, who feels he has the perfect name. Jim included a note explaining he had received the article from the youth’s grandfather, Tom Hill of Vicksburg, MS.

The Perfect Name

by Gordon Lee

My name is Gordon Samuel Lee. My great uncle’s name is Orval Lee Gordon. I go by Gordon Lee, and he goes by Lee Gordon. When my parents named me this, they had no idea it was my great uncle’s name backwards. Also, we ironically have a lot in common. We both love fishing and are real good fishing buddies. We can sit and talk forever. When he calls us, the Caller ID reads Gordon, Lee. It is really unusual that one of my favorite relatives shares my name, but backwards.

My first name, Gordon, comes from one of my great grandfathers and my great uncle. My middle name, Samuel, comes from another one of my great grandfathers. Samuel is also the names of my dad’s brother, which brings up another strange name situation. I have an "Uncle Sam!" Samuel was also chosen because it’s a biblical name.

I think I have a really solid and interesting name. Though I don’t like my middle name too much, I do like my first name. My mom says my name is perfect because I’m as stubborn as my papaw Gordon, and I can talk as much as my Uncle Sam. The great uncle thing, along with the background, makes my name perfect. Gordon Samuel Lee is the perfect name.

Editor’s Note: Perfect names are hard to come by. If you have one or know of someone who does, write us and tell us why you feel the name is perfect.

Dole Not Chiquita A Slight Correction

In writing an earlier article regarding "New Shoes," I phoned Cecil Fauver at the Progressive Shoe Store to ask about the British Walkers shoes I remembered from my college years. I had been unable to find much information on the Internet, and Cecil confirmed my suspicions that the shoes were no longer manufactured. I explained why I wanted to know and that I was writing something about shoes for my newsletter. I didn’t have to explain my hobby, because he mentioned that Pal Junior (Powell Prewett) had pointed him to my website, previously.

Whenever I share information in this newsletter pertaining to persons not known to be regular readers, I often send a copy of the newsletter to those individuals. In my rush to get the newsletter printed and emailed, I don’t always think to send the newsletter to the persons mentioned in a timely manner. I mailed copies to readers on Thursday, but it was Friday afternoon before I dropped a copy in the hands of Don Fauver at the shoe store.

Hours later, I saw Cecil while I was visiting with Don Howell and Gail at the Bodock Festival.

"I liked what you wrote," Cecil stated after we greeted one another. "That was good about going barefooted. As I read it, I thought I should send a copy to the Allen Edmonds’ salesman, but I kept reading and as I got near the end I thought maybe I should send it to the Florsheim salesman."

As I continued to listen to Cecil’s rave review, I began to enjoy hearing my work praised, and might have enjoyed it even more except I heard him say, "But, you messed up. I didn’t work for Chiquita, I worked for Dole."

Believe it or not, I challenged him on his statement.

"That can’t be; you must be mistaken! I’m absolutely sure you worked for Chiquita," I protested, adding, "My wife even asked me who the Chiquita was you traipsed around the world with, before I explained I should have inserted ‘Corp.’ or something to indicate I was referring to a banana company and not some lovely señorita."

Oh well, I missed the opportunity to get my facts right when I phoned Cecil about the shoes, but I would have gone to my grave believing he once worked for Chiquita had he not corrected me.

Bodock Beau Mississippi Women

Some humor is worth repeating. I think I shared the following anecdote in a prior issue, but it’s been quite a while. Several persons have forwarded it to me this year, but I deleted the earlier copies and am unable to credit more than one contributor’s thoughtfulness.

Mississippi Women

Three men were sitting together bragging about how they had given their new wives duties.

The first man had married a woman from Alabama and bragged that he had told his wife she was going to do all the dishes and house cleaning. He said it took a couple days but on the third day he came home to a clean house and dishes.

The second man had married a woman from Florida. He bragged that he had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes, and the cooking. On the first day he didn't see any results, but the next day it was better. By the third day, his house was clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man had married a Mississippi girl. He boasted that he told her that her duties were to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed and hot meals on the table for every meal. He said the first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see anything, but by the third day most of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye. Enough to fix himself a bite to eat, load the dishwasher, and telephone a landscaper.

Shared by Jerry Young

Share this article with a friend.

Home