Our
new little home in Desoto County, Mississippi was just being completed. Even
though it was not quite finished we had moved in that fall of 1963. We longed
for the wide-open space of the country. Having sold our house earlier in
the year, the tiny apartment we rented for the interim was much too small
for our family.
"The Country," as we called it, was just that, way down in the rural dairy
farming area of the county. It was south of Olive Branch, off US 78 highway
and the Ingraham’s Mill Road on a little lane called Fairview. We had
bought twenty acres some years before and were building a small house there
so that our children could grow up in this rural type atmosphere.
Since snow of any consequence is a rarity in the northern most part of
Mississippi, no snow was expected. Oh, possibly a dusting of the ground from
time to time, but most winters there was no snow at all. However, a few days
before Christmas the weather decided to make up for lost time and dropped
over twelve inches of beautiful snow. I tried to get out but the snow was
so deep it just rolled up in front of the car and finally stopped me altogether.
There are no snow moving devices in the county for clearing roads and such.
Memphis, twenty-five miles or so to our north, had limited snow equipment
for the airport and a few vehicles that, in emergencies, could be fitted
with some sort of snowplows for city streets. Our county, Desoto, had none
to my knowledge.
It came to my attention,we were snowed in! Our food supply
was more than adequate; the electricity, which ran the heat and the deep
well for water had not gone out, so no problems there. Knowing that we could
not get out, we settled down to enjoy the winter wonderland that the Lord
had sent to us. Jan was almost a year and a half old; Joey was a little over
four. We had a "blast" playing in the snow. The kids and their mom, Carol,
built an igloo in the back yard. Taking an empty cardboard shoebox; the children
would pack it full of snow and then stack the blocks of snow into a cute
little igloo. It was small, just large enough for the both of them to get
into. They had so much fun making it, and then, playing in it for the duration
of the cold weather.
There was a situation that bothered me during this time. Some of our Christmas
presents had not been purchased. Part of what Santa Clause would need was
still unaccounted for. My wife’s gift had not been purchased as well
as for other family members. I kept trying to think of a way to get out.
What to do? Early on Christmas Eve morning it was evident that if any more
presents were to be had, I would have to walk out and get to a town somewhere,
somehow. If Ingraham’s Mill Road was not passable it would be a long
trek through deep snow to get to US 78 Highway. Surely the highway would
be open. Olive Branch, although not a large town, would do, if that was as
far as I could get.
With two pair of pants, shirts, and socks and with gloves, a heavy coat and
a warm cap to ward off the cold, I started down our long driveway. Carol
and the children waved good-bye to me as I trudged off into the white powdery
fluff. It was very cold, but bearable. The walk to the main road was about
a half mile and after walking down our little lane I did not expect to find
it passable either.
To my surprise a vehicle had been down the road. About that time, a truck
came into view, heading in my direction. I automatically "thumbed" for a
ride and the truck came to a sliding stop. Two men had taken cow feed to
Mr. Herrington’s dairy farm not far away, and were headed back to Olive
Branch. The truck was not too warm, and the men had a strong aroma about
them not taken from a bottle of after-shave or cologne. However, it was a
set of wheels and I was most grateful to get the ride. The highway was passable
with a reasonable amount of traffic. Once in Olive Branch, I hitched a ride
with a traveling salesman headed to his Memphis home for the holidays. He
took me as far as the intersection of Semmes and Lamar; there I could catch
a city bus.
Opting for downtown and all its good stores, Lowensteins, Goldsmiths,
Brea’s, Black & White, and the like; I got off on Main Street. My
wife had given me a list of things needed for the children. I got her a present
or two, and a gift for my Mom and Dad. Then with about all the packages one
man could successfully carry, I hopped on a bus and headed for our friends
house in East Memphis, where we had formerly lived. Having seen the roads,
and knowing they were passable, I hoped that one of them would volunteer
to drive me back home, or within walking distance at least.
Our friends, Ben and Barbara, lived out near Getwell Road and Willow. We
went to church together and their children were about the age as ours. Ben
was gracious enough to offer to take me home. He had a Plymouth Valliant
automobile and had rigged up some homemade snow chains for the tires. So
we loaded all the packages into his car and away we went. The main roads
still had some snow, but passable. When we turned off US 78 onto Ingraham’s
Mill, we questioned if he could make it down that road in a car or not. However,
not only the feed truck, but also another vehicle had traversed it as well,
so Ben decided to give the cold, dark road a try.
As we came upon our little lane we paused. Not a single vehicle had been
down the road since the snow fell. The chances of driving to our house were
slim to none. Ben managed to get the car turned around and we began to unload
all packages for my walk home. I put all the small ones in my pockets and
gathered all the sizeable ones in my arms. But there were still more.
Fortunately, some of the stores had tied their packages with string. Ben
hung two or three of the stringed packages on the fingers of each hand. It
must have been a "sight for sore eyes," as my Momma would have said, an
overstuffed, rag-tag looking guy, with packages, sacks, and boxes protruding
and hanging from every conceivable place; shuffling off into the blackness
of a snowy country lane.
Because of its depth, the snow was hard walking and I was becoming so very
tired. My mind kept asking, "If I fall down, will it be possible to get back
up again?"
Once out of Ben’s sight but not yet close enough to see our house a
strange thing happened. Walking alone in the cold dark, there was a feeling
that I was not alone. It seemed something rather large was coming toward
me along the lane. But because of the blackness of night, I could not determine
what it was. It moved slowly and did not make a sound, except for the crunching
of snow. I would have broke and run, only with the packages, the amount of
clothes, and with my depleted energy; that was not an option. Whatever it
was, if it was going to get me, I was just got. Evidently the mysterious
being was oblivious of me. When no more than ten feet separated us, I made
out the form; it was one of Mr. Allison’s dairy cows. When she finally
did see me, she wheeled around, grunted loudly, and took off in the opposite
direction with tail high in the air. Evidently our encounter scared her as
much as it did me.
Though weary, cold, and with a heart rate of ten thousand from the scare,
I trudged on to the house. The lights of home never looked so good and inviting
to this country boy. Since every arm, hand, and most every finger was carrying
a load, I had nothing left with which to open the door. I used my near frozen
foot to kick on the door to get someone’s attention. Opening the door,
Carol burst into laughter as she saw me standing there in the snow, bulging
with packages. Once inside, she began taking the packages off my fingers
so I could unload the remaining ones.
After unwinding a bit and eating a good warm meal, the adventures of the
day were shared. As Christmas Day dawned, one could hardy detect the experiences
that had preceded this day. Christmas was a glorious day, all that any one
could ever want or ask for!
Over the years we laughed and wondered what ever happened to that poor cow,
she probably went permanently dry after snowy encounter. We agreed that this
would be a holiday that would not soon be forgotten; it was one of the few
times that we ever saw a big snow for Christmas.
By Ralph Jones, December 2007
Volume 600 Pardon
Our Boasting
The staff at our humble shop passed a milestone last week. We published the
six hundredth weekly issue of Ridge Rider News. Such is certainly
no small task, considering the publication has been faithfully written and
published in spite of occasional vacations, family emergencies, hospitalizations,
and other activities that would prevent most folks from maintaining the
continuity of a project of a similar nature.
Our accomplishment is not likely to ever be immortalized by a poet of
Tennyson’s stature and is certainly of lesser historical importance
than the Charge Of The Light Brigade in which is written of six hundred
plus disciplined British soldiers fighting overwhelming numbers in the Crimean
War:
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
My boss, Bob McGehee of Atlanta, once strung together an impressive series
of consecutive Saturdays in which he played nine holes of golf or more, but
his string ended with three hundred six. Our record at RRN eclipses that
and almost doubles his playing streak.
Be assured our success has not gone to our heads. The largeness of six hundred
is relative to that with which it is identified. Surely six hundred weeks
is a long time, but compared to the age of the earth, it’s an insignificant
period of time. Six hundred drops of water is roughly one ounce of the most
commonly occurring liquid on this planet. Of the ten thousand stars visible
to the naked eye on a clear, moonless night, six hundred doesn’t amount
to much.
Thus, our celebration is tempered by our perspective. Please indulge our
pride of accomplishment.
Coming
Attraction Sixty-Six Performers
Put it on your calendar, as you won’t want to miss this musical
extravaganza. Do it now; don’t delay; mark Thursday, December
27th for seven o’clock in the evening at First Baptist Church,
Pontotoc.
Sponsored by the Pontotoc Music Study Club, and coordinated and directed
by Patricia Young Henry, the program for the evening is entitled, "Christmas
Celebration On Pianos And More." Patricia states the program will feature
six pianos, six keyboards, two flutes, a clarinet and some percussion
instruments.
Approximately a year and one-half ago, Patricia Henry and the Music Study
Club held a similar event that was well received and was the talk of the
town for weeks following. Patricia hand picked six of her former students
and six others for a performance the magnitude of which is seldom found beyond
Broadway.
This year’s presentation involves more players and more instruments.
All players are either current residents or former residents of Pontotoc,
representing twenty-five churches and five cities. Of these, twelve are or
else have been music teachers and two are band directors, so talent will
be in abundance.
Patricia also stated there will be 11 sets of parent/ child performers, four
sets of grandparent/ grandchild performers, three sets of three generations
performing, and four sets of siblings performing. Additionally fifteen of
the sixty-six players are either children or grandchildren of members of
the Music Study Club.
Not one to skimp on details, Patricia further stated there will be 17 guest
performers, 13 members of the Pontotoc Music Study Club, 2 college students,
12 high school students, 11 Jr. high students, and 11 elementary students.
Off the sixty-six performers, forty-one are former and current students of
Patricia, who, believe it or not, is in her 57th year of teaching.
There are a number of music programs scheduled in churches prior to Christmas
that are sure to please even the "Scroogiest" among us, but I have the feeling
the best can be seen at FBC, Pontotoc on December 27th.
There is no admission and the public is cordially invited to attend this
holiday extravaganza.
Bodock Beau
Insults With Class
Psst! The Editor said it still isn’t too late to submit your
Christmas Memory. I think he’s used up all of his in past issues.
"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." --Winston
Churchill
"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure."
-- Clarence Darrow
"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the
dictionary." -- William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)
"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it." -- Groucho
Marx
"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved
of it." -- Mark Twain
"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends." -- Oscar Wilde
"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a
friend...If you have one." - George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill...followed
by Churchill's response…"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend
second, if there is one." - Winston Churchill
"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here." -- Stephen
Bishop
"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." -- John Bright
"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial." --Irvin
S. Cobb
"He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others." --
Samuel Johnson
"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up." – Paul Keating
"He had delusions of adequacy." -- Walter Kerr
"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork." -- Mae West
"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go." -- Oscar
Wilde
Lady Astor once remarked to Winston Churchill at a dinner party, "Winston,
if you were my husband, I would poison your coffee!" Winston replied, "Madam
if I were your husband I would drink it!"
Thanks to Carl Wayne Hardeman
Cajun Sausage
Boudreaux asked the clerk, "Which aisle is de one whar you keeps de Cajun
sausage?"
The clerk looks at him and says, "Are you Cajun?"
Boudreaux kind of stiffens and says, "Mais yeah. But let me ax you somet'ing.
If I had axed for Italian sausage would you ax me if I was Italian?
Or if I had axed for German bratwurst, would you ax me if I was German? Or
if I axed for a kosher hot dog would you ax me if I was Jewish? Or
if I had axed for a Taco would you ax if I was Mexican? Would you?
Well, would you?"
The clerk says, "Well, no!"
With deep self-righteous indignation, Boudreaux says, "Well den, why did
you ax me if I'm Cajun, just 'cause I axed for Cajun sausage?"
The clerk replies, "Because you're at Home Depot."
Our
new little home in Desoto County, Mississippi was just being completed. Even
though it was not quite finished we had moved in that fall of 1963. We longed
for the wide-open space of the country. Having sold our house earlier in
the year, the tiny apartment we rented for the interim was much too small
for our family.
