THE LONG JOURNEY AND THE SHORT ONE

Now, at My Daddy’s funeral, the feller that gave the talk about how the Lord was going to receive My Daddy said some things I didn’t agree with. He said My Daddy and him talked a lot, and My Daddy listened, but sometimes he didn’t understand. I’m sure he said some good things too, but I don’t remember them. I kind of got the idea he thought he might have been a little bit smarter than My Daddy. I made up my mind, right then and there, that when the General died I’d give a talk myself. I wasn’t gonna worry too much about the Lord’s business. “Let me tell you about this woman, and what she is really like,” I’d say. That way, we could kind of dispense with the Lord’s job, and leave that to Him. I did too. I got right up there and told all them good folks, who were kind enough to come, all about the General. To tell you the truth, most of them already knew it anyway.

Now, I figure an ol’ coyote don’t go to school and he eats pretty good where some fellers would starve to death. My Daddy was no coyote, but he did survive where other folks had starved out and left. You gotta give him credit for that. He raised five kids where there was no industry. He never did anything other than farm and he only went to school long enough to learn how to sign his name. He never held the title to any property that amounted to much. The land where he farmed was too wet, hard, or dry, about ninety percent of the time. Now, that’s the kinda feller who taught me all the important lessons in life.

My Daddy and me did a lot of walking around together. Everybody liked to talk to him, because he was a great storyteller. He wasn’t all clogged up with all that book learning. So he was pretty clear on things and had a right funny way of telling it. I was lucky, because the Protector didn’t like to hunt, and he sure didn’t like no walking. My Daddy worked him hard behind that second team of horses he got later on. I think he was just plain tired. My Daddy loved baseball, and on Sunday we’d walk to a local community game. He said them ol’ horses needed to rest after plowing in the field all week, so unless the General was going, we walked. During these special times was when I got my education.

“One thing a man ought to do is keep his word. That’s about all a poor man has. If you do that, you can borrow money, and that sure is important when you don’t have any,” he said. He told me things about our family he never told anyone else. He told me his daddy told him the story of our ancestors coming over from Ireland during a potato famine. They worked for some feller down in Georgia for seven years to pay off some kind of a debt for the boat ticket. He told me the name Messer didn’t come from Ireland. Seems one of our ancestors wanted people to think he was a German. Nobody much liked the Irish before they killed all the people down here in the South for Old Abe Lincoln. After that, they got respectful like. It was too late for us Messers. We’d gotten kind of attached to the name by then. As a matter of fact, we put a great deal of stock in it. The General said the first time she ever heard it she knew it was going to be her name someday.

My Daddy said the Irish didn’t bring any women with them when they came over, and the ones already here didn’t cotton to them ol’ roughneck boys. Now, the Cherokee Nation was a very advanced people in the 1700s, according to My Daddy. When the white men figured out the Indians had settled on some of the best land around for growing cotton, they started trying to figure out how to get rid of ‘em. “Cotton was thought of as white gold in them days. Trying to hang on to slaves, to grow and get it picked, was what finally started the War Between the States,” he said.

He told me the white man found gold down in Georgia, someplace, during the early eighteen hundreds. That’s when the government decided to pass a law and get rid of all the Cherokee. They sent them out to Oklahoma on a long march they called the Trail of Tears. They called it that, because so many people died on the journey. He said a lot of them tried to escape. Some of the women even took to running off with them ol’ Irish boys that nobody else wanted anything to do with. Now that, more or less, is where we came from. My Daddy’s mommy, as you know, was a Cherokee. She told him these things when he was a little boy. He told me how to pick these folks out and he reckoned that a good many of the southern folks had this mixture. If you saw my sisters you’d know what I mean. Kind of tall, graceful like, light complexion, the color of eyes varies. Some have freckles, some don’t. They tend to be thin, have brown hair, and high cheekbones. I’ve already told you the Messers are all pretty, most especially the womenfolk.

My Aunt Ruby married a feller by the name of Mr. Carl Hicks. She was kind of My Daddy’s mommy until the General took him over. He had a powerful love for her. Now, my Aunt Ruby lived way over in the Walnut Corner neighborhood. We lived about five miles on the other side of Light in the other direction. That made it a long ways to go for a visit when your only way of traveling was by a horse drawn wagon. We always stayed overnight when we went, which was about twice a year. That was always a joyful event and no one had more fun than My Daddy did.

The spring after Jeaner Jackson was born, My Daddy informed us it was time to go see my Aunt Ruby. He had already sent word over there by a feller who lived right down the road from them. He had seen that ol’ boy at the store, and told him to tell them we’d be a coming soon. Lots of preparation goes into a big overnight trip like that. We had all that stuff the stork had left for Jeaner Jackson too. A baby takes a lot of clothes and stuff. We took some food from the garden and jars of fruits and vegetables that the General had canned the year before. It was likely to spoil before next winter anyway.

My Daddy had learned from my Granddaddy Poe to match up a pair of like horses in a team. That means, you try to get two of the same color. It sure makes a prettier sight than one ol’ brown and one ol’ white one. My Granddaddy had made a lot of money doing that. Of course, he did have that one setback. My Daddy had paired up this team of mares. We called them Ol’ Gray and Ol’ Maude, and they were snow white. My Daddy hooked them up to that bright green wagon and put on a matching colored springboard. That’s a seat with springs that helps you not hurt in the buttocks so much on them old rough, hard roads. It reaches right across the wagon, and you can adjust it to your liking. The horses and wagon all decked out made quite a sight. The General and Jeaner Jackson got up there with My Daddy. My Protector and me, we got us a big quilt and got on the floor in the back. And away we went for the night to see my Aunt Ruby.

Now, My Daddy, he knew a short cut we could take. He was always good at that. He did a lot of walking and knew the quickest way to get just about anywhere. Problem being, you had to pass through a lot of farms that was private property. Where we were traveling was more like lanes than real roads. We’d have to get permission to pass through the gates at each farm and be careful not to let their livestock out. We were traveling along quite nicely, things were looking good, and we were all happy as could be. Jeaner Jackson was humming, and the General had things under control. The Protector and me were in the back practicing our wrestling holds and, in general, trying to kill each other.

All of a sudden, all hell broke loose. Ol’ Maude, unbeknownst to anyone, had gone into what horse people call season. We were over there, just on the other side of where the Land’s family still live, traveling down a lane next to a pasture. Now, I heard a very shrill noise that I couldn’t identify with any living thing on this earth. I jumped up from where I was holding the Protector down and saw a stud horse coming toward us. His ears were laid back and he looked to me like he was doing about 66 miles an hour. There was a 6 line (called pop) bob wire fence about six feet high between him and us. He slowed down when he got to the fence and started running along beside of it. I got the feeling something bad was about to happen.

I looked up at the General to get an idea of how great the danger might be. I could always tell a lot that way. I saw we were in big trouble. She had put Jeaner Jackson right under that springboard and got down on the floor and started motioning for us to join them. That ol’ stud horse made a big wide circle and came flying towards us like nothing you’ve ever seen in your life. My Daddy was standing up by now and slapping them ol’ mares, with what horse people call check lines, and yelling at the top of his lungs. Now, I’m scared. Ol’ Maude was showing a great deal of interest in that ol’ boy, kind of walking sideways and making a noise I hadn't never heard before. I felt sure she was sick. Like I said, here he came, and when he reached the fence he jumped right straight up. He cleared the top wire easily by two feet, bounced once and came right down on top of Ol’ Maude. He started pawing, kicking, and biting her in the neck. Them mares were plumb out of the traces and My Daddy was doing his best trying to control’em. Jeaner Jackson was crying and me and the Protector ran up front to the General. The Protector may’ve even cried too, but I can’t swear to that.

As it worked out, four fellers came rushing out on horses and roped that ol’ stud horse. There was a commotion I’ve rarely seen in my life. They finally got him choked down. That ol’ stud horse was on his knees with his tongue a sticking out, snorting, and passing gas you could’ve heard for a mile. The big feller, who seemed to be in charge, yelled at My Daddy to get out of there. We took off as fast as we could and headed on over to Aunt Ruby’s house.

When we got there, the General started a hugging on my Aunt Ruby and telling her what had happened. My Uncle Carl Hicks, as I always called him, had a strange sense of humor. He started a slapping himself on the leg, bending over, and laughing like he’d just heard one of My Daddy’s funny stories. I thought that was strange since we had almost gotten killed. I do have to say here that I kind of understood it, as him and the General never did agree on things. I think if he saw her a little stressed, or out of sorts in anyway, he kinda liked it. He loved to tell stories and imitate how people had acted when an unusual event had occurred. That seemed to be his specialty. This sure had been unusual, and he seemed to be really enjoying himself.

I got to tell you right here, that my Uncle Carol Hicks, was what they called a Church of Christ. Seems when he read the Bible, he found in there where it talked about being baptized before you were saved. He told the General she had been brainwashed by them Baptist folks in her army. She needed to understand how it all worked. It seemed obvious to him, if it said you had to be baptized in order to be saved, that’s what it meant. He’d get out what they called the King James Version of the Bible and he’d read it to her and try to explain how it all worked. He’d talk very loud, but it seemed the General just couldn’t understand it that way. He told her she needed to start accepting the word, or she was going to lead us all straight to hell.

The General, having a commission straight from the Lord, sure wasn’t aiming to have her authority questioned. She’d stand toe to toe with my ol’ uncle. Them gray eyes of hers would commence to glow and we knew she was a working for the Lord. They’d both get to hammering on the kitchen table. My Aunt Ruby and My Daddy would look at each other like they were in the presence of a couple of lunatics and would have a grand old laugh. The tension would then be broken for as much as fifteen minutes at a time.

Ol’ Uncle Carl Hicks, he was one of them fellers that got to marry the woman he loved. He was in-love with my Aunt Ruby as long as she lived. He had a special way of looking at her. “AW, SHE’S A MESSER,” he’d say, and give a big chuckle. He’d say it in such a way that I knew the Messer women must be some kinda special breed. Course, wasn’t no one as pretty as the General. My Aunt Ruby would beam and those brown eyes would fairly sparkle and she’d laugh. “AW, THAT RUBY, BOY SHE IS SOMETHING,” he’d say and shake his head from side to side

So it went year after year, all my years of growing up and far beyond. My Aunt Ruby never learned to cook like the General. That didn’t make any difference, as there was always a pile of food, and no one I ever knew left her table hungry. Years later, when I had my own growing family, we’d go visit my Aunt Ruby. Uncle Carl, at that time, was way up in his eighties. He’d tell stories of my Grandpa Messer with a twinkle in his eye, “AW, HE WAS A MESSER,” he’d say.

My Aunt Ruby didn’t make any bones about who she liked, and didn’t like. I was her favorite, because I looked like the Messers. You know that special bloodline from Georgia and Alabama. She didn’t like the Protector that much. He looked like the Poes on the General’s side. When I gave her my senior high school picture she took it and had my eyes painted from their deep blue to the color brown. She laughed when I asked her about it. “Well, now you look more like a Messer,” she said. The General didn’t much like it. But Aunt Ruby being so special and all to My Daddy, she let it pass.

The voices are all quiet now, but they live on in my memory. Now, you too, have in your possession a record of some of those events. I hope you have as much fun reading about us as I did writing it down.