Stories and Poems of
Randolph County, Arkansas
by
James
Elburn Byrd, Sr.
FOREWORD
I was born of Anglo-Saxon parents to humble surroundings.
I first saw the light on February the 7th, 1886 on a mountain
homestead in North Arkansas amid the hills of God known as the Ozark Mountains. There was a 2 ½ foot snow on the ground and the doctor had
to ride six miles horseback to get to our home, a large hewn log house.
After I grew up to childhood, father told me many interesting stories of
the big snow.
In those pioneer years, there were lots of wild game in
the forests. There was a thin
coating of ice on the snow that dogs and men could walk on, but the deer would
break through. The poor deer
didn’t have a chance. Hundreds of
them were killed. Wild turkey
starved out and would come to the farms to eat corn and grain.
Wolves would attack sheep and calves on the farms and ranches.
After I grew up to childhood, father wanted me to share
all that happened if he thought it would be of interest to me.
I was called from my bed at midnight; the dogs were barking like mad not
far from the house. Dad said, “Jump up and dress, the dogs have a bear
cornered!” He took the kitchen
lamp in hand and I walked as close to Daddy as I could. The commotion was taking
place in the orchard back of the house.
Finally he stopped and holding the lamp high over his head said, “Do
you see it?”. I could see nothing
but dogs jumping in and out at something. Daddy
spoke to the dogs and they closed in for the kill.
I thought my dad was the bravest man in the world when he walked bravely
up to the dogs and told them to stand back.
My estimation of my daddy’s bravery had been augmented when I saw him
pick up a little o’possum by its tail.
It was a few months later I got the thrill of my life.
Dad woke me up at midnight and said, “Son, you may never have the
opportunity again to hear a bunch of Lobo wolves howl.
As soon as I heard the deafening noise, I jumped out of bed and ran to
Dad and held on for dear life as I listened to what sounded to me a million
wolves. They came from what is called the “Wilderness”, twenty
miles North of our place. They had
made a raid on a neighbor’s flock of sheep two nights before this time.
A hunter found 36 dead sheep and told Mr. Davis, the owner of the sheep,
about it. The ranchman took his
hired hand and ten year......
[story truncated here; exact date of these typewritten
pages by James Elburn Byrd, Sr. is unknown, perhaps late 1940s or early
1950s. Place also unknown, perhaps
in Phoenix, Maricopa Co. AZ?]
·
transcribed Feb. 19, 2000 by Kenneth E. Byrd*,
Indianapolis, IN (*grandson of
James Elburn Byrd, Sr.)
Up
to Old Aunt Martha’s
by
James
Elburn Byrd, Sr.
Wasn’t it fun, O brother of mine,
In those days of warm sunshine,
Afternoon when the chores were through,
And the water and wood were in – nothing to do –
And we went visiting, me and you,
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
It all comes back so clear today!
Though you as bald as I am grey –
Out by the old log barn, and up the lane,
Then limped o’er the limestone glade again,
As light as feathers before the rain,
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
We passed the haunted Sulinger house,
To the dogwood tree with its snowy white dome,
Where the gay mocking bird made its home,
And sang and chirped as we passed by,
And the black birds soared against the sky,
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
Then down the hill by the hazel nut patch,
Where each Spring the blue birds hatch,
Where often we gathered the golden nuts,
And farm wagons groaned in knee deep ruts,
Then the forked road where we turned left,
Choosing the right road at my behest,
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
I see her now standing in the door,
Where the gourd vine grew up the post and o’er,
The clapboard roof – her smile, so gay,
As she stood there in the bright sun’s ray.
Wasn’t it good for a boy to see –
And wasn’t it good for a boy to be....
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
The bubbling spring by the flowing creek,
With the gourd dipper so round and sleek,
Where milk and butter cooled for evening meal,
With a tempting urge and a healthy appeal,
For hungry boys all day at play,
It was hard to wait ‘till close of day.
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
So many times have you and I
As barefoot boys in days gone by,
Knelt by the spring on dirty knees,
And drank the water cool and sweet,
‘Midst thirsty birds and humming bees,
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
Aunt Martha died one day last Fall,
No more we’ll hear her friendly call,
It seems but yesterday we heard her say,
“Come children. Rest awhile from
play!”
She fed us cracklin bread at close of day,
Our hearts light – our spirits high.
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
And now my brother, so far away,
This is to say to you she calls today,
To welcome us: – whispering “Tell
The boys to come”, and “all is well.”
Up to old Aunt Martha’s...
[This
poem was clearly handwritten and not typed, suggesting that it was penned by James
Elburn Byrd, Sr. sometime before his Parkinsonism was too advanced;
perhaps during the 1920s or 1930s after he had moved from Randolph Co. AR to
Texas. The “Aunt Martha” in the
poem was very likely his Aunt Martha
Byrd Looney, who lived in/near the Ravenden Springs, Randolph Co. AR
area.]
– transcribed Feb. 19, 2000 by
Kenneth
E. Byrd*, Indianapolis, IN (*grandson of James
Elburn Byrd, Sr.)
The
Lost Lead Mine
by
James
Elburn Byrd, Sr.
Immediately following the Civil War my grandfather moved from Kentucky to
north Arkansas where he homesteaded a 160 acre farm on a small creek.
My father was the youngest one in a family of nine children.
They had lost all their property because of the war and they lived on
parched corn, wild fruit and nuts, and wild game that they were able to kill. My father at the age of 14 got jobs enough to provide his
needs.
Father married at the age of 25 and homesteaded a 160 acre farm, much of
which he cleared for cultivation. A
couple of years later a courier rode the distance with a message that the old
village blacksmith who lived near Father’s old home was on his death bed and
wanted to see him at the earliest possible time.
Father left for _________ and reached his old friend’s bedside a short
time before the old blacksmith died.
He had difficulty in talking but managed to give Dad his story.
“Jack”, be began, “I have discovered a lead mine on your old home
place and for the last several years I have claimed it by virtue of discovery,
but I know that I am not going to live through this siege of pneumonia, and I
feel that you should know about it since the mine is on your old home place.”
Then he told how to find the mine. “You
cross the creek near the house and climb half way up the bluff.
In a deep ravine you will come to a large rock the size of a cottage that
is covered with quartz; the ravine runs down the south side of the rock.
But at the east end of the rock it protrudes due south about three feet
and the ravine runs around the southern end of the rock.
Measure from the south end of the protrusion three feet and dig straight
down, and you will find a flat rock that covers the mouth of the mine.”
Father took a brother-in-law with him and they found the location of the
mine. They dug down nearly three
feet and came to the large flat rock. They
were excited because they thought that when they lifted the rock they expected
to find an open mine. But to their
dismay they found dirt under the rock. By
this time it was growing dark and promising themselves a return some time later
they left and never returned. Father
explained the map to me and I am the only living person that knows the location
of the mine.
The sixty-four dollar question is, was Dad’s old friend telling the
truth about the mine, or was he lying, and if he was not telling the truth, why
would a dying man want to lie? I am
68 years old and when I pass away no one will have any knowledge of the mine and
it will then be a lost mine.
[This story was typed by James Elburn Byrd, Sr.
when, according to his narrative, he was “68 years old”
(~1954) and living in Phoenix, AZ. The
area described in the story is somewhere near the old Byrd farm on Janes Creek,
at Ring in NW Randolph County. The
brother-in-law described for his father (Andrew Jackson Byrd) is probably
James Simmons, who also lived in NW Randolph County in the 1880s.
Elburn’s grandfather (William Carroll Byrd) actually
moved from Iron County, MO to Randolph County, AR and not from Kentucky as
described in the story above.]
– transcribed Mar. 18,
2000 by Kenneth E. Byrd*, Indianapolis, IN (*grandson
of James Elburn Byrd, Sr.)
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