Dinner over, we walked leisurely to the barn and fields to look at Nate’s livestock and growing crops. We examined the corn almost knee-high in the creek-bottom field. Charlie apparently took a deep interest in everything. Only once did I see him look over his shoulder toward the house as if he preferred being there helping Joyce with the dishes. There would be little chance to talk this Sunday with Nate present. But he had no need to worry. Hadn’t he gone into the clearing a month ago and bent a mullein stalk in the direction of her cabin? It had lived and all was well.
We returned to the house, moved the chairs to a shady spot, and continued our discussion of community affairs. Mention was made of the recent marriage of Jesse Lindsey and Millie Owens. They were mere children, seventeen and fifteen, and I had inquired about the custom of child marriage in the hills. Nate explained that such marriages were quite common in the White River country but added as an afterthought that a girl ought to be eighteen and a boy twenty-one.
Charlie’s eyes fell and I could see disappointment in them. Some folks throw their emotions on the facial screen that acts as a curtain for the soul. I could read the young man’s thoughts: “Must I wait two years for Joyce and take a chance of some other fellow getting her?” The thought had its effect. It took all the vim out of sparking. Half an hour later he swung into the saddle and rode away. There was no song on his lips as he splashed through the ford homeward bound.
But paternal objections cannot easily extinguish the candle of true love. Three years later I revisited the Posey community and called at the Delmar home. Charlie met me at the door and the first thing he did was to lead me to the cradle where Charles Junior lay sleeping.
Courtship and Marriage
Courting customs in the backhills have a technique that harmonizes with the traditional code of the mountains, and the invasion of modern social practices has done little to change them. The process is comparatively slow as the young folks have a bashful reserve which acts as a protective halo. Marriage is the high point of life and it is taken seriously. Girls grow up to become wives and mothers and there is no attempt to break the tradition. The majority of young men take wives by the time they reach voting age and begin cropping parcels of land without paternal supervision. Child marriages have been checked somewhat by the establishment of high schools throughout the hill country. Many rural boys and girls now graduate from these institutions and spend from one to four years in college before settling down. They may remain single for a few years after that to teach school or do office work in nearby towns. But the ultimate aim is matrimony and, in most cases, it is not long delayed. For a hill girl to reach mature womanhood without a beau or a proposal is not in line with the customs of the hills.
Time was when love charms were thought to be potent in affairs of the heart. One of these charms was a carved peach seed filled with a highly perfumed powder. The maiden wore it on a string tied around her neck. Whiskey in which a girl’s fingernail trimmings had been soaked was thought to be especially potent in swaying a young man’s affection. Mountain girls did not know all the answers to the questionnaire of love but instinct prompted them. To test her lover’s devotion, a girl would take a hair from her head and pull it between her fingers. If it curled, he loved her; if it remained straight, he did not. She frequently relied upon nature in solving her romantic problems. A mullein stalk would be bent in such a way as to point toward the home of her Romeo and the results were observed carefully. If the plant withered and died, his love had done the same and she should waste no more time on him. But if it straightened and lived, all was well. The hill girl knew that she must sweep down the cobwebs in the parlor, for if they were left hanging her lover would not visit her again. When corn bread burned in the oven, the boy was angry. If the fire she kindled burned brightly, her man, for whom it was named, was faithful, but if it smoldered the opposite was likely to prove true. The mountain lass could force her lover to visit her on Sunday by trimming her fingernails the preceding day. And if a red bird flew in front of her, she would be kissed twice before nightfall.
Superstition played an important hand in the game of hearts.
The young man tested the devotion of his sweetheart in divers ways. He was determined to marry a virgin at all costs and could not pardon unfaithfulness in the woman he loved. This caused a double standard of morality and it is still firmly entrenched in backhill provincialism. The code of the hills is dyed in the wool of tradition.
Ozark girls are home girls and they are carefully guarded during the age of indiscretion. There is very little nightlife in the hills and the automobile is not yet widely used as Cupid’s chariot. Young women attend church and go to neighborhood frolics, but usually they are chaperoned by their parents or other kinfolks. The young men have more freedom and ride long distances on horseback to spark the girls of their choice. They are not immune to the lure of passion and frequently seek amorous adventures. But the conventions of time, place, and conduct are discreetly followed in courting respectable girls. Every youth knows that social custom is firmly fixed and that a misstep may bring tragic results. Of course, there is petting or “spooning” wherever boy meets girl, but affection between the sexes is checkmated by traditions that are bred in the bone and carefully guarded.
When a young man in the hills gets interested in a particular girl, he calls at her home on Saturday evening or on Sunday, visits with her and her folks but does very little sparking. He may walk with his girl to church or singing, but usually there is a crowd along and privacy is denied. Sometimes the girl’s parents invite him to spend the night and this is considered a sign of paternal approval.
G. W. Clark relates a story of courting in the old days which gives us enlightenment on the social decorum of that age. He has given me permission to repeat it.
Our grandfathers and great-grandfathers not only walked long distances to visit their girlfriends, but they frequently went barefoot, which was in perfectly good taste at that time.
I have heard my maternal grandmother tell how her father took his first lesson in real courtship, as he afterward related the adventure to his family.
It was on one of those warm, romantic Sunday afternoons when great-grandfather, all togged up according to the styles of that time, but minus any kind of footwear, made a call at a neighboring home that boasted a pretty, though bashful, young lady. Not being so sure of his ground, he addressed most of his remarks to the old folks or the family in general. Finally as the shadows of the trees began to lengthen, he could endure the suspense no longer; so picking up the hickory-bottom chair in which he had been sitting, he carried it across the room, set it beside the girl, and awkwardly tumbled into it. The girl blushed but said nothing. As to the youth, his every word stuck in his mouth, his lips became dry, his tongue clove to one side of his mouth.
The shadows of the trees were now fading into dusk. The young man had made the visit with the expectation of spending the night with his neighbors, having a good time in general, and incidentally gaining some information as to his standing with the girl beside whom he was now sitting. But there he sat like an animal in a trap. How to get out was the question. He thought about as fast as one in such a predicament could think, and finally something practical dawned in his mind. Suddenly he arose and started for the back porch, saying as he went, “Well, I must go and wash my feet.”
Ike Foster once had a widow “jist about sparked” when a stranger came along and married her. This old hillsman testifies that “lovemakin’ and settin’ up t’ a girl is mighty rattlin’.” He backed up his testimony with this information: “When th’ widder let me walk home with her frum th’ spellin’ at th’ schoolhouse one night, I got so blame rattled that I plumb fergot my fine saddle mare left tied t’ th’ schoolyard fence. Th’ mare had a brand-new saddle on, too. Left her thar till nearly midnight.”
In the old days it was customary for a girl to “sack” a suitor whom she wanted to get rid of. Sometimes it was called “giving him the mit
ten.” The girl would knit a little sack or a mitten and send it to the boy, or give it to him at some social gathering. It meant for him not to come back, and the verdict was final. May Kennedy McCord says that this is an old, old custom and originated in England. One old-timer tells me that he collected enough sacks and mittens in his courting days to make a saddle blanket.
Marriage is the trailblazer for happiness in folk life. Dream lore is full of images that relate to marriage.
To dream of bad weather means a wealthy marriage with a person living outside the hills; bereavement experienced in dreams means matrimony, and the nearer the relative the happier the marriage. An altar foretells marriage and domestic happiness. Dream of a tomb and you will attend a wedding. Orange blossoms, pigeons, garden rakes, and a legion of other things mean a happy marriage. The majority of dream superstitions relating to matrimony are happy ones.
In the old days wedding dates were sometimes determined by the changes of the moon or signs of the zodiac but these things are seldom thought of now. Any month except May is a good time to marry in the Ozarks. Just why May is considered unlucky for the start of the marital adventure I do not know, for it is next to impossible to trace a popular superstition to its beginning. Perhaps a Scotsman would say that May is an unlucky month for brides because of the unfortunate marriage of Mary, Queen of Scots, to Bothwell during that month in 1567. But the superstition goes farther back than that. Ovid, the Roman, wrote that the common people of his day considered it unlucky to marry in May.
June is the most auspicious month of the year for weddings, and the time of the full moon is especially propitious. But superstitions creep in even during this favorable month. It is a disturbing element for a cat to cross the path of the bride and groom as they approach the church or other place where the rites are to be solemnized. But let a toad hop down the path in front of them and good luck is assured.
Time, tide, and shotgun weddings wait for no man. The irate sire names the hour for this ceremony of honor and there is no appeal. No wedding bells ring out the glad hour when a marrying takes place at the point of a gun.
There are so many things to be taken into consideration in getting married that it is remarkable that the mind can retain all of them. It is always considered an unlucky match if a girl marries a man whose surname has the same initial as her own.
Change the name and not the letter,
Marry for worse and not for better.
Color in the wedding dress is a serious consideration. Every mountain girl knows the rules.
Marry in red,
You’ll wish yourself dead.
Marry in black,
You’ll wish yourself back.
Marry in brown,
You’ll live in town.
Marry in yellow,
You’ll be ashamed of your fellow.
Marry in green,
You’ll be ashamed to be seen.
Marry in blue,
You’ll always be true.
Marry in white,
You’ll always do right.
Weather is a vital factor on the wedding day. “Happy is the bride that the sun shines on,” but the outlook is dark if the day happens to be a cloudy one.
A marriage in the backhills may be a “meetinghouse tie-up,” but in recent years most of the young people don’t stand on ceremony when approaching the altar. Vows are said before a justice of the peace or in the minister’s home. The nervous groom and the blushing bride are anxious to get the ordeal over as quickly as possible.
A few years back elaborate home weddings were held in the better homes of the Ozarks and followed by feasting and celebration that usually lasted two days. It was a formal affair with the bride properly gowned and the bridesmaids wearing brideknots made of leaves and flowers. The time of the ceremony was high noon. The groom with other young men as companions would leave the groom’s home on horseback to reach the bride’s domicile in the nick of time for the wedding. They rode at breakneck speed, whooping and yelling, hurdling fences and defying all caution. Arriving at the girl’s home, they rode around the house three times and then dismounted and walked in for the ceremony.
The rites were comparatively simple, but the wedding feast that followed was an elaborate affair. In the afternoon they sang songs and played games, and perhaps took down the dummy of a rejected suitor which had been hung on the limb of a tree nearby. The whole affair was punctuated by the hilarious conduct of the menfolks. The women might weep at the solemnity of the occasion, but nips from an overflowing jug kept the men in boisterous humor. The wedding night was the time for a big dance if religious scruples did not interfere. The lid was off the barrel of hospitality and everybody enjoyed themselves. A wedding meant more than just going to the preacher in those days.
When it came time to retire, the women put the bride to bed. Then the men came in and put the groom to bed with her. The hour that followed was an embarrassing one for the newly married couple. The crowd walked around the bed looking at them and making witty remarks. Sometimes they tormented them all night by playing music and dancing in the room. They would not let the young couple get out of bed and dress, neither would they leave the room. Sometimes the watchers would sleep in relays with alert guards to keep the bride and groom awake.
In many communities it was the custom to have an “infare” dinner at the home of the groom on the day following the wedding. Sometimes a dance was held that night to complete the celebration. Noisy charivaris were customary and the groom was forced to treat his guests with candy and cigars, or take a dunking in the river.
Parenthood usually followed the wedding at the accredited time, and life began to have serious obligations for the young married couple. When a wedding was reported in the hills, the doctor and midwife knew that they would soon be on the trail of the honeymoon.
CHAPTER IX
Mountain Music
“Arkansaw Traveler”
The Ozark region is a geographical center of artful fiddling and expert guitar and banjo picking. These instruments belong to the folk and nowhere in the world are they used to greater advantage. Ozarkers fiddle by the feel of the tune, and notes hung on a staff have little meaning. “Banjer” and “git-tar” pickers likewise play by ear and are the last representatives of that ancient race of gleemen and jongleurs who once brought gaiety to a darkened world.
The James–White River country grows fiddlers as a principal crop and many of them have won state and regional championships with their playing. Joe Spears, who lives on Big Clabber, can neither read nor write, but he knows the muse and mood of his listeners and could sway a jury or break up a revival meeting with his fiddle. Perhaps it is the rattles from the tail of a mountain rattlesnake that give Uncle Joe’s fiddle such enchantment for, as every hillsman knows, a few rattles in the box are absolutely necessary to make a fiddle talk “like it ought to.” Sometimes it may be a single rattle but more often there are several. Some fiddlers have their instruments half full of them. Old-timers claim that these rattles give a rustling sound which adds a pleasing tone to the strings of the instrument.
Visit with me the home of Joe Spears on Clabber Creek. A soft autumn twilight is creeping over the hills. Neighbors have gathered in, pipes are lit, and Uncle Joe is tuning his fiddle. A bullfrog in the nearby swamp emits measured croaks as regular as the pulse of time. Katydids click in the surrounding trees and a whip-poor-will joins the congruous chorus. Other creatures of the wild lend their voices to welcome the approach of night.
Darkness envelops the rural scene and a lantern is hung in the gallery where the crowd has gathered. Chairs are tipped back and all is expectancy as Uncle Joe tunes the fiddle, touching an ivory key now and then and testing the strings with his thumb. New resin is on the bow and the old instrument responds with a tone as soft as the voice of an angel. At last everything is in readiness. The instrument breaks loose in rampant glory as the fiddler heads the bow in the direction of “Arkansaw Traveler.”
In
imagination, the listener sees the traveler ride up to the old squatter’s cabin in the forest, and the words of the racy dialogue come to mind as the fiddle loosens the melody. Uncle Joe dramatizes the conversation and makes intermittent runs on his instrument. He touches the notes of emotion and holds to the key of human sentiment in his vivid portrayal.
Hello, stranger!
Hello, yourself!
Can I get to stay all night?
You can git t’ go t’ hell.
Have you any spirits here?
Lots of ’em. Sal saw one last night by that thar ole holler gum, an’ hit nearly skeered her t’ death.
You mistake my meaning, have you any liquor?
Had some yestiddy, but Ole Bose he got in an’ lapped all of it out’n th’ pot.
You don’t understand me. I don’t mean pot liquor. I’m wet and cold and want some whiskey. Have you got any?
Oh, yes—I drunk th’ last this mornin’.
I’m hungry, haven’t had a thing since morning. Can’t you give me something to eat?
Hain’t a damn thing in th’ house, not a mouthful of meat nor a dust o’ meal hyar.
Well, can’t you give my horse something?
Got nothin’ t’ feed him on.
Ozark Country Page 18
