Dead Limbs and Leaves

by BobA. Troutt

  *****

  Dead Limbs and Leaves

  A Punkin for the Porch

  It was the hottest summer day in 1959 that I could remember in Jackson County Alabama. Billy Ray, my best friend, and I was fishing off the old iron bridge that stretched across the Hensley River around Turner’s Point. I remember it was the hottest day that summer. It was 980 but the humidity made it feel like 1100. We were snatching for hog suckers that were swimming off the side of the bridge. We had already snagged three. They are not much for eating because they have too many bones. We catch them for Koodie Jenkins, our friend. He gives us three dollars apiece for them and five dollars for all the turtles we catch. I have always heard there are seven different kinds of meat in a turtle. But when we go frog gigging, that’s a different story. I can put away those fried frog legs and so can Billy Ray; we almost fight over them. Keeping them in the skillet is the hardest thing because they have a tendency to jump out.

  “Hey, John Westley,” cried Billy Ray. “I’ve got something.”

  I looked over the side of the bridge into the water but I couldn’t see anything. Whatever Billy Ray had hooked, it was bending his pole double. I kept watching and yelling back to him.

  “Hold on to it,” I cried. “It’s got to be a big one.”

  About that time, I saw it as it flopped about on top of the water. The pole waved up and down because of the weight of whatever it was he had hooked. He began lifting it out of the water and that’s when I realized what it was.

  “It’s a snake,” I cried.

  “A what?” he yelled back.

  “A snake,” I cried.

  It sent a chill down my back. He had snagged it from its side.

  “John Westley, what am I going to do,” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “See if you can shake it loose.”

  As Billy Ray whipped the end of the pole back and forth in the air, the snake dangled in the air trying to get away. Finally, the pole snapped and the snake fell back into the water and swam away.

  “Can you believe that, John Westley?” said Billy Ray.

  “I have seen it all now,” I replied. “I think that’s enough fishing for today.”

  Billy Ray agreed. As we gathered our poles and fish, we headed down the dirt road toward home.

  “That is the most exciting thing that has happened around Turner’s Point in a long time,” laughed Billy Ray.

  I agreed.

  “We need to take this fish over to Koodie’s house.”

  I thought about what Billy Ray said. There’s not much that goes on around here. Except, that time we camped out in the old abandoned motel on Highway 10.

  “Remember that night, Billy Ray?”

  “What night is that?” he asked.

  “The night we camped out in the old abandoned motel,” I stated.

  “I’ll never forget that night,” he replied.

  We had just turned in when the car’s lights flashed outside. We eased over to the window. I was scared to death. Then two men got out of the car and stuffed an old grass sack up into a hollow tree outside the motel. When they left, we made our way across the road to the tree and took out the bag. We looked inside and it was filled with money. Nervously, we closed it and stuffed it back in the tree. Fearing they would come back, we hurriedly ran back to the motel. We didn’t know if we should tell anybody or keep the money for ourselves. We talked about it and tossed it back and forth all night. Finally, we decided to keep an eye on it for a few days. If they didn’t come back to get it, we would tell the sheriff with hopes of getting a reward. If there was one, we would split it.

  A few days later, we went back to check on the money. When we opened the bag, the money was gone. There was nothing but a grass sack with a hole in it. We figured they had come back and we had missed them. Billy Ray began looking around on the ground. That’s when he noticed acorn hulls scattered about. He looked up in the tree and saw a squirrel’s nest.

  “I believe I know where the money is,” he said.

  As Billy Ray shimmied up the tree, I yelled for him to be careful. In a short time, he was in reaching distance of the squirrel’s nest. There was nobody in Jackson County that could climb a tree any better than Billy Ray. He reached up inside the nest being careful if there were babies. Across the way in the tops of some other trees two squirrels were pitching a fit.

  “Hurry up,” I cried.

  I watched for Billy Ray and squirrels acted like they were getting ready to make a move.

  “There’re no babies in it,” he yelled.

  Then he broke the nest away from the limb causing the nest to fall to the ground. When it hit, I approached it with caution because I didn’t know for sure if there were babies inside. I then looked inside; there were no babies. For some reason the older squirrel had abandoned the nest. But, it was full of money. As Billy Ray slid down the trunk of the tree, we bought began to laugh and sing. We were in the money. But, were we really? The inside of the nest was layered with 5, 10, and 20 dollar bills. The squirrels had taken the money and lined the nest with it. It cushioned it for their young ones. We may have taken the nest before they had the babies. It was still a little early. We counted $300 before we had to quit and there was still some left to count. Besides we were going to take the money to the sheriff anyway. We were hoping to get a reward.

  By the time we got to the sheriff and explained our story to him there was $475. The sheriff told us there had been a break in at the bait shop in Chiggers Creek. He believed that’s where the money came from. Unfortunately, there was no reward. However, the sheriff treated us to some ice cream and candy.

  Summer soon passed in Turner’s Point and autumn had set in. Billy Ray and I helped in the tobacco fields dropping sticks, picking up leaves, and sometimes we even got to drive the tractor. There was hay that had to be baled and stored in the barns. Mama had canning corn together and pumpkins to load. It was always something to do on the farm. Daddy let us help in the fields to earn extra spending money. Every year he planted a field of pumpkins. He didn’t get much for them, but it was his hobby. We’d help load them on the wagon and pile them out in the front yard next to the road. He always placed a big sign beside them that read ‘A Punkin for the Porch.’ Not long after the pumpkins were harvested, we would help Daddy cut and haul wood. We had some timber on the backside of the farm. Daddy had sold four logs and we would cut up the brush that was left for firewood for the winter. Billy Ray and I usually loaded the small pieces of wood onto the wagon and piled the brush to the side. Koodie always helped Daddy and he saw that Koodie had plenty of firewood for himself.

  Billy Ray was the clown of the bunch, always a practical jokester.

  “Pull my finger,” he said to Koodie.

  Koodie would reach over and pull it. When he did Billy Ray would always fart with a sigh of relief and then laugh. The first few times it was pretty funny, but it was beginning to get old. Koodie would laugh and play along. He knew how the boys were. Daddy just turned his head and giggled and say Billy Ray what am I going to do with you. He knew how Billy Ray was.

  There was always something to do around Turner’s Corner. Daddy made sure of that. But, he was good to us also. We got to be boys, play, and have fun. We made a sled, tied it to an old Billy goat, and let him pull us around. We rode our bikes, went frog gigging with Koodie, and coon hunting with Koodie’s old blue tick hounds. We went fished with Daddy sometimes, but not for snakes, I tell you. We also helped Mama. In the summer, Billy Ray and I would pick blackberries and get covered with chiggers. She would pick poke salad in the spring. I hated that stuff. When we had the time, Billy Ray and I would jump the Louisville/G&P train at Harper’s Ridge and ride it through to Dog Leg, a stretch of track that was so curvy the train nearly had to stop before crossing the trestle. Late at night you could hear the train heading back north.

/>   Seasons came and seasons went, but the one thing I remember most about winter, other than getting to rest more, was the smell of coal oil on a cold winter morning, the wrinkling of paper, the strike of matches, and a blowing breath onto the fire, simple but carries a lot of memories. Slowly, the fire would begin to smoke, as little as small flickers of fire broke through the kindling and began to spread across the fireplace. The wood would begin to sizzle then snap and pop as the warmth of the fire began to kill the chill of the room as a little puff of black smoke disappeared up the drafty chimney. I have many a fond memories as a child growing up, but I always felt for Mama. She would get up early before us on a cold winter morning and start the fire. And I’ll tell you something else off the record. In the spring she would pick wild lettuce down by the spring on the bank and cut up green onions and some bacon grease and made some of the best spring salad I had ever eat.

  Life may seem unchanging around Turner’s Point but there was one thing that went unnoticed by Koodie and me. We were grown up. Times of picking blackberries, dry land fishing, and hunting poke salad, somehow seemed so long ago. Turner’s Point may have seemed to be unchanged, but there was one thing for sure, there was a big old world out there that kept changing and waited for no one. Looking back to a few more thoughts, I remembered.

  I can’t forget that summer Mama made kraut in the backyard. She had placed the head of cabbage inside a washtub and took a chopper and cut up the heads. Koodie and I was playing in the backyard at the time and every once in a while we would circle by the tub and grab a handful of kraut. I remember Mama telling us we were going to get sick. But, Koodie and I paid her no attention. We continued to play and to go by and grab the kraut laughing at what she had said. I’ll never forget that night it was late, maybe early morning, of what Mama had said about the kraut. She was right because I was sicker than a dog. I’ll never do that again.

  “Pull my finger,” cried Billy Ray.

  Life in Turner’s Point went on, seems like it never would change.

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “Don’t you ever get tired of that?”

  “Sorry, John,” he replied.

  I don’t know what I would have done, if I had missed growing up with Billy Ray. He could get into more trouble than a dozen of people. Like the time we were supposed to have gone coon hunting with Koodie, but instead we ended up stealing eggs out of old Miss Ethal’s henhouse. Unknowing to us, a coon had the same idea. It scared us so bad that when we ran out of the henhouse Koodie forgot to duck and he hit his head on the top of the door facing. The only egg we got that night was the knot on Billy Ray’s head, about the size of a large hen egg.

  The times were changing and the things we boys use to do didn’t mean the same, and life become more serious.

  You wouldn’t believe our first double date. I was with Cheryl and Billy Ray was with Katelynn, Cheryl’s cousin from Indiana, who was visiting for the summer. We were in line at the drive-in when I heard Billy Ray ask Katelynn to pull his finger. I couldn’t believe he said that. She took hold of his finger and pulled it before I could stop her and Billy Ray farted. I was so embarrassed; we grabbed for the handles of the windows and quickly rolled them down. Katelynn slightly turned the other way a bit, blushed, placed her finger under her nose, and then giggled, “You southern boys.” I felt for her and Cheryl but we all laughed, everyone except for Katelynn. She was so embarrassed.

  “Don’t you have any respect for anyone?” said Cheryl.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but what?”

  Katelynn looked at him and scooted to the other side of the car. That was what broke Billy Ray from his pull my finger trick. After that, I never knew him to do it again; if he did it wasn’t around any girls.

  Little did we know not long after that our world would change forever. The United Stated had entered the war in South East Asia, Vietnam. People were protesting, marching, and demonstrating in the streets. Across the south the Civil Rights was making its movement. Things were in an uproar. But, I felt safe in Turner’s Point.

  As time passed, Billy Ray and his family moved away to somewhere in Tennessee. We kept in touch for a while, but eventually lost contact. The last I heard from him he had been drafted. When I turned eighteen, I signed up for the draft. But, I didn’t have to go because I was an only child. Billy Ray was the middle child of two brothers. My Mama and Daddy were in bad health. I took care of them the best I could. Daddy didn’t have much to say and Mama just lay there. There was a nurse that come by and helped. I’m still seeing Cheryl. We are pretty steady now. She lives about three miles up the road. She helps me too. Billy Ray and I used to fight over her in grade school. One day she liked me, the next him. Of all the fights we had was over her. It won’t be long until autumn and I’ll gather Daddy’s pumpkins and put the sign out front, ‘Punkins for the Porch.’ It makes Daddy smile to sit out there with me as the people come by to get their pumpkins for their porch. I guess I’ll keep growing them. It’s still one of the good things of the past. I didn’t know it then, but a year later, Daddy would be gone.

  Sometimes I sat and wondered where the time has gone. It seemed to slip away so quick. Then one day you wake up to a whole new world. I miss it all sometimes. I’m sorry that I had to grow up. It seems like a part of me died when my parents died, but yet I can still feel them around the farm. Time and the world as we know it has changed. I watch bits and pieces of the war on television. It doesn’t look good. I hope and pray Coon dog is alright. The Civil Rights Movement marched in Birmingham and Montgomery the other day. Up north and across the west people have been protesting about the war, some are going to Canada, and drugs has widespread.

  Cheryl and I eventually married. At the same time I heard old Koodie Jenkins was found dead. Koodie, Billy Ray, and I go back a lot of years. I’m going to miss him. He was one out of a million. He was my best friend. They say you only have one best friend in life. I would say he was mine. I still think about him and miss him, even saying pull my finger. We were like brothers. Sometimes I think about how Mama and Daddy thought more of him than they did me. It was long after our first child was born, about two more later.

  Cheryl and I had spent many autumn evenings out beside the road selling pumpkins for the porch. We have seen many come and go through the years. Then one day a car pulled up with a woman and man inside. The woman got out and went to the passenger side and helped the man out. He was blind and had lost one of his legs. She told us she had seen the sign ‘A Punkin for the Porch’ that they were out joyriding and thought they would stop and get one for their porch. They weren’t from Turner’s Point. She said they lived in the next county. The man slowly stumbled about feeling the pumpkins with his hands. He looked kind of familiar. I watched him for a moment and looked him over. It couldn’t be after all these years.

  I spoke up and said, “Billy Ray, is that you?”

  He suddenly stopped and turned toward me and then stuck out his hand and said, “Pull my finger.”

  My heart jumped up into my throat as it raced a mile a minute.

  “Thank the Lord,” I cried as I grabbed and embraced him.

  Tears flooded my eyes and I couldn’t talk for my quivering lip. After several hugs and some pats on the back, we paused a few minutes and then we introduced everyone. As I wiped tears from my eyes, I noticed the tears running from under his dark glasses.

  “Why didn’t you call or write?” I asked.

  “I meant too many times. Then everything happened so fast. I got all caught up in it. I got drafted by the Army and they kept me busy. I did two tours in Nam. Then one day I was leading a platoon up the Ho Chi Me Trail just north of Hanoi when we were ambushed by the North Vietnamese. The next thing I remember was waking up at Walter Reed Army Hospital in Washington D.C. After Nam, I was finally ready to come home. I met Rachel at the hospital. We seemed to kick it off well. Th
e next thing I knew we were married and living in Alabama. I don’t know what I would have done without her. What about you John Westley?” he asked.

  I held my finger out and said, “Pull my finger.”

  We all started laughing and without warning, someone farted.

  “It wasn’t me that time,” said Billy Ray.

  Everyone at the same time said, “John.”

  Who was it? I’ll never tell.