1927
Created | Updated 4 Days Ago
1927
 |
Hello there, children. Glad y'all could make it to the Homecomin' today. Boy, that fried chicken sure looks good. That plate's for me? Why, bless your heart, angel, your mama sure is thoughtful. What's that? Yes, of course you can sit there. That grave belongs to your great-uncle Shalthiel Hutchinson, and he wouldn't mind a bit. He wouldn't want you to get that purty l'il dress all dirty in the grass, no more'n me'n'your mama would. Here, let me hold your plate till you get settled. Leave room for your brother, now: Bud, you can sit next to Sister here.
What? Why are the old graves like that? Honey, nobody knows. Maybe to keep the cows from walkin' over 'em. They sure come in handy at Homecomin', don't they? What's that, Buddy? Did I know your great-uncle? Why, I surely did. He didn't like that Bible name he got stuck with, though. Nobody never called him anything but Hutch. Nobody 'cept his mama, I reckon.
I knew Hutch good when I was about y'all's age. My daddy was a widower and a lawyer – out on circuit half the time – and I'd go stay with Hutch and help him on the farm. It was pretty interestin': not the farmin' part, but the people. You see, Hutch was about the smartest man in the county, and the best-read. If people had questions, he was the feller they'd come to see. And I was usually right there listenin'.
Boy, this fried chicken is good. You be sure and tell your mama that. I don't reckon I've had fried chicken that good in a long, long time.
What did people ask Hutch? Why, honey, ever' manner of thing, I reckon: when to plant 'taters, when to put up their kraut. . . you know that if you put it up when the signs is in the bowels, it'll go bad on you, don't you? You didn't know that? Your mama don't make no kraut? Well, if she made these biscuits, she's excused. Good biscuits are more important than kraut, anyhow.
What else did they ask him? Lemme see. . . well, they'd ask him what to do about witches.
Yep, witches. People was kindly backward in them days, not like now, where ever'body has the radio and goes to school'n'aw. Back then, there was a powerful lot of whatya call superstition goin' around. A lot of it seemed to settle in the hills and hollers. How did Hutch help with the witches, you ask? Well, like I said, Hutch had read a book or two. And, between you, me, and Sister there, he liked a joke. I mind one time. . .
Yes, honey, I surely would like some more iced tea. And another biscuit. Make it two more, thankee. And yes, we will absolutely wait on this tale until you get back, sweetheart. We'll just whistle Dixie till then.
Hey, Buddy, did you ever churn any butter? I must've churned enough to make a mountain in my time. Now, wouldn't that be a sight to see? A mountain of butter. . . do you know what to do if the butter won't come? You don't? You lay a siller ten-cent piece on the churn, is what you do. The butter comes then. I've tried it, and it works. Don't know why. Just like nobody knew why you shouldn't burn sassafras. Why not? Come next storm, lightnin' would strike your house. I've seen it happen.
Why, thank you, Sister, for the biscuits. Is that musky-dime jelly? I surely do like that musky-dime2 jelly. Now you get settled, and I'll go on with the story. Where was I? Oh, yes: people back then were superstitious. And Hutch thought it was kinda funny.
One day, Hutch was sittin' outside at an old deal trestle table he had, making lead shot for his huntin' rifle. This was back in th'old days, ever'body that hunted had to make their own shot. Hutch was a-teachin' me how to do it, and I was watchin' real close. We neither of us seen Old Man Josh Broome till he was a'standin' as close to us as that-air gravestone. I done jumped about a foot-and-a-half, but Hutch just looked up steady and said, 'Set yourself, Josh, and let me pour out this hot lead.' And he finished pouring into the mold, just as calm as you please, while I went to get Mr Broome a cup of cold water, 'cause it was a long walk over from his place.
When I come back, Old Man Broome was sayin', 'Hutch, I know we got us a witch over in Hickory Valley. They's been two calves died on me, and young Caleb Coleman's chickens won't set, and his sister Phoebe ain't been right since she got back from that-air camp meetin'. '
'Phoebe Coleman got a case of the jerks at the camp meetin',' Hutch said, calm as you like. 'Nothin' that a few weeks without excessive preachin' won't cure.'
No, Buddy, I'll tell y'all about the jerks another time. One story at a time. Let's just say that in them days, church was a lot more excitin'.
Old Man Broome was very insistent that he and the whole community were bein' hag-ridden, as it were. I could tell that Hutch wa'n't about to talk him out of it, try as he might. Hutch seen that, too. He sat back for a minute and rubbed his chin, thinkin'.
'Aw right,' he said. 'Joshua, have you got any siller on you?'
'I got a dime,' said Old Man Broome, and fished it out of his pocket.
'Then,' said Hutch, 'I'll do you a dime's worth of witch pertection.' And he proceeded to melt that dime down and pour it into a shot mold. We waited for it to cool while he sent me for apples from the cellar and the men talked about grownup things. Say, why don't we send Buddy to find out if the ice cream's ready, and I'll make you a clover necklace, Sis?
See, here's how you tie the clovers together. Sure, pick all you want, it won't hurt nothin'. See, now you've got you a purty necklace. Sure, show your brother. But don't make him drop that ice cream! Let me help you, son. That sure looks good.
Mm, mm, tastes good, too. What? Oh, yes, I reckon the siller rifle ball's cooled down by now. Your sister has the sweetest laugh. So now Hutch gets his gun and loads it with the siller ball. He stands out in the yard and aims at the big hickory tree.
'We could kill the witch,' he says. 'But I think we'll just cripple her.' And he fired the rifle. The ball went right into the tree trunk.
Could you see it today? Why yes, honey, over at the old home place. Cabin's gone, but the tree's still there. The ball's still in that tree. Way up over your head, though – the tree's growed some in 70 year.
We ate our apples, and Old Man Broome went away satisfied that somebody had listened to his problems. He didn't lose no more calves, and Phoebe Coleman settled down and paid more attention to her poultry once revival season was over.
Then one day, Robert Bayliss came runnin' up to the house. Robert was the biggest fool in the whole county, and the biggest gossip. If there was somethin' to tell, he'd be a-tellin' of it. He sat there on the porch, yakking away about this one and that one, till we pert-near couldn't stand it. I thought he'd never leave. Then finally, he got up to go.
'One funny thing,' he said, standing there. I like to died, thinking he'd start all over again. 'Old Miz Macgregor, up by Killdevil Creek? She had herself a' accident. Funny thing, her kids said. She was carryin' some firewood back to the house, and she fell down, right in the path. Said she must've stumped her toe. Only there wa'n't nothin' there. Ever' since then, she's hobbled.'
After Robert left, Hutch looked at me and sighed. 'Now Josh Broome's gonna be sure. . .'
'Miz Macgregor is a witch!' I said. And sure 'nuff, the next day, Josh Broome was over, swearin' up and down that Miz Macgregor stumped her toe at the exact same time as Hutch fired the siller shot, and that proved. . . and so forth. Hutch told him to keep it to himself because, well, 'things like that only work if they're kep' a secret,' which was pretty quick thinkin' on his part. So ever'thing settled down on the supernatural front, I guess, until the next camp meetin'.
Thank you children for the company, and your mama for the good cookin'. I do enjoy these Homecomin's. The cemetery looks right nice now: good for another year. And it's nice to remember them all, too. What's that, Buddy? I don't hear so good no more. Why yes, Robert Bayliss is buried here. And Miz Macgregor, and Old Man Broome, too. Come along with me and I'll show y'all where. Just as soon as we take these dishes back to the ladies.
In appreciation of the Reverend Monroe Seals, whose 1935 A History of White County, Tennessee provides so much insight into the ways of our ancestors. And to the memory of Homecoming in the cemetery.
