Month: December 2021

The two little boys loved to play with one another. They were best of friends. One adventure after another gave our families great entertainment, and sometimes we got a bit more than what we hoped for. There never was a dull moment with those two kids.

We often went to our friends’ home for the boys to play while we visited and ate. It was a common occurrence for the boys to pee off the porch, in the yard, in the bushes, or on a tree trunk. On one particular day after we returned home, I commented that my little guy had not used the bathroom for some time. When I questioned him, he informed me that he had done his business outside in our friends’ yard. Normally that was no issue, but that certain day it was of great significance.

You see, just a few days before, we had another incident at our house – for whatever reason, somebody swallowed a penny. When the penny failed to emerge from the bowels of the little guy, I decided a trip to the doctor was necessary. An x-ray determined that the penny had indeed been swallowed and slowly made its way through the digestive tract. The doctor gave instructions to check his poop to make sure the penny was released from its gastric prison. Ugh! That was a nasty job! I figured the best way to fulfill my task was to pull out the potty chair for him to use. That way I wouldn’t have to fish in the toilet first. With surgical gloves on hand to aid in the inspection, I squished and squeezed every turd that plopped in the pot. 

I guess you can see the dilemma I was in. So, my kid “used the bathroom” in our friends’ yard. Armed with my trusty gloves, we all piled in the car and made the trip back to their house to scavenge for a little boy’s scat, meadow muffins, dung, excrement, feces.  Nothing. No scat. Come to find out, he had only peed. 

A few days later, I did pull a black penny from a pile of refuse.  I soaked it in Clorox, scrubbed it with a toothbrush (not the little boy’s), and taped it in the baby book.

When his grandfather heard the story he said, “One time I swallowed a dime. But I got it back. I’d rather have two plates of bread and gravy.”

Well, after searching through excrement for over a week, I can honestly say, “I’d rather have two plates of bread and gravy,” too.

A penny for your thoughts…..

Looking back through the years, I see many times I failed as a parent. The thought sends a twinge of guilt running through my mind. Would I do things different? Maybe, but at the time the decision was made, I must have thought it was right. Once in a while it paid off.

One day when my son was a little tyke, he was upset because of something I made him do or something I told him not to do. He announced he was going to run away from home. What is a mom to do? I will admit that my heart ached a bit, but I didn’t fuss at him or send him to his room to think about it. Instead, I decided to call his bluff. Then I thought, “what if it doesn’t work?” I took the chance.

It was in the middle of the afternoon, not the best time to run away. I told him to go get a button up shirt and a stick and I would help him pack for his journey. He complied. As I suggested items he would need, I proceeded to fix a peanut butter sandwich for his supper on the road. We packed a change of underwear, socks, a toy, and other necessities in his shirt and buttoned it up. As I tied the shirt tails to the long sleeves, and tied it to the stick, I asked him where he would sleep for the night and if he thought he would be warm enough. Then I asked what he would have for breakfast. 

It was about time to start preparations for the evening meal. I told him what we were going to eat for supper and suggested he might want to wait until after supper to “run away.” He thought that was a good idea, too. It wasn’t long before he started playing with some of his toys. When it got dark, he climbed into his pajamas and slid into his bed. Soon he was sound asleep. I unpacked his shirt and put the items away.

That was that! As far as I can remember, he never said anything else about running away.

A few fall leaves barely clung to the tree as they danced in the cool morning breeze. Wispy clouds passed overhead in the deep blue sky. It promised to be a great day for a ride through the countryside. You never know what you might find along back roads that wind through changing landscapes and abut on cultures unique to the area.

As I gazed through the truck window, I was not disappointed. Straight roads that led through flat land bordered with open fields quickly transformed to narrow curvy roads twisting in, out, around, up, and down the hollows and plateaus of Middle Tennessee. Rolling hills were dotted with cattle, horses, sheep and goats. Old barns, log and wooden homes devoured by time, weather, honeysuckle, trees and kudzu crumbled to the ground. Small creeks, some no more than a trickle, curled along the base of the hills and cut their way through the valley. Wide rivers looked like broad avenues leading to who knows where. 

History abounds in this part of the country and comes to life as it tells its own story. Like looking through the windows of a time machine moving back in time, there are glimpses into the lives of those who lived and wandered through these hills. Even now, forgotten memories linger in the shadows of hidden hollows and peek through broken windows and cracks in the chinking of weathering log walls. 

Wind whispers from the valleys and rims of the hills of an age when Native Americans were guardians of the land. If you listen closely, you might hear moans from an era of revolution and groans of civil unrest of a broken nation rise from the blood soaked ground. You might catch the passing sound of footsteps of marching soldiers or the lingering echo of rumbling cannons resonating from hill to hill. As morning fog lifts from the recesses of the slopes, one might imagine a glimpse of shadowy figures of Native Americans driven from the place of their birth, bowing under their heavy burdens as they follow a trail of agonizing tears to a land not their own. Wave upon wave of pioneers follow the westward paths through the mountains and valleys to a land of opportunity as her doors open. As some leave, others come amid bittersweet pains to bring rebirth to expanding communities and cities. Charming old Southern towns are preserved as a lifeline to the past. Even now, those seeking refuge from crowded cities are drawn to rural areas throughout the nation. 

These ridges, dales, and plains hold treasures just waiting to be discovered. Some of those priceless gems are old general stores that offer a Moon Pie and RC Cola, antique shops, city cafes, and quaint charming Southern towns decorated for Christmas. Some nuggets of gold are found in the work of artisans and crafters of the foothills who display their talents. Here, Native American history comes alive through archaeological parks, sacred sites, and museums that give a glimpse into their lives, their respect for the land, their worship, and their survival. Civil War history preserved in National military parks and monuments is available for visitors to learn more of our past. No matter where our ancestors fit, it is, nonetheless, part of our story. Though we cannot change history, it remains as a sobering reality and reminder of the path mankind has traveled.

The promise of a great day was fulfilled – and to think that we saw and experienced all of this on a simple country drive. 

“Fellow citizens, we cannot escape history.” – Abraham Lincoln

Old Stone Fort State Archaeological Park
Foothills Crafts
Wartrace & Bell Buckle
Stones River National Battlefield