Christmas On Beaver When Times Were Hard!

 On Beaver Creek, the times were hard.

We had no taters, had no lard.

All the way from Allen to Kite,

Times were tough, money was tight.

It wasn't any better from Martin to Wheelright.

Both forks were suffering, it felt like a blight.

The mines were down, people were leaving.

Old grandmas sat crying and grieving.

Miners were headed to places off yonder

While mothers of children would sit and ponder

How to feed four, or five or six

Hungry mouths with nothing to fix.

Christmas was just about a week away

And children had learned not to say

Old Santa's name by night or day. 

This had become a mighty hard life

For hardworking husbands and every young wife.

There would be no toys under green trees.

Adults were praying on bony knees.

Smoke houses were empty of the last meat.

The canning was gone, nothing to eat.

Squirrels were in hiding in the highest trees 

Too far to shoot the ones you did see.  

Rabbits had been killed till few were around

And  they all hid warm underground.

Old men were selling their best coon hound

Nothing to feed them, nothing to go around. 

A lot of dry cows were already beef

And acorns were sought under every dry leaf.

Real old men and their real old wives

Said this was the worst time in their lives.

Christmas was less than a week off

And lots of people had started to cough.

Hungry people get sick a whole lot quicker

With nothing to eat and no pot licker.

But somewhere off in them big cities

The ones who had left bought a few play pretties,

Loaded them up with flour, lard, beans, and rice,

They were bringing it home and didn't think twice.

On Beaver they knew they had poor kin

And letting them starve would be a great sin.

In Kendallville, Cincy, Chicago, and Dayton

That Friday afternoon they all were waiting

For quit time to come and time off to start

So they could come home and touch grandma's heart.

They loaded all the good stuff they all could afford

Filled up their tanks and thanked the Lord

They still had good jobs near Christmas day

So they come home and proudly say

We didn't know what you need but thought we should

Bring a few things and maybe we could

Help out some in these hard times,

Sing a few carols, recite a few rhymes,

Cook a few dishes on Christmas day

And thank the Lord while we all pray

That times get better and the mines start up

And grandpa can buy another bluetick pup.

Granny can see her way till spring

And hoe in the garden and softly sing

Those Old Regular songs she likes so much

That she sings with her own special touch.

Maybe the children can get new clothes

And  John L. Lewis will speak out for those

Who need to work now right here on Beaver

So nobody else will have to leave her

To go up north to some strange town

Where family and friends are never found.

We'll all come back to Beaver some day

Settle right in and always stay

On the old home place with the little old house

Where we can be as warm as a mouse,

Right here on Beaver, the creek we love

Which was a gift from above.

Right here where home is in our souls

Where we want to stay until we grow old

Right here on Beaver, both left and right,

Where we can sleep warm every night,

With the peace of Christmas in our lives

With husbands, sons, daughters, and wives.    

Roger D. Hicks, December 24, 2022

Two Unusual Trips To Arkansas

 

I have always really enjoyed Arkansas and truly wish I could have spent more time there over the years and enjoyed the beauty, hospitality, and unique nature of the state from border to border. While it is not remotely Appalachian, the cultures of the Ozarks and Appalachia do share some significant similarities. I hear people all the time making disparaging remarks about the state and I have never found legitimate reasons to do that.   I will admit that after the Clintons left Arkansas the politics has gone downhill terribly and it is, in many ways, a truly southern state, and that is not a good thing in many ways, especially in politics.  For me the only truly negative aspect of Arkansas, or at least Arkansas geography, is the long, horribly boring drive on the interstate from Memphis to Little Rock.  It is flat as a pancake nearly all the way and you actually want to cheer every time you see a tree standing out in a cotton field or cow pasture.  But the people are generally kind, cheerful, and interesting to talk to.  

But what I really want to write about here are the first trips both my wife Candice and I made to Arkansas and they came years apart because my first trip there happened almost ten years before I met Candice.  In the early 1980's, I was between jobs in the Thoroughbred horse business in Lexington, Kentucky, and I had a friend, Joe Durkin, who owned a small Thoroughbred farm outside Lexington and Joe was having a very bad year.  His father had recently died.  He and his wife were getting a divorce and he eventually lost primary custody of his young son.  Because of the divorce, he also had to declare bankruptcy and was in the process of losing the farm.  Between Joe and the one or two Thoroughbred boarding clients he had left, they owned a total of 7 Thoroughbred mares none of which had outstanding pedigrees.  They collectively made the decision to sell the mares in Little Rock at an auction of horses of all ages which was known as The Arkansas Thoroughbred Breeders Sale which now seems to be defunct which is not surprising.  The next Man O' War was not remotely likely to have ever been sold through that sale.  

Joe got me to agree to make the trip to Arkansas with him, drive a horse van he had borrowed from a well known, generally low end horse trainer named Smiley Adams who won a ton of claiming races but very few stakes races.  I was going to drive the van and do the work of caring for the horses and showing them to potential buyers at the sale.  It turned out the van was a six horse van and we had seven mares.  But the van also had a large tack box which extended over the cab of the truck and a narrow walkway between the cab of the truck and the wall behind the three front stalls which faced backward toward the center aisle of the van.  We managed to load the normal six mares in the normal six stalls and then got the seventh mare loaded into the walkway behind the cab with her rear end facing the door.  We headed to Little Rock with me driving the van and Joe driving behind me in a small pickup he owned with the necessary hay, straw, feed, and other items in the bed of the truck.  We didn't quite look like Okies but maybe a bit close.  

We got just outside Elizabethtown, Kentucky, and the engine blew in Smiley's van.  There we were sitting on the side of the interstate with seven mares in a six horse van which was inoperable and Joe was not a rich man.  But amazingly, it wasn't long before a thirteen horse van owned by Sallee Vans in Lexington came along headed straight to Little Rock.  At that time and still today, Sallee is one of the biggest, and the best, companies in the horse vanning business.  We were able to flag down the van and, to our great surprise, they had only six horses in a thirteen horse van.  The drivers agreed to take Joe's mares to Little Rock if we could figure out how to transfer them from the six horse van to the Sallee Van. 

Then, which was not surprising, a Kentucky State Trooper came along, turned on his blue lights and pulled in behind the two vans and the pickup truck.  We were beginning to look like a drive by parade and traffic was whizzing by at 80 and 90 miles an hour as we held a conference on the side of the interstate.  We all knew there was no safe way to move those mares from one van to the other and our six horse van was immobile.  But the state trooper had the answer which was also very lucky for us.  He said there was an abandoned Kentucky Weigh Station just a mile or so down the highway and we could pull the trucks into there and load the mares on the Sallee van.  So the trooper called for a heavy wrecker which showed up fairly quickly and we had them pick the front tires of the six horse van about four to six inches off the pavement and slowly drive it to the weigh  station.  The wrecker set the van down and the Sallee driver pulled his van up about six inches away from the door to our van.  We laid one of the van ramps across the space between the vans, put the side boards up, and walked the mares from van to van.  Getting the seventh mare into the Sallee van was the hardest part of the deal since she was loaded with her hindquarters toward the door.  The Sallee van driver pulled up beside the door to the walkway and we slid the wooden ramp as close to the mare's hind feet as we could get it and managed to back her from van to van.  

The part I hadn't seen coming was that the Sallee drivers wanted me to ride from Elizabethtown to Little Rock as a van attendant in the back of the van with the thirteen horses.  By that time, I had done a lot things in the Thoroughbred horse business, including stretches as farm foreman at the Stallion Station in Lexington and a horrible year as a farm manager for a lunatic in Upstate New York, but I had never been a van attendant except to occasionally ride in small van with a brood mare on her way to and from a breeding shed or with a yearling or two on their way to a sale, all of which I had never done except in the environs of the Lexington general area.  I had sometimes fantasized that I might like to be a full time van attendant with Sallee so I could travel the country from New York to California.  But I had no idea until then just how miserable it is to ride on four bales of hay and straw in the back of  a thirteen horse van headed into the deep south on a summer day.  It is almost 500 miles from Elizabethtown, Kentucky, to Little Rock and one trip in the back of a horse van was enough for me to abandon all my fantasies about being a van attendant.  

I have no idea how much money Joe Durkin lost on that trip with the need to have a motor either rebuilt or a new one installed in Smiley Adams' van but Joe said Smiley actually took it all pretty well since it was his oldest backup van.  Smiley raced horses at many of the tracks across the country in those days and he had two or three newer vans which he relied on most of the time.  But Joe had to pay the repair bill and tow bill on the van, the haul bill on the seven mares from Elizabethtown to Little Rock, the sales commissions on his own mares, my labor, hotel bills and food bills while we were in Little Rock, and he was already facing bankruptcy, divorce, and losing his farm.  But after all his legal issues were settled, Joe went to work as a clerk in a liquor store in Versailles, Kentucky, and the last time I had any contact with him a few years later he was the manager of an S & S Tire Store in Versailles and had managed to survive.  After we got back to Lexington, he helped me get a job working on a small Thoroughbred farm in Versailles for one of the granddaughters of Huey Long which did not turn out be nearly as exciting as it might sound on paper.  

Now, let's talk about my wife Candice's first trip to Arkansas which was actually to Hot Springs. Shortly after Candice and I got married in 1992, I developed a friendship with an old, somewhat broken down Thoroughbred jockey named Quentin Schlafer.  Quentin was a wonderful fellow but he lived a life of bad decisions and could no longer ride races and most horse trainers were no longer willing to allow him to exercise their horses.  But he got the idea that some trainer he knew who trained horses at Oaklawn Race Track in Hot Springs would hire him if he could get there.   His mother, who was a wonderful, hard working Jewish woman about 80 said she would pay Candice and I to haul Quentin and his gear to Oaklawn.  It was the dead of winter in late December of 1993, I believe, when we started out with Quentin, an exercise saddle and bride, riding helmet, his clothing, and two tack sewing machines in the back of my Dodge Ram 50 pickup.  With three of us in the front seat, it got crowded and both Quentin and Candice didn't like it.  The truck had a manual transmission and every time I shifted gears I was banging somebody on the knees.  In spite of the weather, Candice and Quentin decided to take a sleeping bag and take turns staying in the back of the truck with all the gear under the topper which was still mighty cold.  I would stop every time whoever was riding in the back would bang on the front window of the topper and they would switch.  But we managed to arrive in Hot Springs with both of them still alive and without visible frostbite.  

The Finish Line At Oaklawn

We dropped Quentin off at the race track where he was able to find some trainer who would let him sleep in a tack room and we took the left over money his mother had paid us and checked into the historic Arlington Resort Hotel and Spa, the best, most beautiful place in Hot Springs.  It was between Christmas and New Years and the hotel was fully decorated with a large gingerbread house in the lobby and Christmas lights everywhere.  They were also having a New Year's Eve buffet in the dining room which was expensive but loaded with the best food the south can offer.  Hot Springs is also the home of Hot Springs National Park which used to be a resort for the ultra-rich in the early twentieth century.  We checked in, got reservations for the buffet, and scheduled massages at the hotel which used hot water pumped directly from the hot springs in old claw foot bath tubs with same sex attendants giving the massages while you were in the tub.  We had the spa/massage experience, at the buffet, visited the national park, ate lunch the next day in a little restaurant across the street which had great jambalaya, and headed back to Lexington.  But it is interesting to me to remember that the first trip each of us made to Arkansas was riding in the back end of a truck.  

The Arlington Hotel, Hot Springs

"Christmas And The Old House" by Tom T. Hall--Book Review

 

This is a children's Christmas book by Tom T. Hall.  Yes, THAT Tom T. Hall!  And, before you remember who he is and disappear without reading the rest of this review, you should know that I am talking about Tom T. Hall, the writer; Tom T. Hall, the novelist; Tom T. Hall, the short story author; Tom T. Hall, the non-fiction author; Tom T. Hall from Olive Hill, Kentucky.  Oh, yeah, he wrote a few songs too, eleven Number One songs and about a thousand others all of which are somewhere between good and great.  But you do not know the full Tom T. Hall until you have read his books, about a half dozen books in at least four genres: novels, short stories, autobiography, musical instruction books.  The man can write and I first encountered his short stories about thirty years ago. 

But this book, illustrated by Laura L. Seeley, is a wonderful Christmas books for children in the elementary grades.  Yet, it also has value for nearly every other reader.  It has spots which will make you laugh out loud and spots which will almost make you cry.  Which is what a lot of us have also found in that thousand or so songs the man is most famous for writing.  The book is about two children, six and seven, who live in the country across the road from an abandoned house.  The book is also somewhat religious in nature since it mentions Jesus Christ.  The children live next door to each other, play together daily, and Bobby is the narrator.  The book is written in language most second grade students can read and also in language which accurately depicts the thought processes and language of children in that age group.  Against their parents' rules, they cross the road, after planning their trip at their Planning Rock, and find that the old house has an evergreen tree growing up through the floor.  They decide to decorate the tree as Christmas tree for Jesus and the owner of the property and their parents catch them because the owner has come to visit the house he grew up in one more time before having it torn down.  But the book also has a happy ending and you will love reading it for yourself and for the small children in your life.  If it does nothing else for you, it will give you a new appreciation for the breadth and depth of Tom T. Hall's talent.  That old boy from Olive Hill can write and you should give yourself the gift of experiencing another side of the Tom T. Hall you have probably been hearing on the radio for the last fifty years.  

Christmas In The Head Of The Holler

 

 

Christmas In The Head Of The Holler

We live here in the head of the holler.

Whole family’s down to one last dollar.

December is here. So is the cold.

We are lost without any gold.

 

You other folks wait on Old Saint Nick

But here in the holler we think it’s a trick.

He hasn’t been here in about ten years

Never brought us anything to dry our tears.

 

We keep eating leftover pinto beans

Wearing more holes in the holes in our jeans.

We just need flour, milk, and lard.

Life in the holler’s never been this hard.

 

The children are crying with little hard squalls

Sleeping four to a bed curled up in balls

We eat anything that crosses the yard

Life in the holler’s never been this hard.

 

Some people call this house a shack

No windows in front, no door in the back.

Children run out, chickens run in,

If we catch them they never run again.

 

We remember the year we all got gifts

New pants for Pappy and Granny got new shifts.

Daddy got a pocket knife. Mommy got a skillet.

Brother got a goat and we had to kill it. 

 

We remember that year we had plenty to eat

Shirts on our backs and shoes on our feet.

That year we had more than we needed.

The house got paint, the garden got seeded.

 

Since then it’s been all downhill

Nothing to eat, no hog to kill,

Nothing to spend on the food stamp card.

Life in the holler’s never been this hard.

 

You other folks wait on Old Saint Nick.

Here in the holler we know it’s a trick.

We just need flour, milk, and lard.

Life in the holler’s never been this hard.

Copyright by Roger D. Hicks, December 21, 2020

 

 

New Book, "True Christmas Stories From The Heart Of Appalachia", From The Jesse Stuart Foundation

The Jesse Stuart Foundation has just released a new book entitled "True Christmas Stories From the Heart of Appalachia".  The book has 43 Christmas stories from 39 authors. It has stories from my friends, Edwina Pendarvis and Emily Steiner, as well as the well known authors Jesse Stuart, Thomas D. Clark, Cratis Williams, Bill Best, and Billy C. Clark. Including my story, "Christmas On Beaver Creek", there are three stories which are set in Knott County.  Two of those stories are set at Pippa Passes and the Caney Creek Community Center. This book is a wonderful addition to your collections of Christmas books or Appalachian books. It is also a wonderful Christmas gift for those who love to remember and work to preserve the Appalachia of their childhood.  It is well worth reading and will take nearly every reader back to some wonderful memory from your growing up years. I have a limited number of copies available with my autograph at the price of $25.00 plus $3.00 shipping (28.00 total) which is the price set by the publisher. The book will cost you the same amount of money without any autographs from the Jesse Stuart Foundation.   I will accept PayPal at rchicks@mrtc.com. I will also accept orders with a check or US Postal Money Order at:

Roger D. Hicks

65 Highway 1081

West Liberty, KY 41472

Send me an e-mail there with your name, address, and the name of the person to which you want each copy dedicated.

Here is an excerpt from my story: "Late in the evenings when the fire was warm and business slow, the older men would stop by the store to tell stories about old Christmas with the cattle kneeling in the fields...and how some old preacher talked about three men who rode on camels across a big desert following a star to take some fancy presents to a baby who was just like us, too poor to be born in a hospital." 

Christmas In An Appalachian Two Room School

I have mentioned in passing in the blog that I attended a two room school in Knott County Kentucky when I was in grade school.  It was the Salisbury Elementary School located at Dema, KY, about an eighth of a mile up Salisbury Branch just off Kentucky Route 7 on which I have spent most of my life.  I was reminded of Christmas at Salisbury Elementary School on two occasions today.  My wife, Candice, and I were at one of her regular physical therapy appointments and her physical therapy assistant asked what kinds of Christmas carols we enjoy.  The three of  us did a terrible job of singing at least parts of one or two while Candice was doing her therapy.  On the way to the hospital for the appointment, we had also been listening to the Faron And Scott Show on WSGS Radio 101.1FM which I have written about on this blog before.  They were playing Christmas carols and I heard "Bluegrass & White Snow" by Patty Loveless which is an awesome Bluegrass Christmas song about life in Appalachia.  

These two events combined to remind me of my childhood at Salisbury Elementary School which I attended for seven years since I had been double promoted from first to third grade.  At Christmas each year, the two teachers, Rita Mae Moore and Emily Martin, would stage a Christmas show which consisted to two one act Christmas plays, readings of several Christmas poems, and group singing of several of the classic Christmas carols which were popular in the 1950's and 1960's.  For about two or three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we would rehearse for an hour or two a day in preparation for the event.  All our family members were invited to attend but many of those less fortunate parents, or those who could not get off work would not be present.  Usually one of my parents would attend while the other stayed home to run the store.  Every year one of the older students whom the teachers deemed to have a better memory would be selected to read "'Twas The Night Before Christmas".   A few other classic Christmas poems would be read and several Christmas Carols would be sung by the entire group and any of the visitors who knew them.  That list usually included "Jingle Bells", "Silent Night", "Away In A Manger", "We Three Kings" and a few others.  

We also had a gift exchange based on drawing names.  A few students would always be too poor to participate and a few others would also be from families of very limited means but draw names anyway and bring the usual box of chocolate covered cherries which I believe cost about fifty cents in those days.  I realize now that it was the thought that counted.  But in those days, most students hated to know that their Christmas gift from school would be "cherry candy".  

Chocolate Covered Cherries "Cherry Candy" Photo by Google.com

Another unique feature of attending school in Eastern Kentucky in those years was that every student in every elementary school in several counties surrounding Knott County would receive a small gift from the Caney Creek Community Center which was a non-profit agency affiliated with Caney College which is now known as Alice Lloyd College.  These gifts would usually consist of a small age appropriate toy and a small bag of hard candy.  The gifts had been donated, in most cases, by wealthy donors from the urban northeast who no doubt believed they had done a great deal of good for the underprivileged children of Appalachia.  In another post at another time, I will address my personal opinions of all the missionary do good work which as been inflicted on Appalachia and Appalachian people over the last hundred plus years.  To continue the post about Christmas, at noon on the last day of school before Christmas vacation began, the show would be on.  

A piece of cotton clothes line would be strung across a section of one of the classrooms and some borrowed white sheets would be strung on the line as makeshift stage curtains.  A teacher or older student would be selected to act as master or mistress of ceremonies.  They would introduce each of the readers of poetry and the two plays.  A small group of students who it was presumed had some degree of musical talent would act as a facsimile of a choir and the audience would sing along.  At the end of the show, the gifts would be passed out and at the end of that activity Christmas vacation would begin.  It is wonderful to remember those days but I would not want to live them over.  I do regret that I do not have a photograph of Salisbury Elementary School to add to this post and the earlier general post I wrote about the school.  If any reader does have such a photograph that you would allow to be posted to this blog, please contact me at rchicks@mrtc.com and I will give full photographer credit in the blog.  Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!


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UPDATE: September 25, 2019

The Jesse Stuart Foundation has just released a new book called "True Christmas Stories From The Heart Of Appalachia" and it includes my story, "Christmas On Beaver Creek", along with stories by Jesse Stuart, Cratis Williams, Bill Best, and my two good friends Edwina Pendarvis and Emily Steiner. It has 43 stories from 39 different authors. I have a few copies with my autograph and a personal inscription for whomever you choose which are available at the same price the publisher charges for unautographed copies.  They are $25.00 each plus $3.00 shipping which is what the publisher has set as the price.  I will accept payment through PayPal at rchicks@mrtc.com   You can contact me at Roger D. Hicks, 65, Highway 1081, West Liberty, KY 41472,606-743-2087, or e-mail at rchicks@mrtc.com  Merry Christmas!