A spring branch of Meridian Creek traversed our sixty-six acre farm and was probably its most distinctive feature. The ``branch'' was very important to our growing up and to our livelihood. It was an excellent source of water for the cows and horses. It was water for washing clothes and for fishing and swimming. We all learned to swim in the branch and in Meridian Creek. Many memories are tied into the ``branch.''
The bridge on Watlington Road--built by County Prison labor and horse drawn pile drivers, quite often was tilted or washed down stream in spring floods. The volume of water at all times was much greater than the present. In the Spring of 1916 I was nearly three, Sam was 18 months, Clara Mai and Mack, seven and five. The spring rains left the bridge slightly tilted. We three went out enjoying the warm weather and looking at the black berry blooms and walked out on the bridge. Sam started down the slope to see the water and couldn't stop. He fell in--no splash, no splutter. He just floated. His diaper, long dress and under clothes held him up and he had landed on his back. He did not start floating up stream as some may have reported. Screams and yells brought Mama on the run. She went through a barbed wire fence and the blackberry vines and into the water which was about shoulder deep on her--she could not swim--and caught Sam before he sank. My report was that ``Mama went in in her `nu toos''' (new shoes).
Another Spring the bridge washed down and lodged against a beech tree and the opposite bank. Traffic (the mail carrier) was routed through our yard and gate across the bridge and back up the pasture to a gate near where the bridge was supposed to be.
The water was up and rolling. It was up to the bridge joist. Clara Mai, Mack and I were throwing sticks up the stream and then catching them just before they went under the bridge. Mack leaned over too far and went in and under the bridge. He came up between two joists and saw a crack between two planks. He caught hold with his fingers. Clara Mai, thinking to help him, stood on his fingers. Screams and yells brought Papa and a crow bar. He pried up the plank and Mack loaded into Clara Mai for stomping on his fingers. Papa suggested that we not play on the bridge.
We were taught to ``Say Sir to your Elders.'' We had no problem with this; we had plenty of elders around and we used it correctly. The problem was to not say ``Sir'' unnecessarily. Papa told me to call Elton and others for work time. I said, ``Elton'' and he thinking it was Papa replied, ``Sir.'' Looking up he saw it was me and then said, ``I mean: What?''
At about five years of age, Aunt Mai saw Paul carrying a big arm full of stove wood and cautioned him to be careful or he might hurt his back. Paul replied, ``Me don't carry it on me back, me carry it in me arms.''
Marvin Jones, Neighbor and Buddy. Buddy (that's what we called him then and I still do) came down one Saturday morning before Sam and I had finished cleaning up the barnyard. Buddy had plaited a short whip out of some leather and he wanted to know if we could ride old Kate (an old gentle mule). We got him to help us finish our job and then bridled Old Kate. Since this was to be a good production we all three would ride. Buddy with his whip was in front. He didn't wait until we were in the road until he applied the whip and Kate took off in a sharp turn and we took off holding on to each other. We landed in the sand but had to run Kate down to get her back in the barn lot.
During 1927 I started living with Grandpa Hammond to help him
and Aunt Mai. I remember Grandpa Hammond as he sat in his rocking
chair
, reading and sleeping.
I had a mirror and straight razor and was looking to see if I could find a whisker. Grandpa said, ``Oh, put some cream on it and let a cat lick it off!''
He called Aunt Mai, ``Hey, Puss, comb my hair and scratch it good.'' In his last years he didn't get out much and left most of the planning and work to Papa and Aunt Mai. He loved to overfeed the cows if he got to the barn.
On one occasion he went up on the hill to see the apple trees (where Mack and Golden built their home). He went too far and gave out. He came in with his face scratched and his nose bleeding from a fall. As I recall that was his last walk by himself.
Morning and night we had a time of Bible and prayer. Mornings would be short but the evening Bible reading was longer and the prayer was longer. He sometimes called on Aunt Mai to lead in prayer but most of the time he did the prayer. I remember when they had a cat named Creed. Creed would climb up on Aunt Mai's or Grandpa's back as they were on their knees in prayer.
In 1927 I started staying with them all the time. I was assigned the job of driving the milk hack (a light peddling wagon) to town (Jackson, nearly six miles) and selling milk, butter, eggs and some produce. I took over from Grandpa Watlington, who was then 74 years old; who taught me the route and customers.
Old Nell was my horse and she was old. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday was milk day. Leaving by seven o'clock, Old Nell and I could make the route and I could get to school for afternoon classes. The route was up South Royal Street to Shelby, then to Short St., both ends of Short--to Madison, then to Middle Avenue. There were about 12 or 15 regular customers. In the Summer I would take in a movie on Saturday after making the rounds.
I think we just made two trips a week the next year when I was in the ninth grade, then the depression closed us down. Also the enforcement of dairy laws had a part in closing down our dairy operation, as well as the fire that destroyed the cow barn.
I should report that this experience carried over to college. In my second year in Lambuth College I hitchhiked rides to school and often caught a dairy truck (Baxter Sharp, Ben Sharp or Roy Davis). I would help them deliver milk to the doors as we worked our way up Royal. Mr. Baxter was the best for me as he went all the way to Allen Street and I was never late to an eight o'clock class. One day I was late. I turned in my excuse, ``car trouble.'' I was honest, I could not catch a car.
-- Kenneth Watlington