When young brothers Gene and Jack moved in with their grandparents in 1950, they didn't realize then the impact that Grandpa Will and Grandma Ida would have on their lives. Life in rural Dallas Hollow, Tennessee, was not always easy, but it was one filled with love, laughter, and life lessons learned. In this memoir, Cherokee Lost, author Gene Guthrie shares a glimpse of life with his elders. While living with their grandparents, they learned of their grandfather's Cherokee Indian heritage. He taught them to survive and to take care of Mother Earth. He introduced them to timber cutting, hunting, fishing, and the art of blacksmithing. Grandma Ida showed them how to garden, pick berries, can fruits and vegetables, and dry apples. During the twelve years they lived with their grandparents, Gene and Jack learned much more than physical chores; they learned respect, pride, and how to laugh and enjoy life. They grew to appreciate Grandpa Will's Indian heritage and spirit. Through the words and actions of Grandpa Will, Cherokee Lost provides a tribute to the rural life of the south and the Native American outlook on life.
Cherokee Lost
By Gene GuthrieiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2009 Gene Guthrie
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4401-5434-8 Contents
Moving In with Grandpa.....................1Summer.....................................11Toys and Games.............................42Fall and Harvest...........................49Winter and Holidays........................62Spring and Planting........................70Hunting....................................79Fishing and Sorghum........................89Timber Cutting.............................95Grandma's Passing..........................100Grandpa's Passing..........................107
Chapter One
Moving In with Grandpa
Sunshine always seemed to twinkle through the shiny new leaves at that time of year. Grandpa said it was because a small breeze was all it took to shake the tender leaves. I took a good deep breath of the air, which smelled of flowering trees and plowed fields.
Mom and Dad had departed after Sunday dinner at Grandpa Will and Grandma Ida's place in Dallas Hollow. Grandpa's place was located about twenty miles north of Chattanooga, Tennessee, at the base of Soddy Mountain, also known as Walden Ridge. My brother Jack and I were both excited about the decision that we would live full-time with our grandparents in early June, 1950. I had finished my first year of grade school.
Grandpa Will was tall, tan, and well-built from all the hard work he'd done, his hands muscular and rough to the touch. His face bore the wrinkles of time. He wore denim overalls with cotton shirts in the summer and flannel in the winter. A colored handkerchief was always hanging from a back pocket of the overalls. He wore a fedora-style hat with a single feather year round. In cooler months, he wore a sport jacket over the overalls. When winter finally came, he added a union suit under his overalls. He walked with a slight limp he had developed from years of carrying heavy loads of ice. He took a walking stick with him now anytime he was outside the house.
Grandpa Will strolled across the yard to a large bench seat located between two hickory trees. As Grandpa sat, he motioned us closer. He took his barlow pocketknife out of one pocket of his overalls and a plug of chewing tobacco from another. He cut off a piece of tobacco and placed it into his cheek. "Now, you two are going to live here with Ida and me. Your mom and dad have bought the hilltop house, and there's no room there for you boys. Why, there's not hardly room enough for one bed, let alone two. It's going to be like all the other times you've been here, except longer.
"You'll have chores to do, but we're going to have fun times too. Like I told you before, if I catch you getting into something that you're not supposed to be into, I'm going to cut your ears off." Grandpa Will always liked to tease us about cutting off our ears. As he reminded us of our responsibilities, I realized he talked of cutting ears off to see Jack squirm on the bench.
About this time, Grandma Ida came out of the house wearing her long garden apron. Holding both bottom edges to make what looked like a basket, she used the apron to gather vegetables. She walked over and said to me, "Why don't we go down to the garden and pick vegetables for supper? Then your grandpa can show you what your daily chores are going to be." Jack stayed with Grandpa on the bench.
As we entered the garden, I asked Grandma Ida if Grandpa was pleased that we were going to live with them, and a large smile came over her wrinkled face.
Grandma started picking green beans and replied, "Now, your grandpa doesn't wear his feelings on his sleeve, but he's the most caring man I've ever been around. It's been over thirty years now, but in the late fall of 1918, terror struck Lookout Mountain. We were all living out on the mountain at the time. My dad and my brother Deck, along with my sister Gracie, died of the flu, as did one of my twin sons, Harl. All of us were really sick then. It left my youngest brother sickly for some time after. I had Carl, the surviving twin, and your Aunt Vernon to care for, and I was pregnant with your mom."
Grandma moved to the tomatoes and continued, "Your grandpa had to build the coffins and get their bodies off Lookout Mountain to Head River Cemetery so they could be buried. A neighbor helped-they took a couple of wagons and teams. They packed picks, shovels, lanterns, blankets, and food for them and the horses. They had to dig the graves because no one else was available, due to all the people dying around Chattanooga and the valleys at the same time. Will said the ice was so bad on the road off the mountain, he loosened some of the horseshoe nails on the team for better traction."
By now we were in the onion patch. Grandma said, "If Will had not stepped up at such a time, my family would have been in deep trouble. Why, all that were left of my mom's kids was one teenage sister, one brother about ten years old, and five brothers and sisters, all younger."
"Who did all the chores after they passed away?" I asked.
"Your grandpa did all the plowing, planting, and livestock care. Timber had to be cut for lumber and firewood. None of my brothers or sisters could have managed the farm without your grandpa. My surviving brothers were so small, it was all they could do to chop kindling, much less tend to the large amounts of firewood needed during the winter. It was six or eight years later before my brothers were big enough to do much plowing. Will was patient; he treated my brothers like they were his sons."
"Has Grandpa always liked boys better?" I asked.
Grandma shrugged. "Will always liked being around boys more than the girls. It must have been a throwback to his Indian youth. He told me his dad brought him and his sisters off the reservation when he was about eight. They took the name Gatlin from the family who raised them. Now, what I've told you will be our secret, so don't tell Jack or your cousins."
When we had finished gathering all the vegetables, Grandma looked over at me and said, "We better get back up to the house now before your grandpa and Jack come looking for us."
My head was abuzz from all the info about Grandpa Will. I couldn't stop smiling. Would Grandpa recognize my smile and suspect Grandma had revealed secrets? I couldn't wait for our next conversation in the garden.
As we arrived back in the yard, Grandma returned to the house. Grandpa took Jack by the hand and motioned me to follow. We first went to the wood pile. "Every day you need to chop enough kindling to fill the box beside the kitchen stove. While you're there, the ash can needs to be emptied. Remember to keep the corn husk box filled-corn husk is what your grandma uses to start the fire."
Next was the corncrib. "Now, you already know how to shell the corn and run the cracker, so keep the bin full and throw a can of feed to the chickens morning and night. Mix about two-thirds corn and a third red sorghum seeds. If you see a brown-colored snake in here, don't get spooked. He's called a bull snake, and I let him alone. He eats mice and will not bother you as long as you give him his space."
From there we went to the chicken house. "Eggs are now yours to collect, afternoons only. If you see corncobs around the nest, leave the eggs. The corncobs are how I'll mark the setting hens' nests; they will hatch the eggs and give us new chicks. And keep the yard and paths swept and raked."
I asked, "Why is it so important to keep them clear? Wouldn't grass be better?"
"If we had grass all over, then the insects, spiders, ticks, mice, and snakes would be in the grass. Your grandma doesn't want to be stepping on any of those. With grass, vermin would be more easily tracked into the house. Besides, you boys don't want to worry about snakes in the grass when you go out to the outhouse, do you?"
The thought of snakes on the path to the outhouse caused both Jack and me to say in unison, "We'll keep it swept clear!"
"I'll take care of the horses, mules, goats, and especially the hogs, for now. The old sow has new piglets, and they're suckling. She's not safe to be around. Why, she'd probably eat one of you if you got in the pen with her. Never get in the pen with the boar; he's even a pill around me. There will be more chores as you get older."
I asked about taking care of Grandma's flower shelves. The shelf unit resembled a picnic bench with a narrow top, and it sat under the tree by the chicken yard. All surfaces held pots of different varieties of flowers. Grandpa said to leave that to Grandma. "Why, I don't even mess with her flowers."
This didn't seem like much for us to do, as we'd already done most of it on our previous visits. I especially appreciated that we wouldn't have to take care of the bees Grandpa kept, and I knew Jack was pleased too. Jack managed to get stung every time he got near the beehives.
As we started back to the house Grandpa said, "Come down to the garden with me." Grandpa stopped at the green onion side and quickly cut off several tops with his pocketknife.
"What's this for?" I asked, puzzled.
Grandpa replied, "I told you we were going to have fun here, so it might as well start at supper."
Before supper, Grandpa washed and cut the onion tops into straws. He placed one in each of our iced tea glasses. "I call them Indian straws," he said, and that was all we had to hear. For several years, using Grandpa's Indian straws became our favorite thing. There was a small amount of onion taste while we used the tops as straws, but what a treat for Jack and me.
After supper Grandpa accompanied us on our chores. He smiled as he gave us advice about how to perform certain tasks more easily. At times Grandpa broke out in laughter watching us try out the new chores. His laughter was contagious. Soon Jack and I were giggling along with Grandpa. It was certainly a learning experience for Jack and me.
One of Grandpa's hunting dogs, Ole Blue, walked along with us. Grandpa told us this was his favorite dog. He told us that after we had been there for a while he was sure Ole Blue would become quite protective of us.
When the chores were done, we all sat on the bench. Ole Blue curled up at Grandpa's feet, slightly under the bench. Maggie, one of Blue's littermates, curled up at our feet, while the rest of the dogs rested behind the bench, giving Ole Blue and Maggie their space. Grandpa whittled on a piece of wood as he told us stories. Some were about his chores and adventures as a youth, while others were about hunting or fishing. I could have spent the night listening to Grandpa talk.
Grandpa looked toward the house and said, "We better head inside. Your grandma has your baths ready. Besides, there're going to be a lot of evenings on this ol' bench yet to come."
As we walked to the house, I suddenly realized I was going to have more one-on-one time with Grandpa Will than ever before. I would not have to share our time with my parents or my cousins. Other visits had been taken up with eating and play, allowing very little time to be alone with Grandpa or Grandma. I knew this was a life-changing experience, and I was ready to enjoy it to its fullest.
When we got into the house Grandma said, "I've got your baths ready. When you finish, we can listen to a little radio before bed."
Baths were taken in the large galvanized washtub in the kitchen by the wood cookstove. Grandma would place a few kitchen chairs around the tub, hanging towels over the chair backs to provide us with privacy. It also created a barrier to keep the heat from the stove in the bath area. She heated water on the wood cookstove and mixed the water until the temperature was perfect for bathing. She was a stickler for washing the parts boys usually skip, like behind the ears.
After our baths were completed and we had put on our pajamas, we settled in the living room. Grandpa turned on the radio and sat beside me in one of the two rockers. Jack curled up in Grandma's lap. Grandma had brewed hot chocolate for each of us. Flickering shadows filled the room from the glow of two coal oil lamps. All of the windows were open, and we heard thumping sounds when bugs, drawn to the light, hit the screens. The air outside was still but alive with the sounds of country life. Grandma's ol' cat was curled up beside the chair where she sat.
As we sat there Grandma told me she was glad Mom and Dad had bought the hilltop house, but even more, she was happy we would be living with them full-time. She reminded us of the importance of doing what we were told. She said things were going to be different here with her and Grandpa Will. She told us Grandpa did not believe in striking children as a punishment. She said our mom's temper seemed to get the best of her at times. We were told the Indian in Grandpa did not allow for beating his livestock, much less children.
The image of our first night has remained a snapshot in my mind.
The trips to and from the outhouse were a learning experience. The first year we were there, trips after dark were made using a flashlight Dad had given us. We used the flashlight sparingly, as batteries were expensive. Grandpa told us how when he was our age, he'd used a candle placed inside a metal container with holes. He said the carrying container allowed light to shine and kept the candle from being blown out by the wind. We still were uneasy about what might be along the path or inside the outhouse. Ole Blue wasn't much for following us to the outhouse, but Maggie always kept an eye on us. It seemed she was determined to be with us two boys any time she spotted an opening. In what seemed like no time, Jack, me, and the two dogs were inseparable. Grandpa didn't mind sharing his dogs. He said all boys need dogs.
Grandma kept herbs planted along the path; most gave off aromas when brushed against, especially the mint. There was even a row of honeysuckle along the chicken-yard-fence side of the path. During the warmer months, hummingbirds and butterflies could be seen feeding on honeysuckle. In winter months, Grandma covered the herbs with straw to ward off freezing.
I remember asking Grandpa why Grandma's clothesline had long poles, which she used sometimes. He told me the poles were for when she had large items like sheets or his overalls to hang out. The poles would keep the items from dragging on the ground.
Grandpa showed us how he trimmed the wicks for the coal oil lamps. Grandpa said, "Now, some people added water to the oil basins during the Great Depression because the wicks were short, and they didn't have enough coal oil to fill the basins."
I asked what the water did. He explained the kerosene, or coal oil, as he called it, would float to the top, enabling the short wick to reach the coal oil. He proudly stated, "My dad told me our people had knowledge of tar and oil many years before the settlers came. He said it could be found in seeps all along the mountains. Why, they even used the tar to make night torches." I still have visions of Grandpa's people walking after dark, using small poles dipped in tar to make night torches.
Chapter Two
Summer
The first summer brought many new experiences. Berry picking and preserve making were really a little scary. It was common for our aunts and cousins to berry pick with us. First came the berry patches and several encounters with black snakes. Maggie was eager to dispatch any snakes. Maggie's sudden barking and charging as startling as the sight of the snake. We each carried one or two buckets for berries. Grandma had us wear long sleeve shirts to keep the berry briars from scratching our arms. The blackberry canes were the worst. The curved thorns really cut when we reached into the canes to the riper berries. It was common to come back home with over five gallons of berries.
When we got back home Grandpa would check us for ticks. Most of the time he would find one or two and quickly dispose of them. Chigger bites were treated by rinsing our feet and legs in one of the washtubs' solution of water and chlorine bleach.
After berry picking came the worst of all chores: "Go crawl under the house and bring out all the jars you can find," I heard Grandpa say the first day of berry picking. All I could think of was the possibility of running into a snake under the house. But after lots of reassurance from both Grandpa and Grandma, I managed to overcome my fears and retrieve all the canning jars without breaking any. Any jars that had deep chips or cracks around the threaded tops were taken to the barn and stored for uses that didn't require a perfect seal. The jars not used for berries were later used for vegetables.
Later in the day I helped Grandma boil the jars. This was accomplished by first washing the jars in soapy water and then dipping each jar into boiling water. The jars were placed on clean dish towels.
Grandma washed and cleaned the berries we had picked. The berries were cooked with coarse sugar. Grandma kept us back when she filled the jars. She said it was because the sugar would make a nasty burn if any were to splatter onto us. We watched as she filled the jars with cooked berries. The canned whole berries would later be used in cobbler pies. (Continues...)
Excerpted from Cherokee Lostby Gene Guthrie Copyright © 2009 by Gene Guthrie. Excerpted by permission.
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