Root Jumper: Stories from the “Hills and Hollers” of West Virginia

By Justine Felix Rutherford

Root Jumper is an autobiography of the authors life as she grew up on a farm during the Depression years. It also includes many fond memories of special people who have had a lasting effect on her.

Simply written, Root Jumper will appeal to readers of all ages. Youth will enjoy it for educational and historical value. Older people will experience memories of the good old days, and all readers will feel the emotions of happiness, sadness, love, and honor mixed with the humor of everyday life.

In todays time of the technology of texting, tweeting, and computerized social networking, Miss Teeny takes us back to the day of her roots through the language of love, laughter, and true friends and family networking. My wish is that all students, past, present, and future, read these stories to gain a taste of the richness of the Appalachian culture which Justine so passionately portrays in Root Jumper.

Elizabeth Hanna Green

Teacher/ School Administrator

Root Jumper should be required reading for all ages. Young people should read it to learn more about life in the good old days, and mature readers will enjoy their own precious memories as they walk with Justine Rutherford through the days of her youth. What an amazing memoryand the outstanding ability to paint such vivid word pictures for all to enjoy.

Jim Franklin

Pastor

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475937794

Justine Felix Rutherford

Justine grew up on a farm on Spurlock Creek, West Virginia. She went to high school at Milton, West Virginia, and attended Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia, becoming a nurse in 1962 and retiring from St. Mary’s Hospital in 1986. She has two sons, seven grandchildren, and thirteen great-grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2012 by Justine Felix Rutherford

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-3778-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3779-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012912266

iUniverse rev. date: 7/12/2012

Contents

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Preface

Introduction

Spring House Cleaning

The Old Paths

The Root Jumper Plow

The Old Barn

The West Virginia I Knew

Mountain Music

Surviving the Hard Times

The Hill Churches

Traveling Old Roads

Building a Log House

Special People

Friends and Unusual Pets

The New Suit

Happy Moments

Decoration Day

The Taffy Lady

Old Eddered Sayings

The Arrival of the 17 Year Locust

Snakes

Ireland

Conclusion

Acknowledgements

I am deeply grateful to my patient and gifted editor, John Patrick Grace, Ph. D.

I give thanks to my friend, Margaret Hanna Smith. Without Margo’s help and encouragement, this book would not have been possible.

I thank my dear friend Curt who has been so much help. I thank him for his patience during all the missed meals. I couldn’t have accomplished my goal without his help. Thank you so much, Curt.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my sons Kenneth and Gordon, to my grandchildren and great grandchildren, and to my friends

who lift and sustain me. With the help of God and you, I have had a great journey.

Preface

This book is written, as my other books have been, to preserve a way of life I knew as a young girl seventy years ago. I also am including stories and incidents up to the present day and stories people have requested of me. This book blends the old, the more recent, and some of the in-between.

The word root has various meanings and connotations. My title, Root Jumper, literally refers to a plow that my dad used to clear new ground. But when I reflect upon my roots, my family connections throughout the ages, I think of the source of who I am as a person. Our heredity is vastly important. It has been said that we cannot know the future if we do not know the past. We owe a great debt to those who sacrificed for us in so many ways. We can’t live in the past, or we will lose the future. However, we must remember the past and honor it. Just as the root jumper plow stirred and turned the old roots, it also broke ground for the new crops. We must do the same. We must leave a legacy for those who will come after us. We must jump from the past and break new ground for our children and for their children’s children, never forgetting where we came from and where we hope to go. Therefore, I hope my book, which contains the past, the more recent, and some of the in-between, will remind us of our roots.

Introduction

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.

Song of Solomon 2:12

A spring snow has come to Union Ridge during the night. I walk from room to room to see the different designs the snow has made. The sun is shining so brightly against the snow. It is blinding as I gaze over the hills into the valley. The sun has begun to melt the snow, and it is cascading from the trees as if someone is gently pushing the snow from the limbs. I can stand this no longer. I lace up my boots and head for the woods.

I walk down the old haul road casting my eyes about to see what surprises the snow has brought. I stop on the flat below the house to thank my Lord and Savior for letting me live in the beautiful state of West Virginia. This is where I was born and this is where I shall die. For eighty-five years I have been allowed to roam the land and to enjoy all of its beauty. I thank God for the people who have passed before me. They bought this privilege for me at a great price. My soul is so woven into Appalachia that I never could truly leave.

I walk on out the flat. I smell spring before I see it. There are brown patches of ground where the snow has melted. Hidden below beneath the forest soil are the patches of wild ramps I have crushed underfoot. The green shoots of the wild ramps are beginning to push through the soil releasing their onion-garlic aroma. This smell is like candy to the mountaineer. It makes me hungry for fried potatoes, and for spring.

I hear the trickle of water from the creek at the bottom of the hill. I hear something else. Oh, my gosh! It is the frogs croaking through the snowy creek. The old bullfrogs sound like drums beating the air.

Yes, spring is here! Spring is the most gorgeous time of the year. Everything has new life. It makes my spirit sing, and I want to roll in the grass like a kid. When the birds’ chests swell out and they begin to sing, I sing with them. This last winter was mild, and I have never seen the shrubs and flowers blooming as profusely as they are this spring.

My youngest son, Gordon, lives on my husband’s family farm a short distance from my home. He lives in the house that his father was born in. When I arrived for a recent visit, the great grand-children were running to and fro carrying baby chicks, ducks, and rabbits. Emory, my three-year-old great grandson, was holding a baby chick.

He said to me, What’s it saying?

I said, "Emory, when I was a kid like you, it was called cheeping, but I don’t know what they call it today."

He picked up a piece of chicken poop. His mother told him not to pick up chicken poop.

He said, Momma, it’s not chicken poop. It’s duck poop.

Oh, yeah! I hate to see them grow up. Their mothers told me they are not having any more babies.

Spring brings birth and rebirth on the farm. I visited Gordon yesterday. One of his goats, Dora, had triplets the night before and they were fine. Another goat gave birth but was not doing well. Gordon had to take the baby goat because it was so large. We walked down to the barn and found the mother goat just lying there in the straw. Gordon began to talk to her, and I saw her eyes follow him. He gave her an injection, but she didn’t flinch. He gently lifted up her head to give her some water. The baby goat came over and began to nuzzle against her. He was hungry. Gordon tried to talk her into getting up, but she couldn’t get up. He lifted her up so the baby could nurse. Gordon got a little food down her while she was standing up. I asked Gordon if he thought she would be all right. He said to me, Mom, he said to me, she wants to live so badly and she has fought so hard that I will try anything I can for her. I looked at his kind face and his gentle hands as he cared for her. I’m glad he has chosen the pathway he has.

Every day the mother goat improved until she was standing on her own and taking a few steps. I saw her and her baby in the pasture field. The baby goat was jumping and running with the other kids. I can see why they call baby goats kids. They act like kids. They are jumping and running and even jumping up in the tree that is in the pasture field.

Some things change, and some things never do. The chickens still scratch in the dirt, cackle, and lay eggs. If I was barefooted, I would still step in the chicken manure, and it would still get between my toes. The cattle still bawl, the goats say baa, and the pigs still squeal for food.

Soon I will be gone, but new birth will take my place. My great grandchildren will still run and play and sing on the farm just