Down the Creek: A Kentucky Memoir

By Janet Hamilton

Down the Creek is a memoir. The stories that have been in my mind since childhood. The first pages, written on yellow-lined legal pads, were first penned more than tirty years ago. Through the years I graduated from handwriting to a portable Smith Corona typewriter and finally arrived a few years ago into the modern world of technology and began using the computer. How I ever managed to handwrite or use a typewriter is now beyond my imagination. My story is based on my maternal grandmothers life and that of her nine children. I was always fascinated by the stories I heard through the years. Some of the later ones I personally witnessed. I always felt that one day I must write it all down. This book is fiction based on true stories. Names of people and many of the geographic areas have been changed. Dates and events have been moved at the writers discretion to make the story more readable. However, the skeleton of the story is very accurate. Many small details are simply from the writers imagination, written the way I thought those actual events would have or should have occurred.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504919807

Janet Hamilton

Janet Hamilton Griffith July 30, 1937–May 10, 2015 On June 2, 2002, Janet suffered a stroke from which she fully recovered, according to her doctor, on March 21, 2005. On March 31, 2005, she suffered another stroke that left her very healthy but unable to go home. Janet had an appointment with a publisher to work out the details of having this book published in April 2005. Because of her last stroke, the book was not published since it was not possible to communicate with her. Janet spent her formative years in the hill country of Kentucky before her family’s need for work brought them to West Virginia’s coalfields in the 1940s. She had a constant high level of energy; she was a beautiful and highly intelligent lady. She lived a life as a military wife of her high school sweetheart. She began a very successful business career following her husband’s retirement. She spent over a decade in upper management for the Avon Company before becoming a small-business owner. She was very proud of her children’s clothing boutique, Patches N Lace. In her next venture, Janet grew to become a well-respected and very successful real estate agent in Virginia. All during this time, her grandmother’s proud but hard scrabble life became the nagging story she just had to tell. Unfortunately, her life ended before she was able to see its formal publication, but she had completed her story, and now her husband of sixty-one years, in her loving memory, places it in your hands. Readers will enjoy this visit to the backwoods of Kentucky during the 1930s, with its colorful description of the landscapes, lives, and loves of one family as they struggled to find their identity and future in a world torn apart by poverty and war, written for you in her own words. Janet passed very peacefully and quickly with all her family by her side on Mother’s Day, May 10, 2015.

Book preview

1

The shrill sound of the alarm clock broke the silence of the quiet, still-dark room. Annie could feel the frosty air before she ever turned back the covers and crept slowly to the edge of the bed. She slipped her feet into her husband’s bedroom slippers left at her side of the bed as they had been every night for as long as she could remember. From the bedpost she retrieved a heavy brown robe, slipped her feet further into the toes of the house slippers, gave the ties of the robe a forceful yank, and walked briskly from the small bedroom where Clay would lie sleeping until she returned to tell him breakfast was ready and waiting. It was the same routine each and every morning since she had first arrived on Bailey Creek. The oversized slippers echoed on the cold, bare floors as she walked toward the kitchen.

Selecting small pieces of wood from a box in the corner, she began placing them systematically inside the belly of the large black coal stove. After a generous splash of oil, she lit the kindling and waited for the fire to catch, and added heavier pieces of wood and a small bucket of coal, black as the hole in the hillside from which it had been dug, and soon she felt and saw the roar of a warm and friendly fire. She watched the fiery orange flames leap upward before dropping the covers back in place to wait for the massive iron contraption to heat.

The boys, as always, had heeded her nightly admonition. Now, boys, don't forget to get in the kindling wood and draw me a bucket of water, she would say before they went to bed. The cold, clear water gurgled as she poured it into the white enamel coffee pot. Throwing several spoons of coffee directly into the water, she put the pot on the stove and hurried outside to the smokehouse. The cool, damp chill that hung over the valley hit her as she opened the door. She shivered.

The fog was unusually heavy, and Annie could barely distinguish the top of the chicken house. Unlatching the leather strap that held the smokehouse door shut, she walked inside. The smell of decades-old wood, aging fat from last year’s salt-cured hams, and the fermented smell of one can of tomatoes that had popped the seal on the lid greeted her. She surveyed the almost-bare shelves and their meager supply of last year's crops. Clay was hoping to start clearing the fields today, if the weather would just hold … this time of year it could just as easily snow as not … and soon it would be time for plowing again. Might as well start him off right, she thought, as she skillfully sliced off a large chunk of ham.

Clutching the ham and a jar of canned apples in one hand, and the sharp butcher knife in the other, Annie gingerly made her way back through the all-pervasive fog. She felt the coldness of the morning as the robe flapped around her ankles.

A new day was beginning. Darkness was ever so slowly relinquishing it’s hold as dawn made a sluggish appearance. Fog drooped and sagged from the line of trees of one mountain top across the valley to the other, looking like so many feather beds being held aloft by ghostly sentinels. It was often like this in early morning in southeastern Kentucky. Fog held on for dear life until it had no choice but to succumb to the warming temperatures.

The smell of brewing coffee and the warmth from the stove greeted her as she returned to the kitchen to begin making breakfast. With breakfast being kept warm on the back of the stove, Annie returned to the bedroom to get dressed for the day, a large, hot mug of coffee clutched between her cold hands. She was not a small woman nor could she be considered a beautiful woman, but there was much more to Annie Miller than size or beauty. And that was reflected in the soft blue eyes resting above high cheekbones. She exuded a warm and caring nature that was emphasized as she neared forty and had begun to take on a matronly look. Her waist had thickened and too often, or so it seemed to her, she had to let out or add a new piece of material to make her clothes fit the growing middle. Still she was not overly heavy … the extra weight that came with age distributed itself well over her frame and some might say she was now pleasantly plump. Annie replaced the robe and nightgown with a cotton slip and print dress she had made … goodness knows how many years ago. Next came thick, cotton stockings, which she quickly rolled just above the knee into a wide elastic garter. Standing in front of the small, cracked mirror on the wall, she pulled a long braid that fell down her back almost to the waist, over her shoulder, and began methodically unwinding each of the carefully plaited strands. She vigorously brushed and twisted the long hair into a small bun at the back of her neck, and put in large, curved hairpins with such force that not one hair would have dared move throughout her upcoming busy day. Sighing, she slipped into her shoes, and called to her husband. Clay. Time to get up. Six o'clock. As she folded her nightclothes to put them away, she called a second time. Clay, she said a little louder, get up now. Days wasting. She walked to the other side of the bed. Something about the way he looked made her catch her breath. She reached to touch his shoulder and shake him awake. As she did so, she saw his white, still face drop over the edge of the bed and hang limply. Instinctively, she screamed.

Annie's scream had awakened the rest of the household. The older boys jumped from bed, jerking on their pants as they ran bare-chested through the cold house to their parent’s room. The scene made them stop short. They saw the unmoving, colorless face of their father, and standing above him, wringing her hands, their mother was repeating over and over, He’s dead. The young men looked at each other, their own faces ashen and disbelieving. Chalmer reached for his Father’s hand and felt for a pulse. Finding none, he put his fingers gingerly on the side of his neck. The others watched quietly, hoping at any moment he would contradict what Annie had said.

He’s dead, Chalmer finally uttered in total disbelief. He looked at Annie. When … what happened?

I don’t know! I came to wake him and that is … that is … the way…. She could not finish. Chalmer and Clinton, the two older boys, led Annie from the bedroom to the small parlor at the front of the house.

Lizzie Ratliff had just opened her kitchen door to get water from the well facing the Miller property when she heard the scream. She knew instantly that something was terribly wrong. Throwing the bucket aside, she yelled, Burley, hurry. Something’s wrong at Clay and Annie’s. Something has happened to one of the children. I just know it. They grabbed coats from the peg beside the kitchen door, and pulled them on as they ran across the large field separating the two properties. The early morning quietness was broken only by their running footsteps resounding on the frost-covered ground.

Annie stood perfectly still in the middle of the small parlor and tried to make sense out of an unreal situation. She just knew at any moment she would awaken from this horrible nightmare and Clay would walk into the room, clad in his bibbed overalls and heavy plaid shirt, ready for a hard day in the fields. Just let me think she kept telling herself over and over. Just let me think.

Lizzie burst through the door, Annie, what’s wrong? Annie shook her head and Lizzie saw the anguished look and the white face.

It’s Daddy, said Chalmer. He’s dead.

Dead, came Burley’s disbelieving voice, but how …?

I went to wake him and … and that’s how I found him, answered Annie her voice low and not believing what she was saying. His own father and a brother died just like that … in their sleep … Her voice trailed off.

Lizzie and Burley hurried to the bedroom and when they returned, they simply shook their heads, and Annie had more confirmation her first thoughts had been true.

The preparation for mourning and a funeral had changed little through the ages in the rural areas and hollers of the Kentucky Mountains. And it would be no different here on Bailey Creek as Annie, her family, and her neighbors began the painful process of burying Clay Miller. As Annie looked at her children the morning of Clay’s death, she knew her own mourning would have to wait. This was no time for self-pity, and if she could get all of them through the next few days, that would be all she could possibly accomplish. Lizzie would help, probably even take over, but she, and only she, could deal with the children.

She looked at Lizzie, thin as a rail, with long bony fingers, sharp features, and wispy gray hair. She looked as if a strong puff of wind would simply blow her away, but Annie knew this woman had the strength of an ox. "Lizzie, I had already made breakfast. It’s in the warming closet, if you want to take care of Burley and the older boys. I’ll go help the younger one’s get dressed and try to explain to them what happened.

Are you able to do all that right now, Annie? Lizzie asked and looked into a face with determination as strong as her own, Never you mind, honey. We’ll take care of this together.

Suddenly Annie stopped and looked at Lizzie. What about the … the coffin? she asked quietly.

Burley’s already working on that, Lizzie answered. Annie saw Burley and her two oldest sons, Chalmer and Clinton, sitting at the small kitchen table talking softly. Burley spied her questioning gaze.

Annie, if it’s okay with you, I’ll go up the creek and see Mr. Harrison. There was no need to verbalize a reason for seeing Mr. Harrison. Clinton can go with me and then go on beyond their house to let the few others up that way know what has happened. Chalmer will go see Rocky and be there to help if he needs him and then he can let the people down the creek know. Annie nodded her head gratefully. Frank Harrison had moved his family to Bailey Creek only three years previously and was one of the newest residents of the creek. But he had quickly carved out his place in the community. He was the only person on Bailey Creek who was a carpenter, who had a separate workshop, lathe, and other equipment necessary to make furniture. His caned-back chairs had already become prized possessions and hardly a front porch on the entire creek was without one of his rocking or straight back chairs. He also made coffins and while his service in this regard had not been needed often on Bailey Creek, it was not unusual to see people from neighboring areas come to him for this necessity. They would bring the horse drawn wagon and wait the six to eight hours it took Frank to finish one of the coffins. It was absolutely necessary to take care of the deceased body within 24 hours of the passing if at all possible. For this reason, he often had coffins available in various stages of completion. Such was the case when Burley came to his home on this particular morning.

Didn’t know Clay hardly a’tall, said Frank, but I sure do feel bad about his wider and all those children.

Yea, responded Burley.

I have a casket almost ready for a man about his size. Least ways I guess it will be for somebody about his size. The size of the casket could become a problem when one was needed in a big hurry. Frank had developed a unique way of determining the size for the partially completed coffins utilizing his own large 6 foot 2 inch frame. Would you say Mr. Miller was as ’bout this tall?" he asked Burley, pointing to the top of his shoulder. Frank measured one size at his waist, that being for children, another to his chest for most women and the third size to the top of his shoulders. The extra two inches he added took care of small differences and he had never been wrong when making a casket for someone who had died suddenly.

He would be, replied Burley.

Then I’ll have the coffin ready. Frank pulled a watch from his overall pocket and looked at it intently, I’d say about 3 or 4 o’clock today, He said. He wasted no time in beginning. By the appointed time the rough box to which he pointed would be a smooth, white pine coffin.

Rocky and Omie Blevins owned the only store in all of Bailey Creek. They were at the next farm down the creek from the Miller property. By mid-morning many of the local residents, mostly those from down the creek had gathered there to talk quietly about the death of one of their members. Rocky and Omie were not the best liked of the neighbors … they had more, and Rocky had the reputation of being a penny-pincher out to make every dime he could in any way he could. Like owning the only store, he likewise owned the only motor vehicle, a truck that had to be parked at the mouth of the creek since graded roads had not yet come to Bailey Creek. The store was an unimposing wooden structure built close to their residence and was opened only when someone announced by a loud holler, Want in the store. The store was immediately closed after the sale so they could go back to their primary occupation of farming. On this particular morning the store was open. A fire was roaring in the pot-bellied stove and Omie stood nearby with a large pot of very black coffee. While the coffee was free, the Blevins had learned through experience that not a single person would leave without a purchase of some sort. Maybe a plug of chewing tobacco, a moon pie to go with the coffee or something the wife had called out for them to get on the way out of the house.

Guess you’ll be going for the doctor, Rocky? asked Banner Blackburn.

Be leaving in a few minutes, he answered without elaboration.

Goin’ to ride the horse down to your truck or walk? inquired Rufus Holloway.

Think I’d best ride the horse. Doc may not want to make that two-mile walk up the creek.

Ever since he had bought the truck back in 1930, Rocky had taken it upon himself to make the trip to Pikeville for any emergency one of the Bailey Creek inhabitants might experience. Sooner or later, sometimes several weeks later, the recipient of his ‘kindness’ would come by and offer payment. Oh, just whatever you think its worth. Rocky would answer, and quickly add, I’d say a dollar or two would cover it. Often out of Rocky’s presence, someone might say, I wonder how many dollars Rocky has made out of the kindness of his heart, During the ensuing laughter, another might say, Well, I’ll bet we could all live good if we could find his hidin' place."

The day dragged on agonizingly slow and Annie tried bravely to talk with the children in a normal voice; however, her mind never let go of the fact that Clay lay dead in a bedroom only a few feet away.

Late in the afternoon, Annie answered a knock at the door knowing it would be the doctor coming to certify Clay’s death. The tall man in black overcoat and hat on the other side of the screen door added to the surreal air that had prevailed since early morning. Motioning him to a bedroom at the back of the house, Annie felt her body quivering violently inside as she waited outside the door. The doctor’s s presence had added a note of finality to Clay’s death and she knew there was no undoing what had happened. Doctor, can you tell me what happened to my husband?

Did your husband have a heart problem, Mrs. Miller?

None that I know of. He never went to see a doctor, but he was only fifty-seven years.

Your husband probably died of a heart attack. My guess is that he may have had a heart problem for some time, but like you said he didn’t go to see a doctor, so this is speculation on my part.

But, I didn’t even wake up. I didn’t hear a thing. Seems unusual.

It is unusual, but it happens. His heart just stopped working sometime during the night. My guess is sometime about 2:00 or 3:00 o’clock. It’s no consolation to you now and he was young, but he went the easy way. He handed Annie the signed death certificate.

We’ll go lay him out now, said Lizzie as she and Burley went to the bedroom to wash and dress the body. Frank Harrison had already brought the coffin rather than waiting for the family to pick it up. Just wanted to pay my respects to a neighbor, he had said to Burley. Clay’s body was dressed in his only suit. It was the same black suit he was wearing in the only picture he had ever had taken which was now hanging in the parlor. The picture was taken only a few weeks after he brought his new wife, Annie, to Bailey Creek. One Saturday morning not long after they arrived, Clay told Annie to get dressed in her best dress they were going to town. When they arrived he had taken her directly to a photographer’s shop. When they came back a few weeks later to pick up the photograph, Annie’s pleasure was apparent when Clay placed it in her hands and said, Something so we can be remembered by ever how many children we might have in the future. It was only after Clay had completed the small parlor the previous summer and they had hung the picture on the wall that Annie fully realized the significance of this kindly act from Clay. Through the years with him Annie had come to know that more often than not, he viewed such acts as too frivolous to merit his attention.

He looks fine don’t he Burley? asked Lizzie with tears in her eyes as they surveyed the remains of their younger neighbor.

The coffin was placed in the parlor directly underneath the picture and there it would remain for the next three days … not be left alone at any time throughout the day or night. Tradition in the mountains called for the wake to be from the time of death until burial, and the mourning would be deep and sorrowful. At times it appeared that whoever mourned the loudest was often identified as the person who cared the most, and people would talk for months about someone who had keened and wailed and screamed and finally just fainted dead away.

As the hours passed, Annie thought ahead to the funeral and time of burial. She worried about the children, especially the younger ones. She had often thought, somewhat shamefully, that the screaming and wailing that accompanied the mourning period was often from custom as much as real sincerity. The day of the funeral arrived, and she knew there must be a talk with the children privately. Ignoring offers of help, she began helping the younger ones get dressed, and when they were finished she ushered all of them into one room and closed the door. Annie couldn't be concerned about how much she may be expected to publicly mourn Clay's passing. This was her life now … this mournful group of young people … and they were all dependent on her. She looked around the crowded room at the children as they sat on beds or chairs or wherever they could in the one bedroom not occupied by someone else. I wanted us to have some time alone before we join the others to go to your Daddy's funeral today. I know you've been wondering, just like I have, why he had to leave us. I must have asked myself that a hundred times since this happened, and I don't have an answer. The doctor who came to certify the death said it was a heart attack. Said your daddy may have had a heart problem for months or even all of his life, but since he never saw a doctor we simply don’t know.

The children, old enough to understand, watched Annie, surprised at her ability to talk so calmly under such devastating circumstances. They knew their mother as a very hard working woman who had always kept them and their home in perfect order and who could, and almost always did, work more hours than any of them including their Dad. But it was their father who made the major decisions, who took charge of any of the difficult situations, and she had always been content to be in the background as a supporter of Clay's decisions. They had observed her over the past two days, though her grief had to be extreme, taking care of what needed to be done. For the first time in their lives, they were coming to realize the full capability and strength of their mother and took comfort in her words.

I know some of you are so young, she continued looking tenderly at the little ones, but you have to be here, too, just like your older brothers and sisters. I’ve already heard a few comments over the past few days, and you need to know that some of the neighbors and relatives are saying there's no way I can keep you all together. All I want to say is that I have every intention of keeping all of you together for as long as you want to stay in this house, and if any well-meaning person asks if you want to come live with them just tell them your Mommy can take care of you. She stopped and looked around. Will everybody do that? They nodded.

There they sat all nine of her and Clay’s children. Presently they all lived in the same little brown house where Clay had brought her 24 years ago. At times, it fairly seemed to burst at the seams. Annie looked at them now, along with her first grandchild, as they sat waiting patiently for her to continue. There was the oldest, Chalmer, nearly twenty-three, and of late it appeared he had marriage on his mind, but that was something she preferred not to think about now. Clinton, at nineteen, was already talking about leaving to find a good job. The next two boys, David and Vernon, were like twins in many respects … what one did so did the other. Or maybe it was more like what David did, Vernon did likewise. They were as close as two peas in a pod, and at eleven and eight years of age, Annie was more thankful than ever for their close relationship. Bobby was only two years old and wouldn’t grow up with memories of a father. He would be too young to remember this sad day in the future. And then there was Andrew, the first grandchild, only a few months older than Bobby.

The girls … Annie's heart ached for them all, but Peachie and Lydia, sitting there now with red-rimmed eyes and mournful expressions, seemed to be taking their father's death hardest. After all they were the young ladies of the house at present, and at sixteen and fourteen respectively, were just beginning to feel the exuberance of life itself. Greta held her son Andrew tightly, and Annie wondered just what was in store for this young woman, almost twenty-one, whose husband had brought her and Andrew for a visit a few months back, left them, and had never returned. Finally, there was Jewel, who at four was oh so loveable with dark, thick curls surrounding an angelic face. Like Bobby, she would hold only dim memories of her father.

When you walk into the church today, walk in with pride. Cry if you feel like it, but don't be swayed by one of the friends or relatives into putting on a big display. Once again, remember there will be many who will think we can't go on here together. But, we are all going to stay together, take care of each other the best way we know how, and go on living in this house until each of you are old enough to go out on your own. It’s time to go now. We’ll get through this, don't you worry! Annie walked from the bedroom with the children and joined the others waiting in the parlor.

Burley and some of the men lifted the casket and put it on their shoulders. They walked outside into the cold, March breeze. The sun was shining brightly, but its strength was not enough to shield the mourners from the chilly air. Heads bowed into the gusts, they trudged forward up the dirt road, past the small, now-barren orchard, across Bailey Creek at a narrow point and up a small hill before the road flattened out again. They finally arrived at the small white frame building used for school, social functions, and an occasional church service or funeral. The pall bearers carefully and laboriously maneuvered the casket over the small foot bridge crossing the creek once again.

They had all come … from the head of the creek and from the mouth of the creek … to pay their respects to a neighbor, a neighbor they may not have seen in months. But a death among the inhabitants of this three mile stretch of land warranted their appearance. The building was full of mourners. The service was long and the mourning deep, and when it was over, the group reassembled behind the pallbearers, and walked down the creek past the Miller farm, crossed the creek once again, and on past the Blevins store and property. There they stopped; put the casket down and a new group of pallbearers took over to complete the difficult journey up the steep hill to the only cemetery on Bailey Creek. The sun still shone brightly but the air remained cold and brisk as the group trudged up the hill. The land flattened out at the top of the hill and a smooth expanse of ground with a few headstones greeted the mourners. It lay in tranquil silence, with taller mountains serving as a backdrop, and imparted an image of peace and serenity, not present during the funeral. But after the mourning was over and loved ones returned to pay respect, the location became a blessing and eased the torture of their loss. And so it was that Clay Miller was laid to rest in this beautiful, quiet spot not far from the Miller farm, a spot where he would forever be close to what he called the purtiest place on Bailey Creek. It was March 13, 1933.

After the funeral, many who had attended the service simply followed Annie and her family back to the house. Most brought food. Annie was thankful for Lizzie’s take-charge manner as she watched her directing the others on what to do and where to put various covered dishes. Annie walked through the crowded house stopping at each small group to thank them for coming and for the food. She felt the weariness in her body and longed for just a moment of solitude and then reprimanded herself for her selfish thoughts. As dusk settled over the valley, many of the mourners began to leave. Some insisted they would be glad to stay another night and help out. As the afternoon had worn on, Annie felt it was imperative she spend this night alone with just her children. She needed so desperately to think without interruption. And so she refused each offer of help as gently as possible. Even Lizzie, Now Lizzie you’ve been here three days and if I need you I’ll send one of the boys to get you. Finally satisfied that all would be well, Lizzie left just as full dark settled over the valley, promising Annie she would be back tomorrow to check on her.

Annie awakened with a start the morning following Clay’s funeral. Her mind was confused, and it took a few minutes to sort out the jumbled thoughts running helter-skelter through her head. She sat on the edge of the bed, her feet dangling over the edge, and her body feeling as limp as a well-worn dish rag. The previous day’s events began to take shape and still did not seem real, but rather like a dream she had experienced during the night. She moved with effort and tried to begin her regular morning routine. She could hardly remember even putting her head on the pillow the night before. After all the neighbors left she had to take care of the children, and by the time she finally went to her room she was barely able to undress and put on her nightclothes. She tried to remember going to bed and the few minutes she always allowed herself for rehashing of the day’s events and her prayers. All she could remember was falling, her body feeling leaden, into bed. As her mind awakened and felt sharper she began to think in a way she had not allowed herself to do for the past three days. She felt the emptiness of the room and the absence of a man whose life she had shared for so many years, and fear gripped her. Her chest constricted in a feeling of real pain and in the solitude of her room, Annie allowed herself to let go of the tears and hurt that had been building since Clay’s death. At last, she arose and walked to the kitchen and began building a fire in the old cook stove. Soon she had a cup of hot coffee in her hands. She put a coat around her shoulders and walked outside. It looked more like a winter day in January day than one in mid-March with a cold wind blowing over the valley and the gloomy fog hanging limply over the mountaintops as it had on the day Clay died.

As she surveyed the farm, Annie again felt the fear that had gripped her earlier. Only yesterday she had promised the children that no matter what happened they would stay together on the farm. Even as she had uttered the words, she knew what a formidable task was ahead. She started to walk, ignoring the morning chill, and as she went past the well and around the side of the house her movements disturbed the chickens in the coop a few hundred yards away. Fleetingly, she hoped there would be enough eggs in the nests for breakfast. She passed the smokehouse and remembered her thoughts on the day Clay had died about the meager supplies that were left inside. The little brown house had been such a joy, and so pretty, on that day twenty-four years ago when Clay had brought her here, but now as she rounded each corner she noted, as she had several times over the past few years, how the rich brown had faded and become drab. Maybe this year we can get the old house painted like you want it, Clay had said often. There never seemed to be enough money, or time, to accomplish the task. She walked by the long front porch, saw the barn in the distance, and thought, absently, that soon the cows would need to be milked and the horses fed.

This had been her home for twenty-four years … this small, brown house set on about 20 acres as Clay would say when asked about the size of his farm.

Returning to the kitchen, she looked through the dining room toward the bedroom, feeling somehow, that behind the plain plank door something ominous and forbidding lurked. She had seen Clay retrieve it often enough, pour over its contents, and return it to the place it had laid for so many years. She never inquired and he never volunteered information, but she knew the object could well hold the key to the success or failure of her future. She could wait a few days; maybe it wasn’t proper to look at such worldly things so quickly after Clay’s death, but her mind told her every minute counted. And there were eleven people crammed into the small house that needed food and other essentials. Her mind threw up one argument after another, but in the end she knew what she must do.

Annie walked cautiously toward the bedroom feeling as if she was being watched, but she knew the children were still asleep and she was alone. She went to the tall bureau in the corner and felt in the top drawer underneath several layers of clothing until her hands touched the thing she was seeking and took from the reserved niche a dog-eared black folder tied with a frayed ribbon … attesting to its years of use. She went back to the warmth of the kitchen and sitting down at the table slowly untied the ribbon and began reading the contents. She finished, leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and sighed deeply. Her circumstances were not good, but then she hadn’t expected anything different. It seemed Clay had taken out a loan on the farm a few years ago and the Pikeville National Bank held a lien against the property. He had paid back $400 of the $800 he had borrowed, but a payment of $200, plus $20 in interest, was due by the end of August. She supposed he had arranged payment to coincide with the harvest at the end of summer. A plain brown envelope underneath the other papers held $100 in cash. Annie shivered and felt her chest constrict with fear again. Was there any way in the world she could keep her family and farm together? She heard stirrings from the other bedrooms and quickly returned the folder to its usual place. As she closed the drawer, she gripped the hard surface of the bureau with such force her hands felt the pain, and the fear she felt was replaced with a resolution … a resolution that somehow she would accomplish what she knew she had to do. She had no idea how, but she knew her life was not worth living otherwise.

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Winter hung on that year, and in early April Annie awakened to find the ground white with snow. She heaved a sigh … something she did often and without any awareness, and wondered if spring would ever arrive. She looked out the kitchen window toward the barn across the large expanse of what would soon be the vegetable garden and thought how pretty and clean everything looked. Her mind wondered and she was soon thinking of her home and Bailey Creek. Now that Clay was gone, was this really where she wanted to spend the rest of her life? Or for that matter, could she even keep the farm, work the land, pay the bills, and take care of the children. The older ones would be leaving soon but she still had many mouths to feed and bodies to clothe.

As she had done often since Clay’s passing she thought back to that day when she had first come to Bailey Creek and wondered how in the world twenty-four years had passed so quickly. At the time she was just 16 years old but much older in experience. She was only 13 that fateful day when her Mother left home never to return. She had cared for the house, her father and two younger brothers until Clay came into her life.

Shaking her head to clear the thoughts crowding in, Annie grabbed the large crockery bowl from the side board which was half full of flour. Using her hands she cleared a well in the center of the flour and poured in milk without measuring. Then using her fingers she added two pinches of salt and a pinch of baking powder and began pulling the flour into the milk. Soon with a few dexterous moves there was a large soft mound of biscuit dough. In short order that was pinched, patted, and pummeled into a very large pan of beautiful white biscuits, enough to feed eleven people. Mommy, Mommy, Annie was jolted back to the present as Bobby came running to her as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him. Andrew was chasing him with a sizeable stick. Annie picked up the boys one under each arm and carried them to the kitchen window. Look what happened while you were asleep, she said to the young boys. They giggled and clapped their hands as they looked at the beautiful sight, begging and pleading to play in the snow. Annie smiled, happy to have the antics of the two young boys to help make her life bearable these days. Suddenly the kitchen was overflowing with children and young adults all enamored by the late snow and all as hungry as bears.

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Franklin Delano Roosevelt had been sworn in as President of the United States on March 4, 1933 promising new and better things for all Americans. Things were indeed changing throughout the nation and in the rural areas of Kentucky as well. In an area already recognized as poverty stricken, the crash of 1929 and subsequent events had hurt rural farmers and laborers in eastern Kentucky especially hard. With tough Irish, Dutch, and German ancestry, the hillbillies of Kentucky were not afraid of hard work, indeed they welcomed it, but they had been hard-pressed to find any kind of work for the past few years. One of Roosevelt's New Deal programs directly affected the Miller family.

It was a warm day near the end of April. The last vestiges of snow had finally disappeared, the slush had started to dry up, days were getting longer, and the chirping of birds had awakened Annie before her usual get-up time. Thoughts about her financial situation, how to keep the farm going, and how to take care of the family had begun to weigh heavily on her mind. She knew some decisions had to be made soon. Sighing, she said aloud to the empty room, Guess today is as good as any to let the family know how bad off we are. But she would not tell them about the loan payment due on the property. That would be her secret until she had no other choice.

All right, everyone, she announced after breakfast don't rush off to do your own things this morning. It's Saturday, there's no school, and today's a good day to get some things settled. We have a lot to talk about. You know your Daddy was getting ready to start working in the fields when he died. This was the first time his death had been openly acknowledged in front of the whole family, and the statement hung heavy in the quietness that followed. Quickly recovering, Annie continued, It is up to us now, and we don't have a choice as to whether or not we work the farm as usual. I only have enough money to get us through a few more months. We need the vegetables for our own table, and we need to sell some wheat and oats to get us through next winter. And here is the way we are going to do it; Chalmer, you, Greta, and Clinton are young adults. But, as long as you are here, I expect to be able to count on your help. She didn't wait for an answer, but turned and starting talking to the others. David, Peachie, and Lydia, we are going to be counting on your help, too. Counting me, that is seven of us. Now, I don't mean just help, as you have done in the past. I mean work! I mean plow, hoe, seed, and whatever else it takes to get things growing. Annie was walking around the kitchen now as she talked, clasping and unclasping her hands, and becoming more animated the longer she talked. It was as if she thought they would all say no and disappear, or that it was too big of a task for them to undertake without Clay, or maybe it was just her own fear making her get louder and more adamant with each word. Chalmer seems you're off in another world. Didn't you hear me?" Annie had interrupted his thoughts and the feeling of apprehension that had been with him for days.

I'm sorry. Guess I was thinking about something else. His throat was dry. Mommy, I have something I’ve wanted to tell you since even before Dad died, but I just hadn't got around to it. I'm leaving the first of June. Another statement to hang suspended in mid-air … something like a bomb just before the explosion. She stopped pacing then, and with slow and deliberate steps, crossed to where he was seated. What do you mean you're leaving? she asked her tone icy and out-of-character. You’re leaving to marry Zona, I guess?

Oh, no. I wouldn't leave you in a lurch, knowing how badly you need help now. Oh, no, he said again shaking his head, I just wouldn't do that to you. Her face softened then and she relaxed a bit. Wait here, Chalmer said as he hurriedly left the table and quickly returned with a newspaper and a smaller piece of paper that he placed in front of Annie. His anxiety gone now, excitement came into his voice as he began to talk. You know how you're always saying you think President Roosevelt is a great man, and he is going to save us all, and how you wish you could get more newspapers to read. Well, here is a newspaper I picked up just a few days ago when I went to town. Look at the front page, Mommy. See," he said pointing. She read the headlines: OUT-OF-WORK KENTUCKIANS TAKE ADVANTAGE OF PRESIDENT'S NEW DEAL and a smaller caption said: The Civilian Conservation Corps, better known as the CCC, a lifesaver for many. As she read, Annie began to get a faint idea of what Chalmer was trying to tell her.

Chalmer pushed his chair back from the table. Feeling the necessity of projecting an image of strength, he crossed his legs, straightened his shoulders, and took a deep breath. I'm a man now, Mommy, and I can make my own decisions, and I think joining the CCC is the right thing to do. I'll make $30 a month and half of it will be sent right to you. By the time your money runs out, you'll have some from me. Don't you see? This is the right thing to do, he repeated.

You’re right, Chalmer, you are a man, and I don’t have any right to make your decisions for you. How much do you know about this CCC, and how sure are you that this is the thing you should be doing? Annie asked.

I didn’t mean to be smart … about making my own decisions, but I’ve talked with a lot of people in Pikeville, and they all say it’s the best thing any President has ever done for this country. All I know is, I sure couldn’t get a job around here anywhere that will pay me $30 a month, and I know this family needs money. You’ve just said the same thing. Well, I have a way of making money to help us all out.

Annie gave her usual sigh, knowing that what he said made a lot of sense and was a mature decision on his part. Okay, so you’re going to be leaving us. This simple statement was approval enough for Chalmer.

And don't worry. Before I leave here in four weeks, all the fields and gardens will be plowed, and besides, David and Vernon are getting to be big boys. They can take my place, he said looking across the table and winking at the sad-eyed boys.

Hey, guess where I'm going and what I'll be doing with the CCC? There was no answer.

Come on now. I'm not leaving forever. I'm going out west. You know. Where they have cowboys and all, he continued, again looking at his younger brothers. I'll be living in a tent, and I even get to wear a uniform. Somebody please say something!

The quiet was finally broken. Everybody was talking at once. Where is it again that you're going, and what's it … will you see any real cowboys … is it dangerous? Does it take a long time to get there? Suddenly Peachy and Lydia started to cry.

Getting up from her chair, Annie spoke in a loud voice, That's enough, now! We have work to do today. With Chalmer leaving, we need all the time we can find to get the plowing done. Look, the sun is up and I'll just bet it’s going to be a real spring day. Peachie, you and Lydia take care of the little ones. David, you and Vernon will go with me to help get supplies. Chalmer you can hitch up old Bill and start plowing the Upper Bottom. You, Clinton, take Clyde and start on the Lower Bottom.

Clinton was the first to leave. He wanted to get out quickly. His announcement would have to wait for another day.

After a long winter filled with tragedy, late snows, and very cold weather, spring erupted in an unequaled profusion of color and warm temperatures. Plows had turned under the last remnants of the cold, hard, debris-strewn winter ground, and the two bottoms surrounding the Miller property were now soft, brown earthy furrows waiting to be seeded. The small creek in front of the house was still full from the melting snows, and gurgled peacefully as it meandered down the valley. In back of the property where the plowed fields stopped, the land sloped gently upward for a short distance and then took a dramatic steep turn to the top of the mountain. Most of the trees were turning green with the first rush of new life. Scattered among the green trees were beautiful redbuds, and magnificent white dogwoods were beginning to put on their spring show.

True to his word, Chalmer worked every daylight hour to make the most of his time before his departure, and had even picked up some extra work down the creek. A little of the money had been set aside for a surprise for Annie. He was sure he had seen tears in her eyes when he set the cans of paint in front of her and announced the house would be painted before he left. He had often heard her and his father speak of painting the house and this was something he wanted to do before leaving. He had a feeling he would never again come back to the house to live as he did now. He had painted on the house every spare minute enlisting Clinton’s help when he felt maybe he wouldn’t get it finished in time. After making a final swipe with the brush, he climbed down from the ladder and walked to the front so he could survey his handiwork.

Are you finished? Annie called as she came out of the house.

Sure am, Mommy. Come look.

She came to stand beside him as they looked at the house. The contrast was striking. Where only recently the dwelling had simply seemed to fade into the landscape, it now fairly glowed as it sat white and proud against the backdrop of the beautiful mountainside. They stood for a while, not able it seemed, to get their feel of the new look. The yard was quickly filled with the others as they, too, came to survey the completed transformation. The bright tin roof and the long front porch running the full width of the house looked as if they were new additions since they were no longer overpowered by the drabness of the house.

You've been a good son, Annie said picking up the edge of her apron and wiping visible tears from her eyes.

David said it looked bigger, and Jewel, prancing around the yard, said it was the prettiest house she had ever seen. They all agreed and loved the new look of their home.

With just a week left, I think I'll just take a couple of days off if that's all right with you. Wanted to say goodbye to a few old' buddies. Chalmer said to Annie. He hesitated, and taking a deep breath continued, knowing how this subject always upset her. And … I will be going to say goodbye to Zona. So don't guess you'll see much of me until Monday morning. He made this last statement as he walked toward the door.

Chalmer soaked in the big galvanized bathtub, his long, lean frame, beginning to become brown now from his days outside, filled every spare inch. His thoughts were going in many directions. He didn't feel real sorrow at leaving; instead he was full of anticipation and looked forward to traveling to places he had only heard about. He would miss them all, but most of all he would miss Zona. He understood why people felt the way they did about her. But he knew she was not like her family, and he knew when they were married he would never let her live like they did. If only his mother and father felt the way he did! His father had said in no uncertain terms that there was no way he could bring trash like that in my house. Now his father was gone, and he only had Annie to worry about. He had been biding his time, and trying hard to save enough money so they could have a place of their own. He could not possibly imagine spending even one night in the house Zona called home. He couldn't bring her here. It was getting more tortuous every day. Thank goodness, the CCC had come along. He would have no choice but to stay away, and as soon as he saved enough money, he would return to marry Zona.

As he left the house, he was trying to decide whether to visit old friends tonight and Zona tomorrow or the other way around. I'll just go see Zona today, he thought to himself, and if I decide to go to town, I can walk to Albin's house. Since its Saturday, he will have his Dad's truck tonight. Having made that decision, he turned quickly and walked in the direction of Zona's.

About two miles up the road; he crossed, by way of a footbridge, a small section of Bailey Creek, and opened a gate to the sound of groaning rusty hinges. He entered the yard of Cledis and Bessie Lou King's property, a short cut he sometimes took on his way to see Zona. For as long as Chalmer could remember, they had lived here with Bessie Lou's mother, Aunt Ludie and their three children. He had never seen these people work at anything other than a small vegetable garden near the house. He wondered how they lived.

Howdy, Chalmer, said Cledis from a rocking chair on the front porch, a location where he could often be found, I hear you've joined up with the CCC. When you leaving?

Next week … Saturday, replied Chalmer.

Well, you come see us now, you hear. Having uttered this, Cledis readjusted a tattered black hat over his eyes, leaned back in the rocker, and was soon dozing again. Having just left a neat, freshly painted house with freshly plowed fields the King’s place had never looked as cluttered and disgusting as it did today. No wonder this small area off Bailey Creek had become known as Poor Bottom. The King's house was the first of six homes that made up the area that had somehow got the name, which so aptly described both the dwellings and its inhabitants.

He made his way gingerly around tree limbs, piles of rubbish, tubs, barrels, and other indistinguishable items to the back gate where he heard raucous laughter coming from the direction of the barn. It was too late to retrace his steps and take the long way around. The group of three or four young men gathered there had spotted him, and one came running in his direction.

I hear you've joined up with the CCC, When ya leavin? ask George.

Chalmer repeated what he had just told Cledis. Come on over here; you gotta hear Aunt Ludie. She's puttin' on a show today, said George, shaking his head with glee as he grabbed Chalmer’s arm and pulled him toward the barn.

Aunt Ludie had frightened Chalmer when he was a young boy just as she frightened about every other young child who ever saw her. She was surrounded now by a group of what Annie called 'the lazy, good-for-nothing Poor Bottom boys'. All the local young people referred to her as the witch and as she sat now on a roughly hewn bench, it was easy to see how she had come by the name. A black bonnet tied under her chin revealed only a portion of her face that was so wrinkled and brown, it resembled leather. Wisps of gray hair darted out from her face like small silver tentacles, and thin lips barely covered her three or four remaining teeth. Her dark, dirty dress came to her ankles where black high-top shoes took over.

What’re you doin', Aunt Ludie? another of the young men was asking as Chalmer and George approached.

Scratching my tittie, she cackled removing her hand from inside the bodice of her dress.

Chalmer laughed with the rest, but felt reviled at this utter nonsense, and mumbling something about being in a hurry, made a quick exit. As he shut the last rusty gate to the King property, he could just catch a glimpse of Zona's house around a bend in the road.

Hey Arizona, Chalmer's coming up the road, Bertha Martin called to her daughter.

Don't call me that! You know I hate it, she shot back.

All right, then. ZONA. Sound better?

Yes. I’m going to change my name anyway. You gave me the craziest name I’ve ever heard. Why did you do that? She said with all the agitation and anger she could command. But the anger was short-lived as she waited for Chalmer. She was hoping he would come by today and had dressed for the occasion. .

You haven't been around much lately, she commented.

I've been busy plowing and painting and doing things around the house before I leave. Just couldn't get away.

Bet you're tired. Let's go sit and talk awhile, she said walking away from the house toward a secluded spot they had shared before. He was glad to get away from the prying eyes of Zona's siblings as well as her parents. They walked toward a stand of trees to a small wooden bench. It was still within sight of the house and people, but provided them with a private place to talk.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Chalmer asked, Think Bertha would let you go to town with me today? He fully expected her to say she couldn't go.

What do you mean, LET ME? I'm 17 years old now, and I can do what I want, she said flippantly, her dark eyes flashing with excitement as she thought of the possibility of going on such an adventure. She had only been to Pikeville a few times in her life, and to be totally alone with Chalmer set her heart racing. She was beside herself as she raced ahead of him, her short red and white polka-dot dress fluttering around her brown thighs as she ran.

Mama, Mama, she cried, I'm going to town with Chalmer, and waited defiantly for an answer. Looking into her mother's strong impassive face, she thought a change of tone might be in order. Please, Mama, say yes. He's leaving Saturday, and I don't know when I'll see him again, she said in a more conciliatory voice.

The large woman in a dirty dress and apron with jet-black hair pulled tightly into a bun at the back of the neck got up with an effort and ambled toward Zona. Taking a once-white cloth from her apron pocket she mopped rivulets of perspiration from her neck and chest. Why does she always sweat, thought Zona as she watched her Mother walk forward slowly.

Zona's three young brothers were listening to their mother and sister. Junior, Amos, and Bennie always managed to make Chalmer's every visit miserable and humiliating. They would taunt the young couple until finally Bertha removed them from the scene with horrible threats of impending disaster, and on more than one occasion with sheer force.

Mama, if you let her go, damn it we’re going, too, announced Junior, the oldest of the boys, and as always the ringleader of all their shenanigans. He’s got a mean streak in him a mile wide, Bertha had often commented Someday. Someday At this point, she would stop and shake her head as if the thought of ‘someday’ was more than she could bear. Suddenly the boys were yelling and cursing for all they were worth.

Mama, make them shut up!

All right, that's enough. You little hellions, get your asses away from here. NOW! Git! I said NOW. More taunts as they rounded the house. You better not let her go alone; you know what they're going to do.

Chalmer watched in embarrassment although he had witnessed such exhibitions on many occasions. The run-down house, the obscenities, and the filth were always overcome