Sunset on the Buffalo

By Martha White Lee

Do you like history?

This book is definitely for local history enthusiasts especially the lower Buffalo River.Read a story based on the lives of families when they lived in the Buffalo River area beginning at the mining town of Rush to the Buffalos confluence with the White River and on up the White to Old Buffalo aka Old Buffalo City.

After a family gets settled on their newly acquired property, one of their sons, the main character, befriends an older gentleman. The lad visits him frequently.He listens to the gentlemans stories of actual happenings during the early days of that region.

Do you know who Jessie James was? Most of us learned about the Civil War in our History classes at school. Steamboats were a source of traveling up or down rivers back in the 1800s.This story will take you back in time from the Civil War Era to the mid-1940s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984515629

Martha White Lee

Martha White Lee is a native of Buffalo, Arkansas which became Buffalo City in 1987. She and her husband Gary, a Vietnam Veteran, have been married 50 years. The couple are parents of three children, two deceased at ages 21 and 16. She is living her dream of being a grandma to three grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Coming from a family of 13 children, she is the youngest. At Buford, Arkansas, she attended the one room school for three years until Mountain Home School began busing the students to Mountain Home. Going on 31 years now, she resides on a mountain in Buffalo City which she named Echo Ridge and overlooks Old Buffalo City.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The first fingers of dawn played across the blue haze of the firmament. Irad blinked his eyes and glanced toward the eastern sky as the last visible traces of night escaped the mountain peaks and soared in freedom over the Buffalo River Valley. The sun’s brilliance reflected in the water of the Buffalo River running through this untamed, ageless, harsh and beautiful land.

From the chicken house, a rooster’s dedication to duty greeted the day with his boisterous cock-a-doodle-do. Irad removed the worn quilt, stretched then sat up on the edge of the down mattress. Arthritic fingers rubbed his weather-beaten, whiskered face and gray unkempt hair. Slowly he reached for the faded shirt and bib overalls hanging on the bedpost. Worn socks and leather boots completed his attire.

Hattie, the black and tan coonhound, lay undisturbed on the front porch of the small quaint cabin. She stood when Irad opened the front door. He greeted her with a pat on the head. From the water bucket, he filled the metal wash basin, washed his face and hands with the well-used bar of lye soap, wiping them with a threadbare towel.

A fire soon crackled in the wood cookstove. Irad poured water and added coffee grounds to the enamel coffeepot then placed it on the back burner. After tending to morning chores, he would prepare breakfast and drink a fresh cup of coffee.

Daylight arrived earlier now as did the warmer temperatures. The coal oil lantern didn’t need to be lit. From the nail by the front door, Irad grabbed his crumpled hat and stepped outside. He walked toward the barn as Hattie ambled close beside. At the lot, he opened the gate. Jughead the mule and Dobbin the mare trotted through, anxious to get to the fresh growth of green grass.

Opening its weathered door, Irad entered the barn accommodating two stables and a loft. He filled the feed bucket with grain. Greeting Bossy the Jersey cow with a good morning Gurl, he opened the manger gate and poured the feed in the trough. Reaching for the milk bucket that hung on a nail, he slowly squatted and began milking. It only took a few minutes until he was through; in a couple days, he needed to let her milk dry up for the birth of her calf that was due in two weeks. Before leaving the barn, he filled the cat’s bowl. Sugar thanked him with a loud purr as she rubbed against his legs then hungrily lapped the milk.

Closing the barn door, Irad headed to the chicken house and propped its door open. The strutting rooster and his brood of clucking coop dwellers could hardly wait to escape. They scurried around the barn lot pecking in the dirt for bugs trying to escape their demise. Before leaving the hen house, he checked for fresh laid eggs. Rough boards nailed together in a long rectangular shaped box cradled the nests which were filled with hay. No snakes stealing eggs this morning.

Irad traipsed back to the cabin. Placing the bucket of milk and the eggs on the kitchen table, he returned to the porch and washed his hands. He grabbed a white cloth from the cabinet drawer then strained the foamy milk into a glass jar. Picking up the fresh milk, an extra jar and a small bowl, he headed to the springhouse.

The smokehouse sat between the cabin and springhouse. After placing the jar of fresh milk in the spring, he filled the empty jar with milk from the previous day and spooned butter in the bowl. He stopped by the smokehouse and sliced a hunk of bacon off the slab hanging from the rafter.

Irad cooked bacon, biscuits, and gravy. After drinking the last sup of coffee, he wiped his mouth, got up shoving the ladder-back chair against the table. From the kettle on the wood stove, he poured hot water into the dishpans and mixed in some cold water. He washed the white straining rag first, rinsed it and hung it on the nail by the window. Next he washed the milk bucket, silverware, cup, plate, bread pan and cast iron skillet. He dried each piece after washing them then returned them to their proper places. Kitchen chores were completed for the morning.

I’ll hoe the garden today since I got the corn patch worked yesterday, he muttered to himself. He reached for his hat again, opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.

Hello! yelled a strange voice toward the cabin, anybody home?

Hattie, standing beside Irad, perked her ears, growled then started barking. Quiet, Hattie, he commanded with a low-keyed, gentle voice. He stepped from the porch, walking slowly and cautiously toward the stranger, Hattie at his side.

Hullo, Irad responded with a drawl.

The stranger stepped toward Irad with his right hand outstretched in a reflexive gesture, introducing himself, My name is Charley…….Charley White.

Shaking hands, Irad responded, Nice to meet ya. I’m Irad Middleton. This is my dog Hattie. Charley turned and pointed to his wife and children. He and Irad sauntered over to the wagon which had cooking pots and chicken coops hanging on its side and a tethered cow following behind.

This is my wife Emma, and children Walter, whom we call Walt, and Pearl, Charley continued.

The trio exchanged smiles and handshakes with Irad. Charley explained, We’ve traveled from North Carolina across Tennessee, crossed the Mississippi River and then on to here. Irad noticed their tired faces.

"Get down and come rest a spell if