Barn
raising is a community affair that takes place in almost all rural
societies across the country. In Texas, nearly every community event
also includes a barbecue, although it’s sometimes by default. It
all depends on why the barn needs raising.
A
LITTLE TORNADO came through last week and Nate Simmons’ barn got
flattened. Specially bad for Mr. Simmons, two cows were in the barn
at the time and didn’t make it out alive. All it meant was there
was plenty of meat for a barbecue when all the neighbors came around
to rebuild the barn.
The cows got butchered right away and Mr. Simmons managed to sell
quite a bit, but there was still a good half left over for the
barbecue. My Pa and me went to help set up a pit right after and by
the next Saturday, it was all ready to put the half cow on the spit.
It does take a couple of days to roast a half, so Mr. Simmons got it
fired up on Thursday, so by Saturday it was pretty much ready to go.
All the neighbors gathered up
their tools and their families. We packed up and headed over to Mr.
Simmons along with everybody else. Mr. Simmons brought in a load of
lumber so everybody just brought their tools. We got there in the
mornin’ and the men made good progress on clearin’ the scrap from
the old barn and startin’ to frame up the new one. They salvaged
what they could, stackin’ the good lumber to one side. They built
some rough tables from a few pieces that wouldn’t be any good for
the barn. Of course, people brought along chairs and such as they
knew folks would need some place to sit come meal time.
The ladies, bein’ warned,
already baked up biscuits and pies. More’n one family brought a
kettle full of beans or potatoes ready to serve. They set those
around the fire pit to keep warm while the work of barn raisin’ was
in progress. I helped by carryin’ tools and boards to the men as
they worked. It got pretty noisy what with all the poundin’ and
sawin’ goin’ on.
Along about noon, we could smell
the beef pretty good and it made my mouth water. Ma called me over
and handed me a gunny sack.
“You go fetch corn, Eddie. We’ll
need mebbe fifty ears so don’t come back without that many.”
“Yes’m, Ma. Can I take along
Sister? She can pick the low ears while I get the high ones.”
“Sure enough. She’s gettin’
big enough to carry her weight,” Ma said then she went back to
stirrin’ the kettles sittin’ next to the pit.
I grabbed Sister, who’s really
Dorothy, but we called her Sister. Anyways, we took off to the corn
field and proceeded to pull the ripe ears off the stalks. It takes
the right eye to get the ripe ones. Some folks have to peel back the
silk from the ear and take a look. Me and Sister had done this so
many times, we could tell just by how fat the ear looked. So, we were
movin’ along pretty good and had about half the ears Ma said to
get.
I looked down the row to see how
far we’d got when I saw a skunk traipsin’ up toward me. First
off, I wondered what the little polecat was doin’ out in the middle
of the day. Most often, they hunt at night. I stopped quick and
looked around to see where Sister was. I couldn’t see her, so I
decided just to let her know.
“Hey, Sister. There’s a skunk
up here, so don’t go up the row no more,” I yelled.
“What row, Eddie?” she
hollered back.
“The row I’m on,” I answered
and wondered why she couldn’t have figured that out herself.
“Which row, I say-ed?” she
asked again, soundin’ a little disgusted now.
“This darn row!” Why didn’t
the fool girl know which row I was on. Then, it occurred to me I
didn’t know where she was neither.
“Say somethin’ again and I’ll
find you.”
“I’m heeere!” she sang out.
I could tell she was in front of
me and a row or two south. I looked back to where the skunk was, but
he’d disappeared. It came to me she might be close to where the
skunk was by this time.
“Look out for the skunk,” I
called out.
“What skunk?” Sometimes I
wondered if she thought anything out.
“The skunk I said was up in
front of me,” I said a bit on the mad side now.
Then I heard the scream from
Sister and I figured she’d found the skunk. I dropped the sack of
corn and ducked through the corn row. Sister ran smack into me. I saw
the skunk no more’n five feet up the row. He was stampin’ his
feet and hissin’ to beat the band. They do that afore they spray.
Then, he raised up on its front legs, rear-end pointin’ right at
us. He was fixin’ to shoot!
I grabbed Sister by the arm and
jumped through the row back the way I’d come. I pulled her through
just in time as I could smell the skunk had let loose. I grabbed up
the sack and we both hightailed it up the row in the opposite
direction as the skunk.
We ain’t gone more than a couple
of steps when we see another skunk in front of us. Then another! We
was bein’ overrun with skunks. I dropped the bag of corn as it was
slowin’ me down. Sister and me jumped through to the next row and
looked both ways to see if any more skunks were headed our way. We
didn’t see none, so we skedaddled back out of the cornfield. When
we got to the end, we stopped to think over our situation some.
“Ma won’t be none too happy we
didn’t bring back the corn,” Sister pointed out the obvious.
“Well, I don’t want to go back
in there,” I answered, thinkin’ fast as I knew Sister was right.
Skunk smell or a lickin’? Not much of a choice, so I decided we’d
go back in for the corn.
“C’mon, then. We gotta go back
and get the corn.”
“Nooo, I’m not goin’,”
Sister got her stubborn voice and I knew it wouldn’t do any good to
argue with her.
“All right, but I’m goin’
tell Ma you didn’t help,” I answered knowin’ it was the only
thing that might change her mind.
“She didn’t say I had to go,
she just said I could go. Eddie, you’re not goin’ to put this off
on me.” With that, she swung herself around to march off. I grabbed
her shoulder and her braids whipped around and hit me in the face. It
didn’t bother me, though. I was gettin’ desperate, after all.
“Ow!” she yelled and kicked me
in the shins. I was glad I wore my boots so it didn’t hurt much.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I
just need your help,” I whined some so she’d feel sorry for me.
We both stood there for awhile
lookin’ at the corn patch, tryin’ to decide how we’d go about
gettin’ in and out.
“What if we just pick the corn
on the edge here?” Sister asked.
“No good. The stalks out here
don’t have much good corn. We’d never get fifty ears.”
We continued to stand there
starin’ at the patch, hopin’ something would come to mind.
“We’ll just have to go in,”
I finally decided and squared myself up to the task.
Once we’d decided–although
Sister still looked like she’d bolt–we headed back into the corn.
Our best move was to get the sack as it already had half the corn we
needed. So, we started down the row where I’d dropped it.
I didn’t see any sign of the
skunk, so I was hopin’ she was gone. I figured the others to be her
pups, since skunks are usually loners. It was no wonder she was in a
fightin’ mood as I was between her and her children. Any mother
would be het up.
We got the sack with no further
trouble, filled it up, and headed back to the barbecue pit. Ma saw us
comin’ and waved us to put the sack by some big kettles with water
heatin’ up. As soon as the water started to boil, then we’d drop
the ears in. But, I knew our job wasn’t finished as we also had to
husk the corn.
I saw my friend Red watchin’ the
men work, so I called him over to help. We got the ears shuck in no
time at all. He did notice one small problem.
“This corn stinks, Eddie. Where
didja get it?” he asked whilst holdin’ his nose with one hand and
tryin’ to shuck with the other.
“We ran into a skunk,” I
answered a mite testily as he didn’t have to go in the corn patch
and didn’t have no right to complain.
Sister didn’t answer him, but
she did punch him in the arm. That’s generally her way of dealin’
with a complainer.
The water was startin’ to boil,
so we threw the ears in, dividin’ them between the two big kettles.
Ma saw we were puttin’ the corn in, so she came over to check our
work. She’s particular about shuckin’ and doesn’t like if we
leave too much silk on the cobs.
As she got near us, she started
wrinklin’ her nose and I knew she was smellin’ the skunk, too.
“What in tarnation happened to
this corn?” she asked, glarin’ at me and Sister.
“Ma,
it ain’t our fault. There was a skunk in the corn. Matter of fact,
there were five skunks in the corn. We jus’ didn’t get away in
time. We were lucky it didn’t hit us, too.” I ran out the
excuses, so just shut my mouth.
Ma stood there lookin’ down her
nose at us with her arms crossed. Her glasses were glintin’ in the
sun so I couldn’t see her eyes, but I figured what they looked
like. I’d seen that look often enough to know.
“You two, and you Red, go back
to the corn field and get up another fifty ears,” she pronounced
our sentence.
Glumly, I grabbed the bag, but Ma
took it away and tossed it in the pit where it lit up and was gone in
a flash. She grabbed up another bag and handed it over.
The skunks seemed to have left the
territory, so we had no more problems. We got up another bag of corn,
shucked it, and threw it in the fresh pots of water Ma put to
boilin’. Our previous bunch o’ corn went in the pit. The ears
burned slower than the bag since the corn was fresh, so to speak.
After it was all said and done,
though, it was a good barbecue and we finished up the barn by dusk.
Everybody headed home weary, but glad they could help out a neighbor
in need. That’s just the way it worked around these parts. Sister
and me were just glad we escaped the skunks in the corn patch.
Saturnalia: The Romans liked mid-winter to celebrate something, so Saturn got the festival. This one was usurped for the Christmas myth. Don't get all twisted. Christmas is not a celebration for Jesus. It's a way to get the Pagans to sign up.
Kwanzaa: Created in 1966, Kwanzaa was made up by a California guy to highlight African-american culture. Cool thought, but I'd just as soon we'd say: "What? Obama is black? Wow, I didn't know that." Keeping separate ensures separateness. Hey! Doesn't that look like a Menorah?
