1bobbylee on Family Tree Circles
Journals and Posts
"In my short story, "Uncle Clyde, Please! Drive the boat" I described the nostalgic feeling I received when I viewed the white two story country store at Cross Springs, S.C. As noted in the journal, I had a delightful visit with a sweet lady. The store had been in her husband's family for four generations. A wide assortment of 19th century items were displayed for sale and purchased by many South Carolinians.
I came across the 19th century recipes below while surfing the internet.
I thought they might be a delightful addition to complement the 19th century era.
Listed are three 19th Century recipes.
COLONIAL AMERICA JOHNNY CAKES
Beat one egg and stir in 2 cups of cornmeal, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1 1/2 cups milk. This is your batter. Drop spoonfuls of this batter on a well-greased pan, and fry until they are brown on both sides.
Serve them hot with butter, sugar, or honey. Yield: 10-12 cakes.
NATIVE AMERICAN RECIPE
Cook a cup of wild rice in 2 1/2 cups of water, with a pinch of salt, for about 45 minutes on low heat. It will be ready when all the water is absorbed and the rice is soft. Stir in one cup of blue berries, and serve warm. Serves 4-6 people. (May add some sugar)
(You know, a little milk poured in may have the taste buds popping.)
EGG DROP SOUP
Boil about 4 cups of chicken broth and 2 cups water in a covered pot, then add a cornstarch mixture (2 tablespoons cornstarch, with 4 tablespoons water) while stirring add two slightly beaten eggs. Finally add a tablespoon of chopped scallions.
Here are three recipes that are inexpensive and easy to prepare. Try something "Way Out." You may be surprised how good it tastes.
You folks way up in the north country may appreciate these stomach warming recipes. "Well", "I think just about anyone would."
Source: I discoverd these 19th century recipes on the internet.. Unfortuntely, I did not write down web site address.
To all of you who are related to Col Philemon Waters or think you may be, might find this narrative interesting and enjoyable.
Col. Waters was born, 1 Sep. 1734 - D 29 Mar. 1796 In Newberry County, South Carolina. The Colonel came to Newberry SC sometime before the Revolutiony War.
In 1754, he enlisted in the regiment raised by the State of Virginia to maintain her rights to the territory on the Ohio, then occupied by the French. The regiment was commanded by Col. Fry; his second in command. The regiment was commanded by Lt. Colonel George Washington. He in advance of the regiment, took post at the Great Meadows with two companies. In one of them, it is believed was Philemon Waters. With these companies, Col. George Washington surprised and captured a party of French, who were on their way to surprise him. The commander, M. Jumonville, was killed. On the march of the residue of the regiment to join Lt. Col Washington at the Great Meadows, Col Fry died, and the command devolved on Lt Col Washington. He erected at the Great Meadows a stockade fort (afterwards called Fort Necessity) to secure the provisions and horses; and after leaving a sufficient guard to maintain the post, he pushed on with the balance of his command, less than 400 men, to attack and dislodge the French at Fort du Quesne, at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers (now Pittsburgh). They were halted "at the westernmost foot of Laurel Hill," thirteen miles from the Great Meadows, by the intelligence of the friendly Indians, who informed them in their figurative language, "that the enemy were rapidly advancing as "the pigeons in the woods." A retreat was deemed necessary, and accordingly Col. Washington fell back to Fort Necessity, and commenced a ditch around it. Before it was completed, the enemy 1,500 strong, under the oommand of Monsieur De Villier, appeared and attacked the fort. The action was continued from ten in the morning until dark. The Frenchman demanded a parley, and offered terms of capitulation. The first offers were rejected, "but in the course of the night articles were signed by which the fort was surrendered. The conditions were that its garrison should be allowed the honors of war- should be permitted to retain their arms and baggage, and to march without molestation into the inhabitated parts of Virginia.
An incident in the life of Col Waters occured, which rests altogether in tradition, but which I have no doubt is true, from the source from which it is derived. It was stated to have occured at Fort Necessity during the siege. During the occupation of Fort Necessity, the sentinel had been night after night shot down at a particular post. Waters was detailed in his turn for that station; knowing its dangers, he loaded his musket with slugs or buckshot, and took his post, "wide awake." In the course of his turn, he heard some noise like the grunting of a hog, and observing by the moonlight, at the same time, the tall grass of the prarie shaking; as if some animal or person was moving therein, he put to use his own expression, "Three hails in one." fired and killed two indians and three Frenchmen! They were on all fours behind each other, stealthily approaching the sentinel, when his well directed fire defeated so fatally their purpose. On the surrender of the post, the French commander inquired for the sentinel, who had occupied the post, fired without hailing, and killed the two indians and three Frenchmen, with a view of excepting him (as it was supposed) from the amesty granted to the garrison. Washington, unwilling to expose his gallant young soldier for "once" spoke falsely. He had fallen, he said, in the attack and defense of the post. Waters stood behind his Colonel when the question was made and the answer given, with his rifle well loaded, primed and cocked, and if, said he, "He had said Phil Waters, he would never have spoken again.
He was one of the brave Virginians who fought in the diastrous battle of the Monongahela, where Braddock was defeated and slain. Of them Washington said, "The Virginia companies behaved like men and died like soldiers; for I believe out of three companies on the ground that day, scarce thirty men were left alive.
Whether Waters remained in the Virginia army till Washington's resignation in 1758, I do not know. He removed to South Carolina before the Revolutionary War. At its commencement, he lived in Newberry, near the ferry on Saluda River, once well known as Water's Fery, now Holly's. In that time "which tried men, and showed how far professions were supported by acts" he took the part of Liberty and Independence. His sword, which was then drawn, returned not to its scabbard until both were won and secured. He was in the "Battle of Stono" on 26th of June, 1779. He was then a Captain, and on the retreat from the attack made on the British lines, he observed an American field piece, which had been abandoned by its officers and men. He directed his men (Some of whom are remembered , to wit: John Adam Summer, Samuel Lindsey, Thomas Lindsey, and James Lindsey) to lay hold of the drag ropes and carry it off. This was done and the gun was saved. It seems from the records in the Comptroller's Office, that he was a captain in Thomas's regiment, General Sumter's brigade State Troops, to the end of the war in 1783. It seems, too, he served in 1782 as a captain under General Perkins (The fighting Presbyterian). His nephew Philemon Waters Jr. better know as "Ferry Phil" was under his command at the battle of "Eutaw" (This was the battle where Lt Col William Washington - cousin of General George Washingon - was captured and taken prisoner.) After the action was over, said to his uncle, "Uncle do you call this a battle or a scrimmage?" It was supposed in this battle that Waters was a major; the tradition is, that he "then" commanded as such. But it does not seem from the public documents, he had any such commission. In some of the partisan affairs with which the country abounded after the fall of Charleston SC in the fall of 1780, he was under the command of Colonel Brandon.
He captured a man (a Tory) peculiarly obnoxious to Colonel Brandon. After this skirmish when the prisoners were presented to the Colonel, he on seeing Waters' prisoner, drew his sword, and was in the act of rushing upon him to slay him. Waters threw himself between them, and announced to his superior that the prisoner was under his protection, and "should not be harmed." The purpose of vengeance was not abandoned, and Capt. Waters was peremptorily ordered to stand out of the way. "Africa" said he to his servant. "bring me my rifle; no sooner said than done. With his rifle in his hand, and an eye that never quailed, he said to the colonel, "Now strike the prisoner - the instant you do, I will shoot you dead." The blow was not struck; the prisoner was saved.
After the battle of Eutaw, and after the British had been driven to the lines of Charleston, Waters erected a block house at his plantation at Waters Ferry, Saluda, SC
Col Waters encouraged the deluded Tories to come in, lay down their arms, and become peaceful citizens. Many, very many afterwards valuable citizens, were thus saved to the district and State.
After the war, he was for some time Collector of the Taxes, in a part of Ninety Six District. He, as such, made his return to the Treasury in Charleston,and paid over to him the money collected. Money was in gold or silver, or indents. Traveling was performed on horseback, and always in some peril. In the country between Dorchester and Charleston this was particulary the case. a gang of robbers headed by a notorious fellow named Primus. They robbed all who passed the road by night, or who, like wagoners, were compelled to encamp within their accustomed walks. Waters passing with a considerable sum of public money in his saddle bags, was overtaken by night in this suspicious district. He was armed, having his trusty pistols in the holsters before him. Thinking about the possible danger, he involuntarily laid his hand upon a pistol, cocked and drew it half out of the holster. As his horse passed a large pine tree, the bridle was seized, and a robber stood by the side; in one instant Waters' pistol was drawn and thrust into the side of the assailant, it fired, and, with an unearthly yell and scream, he let go the bridle and fled. Waters put spurs to his horse, and galloped to the house where he intended to lodge some two miles distant; there he obtained lights and assistance, and returned to the spot where he had been attacked. There they found a club and a large knife, and blood.
Following its tracks a short distance, a large powerful robber was found shot through the body and already dead. This gang of robbers was at last driven from their fastnesses in the swamps by the Catawba Indians, who were hired by the planters to hunt them. Their leader, Primus, and perhaps others were hanged.
Col. Waters was an eminent surveyor-many of the grants in Newberry District were surveyed by him. He and William Caldwell located the courthouse square of Newberry District. He was County Court Judge from 1785 to 1791. He was repeatedly a member of the Legisture. He was also a member of the convention which ratified the Constituion of the United States. He was opposed to it. Being one of the "ultra Republican party" of that day; but fortunately his opposition was vain, and like his great countryman, Patrick Henry, he lived long enough under it to rejoice at his defeat. He was Colonel of a regiment of militia in the Fork between Broad and Saluda Rivers, from the peace in 1783 until the reorganization of the militia in 1794. He was not re elected; his opponent John Adam Summer, was elected colonel of the 8th, now the 39th regiment.
When President George Washington, in 1791 made the tour of the Southern States, Colonel Waters met him at the Juniper, on his way from Augusta to Columbia. It was the meeting of brother soldiers, who,together, had faced many dangers and shared many difficulties. Both had been great shots with the rifle, and on a challenge from the President, their last meeting on earth was signalized by a trial of their skill off-hand, at a target one hundred yards distant, with the same unerring weapon. Who was conqueror in this trial is not remembered.
Colonel Waters died in 1796. He was taken sick at Newberry, and was carried in a litter by the way of O'Neall's (Now Bobo"s) mills on Bush River, now the property of Chancellor Johnstone. To the writer of this sketch, though then a mere child, the passage of Bush River through the ford by men bearing the litter, seems to be present, indistinct it is true, like an imperfectly remembered dream.
Colonel Waters left four children - Philemon B Waters, Wilks B Waters, Rose, the wife of Colonel John Summers, and Mrs Farrow, the wife of William Farrow of Spartanburg. One of the Colonels grandchildren, John W Summers, was a well know citizen of Newberry, and ought to be gratefully remembered by all who prize the Greenville and Columbia Railroad, as a great public work, both for his energy and success as a contractor.
Source: "Annals of Newberry S.C."
Author: John Belton O'Neall, LL.D
Originally published Newberry SC 1892
O'Neall - 1793 - 1863 -
We hear a great deal about the heroes of the American Revolutionary War. Very seldom are we introduced to the exploits that women played. Written herein is the true story of a gallant female patriot - Emily Geiger -
Name: - Emily Geiger 1760 - 1825
Father: - John Geiger 1721 - ?
Mother: - Emily Murphy
Spouse: - John Threewitts
Birth: 9 May 1749
Father: - Peter Threewitts - 1714 - 1801
Mother: - Amy Bobbitt - 1718 - 1823
Marriage: - 18 Oct 1789
At the time, General Greene (Commander - Southern American forces)retreated before Lord Rawdon (2nd in Commander to Lord Cornwallis) from Ninety-Six S.C. When he had passed Broad River, he was very desirous to send an order to General Sumter (Leader of American partisans) then on the Wateree; to join him, that they might attack Rawdon, who had divided his forces. But the country to be passed through was for many miles full of blood-thirsty Tories (American partisan loyal to England) and it was a difficult matter to find a man willing to undertake so dangerous a mission. At length a young girl - Emily Geiger - presented herself to General Greene proposing to act as the messenger; General Greene, both surprised and delighted, closed with her proposal. He accordingly wrote a letter and gave it to her. At the same time, communicating the contents verbally, to be told to Sumter in case of accident. Emily was young, but as to her person or adventures on the way, we have no further information, except that she was mounted on horseback, upon a side-saddle, and on the second day of her journey was intercepted by Lord Rawdon's scouts. Coming from the direcion of Greene's army, and not being able to tell an untruth without blushing, she was shut up; and the officer in command having the modesty not to search her at the time, he sent for an old Tory matron as more fitting for the purpose. Emily was not wanting in expedients, and as soon as the door was closed, she ate up the letter piece by piece. After awhile, the matron arrived. Upon searching carefully, nothing was found of a suspicious nature about the prisoner. She would disclose nothing. Suspicion being thus allayed, the officer-in-command of the scouts suffered Emily to depart whither she said she was bound. She took a route somewhat circuitous to avoid further detection, and soon after struck into the road to Sumter's camp. She arrived in safety. She told her adventures, and delivered Greene's verbal message to Sumter, who in consequence soon after joined the main army at Orangeburg, S.C.
Had Sumter not received the note from General Greene, It is surmised that Greene's army would have been totally defeated at Eutaw Springs. And in turn, would have delayed gthe war in the South Carolina to linger on for months. Young female patriot, Emily Geiger saved many lives on both sides.
Emily Geiger afterwards, married a rich planter on the Congaree. She has been dead thirty-five years, but it is trusted her name will descend to posterity among those patriotic females of the American Revolution
She lived in the lower part of what is now Lexington County, S.C. She was buried near her home. In August, 1930, the D.A.R. (Daughters of the American Revolution) chapter of Johnston, S.C. marked her grave.
Sources: The Women of the American Revolution. NY: Baker and Scribner, 1848 (Vol I & II; - 1850 (Vol III) Courtesy of and thanks to H. Imrey.
Source: The Lexington SC Dispatch - Wed. Jan 16, 1901. Article by
Great Great grandfather Willim's father (who I think may be John Waters - b 1805) I am hitting a brick wall here. See journal.
* When I was fourteen, My Uncle invited me to spend a month with him in his parsonage home at Hemingway, S.C. Uncle was a Baptist preacher. I was happy and excited to be traveling to a different state, town, and community.
Aunt Corina, Uncle's wife, was an elementary school teacher. She was spending the summer at Appalachian State Teachers College, Boone, N.C. taking additional courses to obtain a higher educational degree.
I am obliged to my readers to describe my Aunt and Uncle's humane and physical characteristics. My aunt was not the epitome of stoicism, but quite the opposite. She was vibrant and joyful. Her laughter was exuberant and happy. She wore modest, attractive and colorful dresses. Her favorite color was blue. She always wore a gold chain and cross. She had sparkling blue eyes. Her hair was black and curly. My Aunt did apply her bright red lip stick liberally and with care. She would laugh gleefully as she planted a big red kiss on my cheek. Needless to say, I had a red lip print. When talking to me about my school and school work, she would look intently into my eyes. Her eyeglasses perched on her nose. I felt her concern and love. She's gone now, but I will always have loving memories of Aunt Corina.
My Uncle was an intense Southern Baptist minister. While preaching, he did not bellow from the pulpit. His speech was polished and authorative. He was lean and very tall. His hair, graying around the temples. He was so reed like that his suit sort of hung loosely around his frame. He wore silver framed eyeglasses which highlighted his ministerial image. Uncle pastored a rural country church. Tobacco and corn fields surrounded the simple brick structure. I was impressed with the steeple and bell tower. Both were painted white and would glisten in the bright summer sun.
It was a hot muggy day as we drive toward Uncle's home in S.C. It's comforting to have nice memories linger in one's mind. This delightful memory occured when we stopped to get refreshments at a rustic country store. The small store was surrounded with lenghty rows of cotton. It seemed as if the rows went on and on. Our sodas came from an aged red Coca Cola cooling box. A block of ice had been added. The frigid water would almost reach the top of the glass soda bottles. I always looked for one with slushy ice. My cola became a late fifties "slushy." After riding in a hot car, the frigid coca cola was delicious.
We continued southward toward Hemingway, S.C. The radio did not work. Seemed like they never did in those days. While Uncle was visiting in our home, My Dad, a choir director at our church was teaching him in the fundamentals of practicing and singing a simple musical scale. It went like this, DO RA ME FA SO LA TE DO. To be sung from low notes to high notes. Uncle was not blessed with a peaceful and soothing singing voice. Sort of like the sound of an untalented person trying to sing the "The Star Spangled Banner." "You've heard the sound, I'm sure." This supposedly talented artist in a high pitched voice screeching for the notes. It was comforting to me that our dear "Old Glory" flag was not tattered and left in shreds from the concussion! Uncle was practicing the notes as we rode along. DO RA ME ME ME FA? My Dad had written the note scales on a piece of paper for him. He would glance at it and then the road. Away he would go! DO RA ME FA SO LA LA LA DO? I was hoping that a wayward cow did not become entangled in Uncle's car grill. DO RA ME FA SO LA LA LA - I wanted to stick my fingers in my ears. "Please, will this ever stop?!" DO RA ME FA FA FA - Dad could sing it frontward and backward. Uncle had not mastered this yet. Would he? I don't think so! Being a very small church, He had the duties of teacher, preacher, and choir director. He wanted to impress his choir by introducing them to something new. With practice, He envisioned his faithful choir singing like an early morning turtle dove. Over and over. "Now again, DO RE ME FA FA."
I was so relieved when we finally pulled into the parsonage drive. After unpacking, showering, and a change of clothes, we had to move fast. "Bobby, We need to hurry, worship and choir practice begins at six." I groaned inwardly.
It was a country church. Tobacco and corn backing up on all sides. These farm folks made their living entirely from farming. They didn't waste farm soil. Uncle began introducing me as his nephew. The men were dressed in clean overalls. The women were neat and attractive in their printed dresses. I was the center of their attention. They would hug me, pat me, and comment on my red auburn hair and "freckles!" "Oh no, I was self conscious of my freckles!" The women were sweet and kind. The men looked strong and rugged. They greeted me open heartedly. As they shook my hand, I could feel the many hard and accumulated years of labor. The hands were calloused and strong.
Someone was ringing the church bell. It was loud and seemed to be saying, "Get a move on, you're going to be late!" The choir members were happy to see each other and engaged in joyful conversations.
My Uncle knew me better than I thought he did. He pointed toward me, and the front pew. He took his stance in front of the choir. He made the announcement, "Tonight we begin our first class in learning a musical note scale." Again, I groaned. The choir members listened intently and obediently. They wanted to make their preacher proud. They were smiling and waiting with anticipation. "Just think, before long they would be singing in raptured harmony." Maybe not raptured, but harmony. Uncle raised his arm to begin. "Now sing after me, DO RA ME FA SO SO?" At this point, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the note dad had given him. "Okay, DO RA ME FA SO LA TE DO. "Now choir, DO RA ME FA SO LA..." Those obedient and smiling choir members tried so hard. They screeched and shreaked. Even at my young adolescent age, I was touched. Uncle seemed determined that these sweet souls were going to learn this scale. "Again," he says, with a hint of frustration, DO RA ME FA." Being a typical teenager, I found most things funny. I dared not laugh. No way! Finally, the pain subsided. What followed is something I will never forget. Uncle announced, "Next Wednesday, we will learn the scale backwards." Reading from his wrinkled note, Uncle demonstrated, "DO TE LA SO FA ME RA DO." "No way!" The choir members were silent as they stared into the distance with glazed eyes. Later, "It hit me!" Probably, more than a few of these wonderful people could not read. They were so kind and determined.
"Uncle?" "When are we going to the beach?" Myrtle Beach, S.C. was only twenty five miles away. "I tell you what Bobby" said Uncle. "If you learn to sing the musical scale DO RA ME FA SO LA TE DO frontwards and backwards, We go to the beach." I went to my room and in no time at all, I was back. "I can sing it Uncle." You guessed it. DO RA ME FA SO LA TE DO - DO TE LA SO FA ME RA DO. He was astonished! It was a cinch! I had heard my Dad many times singing in front of the mirror. He had his pretended choir, leading and practicing - You guessed it. I will spare you all from singing it again. "Okay Bobby, We leave for the beach in the morning."
Uncle had made arrangements to have a church family join us at the beach. Their daughter was about my age. We swam and splashed each other in the surf. It was fun when we would jump up and ride a big wave as close to the shore as we could. I was smitten. This very pretty country girl put a soft, warm glow in my heart. We had so much fun that memorable day long ago. All to soon, the vacation and my little sweetheart had to be left behind.
*This story occured in the summer of 1958. I was fourteen years old.
As you have probably already noted, Off Topic (1)* journal has been eliminated. I am sorry. You will not be able to go back, read, or to share with friends, families etc. The journal and comments that I and others have contributed I'm sure, was for your pleasure, and, hopefully for entertainment. I did not own the Journal. It was taken out without my knowledge. There was nothing wrong with that. This journal was not mine.
I always kept comments light. I've always considered clean jokes the best jokes. I hope they made you smile or laugh. I hope my inspirational stories in some way touched you emotionally with insight to sometimes know that there are others who bless and are blessed. I hope I put in comments for us all to ponder, whether opening the Bible or analyzing the statements of others who have the freedom within democracy free countries to express their thoughts and feelings.
Janilye was wise when she injected the following statements.
This is important to me: I quote: "So for those who feel the need to share a thought, an opinion, or even an interesting website which may have nothing to do with ancestry, or just want to get away from the endless search for a moment"....
"Since we have no chat room in here and we really don't want to "send you packing".
"Say it on this page.... Say what you like. Get it off your chest.
"Keep it short, Keep it civilized, Keep it clean"
If I may, I would like to carry forward the above brilliant statements.
I'm pleased that Janilye was so kind to save and transfer all previous comments to: Laugh, Smile, Cry or Ponder. That was a gracious thing to do. I hope mine, and other comments left you agreeing, disagreeing, Laughing, Smiling, Crying, Pondering, or Questioning. If I ever said anything at all in my comments to offend you. I apologize.
"Bless your hearts" Regards, 1bobbiylee or if you desire, call me Bob or Butch. Off Topic (1) was getting huge. Response time may have been slow. I never had any problems. Possibly others did. just wanted you to have the opportunity to go back and view.
If I am repeating myself. Sorry...
I will give my comments on this journal. "And, please contribute." Surely you have something to say that is interesting and enjoyable. The same high standards that Janilye originally applied will also apply within this journal, and your comments.
* Correction: I have discovered that Off Topic (1) and Off Topic (2) are again available on Janilye's
journal listing. Wonderful!! All journals are now available for viewing and comments. Thank you
I'm looking for my great great great great grandfather, born abt 1775.
farmer, Spartanburg county SC. My question is this: Has anyone found any information for my GGGGGranfather? I believe his name was John. Same first name as my GGG Granfather.
I appreciate it. And am thanking you all. If anyone has found any thing with substance please contact me, Thank you. Anything. If someone has done research on Waters families. Especially in the Spartanburg County southern area. - Sometimes just a snippet will lead to a discovery...
Current counties of SC that oomprised the Ninety Six District in 1790. - Cherokee, Spartanburg, Laurens, Pickens, Ooonee, Greenwood, McCormick, Union, Greenville, Newberry, Anderson, Abbeville, Saluda, Edgefield.
I just feel in my bones that there are McDaniels or genealogists out there that know the McDaniel families.
As always, any help would be appreciated.
This is a story about two families. Allow me to call them, "The Waters' Family" and "The Patterson Family." They are of different color. The Waters' family was white and the Patterson family was black. I grew up in a segregated South. Both blacks and whites were the victims of prejudiced and fearful legislators who passed discriminate state laws. A sad time in American history. However, there were many white and black families that did not allow the "Demon of Bitterness and Hatred" enter into their hearts. I'm white. My parent's did not permit their children to be cruel to those of different color. We were not taught hate. We were taught to speak decently to persons of white, black or any color.
My Dad had recently moved his family into a five room, clapboard, tin roof house. Before long, Mom had transformed it into a comfortable home. We became "Country Folks."
Dad had enrolled at a near by college. He was taking courses in biblical studies. We were told that he had taken a sabbatical from his full time insurance job. He worked part-time selling life insurance and part-time as a candy salesman. We three boys were happy and excited over his candy salesman job. Dad seemed to know when some of his candy was being sampled. "How did he know this?" Dad's seem to have a way of knowing these things. We three boys were usually involved and confessed when confronted with dad's stern countenance. He read from the Bible on the sin of stealing. Now, dear reader, What he had us do was difficult and laden with despair. We each had to cut our own switch for discipline. I was the stubborn one; therefore, several times I returned to the despicable bush for another switch until he was satisfied. Now what really made me feel the post sting of discipline was when I ran and slid under my bed. He knew exactly where to find me. He would get down and reach for me. I would slide to the other side of the bed. He would go around and reach for me again. I would slide to the opposite side. If I moved to the front of the bed, he would reach for me at the front. When I slid to the rear, he would try there. He was shouting at me and getting really angry. We could tell when he was really mad. His face would turn fire engine red. When he had finished reaching for me, the bed would be in the middle of the room. "Okay Robert," He would always call me Robert when he was really angry. "You have to come out sometime." I did. When disciplining me this time, he put the "peddle to the metal." By this time, my bed was in the middle of the room. I was real small, but I had to move that heavy metal bed back where it belonged.
Dad reasoned that the open spaces and fresh air (excluding the neighbor's pig pen when down wind) would be healthy for us all. Must be something to that. Mother mentioned that we were rarely ill. Excluding of course, scrapes, bruises, and bleeding toes. If we became sick Mom would bring out the castor oil. "Oh dear reader, that is the most vile tasting concoction on God's earth." It was awful. We tried real hard not to get sick. Mom never did run out of that stuff. She always seemed to have plenty. In late spring, summer, and early fall, we went without shoes. One of my Uncle's would say that the bottom of our feet was so tough, that if we stepped on a nail, It would bend.
Having a tin roof was blissful. My brothers and I would lie in bed listening to the rain or sleet pinging against the roof. "Nature's Lullaby." Sooooooo soothing. I can remember falling asleep peacefully listening to the rhythm of the falling rain. Should I awake, it was comforting to know that I wasn't alone. The rain was my companion.
Our little country home was comfortable. Mother's enemy was germs. She was always scrubbing something. We had the cleanest dirt yard around. Out in the country during the early fifties, very seldom did one see a green manicured lawn. Mom would get her broom and go to work. If there was anything on top that crawled or was sharp, it soon disappeard in a cloud of dust from Mom's swift broom.
We had a large vegetable garden. The favorite vegetables were corn, tomatoes, lima beans, green beans, spring onions, okra, squash, and hot peppers. Mom canned our vegetables in preparation for the winter
months. We had delicious vegetables year round. "Just the other day, I had the taste for a tomato sandwich. I purchased one medium sized tomato. Seventy one cents for one tomato! That's not counting the tax. Mom canned dozens of tasty tomatoes."
My brother's and I still chuckle over Dad's closed in battle with two "red boned" hound dogs. We were all visiting Mom's brother in Gaffney, S.C. Uncle had two hound dogs. These dogs were becoming a nuisance to him. They were continually escaping from their enclosures. He lived in town, So; It was important that something be done about the dogs. He asked my Dad if he would take the dogs to live with us in the country. Dad agreed. He figured they would be protection for my Mom when she was home alone. Dad loaded Toby and Red in the back seat of his car. He was driving slowly toward home. The huge "red boned" hounds suddenly began a fierce and savage fight in the back seat of Dad's car. They were snarling, snapping their teeth, and biting. Dad made a feeble effort to dislodge them. But, to no avail. He jumped out of the car, slammed the door, sat beside the road, and let the gladiators go at it. The ferocious fight was over. Each warrior returned to his corner in the back seat. They still growled and glared at each other. Thankfully, Dad and the dogs made it home safely. Toby and Red loved Mom. It may have had something to do with the gravy and biscuits Mom fed them. If Mom was home alone, they sensed it and stayed close. If a stranger came, they would position themselves between Mom and the stranger. They did not display aggression, but I would not want to be on the receiving end of their attack if some person or persons displayed a threat to Mom. She always felt safe when Toby and Red were around. They were bred to hunt and run. So naturally, they would chase animals. They began traveling farther and farther from home. Neighbors began complaining how they were destroying their crops. If a rabbit jumped and ran, they were quickly after it. They had to go. Dad returned them to Uncle Forrest. We missed them. Especially Mom, She loved those dogs.
Our home was on a ridge. On the next ridge lived the Patterson family. They had three sons, Odel, the oldest, Floyd, and then the youngest, "Little Joe." Joe was short. He got the name honestly. We three Waters' boys were close to the ages of the Patterson boys. Joe and I were about five years younger than our middle brothers; Needless to say, when they played or worked, we usually got left out. Little Joe and I would create our own fun games. We had acres of woods to roam about in. We walked softly on our barefeet. We had a game we called "The Squirrel's Game." Squirrels were very alert. If they heard you, they would scamper around to the other side of a tree. We wanted the squirrel facing both of us. We had a white sock which our Mom's were constantly washing. We put 2/3 bad apples in the sock, tied it securely at the top. We would throw the sock around the tree to where the squirrel was. He caught a glimpse of the white sock zipping by. In no time, he scooted around and was facing us. By using this trick, many a squirrel graced a farmer's table.
The Patteron boys were welcome at our home. Mom would fix a pan of hot biscuits and bring out a jar of black strap molasses. She would shoo us out into the yard. She didn't want sticky molasses on her table, floor, and porch. The kindness was reciprocated by Mrs. Patterson. She would bake a hot cake of cornbread in a large black iron skillet. We crunched our cornbread into bowls. Mrs. Patterson would pour spring chilled milk over this delicious treat. "Oh My, I can close my eyes and still smell and taste this scrumptious delicacy."
Two hundred yards above the Patterson farm was the huge farm of Mr. Tate. He had horses, pigs, chickens, mules, and probably other animals that I can't remember. He tended a large vegetable garden. There was corn, green beans, okra cantaloupe, watermelons and turnips. Turnips is a fall crop. It is not unusual to see frost on the tops of turnips. There were apples, plums, and pear trees. Those turnips got me and Little Joe in big trouble. We pulled Mr Tate's turnips without permission and ate them. Our elder brothers told on us. I knew what was in store for me. I was really worried. Dad was waiting on me and led me into his bedroom. He sat me down and gazed on me with sad, disappointing eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, he asked me. "Did you and Little Joe steal Mr. Tate's turnips?" The word steal and the way he said it sent shivers down my spine. He looked at me intently, waiting for an answer. I dropped my head sadly, and replied, "Yes." "You know Robert" - He always used Robert when he meant business. "I have to discipline you." Tears were cascading down my cheeks. I replied humbly, "Yes sir." He opened his Bible and began teaching me. He taught me how terrible was the sin of stealing. "Bobby, He was now calling me Bobby. "There are pit falls to those who practice stealing. Their life will be encumbered. I didn't know what encumbered meant, but it sure didn't sound good. I was guilty. He applied the discipline directly to the seat of my thin overalls. OUUCCHH!
Mr. Tate answerd the knock to his door. Mr Patterson introduced himself. Of course, Mr. Tate knew who he was. "Sir, Joe here has something he wants to confess." Little Joe lowered his head. Big tears were streaming down his face. Between sobs, he weeped the words, "Mr. Tate, I'm sorry I stole your turnips." Mr. Tate looked down and smiled. "Mr. Tate, Bobby has an apology to make." Mr. Tate looked down with a smile. "I'm sorry I stole your turnips Mr. Tate." "Boys, I have a big garden. If you want something, just ask."
My brothers still find delight in teasing me about the Patterson's "Red Eyed Demonic Rooster." Little Joe and I routinely visited each other. We were buddies. When I visited my little buddy, I was always on the look out for the "Red Eyed Demonic Rooster." I was afraid of the evil fowl. I was just a little boy. The crazy rooster knew I was afraid of him. Most of the time, I managed to avoid this red eyed beast. Not this time! He caught me unawares. His neck would stretch out. His cape of feathers bristled. His long strong wings began beating fiercely. His sharp spurs were on display as he danced backward and forward. He attacked! I ran screaming and hollering. The demented fowl was close behind and closing. "Help! Help!" I screamed. I was terrified! My skinny legs in my cut off overalls was churning up the dust. "Help! Help!" I screamed again and again. On the second trip around the Patterson home, Little Joe snatched up a hoe handle. We three were all running around the house. I'm in front screaming, the psycho rooster in the middle flapping his wings, and Little Joe gaining on the demonic rooster. This idiot rooster would not back off. He was running and jumping forward with those dagger spurs. Little Joe was in the back swinging the hoe handle. On our third trip around the house, Joe connected with the hoe handle. The crazed bird hit the ground and skidded to a stop. "Oh no! We had killed the Patterson's rooster!" Slowly, he regained his feet and wobbled away. All the fight was knocked out of him by Joe's hoe handle.
I cannot remember the psycho rooster ever attacking me again. I'm sure he didn't want to feel the sting of Little Joe's hoe handle.
* This adventure happened when I was about six years old.