Greetings Dear Reader,
Today is International Story Telling Days. I have chosen to offer one of the stories
from one of my books. Feel free to let
me know what you think.
Sometimes the lessons you learn make no sense at all until
they save your life. Evan’s Mill had not been one for thirty years. All that lingered of the old gristmill on the
shore was a concrete walled basement and an old chimney. The massive skeletal remains of the iron and
wooden wheel lay part way on its side in an eddy pool of the Flint
River. The wheel sat buried
to a quarter of its depth in the red mud and brown silt that formed the bed of
the eddy. It stuck out of the water at
an angle that gave the appearance that it had just detached itself from the
mill and was still in the process of falling over onto its side.
My Grandfather had often taken me fishing on the Flint
River. We would arrive an hour before
daybreak and breakfast on cold biscuits with pear preserves and pecan pie. All of this we washed down with cold milk
that was delivered weekly from his north Georgia farm. Those were some of the best outdoor
breakfasts I have ever had. He always
reminded me that we would both be in trouble if my Grandmother found out that
he fed me pecan pie for breakfast.
Truth be told, my Grandmother knew what we took. It was no coincidence that there was always a
fresh pecan pie on the mornings we set out for fishing. Neither was it a mistake that she made a double
batch of biscuits and too much country fried steak the night before for
dinner. She loved me and loved making
sure I was well fed.
After our regal repast, began the serious fishing. The river yielded up its bounty of Bream,
Catfish, and the occasional Trout or Bass.
My favorite place to fish on the river was in the bracken under the old
mill wheel. I lost many lures, spinners,
hooks, and worms to the undergrowth that surrounded the rusting and rotting
remains of the old iron banded wheel.
The reward was that I also caught some very large Bass and Brim from
that hole.
Just above the eddy pool was a long cascade of smooth river
rocks that were perfect for sliding and swimming. I was sure that God had spent every day since
creation using the river to hone those rocks to a smoothness that perfectly
suited my backside. As long as I stayed
far away from my Grandfather’s fishing zone, I could swim and slide as much as
I desired. I think it gave him great joy
to watch me slide down the rushing water cascade into the pool. He always brought dry clothes for me when we
went to the Flint River. His greatest desire was that I learn to love
the outdoors, not that I love it exactly the way he did.
Being an eight-year old boy means that when the fish are not
biting, boredom sets in quickly. I
learned early on that if I wanted to, my Grandfather would pack it in and find
a new place to fish. I had learned also
that what he loved was to find a place and just wait for the fish to figure out
he was there to catch them.
During these times when I became reluctant to wait on the
appetites of lazy August fish, I would play around the chimney and basement of
the mill. A set of cement block stairs
descended into the open dank basement. I
would climb down the stairs into the cool dampness to escape the heat of Georgia’s
Dog Days.
The cinder block cave was filled in one corner with flotsam
and jetsam from a long forgotten flooding.
The top half of an old pecan tree sat atop the pile of debris giving
life and shelter to a thick growth of moss and lichen. Amidst the collection of natural and manmade
discards were also the remains of an old hornet’s nest, a two fence posts still
mated by two lengths barbed wire, and an old wooden Coca-Cola® crate. I am sure the trouble emerged from this
collection of things past to threaten my near future.
Often I would take my lunch of pimento cheese sandwiches on
Wonder Bread®, homemade dill pickles, and some form of snack cake, to sit on
the cool cement and enjoy the peacefulness of the cellar. I had grown to consider it my personal
domain. I would often fall asleep and
doze away the afternoon there. It was a
place where I felt that I alone ruled and nothing could touch me.
This thinking shattered one late afternoon in August. I had done my best to fish all morning, but
the day had started out suffocatingly hot and so humid you could not always
tell where the river stopped and the air started. Late summer in Georgia
is the equivalent to living in a sauna set on high and with no off switch. My Grandfather sat peacefully on the gnarled
above ground root of his favorite fishing oak impervious to the August assault
of dripping heat. The river called to me
earlier than usual, promising relief from the tepid air. After fighting the current for a few hours
and growing tired of the mud and slime in the river, I grabbed the bag with my
lunch in it and headed for the mill basement to dry out and rest.
My Grandfather repeated his usual admonition to be careful
and to watch where I stepped. I
descended the stairs and headed for a damp corner of the mill where the sun was
shining down and there was potential to be both out of the heat and still warm
and comfortable. I sat in the sunshine,
leaning against the cool damp stone to eat my lunch. My Grandmother had included some of her
homemade, spiced pickled peaches and today’s dessert was a Nutty Bar®. I ate my lunch, imagining that I was
consuming a sovereign's feast in a vast stone throne room.
After eating I lay back and closed my eyes, seeing all of my
knights and servants in my mind as they worked hard to meet my every need. As was my habit at this time, I dozed off to
sleep away the heat of the afternoon in the cool basement. It was the way in which I was awakened that I
hope will never be repeated.
My sleep was interrupted by the sound of my Grandfather calling
urgently in a stage whisper for me not to move.
His tone was the one he used to let me know that he meant business. I had learned very early in life that failure
to heed that tone meant that he would reluctantly but efficiently deal out
punishment. This punishment took the
form of a spanking followed by a long lecture on the importance of immediate
obedience, or “Immediance” as he called it.
Today he whispered over and over, “Aramis do not move. Aramis do not move. Wake up, but do not move.”
As my mind swam up from its dream state to consciousness, it
registered to my senses that something was very wrong. I felt weighted down as if someone had piled
a large sack of potatoes in my lap. My
first instinct was to wiggle my legs, but trust in my Grandfather kept me from
moving.
Again his voice, insistent but gentle admonished me, “Do not
move. Be as still as when we deer hunt.
Be sure not to move.”
I carefully opened my eyes and almost jumped up anyway. Only my Grandfather’s constant insistence
that I remain still kept me from leaping away from what I saw. Only my immediate obedience, my
“Immediance," saved my life. Curled in lazy loops on my lap, sunning
himself and enjoying my body heat, was a twenty-two pound, twelve foot long,
Canebrake Rattlesnake.
Gripped in the iron fist of fear, my mind demanded that I
leap up and run at once. Only my Grandfather’s insistence that I not move kept
me still. He kept quietly talking to me
as he approached the snake. I can still
clearly see the moment when his liver-spotted hand was inches from the snake’s
head and the snake, sensing his presence, awakened. It quickly coiled itself, still on my legs,
and began shaking its eleven-button rattle thunderously. The sound of its rattles reverberated off the
blank stone walls in the basement creating the effect that there were hundreds
of rattlesnakes angrily shaking their tails in warning.
Just as I was reaching the point where I could no longer sit
still, a new thunder shattered the sound of the twitching rattles. My eyes, fixed on the snake, took in every
frame of the action. Just before the
thunder rang through the damp basement, I saw the reptile draw his head back to
strike at my Grandfather. His movement
was an intentional act to draw the serpent’s attention toward him and to
protect me.
In the moment before the beast lunged for Grandfather, the
snake’s head shattered and the thunder erupted, reverberating against the stone
walls. At once, the beast crumpled,
headless, onto my lap and the floor of the cellar still writhing and
twitching. Although it was dead its
rattles thrummed on hauntingly for a few seconds. My Grandfather had shot the rattlesnake with
the pistol he always carried when we went into the woods.
Instantly he was at my side, brushing away the remains of
the snake and comforting me. He eased
down next to me, seeing that I was visibly shaken by the event, and put his
strong arms around me. We both sat there
in the sun allowing its warmth to soothe our tension. He was never a man of many words, but this
time he spoke.
“You did good son.
You practiced ‘Immediance.' You
need to put on some clean dry clothes and I think there might be some of that
pie left in the car.” That said, he
stood, picked up the body of the snake, and headed for the stairs. I watched in wonder as his old frame, still
sinewy strong easily lifted the large snake.
Even when he used his strength there was a measure of grace and
gentleness to his movement. That image
of him; a strong and loving protector of his grandson is how I always see him
in my mind.
Just at the top of the stairs, framed in the shimmer of the
late afternoon sun, he looked down at me and smiled. For an instant he was neither old nor
weakened by his years. That moment
showed me what he must have been as a young police officer standing against the
night for his city.
“Come on son, we should collect our gear and head for home. I caught a few Bream while you were
resting. They need to be cleaned and put
up for later. Tonight I will teach you
how to clean a snake. We will eat this guy for dinner and scare some religion
into your Grandmother.” All the way home
we plotted how we would do just that.
Wishing you joy in the journey,
Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer
who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home
owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store."
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