Kettle Korner                                                                                       September 15, 2020

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Owls, snakes, and attacking cows were just a few of the things that made Uncle Bill and Aunt Eula’s farm an exciting place to visit. 

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“Oh, boy!” both Jerry and I exclaimed. “We’re going to Uncle Bill’s farm!”

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Driving from Blytheville, we traveled on good paved roads in our black ‘47 Chevy Fleetline. About six miles from Corning we turned onto a washboard gravel road. How the series of small regular bumps developed I could never figure out but we always had to drive slow or the car would develop a rhythm with the road that would make the tires bounce into the air and then cause a drift toward the side of the road and the swamp beside it. 

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Soon we came to a wooden bridge with boards running cross wise and two rows of planks for the tires to find and attempt to follow. We stopped on that bridge as we had before to look at the green turtles sunning on the dead branches sticking out of the algae. 

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A couple of bumpy miles later, we came to a ninety degree turn in the road. We didn’t turn but drove straight into Uncle Bill and Aunt Eula’s driveway. Beside the drive was a sign with black kettles hanging on it and flowers blooming around the bottom. “Kettle Korner” it read.

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Our aunt and uncle had returned from Michigan where they worked during and following the war. When he inherited the farm they decided to become farmers.

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They moved into the old two story house, much in need of paint and repairs. Little had been done to upgrade it so it was like they moved twenty years into the past.

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It had an attic storing many interesting items left by his parents. Jerry and I were always assigned to sleep in that exciting and interesting place. We would wind up the ancient Victorla and play scratchy songs we had never heard before. We liked when we could make it go faster and everyone sang in a high pitched voice. Then, just before it stopped turning, the slow movement of the turntable changed them to humorous bass sounds producing our laughter. An old typewriter sat on a table, challenging us to see how many keys we could get stuck together at any one time.

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The large feather bed provided the place for Jerry and I to listen to the screech owls piercing the night and being fearful the sound was from panthers patrolling the yard. With cover over our heads, we trembled, laughed, and talked until finally sleep overtook us, sunk in the soft down and under the warm batting of the home-made quilt.

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We woke to the sound of the red-headed woodpecker pecking out insects hiding in the old wood outside our window. The smell of bacon frying on the wood stove and biscuits baking in the oven roused us from the warm comfort and encouraged a quick change from our flannel pajamas.

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It was almost a step back in time for us also as we visited the farm. The water came from a pump on the porch. The outhouse was at the end of a path through the gate into the chicken yard. A large black kettle sat in the side yard where water was heated by split wood, clothes were washed, and lye soap was made. 

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Uncle Bill had finished his early chores with Pop keeping him company and sharing deep conversations about what was happening in their lives and the world. The cows had been fed and milked and turned out to the pasture. The chores of throwing corn into the chicken yard had been left for us to do after breakfast along with slopping the pigs in their stinking muddy pen.  

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The delicious breakfast seemed massive. Aunt Eula and Mom had prepared eggs, bacon, ham, biscuits, gravy, and grits. As usual, there was fresh fruit from one of the trees so I chose the sweet taste and smell of the peaches.

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While the ladies cleaned up and Uncle Bill churned the butter in a crock pot, Jerry and I did our chores then started on the day’s adventures. The creek beside the chicken pen had a wooden plank bridge across it, with a handrail on one side. We’d looked for turtles and water moccasins. There were minnows we caught at the tractor crossing of the creek. We chased a perch into the shallow edge and captured it for a meal that evening. We looked at tracks of deer and rabbits along the muddy bank and even saw some cat prints that we were sure were from the panther.

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The woods over by the back forty provided us with a variety of activities especially as we grew older and were allowed to take our 22 and Uncle Bill’s 12 gauge to hunt for rabbits and squirrels. Occasionally we’d see a racoon or a deer.

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The barn was an amusement park in itself. The bales of hay were piled high and made wonderful hideouts. The loose hay formed a great slide but often resulted with straw stuck in our bottoms. Where it was not packed tight, the hay was a cushion where we could jump from the upper bales and land without injury. There was a rope and pulley that made a great swing. From the upper window, we could fight off hundreds of Indians and bad cowboys in terrific gun battles or get shot ourselves and fall backward into the soft hay.

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As Uncle Bill suggested, we checked the smaller barn for the rat traps, removing the victims and baiting the devices. We gathered the eggs from the nests in the hen house, being careful not to grab a garter snake hiding inside. We shelled some corn for the animals by dropping a ear of corn into the top of the sheller, turning the long handle as fast as we could and letting the corn drop into the container while we grabbed the cobs to throw at each other later. Late in the day, we liked to go with Uncle Bill to call the cows in for milking. He had let us try milking before but we were not very good at it. As we stood and watched, he squirted milk on us.

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Finally, we were ready for our bath in the storage house right behind the main house. They had a double galvanized tub so Jerry and I took our baths together. After a huge meal we were ready for a game of Chinese checkers. Then we went up into the attic where we talked, laughed, listened and trembled until we fell asleep.

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It was great fun going to Uncle Bill and Aunt Eula’s farm.

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My cousins added another element of adventure once.

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We had arrived at the farm and discovered Uncle Paul and family were already there. That was good for Jerry and I because we did enjoy playing with Sue, Freida, Jackie and “Sonny Boy.” 

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As we were involved in various activities one of them asked a question. “Have you seen Uncle Bill’s new cow?”

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“No, we haven’t. The cows haven’t been called in yet.” I replied.

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“She is a mean one!” Sue declared. 

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“You’d better watch out for her.” Freida warned.

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“Yeah, she has big horns and will attack you.” added Jackie.

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Now a cow is a lot bigger than I was and I had no desire to be in a bull fight even if it was a milk cow. I thought I should be cautious.

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As we played, and rode in Uncle Bill’s wagon pulled by his red tractor, they would occasionally mention that threatening cow.

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Sometime in the afternoon, Uncle Paul’s family loaded into their car and headed for Peach Orchard. One of the girls gave a final warning, “Don’t let that cow gore you!”

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“I’ll be careful.” I assured them, noting in my mind to be more than careful. I would just stay as far from that cow as possible.

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As the sun began to get low in the western sky, I went with Uncle Bill to call the cows in for milking. His voice would ring out across the pasture and the cows would begin their leisurely journey to the milk barn with Uncle Bill and I leading the way.

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I looked back over my shoulder and saw the new black and white spotted jersey. She didn’t look all that dangerous walking with the other cows but, just in case, I moved closer to Uncle Bill.

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As we neared the milk barn, I ran ahead as I always did to open the gate to the feeding manger where the cows would eat while being milked. I stood behind it as the cows went in and watched closely as the new addition walked past, hardly noticing me, seeking only the hay.

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When all were lined up and heads down devouring the fresh hay, I stepped inside, pulling the door closed with the rusty chain and hooking it on the nail to keep the gate closed.

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I only took a couple of steps when I realized Uncle Bill was not in the milking area but was getting the stool and buckets ready for the evening chore of relieving the utters of their heavy load. 

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Next I was shocked to see that the cows had lined up so that the new one was right in front of me. My heart began to beat faster. I could already feel the adrenaline surging through my body to get ready for the danger that is so obvious.  

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I slowly moved with my back to the rough boards hoping that I’d get past the threat on my life and limbs before she realized I was there and a good target. 

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But I was too late. She turned her head away from the feed and looked directly at me. With a snort from her nose, she turned more toward me and lowered her head so her massive horns were lined up with my little body.

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I knew that Uncle Bill would save me. He would come rushing to my rescue attacking the charging animal, hitting it and pushing it until it gave up on me. The problem was, Uncle Bill still had not come into the milking area.

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So I did what seemed best. I called to the top of my voice for him. Unfortunately, my fear and adrenaline caused my voice to come out in a soft squeak that I could hardly hear myself. Uncle Bill would not hear or respond to such a puny cry for help.

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Seeing the cow’s horns so dangerously close, I spun and, with one sweep of my hand in an upward motion, I knocked the chain from the nail at the same time crashing into the gate. It flew open and I charged out into the lot. Running like I had never run before, I only hoped I could get to the edge of the lot before the cow could completely turn and pursue me. 

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About half way across, going full speed, I realized I couldn’t jump the fence or the gate so I’d better check to see how close the heifer/ was to me. I could almost hear her hoofs and feel her breath. I dared to look over my shoulder to determine the amount of space I had, still trying to add extra speed.

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Looking back, I saw nothing! That cow had turned back to the manger and was totally ignoring the panic stricken kid running across the lot.

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I stopped and composed myself. I wondered if Uncle Bill had seen my cowardly display. As I walked back to the door, still standing open, I began to think about my cousins and what a good trick they had pulled on me. 

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I entered the barn to see Uncle Bill coming in with the buckets and stool. He had not been embarrassed by his fleeing nephew. He wouldn’t have a story to tell to my folks and to my cousins. 

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He had never said the cow was dangerous. That had been made up by my cousins.

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I closed the gate behind me, hooking the chain on the nail, knowing that the new cow was as docile as all the others. I gave her a pat of the rump as I walked past to help with the buckets.

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I never did tell my cousins how successful they had been in their prank but I guess they will read this Old Guys Tale and, after about 70 years, they can get a good laugh out of it.

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Psalm 11:1

In the Lord I take refuge.

    How then can you say to me:

    “Flee like a bird to your mountain.”