inyati13
Well-known member
The Gray Squirrel
Life must have been stressful, boring or maybe it was tradition. Whatever the cause, farmers I knew growing up drank whiskey, wine and beer. I recall their names because they were an important part of our childhood; Mike Ryan, Shearl Miller, Lawrence Barry, Joe and Johnny Reynolds, Maynard Stevens, Estill Lovelace, and Johnny Crawford. Our farm was the next to the last farm on the gravel road. The road was littered with empty wine and whiskey bottles. You could start at our farm, walk the road and pick up enough empty Richard's Wild Irish Rose Wine bottles and collect enough dregs to get a good drink by the time you got to where the gravel road met the blacktop.
Johnny Reynolds owned the farm next to ours. He made his living mainly from a bar he ran in the County seat. There was an old farm house on Johnny's farm. He rented it. It attracted poor folks. But for a short time when I was in the age range of about 8 or 9, it was rented to Claude and Maynard Stevens. Father and son. Claude must have been about 72. Maynard did farm work for anyone who could afford to employ him. They had no car so if you hired him; you had to haul him. He spent most of what he made on Richard's Wild Irish Rose. You could buy a pint for less than a dollar.
I enjoyed going over and talking to Claude. Claude had a pet gray squirrel. He made a cage out of the top of an old kitchen wood stove. Covered the cage with the grate selves he removed from the oven part of the stove. The squirrel would sit on his shoulder and he would feed it. It would go into his shirt and it was fun. I remember some wisdom he passed on to me one day. I said I wished I had a bicycle. He said, "Let me tell you something son, if you shyt in one hand and wish in the other, I can tell you what hand will get full the fastest."
One day I went to see Claude. I knocked on the door. He opened the door and I saw his eyes were red and weepy. He moved past me and sat down on his chair that was up against the house on the simple slab concrete porch. I ask, "Claude, where is your squirrel?" His eyes started running tears. He smoked a pipe and the pipe giggled in his mouth nervously as he said, "Maynard came in drunk and killed my squirrel." The old man cried.
He gave me that cage. It was too heavy to carry. I got my brothers red coaster wagon and hauled it home. Dad came in the house not long after and said, "Dorothy, Claude died." I had never heard of anyone dying.
Life must have been stressful, boring or maybe it was tradition. Whatever the cause, farmers I knew growing up drank whiskey, wine and beer. I recall their names because they were an important part of our childhood; Mike Ryan, Shearl Miller, Lawrence Barry, Joe and Johnny Reynolds, Maynard Stevens, Estill Lovelace, and Johnny Crawford. Our farm was the next to the last farm on the gravel road. The road was littered with empty wine and whiskey bottles. You could start at our farm, walk the road and pick up enough empty Richard's Wild Irish Rose Wine bottles and collect enough dregs to get a good drink by the time you got to where the gravel road met the blacktop.
Johnny Reynolds owned the farm next to ours. He made his living mainly from a bar he ran in the County seat. There was an old farm house on Johnny's farm. He rented it. It attracted poor folks. But for a short time when I was in the age range of about 8 or 9, it was rented to Claude and Maynard Stevens. Father and son. Claude must have been about 72. Maynard did farm work for anyone who could afford to employ him. They had no car so if you hired him; you had to haul him. He spent most of what he made on Richard's Wild Irish Rose. You could buy a pint for less than a dollar.
I enjoyed going over and talking to Claude. Claude had a pet gray squirrel. He made a cage out of the top of an old kitchen wood stove. Covered the cage with the grate selves he removed from the oven part of the stove. The squirrel would sit on his shoulder and he would feed it. It would go into his shirt and it was fun. I remember some wisdom he passed on to me one day. I said I wished I had a bicycle. He said, "Let me tell you something son, if you shyt in one hand and wish in the other, I can tell you what hand will get full the fastest."
One day I went to see Claude. I knocked on the door. He opened the door and I saw his eyes were red and weepy. He moved past me and sat down on his chair that was up against the house on the simple slab concrete porch. I ask, "Claude, where is your squirrel?" His eyes started running tears. He smoked a pipe and the pipe giggled in his mouth nervously as he said, "Maynard came in drunk and killed my squirrel." The old man cried.
He gave me that cage. It was too heavy to carry. I got my brothers red coaster wagon and hauled it home. Dad came in the house not long after and said, "Dorothy, Claude died." I had never heard of anyone dying.
i learned to not be afraid of persons height ... worry more about their knowledge .. I told my daughter earlier I NEVER back down from a fight... I may be out-numbered or out of my league... but i will ALWAYS stand my ground.. 
