Effie Russell

Partial Transcript: “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.”

Partial Transcript: I’m Effie Russell, and I was born and raised in Greenville County, South Carolina, and I was born in a log house. My Granny Russell delivered me when I was born.

Partial Transcript: I had two brothers and one sister and my mom and daddy. And we was raised on a farm. We had about—one time, we had about—daddy had a hundred and some acres of land. Him and his two brothers bought 320 acres of land down there together, and they divided it. Then after us four kids got up grown my uncle—he lives in Cleveland, and he worked on the railroad, and he had his leg broke. It got so he couldn’t work, and he couldn’t farm. He come down to the house and wanted to sell us his part of the land—us four kids. And then my two brothers and my sister bought his share of the land. Then we had two hundred and some. Then the other brother kept the land, then he died, and it went to his wife. And then his wife died, and it went to her son. And then by that time, my sister was married, and her husband come to us one day down there. Me and daddy was over there working, setting out some peach trees. And he said just buy out that piece, then we’d have it all. I said, “He won’t sell it.” He said, “Yes, he will. I went and talked to him. Said he’d do the same thing because Uncle Max said he done.” So we bought that other share, then we had three hundred and some acres of land, and we farmed up on the mountain—growed corn, garden stuff, beans, cabbage, turnips, peas, sweet po-taters, earth po-taters, cabbage—and we had plenty to eat, such as we had. And daddy always kept two or three milk cows. We raised hogs and killed ‘em. We had chickens. We had our own eggs. We churned—had our milk and butter. Toted water from the spring. We didn’t have no electricity. Used a lamp. We made it. We had plenty to eat.

Then when daddy dug the ‘taters, we dug a hole out in the ground and put our ‘taters in it and buried ‘em and put boards on top, and we buried it and covered it up with dirt and left us a place where we could get to ‘em to get ‘em out when we want ‘em. We had ‘taters to eat. We done the sweet ‘taters same way, and daddy always dug cabbage. We buried cabbage in the ground, and when the snow come, we’d go scratch into it and get us a cabbage out and fry it. We had our own hog meat, and mom rent all the lard. We used the lard, she did, to make biscuits, and we shelled corn and took it to the mill, had it ground to powder cornbread. And that’s the way we made our living.

Partial Transcript: Cool? We’d get a fan or something. A fan. (laughs)

Partial Transcript: No. We kept it at the spring breaks—kept our mill—had a spring brink. My daddy made a box to put our milk and stuff in the spring brinks and the butter—and kept it out there at the spring branch.

Partial Transcript: Yeah, it was a box. We dug down in the spring branch and put it down and the water runnin’ all the time. We could put our milk and stuff out there. Now we had a big ol’ wooden tub out there. The spout was running into it all the time. Had it full of water and out there where we washed. Heat our water in a wash pot. Washed our hands and hung it down the line.

Partial Transcript: Tote it in a peck basket. We didn’t have water in the house. We toted it in a peck basket.

Partial Transcript: That was the way we growed up—working all the time. If we wasn’t in the field working, we was cutting logs, getting out locust posts, bustin’ posts, cut dogwood, and peeled tan bark—tote it out where we get to it with a slide and a horse or steer and haul it to where we get to it with our truck and sell it. And log and plow the horse and plow the steer and plow the mule.

Partial Transcript: Sometimes daddy would have us out in the field by daylight. We had to hoe that corn, plow the corn, hoe the garden, and everything. I know one time we got up. We didn’t have a clock to tell what time it was. And somebody come—had the time and mommy cut little notches on the doorsteps what time—she was at the house—what time to put on her bread and cook to bring her dinner to the field to us, when the sun was shining. When it got to that mark, she knew to put on her bread.

Partial Transcript: And she had to put on her bread. But when the sun wasn’t shining, she just had to guess.

Partial Transcript: Now I couldn’t tell you that. My grandpa’s daddy come from Tennessee. He lived in Tennessee. And they said that his momma died, and they were farmers. And they said that his daddy married again and said she was a mean old woman. They said they’d make him hoe corn, and then they sent him to the mill one day to take a sack of corn to the mill to have it ground and said they was hoeing corn. And they said they’d skip his row then they’d get the next row when he got back home. He had to go back and hoe his row of corn and send it. He come and hung that sack of corn up in a tree, and he left, and he come to North Carolina here, and he never did return. And that’s where we come from. (laughs)

Partial Transcript: Well, she was born and raised in South Carolina. Her grandpa—her mom and daddy—they farmed, too. And of course, they worked some for other people—helped one another. When we was living in South Carolina, we helped one another. And sometimes we’d get behind on our crop, and our neighbors come in and help us out. Then they’d get behind, and we’d go help them out.

Partial Transcript: Well, then we had to walk to school. We had to walk a long ways to school, and we went to school.

Partial Transcript: It was a one—just a small school.

Partial Transcript: It was—they call it Fall Creek, and everybody called it Possum Holler—Possum Holler School where we went.

Partial Transcript: It teached twelfth grade.

Partial Transcript: One. One teacher.

Partial Transcript: No, we didn’t. No, we didn’t. (laughs) And I quit going to school. I never did finish. I ain’t got too good a education. I never did finish. I quit and went picking apples when I was twelve years old, and we lived down there in South Carolina. Then we moved and moved in another house where we bought my uncle’s house. It was a better house, and we moved into it. And it was—well, daddy used to live here with my grandpa and granny and before him and mom was married—before they even knowed one another—and then they sold that down there. The people down there died out, and daddy and three of his brothers went, and they sold it at the Greenville Courthouse—highest bidder—and they went and bid it off. And my daddy said him and his brother walked from here to Greenville on Paul Hill and Greenville. And his sister lived there and stayed all night, then he went on to the courthouse the next day and bid it off. Then after he done that, then they moved down there. And they said it was a big house. I never did see it. Then him and mommy met, and they got married. And then after they married, this log house—mommy and daddy moved in the log house.

Partial Transcript: Well, it was a log house. It was covered with boards—split boards.

Partial Transcript: It had a big fireplace, and then they built a kitchen all the way across the back of it. Had a big, long kitchen all the way across the back. Just a weather-boarded kitchen.

Partial Transcript: With that fireplace. It was a big fireplace.

Partial Transcript: Some. Mommy cooked some on it. And we had a woodstove. She cooked on the woodstove. Had to get stove wood and—the kitchen was up high, and me and my youngest brother—we’d put the stove wood in the middle of that floor then tote the stove wood in.

Partial Transcript: She made some of them

How did she make them?

She had a sewing machine—a pedal sewing machine.

Where’d she get the material from?

We’d buy it at the store.

Where was the store?

Well, out here in Slater, I guess. That’s as far as she got then. Didn’t have no way of going much other than walking. 00:12:46 My daddy and my oldest brother—they’d tote a bushel of corn from down there to Slater to have it ground to make cornmeal out of. We’d kill our hogs, salt the hogs down, and back bones and ribs. We did canning. What does that dog have?

Partial Transcript: A squirrel.

He caught him one. He’s caught all him his squirrels. (laughs)

He’s pretty fast.

If they jump out the tree, he’ll catch it.

He’s got himself some breakfast.

He won’t eat it. He won’t eat raw meat. First dog I’ve ever seen in my life that won’t eat raw meat. He’ll catch it and he’ll bury it. He’s a burying that’n. (laughs) That’s Bandy. He won’t eat raw meat. First dog I ever seen wouldn’t eat raw meat.

You’ve been spoiling him too much.

He is spoiled. But if anybody’s coming to try to hit me with something, I betcha they’d have to kill him. He’d grab it.

He’s a good guard. He’s a good protector.

He is. And then the watershed come in there and run us out.

Partial Transcript: Well, they said that it was clear water—pure water—and they wouldn’t have to do nothing to it or nothing—pure water and everything. And they was going to buy it all out, but we didn’t want to sell. Some of it run down on the road in front of Bly Pool. He run a store, and he was wanting to sell. He was wanting to get on down to—thought he would get a better business. And they didn’t sell. If you didn’t sell, they said they’d just divvy it and take it. Boy, I hated to leave from down there. I was born and raised there. That’s my home. And daddy had lived here. We went everywhere hunting for land. And them men come up to the house and said they’d help us hunt a good piece of land. I told them I didn’t want them to hunt nothing for me. We’d find our own. And so daddy liked this place, so we ended up a-buying it.

Partial Transcript: It’s been about fifty—it’s been about fifty years ago since we moved up here

Partial Transcript: Yeah. We built it long ago, and my youngest brother lived in that one there. He wanted the log house, and he got the log house. And me and mom and daddy built this house.

Partial Transcript: They don’t. Nobody. My brother did live there, and then they bought him in a mobile home and just put it a little piece across the creek down there. They lived there. Don’t nobody live there now. And my brother died, and his wife divided it between their five kids. The land went to the five kids.

Partial Transcript: Well, to start with, there was forty-two acres. Well, there is still forty-two acres. Then my oldest brother—he bought some more land over in Southern, and he didn’t want to live that far from us. We’ve always been right together. And daddy let him have an acre off our’n here—that white house down there, up on the hill. He built his house there. So we all were still right together. Then my sister got married, and she got her job and took to Cedar Mill, and she got married, and she moved to Cedar. But we still was together ‘bout all the time.

Partial Transcript: Well, I don’t know. We had good times together. We worked hard and went out in the field, cutting timber, or don’t know what. And then when we come to the house, everybody had a job to do. Everybody had something to do till every bit of it was done.

Partial Transcript: Well, me and my youngest brother was the least, and me and Dave—we had to help get the cows up, help feed, and mom and daddy—they’d milk, and Less, my sister—sometimes mom even put supper or something on. She’d tend to supper, and then we had to tote in stove wood and get the kindling in for the next morning and tote up the water from the spring, go to the spring and get the milk, and JM, my oldest—I had one cow down at my grandpa’s house. He lived a little further down the road, and JM generally milked that cow. And mom and daddy milked the cows at our house, and daddy milked. I got big enough to start milking. Oh, I was wanting to milk so bad, me and my brother—we’d run ahead of it and get up there and start milking before mom and daddy’d get there. And then they’d finish milking. I got so I milked good, then I had to milk. Me and mommy done the milking. But everybody had something to do. Everybody worked until the work was done.

Partial Transcript: I didn’t cook very much. My momma done the cooking and then my sister—she cooked a whole lot—got so she cooked a whole lot.

Partial Transcript: Well, we had friends down there. We could get together on the weekends, and we’d pitch horseshoes, and we’d jump rope, and we’d play hide-and-go-seek and pat hand and sailing ships, and we had a good time.

Partial Transcript: No, we didn’t have no instruments to play.

Was there any place where music would come in? Any kind of stage, theater, or something?

Nope. JM, my oldest brother, bought the first radio I reckon was down in there.

How long ago was that?

Gosh, I don’t know. That’s when President Roosevelt was the president (laughs), however long that’s been.

Did you all sit around listening to the radio?

Yeah, we listened to the radio and listened to singing on the radio.

What was your favorite music to listen to?

I liked to listen to—Amos and Andy used to be on television. Did you ever hear tell of Amos and Andy? Now, I liked to watch them. We’d be out in the field working and hoeing corn. If we was close enough to the house, now, when they come on, daddy would quit and let us go to the house to listen to them, then we’d go back to the field. But part time, we’d tend on top of the mountain.

Partial Transcript: We walked down to Mount Page. The rock church.

Partial Transcript: Oh, it used to be a weatherboard church, and it got old. It was about to fall, and they got the rocks and built that church when I was a small kid.

Partial Transcript: Yeah. They had problems at church, like all churches. It went down pretty low here a while back, but it’s a-building back up now. It’s building back up.

Partial Transcript: Well, back when you had to have stamps to get anything with—you had to decide to get stamps to buy coffee and stuff. And me and my youngest brother, we weren’t old enough. We couldn’t get coffee. But daddy went and signed up and had the stamps to get coffee. But then, they didn’t get quite enough to do it, and then some of the people lived down in there—they didn’t drink coffee. They’d give daddy their stamps to get the coffee with. And then you had to have stamps to get sugar with.

Partial Transcript: No. You took them stamps and bought it. You had to buy your food. You had to have stamps to buy sugar with. And mommy—she made a lot—we canned a lot and mommy—she made a lot of jelly and preserves and stuff.

Partial Transcript: We canned peaches, apples, beans, and mommy made a lot of jelly. We had fox grapes used to grow down there, up and down the creek. And we’d pick them fox grapes and mommy—she’d make fox grape jelly, and then we had tame grapes, and she’d make tame grape jelly. We had an apple tree. She made canned apples and dried apples. We had dried apples and pickled beans—canned beans, pickled beans—and make leather britches out of beans. We had enough to eat, but it was rough eating, but I still like it. (laughs)

Partial Transcript: I ain’t never met him yet. (laughs) I was the only one that never did get married.

Partial Transcript: No. I lived in South Carolina on account of that ol’ watershed come run us out. I was in my twenties when we come up here.

Partial Transcript: I never did work in a factory, and I picked apples, and I picked beans for other people. I hulled corn. I helped plant corn for my uncle. Cut tops and pulled fodder. And me and Less went and lived in South Carolina—me and Less, my sister. We walked from all the way down here to Pring Pace’s store. Of course, you don’t know where it’s at. He had an orchard, and he peddled. And we’d walk all the way up there and work ten hours and walk back home. And then his son got so he come down and rode to meet us in a truck. Now, he peddled, and he’d tell us what all he want us to get up—go to peddle the next day. So many bushel this kind of apples or so many bush 00:34:07 (break in recording) beans and the okra and watermelons and everything—tell us what to get up for his next load to go and peddle. We had—we picked all them beans, got his okra and cut okra and toted out watermelons and picked so many bushels of this kind of apple, so many bushels of that kind of apples for him to go back to peddling on.

Partial Transcript: He’d go to South Carolina and peddle it out. Sell it.

Where in South Carolina did he do that?

I don’t know whether it’s Greenville or Spartanburg or where. He went to somewhere in South Carolina. That’s the way he made his living.

Did you ever go to market yourself with him?

No. Unh-uh (negative). Him and his son done it. But we’d get his load up to go though.

Partial Transcript: I don’t guess they did. I don’t guess they did. And so when we moved up here, both my brothers worked the mill then. My sister got married, and I stayed on home with mom and daddy, and daddy—one time he had to have a surgery. He done the plowing, and after he had that surgery, we had corn to plow and stuff, and I took on to plowing. And then when he got better, I was to plow as to hoe, and I done the plowing, and him and mommy done the hoeing. And that bottom down there—when we moved up here, there was about five acres of it. Half of it was mine and daddy’s, and the other half was my brother’s. And we tend that bottom. We didn’t pay no attention to the lines. We just worked together. And of course, when my brother come in, he’d help. And his wife helped. But I broke up that bottom down there with a horse and a turn plow. We didn’t have no tractors. I broke it up with a horse and a turn plow, and I planted. Him and mommy would hoe.

Partial Transcript: It took me a week to break that bottom up with a horse and a turner. And this up here was an apple orchard, and I broke all of it up and planted trees. We planted all of that.

Partial Transcript: Well, my sister got her job there first. She worked there. And that was after my daddy died. And me and my brother had a mule then. We was plowing a mule. Well, we had a patch over there next to the road the other side of that house you see over yonder. That’s my niece lives over on top of that. We had a garden over there, too. And I was over there plowing, and my sister and her husband—they came over where I was at one day, and they said—of course, she was working at the laundromat. That man on the motel—he was wanting somebody to help clean the motels. And she come and asked me would I go help. I said, “I don’t know. I don’t know about cleaning a motel.” But I said I’d go. Said want me to come to the office—interview me. I said, “Yeah, I’ll go.” So I took my mule out and I went up ‘ere, and I went in, and his wife, of course, interviewed me—Miss 00:38:22 (???) (s/l Mee-taw). Bob and Miss Mee-taw owned it. They owned the laundromat and the motel. I said, “Well, you said come to interview. Here I am.” So she talked to me a while and said, “You come back in the morning and help clean then.” I said, “Okay. If I don’t do it to suit you, just tell me. I’ll try to do it to suit you. If I can’t suit you, I’ll be a truckin’ on. I don’t know nothing about cleaning motels, but I know how to plow a mule.” So I didn’t care.

So the next morning I went back, and she went in first and told me she didn’t want me to do nothing—just watch her. She cleaned the first room and said, “Now you go get the next room.” So I went and got it and got my linen and everything—cleaned the bathroom and I cleaned it—said when I got done, come and tell her. She’s come to check it. So I went and got her, and I said, “I got it done.” So she come and checked it out, and she said, “It looks good to me. Go ahead and get the next one.” So I went and got the next room. I went and told her. She said, “It looks good to me. Go ahead.” So her husband, Bob—he went back over to the laundromat. My sister was working there, and he was tending the laundromat, and she did the motel. And my sister said, “Well, how is Eff doing over there?” Said, “She ain’t no 00:39:50 (???) (s/l chem-tall).” Ring was her name. She said she wasn’t no kettle at tall. But said she said she wished she could find her one more hand that knowed how to plow a mule—someone they could hire. She’s the best hand I ever had. (laughs) So I worked for—they sold it. And then they sold the motel first, and then one day I went to work, and the first shift woman worked at the laundromat. Her kid got hurt. Something at school. She had to go get her kid. And Bob was over there, and when I pulled up he motioned me to come to the laundromat. So I went over there to see what he wanted, and he wanted me to work at the laundromat. I said, “Bob, I haven’t never worked at a laundromat, and you know you have to give out change and do people’s clothes.” And he was standing there giving me change to give out to people and telling me what to do. And so he took off back over to the motel. Said, “If you need me, just come out there and wave your hand, and I’ll be watching for you.” So I worked that day at the—then my sister come in. He said I done a fine job waiting on the people. So I went back to the motel, and I worked until they sold it. And then I got to helping my sister over at the motel.

Partial Transcript: Horse. Then the horse died, and we had a mule. Broke it up with the mule. And then I had a steer, and I fed steers. We drug the wood, sawed it up with a crosscut saw. Bust the wood to build fires. We’d cut two or three loads—a cord of pinewood to take and sell. And then in the fall, I’d pick apples. Then I got me a job in the laundromat.

Partial Transcript: I had my truck. Yeah, I was driving. And I worked there, and then my sister’s husband got sick and they had to put him in the hospital. He didn’t live long, and he died. While he was in the hospital, he was going to sign up for disability and they found out he had cancer. And Less told Bob and them just put me in for her temp. When she could, she’d come back and help me. So me and her worked there. I worked there for about twenty years. And we done camp clothes, and then in the fall, when there were apples for us to pick, I’d go in the evening and work till eleven o’clock at night and done clothes. Then I quit and come home, and I had a cow to milk, hog to feed. I’d feed my hog, milk my cow, and be out there picking apples at seven o’clock. I’d pick apples till twelve o’clock. I come home and done my feeding and all, and my momma was still living then. And my niece stayed with her for a long time. Then she got married, and I took my mother with me to the laundromat to work. Then we got to doing the camp clothes, and we had to wait till we closed the laundry at eleven o’clock, and they’d bring it in there in truck loads, and Bob, the owner, and his wife and they had another hand a-helpin’, and we’d fold all them clothes and wash them at night. Sometimes we didn’t get out till seven o’clock the next morning doing clothes. And then I’d come home and do my feeding, my milking, then me and my sister got to clean houses. We’d go clean two or three houses and back to the laundromat. (laughs)

Partial Transcript: Oh, we cut logs, drag ‘em out, having to haul.

Where did you bring the wood to?

We didn’t have it sawed. We just took it and sold it. We’d get out carloads of wood and saw it up and these men came to haul it to Saluda and put it on boxcars and ship it.

Were they any particular kinds of trees you were cutting down?

Oh, I’ve got pinewood, pine trees. I think one time we cut a carload of pinewood. But we’d peel poplars—cut ‘em down in the summer and peel ‘em and get the bark off and then wait to fall—drive it out, saw it up, and get somebody to haul it and ship it. Poplar wood.

Partial Transcript: Well, we had a good life. We had a lot of fun cutting up, acting a fool—always together. They had two dogs there, and they’d take a fit. They used to take running fits, and me and my sister’s scared to death. They went and took a runnin’ fit, we’d be out. We’d run and climb trees. When they run to the house, we’d run and shut the doors. (laughs) Get shadow and it’d scare us to death when they took a run fit.

Partial Transcript: Well, they run and holler and bark. They used to take runnin’ fits. And then some of them would take kickin’ fits—lay down and kick. And my sister, I think, was scared-er than I was. We’d be on the mountain working and hearing—yelp, yelp, yelp—run and boy, me and my sister’d go up trees, and daddy said he wasn’t scared of it. But he said we were scared enough he’d climb a tree. (laughs)

Partial Transcript: I like for ‘em to get out there and work. And when we went to school, when we come home, mom and daddy’d be out working and doing something, and she’d always have us something cooked to eat when we got home from school. And when we got home, we’d eat. We got our clothes off we wore to school, and we went out and worked with what they was doing, and they’d tell us what to do. We’d get out there and worked. And me and my youngest brother—we’d get leaves—rake leaves and make cows a bed—make the hogs a bed, and we had to keep—we used a stable for their cows and the calves and stuff. We roped many, many a sack of leaves up and toted it to make the cows a bed.

Partial Transcript: Well, everybody knows I work. Everybody knows I work. After we moved up here and them across the road over there and they’ve seen me a-plowin’, and one time I was plowing my steer down there on the bottom, and my daddy—before he died—he died in ’64. He was over there working on the side of the road cleaning the bank off, and I was plowing, and I was going back to go on in with the steer plowing, and daddy told me, “Eff, there’s two men standing over on the side of the road to watchin’ you plow. I don’t know who they are. They come up the road in a car and stopped. They’re out standing on the side of the road. Just don’t pay ‘em no attention.” I said, “They ain’t going to watch me plow.” He said, “Well, they probably never seen a woman plow a steer. They just over there watchin’ you. Don’t pay ‘em no attention.” I got a spring right over there in the bottom. I plowed down to the spring and said, “Gee, Jim.” I turned him around to head him back, throwed my line down, went down there and sat down there on the head of the spring. I said, “I’m going to sit here as long as you stand over there on the road watching me.” (laughs) They stood there a few minutes. I reckon they thought I’d start again. They got in the car and went on. I don’t know who they was.

Partial Transcript: Well, they come and said that somebody called ‘em from Time News and somebody down there a plowing a steer. They wanted a film—to take a picture. I said, “You ain’t takin’ my picture. Down there is the steer. If you want to take his picture, go on down and take it, but you ain’t takin’ mine.” And he kept on, then my sister come out and said, “Effie, that be the truest story that he could put in the paper. That would be the truth.” And he didn’t want us to pay him no attention—just go ahead and do out what we was doing. And I paid him no attention. I said, “I ain’t paying you no attention. You ain’t takin’ my picture neither.” (laughs) And he kept on. My sister said, “Well, we don’t care. Let him take it if he wants to.” And I said, “What do you want with it?” He said, “I want to put it in the paper.” I said, “You ain’t puttin’ my picture in no paper.” And finally I said, “Well, if you put my picture in the paper, don’t you put my name.” And he said, “Well, I can’t if you tell me not to.” But he said, “That’d be the truest story I have ever put in the paper.” He kept on, so we took a picture, and then he found out momma’s house, and he wanted her to come down there. And she come down there and got the steer by the horn, and then he wanted us like we was putting hands on, you know. So sister’s on one side and the other one with like we was gearing him up and said, “Now, how do you keep the gears up?” I said, “You tie your hands.” (laughs) And I got mad like I was tying him and hands on him, and that old steer—he turned his head kind of over my shoulder, and he filmed that. He come out in the newspaper. He filmed that. And then he come out in the newspaper said when he filmed it and got through looking at it and said the old steer turned his head and looked right straight at him and licked his tongue out. He had the picture of the old steer licked his tongue out at him. (laughs)

Partial Transcript: Well, I don’t know if I was proud or not. Everybody knows I work, now. I want people and everybody to know I’ve worked for my living. We all worked. We all worked together, and that’s the way we was raised. And if one of us had something and the other didn’t have it, we had to share with the other kid. And we growed up like ‘at, and we still shared until the preacher come. My sister just died back in the spring, and she was ninety-two years old. And it like to killed me when she died. The preacher come on Sunday and two men from the church came here to see me, and I told the preacher. I said, “I wished I’d have went on, too.”

Partial Transcript: I sure do. I really miss her. We was always together. And she had one daughter. She lives in Virginia, and that’s the longest me and her have ever been apart—when she’d go visit her—sometimes a week or stay two weeks. But she wouldn’t stay over two weeks. She’s back home. Me and her was together. I told you, we worked together. We played together. We aggravate one another together and everything else. We cleaned house together. We’ve had a lot of fun together. We’ve had a lot of hard times, but we had a lot of fun.

Partial Transcript: Well, one time we was cleaning the house, and it was a big house. It was a summerhouse over on Lake Summit. It was a big ol’ house, and when they left, we went every week and checked it. And then afore they come back, we’d take every room. It was a big ol’ house—just three level, up the side of the mountain. We’d take a room at a time and clean it. We cleaned the walls, furniture, floors, and polished everything. Had everything cleaned when they come back. And the woman that owned it—her bedroom was the upper level, and it was a big room. We was up there cleanin’ hit, and I was running the vacuum cleaner, and my sister—she was a dustin’ and waxin’ the tables and the end tables and things. She was sitting over on the side of the bed. The end table was there, and she was dustin’ hit. It had a big vent right up over her head, and I pulled the settee out from the bathroom, and I saw something laying behind it, and I didn’t know what it was. Well, I run it in my vacuum, and I caught it and I pulled it out. It was a flying squirrel. It was dead. It got in there and died—a flyin’ squirrel. And my sister—the way she was sitting, she had her back to me, and she was bent over cleaning that table. And I picked that squirrel up by the tail and I throwed it. I meant to throw it over in front of her, and when I throwed that squirrel, it went right over her head and right there in between her legs. (laughing) She hollered. They had a white bedspread on the bed. Her feet and all come up on top of that bed. When her feet come up on that bed, she said, “Eff! Eff! Come here! Come here!” And I said—I wasn’t going to let her see my face, I was so tickled. I just said, “Now, what do you want?” She said, “Cut that thing off and come here! There’s something here!” (laughing) I said, “What do you want, Less?” She said, Come here! There’s something here!” I said, “Where’d it come from?” She said, “Hit come from above!” (laughing) “I don’t know where it come from. Cut that thing off and come here!” She was sitting up on the bed with her feet on the bed with that white bedspread. Said, “Come here!” So I started to her, and I was so well tickled I was holding back. I was choking I was so tickled. I couldn’t make it to her. I fell down on the floor. I just laid down on the floor and rolled and laughed at her. She said, “What is this thing?” I said, “Pick it up and see.” “I’m not doing it!” (laughing) I went and got it. I’m telling you, I laughed until I hurt. We’ve had a lot of fun together cleaning house. (laughing)

Partial Transcript: I’ve never seen but two flying squirrels in my life, I don’t reckon. That was a flying one, but he was dead. (laughing) We’ve had a lot of fun together. We have. We’d aggravate one another, and when we was doing the camp clothes at night, we’d get so tired—we’d be so tired you’d be crazy. One would do something to the other one, and we had this woman helping. She was scared of anything. I don’t care what it was. Bugs, anything, she was scared. And everything we’d find, we’d throw it on her or put it on her and have her a-hollering about all night. Once she went and got mad at us, but she didn’t.

Partial Transcript: Well, I don’t know where it’s any better, and I don’t know where it’s got much worse or not. It’s just the same when we moved up here. But down there in South Carolina though—see our kinfolks and all lived down there on the watershed, and everybody got scattered and went first one way and then another one. And we didn’t see them as much. We always was together on Sundays and stuff—the whole bunch of us. I had an uncle. Mommy’s brother lived there, and he had seven kids, I think. Didn’t live too far from us, and then there’s another house up ‘ere—had kids and we all walk and go to church—all go to get together and go on to church together. And we had a good time walkin’, goin’ to church and back. We’d walk and so go Sunday school—be up ‘ere by ten o’clock. And then sometime they’d have something in the evening, and we’d walk back, doing the singing and the preaching, and we’d walk back and go there.

Partial Transcript: Well, I don’t reckon there’s none I don’t like. I reckon everything’s about the same. I reckon if I needed anything, they’d a lot of people tell me to call them, and they’d be here and all.

Partial Transcript: I’d like to say get out there and work and quit loafer-ing so much. If they worked like we did, when they got a chance, they’d sit down and rest. They wouldn’t be out a-loafing. And there wouldn’t be so much menace a-goin’ on.

Partial Transcript: You’re right. You get—and good food, too. It’s lots better than it is going to the store and buying it. I get tomaters—‘maters out of the store you buy—they don’t taste like tomaters. I like my ‘maters get ripe on the vine, and they’re good then. And these out of the store—I realize what they have to do. They have to pull ‘em green to haul ‘em and ship ‘em. They can’t let them get ripe on the vine. I know that. And I like apples to get ripe on the trees. They have to pick it green and all to ship it and all. I realize that.

Partial Transcript: That’s right. Nothing better than to letting it ripen on the trees. They are. And peaches—they pick peaches green, and then they have to get ripe. But they’re best to let them get ripe on the tree. But I know they can’t do that and haul them. They’d get all mashed up. They can’t do that.

Partial Transcript: You know what you’re eating. And when you buy it like that, you don’t know what you’re eating. You don’t know. You just really don’t know how it’s handled or nothing when you’re buying it. But when you grow it yourself, you know what you’re eating and how it’s growed, and it’s lots better like ‘at.

Partial Transcript: Yeah, just turn that barrel over, and you put—well, as I say, it’d take sometimes four days to do it. And you pick your beans. You string and break them up. And then you wash them, and you have the jars cleaned. You pack them in your jars, you fill your jars up with water, and you tie a string around each jar and put your lids on tight. And then you put something in the bottom of your barrel, and you start your beans. You put all the way around—fill that round up of beans. And then you put your something else over the top. You put shirts, a sheet—anything you want to over the top of that and have enough to go around the side of your barrel. And you put another layer in and do the same thing. When you get it full, then you put you another layer in. You get your beans full. And then you fill your barrel full of water—cold water. And then you build your fire in it, and when you get that done, what you say—you got your beans canned. And then you build you a fire and let it start boiling. I don’t like it to boil too fast—just start boiling. And then just keep it a-boiling then. Keep your fire in it, and keep it chunked up with more wood, and keep it to boiling until about—let it boil about four hours. And then you don’t have to do nothing else till the next day. You can’t get your beans out. It’s hot. And then the next day, you can take your beans out and dry ‘em off. And sometimes, some of the rims get loose. But don’t tighten them rims. If you tighten them rims, it doesn’t seal, you’ll break that seal, and them beans’ll spoil. Don’t tighten that. Just not screw it tight.

Partial Transcript: Yeah. I had my garden down there, and I got a garden over here. I did have. Well, I got a row of corn. I plant two rows of beans over there this year, and I growed some bell pepper over there. I put my ‘maters down there, and it rained so much it dried out and they didn’t do nothing.

Partial Transcript: And I had my ‘taters last year out here, and I had corn out there. But my sister was sick, and then I got down in my heart, and I wasn’t able to do it this year.

Partial Transcript: We used to have an apple orchard up there, but we tended the whole field and trained the apple trees.

So this was all apple trees?
It was apple trees, but then they died, and we tend it in corn and beans. We had a 01:07:56 (???) (turst) tomatoes up ‘ere before my daddy died. We had tomaters and onions and everything up ‘ere.

Partial Transcript: Everything to eat—we had it up ‘ere.

What was your favorite?
Well, I love most everything. I love tomaters, and I love beans, and I love cabbage, and I love squashes, and I love cucumbers, and I love tomaters.

Is there a dish that your mom made that was your favorite thing that she cooked?
Oh, mommy was a good cook.

What was the favorite thing that she cooked for you?
Well, she made sweet bread. She made cakes and she made coconut pies. She made everything. My momma was a good cook. She made biscuits. I had a cousin. When we lived down in South Carolina, my cousin said that she’d rather have mommy’s biscuits as to have cake.

That’s a good compliment.
Them’s cooking on the woodstove was lots better, too.

What was your favorite dessert that she would make?
I liked sweet bread. I liked pies she made, and she made pies—old-fashioned pies in the pan—blackberry pies and apple pies, peach pies.

Partial Transcript: Oh, I wouldn’t. I wish we could’ve all be together one more time. Well, we will one of these days.

Partial Transcript: That building there?
That’s a meat house. That’s where we put our meat. (laughs) When we kill hogs.

And this one over here?
Oh, you’re talking about that log house. Oh, that was a log house. That’s where my brother lived.

And who built that house?
I don’t know now. It was here when we moved up here. I thought you were talking about this little building down here.

Okay. Let me tape that meat house.
That was a meat house. That’s where we had a meat block—salt our meat down.

Did you smoke your meat here?
Ways of it down there—that’s where we put our meat.

What kind of meat did you—?
Hog meat. Killed hogs. Salt the middlin’s into the hams and shoulders down.

You said you salted it there?
Yeah.

So it wasn’t a smokehouse. It was just to hang the meat.
No, we had a box in there. Had a box, and then we had a shaft down in there. That’s where I keep my trash now. Salt it down and rub the joints with salt—put salt down first then put your middlin’s and things down and cover it in salt to keep it. Then in the spring, you take it up and cut it. That’s my meat house.

Partial Transcript: That’s a good ol’ dog. He’d tree groundhogs. He caught a squirrel the other day, and I took it and skinned it and cooked it, too. I love squirrel.

Do you really?
Yeah.

What about possum?
No! I don’t want no possum. My sister liked possum—momma, the rest of ‘em all loved possum. But me—I didn’t love possum. I loved groundhog.

Partial Transcript: Last summer, the preacher asked me that—how it tasted. I told him it tastes like groundhog. (laughs) It’s better than chicken. I’d rather have groundhog to have chicken. My sister was sick right before she died, and she told me a week or two right before she died—said, “Eff, I wish Bandy would tree a groundhog and you’d kill it and cook me a piece of groundhog and bring me a piece of cornbread. I ain’t had no groundhog in so long.” And I had them cataracts took off my eyes, and I come back home then, and I come and he had a groundhog up a tree over here when I come back. So I called my nephew, and he come and shot it down for me—my great nephew. He come and he shot it out for me over there, and it fell in the road. That dog had it time it hit the ground, and I was standing there looking at it, and they told me not to be stupid for a day or two. And I said, “If I was just able, I’d a skinned that critter, and I’d cook it and take Less a piece of groundhog.” And my nephew said, “Do you mean that?” It was my great nephew. “Do you mean that?” I said, “Yes, I do.” He said, “I’ll do it fer ya,” and he got it and took it back home with him, and he skinned it, brought it back, and washed it. I said, “Now, Jay, I can cut it up. I can set it on the table and sit down and cut it up.” “I’ll cut it up fer ya.”

He cut that groundhog up, and I soaked it about two days, and I cooked it—boiled it, got it good and tender, put it on the stove and baked it, and that Saturday I told her ‘fore I had my cataract took off, I said, “Less, I don’t know now when I’ll be back.” And I went back ‘at Saturday, she’s laying there. I shook—I got her by the foot, and she didn’t pay me no ‘tention. I got her by the knee, and she looked up. I wish you’d just seen her when she looked up and seen me—that smile come on her face when she seed me. She said, “Well, you did make it, didn’t you?” I said, “I shore did.” Said, “Who bring ye?” I said, “I brought myself, and I brought you some groundhog and some cornbread.” She said, “Eff, I’m sick so I can’t eat it. I’m sick.” And she just—and I’m just going and come right back. And I stayed up ‘ere with her, and I know’d she’s a-dying. She’s getting worse and worse. She just wanted me to hold her hand. She reached my hand to hold her hand. Straighten her legs, move my legs, and she wanted water. And I get her just a sip, and sometimes before I set the glass down she wanted water.

And I were there all day long, and my niece lives over there. She watched me—well, most people watch their kids now. And I told her when I was going I’d be back, and late in the evening I went and asked them if I could use the phone, and they said I could. I got the phone and I said, “Bonnie, I’m still here. Less is real bad off.” She said, “I’ll be there as quick as I can get there,” and she come. She didn’t live—my niece—she get her some water. She didn’t live too long after that. I know’d she’s a-dying when I called for to rub her legs. She was gettin’ colder and colder, and she wanted me to hold her hand. It like to kill me when they come and took her to the hospital, and they announced her dead at the hospital. She was dead afore they got there with her. Me and Bonnie, my niece, went right on up there. That was the last memory of my family. I told the preacher they all left me lay behind.

Partial Transcript: Yep. I said, “They left me behind. I wish I’d a went on, too.” “Here, I don’t want to hear you say that no more.” Said, “You’ve still got a family. We’re your family.” They’ve been awful good to me. My nieces and nephews—they watch after me worse’n watchin’ their babies. Somebody’s here most of the time.

Partial Transcript: Oh, I see ‘em. That’n up ‘ere—she works at the hospital. She’s got an office up there in the hospital. She’s over the heart patients and things. She calls me from work every time she gets a chance to see what I’m a-doin’.

Partial Transcript: I ain’t never canned nothin’ in that’n. I had one down here—the last one I canned in—but this one is sitting—I ain’t gonna get in front of it, now. (laughs)

Now what is this?
It’s a drum. You call it a drum.

No, I’m talking about this thing over by the tree.
That’s a harrow.

And what do you use that for?
Are you raised in town?

Partial Transcript: That explains. You break your land up. When you get it broke up, you hook that harrow to your horse or steer or mule and what you’re doing and turn them teeth down, and you harrow it to make it level and thin the clods. You bust your clods with it. (laughs)

Gotcha. Did you use this one? Is this one of the ones you used?
Yeah. I’ve used it a-many a time. That’s a harrow you harrow your ground with. I wish I had something to break up and harrow now, but I just ain’t able to do it.

And this is the kind of barrel you’d use for canning.
For canning.

Partial Transcript: And I did have that bridge there across the creek. That big rain come the second Sunday in August—washed my bridge away and washed it down the creek, and my nephew pulled it out with his tractor, but I ain’t got a foot log to get across over there, and my spring’s over yonder. I got water in the house with a pump in it, and I had a row of corn over there. I had two rows of beans over there, and that’s about all I got planted this year. My ‘maters down here, and it throwed water all the ways through my garden and drowned everything I had out.

What are you growing right now? Anything?
I ain’t got nothing growing right now. Well, I got a stalk of bell pepper over there growing. I picked it the other day. Bandy, you’re going to get your picture took kickin’. (laughs)

Partial Transcript: (laughs) He’s the worse dog to bury something I’ve ever seen, and I betcha he treed more coons and killed more coons here with him than these real coon hunters.

And what about bear? What does he do when a bear comes by?
Run it, bark at it. I’m scared they’re going to turn back on him. Don’t you, Bandy? Don’t you, Bandy?