Tobacco Road

 One of the highlights of my childhood was getting to visit my Granny and Granddaddy for a couple of weeks each summer. I left behind my Miami suburb to go to the country--Okeechobee. Granny worked for McArthur Dairy, and they lived out on a dairy line. There were probably twenty houses, ten on each side of the road, and they were backed by cow pasture. My brother and I roamed and played and made up games, and we just had a great time.
There were so many things that were different from life back in Miami. One thing that Granny's house held, that ours did not, was tobacco. Now, Granny didn't use tobacco. But, my granddaddy did. My uncles did. Granddaddy smoked a few Winstons every day. However, of much more interest to me and my brother, was his use of snuff. Three Thistles snuff, specifically. We'd watch him fill the lid of the can, tap it into his mouth, and then spit it out all day. My uncles were more hard-core. They not only smoked, but they chewed Red Man plug tobacco. Again, it was fascinating to see them cut a plug of chaw, pop it into their mouths, and then chew and spit. To this day, I don't know why we were so fascinated, but we were.
 Now, there is a reason God gave me a younger brother. And it was for him to try the things I didn't want to try. In this case, the snuff. When we went to work with Granny and Grandaddy, sometimes we'd wait in the car. And there would be Granddaddy's snuff, sitting in the glove box, just asking to be used. I convinced my brother to take just a pinch and put it up his nose, and then I promised I'd do the same. So, Billy got himself a big pinch of snuff, put it up his nose, and didn't seem to enjoy it as Granddaddy did. He just began sneezing and crying that his nose was burning. I backed out of the deal. Funny thing, though, I pulled that trick on him at least three consecutive summers before he caught on and refused the snuff. As for his runny nose and red eyes, I just blamed it on allergies when Granny asked.

You would think that his experience with the snuff would have been enough, but it was not. One summer, we were at Granny's with our cousins. I noticed that Billy and Clint had disappeared for quite a while. I went to the back bedroom and peeked out the window. There I found them, hiding between the bushes and the house. They had gotten the Red Man tobacco. I watched as they pulled off pieces and put them into their mouths. Oh boy! Just what I had been waiting for--I couldn't go get Granny fast enough. If there was a time to carry tales, this was it. I ran and got her and dragged her to peek out of the window with me. There were the two of  them--green, gagging, and disgorging the half-chewed tobacco into the bushes. "Are you going to spank them? Are they in trouble?" Granny just looked at me, shook her head no, and said, "I think they've had punishment enough." They were kinda green for the rest of the day, and there was plenty of supper that night because there were two boys who didn't feel like eating. Maybe Granny was right, maybe they did get enough punishment.

Welcome to my Cracker Box

     I am a True Florida Cracker. What does that mean? Cracker is a word that is often used to denote a Florida or Georgia native who is backward, bigoted, and a braggart. I'm actually a double-Cracker; my daddy's family were Georgia Crackers; my momma's family were, and are, Florida Crackers.I will claim some braggarts and plenty of family who are Crackers in the Scottish sense of the word--chatty, gossipy, and jokers.It is a source of pride, in my family, to be able to tell a story well.One gets more respect if that story is funny.
      However,  I also think of my Cracker family in a different sense. Florida Crackers get their name from the long whips that they cracked over cattle as they drove them to market. Various members of my family have worked with cattle or farmed. It was not an easy life, and it formed my Cracker heritage.  My Crackers are resourceful; my momma made dolls from dog weed and "built" herself a play house by scratching one out in the dirt of the front yard. They are resilient. Imagine living in a hot, humid climate with no air conditioning, wearing long skirts and petticoats, They had little money for doctors and relied on home remedies. They fought rattlesnakes, bobcats, insects of all kinds and sizes, and Florida's hurricanes and thunderstorms; and they still thrived. My Crackers had, and have, a strong work ethic; they did whatever was necessary to feed, clothe, and house their families.No legal work was considered to be beneath them. I was taught from childhood that when I worked, I was to give my best--and then a little more. The pay didn't matter; it was the pride in a job well-done. They had faith. Church, prayer, and the Bible were important. Some of my ancestors were illiterate, but they still knew the Lord and Creator of the land they loved so well. I remember Granddaddy falling asleep while reading his Bible. His prayers are part of the Jones's family legend.
     This blog is about those Crackers and my experiences and stories about them. Some of the stories will be my stories; some will be family stories; some may be a bit apocryphal, but that goes with being a true Cracker. I hope that you will get to know the characters in my family: Granny (or Reatha Mae or The Old Critter), Granddaddy, Grandmother (Grammer), Daddy, Mommy, Uncle Son, Aunt Reba (Illa Eugenia), Larry, Doc, and a host of other people who inhabit my Cracker box.