My Granddaddy

    Boy, this pictures brings back so many memories! This is my Granny and Granddaddy Jones, posing outside of their dairy line house on the MacArthur Dairy in Okeechobee. Granddaddy looks exactly as I remember him. To me, he was the most handsome granddaddy any girl could have! I've been thinking a lot about him lately and how much I miss him.
    Granddaddy, Willie Jones, was born in 1914 in Jasper, Florida. He came from a large farming family. Granddaddy farmed, but he eventually went to work for MacArthur Dairy down in Hollywood, Florida. Granddaddy and Granny moved between Hollywood and McAlpin in the early years, and they eventually moved to Okeechobee when the dairy moved there.  I always found it interesting that Granddaddy and his brother, my Uncle Van, married sisters (Reatha and Lucy Skinner, respectively), so my momma had a set of "double-cousins."  
    Granddaddy was a person who was everybody's  friend. He never met a stranger, and he didn't care what place a person had in society--he approached everyone on his or her own merits. I have never heard anyone speak ill of Willie Jones. He was a man who was universally loved and respected.

Willie and Reatha Jones and unknown dairy owner ready to take a flight  c. 1933

     Granddaddy was a great story teller. I still don't know which of his stories are true and which are not. He told me about his stint in the Army. First, he never thought he'd be drafted because he was married, a farmer, and in his 30's, but he was called and he served. He described taking the train from Scotland down to Southeast England and how beautiful it was. His dream was to make that trip again one day, but he never was able to do so. As far as the fighting, it sounded like a grand adventure! He was in reconnaissance, and he said it was just like hunting squirrels. To Granny's dismay (as the Joneses were officially teetotalers), he told the kids about hiding in the cellar of an old French house and drinking up the cognac they found there. 

        It's the little things that made time with Granddaddy so special. I loved to sit at the breakfast table with him and watch him eat his breakfast. The same thing almost every day: two over-easy eggs, grits, toast, bacon, and a cup of coffee. He'd put the eggs on the grits and pop the yolks, then use the toast to sop up every bite. He "saucered" his coffee--he'd pour a little coffee into the saucer and then sip it. Granddaddy would sit in his chair to watch game shows like "Concentration," "Truth or Consequences," and "Jeopardy." I'd sit on the floor between his knees, and we'd watch and play the game shows together. He was a teaser! He'd slip his feet out of his house shoes and pinch my legs with his toes. "Jeopardy" with Art Fleming was one of his favorite shows--he knew almost all the answers. Granddaddy wasn't an educated man; he never finished high school. But, he was an intelligent man, who loved to read. He passed that love of reading to my mom, and she passed it to me, and I to my kids. 

     He could frustrate us grandkids too. If any one of us would complain, "I'm thirsty!"; he'd answer, "I'm Bill Jones. Nice to meet you." Granddaddy had this whole rhyming sequence he'd have us repeat, and it ended like this: "Rooty Toot" "Rooty Toot" "Onion Soup" "Onion Soup" "Hit me" "Hit me" And then he'd tap us. "Why did you hit me?" "You just asked me to." I think he did that with every grandchild--starting with me. 

     There was another side of Granddaddy as well. He was a man of great faith. I remember his reading his Bible every day. Sometimes I'd see him napping on his bed, he had fallen asleep while reading his Bible and the Bible would be open on his chest. At meals, he would always say the prayer. We would all fold our hands, bow our heads, and wait. Granddaddy prayed so softly, it really was difficult to hear him. Someone would have to say a loud "AMEN" so we would know when to begin eating. One of my uncles asked him why did he have to pray so softly, and Granddaddy just replied, "I'm talking to God--not you. He hears me just fine."
     My most precious memory of Granddaddy was when I took my son, the first great-grandchild, down to Okeechobee to meet him and Granny.  Granny called out to him and he came shuffling as fast as he could down the hall to meet my son. The smile on his face and the tears of joy in his eyes are something I will never forget. My mommy and daddy never saw their grandchild, but Granddaddy's joy in him was all I needed.

     I miss my Granddaddy. He was the sunshine of our family--funny, smiling, gentle, faithful, kind, loving. A little piece of him and his values are in every child, grandchild, and great-grandchild.  He's been in heaven over thirty years now, and I know I will see him again one day, but I still miss him. I miss the teasing. I miss the pinches. I miss the smell of snuff on his breath. I miss his smile that reached all the way to his eyes.  I miss seeing him reading his Bible. And I miss those quiet mealtime prayers. I'll always love you, Granddaddy!

Descendents of Willie and Reatha Jones, Oct 2014

An Udder Cowtastrophe!

     And the summer of 1960-something continues. Being at Granny's for the whole summer gave me all kinds of opportunities to do and learn things that I could not in Miami. I had already learned lessons about gathering eggs, turning bulls into steers, riding, and frying chicken. During that long summer, I had more lessons to learn.

  

One of my favorite places to visit at the dairy was the calf barn.My brother and I would beg for a trip to see the calves! The barn manager was a friend of Granddaddy's, so he'd let us come in and walk up and down, looking over that summer's calves. So cute! And so noisy as they all cried for mama! The manager had us hold out our fingers, and, to our surprise, the calves would latch on and suck as hard as they could. This was one time that I didn't mind the slime from their mouths--the babies just seemed to miss their mamas, and I was giving them comfort. Lesson 5--Those calves missed their mamas as much as I missed mine.

     However, my encounters with animals were not limited to farm animals. One afternoon, my friend and I went "walking" up and down the dairy line. On each side of the road, there were drainage ditches. Most summers the ditches were filled with water, but that summer was dry, and so were the ditches. We were just about back to Granny's when we noticed something moving in the weeds in the ditch. There it was--an armadillo! Little grey-armored bundle of cuteness! We looked at each other, and I had the idea to run back to Granny's, get a bucket, and try to catch that armadillo. Imagine my surprise, and terror, when I reached down and scooped up that critter in the bucket. Once I had it, I didn't know what to do with it. My friend quickly abandoned me, running back to her own house. I ran, as fast as I could with my arm out straight out, as far from my body as I could get it, back to Granny's. Once that thing was in the bucket, I noticed that it had large, sharp claws, and I didn't want any part of it. Once again, Uncle Larry came to my rescue. First, he suggested that we could make armadillo roast for supper. Remembering that poor chicken, earlier in the summer, I quickly said no to that idea. I did NOT want a headless armadillo running around in Granny's yard. I ventured that I could keep it as a pet, but I knew Granny wouldn't let that thing live in her utility room. Finally, Larry just did what he was going to do all along--tip over the bucket and let him loose in the cow pasture. Lesson 6--Only adopt pets you're not frightened of.
     The grandchildren would be allowed to go with Granny to the barn to play while she worked. Uncle Larry worked at that same barn. Now, I just had on flip-flops this time because my feet were too large to wear Granny's cast-off work boots any more.  Larry waved me back to the milking parlor. The cowboys let the herd in. Those cows came running in--a stampede--and I tried to flatten myself against the wall and then run toward the door.Because of those flip-flops, I just slipped and slid in the water and cow droppings. To make it worse, I looked up to see the cowboys laughing at me. I finally got out the door and waited while each cow found her place along the feed trough. Larry called me back in and asked if I wanted to see something special--the stars on the cow's teats. I was a little skeptical because I was afraid of slipping and falling, but he held my hand and took me up to a cow with a huge udder. "Go on, Donna Jo, get down real close and you'll see the star." I squatted down by the cow, got as close to that udder as I could and....squirt. I got an eye-full of hot milk. Startled, I slipped and fell right on my behind. "LARRY!!!" I was mad. He apologized, "I didn't meant to pull so hard on the teat. Go on, this time I won't tug at all and you'll see that star." So, once again I squatted, got down really close to that udder. SQUIRT! Another eye-full of hot milk. Lesson 7--Ain't no star on the cow's teat. And that old adage is true: "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me."

Summertime Lessons

    In 1960-something, I spent the whole summer with Granny and Granddaddy on the dairy line in Okeechobee. Staying at Granny's was always fun and so very different from life in Miami. And I usually learned something new each visit. However, I learned more about country living that summer than I had in the ten previous years.  This was the summer of animals.

      My Uncle Larry lived near Granny, and he kept chickens, cows, and a steer or two on his property. Now, Larry was a joker. And he liked to play jokes on me. I was invited to spend the day with him and his family. He wanted me to help with the chores. Number One Chore:  Gathering eggs from the barn. Now, I had seen TV shows, and the people would just go in, stick their hands under the chickens, and get the eggs.In fact, the chickens would stand up to make getting the eggs easy. So, I boldly went into the barn, armed with only an old egg carton, to gather eggs. I walked up to the first hen, stuck my hand underneath her, and promptly learned that she did NOT want me to take her eggs. She flapped. She squawked. She pecked, and pecked, and pecked at my hands and my arms and my face. Lesson One learned--don't trust cartoons or TV sitcoms for reliable information about egg production. And I failed to get the eggs.
    While I was in the barn, I noticed that there were leather sacks tacked up around the beams of the roof. Little pairs of light tan-colored leather sacks.Those little pairs of leather sacks really piqued my interest.Where did they come from? What were they used for? And could I get a pair? They reminded me of leather versions of Clackers, a toy that was popular that summer. I speculated that maybe they were bolas, like Argentinean gauchos used to capture cattle. Wow, Larry must have used those on his cows. I was impressed. Then I asked about them. Larry got this sly look on his face, "Donna Jo, don't you know what those are?" "No, Sir." He then explained how a bull became a steer and just exactly what those little leather sacks were. I wasn't so interested and, frankly, was a little nauseated by the end of his explanation. Lesson Two learned--don't ask Uncle Larry about anything in the barn. Save it for Granny to explain.
     Then Larry asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. Now, I had not seen a horse, but I just knew he used one, so I was excited. He made sure that I was willing to ride bare-back. Oh boy--I was up for that! Then he told he that he only had a halter with just one rope, could I handle that? Yes, of course. "Donna Jo, go wait out yonder by the pond and I'll bring Old Suzie out." Wow, I was going to get to ride some old mare around the pasture. Imagine my surprise when Larry leads out Old Suzie--an old black cow. Now, I do have some Cracker pride, so I was  bound and determined to get up on that cow and take a ride. She had been trained to allow riders, so up I went. Old Suzie and I were having a grand time, until she decided she needed some water and waded out into the middle of the pond with me on her back. Wouldn't have been a problem, except Old Suzie wouldn't go back to dry land, no matter how I tugged and begged. She wouldn't go when Larry whistled and cooed for her. She didn't go back out of the pond until she was good and ready. Lesson Three learned--don't trust Uncle Larry without getting all the details first.

     The last lesson of the day was the hardest.  I had been promised some fried chicken for supper. Larry said it was getting 'bout supper time, so it was time to prepare the chicken. Just imagine my horror when he just grabbed up one of the chickens which I had recently become acquainted with, quickly wrung her neck, and then let her run around with no head. I know I screamed and ran into the house. And when my aunt served up freshly killed and fried chicken, I let it pass by and stuck to the vegetables. Lesson Four learned--chicken doesn't come in a little tray, it is slaughtered and processed, and it's not an easy business.
     There was more I learned that summer, but that's for another day.