My Grown Up Christmas Wish

Holiday gatherings are special times with family, friends, neighbors and co-workers. It really is the "most wonderful time of the year". Even sweeter, is reconnecting with people you haven't seen in a while, or your extended family that have come into your life; either on purpose or unified by random events.

Back in June 2016, I checked into Duke Raleigh Hospital severely dehydrated and hungry as I couldn't eat much of anything because of the cancer. The Fourth Floor Charge Nurse brought me to my room and gave me two hospital gowns. She said they had seen way too many wrinkled butts roaming the halls and appreciate it when the patients cover it up. She was a very sweet lady and we had a few laughs before she left the room.

Robert and Me in the lobby at Duke Raleigh Hospital Dec 2017

Seconds later, there was a knock on the door and I invited the stranger in my room. He introduced himself as Rev. Robert Davis, the Clergyman that usually covered the fourth floor at the hospital.

Have you ever met someone with such a kind face and demeanor that you instantly feel at ease, like you've known them all your life? A person that you crossed paths with on purpose, as if a higher power put them in that exact place at exactly the right time? That's the  feeling I had with this man.

Robert explained he happened to pass by and stopped at my door on a whim. He explained his mission, and asked where the room's patient was. He was a little surprised when I said I was the patient, since I was still in my street clothes. He said I looked too healthy to be the patient, and we had a good laugh. We chatted for quite a while, and I have to admit I felt a bond with this stranger that had wandered in on a whim. After we had talked a while, he asked if he could pray for me, and then said he'd stop in while I was in the hospital.

He was true to his word, and I looked forward to his daily visits, even when I wasn't feeling as fresh as a daisy! It really meant the world to me and definitely set the tone for my mental attitude for all the upcoming procedures and chemo treatments. Robert's fellowship was a positive influence on me and I couldn't have made it this long without his initial "jump start" and attitude adjustment.

After I was discharged, I didn't get a chance to see him again and lost contact with him. After my esophageal surgery, I was visited by other staff clergy covering ICU, but it just wasn't the same. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated them coming by and praying for my recovery and my Doctors, but there was not the same connection I had with Robert.

I lost Robert's contact info in the mass of papers, business cards and summaries I got, but I never forgot him. Several times, I searched for him online with no results at all. How is it possible that Google has no record of a person's location or contact info? Besides, who isn't on Facebook, Twitter or other social media these days? I would search every few months with no results. In desperation, I found the Duke Hospital Clergy's web page and found email addresses. I sent an email to one of the Administrative Assistants, figuring if anyone knew Robert, they would.

Days, then weeks went by and I was about to give up. It turns out she did not know Robert and forwarded my email up the chain. One of the Pastors knew him, was his supervisor, and had saved his contact info and sent my email to Robert.  As I checked my morning emails on the phone a couple weeks ago, there it was! An email from Robert, saying he remembered me from our brief meetings over a year and a half ago! I quickly clicked reply and sent my response, even though I seriously doubted he remembered me at all.

Nothing for days. No reply from Robert. My Engineer brain realized my phone uses my work email as the default client, so maybe my response went to his junk or spam folder, so I replied again using my personal Gmail address.

No response. Really? Are there people in this world that do not check their email every 10-15 minutes or less? Who does not reply to emails right away?

A couple nights ago, my phone "dinged" and I got an email from Robert asking what times would be good to meet. I responded and got a reply! We set up our meeting at 4:00 at the Hospital Cafe. My Christmas wish was coming true and I arrived with bells on. Not literally, but definitely with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head and very emotional that I was about to get my Christmas wish.

After I confirmed he hadn't arrived before me, I took a seat in the lobby and pulled my phone out to check emails. (Yep, I'm one of those people) 4:00 came and went and I was afraid he may have been called away on an emergency, but then he called my name from across the lobby, and sat down breathless, like he had just finished a marathon. Actually, he had, as he admitted he played a game of "Frogger" by crossing Old Wake Forest Road in afternoon traffic!

We pretty much picked up our conversation where we left off in 2016. Without prompting, Robert actually did remember our first meeting in detail and admitted he also thought of me and how I was doing. Then the irony floodgate was opened when Robert began by saying "Here's something you don't know about me!" The parallels of our lives flowed out like a tidal wave and it became very clear why we had such a strong connection. We are two peas in a pod in so many ways.

Our reunion also revealed itself to be a two way street. My whole positive attitude during my treatments are due to meeting this man at the right time, but I was missing the spark Robert brought into my life.  Robert admitted he was going through rough times recently and my email had the same effect on him. It is very obvious we were meant to be friends, and while neither of us understand God's plan for throwing us together, we both vowed to allow it to happen. I truly believe we did not cross paths accidentally. We were having such a good time and cracking up in laughter while recalling some of our adventures, and people passing us in the lobby looked at us and smiled knowing we were having such a good fellowship, or they were thinking, bless their hearts, they're crazy.

To make a long story short, Christmas is a magical time of feelings you can't buy in a store. This was my Christmas wish and it came true, so don't hesitate to make a wish. You might get what you wished for.

Things That Go Bump In The night

The Night Time Visitor

As a little kid, I became more curious and often explored the woods and fields around my house. Between our house and my Grandparents' house was a piece of woods with a path between our houses where Dad ran a water line from their well to our house. Grandma Bill had the biggest flashlight I had ever seen, silver and it held 4 "D" cell batteries, she would use to come over for a visit in the evenings. She would walk down that path at night with Granddaddy Bud and walk back in the dark. They must have been very brave back then.While I had no problem exploring during the daytime, there's no way I would go down that path after dark!

I wasn't afraid of the dark, just what might be in the dark. Out in the country, that could be anything from dogs, deer or bigger things. I loved being outside during the daytime, but I was very comfortable being inside at night.

Out in the country, there are no street lights, so when it gets dark, it is really dark, unless there's a full moon. One such night, I went to bed, and it was very bright outside. As I lay there contemplating tomorrow's activities, I noticed the shadow of a dark figure move outside my window! It was the boogie man trying to get me! I screamed for my life for someone to help save me from certain doom. Mom comes running in first and sees the figure outside my window. As my dad gets in my room, she turned to him and explained what it was. It appears it wasn't the Boogie man after all! A horse had broken out of the corral next door and was eating grass next to the foundation of the house and lazily chewing as it stared blankly into my window. Dad called the neighbor and went outside to secure the horse until he got there. Mom assured me there was no real Boogie Man and everything was alright.

Halloween was cool, because we kids could become the boogie man for a change. Costumes were not as elaborate as they are today and usually just consisted of a plastic mask held on with a cheap elastic band that usually broke before the night was over. The plastic didn't smell that great, either! The local Lion's Club always put on a show at my elementary school auditorium with a womanless pageant show and cake walks, or Hee Haw skits with treats set up in the library for sale, handcrafted by the ladies in the community.

It was impossible to go trick or treating by foot because houses were separated by a quarter mile or more, so we had to go from house to house by car, or even better, in a pick-up truck or farm truck full of hay with a dozen kids cuddled up in thick jackets. I guess that's why even today, I love the chill of the Autumn air, even though the chemo has me wrapped up in a blanket these days. 

Back then, treats were often homemade. Candied apples, rice crispy treats and pulled taffy. This was long before a razor blade was found in an apple or laced with LSD. None of us would ever pull a vicious attack on other's property and respected their pumpkins and decorations, so tricks were limited to out plastic masks.

My Dad loved every holiday, and was basically a kid during the seasons. One year, my folks created a man in overhauls stuffed with hay, sitting in a chair in the front yard waving at the cars that came by. He had a pumpkin head and a straw hat, and to be honest, was a pretty good Halloween decoration coming from my parents. Apparently, someone else liked it and stole it from the yard. That's the first time I can recall ever having anything stolen around from us. My Dad was devastated because he was so proud of his creation and felt violated somebody went in the yard and stole it.

Halloween has certainly changed a lot over the centuries and continues to evolve today. Memories are made, lessons learned, and the cavity creeps rejoice!
  

The Root of all Evil

The Little Boy, a Tractor and the Root


 
I grew, like a wild weed, my Mom would say. My Dad noticed I was getting big enough to learn how to drive the tractor. My legs were long enough to reach the pedals, so Daddy taught me how to use the clutch, brakes and steer the tractor. It came time to harvest the potatoes at Grandma Bill's house, so Dad connected a plow to the tractor to dig the rows up to reveal the potatoes growing in the ground. The plow was a middle buster, which pushes the dirt to the left and right,  splitting the middle of the row to reveal the potatoes. It was a very old plow that Granddaddy had used in the fields pulled by a mule. Dad had attached it to the tractor with a short chain and would walk behind it to keep it at the right depth.

There happened to be a sweet gum tree at the end of the row that little Russell used to play under in the dirt. It was huge and as big around as I was tall. It took a little maneuvering to get the tractor into the row and get ready to pull the plow. Dad said, let out the clutch slowly and drive down the row. The tractor took off and the plow dug into the dirt, then suddenly, the tractor stopped moving forward as the plow caught a root under the row, and the front wheels came off the ground. The tractor was about to tip over backwards! I quickly pressed the clutch, although it seemed like everything was in slow motion and the wheels came down with a thud! I threw it out of gear and jumped off as my heart was beating 100 miles per hour. Daddy wrestled the plow off the root it was stuck on and told me to get back on the tractor so we could finish digging the potatoes.

Scared, with adrenaline still rushing through my veins, I blurted out "I ain't getting back on that gosh damn thing ever again!" Dad was speechless! He too was scared at what could have happened, and relieved it didn't happen, and totally shocked his little boy just said a cuss word. Fortunately, he was too relieved to be mad and he assured me it was OK and to get back on the tractor. We finished plowing the row and went down the next one. Then we had to grapple in the dirt and put the potatoes in bushel baskets.

Dad never said or did anything about what I said, but he did relay the story to anyone that would listen. I think he was just as scared as I was when the root grabbed the plow and nearly flipped the tractor over.

The Heros Looking After Me While I Fight Cancer At Duke Raleigh Cancer Center

I have a huge team at Duke Raleigh Cancer Center looking after me. I want to introduce you to my team a couple at a time so you know I am in good hands, and I want to share these angels looking after me. These are fun people dealing with serious issues and make it tolerable for the patients and themselves.

This is Pat who accesses my port and draws blood for my labs on chemo days. We have the best time together and I can't say for sure, but I can totally imagine her in the 60's with flowers in her hair in a VW micro bus. I accuse her of using dull rusted needles and she never denies it. She is an absolute sweetheart putting up with me, or is it the other way round. Our sense of humor is equal and on the same level.

Tammy is one of Dr. Agrawal's nurses and has been with us from the beginning. She is quick to interpret what the Doctor is saying and makes sure every point and question is covered. Anytime we meet in the building, she stops to say hello and ask how I am even on non-doctor days. Love her to pieces and look forward when she comes in the room. That smile ain't fake, but she has a very deep concern for all her patients, but of course I'm her favorite!

 Vickie is definitely a perfect match for my sense of humor in the infusion pod. We have a ball together passing jabs at each other. Our running joke comes from last year when I couldn't swallow anything and was severely dehydrated. She said we needed to connect me to a water hose and turn it on full blast. My next visit I told her I took her advice and it worked! The look of shock on her face was priceless. What I actually did was go outside and turned up a bottle of water and chugged it down. Most of it stayed down! I did it outside for obvious reasons, but after that I was able to swallow some fluids! She's still a sweetheart and we can't wait to verbally trade punchlines.

  


Marcia is another fun RN and is all business when it comes to making sure my port is working both ways. She can always get it going without calling Pat. I don't get her as often as the others on the list, but she's always on the ball and always has that smile on her face.

Tricia came on board late last year and puts up with me now and then. They all seem to have a high tolerance for whatever I come up with. You know me, I attack seriously ridiculous situations with seriously ridiculous sarcasm, and they all expect me to come up with something off the wall. She is very aware that I will come up with something totally off the wall.

 I first met Jennifer on the other side of the building in Infusion POD A when I was getting fluids. I fell asleep immediately and had no clue when she checked my armband and she had to wake me up after the alarm went off when the bag was empty. I still fall asleep while getting fluids, but she takes credit that POD A is the best sleeping room. I guess when I trust the caretakers, I have nothing to worry about.

I pick on Sarah whether she's working with me or not. When I asked her to take a selfie with me, her first question was what am I going to do, make a voodoo doll? I hadn't thought of it, but they do poke needles in me, so why not? Jennifer started laughing and I asked her if she had a strange pain in her shoulder. One never knows!

Kristen got a little break from me last year when she had a baby, but she's gotten her fill of me since she got back. I asked her if it was hard coming back to work and she replied she was so glad to be back with her patients and a normal routine. It's very clear she loves what she does and gives 100% to make us patients comfortable.

Anee' is a newer addition to my hero list. She has only put up with me a few times, but enough to know to expect the unexpected from me and earn a selfie with my bubbly face. She and Vickie often tag team me to see how off the wall they can push me. She's definitely someone you want on your team!

Amber used to work on the floor and has put up with me several times. She's now my Nurse Navigator after replacing Jane who got an awesome opportunity in Boston. She's not the kind of navigator that gives tours of the building, but I'm sure she would if I asked. Her job is to help prepare patients on  how to navigate the treatment process and make sure appointments are aligned between the Doctors and procedures, as well as tax advise and how to assemble a great support system to get through the process. 

Kim is the Nursing Assistant for the floor and one of the hardest working people I have ever met. I was squatting down in this picture so we'd both fit in the frame, but what she lacks in height is made up with her great attitude with everyone around her. She does not greet strangers and I don't think she has ever met a stranger. To look at her, you'd think she was too young to work here, but in fact she's a Grandmother! I guess that's why she tolerates me so well.

 

 Keith has been there for every chemo treatment and surgery. All cancer patients need both professional and non-professional support teams and as you can see, I have the best of the best backing me up. Keith drove me to every appointment when I couldn't have driven and even obliged when I requested taking the long way home through the country, just to be away from the hospital or home. 




Last, but not least, I have a huge network of prayer warriors backing me up from numerous churches, friends and family. I really do appreciate every one of you that have been keeping me in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you all for your help.

How I Was Made: A Father's Day Tribute 2017 To The Three Most Influential Dads In My Life

All my life I have heard the statement "You're just like your Granddaddy or Uncle or other relative". I have to admit, in a few ways, it is totally true for the three men that shaped the old man on the porch you know today. More often than not, I was compared to my Mom's dad, Lewis "Eddie" Brown.

I never understood the comparisons except we were both tall and lanky, but to be fair, he was 60 years old when I was born and he passed away when I was 15, so as a little kid he seemed to be a very old man, although I definitely have his sense of humor and facial expressions and cutting sarcasm. I do get it honest, as we say in the south. In a way, I think I was a little scared of him because you never knew when he was seriously stealing your nose or other tricks old folks used to do to entertain themselves. He chain smoked unfiltered Lucky Strikes and though I don't remember ever seeing him drunk, but there was a plentiful supply of liquor bottles thrown behind the barn next to the garden, but my Uncle Jack freely told some of the stories of "adventures he had with alcohol. It sounds like Grandaddy Brown was the life of the party!

Only recently did I see the physical resemblance such as these younger versions of ourselves pictured here. Actually it's pretty scary how much his younger self looked like my younger self in these pictures. I guess I have to admit I do have a large amount of his DNA inside me. As I grew older, I learned he wasn't such a scary guy and was pretty cool to joke with. My Uncle Jack also got a lot of his traits and that's why he and I bonded so closely through the years. Peas in a pod, I guess, but I always related with Uncle Jack and Aunt Dorothy which both inherited his personality traits, although I loved all my Uncles on that side of the family. 

As I have mentioned before, Grandaddy and Grandma Brown lived in Pine Ridge which was 6 miles from our house, so I didn't get to see them as often as I saw my Mizelle Grandparents, which lived next door. I did get my Engineering training from them and watched some of the best TV at their house. It was hard to pull me away from their black and white TV set when Dennis the Menace, My Favorite Martian, Ed Sullivan and the Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom was on Sunday evenings. I can still see Marlon Perkins hiding safely behind a bush while Jim wrestled a wild animal in a swamp.

Granddaddy Brown did not own a car and I never knew of him driving, so I assume his drinking buddies kept him mobile. They often hung out at Taylor's Store and he was famous for his weekend barbecue chicken recipe cooked while sipping his Four Roses whiskey, and I'm sure talking about his experiences in WWI.

Granddaddy William G "Bud" Mizelle owned 100 acres of farmland and woodlands and was always busy. He never sit around the house except to read the newspaper delivered by mail, so it was always yesterday's news, but that didn't matter to him. He was pretty much up to date with current events. He had two tobacco barns and over the years hand split nearly every tobacco stick used on the farm. He was a ingenious inventor creating tools he needed around the farm instead of wasting a day going to town to buy one. I definitely learned how to stay busy and prioritize multiple projects from him. He raised hogs so we always had a plentiful supply of  pork in the smokehouse and freezers and I can tell you they had some good eating as the neighbors came over on a cold day to process the hogs. I say "process" to be delicate, but it was just a basic hog killing and there's nothing glamorous about it, except the food. Grandma always had some baked sweet potatoes to go with the cracklings and fresh tenderloin fried up in a big kettle on an open fire in the yard. 

I don't recall Granddaddy Bud drinking alcohol, but he loved his Diet Rite cola or Tab drinks as he was diabetic, followed by a Dutch Masters cigar or red Man Chewing tobacco. We always had a plentiful supply of bee sting remedy in the summer. Since I was barefoot all summer long and stepping on several bees, I can attest chewing tobacco does indeed remove the sting from a bee sting. Cuts were treated with Pinee  Oil, an antiseptic used on farms when castrating livestock, and worked on a variety of farm injuries to the family. It seemed to cure anything and is back on the market. Granddaddy Bud loved wrasslin', and would come over every Saturday evening to watch Jim Ctockett Productions Atlantic Coast Wrestling on WRAL, because his antenna would not pick them up. Snowy at best at our house, but I can see him now sitting on the edge of his chair swinging his fists as if he was in the ring with them.

My Dad, Ethan Mizelle certainly never had an enemy and got along with everybody. He worked as a mechanic at the local Chevrolet dealership and could diagnose engine problems in his sleep. It was very clear when I got my drivers license that if I abused my car, he'd know exactly what caused it. That wasn't likely since my first car was a turquoise 4 door Chevy Bel Aire with a 283 engine and a two speed power glide transmission and a top speed of 75 mph. (I assume)  Luckily I never had any mechanical problems with it, except for frequent flat tires from the recaps I kept on it. He installed an under dash air conditioner from scrapped parts that would blow ice crystals out the vents in the summertime.

When he left the dealership, he drove an oil truck for several years. He loved doing that because after he delivered gasoline to the little stores at every crossroad, he could have a nab and Coca Cola and catch up on the community gossip for a few minutes. He still piddled on cars in his garage after work and did maintenance on the widow women's cars in the community. Just like Granddaddy Bud, he was never sitting in the house until it got too dark to be outside. He'd often let me tag along on trips to the local country store at  night to discuss cars and politics while my friends and I played outside. My Mom worked at the store for Mr. Carlis and Ms Helen during the day, so she rarely wanted to hang out there at night.   

While I inherited a lot of dad's traits and personality, I did not get his music gene. He bought a Gibson guitar when he was 16 years old and taught himself how to play, sing and have a grand ole time with other musicians in the neighborhood. I wasn't a big Hank Williams fan back then, but we often had a living room full of musicians singing his tunes and country gospel favorites. He did get my sister and me to sing in church with him a few times, until my voice changed into the off key tones I have today. He tried to teach us a few chords, but the fret board had deep grooves worn in the rosewood from his rough hands and constant playing, making it hard to make his favorite chords, C, D, E, F, G and A. 

I can easily name off a long list of traits I inherited from all three of these men. True Fathers in every sense of the word and three of the greatest role models I could possibly have. I miss all three of them, but I can look in the mirror, smirk at something, and be damned if you ever tell me I can't do something, because it will get done!

How I Was Made: A Mother's Day Tribute 2017 To The Three Most Influential Moms In My Life

I have discussed my Grandmothers in a previous post, but for this Mother's day, I'd like to explore how they shaped the Old man On The Porch I am today. Naturally I have to include the most influential lady that made me, my Mom.

I have described my maternal grandma Odella Thomas Brown as "tough as nails" and that is no exaggeration. My neighbor, Billy Ray and I would ride our bikes 6.5 miles to Pine Ridge to visit his grandmother and mine in the springtime. We'd spend the morning searching arrowheads and spearheads in the back corner of the field, next to the swamp that has flooded way too many times recently, after the field was prepared and unearthed new finds. Mrs. Perry made the best Kool Aide I have ever tasted, much better than the corporate kind I have to swallow these days. She usually had a ham biscuit or cake for us. We'd then travel over to my Grandma Brown's house when it was too hot to remain in the field. Grandma Brown never had air conditioning, or indoor plumbing, but it was shaded by huge pecan trees and a large pair tree. Both were awesome treats to snack on. She drew all her water from a shallow well hand pump just outside the back door of the kitchen. The walkway to the pump was a rough cut 1" x 10" board to keep from tracking in mud from the yard. She had a pail in the kitchen with a dipper, or ladle by today's terms, that everybody drank directly from. We never used glasses at her house. She had to heat all her water on the stove or wood heater, so it was best not to dirty up many dishes, anyway. No one died from it, so I guess the high mineral content and irony taste in the water killed all the bacteria. You could see a skim on the water in the pail before you dipped in to get a drink. I was in high school when my uncles installed an electric pump to the kitchen sink so she no longer had to tote water in. Still, the best drink was directly out of that old hand pump on a hot afternoon! At the entrance to her garden, was two huge mill stones we played on. To this day, I have no idea where those stones came from, or why they were there, but they were fun to play on. Behind the barn, was Granddaddy's stash of empty liquor bottles that I took great delight in breaking. It's a wonder I never put my eye out breaking glass bottles. Grandma Brown loved puzzles and always had one in various stages of completion. She was also hostess to the ladies of the community for quilting in the living room each fall. There were four hooks in the ceiling she'd hang the quilting frame from to stretch the blocks of square cloth as the ladies worked from all four sides to hand sew them together. My sister has the quilt she made from her wedding dress, and you just can't buy anything more precious than that. Sleepovers at Grandma Brown's house were the best sleep ever. Each bed in her house had a down filled feather pad that you'd sink into and surround you like a cocoon. You did not toss and turn in her bed, especially under one (or more) of her quilts. Her house was always immaculate, even though she never owned a store bought broom. She made her own brooms from the tall wheat grass bundled together and tied with string or wire to make the handle. They were about three feet long or so, and she had to stoop over to use them, but they were highly effective and the woman never complained about anything, including pain, although she did teach me the pleasure of washing dishes in hot water to relieve joint pain! Her love of puzzles and such, is very likely the reason I became an Engineer as my career. I love making things from small pieces, puzzles, quilts and finding unique ways to solve problems. Not to mention a wrap around porch is mandatory for a good life!

I spent most of my childhood next door with my paternal grandma, Delcie Hoggard Mizelle. Standing next to her in this picture, is my Uncle Bill, who came a long a bit later than my Dad and his sisters. Basically, he was only a few years older than my cousins and Grandma Mizelle was always called Grandma Bill by my cousins and me. They lived on a farm of 100 acres in the  middle of Bertie County in northeastern NC. There was a little patch of woods between our houses connected by a path my Dad and Grandad made to run a water line between our houses. My Uncle Bill's house is on top of where that path used to be. I spent every day at Grandma Bill's house playing in the dirt, in the old pack house, wood shed and smoke house. Even a bit in the hog pin just behind her house. There was rusted nails, tin, boards with splinters and lots of dangerous play areas a kid like me totally enjoyed. I never wore shoes in the summer, except tp go to church on Sunday, and I know very well what it feels like to walk into the chicken coop and step in squishy chicken droppings. Often, my cousins Ronnie and Michael would also come over to play in the dangerous playground. My first exposure to a major DIY construction project was led by cousin Ronnie, who supervised the construction of a multi-level tree house right where Uncle Bill's living room is today. Ronnie had the penthouse level, the next down was for Michael or my sister Vicki and the lowest level was mine. Eventually, Ronnie grew up to hang more with Uncle Bill, and Michael and I became the tree house construction crew. Having an almost unlimited supply of boards with bent rusted nails, we built our ultimate tree house in a perfect tree between the two tobacco barns. It had a split trunk that allowed a grand base for the main floor, burlap walls and rusted ti roof. We added on to it every chance we could and eventually had a outdoor deck about two feet wide we could rest and view the hog pin on summer afternoons. There was no ladder to get in it, you wedged yourself between the two tree trunks and shimmied on your back up to a trap door in the floor. Pre-Engineer me took a flashlight apart and using surplus electric fence wire, two "D cell" batteries and the bulb added mood lighting to the tree house. I drove two nails in the tree and bent one over to create the switch. What I didn't anticipate was the sneaky current flow between the nails through the sap in the tree, which killed the batteries in a few minutes, but I can say I had electric lights in a tree house many years before they did it on TV.  Our safety record was impeccable and we never fell out of a tree, smashed our fingers or died lugging boards up with ropes. The only person to fall out of it was my idiot neighbor JD who decided it was better to enter through the burlap window than to slither on his back into the trap door. I've told y'all Grandma Bill was also a great cook and she always had special treats for her farm workers. Her leftover biscuits with molasses or honey will never leave my mind. Again, in the sanitation world, she had a sink on the back porch with a shared glass everybody drank from. You sanitized it by rinsing it several times to get the cool water from the well on a hot day. She drove a 1959 Ford with three on the tree that was a joy to ride in holding onto the metal dashboard and she went through the gears on the way to the store a couple miles down the road. She kept her eye on us from the house, but she taught me independence, recycling and to never waste anything!

 When I touch my belly button, I am touching the last physical connection I had with my Mom, but my sister and I always had a very tight bond with Mamie Brown Mizelle. I am not ashamed to admit I was and always will be a Mama's boy. My earliest memory of this lady was when she'd pull my toes and say "this little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home..." I loved the wee wee wee all the way home part and would giggle until she did it again! Her purse always smelled like Juicy Fruit gum because she always had some in there, and I never understood it, but she only chewed half a stick at a time, so there was always a half stick in there which was just perfect to keep a kid quiet in church. She had the same pet peeve I have of despising someone shuffling their feet when they walk. Not much else bothered her, though. She never met a stranger in her life, but I was an extremely shy child and would hide behind her dress. That smile on her face in this picture was permanent, even when she was in pain, just like Grandma Brown. She worked retail at Catoin Windsor and Ahoskie and eventually atthe counrtystore in elm Grove. Later, her and Dad rented and ran the store for several years. She retired from Purdue Farms chicken processing plant in Lewiston. Regardless of which meal she cooked, there were always biscuits on the table. And of course, butter beans. Her collards were legendary and always requested at pot luck dinners and family gatherings, and her potato salad was a close second to her Mom's. She had a green thumb and loved roses, which was the only thing she could never grow in the yard. When she was annoyed with us kids, she often had trouble getting our names right. I was often called me Vi-Russell and Vicki was called ruh-Vicki. Later she'd mix our names with her dog Buffy and I became buh-Russell. Cute and we always laughed about it and she never stayed annoyed with us. She too loved puzzles and I always gave her the most complicated ones I could find at Christmas, but she often accused me of hiding a critical piece since they were often laid out on a card table for a few weeks while being assembled. we miss her dearly, not just the family, but everyone that ever met her. She taught me how to cut the cheese. Literally, we sold a sharp cheddar cheese at the store we had to hand cut wedges from to customer specs of a pound or half pound as well as luncheon and baloney That came in 5lbs tins. We even sold bread by the slice and the customers could assemble their own sandwiches, since we weren't technically a restaurant. We'd even open cans of pork-n-beans before pull tops were invented and chat while they ate lunch in the store. The women sat at the back of the store near the counter while the men sat near the front discussing politics, weather and sharing fishing stories.

I could go on for hours about these special ladies, all true southern bells that were not afraid of hard work and providing for the family, community and friends who made me who I am today. I have zero tolerance for anyone that disrespects or ignores their Moms. Even if she's a horrible person in jail, she is still your Mom and deserves at least a phone call on Mother's Day. 

Happy Mother's Day to all Moms and future Moms. You are all the greatest gift the world has ever received!

Playing in the dirt

Long before I became an Old man On The Porch, I was a Little Boy Playing in the Dirt.

We lived out in the country, on a small family farm. The nearest grocery store was 10-15 miles away and nearly every house had a garden. My nearest friends lived over a mile away and although I didn't know how far a mile was, nor ten miles, I knew it was too far to walk. Being alone most of my days, I learned how to entertain himself being outside playing in the dirt.

I have gotten too old to play in the dirt like I used to, but even adults find ways to relieve stress playing in dirt. I live a mile away from two fine grocery stores and have not really needed a garden a few steps away to put foord on the table. As a matter of fact, since I became citified and based on the cost of city water, I haven't wanted to mess with a garden. Our neighbor's kids did raise some tomato plants one year to sell, and Keith bought all of them just to humor them. Turned out every plant survived and produced lots of tomatoes. Bad thing was it was a dry year and we dumped a lot of city water on them. It did prove the dirt in the yard could sustain growing things besides weeds, but we never pursued it any further.

Last year, as I sat on the porch all summer between chemo and radiation treatments, I actually thought a lot of those "good ole days" when we planted the family gardens. Not that we cook at home much with our crazy schedules, but I seemed to remember the good things about seeing things grow and the satisfaction that you made it yourself. I watched the garden across the street bloom and grow, and I became a bit nostalgic seeing them pick crops from the vines. Not to mention they posted pictures of fresh dishes they made with ingredients from the yard on Facebook.

Green Acres video

In the Springtime,  Dad would plow and disc the little area next to the house in preparation for planting the garden to grow vegetables for the family to eat. Dad would also prepare the land next door at my Grandparent's house where even more vegetables would be grown. After the tractor had prepared the land, I found it was easy to build roads for my toy trucks to travel on. I built many roads and soon learned how to build bridges and overpasses, just like the one's he had seen on family vacations to the mountains and the ocean.

Each day I added to my road system and began building a small town with boards and bricks I found around the farm. You could always find me playing in the dirt. Even when it was raining, I was adding dranage canals and kept the water from flooding my city.

As I got a little older, I was expected to help plant seeds, instead of playing in the dirt. I began to question why we needed so many rows of vegetables when there are stores with these things in cans, you can open up, heat and serve. Mom and my Grandparents always replied because homegrown is better. I now believe that to be true with so many genetically modified this and that, and I sure can't argue that cancer rates were lower or non-existent in my Grand parents time. Even when using real fat meat to season them, they didn't have the same medical issues we have today. Not to mention, their homecooking was the real deal. Fresh is best!

Poles!

Some items around the farm were used once a year and carefully stored for the next season. Things like tobacco sticks were not toys and were carefully counted and stored. But, pea poles, or poles made from small trees about 2-3"in diameter used to harvest peanuts in the fall got double duty in the summer garden. Before mechanical harvesters, peanut vines were dug up by hand and stacked around a pea pole to allow them to dry a little before the peanuts were picked off the vines and looked a little like haystacks in the fields.

About every 10 feet, a hole was dug with a special augur and the pole set in place.  A nail was driven about a foot above the row and another about five feet high. A wire was attached to the nails between the poles the full length of the row at the top and bottom. Then a string was woven from the top wire to the bottom wire in a "W" pattern the full length of the row. It really looked like a suspension bridge. As the vines grew, Mom would carefully weave each one on the string so the beans would grow up and hang once they filled out the pods. Several times each week, Mom  would go down the row and pick the filled pods into a pan, take them home and shell the beans, wash them and either cook them for the evening meal or prepare them for freezing.

One year, we didn't have enough poles for the seemingly acres of butterbeans Mom had planted, so She decided I could help cut some new poles to finish off the garden while Dad was at work. Out to the woods we go and chop down a suitable tree, with an axe, no less. Neither of us knew how long a bean pole should be, so I lay down next to the pole and Mom marked where to cut off the top, adding a few inches to allow it to be buried in the ground. We repeated that process and finally had enough poles to finish the row. I'm not sure how we did it, but our poles wereeither a good three feet taller than the others, or quite a bit shorter. Our measurements were not exactly consistent from pole to pole, but they did the job. Still, I could never understand why butter beans were so important. I guess Mom would have starved to death if it wasn't for those beans.

Beans, Beans!

Living on a farm does have some advantages and some disadvantes. A garden takes a lot of work to keep up, but it produces fresh food the family can eat all year long. That can be a good thing, or a bad thing. Truth is, as a kid I liked most vegetables from the garden, although I wasn't fond of tomatoes or okra, but everything else was fine with me. It seemed some were the main course, like collards and cabbage, long before we ever heard the term "soul food". Sometimes Mom would combine two vegetables and a favorite combo she called caps and snabbages. Actually, Cabbage with snap beans boiled together. I always giggled at the name, but it sure was good!

Then there were butter beans.

During the summer, these things produce pods every week that must be picked off the vine, shelled and consumed. The excess were blanched and put in bags to be frozen for use during the winter. It was really a vicious cycle for me. Fresh butter beans tonight means leftover butter beans tomorrow for lunch and again at dinner. They never ended, year round, there was a plentiful supply of butter beans on the table in a never ending cycle of beans over and over. Well, like anything, if you over-indulge in something, you grow tired of it and no longer want it. I can tell you, butter beans got tiresome very quickly for me. Very quickly and to the point of no thank you, I've had enough! Suffering sucatash! Even mixed with corn couldn't help them.

Our neighbor Barbara suggested putting catchup on them, and I can say it helped, but why force eat something you're tired of and don't want? They suggested pepper and it did help as well, but still, it's butter beans. What's the point? There's plenty other food on the table, so I won't starve if I forgo the butter beans, so let them stay in the bowl. Does not hurt my feelings to reach over them.

I guess it did hurt Mom's feelings though. She was an excellent cook and took pride in everything she placed on the table, so I'm sure she was a little upset that I didn't like something she prepared. It did become a running joke, even to this day, when there's butter beans on the table, to ask "are you sure you don't want some delicious butter beans?" Yes, I'm sure. Eventually, I got over it and would eat a few, just to make Mom happy, but no more than a small spoonful. Even today, I have ordered them in a restaurant, and make everyone at the table swear they wouldn't tell my Mom I ate butter beans. I will eat them now, but I can assure you I won't be planting any in my garden this year!


That's it for now from the old man on the porch. Leave a comment about your gardening experiences and we'll talk again later!