In time I learned what he meant when he said, “Much of the unhappiness in this old world could be cured if lazy folks would find something to do, and working folks would find nothing to do.” and there it is...
Posted on 08/23/2015 11:40:12 AM PDT by Sean_Anthony
Time stood still in what I now remember as a pristine, open-air, chapel, where a congregation of two melded their souls with Mother Nature’s glory
After serving in World War II, my father raised cotton on two hundred Mississippi Delta acres. The wealthy doctor who owned the land loaned him enough money to buy a tractor and a cultivator. Single-handedly and determined, he worked the land, made his first crop, and launched a 50-year farming career.
When a much larger farm came up for sale, the doctor loaned Dad the money to buy it. I was ten years old, and that is when I first met Jaybird, the black man who was to become my mentor and best friend. He managed the field hands for the previous owner, and did the same for my father.
ad’s first crop on the new land got off to a good start, as did the weeds, and back then they were controlled by hand — not herbicides.
“Jaybird, sharpen this hoe for my son, take him to the field, and teach him to work,” Dad said, and drove away.
In time I learned what he meant when he said, “Much of the unhappiness in this old world could be cured if lazy folks would find something to do, and working folks would find nothing to do.” and there it is...
What a delightful story. It is well worth dodging the stupid pop up ads to click through and read the whole thing. Thanks for posting.
Just listened to “Old Rivers” twice! Hadn’t heard it in a couple decades! Thanks for posting!
The blog pimping continues....
here’s the whole story:
Time stood still in what I now remember as a pristine, open-air, chapel, where a congregation of two melded their souls with Mother Nature’s glory
Disappearing Insurance
Author
By Jimmy Reed — Bio and Archives August 23, 2015
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After serving in World War II, my father raised cotton on two hundred Mississippi Delta acres. The wealthy doctor who owned the land loaned him enough money to buy a tractor and a cultivator. Single-handedly and determined, he worked the land, made his first crop, and launched a 50-year farming career.
When a much larger farm came up for sale, the doctor loaned Dad the money to buy it. I was ten years old, and that is when I first met Jaybird, the black man who was to become my mentor and best friend. He managed the field hands for the previous owner, and did the same for my father.
ad’s first crop on the new land got off to a good start, as did the weeds, and back then they were controlled by hand — not herbicides.
“Jaybird, sharpen this hoe for my son, take him to the field, and teach him to work,” Dad said, and drove away.
Special:
Jaybird looked down at a shy, frail, confused, frightened boy, and said, “Don’t worry, son … most days we’ll work, but some days, why, we’ll just take out some disappearing insurance.” I had no idea what he meant.
Jaybird led by example: He worked sunup to sundown. Alongside him, I spent many long days chopping weeds out of Dad’s crop.
But when opportunities came, Jaybird fished, hunted, and gardened, making the pendulum of life swing — as it should — from labor to leisure. He wasn’t a workaholic, but knew folks who were … miserable folks.
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In time I learned what he meant when he said, “Much of the unhappiness in this old world could be cured if lazy folks would find something to do, and working folks would find nothing to do.”
Special:
For Jaybird, a day off was enough. At sunup, he and I would walk to a nearby creek, plop down under a shady willow tree, and bait our hooks. We might catch a few fish; we might not. We might talk; we might not — no rules were kept, no schedule followed. Time stood still in what I now remember as a pristine, open-air, chapel, where a congregation of two melded their souls with Mother Nature’s glory.
On such days, one gains a deeper appreciation of the Maker’s craft — dragonflies, hovering motionlessly on invisible wings; garfish, rising to the surface, snapping their toothy jaws; moccasins, creeping sinuously onto overhanging limbs to wait for prey; turtles, queuing up on logs to sun; mussels, inching their fleshy globs in the shallows, a hawk circling aloft, the ceaseless melody of birds in the trees.
After one of those fishing trips, we returned at sunset, and Dad was waiting. “Where have you been, boy? I had to feed the chickens, gather the eggs, and do your other chores.”
I was too frightened to answer, but then I saw a grin crease that big, stern face. Chuckling, he winked at Jaybird, hugged me, and said, “I know … you and Jaybird took out some disappearing insurance.”
Special:
Jimmy Reed — Bio and Archives |
many thanks!
Excellent article. Thanks.
What a wonderful story!
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