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Don Locke: Looking Through Bifocals

We don't want to miss the folks along this Pilgrim's journey who have contributed a great part of who we are. One of my favorite quotes by C.S. Lewis is: "Sometimes we fail to recognize when the most important things are happening in our lives."

My maternal granddad lived with my family ten years or so after my grandmother died. Granddad could scarcely read or write; I know now through what good fortune for me to have him in my life during my early years. At different times Granddad was a farmer and a coal miner. At times he worked at both, in order to support a wife, one boy and eight girls, the next to youngest being my mother. Granddad had that wisdom that often me who work with their hands posses. His wisdom came from living, working, and listening and observing. He imparted much to me. Maybe all of it didn't take, but I like to think some of it did. I think of him just about every time I turn on a lamp and needing to dry my fingers to grip the small knob. I can see Granddad bending over at the fireplace rubbing a few ashes between his thumb and forefinger in order to get traction when winding his watch. He grew watermelons in our garden, but he mostly just sat and smoked his pipe and grunted.

Uncle Alfred Vick was a brother to my daddy's grandmother--my great uncle. He was a livestock trader, and drove a 1939 pick-up with cattle frames. On both doors was stated his business: A.G. Vick Livestock. No phone number; he didn't have one. He came to my daddy's store about every night to conduct his business over our phone. I think we had the only telephone in the community.

Uncle Alfred was a big man, not fat, just big. He wore horned-rimmed glasses, whipcord britches, held up by a wide-striped gallowses; in winter four-buckled overshoes that were left open flopping most of the time, and an old felt hat winter and summer. He always expectorated his chaw into the coal bucket by the stove before he began his phone conversation.

Uncle Alfred apparently had little fear of man nor beast. One didn't mess with Uncle Alfred too much; he would mess back. Back when he courted Aunt Myrtle in their younger days (He called her "Dine") he had to horseback to heck-and-gone several miles to see her. As you know, young men do not want a strange rooster foolin' around their hen-house. Some of the boys in her community got to laying-in-wait for Uncle Alfred to start his trip home; they would hide, rock and clod his horse and make it run off. "Crit," as he was sometimes called, got enough of it. On his next courting trip, after a bad ambush, he took along his old long-barreled-cap-and-ball pistol. Just before he came even with where the rocks usually flew, he spotted what looked to be part of a leg sticking-out from behind a log. He steadied his horse, took out the old cap-and-ball; taking careful aim, drew-down on that leg and pulled the trigger. The old gun shattered the night like a half-stick of dynamite. Uncle Alfred said, "I don't know who or what I hit; I do know my trips were peaceful from then on."

The passing parade . . .

Kindest regards . . .


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