Art: Photography courtesy of Abstract Magazine: Contemporary Expressions

The following selection is from the book Road to Mound Grove by Betty B. Cantwell.

Chapter Six

THE STRANGER

Olaree and I often played in the front yard by the chimney corner where we looked for doodlebugs. After Mother showed us how to identify their homes, it was easy. We searched the sandy spot by the chimney and found tiny smooth cone-shaped pits. We stirred the sand inside the pits with sticks, and chanted.

“Doodlebug, doodlebug, fly away home,
Your house is on fire and your children all gone.”

If we chanted long enough, and stirred long enough, we would find a little gray doodlebug trying to get away from us. We never dared to pick one up but watched until he wiggled his way back into the sand.

One day when Olaree and I were on a doodlebug hunt, stirring and singing, someone called out, “Hello!”

I looked up and saw a tall man standing at out front gate. He was a stranger.

“Who lives here?” the man asked. For a moment, my tongue wouldn’t move.

“We do,” Olaree said.

“Dont talk to strangers!” I whispered in her ear. I was old enough to know better. Olaree clapped her hands over her mouth. Then she shook her head and spoke through her fingers.

“We not talk to strangers.”

Mother came to the door.

“Hello,” Mother greeted him as she stepped into the yard.

He reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Jim’s older brother, Bert.”

Mother smiled. “I didn’t recognize you, Bert. You were leaving for college last time I saw you.”

“That was several years ago, and as I remember, Jim was dating your older sister, Valentine, and you were not quite grown up then.”

Mother’s face turned pink. She was silent for a minute.

“Well, I’m grown up now and these are our two girls, Betty Jean and Olaree.”

“Betty Jean,” he repeated, looking straight at me. “I have a daughter named Betty Jean.”

“Another Betty Jean?” I couldn’t imagine two of us.

“Yes.” He smiled.

“Oh,” I said happily, “we must be twins!”

“No, my Betty Jean is a little older than you.”

For the next hour Uncle Bert was the center of our attention. While Mother worked in the kitchen, Olaree, full of questions, sat in his lap and I stood by his side. He told us that he worked as an engineer for the Civilian Conservation Corps.

“The CCC was one of President Roosevelt’s projects to build roadside parks, among other things.”

“Tell me about your Betty Jean,” I said. I wanted to know all about her, not the parks and the projects.

He was thoughtful. “She has pretty brown eyes, brown hair with soft curls and a sweet smile. You remind me of her.”

My eyes lit up. “You must bring her to play. Olaree and I would love that.”

He waited a minute before answering. “She lives with her mother.”

“Oh, she doesn’t live with you?”

“No,” he said quietly. Not wanting to make him sad, I didn’t ask any more questions.

When Daddy Jim came home, he was surprised and happy. Uncle Bert wanted to visit his sisters, my Aunt Mishie and my Aunt Rhody, who lived near. I already knew they were Daddy Jim’s sisters. It was hard for me to get it sorted out. Uncle Bert had come from Heavener, Oklahoma. I had never heared of Heavener. We didn’t have a car, and I hadn’t been far from home.

Uncle Bert said “Let’s invite our sisters’ families to go camping tomorrow at the river.”

“That would be fun,” Daddy Jim said.

“Oh goody!” Olaree and I both squealed.

“I’ll take my big skillet for frying fish,” Mother said. She began a list of things they might need to take.

“Will we walk?” I asked.

“It’s close enough to walk, but we have too many things to carry,” Mother said. “We’ll ride in Uncle Bert’s car.”

Several times I had been to Little River but never to spend the night. My aunts, uncles and cousins would be there. Aunt Mishie wasn’t married and had no children. Aunt Rhody and Uncle Vester had four boys, Leon, Buster, George and Sam. I was so excited that I could hardly wait for tomorrow.

 Photography courtesy of Abstract Magazine: Contemporary Expressions

The next day, we took the winding narrow road down to the river. Jiggs got to come along, too. Tree branches brushed against Uncle Bert’s car on both sides as we made our way deeper into the woods. When Uncle Bert couldn’t drive any further, he stopped. He and Daddy Jim unloaded the things we would carry down the steep trail to the river. It wasn’t easy. Closer to the water, the ground was level and the grown folks set up camp. Aunts, uncles, and cousins got there soon after we did. Noisy boy cousins piled out of the car yelling all kinds of things.

“Let’s see who can be first in the water!”
“I’ll race you!”
“I’m faster!”

Aunt Rhody called out, “Just a minute. Let’s check it out first. Some parts of the river are deep.”

Daddy Jim walked tot he edge of the water. “Here’s a shallow place for wading.”

He took off his shoes and rolled up his pants. Olaree and I were barefoot but otherwise fully dressed. We squealed and splashed in the shallow water along with our cousins. Mother stepped into the edge of the river with us. To keep her hair dry, she had put a pair of Olaree’s panties on her head and tucked her hair neatly inside.

“What a cute bathing cap!” Uncle Bert laughed.

Mother’s face turned pink. “I didn’t want to get my hair wet.”

I had often seen Mother wear a pair of panties on her head to keep her hair out of her face for almost any reason, whether taking a bath or mopping the floor.

We splashed and played in the water for a long time. Finally, we came out dripping and as shriveled as prunes. With the hot sun we were soon dry. The men and boys fished along the bank. They hoped to catch enough fish for supper. Daddy Jim reached into a tin can and took out a long wiggly red worm. He held it toward me. I took a step backward.

“These red worms are called ‘night-crawlers,'” he said.

“I don’t like them,” I told him plainly. “They look like snakes.”

“They won’t hurt you,” he said calmly. But I kept my distance.

It didn’t take long to catch enough fish for supper. Soon the smell of frying catfish and potatoes filled the air. It all smelled so good. I sat on a log with my cousins. We watched Aunt Mishie and Mother turn the sizzling fish and potatoes in the black skillet. A big pan of cornbread baked over low orange ash-covered coals.

In a few minutes Aunt Mishie called in her high-pitched little girl voice, “Come and eat! Come and eat!”

When no one heard her, except me and I was close by, she banged on a dishpan with a spoon. Soon, we were filling our mouths and stomachs.

“Why is it that everything tastes better cooked on an open fire?” Uncle Bert asked, as he reached for a second helping of catfish.

“I think it tastes better becasue we’re by the river,” Mother said. “Eating by the river is special!” I thought so, too.

After supper, Daddy Jim took me and my cousins for a walk. We followed a trail that ran along the riverbank. Jiggs ran through the woods ahead of us.

“Why couldn’t Olaree come?” I asked.

“She can’t keep up with us.”

And she’s too big to carry?” I asked.

“That’s right. There’ll be plenty of other times when she’s a little older.

We walked for a awhile and I heard a strange rushing sound. I stopped and listened.

“What’s that sound?” It was scary and made me feel uneasy.

“That’s the river going over the falls. It will get louder as we get closer,” Daddy Jim said.

“I don’t like louder I want to go back to Mother.”

My cousins ran ahead. Daddy Jim whistled for the boys to come back. They did, but not willingly. They glared at me as if I had spoiled their fun.

“It’ll be dark soon. We need to start back,” Daddy Jim said.

I hurried to keep up with his long steps. My rowdy cousins raced ahead to see who could get back to camp first. They made a lot of noise as they leaped over logs and jumped into messy mud puddles. I was tempted to run after them. I thought, if I hurried I could catch up with them and run as fast as they could, maybe faster.

“You stay on the trail with me,” Daddy Jim said, as a warning.

“Yes, sir,” How did he know what I was thinking?

“Come on, Jiggs!” I called. He was lagging behind sniffing at every tree.

When we reached camp, my cousins washed the mud off their feet in the shallow water. They splashed each other and laughed.

 Photography courtesy of Abstract Magazine: Contemporary Expressions

The smoke from the campfire mingled with the evening river fog. As it grew dark, there were many strange night sounds in the woods. Whippoor-wills called to each other. The scariest noise sounded like a screech owl. It made me shiver and shake.

As I lay on my cot I enjoyed a treat that Aunt Rhody had given me. It was my first piece of chewing gum. I didn’t tell Aunt Rhody that, and Mother didn’t know. It tasted like strawberries, and I thought I would finally eat it up, like candy. The more I chewed, the more it seemed to stretch. What a treat! I had been chewing it since supper. Maybe I could keep it in my mouth all night, and chew it again tomorrow! Determined to stay awake, I listened to the river and the talk of the grownups around the campfire. Frogs and other things that lived in the river made croaking noises. The chirping of crickets blended with the sound of water as it splashed the riverbank near my cot.

The next morning I awoke to the voices of my parents. Both were leaning over me.

“What’s wrong with her hair?” Daddy Jim asked Mother.

“I don’t know. Looks like it’s stuck together.”

“Where’s my chewing gum?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. “It’s not in my mouth.”

Mother seemed surprised. “You had chewing gum?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, and hoped Aunt Rhody and I wouldn’t be in trouble for it.

“Your gum is stuck in your hair,” Mother said. “We’ll have to cut it out.”

My eyes grew big as someone handed Mother a pair of scissors.

“You’re gonna cut my hair? No, no, I don’t want a haircut.”

“We have to get the gum out,” Mother said, and started snipping.

I had a haircut before breakfast. For a few minutes I sat on a long and pouted.

“Nya, nya, nya! Look at our short-haired cousin!” My cousin George said. “She looks like a boy.”

That song went on all morning from my cousins as they ran up and down the riverbank. I stood with my hands on my hips and frowned. Not funny, I thought.

“They don’t mean any harm,” Aunt Rhody said. “They just don’t know how to act around girls. We don’t have any girls in our family. I think your haircut looks cute!”

She smiled as she handed me a mirror. “Here, look at this.” I peeped, and thought my hair looked cute, too. In fact, I loved it. Those boys! What did they know?

After breakfast, the grownups began packing up to go home. I had such a good time that I didn’t want to leave.

“Can we stay a little longer?” I begged.

“No, we need to go home,” Mother said. “You had fun, didn’t you?”

Yes, ma’am, I did. It was the best.”

“We’ll do it again sometime. Would you like to help me wash the pots and pans in the river? It will give you a few more minutes to wade and enjoy the shallow water.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said happily. Uncle Bert sat on a log and gazed at the river. I didn’t know how to say it, but I thought maybe the next time he came to visit, we could go camping again. I sitrred up my courage and walked over to him.

“Uncle Bert,” I spoke hesitantly.

“Yes?” He looked surprised at the sound of my voice. I hadn’t said much to him.

“I’m glad you’re not a stranger.”

“Me, too,” he said and smiled.

About the author:

Betty Beaver Cantwell grew up in the tight-knit farming community of Mound Grove, in Oklahoma, during the Great Depression. Her home, like those of her neighbors, did not have electricity or running water, and all the children attended a two-room school. In spite of the hard times and difficult circumstances, Betty enjoyed a simple and happy childhood.

In 1951 she moved to Dallas to attend Draughon’s Business College. She later married and moved to Arlington, Texas. Betty received a Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree from the University of Texas at Arlington, Master of Education, and a Master of Fine Arts degree from Texas Woman’s University. Her inspirational stories have been published in Guidepost Books and Christian Woman’s Magazine. Betty’s first historical novel, No Tattletales, records the rich stories her grandmother shared with her half a century ago.

Inspired by her childhood teachers, Betty taught school for many years and is now retired and living in White, Georgia.

Works by Betty B. Cantwell:

Amazon.com: No Tattletales                  Amazon.com: Barefoot                  Amazon.com: Road to Mound Grove