Eliza Jeans's Life Stories_The Summer I Turned Sixteen by Morgan Page

Author:Morgan Page [Page, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: summer, Mississippi, Revival, Southern Literature, farm, country, Mississippi author, Great Depression, god, Holy Spirit, Church, young love, Rural, Baptism, cotton
Publisher: Morgan Page
Published: 2018-04-02T05:00:00+00:00

Brush Arbors and Weddings

I still didn’t know how Papa had talked Uncle Jim into letting Pastor Rogers and the church members use the mill for the brush arbor. I did know, however, that Uncle Jim had had absolutely nothing to do with the project.

“It’s not that I don’t like Jesus or God,” Uncle Jim told Mama when he came by the house that day. “It’s just bad for business, that’s all. All these people getting saved around here, and no one is drinking my... uh, tea anymore,” Uncle Jim said as he looked over at me, proud of his catch before he’d misspoken.

“I know you sell moonshine, Uncle Jim. I am not a baby anymore,” I told him bluntly.

“Well, what do you know?” Uncle Jim said as he slapped his leg. “In that case, I will just speak the truth. I haven’t sold a dadgum full batch of moonshine or whiskey since that revival broke out. Nobody wants to sip on my shine when they got the Holy Ghost. That Holy Ghost is bad for business and so is the brush arbor. I only let them use the mill because of my brother! But I told him I wouldn’t have any part in it; I’d be at the fishing hole instead.”

“And just look what a day I had,” added Uncle Jim as he held up a stringer of perch and catfish for us to see. “I’m going to leave this mess of fish here for Daniel; I caught a whole heap of ‘em today. But for now, well, they should be done with my place by now, so I’m going to head on back,” he said as he handed me the fish.

“See you later, Uncle Jim,” I said.

“We are going to the revival tonight. You can join us if you want and see what the fuss is all about!” Mama yelled after him.

“You know I can’t be seen there, Lenora, it’s...”

“I know, I know,” Mama cut him off, “it’s bad for business.”

“You got that right,” Uncle Jim said with a chuckle as he headed off home.

I took the mess of fish down to the creek, where I cleaned them of their scales and skin and then washed them. Using my pocket knife, I filleted each one and then rinsed them off again, just how Papa had taught me to.

I took the fresh fish up to the house then so Mama could fry them up for lunch. When I got back, she was waiting in the yard with her fish frying pot set over a fire, heating up lard. On a table made by her draping an old sheet over two planks that laid on top of two saw horses, Mama rolled the fillets in a mixture of flour and meal, and placed them down into the hot lard. She repeated these steps until each piece was dancing in the pot. Jacob and I sat watching patiently, waiting to eat the spoils of Uncle Jim’s catch.

“Ya’ll don’t just sit there idly now,” Mama instructed.

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