Growing Up Hard in Harlan County by G. C. Jones

Author:G. C. Jones [Jones, G. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Personal Memoirs, history, United States, State & Local, South (AL; AR; FL; GA; KY; LA; MS; NC; SC; TN; VA; WV), Social Science, Poverty & Homelessness
ISBN: 9780813143507
Google: qmY1EAAAQBAJ
Publisher: University Press of Kentucky
Published: 2013-07-24T00:11:13.797523+00:00

TEN

AT THE CRACK of dawn I was wide awake. The room started getting lighter as the sun kept rising. It looked like this was going to be a beautiful day. I laid there till I heard voices. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen.

Mrs. Barker was folding my clothes. They had dried hanging behind the big stove. I took them back to the room where I had slept. She had ironed my shirt and my overalls. They had shined from her pressing the iron on them. I wiped my shoes clean. When I came back in, Lil said, “Boy, you sure look different this morning.”

Mrs. Barker had breakfast almost ready. I hurried and washed my face, wet my hair and combed it. I felt real clean.

We ate a good breakfast and sipped an extra cup of coffee. They wanted me to stay the day with them, but I wanted to see Dave Good or Mr. Ford. I got up from the table and thanked them and left.

I went to the livery stable and asked Uncle John about getting a horse. I told him I wanted to ride out to Mr. Ford's. He said, “Dave Good brought three of Ford's Morgans in yesterday to have them all reshod by the blacksmith and their hooves trimmed good. It would save Mr. Good a trip if you'd take them for him.”

I climbed up on a big bay, Uncle John handed me the lead line, and I started off. I hadn't seen Mr. Ford for a while.

Mr. Ford and his wife were sitting under a big shade tree when I rode up. They didn't see me until one of the horses snorted. He looked up with a surprised look on his face and said, “Damn if it ain't Red. Get down, get down, come on over here.”

He looked me up and down and said, “Boy, you sure have grown up a lot.” He started squeezing my shoulders and arms and said, “You're solid as a rock. Let's put the horses in the lot, then I want to hear all about you.”

I guess if a fellow ever had a friend, I had one. We sat there over an hour, me telling everything that had happened to me since I last saw him.

He said he had sold all his stock but seven head. I asked about the lame one, Old Bob. He said, “The split hoof never grew back good. I traded him for a good five-gaited six-year-old mare, purtiest thing you ever seen and gentle as a pup.”

Mrs. Ford had gone in the house and left us sitting there talking. Mr. Ford didn't mention Dad or the big blacks and I didn't either. He asked me if I had any plans. I shook my head no. He went on, telling me he had a contract to haul a lot of building materials over the mountain and he had a team for me if I was interested in it.

I can't explain how I felt.

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