Stories of Alabama - Dixie Land

In this area he is known as James. His family started out as what known as "Sharecroppers" or Farmers. They rented the land they farmed. Then later they owned their land.

He has many tales to tell of growing up in Alabama. "Ole times there are not forgotten."

He had lived, worked, graduated from High School and gotten married in this same area.

Born along the Flint River in Hazel Green, then the family moved to New Hope Area (where he spent most of his young childhood.

He went to school in New Hope 1st thru 5th grades. Then attended Walnut Elementary School in New Market grades 6-9. They had bought a Farm on Mint Springs Rd. He Graduated from New Market High School in 1947.

After Graduation, Jim took a bus to Chicago and worked for about a year at Perfection Gear and Buta Diesel. Then he returned home and got married. He worked for the General Shoe Factory in Huntsville until joining the Military in 1951. Above is a picture of Jim with his fellow workers at the shoe factory. Jim is in the bottom row, center.

Then he entered the Air Force. The Air Force took him to many places far and wide. He did very well in the Air Force, farm life had taught him to be a hard worker. Jim actually obtained his Batchelors Degree in Business during his Air Force Service.

I met him in Alaska in 1973, just as he was retiring from the AirForce and opening his Real Estate Office, but that is another story.

He often tells stories of his life growing up in the farm country of Alabama. Finally, he is putting these down on paper for the rest of the world to enjoy.

It was late December 1933, in farm country, at the foot of Cameron Mountain. The setting was beautiful. The rich farmland was in a secluded cove, away from the hustle and bustle, as a matter of fact, it was away from everything.

The year had been busy and weather slowed progress in harvesting crops. Things had been so busy that we didn't have enough wood for winter.

On a cold, cloudy day, my dad was hauling wood from the mountain with a sturdy wagon and a team of "sugar mules". If you don't know what sugar mules are, they are very large (about 1200 lbs.) used to haul sugar cane in Arkansas and Louisiana. This team was never beaten in pulling contests. Fred and Sam, were very powerful, but well behaved mules. Most of all they knew me and loved me. I fed them apples, sugar, biscuits, or whatever I was eating.

Daddy came from the mountain with a load of wood and naturally I went out to help unload as any ambitious 4 year old would do. When the wood was unloaded I asked if I could go back to the mountain for the next load. The answer, of course, was no, and I should go inside to keep warm.

When Daddy left with the team, I sat down on a block of wood, a little "put out" that I didn't get to go to the mountain.

When I woke up, everything seemed strange. I sat up and realized that everything including me was covered with snow. If that wasn't strange enough I was under the wagon tongue, about a yard from Fred's front feet.

Daddy had come back from the mountain in a snow storm, but when he got to the woodpile the mules stopped. All of Daddy's efforts couldn't get them to move. They knew that I was there under the snow.

When I sat up Daddy just about had a heart attack, but Fred nor Sam moved. They were not surprised.

My Dad told me to get into the house before I froze. I started toward the house and looked back to see him reach up and put both arms around Fred's powerful neck. Fred just snorted like "I'm too big for hugs".

Unique Planting Method

On a bright, warm day in late spring, Daddy sent the three of us, my two older sisters and me to plant canteloupes in the skips between the corn stalks, which having been planted early, were getting pretty tall and would provide good shade for the melons to grow in.

We planted a few seeds and as things usually happen, we found other things that got our attention, such as bugs, ants, and wild berries.

To get the planting done quickly so we could concentrate on the important stuff, we dug a hole and put all of the canteloupe seeds in it, then covered it nicely. Now we could play.

When we saw Daddy at the house later, he asked if we had planted the canteloupe and, of course, we all said yes sir.

Everything was fine for a few days, then the canteloupe came up and Daddy knew exactly what we had done. We got spanked for that one. It seemed a little unfair, because we did plant them.

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"Joe"

In one of the most remote areas in Madison County, Alabama, near the little town of New Hope lies an area of very fertile farm land. This area known as Cambron's Hollow lies in the bend of a low range of mountains, not very accessible by road, and inhabited by struggling farm-class people.

Since I am thinking back over a lot of years to 1937, I guess things are a lot different today. In that time I was a wild young boy at the age of eight. I was in school during the winter months, but in the summer I found time from the farm work to roam the mountains and fields with my rifle and my dog.

A friend of my Dad brought a beautiful Irish Setter to spend the Fall and Winter with us because he had been injured and needed a quiet place to recuperate, if you can imagine anything quiet around four kids. "Joe" took to me like a fish to water immediately. We went everywhere together.

We had explored the fields and mountains all summer and into the fall. It was cotton picking time. Our old house had a large porch and we piled cotton there temporarily, because one wagon was being repaired.

I came in from the barn and lay down on the cotton. Naturally Joe was right there. I must have dozed off and when I awoke it was with a thump as I bounced off the cotton. I heard Joe raising the rafters. He was angry. Then I heard a door slam. At that point Joe came to me and licked my face with a wet slurp.

When I went into the house I learned that I had been asleep on the cotton when my Dad came in from the barn. He saw me asleep on the cotton and since it was getting dark and almost supper time, he picked me up to carry me inside. When he picked me up, Joe attacked and Dad had to toss me between him and Joe and run inside.

My Dad never really trusted Joe after that, but Joe was fine as long as he didn't get too close to me.

Joe stayed until the next spring before his owner took him home. Joe was never really happy at home and one time ran away and came back to me. It was sure hard to take him back home.
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Super Dog

In the mid 1940's the world was still reeling from the effects of WWII. Manpower was a problem everywhere.

On our farm in the Walnut Grove area near New Market, AL. things were as they had always been. Everyone had multiple responsibilities and as fate would have it our family, Dad, Mom, my sisters, and I were working hard on a very warm autumn afternoon to get the corn in from the field.

We weren't very mechanized in those days. We gathered corn by hand with the help of mules and a wagon.

As I drove the team into the corn-patch and turned onto the first rows, the mules began to jump and run sideways. I got them settled down somewhat and guided them onto the corn rows. I stopped them, tied up the reins, or lines as we called them. I ran back through the wagon and jumped out the tailgate of the wagon. As I jumped I saw what had spooked the mules. A four foot diamond back rattlesnake lay coiled to strike just about where I was going to land. I knew I was snake bit. What could I do. I had already jumped. Out of nowhere came a brown and white streak. My dog "Bob" was aware of the danger and within split seconds had grabbed that snake with one swift, hard shake, killed it without getting bitten.

You would need to know Bob to appreciate what he did. He was super-dog. We raised him from a puppy. His mother was a little Fiest named Freckles. Bob was spotted like her, except that he was much larger and had what we called bird-dog dots on his whole body. He guarded kids, drove livestock, and hunted anything we wanted to hunt. He would tackle anything. It was often said of Bob, by those who knew him, that he was one talented dog. They said, "You could come out of the house with a shotgun and he would run out and set a covy of quail, come out with a rifle and he would tree a squirrel, and come out with a fishing pole and he would go dig worms for bait."

As kids we roamed the fields and hills, hunting 'possum and raccoons at night. The only light we had was a smoky old lantern. On a dark night the dogs treed in pretty tall tree. We could see "eyes" and that was about all. Assuming that it was a large 'possum, my friend climbed the tree and hit the animal. About the time he hit it he realized that it was a large raccoon. The tree leaned over the creek; therefore, the raccoon fell in the water and not being experienced or wise in the ways of raccoons, Bob went into the water after the raccoon. Within seconds the raccoon was on top of the dog's head and I knew that he would drown the dog. I grabbed my rifle. My only chance was to shoot the animal, but shooting a raccoon, on a dark night, thrashing around in the water, with chances very good that I could kill my dog. I made my best shot. It was right on. I hit the raccoon's eye and killed him.
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Rocking Chair

In other stories I've mentioned the place and time where I spent a lot of my childhood. When thinking back to the years in the 1930's when we lived in Cambron Hollow, I remember how my mother would keep us corraled while she helped my dad care for the livestock and do the evening chores.

The old house had a large living room with a huge wood-burning fireplace. Momma would place the huge oak rocking chair before the fireplace, back far enough that we wouldn't get too warm. Then she would place all four of us, my three sisters and me, in the chair, two facing front and two facing back. We fit into the chair well, because there was only about a year between each of us, except my younger sister, who was three years younger than me.

Anyway, she would put us into the chair and start us to rocking and singing. Maybe we weren't good, but we were loud, so she could hear us from the barn and as long as we were singing, everything was okay. The biggest problem with all of that was getting us to quiet down when she came back in to get supper ready.

The old rocking chair was a very important part of our young years, until early 1940, when we lost it in a moving accident.

We were moving out of the hollow to our new home near New Market, in the Mint Springs area. We had a lot of rain; therefore, mud was knee deep in the area we had to cross to get to the mountain road on which we had to drive 1 1/4 miles to get to a hard surface road.

We got the truck loaded with all of our worldly goods, but it would not pull itself across the lot. We hitched a team of big mules to the truck and did pretty well until we got to the little wooden bridge at the edge of our property. When the mules crossed the bridge and started to turn onto the road, the truck slipped off the bridge, broke the side-boards off and dumped all of the household goods into the muddy ditch. In this disastrous melee, the rocking chair, among many other things, was destroyed.

For many years I have farmed and gardened in North Alabama. There are many little quirks to aiding the natural abilities of the soil to produce the very best of foods and flowers.

One plant that I struggled with for years, with very little success is the onion.

My dad told me for years that there was a simple procedure to make the onion grow, but I never heard him until year before last.

Start early to prepare the ground and plant, preferably early March. To prepare the ground, break it to give depth to the soil for moisture control, then disk it to give fine loose texture to the topsoil. After that use a tiller to loosen the ground and mulch any fertilizer or manure that you have chosen to use. (It works with or without, if you put plenty of commercial fertilizer, such as 13-13-13). After finishing with the tiller, run a small plow or rake through the soil to keep it from crusting (caused by the rotary motion of the tiller).

Lay off rows, either with a plow or string. Run a shallow little trench to be the center of the row. Now take a stake, such as a sharpened broom handle and punch holes approx. 2 in. deep and 10-12 inches apart. You say that sounds too far apart, but consider that when your onions grow large, they will cover most of the distance. Place the onion plants in the holes and push the dirt in around them loosely, leaving the tops above ground.

The key to growing large onions begins now. When the weeds and grass start to come up around the onions, take a common cotton hoe and scrape the ground AWAY from the onion (only about 1/2 in.). This is opposite to common thought that you would pull dirt to the onion, and hill it up.

Repeat this procedure as the onion grows, until the onion is fully grown as indicated by the top putting on seed or showing brown tips. At this point the onion will be almost out of the ground, just sitting on the roots and a small area of the bottom of the onion. Keep the middles clean with a plow.

Pull the onions and let them dry in the sun for 3 or 4 days (do not let the onion get wet). Store them in a dry, cool place and enjoy.

In 1987 we moved from Alaska to Alabama, to be closer to his Dad. Back to a couple miles from where he was born. We bought an home on 3 1/2 acres, and later bought the adjoining land to total 5 acres. This home was on Walnut Grove Rd. in New Market.

Our Daughter who was 10 at the time, started attending school in the Walnut Elementory School that Jim attended many years before.

This was a huge culture shock for our Daughter, Shelly. She was born and raised in Alaska. But she quickly adapted and made friends easily.

Jim went to work on our 5 acres. He bought the tractor, pictured above and started tilling the land. He grew everything from Corn, beans, tomatoes, to watermelon and cantelope. We ate well off his hard work. What we didn't need, he would pile in a truck and take to town and sell.

When we moved here in 1987, I had in mind that it would just be for a little while. But 21 years and we are still here. Jim's Dad died at age 97 and we are still here. Guess we have both gotten attached to this area and the friends we have made here.

Jim still has family here, and we see them at the Clark get-togethers.

All our children are now spread across the USA, so we are here alone now. Jim has sold the tractor and our farm home. We have a new home now a little closer to town. And we have some awesome memories.