Although sowins and gopher were again placed before Jack, he satisfied his hunger and slept soundly. He was up with the sun and on his way. He rode to mid-afternoon that day without seeing anyone. When he saw a sorry-looking little cabin surrounded by a rail fence, he was glad, for he was sure that his stomach was rubbing a blister on his backbone, and the old mare seemed tuckered out. Brocade stopped and started nibbling at the wire-grass around the gate post. Jack called out to make his presence known. A worried-looking woman stood up from her squatting position where she was pounding corn. Jack asked if he could get a night’s lodging and something to eat.
The woman brushed her lank hair from her wrinkled face and smiled a toothless grin. “Yo’re welcome as the sun, iffen ye can stand sech as it is,” she said.
Jack thought about his ma’s hot biscuits, chicken and dumplings, sweet potatoes, and fresh pork sausage, and he thought about the sowins and gopher-meat which had constituted “sech-as-it-is” since he left home. He thanked the woman, climbed back into the saddle, and turned the mare around.
“Let’s go home, Brocade,” he said. “No grub hoe has ever been made that will kill a body as quick as these folks’ sech-as-it-is.”
Telling time: 8-9 minutes
Audience: middle school - adult
While it is usually best to give the title and credits after the story, any explanation necessary for the understanding of the story should be made before you start it. You may want to note that “sowins” is a corruption of sourings, a dish made of water added to cracked corn and allowed to sour in the sun. If you are telling to people who are not familiar with Florida fauna, you may want to tell them that a gopher is a vegetarian land tortoise. It burrows into the ground, can live many years, and can become very tough. You might also explain that “Sech as it is” or “such as it is” was a much-used Southern expression. It was used as an apology for the lack of food and as an expression of humility or false modesty when there was an overabundance of food.
Successful Cracker Jack
I was by Cracker Jack’s home the other day. Jack was not there, but his pa told me to “drag up a chair and sit a spell.”
I could tell he was in one of his rare talkative moods, and since I’d never miss the chance to hear him talk, I dragged up that chair. He started telling me about his family. “As you probably know, I have three sons: Tom, Will, and Jack. Jack is the youngest and the only one who’s been successful.”
I was surprised to hear him say that, because I had heard that both Tom and Will had been off to college. So I said, “No, I didn’t know that!”
“Yup, my oldest son, Tom, wanted to be a doctor. So I sold off a tract of land I had close to Kissimmee and sent him off to college, but he didn’t make his grades. Came back home, a failure.
“And,” he continued, “my second son, Will, wanted to be a preacher. So I sold the turpentine rights offen all my Palatka property and sent him to one of them seminars. He got through there by the skin of his teeth, but he did graduate, and they gave him a church in Apopka. But at the end of the year, they wus the first ones at that convention wantin’ themselves a new preacher. So they sent Will to Umatilla, but at the end of that year, there wus a whole bunch of them Umatilla folks campin’ on the convention’s doorsteps and demandin’ a new preacher.
“Then,” he continued, “they sent Will over here to Cedar Key. At the end of that year, no complaints at headquarters, and Will, or Reverend William, as he started callin’ himself now, stayed on at Cedar Key another year. And even then, none of them Cedar Key folks came to complain.
“I decided to mosey over that way to see if Reverend William had really become a preacher. I didn’t tell nobody who I was. I jest went over there and set ’round on the waterfront till an old codger came along, set down, and started talkin’.
“After talkin’ a spell, I asked him what he thought of this Reverend William? He told me he liked him jest fine. I was glad to hear that, so I questioned him a little more. ‘So this Reverend William is a good preacher?’ I asked. Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,’ he said. ‘Ya see, we don’t want no preacher here, no how, and Preacher Bill is the nearest to no preacher we ever had.’
“Last week marked the seventh year Will’s been in Cedar Key. So you see,” continued Jack’s pa, “Will is a failure too. But Jack? Jack never did want to be nothin’ atall but a lazy, good-for-nothin’ Cracker, and he shore is successful.”
Telling time: 5 minutes
Audience: adults
As you tell this story, keep a mental picture of an old codger, sitting in the shade whittling. He’s a slow talker.
Introduction
Folktales & Legends
Cracker folktales, like Cracker folks, come from the four corners of the earth. Some tales have been retold by innovative tellers who have refurbished the story with the flora and fauna of Florida, and a few tellers have been able to capture an essence of the varied cultures found in the Sunshine State. The good folktales of the world, in both their old and new dress, are to be found in the repertoire of one or more of Florida’s many storytellers. Although the folktales in this volume are not well known, they have been told to, and approved by, discriminating audiences.
Do Tell!
Judge of Character
In 1850, central Florida was sparsely settled and schools throughout the state were few and far between. Often children would go for months without seeing anyone other than their immediate family. Their education, for the most part, depended on their mother, and if she died while they were still young, the children’s education was often ended.
The exception to this was Hiram Perkins. The footprints were still fresh on his young wife’s grave when Hiram decided to do something about his daughter’s education.
“MaryBeth,” he said to her one day, “I’ve invited a friend of yore ma’s, God rest her soul, to come and spend some time with us this winter. He is a preacher-man and will be able to help you in readin’, ‘ritin’, and rithmetic.”
“Well, Pa,” MaryBeth said, “I’m powerful glad that you done that, but it kinda bothers me that you asked a preacher to come to stay with us when I can’t cook any better than I can.”
“Daughter,” Hiram said,”don’t you worry about the cookin’. I’ll take care of that. You jest take care of yore other duties, and work on learnin’.”
“I’ll do that, Pa.”
The day that Brother Livewell was due to arrive, Hiram was up long before the sun. Out in the backyard he dug a large shallow hole, and with some lighter wood started a fire in it. When it was burning good, he added some slow-burning buttonwood. Then he took his gun, went down to the lake, and killed a couple of nice fat ducks, dressed, and roasted them.
“Daughter,” he called to MaryBeth, “I’m taking the wagon over to Fort Butler to pick up Brother Livewell. When you finish cleaning the kitchen, sweep the porch, dust the parlor, and set the table, but don’t you touch those two ducks I’ve got in the pie safe.”
“Yes sir, Pa.”
MaryBeth went out to the crib and got a double handful of broom straw, made herself a new broom, swept the porch, and started back to get the duster. That was when she got a good whiff of that mouth-watering aroma of those ducks. She said to herself, “I’ll just open the door and take a peek. No harm in that.” Oh, they were roasted to perfection. MaryBeth eyed them and started drooling like an old English bulldog. Hmm, she thought to herself, those ducks shore do look good, but sometimes Pa forgets to season things like he should. I’ll jest reach under here and get a little taste to see if they need more salt.
Well, those ducks were as good as they looked, and that bite called for another one and another, and by the time she had the parlor dusted and the table set, she had eaten not just one, but both of those ducks. Just when she was finishing off the last one, she heard her pa’s wagon coming through the woods. Quickly she grabbed the duck bones, ran out back, and buried them. She rushed back to the house, washed her
hands and face, and was on the porch to meet her pa and Brother Livewell.
Hiram, beaming with pride, introduced his daughter to Brother Livewell. “You sure do favor your late mother, God rest her soul,” said Brother Livewell.
“Now, daughter,” said Hiram, “you take Brother Livewell into the parlor and get acquainted with him while I finish up dinner.”
MaryBeth had just got the preacher seated when she heard her pa sharpening a knife on his razor strop, and she knew he would soon be looking for those ducks. She also became painfully aware that he might use that razor strop on her when he didn’t find them; so, she began to cry.
“Why, daughter, what’s the matter?” asked the preacher.
“It’s just too dreadful. I just can’t tell you.”
“Now, I am here to help any way I can, but you will have to tell me your problems or I can’t help you.”
“But Pa is so good in most ways. I don’t want to tell on him.”
“I understand,” said the preacher, “but you can tell me.”
“Well,” sobbed MaryBeth, “please understand, this is his only fault. But it is a bad one!”
“What is it, child?”
“He jest keeps invitin’ preachers here.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“He always cuts off both of their ears,” sobbed MaryBeth.
“What did you say?”
“Yes sir, he always cuts off both of their ears — every preacher who is foolish enough to come here.”
“Will you fetch my satchel, Daughter? Never mind, I’ll get it myself.”
Brother Livewell was out of the yard and down the lane when MaryBeth went to the kitchen and said, “Pa, that preacher-man you brought here has done took both those ducks and is way down the lane with them.”
Hiram ran out on the porch and saw the preacher making tracks, fast. “Brother Livewell,” he yelled, “where are you going? Come back here!”
Brother Livewell called back over his shoulder, “I’m telling you right now, you old reprobate, you’ll not be getting your carving knife anywhere near these two.” And he kept on running as fast as he could in the direction of Fort Butler.
Hiram stood there watching until the preacher was out of sight. He shook his head. “MaryBeth, I’m sorry ’bout that. I thought yore ma was a better jedge of character than that.”
“So did I,” said MaryBeth. And then added, “God rest her soul.”
Telling time: 10-12 minutes
Audience: 3rd grade - adult
Children relate well to this story, and adults appreciate the historical bits and the story line. It is used by feminists to show the cleverness of the female. At least three cultures — English, Creole, and African — claim this story as their own, with little variation in the telling.
Need or Greed
MeMa Driggers lived in a ragged old tent that was pitched right smack-dab in the middle of one of the small islands in the Wekiva River. In this ragged old tent, she had a rusty old stove, a rackety old bed, and a rickety old chair — not much of a place to live, for sure! But MeMa was not one to complain — not at all!
Often, she was heard to say, “It’s a place to call home, and I’m mighty thankful for it — even if it does leak when it rains.”
One day, when MeMa was out picking wild berries for her supper, she saw a large raccoon. Instead of running away from her, the raccoon started walking toward her. This frightened MeMa, and she reached for a stick to defend herself.
The raccoon stopped and spoke. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Grinnin’ gators!” said MeMa. “A talkin’ ‘coon! It’s not every day that a body sees the likes of that!”
“No, it isn’t,” said the raccoon. “I thought you might be lonely so I dropped by for a visit.”
When MeMa started home, the raccoon went with her, and when they got to her ragged old tent, MeMa invited him in. He went right in, and MeMa fixed him a bowl of berries and herself a cup of tea. Then she sat down in the rickety old chair to continue their visit.
The raccoon finished his berries, licked his lips and said, “MeMa, are you happy?”
“Oh, happy enough, I reckon. I share our president’s opinion that most people are as happy as they want to be. But I know I’d be a lot happier if I just had a little cabin to live in.”
“You would?” asked the raccoon.
“Oh, yes,” declared MeMa.
“Well, hold tight!” said the raccoon, and he covered his eyes with his front paws and yawned a big yawn.
Everything started turning around and around, and when it stopped, MeMa found herself sitting in a nice little cottage.
She rubbed her eyes, and said, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! How did you do that?”
But that raccoon was gone! MeMa looked about, and her eyes got as big as lily pads. My! She had a lovely little cottage with nice new furniture. She went to the front door and looked out. Her front yard was neat with manicured flower beds. Out back was a nice vegetable garden with rows of fruit trees, and a little hound dog wagging his tail. MeMa was so pleased.
A few days later she was polishing her new stove when her dog started barking. She went to the door and saw that raccoon in the yard. She quickly called off the dog and invited the raccoon in.
He walked in, looked about, and said, “A nice place you have here.”
“Oh, yes,” said MeMa. “It is nice! And it would be perfect, if I only had …”
“Careful now, MeMa,” cautioned the raccoon.
“Oh, I just want some chickens, geese, a horse, and a cow, and a barn to keep them in.”
“Is that all?” asked the raccoon.
“Yes, that’s all,” MeMa assured him.
“Well, hold tight!” said the raccoon, and again he covered his eyes, and yawned. And again everything started going around and around.
When it stopped, MeMa had her chickens, geese, a horse, and a cow, and the barn to keep them in. But MeMa was getting things entirely too easily now. She forgot to thank the raccoon.
Weeks later, MeMa was in her cheerful kitchen, cooking up some guava jelly. She was stirring, tasting, and testing when the raccoon spoke to her from the back screen door.
“How’s the jelly?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m so glad you are here,” MeMa said, ignoring his question. “There are a number of things I need.”
“MeMa,” said the raccoon. “I’m disappointed in you. You have become greedy.”
MeMa got upset when he accused her of being greedy, spilled hot jelly on her hand, and burned her fingers.
She yelled at the raccoon. “It is not greed! It is need! I need a man to take care of the gardens, animals, and barn, and a woman to cook and keep this house clean.”
“Is that all?” asked the raccoon.
“Oh, no!” said MeMa. “I need a ferry, a carriage, some fine clothes, diamond earrings, money to travel, and I want a French Poodle instead of that old hound dog …”
“MeMa,” the raccoon interrupted. “Some people never know when they are well off!” And with that he covered his eyes and yawned again.
Again everything started going around and around. This time there was wind, rain, hail, thunder, and lightning. When the storm was over, MeMa found that she was sitting in her rickety old chair, under her ragged old tent, with her rackety old bed and her rusty old stove. Everything was just as it was before she met the raccoon, except now, she had burned fingers.
Telling Time: 10-12 minutes
Audience: kindergarten - adult
Everyone enjoys this story. It is easy to learn and easy to tell. The much-needed lesson in the story is coated with a bit of magic and should be told in a tongue-in-cheek fashion. The rhythm, repetition, and humor all contribute to the story’s success.
No Difference
Molly was not pretty, neither was she ugly — just an ordinary-looking girl. She was talented, dependable, hard-working, and had patience enough to teach her myna b
ird, Buddy Boy, to talk.
Molly enjoyed her work as a dancer. She had a small but nice apartment and a dependable car. She should have been happy, but Molly was an overachiever. When someone, posing as her friend, offered her some “fast bucks” to become a link in a smuggling chain, she decided this was her chance to get ahead. She justified breaking the law by convincing herself that everyone broke laws and that she really needed the money.
“Besides,” she said, “what I do is like one grain of sand here in Florida — it’ll make no difference, no difference at all!” Often, she reassured herself by saying aloud, “No difference, no difference at all!”
She continued her work as a dancer and started making her deliveries. Her savings started growing, and her guilt shrinking. Seldom did she have to say that it made no difference, but now it was Buddy Boy’s favorite refrain — “No difference! No difference, at all!”
One morning, Molly awoke feeling strange. She looked into the mirror and discovered that one side of her face was swollen so that it was badly disfigured.
As she took the cover off Buddy Boy’s cage and gave him food and fresh water, he kept cocking his head from side to side and calling out, “No difference! No difference, at all!”
“You are wrong, Buddy Boy. This does make a difference. There’s no way I can work looking like this. I’ll have to call in sick and go to the doctor.”
She sought the help of doctor after doctor, but none could find the cause or a cure. Her bank account dwindled. When she was about to give up in despair, she heard of a doctor in Miami who was known for his ability to diagnose strange afflictions.
When the Miami doctor examined her, he said, “This is more than a simple physical ailment, but a number of cases have been cured.”
“Good! Give me the prescription, quickly!”
“Not so fast! Not so fast! My fee for this service is high, must be paid in advance, and carries no guarantee.”
She wrangled and haggled with him, but he insisted on the last dime of her savings. At last, as she could see no other way out of her dilemma, she gave in and paid him.
Tellable Cracker Tales Page 2