Well, I’d already got all gussied up, and I wasn’t wantin’ to waste my store-bought co-log-ne; so I said, “You might as well pull ya up a cheer and sit a spell.”
He looked up at the sky, and said, “Looks lak there’s a cloud acomin’ up so I b’lieve I will.”
He hunkered back in that cheer, and started pullin’ out all this here stuff he had to sell. He pretty soon had it scattered ever which away all over my porch so I knowed he wasn’t goin’ no place. That suited me alright ’cause I wus glad to sit a spell in that swang, and I started tellin’ him ’bout my feller, Bill.
After a while, he said, “You know, I just might have seed yore feller, the other day.”
I said, “What do ya mean — you might have seed him?”
“Well,” he said, “I seed two fellers out here at Astatula t’other day, and one of ’em might have been yore feller.”
“What makes you think so? Did he look like my feller?”
“Like I say, there wus two of ’em. One looked like Sandy Clause, ’cept he had on bib-overalls and a blue denim shirt, but the other feller had his hair slicked back ’till his head looked like a melon with a big nose and two floppy ears.”
I didn’t like that description of my feller, and I told him so. I axed him if he didn’t say who he wus, or somethin’?
He said, “Oh, he said somethin’. He said plenty, but I can’t truthfully say he ever did say who he wus.”
“Well, what did he say?” I asked.
And that ole peddler said, “Well, now, let me see iffen I can tell you jest what that feller said. He said, ‘Me and my pa, here, lives out here about a mile, a mile and a half, or two miles. T’other day pa says to me, ter lets go larpin’, tarpin’, coon-skin huntin’ if I keered? I axed him, I didn’t keer; so, we called all the dogs together ’cept ole Shorty, and then we called ’im too. We went down the hill till we got to the top of the mountain, and we treed one. It wus in a tall, slick, sycamore saplin’ — ’bout ten feet above the top, out on an ole chestnut snag. Told pa I’d better shake ’im out if he didn’t keer. And he axed me, he didn’t keer. So, I clumbed up, and shook, and shook, till I heard somethin’ fall. Turned ’round, and saw, it wus me, and all the dogs wus on top of me, but ole Shorty, and he wus on top of me, too. Told Pa ter knock ’im off, iffen he keered and he axed me he didn’t keer; so, he picked up a pine-knot, and knocked ’em all off but ole Shorty, and then he knocked ’im off too.
“‘We went saunderin’ on down the creek, and pretty soon, we treed another one. This one wus in a huckleberry log — ’bout two feet through at the little end. Told Pa, I’d better cut ’im out, to save time, if he keered, and he axed me he didn’t keer; so, I picked up the ax, and the very first lick I made, I cut ole Shorty’s long, smooth tail off, right close up behind his ears — like to ruin my dog; so, I told Pa, that wus ‘nough huntin’ fer one day, and we started fer the house. On the way home, we saw all the pumpkins in the pig-patch. Told Pa, we’d better chase ’em out, if he keered, and he axed me he didn’t keer. We chased ’em pumpkins all over that pig-patch till I kinda got mad at one, and picked ’im up by the tail, and slammed his brains out ‘gainst a pig. Pa got real mad ’bout that, and talked to me lak I wus a red-headed step-child, he did. But we got ’em out, fixed up the gate, and shut the fence, and started fer the house.
“‘Then Pa told me to shuck and shell ’em a bucket of slop, if I keered, and I axed him, I didn’t keer. So I shucked and shelled ’em a bucket of slop.
“‘Then I decided I’d go down to see my gal, Sal. Now, Sal lives in Moonshine Holler on Tough Street — the further you go, the tougher it gits, and Sal lives in the very last house. It’s a big white house, painted green, with two front doors, on the back. You can’t miss her place ’cause it’s got a mortgage on it, and runnin’ water in every room in the house — when it rains.
“‘Bein’, it wus Sunday, I told Pa, I’d ride if he keered, and he axed me, he didn’t keer; so I went out, put the bridle on the lot, the horse on the saddle, led the fence up by the gate and the horse got on. We went saunterin’ off down the road, kinda gently lak at first, till a stump, over in one corner of the horse, got scared at the fence and raired-up, and throwed me, face-foremost, flat of my back in the middle of the road, slap-dab in the middle of a ditch ’bout ten feet deep, right in the middle of a briar patch. Tore one of the sleeves outten my Sunday-go-to-meetin’ pants, but I got up, peered to me lak I wasn’t hurt, brushed the horse off the dirt, got back on, and went leadin’ ’im on down the road.
“‘When I got to Sal’s house, I knowed she wus glad ter see me, ’cause she had both doors shut wide open, and the winders nailed down.
“‘I got off, hitched the fence to the horse, went in, threw my hat in the fireplace, spit on the bed, and down I sot in a big armchair — on a stool.
“‘Now, me and Sal talked ’bout craps, and politics, and all other kind of ticks. Then, Sal ’lows, “Bill, let’s go down to the peach orchard and get some pears to make a huckleberry pie fer dinner.”
“‘I axed her, I didn’t keer.
“‘We started down to the orchard, and I wus walkin’jest as close to my gal as I could — her on one side of the road and me on the t’other.
“‘When I got to the peach orchard, I told Sal, I’d climb up the pear tree and shake down some apples, if she keered, and she axed me, she didn’t keer; so, I clumbed up, and shook and shook till the limb I wus standin’ on broke and threw me right ter straddle of a barbed-wire fence, with both feet on the same side — skinned my right shin, jest above my left elbow, and I told Sal right then and thar, that that’d be the last time I’d be in Moonshine Holler, and I ain’t been back since. I ain’t.’”
Well, when I heard that pan-handler say my feller wasn’t comin’ back no more, I got so upset, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. Why, I wasted away to nearly nothin’ ‘fore I ’cided that if I could find ’im — if I could eye-ball ’im — I might get ’im to change his mind.
But you know, I’ve ’cided that I’ve lost ‘nough sleep, missed ‘nough meals, and spent ‘nough time, lookin’ fer that man. I’m jest standin’ here to tell all you ladies — give you fair warnin’ — if you’ve got a feller, and ya think anything atall of ’im, you’d better hog-tie ’im ’cause I’m out to git myself another feller.
Telling time: 14-15 minutes
Audience: high school - adult
Although this story has long been the favorite of my two daughters and my niece, and I have had a few women become almost hysterical laughing at my telling of “Moonshine Holler,” I think of it as a man’s story. Men do enjoy it. It requires time to learn: you need to know it so well that you say the backward expressions automatically. There is a rhythm to it that needs to be maintained for the best results.
Introduction
Gator Tales
In the gator tale category are to be found the storylines of folk and fairy tales that have been brought here by the many cultures which make up the polyglot society of Florida. While the storyline is often old, the atmosphere is fresh and light. Gator tales reflect the flora, fauna, and topography of Florida, but do not necessarily involve alligators.
Do Tell!
Ole One Eye
There was this here ole woman, lived out here in Franklin County. She worked so hard, and saved so good, that she wus purtin’ nigh rich. She squirreled away all her gold in an ole sock, and hid it in the chimney corner.
She worked all day a plantin’ and takin’ care of her cotton patch, and raisin’ her food, and every night she’d sit there in her little cabin, a rockin’ and cardin’ her cotton or wool — scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch. This way she could spin it into thread during the heat of the day, when she couldn’t work outside.
Now, this ole woman didn’t only work hard, she saved good. She wouldn’t spend her money fer nothin’ she didn’t have to have.
She didn’t have a watch nor a clock, but she was not about to spend her
money fer one. And, to tell you the truth, she really didn’t need one. She could tell the time of day, give or take a few minutes, by the shadows on the cracks in her porch floor. And at night? Well, she had figured out a way to tell time then, too.
She’d sit there a rockin’ back and forth, a cardin’ her fiber — scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch — and after a while she’d yawn. When she yawned three times, she figured it was bedtime so she’d get up, go to bed, and sleep till the roosters woke her up. This worked fine for her.
But the one thing she would spend her money for was dried mullet. She loved dried mullet. Every time she went to the crossroad store to sell her eggs, she’d get some dried mullet. One day, when she took her eggs to the store, she found that the dried mullet had gone up five cents on the pound.
“No-o-o! Not spendin’ my money that a way! My ole hens ain’t a layin’ lak they oughter, and I ain’t spendin’ my money foolish-lak at all,” she said, and she started to leave.
The storekeeper didn’t want to miss a sale so he said, “Just a minute. I’ve got a big ole mullet here. Don’t know what happened to it, but somehow it got one of its eyes knocked out. Iffen you want it, I’ll let you have it fer three cents less on the pound.”
Well, she couldn’t turn down a bargain like that! She didn’t care whether or not it had two eyes. She took that ole fish and started along home. As she walked along, she’d look at it, and smack her lips, and say, “Ole One-Eye.” When she got home, she would have liked to just set down and et it all up, but she didn’t know when she’d get another bargain so she decided she’d better make “Ole One-Eye” last awhile. She tied a string around its tail and hung it on a nail — just above where she kept her gold hid. Then day after day, she worked a raisin’ her food, and night after night she sat there — rockin’, back and forth, a cardin’ her fiber — scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch. And when she had yawned three times, she’d get up, get her knife, cut a hunk off that fish, and eat it before goin’ to bed. That way, she had something to look forward to all day, and that fish was goin’ to last a long time.
Now about this time there were three robbers runnin’ from the law, and they hid out on the edge of Tate’s Hell Swamp. The leader of the gang was as mean as a Texas rattlesnake. He’d got into a fight and got one of his eyes knocked out so he was called Ole One-Eye. This gang got to goin’ up to the crossroad store to get food, and they heard people talking about that old woman — how rich she wus.
And Ole One-Eye said, “Boys, we’re goin’ out there to that ole woman’s place and get that gold.”
And one night, that was what they decided they’d do. They went out there and hid in a cypress-head to case the place, but they couldn’t see a thing.
So Ole One-Eye said to one of the other robbers, “You, you go over there and spy on that ole woman. When she goes to bed, come back and let us know so we can go and take her gold.”
That robber didn’t want to go over there by himself, but he was more afraid of Ole One-Eye than he was of that old woman. He went to the cabin and walked all around it, but he couldn’t see anything because the doors were shut and the winders all shuttered-up. But after a while, in the chimney corner, he found a little chink where the mud had fallen out from between the logs — just under where she had that old one-eyed fish hanging. He stooped down and looked in. He could see her sitting there carding her fiber — scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch.
And just then she yawned once, looked over at that old one-eyed fish, and said, “There’s the first one. When two more come, I’ll get my knife and start cuttin’” and she smacked her lips.
The robber was sure she was looking straight at him. He jumped up and took off running back to that cypress-head. “Come on, let’s get out of here. That old woman is a witch. She looked straight through the wall and said, ‘That’s one that’s come, and when two more come, I’m getting my knife and start cuttin’.’”
“That’s nothin’ but a pop-eyed lie. You know, you jest got scared, that’s all. You,” — Ole One-Eye motioned to the other robber — “you go down there and spy on that old woman, and when she goes to bed, come back here and let us know so we can get her gold.”
The other robber went over and started walking around the cabin. After a bit, he spotted the same chink. He looked in. She was still cardin’ — scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch — and she yawned.
“Well, there’s the second one. When one more comes, I can get my knife, and start cuttin’.”
That robber jumped up and just hit a few of the high spots as he raced back to that cypress-head.
“Let’s go from here. She is a witch, for sure. She looked right through that wall, and said that I was the second one, and when one more came she was gettin’ her knife, and start cuttin’. We’d better make tracks!”
“Ya know,” said Old One-Eye. “Sometimes, I’m ashamed to be associated with sech yeller-bellied cowards. Reckon I’ll have to go over there and spy on that old woman myself. But y’all jest remember who did all the work when it’s time to divide up the gold.”
And with that he walked over to the cabin and started casing the place. He found the same chink. He put his one good eye up there where he could see.
She hadn’t gone to bed. She was still rockin’ back and forth, cardin’ her fiber — scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch. Then she yawned. She put down her cards, looked over at the fish, and said, “Now, I’m gettin’ my butcherin’ knife and cut a big hunk outten Ole One-Eye.”
You would have thought that robber had been shot out of a cannon. Back to that cypress-head he went. “Come on, men, let’s get out of here, now! That old witch not only looked through the wall and saw me, she called me by name.”
Those robbers ran into Tate’s Hell Swamp and were never heard tell of in Franklin County again. And that old woman? Well, she is still working all day, and every night she sits there in her swamp-cabin cardin’ her fiber. How? Scritch, scratch! Scritch, scratch!
Telling time: 14-15 minutes
Audience: 3rd grade - adult
This is one of the most generic of stories. It is in the genre of gator tales because of its setting in Florida. It could be set anyplace with good results. Tate’s Hell Swamp and how it got its name is an interesting study
Legend has it that a man named Tate got lost then bitten by a rattlesnake in this big swamp in the Panhandle’s Franklin County. He lived for over a week, crawling through the swamp still marked on maps as “Tate’s Hell Swamp.“
“Ole One Eye” is a crowd pleaser, and many times the audience will join in without your prompting as you demonstrate how the old woman carded her cotton and wool. Invite them to join in at the end if they don’t. They will enjoy this bit of audience participation.
Ignorance Is Bliss
“Miriam, it is a lot of work, but I’m glad we decided to sell the furniture ourselves rather than letting a dealer have it.” Glenda wiped her brow and pushed her glasses up on her nose.
“I think it is kinda fun — a challenge. And if we play our cards right, we should be able to get premium prices for most of this old stuff. With today’s clamor for antiques, as soon as it is known we are moving into smaller quarters, we’ll be swamped with bargain hunters.”
“Help me turn this desk over so I can burn the initials ‘N W’ on the bottom.”
“That’s right. It did belong to Noah Webster, didn’t it?” Glenda chuckled as she crawled from the back of a headboard she was dating with a nail.
“Remember, all the bent-wood furniture in the sun parlor was made by Michael Thonet, himself,” Miriam reminded her sister, and then asked, “What did we decide about the secretary?”
“I think we should apologize for the corner of the drop-door being chewed-up — explain that during the Civil War a Yankee soldier pried it open with his bayonet, looking for the family jewels.” Glenda used an elongated Southern drawl, and both ladies giggled.
“With our deed to this place dating back to the S
panish occupation, everyone expects us to have a house full of antiques, so we shan’t disappoint them,” concluded Miriam.
“For several years, I’ve bemoaned the fact that we disposed of the old family furniture, but really, making antiques is proving to be more fun than just owning them.”
“But we must remember to be subtle. If this sale gets noised about too much, dealers and experts will be coming out of the woodwork, and if they discover the fraud, they might try to disgrace our name.”
“Don’t say ‘fraud’,” implored Glenda. “Why, that sounds downright dishonest. We’re only making happy mementos. The people who buy this old furniture can’t afford many treasures, and it’ll bring them hours of happiness thinking they have a real museum piece.”
“Especially when they think they have discovered proof which we didn’t know existed. So be sure they see it, but act completely ignorant of its existence.”
“Sister, which of these two looks older?”
“Mmmm, both look as old as the pyramids.”
“Don’t need them to look that old,” mused Miriam, admiring her success in aging the paper. She read the faded ink on one of the labels.
20 August 1773
100 pounds Fyne green Tea
East India Company
London, England
“Maybe you should tear or burn the edge so the day and actual weight are not legible. That might be information too easily disproved,” suggested Glenda.
“This has to be our master stroke — converting Papa’s old kindling box into a tea chest,” Miriam said. “Let’s put the old picnic paraphernalia back in here. It will keep the label from being too conspicuous.”
Tellable Cracker Tales Page 8