Burning Tobacco Beds
When we were young, as the time to burn the tobacco beds drew near, we recall hearing warnings to take care to keep the fire from spreading and for everyone to keep away from the flames so our clothes would not catch fire. The Cravens family, the Foley family, and Mr. Bray and his two sons were the ones who usually helped Roberta's dad. One of them told this story one night, but she can't say exactly which one because one story usually followed another, and she was so eager to listen that she did not always notice the transition.
Burning tobacco beds was an event most families enjoyed on the farm, but few people now would remember taking part in it, as it is now part of Kentucky history. Some farmers probably burned tobacco beds well into the 1970s. Up until that time, Kentucky had a lot of burly tobacco growers. Before modern methods took over, farmers grew their tobacco plants in a bed that was 8 feet by 50 feet or 8 by 100. To prepare the beds, they were first burned for weed control.
Long winters often left storm-damaged limbs and brush lying around everywhere. These were gathered, placed in piles, and burned like a huge bonfire over the area where the beds would be. This burning could be a family event or a neighborhood gathering. All help was welcome to carry the limbs and then to watch the fire and keep it from spreading.
The flames from the burning beds always looked spectacular against the early spring night skies. When the flames died out, the farmers raked and spread the ashes and let them cool overnight. Then they mixed the tobacco seeds in the ashes and sowed them in the beds. A cotton cloth was used to cover the beds, and the seeds were left alone to grow. When the seedlings reached a height of eight or ten inches, the farmers transplanted them in the fields. The introduction of methyl bromide and the ability to gas the beds pretty much eliminated the need to burn them. Before that happened, burning tobacco beds occurred every year.
The Grayson family looked forward to tobacco-bed burning each year so they could turn the process into a family bonfire. Faye and her younger sister, four-year-old Ruby Jean, always roasted marshmallows on long sticks as the fire died down. Ruby Jean was fascinated by the flames and loved to stand close and feel the heat on the chilly spring nights. The family constantly had to warn her to stay at a safe distance, but her parents or sister often had to pull Ruby Jean back from the flames.
One night, as the Graysons were burning their tobacco beds, an unexpected wind whipped up the flames. Ruby Jean was standing near the fire when the flames shot out and caught the dress she was wearing. The little girl did the one thing she should never have done. She ran, frightened and screaming, through the field with the wind fanning the flames.
“Drop down and roll,” screamed Faye, running after her little sister. “Stop running!”
Mr. and Mrs. Grayson ran after both girls, but by the time Ruby Jean stumbled and fell to the ground, her burns were severe. There were no modern burn units back then, so Ruby Jean died that night.
People in the neighborhood say that the spirit of the little girl lives on, though. They declare that she returns on the anniversary of her death. Some swear that they have heard her scream and that they have looked out the windows to see a fiery light streaking through the field where she was burned. Most people refrained from burning their tobacco beds until that anniversary night had come and gone.
The Graysons never used that field for tobacco beds again. Neighbors said that each year, on the anniversary of that dreadful night, the family would go inside, close the doors and windows, and never look out. It was said that they spent that time praying for the tragic little girl.
Weather Forecaster
There were several teachers in our family and circle of friends. We loved the stories they all told, but Miss Sullivan was a favorite. She had a practice of ending each school day with a story. Storm stories were especially interesting because we had to deal with storms all during the school year. We could relate to these true tales.
In the days of one-room schoolhouses, there were no phones, no radios, and no TV sets in schools to give severe weather alerts. The teacher had to be her own weather forecaster. If a threatening storm approached in the morning, the teacher would keep the students at school and continue with the lessons. She knew that a morning storm was likely to blow itself out by the end of the school day. The little one-room schools were as sturdy as most of the students' homes, so it was safe for them to stay at school until the storm passed. However, if a bad storm approached in the afternoon, the teacher had to consider a different plan of action so her students would not be caught out in the storm.
There were no school buses in those days. All the children lived within walking distance of school, and walked back and forth from home to school every day. The distance might be a mile or more for some children, so the teacher had to take that into consideration when storms were approaching. The storms that came up in early or mid-afternoon would sometimes turn into all-night rains, or at least rain that lasted beyond the regular time for school to be over. The parents and the teacher didn't want students walking home in the storm, so the teacher had to judge whether or not to dismiss school early to allow each child time to reach home safe and dry.
One midafternoon, a particularly bad-looking cloud loomed up without much warning. The teacher looked out the window and decided that, unless they all wanted to be stuck at school until after dark, she should let the students go home immediately.
“Boys and girls,” she said, “I want you to listen to me carefully. A very bad cloud is moving this way. I believe you can get home before this storm hits, but you must hurry as fast as you can. Get your things now and run. Don't stop to play. Hurry!”
The students grabbed their books and lunch buckets (yes, buckets, because most students carried their food to school in little buckets that originally contained syrup), rushed out the door, and scattered in all directions. The teacher picked up her purse and some papers to grade that night and headed home herself, leaving the schoolhouse door unlocked as she always did.
One little boy had just reached the dirt road that led through the fields to his house when he realized he had left his arithmetic book at school. He had been having trouble with fractions, and his father had insisted that he bring the book home every night so they could study together. He didn't want his father to be angry, so he stopped and thought about what to do.
He looked at the darkening sky, but the main cloud still seemed to be in the distance. He knew the teacher always left the door unlocked for students who arrived early in the morning, so he decided he would go back. He hurried back to school, ran inside, snatched up the book, closed the door behind him, and dashed off for home as fast as he could.
Unfortunately, the little fellow misjudged the storm's speed. By now the storm had reached the boy, and the wind was whipping the limbs of the trees up and down furiously. He felt the cloud open up and saw a wall of rain heading right toward him. He clutched his book and wondered how he could keep it dry in the downpour. Just then he passed a hollow tree standing by the side of the road. The rain had reached him now, so he squeezed himself and his book into the huge hollow trunk.
The boy had been warned about trees like this. They were called widow makers because they often blew down in storms and killed the men who took shelter in them, leaving their wives widows. He did not heed the warning that day. He only thought of shelter from the storm, and that tree offered the only shelter available. The situation quickly turned tragic. A blast of wind uprooted the tree, crushing the little boy beneath the trunk as it fell.
The unbearable pain he was feeling brought darkness, so the boy wasn't aware that the storm soon stopped and that his father and his neighbors were looking for him. He lived long enough for them to find him and for him to tell them why he had gone back to school. He never knew that his arithmetic book had somehow remained dry and undamaged.
School was dismissed for the boy's funeral. When classes resumed, the teacher and the students missed the boy very much. They tho
ught of him every day when they looked at his empty desk. The days came and went.
Then one day another storm headed for the school. The teacher was trying to decide if she should let the children leave when a student gasped, “Look!”
Everybody looked to where the boy was pointing. There stood the ghost of the little boy with his book under his arm, pointing toward the door.
The teacher took that as a sign that the storm was going to be bad and that they should all hurry home. She told the students to go. Remembering the fate of their former schoolmate, they wasted no time getting home. It turned out to be one of the worst storms of the year, but they felt that the ghost boy had saved them.
Until the school burned down mysteriously in a storm a year later, the ghost boy became a dependable weather forecaster. He didn't come in ordinary rain, but he always appeared if a storm was going to be dangerous.
Turkey Drive
Stories about cattle drives are common in the history of our country, but stories of turkey drives are rare. We were lucky to hear the personal stories of our grandfathers, Louis Franklin Simpson and James Milton Rooks, who participated in some of the drives.
Milton said that the turkeys sometimes had their own ideas about where they wanted to go. The men would take the family dog along to help control the turkeys, but it wasn't much help. The gobblers would spread their tails and fluff up their feathers to look bigger, and the dog would be intimidated and just stand and bark.
When the turkey drovers were settled at their campsite for the night, Lewis Simpson would lead them in an evening of music, storytelling, and fun. He passed on one of those stories to us.
Turkey drives took place in the nineteenth century in the Midwest, the South, and even New England. Basically, cattle drives and turkey drives were the same. They were intended to get the livestock to market, and the journey was sometimes long and difficult. Louis always felt that turkey drives were more difficult than cattle drives. The cattle might become spooked and scatter in all directions, but they always stayed at ground level with the drovers, so they could be reached and rounded up. That was not the case with turkeys.
According to Louis, the turkeys were harder to control. They might be spooked by anything. Howling or barking dogs, rifle shots, paper blowing in the wind, or unseen things like engines or people talking often made the turkeys take flight. They might end up on the tops of buildings or in trees, out of reach of the drovers. At that point, the turkeys were in charge. It was often impossible for the drovers to coax them down to continue on their way. Most of the time, the drovers simply set up camp where the turkeys had chosen to roost or take refuge from whatever frightened them.
The turkeys usually lived off the land, enjoying a diet of grasshoppers, nuts, plants, and the like. Drovers sometimes brought along a wagon filled with shelled corn, just in case the land did not provide food.
One late afternoon, a turkey drive approached a small town in south central Kentucky. Louis Simpson's old bluetick hound was taking a nap when he was disturbed by the drovers herding the turkeys down the road. He sat up and gave a couple of sharp, loud barks before deciding that this matter did not really require his attention. He lay back to continue his nap, but the turkeys flew into the highest tree seeking safety.
A boy who lived in town had heard that the turkey drive was coming through. He had never shot a turkey, and he decided it would be a good time to try out his new twenty-two rifle. This could be his lucky day. His luck held as he sneaked the rifle out of the house and hid in the bushes along the road. His luck continued to run as he heard the dog bark and the turkeys fly to safety in the treetops. It deserted him completely, however, when he failed to notice one of the drovers climbing up a tree to try to scare the turkeys down.
The boy raised his rifle and sighted only the turkey. It was a big one that would win him a lot of admiration among his friends if he could shoot it. Behind the tree, the drover climbed swiftly and silently, out of the boy's line of vision. Two things happened at the same time. The young drover leaned around the tree and reached for the turkey. The young boy on the ground pulled the trigger and sent a bullet into the drover's head. The horrified boy watched as the drover's body fell to the ground with a thud. The turkey they'd both been after fled to another tree and was later caught and sold at market.
The shooter, who was a minor, was not jailed as an adult. He was sent away to a reform school up north, and the victim was sent to the cemetery. That was not the end of it, though. On the anniversary of that tragic incident, people heard the sound of wings in the trees. They heard a single shot and the thud of a body hitting the ground. They always looked, but nothing was there. The scene was destined to be replayed over and over for many years until finally the sounds got fainter and fainter and disappeared altogether.
Fool's Errand
The hunters in our community told this story. With little to do for entertainment when they were camped for the night on a hunting trip, they would resort to practical jokes to have some laughs. When they gathered at our home or the home of neighbors, they would recount their escapades. Most were innocent fun, but this one joke, which always stayed in our minds, had a terrible ending.
A fool's errand is sometimes also called a snipe hunt or a wild-goose chase. In early times in Kentucky and the southern United States, it was a type of practical joke that involved experienced people making fun of inexperienced people by setting them up with an impossible or imaginary task. Campers and hunters often practiced this kind of prank. The victim of the joke had to do silly or preposterous things to complete the task, but of course doing so was hopeless. The fool's errand came in two varieties: trying to find something that does not exist, or trying to accomplish an impossible task.
Many years ago, a group of hunters had pitched camp deep in the woods. After eating their dinner, cooked over an open fire, they were bored and looking for entertainment.
In the group was a young man named Ronald Wilson, who was on his first hunt. His presence made the opportunity for a fool's errand too good to pass up.
The group had considered a snipe hunt, but they discarded that idea because Ronald knew there really was such a thing as a snipe—it was a real bird that was very hard to catch. The group wanted something unreal and a whole lot scarier than a snipe. Finally, they came up with the idea of an imaginary monster called a Swamp Booger. Now that dinner was over, they were ready to put their plan into action.
“Boys, how would you like to catch a Swamp Booger tonight?” one hunter asked in mock seriousness.
“Naw, no way!” the others answered as planned.
“Ronald, how would you like to catch one?” the first hunter asked.
Ronald shifted uneasily on the ground and looked at the group.
“I never heard of a Swamp Booger,” he laughed nervously.
“Well, we've all seen it and had a crack at it,” said the hunter, “but none of us could catch it. You might just be the man to do the job!”
Ronald was tired from the day's hunt, and he didn't feel like hunting anything else that night. He did swell up a little with pride at being referred to as a man. All he really wanted, though, was to stretch out and go to sleep. It was obvious that this was not what his companions had in mind.
“What do you say?” the hunter persisted. “You up to giving it a try?”
All eyes were on Ronald, intent on their purpose of getting him to agree. He felt trapped and uneasy.
“I don't know,” he said. “What would I have to do?”
That was all the encouragement they needed. They all immediately moved closer to give him instructions.
“It's attracted by sounds,” one hunter said. “You have to beat two rocks together and call softly, ‘Swamp Booger! Swamp Booger!’”
“It may take a few minutes, but you will hear it coming,” said another. “It drags its tail and growls a low growl just before it attacks. Don't let it get too close. It has paws with three claws only. You have to s
hoot when you hear the growl so it won't claw you to death.”
That didn't sound too inviting to Ronald.
“Why can't we all go hunt it together?” he asked.
“Oh, it won't show itself if it hears more than one person,” said a third hunter. “We'll all hide nearby and be quiet, but you have to go out and call it by yourself.”
“I wish I could catch it,” said the first hunter, “but it's too quick for a man my age. The man that brings it in will be a real hero! I wish it could be me!”
Suddenly, Ronald was caught up in the action by the idea of being a hero.
“Okay, I'll give it shot,” he told them.
One hunter handed him two rocks. Another passed him his gun. They helped him to his feet and pushed him along into the dark woods beyond the firelight.
They stopped and Ronald stumbled along alone, beating the rocks together. His self-confidence rose a little as he moved ahead. Maybe he really could catch this thing. It would be a great feeling to outdo the others. His walk was steadier now.
“Swamp Booger! Swamp Booger!” he called softly.
Back at the campfire, the hunters rolled on the ground laughing. They could hardly believe that anyone would really be dumb enough to think there was a real thing called a Swamp Booger.
They heard Ronald move farther into the woods. They followed at a safe distance so Ronald would not discover them.
“Swamp Booger! Swamp Booger!” Ronald kept calling.
Then suddenly they all heard something they were not supposed to hear. Something was dragging through the woods. Then it was growling!
The hunters heard the rocks go silent. A single shot rang out. The sounds that followed were terrifying. Ronald was screaming and struggling as the growling got louder. Then there was silence for just a minute. The hunters stood, unable to move, as they heard a dragging sound going in the opposite direction into the woods. They hurried to see what had happened to Ronald. It was horrible—and no longer a joke.
Kentucky Hauntings Page 3