I have a recent report on an asthma cure that tops them all. The disease was treated by tying a live frog to the afflicted man’s throat and leaving it there until it died. This may have been an isolated case as I have never found it among the traditional cures of the Ozarks. It is reported that the frog “completely absorbed the disease.”
The ringworm cure is to go to a teakettle of boiling water, rub your thumb in a circle the size of the ringworm on the inside of the lid, and then around the ringworm. Do the same with the forefinger, then with the thumb again. Do this with all the fingers on that hand, alternating each time with the thumb. When through, go away and do not look back at the teakettle.
To cure a sty on the eye, go to the forks of the road and say, “Sty, sty, leave my eye and catch the first one passing by.” Another flaunted cure is to cut off the end of a black cat’s tail and take a drop of the blood and put on the sty.
“Sheep nanny tea” was used in the old days to “break out” measles. A quantity of sheep droppings would be boiled in water, strained, sweetened with molasses, and drunk. One remedy to keep the mumps from “going down” was to take a red yarn string, saturate it in the manure of swine, and tie around the neck like a string of beads. A popular treatment for yellow jaundice was to dig some angleworms, fry them in their own grease, and give to the patient. Pokeroot was boiled in water and the solution applied externally for itch. The liquid burned like fire and the cure was probably worse than the ailment. Epilepsy was treated by feeding the patient colt’s tongue.
Charm panaceas run the gamut from simple faith cures to strange practices that seem to hark back to the magic-saturated days of the ancient world. Several of them have characteristics in common which provide interesting speculation for the observer. Secrecy concerning the rites is important. Frequently there is a ban on kinship between patient and healer. There are definite rules for revealing the charm to others. There is a taboo against “looking back.” One outstanding fact in connection with treatments which have psychical foundation is the denial of compensation. The healers do not accept pay for their services except in the form of voluntary donations.
There is some speculation as to the extent of this charm-cure practice in the Ozarks. It is my opinion that practically all the first settlers were familiar with these remedies, but only a small portion actually used them. Most of the people relied upon herbs for relief from suffering. Household remedies were gradually superseded by commercial products in the form of patent medicines. Country doctors, with saddlebags loaded with blue mass pills and other medical essentials, pushed back the wilderness horizon and established themselves at strategic points throughout the hill country. These practitioners have been a Gibraltar against the common enemies of superstition and disease.
CHAPTER XII
Wind and Smoke
Snakes Alive!
Hite Lindsey’s favorite byword was “snakes alive.” He could give this expletive a lazy drawl that seemed to stretch it a full arm’s length whenever his vague mind reached the point of actual surprise. It seemed to fit his emotional urge as a barlow fitted his hand. “Snakes alive, feller, you all can’t mean that,” he would say when a perfunctory remark penetrated the realm of his leisurely understanding. It was interesting to hear him tell a story punctuated with hillbilly candor and retarded quips of Elizabethan grace. He liked to brag about the prowess and ingenuity of his kinfolks and his tall tales concerning them were extravaganza without apology. He was a Bob Burns and Woodville was his Van Buren.
We had talked and whittled and swapped tobacco through the long summer afternoon and now that the day had dismissed the sun and the chickens were settling to roost in the old persimmon tree back of the smokehouse, I itched for a story. The purple shadows settling over the pinery indicated that it would soon be time to set our feet under the table and take our filling of cornpone, fatback, and grease gravy. Lindsey’s bedtime always followed closely upon the heels of supper. I must capture a story now or wait another day.
“Hite,” I began casually, “what was the strangest adventure your father ever had?”
The hillsman puffed his pipe thoughtfully for a few moments, closed his mammoth barlow, and carefully placed it in his pants pocket. A soft reminiscent light played in his eyes and I knew I had struck pay dirt. He knocked the ashes from his pipe and laid it on the windowsill. I took a fresh chew of tobacco, passed the plug, and waited. One needs to prime for a good story and I am willing to go a long ways for priming water. Storytellers are born, not made, and the machine age with all its sputter and smoke has not increased the birth rate of this rare species. And, too, it takes mellow moods and good tobacco to foster tall tales in the Ozarks.
“As I recollect,” began Hite, “pap’s strangest ’sperience happened right over thar in Greasy Holler. Musto’ been nigh sixty year ago. He took his ax one day an’ went up thar t’ cut a morsel o’ firewood. Th’ trees an’ bresh had been cleared off on each side o’ th’ valley up two or three hunderd feet. Th’ banks wus slick as owl grease an’ so steep that pap had a hard time gittin’ up th’ side t’ whar they wus some tall trees. He got thar though an’ picked out a big hick’ry that stuck up way ’bove th’ other trees. Pap wus th’ best chopper in th’ hills an’ bracin’ hisself careful, he begin makin’ chips fly like that thar Paul Bunyan feller what owned a blue ox. Three-four licks from pap’s ax an’ th’ tree come smashin’ down.”
P-futt went a stream of tobacco juice at a knot in the pine tree in front of us. Hite adjusted his chaw and continued.
“Pap jumped back an’ th’ tree started rollin’ down th’ steep hill. Down it went, breakin’ off all th’ limbs and gainin’ speed ever’ second. When hit got t’ th’ bed o’ th’ valley, it didn’t stop atall, but rolled right up th’ other bank clean t’ th’ timberline. Then hit started back like a freight train comin’ outa hell. Down it come into th’ valley an’ right up th’ hill t’ whar pap stood. Hit struck th’ timber an’ bounced like a bull calf on a stampede. Back down it went, faster ’an ever.
“Pap jist leaned on his choppin’ ax an’ watched th’ thing roll. Down one side an’ up t’other, then a big bounce an’ down agin. All th’ bark wus wore off by now an’ pap said hit looked like a greased pig at a picnic. He watched it roll fer a good two hours an’ then give up an’ follered th’ ridge home.”
P-futt! P-flu-futt! I passed the plug and the storyteller took a fresh chew.
“Next day pap went back up th’ ridge t’ see what had happened t’ th’ hick’ry an’, snakes alive, th’ log wus still rollin’! Pap come back home ’thout no firewood.
“Right after that my ole man wus drafted into th’ Civil War an’ took his rifle gun an’ went away. After ’bout a year he come back on one o’ them thar furloughs. Th’ fust thing he thought of when he got home wus that blamed log in Greasy Holler. Couldn’t hardly wait t’ git up thar.
“Wal, hit wus still a-rollin’. But it was jist ’bout petered out. Hit had wore down so much that pap picked it up an’ brung it home an’ used hit fer a ramrod durin’ th’ rest o’ th’ war.”
“Snakes alive!” was all I could think to say as Hite concluded his dramatic story.
It seemed to me a fine coincidence that Hite Lindsey’s favorite byword reflected his favorite hobby. Hite was an authority on snakes, if knowledge plus experience begets authority. He knew more about the reptilian family, Ophidia, than any other man in the hills. Of course, his knowledge was not scientific and his facts were badly mixed with fable. But to me he was an unspoiled paragon of the hills and his lore was excellent grist for my mill.
Hite told me many things about snakes and their habits. He explained that all snakes lay eggs but do not hatch them in the same manner. The harmless bull snake deposits her eggs in the sand and leaves them there for the sun to do the hatching. The rattlesnake, according to the old woodsman, lays eggs but immediately swallows them. These eggs are hatched in a special compartment of the snake’s body and the young a
re discharged through the mouth. Lindsey said that a poisonous snake will sometimes swallow her young as a protective measure and disgorge them when the danger is over. He believed that snakes have power to charm birds and small animals, and even human beings. Naturally I took this lore with a few grains of salt, but that did not lessen my interest.
When I first entered the Ozarks I heard many stories about children being charmed by snakes. The technique of the serpent was always the same. It caught the eye of its subject and cast a charm which could not be broken until sundown. A Woodville woman claimed that she had been charmed in this manner when she was a child. Here is her story:
I was out walking with my mother and ran ahead down a woodland trail. A large rattlesnake caught my eye and cast its spell. When my mother discovered me, I was sitting in the road entranced with the coiled serpent weaving its head back and forth in front of my face. My mother grabbed me away at the risk of being bitten by the poisonous reptile, but it did not strike. She carried me home and put me to bed and at sundown the spell broke. I suffered no ill effects from the ordeal but to this day I can sense the presence of a snake near me without seeing it.
A man of the community related an even more terrifying experience. When he was a lad of eight or nine years he wandered into the woods and sat down upon a log to rest. A large rattler cast a spell over him and coiled around his body. The father of the boy was out hunting and came upon his young son in this condition. The youth had a short stick in his hand which he was waving back and forth in methodical fashion. The snake was moving its head in front of the boy’s face in cadence with the moving stick, but it made no attempt to strike. The father was a good marksman and his first thought was to shoot the reptile through the head. Then he realized that to do so might prove fatal to the boy. It would be impossible to break the spell if the snake were killed. The only alternative was to wait two hours until the sun went down. The latter method was decided upon and the long vigil began. When the sun finally dropped behind the horizon the snake released its coils and glided away. The spell broke immediately and the boy was none the worse for the experience.
It was reported one day that a hoop snake had been seen by a woman who was washing clothes on the riverbank. The reptile had rolled down the hillside, barely missing the wash pot, and disappeared in the current of the stream. I had never believed that such a snake existed, but Hite enlightened me with the following anecdote.
“When I wus a kid of a boy,” said Hite, “hoop snakes wus right smart common in these parts. Why, in th’ hot months of summer, ’specially in dog days, a feller would sometimes see two or three of ’em rollin’ ’round in that thar holler. See that ol’ snag t’ th’ right o’ that pin oak? A feller named Pod Warner wus a-diggin’ sprouts thar on th’ side of th’ hill one day when a hoop snake took its tail in its mouth an’ started rollin’ toward him. Pod saw hit comin’ an’ jist had time t’ jump out’n th’ way. Hit wus comin’ hell-bent-fer-’lection, Pod said, an’ he had t’ jump quick as a ghost when a rooster crows. I guess th’ snake had its eyes on Pod fer when it missed him, it hit slabdab into that thar tree. Hit rammed its pizen stinger into it, fer th’ leaves begin t’ fall off an’ in two-three months th’ tree wus dead.
“At another time,” continued Hite, “Aunt Steller Bonham wus pickin’ blackberries on a bluff above Clabber Crick. She heerd a noise in th’ bresh above her, an’ lookin’ up saw a hoop snake rollin’ straight fer her. Snakes alive, she wus scairt! Hit wus as big ’round as yer arm an’ made a loop th’ size of a bar’l hoop. She didn’t have time t’ git out’n th’ way, but throwed up th’ bucket she had blackberries in t’ keep th’ thing frum hittin’ her square in th’ face. When she swung th’ bucket, th’ snake dodged an’ jist ripped her dress with th’ pint of hits tail. Th’ ol’ woman warshed her dress th’ next day an’ th’ pizen in hit turned three tubs o’ warsh water plumb green. Hoop snakes is powerful pizen.”
A friend of mine who delves in science rates hoop snake lore as imaginative myth. I repeat his theory to balance the debate of folklore vs. science.
Possibly the habit of certain snakes, like the blacksnake, of gliding at a relatively high speed over the tops of bushes gives the casual observer the idea that the reptile has formed a huge loop and is rapidly covering the ground in this fashion.
The “tail end” of the myth probably arose from the fact that certain snakes, chiefly the horn snake, uses the sharply pointed and horny-tipped tail with which to explore and feel, thus giving rise to the belief that the snake has stinging properties. There is, however, no sting in the tail of such a snake. In fact, this modified tail is not even hollow, but is a solid pointed scale that covers the tip of the tail, within which there is no poison apparatus at all.
Some years after leaving Woodville, I saw a notice in a New York paper which stated that a certain zoo in the East would pay $1,000 for a live hoop snake. I reported this offer in my column in the Tulsa Tribune. Two letters of inquiry reached me, both from eastern Oklahoma. One man wrote that he had captured a hoop snake and wanted to know what to feed it while contacting the zoo and getting the reward. I outlined a diet for the captive reptile and asked for more information, but I never received a reply.
Signs and Superstitions
The emotions of mankind provide interesting subjects for investigation and speculation. I like to think of the phenomenon we call desire as smoke from the fire of feeling, rising in fantastic circles, clouding the sky of the mind with strange manifestations. In the long, long ago before primitive man could reason, feeling and action were probably twins seldom parted. That was the day of picture writing on the inner walls of consciousness. Desire was the motive force of all action. When Caveman Kip saw the luring curves of beautiful Sadie as she lounged in front of her stony domicile, a picture registered on the film of his fertile imagination. All through the night it haunted his erotic dreams. With no rational restraint to check him, he quickly “made up his mind.” Early morning found him heading for Sadie’s abode, intent upon dragging her to his lair by the hair of the head, if necessary. But during the night she had been kidnapped by neighbor Rip and carried into the mountains.
Kip’s flaming picture settled into an ugly fantasy. With heart of lead he returned to his cave to brood over his loss. But in a few days, the smoke cleared, for the simple mind soon forgets, and the film accepted a substitute picture. Of course, each vision was registered in the memory section of the caveman’s mind. Gradually he began associating these impressions and it gave birth to reason. This enabled him to see through the smoke more clearly and to control his fiery impulses somewhat. But in the beginning he was a slave to his desires, and his emotions ran rampant. His conduct depended entirely upon the pictures created within him.
The superstitions of mankind were conceived in the womb of the mind when the smoke was thick in human consciousness. Folks had to have a way to explain natural phenomena which they did not understand. Real proof was impossible, so they evolved supernatural theories to explain cause and effect to their own satisfaction. Faith was sometimes based upon insufficient evidence and the result was belief in charms, omens, magic, apparitions, witchcraft, and the whole category of superstition. These strange beliefs became a part of the folkways of mankind and they have survived to the twentieth century. They are not confined to the isolated and the illiterate for we are all still primitives, more or less, painting pictures on the walls. Perhaps superstition is the protective shell of the egg from which reason is hatched.
Superstition defies geographical boundaries. It is not hedged in the backhills nor centered in urban populations. Wherever there are ladders to walk under, mirrors to break, or black cats to fear, superstition rules reaction. It is important to keep this in mind when dealing with ways of thinking in any particular region. Not all irrational belief is found in the backhills. A white Christmas means a lean graveyard in Chicago as well as in Arkansas.
The pattern of life in the Ozarks is full of the lore
of signs and superstitions. These peculiar twists of belief and practice color the personality and enliven behavior. I have lived with folks who never button a new garment before it is worn, never cut a child’s hair until it is a year old, never—in the light of the moon—plant crops that grow underground, never do anything unless the sign is right. Corn is planted when the first dove “hollers” in the spring. A knife is never given to a friend as a gift. It might sever the friendship. The housewife does not sing before breakfast for that means she will weep before nightfall. A visitor is careful to leave his neighbor’s house by the same door through which he entered. To do otherwise might invoke a quarrel. Thunderclaps in February mean frosts in May. A corpse is never left alone overnight. A woman carries her young baby about the house so that it will be like her. A tree that has been struck by lightning is never used for firewood. A thimbleful of water is carried around the house with the baby so that the infant will not “slobber and spit” while cutting its first set of teeth. A birthmark will disappear if the child’s hand is rubbed on the face of the first corpse it sees, and then on the birthmark. Should a toad be killed, accidentally or otherwise, and the cows give bloody milk in retaliation for the crime, there is just one thing to do. Get seven pebbles and throw them over your left shoulder into an open well at sundown. The milk will be all right after that.
“If ” is the hinge of the door which opens to many superstitions in the backhills. If a woman’s second toe is longer than her large one, she will rule her husband. If a girl awakes on three consecutive mornings with a feather in her hair, it is a sign she will marry a cripple. If the thumb knuckle itches, a visitor may be expected. If a housewife lets a dishrag fall, someone is coming who is dirtier than she. If a person is ill with fever, feathers plucked from a black hen and burned in a pan beneath the bed will drive away the disease. If a girl’s shoe comes untied or her stocking falls down, she knows that her lover is thinking of her. If the baby’s eyes are sore, the mother’s milk is the best possible wash for them. If a pregnant woman has a craving for a certain kind of food, it should be given her, because denial of it may cause the child to be “marked.” If a child is born with a veil, the membrane should be carefully dried and given to its owner when maturity is reached. If you should have a part of the body amputated, be sure that it is straightened out and properly buried. Carelessness may cause misery that medicine cannot reach. If—but we must close this door for visits in other realms of the supernatural.
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