How the Heck Did THAT Happen?

Is it just me? I mean, I have had some really weird stuff happen, and wondered if you have, too.

For instance: (and where do I begin?) One night I was walking right at dusk. I used to do this every evening that I could, because I sat a lot at my desk and walking made me feel better. Anyway, it was snowing, and the ground was covered, maybe a quarter inch. This was long before the road was paved, so I made no sound when I walked. As I topped the hill above our house, I came face to face with about a dozen deer - a buck and his does. They were as startled as I, and all were staring at me, frozen. I froze too. Deer are pretty big up close, and I suddenly realized they could run toward me and trample me. I ain't never been scared of deer before. But instead, the buck snorted, stomped his feet and they took off away from me, down the road. My heart was beating so fast I didn't figure I needed any more aerobic exercise for the day and I went back to the house.

One morning I was sitting in the kitchen at the bay window and watched a Red Tail Hawk land on a limb in the tree in my yard. This is unusual, they usually stay away from the yard. I realized he was keeping his eye on the blue bird house. Mama and Papa blue bird got really anxious, in fact they were in a frenzy, as the hawk began to swoop around their house. He was trying to figure out how to get the babies.

Incensed, I ran through the house onto the porch. I leaned over the banisters, yelling at the hawk to get lost. Next thing I knew he was flying toward me. He sailed right by my nose and if looks could kill, I'd be graveyard dead. 

Coming home from the lake a few years ago, we decided to unload the car, regardless of our tired state. All three of us made a few loads. I glanced back toward my family. Daughter walked down the sidewalk toward the  house as we had done half a dozen times. But this time I noticed a silhouette of a snake's head. He was coiled up in the V of the tree, inches from where our legs had been walking back and forth. Husband shot it because it was a Copperhead.

And the last thing for today doesn't involve animals - at least the woodland kind.

I was at a  high school football game and we were playing our most hated rival. (Yes, I was still in high school. They had to keep running the dinosaurs off the field.) Lots of the boys in the bleachers were drunk, there was a lot of murmuring about after game fights, etc.

One of the inebriated boys was sitting on the bleacher right above me. Suddenly he was pushing me and yelling at me. When I could finally understand what he was saying, I tried to get away, but it was sorta too late. 

Someone had thrown a fire cracker from behind the bleachers and it had landed under my cushion. It exploded, blistering my butt (pardon my French) and leaving me deaf for a few days in my right ear. Didn't do much for the cushion, either. 

There's more where that came from, too. But you'll be glad to know I'm finished for the day.  

The Appalachian Life

I am reading a book by Deany Brady entitled "An Appalachian Childhood". It is a collection of her memories of being born and raised in the backwoods of Appalachia, dirt poor but well loved.

Some of the things she says reminds me of my life - even now. For instance, she explains that dinner is what most call lunch and supper is what some call dinner. Still that way at my house.

Another thing she talks about is the youngest child is called "the baby" until another baby arrives. That was always true in my family. In fact, my nephew was "the baby" until he was six years old and my niece and my daughter arrived within three months of each other. If we had a family gathering, they might be called "the babies", but usually they were referred to by name so as not to confuse everyone.

She talks about "pilot snakes". That rang a vague bell and Husband says he remembers snakes being called that. But we didn't know what kind of snake that was. So I looked it up. I'm  no clearer than before. Some sites say it is another name for copperheads. Others say it is a chicken snake or a rat snake, and they got the name "pilot" because they made way, or piloted a way, for poisonous snakes to come in.

Mrs. Brady is a few years older than my mother. We spoke on the telephone, revealing that she remembers my mother in school. Mother remembered her and her sister, too.

 My mother's family was far from rich, but they were much better off financially than Mrs. Brady's family. As far as I know, my mother never went hungry or without clothes and shoes. They lived in fairly decent dwellings, and I believe, as an only child, she was a bit spoiled. Mrs. Brady's childhood was one that many people envision when talking bout the "old" Appalachia - severe poverty and struggle.

When I spoke as a guest author at a book club, with the book discussion surrounding my book, "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree", someone pointed out I didn't mention this terrible poverty in my book. I did, but not overtly, because my family did not suffer in this way.

You really do  have to write what you know.

Mrs. Brady lives in San Francisco with her daughter. I haven't finished the book, but it will be interesting to find out how she got from here to there.