THE DAY MAMA STOLE THE FIREWOOD...

  A FAVORITE THANKSGIVING MEMORY

   I wish there were a photograph, a little instamatic black and white would do, so I could frame it for future generations to enjoy.  But there isn't and memories are all that remain.  

It was a beautiful fall day; the leaves were at their brightest as far as fall trees in Louisiana could be.  The sky couldn't have been any clearer.  You could see your breath in the early morning light.  It was the mid 1950's.  I was 14 and my brother 10.  Thanksgiving morning.  The family had plans to visit some German friends of my parents, in south Louisiana, later in the day, to share the Thanksgiving meal.

My brother and I were waked up early with daddy's shrill whistle.  He had a way of doing that when he wanted something done immediately.  We hopped out of bed and were given orders to hitch up a trailer  to the truck and then go with our mother to pick up a load of firewood. The man, a Mr. Wilson, owed daddy some money and since he was unable to pay, suggested daddy take some firewood in exchange for payment.  We were to do this before we left for south Louisiana.

 He was sending - yes, that is the operative word - the three of us to get the firewood from a place in Buckeye, a small community outside of Alexandria because he had some business to attend to while we were gone.  

After giving directions and some verbal communication from my mother with an attitude, we set off.  She still had not finished cooking the dish we were to bring, and Buckeye was out in the country with lots of winding roads.  She didn't know the area like daddy did. we listened to the tirade most of the way there.  "He always does this to me," she fumed.  "He never thinks I have anything else to do.  I have food to finish.  I have you four kids to round up.  I have to drop everything and go.   But could he go? Oh, no.  He has to send me!" My brother and I were silent, afraid to set her off again if we spoke.  

We wandered the roads in the country, looking for the house daddy described.  It took quite a long time. Mother, in her madness, had forgotten the exact directions.  (This would not be a problem, today, because of cell phones, but we didn't have that luxury in the 1950's.)  The more we drove the more mother thought of things she had to do before leaving for Crowley.  The more she thought of things she had to do before leaving for Crowley, the more upset she became.  The more upset she became, the more she thought of things that she had to do.  The more upset, the more we had to listen.        

Finally, she spotted a huge pile of wood stacked against a pasture fence, newly cut, close to the road.  “That’s the place,” she said.  “He said the woodpile was not near the house. This must be it.”  The house was a good 100 yards away and mother didn't see the need to knock on their door since we were in a hurry.  She backed the trailer up to the pile of wood and ordered us to hurry and load it on the trailer.  

When almost all had been loaded, a woman came out of the house, shouting at us.  

“Who did you think you are?  My husband just cut that wood this morning.  You're stealing our wood,” she shouted.  Mother snapped.  “I am Mrs. Cecil Blair.  We are not stealing your wood.   Your husband owes my husband money, and we are taking this wood for payment.”   Mother told us to keep loading the trailer.  The woman ran into the house.  Mama thought she might be going for a gun and ordered us to hurry and quickly get in the truck.  As the truck started, a man came roaring down the road and into the yard, trying to block us, but mama managed to maneuver around him.  We headed for home as fast as she could drive.  Again, we listened to her tirade all the way home, except this time she added, "Surely daddy called them and told them we were coming today. I bet that rascal forgot.  Now we are going to be accused of stealing."  This was followed by words I shouldn't repeat  She also mentioned those crazy people not wanting to pay.

We arrived home and began unloading the wood while mama hurried into the house, mumbling bad things against my daddy.

Suddenly a Sheriff's car drove up.  The sheriff got out of his car and asked my brother and me some questions. He then asked mama to come outside, but she replied she didn't have time, she had a dish to prepare for Thanksgiving and finish packing.  He asked her about the wood.  She explained that that man, Mr. Wilson owed her husband some money, that she didn't have time for this because we were going to Crowley for Thanksgiving with some friends and she still had to finish the dish she was making, bathe and change clothes and make sure all the four children were getting dressed and ready.  The sheriff tried to interrupt her, but she didn't hear him and shouted for us, boys, to hurry up unloading.  There was too much to do.  Finally, the sheriff said, “Mrs. Blair, I understand your frustration, but what did you say the man's name was where you took the wood?”  She said, Mr. Wilson out in Buckeye.  He looked at his tablet and said, “Mrs. Blair, you were not at Mr. Wilson's house.  You stole that wood. I'm going to have to arrest you.”  Thankfully, daddy arrived home before they took her away and straightened the matter up.  

And, yes, we had to take the wood back before leaving for Crowley.  Two boys did not like that Thanksgiving day.  

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