THE DAY MAMA STOLE THE FIREWOOD...

                                 A 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. 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 a trailer up to the truck and then go with our mother to pick up a load of firewood. 

 Daddy 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 business to take care of. The man owed Daddy money and since he was unable to pay, suggested Daddy take the firewood for payment in exchange. We were to do this before we left for south Louisiana.

After some verbal communication, between the two of them, the three of us set off with an attitude. Mama 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, but could he go? Oh, no.  He had to send her! My brother and I listened to this tirade all the way there.

            We wandered the roads in the country, looking for the house Daddy described.  It was taking too long. Mama, 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 Mama thought of things she had to do before leaving for Crowley. The more she thought of things she had to do, the more upset she became. The more upset she became, the louder she got. We moved to the backseat as we listened to her tirade against Daddy. She began driving recklessly.

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, but close to the road.” 

The house was a good 100 yards away and Mama 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.  

We protested. She yelled at us, “The man knew we would be here today, so no need to knock. Daddy called him, I’m sure.”

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

 “Who do you think you are?  My husband just cut that wood this morning.  You're stealing our wood,” she shouted. 

Mama 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. We were to pick it up today.”  

Mama told us to keep loading.  The woman ran into the house saying she was going for her gun. “This woman’s nuts. Hurry,” Mama said and ordered us to finish loading and quickly get in the truck. 

As Mama started the truck a man came roaring down the road, trying to block us. Mama thought he was going to explain things to his wife, but he wasn’t. He was angry. He had a gun. Mama managed to maneuver around him, and we weaved about the road heading for home. We heard shotgun fire. She drove faster.

We arrived home and began unloading the wood while Mama hurried into the house, mumbling bad things about my Daddy, who wasn’t home.

 Suddenly a Sheriff's car drove up. The sheriff got out of his car and asked my brother and I some questions. He sent us inside to get Mama.

We told Mama he wanted her to come outside, but she refused because she had too much to do before we left. The sheriff followed us inside. She told them they could talk with that sorry husband of hers when he returned. 

The sheriff asked how she got the wood. She explained that some man named Mr. Wilson owed her husband some money, that she had to go get it and we 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 four of us 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.  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 afraid we must arrest you.” 

Thankfully, Daddy arrived home before they took her away.  And, yes, we had to take the wood back before leaving for Crowley. Thank goodness Daddy was friends with the sheriff. I'm sure glad the meal was not planned for the noon time.

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.