Talking out the Fire 

 

Either you believe or you don’t. I for one believe. History tells us that certain people throughout time have allegedly possessed remarkable healing powers by either touching the inflicted or speaking to them to cure what ails them. I’m not talking evil witches who toss out curses or backyard doctors bleeding you dry with leeches. These are honest to good descent folks that have a God given gift for talking out the fire of a burn, making warts disappear or even ridding kids of their itching and tormenting poison oak.

            In Abbeville, up the hill about a mile and at the end of Hunter Street from my house, we had Cousin Jenny Martin. No, she didn’t hang out a shingle advertising her services. People with the gift rarely do or even brag or boast they have this unique power. Back in the day it was even unheard of for special people like Cousin Jenny to even accept money for using their God given powers and she would be the first to give credit where credit was due. Word of mouth, tales of her ability and testimonials from those cured was better than a televised commercial back then. Mama and Granny Bowie fully believed in Cousin Jenny’s abilities and they easily convinced me after my very first visit.

            Cousin Jenny, a short little modest county woman living a meager life style, would never stand out in a crowd or would she ever want to, but when you met her, you instantly sensed she was special and a simply a wonderful loving person. In my earliest recollection of her at probably around five or six years old I never feared her or her abilities. I knew that neither Mama nor Granny would ever take me to a person or place where I would be harmed and scared out of my wits. I trusted them and I trusted her even before I understood the meaning of trust.

            The majority of my visits to Cousin Jenny were prompted by me being highly allergic to poison oak and poison ivy and having been inflicted with the itching, oozing curse from some excursion in the wilds. Back then, Calamine Lotion only came in this pinkish version and by the time mama or me applied it to all the patches of rashes I looked like a Comanche warrior ready to do battle with an unsuspecting wagon train. They should have sold this in a more concentrated variety then I cold have been dipped in a tub the same way they do dogs and cats for fleas and ticks. Fortunately, it did temporarily relieve the tormenting itching and prevented me from scratching myself bloody. Now they have a clear version and they’ve modernized the brand name.    

            Doctors say that the rash doesn’t really spread but instead it’s just a delayed reaction due to contact with the plant. I’m not so sure I buy in to this because I know the more I scratched the more it spread and it could spread with vengeance. These same professionals say it’s not contagious but my friends often avoided me like the plague. With all the welts and Calamine Lotion I resembled a refugee form a Leper Colony.

            As a kid, I learned quickly to be able to spot the wicked weed recognizing the leaf shape and its most prone places to grow. What was the old saying? “Leaves of three, beware of me.”  Each of the leaves of my attacker has three smaller leaflets. The middle leaflet has this longer stalk than the other two sides and if you’ve been stricken by it, you quickly learn how to spot it. Even so, you could count on me getting tagged with it several times during the summer. I think I just had to be in the general proximity of the plant and it transmitted its evilness to me either airborne or via mind control.

            If mama deemed dousing me in Calamine Lotion ineffective, and it seemed the more I scratched the more it spread, then a Cousin Jenny visit would be on slate. Later I caught on to this and requested a visit at the first signs of a rash. I figured, why paint me up when we could cut to the chase and have her work her magic. I often rode my bike to her house unsupervised by an adult. I knew a good thing when I saw it.

            So the typical visit went something like this. There’d be a brief mention of why we were there then it would transform into a basic social call. The adults would catch up with family matters and social events, who’s who and what’s what in Abbeville. Usually Cousin Jenny would place a hand on me very indiscreetly, not necessarily even touching the rash, and she wouldn’t quote any biblical term or spell breaking incarnation. After anticipating something a little more spectacular, it turned out being very uneventful from a theatrical perspective. Oddly enough the rash would cease to itch and within the next day or two, the rash would miraculously go away. To this day I still don’t understand what exactly she did or how these power worked. It doesn’t really matter I suppose; they worked, enough said.

            Cousin Jenny could also talk the fire out of a burn. I read somewhere that the ability to do this goes back some thousand years or so and the fire talker usually chants bible verses while touching, rubbing or blowing on the burnt areas.  I never witnessed this one but my Daddy burned his hands badly once and paid her a visit. He swore by her just like the rest of us. He didn’t say what she actually did. My cousin and next door neighbor, Billy, afflicted often with warts visited her to get rid of those ugly knots on his hands. I accused him of playing with frogs but we know that warts don’t really come form frogs or do they? It didn’t really matter because she managed to make them vanish. Before then I seem to remember Billy doing something with a potato and burying it in the ground. That sounded too much like witchcraft to me.

            Rumor has it that these gifted folks can pass their powers on to someone else but if they do they might forfeit their own ability to do it. I’ve heard this was limited to non-kin and the opposite sex. I guess I should have asked her to teach me since she really wasn’t a cousin and I was definitely the opposite sex but then again I wonder if a person can treat themselves. Maybe I would have had immunity to poison oak and ivy by possessing the power. I suppose there’s too much water under the bridge for me to ponder what if.

Luckily as an adult I don’t seem to be affected as often by the wicked little weed or maybe I just don’t play those childhood games among the woodland ways where it lurks. And thanks go out to John Franz who invented Roundup in 1970. It works wonders in eradicating the invader. Too bad it hadn’t been invented fifty years ago. It would have worked much better than discoloring me with Calamine Lotion! Then again, we did have Cousin Jenny Martin, didn’t we? Bless our hearts.