Little Mountain

 

Abbeville, South Carolina, nestled between the state capital, Columbia and the piedmont of Greenville, is rich with history but being a kid growing up there in the fifties through the seventies, I didn’t exactly appreciate the significance of my heritage so to speak. I had more important fish to fry, enjoying life, taking risks on the wild side and creating my very own tiny town theatrics. Sure, the ole home town was the birth place and death bed of the confederacy but what did that really mean to me.  What did I really know or care about the southern states succeeding from the Union, Succession Hill signifying the meeting place where the premise evolved? The most important event in my life had to be the end of another school year and summer adventures tugging at my cut-off jeans.

To put things in perspective for the generation of couch bound, video game savvy kids lacking imagination, vitality and the gumption to venture outside and embrace what life has to offer, we mostly invented ways to entertain ourselves.  Baseball, basketball or backyard football could only hold our attention for so long during those long summer days, before we were bored and yearning for that dare factor, to go where no kids had gone before us.  It was always outside for us; don’t even think about making us come inside. We’d fight our parents tooth and claw for the right to push the limits of dark thirty. Sorry, dark thirty is that time of the day just before darkness falls.  It can’t be found on the face of a clock but trust me; everyone back in my day knew the significance of the setting sun.

One of our favorite summer pastimes had to be quenching the oppressive humidity any which way we could. Sometimes this was accomplished via the oscillating sprinkler watering the yard connected to the hose pipe.  Sorry, southern slang, hose pipe is garden hose to those not privy to the lingo of my time. Running though the fan tailed spray, jumping through the water, kept us quite satisfied and momentarily entertained.  The Slip and Slide was the ultimate adventure. The long roll out of durable plastic, affixed to the hose pipe, with water spurting from tiny holes,; all one would have to do is get a running start on the grass then belly or butt flop on to the slick surface and ride her to the end. 

Sadly, one cannot live by sprinkler or Slip and Slide alone.  Water cost money and the meter was running as long as the water was flushing through that hose.  Money doesn’t grow on trees; our parents would constantly remind us. What that had to do with staying cool lost something in translation for us.  Swimming pools, other than at the recreation center, were virtually unheard of back in the land before time.   A few legendary paddle pools existed, so I’ve heard.  I had one, once upon a time, maybe 8 x 8 feet and two feet deep filled to the brim, but even this was a big deal for the gill-less fish we were. My Granny had a concrete pool at the bottom of the hill in her backyard.  It required clogging the drain with a rag or whatever we could find to plug it, filling her up with a hose pipe and then enjoying the water until it became too filthy and then you drained it, maybe.

Not to worry, we had Little Mountain Lake, just down the Cedar Springs Road from Hunter Street where I lived.  The actual name was Parsons Mountain, the highest point around, peaking at 832 feet. It was a little mountain, that’s how we came to call it thusly. It was originally named after Mr. James Parsons back in 1772 and gold was even discovered there in the 1800’s. It’s now part of the Sumter National Forest.  For our purposes, it had a lake that was constructed there in the 1940’s. If we were fortunate and with a tad of luck tossed in, our parents, grandparents or some family member would load up a slew of us kids and take us to our swimming hole.  We thought this water paradise was enormous and in a kid’s eyes it was. Visiting there as an adult, it more resembles an oversized pond now.  The eye is in the beholder and back then, we were beholding to the adventure and time spent there.

Hiking the winding dirt and gravel road to the top of our little mountain highlighted many trips there.  It was our very own Mount Everest. There on the top rested the ranger’s lookout tower, but I’ll get to that shortly. Along the way, on the opposite side of our lake’s designated swimming area was the dam and spillway. No, this was not of Hoover proportions, nowhere close as a matter of fact. Heck, none of us had seen a real dam so again, eye of the beholder. Further up the winding road, Lost Lake was a place of interest, maybe not for us as kids, but the teenagers were drawn to the secluded mud hole like flies. It was a favorite parking spot for making out and making ones fantasies come true. It would grow on us later and we too would eventually appreciate its significance, older and wiser as they say. A similar place existed closer to town, just off the 28 bypass, ‘The Beach’, a place where fill dirt was excavated down the end of a secluded road.  Well, not too secluded, because everyone knew where it was located.

Before reaching the tower, we had to pass the old gold mines. Yes, these were genuine gold mines, three of them long ago deserted. These weren’t clearly marked so you had to know where to go. We did. Two were surrounded by a fence and the third was a slanted hole into the ground, the entrance caved in with no opportunity for spelunkers. Each visit was marred with dares. Climb the fence and see how far you can go. We were all daredevils back then but none of us were quite that stupid.  An obvious entry way didn’t exist so climbing the fence really served no purpose. Sure, we talked up gold prospecting but what did really know about generating our very own gold rush. Just the same it was fun going there. Now they are marked as part of the Tower Trail.

The tower, now that was our Holy Grail. Negotiating the long incline to the tower to us was like ascending Mount Everest. Once we arrived, there rested the ranger station at the top, resembling our very own Eiffel Tower. Next dare, who’s going to the top of the tower? Really there was no risk, steps extended to the ranger platform.  The doorway to the inside of the station was padlocked so you could only ascend to the section just below it. From there the view was breathtaking. We were on top of the world, standing there at the highest point of our Little Mountain.  Etching our names in the metal framework at the top was mired in tradition and marked our territory, our testament that we had completed the climb. You could always count on one scribbling; Kilroy Was Here, a bald-headed man (sometimes depicted as having a few hairs) with a prominent nose peeking over a wall with the fingers of each hand clutching the wall. The doodle supposedly originated during World War II and was graffiti associated with GIs.  You could find it on most any bathroom wall or in out of the way places. Of course other inscriptions contained profanity and brought about bursts of laughter from us, taboo as it was.

Little Mountain was not just reserved for kid adventures. Some involved partnering up with adults. If you have to, you have to. One particular tradition was our version of a hayride. Papa or daddy always needed pine needles. What better place to collect this bounty than the pine forest of Sumter National Park. It was free after all and child labor laws weren’t enforced in Abbeville County. A bunch of us would pile into the bed of papa’s 1961 Apache 10 Chevy pickup truck, securing the rakes with our bodies and we were off to collect pine needles.  This was yet just one more creative game for our wild imaginations. Raking was not fun but the real fun hinged on us filling the bed of that truck. Once it reached the height of the cab we were done. We then became kid tarps, brought along to secure the load. We embraced our job seriously; well, maybe not seriously but mashing down those needles and wallowing in them brought sparkles to our eyes.  Let the hayride begin.  In a less stressful time, no one ever considered riding in the back of pick-ups; the bed certified the passengers as human projectiles. This was life before seatbelts or other restraints.  A kid had the freedom to roam anywhere in a vehicle, unrestricted, often landing in the lap of the driver and helping them navigate.  My favorite spot when I was small enough was stretching out on the platform in the back window. Cars had child size shelves just above the back seat in the day when you could tell a Chevy from a Ford. Life was good.

Sometimes we would venture to Sumter National Forest in search of an elusive plant. We became medicine men in the Amazon jungles, seeking some sort magical cure for what ails you. Actually we had no idea why we were looking for this plant. My black mama, Anise, my second mama, the one who kept me in check while my parents worked the second shift @ Milliken textile mill, required this plant, so enough said.  Looking back, I think this was some sort of Ginseng. She supposedly made tea from the reddish root, it having some sort of healing and curative properties. As an adult, one of my coworkers referred to it as Bo-hog root and he said it was used for sexual enhancement purposes; home remedy Viagra maybe. Either way, it was a game of see how many we good find.  It secured us another ride in the back of Papa’s Chevy as he would bring her and us to forest.

Further down the Cedar Springs Road stood what we considered to be a genuine haunted house, the octagon shaped Frazier-Pressley House, but I will save that one for another chapter, a more teenager version of life in Abbeville. We definitely upped the ante as we reached our adolescence, becoming more creative, our innovation peaking new levels, once we could now drive.  No longer handicapped by someone else getting us to where we wanted to go or possibly places we should ever go; we took many a peek inside Pandora’s Box and for the most part survived our experiences unscathed.  It wasn’t from lack of effort, pushing the envelope.  Parents don’t need to know everything, right?  What happens on our mountain; well you know how it goes.  

Jan 1^st, Resolutions, Revolutions and Evolutions

 

January the 1^st is just that, the first of January. It comes every year as does every other date. Professing to launch a new beginning, break old habits, give yourself an extreme physical or emotional makeover, find love, lose weight or seek any other thing you are not particularly happy with is not magical on the first day of every year. If you were fat on the 31^st, you’re still fat on the 1^st and probably over the next few days or weeks thereafter. If you don’t have what you perceive as love in your love, then maybe you’re looking for love in all the wrong places. If you drink too much, you probably over did last night thinking today would be the start of not drinking like a fish. And if today is the day you stop smoking, then why did you smoke so much last night and pollute those around you? If you didn’t like yourself December 31^st, what makes you think you’re a sweetheart today?

 

No, resolutions are not the miracle cure for what makes you so unhappy. Sorry, but it’s just another day like the run before and the one tomorrow. Why is it that we too often launch a revote against our eating habits moments before midnight, only to gorge ourselves on collard greens and black-eyed peas, cornbread and all the fixings, sweet tea and desserts the very first day we profess to take control. We’re taking the K&W approach today; no home cooking and leftovers of the rest of the week, no aroma of collards greens penetrating every inch of the house for days, no clean up or washing dishes necessary; and guess what, the K&W serves portions and if you can back for seconds, you pay for seconds. Being older and wiser, we join those other elderly folks at the K&W (Kanes and Wheelchairs), a right of passage. Seriously, have you ever scanned the tables when there, Q-tips dot the horizon. It is good food bought cheaply.

 

Greens consumed on the 1^st day of the year are supposed to ensure you have plenty of cash during the year. I eat greens (turnip salad, collards, spinach) once or twice a week and it ensures iron in your blood, not gold or silver in your pockets. Working and earning a living ensure cash flow. Political jab, sorry, try to stay away from this but government is not going to buy you happiness. Entitlements arte ruining the country, making too many people fat and lazy and the New Year’s revolution is not going to win that war. You control your life and what has happened can and shouldn’t be blamed on the success of others. I’ve worked my entire life and am still working. I owe you nothing so why should mine be used to supplement yours. Don’t even get me started on healthcare, the evolution sending us though the wormhole. Off my soap box, just ticks me off anyway and today I really don’t wish to stress about it.

 

New Years is just the beginning of another year. There is nothing magical about it. Your life will not undergo miraculous transformations just by you professing to change, do things better, shed old habits or pounds. There is nothing wrong with setting goals but waiting until January the first to set those goals is probably just a tad too late. You should have probably already set and been working on these things that make you unhappy. Keep in mine that you can only change what you can personally control. You can change other people or other situations that aren’t within your grasp to influence. If you hate your job, look for another one. Same goes for your spouse and significant other in any relationship. There’s nothing worse than being unhappy, so shame on you if you stay in either, if you don’t want to be there. Walking away isn’t easy, the first step being the hardest. I’ve left marriages and jobs that I didn’t particularly like and have never looked back. Stop throwing the pity party. Your friends don’t want to be invited to your unhappy life.

 

Yes, it is the first day of another new year and we all have dreams, aspirations and visions of a wonderful future. Destiny is but a word. You control it, not some pre-destined journey chosen for you. Take me. I’m no one special. I grew up in a small town, no particular standout my any measure, most of my life being uneventful except for misfires on my part; those events that you’re not really proud of, but it is what it is. I can’t change the past or blame others for how I have lived or the mistakes I have made. Today I can live the life I desire and I can influence tomorrow. I was no standout in school, not one to be remembered for being the smartest or most athletic; heck in most cases I was the unknown, the one skirting the shadows. I didn’t go onto college or earn any sort of degree but I have been successful; no, not rich, but I have managed and have everything I could ever want. I’m even a published author, four times and no one can take that away from me; even if I had to pay out of pocket to hold the completed books in my hand. But guess what, when I’m gone, my books will live on. I’ll be more than just another name on headstone in the graveyard. Thanks go out to those who have supported me, mostly family and friends; me wetting my hook in the fishing hole more times than I probably should have. I’m no million best seller but million is just number just like the 1^st. Writing and publishing my writing is an expensive hobby but I enjoy it so mission accomplished. I can strike that one off my bucket list so to speak.

 

No, today is not special. It is but the first day of the month of another new year, but it is what you make of it but no different than how you lived yesterday or plan to live tomorrow. Resolutions, revolutions and evolution are just words ending in ‘tion’. If it floats your boat to believe than there is nothing wrong in believing I suppose. Believing in Santa, The Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy have done wonders for my childhood, but the difference, adults can control their lives where as children we needed to believe in fairy tales. Last night we hugged, we kissed, possibly even more and we held up our glasses to toast what had been and what can be. Ultimately, it is what you make out of it, choices and you do have them. If today means the first step in your journey then so be it. Regardless, just be happy and live today as if you don’t have a tomorrow. You’ll like yourself if you just be you and not what you want to be or what others might want you to be. Happy first day of the rest of your life to each and every one of you and today and every day here after, belongs to you.

 

Disclaimer: fast and furious fingers pecked on the keyboard this morning so I do apologize up front for any grammatical, punctuation or sentence structural errors. I did run spelling checker but that’s about. I do not apologize for content. It was just me being me and January 1^st absolutely had no impact on my rambling scribbling.