Neighbors holding sheets
The dark night wasn’t scary, just normal.
Until the squeaks of the wagon and team’s harness jingles came closer and stopped outside.
Company this late?
Unusual in the farming community.
Soft talk on the sagging front porch.
Clops of the hooves into the barn.
“Boys, get your rifles and come outside.”
Even the smallest, my dad.
And they stood: a small line across in the sand – in front of the barn.
The men arriving on horseback wavered – holding torches.
Holding them carefully away from their white sheets.
All bravado and slurred speech.
Let them hoot and holler on until they ran out of breath.
And notice the line didn’t move aside as told.
Noticed those rifles in the arms of those boys and their father – all know to be crack shots.
Without emotion, some quiet firm talk.
“You boys now go on home and stop bein’ foolish and botherin’ folks.
You done got all liquored up.
You don’t really want trouble. Now get on back down that road.”
Shuffling of horses.
Nervously shifting riders.
Huffing and leaving.
Armloads of quilts paraded into the barn.
The children giggled in pallets in the hay.
Soft adult talk.
“They won’t come back, but we’ll keep a watch.
It’s nothing. Don’t mention it.
Neighbors help neighbors”
Neighbors.
Poor farmers just trying to make an honest living and raise their kids to be decent people.
Worked side by side in the fields picking cotton and watermelons when it was time.
Both hunted to put food on the table.
Collected raccoon and possum pelts to sell.
No mention was made of the color of skin.
It’s not about that or the men in sheets.
It’s about fathers.
”People are funny,” my dad used to say.
“You don’t always know who they are when you first meet them.”
“The best thing to do is to let them go on and talk. But sit back watch what they do – instead of their words. That’s really how you’ll know what sort they are. Then you can decide how best to deal with them.”
Sound quiet words from deep East Texas fathers.
(Useful just about anywhere.)
Echoes of the heart and soul.
Grounded in red dirt.
Whispers from tall pines,
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge
Whenever someone starts telling me how Christian they are, I usually think the opposite is likely true. As this wise dad says, it’s in the doing – not the telling. Great post – as usual!
It’s one bit of heritage wisdom I’ve tried to pass down. Thanks for rolling by
Your father sounds like one wise man. Actions do speak louder than words. Wonderful post.
Not big on “holiday” stories, but this one has been simmering for a while – it seemed time. Thanks for rolling by
No truer words were ever spoken.
Sometimes old sayins still resonate. Thanks
Wise man, your dad. (Mine, too.)
THought you might see it too. Appreciate you stoppin’ a spell to chat
Love not only the content and your father’s words, but also your writing of it.
Lots of lessons from past times – some of it pretty universal. Thanks for riding this way
This is quite a story. I like the helping of neighbors (without regard to skin color) and the advice that we should examine one’s actions rather than go by their words.
This incident occurred around 1912-1913 as closely as I can determine.(near the little town pictured). Thanks for riding over
Amazing writing and I love the photos. I was preparing to put my thinking cap on and wade int but I was mesmerised and pulled along by the wise words from you & your Dad. I read it twice again slowly, so much did I enjoy it.
The pictures are about that era of a nearby town. (although the store may be a little earlier – will have the “new” one in the next episode – eventually). This incident occurred around 1912-1913 as close as I can determine. Thanks for wandering this way
White sheets? …… They wouldn’t be looking like the penitents in our Holy Week parades I hope?
Neighbours are good. Good neighbours are the best. We have been extremely lucky to have always had some great neighbours, and even the worst weren’t bad.
Let’s hope that spirit continues. Somewhere.
So glad you mentioned that! Most people in the US don’t realize where the white robes come from. I remember seeing them in Spain during Holy Week parades – and they look exactly like those.
Nice neighbors make life more fun!
Thanks for riding this way
Actions speak louder than words.
That idea seems to repeat over and over in history and life. Thanks for ridin’ over
Very powerful words and writing.
The incident made an impression on my dad who was very young at the time. Generational wisdom I have tried to pass on. Thanks for wandering by.
While words can be powerful, it is ones actions that are the loudest.
Seems like that idea appears throughout time. Thanks for heading this way
“A soft reply turns away wrath” Your dad was as wise as Solomon!
Those transplanted Scots pretty much lived by the stories in the King James Bible. Not such a bad plan. Thanks for following along
Said a few times now but actions do speak louder than words…
Life has gotten very complicated – sadly a man’s word is no longer always honest and true. Thanks for joining the conversation
Makes me think of Yoani Sanchez’ fathers’ day tweet, mentioning that the root’s the same for Pater and Patria. How you raise your children is how you build your country. Isn’t that just the truth? And a great story you told, too.
Stuff gets handed down from generation to generation – good and bad. (This incident was about 1912-1913 as far as I can determine) Maybe people should pay as much attention to the process as their messages?
Great observation. Thanks for adding that!
Very smart advice from your dad.
Thanks. Guess Father’s Day tends to cause reflection. Glad you trotted by
Heroes come in all sizes, and most of them are never heard of beyond the small circle where they quietly stood their ground and held the fort for humanity. Inspiring story, well told.
One person can make a difference. (This occurred around 1912 as far as I can determine.) Thanks for the kind words.