| Harrison News-Herald, Monday, March 24, 1997 Weekly column title: From the Monkey's Perch Title of this particular column: Aunt Frank. . .No Joke By Dick Kirkland Long ago I had an aunt named Frank. No joke! Aunt Frank was nice. She was wife to my Uncle Henry who was my grandmother's brother. I didn't know until a couple of years ago that Aunt Frank's real name was Frances... saw it on her grave stone. Aunt Frank and Uncle Henry lived on a farm "up Hog Run." Uncle Henry looked exactly like pictures of Mark Twain...acted like what I read of Mark Twain too...outspoken an independent. I don't know why Hog Run was always "up"...never "down." Nobody went "down Hog Run." Wondered about that when I was small...still do. The road going into there was kind of level. I didn't get to stay at Aunt Frank's house by myself ever. Mom and I visited...sometimes for a week... in summer. I liked it there and I liked Aunt Frank. Hog Run in Wetzel County West Virginia, is back away from the river...out of New Martinsville about fifteen miles. Not a settlement with houses...just a road leading "up" a valley, its sheer sides rising briskly in dense woods to the sky. Travelers got acquainted with Hog Run (the creek) in a hurry... the road forded the creek four times the half mile it took to arrive at Aunt Frank's and Uncle Henry's farm. I vividly recall exact places I ambled bare foot in inch deep dust...liked to slap my feet down hard to make explosions. I yet feel the cools of the creek around my toes and see crawfish scuttle in fords that are no longer there. Hog Run ran briskly toward the river, but it wasn't deep enough for a fish line. Raspberry canes hung from the high side of the road's bank. Farmers on Hog Run used the level strip beside the creek...their houses and barns there...made garden beside the creek and night pasture for cows. Farming ground was high on top of the hills, reached by steep winding tracks through the woods. Uncle Henry had a hundred and some odd acres of narrow valley, tree-covered hillsides and high meadows. A sheep house was up there too...made of hand hewed logs. Sheep came to the valley only at shearing time. I think I yet can smell the hay I sat on when I rode great loads through the giant trees to the valley below; two ox yokes in front and another behind the wagon; one back wheel chained tight at the steepest places. Folks worked hard for their living "up Hog Run." Oxen did much of Uncle Henry's farm work, but he kept horses too. A horse named Colonial stood patiently while one of my cousins who was grown when I was little demonstrated his strength. he got on all fours under Colonial's belly, wrapped an arm around each front leg, and stood up...the animal resting its weight on his shoulders. I was impressed. Often wondered what that demonstration cost him in pain and suffering through his later years. I don't now remember how he got Colonial down off his back. Mom complained when I went to the cow lot with the milking girls. Men didn 't milk at Aunt Frank's. I didn't milk either but felt it was important to be there. Cows weren't put in the barn...milked just standing in a lot that often was mostly mud and cow pies. I went barefoot...same as the girls...and loved the gook squishing between my toes. Each girl carried a short rope to lay over the cow's neck...so the beast would think she was tied. One legged milk stools took practice to balance, but the girls were good at it... held buckets between their knees. Mom caught me every time I cam from the cow lot... ushered me straight to the pump to wash my feet. Aunt Frank's pump was different...Mom turned a crank on its side and a chain with little paddles every six inches or so went round and round up out of the well bringing water in a steady stream. I haven't seen one since. Mom was jumpy about snakes too...me being bare foot most of the time. Hog Run had some all right...but they didn't limit me any. I hated worst walking bare foot in mowed fields...hay stubble's hard on bare feet. When it was real bad I walked back down to the house for my gum boots. Seemed like everyone "up Hog Run" wore gum boots or went bare foot. Aunt Frank cooked all the time. Her pan bread was best...fried in a big iron skillet on the wood stove and put hot on the table...on a clean piece of wood. Breakfast at Aunt Frank's was a feast at six. Started with hot pan bread and finished with hot peach pie. I think I liked the pan bread for the way Aunt Frank served it. I got to pick up the whole thing and break off a piece...same as everyone else. Her spread was apple butter cooked in a huge copper kettle over a wood fire in the back yard. Somebody had to stir all the time it cooked...but not me. Mom made apple stirrin' off limits for me. Always had to carry stuff home from Hog Run...apples and apple butter and garden stuff and sassafras. Aunt Frank and Uncle Henry and their kids were homey and they were generous...they were family. I went "up Hog Run" last summer...likely the last time. There's only weeds now where all the good things happened with Aunt Frank and Uncle Henry. I could see the track through the woods to the hilltops and I stepped in Hog Run one more time. Nostalgia in small quantities is nice...big bunches make you sad. I had good times at Hog Run and best I ponder for a while with a smile than to look long at what is nor more and fuss for a time that will not again be. I'll be better served to remember I once had an Aunt Frank and she made fine pan bread...it'll be enough. |
