augustmarsblog

Social Events                                                                          BUTCHERING Slaughtering hogs doesn't appear to be the kind of activity that one would identify as a social event; but I came to look forward to this annual task as a special kind of manly get-together, just as quilting was an opportunity for the women to socialize. Uncle Garland kept a few hogs, and butchered one or two each Fall, in late October or in November, mostly for his own family needs. At the time I didn't understand the crucial importance of timing this chore. The butchering had to be done on a Saturday, because both Uncle Garland and my father were off from work on weekends; but it couldn't be just any Saturday, because Uncle Orville (my mother's other brother) worked on a shift schedule, and the butchering had to be planned for his off-shift. Furthermore, the weather forecast must predict cool, dry weather - cool enough so that there would not be any opportunity for

Social Events HOME-MADE MUSIC It appears to me that there are families that are musical, and those that are not. We have all heard certain individuals referred to as "musical", or as having a musical talent, but I have observed that this ability tends to run along family lines. My father's family, for example, was musical. Of his many siblings, several played musical instruments; and even those that didn't were inclined to break out spontaneously singing, humming, whistling, or even doing a little shuffling dance step, often right in the middle of their work. On the other hand, I don't think I ever heard a single member of my mother's family so much as hum a tune outside of church, where it was considered to be a religious obligation to sing. I first noticed this family trait when I was about six or seven years old. I was playing with my cousin Billy at his house, which was only eight doors up the street from ours. His father, Uncle Orville, was my mo

  Social Events THRESHING In 1939 Route 220 was still a tortuous two-lane road winding over and around the rocky clay hills of Botetourt County. It took us a full hour to drive the forty miles or so from our house to the Barger farm, which lay just off the highway between Fincastle and Eagle Rock; but we had risen before daybreak so that we could get an early start on this special day. It took nearly a half-hour to drive across town and out Route 11, but once we turned off onto Route 220 we were in real farm country. By now the sun was high enough to start burning off the fog that lay in the lower valleys, and my mother kept pointing out picturesque rustic landscapes. But my father was concentrating on driving, because he was in a hurry, and it was almost impossible to pass a car on the narrow winding road; and Betty and I were taking advantage of the many dairy farms along the way to relieve the travel boredom by "counting cows". She always chose the left side of th

 Social Events THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS Of all the women that stayed at Grandma Wiley's boarding house, the oldest by far was Miss Crouch. The other "girls" were in their twenties, and since they were still dating, they made an effort to be pleasant in both appearance and personality. But Miss Crouch wore her hair in a bun and maintained a serious expression. Sometimes when Billy and I were playing in the yard and she would appear at the door, we would whisper, "Ol' Miss Crouch Is a grouch." But she really wasn't. She was just quiet, serious, and very religious - I believe that she attended the Nazarene church. She worked at the "silk mill" as did the other girls, but she always struck me as being more like a school teacher. I suppose it was by reason of seniority that she occupied the front upstairs bedroom, which was considered to be the best room in the house. Grandma Wiley did not have a "green thumb", as did Nandy

  “ Nandy” There is a psychology theory that one’s character and behavior are predetermined by the genetic makeup that he inherits from his parents. There is another theory (behaviorism) that his character and behavior are determined by his experiences. Both of these theories failed when applied to me. Neither of my parents displayed an exceptional interest in the things of the mind, or of learning, in general. My father completed an eighth-grade education, and my mother dropped out of school after the sixth grade. Neither of them pushed me to excel in school. They both worked hard, and they were happy when I played with friends or entertained myself as long as I didn’t get into any mischief. However, my maternal grandparents lived nearby, and my grandfather would bounce me on his knees while I sang the “ABC song” when I was two years old. Then “Nandy” taught me to count. I was a kind of hobby for him, to pass the time away afte

  Scientific Study as a Child's Game The chemistry lab in the Batcave held a mystical fascination for me – and I don’t know why. Maybe it was the thought of discovering some unexpected substance that would have enormous potential, or just the excitement of trying various chemical combinations to see what would result. In any case, I think that I admired Batman not so much for his physical abilities as for the esoteric knowledge that enabled him to conduct meaningful experiments. For me, that was what set him apart and above other men. It was this captivating aura about Batman’s lab that somehow engendered in me a fascination with science and led me to request a Gilbert chemistry set for Christmas when I was about seven years old. That modest set contained only about twenty chemicals, a Bunsen burner, tripod, mortar and pestle, and a few other supplies; but it included an amazing manual that described hundreds of experiments that could be performed with those few c

                                                                                       The Chopin Influence I n my post on “Clubs” I mentioned that I had a couple of friends that enjoyed doing chemistry experiments and reading lots of books. Based on that childhood description, it would be natural to assume that my two like-minded friends and I were a trio of nerds who missed out on the typical boyhood fun and games. But that would be incorrect. Each of us had other interests. I took frequent breaks from my science hobby to play with a different pair of friends, one of which was my cousin and the other a rather shy boy who had recently moved into our neighborhood. We played “Cowboys and Indians”, “Cops and Robbers”, “Allies and Nazis”, “Robin Hood” (we made our own bows and arrows from neighborhood trees and weeds). And we went on unsupervised hikes, which often took us several miles from home and occasionally into harrowing situ

                                                                             Mrs. Rostad My second piano teacher was another of those individuals that touched my life briefly but left a permanent impression. About a year after my initial piano lesson, I switched teachers because my technique was barely improving despite my spending hours at the piano. The new teacher, Mrs. Rostad, had a degree from Peabody Conservatory, she had recently moved to our city, and she taught classical music. She was a middle-aged lady of strong Scandinavian stock – not at all physically attractive, but a very nice lady despite her strict insistence that I follow her instructions faithfully. She soon had me slaving away at scales, Hanon finger exercises, and Bach two-part inventions. My technique began to improve rapidly, and my repertoire gradually expanded to include many of the original Chopin works, as well as some Beethoven works. Perhaps “repertoire” is a euphemism,

                                                                      A Meaningful Decision This enthusiasm for great music eventually led to a major change in my outlook on life. One morning as I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror shaving away the fuzz that held the incipient promise of a real beard, I was reflecting on this love for good music that had unexpectedly come into my life, when it occurred to me that there were other areas of art that held the potential for fulfilling exploration. This thought jumped into my mind: “If I only have one life to live, why not devote it to the best that life has to offer?” I had enjoyed reading as a pastime since early childhood, and now I resolved to acquire a taste for the literature that was reputed to be “great”. That would include poetry and drama in addition to the novels and short stories that I had been reading – reading almost voraciously. As I mentioned earlier, this reading had begun before I reached

                                                      Mary Sully Hayward Since I already spent a lot of time reading and had read a few works by well-known authors (Poe, Verne, etc.) it was natural that I should take up a study of great literature. (I’ll defer a discussion of just what makes a literary work “great”.) It was, perhaps coincidentally, just at this point that I encountered one of the few people that would be a major influence in my life. I was entering into my junior year in high school and beginning a required course in English, which was actually a course in literature. The teacher was Mary Sully Hayward, a middle-aged lady who was, if not outright ugly, at least “beauty challenged”. In fact, it was difficult to believe the rumors that in her younger days she had been something of a “looker” and had led a rather sprightly life. In the course of my education, which spanned many years and included twelve years of grade school, college, and many post-graduate c

                                                          Teenage Romance But now, back to the Journalism Club. Miss Hayward’s influence on her proteges extended in various directions. Recognizing my lack of self-confidence when I was interacting with girls, she placed me in situations where I was forced to work with them. As a matter of fact, most of the members of the Annual staff were girls. When I attended my first Journalism meeting she introduced me to each of the other members and, somewhat to my embarrassment, added some kind of complimentary information about me when introducing me to certain girls in the club. I will mention one incipient relationship that was engineered by Miss Hayward, because it provides a typical example of her machinations. When she first introduced me to the other members of the journalism club, she spent an inordinate amount of time acquainting me with the girl who was destined to become the editor of the