The Looney Bin
I still remember the feeling of dusty fingers and knees, the humid breezes, daffodils and the smells of cows and chicken houses. (Well, most of the memories are pleasant anyways.) Daddy had a little, beat-up red Toyota pickup truck. When Daddy needed to go on visitation calls, my bro and I would climb into the flatbed and sing our hearts out up and down those gravel roads. You’ve never really lived until you have sung “On the Jericho Road” at the top of your lungs while bouncing around in the back of a truck about 40 miles from any sort of civilization.
Our little eyes would become round with excitement whenever we had to cross a creek. Cave City creeks, well, there were no formal engineers around to insist on properly constructed bridges. Most farmers would pour a pile of concrete into the creek where they wanted their car to cross and hoped for the best. That’s what we did too. Cross that cement bridge and hope that you weren’t carried downstream to the next huddle of cows.
I’m sure that city-slickers would turn up their refined noses at our little bridge system but who cares? We thought it was a blast. My brother and I would try to egg Daddy into gunning the gas just before hitting those creeks, to see how high the water would fly and how wet we could get. My Mom still shudders at the thought; I didn’t know at the time that the cows pooped in those creeks. Ignorance is bliss.
Even the though the road systems were a little crude, the cooks in Cave City could be the socks off Aunt Bea. I remember just standing still during fellowship Sunday, with my jaw hanging open, looking at the feast before my eyes…sweet, yeast rolls, chicken and dumplings with a rivet of butter running down it’s sides, ham crusted with brown sugar and pineapple…even the vegetables could melt in your mouth. Cream sauces, whipped potatoes (which are very different from mashed potatoes, mind you; they are creamier, tastier and I’m sure will be served in Heaven), biscuits and gravy…you name it and we could cram it in. My favorite little cook was Miss Kristina.