They kept eating as fast as they could, and I kept picking faster to keep them from eating up all my profits! Finally, I had seen enough, so I casually let a few “fall” out of the tree in the direction of their heads. Now, don't you tell anyone, for they never knew and I never did tell. Living out of town and away from the temptation of stores, my money began to build up. I kept it in a tiny dresser drawer, in the pouch, with the drawer closed very carefully, including instructions that it was mine and for nobody to touch it! Once in a while I would order some special treasure from a catalog, and when I got bigger I would take a dollar with me to town and buy the latest big record for my swooning ears to hear. Now, these trees did not take care of themselves, even though I took care of most of the picking. Every spring Daddy would hire another orchard owner to come spray trees for worms, disease, etc. My sister and I dreaded for this to happen, for here would come Mr. Wash Wilson with his mules and wagon.
On the back of the wagon was a large barrel of “stinking spray” as I called it. He would drive through the orchard, and you could see the white stuff spraying out and certainly you could smell the rotten egg smelling mixture as we called it. Daddy would not let us go near the trees for days because it was poison. I can't remember if there were years when the apples got killed by a frost and we lost a crop. This was not in my category of the “business,” so it did not register in my memory. I do remember Daddy propping up the overloaded tree limbs, afraid they would break because of the heavy crop. We only had a few varieties of apples, and certainly not any of the new kinds they have for sale today. I learned the word “Starks” red and Golden Delicious. My specialty was a kind I wish I could find today. It grew on a smaller tree , was yellow with a reddish streak, and can you believe, it tasted like a banana. Memories – sweet and delicious! Not all of the apples were sold at $2 per bushel, for family and friends preserved them
in many ways in that day. There would be the days and hours of canning, preserving, apple sauce and jelly making. I guess I was too young to get in on this, but I do love to do it today. In the day, as we say, drying apples in the sun was a special way of saving them. Daddy had made us a table outside out of boards and saw horses to prepare the apples. Mama had an attached apple peeler which I always wanted to use and which I wish I had saved. They were peeled, sliced, and placed on a large cloth, covered sometimes with netting to keep the flies out. They stayed in the sun a number of days until they were dry, but were either brought in or covered up at night. Fried pies, anyone? In addition to all this preserving, there was the actual keep of the fresh fruit almost all winter. My little hide-e-ho at this house was the cellar dug out under the house. In referring to it we called it “under the floor” because it was not actually a basement. Dug deeper than the actual foundation, was this about
“Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.” – Stanley Horowitz
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8 foot x 8 foot square hole in the ground with small steps down and dug out shelves into the wall for canned goods. It was down here where we kept canned foods, homemade kraut, pickle beans and corn, but the highlight to me was several bushels of apples to keep over the winter. Another of my secret events was going “under the floor” after school when the apples were finally gone. No apples, what would I do? I know, I will take me a fork, open a jar of canned apples and eat all I could that afternoon. I didn't want anyone to know, so I put the lid back on and kept going down every day after school till the jar was empty! Mama would have given me some, but this was far more fun! You must think that this was surely the end of the use of the apple trees, but here is one that I certainly can never forget. When I was about 8 or 10 years old and my grandparents still lived in Central Georgia, my grandmother and aunt came to visit us. They could have been on one of their apple
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getting visits. They came in just before lunch one day, and I was so excited to see them for they were just my “Udder Mudders!” It was only natural that I wanted their undivided attention, and because we hadn't seen them in a while and they were all talkers, I did not get my portion of their attention. Evidently I could not get a word in edgeways, so I went outside the living room on the side of the house. I peeked in, never getting attention. I can remember that all of a sudden this flew all over me and I took my fist to get their attention and pounded on the window and broke it into a zillion pieces. I actually never intended to break the glass, but I did. Mama had a fit but did nothing more for it was time for my Daddy to come in for lunch. After the usual greetings, Mama told him what I had done and that I was still out in the yard. (Oh, dear, the yard was not big enough!) He came flying out the back door, down the steps, never speaking, broke a low "limb" off the apple tree, grabbed my arm and gave me a thrashing I shall never forget.
When he got through, I was scared to death, as my Daddy had never given me a whipping before. He said he was not whipping me for breaking the window, for he knew I didn't mean to do it. He said he was whipping me for the bad words I had used when I realized what I had done. I had never used bad words. Where did they come from? But you will have to remember that I was under extreme strain! I will also remember that apple trees are for growing apples, for climbing, and for shade to play under! Was that a limb or just a switch he broke off that tree? As the trees got older, they began to die and Daddy never replaced them for he had sold the main orchard part for a plot for another house. Until my folks remodeled the house some years later, that ol’ apple tree at the foot of the back steps, growing apples and my switch, remained as a wonderful memory of growing up. You really thought apple trees were just for growing apples. They, too, were for growing kids, and $2 a bushel was a special thing when you were growing up.
“Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.” -- Emily Bronte
rent isn’t that bad, but the utilities in the old, uninsulated house are abnormally high, and she has childcare to pay as well. So what’s the answer to the challenges these three individuals face? Is there a solution for them and the other homeless individuals in Gordon County? The group called “Tiny Homes Project of Gordon County” thinks there is an answer. Their belief is that if the ground can ever be broken, literally and figuratively, the answer can be expanded to provide a home and a handup to even more people who are homeless or nearly homeless. Almost 600 people from a cross-section of Gordon County agree and have signed a petition asking local governmental leaders to recognize that a problem exists, and to find a positive, constructive way to address that problem. Gordon County is 93rd out of 159 counties when it comes to the severity of the homeless problem right on its doorstep. In 1999, the percentage of homeless individuals compromised only 9.9 percent of the county population, or
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slightly more than 4,000 people. Fifteen years later, in 2014, the percentage of homeless individuals accounted for 17.8 percent of the population, or just shy of 10,000 men, women and children. Home. Just the word conjures up images of comfort and goodness. Sad to say, but for some 9,953 people in Gordon County, the word creates only worry and bad memories. The majority of these people have no means to achieve that image of comfort and goodness on their own. Many are in situations where they are incapable of helping themselves. These aren’t deadbeats, but good people, for whom life has been something less than good. And it’s estimated that these numbers may actually under-report the true numbers. It’s illegal to be homeless, and some people would rather hide their secret needs, than risk arrest and legal fees they can’t pay. The Tiny Homes Project was begun 17 months ago by a group of local, concerned individuals, who had been working privately to help feed some of the people who make up these
troubling statistics. But when they continued to encounter so many Martha’s and Eugene’s and Pamela’s out there, they realized that food, as welcome as it was, didn’t do anything to resolve the bigger problem. In the months since, work has been ongoing to create the beginning of an answer, with the faith and the belief that once rooted properly and addressing the need, the concept will flourish and grow and become a permanent and positive fixture on the local landscape. Led by Gordon County native and businessman Haley Stephens, the board of the 501 (c) 3 non-profit organization has been working tirelessly and consistently to raise both money and awareness. At the same time they’ve had to tackle concerns raised by governmental leaders. The numbers tell the story. One in five people in Gordon County has incomes under the federal poverty line, and there is a direct correlation between homelessness and poverty. When children are involved, the stats become even more troubling. While those under age 18 represent only 23 percent of the county popula-
“How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.” -John Burroughs
You can pack a lot of living into 360 square feet. This drawing of a proposed one-bedroom apartment shows all the needed areas and is designed to provide a comfortable living space. Photo courtesy Tiny Homes Project) tion, they comprise almost one-third of all people in poverty here. So what is the solution? And why don’t those solutions and resources, such as the Calhoun Housing Authority, and other agencies and programs answer the needs? “We are fortunate in this county to have other housing resources, but because of income restrictions and other requirements, there are
“Millions saw the apple fall, but Newton asked why.” – Bernard Baruch
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still those who don’t qualify,” Haley says. These are some of the people the Tiny Homes project will assist. It should be noted here that while there is a growing movement nationwide for the construction of small, movable, individual homes also called “tiny homes,” in the case of Gordon County, the finished product is drastically different. And therein lie some of the challenges to getting governmental approval to build a complex of postage-stamp-size rental apartments. One of the main reasons for the apartment complex approach is the construction cost savings realized by building multiple units under one roof and sharing walls, as opposed to building free-standing individual units. In 2002, the City of Calhoun adopted new guidelines that changed minimum residential square foot requirements from 360 square feet to 800 square feet or larger. The village the Tiny Homes promoters envision would include rental units of at least 360 square feet, with one bedroom, bath, and a combination kitchen
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/ dining area and a living area. A Murphy bed would be built into each unit, and a stove and refrigerator furnished. All utilities would be provided. In the beginning phase, there would be 20 units, with one of those being reserved for emergency, temporary housing. In addition, a second building on site would be re-purposed as an apartment for a resident manager, a laundromat, computer room, and community multi-purpose area. So how could Martha, for example, who is spending almost all of her check each month for a motel room, where she can’t even cook a real meal, realize more by renting a tiny home apartment? Her rent would be $500 a month, including utilities, which would be an automatic savings right there. Rental periods would be limited to 24 months, unless there were extenuating circumstances or the tenant was past age 55. Which means Eugene would be fine to stay on. Pamela, on the other hand, would have to vacate at the end of the lease period. But in the
24 months she was there, she’d have a better chance at finishing her education and getting that better job that would allow her to pay a higher rent elsewhere. All occupants, unless exempt because of age or disability, will be required to be working full-time or going to school full-time. Another hurdle people like these three individuals face is the need to post security deposits for their apartment and utility service. Tenants will pay a $100 move-in deposit, then $25 per month for four months, making a total $200 deposit. “We’re set up to function as a hand-up, not a hand-out,” Haley explains. “If you don’t have $500 a month, this project will not change your life.” Until the codes can be modified to allow for units of 360 square feet each to be built, the group cannot go forward, even though they have identified a location they believe would be very advantageous. They’ve also met with some “not in my back yard” protests, which they’re working to overcome.
“Keep me as the apple of Your eye; Hide me under the shadow of Your wings.” – Psalms 17:8
U.S.A.,” and Travis remembers the chills that song gave him. Then there was the night Jerry Lee Lewis showed up at a club they were playing in Atlanta, jumped onto the piano, and began to act like himself. One of Travis’ best memories, preserved in a treasured photo, is the time Barbara Mandrell held his infant daughter. There are fond memories of B.J. Thomas, and of Ray Stevens way back in 1969, singing Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” They joke about pricing their records at one for $15 or two for $45, and how they often sold more T-shirts than records. At one appearance shared with Mississippi singer Charley Pride, they sold more T-shirts than he did. But some of their favorite memories were made right here in Northwest Georgia, where they say their fans in Gordon, Whitfield and Bartow counties have been some of their most ardent supporters. “They’ve been very gracious to us,” Travis says. At this juncture in their lives, music is as vital as it always was. But they view it in a different context. John still plays on a regular basis, and he shares that no matter what kind of day he’s had, at home, after five minutes with his guitar, he’s at peace. “Never let go of your dream,” he says. When asked what their reaction would be should a record producer approach them today with a guaranteed chance at the brass ring, it’s Travis who answers. None of them is interested in the rat race they once ran. But now that family responsibilities have lessened, they might just be interested. “It would be neat.” The other three nod in agreement. “I seriously doubt if the moneyspending, music-loving public would be interested in a bunch of old grandpas’ music,” Travis says. It
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seems most of today’s personalities, he explains, are at least half the age of White Water Junction’s musicians. In the meantime, with little thoughts of future fame, the guys are hard at work rehearsing for their October 28 concert, and hoping their local fan base will come out in great numbers. Read the article on Tiny
Homes elsewhere in this issue to learn more about the great cause the band is helping to underwrite. That’s their most immediate goal. “We’re as famous as we need to be,” John Buckner says. Tickets for the performance on October 28 are $20 and are available from Pete’s Music City or the Harris Arts Center.
“The man on top of the mountain didn’t fall there.” – Vince Lombardi
sole career making and teaching pottery. Lora: What is something you would like to pursue in life but haven’t? Heather: Extensive travels and seeing all the thousand-year-old traditions in pottery. I want to go to places like Italy, China and Japan to name a few. Lora: Do you have another job? Heather: Yes, I am a buyer in the supply chain for Royston locally. Lora: Do you usually have a vision of what you want to make or does it come to you as you are creating the piece? Heather: I do because most of what I make is functional pieces although the final shape comes about during the process. Lora: What are three things (not people) you cannot live without? Heather: Coffee, chocolate, and clay Lora: What hobbies do you have outside of pottery? Heather: Reading and spending time with my family. The boys are at a fun age to get out and enjoy outdoor things with. Lora: Are there other types of art and creativity you enjoy doing? Heather: Yes, I dabble in painting a little but not too much. Lora: What advice would you give to beginners who want to learn to do pottery? Heather: Practice, practice
and practice. Potters can make it look easy, but it takes seat time to really hone your skills. From an artist standpoint if this is truly your passion then you need to build your lifestyle around that passion or your lifestyle will take over and make it what you want. Lora: Do you have a specific pottery style? Heather: I am still working on my style or signature in the world of pottery. I haven’t found my palette and style yet. Lora: What art/pottery influenced your life? Heather: I like functional work because it is a way of giving people something you made that is going to enhance their life. Like giving a newly married couple a dinner set you made that will help them build their lives or giving your best friend a coffee mug she will use each morning that you made. Lora: If you had to choose who would you consider a mentor? Heather: Angel Stewart, who is the owner of Davins Ceramics. She has helped us to start our business and get it up and going, and she is a wonderful artist but also a really good businesswoman. Lora: Are you working on any specific styles now? Heather: Yes, I am pushing myself to throw bigger, more elaborate vases, pictures, and urns. Lora: Are there any newer or older potters that have grasped
By Ted Smith
Of pig races, fishing for catfish, and mule whispering My younger sister and I once had a “pig race.” We were living at what was called the Old Gunn Place. I don’t imagine there are or will be many places today or in the future that will become landmarks. For one thing, I doubt many homes will last that long. It was a large old farmhouse well past its prime with a garden spot, a big pasture, a chicken coop, and a pig pen - everything that was needed for farm life. My father, who would later become a fine auto mechanic, was still to shake off the trappings of growing up on a farm, and so he bought a “hookhorn” cow and a couple of piglets. A hookhorn cow, for those who have never seen one, is a cow with one horn that curls back toward its head, in this case its right eye. It had to be cut in order for it not to blind the cow. I imagine that even without that she would have been ornery. She chased me and a cousin out of the pasture once, although in her defense she did have a calf at the time. There was no defending her, however, for her liking bitterweed and wild onion. Talk about stinking milk. Heck, it stunk up the whole house. But back to the piglets. The race consisted of seeing which one would gain the most weight the fastest. Mine got sick and fell behind, so my sister’s won. But it was a hollow victory because when the pigs reached a certain weight, my father had them slaughtered. We were told not to get attached to them, but we did anyway, being
“Take time to do what makes your soul happy.” – Unknown
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kids. I mention this as an example of how attitudes change over time. Poor farmers, of which nearly all my ancestors were, could not afford pets. If the family kept an animal, there had to be a reason besides that it was cute and friendly. Which leads me to a story about my late grandfather Bob. Papa, which is what we called him, was a fine man. He was quiet, even stoic, but was kind, generous, and had a dry sense of humor. The story involves my great-uncle, his brother Sherm. Now why anyone in the South would name a child Sherman is beyond me, but anyway, Sherm when he was a young man in the 1920s kept saying over and over, “a catfish likes a cat as much as a cat likes a catfish.”
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He was like the old man in the Frost poem who keeps saying that good fences make good neighbors. Papa got irritated, so one day he caught a stray cat, and they used it for fish bait. “We didn’t catch a damn thing,” he told his youngest son, from whom I heard the story. But you have to understand that Papa was not a cruel man. He was just a man of his time. In fact, he had a way with animals. Once when he and Sherm were neighbors he stepped outside to hear a loud commotion coming from down in the bottoms. Sherm was beating and cussing a couple of mules because they were refusing to drag a large log to higher ground. If you know anything about mules you know they are among the most stubborn critters on the planet. Besides, Sherm was a small man and his blows were having no effect. Those mules wouldn’t budge. Papa walked down to where they were, took the stick out of his brother’s hand, threw it away and walked over to the mules. He spoke to them softly, gathered their harnesses one in each hand, and slowly led them out of the bottom. Papa never had an animal or a pet and neither did my father, but I did. I didn’t have much luck though. A couple of them were shot or poisoned, and several were stolen. I was still steeped in the old ways and saw no reason to have an inside pet, that is, until Darwin. He was half beagle and half Boston terrier, and I got him when he was 5 weeks old. A friend offered me the pick of the litter, and I was reluctant to take one at first. But to make a long story short, I had him the rest of his life. He died two years ago at the age of 12, and it grieved me terribly. I lost my best friend. Over our time together I learned a lot about animals and myself. We came to understand each other, and sometimes it seemed as if he knew what I was thinking. It was a far cry from the days of my grandfather or even my father, but then attitudes can change over time and life can be the richer for it.
“Time spent in nature heals your body, mind, and spirit.” – Katrina Mayer