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Our Last Swing on the Smokehouse Rafters
The start of a new school year at Yowell School on the Delta County/Hunt
County line was something that we gleefully anticipated. Why? Well,
because we received new books, new teachers, more new students for
playmates, and of course a new pair of shoes. Since Dad had worn
hand-me-down shoes from his two older brothers that didn't fit him for
the first day of school each year, he made sure that we each had a new
pair for that big occasion. New shoes always had slick soles, which made
it possible to run down the school hall for a few steps, then the
momentum gained would cause us to slide a short distance. This was not
good for the shoes, but it was such fun to see who could slide the
farthest.
The year I was twelve, we purchased our new shoes in
Ladonia on the Saturday before school started. On our way home we
stopped by to visit our Dad's sister, B. I. Rucker, and her family.
Their daughters Dorthy Fay and Wanda Jo were our favorite playmates.
While Mom and Dad were visiting with Aunt B. I. and Uncle Red we four
girls went out to play.
One of the games we enjoyed was "walking
the rafters" in the smokehouse. For those of you unfamiliar with
smokehouses, let me explain. Every farm had a smokehouse. It had four
walls and a door, but no windows. When the first freezing weather
arrived each year, the hogs were butchered. Since we had no
refrigeration to keep this meat from spoiling, it had to be cured, which
was done by smoking it. A fire was built on the dirt floor and was kept
smoldering for about six weeks to provide smoke for curing the hams,
bacon, and sausage that came from butchering the hogs. Large nails had
been driven through the walls and door from the outside at an upward
angle and were used yearly for hanging those meats until they were
cured. The smokehouse was allowed to remain open during the summer when
it was not in use. It provided a nice (?) place for us to play.
We ran to the smokehouse, opened the door, and entered. To "walk the
rafters," we would climb onto the cross-boards on the inside of the
door, jump up, and grab the top cross-board with one hand, then reach to
the first rafter with our other hand. From there we would swing
monkey-fashion until we could reach the next rafter. In this manner we
could traverse the smokehouse without touching the floor. The Tarzan
movies had prompted this activity.
We entered the smokehouse and I
turned to the door, put my right foot on the bottom cross-board, and
gave a little jump to reach the upper cross-board. The slick soles of my
new shoes caused my feet to slip and my upraised arm missed the
cross-board. One of the big, rusty nails impaled my right wrist. Blood
began streaming down my arm and onto my clothes. Since the nail was at
an upward angle, I could not get my wrist released. I struggled to get a
foothold on the cross-board, but my shoe soles kept slipping. The other
girls were screaming and crying. They were afraid they would get blood
on them if they tried to push by me, and there was no other way out of
the smokehouse. Finally, Dorthy Fay managed to open the door and push
past me, with Gwen and Wanda Jo following, and ran for our parents.
Gwen said when they got to the house, they were all still screaming and
crying. She ran to Mama and between sobs, said, "Lowell Ray--she's
bleeding--she's hanging!" She said Mother jumped up and began running
immediately, with Dad right behind her. Red and B. I. followed a little
slower, thinking that a little blood can make a child get excited when
actually there is very little wrong. When they got to the smokehouse and
opened the door, Gwen said that Mother's face got white as a sheet, and
her knees buckled under her. Dad ran to me and lifted me up so I could
get my wrist off the nail. Mother and Dad determined that they should
take me to Dr. Leberman's in Commerce to have stitches put in my wrist,
but first Red wanted them to soak it in coal oil to keep down any
infection, which they did--over Mother's objections. They wrapped it in
a clean cloth, and we were on our way to Commerce. Dr. Leberman put
several stitches in the wound. He said that it had missed the main
artery in my wrist by a fraction of an inch. Although it has faded with
time, the scar is still there--a vivid reminder of that day.
If I
remember correctly, and I do, that was the last time we swung on the
smokehouse rafters.
Lowell McCormack
Gainesville, Texas
Published:
November 14,
2005
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