May 10, 1965
Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky on the day after Mother's Day. Everybody always makes such a big deal out of Mother's Day. I guess that's good. Most mothers need a day when they are a big deal. But I don't much like Mother's Day. You see, not everybody has a good mother. I didn't.
As Dad likes to say, good mothers don't grow on trees. They're made by God. I used to wonder if that was true how come God didn't make me a better one. My mother never liked me. I was a pest. Unwanted. A bother. She never hit me or anything like that. I used to wish she would since that would prove she knew I was there. But no. She just pretended I didn't exist.
Sometimes I wondered if I was invisible. And after I got over my mother wishing I was, I decided being invisible might be fun. That's when I started sneaking up close to people talking in the church yard after Sunday services to see if they would notice me eavesdropping. They hardly ever did, but unfortunately I was never invisible to Dad. I got into big time trouble with that eavesdropping stuff.
But even though my mother was the pits, I had a great grandmother. Mama Mae loved me. She wasn't in a big hurry to go to heaven, but I guess the Lord was in a hurry for her to get up there and start planting flowers for Him. She died planting tulips one year. So whenever I see tulips, I imagine Mama Mae smiling down from heaven on me.
Aunt Love took over for Mama Mae helping Dad out at the house and trying to make me behave. The two of us have had our rough spots, for sure. I don't exactly act the way Aunt Love thinks a preacher's daughter should. Maybe I don't. But Dad loves me anyway and Aunt Love and I mostly put up with one another. She doesn't hug my neck or anything but she does sometimes say something nice to me now and again. And I try really hard to not get on her nerves. She has enough problems with the forgetfulness without me messing with her nerves too.
So everybody doesn't have a loving mother. Some mothers don't kiss their kids' skinned knees or teach them prayers at night or tucks them in at night. Some are like me with mothers who never wanted them and just don't like them all that much. What do we do on Mother's Day when everybody else is hugging moms and singing their praises? I guess I remember Mama Mae and think of her tulips. And sometimes I feel sorry for myself and cry.
On to the next episode of Bailey's Bug.
BAILEY'S BUG by Jocie Brooke
(Continued from last week)
CHAPTER 15
The next morning, the big yellow monster bus roared down the street and woke Bailey. That meant Reid would be shooting out the door and down the walk. The bus would stop, open its door and swallow Reid up. It would be hours before it brought Reid back.
Bailing jumped up and shook to get ready. He had to keep Reid from being swallowed by the bus. Instead he had to get him to follow Bailey back to Skelley and Lucinda.
Bailey's throat got tight. The bus might be as hard to face down as the bulldozer. The monster bus was always blowing its horn if Reid was a second late coming out of the house. Bailey wouldn't have but a couple of minutes before Reid disappeared into the bus.
If only Lucinda was there to tell him what to do. She'd know. Lucinda always knew.
But she wasn't there and the bus was getting closer. Bailey stared at the front door of the house, ready to charge in front of Reid when he came outside. Just the thought of seeing Reid again made Bailey's tail do circles in spite of the bus coming.
His tail lost its wag when the bus passed by the house without so much as slowing down. It didn't even honk. Bailey stared at the door behind him. Was he at the wrong house, after all? Bailey took a big sniff, and his tail started wagging again. Reid was there. He hadn't come out the door, but he was there, somewhere inside.
Bailey couldn't wait a second longer. He banged his paws up against the door and barked for all he was worth. The door stayed closed. He ran around to the back of the house. That was how he had to go into the house. Through the back. He found the back door and jumped against it.
He couldn't quit barking. His ears were ringing. Bailey didn't know the door was opening until Reid's mother was there, staring at him.
The sight of Mrs. Alexander made Bailey bark even louder. He whipped his tail back and forth and hopped around the porch.
Reid's mother didn't look happy. She looked mad. She stepped out the door and smacked Bailey right in the face with a towel. "Get away from here, you mangy mutt." She snapped the towel at him again. "Go on. Get!"
Bailey looked behind him to see what she was chasing away. Nothing was there. She couldn't be intending to hit him with the towel. She couldn't be telling Bailey to get. He must have been making so much noise he hadn't heard her right.
"I hear a dog, Mama."
At the sound of Reid's voice, Bailey got so excited his barks were high, yipping sounds. Then Reid was right there in the door. Bailey tried to push past Mrs. Alexander to lick him. Mrs. Alexander swatted him across the eyes and started closing the door.
"It's just an old stray. I don't know why he's carrying on so." Mrs. Alexander looked back at Bailey. "Get away, dog. Go on now."
"He sounds like Bailey." Reid was at the door with his books and lunchbox.
"All dogs sound the same. Even strays."
"I don't think so. Bailey sounds different. Sort of like this."
Bailey barked louder and jumped even higher. Why couldn't they see it was him?
(To be continued. To read the rest of the story just look for it up above.)
April 20, 1966
Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. I like April. Do you like April? You can count how much more there is of school by weeks instead of months. You can forget about coats most of the time. You can see everything turn green. You can play out in the rain because sometimes it just showers down without thunder and lightning. It's sort of like going swimming standing up.
Spring flowers start blooming. Bright colored flowers like tulips. They always make me remember Mama Mae who died planting tulips. But she wouldn't want me to hold that against the tulips. She loved flowers. All kinds of flowers.
In April, she especially loved the dogwood trees when they bloomed. She told me the legend of the dogwood. She said it might not be exactly true and Dad said the same. He said the Bible doesn't have anything about the dogwood tree. Nothing at all. But that doesn't mean the Lord didn't plan the dogwood tree to remind us of what Jesus did for us.
Anyway, here's the poem Mama Mae read to me a long time ago. She said nobody knew who wrote it.
In Jesus' time, the dogwood grew
To a stately size and a lovely hue.
'Twas strong and firm, its branches interwoven.
For the cross of Christ its timbers were chosen.
Seeing the distress at this use of their wood
Christ made a promise which still holds good:
"Never again shall the dogwood grow
Large enough to be used so.
Slender and twisted, it shall be
With blossoms like the cross for all to see.
As blood stains the petals marked in brown,
The blossom's center wears a thorny crown.
All who see it will remember Me
Crucified on a cross from the dogwood tree.
Cherished and protected, this tree shall be
A reminder to all of My agony."
So whenever I look at the dogwood blooms, I see what the poem says. The bloodstains on the edges of the four petals and the notches that look like they could have been made by nails. Then the middle part with red berries that could be a crown of thorns marked with blood. Whether the legend is true or not it's still a good story to think about in April when the trees bloom. Mama Mae said it added to their beauty and now that I'm older, I know what she means. Had you ever heard the dogwood legend? Do you like the dogwood trees?
On to the next episode of Bailey's Bug. Are you ready? Do you like Bailey and Lucinda and Skelley?
BAILEY'S BUG by Jocie Brooke
(Continued from last week)
Chapter 14
Bailey practiced how he might tell Lucinda about the hum while he waited for her to come back from hunting. Maybe he could simply say the bug crawled out of his ear. That could happen, couldn't it? He would scrunch down on his belly and tell her how sorry he was for getting her out here in the middle of nowhere. He'd beg her to pounce on him, bite his ears, scratch his nose or do whatever she wanted to if it made her feel better. He deserved it leading her out here where she had to hunt mice and climb trees to get away from coyotes.
He aimed to just blurt it out the minute she came back, but when she stepped out of the night in front of him, he lost his courage. Instead, he shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Too asleep to even notice when she put a mouse down right in front of his nose.
The next morning, the mouse was still there. Bailey tried to give it to Skelley, but the old dog shook his head and told Bailey to eat it. So he gobbled it down. It wasn't much but it was something. Would he ever see a full food dish again?
Maybe he would be like Skelley and spend all his time raiding garbage cans and saving bones that didn't have even one good chew left on them. How would he look with bones sticking out in angles like Skelley's?
Bones were already in plain sight on his sides in spite of the way his hair had gotten bushy with nobody to trim it off. He was a funny mud color too and didn't look much like the dog that had run away from Mr. Robinson.
He didn't feel much like that dog either. That dog didn't think of much other than food dishes and fetching for Reid. This dog he was now had to worry about getting Lucinda and Skelley lost or worse and whether he'd ever see Reid again.
Lucinda hopped down out of the tree. "Time to be on our way."
Thick fog hid everything except the trunks of the trees nearest them. No hint of the sun pushed through it. He couldn't go without seeing which way the sun was shining.
"Maybe we should let Skelley rest a while longer. So his leg can get better." The sun would surely show up in a little while.
"For a truth, Miss Lucinda, I'm not sure if I can walk on it," Skelley said. "And I'm a wee bit too tired to hop along on me other three feet."
"We'll go slow," Lucinda said.
"No, no, Miss Lucinda. I'll not be slowing the two of you down. Twill be better for ye to leave me here and go on your way."
"We can't leave you here alone," Bailey protested.
"And we won't." There was no doubt in Lucinda's voice.
"But you can't stay," Skelley started.
Lucinda interrupted him. "Let me finish. I'll stay here with you while Bailey goes on to find Reid. Then he can bring him back with him. People know about fixing hurt legs and such."
Skelley settled his sad eyes on Bailey. He was waiting for him to tell Lucinda about the hum, but Bailey just pulled his tongue up in his mouth and didn't say anything.
Lucinda went on. "We've gone miles and miles. Too many to count. We have to be in another state. Close to Reid. Your bug says so, doesn't it, Bailey?"
Bailey stared out toward the fog as though he were hearing something in the gray mist. He should tell Lucinda about losing the hum. He should. But the words wouldn't come out of his throat.
Instead he kept his eyes on the farthest tree he could see in the fog. "It can't be far."
Lucinda sighed. "Heaven knows, you've been saying that every day since we left, but maybe this time you'll be right."
When Bailey didn't move, she nudged him with her paw. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go get Reid. Now."
"I'll find him." Bailey tried to sound like he meant it as he skipped his eyes over Lucinda and Skelley and headed out into the fog. He had no idea which way to go. One way was as good as another until he got out of sight of Lucinda.
"It was a grand adventure, Bailey me lad," Skelley called after him. "A grand adventure."
(To be Continued next week. Remember, the first part of the story is up under the title at the top of my report.)
March 23, 1966
Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky where not much happens in March. That's for sure. But it is spring and Miss Sally's chickens are getting cute little feathers and it's warm enough for me to ride my bicycle.
Leigh and I have even been digging up a new flower bed. She wants to plant tulips. She says she loves tulips. She never met my Mama Mae, but if she had, Mama Mae would have loved her because she makes my daddy laugh.
That's a good thing. To marry somebody who makes you laugh. I want to do that too. Someday. Not in any hurry at all. So far every boy I've met is way weird. Leigh says I'll change my thinking on that when I get older, but gee whiz, I'm already 14.
Lots of girls my age are walking the halls at high school holding hands with some boy. I'm thinking it would be real hard to carry a whole armload of books while you had to hold somebody's hand. Leigh laughed when I told her that. She said the boys were supposed to be carrying the books for the girls. Yeah, like that would happen for me.
Do you like Roger Miller? We watched the Grammy show the other night. Aunt Love said it was all foolishness, but Leigh likes music and records. She has this record of Roger Miller. He won a bunch of Grammy awards for "King of the Road." We got to watch the award show on television and see him sing that song. It's a good thing he wasn't singing "Chug a Lug." Aunt Love would have probably made us turn it off. But I think that song is funny. I can think about it without it making me want to take any chugs out of a moonshine jug. That would a crazy thing to do.
I like the way Roger Miller sings funny songs. One of the songs on the record is "You Can't Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd." Have you ever heard that one? It says you can't take a shower in a parakeet cage and you can't take a swim in a baseball pool and can't go fishing in a watermelon patch along with other crazy things, but that you can be happy if you've a mind to. I like that. What other silly songs do you know?
Guess it's time to see how Bailey, Skelley and Lucinda are making out. We left them in a pretty big mess last week. Skelley had ended up in the middle of a bunch of coyotes before he was swept away by the flood. Lucinda was on a board floating along and you know how Lucinda hates getting wet. Let's see what Bailey does.
BAILEY'S BUG by Jocie Brooke
(Continued from last week. You can read it all under the title up top of this report.)
Bailey had almost given up hope when Skelley's head popped up out of the water in front of him. The old dog's ear was bleeding, but his eyes were full of fire as if the fight with the coyotes had been the best adventure yet. The painted stick floated up beside him.
Skelley caught it with his chin and pulled it back toward him. "My leap fell a bit short, Bailey me lad, but those old boys weren't so tough."
Bailey felt like he'd just been given a whole bag of dog food. He barked and jumped straight up, splashing water everywhere.
"Stop that!" Lucinda ordered. "You're going to drown me." The cat jumped away from Bailey to a different board. "The water's getting deeper."
Lucinda was right. The water swept Bailey off his feet. He paddled to stay beside Skelley but the water kept pushing him away.
"Grab a board, lad. Best try to ride out this flood. Swimming will take too much out of you in this current." Skelley clambered up on a board and balanced there easy as can be.
Bailey tried to do the same, but the board tipped and dumped him back into the water.
"Try to sit light in the middle, lad." Skelley nudged the board back toward him. "You have to shift when the board shifts.
This time Bailey made it up on the board, but when he shifted, he ended up dumped in the water again.
"Shift the other way, lad. The other way. For a truth, you'd have a hard time riding a pony."
Bailey tried to get on the plank again. He fell off again. He was so tired it all seemed like a dream. The flood. The barn breaking up and floating around him. The planks in the water. Skelley floating away from him. He couldn't see Lucinda. His legs felt like wood. He couldn't get up on the plank. He'd just have to go wherever the water took him.
His head went under. It was quieter under the water. Easier. But he needed air. He pushed up above the surface and Lucinda was right in front of him. Her green eyes were fierce.
"You crazy dog! Get on that board before you drown."
Bailey pushed up out of the water and got his front legs up over the plank. He didn't try to stand up. Just hung on with his stomach on the board and his paws trailing along in the water. He didn't dare fall off. Not with Lucinda glaring at him.
"Way to go, lad." Skelley shook his painted stick at Bailey. "There be more than one way to ride a pony, I'm thinking."
Bailey clung to the board, panting. It wasn't so bad floating along like that. He could move his paws a bit and guide himself through the water a bit. He'd never had to ride out a flood before, but they were all still together even if Skelley did look a little worse for his fight with the coyotes. The old dog's ear would have a new scar for sure.
He caught his breath and paddled a little closer to Lucinda. "What are we going to do now?"
"Don't ask me!" Lucinda snapped. She was wet all over. "This is your adventure. You're the one with the bug in your ear."
(To be continued)
October 8, 1964
Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. I'm sorry to be late reporting, but I had a whole page of sentences to diagram. Plus two pages of Algebra and I had to draw a picture of a flower showing all the parts, stamens or pistils or something like that. Mrs. Boggs, she teaches science, is a flower nut. I like flowers as good as the next person but I don't care what their stems are called. Anyway, it took me forever last night, but I got it finished and turned in.
So tonight, how about I introduce you to Cassidy Hearndon? Never heard of her? Well, I hadn't either until her family moved to a farm out in Holly County. You might not think that too strange until I tell you they're a black family. I guess more than the school is getting integrated this year. The county is too. Dad says the Hearndons' are the first black family to buy land out in the country around the church. In this little scene from that book about Hollyhill, Orchard of Hope, Cassidy isn't sure she wants to come to our church.
The first Sunday in September when Cassidy Hearndon's mama got her up and said they were going to the white people's church, Cassidy thought about sticking her finger down her throat and making herself throw up. She'd done it back in Chicago a time or two so she wouldn't have to go to school. It had worked them. It might work now, but then her mother would make her stay inside and it was way too hot to be stuck in the house all day shut up in the back bedroom to make sure she didn't share her sickness with none of the rest of the family. Not that the scaredy-cat sickness was catching or anything.
Cassidy picked up the dress her mother had laid out for her to wear. It was the green and white one with tulips on it, her very favorite, but she didn't want to put it on. Not till she had to. It was cooler just standing there in her slip and underpants.
"What in the world is wrong with you, Cassidy Marie?" her mama asked. "Stop moping around and get dressed."
"It's too hot to get all dressed up and go to church," Cassidy complained.
"The good Lord didn't say it was too hot when he paid the price for our sins, young missy."
"Then why can't we go up to the church in town? They like us up there."
"Now listen to you. We aren't going to church to make people like us," her mama said. "We're going to church to worship, and the good Lord has put a church right down at the end of our road for us to do that. We don't have to spend a half hour and gasoline we can't afford driving to town."
"But they look at me funny." Cassidy traced one of the tulips on the dress with her finger. She loved tulips. They'd had tulips in their yard in Chicago. Red and yellow and purple tulips.
Cassidy did come to church and after a while she liked it there. She always liked Miss Sally, but then everybody likes Miss Sally. Every church needs a Miss Sally - somebody who loves you just the way you are and makes you glad you came to church.
Does your church have a Miss Sally?
Jocie Brooke here - reporting from Hollyhill. I'm not exactly on Main Street tonight. I'm at our house where I live with Dad and Aunt Love. I haven't told you all about Aunt Love yet, but I will. I did tell you about her cat, Jezebel. Right, I know Aunt Love says the cat's name is Sugar, but I think my name fits her better. You'll understand that if you read my book, Scent of Lilacs. What a cat! But she suits Aunt Love. You have to know my Aunt Love to understand. I don't know who named her Love, but sometimes names don't tell the story. Then again, I don't always know the whole story. I'm not telling you that here, because that would mess up the fun of reading my book. Here I'm just reporting extra stuff. I need practice writing if I'm going to be a writer when I grow up. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to write books or newspaper pieces. Or maybe I'll learn to take great pictures too and go on fabulous adventure writing stories for National Geographic. Wouldn't that be neat?
But tonight, since we're having that grandmother contest to celebrate my book, I'm talking about tulips and my grandmother. I had the very best grandmother in all the world. I know you may think yours is best, but mine was best for me. She loved flowers. As soon as it started getting warm in the spring she'd be out there digging in the dirt. After my mother took off, she moved right in with me and Dad and loved me even when I made messes or was too loud or didn't listen. I have trouble with that listening sometimes, but I was always ready to listen to my grandmother when she was telling me stories. Or telling me about her flowers. She especially loved tulips. She said there was something extra cheerful about tulips popping up out of the ground in the Spring and adding color to the world. Red tulips were Mama Mae's favorite. And then one day when I was nine, the Lord decided he needed her up in heaven to plant flowers up there. I didn't know why he needed her more than me. I can't imagine how that could have been, and I'm not sure if Dad understood either. That day when Mama Mae died out in her tulip bed, I had to go get Wes to get Dad back on his feet. Some things are just too hard even if you are a preacher. But after Dad prayed about it and we cried a bunch we somehow came through on the other side of that dark valley. Dad said Jesus was walking right alongside us, crying with us.
I still want to cry sometimes when I see red tulips, but Dad says I shouldn't feel that way. That I should look at the tulips and see Mama Mae smiling down on me, wanting me to have a great life. Dad says everybody has troubles and while we've had plenty, that we can always look around and see other folks with more. Dad and I, we were doing okay by ourselves. That's why I wasn't real excited about Aunt Love moving in with us after Mama Mae died, but Dad said she needed us and we needed her. Maybe so. But I sure didn't need that cat!
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. One of the winners turned in her book, so Pam from Kansas is getting to read all about Hollyhill now. People have been giving away copies of my book everywhere. I think that's loads of fun. If you haven't already entered, you've still got plenty of time to enter the Scent of Lilacs Celebration giveaway. Check it out at Ann's website.
See you next week. I'll try to think of something funny after I felt a little like crying this week. It's all those grandmother stories I've been reading over on Ann's blog, One Writer's Journal. You know she's the one that wrote those books all about me and Hollyhill.
