from the front porch: It screams like a woman.....

from the front porch: It screams like a woman.....

It screams like a woman.....

I think the last time I was so frightened that I was almost sick to my stomach was when I was told that my husband had cancer. This week, that same feeling returned, but for a different reason.

In 1973, when my grandmother passed away, her property was divided among her eight children. Our house sits on a part of the land that my father inherited. As a young girl, my favorite spot (other than my grandmother's front porch) was a little grassy area beside the branch that ran behind her fields. The branch, narrow enough to step across in most places, and barely deep enough to wet one's toes, flowed into Cohay (Okahay) Creek.

I had heard Granny tell about the panthers and bobcats that roamed up and down the branch, in the Spring and Fall. In late Fall, when the weather began to cool, it wasn't unusual to hear the cats as they moved from one area to another. The bobcats had a roar like a large, angry cat. The panther, on the other hand, sounded like a woman screaming - but the loudest, eeriest scream.  Granny often told the story about "Aunt Charity and the Panther". Aunt Charity, my grandfather's elderly aunt, lived across the branch. When Aunt Charity was coming for a visit, she would walk through the woods, and when she got to the branch, she would let out a yell. Granny would send one of my uncles, who were probably in their teens, to help Aunt Charity across the branch. There were no phones, so I'm not sure if the visit was always prearranged, or if Granny just knew about when to listen! On one such day in late Fall, Granny heard Aunt Charity yell, so as she usually did, she sent one of the boys running to help her across. He had been gone only a few minutes, when she heard another yell. Granny quickly realized that the first yell, to which her son was running, was actually the panther that roamed up and down the branch.

Granny sent another son, running toward Aunt Charity, while yelling his brother's name. Fortunately, the first son had also heard the second scream, and realized the dire situation. Both boys got to Aunt Charity and got her across the branch and all got safely home. I can still envision my grandmother pacing back and forth across the back porch, until everyone was safe and sound.

In the late fall, my brother and I have sat on my porch and heard the bobcat as it wandered through the woods, along the banks of the branch, and then up Cohay.  Never have we experienced the screams of the panther, and after this week, I hope to never hear them again.

The weather forecast, at 10:00 p.m. had predicted one of the coldest nights of the season. Bob had mentioned, earlier in the week, that the vents that allowed for ventilation under the house, needed to be closed.  Because of his cancer and weakened condition, he had begun to be unable to do many of the things he'd always done. I knew the vents hadn't been closed.

I put my coat on over my pajamas and slipped on my shoes, before heading out the door to close the vents. Rather than crowding between the deck and the back of the house, I walked up onto the deck, intending to reach over to close the vent. I hadn't thought about turning on outside lights - after all, I could see perfectly well with the light that shone from the window. I walked up onto the deck, none too quietly, and got down on my knees to bend over and close the vent. Just as I bent down, just around the corner of the house, over my left shoulder I heard the loudest, eeriest "scream" that I've ever heard. I knew it HAD to be the panther, and it HAD to have come up into my yard .....out of the woods.

I'm at the age, once I'm down on my knees, it takes awhile to get up and moving. Not that night! I'm not sure how I got up and I really don't recall coming down off the deck. I only remember getting inside the house and feeling as if I was going to be sick. At that moment, I knew exactly how my grandmother had felt, all those years ago.

I haven't heard that noise since, but I do know......it sounded like a woman screaming.  Was it giving me a warning? Would it have come up onto the deck, to find me?  I don't know, but I do know that any "outside chores" will be done in the daylight hours!

Walker Siblings - 1973

By order of age: Horace, Howard, Hilma, Alice, C. L., Virginia, Dorothy

This photo, of seven of the eight children of Casie and Annie Gibson Walker, was taken on the day of their mother's funeral, in 1973.

Absent, from the photo, is Ray. He should have been standing between Hilma and Alice but had been in a nursing home since 1970.

The Old Garage.....July 26, 2010

The old house, the house of my grandparents,and in later years, my parents, sits quietly in our yard. It has been on this property for many years; maybe I should say that our house sits in its yard. Our house stands where the old garage, of my grandparents, stood. In my mind's eye, it was a huge old building - but, in fact, it was wide enough for only one old vehicle. I was young, so I don't remember much, but I remember that it was an unpainted building with a dirt floor. I remember the old school bus, with the yellow body removed, that sat inside.

In those days, the school buses were owned by the ones that drove them. My grandfather, and at least one of my uncles, drove the bus over roads that were practically impassable in the winter, or after a rain. The bus was also used for the family's transportation. My grandfather died when I was 9 years old, so I have scant memories of him. I do remember one summer when I must have been about 5 years of age, coming to their house. Grandpa and Granny took me, in the old bus with the yellow body removed, to the creek to wade.  I remember bouncing along between them, on the hard seat, hair blowing in the wind. I thought it was so neat to ride in a vehicle that had no top.

The old garage, the old bus, and my grandparents have long been gone - but the memories remain still.

Looking at the World through David’s eyes - July 22, 2010

This is a true story about a wonderful, giving young man in the foothills of the Middle Appalachians of Virginia.

As I parked out front of the office on that beautiful crisp winter morning, for some reason I briefly thought of David. I smiled to myself as I thought about what our first conversation on this morning would be. During each visit, David would come in and discuss what type of rental car I had rented that trip.

David was the son of the owner of the company. He performed light jobs; picking up and delivering the mail, picking up supplies, etc. Aged 33, he had been on three different organ transplant lists for 2 years. Both kidneys were diseased, and he’d received his first transplant at age 17. That transplant was successful for almost ten years. The second transplant followed shortly, but failed after only two years. The result was that David had no functioning kidneys and was on home dialysis each night of his life.

David was special because he didn’t expect people to treat him differently just because of his illness. He had a ready smile and a slow wit that made you like him, instantly. In the summer, he shared the roses from his backyard garden with the ladies in the office – and I was always included if I was lucky enough to be there.

This trip was to be different. I learned, with great sadness, that David had been laid to rest just days before my arrival. His tired, diseased body could no longer fight the infection, and he hadn’t been lucky enough to receive another transplant.

In that rural area of Virginia where neighbors are neighbors and everyone knew everyone – David’s funeral was one of the largest they had ever seen. Over 2,600 people gathered to say their final goodbyes to this young man who had made such an impression on their lives because of his spirit, his determination, and his genuine love of people and of life. In the small town, tears came to the eyes of the clerk in the grocery store who vowed how much she would miss him. His death had brought great sadness. I couldn’t help but wonder if he realized the joy that he had brought to so many – he had left a void that would be hard to fill.

It was said that, although he was only 33, his body was like that of an 80 year old man. David had felt the pain of rejection in attempting to, once again, find a kidney, and to the surprise of his family, he had donated the only good part of his body that was left; his eyes.

Perhaps the person, or people, who were lucky enough to receive David’s eyes, will be able to see the world as he saw it. Somewhere, someone is seeing again because of David, and hopefully those eyes are smiling, because the young man who once saw through them always smiled.