This is my second narrative about living at the Spring Knob forestry tower. More episodic memories rather than a structured tale with a beginning and end.
Spring Knob tower was where I came very close to not living to double digit age. The house sat beside the dirt road and the front porch was up on pieces of log with steps up. On the tower side was a place I used to go play in the dirt quite a lot. This particular day my mother called me in to supper and I left the dirt and went into the house. We had just sat down at the table when there was a loud thump and the cabin jolted.
We rushed outside to the porch and saw our old 1953 Chevy sitting with its back bumper against the log holding up the porch where I had been sitting less than five minutes before. I have no idea what my parents thought about it but I don't recall having any particular emotions about it. Certainly not fear or relief. It was just something that happened. Probably, though, after that my brother made sure to set the parking brake rather than just leaving it in first gear when he cut off the engine.
On another day I was playing in the dirt in the same location. I don't know if this was before or after the car incident. But, something drew my attention to the road in front of our steps and there was a fox standing there. I thought this was curious so I went inside and told my dad there is a fox out in the road. He did not believe me as no fox would come that close to a house.
I told him there was something out there and it looked like a fox to me. I guess I've always been a smart ass. He went to the door and looked outside and saw the fox. He grabbed his shotgun and killed it. On closer inspection of the corpse it was obvious why the fox was so brave. It was rabid. My brother wrapped some kind of old rag (cloth) around its tail and took it off somewhere to dispose of it.
I had to have passed very close to it when I went into the house. I have no idea why it just stood there and did not bite me. I'm glad though as I've heard rabies treatment is quite painful.
Across from the house, just across the road, was a narrow ribbon of slightly raised and wooded land. It had some common trees and a few peach treas on it. Just beyond this narrow strip was the garden. The garden was on a gentle slope between the road in front of the house and where the road circled down and around the hill so the garden was kind of wide on the tower end and narrow on the road end. This made it bordered by the road on three sides.
I think we lived there for about four years and I don't remember how the garden was plowed for two of them but I do recall the other two vividly as they were quite unusual. There was a family who lived down on Greasy Creek between us and Boone's Camp named Waller. They were the stereotypical uneducated, mentally challenged, strong as an ox, tobacco chewing, moonshine drinking clan of men who together probably had a single digit IQ.
But the garden is where the "strong as an ox" part comes in. One spring I can remember the oldest Waller boy (Lacey) and one of his brothers harnessed to the plow while my dad guided it and they plowed our whole garden this way. I don't believe it was a turning plow as I don't think any two people are strong enough to do that. Probably was a plow with a spade-shaped blade. Still I think that was quite a feat of strength. But, not the top one. I recall one spring Lacey pulled the plow by himself. I still find that somewhat amazing.
I would imagine we grew all the common vegetables there in that garden but we also grew our own pop corn and peanuts. It made making pop corn a little different than it is now where mostly you just toss a bag in the microwave and nuke it.
Then we had to wait until the corn was mature, pick it and put it up to dry. Once it was dry and you wanted to make popcorn you would have to grab a bowl (or other container) and place it in your lap then take two of the dried ears of pop corn and rub them across each other to dislodge the kernels of corn into the bowl. Once you had a sufficient quantity of corn it was time to go pop it.
Mother would put some kind of stool or something in front of the stove for me to stand on and then get out the big, cast iron skillet and put it on the burner. I even got to light the gas burner. Always light the match FIRST and THEN turn on the gas. Then put about a tablespoon (or more) of bacon grease in the pan to heat.
When we deemed the grease was hot enough we'd drop a few kernels of corn into the skillet and wait for them to pop. When they popped we knew the grease was at the right temperature and could dump the rest of the corn into the skillet. Then it was HURRY and grab the old, white enameled lid and clap it on top of the skillet. Use a dish rag (towel) to hold the handle of the skillet and constantly shake it back and forth at the corn popped.
Often the corn would pop so much it would lift the lid right off the skillet. I can still see in my mind a picture of that old skillet with the white lid with steam or smoke or something coming out then the corn would raise the lid up. When it had stopped popping we'd take it off the fire and put it in some kind of bowl. That part I do not recall. But I do recall it was the best tasting popcorn I've ever eaten. Microwave will never replace using the corn kernels in a skillet with hot fat and popping your own.
There are many more Spring Know memories but they will have to wait for another time.
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