Dad

Living in a different period of time than my older sisters makes my memories of Dad working a little different. I don't remember Dad doing much farming earlier in my life. He always had a garden - a big garden. I only have memories of playing while my sisters picked cotton. Memories of walking through the fields while Dad "put up" electric fences, chopping down the brush and driving the "stobs" with the butt of the ax are happy ones. Attaching the wire to the insulator was my job. Going to feed the cows with Dad, listening to him call out "Cora Bread" and watching him prime the pump was always interesting. He would have to carry a bucket of water, pour it in the pump and pump as hard and as fast as he could to get the pump working each day. Once the pump was "primed", he then could pump enough water to fill the large barrel for the cow's drinking water. Memories of the cotton mill times are blurred for me. When we lived in Edenton, one of my jobs was to have lunch ready for Mom and Dad when they arrived home @ 11:30. On occasion, they'd arrive home to find a sign on the door with the today's specials as I was pretending to own the diner. (I was always a great pretender - maybe that's why I like preschool!) On other occasions, they arrived to find me still in bed!

After Dad stopped working at the cotton mill, he raised soy beans, sweet corn and still had a big garden. He and Carlton Asbell worked together cutting, crating and delivering the corn to the market. There was always a time of getting together to "settle up" after corn season was over. For many years, Dad raised pigs to sell and to kill. Loading the pigs to take to the market was hard for one person to do. Driving a straight shift and trying to back according to Dad's instructions as a 17 year old was also hard! As a senior, going into my 1st period class late and having to explain that you had to help your dad load the pigs was a little harder. When I finally got the truck backed up to the ramp, he'd corner the pigs and run them up the chute. There would always seem to be one stubborn pig that would not comply. Round and round the small pen, that pig would run. I can hear Dad, through gritted teeth, saying it now, "I will show you that you WILL go!"