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Burningtown News, Sunday, January 31, 2016
Good afternoon to all the people all over the world!
PRAYER REQUESTS
Please remember the following in your prayers this week.
Lucy Mason Ken Shepherd
Nell Duvall Welch Lori Impagliatelli
Harry Henry Melba Martin
Melba West Meredith Jones
Clarence Scott Linda Campbell
Pamela West Bob Bryson
Sue Martin Oweila T F
Sue West Beatrice Deweese
Wayne Powers Charles West
Tom Needham
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Rev. Brian Holland will bring the message on Sunday morning, February
7, 2016, at 11:00, at Burningtown Baptist Church. We are very proud
that Rev. Holland won the "Best Law Enforcement Officer" AND
the "Best Religious Leader" in the Franklin Press' Reader's
Choice Awards. See the article below. Congratulations Brian!
Other winner's within our church family were Donnie and Janet Bishop,
who own Frogtown Market and Deli, and April Chastain, who owns April's
Flowers on Main. Congratulations to all of the winners of the Press'
contest!
--
From
Macon County Public Library
New Movie "Pride" with Bill Nighy & Imelda Staunton
Wed. Feb. 3 at 2:00 & 6:00 p.m. in the Macon County Public Library
Meeting Room-
Based on real events- U.K. gay activists work to help miners during
their lengthy strike of the National Union of Mineworkers in the summer
of 1984.
Rated R for language and brief sexual content; 1 hr. 9 min.
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Classic Movie "Roaring Twenties" with James Cagney & Priscilla
Lane
Fri.
Feb. 5 at 2:00 p.m. in the Macon County Public Library Meeting Room-
Three men attempt to make a living in Prohibitionist America after returning
home from fighting together in World War I. 1 hr. 46 min.
Kristina Lynn Moe
kmoe@fontanalib.org
Macon County Public Library
149 Siler Farm Road
Franklin, NC 28734
828-524-3600
fontanalib.org
facebook.com/FontanaRegionalLibrary
ARTICLES, LETTERS, POEMS, PICTURES AND THINGS
God is so Good!
Buddy
and I have been blessed with a new Granddaughter! Lilah Mae Mathis was
born Friday, Jan 29. She weighs 4lb 9oz and is 18" long. She belongs
to our youngest son Dakota (Cody) and Chelsea Daniels. Mommy and baby
are both fine and healthy. ?? Hope you all have a blessed week!
Donna
Mathis
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Congratulations to Dakota, Chelsea and the entire family. Lilah Mae
is beautiful.
Good Evening Mr. Fouts; I don't know why , but I had not received The
Burningtown News for several weeks until today. I really enjoy the stories.
Hope this means my subscription has been renewed. Your generosity is
a real Blessing to the rest of the world. Many Thanks, Denzil R. Knight
SLABTOWN,
USA
By: Roy Owenby
Just before I turned six, we moved to Kyle, a small community which
I think, is part of the Nantahala Community. Dad worked for the English
Lumber company, or as some might remember it, the Jess Crowser Band
Mill. We lived in a small house made of leftover slabs from the sawmill.
Mom swept the floors a lot because there was a dirt street that ran
in front of the houses. When the weather was dry, dust was everywhere,
and when it rained, the street turned into a mud hole. There were a
lot of rats so we kept loaded traps around at all times. I once held
a trap in my hand in front of a rat hole, and when the rat stuck its
head out, I let go of the snapper and caught him behind the head.
I don't remember exactly how many houses there were in Slabtown, but
I think there were seven. There were four or five in the middle and
one each at the upper and lower ends a couple hundred yards away from
the main group. A creek ran in front of the houses and the band mill
and lumber stacks were on the other side of the creek. Mom didn't want
me to play in the creek because she was afraid I would drown. In hindsight,
I probably would have had to hold my head under water to accomplish
that, but that's how mothers are. The creek had a rocky bottom and was
about ankle deep except in a few places that might have been knee deep.
Of course, as kids do, I played in the creek anyway.
The band mill fascinated me, and I would sneak across the creek, turn
right and go up the hill so I could watch the men work. I would get
as close as I could until one of the men would tell me to get back.
A man named Ned was the off bearer. He would take the slabs not suitable
for lumber and stack them up. I don't remember much about him except
that he was kind and friendly. He wore bibbed overalls, and every so
often, he would remove a red bandana and wipe his face. When I came
to visit, he would draw a line in the sawdust, and that was the point
I couldn't cross because it was dangerous around the saws.
Ned's job was very physical because the saws generated a pile of slabs
in a short time. I would stack the little slabs until I got tired or
got bored with it. If I stayed at it for a while, Ned would give me
a penny. When Mom or Dad went to buy something, I would use the pennies
to buy Kits at the store out on the main road. When I went up to the
mill, I would take a couple of the Kits with me and give one to Ned.
He always thanked me and acted like it tasted good. After eating sawdust
all day, it probably did.
For the first time in my life, I had kids to play with who lived nearby.
My best friend was Connie. We spent a lot of time together. Sometimes,
I would spend the night at her house and vice-versa. Connie had a little
room in her parent's bedroom that was separated from them by a divider
made out of a canvas-like material. When we went to bed, we had to be
quiet because her dad, like mine, worked hard at the sawmill. After
a while, Connie would sneak out and make sure they were asleep. If they
were, we would go to the kitchen, light the lamp and play. She had a
collection of wooden blocks that her dad brought from the lumber yard.
We would see who could make the tallest stack before they fell. When
we got tired of playing, we would go back to bed. If we ever got caught,
I don't remember it.
Out by the creek, there was an old shed that we little kids used for
a club house. There was an older boy, probably thirteen or so, who lived
in one of the slab houses. He liked to pick on us. He would come to
our clubhouse, run us out and sit in it so we couldn't get back in.
Complaining to our parents didn't do any good. He would tell his mother
that we made it up. After some serious consultation, we decided to take
matters into our own hands. One day when he came in to make us leave,
all four of us began hitting him with sticks. He ran off crying and
told his mother. She came to our houses and told our mothers that we
had injured her son. When Dad got home, Mom told him about the problem,
and he laughed. "That boy got what he deserved," Dad said,
"but don't let him catch you alone." The boy never came around
us after that. I suppose that's the way bullies are. Once they are bested,
they don't know how to deal with it.
The lumber yard was off limit to kids, which of course, meant that we
went there to play on the weekends when the mill wasn't running. We
would play hide and seek around the lumber stacks. One day, one of the
kids fell off a stack and cut a gash in his head. That was the end of
our playing in the lumber yard. We were no longer forbidden to go, we
were restricted. My dad was very clear in his communication about that.
He said, "If I catch you over there again, I'm going to give you
the whipping of your life." I took him seriously. A couple of Sundays
later, he took me to the lumber yard and showed me all the different
stacks and told me about the different types of lumber.
"This is maple," he would say. "And this stack is oak.
Over there is a stack of poplar. Oak is harder than maple or poplar.
It's used to make floor joists, furniture and so on." Back then,
a 2 by 4 was just that, it wasn't 1½ by 3 ½. An oak 2
x 6 probably weighed twenty-five or thirty pounds. After that, he took
me into the woods and showed me the trees that matched the wood. I think
my dad could identify every tree in the forest by its bark, leaves or
the wood itself. He taught me how to differentiate between black oak,
white oak, water oak, chestnut oak, live oak and laurel oak. Then there
was shagbark hickory, pignut hickory, sweetgum, red maple, yellow poplar,
sassafras, mountain ash, birch, honey locust, black locust, sourwood
and holly. To this day, I can walk through an Appalachian forest and
identify most of the trees.
Some kids learn how to play baseball or golf from their dads. Mine taught
me how to identify trees and plants, where to look for wild honey, ginseng,
teaberry, boneset and bearberry to name a few. Then there was the one
I should never eat because it would kill me; doll's eye. He said a wild
animal would eat all around the plant and never touch it. I still won't
touch it, but I know where to find it.
In about a year, we moved to Camp Branch in the new house that Dad and
Uncle John built. My mother was happier there because she had her own
home and she was just up the road from Grandma Rosa, her mother. I liked
hanging out with my grandmother, but I missed my friends. Again, we
lived in a house where there were no kids nearby, but I started first
grade and there were kids to play with there. As the old saying goes,
every cloud has a silver lining.
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TRADING
BEAUS
By: Nita Welch Owenby
When I arrived in Washington, D.C. in 1960, I had a lot to learn about
living in a big city. I had only been out of Franklin a few times in
my life, and I was totally country. The FBI hired young people from
every state in the Union, and there were even some from other countries.
I was teased about my southern accent, but that didn't stop me from
being proud that I was from North Carolina. I enjoyed meeting people
from other places, but I never tried to be anything other than myself.
I had a good business head on my shoulders and since the salary we started
out on had a lot to be desired, one of my first lessons was learning
how to live on what I made, and what to do when the money ran out before
the next payday. The FBI helped us learn, and since our salary didn't
come close to covering rent on an apartment, we quickly got acquainted
and found roommates to live with and share this expense. I teamed up
with Jonesie, Pat Jones, from West Virginia and Connie Mintz from Iowa.
We got along well enough, but I soon learned that Jonesie couldn't boil
water without burning it, and Connie was a loner with some very strange
ideas, like following the rules we, as FBI employees, were required
to adhere to.
During the first few months of adjusting to living with 'Bimbo' and
'Know-it-All', I, being the friendly type, became good friends with
a girl named Karen Beck who lived in the apartment across the hall from
us with another girl, Sharon, from her home town in Michigan. It quickly
became obvious to me that Karen and Sharon may have been from the same
place, but they didn't get along. I knew that Connie was going to quit
and return home, and just the thought of living with Jonesie by myself
was enough to make me want to join the homeless at a shelter under the
bridge that crossed the Potomac into Maryland. I couldn't help but wonder
if everyone from West Virginia was like her. That was a scary thought,
and enough to make me start looking around for another roommate.
One weekend, Jonesie, Connie and Sharon all took Friday off work and
headed home to visit their families. This threw Karen and me together
for three days, and during that time I learned that Sharon had made
plans to move out of their apartment to live with someone else, leaving
Karen alone to pay the full rent which she could scarce afford. Without
giving it a lot of thought, I invited Karen to move in with Jonesie
and me oven that weekend while the girls were away. Karen didn't give
it a lot of thought either when she agreed.
I'm sure Karen didn't think of me as perfect, especially since she could
scarcely understand half of what I said. She had never stepped foot
in the South, and my accent blew her mind. But, I didn't see her as
exactly perfect either. It wasn't her northern accent that bothered
me, but the girl was bi-polar and got off on some strange trips on occasion.
I learned she was moody and would often spend days not saying a word
outside of hello and good-bye. This drove me crazy, since my mouth was
generally working overtime. However, it didn't take me long to learn
how to get her out of her quiet moods and back into being a normal talkative
person. We became close friends and spent almost four years as roommates,
until she got married and moved out. Even after we both left D.C., we
remained friends and kept in touch for years. Often, I think of some
of the wonderful times we had together, and some of the times that were
a bit on the strange side.
One situation I especially recall happened one evening when we had accepted
an invitation from two service guys we had just met. We usually double
dated, especially when we didn't know the guys very well. But, we considered
ourselves safe when the two fellows asked us to go up-town and see a
decent movie in a real theater, and then have dinner at a classy restaurant,
also up-town. We reasoned if they had money for an up-town date, they
were definitely not your average service guys. Most of the service guys
usually had to take us Dutch treat, even if we were just going out for
burgers and a drive-in showing a hit from ten years ago.
We had dinner first at The Black Angus, an elegant restaurant; one of
D.C.'s best. The food was great, but the conversation had a lot to be
desired. The guy I was with just didn't seem to have a thing in common,
and it didn't take me long to realize that Karen was going into one
of her moods. She and her date had bombed out, almost before the meal
started. Something was wrong and the evening was going from boring to
dead. Finally, we left the restaurant, drove a few blocks to the theater,
and it didn't help when we saw a line of people all the way down the
block and around a corner, out of sight. Karen was ready to go home
and so was my date, but her date and I were determined to finish out
the evening. He and I finally talked them into standing in the line,
and while we talked, it started to rain. That didn't help either. As
we stood in our little huddle of four, her date and I struck up a conversation
about something that was the most interesting thing I had talked about
all evening. We unconsciously ignored Karen and my date, as we chatted
and laughed about several other intellectual subjects. Did I mention
that he was from Pennsylvania; not a southern state?
As it happened, when we finally got in the theater, Karen ended up sitting
between me and her date, but that didn't stop the two of us from leaning
over her and talking, from time to time. Finally, being Karen, she got
up and insisted that we all change seats. Her date and I were seated
together, and Karen sat down by my date. She was so moody and disgusted
with the evening by this time, I was afraid my date was in for a dull
time. However, he happened to be from Wisconsin, Michigan's neighbor,
and he managed to get Karen involved in some subject that she was interested
in. Before we realized it, the two of them were actually laughing together
on occasion and they hit it off. Her date and I had already developed
a cheerful friendship and by the time the two of them dropped us off
at the apartment, Karen and I had totally switched dates.
I know, stranger things have happened, but the outcome of that evening
didn't stop there. I saw her date, now mine, several times during the
next six months or so, until he was released from the service and returned
to Pennsylvania. However, about fifteen months after that first most
unusual date, Karen and my original date, Bob, were married. They moved
to his home town in Wisconsin when he was released from service, had
two daughters, and were happily married until he passed away about four
years ago. She and I lost touch with each other after that, but during
our years of acquaintance, we always had to have at least one laugh,
every time we talked, about how she and Bob met. Somehow or other, I
was given credit for being the cupid that brought them together.
--
"That Old Man…"
Larry Alan Reeves, Region A Long Term Care Ombudsman
Southwestern Commission- Area Agency on Aging
Not so very long ago I had to travel to the Durham/Raleigh area for
a meeting. I had a couple of errands to take care of in Asheville as
I began my journey. Once the errands were finished I was ready to head
east on I-40. I was in the neighborhood of the Biltmore Outlets Shopping
Mall (It was "Biltmore Square Mall" at the time.) . While
driving, if possible, I enjoy having some food to munch on in order
to help pass the time. I knew there was an Ingles just across Brevard
Road. Therefore, I went to the Ingles to secure "provisions"
before hitting the road.
When I entered the store I started trying to find something to fit my
munch cravings. I walked up and down almost every shopping aisle in
the entire store looking for just the right things to eat. Nothing seemed
to live up to my quest. I did not want fruit. Cookies and baked goods
did not appeal to me. I knew that ice cream was impractical. I looked
at the selection of chips for the longest time, to no avail. Over and
over again, I kept saying to myself "What do you want when you
want something but you do not know what it is that you want?".
I grew more and more discouraged and frustrated with each passing moment.
By this time, I was on the last aisle and was preparing to leave; hungry,
disappointed, almost at a point of despair. Desperate! I was starving
by this time.
Suddenly, I saw it! That which I was searching for was right in front
of me! I was so excited and relieved that I started to do cart-wheels
across the front of the Ingles. It was all I could do to contain my
joy! Never, in my life, has a bag of popped popcorn looked so wonderful!
I hurried to the counter where the popcorn was kept; surely watched
over by a security guard (Barney Fife?). No doubt every other customer
in the entire store was running to grab a bag for themselves. There
was no way I was going to allow them to beat me to it! I was ready to
push and shove (if necessary) in order to get my hands on the "pot
of gold" sheltered in a covering of cheap, clear plastic, tied
with a sterling silver-coated twist-tie. Fortunately, no one beat me
to it. Carefully, but discretely, I selected my bag (from among the
40/50/100 or so bags that remained). I tenderly cradled my treasure
next to my bosom, protected by my right arm. On "full alert"
I started making my way towards the checkout register, watching less
someone was preparing to ambush me and take my stash from me. I was
proud of my persistence, my determination, my effective and justly rewarded
strategy, and my search satisfaction that deserved a hardly "Well
done" from someone/anyone.
Well, as I crossed the front of the store, I happened to see a lady
pushing a grocery-cart up one of the aisles. Securing riding in the
cart was a young lad, probably about four years old. He was a handsome
young man; only to be such a rascal! When I saw him, he saw me. As soon
as he saw my cargo, I knew he was going to cause trouble. He started
yelling (at the top of his lungs) "Momma! Momma! Look Momma! Look!"
With considerable embarrassment (which should have been), she said "What
is it?" At that very moment is when the handsome young man became
a rascal. He responded to his mother by saying, "That old man has
popcorn!" He emphasized his comments by pointing up the aisle in
my direction. Naturally, upon hearing his comments, I turned and began
to look behind me and everyplace nearby. I, too, desired to see the
old man he was talking about that had the popcorn. If I could find him
I wanted to congratulate him on his choice of a snack. Then it hit me.
My birth certificate, calendar, driver's license, Social Security Card,
delayed responses to invitations to join AARP, refusals to accept offered
discounts for "seniors" (The very nerve of someone offer that
to me!) and my upcoming @@th high school class reunion smote me right
between the eyes. That rascal called me an "old man"! How
dare he do that!
Well, my story ends this way. I am fully aware that one does not smack
a kid. So, I walked back to the lady pushing the cart and politely bopped
her on the head. (Obviously, she was/is raising an unruly brat.) Quickly,
I exited the store and headed to Durham/Raleigh.
"That old man has popcorn!" I am still steaming over that
incident.
Larry Reeves
Long Term Care Ombudsman
Region A, Southwestern Commission
125 Bonnie Lane
Sylva, North Carolina 28779
(828)586-1962, ext. 223
FAX (828)586-1968
www.regiona.org
larry@regiona.org
"I love the unimproved works of God." (Horace Kephart, 1906)
ACTIVITIES OF THE WEEK
This is a 1000 piece puzzle, LF put together week before last. It took
a long time to get this together but once LF starts on a puzzle, it
may as well let itself be put together. This is a Winter Scene Ruth
had given to her.
Below is a picture of a siamese potato from LF's garden. LF didn't want
to cook the potato because she didn't want to cut it into two pieces.
She is very sensitive about such things. I looked on the Internet to
see what causes this and read that it was likely caused by inconsistent
moisture conditions during the tuber formation. I don't know if that
is true or not but that is what I read on the Internet. You can see
it is starting to sprout though, so she'll have to use it pretty soon
or keep it and plant in in the spring.
Siamese
Potato from LF's own patch.
Now that LG is living next door, the social scene on Edwards Road is
getting more active. Well, Edwards Road and Golden Seal Cove Road. LG
and LF live on Golden Seal Cove Road and Ruth lives on Edwards Road.
LG has hosted two Scrabble games. You can see from the expression on
Ruth and LF's face they take the game very seriously.
LF and Ruth playing scrabble.
On Tuesday, one of my former students, Jeanne Tastinger, came up to
LG's house to help LG select window coverings. Jeanne owns Creative
Interiors in Franklin and is very successful as would be expected from
someone who went to Cowee Elementary School. She and Kaye McCall were
in my class together. LG is very excited about Jeanne coming back to
install the window coverings. When she get them installed, her house
guests will be able to sleep better when there is a full moon.
Jeanne
Tastinger
Donnie
Wallace delivered the beautiful plaque that recognizes YOUR donations
to the Oasis Shriners. The other plaque is filled up. It went from 2008
through 2015. I look forward to you finding money and filling this plaque
up between now and 2023. I know both the Oasis Shriners and Saint Jude's
Children's Hospital appreciate you generosity.
Plaque
It
has been a good week down here on Burningtown.
On
Wednesday night, GT and ST brought pizza for supper and JG and LG came
over and ate too. LF made a wonderful apple pie. LF went to church for
the Bible Study but the rest of us just sat around and visited. I tried
to help GT and JG understand about the ancient rock palace up on the
mountain that was built by Prince Boukto, but I don't know if they fully
understand how important the palace is. I'll continue to try and education
them every chance I get.
On
Thursday we went to the dumpster.
Yesterday,
LF and I went to town. We had a lot of errands to run. We stopped by
Jim's Shed before we went. Many people had sent money to the poor man
on Burningtown; Bernard Huggins, Bill Queen, Tom Welch, Jim Fouts, Ricky
Fouts and Marilyn Roper. Others may have contributed too, but those
are the names I know. They put $15.01 in the container. Thank you for
looking for money for the poor man. I was going to get my hair cut but
there were too many people waiting, so I still have long hair.
We
went by Frogtown Market for lunch and had a good bowl of chili. Well,
that is all the news I have for this week. If you have pictures of activities
in your life, please send them to me.
We hope you have a wonderful and blessed New Year throughout 2016.
Remember the poor man and his fine little wife on Lower Burningtown.
MF, Editor
LF, Operations Editor
ST, Circulations Manager
RO, Feature Story Author
NWO, Feature Story Author
AM, Arts Illustration Editor
RP, Photographic Editor
JK, Assistant Photographic Editor
DB, Copier
JB, Assistant Photographic Editor
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