A few miles down the road lived the Henrys. Though not
hostile they did not mingle with us. They did not attend church; they had no
school age children. There was little reason to interact.
Old Mr. Henry, the aged father, was always on his porch—winter
and summer. We kids talked to him only in huckleberry picking time. The most abundant patch was off the road just past
the Henry place. Every summer Mommie escorted us kids, each with a lard bucket,
to the huckleberry patch.
After a long morning, with filled pails in hand, thirsty,
hot and tired, we stopped at the Henrys for a drink of water. Mr. Henry always
encouraged us to ‘set a spell’ and rest our bones. He regaled us with stories
whose credibility was suspect even to us gullible kids. One of his most
outrageous stories, which he enjoyed repeating over and over is as follows.
‘Sam and Ed while chopping wood for the winter fell into an
argument—then into a fight. Sam swung his ax and cut into Ed’s neck . His head dangled; blood spurted high
and wide. Sam loaded Ed onto his wagon and hauled him off to Doc Lawson, who
was able to stop the bleeding and sew the head
back on the neck. But Doc Lawson, hampered by poor eyesight and rich alcohol intake, sewed the head on backward. From
that day on Ed had to walk backward if he wanted to see where he was going.
Mommie told us we ought not to believe a word the old fool said.
We were young, not stupid. But we loved Mr. Henry’s stories.
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