Happy Armistice Day

November 11, 2013.Reading time 3 minutes.

I know, I know…It is Veterans Day now. Forgive me, my kids call me old, so I’m sticking with Armistice Day.

As the writer of a book set in the 1920’s, it would have been impossible to do an authentic job of setting the scene without some research into World War I and the plight of veterans returning from Europe. In hindsight, it is easy to see how woefully unprepared our government was to care for and assist the flood of men who came home. The lingering effects of trench and gas warfare haunted many for the rest of their days. Unable to maintain steady work, a good few vets languished in abject poverty long before the Great Depression. Fortunately for us, many of the benefits we veterans enjoy today came from public outcry and government action in the decade after WW I.

At my kitchen table last night, I asked my kids if any of them knew the origin of Veterans Day. We sat in a long period of unknowing silence, or maybe reluctance to engage with the old man on a favorite topic, who knows which. My wife and I don’t allow electronics at the table, so the blank stares from the teenage contingent could have been due to the fact that they wanted to get back to their social media (just to embarrass them, I like to call it “The Facetube”). They were rescued by their eleven year-old sister who gave a detailed and accurate history of the ending of WW I, Armistice Day, and its change to Veterans Day in the 1950’s. Thank you Perimeter Christian School for your fine teaching on this subject!

The town of Portsong would joyfully celebrate Veterans Day. As a patriotic place, there would be flags, ribbons, parades, and special honors bestowed by the Ladies Historical Society. Although not a veteran himself, Mayor Shambley would never miss the opportunity to stand in a lectern. Daniel Jacobs, Abel Lowder, Rif Jenkins, the Pinkerton boys, and all the rest would set to march down Chestnut and Main in whatever semblance of uniform moths and time had not yet destroyed. Yes, Portsong has always loved its fighting boys through many wars.

I leave my thoughts on Veterans Day with a picture of my grandfather in his Doughboy uniform from World War I. I do not believe he saw action, as he volunteered just a month before the war ended. My maternal grandfather served in the Navy during the World War II era and I did my stint in the Army in peacetime.

From the heart of our little town of Portsong, thank you to all you veterans out there.

A Trick Gone Awry

November 6, 2013.Reading time 5 minutes.

In light of Virgil’s love for tricking, here’s a little story from the rivalry between he and the old pig farmer, Burton Perry, his part-time boss and full-time nemesis. Come sit with me on the porch swing and enjoy, A Trick gone Awry.

Cramped…

Hot…

Hungry…

feedinghog
A little bit hungry – but more for revenge than food. Virgil felt every tendon in his legs tighten the longer he lay on his belly in this awkward position. He couldn’t see a thing in the dark and had plenty of time to let his mind wander over all his failed attempts to trick Burton Perry and why this time would be different. On the surface, the old pig farmer didn’t seem all too smart, but he was a master at avoiding schemes. The pepper in his coffee gag hadn’t worked at all. Perry drank every drop, smacked his lips, and even licked the tin cup clean. Evidently he was very fond of pepper. Soap on the porch should have tripped him up, but he clomped his muddy boots right through – sure-footed as could be. By far the worst idea put the boy on top of the outhouse in July heat with a pitcher of water. It didn’t take long for Virgil to admit that was just poor planning.

Ever the optimist, he knew this time would be different. He was going to scare a few years off the old man as soon as he came to put his piglets into this little nook. The plan had come to Virgil when he’d been working two days prior. Every night after they were nursed, the piglets were placed in their own small pen so their mama, Gladys, could have some time to root around by herself. Virgil thought she loved her piglets like any mama pig did, but she seemed to like to have a break too. When the last piglet was taken away, Gladys looked a little relieved, kinda like he’d seen his own mother collapse into her wingback chair in the parlor when he left for school.

Comparing Mama to a pig made him chuckle but he held it in because he heard footsteps in the distance. An evil little grin spread across Virgil’s face while he lay in the dark. He got ready to scream, poke his arms out, and wiggle his fingers at Perry to scare him good. And so he waited for the door to open – the momentary discomfort worth the coming prize. Soon, approaching chortles and grunts of the piglets told him Perry was coming. The sounds got closer, but for some reason, the pen door never opened. He waited some more all squeezed up in the tight space, ready to pounce, but nothing happened. Not a thing! Something was wrong out there, he knew it. Panic made him flinch and he tried to crack the door so he could see outside. Before he could get a look he heard a pin drop into the latch on the other side. He pushed against it, but in his crowded state, he could get no leverage.

Sweat formed giant beads on his forehead. The stuck boy flopped a few times hoping to retreat out the back of the pen until the darkness was broken by a shaft of light behind him. The rear door stood wide open and one by one, little piglets were dropped onto his backside.

“They’z hungry too, boy,” crowed the farmer outside the pen. “Gladys wasn’t much in the mood fer ‘um.”

Mistaking the boy for their mother, the hungry little sucklings latched on to any pinch of flesh they could find, leaving welts on Virgil’s body that would last for over a week. He pitched, yelped, and moaned until Burton Perry figured he’d had enough and helped him out.

“If’n you’ve had enough, why don’t you take ‘um yonder to their mama to feed?” the farmer said with the smuggest of smiles.

Outwitted again, the downcast lad saw to his duty without a word.

“Never again!” thought Virgil as he delivered the last of the piglets.

…..Until a better plan came to mind.