The Colonel’s First Story, pt. 5

February 20, 2014.Reading time 2 minutes.

Today I submit the final installment of the Colonel’s First Story. I hope you have enjoyed it. To start from the beginning, click here: Part 1

The children all rose in a disorganized fashion and wandered back to their play except little Sally who stood beside him smiling, still holding her hand on his knee.

“What’s your name?” she asked with an innocent lisp that was immediately endearing.

“I, Sally, am Colonel Clarence J. Birdwhistle,” he replied.

“Why do you have such funny whiskers?”

Although her mother quickly shushed her, the question dripped of sugar and honey to the ears of the old man.

“Well, my dear,” he said stroking the side of his face. “They are traditional for a man of my age. It seems that it was just a few years ago when everyone had them. Sometimes it is difficult for a man to let go of things from their past.”

She leaned up, put both hands on the side of his face and whispered in his ear, “Mr. Birdsong. I still like monkeys.”

Having said what she needed to, she bade him farewell and left. He hadn’t the faintest desire to correct his name, and in the light of little Sally’s affection, even monkeys seemed more favorable to him at that moment.

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As you can see, the Colonel is a worthy storyteller who, unbeknownst to even himself, has a wonderful way with children. He and Sally develop a very special relationship as the book continues. As fate would have it, Sally is the younger sister of Henry Lee, whose friendship with Virgil Creech is mentored by the old Brit. But that’s tale for a different time.

Thanks for taking time to read a story from the Colonel. I am excited to say that book number two from Portsong is in the final edit stage and should be ready in the Spring! Yes, the menace returns (along with a healthy dose of more stable characters like the Colonel) in Virgil Creech Sings for his Supper.

Snow and the Southern Boy

December 16, 2013.Reading time 4 minutes.

When winter comes to the south, there are few things more glorious for a boy than waking up to dusting of snow, no matter how deep. Its infrequency makes it uniquely wonderful. If there is enough to scrape up one snowball, it is a joyous affair and a school cancellation – well, that upgrades it to heaven on earth. Typically, we southerners get short bursts of freezing temperature with nothing to show for it but a little sleet and ice. But, on occasion…it snows!

It snowed last night in Portsong. When the townspeople awoke, they found a thin blanket of white rarely seen in this part of the country. In fact, there hasn’t been a flake here since the blizzard of 1909 – far too long ago for Virgil and Henry to remember. They had both read about the arctic and Polar Regions, but nothing compared to the oddity of snow covering their own bushes, lawns, and bicycles. With the little town shut down, they woke to a carnival-like atmosphere among the youngsters. Virgil grabbed an old shovel from the cellar while Henry nearly escaped out of the house with his mother’s best baking pan, but had to settle for a scrap of tin under her watchful eye. They met up on Chestnut Street and joined a seemingly endless line of boys headed toward the highest point in town: Curaban Point. It’s a long walk up, but a thrilling ride down! No brakes, just speed. Bumps, bruises, and frozen blood outweighed by giggles, shrieks, and ear to ear smiles.

Having seen his share of cold weather, Colonel Birdwhistle covered his head and ventured out with Oscar on leash as he did every other day. He got a hearty laugh at the typically adventurous dog who gingerly and slowly placed one paw in front of the other, testing and retesting the strange new ground covering before moving. Even the dogs of the south have no way to be prepared for the stuff.

By ten o’clock, little Sally Lee had the beginnings of her first snowman rolled up. With a some help from her daddy, she got its middle up onto the base and began work on his head. Up and down every street in town, the scene was the same: children played, fathers looked skyward wondering if the weather would break, and mothers busied themselves over the stove preparing for their frozen children to come inside. Clothing, cars, and hairstyles change, but from generation to generation, we Southerners still react the same way to the white stuff.

For those of you living in colder regions, I hope your winter is mild and your hearth is warm. But for us in the South, I pray we get a taste of snow this season. You Yanks can laugh all you want when large cities down here come to a grinding halt with a mere six inches. We southern boys will take your ridicule in exchange for a few inches of snow.