*****
Dead Limbs and Leaves
Return of the Redwing
It had been a long hard winter that year in the little community of Dry Creek. I remember my name is Billy Joe. The snows had been heavy and the cold arctic air had been colder than anyone remembered. Rabbit hunting had begun, especially from the brush piles where everyone had cut wood in the fall for winter. There was nothing but one thing better than fried rabbit, sawmill gravy, and homemade biscuits for breakfast and that was fried chicken, gravy and biscuits.
It was the winter of 1959 in Stonebridge County in Tennessee when the heavy snows and ice storms hit. The snows blanketed the ground so deep that it was up to the bumpers of cars. The ice had knocked out over half the power, leaving the county in a blackout. I was a young boy then. I remember carrying wood in and stacking it on the porch, drawing water from the well and packing water into the house. The last thing that I had to do was feed and water Daddy’s hunting dogs, Jake and Susie. It wasn’t too bad feeding them until you got in the pen with them. Jake and Susie would jump upon you and knock you down if you wasn’t careful. It was rough growing up back then, a lot of people had it bad. A lot of us were in the same boat, just trying to get by.
In the spring and summer you had to work in the tobacco fields, hall hay, and keep the garden cleaned out. There was plenty to do. Trying to get it done was not an easy task. The welcome of winter sometimes seemed to be a blessing. You had more times for other things to do. It won’t be too long now after Christmas. In February and March, we would start fixing plant beds. First, we clean off a spot of ground. Then we cut some small trees and lay them on the ground I a long rectangular shape. Then we would pile a bunch of brush in it and set it on fire. This helped kill out any weeds that might try to grow. Next we would dig up the ground inside the bed. Then we would sow the seeds and we covered the bed with a canvas and compost. Then we waited for the plants to get big enough to set, and then pulled them from the bed and transplanted them in the field. Talking about all this, I recall Daddy, a lot of times, plowing the tobacco patch with our two mules, Jenny and Nell. Daddy would walk behind them in the hot sun for hours as sweat ran down his face yelling neigh and yea. Old Jenny and Nell would buck a little, sometimes they would fart, and Daddy would laugh. I believe Daddy farted too sometimes.
What time I wasn’t at home, I spent time with my best friend, Maurice. He could make the best chocolate gravy and biscuits I have ever put in my mouth. He was the pastor of the church in Dry Creek. He lived on Muddy Pond Road next to the church. Muddy Pond Road ran straight down the middle of Dry Creek on toward Flat Woods, which was the next town about five miles up the road.
I lived between Dry Creek and Flat Woods up in the hollow. At Walker’s Market in Dry Creek you could get anything you wanted. You could take a quarter and buy a soft drink and some eater snacks and have money left over. Ten dollars would buy a box of groceries, a stand of lard, and a sack of flour. At the old school house it was divided into two rooms. Grades one through four were in one room and grades five through eight in the other. The school was kept warm in the winter by a big old pot-bellied stove. The boys had to take turns bringing the coal in. Around Dry Creek, there was a post office, scattered farmhouses, barns, and farms. Besides logging, tobacco, corn, and hay were about all that was raised around there. But, just between you and me, up in these hollows are some of the biggest moonshine stills in the county. I know for a fact I’ve been with Daddy many times.
It was early one morning when suddenly there was a knock at the door.
“Anybody home?” asked a deep voice from behind the door.
“I’ll get it,” I yelled as I quickly jumped up from the table. When I got to the door, there stood Maurice. “It’s Maurice,” I shouted. “Come on in.”
“Brother Dunkin, what are you doing out in this storm?” asked Mama. “Let me have your hat and coat,” she said. “Step over here by the fire. It’s rough out there.”
“The word is they won’t be able to get the snow plows up here until the end of the week,” explained Maurice.
“By the end of the week,” replied Daddy. “We might be snowed under by then.”
“Are you hungry, Pastor?” Daddy asked.
“Yeah, Maurice, we got fried rabbit and gravy,” I shouted.
“You do,” he replied. “Why, I might take a bite of that, thank the Lord.”
“Good, I’ll go set you a place,” Mama said as she left for the kitchen.
Sometimes it would get so cold at night that the dipper would freeze in the water bucket. In the morning you would wake up from under a pile of blankets and the fire had gone out in the night. It was hard building a fire in the morning when you were so cold you couldn’t keep from shaking. But it was home.
“I must say, Sister Brown that is the best fried rabbit I believe I have ever eaten,” replied Maurice. “You can’t beat that white gravy. Let me have a little more of that.”
“Brother Dunkin,” asked Daddy, “have you heard anything about Sister Marshall lately?”
“I talked to her Brother a few days ago,” Maurice replied. “I’m afraid she’s in for a long spell.”
“I know when you break your hip,” Daddy replied, “there isn’t much you can do.”
“You’re right about that,” answered Maurice.
“If those snow plows would hurry up and get here,” Mama said, “some of the other ladies from the church and I could get up there to see her.”
“I know,” replied Maurice, “and believe me she would be tickled to see you. This weather has just about shut me down. I’ve got to go and make my rounds while I can before dark. There’s a lot of members from church that are sick.”
“You don’t have to rush off,” said Daddy. “Come back anytime. Bye, Brother Dunkin,” we all cried.
“Bye, thanks for breakfast,” he yelled. “Talk to you later.”
The snowplows came earlier than they thought, opening the roads so they were passable again. Not long afterward, that brought the end of winter that year. Eventually the snow melted, causing the flooding of the creeks and opening of the buds of the trees to spring. From the passing of the long winter, spring brought in a new life to Dry Creek. The hills and hollows were alive with the chirping of the birds and the smell of the fragrance of the wild flowers. I do have to say we have come a long way since outhouses and slop jars.
My life and my world was wrapped up in Dry Creek and my best friend Maurice. We spent every day together. We fished and hunted, we looked for dry land fish and gigged frogs at night. We picked blackberries, strawberries, and poke salad. We were inseparable. Maurice was like a second dad to me. He had no family. His wife had died several years ago and his children moved off to the big city. They only came to see him about twice a year. He had been the pastor of our church for a long time. Maurice may have been old and stubborn at times, but when he preaches he would get on your toes. The church didn’t have many members, some moved away and others died. But like Maurice always said where two or three are gathered together in the Lord’s name, he would be in the mist of them.
I remember a couple of years ago when Sister Perry wore a new wide brim hat to church. During the service she got happy and started running around the church. Maurice got happy too and as she passed by he reached for her hat to put it on. Instead, he jerked the brim of her hat down around her neck. They went on praising the Lord and shouting. I didn’t know what to think.
A few days later, Maurice and I was walking down the road by the creek when we heard something. I quickly looked about but didn’t see anything. Maurice pointed up into a tree. That’s when I saw the redwing blackbird.
“Can you see it up there?” he asked.
“Yeah, I can now,” I replied back.
“There’s an old negro folklore,” he said. “The first redwing blackbird you see after winter signifies that sp
ring is soon coming and the last one you see in summer means autumn is near. You can tell the coming of the season by keeping your eye on him, so they say.”
“It sure is pretty,” I replied.
“It’s one of my favorites,” replied Maurice.
From that day on the years seemed to go by now quicker than before. I was growing up and Maurice was beginning to show his age. His health was starting to fail. I would always tell Maurice there was a big world out there and I wanted to taste it. I tried to talk to him about it, but he would always tell me it it’s not what you think. But, I didn’t care. I didn’t put much into what he said about that. He had been out there. I hadn’t and I didn’t believe it would be that way with me. I believed I could handle it, besides Dry Creek had nothing to offer me. There was no money here nor excitement, parties or fame in this old stick in the mud place. But I’ll always remember what he would always say.
“You’ll have to find out for yourself, son,” said Maurice. “No one can tell you about it. You’ll have to experience it for yourself.”
I was a young rowdy youth with a few dollars and a heedful of dreams. I was going to change the world, and make a fortune, and live fast and make a difference. Maurice wouldn’t say much. He would always tell me he was praying for me.
“What do I have to hang around here for, Maurice? What’s in Dry Creek for me? I’ve got my whole life before me. Daddy is gone, we buried him last week.”
“I am here,” replied Maurice.
“But, Maurice, you’re old and we have had our times together,” I explained. “I need something new and exciting in my life. Meet new people; people my age and girls too.”
“What you need, son is the Lord,” stated Maurice. “I just hate to see you hurt and throw it all away, but you might as well go on because you’ll never be satisfied until you find out for yourself.”
A few days later, I knocked on Maurice’s door. When Maurice opened the door, he didn’t have to say anything because he already knew. I had my things and my dreams; I was heading out.
“Be careful, son,” was all he said.
“Yes, sir,” I replied as I turned and walked away. “I’ll be back to see you.” I stopped for a moment and paused. “Maurice, the things I said about you I didn’t mean.”
Maurice replied, “I know you didn’t mean it, but you were right.”
Then he slowly closed the door as I walked away. Deep inside I wanted to stay, I was a little afraid, but there was a part of me that sought the adventure.
The seasons came to pass and Maurice kept his eye on the return of the redwing, but most of all he watched for the return of his best friend. He never had much to say after that. I believe he prayed each day for the Lord to watch over me and bring me home safe. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of him. There were the times I thought about going back home, but I just couldn’t give up trying. It came later in the fall a few years later when I left that his health made a turn for the worst. Mama had written me that. Maurice laid flat on his back and could hardly move from complications of health problems. Mama too was going down. Then one day there came a knock at the door. As he yelled come in, the door slowly opened. It was his youngest daughter, Kristine.
“Daddy, I’m home,” she yelled as she ran to hug him.
His eyes balled in with water, and then he took a deep breath and sighed. Then he started to cough.
“Daddy, I ran into Billy Joe in the city. He told me what his mama had said about you being sick so I decided to come home.”
“How have you been doing?”
“I’ve been doing pretty good,” she replied.
“How’s Billy Joe?” he asked.
She didn’t say, but he knew.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked.
He said, “No, but I am glad you’re finally home.”
They then reached for each other at the same time as she hugged him, as it may be her last time.
“Where on earth have you been, baby girl?” he cried. “Why didn’t you let me know something?”
“I’ve been in the city,” she said. “I’ve been busy trying to get by.”
“But couldn’t you have called.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy, I could have several times but I just didn’t” she replied. “I’m home now. We have to get you back up and going.”
Then he slowly turned his head, “My best days are over with,” he sighed. “But it’s good to have you back. I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
“It’s good to be home with you again, Daddy” she responded.
As the tears flooded their eyes, they hugged again.
Maurice turned his eyes upward and whispered, “Thank you, Lord.”
“But, what about Ellen, your sister?” he asked. “Have you seen her, my child?”
“No, Daddy, I haven’t,” she answered. “I stayed with her for a while until her boyfriend ran me off. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Why on earth, child, didn’t you come home?” he asked.
“I don’t know Daddy,” she replied, “I just didn’t.”
“Ellen wanted to see the world and I tagged along behind her. Daddy, there wasn’t anything left here for us. You were always going off preaching revivals and visiting people. Daddy, you became a different person after Mama died.”
He just dropped his head.
“Daddy, I am home now and you need not worry. I’m going to take care of you.”
When I got to the big city, I hit it running with both feet on the ground. There was no turning back. I had the world by the tail so I thought. But inside I missed Mama and Daddy too. I thought I was a man now. Putting away my childish things I thought I was ready to take on what the world had to offer, but it didn’t take me long. I found out I was so wrong. I was robbed and beat up the first week I was in the city and I sowed my wild oats. Within the next three years, I was shot, stabbed, and cut. And that’s not counting the fights I had. By now, after all this time, I was beginning to understand what Maurice was saying. I miss him a lot, but I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel yet. I have run into a little bad luck from time to time, but I have also had some good luck and some fun. Things will get better for me, wait and see.
In 1979, as I was driving home from a bar, I had a wreck. A few days earlier, I had received a letter from Dry Creek. It was an obituary from the local paper. Mama had died. The letter was Kristine. I hit a woman and a child head on. The child died at the scene. I was arrested for drunk driving, went to court, and was sentenced to fifteen years in the Louisiana State Prison at Angola for involuntary manslaughter. I never let anyone back home now, Mama, Maurice or Kristine. I didn’t want anyone to know. I just wanted to do my time. As far as they knew I had vanished off the face of the earth. The first three years were hell. I practically had to fight every day to stay alive or keep from getting raped. Most of the time, I stayed to myself and didn’t become buddies with many of the other inmates. I had to be careful and watch my back at all times. There wasn’t a day that didn’t go by that someone didn’t get stabbed in the stomach with a shank. The years in prison were hard, but by the grace of God I endured. It has a way of humbling you and driving you back the other way.
In 1984, I gave my life to Jesus. I guess now I can see and understand the things Maurice used to say. You look at things in a different light, the light of Christ. Not long after that, I felt led to start a Bible class. It went good, thank the Lord. You have to work out your own salvation through fear and trembling. Many of the things I shared were things I heard Maurice say time and time again when I went to church as a boy. His version of the world I can see now, far better than before. I had done ten years of my sentence when I finally I wrote Maurice to tell him of the good news, that I had been born again and had answered my calling to preach in 1989. But, I never got a response. I guess it’s better to leave som
e things alone. There were several preachers in prison. But sometimes you couldn’t help to wonder by their fruit. We took turns preaching in the chapel on Sunday. There were a few who came, but that was alright. The Lord was in the mist.
Also in 1989, I went up for parole and was released. I’ll always remember that day for the rest of my life. When I walked out of that prison gate with twenty-five dollars and my few things in a big brown paper bag, I thanked God in heaven for helping me and bringing me through hell on earth. I pray the next gates I would enter would be the pearly gates one day. I remember the bus stopping. The bus driver asked me where I was headed. I smiled and told him to Dry Creek my home. He told me to get on because I was a long way from home. I took my seat as the bus disappeared down the highway. It took me a few days to reach Dry Creek. I didn’t think I would ever get there. It seemed like we went through every town from here to there and every hill and hollow. But, finally, praise God, I was home. As I stepped off the bus my eyes filled with tears and all I could say was thank God I’m home. I remember taking in a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled good again next to the inside of prison. Even the air smelled like home. It felt good. I grabbed my bag and the first place and the first person I wanted to see was Maurice. On the way over there I thought about all the things on my heart I had said to him. I wished I could take it back but it was too late. I still remember the look in his eyes when he said I know you’re right. But, I can’t dwell on it now. I’m home and that’s all that matters.
When I stepped up on Maurice’s porch, the boards gave in a bit they popped and snapped as I noticed someone peeping out from the curtains. I hesitantly knocked on the door. It seemed like forever for someone to answer the door. I knew someone was at home because I saw them peeping out the window so I knocked again.
“Maurice,” I called out. “Are you home?”
I then heard someone unlatching the door. A small pin like crack appeared in the door.
“Excuse me, is Maurice at home?” I said.
I told her my name, Billy Joe, and she opened the door some more.
“Kristine is that you?” I asked.
“Billy Joe is it you? Daddy talked about you all the time,” she said.
As she opened the door she replied, “Why look at you, Billy Joe. It has been a long time.”
“Let me see,” he said. “The last I saw you was in New Orleans.”
“That has been a long time ago,” she replied. “Why come on in,” she said as he walked into the house. “How on earth are you?” she said.
“Oh, I’m doing great,” I replied.
“Where have you been keeping yourself?” she said. “Why just look at you, Daddy would have been proud.”
“Has Maurice passed?” I asked.
“You didn’t know, Billy Joe, I’m sorry,” she said. “He died a few days ago.”
I stopped for a moment and turned to the window as I tried to get myself together. A redwing flew in a nearby tree next to the window. I thought about Maurice and the things he used to say. That was the first redwing I had seen in years.
“Daddy talked about you a lot,” she said. “I know he would have loved to have seen you. He talked about you a lot. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t ask about you. He looked every day for you to come home. He loved you like a son, Billy Joe.”
“I love him too; he was like a second daddy to me. How did he die?” I asked.
“His heart finally gave out. He was old and worn out.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry.
As she went on we sat down and filled in the blanks of the last few years.
Kristine turned and said, “I hated to hear about your mother.”
“Thanks, I miss her too,” I replied. “Whatever happened to Ellen?” I said.
She just shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in years. I don’t know if she is still alive.”
“I am sorry,” I replied.
We swapped memories of days past. I couldn’t believe they were gone. Afterward, I visited Maurice’s gravesite; I had so much to tell him. How wrong I was and how right he was. The world wasn’t like I imagined. I had no idea. Then unexpectedly, I heard something and looked up. It was another redwing. I remembered what Maurice had said about the folklore and that the redwing was his favorite. Maybe it was the Lord’s way of saying Maurice says welcome home. As it took flight and sailed toward me, I leaned back as it landed on Maurice’s headstone. It chirped a few times and then took flight again. This time it disappeared into the trees.
I see Kristine at church and go by her house from time to time. The pastor of the church is in the process of going to another church and he asked me to fill in. I told him I would be honored.
He replied, “Maurice would be proud.”
My first Sunday I stood in front of the congregation welcoming everyone in when suddenly Kristine came up and handed me a present. I told her she didn’t have to. But, she insisted and I opened it. It was a Holy Bible. Not just any Bible but the same old Bible I gave Maurice several years ago for Christmas. I didn’t know what to say. I large lump hung in my throat. As I thumbed through it, there was a bookmark with a picture of a redwing blackbird on it. I whispered a thank-you unto the Lord as I gathered the tears from my eyes with my handkerchief.
The following weeks around Dry Creek, I visited and done some things around the church. I hadn’t been a pastor that many weeks when something unordinary took place at the house of God. We opened with our songs, testimonies, prayers, and I was about to open my Bible to bring the message when suddenly the door opened and a woman, man, and three children came in. As I started to welcome them Kristine started to scream, “Ellen!” It was Ellen, Maurice’s oldest daughter. At that moment, the spirit began to move. The music started again and everyone was hugging necks.
“What an unforgiveable homecoming,” I shouted, “praise God.”
They were moving back and forth, waving hand and arms. They were moving to the front then toward the back and shouting, “Praise the Lord, Maurice would be so happy,” as the choir began to sing We Shall Overcome.