Tales from Grady Creek Holler


Me and Ludlow Horrel decided it was time to get out a bit and go in search of a couple of hens to give good, brown eggs all year.

We traipsed up near the head of the holler to search for chickens to buy. Old man Grisham was the chicken raiser up there and he had the finest layin' hens ever was. Trouble was, finding him to home. He'd leave without a notice to kin or kith. Then, when a body was to approach the house and offered a Hey-Lo, you was afraid to approach if no answer was got back. Not knowing if the old man was gone, or if he was just hidin' and watchin' to see what was likely to happen. Strange feeling. Not knowing.

He'd been known to jump out from behind a tree with a chicken under his arm right into your path and ask if'n you was lost. A fellow jumpin' out on you like that befuddles a body and an answer is hard to muster right on the spot.

Old man Grisham would take your pause as a sign of lyin' or deceivin' and put you on the explainin' side of the meetin'. There you were, right on his end of the creek and feelin' like you had done something wrong and fearing wrath, or worse. Now that gave the old man bargainin' power if you were to be there for tradin' and law rights if he caught you trespassin' on his land.

He was as slick as a buttered hoe handle and would take the advantage in a bargainin' turn. Some thought he was a half-wit, but he proved them wrong many times over.
Others say he was evil, but that ain't never been proved either. I think he was fox-dumb and plenty of it.

Well, this time, he appeared from out of the shack as if he never heard no Hey-Lo and actin' all surprised that anybody was around. We thought he was about to run back in and come out a blazin' with that old squirrel gun of his. Then, just as quick, he turned all smiley and friendly and glad to see us. "What you fellers up to?" he asks.

"Come to buy a settin' hen, or two", says I. "We ain't got much money but we can take a turn at your chores in your stead for payment." I offered.

Now that set him to thinkin'. How much chore doin' is in these boys and how much mule tradin' offsets that doin'? But the thought of gettin' some of his dirty- work turned over to others was right appealin'. He didn't have a lot of use for money straight out, because he would have to get someplace to spend it and any place was a long way off.

Grisham had seldom been far out of his holler. The last time was to get a swollen up foot looked at after he had run a rusty nail through it, having stepped on a board that fell off the shed by the door. That time he waited until that foot festered up and looked like a rotten pumpkin before he decided to have it looked at by Old Lady Trent.

Old Lady Trent was a poultice maker of wide repute amongst the hollers and if she couldn't manage a cure, she'd pray over you and send you on. Most times she'd come up with something that would do. In Grisham's case she slathered on some foul smelling concoction of mashed up mushrooms, cedar bark and spring water. Wrapped that foot up in a rag that had been left out in the sun to bleach and sent him home … mushrooms and all.

It wasn't easy getting home traveling on a borrowed mule. The old mule was slow and boney and blind on one side. And no sooner would that foot stop throbbing for a minute than the mule would stumble into something on that blind side and drag Grisham's foot through some brush. He thought that he would never get back to the house and vowed not to go out again unless it was time for the Judgment Day.

Right now I see somebody a walkin' up the creek toward here. I better see who. I'll get back with you later and we can sit on a stump, have a smoke and talk some more.