The Chicken Foot Boy (we’ll call him Timmy)
was my introduction to the clan newly arrived in my neighborhood. Not among the primary gene pool but no less intrinsic. Timmy was a specimen of interest. Barely beyond the toddler stage, he was possessed of a freakish athleticism, fully developed quads, biceps and pectorals; he was doing handstands and flips before any of us could pick up a fork. The proverbial precocious child to boot, given the opportunity he would grow to be of the popular hero variety; but such is not the avenue for one of this stature since expectations are low, (a survival tactic). Timmy was content being Timmy, doing what he does purely for his own entertainment. Seeing a boy tumble 15ft out of a tree and get up rejoicing is a rarity, since this one (the writer) was busily getting his head caught in anything with a gap big enough to get it into in the first place.
Cross-eyed as a boy, Leonard was his sibling (a bit slower) and Penny, who was never anything her kinfolk said of her, but was at the very least soothing to our budding pubescent eyes. And finally, Lisa, who little is known about save for being everything the rumors proclaimed her to be.
As mentioned, characteristics and loyalties were fully on display while being openly discussed; the key to harmony lie in knowing who and what you are dealing with in the moment and each desired the same outcome - to be spoken well of even when not present to defend oneself, a very unlikely outcome (unless you are Baldor or Staney). These very same matters reside in mythologies, particularly Ancient Norse where matters arise among the gods all the time. These “matters” will always be resolved even if it takes until Ragnarök, when all matters will be settled.
This was hearty pioneer stock for certain. To the untrained eye, we might as a group seem like so called trailer trash; except we lived in shanties, not necessarily trailers. And everything you think you know about hillbillys is largely untrue:
just because people in a region share the same last name doesn’t mean intermarriage is common; it’s more like a dynasty.
because sexuality is openly expressed doesn’t mean promiscuity is the rule, quite the opposite; boys were expected to be respectful, and girls were mostly modest, except in courtship when chasing, wrestling and inappropriate touching was not just tolerated but encouraged.
once joined in marriage, divorce simply never happened, children were raised proper and everyone was cared for in one way or another.
childhood sexual abuse or incest, if prevalent, was never referred to as such or referred to in any other way for that matter.
violence was not perpetrated against any clan member, ever; only once in my memory, when theft was involved. Theft was not tolerated.
there is only one hunting season: before, during and after season.
if a prowler were suspected (which was often the case) opening fire was the only proper course of action.
wheels were the obsession of every red-blooded man and boy starting with bicycles and evolving into cars, no matter the mode of transportation be it sled, bicycle, motorcycle or Mopar, speed until great peril was the measure of one’s mettle - and the bar was set high.
No, these were not Hatfields or McCoys, these were noble savages and a welcome diversion to my own dysfunctional household. Scotch/Irish descended from early American settlement on the western slopes of the Appalachian Mountain Range and cut off from civilization by geological barrier. Massacres, spirits, paynters and haints reside in the soils and souls of these, the kings and queens of ridge and valley.
The Keeshond is a canine breed from the lowlands of the Netherlands, bred for Dutch aristocracy. They are a thick coated, non-working dog possessed of a loud bark and so they also did duty on canal barges. Barking was eventually bred out of them (or maybe surgically altered) and here in America they became known as the barkless dog, and high maintenance due to their luxurious fur. If one or two of them (two in this instance) were unfortunate enough to find their way into our particular menagerie their fates were sealed. Chained to a coup and fed a ration of watered-down Gravy Train they quickly went native with mud caked and burr infested coats, hopelessly tangled, their royal stature dashed; they resorted to madness spinning themselves in circles and finally resorting to murdering one another. The fights were so fierce we were pulling teeth left in them by their respective foe. Shameful.
But this story would not be complete without mentioning dogs since they were integral in day-to-day life, though lost in the din and vibration of the multitudes of species present in our yard and lodgings; save for this solitary observer, who like a dog, nothing escaped his notice. And like a dog once freed, only hunger would drive him back home again.
It’s only natural for me to equate people with animal spirits, since being among animals was my life. Reptiles should be regarded with caution; reptilian people should just be avoided. Rabid animals must quickly be culled if avoidance isn’t an option; rabid people deserve the same level of respect. My hillbilly girls have a distinctive warble in their voices and the boys are guttural like wolves. There is always an alpha in any group as well as the inevitable omega. When cohabiting with animals, there will be damage. Nature will always seek a balance.
Totally enjoyed this read.
Like gathering around the campfire.