Yellow Canaries

52 Yellow Canaries Donna G. Akers Slowly flexing her gossamer wings, the dragonfly, or witch doctor as Granny called it, contentedly perched on the edge of the washtub. I gently splashed water at her and she flitted high into the air. It sure was late in the year for witch doctors to still be out. Sinking my hands back into the tub of dirty laundry, I kept squeezing and swishing the clothes around. From here on the porch I could keep an eye on my younger brothers and sisters. Mama had told me that's the job of the oldest child. Gazing out in the yard, I saw the kids chasing each other along the creek banks where the autumn leaves had begun to nest. Old man winter could be here soon. Mama says the caterpillars already have woolly coats, meaning we're going to have a hard, cold winter. After hanging the clothes on the clothesline strung between the two tulip trees, I herded up the kids and made them wash up at the outdoor spigot before supper. As we tumbled inside the house, the hot sweet smell of ham and gravy greeted us. "Hurry up and sit down, here comes Daddy," I whispered fiercely to the kids, but to no avail. Daddy clomped in the door, black from head to toe, and six small bodies hurled at him. Squirming and crawling onto his tall frame, we all laughed and giggled. "Are you a shadow, Daddy?" Hazel asked. Daddy chuckled, "Nope, but my boss treats me like one." He carefully set his mining helmet with the carbide lamp onto a high shelf, out of reach. All us kids liked to sneak the carbide lamp out and use it to get rid of the crawdads in the yard. We'd put the lumps of carbide into the crawdad hole and pour some water inside. You should see the yellow smoke rise out of those crawdad holes. We all ate supper with noisy enthusiasm . Daddy winked at me, "Nellie, you oughta see the pretty little canary we got in the mine today. She sang so pretty all day." Mama whispered to Daddy, "Thank God she was singing." Daddy smiled at me. "Its feathers are just about as yellow as your hair, Nellie." I preened a little in front of the other kids, 'But why do y'all listen to birds sing down there?" Daddy and Mama looked at each other and he cleared his throat. "Well, that little birdie keeps us safe down there. As long as she sings we know we're all right. But if she stops, something's wrong and we hightail it up to the top." I regarded him thoughtfully, "Do you take the yellow birdie on top with you, Daddy?" Daddy stared at me and then broke out into guffaws. All the rest of the kids started laughing too, just to please Daddy. Just the same, all night I worried about the yellow canary being left in the mine. At ten, I didn't understand the dangers of mining or the meaning of death. I'd seen Mama wring a chicken's neck so we could have a Sunday chicken dinner and I knew that the crawdads we killed with the carbide gas didn't come out of their holes again. And at the wake for 53 my great-grandmother I recalled the long pine box and peeping into it to see her inside pale and asleep with a smile on her face that wasn't hers. Later that week, Mama had us gathering fallen chestnuts in the yard. There's nothing better than roasted chestnuts during the winter. Crunching down on a chestnut with my teeth, I tried to crack one open, but only hurt my jaw. Sheppie barked in warning, and I looked up and saw Mr. Little from the railroad knocking on the front door. The railroad company sometimes got Daddy to do odd jobs for them. He talked to Daddy awhile and then left. I gathered up my chestnuts and ran into the house. "Daddy, are you working at the railroad today? I got some pennies I want to get flattened. "It...