Back Home in Kentucky

Back Home in Kentucky Bill Estill I have heard that people from Kentucky who are in heaven have to be locked up on the weekend to keep them from going back home. I don't know if this is really true, but when I was a boy in Southwestern Ohio we went to Kentucky every chance we got. We loaded into our Model A and started out. Mom and Dad in the front and my sister, Ann, and I and the dog in the back. We kept an eye on the dog-he was apt to throw up at any time. There was a world of people in Kentucky who thought my sister and I were special. A great-grandfather-two sets of grandparents-all kinds of aunts and uncles and cousins. As we came into town, there were always several men sitting on the fence, and they would "throw up their hand" as we passed. When school was out in the summertime, I spent several weeks back home. Hillsboro, Kentucky-the post office, a general store, three small groceries, a funeral home and the blacksmith shop and mill. I knew who lived in each house in town. My great-grandfather was the blacksmith and the miller and I liked helping him.. I turned the handle on the bellows at the forge or sacked meal and flour at the mill. There was a big old tractor in back of the mill, and I sat up on that high, high seat and pretended to drive. We played ball in a lot inback of the funeral home or rolled hoops down the alleyby the side of the house. One of my cousins lived on a farm outside of town, and I spent a good deal of time there. I went barefoot and I remember the feel of soft warm dust or cool creek water. I wore bibbed overalls, sometimes with nothing underneath, and I "worked" the tobacco. I suckered and topped and wormed. My cousin told me the only way you could be sure a tobacco worm was dead was to bite off its head. Going after the cows was an adventure for me and we rode horseback to the watermelon patch or to see if the cow was about ready to calve. There was always plenty of good food, but I liked to go to the grocery for lunch. I got a Nehi pop and a nickel's worth of cheese and crackers and sat on the front steps of the grocery with some of the farmers who were in town. Bill Estill lives in Middletown, Ohio. 78 In the winter there was a fire in the grate in the sitting room, and at Christmas time we decorated a cedar tree, cut from some hillside and brought back to the house. The tree was put in the parlor, where there was no fire, and it was chilly. Aunt Pauline was a schoolteacher, and there was a crate of oranges for her pupils when they stopped by. I remember one New Year's Eve in particular. I was allowed to stay up to see the New Year in. I remember the soft light of the kerosene lamps and shadows from the fire dancing on the walls and ceiling. I sat on the floor and leaned back against my father's chair, struggling against sleep. Dad-Dad was snoring, Aunt Annie rustled the pages ofher newspaper, and the clock slowly ticked the time away. Such good feelings-such peace and love and warmth-such security and contentment. Perhaps goingbackhome is a lotlikebeing inheaven. There Are Hard Stretches Down the Bald Each mountainside has places where I crawl on hands and feet as laurels twist in shade to end abruptly upon a cliff face. But most of the time it seems, these mountains and hills, the long ridges lie in easy rolling, undulant curves. I can feel movement and life as I sit to rest and watch the play of blue shadows upon the greens of pine and oak. The air is rich and clean with the breath of tumbling water, foot worked humus, and fairy smells of dew, moss, and fernbrake. For a...