The Summer of the Gypsies

¡^ The Summer of the Gypsies I * by J. Marshall Porter Many caravans of Gypsies used to stop and spend a few days and nights in early spring or late fall at the little half moon shaped pasture at the lower end of our farm while I was growing up. Someone had named the place Gypsy Grove long before my time. The land leading to our farm bordered the grove on one side, and a good lasting stream of pure mountain water meandered around the other border. The scattered locust and walnut trees offered comfortable shade during the hot summers. Other caravans that stopped for only a few days were traveling either north or south, and we never learned to know them. But when Abe Smith and his tribe came around mid April, they ususally stayed at the Grove all summer—"Until the wild geese go," Abe used to say. "The Grove has been a haven for roving Gypsies for a hundred years," he would say. If anyone would ask him how he knew, he would smile wisely showing his gold crowned teeth between widely parted lips and stretch his inky black moustache into a straight Une, and say, "Only the Gypsies know." I think that if Abe would have revealed the Gypsy sign of safe, courteous camping grounds to any non-Gypsy, he would have told my father, because Abe had a genuine affection for him and his family... but 6 % Father never asked him. Father always gave Abe and other traveling tribes permission to camp in the Grove, and he allowed them to get their camp firewood from his woods. But in those days, anyone who befriended Gypsies was likely to incur contempt, if not the enmity of many of the neighbors. It was always a heyday for the sneak thieves of our neighborhood when the Gypsies were camped at the Grove and all the petty thievery could be blamed on them. Not that any of the Gypsies were entirely above stealing a 'stray' chicken or two, or maybe digging a few hills of someone's potatoes when they were hungry... but they never raided coops and stole chickens by the dozen to sell as some of the thieves did when they could throw suspicion on the Gypsies. My father believed that all human beings were God's children, and allowing Gypsies to camp at the Grove seemed a little kindness he could do to help. Father was like that. He would always chance hurting himself to help anyone. Abe Smith and his wife Sari were the undisputed rulers of their band, or tribe. Dark and swarthy, Abe's tight fitting black satin breeches and shirt, the sash he wore for a belt gave him the appearance of a Spanish bullfighter. He wore a black Mexican style hat, and always, black boots. He was deathly afraid of the occasional copperhead that crawled into the camp... though many of the other members of the tribe went barefoot all summer. Sari, the Matriarch, looked like an Indian squaw, with her straight, coarse black hair. Her marital cap, or head covering was a many colored bandana with a knot tied in each of the corners. Her squat body was as round as a barrel, and as devoid of feminine form except for her skirt band which pulled her middle in just a little. Gypsy women's skirts never allowed their ankles to show. I was thirteen years old when Abe Smith and his Tribe spent their first summer at Gypsy Grove. Counting sons, sons-in-law and their wives and children, there were twenty-two persons who lived in the five wagons and three tents. The wagons were sturdy, with wheels painted a bright yellow, and always washed clean. Gaudy colored striped canvas supported by arched bows covered the wagons that served as sleeping quarters for part of the members. Others slept in the tents. I learned to know all the members of the tribe, but Abe's youngest son, AuIi, who was near my age, became my close companion. AuIi was typically Gypsy, with his dusky skin, long, carelessly tousled jet black hair. White teeth gleaming through thin Ups ever ready...