Clifty Farm ~ My Favorite Country Ham

The first time I ever saw a Clifty Farm country ham was in 1982, at the Sunflower Food Store in Iuka, Mississippi. I was a meat merchandiser for Lewis Grocer of Indianola, MS, at the time. The market manager had a display of more than one hundred country hams. Based on my experience, I thought he’d made a big mistake ordering so many hams for Christmas. The meat departments of the much larger stores might need twenty or so country hams for Christmas.

“We’ll sell those and more,” he commented, laughing at my limited knowledge of his customer base.

That same Christmas, the store owner gave me one of the Clifty Farm hams, and after trying it, I’ve been sold on the product ever since.

Though I still work for the same company, I no longer advise market managers of ways to merchandise products and maximize sales. However, I still use the meat cutting skills I learned as a teen working in my dad’s store in the 1950s.

Each year for the past dozen or so years, I buy several country hams, Clifty Farm of course, take them home, remove the skin and bone, and slice them on a commercial meat slicer. The slices are then vacuum sealed in packs weighing approximately 22 ounces. The finished product makes nicely appreciated Christmas gifts for friends and family. I always tell the recipient, or include a note in the package, that the ham is a product of Clifty Farm.

Friends rave about the taste of Clifty Farm country ham. This year, a neighbor friend whom I had not previously gifted with country ham was greatly impressed.

“It’s the best ham I have eaten in a long time,” she wrote in an email.

At sixty-seven, I may not have many more ham-giving years in me, but as long as I am able, I’ll be buying Clifty Farm country hams, slicing them at home, and blessing others with them at Christmastime.

PS: The photos were made in my home to show the various steps I go through to slice and package these wonderful hams.

Step 1 ~ Removing the skin (pictured above)

Step 2 ~ Skin and Bone removed.

Step 3 ~ Slicing a country ham.

Step 4 ~ Top view of Slicing Process with Hobart slicer.

Step 5 ~ Slices on waxed paper awaiting packaging.

Step 6 ~ Vacuum sealing with FoodSaver.

Step 7 ~ Packs are ready for gift bags.

Article and photos by Wayne L. Carter/ all rights reserved.

Signs Of Christmas

‘Twas the eighteenth of December and all through the house signs of Christmas to come were all scattered about (surely the reader didn’t think I was going to rhyme a parody of “The Night Before Christmas”).

Presents lie colorfully wrapped under the tree, stockings are hung by the chimney with care, various boxes of Chex cereals are in the pantry awaiting their incorporation into the party treat known as “trash,” “nuts ‘n bolts,” or whatever name grabs a hold of you. Eggnog has been granted “staple” status and is inventoried as such.

There’s even an Advent calendar, a first for this household, to help us track the days leading up to Christmas Day. Set-abouts of all things Christmas are in abundance.

Poinsettia candles grace the dining room and a seasonal tablescape adds a cheery look to the dining table. This year, Barbara has added effervescent waxes, discs that are electrically warmed to release their aromas, to her collection of Christmas smells. Christmas Cards are piling up in the card basket, a sure sign that Christmas is near.

We’re in a holiday-baking lull but chocolate fudge, snicker doodles, and peanut butter cookies tempt the passerby. Baking and basting and cooking in general will kick into high gear about mid-week as preparations to feed twenty in our home on Christmas Day are readied.

Adding to all the above is the distinct smell of country ham, not so much the smell associated with it in a frying pan, though we have noted that aroma of late, but more along the lines of a smokehouse. It’s ham slicing season here in “the circle.”

Each year for the past several years, we buy a number of country hams which we de-bone, slice, and package for gifts to friends and family. It is a labor of love and a fairly inexpensive way to bestow a meaningful gift to others, and one that usually extends into the New Year.

Yes, the signs of Christmas in our home are numerous, indeed!
~ By Wayne Carter

A Plan For Christmas Dinner

This weekend, Barbara’s doing her Christmas Memories’ bit with our two youngest granddaughters, Merilese and Katherine. They arrived last night with their parents, Rayanne and Anson Adams. Our plans were to take the girls to a restaurant for dinner, go riding around town looking at Christmas lights, then today (Saturday) Barbara and the girls would bake cookies.

Already, our house has the smell of Christmas about it, and the baking hasn’t begun. But, the entire peel of a naval orange is simmering with cloves and cinnamon on the stovetop, filling the air with delicious smells.

Last night's dinner plans, were modified to include the girls’ parents (surprise), who decided they would have time to eat with us, since learning we were dining out, and still have time to get on with their Christmas shopping plans in Tupelo on their way back to Belmont. Our son, Jason, joined us, too (no surprise, as we ate at Kirk’s, one of his local favorites, but a notch or two below his very favorite, Mi Pueblo).

At one point during our dining experience last night, somewhere between the salad and the entrée, a conversational dry spell occurred. Instead, three cell phones were silently being used at our table of seven. Anson was Facebooking, and Rayanne and Jason were texting others. I reminded them there was a time when families gathered round the table, ate, and actually talked to one another. It was my sarcastic way to let them know family time is more important than the pursuit of personal pleasures.

We turn the TV off, or else mute it, during family mealtime gatherings in my house. It is my belief that family conversation takes precedent over any and all things on the boob tube. And, as our extended family will gather for Christmas Dinner at our house, I’m taking steps to insure the family-time infractions that occurred last night are not replicated on Christmas Day. If my cell-phone ‘neutralizer’ doesn’t get here in time to block all cellular transmissions inside our house, I’ll ask all cell phones be turned off during Christmas Dinner. Surely, no one will have technology withdrawals as a result. And surely, Christmas Dinner 2009 will be more memorable.
~ By Wayne Carter

Two Christmas Memories ~ 1948 and 1961

The following comprises the written account of my storytelling at Lunching With Books at the Pontotoc County Library at noon today. Were I still any good at memorization, what you will read would have been what I said. Since I did not memorize my talk, and I ad-libbed a lot, you'll have to settle for my writing voice and not my talking voice and the text which served as my notes. (It's not been proofed very thoroughly, so expect some missing words, misused words, comma splices, missing commas, and possibly a few typos.)

My name is Wayne Carter…my agent, Carl Wayne Hardeman of Collierville, Tennessee, told me to let everyone know I am the Associate Editor of The Bodock Post…that’s a monthly e-newsletter filled with nostalgic articles and written by ordinary folks like you and me. It’s free…you can subscribe and get the monthly updates emailed to you or you simply check our website near the end of every month for the next month’s issue. You can check us out at bodockpost.com and decide which you prefer.

Christmas is more than getting presents, though as a child, I didn’t think so. Christmas is, as you know, as much about giving as it is receiving. God made our salvation from sin possible by gifting us with his Son, Jesus, who would later give his life to atone for our sins. In fact, to experience the fullness that is Christmas, giving to others is a requirement.

Though I was born in Pontotoc, my Dad moved us away from here when I was two. We lived in four other cities and towns, over a period of nine years, before we moved back here in 1953.

One of the first memorable Christmases for me was the year I five or six years old. Dad was working for Kroger, at the time, and we were living in Iuka, MS. Our house was within walking distance of the downtown area and the school.

My older brother and I walked to school…sunshine, rain, sleet or snow…uphill both ways. (smile) If you know anything about Iuka, you know there’s a city park there with mineral springs. Well, our house was located a hundred yards or so from the park.

Our house had electricity but the principal source of heat was a coal heater that stood in our living room. It had “Warm Morning” embellished somewhere on it, and provided plenty of warmness on a cold winter’s morn.

Our heater had a flat-topped surface that could be utilized for cooking, and I remember a coffee pot sat there from time to time. However, other than for general heating purposes, I remember the heater was also used to parch raw peanuts. As a family, we’d shell a pound or so of raw peanuts; Mama would place a cast iron skillet with some grease in it on top of the heater. We’d add the peanuts, and she’d keep them stirred as they became hotter and hotter. The peanut husks would be almost black when they were done, but sprinkled with salt the parched peanuts were a treat we all enjoyed.

As Christmas approached, I remember going with Mama to a variety store, actually a 10-cent store, where she asked which toys I wanted Santa to bring. Of course, she steered me to the more affordable items, as was her custom, and offered excuses as to why they’d do just fine.

About a week before Christmas Day, a tree appeared in our living room. Most likely, it was one of the spruce trees sold by Kroger, but through the years, I remember a lot of cedars, so I’m not sure about the species of our Christmas tree. I feel certain there were some multi-colored lights and a number of ball shaped ornaments, also in various colors like red, gold, blue, and green. But it’s the silver icicles that are my most vivid memory…perhaps because I got to hang some of them…the icicles were thin slivers of aluminum foil that were about a foot long. They’ve fallen from favor over the years, but for many years no self-respecting Christmas Tree would be caught dead without them.

That Christmas, Santa brought me a few of the toys I had shown Mama I wanted at the ten-cent store, but he also brought a gift to be shared by my brother and me, an electric train set. It had enough track to configure in either a circle, oval or in a figure eight layout. It was made by Lionel and consisted of a locomotive and perhaps a handful of assorted cars and a caboose. Funny thing, though, once it was assembled and everything was running, we discovered Dad enjoyed playing with the train set almost as much as we did.

Of course, my brother and I tried to see how fast the train could take the curves, a practice that often resulted in a train wreck. So, we got lots of practice fitting the locomotive and the other cars back onto the HO gauge tracks.

The train set provided hours of entertainment for our family. We didn’t have toy villages, tunnels or mountainous terrain for our train, but we had our imagination. I remember we made our own hills by elevating the track with books and boxes or scraps of wood. We even staged train wrecks by placing small toy cars on the track for the train to run into.

Those of you who’ve been around electric train sets will be familiar with the odor that is generated, which is similar to the smell in the air after a thunderstorm passes through. Electric sparks in the air produce Oxygen atoms with an extra ion, which scientists call ozone. Because of the smells created by the electric train, I recount Santa’s visit that year as our Ozone Christmas.

The only other gift I recall that year was “the family” got a five-pound log of peppermint candy that seemed to last forever. I remember Mama or Daddy whacking the huge piece of candy with a knife handle to break away bite-sized portions. I learned that peppermint and saltine crackers go well together. If saltines are not available, try ice water and peppermint candy.

I’m thankful to have a this Christmas memory from my childhood as well as a few more that relate to gift receiving, but I would now like to share a Christmas memory of gift giving that occurred about fifteen years later.

I have a much younger brother, whom you may or may not know. He was born on a cold January night in 1956, the same year I was a ninth grader in Pontotoc City Schools. I well remember that night as it was the coldest night I’d ever spent in any house. With Mom in the hospital and Dad nearby, I got farmed out to some relatives. My aunt and uncle lived in a house between this building and the Red Rooster café. The bedroom Aunt Jo had me to bed-down in was an unheated room, and I thought I’d freeze before morning. Obviously, I didn’t.

My little brother, James, and yes I still call him my little brother even though standing toe to toe, we can look one another eye to eye, showed an early interest in mechanics, particularly how something worked. If a toy could be disassembled, he wanted to take it apart to see how it worked. By the time he was five years or six years old he’d become quite skilled at disassembly and was extraordinarily good at taking the wheels off any toy vehicle he was given.

As Christmas approached in 1961, I began to look for something special to buy my little brother. We had a Western Auto store back then and it was there I found a set of toy fire trucks. They were made of metal, made in the USA as I recall. The smaller of the two was a pumper truck that was about the size of shoebox. The other was a hook and ladder fire truck with the cab part and the ladder part being joined like a semi. The ladder would swivel and extend a foot or more to rescue occupants in an imaginary three-story building.

Together, the two trucks sold for the handsome price of $27.50, which was a lot of money at the time, especially when you consider minimum wage was about a dollar per hour. In fact, if you thrown in Inflation it would take $200.00 in today’s money. Certainly, it was more money than my parents could afford to spend on toy, but I had a part time job at the bowling alley…yeah we had a bowling alley in Pontotoc back then also…and I had saved some money for Christmas presents.

“Finally,” I thought, “I’ve found something that my little brother won’t be able to get the wheels off of!”

One pumper truck and one hook and ladder fire truck…$27.50. The face of a small child on Christmas morning who received a better gift than he or she was expecting…priceless. I don’t remember my little brother’s face that morning, but I do remember the excitement he showed and the joy he had playing endlessly with that set of fire trucks.

I wish I could recall my personal happiness in experienced in making his gift possible, but that too is quite vague. I know it must have been a good feeling, for through the years, I have sought to replicate it again and again by giving something to someone simply for the joy of doing it.

I’m able to report that my money, that $27.50 was well spent. James was unable to remove the wheels from the fire trucks, though he tried sorely to do so the first year he played with them. Neither could he get them off the second year; the toys were simply too well made.

But, he was a persistent little cuss, and around the fourth year of his having the fire trucks, he managed to find a way to remove their wheels. But, by then, it didn’t matter to me that he was able to; my Christmas joy had lasted far longer than I ever expected.

Sarah's Cedar

My only sister, Sarah Brown, lives down the street from me. Her street has a different name, but since my street merges right onto (left actually) hers, I consider her as living just down the street. Living as close as we do affords us many opportunities to do things together.

Twelve years ago, five of us, including Sarah, drove to Alabama to visit two dear friends, Richard and Jane Pennington, who, at that time, had just relocated from Greenville, Mississippi to Greensboro, Alabama. They had purchased an antebellum home and invited us over, during the holiday season of ’97. We had a wonderful meal in their home, were treated like royalty, practically given the key to the city, and before we left were presented with two small cedar trees that Richard dug from his yard.

Sarah, upon returning to Pontotoc, immediately set out hers in her back yard, but positioned it on the side that can be seen from the street. Mine died in a planter from lack of attention and indecision as to where in my small yard on 8th Street to plant it. Sarah’s has thrived. We’ve not measured its height, but it’s close to twenty feet tall, now.

For the past several years, Sarah has lit it with multicolored lights for the Christmas season. However, the weather turned wet and cold last December before Jason and I could get by to rework the lights that had been left up from prior years. This past summer, I got tired of hanging the loosely strung strands of lights with my lawnmower and, one day, pulled all the lights down. Some strands were unusable after my tugging. (I actually pulled the wires apart, removing the tangled web of wires from the branches.)

Afterwards, the cedar seemed much fuller, all to the delight of Sarah, who had worried about her skinny tree for at least the prior four years. I believe we had the tree so wrapped with lights that, as it tried to grow, it took on the look of one netted for sale on a tree lot.

When I had a tree service firm trim and remove a few of the trees in my yard, this summer, the owner of the service assured me he would use his bucket truck to help me get new lights strung on Sarah’s cedar. He later agreed to a specific timetable, the week of Thanksgiving. But, when he had not arrived by the weekend, Jason and I took matters into our own hands.

I have a pool pole, that when extended is about sixteen or so feet in length, so I fashioned a coat hanger in a v-shape and secured it to one end of the pole to use as an “arm extender” to help hang the lights higher than we could reach by standing in the bed of a pickup.

Sarah bought four thousand lights, but Jason and I decided we only needed about three thousand of those. After a couple of hours, we felt we had enough lights on the tree to be attractive and not so many as to overload the power supply. When Sarah voiced her approval, we stopped the work. Returning after dark, we saw a few holes, and after some minor adjustments decided to leave well enough alone.

Sarah’s cedar is not perfectly lit, but it’s a nice addition to the neighborhood. Her Montgomery neighbors have already told me how much they appreciate having the beautiful tree to look at from their back windows.

Everyone that lives in Dogwood Circle or on Ridgewood Drive must stop before leaving this subdivision. When they do, they can’t miss seeing Sarah’s cedar ablaze with multi-colored Christmas lights. At least one of these drivers has told me how much she and her girls have enjoyed the lighted tree off to their left.

If you like simplistic exterior illumination, a well-lit cedar is hard to beat. This one’s at 195 Highland, Pontotoc, if you care to drive by and see it. It’s making my Christmas merrier. Perhaps, it’ll do the same for you.

~ By Wayne L. Carter/
Associate Editor & Publisher
The Bodock Post.
http://www.bodockpost.com/

Lamar's Visit

I received an email from my New York uncle, Lamar Carter, in early August, informing my sister and me that he planned to visit relatives in Mississippi the last week of September stating he would give us a call in a few days, once we recovered from the shock. And, it was a shock, as neither my sister nor I expected him to ever again visit his Mississippi relatives.

Barbara and I had already made plans to attend a Senior Adult conference in Gatlinburg, TN, with a group from our church on the week of my uncle’s planned visit. We suggested an itinerary change to either the week prior or the week after our conference, but as my first cousin from Dallas, GA, which is near Atlanta, planned to be here to chauffer Lamar, the scheduled visit could not be changed to accommodate our conference plans. Instead, we agreed to open our home to them for their use in our absence, and we’d plan to enjoy their visit as our schedule permitted.

Upon learning of our uncle’s plans, my older brother, who lives in Florida, and his wife drove to Pontotoc for the occasion. As a result, Uncle Lamar was able to visit my two brothers (one lives in Pontotoc) as well as my sister, in the absence of my wife and me. Uncle Lamar and Rebecca also spent a day and a night in Falkner, MS, visiting relatives there and making stops in Ingomar and Thaxton to visit old home places. They learned what I already knew, that little remains to remind either of them of the land once familiar to them.

Farmsteads are gone from the countryside throughout the area, and while a sense of rural America remains, many of the old homes of neighbors are gone. Fields that once grew crops of cotton and corn are now in pastures, or woodlands. The old home place of Hayden and Rebecca Carter near Thaxton is void of the features once so familiar: the house, barn, corn crib, work shed, and outhouse. Even the croplands of corn, cotton, and sorghum are gone and have long since been converted to timberland and pasture.

In time, the remains of the driveway leading from the road to the house, as well as the old well, will also disappear, if not by natural forces, then perhaps by the hand of man. In spite of the lack of visual clues it’s good for us to return to the terrain of our youth, if only to elicit a memory. The Biblical writer admonished, “Life is a vapor,” and in context refers to the temporary nature of our earthly bodies but also applies to all of Nature.

Barbara and I were able to spend a few days with Uncle Lamar and my cousin Rebecca before they returned to New York and Atlanta, respectively. Lamar and Rebecca got most of their site-seeing accomplished while we were away, leaving us to enjoy family time with them, upon our return.

It’s difficult to describe the excitement a visit by Uncle Lamar generates today, and harder still to convey to others the thrill of his homecomings of yesteryear. Sara Sue and I agree that on a family level, a visit from Lamar is viewed in much the same way others might treat a visit from royalty or a president. Not only are we honored, we feel a sense of awe in his presence.

In the years before the Internet, books and magazines were the principal resources for vicariously seeing the world. And, if one wanted to learn more about a city or country, a set of encyclopedias were indispensable. My family could not afford encyclopedias, but we had something better. We had Uncle Lamar.

By the time I was a teenager, Lamar was working in Venezuela for Exxon (Standard Oil, at the time). His company sent him around the world on business trips. We never knew just how affluent he was, but in our minds we had a “rich uncle.” And, why wouldn’t we think so? He went to all the exotic places, made thousands of color slides, and could talk endlessly of his exploits. Surely, the richness of his knowledge exceeded that of our own, and his lifestyle incentivized Sara Sue and me to obtain a college degree.

Before color TV, Uncle Lamar had color slides, ranging from slum dwellings of the poor to the palatial homes of the rich in Caracas, Venezuela, from the ruins of the Maya and Aztec Civilizations to the streets of London and Southeast Asia. Not only were we treated to the a movie-like atmosphere of color slides projected on a screen set up in our parents’ home whenever Lamar visited, we also received spellbinding commentaries on the places and people in the pictures shown. It was better than a movie in that we could ask questions, live!

Today, a visit by Uncle Lamar remains a thrilling experience. Yes, there’s less talk of world travels, and on this visit there were no color slides, but a friend of Lamar’s is transferring thousands of them to DVDs. However, one can, at Lamar’s feet, relive the tragedy of 9/11 and hear a first-hand account by one who witnessed and photographed the horrific events of that day.

Lamar remains active with ICIS (International Council for Integrative Studies), and is a patron of the arts, particularly Broadway. Surgery to remove an intestinal tumor earlier this year has slowed his New York gait, but even with a cane, he’s remarkably quick in his daily, three-mile walks.

I doubt my octogenarian NYC uncle will get back to visit us in Mississippi, but I hope to see him in New York during our next visit.

~ By Wayne Carter

Farmers Helping Hawks

Today, I noticed Delta farmers were back in their fields trying to harvest their crops after the rain delay that ran most of September and into October. I witnessed combines in rice fields as I drove through the northern portions of Sunflower County along Hwy 49. I’m told the soybean crop has been heavily damaged by the wet conditions, and I’m sure the same could be said of cotton and corn.

Starting just south of Ruleville and extending almost to Parchman the roadway had what appeared to be an excessive amount of grain that either blew out of uncovered truck beds or else spilled through a not very tightly closed drop chute beneath one of the grain-hauling rigs.

I wasn’t sure if the grain was soybeans or corn, but the grains were too large to be wheat or rice. I wondered how much of the harvest was lost due to poorly maintained transportation equipment. If I were the farmer, watching bushels of my harvest being spilled along the roadside would have greatly depressed me.

Seeing the lost harvest of grain, I was also reminded of the significant amounts of cotton that is also lost in transporting it to a cotton gin. I have known industrious folks to pull a cotton sack down the side of a highway gathering cotton and reaping where they did not sow, but I’ve not heard of this in recent years. Anyway, I figure the Democrats have given away enough of the taxpayers money to the folks who used to try to scrape a living by gleaning or gathering along the roadside that they don’t have a work incentive anymore. Congress has plenty of varmints eager to rob Peter in order to pay Paul.

With huge quantities of grains being left on the roadsides for the field mice, the Delta can expect an overabundance of varmints this winter and plenty of food for the migratory birds of prey. I suppose the farmers’ loss is gain for the rodents and especially the hawks.

A Busy Month

September was the busiest month I’ve had all year, possibly the busiest in several years. With respect to my work, I drove/ rode to Kenosha, Wisconsin for a department meeting in the middle of the month and followed that by completing the third stage of migrating two retail stores from SUPERVALU’s wide area network to a VPN.

Upon returning from the business trip, I participated in a committee meeting to help plan a reunion for the 1960 graduating class of Pontotoc High School, and attended both a pre-game get-together of classmates at a local restaurant and the homecoming football game and watched the Pontotoc Warriors defeat the Amory Panthers.

I had appointments with two physicians and my periodontist, and somehow managed to fit in a week-long vacation which included a Senior Adult Conference in Gatlinburg, Tennessee and a trip to Vicksburg, Mississippi to participate in a “roast” honoring my good friend, Jim Hess, on the occasion of his 25th Anniversary of service at First Baptist, Vicksburg. Granted, the roast was October 1, but all the preparations and memorization of material was done in September. And, if that were not enough, my last surviving uncle, Lamar Carter, and Rebecca G. Franklin, a first cousin from Dallas, Georgia were at my house the week of my vacation.

Additionally, it was my month to write the introduction for the next issue of The Bodock Post ezine/ newsletter, which was but one part of assimilating the articles and publishing the issue on the 25th of the month.

The above referenced happenings do not include the normal activities of my day-to-day work or the late afternoon’s and weekend’s yard chores. If it’s true that one can expect to be busier in retirement than in the workforce, I intend to keep working.

A Friend That Will Be Greatly Missed

On July 30, Mr. Clyde Wilson, Editor/Owner of the Tombigbee Country Magazine stepped over into his final resting place. He was a friend to so many of us. Through his magazine he communicated to America some of the finest country messages, thoughts, recollections, and photos found anywhere.

He encouraged many of us “would be writers” to express ourselves and then published them in TCM. The magazine was a collection of stories from all different points of view, different topics, and from different sections of the country. Mr. Clyde published them for all fifty of these United States to enjoy.

We have truly lost a great editor and a fine gentleman.

Ralph Jones
Managing Editor
The Bodock Post
Pontotoc, Mississippi
editor@bodockpost.com

Bob Jackson ~ 1940 - 2009

The sixties were tumultuous times for many Americans and were especially trying for me. The sixties were filled with protests and demonstrations for “Civil Rights” characterizing the norm for much of the decade.

I graduated high school in 1960 and began attending junior college in Senatobia, Mississippi. After completing two years of college I enrolled at Ole Miss the same year James Meredith decided he wanted to become the first Black student to enroll in The University of Mississippi. A riot ensued.

Disillusioned by the use of U.S. Soldiers, National Guardsmen, and Federal Marshals to break the resistance of citizens and politicians who opposed desegregation of The University of Mississippi, plus the imposition of martial law on campus, and having personally run short of financial aid to continue my college education, I dropped out of school at the end of the first semester of my junior year at Ole Miss.

On a personal level, things could have been gloomier, though at the time I could not have imagined them so. I don’t recall who told me about a supermarket in Tupelo that was soon to open and was in need of meat cutters, but it was probably my dad, and it’s likely he was told this by a salesman visiting Dad’s grocery store.

With a grand opening slated just days away, the new Sunflower Food Store on West Main in Tupelo may have been desperate. I was hired on the spot, without prior supermarket experience. Oh, I knew how to cut meat as well as anyone, but my experience had been behind the service counter of my dad’s store in Pontotoc. Supermarkets and self-service meat departments were just evolving and would soon revolutionize the retail grocery industry.

Bob Jackson was the market manager of the Meat Department. His was a winning personality, and he appeared confident in his managerial position. Our introduction was mostly a “Hi-how-are-you,” and I was soon put to work trimming ham steaks.

The older gentleman that hired me was the store’s meat supervisor. His name was Charlie Muse, and he was Lewis Grocer Company’s expert on self-service meat, having helped inaugurate the concept in Virginia a few years earlier. I must have impressed both Bob and Mr. Charlie.

A few hours after I had been hired, Mr. Charlie pulled Bob and me aside and said to me, “You know what you’re doing, so we’re giving you a 25¢ per hour raise.”

It doesn’t sound like much today, but in 1963, it amounted to a 25% increase in pay from $1.00 per hour to $1.25 per hour.

I only worked one year with Bob Jackson before returning to Ole Miss, but in that time we became good friends. Bob was the bright spot in my otherwise drab year. Bob and his wife Mitzi had me over to their house for supper a few times when Bob and I worked together. It was in their home that I first enjoyed cracker salad, a concoction of fresh tomatoes, salad dressing, and crumbled crackers.

Bob and I kept in touch after I returned to college. I would stop by the Sunflower store to visit him whenever I was in Tupelo. When I asked him to be one of my groomsmen in 1967, he readily accepted. After Barbara and I married, we’d occasionally visit Bob and Mitzi in Tupelo.

As the years flew by, Bob changed jobs, going to work for Frito Lay as a route salesman, and for many years worked the area route that included Pontotoc. I saw Bob more frequently during his Frito Lay years, and while he’d changed jobs he never changed. He remains in my mind one of the most personable individuals I’ve ever known. Oh, it could be he thought I was funny looking, but whenever we ran into each other, he always had a smile and warm greeting for me. But, I saw him being that way with others, so maybe it wasn’t just me.

Bob’s son became a Christian counselor, whose work kept him in Tupelo for a few years but later required him to leave Tupelo and Mississippi altogether. Bob and Mitzi packed up and left with them. They wanted to be with their only child and with their grandchildren, and thought nothing of moving to Minnesota, Washington state, and later Colorado.

Fortunately, by this time in Bob’s life, he’d discovered the Internet, and we were able to stay in touch electronically. Bob and I exchanged a lot of emails through the years. I always enjoyed his perspective on political topics we were interested in, and I loved getting pictures of his family in his emailings.

Bob began having heart troubles, before he turned forty. His heart attacks and surgeries are too numerous for me to recount, and while I never questioned him about his faith, I have the impression that his oft-failing health contributed to him developing a closer walk with our Lord. After moving to Colorado Springs, Colorado, Bob became a volunteer for the Christian ministry, “Focus On The Family,” something he enjoyed immensely.

Bob and Mitzi moved back to Mississippi a few months ago, in part to be closer to other family members and in part because of the medical treatments needed. When I learned a few days ago that Bob was back in the hospital, I presumed he would survive another procedure, as such was his history. But, this time it wasn’t to be. Maybe, he was tired of fighting, or maybe his body simply gave out on him.

One thing I’m sure of is where he is today. And, if I know Bob Jackson, he’s having the time of his life now that the time of his life is over.

Home Renovation - The Bookcase Project

It seemed like it took the better part of the day to add the crown molding to our bookcases in the master bedroom. But, it probably only took about five hours.

My day began shortly after seven o’clock with me finishing up trimming the tall shrubs around our house. After that, Barbara and I mounded up most of the wood chips from a tree stump in the backyard that we had ground up last week, following getting a couple of trees removed the prior week. Yeah, I was surprised that my wife wanted to work in the yard.

The condition of our garage has been an embarrassment to both of us for too long, so once we were done with the wood chips we started piling boxes of odds and ends into the back of my truck to haul to the dump. Our painter had left the lids on the empty paint cans following our recent room-painting project so they had to be set aside for another day, as the lady at the landfill won’t allow sealed paint cans past the checkpoint. Yeah, I could have hidden them in plastic bags, but I didn’t.

We did stop by the hardware store to buy some wood stain to use on the crown molding that was delivered Friday afternoon to our then messy garage. We couldn’t get an exact match, but found something close enough and then drove on to the landfill to unload half a pickup load of “junk.”

Barbara and I stained the crown molding and the pieces we’d asked the lumber company to cut for use as book-stops. These are wooden slats about forty-eight inches long and 3/4 of an inch wide and perhaps a ¼ inch thick. Once that chore was complete, it was time for lunch.

Dot Bell came over after lunch to show us a new outfit she would be wearing Sunday evening at a reception in her daughter’s home in Germantown, TN. She also wanted to see what we’d done to the house during recent weeks of painting, flooring, carpet replacement, and rearranging. Dot liked what she saw, especially the living room which is now more conducive to sitting and visiting than before.

I had just left the house to go cut Sarah’s yard when Barbara phoned to let me know Keith Thomas was on his way over to miter the crown molding for us. Keith has all the “man toys” to make quick work of mitering, and he used a newly purchased electric brad gun to nail the crown molding in place. He even cut the book-stops to the lengths I needed and ripped off a couple of strips of plywood for me to add as a cover plate on top of the bookcases. He might have been at our house an hour, but I spent the next couple or so hours staining and installing the cover and the book-stops. Without Keith’s help, I would not have finished the bookcases Saturday.

I should mention the bookcases were custom built for our prior house on 8th Street, but we dismantled them and moved them to our present home, before we sold the 8th Street house. The late Oakley Hooker made them for us when we closed-in the carport in the early eighties. In our old house, the bookcases were on either side of the arched entrance inside the new den off the living room.

At our present location we had placed the bookcases in our master bedroom with one on either side of the doorway leading into the master bathroom. When our renovation project began, we had to dismantle the bookcases and cabinets once more. Rayanne suggested they might look good on a different wall as a side-beside unit.

Once the new carpeting was down, we started reassembling the bookcases as Rayanne had suggested. I was concerned that they might not mesh or marry well, but I was able to use my somewhat limited carpentry skills to line up the pieces rather nicely.

I was doing okay until I decided the upper portions need to be screwed together. The well-seasoned wood was giving my somewhat dull drill bit a run for its money. I don’t have a C-clamp anymore, so I was using one hand to pinch the sides together and pushing the drill with all my might using the other hand.

I failed to consider the drill would eventually push through both pieces of wood. A longer drill bit would have probably run my middle finger through and through, but the one I was using only got part of the way through the bone in the middle joint of my middle finger. Boy did that ever hurt!

The longest wood screw in my arsenal wasn’t long enough for the job, so I drilled a larger hole and inserted a bolt with a washer and nut. With everything as snug as possible, we set the bookcase against the wall and secured it. I don’t know who’ll move it next time, but I’m predicting it won’t be me.

Barbara is all smiles with the appearance of our newly ‘crowned’ bookcases, and the books-stops are a nice touch. And, my drilled-into finger is healing nicely. However, there’s a section close to the first joint that doesn’t have any feeling in it. Happily, I made it through the project without serious injury, which is yet another reason for smiles and thankfulness.

Impromptu Fun

The days of childhood, while seeming endless from a child's point of view, simply do not last long enough. Maybe, that's why God gave children so much energy in order for them to race from one activity to another.

My folks were not "into" lawn care, though my mother did like to have a flowering plant or two somewhere around the house. These were usually roses and hydrangeas or the jonquils of spring. But, watering the grass to keep it green was not something we did in our family.

As an adult, I've occasionally watered my lawn, though I've questioned my wisdom for doing so on more than one occasion. Still, there's something inviting about a water sprinkler. For children and the young at heart, a sprinkler in summer is an invitation to impromptu fun.

My present home has a lawn irrigation system that doesn't get a lot of use, but with my front lawn looking parched on the last Saturday of August, I turned on the sprinklers.

My two youngest grandchildren, Merilese and Katherine, came outside about the time I fired up zone 2 of the system and were captivated by the spider-action sprinklers. The gentle rotation of the streams of water proved too much for them and soon they were running with abandon through the spray.

It brought to mind the simpler days of my youth when I enjoyed spraying others and being sprayed by a water hose. However, as tempting as the sprinklers looked, this young at heart "old man" let the notion pass. I like my showers hot and soapy.

Tickled Pink

On January 02, 2008, I underwent a surgical procedure to have my esophagus stretched to relieve problems associated with swallowing food. For at least a decade, possibly two, I had experienced, on an occasional basis, food lodging in my esophagus during mealtime. I was not in danger of choking and was able to dislodge the food by forcing myself to vomit. I considered my situation more a nuisance than a health issue.

At the urging of my cardiologist, I saw another specialist who did the esophageal procedure and also prescribed a medication to prevent acid reflux, which I continue to take on a daily basis.

While I was happy to be able to swallow foods more comfortably than before the procedure, there was an undesirable side effect. I gained nine pounds during the next three months, presumably due to eating more food, a result of being able to swallow more rapidly than before which must have confused my brain into thinking I was less full than I really was.

I wanted to drop the extra pounds but found little willpower to do so until late last year, when I committed to a health coaching program sponsored by my health insurance provider. My goal was to start a walking regime for both cardiovascular and weight control reasons. The additional exercise had just begun to pay off with a pound lost here and there, when I developed a soreness issue with my feet that virtually shut down my walking program.

Disheartened, I decided to try eating less until I could get the foot problem resolved. I rocked along a month or two thinking I had a shoe problem, because the onset of foot pain seemed to be related to the purchase of new shoes. However, I discovered it didn’t matter which pair I wore, of the half-dozen pairs I routinely wear, they all hurt my feet.

Finally, after seeing a doctor a week ago, I learned the problem was not shoes. I had an inflammation called metatarsalgia, which was localized in the balls of my feet. A shot of cortisone in my arm removed the soreness in my feet within a few hours. And, my doctor sent me to the shoe store to buy a pair of New Balance running/ jogging shoes that purportedly will allow me to get back into a walking routine without the pain. While there, Cecil Fauver, owner of Progressive Shoe Store, sold me another pair of casual work shoes, Clarks’ Unstructured, which like the exercise shoes are extremely comfortable. But, then that may still be the effects of the cortisone dosage.

For most of this year, I’ve weighed at work approximately every two weeks. Slowly, the pounds have rolled off, and when I weighed today, I was pleasantly surprised to discover I had lost two pound, bringing my net loss to 9.5 pounds since last November. I’ve certainly not set any records for quick losses, but I’m tickled pink in having achieved my original goal and can’t wait to report the results to my health coach in a few weeks.

Now, that I’ve proved to myself I can intentionally lose weight, I intend to keep doing what I’ve been doing, supplemented with regular walking and hopefully get below 200 by this time next year. Wish me luck!

Sweet Sampling

On Sunday afternoon, August 02, 2009, a fund-raiser was held in the home of my niece, Felicia B. Pollard, on Washington Street in Pontotoc, Mississippi. Billed as a “Sweet Sampling – a jewelry trunk show and reception,” it truly was.

Linda Thomas, who just a few months ago took up jewelry making as a hobby, was kind enough to donate the proceeds from the sale of jewelry items to help the local affiliate of Habit for Humanity. More than a dozen homemade sweet treats, provided by Glenda Corley, tempted the eye and pleased the palates of all who sampled them. Glenda also donated fifteen loaves of homemade bread, all of which were sold in the two hour period of the event.

Because, my wife, Barbara Carter is Director of the local Habitat affiliate, I was asked by her and my niece to photograph the occasion. It’s hard not to be conspicuous in a house full of women, but I did my best. I explained to several of the ladies that my reason for being there was to photograph the event, but I also welcomed the opportunity to give a man’s opinion on how a particular piece of jewelry looked on the wearer. Oddly, no one took my offer seriously.

Total receipts for the afternoon, including personal donations, totaled more than thirteen hundred fifty dollars. A second showing is being planned for the approaching Holiday Season.

If you’d care to view the photographs I took, click on this link, http://rrnews.org/Sweet_Sampling.