Tag Archives: Ashland Alabama

STORM PIT APOCALYPSE

tornado-2

“I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm.”  Psalm 55:8”

Does anyone remember the heyday of the storm pit?  Yes, in “tornado alley” (a swath stretching from Oklahoma to Georgia) the storm pit was a common sight, especially between the mid-1930’s and the mid-1960’s.  Around here they were normally dug into the side of a small hill, usually consisting of about six steps descending down into a 8′ x 8′ cinderblock-walled room.  Around the edge of the room were wooden benches, or sometimes a collection of ladder back chairs with cane-woven seats.    All storm pits had plenty of candles, matches, and perhaps a kerosene lamp.  Moms and Dads everywhere kept their eyes to the sky during stormy seasons of the year–  storm pits  needed to be used, and used often.

Continue reading STORM PIT APOCALYPSE

THE GREAT BATTLE OF BREWER’S CORNFIELD

more-stalksThe coming of Autumn usually reminds me of one of the great military conflicts in history– the Great Battle of Brewer’s Cornfield.  No, neither Washington or Lee ever performed the amazing feat that two eleven-year-old boys did that fateful day in 1967.  Just behind the Sims house in Ashland stood a half-acre of corn owned by Thurmon Brewer– yes, the same Mr. Brewer that my blog readers met in a previous post (see “Speaking in Cursive,” May 2,2016).

The time was mid-November and the corn stalks were already brown and dry, waving in the fall wind like zombies arranged in neat death rows.  It didn’t take long for eleven-year-old imaginations to see the field as an entire legion of cruel Roman soldiers, marching shoulder to shoulder with plans to crush the women and children crouched within the walls of Fort Sims.  The only thing standing between the Legion of Death and victory was an alliance of two brave boys– Mark Sims and Walt Hill— protectors of all things good and decent.

Continue reading THE GREAT BATTLE OF BREWER’S CORNFIELD

“LOVE” RULES

peace-and-loveThe year was 1972.  Nixon was president, the Vietnam war was raging, and the evening television news was all about student unrest.  It seemed like rebelling against all manner of authority was in the air.  Some did it through music and strange wardrobe choices.  Others rebelled through drug use and the rejection of moral norms.  My parents were quite strict, so I had lots of limits on expressing personal rebellion.  Dad was a World War 2 vet.  Rebellion against authority wasn’t something that went down smoothly in the Sims home.  But, alas,  I found a way to do it.   I did it, primarily, by running my mouth.

Continue reading “LOVE” RULES

BIRTHDAYS AND BIG DAYS AT MAMA SIMS’ HOUSE

picture 3
Mama Sims

I always rolled my eyes when I heard my parents and grandparents talk about the “good ole days.”  They talked fondly about having to use outhouses in the freezing cold, and walking three miles to school every morning.  What’s up with that?  It’s like the grass was always greener during the Great Depression.  Whew!  That was way before air conditioning.  No, thank you.  But now that I am a parent and grandparent, I find myself doing the same thing, especially when I get together with my siblings and cousins.  How we idolize those magical days of our past!  Maybe the reason the good ole days are so nostalgic to us is because we are only able to touch them again in our memories.

I say I miss those days,  but when I think about it, they weren’t all so wonderful– at least not when I lived them the first time.  Good ole days are always better re-lived that first lived.  When nostalgia hits me, my mind especially takes me back to those birthdays and big days we spent at Mama Sims’ house.  There were two birthdays that were more important to us than those belonging to Washington or Lincoln– Mama Sims’ birthday, and Little Grandmaw’s birthday.

Continue reading BIRTHDAYS AND BIG DAYS AT MAMA SIMS’ HOUSE

MY AUGUST SUNSHINE

Picture 1The first time I met her I felt her warmth. Like a day with bright sunshine, everything felt better.  It was the last night of Samford University’s campus ministries retreat in August of 1975.  I married Peggy Skinner exactly three years later– August 22, 1978.

Our first meeting was all small talk in the midst of a dozen or more friends.  I’m not sure she noticed me, but I sure remember her and the way her eyes sparkled.  They still do.  We had all gathered just inside the entrance of the retreat lodge, about to make our way to a typical late night “Kumbaya” bonfire.  She was standing there with her older brother Larry who towered over her like a personal bodyguard– making sure she made friends, but keeping any fast moving guys at arms length just by the look on his face.  My roommate and closest friend, Andy, spoke a little Spanish– and practiced it on Peggy and Larry.  She spoke back to him in Spanish.  How I wished I could speak Spanish that day!

Continue reading MY AUGUST SUNSHINE