Grandpa

One afternoon last week, I was out riding the dirt roads late in the evening. I do this quite often as I am always in search of photographic opportunities. It is also where I find great peace, solitude and I am connected to God even more so out on these old roads. I was listening to some pretty good music as well. I love music. I love music that contains lyrics that cause me to stop and really look inward, music that makes me feel. I was listening to a shuffle on my favorite music provider via the internet. A song came on. I stopped the truck right there. The sun was putting on a brilliant ending to the day. The Judd’s were singing “Grandpa” live on The David Letterman Show. The year was 1986 and they were brand new to the music industry, but they came loaded with talent and potential which ultimately led them to great success. With the opening line of the song, the tears began to roll down my face and the memories flooded my conscious train of thought.

I was recalling a wonderful childhood spent with my grandpa. Rabbit hunting. Squirrel hunting. Fishing. Catching those red fins in the creek. The tears were not born from sadness, but rather from utter thankfulness for the man who meant so much to me. He and my Granny lived in Herndon, adjacent to the railroad tracks. We spent countless hours in the fall, walking down those tracks, looking for rabbits hiding in the briars. Grandpa could spot them instantly; despite the fact they were hidden from the casual observer. He taught me to some degree, but I could never spot them the way he could. We built rabbit boxes and caught lots of rabbits in them. Building and using rabbit boxes has all but been forgotten these days. They worked like a charm! I rode the bus that my granny drove to school every day. One of my parents would take my brother and I to Herndon every day to catch that old “Bluebird” and ride to Millen to attend school. I checked rabbit boxes every morning before school. It was always a glorious adventure! We went squirrel hunting as well. Grandpa taught me to mimmick the sounds of a squirrel with my mouth. We would sit under a big oak tree and start “calling” and the squirrels, as if by magic would appear.

Our great reward was Granny cooking those rabbits and squirrels. She would just fry the young, tender ones. The older, tougher ones she would parboil until tender, then batter and fry. Then she would make gravy and put ‘em on in that gravy and cook ‘em down. There was rice or grits and biscuits. Cathead biscuits made from scratch and baked to perfection. When the real groceries had been eaten, Grandpa would mix butter and cane syrup in his plate and begin dragging a biscuit through that mixture. Sometimes it required more syrup and butter and sometimes, another biscuit. Those were the days!

Grandpa was from Winder, Ga. He worked for the DOT, known as GDOT these days. He was on what was called “The Centerline Crew”. They painted the lines all over the state of Georgia. My Granny was working in Swainsboro at Key’s Cafe. They met and a romance ensued. They were married and lived in Winder for a time. Eventually, they moved to Jenkins County and lived in a couple different spots until they settled in Herndon where they both lived until their respective deaths. All those years of spraying paint ultimately led to his demise. Back then the paint contained lead, and it basically destroyed his lungs. I was in high school when he died. I remember clearly the day he died because our assistant principal, who was not only a relative, but lived in Herndon as well, came to the classroom I was in and broke the news to me. I cried like a baby……

For many years Granny and Grandpa ran a store in Herndon. The store building, as they called it, was attached to the house, it faced out to the road, replete with a flowing well out front. They sold groceries, dry goods and of course fishing supplies. The store had long been closed by the time I came along but still had a fair amount of merchandise left sitting on those old wooden shelves. Old reels and fishing poles. Level-wind baitcasting reels. Shysters, which were spinners that closely resembled Rooster Tails that we still use today. That old store building offered endless hours of entertainment for my cousins, along with my brother and I.

Grandpa had a 1968 Chevrolet truck. Short bed. Six-cylinders with a three speed on the tree. It was his most prized position with exception only to his beloved single-barrel Stevens .410 shotgun. We went on fishing excursions in that old truck. Rode to dove shoots in it. I cut my teeth shooting that old .410 at doves and rabbits and squirrels. It was a grand existence for a young boy who yearned to be out hunting and fishing. My Grandpa facilitated my heartfelt desires to be at one with nature.

There are so many things that he did for me, that even now, I continue to be thankful for. Grandpa could be somewhat of a stern man, he did not put up with much foolishness, but he loved us all with a fierceness that continues to be unmatched. I have shared a picture of the old sign that once adorned the front of that old store building, right above the double front doors. It is old and worn, almost illegible, but it reads “Stover’s Gro.” Although that sign has become old and faded, the memories of a glorious childhood spent at the feet of my grandpa has not weathered a bit. Nor has the love that we shared and that love that we shared will never fade.