Last time, I left you with a story that wasn't very nice and neither was it very Christian. That is probably why I still remember it so well. Probably a lot of us have encounters that we would like to have a do-over for. We can't go back and undo that event with Jerry, but we do know God's forgiveness. From that experience I have been determined to love others as I know God has loved and forgiven me. In that respect, I did get a do-over.
Gin and I weren't complete tomboys and mischievous little preacher's kids; we could also be little angels when called for.
Gin did ask for and got a holster and two play pistols for Christmas one year. I asked for and got a paint-by-number set. We were both thrilled, but I did secretly wish I had thought about asking for guns instead.
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| And this is how close we lived to the back of the church. Told you! |
I particularly enjoyed playing dress up and our Aunt Thyra helped feed my fancy for pretty shoes. Obviously at this point, pattern matching wasn't a big deal but wearing lipstick and a broach on a swimsuit top was.
Being a small community where everyone knew each other - if not related - there was always someone hosting a gathering. Even though we were not a Cajun community, there were traditions that had been carried down for generations. Mardi Gras, was always the biggest community gathering. Let me tell you about one.
Early in the morning of Fat Tuesday, always a holiday, the parents met at the school lunch room near our house. While the parents began cooking salads, rice, gumbos and other Cajun dishes, we kids would get on a trailer pulled by someone's tractor and go throughout the rural community asking for donations. The routine went something like this: We would pull up to someone's house and we kids would start singing "Tont', tont' the Mardi Gras, give us a chicken and we'll go home." This would be repeated over and over while the homeowner went to the yard, got a chicken, rung its neck, put it into a feed sack and gave it to the driver, or give us whatever they could. Then we went to another country home and repeated the process. I now realize that it was probably the same people donating every year and were ready for us. After it was determined we had enough, we would go back to the school where there were pots of hot water ready for plucking and cleaning the chickens before adding them to various pots of roux.
One year, someone had caught a huge logger head turtle that morning and used the meat to make the most delicious turtle sauce piquante. That was the first and last time I recall eating turtle. For you non-Louisiana folks sauce piquante is a spicy, tomato-based stew made with any type of meat; the operative word being spicy.
There weren't any floats or parades, no one hollering to be thrown beads and certainly no drunks at our celebrations. Of course, ours was not the Cajun way of celebrating Mardi Gras, but after all, these folks weren't Cajuns.
In 1955 we went into a building campaign to construct a new church building that would meet the needs of our people and the community. It was a large undertaking that was done in phases and lasted several years. I am going to tell you more about this church in a future post, but let me give you a bit of information here.
The Calvary Baptist Church was established in 1812 and still is the oldest Baptist Church still in existence west of the Mississippi River. There was one established earlier further south, but its doors were closed a short time later.
This is the church that was there when we moved to Chicot. It looked very much as a lot of country churches did in that era except for having the original sills and flooring from the one built in 1845.
Dad did the floor plan and a large part of the actual building of the new church. The educational unit was first and as money was available the sanctuary was added. Eventually the old church that had stood in front of our house since 1939 and where both Gin and I had accepted Jesus as our Savior and were baptized was torn down.
Let me share another personal childhood story relating to this.
A large limb on the enormous ancient oak in our back yard is where our rope swing was attached. We could do all sorts of tricks on that piece of smooth wood tied to the end of the rope. We were regular acrobats. It was decided with some of our friends, to create an acrobat performance for our parents. Since our church was trying to raise funds to complete our new building, we agreed to charge an entrance fee with the proceeds going to the fund. We may have even envisioned there being a plaque on the wall one day acknowledging our generous contribution.
Each of us worked until we perfected our best trick(s). All the parents showed up and pretended to be aghast at the talent of each performer and paid the ticket charge - maybe 25 cents or whatever the parents could afford. Of course Mother had refreshments afterward and the show was a big success. Alas, no plaque.
Another tree story but it's mostly a Daddy story:
Our house was surrounded by large oak trees and we loved to climb and pretend. There was one particular tall tree in the yard that had no low-hanging branches like the others did. I wanted to climb it but there was nothing to hold on to, so Dad put a ladder against it so I could reach the lowest branch. Then he created a large disk that he had marked with navigational dials and buttons. He nailed it to the tree trunk above a sturdy limb so it would turn. He told us "Now you can steer your plane where ever you want to go." It even had a reverse - the first of its kind. And fly we did!
For complete transparency and because it is still a fun memory for Gin, I am going to share this story. We had one of those '50's contemporary chairs that had a metal frame with a canvas seat. It was a favorite chair because we could just curl up in it.
Perhaps it was Gin's turn to sit in it, I don't remember, but she evidently was mad at me. Now understand I was the older and dominating sister; she was the middle sweet and pleaser child. Anyway, she crawled around the room unseen and once under the chair, stuck a pin through the cloth and into my behind. We were never allowed to use the word "butt" so I won't start now, but that's where the pin was embedded. I do definitely recall the shock, not to mention the pain.
Of course once Gin got out from under the chair and I recovered, there was a wild bout of chasing and no doubt high pitched screaming around the house until the adults in charge put a stop to it. It wasn't funny to me for a very long time because it meant I had been had. But this and one other occasion, let me know Gin was no longer going to put up with her big sister's domination. Good for her!
In June of 1957, our Lazenby cousins, Jerry and Mike made their first trip to visit us. We had a great time exploring the woods, playing games and having casting rod competitions. Mom and Dad had planned a trip to the Gulf Coast in Cameron, La. for the 27th so we could all see a beach for the first time. Mother had made a huge basket of prepared food to last us for the day. Little did we know that one of the deadliest hurricanes in U.S. history was headed to the very location we had planned to be on that exact day. Without the ability to forecast such storms back then, we knew nothing about Hurricane Audrey until it hit the Louisiana coast and quickly moved over us with 125 mph winds and torrential rains. Over 400 lives were lost and millions of dollars of damage done. Cameron was completely destroyed.
It could have been a very frightening time without power and trees and limbs falling all around us, but Mother and Daddy kept us entertained and well fed from the picnic basket. I feel sure Mike and Jerry's parents were more alarmed than we were.
We had an interesting story happen during the time immediately following the hurricane that tells you a lot about our parents and especially mother.
Because of the massive flooding as a result of the torrential rains, there were many, many people in our area without a place to live. Dad and many of the men in our community used their boats for days trying to rescue as many as possible. Daddy brought home an elderly couple who gave us something to talk about for years.
They were very rural and, let's just say uncouth. At night we would sit around lanterns and candles because we still had no power, and listen to them talk about their life which was fascinating for us girls. The problem was, the man dipped snuff and would spit on the floor. It is probably good to inform you here that our mother was an immaculate housekeeper. Every time he would spit, Gin and I would look at mother to see her reaction.
We couldn't believe she didn't kick him out of the house the first time it happened. She sure would have had some stiff discipline for us if we had done something like that. She did nothing! Until they went to bed. Then we saw her disgust and all of us stayed up scrubbing the entire hardwood floor and furniture until it shone and smelled like whatever disinfectant was available in those days.
Thankfully he spent the daytime outside, but the next night she politely handed him a container in which to spit. I'm not sure he had ever had to do this before. This continued until they were able to return home and it could not have been soon enough for Gin and me. Just know though that the entire house was cleaned and sterilized from top to bottom the minute they were gone.
This story and oh so many more, tell you about our parent's heart. They loved people and when they saw a need they did what they could to meet it. This also meant taking in a local teenage girl who was living in an abusive home. Ethel lived with us all of her senior year in high school and became our big sister. She was considered part of our family until her death. Gin and I still think of her with great fondness.
The summer before I entered the eighth grade, I was invited by some friends to a boy/girl party. I had already attended one where some of the kids played a new game, "Spin-the-Bottle." This was all new stuff to me, but I had a pretty good feeling that would be the game of choice for this party too. I also knew there would be dancing, which we did not do. I chose not to share all of this when I asked permission to attend. Some things you don't have to tell your parents; they just know. Needless to say, I was upset at being told I couldn't go and I feel sure there was a bit of drama. When Dad saw how upset I was, he explained that there were some things young girls just didn't need to do, but if I wanted to dance, he'd be my partner. He put on a record and waltzed me all around the house because neither of us knew how to jitterbug. Besides, we didn't have a jitterbug record in the house. Oh how I loved that man. That was our daddy.
In 1949, we were emigrants from the northern part of the state. In 1958, almost ten years later, we belonged to the south central part of Louisiana. Bayou Chicot had become both home and family and had provided security, freedom to grow and explore in so many ways. We had not only grown numerically, but bonded as a little family in that safe place. However, God had more to teach and doors to open.
In December of that year, 1958, Dad accepted the call to pastor Riverview Baptist Church. It was located north of us and just east of Alexandria, La, in the center of the state. We moved during the Christmas holidays. I was in the 8th grade, Gin the sixth, and Sarah yet to start. I will tell you all about that move in the next edition.
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