Way back in the days before television or things tech worthy and time wasting, we had free and joyful time for things like stalking the best chinquapin trees that had a possibility for the best crop, best persimmon, best walnuts, best pecans, best quince, best rows of blue ribbon sugarcane.
The location stalking was done on these Fall Sunday afternoons. All these things except blue ribbon sugarcane and quince would be taken for the simple joys of childhood sometime after the first frosty days in November.
Blue ribbon sugarcane and quince were taken in October before the first frost bite could soured these delicious treats.
Frost was needed to shrivel and sweeten the persimmons. The best tree was located at the back of the chicken yard.
No problem with persimmon hunting. We'd get to them a few days before Thanksgiving.
Oh my goodness, sweet mushy persimmons.
Our plans were made on Sunday morning during church time.
We ate dinner as fast as possible, washed the dishes and headed out to meet the others for the hunt, usually at the last house heading south.
Fences were climbed, dungrees were snagged, younger siblings were dragged over and and pinched for good measure. Tempers flared...........
Whinning commenced.
The hunt was on.
We first went to the quince tree that grew beside the old abandoned cattle dip vat on "Blue Head's" place. Those globes of mouth puckering fruits were rare and good for chewing the tart juices before spitting the pulp out on each other in attempts to cause a friendly fight.
We laughed, we slapped, we ran ahead, we rolled in the fallow fields of thick sagebrush.
God himself must surely have been pleased with such a show of joy.
Then we circled to the sugarcane patch to choose several stalks of the prized blue ribbon for chewing the joints as the sweet juices ran down our chins, hands and arms to drip onto our sleeves and shirt fronts.
Sweet juices caused fingers to stick together and gather dirt and debris.
Younger sibling faces showed dirty juice rivlets.
The younger, the more whining.
The more whining, the more shouting............
"Shut your mouth"!
"I can't chew it, it too big".
"Just suck it and shut yo mouf".
" Tote me, my legs hurt".
"I told you not to come".
"Huh, huh, huh"!
"Okay, get on my sholders and don't hold on to my hair".
" Stop it, Im'ma slap you".
" Take you hands off my eyes".
" Get down and walk, I told you".
"Huh, huh, huh........................wait.............for..........me".
"Bye"!
"COME..........................ON"!
Foot stomp!
At the back of the "Old Field" was where we knew to look for the two chinquapin trees. A close inspection showed some of the burrs had started to release the little nuts. We bit into the hull to find a plump fleshy chinquapin that needed to cure for a few more days to be as delicious as possible.
"A few more weeks and they will be really good'.
"Yep, if we beat the squirrels and deer".
"Wild hogs like 'em too".
"Ain't no wild hogs round here, Mr. Eric takes care of them".
" We got to get back before Thanksgiving though".
"Yep"!
"Yes, Grandma wants some walnuts for her cakes at Thanksgiving and Christmas".
" C'mon, lets go check the walnut trees".
More running, more slapping, more whinning, more threatening, so much fun in our persuit of fun.
The walnut trees were growing near the branch at the edge of the "Wiley and Riley" bungalow's. All leaning, missing shingles and shutters hanging by rusting henges.....a lonely place that once had purpose and filled with people from long ago.
We sit on the sagegrass and carpet grass patches to share stories from our parents about these brothers that owned the first battery powered radio in the community.
The winds pick up and blows a feeling of sadness and wondering across us.
" Oh, I feel a hain't ".
" Beat you to the branch".
" You cheated because you started before we stood up".
The little branch with moss covered banks gurgled with the coldest, most delicious pristine water in all of Escambia County Alabama.
" Cup your hands like this to hold some".
" That water is so cold".
"Yep, it comes right out of the gound just under that old magnolia.".
"Man I was thursty".
" My britches legs are wet now".
"Mama gon be mad bout' yo shoes getting all soggy".
We check the walnuts.
They are falling and the greenish/brownish hulls still cling tight.
"Be a while longer before they are ready".
" I can't even crack this'un with these iron rocks".
"Ain't ready yet fool".
" Daddy better not hear you even call a dog a fool".
