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Ramblings about the world and myself |
I have never really been able to write every day. I probably won't be able to do it now. I would like to write on a more regular basis. This blog is an attempt to develop a more regular writing habit. I can't guarantee an entry every day.
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| This story is based on a tale from Shell Creek Tennessee, where I was raised. It is about Uncle Virgil, a locally famous character who lived there. I changed his name to protect the guilty. I didn’t create the story. It is from the oral tradition. This is my version of it. I really don’t know if there is any truth to it. Uncle Virgil really did live on Shell Creek. Uncle Virgil was a smart man. He was known as a talented weather witch. Weather witches aren’t witches in the sense of someone who uses magic. Weather witches can forecast the weather by reading the signs. For example, if the woolly worms are more black than brown, there will be a lot of snow during the coming winter. If the yellow jackets nest in the ground and not in the trees, look for a very cold winter. Uncle Virgil was respected for his weather skills. He was looked down on for his love of moonshine. Uncle Virgil took his white liquor seriously. He loved it more than he loved himself. He was never without a quart. When he had a quart, he had his nose in the jar. Sometimes he would lay drunk for a week or longer. One Saturday Uncle Virgil was up in the New Ground drinking. He didn’t want to go home and listen to his wife. She nagged him unmercifully when he was drunk. Since he was drunk most of the time, nagging was like a full time job for her. Uncle Virgil got an early start that day. Along about four o’clock he finished off his first quart and opened the second one. He found a comfortable spot to lay down on a flat rock behind a brush pile. He took a couple more good slugs and passed out. Three of the local teenagers were walking around through the woods and fields. They came upon Virgil. These three had a vicious sense of humor. It wasn’t a good thing for them to find you passed out. George, the ringleader, suggested that they have some fun out of old Uncle Virgil. They rearranged the dry brush around Virgil in a big circle and lit it on fire. It wasn’t close enough to him to burn him. They weren’t that mean. It was close enough for him to feel the heat, and for the smoke to get in his eyes and lungs. The fire was making Virgil uncomfortable enough that he woke up. He raised up coughing and gagging. “What in God's green Earth is going on?" He asked. He wiped the tears from the smoke out of his eyes and got a look at the flames. Understanding crept into his soul. “Oh.” He said. “Dead and in Hell. Just as I expected!” |
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