Shaking the Tree, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  It was just past six in the morning when I made it to the dusty hilltop near our farm. Just to the left was the dirt lane where all the workers lived. The grove was off to the right, just a few hundred yards away.

  The first house on the lane belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Malloy. As far as I know, they had lived there most of their lives. Mom and Dad never said too much about the folks that lived on the lane and neither did Grandpa but the cotton fields and the pecan grove wouldn’t be there without them.

  The houses on the lane were nothing more than old shanty homes. Over the years as the farm expanded, more and more workers were needed. One year, Grandpa decided to construct a row of living quarters for the workers to live in. They were very small and plain but they did have running water and plumbing. Other than that, there was nothing special about the homes. They were basically four walls and roof. At the time, it was probably the least Grandpa could do for the hired help, considering the racial tensions that were so visible those days. I never understood clearly what segregation was back then. I just thought the workers wanted to live there. I was pretty naive back then.

  There was one lone pecan tree that wasn’t part of the grove. It stood alone at the top of the hill that overlooked the grove. It was probably the biggest of them too. The tree reached high into the sky and its branches spread high and wide all around it, making it an excellent source of shade on a hot sunny day. From its sheer size, I gathered that it was much older than the others in the grove.

  The sun had just crept over the horizon when I reached the tree. As I approached it, I saw an old colored man sitting on the ground leaning against its trunk with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms folded in his lap. His cap was pulled over his eyes so I tried to be as quiet as possible. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything.

  I looked around, wondering what to do, trying to decide whether to stay or to keep heading down to the grove. For a split second, I nearly turned around and ran home but I heard a voice behind me.

  “We gonna get down there and work today or not?” the man asked, with his head still down.

  “Mr. Malloy?” I asked with a bit of hesitation.

  “Ain’t nobody ‘round here call me that. You don’t need to neither,” he responded. He slowly lifted his cap and finally looked at me. He smiled broadly. “Just call me Sooter.”

  He rolled onto one knee and used the tree to push himself to his feet. Patting the dust from his knees, he fixed his cap squarely on his nearly bald head.

  “You must be Nick,” he said extending his hand.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Sooter,” I said, politely shaking his hand. I noticed right away how rough his hands were, most likely from his years of hard work.

  “No, not Mr. Sooter. Just plain ol’ Sooter will do,” he corrected me.

  “Oh, okay. It’s nice to know you.”

  “Likewise,” he replied. He looked at the lunch box dangling at my side. “You gots yo lunch? Good. Well, let’s get goin’. Them trees ain’t gonna shake themselves.”

  Sooter started towards the grove and I hurried to catch up. We walked past the wooden sign that read Havens Trees and into a thick grove of pecan trees, soon running into a small group of men gathered around a small tractor. Some of the men were uncoiling a long rope and others were unloading tarps from a nearby trailer. Amongst all the workers I noticed a small colored boy working feverishly. He couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old, but he worked without saying a word and looked as though he had been working the grove for years. I later learned that the little boys name was Theo. All the other men just called him Little Theo. He may have been little, but he worked like the dickens. I never knew why they called him by that nickname. I just assumed he was just small for his age.

  An old man with a scraggly beard approached us. He wore a beaten up straw hat and dusty brown overalls. He smiled broadly, revealing only a few teeth in his grin. His name was Bouriette. Nobody really knew what his first name was. Everybody just knew him as Bouriette. Some said he came to Clara decades ago from South Louisiana, but no one really knew for sure. One thing that was certain was that he was an ornery so-and-so.

  Bouriette gave me a wicked little grin as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Whatcha got here, Sooter? You bringin’ a greenhorn ‘round here?” I didn’t like him already. “Hmm…better not slow us down is all I gotta say.”

  “You gonna stand there whinin’ all day or is you gonna actually do some work ‘round here?” Sooter shot back.

  “Just keep dat tenderfoot out da way!” Bouriette drolled.

  “Oh hush up, ya dang fool, and grab that rope,” Sooter barked.

  It was just what I needed, another moron to deal with, just like there was at school.

  “Don’t pay no nevermind to Bouriette,” Sooter said reassuringly. “He just mouthin’ off.”

  Sooter sized up the first tree, then the equipment and the workers. “We gonna start right here on this one, then work our way down the rows, one at a time. You boys ready?” Of course they were. They’d been ready long before Sooter had shown up with little old me. “Well, c’mon then. Bouriette, grab that rope already and get up that tree!”

  I watched intently as the moron grabbed one of the long ropes and looped it around one of his belt loops, then, headed up a step ladder resting against the lowest branch. Slowly, yet effortlessly, he climbed the tree to a central and sturdy branch. Nearing the wide branch, he slowed his pace and carefully took the rope from his belt and tossed it around the wide branch as the rest of us watched intently from the ground.

  With one hand in his pocket and the other resting on his hip, Sooter said impatiently, “We ain’t got all day, Bouriette. I seen pigs climb trees faster than that.”

  The men laughed as Bouriette struggled with the rope. Finally, he secured it with a large metal clasp and pulled it taut.

  “She’s ready now!” he announced, and began climbing down.

  “Mmm-hm. ‘Bout time,” Sooter retorted.

  The other men and Little Theo began unrolling the large tarps, starting from the base of the tree and all the way out under the spread of the tree. Sooter and another man, Timmons, pulled the other end of the rope, fastening it to the side of the tractor.

  I stood quietly, just taking in all that was going on around me. Everyone worked quite well together, like a well-oiled machine. I was almost in a trance watching them work.

  “Now what we’re gonna do here, Mr. Nick…you payin’ attention?” Sooter said. I snapped out of my trance. “What we’re gonna do here is fasten this rope to this here machine.” He pointed towards the shaker mounted on the side of the tractor. “This machine is what they call an agitator, or a shaker. We pull the rope real tight. Then, when we’re ready we flip the switch and start catchin’ on the ground. That’s it. If we need to we’ll tie onto another branch and shake ‘er again. But, if Bouriette tied off’n the right branch, we won’t need to do it again. But, knowin’ him, we’ll be at again for sho.”

  I chuckled to myself and marveled and at the same time at the shaker. Fascinating, I thought. “Hey, I thought you used cables to wrap around the branches,” I said.

  Sooter and Timmons both laughed. “Yep, you sho can if you can afford to get one of them fancy cable shakers,” Sooter answered matter-of-factly. “We still gots to use the old fashioned kind. It does alright, as long as we can keep it goin’ without snappin’ ‘er.” I noticed some concern in his voice. “Been usin’ this one for years now. Hope she can make it through one more season.”

  “Ah, she’ll make it,” Timmons chimed in. “He says dat ev’ry year.”

  Sooter was right though. It was hard to come by good equipment for the farm. Back in the old days, they just had ol’ Gray and a plow for the ten acres of cotton that was near our farmhouse. In those days the cotton was picked by hand, and very slowly, and only if the weather held up.

  The g
round was covered with row after row of light green tarps, wide as the spread of the tree branches. We’d already had our first frost and so most of the leaves had fallen, so this was the time to start harvesting the pecans. Also, the hard shucks around the nut itself had to begun to split, signaling that it was the time for harvest. And, of course, there were squirrels to contend with in the groves, but they stayed away because of all the noise from the shaker.

  I was eager to see what happened when the shaker was finally switched on. The workers all stood clear of the branches as Sooter approached the shaker.

  “All clear,” he muttered, hardly loud enough for all the men to hear him. But, they already knew enough to get out of the way.

  He switched on the agitator, which immediately began shaking feverishly. The noise was almost like that of a lawnmower only you could feel the ground tremble if you stood too close. The entire tree began to shake, limbs cracked, and the air filled with raining nuts, branches, and leaves. The nuts hit the tarps and bounced every which way, sounding like popcorn popping.

  Sooter nodded in approval. “Yep, he got the right one,” he said softly to himself. “Gonna be a good year.”

  Soon, the popcorn sound stopped and a few leaves softly fluttered to the ground. The workers began to set up three or four ladders under the tree. Sooter switched off the shaker and the loud noise was put to rest. Each man climbed a ladder, carrying a long pole. The men used the poles to shake any branches that they could reach, making sure all the nuts had fallen. I noticed that the taller you were, the further you could reach with the pole.

  Sooter pointed to one of the men on the ladders, “Now what they gonna do is do a little pole shakin’ with them poles, to get anything that’s left over. Then we gonna gather up them tarps and pull ‘em to the side over here, and make a sweep row.”

  I watched as the workers pulled the long tarps over to one side of the grove. The tarps were huge and heavy with debris and pecans, so it took two men on each end to drag it over. As they dragged the tarp, all the debris and pecans gathered in the center, making it easier to shovel them into the separator. The separator was a long wooden box with a screen that was used to sift the debris away from all the nuts. Once all the debris was separated, all that remained was a box full of nuts. The box was dumped into a large two-wheeled pull cart with wood panels and a drop-down tailgate in the back. Once the cart was full, it was wheeled off to a small warehouse on the edge of the grove to be sacked.

  “Here, make y’self useful and help shovel them rows kid,” Bouriette said in his southern drawl. With a dirty look he flipped a shovel handle into my hands. I don’t think he wanted me around here but I didn’t care. When he turned around I stuck my tongue out at him.

  Little Theo saw what had happened and smiled widely when he saw what I did. I smiled back at him, scooping a pile of pecans and debris with my shovel. It was the first time I noticed him pay me any attention, but he still never said a word.

  Sooter had also seen Bouriette’s arrogant display. “You gonna act a fool all day or are you gonna get to the next tree?” he asked wryly. “I’d like to get at least two trees shook today if it ain’t too much trouble.”

  “Hell, we gonna do more than dat,” Bouriette answered as he found the rope to use on the next tree.

  “Well, get up there then and quit botherin’ them young ‘uns,” Sooter scowled, shaking his head.

  We moved on to the next tree in the row. It didn’t take me long to get the hang of the process and before I knew it, we had already done one row of trees and had moved on to the next.

  As the sun grew higher in the sky the air started to warm up. It had been chilly when I first set out, but now it started to feel very nice. I even started to sweat as I shoveled the pecans into the cart.

  Bouriette started to slow down during his climbs. We all rested and waited for him to finish all except for Sooter who waited impatiently near the trunk of the massive pecan tree.

  Bouriette removed his cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “We gonna have to shake this one in two or three places, looks like,” he said from high in the tree. “I’ll have to double-back and tie on at a lower branch after the first pass. I’ll stay up here while you shake ‘er.”

  Sooter was unimpressed. “Not at the rate you goin’. It’ll be tomorrow by the time you get done tyin’ on. I’ve seen a tree sloth move faster than you do.”

  I laughed out loud when I heard that as did some of the other men. Sooter loved to rile Bouriette up while they worked. And, it worked too.

  “Is dat right?” Bouriette answered, a bit agitated. You should have seen him start moving in that tree after that. He quickly tied his end of the rope to a large branch and then climbed down all the way to the ground.

  Sooter stared at him. “I thought you was gonna stay up there?” he asked bewildered.

  Bouriette rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “I had to come down,” he panted. “I need to take a break. We’ll finish ‘er off after lunch, once we do this first shake.”

  Sooter laughed out loud. “That’s what you think. We gettin’ this one done before lunch.” He motioned to the crew to stand clear as he finished securing the line to the tractor. He gave me a stern look and announced firmly, as if he were an instructor, “We don’t break in the middle of a shake. We get the tree done first. Ain’t that right?”

  “It sure is,” I answered with a smile. Sooter nodded, knowing his point was made clear. He soon flipped the switch and the huge tree began to rain pecans.

  After the first pass, Bouriette grudgingly headed for the tree trunk to start his climb again though he obviously looked worn out.

  “Oh, here we go,” Sooter said, with a frown. “I guess we might as well have some lunch while you up there. We’ll be done by the time you get down.”

  Bouriette froze in his tracks and whirled around to glare at Sooter. “I don’t see you draggin’ your old bones up this tree!” he moaned

  Sooter shrugged him off though. “Back in my day, I climbed mo trees enough to make yo head swim. Don’t tell me I ain’t climbed no trees.”

  “I’ll do it!” I exclaimed without any hesitation. I don’t know what came over me. I just instinctively shouted the first thought that came to me.

  The whole group all turned around and stared at me. Bouriette glared at me but Sooter gave me a proud smile.

  “You wanna go up there?” Sooter asked curiously.

  “Sure,” I said, with confidence. “I climb the oak trees by my house all the time.” It was true too. I could climb trees like an orangutan.

  So, that’s what I did. I quickly ascended the base of the tree and made my way up, one branch at a time, to the large branch that Bouriette had tied on to. I surveyed the interior network of branches and picked out a nice large one further over, and a bit higher. I looped the rope around my belt loop and quickly headed to the next branch.

  “Would you look at that boy go?” Sooter said out loud. You could tell he was quite impressed. “He can climb faster than a lemur!” The men watched me from below as I moved effortlessly from branch to branch. I felt relieved, finally finding something that made me feel like I was really helping out.

  “Looks like you gonna need somethin’ else to do Bouriette,” Sooter laughed. “Here, take this.” Sooter handed him a shovel and he looked at it with contempt. “You can lean on it if you want. Keep ya from fallin’ over.”

  “Knock it off, will ya?” Bouriette retorted. “I’ll be fine after lunch, I’m tellin’ ya.” His pride had been bruised just a wee bit.

  “You can let ‘er go now, Sooter!” I shouted from the tree. “I’ll stay up here in case we need to make another pass!”

  “You sho about that?” Sooter answered with some concern. I gave him a quick nod. “Okay then. I ain’t yo papa. Make sure you duck yo head though!”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. He switched on the shaker and the tre
e began to rumble. Pecans began to pelt me on my back as I ducked my head low, feeling like little pebbles bombarding me from all directions. I tried to avoid them but everywhere I moved, another barrage of nuts pelted me. It didn’t hurt that much but it wasn’t too pleasant either. After a few minutes, the machine switched off and the chaos around me ended. The other workers began moving in ladders to pole-shake the lower branches.

  Sooter shouted at me from the tractor. “You can come on down, Mr. Nick. I think we got it on that one!” I was relieved to hear that. After that, I decided I would definitely get out of the tree before they shook it next time.

  We finished shoveling the rows and finally took a break for lunch. All the workers headed to a shady area away from the grove to rest and have some lunch. There were plenty of trees in the grove to rest under, but it seemed that the men wanted to get as far away from the work site as possible. I guess I didn’t blame them, but I didn’t know where to go and sit down, so I was left standing there by myself.

  I wandered back up the hill towards the lane where I had met Sooter that morning. Sure enough, there he was stretched out on the ground and leaning against the large pecan tree. His cap was pulled over his eyes.

  “You can come join me if you want,” he said without even opening his eyes, just as he did before.

  “Sure, don’t mind if I do,” I answered. “This is a great spot you got here.” I meant it too. It really was a nice place to take a load off and have a bite to eat.

  “Ain’t no other place I’d rather be,” Sooter responded.

  I settled on the ground on the opposite side of the tree from Sooter and pulled out my lunch. It was sure good to sit down and rest, I tell you. I had done lots of work on the farm, but never so much all in one morning.

  I hungrily ate my lunch with my head rested against the tree. Sooter sat up and pulled out an old pair of pliers. He had a pile of fresh pecans sitting next to him on the ground and began to crack one at a time with the pliers.

  I looked at him kind of crazily. “Is that all you gonna eat for lunch?” I asked him curiously. “Hey, I’ve got an extra apple in here. You can have it if you want.” I reached out and offered it to him.

  “That’s right nice of you,” he said. “I’ll save it for later.”

  He continued cracking the pecans, one by one, making a little pile of shells. He could crack them faster than he could eat them.

  “These pecans is sho good,” he finally said. “Been waitin’ for ‘em all year.” He offered me a handful. “Here, have a few. They the best around.”

  “Thanks,” I said. He was right too, they were pretty good. I also liked to eat them fresh too. Cracking pecans was one of the jobs Phoebe and I had each fall after the harvest. We had a nice mechanical vise and we would sit there for hours cracking pecans and separating the shells. Mom liked to give away bags of them to folks during the holidays.

  We ate our lunch and rested for a good half hour under the big pecan tree. After having a half day of work under my belt, I began to feel relaxed. Sooter made it easy, it seemed.

  “You done good out there this mornin’,” he said. “You can be our climber from now on if you want. Bouriette won’t mind. He glad just to be workin’.”

  “Thanks. I hope he doesn’t mind,” I said. I really didn’t want to push him out of his job. “I didn’t mean to show him up. I just wanna do my part. I kind of liked it to be honest.”

  “Nah, he don’t care,” Sooter responded. “Just a little bruised pride, is all. He’ll live.”

  “So, how’d you get the name, ‘Sooter’?” I blurted out. I hoped I wasn’t being rude. I was just curious.

  “Ya know, ain’t nobody asked me that before,” he answered, cracking the pecans. “Must’ve been my mama that started callin’ me that. When I was a boy I was always gettin’ into trouble. She’d put me up in a corner and say, ‘Suit y’self if you gonna act up, boy!’ And, I’d back-talk her sayin’ ‘Why this corner suits me just fine, it does!’”

  “I bet she didn’t like that,” I laughed, eating another handful of pecans.

  “You sho right ‘bout that,” Sooter chuckled. “She’d tan my hide and then I’d get into more trouble. Back to the corner I’d go. ‘Suit y’self if you gonna act up’ she’d say again. ‘Suits me just fine’ I’d answer right back. One day she just started callin’ me Sooter.”

  “I never would’ve guessed that,” I told him.

  “Nope, me neither,” he agreed. “People been callin’ me that ever since.”

  It was almost time to start working again. Sooter picked himself off the ground and dusted his trousers off. I was still munching on the pecans he had given me. He started laughing at me. “You sho like them pecans, Mr. Nick. You ready to get back down there?”

  I dusted my hands off and jumped to my feet. “You bet. I’m ready for round two.”

  “Good, let’s head on back down there then. They probably waitin’ on us.” With that, we headed back to the grove.

  We worked the rest of the afternoon until the sun began to set. By the end of day, we had covered about four of the ten acres of trees. Considering the amount of pecans we were gathering, that was pretty good for one day’s work. At that rate, the whole grove would be done in about three or four day’s time. At least I could help out with the bulk of it before school on Monday.

  As the sun set, I walked home, my arms and legs aching. Oddly, I felt relieved and satisfied in a way I hadn’t really felt before. I had put in my first full day of hard work in the grove and I began to feel like one of guys. Men patted me on the back as we picked up for the day, saying they hadn’t seen a climber like that in years. It made me feel proud. Walking back towards the farm house, I could see Sooter in the twilight leaning against the old pull cart full of pecans. He tipped his hat to me and smiled broadly with his white-toothed grin.

  I didn’t even get one foot in the door before Dad caught sight of me and zeroed in. I could tell I was about to get another chore to do. All I wanted to do was collapse into bed. Climbing those trees all afternoon wore me plumb out.

  “Seamus McDowell is bringing in some horses tomorrow to graze in the Porter field,” Dad said, as if I’d been standing next to him all day. “I need you drive down there and close the south gate. Best get down there before dark.”

  A blind man could see that it was almost dark already. But with Dad, nothing was a suggestion, and it didn’t matter if you were beat to a frazzle. If he wanted you to do something, he meant it and meant it right away.

  I didn’t argue with him, but my shoulders slumped anyway.

  “Sure Dad,” I answered with little enthusiasm. I dropped what I had on the porch and moped my way to the old pickup.

  “Keys are in there,” Dad yelled back heading to the barn to finish whatever he was doing.

  I hadn’t mentioned this yet, but I’d known how to drive by the time I could reach the pedals. That was one advantage of growing up on a farm. As soon as you were big enough, you got to help out with the driving around the farm. By the time I was ten, my Dad had me in front of the wheel of our old pickup, showing me how to use the clutch, steer and switch the gears. Naturally, I always had to sit real close to the wheel and I never went faster than twenty miles per hour, but I still knew how to drive. I couldn’t drive on the county roads because of my age, but my dad allowed me to drive just about everywhere else around the farm. Phoebe was eager to learn as well, but she still couldn’t reach the pedals.

  I turned the key and the truck roared to life. It was almost dark, but I still found my way down the dirt road without the headlights. The Porter gate was about a quarter-mile up the dirt road. Waller Creek ran alongside Porter’s Field making it an ideal place to graze cattle and horses. Because the water usually ran through it all year long, fishing in Waller Creek was one of my favorite things to do in the summer. I guess I was lucky to have a nice fishing hole right on the farm.

  A
nother small stream forked off Waller Creek for a few hundred yards and ran to a small swimming pond. It was the same swimming pond that my mom and dad used to swim in when they were younger. Heck, I bet Grandpa took a dip in that pond a time or two. It was nice because it was hidden by several trees, including one that had a rope tied to a branch that dangled above the water.

  I stopped just short of the gate and got out of the truck. As I swung the gate to close it, I noticed someone walking along Waller Creek. An old colored woman was strolling alongside the creek. She didn’t acknowledge that I was even there, but she must have seen me. Oddly, she walked by without saying a word. I locked the gate and jumped back into the truck finding it curious that someone was out here taking a walk this late in the evening. I shrugged my shoulders and put the truck back in gear. The lady was still walking along the creek as I passed her by, not paying me any attention at all, just keeping to herself. She continued on in the darkness, walking along the creek as it meandered toward the lane.

  I crawled up the stairs to my room to wash up for supper. All I really wanted to do was sleep. I was beat.

  “Did you have fun out there, kiddo?” Phoebe’s voice said as I passed her bedroom door. What a nutcase she was. She was three years younger than me and she was calling me ‘kiddo’. That’s what Dad always called her, but she seemed to think it was cute calling me ‘kiddo’ instead.

  I didn’t stop, continuing to head for the bathroom. “Did you have fun re-painting your bedroom?” I asked sarcastically, as I crawled by.

  “Ha, very funny,” she said quietly. I wasn’t kidding either. You could still smell the fresh paint coming from her room. I knew Mom would make her paint over that silly drawing.

  We all sat at the dinner table. I was so hungry I could have eaten a horse. As we ate, I finally started to feel human again. Mom had prepared omelets, just as she had promised. They were one of my favorite dishes and were perfect in every way. She made them with ham, mushrooms and cheese. In our house it didn’t matter if it was dinner or breakfast, it was always a treat when Mom made her omelets. We all loved them.

  I must have had three glasses of water that night. I had no idea I was so thirsty. I leaned back in my chair and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

  “Boy Mom, that sure was good,” I finally said, breaking the silence at the table.

  “Glad you liked them,” she said, smiling.

  “Did you take care of my trees, Nicky?” Grandpa asked. I was a little surprised that he spoke up. He usually didn’t say anything at dinner time.

  “I sure did, Grandpa,” I answered proudly.

  “Good boy.” Grandpa turned his glance toward Phoebe. “Did you take care of my flowers, young lady?”

  “I’m workin’ on it, Grandpa,” Phoebe said, still eating her eggs.

  “She didn’t have time. She had to repaint the entire south wing today,” I quipped.

  “That’s enough, Nicholas,” Mom insisted.

  Phoebe gave me a filthy look and pointed her tongue at me.

  That was about all Grandpa would contribute as far as conversation at the dinner table. Soon he would start mumbling gibberish and we would just let him go. That night was no exception.

  “Those squirrels keep tryin’ to take over the whole dang yard,” Grandpa muttered. “And those mockers keep tryin’ to take over my martin house. One of these days I’m gonna take a gun to ‘em all. Lousy varmints. What do you say we have roasted squirrel tomorrow night?”

  Everyone just ignored him. Just then, I remembered the lady I had seen earlier. “Hey Dad, when I was out closing the gate, I saw some old lady walking along the creek,” I said. I was very curious who the lady was. “Have you seen a lady walking down there before?”

  “From time to time,” Dad answered. He was a man of few words.

  Mom spoke up. “Oh, you must have seen Beatrice Malloy. She goes out walking every so often in the late evenings. She’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Well that’s funny. I’ve never seen her out there before,” I said, scratching my head. “Mrs. Malloy? Is she Sooter’s wife?”

  Dad put down his glass. “Son, you call him Mr. Malloy, you hear? Don’t be disrespectful. And yes, she’s his wife.”

  “But he told me not to call him that. He told me to call him Sooter,” I said.

  Grandpa began to chuckle in his seat not saying a word.

  “Nevertheless,” Dad continued. “You don’t call your elders by their first name. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I sat at the table shaking my head. I knew the second I called him Mr. Malloy the next day he would just tell me to call him Sooter.

 

  The next morning, I sat at the table eating my usual bowl of cereal. Dad and Phoebe were upstairs getting ready for church and Mom was cleaning up in the kitchen.

  She came hurrying in from the kitchen, taking off her apron. “Hurry up, Nicky. We don’t want to be late for church.”

  I was already dressed though. All I needed to do was brush my teeth and put on my Sunday shoes.

  Just then, Grandpa barreled into the dining room carrying a shotgun, making a bee-line for the door.

  “Dad, what are you doing with that gun?” Mom yelled.

  “I’ve had it up to here with those damn mockers!” Grandpa answered matter-of-factly. I peered outside at the martin house. Sure enough, two mockingbirds were sitting on top of the house. I smiled at Grandpa’s shenanigans. He was a hoot.

  “Oh please, Dad. Not now, okay?” Mom pleaded with him. He just ignored her though and fumbled his way out the door with the shotgun.

  “Ah, don’t worry, Ma,” I said, getting up from the table. “That gun ain’t even loaded.”

  With that we heard a deafening BLAM!! Then another loud BLAM! Mom screamed and jumped at the gunshots.

  “On second thought,” I said, somewhat shocked myself.

  “Take that, ya damn mockers!” Grandpa yelled from outside.

  Dad came running down the steps. Phoebe was tailing right behind him. “What’s going on out there, Sal?” he asked, perplexed.

  Mom was not amused at all. “It’s your father! He’s shooting at birds! I don’t need this, Joe! We need to get to church.”

  Dad headed straight outside. “Dad, let me have that, okay?” he said taking the gun from Grandpa’s hands. “Let’s give them a break for now.”

  Grandpa let him have the gun without a fight. He’d done what he wanted to do anyway. “I told you I was going to shoot them damn birds!”

  “You sure did,” Dad answered, laughing. “You got ‘em good didn’t, you?”

  “Damn right,” Grandpa answered triumphantly.

  Dad couldn’t stop laughing. “Well, let’s get back inside, Pop. And, try not to give Sally a heart attack.” Dad helped Grandpa back to the porch as Mom looked on, exasperated. If we weren’t about to go to church, I’m sure she’d have a drink or two. Phoebe and I couldn’t help but chuckle to ourselves.

  As soon as we got home from church, I was out the door and on my way to the grove hoping they hadn’t started without me. Even if they had, Sunday church was one thing we never missed as a family. Even if we had chores to do, they would have to wait until church was over. I guess that was good in a way. The Lord says you should rest on Sundays and though that didn’t happen too much on the farm, my parents knew the next best thing was to take some time out for church.

  I stopped at Sooter’s tree but since he wasn’t there I knew I was late. Jogging the rest of the way to the grove, I found the men unloading the tarps and ladders humming a tune in unison. It was a song I wasn’t familiar with. Sooter was leaning against the tractor, cracking pecans with his trusty pair of pliers.

  “Well, ‘bout time you got here. Ol’ Bouriette was startin’ to get worried,” he said with a grin.

  “He was?” I asked, somewhat surprised.

  “Mmm-hm. He thought he was gonna have to start
climbin’ them trees again,” he laughed. “Better grab that rope. We gonna shake the most of ‘em today.”

  I found a place for my lunch and went straight to work. Bouriette and Timmons rolled their eyes as I walked by with the rope. I could tell they were both relieved, though. As I climbed the first tree, I could hear them humming the tune as they worked. Soon, one began singing the words to the simple melody.

  Oh my Lord,

  Soon we’ll be home

  In Your Heavenly place

  But, until then my Lord

  Until, my Lord

  We are shaking the tree

  We’ll see the rays of Heaven

  Shine down on us

  While we’re shaking the tree

  “Hey, I like that,” I called down, as I finished tying the rope to a sturdy branch. “What is that song, Sooter?”

  Sooter explained it to me as I hopped from the tree. “It’s an old religious song that goes back to the time of slavery. Back then, they used to shake all the trees by hand and it took much longer. On Sunday’s, they had no church to go to, so the men sang religious songs as they worked. It’s one of my favorites.” He hummed along with the men as they sang.

  I got a lump in my throat as I heard them sing in unison. I really did like the song. It made me wonder if these men had a place to go to church. Maybe this was their church. Since they seemed to be happy, I decided not to ask. And, I wasn’t afraid to admit, I was happy too.

  From that day, I was a pecan picker. I learned all the ins and outs of the pecan harvest. I worked with the men the rest of that weekend but since I had school they finished the remainder of the grove without me.

  That summer was when I started to actually learn the family business. I helped my dad sew and plant the cotton fields in the spring and took part in my first cotton picking in the fall. I rode alongside my dad as he drove the cotton picker and even got to see how they dumped the picked cotton onto trailers and hauled them to the gin. The pecan trees just kind rounded things out for me. Slowly, I began to understand why Dad was always so tired at the end of the day. He really did work hard out there, as did everyone.

  Grandpa always said that “Work on a farm is the best work for the soul.” That is, of course, when he wasn’t shooting at squirrels and mockingbirds.