Those are all great remembrances. I like the pics of the Champion, Gil. And ...... it's been a long time since I heard the word "grip" used for a travel bag. In fact, it was likely either my Grandad or Grandma that used it.
Grandad took me on my first dove shoot, and quail hunt. He was a habitual fisherman, too. Daddy said that he once said to the family at the table "Quiet now, I've got an important announcement to make. As of today I have caught a mess of fish out of Brier Creek every week for the last year, 52 straight weeks". Brier Creek is a large creek that flows through several counties here. It would qualify as a small river in most of the country.
He also taught me how to drift that creek, and the Savannah River, for ducks. He told me to wait until there was a hard cold snap that froze all the lakes and ponds over. After the second night of that cold, go to the creek or river and drift, and jump shoot the ducks. All of them in the country will be there because the current won't allow the surface to freeze. I have done that for much of my life, and it remains one of my favorite ways to hunt ducks, requiring a keen eye to catch them "on the rise" and kill them before they are out of range. It takes lows of at least 20 degrees for two nights to make it work best. Didn't have that all winter here, last season.
One of my favorite true stories about Grandad concerns the very house and farm I live in/on. It was built in 1875 by a country doctor, upon marrying, and he set up his practice here. He was taken out of this life by tuberculosis about 1909, and his widow moved back to Augusta. The place sat empty for about 10 years, during which time a local man decided he'd start living here ........... and just moved in. Grandaddy married Grandma about 1918 and went looking for a farm to buy. He said he rode as far as Beech Island, SC looking, before finding out that this place was being offered for sale. He borrowed the money from his mother, my Great - Grandma and made preparations to move into the house. When word got to the man living here, the man sent word to Grandad that if he set foot here he'd "leave him in his tracks". Grandad rode all the way to Waynesboro, 25 miles away, and told the high sheriff the story. Sheriff said to Grandad "Can't you handle that?" and handed him his personal pistol. Grandad then continued on to Augusta and bought a Colt revolver of his own.
He arrived back home the next day and rode to his new land and house, to find the squatter in the mule lot out back. Grandad walked up to him and said "Joe, I got the message you sent me. I own this place and I am going to live here. We're going to settle this right now. if you want to 'shoot it out' I brought two pistols, if you want to 'cut it out' I brought two knives. If that doesn't suit you we'll settle it with these, and held up his two fists." Joe replied he would fight him over it, with fists. Grandad spun around and said "In the middle of the public road, so anybody that comes by can see", and started towards the road, about 75 yards away. They got halfway there and Joe backed out. He didn't keep that pistol, trading it for a S & W .38 Special M & P, which I have. He said the Colt would cause the cartridges to corrode in the chambers, and the Smith wouldn't.
After living in this house for awhile they had three children born, the youngest being my Dad. The oldest son, and Grandma, contracted TB, but were eventually cured. The doctor told Grandad that the germ was still in the house from Dr. Herrington's illness and death, and that the only way to be rid of it was to move out and paint every square inch of the house, that the paint would kill the germ. They did, and it did.
Grandad and Grandma built a new house, next door, in 1947 ....... the first brick home in this part of the county at the time. This house sat empty until my Dad, who was a Civil Engineer with a degree from Ga. Tech, quit the profession and moved back here, built a big country store, and did some remodeling to the old house. I was about 2 at the time. I and my siblings were raised here. I quit college after two years, moved back home, got married and started farming with Grandaddy in 1971. He died in '75 at age 83. Dad and Mom moved from the old house into the brick house to care for Grandma, and I moved into the old house, with my wife and first son in that year, '75. We raised our two boys here, added on to the house in 2000, building a big dining room, laundry room, master bath and closets. When we gather around the table at Thanksgiving, Christmas and other special occasions, I sometimes remind the grandsons that they are the 5th generation in the family to take nourishment here.
Grandad has been gone 44 years, come April 21. But, I still farm the land he bought in 1919, and still live in the house. We will have farmed it continuously for 100 years when we reach the anniversary date this year. I will be applying to the state for recognition as a Georgia Centennial Farm, one which has been owned and farmed by the same family continuously for 100 years. Everywhere I look I can "see" Grandad. He is a huge part of me, my sons, and my grandsons. I hope I have done right by him, and that he would be pleased. I'm filled with excitement when I think about being with him again .............
across the river.
SRH
