the painted porch
Everywhere………the warmth of the sun, the chill of the wind, and the wetness of water. My mind, outside of time, over the horizon as well as the past. The dirt road I was on led to the drive way and up to the house. Fifty years had past since that day. In a moment everything changed. Nothing would ever be the same. Well not everything. The house looked essentially the same, locked in a loop, disregarding the elements and the ravages of time. Except for one thing….the painted porch. Getting out of my truck I leaned with both elbows on the sides of the bed and stared. All the memories I had here were rehearsed once again in my head.
There was a faint breeze, limbs bending in the trees, leaves in freefall like butterflies gently falling on the ground. The whole forest was vibrant and alive, a profusion of color and a lovers bouquet on such a fine fall day. This was to be such a special day. All of our neighbors including the Grossweiners, Lickers, Looney’s, and Longbottoms gathered once a year for a fall festival. It celebrated a harvest complete and the end of Summer’s heat. This year it was our turn to host the event and everyone in the family had worked hard in preparation. There was to be a succulent choice cut of beef barbequed over an open pit, multiple homemade favorites from the ladies i.e. casseroles, creative vegetables, fresh baked bread and yummy pies, games, and prizes. After the main feast and most of the work was done, the laughter of children would echo up and down the holler while the ladies sipped some sweet wine from local Chambourcin, Muscadine, and Catawba grapes among others. They would sit cacklin’ havin’ a hen party and talk about, ya know, womanly things, their preparations for winter, and the old men. Whilest the men would sit and sip some aged corn squeezens, talkin falderal, fishin’ huntin’, and ya know, about the old women.
It was in the early 1900’s and not long before the ‘war to end all wars’. The sound of harnesses and mules along with the creaky groan of wagons and wheels reached our ears and Pa stepped down from the porch and walked out to greet the hungry herd. Takin’ only a couple of steps he stopped, turned, and curiously paused lookin’ each of us right in the eye before sayin’, ‘You chillin’s wait the porch until I signal it’s safe to get down’, spoken to me Tommy Lee, my younger brother Bledsoe, and my baby sister Lila Faye, glancin’ over to Ma. She nodded and watched from the kitchen window. He then walked over and leaned on a corner post waitin’ to get everone situated when suddenly he just disappeared. It all happened in an instant, in the blink of an eye. One moment he was there, and then, poof!, he simply vanished into thin air. We stood frozen foot on the porch while Ma stretched to look closer out of the window. The next sound was the screen door slamin’ as Ma rushed down the steps shouting and screamin’. Findin’ our legs we ran after her. Folks seein’ the commotion gathered round and a thorough search was made well into the night. By now Ma was hysterical and women folk helped her into the house, takin’ turns stayin’ with her until the shock was overpassed.
A patch of grass where Pa passed about 12’ across withered and died turnin’ yellar. Sometimes a mist would rise over that area with a strange malodorous smell, while the surrounding space had none. No animal would come close to the area and our dog Mueller would bark when close by with his hackles up just a growlin’. Months had passed and on one fine spring day us kids stood by the spot inexorably drawn our thoughts lost in a web of wonder. Suddenly we heard his voice callin’ from the ground, ‘help, help me’, pleading and plaintive. Us kids looked at each other bug eyed, hair sittin’ strait on our heads. But it was Pa. We would know his voice anywhere. Runnin’ to get Ma we returned to the spot but all was quiet again. Twice more we heard his voice before becomin’ faint and distant and finally disappearing, never to be heard again. Always the same plea…’help me, please help me’.
Come spring in the year A.P. 2 (After Pa) a term used and known only to us, Ma served soup and bread for dinner one evenin’ sayin’ ‘we’s got to go. Livin’ here with the memry and the spookiness that surrounds it is takin’ it’s toll. Cain’t hardly sleep and I constantly fret over you kids’. It was then I really noticed how tired and haggard she looked. ‘Went to the banker, Conway (Con) Crook, the other day’ she said. ‘He offered half of what the property is worth thinkin’ to make a big profit from our tragedy. He knew no one else would offer and it was the only money on the table. So I took it. Grams and Popo have opened their home to us until we can get situated on our own. You’ll have cousins close by and I know you youngin’s will pitch in and be a big help to the grand folks’. We sat stunned. This is the only life we had ever known, the only home we had ever lived in. We were born here. All that we ever loved was here. Pa was still here. How could we leave Pa. Lila Faye jumped up from the table and ran to her room a cryin’. ‘But Ma’ I started to say when she put up her hand, ‘sorry boys but this is the way it’s gunna be. In the end it will be best for allus’.
Bledsoe and I dropped our spoons and stared at each other without speakin’. Ma then shuffled her chair back and slowly walked to Lila Faye’s room. I pushed back and walked outside and with heavy steps made my way over to the ‘circle’. With tears flowin’ down my cheeks I bared my heart to Pa. ‘Why did you leave us? Why did you have to go? None of us wants to leave home, not even Ma. There are so many things I still have to learn. You were gunna teach me. Remember? I’m doin’ my best but I guess it just ain’t good enough’. I dropped to my knees and bowed my head with my hands to my face my young body racked with sobs, my shoulders shakin’ and my heart nigh unto breakin’.
We had never walked inside the circle thinkin’ it was akin to walkin’ on Pa’s grave. Until tonight. I danced and jumped up and down inside the circle pounding my fists on the ground screaming and letting my tears sanctify the soil, just darin’ it to swaller me whole like it did Pa. Ma had come out and set the porch holdin’ the two youngest close by her side. Hearing my cries echoing in the dark skies, she answered their question before the askin’. ‘Best leave him be. He’s got a lot of grievin’ to do. Reckon Pa’s grievin’ with him too’. Seems after a wile I grew quiet, still sittin’ the circle. An answer of sorts came and with it a steely resolve. I knew I was to look after Ma and do what was best just like Pa would do iffin’s he was still here with us. I was twelve years old after all, and now the man of the house.
The day came for leavin’. We all stood the circle and said our mostly unspoken goodbye’s. There was never a memorial, no prayers for the departed, no gravesite or headstone to mark his arrivin’ or passin’. The preacher didn’t do any sermonizin’ offerin’ obligatory words for the new resident of Beulah Land. No comfortin’ hope was spoken for the dearly beloved and family of the recently departed. No funeral dirge or the singin’ of sad songs……… Just the circle. It felt so final yet so open ended. It was like we was abandoning Pa. He was still here, we heard his voice. So many questions. So few answers. Our neighbor’s still came by but not as often. There were awkward moments, fidgeting and stutterin’, largely from the men and children. The women, well they didn’t let anything stop them. I think we all fantasized he would simply reappear one day just like he left. But he never did.
Eventually we got over the hurt of leavin’, but never over the hurt of losin’ Pa. Not like that. He never even got to say goodbye.
Standin’ there now I felt lost in space caught in a time warp of cruel and frivolous imagination. With a deep sigh I lifted my arms off the truck savoring a few moments of silent reverie and then walked over to the circle. Once again vivid pictures on the backroads of my mind captured my attention. Word about Pa’s mysterious disappearance had got out beyond Toadsuck County and reporters and writers came from all over like flies on fresh cow pies. Ma was patient given concise details with brevity of the event dubbed ‘The Mackey Meadow Mystery’. Sometimes us kids were asked a few questions and we would walk them over to the circle. Bulbs flashed and photographs were taken, often with us three kids with blank stares and sorrowful faces standin’ next to the circle. Noticed the reporters gave a safe distance to the circle, never venturin’ too close.
Science doesn’t embrace this phenomena as much more than fiction and folklore. Having no explanation it is called simply, ‘vanishing’ or ‘ghosting’. But in the book of Acts Philip disappeared after baptizing the Ethiopian and was then seen in Azotus about 31 miles away. Others have reported vanishing’s similar to our experience, but none with a voice pleading for help. In my searching for answers I’ve come to realize there are multiple dimensions all around us. We see and hear only a small percentage of what exists. Most minds presently are incapable of accepting or cyphering this information. It remains unknown until our mind is ready to receive it.
Looking at the circle it seems Pa got trapped in another realm so close he could still hear or see us and call out for help. We just don’t know how to help him get shut of the prison he is in. This knowledge exists but is unknown. It has been my life’s mission to find the key and unlock the door so Pa can be with us once more.
Crook the banker could never unload the property as it’s history followed it like a coon dog on the scent. It went into foreclosure and then up for auction. It was finally bought but never lived in. Curiosity called and I found it was available for delinquent taxes. So I bought back the old home place and inquired from some local friends and found someone to mow and tidy up the grounds. A lot of changes had happened to the land itself. Most things were wild and overgrown, needin’ some love and attention. With diligence and effort it could be a productive farm and pleasant country home once again.
Looking up I stepped closer to the house. With a finger across my lips I nodded my head back and forth with great wonder. It was exactly the way we left it all those years ago, except for the porch. The house was on it’s own journey in space and time and didn’t age like we do. I really have no explanation, only thoughts, only possibilities. Walking up to what appeared as fresh paint, the porch boards didn’t even have dust on them. I bent over and touched the surface. It felt dry to the touch but maybe only in my mind it seemed a little tacky. So I removed my shoes and carefully walked up the steps to the porch in my socks on its bright shiny blue surface. This was all new and never this color. I searched diligently for a clue as to who may have done this. After some time having retraced my steps over and over again the sun suddenly illuminated the north edge of the porch just beyond the front of the house. Walking over I thought I saw something. Dropping to my knees I leaned my head close to the surface and found a small inscription. It read……. A.P. 50
Looking up I closed my eyes as rivulets of tears stained my cheeks. The hidden message in the short inscription carved in the porch reverberated through my being…..’I’m here Son. Welcome home. I’ve waited for you for so long’. And then I remembered the last words he spoke to us for our protection…’you chillins wait the porch until I signal it’s safe to get down’. Two world wars sandwiched around a depression, Bledsoe dead in France, Lila Faye of the Spanish Flu, me a half shell of what I used to be, and Mom a victim of a worn out broken heart, proved his prophetic words to be so true.
‘Well, I reckon it’s just me and you Pa, and like the prodigal I’ve returned home once again, waitin’ the porch just like you said for us to do. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. There are so many things you have yet to teach me, so many things I have yet to learn…………
And when the prince shall enter…..he shall go in by the way of the ‘porch’