Overalls

My dad came to hear me preach recently.  He’s 83 and doesn’t drive much at night, but I was preaching just a few miles from where he lives…so he came.  And he wore his overalls.  Liberty overalls.  And tennis shoes.  Not that I thought he should wear something else, but he told me, “I ain’t trying to impress nobody.”  He went on to say he thought he looked as good in his overalls as a lot of men do in a suit and tie.  

It was so good to see him out in the congregation.  It reminded me of the days when he and my mother traveled far and wide to hear me preach.  They were always there at the revival meetings that were local.  But they even traveled as far west as Oklahoma City and as far south as New Orleans.  They were good to me…and good together.  Daddy made the living while Mother made the home.  

He never got rich painting houses and doing remodeling jobs.  But we had a nice home, clean clothes, plenty to eat, and a decent car to drive.  When I was in high school, the housing industry was hit hard by the economy.  My dad took a job at a cabinet shop making $5 an hour.  At that time minimum wage would have been around $3 an hour.  I remember he and Mother talking about signing up for “welfare” as they called it.  I heard him say, “As long as I can work I’m not gonna get on welfare.”  

Daddy believed in minding his own business and he thought other people should mind their’s.  We had some “church-folks” come to visit us one day to talk about their dissatisfaction with the preacher.  They were good people but they never made it past the front steps.  He told them if that’s what they came to talk about they needed to get back in their car and go somewhere else.  He also told them if they wanted to visit and talk about something else they were welcome to stay.  They didn’t stay long.

He worked hard and thought he ought to get paid for his work.  There was an instance when he had painted a house and the owner owed him a small amount of money.  Daddy dropped by a few times and the fella was never at home.  So, one morning he dropped by before 6, woke the man and his wife up, and when the she answered the door daddy said, “I’m here to get my money.”  He got paid.  He said, “That woman sure looks different early in the morning - I almost didn’t recognize her.”

Two of his most famous sayings were: “I feel like I just got back.”  He would say that whenever I asked him if we could go somewhere.  They other was, “Bring me the scissors and I’ll cut it out.”  He said that after I showed him a picture in the Sears catalog of something I wanted for Christmas or a birthday.  

There’s more to Lewis Mason than an old guy in a pair of overalls.  He loved my mother till “death do us part”…  He has oved my sister and I for all of our lives.  He has worked hard, believed the BIble, and believed God for going on 84 years.  

I agree with him.  He does look good in overalls.  M 

The Sound of a Tractor

I’m sitting at my desk this morning after a busy weekend…and preparing for a busy week ahead.  As I sit here I hear the sound of a tractor running.  Bob Evans is plowing the garden near my home, preparing to plant.  

I like the sound of a tractor.  It reminds me of simpler times when I was a kid growing up on Antioch Road near Center Springs in Somerville, Alabama.  While my family didn’t “farm,” many of our neighbors did.  I can remember hearing the hum of tractors usually driven by Billy Shaddrick or Robert Turney.  Mr. Shaddrick cut and baled the hay on the land where we lived…and Robert Turney always had a large garden, big enough to feed a community if necessary.  

There are certain smells that a person is familiar with only if that person was raised up in the country.  Like the smell of freshly plowed dirt.  I can’t really describe it except to say it smells clean.  Dirt smells clean?  Well, yes.  But maybe it has something to do with the way I was raised.  Farming was respected.  Farmers were appreciated.  In the parking lot of Lester Whitten's Grocery there was always a tractor or two...especially during those spring and summer months. And the men who drove them smelled like the dirt they were plowing.  As a boy I looked up to them.  Forty years later, I still do.  

I like the smell of freshly plowed dirt.  I also remember the smell of a line-dried shirt.  Mother had a clothes-line.  We also had a clothes-dryer.  But, in the spring, summer, and early fall when the sun was shining and the breeze was blowing, she’d hang the clothes on the line rather than put them in the dryer.  If you’ve never worn a shirt that’s been dried on the line, you have no idea what I’m talking about.  

One more thing while I’m talking about smells.  One of my favorite smells was the aroma of supper on the stove…  On breezy, summer days Mother would open the windows and let the breeze cool the house.  And when she began to prepare supper, the smell of that delicious-ness would make its way out of the windows and into the yard where this 12 year old boy knew fried chicken, or something like that, would soon be served.  

I also knew that I’d soon hear the roar of the tires on my dad’s truck.  I could hear him coming a mile away.  More times than I can remember I ran to the end of the driveway, which was about a quarter mile long, to meet dad…jump on the back bumper…and hang on to the tailgate as we rode to the house.  Dad was home - Supper was ready - All was well.  

Good memories this morning.  The hum of tractors, the smell of plowed dirt and shirts dried on the line.  The smell of supper and the sound of dad’s truck.  Those are good memories.  M