THE STORY OF THE FAMILY COAL
Chapter One

I remember how it started: I had just got outta bed and was sitting in the afternoon sun eating a piece of Maw's apple pie and playin' the banjo, Sally Ann, key of A.

Uncle Pete came runnin' up from the baling shed a hollerin', "Paw, Sister Lori's lost another toe in the deer hair baler!

"How many's she down to now?" says I.

"Five each, I think," says Pete.

You see, we had Lori, the dark-haired girl child and Sara, the light-haired girl child stompin' down deer hair in the deer hair baler kinda like them folks stomp their wine grapes over there in Itlee. Sara, the light-haired one never lost no toes because she had learnt to clog dance and could step pretty sprightly; but poor Sister Lori was more of a slow waltz type dancer and them nice glidin' steps of hers didn't work too good when stompin' deer hair in the deer hair baler.

Well, this thing of Sister Lori losin' her toes one by one in the deer hair baler was worrisome. What if some rich car dealer took a likin' to her and offered me a pretty handsome dowry for her, and her with only 3 or 4 toes per foot? Why I'd feel like I was a cheatin' him; I might be lazy and good for not much, but I ain't no cheat. And truthfully, Lori just wasn't very good at stompin' deer hair. Her heart just wasn't in it. She even said to me one time, "Paw, I think I'd rather sell my hair than keep on stompin' deer hair." I thought, but didn't say, "I bet I'd get a pretty fair price for her hair, and it'd grow back in, hopefully before the rich car dealer come a courtin'."

Other things was happenin' too. Me and Uncle Pete was soakin' in the crick one afternoon watchin' Maw hill the taters when Pete says, "I got a pen pal who, when he got outta the pen, headed somewhere west of Texas. This fella, name of John, has wrote and said, "Soon's your parole's up, Pete, you oughtta come out and see this country. Out here the sun comes up before 10A.M. in the morning and sets way after 2P.M. in the afternoon, which is when it does in that dark holla where you live. And, it shines purty near every day, not once in a while like back there on Plunkett's Run."

"Just think," Pete says, "in a place like that there you could sit in the sunshine and play the banjo a lotta more times."

"Are you thinkin' a goin lookin'?", says I.

"Believe I might."

"Can you wait til deer hair season's over? You know how allergic I am to the stuff and can't help the girls none."

"Yep", he says, "I'll wait."

Then there was the problem with Brother Erik. He come up to me one day when I was out on the veranda yellin' to Maw how deep to dig those post holes.

"Paw, would you look at my noggin?"

"Sure son, what's a goin' on with it?"

"Little bumps," says he.

Well I looked, and sure enough, there was two little bumps a startin' on his head. I knew right off what they was. I'd seen it happen to some a the cousins. He'd spent so much time a herdin' the deer and eatin' and sleepin' with them, why, he was startin' a set of antlers. I'd talked to Doc Spratt about it one time. He said they called it sympathetic osteo-sarcophagus or some such big word like docs like to use. Doc had said what happened was if you was around something all the time, you might start takin' on some of it's qualities, sorta like a wife'll start finishin' her husband's sentences, or if you leave the cheese too close to the onions in the frigidaire, they'll both taste funny. Anyway, Erik was a tall boy and if them antlers was allowed to grow out he'd be doin' a lotta jukin' goin' through doorways and such. Besides, he was a basketball player and I could just see him a goin' in for a layup and gettin' his antlers tangled in the net.

And Sister Sarah was havin' problems too. She says to me one day while I was watchin' Maw rollin' out the pie dough, "Paw, I just can't eat no more venison.

I love critters, Paw, and I just can't eat them no more." Well I guessed as to how this was a real nice moral stance to take but added that I'd eaten a lotta things I loved; apple pie, smashed potatoes, and yes, deer meat too.

Plus she says, "Paw, I wanna do something creative. I'd like maybe to do my clog dancin' on something besides a big pile a deer hair, like maybe a stage." Well sir, that kinda talk made me see that life on a deer hair farm wasn't the kinda life our family Coal was gonna be leadin' for much longer. One girl child losin' her toes, one uncle headed for somewhere west of Texas, one boy child growin' antlers, and one girl child talkin' of goin' on stage kinda was throwin' me off kilter. On top of all this family strife, the bottom was fallin' outta the deer hair market. Them deer hair rug weavers over there in Bazookastan, with all this free trade stuff, had started getting' their deer hair from Lower Slugovia or somewheres and we was havin' trouble competin'. Whoa is the poor deer hair farmer, in this case, me.

To top it off, there was Maw. One night around 1 A.M. I woke up as she was crawlin' into bed after splittin' next morning's kindling wood.

"How's it goin', Maw?", says I.

"Paw, what with my day job as a ornamental consultant and my extra-cirriculars like cookin', cleanin', chopin' firewood, butcherin' the eatin' deer, makin' pies, keepin' the fences in repair, tendin' the garden stuff, havin' baby Coals, warshin', ironin', and sewin' clothes, feedin' your dogs, feedin' you, feedin' them kids, feedin' the deer, and somethin' else that I have forgot, well, you know I ain't no complainer, but I'm getting tired, Paw.

"Oh, Maw," says I, "you get yourself three or four hours of sleep and it'll all look better in the morning when you get up and get the cookstove a goin'. And you can wake me up after the coffee's ready and we'll talk some more."

"Oh, Paw, yer so good to me."

"I know Maw. Nighty night, don't let the bedbugs bite."

Next mornin' and I was up before the crack of eleven o'clock A.M. I'd slept pretty good on all of these problems we was havin' and I'd come to the conclusion that I'd have to call a family meetin' to discuss the matters of importance before us and work out a resolution that would suit everybody, or at least me.

So while I was havin' my third cup and cheerin' on Maw, who was peelin' apples for today's four or five pies, I says to her, "Maw, I wish you'd get around to paintin' the barn; it's beginnin' to look right shabby." She immediately straightened up and looked my way and between the look in her eye and the way that parin' knife was poised kinda threatening like, I decided to change the subject to what I shoulda started out the conversation with in the first place.

"Maw, we need to call us a family meetin'."

"What for, Paw," says she, that look thankfully fading from her eye.

"Well, Maw, there's matters of importance to discuss."

"Well then go ahead and do it, Paw." I said I would and did.

So the next day we had our family meetin' which was attended by, in order of ascending age, Sister Sarah, Sister Lori. Brother Erik, Uncle Pete, Maw Coal and yours truly, Paw. I opened by statin' the facts.

Fact # 1. Uncle Pete was gonna be headin' west after deer hair season was over.