My great-grandfather homesteaded 160 acres in NW Arkansas. The particular location was known as Gum Spring Hollow in Washington County. That was before the days of fences and barbed wire and cattle ran on the open range. The soil was rich and in later years grew good crops as the land was cleared. The lay of the land was on a north slope and the timber grew large in this location. The timber was cut and worked into cross ties for the railroad. He raised 10 Children, all boys with the exception of one girl by the name of Mary. They were all of tall, red-headed, freckled-faced, Irish descent. As the boys grew up and became young men they followed the timber work of making ties.
It is only natural that a young man is interested in Girls and going sparking. There was going to be a social event that evening. One brother sat down on a stump and another give him a hair cut with a pocket knife. After working the timber he was off to the social event to meet his girl.
Walking home through the woods at night, was generally no problem even though there was only starlight at best if there was no overcast. With a heavy over story of trees there was not much one could see. The path was well worn and familiar to everyone as there were only a few roads for hauling out ties from the timber.
Now the boys were working the timber as adults. It is better not to cross the path with Irishmen and especially those who are 6 foot or more in stature. Imagine them as well-muscled, self-willed, and independent outdoors types.
After walking his girl home, walking the path back home that night, he was suddenly stopped by a well dressed man, in a white shirt and dark vest, who would not step aside to let him pass. The Doyle brother said, "Mister, I don't know who you are but you had better step aside and let me pass." The man did not reply nor did he step aside. The next words from Doyle was, "Mister, I said move your —— or I will knock the —— out of you." The Doyle brother doubled up his fist and threw something better than a hay maker, hitting the area where the shirt and vest met. This time there was a reply, "Moo...oo."
Now I have never tried to knock a cow off her feet with a single blow. It must have been a shock to both the bovine and the Doyle boy. I can only imagine the misery the next day, trying to work the timber with a mangled hand.
Charles Doyle 8/23/03
My friend Oren Hays and I spent an enjoyable afternoon at Indian Bluff, not realizing what Monday morning would bring. Please view this picture of Indian Bluff for an understanding of the setting.
I told Dad that I was going hunting and walked to my friend’s house, Oren Hays, who joined me for the afternoon. It was not so much serious hunting but passing the time, having fun as well as squirrel hunting and being with a friend. It must have been late in the year to be hunting above the bluff on the south slope of the mountain, because fox squirrels are known for the trait of sunning on a tree limb late in the afternoon during fall and winter months. There will be sunshine on the south side while the north is in shadow. On this occasion we did not have a dog with us and hunted in unusual ways. The timber was not dense, the leaves had fallen, and we were spotting squirrels by eye. Some 5 or 6 squirrels were taken with a 22 rifle and at least two were taken from the same tree by putting the barrel up a hollow tree and firing. When the hunt was over, we turned to other activity on top the bluff. At home, I skinned the squirrels and prepared them for Mom to cook.
It was back to school on Monday morning after milking and taking the cows to pasture. We were at the bus stop at 7:30 in the morning. I do not recall if we rode the bus to school or ran to school as we sometimes did. Running may have occurred that morning out of necessity. I do not remember anything related to school beyond being at the bus stop. Our routine was broken, while waiting for the school bus, as Dad needed to go to town for something. He drove by and it was not five minutes until he came back. He had only got as far as Indian Bluff. Dad only motioned to me and Oren to come. We immediately jumped into the bed of the truck, realizing that it was not Sunday afternoon fun time, but a Monday morning dread time. We did not know what was to happen, but it was obvious that Dad had something in mind that we were not looking forward to.
I still don’t know how parents are so smart. Honestly, we had not been on the spot where Dad was taking us. We had said nothing, and as I recall I did not tell Dad where we were hunting. All was quiet until we arrived on the road in a particular spot where he stopped. The landscape had changed from Sunday afternoon to Monday morning, and Dad did not like the changes as he saw them. He was not a bit bashful when he gave us instructions as to what he expected of us.
Indian Bluff is perhaps two hundred feet high, an area where one would not want to fall. It seemed that overnight some large boulders had moved from the top of the bluff and were upon the road. Dad told me and Oren to move them off the road. It was totally clear what he expected, with only those few words, and we were left with our task, viewed then and now as Mission Impossible. The smaller boulders were moved. If the tonnage giants could be moved by any method at our disposal, they found themselves in the nearby creek on the low side of the road.
Back to Sunday afternoon — It was probably my idea but, in any case, some large rocks were rolled off the bluff. Some of these could only have been measured in tonnage, actually much too large and heavy to move by hand. The smaller ones made a loud noise when they hit the roadbed, and was real motivation for us to experiment further, changing potential energy to kinetic energy. The larger the boulder the better. Since we could not move the big boulders by hand, a method had to be developed for moving them from their resting spot atop Indian Bluff. Our method was to work from the high side, lying on our backs and pushing the boulders with our feet. We were careful that no one was on the roadway while we were having our fun. The boulders rolled some distance, picking up speed before going over the bluff. For a moment there was total silence as they would glide through the air, then a thunderous boom as they hit the road and a cloud of dust was kicked vertically into the air and along the roadway.
The next day, we found ourselves not nearly as strong or ingenious at moving boulders as we were on Sunday afternoon. There were 3 or 4 boulders that would stay until the road crew came through months later and cleared them from the roadbed. I can still in my mind's eye see Granddaddy Boulder on the roadbed as we passed by on the school bus each morning and afternoon. It would be a thrill to meet with Oren, now that we are adults, and see if it could be done today with the methods available then.
I only take responsibility for this one earthquake. Boys will be boys.
Charles Doyle 9/1/03
HUNTING SQUIRREL (submitted by Bill F.) As a kid on Bethlehem Road, I was not yet attuned to hillbilly ways. Norma Jean Booth had just knocked a squirrel out of a tree, throwing a rock left handed. "Norma, I thought you were right handed." She replied, "I am — just tear 'em up too bad with my right arm."
'PO BOY — I don't know any hillbilly jokes and only know one Southern joke. How can you tell a rich Georgia boy from a poor one? The rich one has TWO old cars jacked up in his front yard.
RECIPE FOR COOKING A COON — Roast the coon as you normally would and marinate it in corn liquor for two days. This ruins the coon but the gravy is wonderful !