As a young boy growing up in Bear Creek Valley, I watched as my Dad farmed his portion of the valley year after year. Occasionally he would help his fellow neighbors with their fields. One very hot July afternoon in the late 60’s, my Dad received a call from Henry Hearn, a cantankerous old man that lived on the extreme upper end of the valley. I never understood Mr. Hearn, for to me he just seemed like an angry, mean old man. But, Dad understood him and actually liked him. Dad would say, "He just had a dry sense of humor and took some getting use to." After a few minutes on the phone with Mr. Hearn, Dad told him he would be up tomorrow to help him put up hay.
His wife Sylvie, on the other hand, was a kind, gentle and loving soul that everyone adored. For those of us kids growing up in the valley, kin or not, she was another grandmother. She always gave hugs, baked cookies and listened to our ramblings with grace and patience. Sylvie loved kids and it showed. So, it was only fitting that she worked summers as a cook in the kitchens of the local Boy Scout camp. Generations of boys came and went through the doors of the Sawmill Camp galley being served their meals by loving local ladies like Grandma Sylvie and my own mother, Sue Shepherd. Some of the boys who helped out in the kitchen got to know them and felt lucky to have taken the time.
As with most food service jobs, one of the best benefits of the job are the leftovers. Sylvie and Mom always kept their deep freezers chocked full of left over casseroles, side dishes, pies and cakes for their hard working farmer husbands to warm up during the day while they were at work.
After a hot and dusty morning in the fields Henry and Dad decided to knock off and head to the house for lunch. As usual Henry’s old dog "Coaly" met the two hot and tired men at the mail box and followed them all the way back to the house. Named so because of his coal black fur from the tip of his nose to his frantically wagging tail with the exception of one white patch on his neck, Coaly danced and barked all around the two men as they climbed down from their tractors and headed inside and out of the heat.
Coaly was your typical farm dog. His days existed of hunting rabbits, laying in the shade of an old oak tree or running down to the creek for a cool dip and a drink. Besides his unique color Coaly also had the unusual distinction of having one brown eye and one blue eye, with the blue eye being lazy, giving the effect that he was looking in two directions at the same time. "Damn dog, you can’t tell if he’s looking at you or for you," Henry would mutter as he vigorously petted his old friend.
Henry and Coaly had a unique love-hate relationship. Sometimes they were friendly and other times you thought they were going to kill each other, it depended on their moods. One day Coaly would meet Henry at the entrance to the drive, his tail wagging so hard it looked like it would snap off, while other days he would lay on the porch and growl if he thought you were trying to sneak up on him. If a car went by, the old dog would absolutely lose his mind and would chase the vehicle until the dust would nearly choke him.
"There’s a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge," Henry said to Dad, as they entered the house. "You pour us a couple of glasses and I’ll see what I can rustle us up to eat," he continued as he and Dad shuffled around in the kitchen near the refrigerator. After a moment or two of looking around and muttering Henry growled, "Well, Mamma didn’t leave us a dang thing to eat," as if it was Sylvie’s only lot in life to feed him even though she worked too.
Sylvie, along with the other local ladies like my Mom, were the best cooks in the land but their culinary talents went unnoticed and often unappreciated. If you were to listen to Henry, as he dug through the leftovers, you would think he was being subjected to the worst form of physical torture. My father, being a former World War II P.O.W. knew first hand how bad things could get and appreciated his wife’s good cooking. However, he let his friend rant knowing full well anything he said would just be wasted breath.
"How’s a man suppose to eat this garbage," Henry would grumble as he rummaged through the chest freezer. Sticking his head in so far he nearly fell in, he finally came out with what appeared to be a frozen pound cake wrapped in cellophane. Having been in the bottom of the freezer since the Jurassic Age the cake had withered to a shadow of its former greatness. Freezer burnt and dried, it weighed less than half of it’s original weight. "This damn cake, I am so tired of shuffling it around," he yelled waiving the package over his head. "This thing has been in here since Moses was a boy. By George, if nobody’s eaten it by now, ain’t nobody going too."
"C’mere, Coaly," Henry called to his old dog as he kicked the back porch screen open with one foot. "Dang dog’ll eat anything," he muttered as he unwrapped the frozen package. Hunting rabbits in the field out back of the farmhouse, Coaly heard his master call and came running full speed in anticipation of another great leftover meal he had come to cherish so much. As the lucky recipient of many Scout Camp scraps that Sylvie would bring home from work for the old dog, Coaly could hardly wait. Maybe it would be roast beef or maybe biscuits and gravy. His mind swirled with possibilities as he scampered toward the house.
Henry, seeing Coaly running full speed, turned to Dad and said, "Watch this," at which time he wound up and threw the cake up into the air with all the strength the sixty year old farmer could muster. "That dog would eat out the south end of a northbound mule," he said as the cake started its climb into the air.
To both men’s amazement the dehydrated dessert sailed up like a Frisbee high into the summer sky and Coaly took off like a shot determined to run down his culinary trophy. Beating the cake to its estimated landfall, Coaly sat patiently waiting for his reward to decent from the heavens above. Months of freezer burn had made the once tasty pound cake light as air. As the cake sailed up into the clear summer sky it finally reached it’s apex and began the thundering decent down to earth picking up speed with each passing second.
Coaly watched the cake sail up into the sky and for a moment as it glistened in the summer sunlight it looked like a feast meant for a king. He watched intently as it started back down with as much intent as his old eyes could muster. Coaly could barely contain himself and small "yips" came from the old dogs throat as he quivered with anticipation watching it plummet back to earth.
Finally, he could no longer stand it and he leaped up into the air to close the gap between himself and his culinary prize. At the precise ill-fated moment of impact the dried out chalky pastry crammed itself mercilessly into the unsuspecting K-9’s throat wedging itself deep into the dogs windpipe.
For one brief moment, Coaly rejoiced in his successful apprehension, but soon the reality of his situation sat in as he tried to draw his first breath. Suddenly, Coaly began convulsing as he clawed and dug at his throat emitting a ghastly coughing and hacking sound. Rolling around on the ground and stumbling into trees and lawn furniture he frantically tried everything he could to dislodge the cake from his throat.
The two men’s laughter suddenly turned into concern as they rushed out to help the hapless K-9. Luckily, just as they reached Coaly, the cake finally dislodged and fell out in crumbly dry chunks. A few more pitiful hacks and he was free.
Henry laughed so hard his suspenders almost snapped. "Dang dog, that’ll teach him," he laughed as he headed back into the house.
As soon as lunch was over, the two men readied themselves to return to the fields. As they headed out the back porch door, a truly astounding site awaited them. For there, sitting up in the begging position was Coaly, patiently waiting for his next hand out to come flying out of the house to his awaiting stomach.
"Dumb as a box of hammers," Henry muttered as he fired up his tractor and headed off for the fields.
