Daddy Talks Turkey

I don’t know about your house, but with my family, as we sit around the Thanksgiving table, stories begin to flow.  My daddy always has a good supply of them.  As this holiday wraps up, I wanted to share some of his thoughts on turkey and Thanksgiving.

He doesn’t remember eating turkey very many times, while growing up on the mountain, and I wondered why There weren’t many wild turkeys around for many years – or maybe decades. Today, we have several of them around, probably due to the efforts of the Tennesse Wildlife Resource Agency.

Daddy does remember one turkey-hunting story.  Around 1930, Uncle Menzo Atkinson and Menzo’s sons, planned to meet some of their family and hunt on the north end of the county. Somehow, they missed the meet-up, but didn’t waste the opportunity to hung. They killed a wild turkey. As they wrapped-up their day, they happened upon the rest of their hunting party. That other group held up a mess of squirrel and Uncle Menzo silently reached into the wagon and came out with the turkey. They enjoyed telling the story as Aunt Medie skinned and cooked it.

Of course, you can have a feast without turkey. One year all of Daddys aunts and uncles gathered at Grandma Keys for a holiday meal and Berris Stepp, Hollis Henry and Vernon Roberts slipped of coon hunting. They were successful and came in with a big kill. Then they wondered what to do with it. Grandpa Berris quietly said, “Grandma will cook that if you ask her to.” Grandma Ida Key heard them and agreed to cook the coon if they would clean it good. The next day, the table was spread with plenty, including the coon. The Aunts were none too happy about that addition to their carefully  planned menu.

I would like to know who decided that the proper Thanksgiving meal was turkey. Aunt Cecil Hall was at Grandma’s talking about folks eating turkey and the girls all decided they ought to serve that as well. So they pooled their money, bought a turkey, and that was the first time Daddy remembered having turkey on Thanksgiving.

Whatever you ate, and I hope you had plenty, please count your blessings today. We have a fair share of trouble in this country, but we are also immensely blessed.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

One Heroe's Story: Amos Key

Each year in November, America pauses to recognize the brave men and women who have marched under our flag to preserve freedom around the world. Sometimes, we can get really focused on a handful of heroes and forget that everyone who honorably serves one day deserves our gratitude.

Today, I want to share one story that has been handed down in my family.

Amos Key was born in Martha Washington to James Elbert and Ruth Gracie (Todd) Key on August 25, 1921. On February 16, 1942, Amos registered for the draft in Alcoa, Tennessee. At that time, he was living in Alcoa and working at the Aluminum Company of America.

When he was called up, he trained as a pilot and eventually flew a B-24 bomber. He was stationed near Cerignola, Italy from June 27, 1945 to September 29, 1945.  Returning from a bombing run in Austria, Amos’ plane was hit by shrapnel which punctured one of the fuel tanks. His crew used the fuel transfer system to keep all four engines running but soon realized they would not have enough fuel to return home. Amos made the decision to cross the Adriatic Sea from the coastline of Yugoslavia. Shortly after spotting the coastline of Italy which was occupied by both Germans and British the group of 11 men had to bail out of the B-24. Amos directed his men to stand over the Bombay doors. Once in position, he opened the doors so the men could jump clear of the plane. Each man was told they needed to wait until they reached a certain altitude before pulling their rip cord. One of the men pulled it prematurely and fell into the ocean but was picked up by a fishing boat.  The others landed South of Ancona, near the coastline between enemy lines where they were rescued by a British armored group. All eleven made it back safely to their base in Italy.

On Easter Sunday, April 1, 1945, Amos and his crew were on another bombing run to Adolf Hitler’s home town of Vienna, Austria. During this flight, the plane was struck by shrapnel from artillery stationed on railroad box cars. Amos’ 2nd starboard engine was hit but the wing was left intact. The propeller on that engine began to “windmill” (spin) which created a great amount of drag and loss in altitude. It was decided once again that the crew would have to abandon their plan. They turned south trying to get away from enemy territory. This time they were not going to make it back to Italy; they would have to bail out over Yugoslavia. As the plane lost altitude, Amos strongly encouraged the men to get out quickly - Amos was always the last one out. The crew estimated that they landed somewhere between the cities of Jubljana and Zabok. Each one of them landing safely, but were instructed to split up and go their separate ways. Amos recounts hiding in some hills overlooking a small village. He hid as people walked past him on their way to church. He hid in logs and covered himself with leaves at night - anything he could do to stay out of sight. Cold and hungry, Amos found himself at the doorstep of a cottage looking for help. Airmen were instructed to always go to an isolated home to improve their chances if they needed to run. Fortunately, he had chosen a home that welcomed him in. Later, through the Tito partisans, a Yugoslavian soldier came for him. Amos remembered that he was a little hesitant to hand over his sidearm. The two traveled for 8 days sometimes by the road the other times through the woods. Soon, he was reunited with some of his men. After a few days rest and nourishment about 15 airmen from different fighter groups were taken to a farm field. A farmer with a single piston farm tractor came out and began to cut down his wheat field in long strips. Not long after that, an Army jeep came out and placed radar airs at each end of the cut field. A group of P-51 Mustangs were soon sighted overhead so that a C-47 rescue plane could come in and take them out. Two weeks later, Amos Key’s men were all back together.

Amos and his crew continued to fly, but philosophy of bombing was changing, according to Amos. US airmen were beginning to receive orders to bomb non-military targets. They felt that the German people needed to know that there was a war going on and it was decided that the spirit of the German people needed to be broken. The crew was given orders to begin bombing runs on Cologne & Dresden in Germany. It lasted for two weeks. It was difficult for the men of to do this, but they were given their orders. Amos recounted how he often asked God what he must think of his people and the things they do to one another.

As the war was closing, Amos and his crew were sent home. Amos had lost many friends during the war, but he particularly remembered a friend with whom he had gone through boot camp and training school. He was the Captain of another B-24 which was shot down over the Adriatic. Amos recalled only seeing three parachutes deploying from his friend’s plane before disappearing out of sight. He never heard from his friend again and often thought if he did make it out of the plane with his crew that they would have perished in the ocean.

Amos returned home safely on June 27,1945.

A Letter from Beth about The Next Book

Good evening Friends and Readers,

I write you a few hours later than I normally publish the weekly blog but I hope you will forgive my tardiness when I tell you that I’ve spent this day - in fact the last few days - frantically working to get Margaret’s Faith to press. I’ve got a proof copy on its way and by next week I hope to be able to report the book is available on Amazon with copies at retail locations shortly thereafter!

There is always a long list of people who ought to be thanked for getting one of these things out - one of these days I’ll attempt to present that list - and you readers are certainly on it.

Thank you for your patience with me as I finish up these details. I very much look forward to sharing this story with you and I’m always eager to hear your feedback.

BETH

Changing Time

The time changed this past weekend and we are supposed to be enjoying an extra hour of sleep each night.  Instead, my body refuses to adjust and I’m just up early.  Every time the clocks have to change to accommodate Daylight Savings Time I have to adjust – well we all do, don’t we?

As I began to think of Daylight Savings Time from an historical perspective I did a little research and found that I really did not know the history at all.  “Fast Time” was implemented during World War I to save lighting fuels for the war effort.  I had thought the concept was much older and had been designed to support the Industrial Revolution.

I’m always fascinated when I see old factory buildings with their numerous tall windows that remind me they were built and used before the rows of fluorescent lighting we’re so accustomed to in commercial buildings now.  Its’ not hard to imagine the importance of sunshine during working hours in those buildings.  Often you see the big arched spaces have been filled-in either with plywood or brick as they are now more of a security concern than a necessity.

In the Tennessee mountains however factories were of little concern as the hours of sunshine shortened with the approach of winter.  The schedule on a farm is set by the sun and the weather instead of a clock.  My daddy always said a dairyman should start his milking about 4 a.m.  As I think about that rule I suspect the time was more because many modern farmers work a public job and have to finish their milking in time to get to work.  On an earlier farm with no electricity, why would you go to the barn before daylight?  Coal oil was a precious commodity that cost hard earned pennies, it would not be burned to light chores that could be just as easily accomplished in another hour. 

We always think of farm families going to bed with the chickens.  Certainly after a day of hard physical labor you’re ready for a good night’s sleep, but as I think about this lighting issue I’m betting that was a big factor too.

The Great Night Sky

It seems to me that we are increasingly an indoor society.  We drive inside our cars which we park in garages which we access with a remote.  We pick up our food at drive through windows, have goods delivered to our door – it makes me wonder how long could you really go without your foot actually touching earth.

Now I’m a farm girl and somehow that means I gotta touch grass occasionally.  When I was in college – my first experience in the big city and surrounded by asphalt – I would get homesick for grass, I would crave the sun and wind on my face.  That’s never really left me yet I find myself getting caught up in running the house and running errands and my time walking in the woods or sitting in green pastures is frittered away.

Last week I did find the opportunity to sit out under the great night sky and watch the Orionid Meteor Shower and it renewed my need for open skies and fresh air.  I was out there at 5 a.m. and it was pretty chilly but it was wonderful.  My children were a little slower to join me but when they finally got out there they too could see the wonder of God’s work in the heavens and the cold faded into the background. 

I look at the vast expanse of space and see simple things (bright lights, twinkly stars, beauty).  But my husband was explaining how to navigate by the stars and teaching the children that men have been doing that for centuries, in fact they set out in tiny wooden ships across unknown waters guided only by those stars.  I’m way more comfortable marking my way by the rising of the sun against a mountain, unique trees or rock formations and other landmarks.  But never have I faced West and just started walking with no hope of a road sign or GPS signal. 

Those generations that went before were so brave.  Sure some immigrants were practically chased from their homes and they may not have been any more fearless than I when they climbed into the hold of a ship and drifted out to sea.  And the westward migration was driven by a quest for fortune, for a better life.   Still there were women who left everything they knew with no hope of ever seeing it again.  They left parents, siblings and friends.  They lived in a day when letters were their only hope of communication and regular mail deliveries were still a century away.  Yet that same bright sky I sat under just last week blanketed those adventurers so long ago; the same stars twinkled at them.  

I’ve been mourning the losses of several elderly relatives lately as I feel like so much history dies with them.  There are so many stories I haven’t heard and documented.  There are so many people I will never know from their memories.  Realizing the constancy of things like the night sky is somehow a comfort, isn’t it?