When young brothers Gene and Jack moved in with their grandparents in 1950, they didn't realize then the impact that Grandpa Will and Grandma Ida would have on their lives. Life in rural Dallas Hollow, Tennessee, was not always easy, but it was one filled with love, laughter, and life lessons learned. In this memoir, Cherokee Lost, author Gene Guthrie shares a glimpse of life with his elders. While living with their grandparents, they learned of their grandfather's Cherokee Indian heritage. He taught them to survive and to take care of Mother Earth. He introduced them to timber cutting, hunting, fishing, and the art of blacksmithing. Grandma Ida showed them how to garden, pick berries, can fruits and vegetables, and dry apples. During the twelve years they lived with their grandparents, Gene and Jack learned much more than physical chores; they learned respect, pride, and how to laugh and enjoy life. They grew to appreciate Grandpa Will's Indian heritage and spirit. Through the words and actions of Grandpa Will, Cherokee Lost provides a tribute to the rural life of the south and the Native American outlook on life.

Cherokee Lost

By Gene Guthrie

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Gene Guthrie
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-5434-8

Contents

Moving In with Grandpa.....................1Summer.....................................11Toys and Games.............................42Fall and Harvest...........................49Winter and Holidays........................62Spring and Planting........................70Hunting....................................79Fishing and Sorghum........................89Timber Cutting.............................95Grandma's Passing..........................100Grandpa's Passing..........................107

Chapter One

Moving In with Grandpa

Sunshine always seemed to twinkle through the shiny new leaves at that time of year. Grandpa said it was because a small breeze was all it took to shake the tender leaves. I took a good deep breath of the air, which smelled of flowering trees and plowed fields.

Mom and Dad had departed after Sunday dinner at Grandpa Will and Grandma Ida's place in Dallas Hollow. Grandpa's place was located about twenty miles north of Chattanooga, Tennessee, at the base of Soddy Mountain, also known as Walden Ridge. My brother Jack and I were both excited about the decision that we would live full-time with our grandparents in early June, 1950. I had finished my first year of grade school.

Grandpa Will was tall, tan, and well-built from all the hard work he'd done, his hands muscular and rough to the touch. His face bore the wrinkles of time. He wore denim overalls with cotton shirts in the summer and flannel in the winter. A colored handkerchief was always hanging from a back pocket of the overalls. He wore a fedora-style hat with a single feather year round. In cooler months, he wore a sport jacket over the overalls. When winter finally came, he added a union suit under his overalls. He walked with a slight limp he had developed from years of carrying heavy loads of ice. He took a walking stick with him now anytime he was outside the house.

Grandpa Will strolled across the yard to a large bench seat located between two hickory trees. As Grandpa sat, he motioned us closer. He took his barlow pocketknife out of one pocket of his overalls and a plug of chewing tobacco from another. He cut off a piece of tobacco and placed it into his cheek. "Now, you two are going to live here with Ida and me. Your mom and dad have bought the hilltop house, and there's no room there for you boys. Why, there's not hardly room enough for one bed, let alone two. It's going to be like all the other times you've been here, except longer.

"You'll have chores to do, but we're going to have fun times too. Like I told you before, if I catch you getting into something that you're not supposed to be into, I'm going to cut your ears off." Grandpa Will always liked to tease us about cutting off our ears. As he reminded us of our responsibilities, I realized he talked of cutting ears off to see Jack squirm on the bench.

About this time, Grandma Ida came out of the house wearing her long garden apron. Holding both bottom edges to make what looked like a basket, she used the apron to gather vegetables. She walked over and said to me, "Why don't we go down to the garden and pick vegetables for supper? Then your grandpa can show you what your daily chores are going to be." Jack stayed with Grandpa on the bench.

As we entered the garden, I asked Grandma Ida if Grandpa was pleased that we were going to live with them, and a large smile came over her wrinkled face.

Grandma started picking green beans and replied, "Now, your grandpa doesn't wear his feelings on his sleeve, but he's the most caring man I've ever been around. It's been over thirty years now, but in the late fall of 1918, terror struck Lookout Mountain. We were all living out on the mountain at the time. My dad and my brother Deck, along with my sister Gracie, died of the flu, as did one of my twin sons, Harl. All of us were really sick then. It left my youngest brother sickly for some time after. I had Carl, the surviving twin, and your Aunt Vernon to care for, and I was pregnant with your mom."

Grandma moved to the tomatoes and continued, "Your grandpa had to build the coffins and get their bodies off Lookout Mountain to Head River Cemetery so they could be buried. A neighbor helped-they took a couple of wagons and teams. They packed picks, shovels, lanterns, blankets, and food for them and the horses. They had to dig the graves because no one else was available, due to all the people dying around Chattanooga and the valleys at the same time. Will said the ice was so bad on the road off the mountain, he loosened some of the horseshoe nails on the team for better traction."

By now we were in the onion patch. Grandma said, "If Will had not stepped up at such a time, my family would have been in deep trouble. Why, all that were left of my mom's kids was one teenage sister, one brother about ten years old, and five brothers and sisters, all younger."

"Who did all the chores after they passed away?" I asked.

"Your grandpa did all the plowing, planting, and livestock care. Timber had to be cut for lumber and firewood. None of my brothers or sisters could have managed the farm without your grandpa. My surviving brothers were so small, it was all they could do to chop kindling, much less tend to the large amounts of firewood needed during the winter. It was six or eight years later before my brothers were big enough to do much plowing. Will was patient; he treated my brothers like they were his sons."

"Has Grandpa always liked boys better?" I asked.

Grandma shrugged. "Will always liked being around boys more than the girls. It must have been a throwback to his Indian youth. He told me his dad brought him and his sisters off the reservation when he was about eight. They took the name Gatlin from the family who raised them. Now, what I've told you will be our secret, so don't tell Jack or your cousins."

When we had finished gathering all the vegetables, Grandma looked over at me and said, "We better get back up to the house now before your grandpa and Jack come looking for us."

My head was abuzz from all the info about Grandpa Will. I couldn't stop smiling. Would Grandpa recognize my smile and suspect Grandma had revealed secrets? I couldn't wait for our next conversation in the garden.

As we arrived back in the yard, Grandma returned to the house. Grandpa took Jack by the hand and motioned me to follow. We first went to the wood pile. "Every day you need to chop enough kindling to fill the box beside the kitchen stove. While you're there, the ash can needs to be emptied. Remember to keep the corn husk box filled-corn husk is what your grandma uses to start the fire."

Next was the corncrib. "Now, you already know how to shell the corn and run the cracker, so keep the bin full and throw a can of feed to the chickens morning and night. Mix about two-thirds corn and a third red sorghum seeds. If you see a brown-colored snake in here, don't get spooked. He's called a bull snake, and I let him alone. He eats mice and will not bother you as long as you give him his space."

From there we went to the chicken house. "Eggs are now yours to collect, afternoons only. If you see corncobs around the nest, leave the eggs. The corncobs are how I'll mark the setting hens' nests; they will hatch the eggs and give us new chicks. And keep the yard and paths swept and raked."

I asked, "Why is it so important to keep them clear? Wouldn't grass be better?"

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