Barefoot Memories of a Hillbilly - Smoothed Around the Edges (FREE ACCESS)

Well, here we are nearing the end of April, and we are getting ready for a little cold snap, I'm thinking it might be snowball or dogwood winter. Soon it will be strawberry winter, needed to bring on the most delicious red berries. Some may not realize it, but the sweetest of fruits enjoy cool evenings to rest and set their blossoms, and sunny warm days to grow and develop juices. There ain't any one thing that makes for the best garden, it takes sun and clouds, warm and cool, and rain and breeze. People are kinda like that. They need different experiences and exposures in their life to make them the cream of the crop. I've always believed that of all the professions in the world, the farmer is the most dependent on his faith and experiences.

The farmer tills the soil and blends the nutrients into the soil and he looks to the sky and says the ground is good, the sky is clear, and the air is warm, I think I'll plant these seed. Now just cause they put the seeds into the dirt, they can't be certain something will grow. Their faith tells them that faith the size of a mustard seed will move mountains, grow green beans, feed big families and fill the barn with lots of hay. Farming is faith in action. Now that's not saying others aren't equally as faithful as the farmer, but it means those like farmers and fishermen place themselves in God's hands from sun up to sun up. They have no back up plan. Like Joseph in the Bible, the lay away grain for years of drought and famine, but whether it be a year of plenty or a year of little, the farmer continues to sew his seed in faith that God will direct the elements to nurture and feed those seeds to their maturity.

For years, the hillbilly has been labeled as the slackers that lie around on the front porch swilling down moonshine in their raggedy overalls. Truth is I've never met a lazy successful hillbilly. Yes, it's true I like sitting on the porch in the cool evening of a hot day, listening to the dove coo her mournful tune, and watch lightening bugs sparkle up the night. I've even owned a pair of ragged overalls, but only wore them when I lived in the city. Never cared for strong drink, and most of the people I know would tell you they'd rather be kicked between the eyes by an ornery mule as live with the hangover brought on by liquid mind bender. Actually, I'm guessing the people who began portraying the hill folk as these never do wells, most likely never spent a day hoeing corn with Mom in the next row fussing about “you kids better be getting a move on, or else…”

Farmers are workers of faith; they don't mind seeing their reflection in the droplets of sweat brought on by hard work and sunshine. They raise their young'ens pretty much the same way they raise their crops...hard work and faith.

To some, our raising might seem as rough as a corn cob, but to be a polished surface one needs to endured the grit and grind enough to reach a smooth refined finish. That's us country folk, a refined finish in the polishing process.

I wear shoes now, but sometimes I have barefoot memories.