Green Apples
When Maud McMinn, mother of Geneva Boone (Clarence) and Ruby Smith (Eric), was about 70 or so, she was attending a Sunday School Rally at the Baptist church in Fosterville, one of many that were held from time to time in the pastoral field. On this particular day in mid-summer, Junior Boone and I, youngsters at the time, full of vim and vigor, were more interested in having fun than sitting through a stuffy meeting. During the noon break, we were running around throwing green apples at each other; generally being boys. In retaliation for being beaned with an apple, I grabbed one and took off in pursuit of him. Maud was standing in a group of three or four ladies talking and I lined Junior up in my sights just as he ducked between the standing ladies. The hard, green missile found its mark alright, only the mark happened to be Maud. Square on the temple, it landed, with enough force to knock her down. I stood dumbfounded as her knees slowly buckled and with a sigh, she collapsed like a wet flour sack. My whole future flashed through my mind in an instant: I killed her. If I am not hung, I will be in jail the rest of my life living on bread and water. IF I survived the trouncing mother is sure to lay on me. Someone called for smelling salts. No one had any, but Edith Farrell had some at home about 500 yards down the road. Junior and I ran like the wind to fetch the smelling salts and when we got back, Maud was sitting up but still befuddled. Eventually helping hands got her across the road to Lily Kinney's where she rested for a time. Fortunately, the experience had no lasting effects on her. Physically, anyway.
Me? True enough, mother was fit to be tied when she learned of the dastardly deed. After withstanding a reshaping of my head by a windmilling purse/handbag, I crawled into the far corner of Kenneth Veysey's shed next to the church to bawl my heart out as only a 10-year-old can do. The one redeeming feature of this exile to the shed was a comforting word and hug from the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She must have been 14 or 15; probably older. She simply laid her hand on my cheek and said everything would be alright. I've loved her ever since. Although I never did learn who she was, I think it was Stella (Wood] Veysey's (Kenneth's wife) sister, Peggy maybe? If she is still living (doubtful) and ever sees this, I want her to know her comfort that day stayed with me a lifetime.
Now one would think being careless with green apples as in this instance, that a lesson learned.
The walloping I received for beaning poor Mrs. McMinn was not the first, nor the last, for miscreant behavior. They did not occur often but enough to teach me my first valuable lesson in physics: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The second lesson, for every unacceptable behavior there are consequences. If you don’t relish the pain, use your brain. No time out nonsense. No babble-gabble. A leather strap across the butt spoke volumes.
Sometimes it took a couple of consequences to drive home the point: Behave yourself.
Fast forward two or three years. Green apples again. This time I hit Si Watson in the belly. Whether it was accidental or deliberate, I don’t remember, although probably the latter. Si had a way of aggravating the soul out of the devil. Even dad ran afoul of his ill-will. During the illness of his son-in-law, Joe Clark, mother had helped out around Si’s house. Si’s wife had died earlier and so did Joe’s wife, Alice. Si said one day that my mother was a “good woman”, but that old man of yours is a sh*t.
Whatever Si though of dad, it didn’t stop him from informing him that I had hit him with a green apple.
He wasn’t hurt but he was annoyed. Oh boy. Another lesson in physics. Behind the house was a ten cord pile of 4-foot slab wood from the mill. Dad handed me a bucksaw, pointed at the pile and said, “You will not leave this yard until every stick is sawed into 16-inch lengths for the kitchen stove.” It was August. Hot, sultry days. The perfect kind for swimming in the stream running through the village of Forest City. Perfect weather for sawing wood. Didn’t matter if I worked an hour a day at it, or eight hours. I was grounded until the job was done. The quicker I finished, the quicker I was free.
Three weeks of sweat, tears and toil. The last slab fell from the saw.
This time the lesson took root. I never threw a green apple again. Not even at the cat.