Southern Skies

The following is a story written by our editor in 2012 based on her experiences and life in the rural Arkansas Delta region. The story won a finalist position in the writing competition Delta Ink hosted in conjunction with the King Biscuit Blues Festival held in Helena, Arkansas.

The sky begins to lighten. The deep black of the night gradually evolves into a soft gray as the sun rises and soon turns to brilliant shades of red and yellow and pink and orange as it only does when rising over the Glorious South. The distant call of a coyote intermingles with the squawk of the rooster’s morning cry. The chill of the night has started to crystallize over the rolling fields and cascading greens that stretch from horizon to horizon. A Whitetail of considerable berth and stature raises his head from grazing in the pasture alongside a herd of cows to watch the newcomers walking into view.

One man stands in the stillness taking in the peaceful sights and sounds that surround him. Wearing worn jeans with dirt marks and oil stains, a red, plaid button down shirt with perfect, dainty pearl snaps ordaining the front seam, and scuffed but indeterminately sturdy, dependable boots that have seen much more than just dirt and asphalt, with a Carhart jacket thrown over his arm just in case the chill in the air were to permeate the man’s unremarkable attire.

The interesting thing, however, is not the man’s clothes or his presence. The thing that makes the ordinary scene extraordinary is the small girl that slowly and on unsteady legs makes her way to the man’s side a few strides after he stops his advance. Dressed in baby Wranglers tucked into small red cowboy boots that are comically bulky on the babe’s small frame, with a red straw hat nestled on a head of light brown locks, she secures the finger of the man, who adores her above all else, in her tiny hand. Seeming to be only a few years of age but nevertheless aware of the serenity and wonder of the scene in front of her, she looks up into the face of the man, her uncle.

When he looks down into her deep brown eyes he sees the questions. What is all this? The man does nothing except smile a rueful smile and stoop to take the child in his arms. The sudden movement spooks the deer and the next instant the animal is bounding across the pasture and over the fence into the field of lush wheat in the peak of their growth period. The sight invokes a peal of pure, unbridled, delightful laughter from the child as she makes an effort to articulate the hilarity of the deer being brown, but having a fluffy white tail. The man can not contain his affection and joy at hearing the child’s laugh, and plants a tender kiss at her temple. Then, also to the delight of the child, the man walks to the nearest bull -a massive brute that is solid white with curly fur above its eyes, a significant hump of flesh and muscle on its shoulders, and eyes that could make even the coldest person smile- and, as this is the gentlest bull in the herd, sits the child astride his back. The child asks the bulls name and laughs with renewed mirth when the man tells her Buttercup. The child is interested only in having Buttercup move from its inert state; so in acquiescence, the man gently nudges the bulls flank and walks beside child and animal all the way to the barn. All the while chuckling to himself in response to the howls of laughter emanating from the child and the snorts of enjoyment coming from the beast as the young girl waves her hands in wild abandon exclaiming she is, indeed, a cowgirl.

When the group reaches the barn adjoined to the equipment shop the man again lifts the child in his arms and proceeds to spin her around drawing forth yet even more carefree laughter. The man looks at the child and thinks of the innocence and simple happiness that accompanies childhood. He thinks of the consequences of events that has led him to this moment; an outing with his niece that unbeknownst to him at the time would supplement not only his relationship as a father figure in her life, but also in the woman that she would one day become. It is funny how things work; life had made it impossible for him and his wife to have any children of their own, but under happy circumstances had given him his niece as well as her two siblings to fill the void of love. He would never know just how much his presence in the little girl’s life meant to her. Yet, that was okay, because in times like these it is almost certain that he had an inkling of his importance.

All through the day the man worked in the homely, welcoming environment. He moved from one job to another, always with a tiny shadow in red cowboy boots trailing at his heels. As he worked on the wheel bearing on the John Deere 4440, he would hand her the tools he did not readily need and when he would glance at her he would laugh, joke and tease at the look of concentration and regality on the face of the child, for she knew that she had the most important job, and that she must take utmost care to do it correctly.

When the day was nearly over and the jobs had all been completed, the child was spent. Staggering around and whining to be held, the man put away all the tools and taking the child once again in his arms climbed up to the seat of the tractor and settled the girl in his lap. It is a funny circumstance that the first vehicle that child ever learned to drive was indeed a hulking machine used to plant crops. Nevertheless, as soon as the engine turned over and the bright green contraption began to move down the road and toward home, the man looked down into the face of the child. A smile came over his face as he looked into the equally brilliant setting of a glorious Arkansan sun; because when he looked down, the baby was curled into a small ball, and was fast asleep.

The above pictures are ones from my childhood. From left to right: My uncle (Pap) and I circa 1996, Pap standing with one of his bulls, and Pap watching over my brother and I riding our tractor.