Growing up in a small rural farm area like Sand Mountain had its perks. We didn’t have fancy restaurants, airports, art galleries, nightclubs, museums, malls, taxis, department stores, or many of the things we saw on TV that were found in the larger cities. What we did have was something you couldn’t find in the cities. We had community people who were neighbors, which made them family.
When someone got sick or injured, people came from miles around to bring food, help with chores, and even offer money if they had it. Folks just pitched in until the person was back on their feet. They didn’t mock or belittle the person or tell them they needed better insurance.
When we had community get-togethers, kids all played actual games instead of sitting around with their eyes glued to their cellphones. Of course, this was before cell phones. But we interacted with each other through ball games, pitching horseshoes, or other physical games. My favorite thing was to listen to the older folks tell stories. I never knew if the stories were completely true, but that didn’t matter. They could sure spin some yarns.
I was a kid when my uncle got run over by a bull. From the back of his legs and up his back to his shoulders were bloodied and bruised. He was out of commission for a while. I remember pickup trucks coming in and out all the time with neighbors coming by to see how they could help. Some brought produce. Others came with their tractors to keep up his farm work. I remember times when my uncle drove his tractor to other farms for the same reason: to help someone else.
I remember Mom making huge Dutch oven pots of homemade chicken soup, and we’d drive it to someone, usually an older person living alone, who was under the weather. Mom always spent a little time there cleaning the kitchen, doing dishes, or whatever else the person wasn’t able to do on their own at the moment.
This was certainly a good Christian thing to do, but it wasn’t about that. In fact, neither my mom nor my uncle attended church. Hence, people weren’t doing it out of a sense of Biblical responsibility; they were doing it to be neighborly. They never asked how someone worshipped, where they went to church, or if they went to church. It just came from a place in the heart of authentic caring.
Of all the things that have disappeared in the South and from the mountain, like mom-and-pop stores, road graders, and playing outside until dark, it is the demise of respect and brotherly love I dislike the most.
Neal Wooten is a columnist in the Mountain Valley News and North Jackson Press newspapers. He can be reached at [email protected].
