Storytelling

Price Lake, Blue Ridge Parkway

When I was growing up, I looked forward to summers mainly because it meant "camping season". It also meant "work in the garden season", but as a kid I wasn't so much in to that! Once school was out, Dad would get out the camping checklist and we would begin stocking the camper.

We would usually head up to either Doughton or Julian Price Parks on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and, of the two, Julian Price was my favorite - I guess because of the Lake, which had canoe rentals. Not to mention Tweetsie Railroad was mere minutes away!

At each of the two campgrounds was located a gathering place where nature talks, ecumenical Sunday services, and other 'events' were held. At Doughton Park there was the hilltop Campfire Circle and at Price Lake the lakeside Amphitheater.

One summer, when we were at Price Lake, there was a storyteller's night at the Amphitheater, featuring (most likely, although I don't remember for sure) Ray Hicks and/or his son Orville. After telling a few stories, including a couple of "Jack Tales", the audience was invited to share some "tall tales".

At which point Dad, the "Ole Man of the Mountain", stood up and spun this tale:

When I was growing up in Dust Bowl Texas, we lived for a time on a ranch. One day Daddy Ed sent my older brother Wilmer and me out to dig postholes for a new fence on the "back forty". We labored long and hard in the Texas sun and dug a long line of perfectly formed postholes. As we worked, the sky began turning that particular shade that always preceded a sandstorm.

We gathered our tools and 'high tailed' it back to the house, barely reaching safety before the full fury of the storm hit. For a whole day the sandstorm raged as we all sat in the house, trying to block all the cracks below the doors and around the windows to keep as much sand out of the house as possible.

Finally the storm blew itself out and we ventured outside. Once we finished the cleanup around the house, Daddy Ed sent Wilmer and me back out to continue our work on the fence line. When we reached the back forty, we were amazed to find that the sandstorm had blown with such fury that it had eroded all the dirt away from around all the holes and left them sticking up out of the ground.

Not being ones to miss an opportunity to generate some income for the family, we loaded all the postholes into the back of the Model T and drove into town, selling them to townfolk who were in need of some new ones for their mailboxes and clotheslines and etc.

I still have a couple of good Texas postholes that I carry with me in the truck in case I ever find myself in need.

The best part of the story came when our fellow campers came by our campsite over the next few days to see the Texas postholes - and some of them were quite confused when all they saw was an empty truck bed!

NOTE: To the Ole Man of the Mountain, if I missed any of the fine details of the story, please fill me in!