Just across the branch and a little south of the path to Uncle Earl’s was the cow pen. It was fenced and we always “brought up” the cows at night to stay in the pen. Inside the pen was a cow shed. It was about an open shed—a trussed roof held up posts around the outside, about 16’x 30’. As best I remember the roof had a wooden deck and “tar paper” roof”. “Tar paper” was a rolled roofing or siding material. The long dimension of the shed ran north and south. Down the middle next to the center were two rows of troughs for feeding. I believe there was a row of poles holding up crest of the roof that ran the length of the shed. There was a “V” shaped hay holder with leaning sides made of narrow boards several inches apart that would hold hay, that the cows could pull down and eat. I think cow feed also went into the troughs. In the mornings, Daddy and Uncle Earl fed the cows. While the cows were eating, Daddy and Uncle Earl would milk them. Wade milked too, when he got big enough. I never got big enough, while we were still doing that.
The cows had names. There was Suzie, and Flossie and Blaze that I remember. I think maybe Blaze had been Suzie’s calf. Wade and I had to go and “bring up” the cows at night. Sometimes they were all the way down in salt bottom on Uncle Earl’s place, next to Calebee Swamp. We would “get around” them and “drive them” to the shed.
Suzie was mean. Sometimes she would chase us, and we would have to get up a tree. Flossie was nice, though. Suzie was the bell cow, the leader of the herd. After we had moved away from the Little House, old Suzie came up missing. I went with Daddy in search of her. We found her bones in edge of the swamp, in a brushy area with low vegetation. I will always remember the strange pattern of broken-down bushes and cow tracks, where the herd had gone round and round her dead body. Some strange, haunting death ritual.
Just north of the cow pen, and across the path that led to Uncle Earl’s there was what I will call a “patch” of French mulberries. They are etched in my memory for some reason. Wandering around in them was an adventure for a little boy. It was not just the French mulberries—the purple bunches of inedible fruit—that were fascinating. There were big spider webs. In the mornings, the spider webs would catch dew, and if the sun caught it just right, you could see the rainbow colors. And in the webs were the big, beautiful black and gold spiders. And there were butterflies. Big, beautiful butterflies.
And on the pine trees, in the pine thicket and close to the cow pen, we would find “locust” shells. The shells were dried skins, left by an insect—I think a cicada—that we called locusts, apparently in a process of metamorphosis. We found lots of them. As twilight descended, the locusts—the actual bugs that would eventually left their shells on the pine trees—would “sing.” There song was a distinctive, intermittent two pitched buzzing (maybe two different bugs) that I still associate with the sounds of night fall. These look like the 17 year cicadas that you can now find on the internet, but it seemed like we had them every year. Maybe their life cycle involves 17 years, but with a different crop every year.
And around the cow pen at the right time of year, there would be “June bugs.” They were green, and when they lit on a big flower, you could catch them. Then you could tie a string around one of the June bug’s legs, and have it fly in delightful circles around and around, while you held the other end of the string. Somehow, I associate their buzzing flying noise with the sound of lots and lots of airplanes near the end of WWII.
And there was one more fascinating bug that intrigued us: the tumble bug. That is not exactly what we called them, but if you are from that era you will understand. These bugs seemed to operate in pairs. Somehow. they maneuvered dung (even including human waste) into a small ball. Then, with one on one side, and one on the other, one would push, and one pull, I guess, but they were always intent one taking it somewhere. I can’t say where they were taking it, or what they planned to do with it! Oh well. If you look up tumble bug on the internet, you will get the gymnastics. If you want to see what I’m talking about, enter a search for “tumble turd.”
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