The old well down by the lot was a mysterious structure for a city boy raised on running water. It was just a hole in the ground surrounded by a brick wall about four feet high. Weeds and briers had grown up around the base of the wall, making it difficult to get too close. The wall supported a wooden frame, with a pulley mounted on a crossbeam over the center of the hole. The pulley was used to lower a bucket down into the hole and draw out water. On hot days Id follow my granddad down to the lot and watch him water his cows. Hed drop the bucket into the hole, letting the support chain slide swiftly through his cupped hands. A loud splash was followed by the kerplunk sound of water pouring into the bucket. Then the struggle began. I doubt that my granddad had ever heard of gravity. He just knew that pulling buckets of water out of a deep hole was hard work. The cows didnt know about gravity or hard work. They just needed something to drink. Theyd file into the lot from the little pasture behind the two-story barn, as soon as they heard the screeching sound the pulley made as my granddad waged war with Issac Newton. They jostled for space in front of an old cypress log that had been hollowed out to make a trough. They slurped water out faster than the old man could pour it in. When the battle was over, wed walk back to the front porch of the farmhouse. Id sit in the swing, and my granddad would flop down in an old rocking chair with a rough rawhide seat. Hed remove the straw fedora he wore religiously and hang it on the back of the chair. Then hed wipe the sweat from his forehead with a dirty handkerchief. For a long time hed just sit there, staring off down the dirt lane that led from the house to a cemetery about a half a mile away. You just could see the cemetery from the front porch. A young girl is buried in the cemetery, a farmers daughter who died long ago. Her father spent a lot of money to have a life-sized statue of an angel erected over the girls grave. The angel has the face of child. Her wings are spread open, as if shes ready to take flight. One of her fingers is pointed toward heaven. One day, as my granddad stared down the lane, I asked him a question: Papa, can you see the angel? He just looked at me and said, No. Everythings different now. The two-story barn was torn down for lumber. The wells still there but its been sealed up for safety reasons. Nobody would ever know that an old man used to water his cows there. But the angels still down at the cemetery, pointing her finger at the sky.
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 19:54:44 +0000
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