Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, May 5, 1994 TAG: 9405050140
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE:
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
My mother, Peggy Bond of Fries, is a natural-born planter. An expert on growing things, she knows all the secrets, such as planting by the signs of the moon, making cow manure tea and using a drop of mineral oil in the end of each ear of corn to prevent cutworms from entering.
Mama is notorious for the seeds and starts and roots she has acquired from all the places she has traveled. As we walk about her yard, she'll say, ``Oh, that's the hummingbird vine I raised from a start I picked from Biltmore,'' or ``That oak grew from an acorn I found at Monticello.''
Just last summer she asked my husband, Peary, and me to take her back to her great-grandfather Wingler's graveyard, and so we did. Now this graveyard is located on top of a mountain near Poplar Cove in Wilkes County, N.C. We had to park our truck and walk a rambling path for about a mile up the face of that mountain. We found the graveyard grown over and in poor condition, but Mom went about finding clumps of ivy from Peyton's grave and vinca from Hannah's.
Lo and behold near Uncle Wiley's grave were two seed-bed trays of marijuana - there must have been 200 plants in each tray. Peary pointed and said, ``Do you know what that is?''
I nodded and showed them to Mama and said, ``Don't touch anything, Ma. Let's just get our starts and go.''
Mom could see these plants were wilted and not well cared for, and she became grievously upset. She spoke her piece, saying, ``I don't care what they're used for, honey, nothing should be left like this without water and nurturing,'' and she set about trying to find them some. I began arguing in favor of leaving and assured her we could come back again sometime.
Shortly thereafter came a ZING, SPAT, ZING sounding through the trees. Someone on the face of the mountain opposite was shooting about 10 feet over our heads.
I ducked and screamed, ``My God, they're going to kill us.'' But Ma said, ``They don't mean us no harm, they're just trying to scare us away from these plants. Let's just mosey right slow-like on down the mountain.''
Peary and I didn't care much about moseying, so we stepped off at a faster pace. ZING, SPAT, ZING, the bullets kept raining.
Ma found some wild iris growing along the path and swore she had to have a start. They probably were the fastest-dug bulbs in the world, as we had them dug and out of there in two seconds flat. We soon reached our truck, loaded up and left.
Ma said, ``Look, Becky, they meant us no harm. You know these mountain boys don't miss when they shoot. If they don't hit you right off, that means they just want to scare you.''
I've thought about that day often and I know I'll think of it again. Especially this year, when those Wilkes County wild iris bloom in Mama's front yard.
- REBECCA BOND MOORE
Growing up in a house with three brothers, one dog, six carnival fish, a lizard and a snake was magical, exciting and louder than what is considered a safe decibel level for your eardrums. However, there was a special 30 minutes each day when my mom, Joyce Cornett, and I would sneak away to watch the ``I Love Lucy'' show.
Our favorite episode was when Little Ricki was supposed to join his father on-stage for a ``bongo drum babba-loo duet.'' Little Ricki had an extreme case of stage fright and didn't think he could perform. So Lucy repeated to him over and over, ``Don't be nervous, Little Ricki,'' and, as is the case with most sitcoms, this one had a happy ending.
I have gone from watching this show while I drink my bottle on my mommy's lap, to watching it after pre-school with my mom, to racing in after junior high to watch it with my mother. Through 25 years, whenever I have been scared or nervous, my mom has told me the same magic words that Lucy whispered to Little Ricki.
On Aug. 1, 1992, I stood between my mom and dad at the end of a church aisle waiting to join my husband-to-be. Convinced that I would trip, faint, burp during the vows, or catch my dress on fire as I lit the unity candle, I began to tremble. As the people stood, the organ blared, and the flames flickered, my mom squeezed my hand and said, ``Don't be nervous Little Ricki.''
Now that I don't live at home, the magic words aren't heard as often. Last September, with all the birds out of her nest, my mom finally began nursing school at Roanoke Memorial Hospital. As we talked on the phone the night before her first class, my mom worried about getting lost, failing tests and losing her lunch money. As we hung up, I said, ``Good luck, I love you, and don't be nervous, Little Ricki.''
I hope the Lucy re-runs never go off the air and that one day I will have a child to sit in my lap and watch it with me.
- ANDREA CORNETT BAYNE
by CNB