STORY BOARD
Watching Memories Go Up in Smoke - Russell Taylor
There was a big stump cut for firewood pulled up about 25 yards behind the pile of burning wood and rubbish. The picture before me was surreal as I watched the smoke rise across the backdrop of the down sloping hill to Old Johnson’s Landing and the Nash Ferry site. The pile of “rubbish” that was burning emitted more emotion from me as a 16 year old as anything ever had. I sat beside Papaw Carlos, a member since the year of my birth in 1972, and we reminisced about the place itself. We talked about the huge great room, with the four foot wide fireplace, highlighted by the big 225 lb Marlin caught by former Club President V.S. Whiteside hanging above the mantle. I could close my eyes and remember the hiss, crackles, and pops as the shadows of the fire danced against the dark walls late at night. I thought of the irony of the comfort of those fires versus what I could see in front of me. We reminisced about sitting on the long screen porch that spread across the entirety of front of the cabin. The whole family could sit on the porch late in the afternoon and enjoy shade and conversation. One of my favorite memories was laying on the porch at night when I was very young and listening to coon dogs baying voices rise across the tall trees on the edge of the Old Tombigbee River, imagining and dreaming what was happening. (Years later I would get to live out this dream Coon hunting regularly in the same woods from age 25 to 40). We reminisced about sitting around the table in the kitchens for Thanksgiving ( a yearly family tradition during my youth), playing Rook or Spoons around the tables at night, hurrying across the cold laminate floor of the bedroom to jump under the multiple blankets on the bed, waking early well before daylight to the smell of bacon and biscuits in the oven. We talked less about hunting than the memories made while hunting. Lessons I still think about today.
Prior to that day I had been very fortunate in my life to never experience significant loss to that point. Unfortunately, like all of us as we get older, I can’t say the same now losing most of the people I made memories with in the old cabin. I first felt a sense of loss that day. A place that was so important in the memories of my youth now lied in ashes simmering, creating those same hissing and popping sounds I once loved to hear but now sounded much different on top of that hill where I had spent so much time. As I watched the smoke twist and turn and make it’s way high into the blue sky, I sat on that stump by my grandfather where the cabin was erected in 1926 and 62 years later watching its demise I learned to appreciate how fortunate I was. While I was certainly going to miss every inch of the old Clubhouse, I began to appreciate the special nature of the Club. I began to appreciate how the vision of the founding members all those years ago had had such a positive effect on my life.
I like the new Clubhouse but even though it was about down when torn down in 1988, I MISS the old Clubhouse. When I look up the hill I can’t help but still see it sitting there. Now at age 51 though, I think about what can we do to make this place mean as much to today’s 16 year old as it did to me then?
There was a big stump cut for firewood pulled up about 25 yards behind the pile of burning wood and rubbish. The picture before me was surreal as I watched the smoke rise across the backdrop of the down sloping hill to Old Johnson’s Landing and the Nash Ferry site. The pile of “rubbish” that was burning emitted more emotion from me as a 16 year old as anything ever had. I sat beside Papaw Carlos, a member since the year of my birth in 1972, and we reminisced about the place itself. We talked about the huge great room, with the four foot wide fireplace, highlighted by the big 225 lb Marlin caught by former Club President V.S. Whiteside hanging above the mantle. I could close my eyes and remember the hiss, crackles, and pops as the shadows of the fire danced against the dark walls late at night. I thought of the irony of the comfort of those fires versus what I could see in front of me. We reminisced about sitting on the long screen porch that spread across the entirety of front of the cabin. The whole family could sit on the porch late in the afternoon and enjoy shade and conversation. One of my favorite memories was laying on the porch at night when I was very young and listening to coon dogs baying voices rise across the tall trees on the edge of the Old Tombigbee River, imagining and dreaming what was happening. (Years later I would get to live out this dream Coon hunting regularly in the same woods from age 25 to 40). We reminisced about sitting around the table in the kitchens for Thanksgiving ( a yearly family tradition during my youth), playing Rook or Spoons around the tables at night, hurrying across the cold laminate floor of the bedroom to jump under the multiple blankets on the bed, waking early well before daylight to the smell of bacon and biscuits in the oven. We talked less about hunting than the memories made while hunting. Lessons I still think about today.
Prior to that day I had been very fortunate in my life to never experience significant loss to that point. Unfortunately, like all of us as we get older, I can’t say the same now losing most of the people I made memories with in the old cabin. I first felt a sense of loss that day. A place that was so important in the memories of my youth now lied in ashes simmering, creating those same hissing and popping sounds I once loved to hear but now sounded much different on top of that hill where I had spent so much time. As I watched the smoke twist and turn and make it’s way high into the blue sky, I sat on that stump by my grandfather where the cabin was erected in 1926 and 62 years later watching its demise I learned to appreciate how fortunate I was. While I was certainly going to miss every inch of the old Clubhouse, I began to appreciate the special nature of the Club. I began to appreciate how the vision of the founding members all those years ago had had such a positive effect on my life.
I like the new Clubhouse but even though it was about down when torn down in 1988, I MISS the old Clubhouse. When I look up the hill I can’t help but still see it sitting there. Now at age 51 though, I think about what can we do to make this place mean as much to today’s 16 year old as it did to me then?