Has The Noon Whistle Blown Yet?

The year was 1954: I used to spend many, many days in my dad’s corn and cotton patches. The largest patch was called the “bottom”. It consisted of about 35-40 acres and was located alongside of Williams’ Creek. It was the lowest elevation of our farm and our house and barns were located on a hill. One could see a long way all around the homestead.

Whenever we were sent to the fields, it was understood that we do not come home until it was lunch time. In those days, and to this day, I still call the noon meal of the day “dinner time”. And, how were we to know when it was noon? No one even thought of owning a watch in those days. If we looked at the sun when it was straight overhead, it was a pretty good way of being within ½-hour accurate. But on cloudy days, Mom would place a white dish towel on the barbed-wire fence near the house. Towards noon, we would be looking for that rag more than the chore at hand. Another thing that would get us out of the corn patch almost as fast as seeing the white rag was the sound of thunder. Dad always said if we heard thunder in the distance or nearby we should hurry home so we would not be struck by lightening.

One day I heard what seemed to be thunder so my two sisters and I took off for home. Upon reaching home on the run, Mom asked us what we were doing home so early. I told her I thought I heard thunder; however, Mom pointed out there was not a cloud in the sky. About that time, hearing the noise again, I told Mom “There it is again”. She answered, “Silly, that’s only the sound of a truck crossing the wooden bridge over Williams’ Creek.” So, she shoved us out of the house and back to the corn patch. Oh well, you can’t say I didn’t try.