Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: STEW (11/26/15)
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TITLE: Simmerin' in Our Juices | Previous Challenge Entry
By Brenda Rice
12/01/15 -
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I stirred the boilin’ soup then I pushed the kitchen door open with my foot, and hoped for a breeze. Off to da west, I saw dark clouds hangin’ low. “Lawd, send some rain down on us. We’s simmerin’ in our own juices.”
My folks and my three brothers were all in da cotton field. We all worked for da man. Dat’s what we called the plantation owner.
In 1920, sharecroppers lived on the plantation in houses dat didn’t have winders, indoor plumbin’ or lectricity. We got credit from the da man’s store and maybe, if we wus lucky he’d give us a couple of hawgs durin’ the year. But when harvest time come, and we paid our debt to da store, they wadn’t no money left.
As for me, I decided long time back dat I was gettin’ away from the plantation. Poppa made fun o’ me. “Jest whare ya goin’ Calla May? Ya gonna marry a rich man?” His deep chuckle made me mad, but I kept my peace. One day—Calla May won’t be slavin’ over no hot stove.
President Lincoln had freed the slaves, but nothin’ changed, cause black folks had no whare’s to go. My poppa, his poppa and his grandpoppa worked the plantations in Georgia and Alabama.
We wus free to leave Mr. Billingsly’s plantation, but we’d have to go to another one. So my poppa decided we wus stayin’ cause Mr. B. was kinder than most he’d worked for. He said, “Mr. B. is fair with us. If we works hard we can get ahead one of des days. Y’all young’uns keep workin' hard. Don’t get in no trouble and pray to da good Lawd. I feels in my heart dat one day we gonna have our own farm.”
As the years went by, more and more sharecroppers left with their meager belongings strapped to rickety wagons pulled by broken down, sway back mules. Poppa kept on bringin’ in da man’s crops and livin’ on hawg meat, chickens, eggs and milk from da man’s cows. Mama made our clothes from flour sacks, and discarded clothes she found.
I guess you know by now I never did leave. My knight in shinin’ armor never showed up. Since I didn’t work da fields, cause I wus a sickly child, I did all the cleanin’, washin’ and cookin’ for da whole family. A few years back, I started takin’ in sewin’ for ladies in town. I made fancy dresses, and they paid me $10 for ‘em.
Willie my oldest brother had gathered up some layin’ hens and went to sellin’ eggs to ladies in town. Them hens laid some big eggs, double yokes and all. Them ladies wus happy to pay twenty-five cents a dozen for ‘em. Things wus goin’ better for us.
Then a strange thing happened. Somethin’ dat made me believe even more dat God hears our prayers.
Mr. B. came callin’ one hot summer evenin’. We wus settin’ on the porch fannin’ ourselves when up he come in his truck. “Oh Lawd, What dis bout?” Poppa said quiet like.
“Y’all young’uns get to prayin’.” Mama said in a low voice.
It was like a dream, but we wus all awake. Mr. B. said he was givin’ Poppa 40 acres of rich bottomland and a house to live in. It was the home place he had given his only son, before he joined the Army and never came back.
Poppa said, “I can’t do dat. I’ll work da land, but I can’t take it for nothin.”
Mr. B. pulled his shoulders up square and looked down at my poppa and said, “I shoulda known what you’d say Willie James, but my decision is made. My boy’s dead and that place is wastin’ away. You have been more faithful to us than our own kin. The place is yours free and clear. Here’s the deed.”
We all sat there simmerin’ low in our own juices just waitin’ for Poppa to answer. Finally, Poppa stuck out his rough black hand, and da man covered it with his big white hand.
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Well done.
God bless~
What a masterpiece! Your dialogue was amazing. I loved the tone and the final outcome.
God Bless,
Francie
God bless~
Congratulations on your win.