Everyone Has That One Uncle

Day 52

My mom had four brothers: Alfred, Willy, Ernest, and Gene.

Brother Alfred died when he was five.

Willy, the oldest, was an interesting man. He was a woodworker, making furniture by hand. He was very opinionated, especially when it came to religion and politics. In fact, if he was in town, people would cross the street when they saw him, just to avoid him.

Gene, the youngest brother, was a wanderer. He would often leave home without saying a word. A week or so later, his mom would get a letter from her oldest daughter telling her that he was there.

When WWII started, he enlisted, using his brother Ernest’s information. His family didn’t find out until they got a postcard from the South Pacific. Gene was underage, so his father arranged for him to be sent home. By the time he got home, however, he was old enough, and he enlisted again under his own name.

Ernest was my favorite. He was easily the most likeable - no one crossed the street to keep from talking to him!

He had six children - seven if you count the daughter born outside of the marriage. I don’t think I ever met her, but at some point, his wife and children knew about her.

Uncle Ernest lived in southwest Virginia, where he was born. Pennington Gap, to be exact. A gap is a low area between mountains, and he lived in the Appalachian mountains. Specifically, he lived in a holler most of his life, which you might call a valley in the mountains. He was a true mountain man.

He worked as a miner in the coal mines, and he made a little extra cash in the mountains themselves. He never owned a car until he was in his 70’s and had to leave the holler for town. That was also the first time he had electricity and a phone in his house.

Uncle Ernest and his family lived in a simple house for most of their lives. No electricity, no running water or indoor plumbing, and no phone or TV. The outhouse was nearby and a mountain stream provided water.

When we planned to visit, my mom would write a letter giving her brother the dates that we would be there. We would travel from Michigan every summer to Kentucky to visit my dad’s parents, and then visit my mom’s family while we were there.

My mom would wait for the return letter, telling her the day and time and giving her directions. Sometimes my uncle would move from one house to another, but they were all somewhere back in the mountains.

Usually we would drive from paved road, to blacktop, to dirt, and then the road would end. My dad just parked the car where the road ended. Then we would wait. Soon, we would hear a rustling in the trees. The leaves and vegetation would part, and there would be my Uncle Ernest.

After a mile or so, walking through the trees and greenery with no discernible path, we would emerge, and there would be his house. Sometimes there would be a second one in sight as well, but not close.

Aunt Lily would have a wonderful lunch cooked - on her wood burning stove - and we would all eat and catch up. My cousins were always glad to see me. A new kid to play with, I guess.

One year, my Uncle was so excited to see me. He couldn’t wait to tell me that he had running water! He knew how much I disliked the outhouse.

When we got to his house, Uncle Ernest led me into the kitchen.Above the kitchen sink there was a hole cut into the wall and a cork stuck in it. When you pulled out the cork, running water!

He had run pipes from the house to connect to the stream that ran off of the mountain, and so everyone had easy access to cold spring water. We all had a good laugh, although I was disappointed that the outhouse was still there.

There were chickens at the house for fresh eggs, and always a hunting dog or two. When you live in the mountains as they did, you had to grow and catch your own food. Aunt Lily had a garden, and I can remember picking wild blackberries along a path that ran next to a small stream.

At one point, one of my cousins came to find me and his sister, further down the stream. There was a cottonmouth - a poisonous snake - swimming downstream. That was enough to get us out of the water!

Uncle Ernest was always particular about his dogs. They had to be good hunters or he wouldn’t keep them. Those dogs could do almost anything.

My mom and I always suspected that Uncle Ernest had a “side business” back in the mountains. Moonshine.

Every now and then, some government men would come by the house. (I can’t imagine how they found it or got there.)

The holler was small, but you could still see people coming and have enough time to get away if that’s what you needed to do. By the time the men would get to the front porch, Uncle Ernest and his dogs would be gone. Sometimes he would be gone for a week or more.

He had his dogs trained to go home if he needed them to; they knew their way through the mountains as much as he did.

He would send them home with a tin box around their neck. Inside would be a note for Aunt Lily. Maybe food was needed, or one of the boys. Maybe he just wanted to know if he could come home.

He never got caught, though, and he never lost his job because he was missing for a week or so. I guess things are different in the mountains.

We would always enjoy our time with Uncle Ernest and his family, but we could never stay long. Night comes earlier in the mountains and we would have to get back to our car before dark. You know, if we had turned around and tried to go right back to the house, we wouldn’t have been able to. We would have been lost.

Uncle Ernest passed away after a long and happy life. When they held his funeral, the crowd spilled out of the funeral home, onto the lawn, the sidewalks, and into the street. It must have been most of the town.

Now that’s a tribute to a life well lived.