A Collection of Short Stories

A Collection of Short Stories

Copyright 2014 by Jimmy Earl Cooley

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Story 1 – The Fledging

Story 2- The Rat Tractor

Story 3 – DeRidder Christmas Tree

Story 4 –The Recreation Hall

Story 5 – Mama’s Bedtime Story

Story 6 – How to Grow a Birdhouse

Story 7 – Mam

Story 8 – Abigaile - The Beginning

Story 9 – Abigaile – Released

Story 10 – Heavy Load

Story 11 – Peter’s Wedding

Story 12 – Rita Harding Painting

Story 13- Family History Revealed

Story 14 – Is it a Blue Jay or Jay Bird?

Story 15 – Eye Glasses and Queenie

Story 16 – A Walk with Sweetie

Story 17 – Mr. Whippy

Story 18 – It’s Time to Plant Your Potatoes

Story 19 - Gertrude the Tomato

Story 20 – My Picture Show

About the Author

Other Offerings by this Author

Book Cover

Endnotes

The Fledging by JEC

I grow gourds, dry them, cut an entrance hole in the side, and hang them in the trees for birds to use as nests. Wrens are greatly attracted to the gourds. Early one morning while photographing a mother wren, caring for her young brood in a gourd birdhouse, I was fortunate to witness the fledglings beginning their careers.

The babies had hatched. The Mom and Pop Wren were busy providing provisions for the young ones. My observations revealed that they came with spiders, grubs, insect eggs, larvae, and many strange unrecognizable wiggly things with legs and tentacles every three to four minutes. This went on for approximately 240 times per day by my calculations. A rather large task considering they must locate these morsels; occasionally chase and capture them; bring them to the nest; and feed the youngsters.

I set up my camera and began taking pictures of the mother feeding the young. Around midmorning, the mother approached the gourd with an empty mouth, landed on a nearby tree limb, and began a melodious singing entirely different from the sound she make during the feeding frenzy. This pleasant sound lasted only a few minutes, when to my astonishment, one of the young wrens came to the entrance hole and proceeded to fly directly to the mother. No sooner had he joined the mother then another and another fledgling left the nest to join the mother and the first. The mother quickly gave a command and flew to a nearby silver maple tree, uttered another call, and the three joined her on a limb.

While she was occupied with the three youngsters in the maple tree, another and another and another of the brood left the gourd and flew, not to the silver maple tree, but directly to the tree limb which she had previously occupied. They huddled together awaiting further orders. The mother having secured the first three in the maple tree returned to the second three, issued directions, and then they joined the others in the maple tree. Now there were six distributed somewhere in the maple tree chirping with fright or happiness, I'm not sure which! Maybe glad to get out of the gourd but maybe a little frightened to be called into the world. Shortly a seventh bird appeared at the hole and flew away, the ordeal was over.

Embarrassed and feeling foolish, I looked around to see if anyone had seen me. I took a deep breath, secured the camera, and then I realized it was not over. Another baby wren appeared at the hole! Number eight could not make up his mind if he wanted to leave or not. He approached the opening several times in preparation for a launch, decided not to go and returned to the bowels of the gourd. He, hearing some encouraging words from his mother, eventually left and followed the same routine, ending up in the big maple tree. And now there were eight, brand new, healthy looking wrens off into the world.

I had successfully photographed the nursing, and the solo flights, even though I was in awe of the event and was literally shaking. Everyone has heard the term It's time to leave the nest but few have actually witnessed a brood leaving their nest but I had! This was nature at its best! I wished another human had shared this most unique experience. I whispered under my breath Well done Mr. and Mrs. Wren! Well done! My face felt flush and a few tears slowly slid down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away, but if I had been able to count the tears, I know it would have been eight; One for each baby. Then again maybe it was ten; the mother and father deserve a salute also.

I felt drained and excited at the same time. What a thing to witness! Then I found myself jumping around and clapping my hands. It made me feel good to realize that I planted a gourd seed in the earth; nourished it and kept the weeds away; harvested and dried the gourd; and prepared the birdhouse so it could be used by the adult wrens as a nest to raise the young ones. I was really proud to be a part of nature's team and to think this plan of nature goes on pretty much unnoticed repeatedly on our earth. What if they all come back to the pear tree next year? How many birdhouses will I need? I sure hope my gourd crop is good this year.

The Rat Tractor Story by JEC

It has been raining, off and on, for several days and cutting the grass is not an option this Saturday morning. I decided to change the oil in my garden tractor, remove the mower deck and sharpen the three blades. I opened the barn, started the tractor and drove around the yard for several minutes to warm the oil before draining. Parked the tractor on the incline leading to the barn door and started draining the oil. It drained very slow and was thick and looked like heavy ribbon cane molasses. When I removed the oil dip stick, to equalize the pressure, to let the oil drain more freely; I noticed a thick mass of grass clippings between the top of the engine and the bottom of the carburetor.

Looks like a birds nest, I thought, remembering I had seen a catbird sitting on the open barn door last Tuesday when I last cut the grass. I reached in and removed several chunks of the clippings, noting that there was a lot of it and it was dense. I threw several chunks of the grass on the ground and when I was about to toss another bunch I saw something wiggling in the clipping that were left on the engine. I slowly separated the grass and saw it was two baby mice. Their eyes were not open yet and they had very little hair on their bodies (and inch long) and a small tail. They were squirming with their little paws flailing in the air.

Oh, No. I can’t believe the mother gave birth to the babies here on the engine, what I am going to do with them now. I though; collect them in a paper bag and throw in the trash or just bury them in the garden.

The baby mice reminded me of last summer when we had kept my grandson Cody’s snake while he and his parents were living in an apartment, while their new house was being built. I had to go to the pet store ever few days and buy a baby mouse to feed the snake; they called them Pinkeys. The Pinkey cost a dollar apiece and I brought it home in a paper bag, picked it up by its tail and held it close the snake. The snake immediately struck the mouse, unhinging its mouth, and partially swallowing it while returning to cover. Not a very pleasant task, one which only Grandpas would do for a grandchild. Sometime the little fellow squeaked as the snake devoured it.

So what to do with these babies. Maybe I should call my son, Randy, and let him come over and get the babies for their snake, but I’m not sure Cody still has Indy I think that was its name but then that may be one of their three dogs name.

Then out the corner of my eye I saw a movement near the platform that supports the tractors battery. It was the mother mouse searching for the babies. She was no more than 2 ½ to 3 feet away from me, looking up at me with her black, beady eyes, twitching her nose and swinging her tail. She saw me, stopped and stared.

"Yes, Mama. You put your babies in the wrong place this time and what am I suppose to do with them. You stupid Rat!

I stated at her and she continued to look at me for a few seconds. So I decided if she wanted them then I would give them to her. I took the oily rag that I had been using, carefully picked up one of the babies and placed it beside her. She immediately grabbed it, turned, and scurried away.

Well, that’s good I thought. So I picked up the second baby, moved it to the same place and in about a minute she was back and retrieved the second. We did the same thing with the third baby.

Well that worked out well, I thought returning to work on the tractor. But the mama mouse came back again and in the same spot.

Gees. I said. While looking carefully under the carburetor for any more babies: I don’t have any more of your babies, that’s all of them, go away. But she began to move forward toward me, twitching her nose, and staring with those beady eyes again. I took a step backward, remembering that I had thrown some of the clippings on the ground. I moved the clipping around and saw two more babies there. I picked up one of them and again placed it near her and she grabbed it and away she went. While she was gone I retrieved the fifth one and the routine continued. By now I had seen that she was carrying them to the back of the barn and through a crack between the walls and outside.

So now I’m feeling pretty proud of myself, even though they were rats. None seemed to be harmed and she probably had them safely stored away, or at least I didn’t have to deal with them, one way or the other. I began lowering the mower deck so I could remove and sharpen the three blades and she appeared again.

Back again! Come on now Mama. That’s all of them; go away, I’ve got work to do. I banged the screwdriver, that I had in my hand, against the deck hoping to scare her away. But she started moving toward me as before. So I looked around on the ground, kicked at the clipping that remained but saw nothing. So I just backed up and let her search. She moved carefully over the top of the engine searching, and then moved down along the wiring cable that led from the back of the dash board down to the ignition module, headlights, and starter/alternator connections. The next thing I saw she was on the ground and searching through the grass clippings and sure enough she found a sixth one, put it in her mouth and was gone toward the back of the barn.

I waited a few minutes to see if she would return but she did not and I began to work again, keeping a close eye on the back of the barn. She never came back and I worked for about another hour on the garden tractor.

After thinking about it, I believe she must have moved the babies from outside because of the abundance of rain we have had and on Tuesday I had cut the grass and the engine was probably warm in that location, so a perfect home she thought.

She was sure a dedicated mother and although I’m not that keen on rats, and they may very well multiply too many more and cause who knows what problems; I just could destroy them or deny the Mama her family. And to think she knew exactly how many babies she had, probably already named them. Isn’t nature wonderful? What would you have done in the same circumstances?

DeRidder Christmas Tree by JEC

This photo was taken in the 1950's in the large hall that was above the City Government offices at the City Hall, corner of Shirley and Stewart Streets. My father JB Cooley, fire chief, organized an annual Christmas Party for the families and children on the local welfare rolls. We called it the Fireman's Christmas Party for the Poor Children. The fireman gathered and repaired toys throughout the year for this event. They accepted donations of food, clothing, toys, and money from local people and merchants for the one night party. My father obtained a list of families that were on the local welfare rolls and each child was given several toys and each family was given clothes, food, and sometimes outstanding debts or bills were paid. The items were delivered to those who could not attend so that everyone on the role got some Christmas present. The party was held in this hall, see Christmas tree in background. The party started in the early evening, usually Friday night, with the arrival of Santa Claus. Santa and his helpers called out each child's and families names and they came forward and accepted the gifts and a bag of fruit. Not everyone went away satisfied with what they had received, but my Dad always said that every child was going to get at least one toy or gift.

Top Row: L to R.

Jimmy Mustachio - worked for the City of DeRidder and did odd jobs around town for people

Melvin Merchant - Don't remember his occupation.

Robert Chism - Don't remember his occupation.

G. W. Cobb - Was good friend of the Cooley family, lived down by old DeRidder High School,

In Air Force in WW II, worked at Ft Polk, manager of airport, died

Lost life in an airplane crash at Edgewood Boy Scout camp.

Charley Bass - Worked for City of DeRidder Water Dept., lived on Division St.

Danny Dugas - Worked at City Welding Shop on Stewart St. Married Jim Mustachio's daughter; Josephine.

Wayne Hanchey - Was son of car mechanic Jennings Hanchey.

James Jones - Brother of Booth Jones, father ran Jones Wholesale on east side of town.

Jesse Rainwater - My brother Clyde gave him nickname Drip and everyone called him that. He worked for City of DeRidder.

Lovette Bailey - He was a plumber in DeRidder, also worked for City of DeRidder.

Luther Moses - He lived across from City Hall and Fire Station, worked for City of DeRidder

water dept.

Pete Rumby - Also worked for City.

Clyde Cooley - Nicknamed Junior, my brother, was in WW II, worked in radio and TV repair

On Stewart St., drove one of fire trucks to fires.

J B Cooley - Was Fire Chief for many years, lived in Fire Station which was part of City

Hall, corner of Stewart and Shirley Sts, JB was my father and started the annual Christmas Party for the welfare families and children.

C W Naylor - Was Street Commissioner of city and may have held other offices in City Government.

Sam Coward - Worked for gasoline distributing company in city. Lived on Royal St. Was Assistant Fire Chief.

Orville Johnson - Worked for Coca Cola and Dixie Maid Ice Cream Company. L C Kern, owner.

Booth Jones - Son of J B Jones, brother of James, worked in father's wholesale company, and later owned Ford Tractor Co in DeRidder.

Photograph is from Ronnie Zimmerman. He sent it to me Oct 1, 2002.

The Recreation Hall by JEC

The night, humid and hot, caused mosquitoes to stir, passing loudly by an ear and landing on a sweaty area to try their luck. Only the female warns you with an irritation, high pitch buzz, like a rattlesnake, before it strikes. Flapping the mosquito away helps; since a disturbance in the air is created that causes the mosquito to falter in its flight and lose interest, for a short period. The moving air deters the pest from its appointed task, a body moving through the air or air moving over a still body. Either one helps to some degree. An electric fan, standing stately on a single stand with a wide body base in the corner of the room, serves to cool the skin and confuse the predators that have shuck through small holes in the window screens or sucked in by the vortex produced by the opening and closing of the front door, as members enter. The air stream produced by the four contour blades of the oscillating head adjusted the room to a tolerate condition. The room was large, with concrete and tile floor, two tables, and several wooden, straight back chairs; some for playing and some for watching.

After the southern sun had slipped away behind the horizon the dew had formed on the blades of grass and the flying irritants assemble, the men gathered; almost every night after dark, to play games. A few of the men had jobs that allowed them to recreate during the noon hour; so a quick dinner would allow time to shoot a game of eight ball or play a quick game of rook. But, not every night or day, since the Chief, their leader, did not allow card, domino, or pool playing on the Blessed Sabbath; Sunday. The place where the games were played was called THE RECREATION HALL or REC HALL, for short.

The Fireman's Recreation Hall was located on Shirley Street, next to the Fire Station. The Fire Station was a part of the City Hall; two story brick, white stucco, building located on the corner of Shirley and Stewart Streets, just a block from the main part of town. The Mayor’s Office, Water Dept. Street Commissioner and on the second level, a large meeting hall made up half the building and the Fire Station the other half. We lived in the upstairs of the Fire Station adjacent and west of the meeting hall and housed below us were the two fire trucks; a 1937 Chevrolet and a 1946 Ford. The loud vibrations of the old engines and odor of unburned gasoline and burnt motor oil drifted up the stairs early every morning, an invisible blob, to where I slept, as the