Five Deacons and a Cow on the Fourth of July

From Stories from Jones Farm
Copyright July 1993

[Part 1]

                It was the summer of 1993, and we were having a bit of a heat wave in Greene County.  To say it was “a hundred in the shade” was an understatement, and farm work was almost at a standstill, in spite of the fact that the hay was ready to be cut.  A few big, round bales stood proudly in the fields, which were dotted with blue Bachelor’s Buttons, white Queen Anne’s Lace (also affectionately known as “Chigger Weeds”), rosy-pink Sweet Williams, and brave red and blue blackberries under a few lingering white blackberry flowers, but—by and large—only the early mornings and late evenings were any good for work on the Alden and Alba Jones Farm near Baileyton.

                On Saturday morning we were worried.  Our bull was missing, and this was no time for him to be wandering too far away from a pond.  My husband, Campbell, and I had worked at Radio Greeneville for a long time, and knew that a missing bull would be announced on the Local News only three or four times a day.  We decided to list him on Pet Patrol, which was announced twice an hour.  It made for interesting copy:

“BREED OF PET:  ANGUS…WEIGHT OF PET:  2000 POUNDS…ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF:  MAXIMILLIAN II…LAST SEEN IN:  THE BAILEYTON AREA…IF SEEN CALL ONE OF THE FOLLOWING NUMBERS:…”

                My dad shook his head.  “How did the old fellow know I was going to trade him on Monday?  He'll like having a bigger herd.  Max has never wandered off like this before.”

                After church on Sunday, Mom, whose house was two fields and a creek away, drove up to help me finish preparing lunch.  She brought a basket of green beans and corn-on-the-cob from her garden into the kitchen, along with her famous sweet tea and equally famous potato salad, made with cucumber pickles she’d just canned the week before.  I was adding the finishing touches to my traditional American Flag Pie, made with Cool Whip, Philly Cream Cheese, almond flavoring, and hidden sliced bananas on a Graham Cracker crust.  On the top it sported blueberries in one corner and then rows of sliced strawberries in even stripes over the rest of the rectangular glass dish.  I had already tossed the lettuce and tomato salad, garnished the deviled eggs with sprigs of parsley between them, and taken the Boston Baked Beans out of the oven.  Campbell was patting out the hamburgers to place alongside the hotdogs on the grill.