From: Elk Creek: Of Time and Tide

Steely Chapel

Steely Chapel’s on the hill, in still the same hills he’d Grew up in. The view wasn’t the same, And most of the folks he’d known were now part of the hill— Laid to rest where they’d gone to church— Many most their lives.

It was hard to read their names on them white slabs. Why he’d hunted with ‘em and ate with ’em He’d seen some of ’em married. Man, it was hard.

The air was warm and the breeze whipped his shirt sleeves, half rolled up as they were on his arms. He could see most the other hills from Steely’s, But they were blurred. Whether from his eyes Or his heart He didn’t notice. He’d knowed them hills by inch. Every red rock, tree, lane, and hidden still He’d touched in youth.

With eyes of yesteryear he looked down the Red gravel road leading up the hill to the Chapel. It was Sunday and people were thronging to Church, talking and laughing.

Off in the distance dust spurted from two horses racing for victory as He and Earl Stouse tore up the hill thru running skirts and angry yells. Oh, the recklessness of youth.

Shaking his head, he turned to look at the Chapel. The bell and steeple were there, but the old wooden porch Was gone. Nothing had looked the same Coming back… Just occasional jigsaw pieces of familiarity. Strange how a body could get lost at home.

Stouse’s Mill

It’d been a busy road winding back in there, tree-lined and rock-strewn. Everyone came to Stouse’s to grind their grain Cause his was the finest. You could always tell his grain, and he took care. The big, stone mill worked over Piney River way, And the cool spray of the paddle wheel splashed Murkily, or reddishly, depending On season.

The mill pond had been deep enough for him To sink his boat and bury it until He decided to use it again. No one could ever figure where he hid it…tho many’d tried to find it. No one ever thought of looking under ten feet Of water for a boat Filled with rocks. But the pond, the mill, and the paddle wheel were gone… Except in scattered remnants. And Stouse was behind him on the hill, Steely Chapel’s hill, Sleeping.

The Old Homeplace

Whether the rain assaulted the countryside, or Refreshed it, The dampened perfume of peach and apple blossoms Cut through sleep-dulled senses And filled the nostrils with a pungency which crept slowly into the Brain, Waking it on the way. The dampened smells of bacon and biscuits would mix and waft through the air, forcing him out of the Warm, quilt bed and onto the cold, wood floors.

Eagerly he led the way back to the field Where the old house had stood. But the light dulled in his eyes when he met No familiarity. The apple orchard’d filled the South view; The peach-lined lane, the West, The walnut grove had been on the North. And surrounding all Were the hills;

And covering all Were love and peace.

But now the trees, the orchard, and the grove,

Were gone. And the house. Replaced with nothin’ and used for it. Just bare. Empty. It hadn’t been empty back then! It’d been rich in Childhood.

Surveying it all, it was hard to pick out The places he’d growed up in. He’d come home to see Old memories; But old memories were all that were left…. Elk Creek had been changed …ebbed by Time and Tide… Ebbed by Progress, they say. Man, seems as there are times when Progress jest ain’t.