Daddy had a heart attack in January of 1986, and it was a scary event for all of us. The Johnson men seem to all suffer heart disease, myself included. He was 52 when it happened, which is four years younger than I am at the time of penning this.
During his recovery I would sit with him on the days I wasn't working, and our bond grew closer during this period. We watched a lot of movies, Discovery Channel documentaries and a bunch of Bill Dance videos that I got from one of the video rental stores that were popping up like weeds at the advent of the VCR.
One thing we saw live happened on January 28, 1986 and that was the Challenger space shuttle disaster. We couldn't believe what we had just witnessed, and we sat there slack-jawed in silence as we watched what remained of Challenger fall about 15 miles into the ocean. We spent the rest of the day glued to the television, learning all we could about that horrible tragedy. It was a sad day indeed.
As a result of his confinement and the horrible event we had just watched we laid the plans for a canoe trip down the Pee Dee river as soon as Dr McAlpine released him for physical activity. We decided that we would put in at the Society Hill bridge, paddle downstream to a small island just past Snowden Landing on the Marlboro County side of the river. This particular island was noting more than a sandbar and we had camped on it several times as a family and once with Troop 625. The 625 canoe trip was a blast, and is a story for another day. Mama had laid the name "Butterfly Bar" on it the first time we camped on it during Labor Day weekend of 1980 as when we discovered it there were tens of thousands of little yellow butterflies on it, and it was a magical spot that we fell in love with.
Fast forward to June 1986. Daddy had been released to do physical activity and we took to the water one bright Saturday morning. We were meeting with a bunch of other "River Rats".....Nick and John McCall, Mike Smith, a guy named Waylon that worked at Clio Farm Equipment and none other than Rick Plummer, the Wild Man of Reedy Creek! They were all friends of Daddy and wanted to be there to celebrate his return. Daddy influenced a lot more men than just the boys of 625.....and I was impressed at the turnout of friends when we arrived after an hour of dipping paddles into the muddy water of the "Great Pee Dee River".
We set up our tent and immediately began preparation for the evening meal which was, of course, chicken bog. Rick had said he would bring the chicken if we brought the rest, and he did indeed bring the chicken......two live yard birds secured in milk crates with chicken wire. Rick was a purist, and a hard-core country boy and wouldn't dare have brought store bought chicken to the redneck celebration! I thought it was a bit "over the top", but Rick wouldn't have had it any other way. He also brought a few mason jars of his moonshine, and we all passed the mason jar around to toast the spirit of the river. I still remember how it burned going down, and how it tasted like corn. It was my first experience with "Creek Liquor" and certainly wasn't my last!
Rick carried the two chickens to the river, said a little blessing over them and proceeded to wring their necks and toss them into the water to make the plucking of feathers a little less messy. He expertly plucked those birds, singed off the pinfeathers and gutted and cleaned the two birds right there in the water, washing the parts with that muddy Pee Dee water. Rick said the water was the secret to good chicken and I watched and listened as he explained every step to me. I thought it was the most "country" thing I had ever seen!
After the chicken had been cleaned and gutted they were tossed in the big cast iron Dutch oven where we boiled them until the meat fell off the bone. The chicken was then cooled off in a big pot of Pee Dee water while the stock left in the pot had the rice, onions, celery and a bay leaf added. It soon came to a boil and the now cooled chicken was added, and I was left in charge of stirring duty with a tiny wooden paddle while JB started making some homemade "Twist Bread" and a Persimmon Pudding.
After about thirty minutes the chicken bog started smelling really really good, and the Persimmon Pudding was smelling equally good. I had to get Rick help me haul the big cast iron pot from the fire to the "Dining Room"....a tent fly erected with the natural shade of the Willow trees keeping us cool. We all gathered around and dipped the bog out with an ancient tin ladle and onto paper plates, along with Daddy's twist bread and we all took our places in lawn chairs arranged in a big circle and commenced to chowing down.
Now, let me tell you! If you have ever had chicken prepared in any form that is just an hour or two away from squawking, crowing and clucking then you understand how good it is. There was not one peep from anyone as we ate, and when the words were found they were the same....."that is the best chicken bog I have ever had!" Daddy was a wizard with chicken bog, and this was probably the finest one he ever made! I was extremely proud of the comments those guys made about Daddy's culinary skills.
After dinner, we cleaned up and then set up our fishing gear so we could catch some catfish for tomorrow's meal.....fresh fried catfish nuggets and stewed squash. We sat out by the water, passing those quart Mason jars back and forth and telling stories into the wee hours. We laughed, sang and marveled at the beauty of the "lightning bugs" flashing in the trees along the bank. I think more lies were told that night than any political campaign in the history of campaign speeches!
We eventually left our tents to greet the day, and the smell of fried catfish was hanging heavy and was what lured us out the tents. Rick was busy cleaning the second fish he caught while the first one was currently swimming in 375 degree oil. We gathered around once more and ate catfish nuggets, stewed squash and Daddy's twist bread until we were stuffed. There is nothing quite like eating catfish right by a river. I can't describe it other than it is just right, and delightful!
After we had eaten and participated in some "River Racing" (Rick and the McCall brothers had arrived in Jon boats that were way overpowered with 35 and 40 hp outboards) and resulted in a slightly inebriated John McCall doing a somersault after getting thrown out of his boat, Daddy and I packed up and bid farewell to the gang and started paddling downstream to meet Mama down at Blue's Landing at the appointed time....1pm. We dipped our paddles and sang "Dip, dip and swing. Dip, dip and swing her back.....flashing with silver.
Swift as the wild goose flies, dip dip and swing"
I humored Daddy and started singing "Ravioli....I like Ravioli. Ravioli, it's the best for me!" Daddy had a good laugh and we continued on, singing "Have I got it on my chin? Yes, you have it on your chin! On my chin? On your chin! Ohhhhhh......"
We were both twelve years old again for a moment, and no longer father and son, but two kids on an adventure!
We eventually made it to Blue's landing and met Mama who had driven the old Chevrolet pickup down to haul us back to civilization. As we waited we took turns with the Ruger Mk II, popping bottles and cans with it. It was then that I saw my father cry for the first time ever. He got choked up saying to me...."Son, this is perhaps the best time I have had since I was a child. I'm glad I got to share it with you!"
I'm glad I got to share that weekend with you too, JB. I'm still talking about it 35 years later!
Ravioli, I like ravioli.....Ravioli, it's the best for me! Carry on, Big Jackie Boy!