The Farkle Family

Fall brought a colorful reminder every year that the task of raking the leaves shed by the two massive Oaks and the Scalybark Hickory trees would soon be upon us, much to my dismay. Raking was a task that I was loathe to perform; an entire day of toil and labor filled with nonstop verbal torment from my two brothers and petty confrontations over which of us was shouldering the bulk of burden. The Scalybark Hickory leaves were easy to get up but bulky to handle. The simple task of material handling proved difficult and the Oaks were not without fault. Although the leaves were small ellipses of spent photochemical synthesis perfection they were not without fault; for the sheer volume the Oaks produced was magnified in their density. A whole lot of them filled up the canvas tarp we used to rake the leaves into and dragged to the street to form colossal piles of vegetative detritus in hopes the city would entertain us later by gathering them with the newfangled vacuum device recently purchased by the city of Bennettsville, and those masses of Oak leaves piled high onto the canvas spread upon the ground proved to be extremely laborious to drag hence becoming the source of most of the heated arguments of burden shared amongst us.

Fall also brought a much sweeter task, that of shucking corn and shelling beans. Marlboro County was typical for rural southern towns in the 1970s, and plenty of folks had garden plots where they grew Corn, Squash, Beans and in the shadier areas Tomatoes swelled to stalk-straining proportions, the cracks and rose’ of the skin telegraphing to the keen eye the conditions of the interior. It was during this time neighbors helped neighbors and shared in the bounty via an event known as “Shucking” parties for Corn and “Snapping” parties for beans. Massive piles of Corn would be amassed in number ten washtubs and a circle was formed around it. Participants pulled ears of Corn from the washtub, shucked the husk and removed the silk, then placed in another washtub to await further processing. The process was similar in the snapping party, except you snapped and shelled beans in the same manner which was in a circle around a pile; and both activities occur while engaging in the old Southern tradition of conversation. Conversation was the highlight. There were no set topics and the tangents flew wildly!

I don’t recall how Martha and Mose Wiseman came to Bennettsville other than via Powell Manufacturing. They initially had lived down the street from us on Elizabeth Street prior to our move to South Cook , and they also had three kids about our age; Alicia, Eddie and Mike. We were good friends and Martha referred to the combined lot of us as the “Farkle Family”. They had purchased a house and land a few miles outside Bennettsville not long after we moved to Cook Street and we loved attending “Shucking” parties out there on Academy Road, almost directly across the junction of Firetower Road and within eyeshot of the then-new Marlboro Academy. The house came with ample land for a nice garden, and Mose had grown quite a few bountiful harvests and would invite us over for a day of fun.

We would load up in the old Pontiac station wagon and head out North Cook Street, veering to the right on Academy Road where it forks off from SC 385. We’d pull in and be greeted by excited smiles, waves and wiggling dogs before rambling off and exploring the woods and sharing in the excitement of the wondrous things uncovered by the Wiseman side of the Farkle Family during their residency of the property. An old barn out back housed Alicia’s pony which she would allow us to ride, Eddie had found an od house out in the woods that was ripe for exploring and Mikey had blazed a trail down to Beverly Creek which ran behind their property. Mikey had started on his dream back here: a dam that would result in a swimming hole. We spent countless hours roaming, exploring and playing general kid’s games of grab-ass!

Upon return to the Wiseman house, we would assist in the chore of shucking or snapping; and listen to the adults tell tales of yore, boast of youthful pursuits or lament the ills of age and pretend we understood what they were saying but mostly we were there to enjoy each other’s company. We would shuck corn, rubbing the shucked cob on a towel to remove the flossy silk from it before placing them in another washtub or snap and split beans, collecting beans and “snaps” in one container while empty pods went into another. The conversation would flow as mightily as a rip current along the sea board, ebbing only when the meal was presented, and a typical meal would be fried chicken, fresh vegetables and plenty of tea. We would split up….adults at the kitchen table, kids on the folding table on the back porch and devour the banquet laid before us. Martha was an excellent cook, and she baked Angel Bread, a recipe I still own yet cannot duplicate. Those meals were marvels of elegant simplicity and were eagerly devoured.

After dinner, we would play games of “Tag” or “Kick the Can” while the adults retired to the porch to survey the situation and to ponder on the marvel of life. With the sun sinking and the Cicadas shir-shir-shirring their descending crescendo of cacophony we would taste the grittiness of the dirt in our teeth, breathe the aroma of wet grass, mud and pond water in as if it were a mist of life and try our best to see if we could indeed outrun our shadows long after they had faded. It was more of a time of the moment, and less about where we were going. We reveled in the freedom of life, the security of friendship and the sanctity of love. To be a Farkle was a special thing and although we knew it brought about happiness in the moment, we didn’t have a clue that it was also a part of the destination, as the events along the way sure seem to be of great interest to us and certainly shape our perspective of the destination. Have a Rice Day, y’all!