Bird Droppings May 15-16, 2010
My little Grand Daddy and me

So many people complain about social networks and their negative impacts on children and the world in general. I was sitting at school Friday morning about five thirty listening to a MySpace playlist of Ron Kimble a local musician and song writer. I first heard and saw Ron in 1977 or so at the now defunct Hemmingway’s Bar in Decatur. Back in the day Ron and his band did mainly country with a mix of Southern Rock and Roll. My cousin Bill would many times go with us and every time send a napkin forward with the same song on it. After numerous napkins and a brief introduction Ron Kimble said we keep getting this song as a request so for Bill here goes and Ron’s band ripped into “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” and put Iron Butterfly to shame. Hope that holds you for a week or two. Bill was sitting there smiling.
It has been several years now since I found or was friended by Ron Kimble’s MySpace page which by chance includes about ten songs all acoustic solos by Ron in his deep baritone. Most are some traditional country, gospel and folk songs but one has brought a tear to my eye ever time I play it and yesterday I hooked my computer through my stereo speakers at school and listened to this song loud and clear. Ron wrote this song for his grand daddy born in 1895.

“My grand daddy was a little man he stood about five foot four. He was an American hero and they don’t make like him no more. He told me stories of other places and times. I was just a little boy but I hung on every word.” Words and music by Ron Kimble

I am in tears on about the second or third word as I think back to my dad sitting telling stories over the years. Years ago it was my self, my sisters and brother. Up until the day he passed on he was still spinning yarns for his grandkids. My kids grew up with tales of Grandpa Niper, my great granddad and Little Strong Arm, a Sioux chief, much like we did as kids so long ago. Many the days the grandkids gave up technology to sit and listen or better yet go for a golf cart ride with pop-pop as he would make up tales of the hermit in the woods of the family farm. I sat and listened for nearly an hour letting Ron’s songs fill my room Friday morning.
Maybe one day I will be telling the family stories to my own grandkids sitting by the fireplace spinning tales and taking Great Grandpa Niper again for his travels tracking Geronimo and saving folks across the country though he really never left New Jersey and his community. Although he lived to be one hundred and fourteen he was not a big man as our stories tell. He did not fire over his shoulder his faithful rifle while pursued by hostiles. He never was across the Rockies and over the Mississippi but stayed at home with my Great Grandmother, who by chance was Leni Lenape, of the Delaware’s carving farm tools and ax handles which was his trade. As the old newspaper articles tell he was considered one of the best wooden tool makers in New Jersey.
Now my Grandpa Niper was a little man and stood about five foot four. What a contrast to my own father and my kids grandfather who stood six one and played offense and defensive lineman in college and was drafted by the Baltimore Colts back in the day. Dad chose raising a family and the steel mills of Pennsylvania over pro-football. There are many stories of my father I can spin as I tell my grandkids. The night of the great bar fight when my dad after us kids could not get any sleep because the bar across the street from our apartment was still open and the regulars had taken to the street yelling and hollering. Dad picked up a police Billy club he had and there are many stories to go with it and walked across the street and gave one warning and a hush feel over the rowdy crowd. We never heard what was said but I did see him waving the Billy club in the air.
Maybe it is the job of grandfathers to pass on the culture of a family and society. Wilma Mankiller in her book, Every Day is a Good Day, borrows from the reflections of indigenous women from many cultures and each of them pulls from their oral history and traditional stories. An author and scholar I have enjoyed reading now for several years is Dr. Michael Tlanusta Garrett. While a professor in college and chairman of Guidance Counseling specializing in working with Native American youth in college, cross culture counseling he writes often about his heritage, that of the North Carolina Cherokees.

“Everything we do affects all of our relations and the survival of our species. We are all connected in our ancestors in spirit and in our physical being within ourselves. The past present and future are on the same energy continuum.” Dr. Michael T. Garrett, Meditations with the Cherokee

It has been a number of years since I read some writings and articles from a dear friend on the concept of eldering. Elders would teach and work with young folks in learning the culture and understanding of society. In most primitive cultures children would be left in the care of the elders to learn the ways of that particular group or tribe. I was thinking back to my own life and how many the time my grandmother would take care of us and she would tell stories of her father and the coal mines of Pennsylvania and of how when my grandfather passed on she took over his church to finish out his term as pastor in a small coal mining town in the mountain of Pennsylvania. Stories of Grandpa Savidge who since pastors back then made very little money would drive with his car and trailer down to the New Jersey shore and buy fish to sell and for his family to make a little extra. One of those stories was about a great tuna fish he brought back that hung out the end of the trailer. Grandma could not believe it.
My cousin in Florida wrote and recorded her grand dad’s stories of Collier County Florida back in the day when Naples was a fishing town and not much else. All of these stories now that can be passed down to her grand kids and family are part of who we are and why we are.
I spent a large portion of yesterday digging in the dirt. It was a day of weeding and planting adding to and taking away from my various herb gardens. I walk around smelling and often sometimes talking to various plants. Amazing how often slight differences in smell and taste for example in basils can alter a dish being prepared. I have chosen through my current course of study to read and reflect on various plants used through differing cultures and societies her in Georgia. I am working on my dissertation on the Foxfire Approach to teaching. Foxfire started as a way of teaching to mountain kids in North Georgia to tie them into and give relevance to their learning. Out of that original class in 1966 came the Foxfire magazine and thirteen books.

“The work teachers and students do together enables learners to make connections between the classroom work, the surrounding communities, and the world beyond their communities.” Foxfire Core Practice three

The students of Foxfire went into the community and gleaned stories from the mountains and their relatives. In their study and discussions with grandfathers, grandmothers, great aunts and uncles they did unravel a piece of themselves. The Foxfire museum and property in Mountain City Georgia is directly from the work of these kids. Original cabins were taken apart after donation t the museum and moved to the property preserving a piece of our mountain heritage. Stories were recorded and transcribed and edited and put into the Foxfire magazine. I visited the Foxfire class about a year ago and still they are finding stories and pieces from days long gone. Somehow in out technological diversity there is still a culture and history waiting to be learned and passed on.

“My grand daddy was a little man he stood about five foot four. He was an American hero and they don’t make like him no more. He told me stories of other places and times. I was just a little boy but I hung on every word.” Words and music by Ron Kimble

So as I end today and get ready to go do a bit more gardening may we all cherish our past and history and pass it on to the grand babies so that they can pass it one to theirs. Please perhaps on last thought for today keep all in harms way on your minds and in your hearts.
namaste
bird