Mama had a mysterious situation. Her dried apples kept disappearing. Each day their number seemed to be less than it had been the day before. For some strange reason, she seemed to think I knew something about it. Mama must have thought I was extremely smart, because she came to me quite often for answers about things she didn’t understand.
Mama called the place where we dried our apples “The Pump House.” Dad called it “The Well House.” Well, I figure both were correct, because our well was located in there as well as an electric pump for the well.
Our “Pump/Well House” was a multipurpose building. It was actually a good-sized, cement-block shed. It was tall enough for a grown person to stand up inside and large enough to house several items.
Our cats loved to hide out and snooze inside there, rather than on a hot tin roof. They loved to jump up and scream like their much larger cougar cousins when I opened the door. Mama scolded me for scaring them, when the truth was, they usually scared the bejeebers out of me!
I loved to push my favorite hybrid hound dog, named Big Pud, in there. I loved it much more than he did, especially when the cats were inside there. He often knocked me down as he tried to get back out through the door before it closed. He was faster than most wide receivers!
An occasional black-widow spider made her home there, and a red-wasp condo or two usually hung in the corners. The tin roof had a slight slope and served as the perfect place for drying apples. Mama would spread an old white sheet on top of the hot tin roof and completely cover it with slices of freshly cut apples. It was simply more temptation than I, or the birds in the trees, could withstand!
Directly behind the pump/well house were four apple trees. I don’t know what kind of apples they produced, but two of them grew red apples, one yellow and one green. The green ones were tart and the yellow ones were sweet. We also had a cherry tree. Those cherries would put a pucker on your lips bigger than my Aunt Blanche’s when she came near to smooch me on the cheek. I fell out of that cherry tree once and landed flat on my stomach. It was like a belly flop off a diving board, but with no water beneath. I had never had the breath knocked out of me before, so I had no idea what was happening to me. Since I couldn’t get my breath, it scared me half to death. I wasn’t able to verbalize a prayer, but silently, I told the Lord I would surely see Him shortly!
When Mama caught me, red-handed, climbing up one of the apple trees and jumping over on top of the well/pump house, she hollered, “Put those apples down and climb down from up there!” I knew if I did, the “end” result might be worse than falling out of the cherry tree. I also realized I couldn’t spend the night up there, so I might as well come on down and face the music.
Well, it’s that time of year again when the apples are ripe and ready. I wish the pump/well house was still there, but even more so, I wish Mama was still here. How I would love to have one more of Mama’s homemade fried apple pies. I would even be willing to climb up there and gather a few dried apples to make it happen.
Bro Billy Bob is a story-telling, song-singing, humorous ministry of Bill King. The character was created in 2002, by Bill King, for what he intended to be a one-time appearance at a Valentine banquet, at Gracewood Baptist Church, in Southaven, MS, where Bill served as pastor. Billy Bob has made more than 1,000 appearances since then, across many states in the U.S. Bill King is a multi-talented songwriter/musician who plays several instruments including guitar, banjo, harmonica, mandolin, ukulele, and a commode seat guitar. While Billy Bob’s stories and songs are intended to bring a smile to your face, his deeper message is intended to touch your heart. Bill is an ordained Baptist minister. Prior to his retirement in local-church ministry, he served for 30 years as a pastor, and most recently retired after 15-years as a Baptist Director of Missions. He is also a published author of 10 books and writes a syndicated weekly-newspaper column. brobillybob.com
