Tennessee Ghost Stories - Part 2

Fair warning....this one is a little spookier

A BAFFLED AMBUSCADE
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by Ambrose Beirce
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Connecting Readyville and Woodbury was a good, hard turnpike nine or ten miles long. Readyville was an outpost of the Federal army at Murfreesboro; Woodbury had the same relation to the Confederate army at Tullahoma. For months after the big battle at Stone River these outposts were in constant quarrel, most of the trouble occurring, naturally, on the turnpike mentioned, between detachments of cavalry. Sometimes the infantry and artillery took a hand in the game by way of showing their good-will.

One night a squadron of Federal horse commanded by Major Seidel, a gallant and skillful officer, moved out from Readyville on an uncommonly hazardous enterprise requiring secrecy, caution and silence.

Passing the infantry pickets, the detachment soon afterward approached two cavalry videttes staring hard into the darkness ahead. There should have been three.

“Where is your other man?” said the major. “I ordered Dunning to be here to-night.”

“He rode forward, sir,” the man replied. “There was a little firing afterward, but it was a long way to the front.”

“It was against orders and against sense for Dunning to do that,” said the officer, obviously vexed. “Why did he ride forward?”

“Don’t know, sir; he seemed mighty restless. Guess he was skeered.”

When this remarkable reasoner and his companion had been absorbed20into the expeditionary force, it resumed its advance. Conversation was forbidden; arms and accouterments were denied the right to rattle. The horses’ tramping was all that could be heard and the movement was slow in order to have as little as possible of that. It was after midnight and pretty dark, although there was a bit of moon somewhere behind the masses of cloud.

Two or three miles along, the head of the column approached a dense forest of cedars bordering the road on both sides. The major commanded a halt by merely halting, and, evidently himself a bit “skeered,” rode on alone to reconnoiter. He was followed, however, by his adjutant and three troopers, who remained a little distance behind and, unseen by him, saw all that occurred.

After riding about a hundred yards toward the forest, the major suddenly and sharply reined in his horse and sat motionless in the saddle. Near the side of the road, in a little open space and hardly ten paces away, stood the figure of a man, dimly visible and as motionless as he. The major’s first feeling was that of satisfaction in having left his cavalcade behind; if this were an enemy and should escape he would have little to report. The expedition was as yet undetected.

Some dark object was dimly discernible at the man’s feet; the officer could not make it out. With the instinct of the true cavalryman and a particular indisposition to the discharge of firearms , he drew his saber. The man on foot made no movement in answer to the challenge. The situation was tense and a bit dramatic. Suddenly the moon burst through a rift in the clouds and, himself in the shadow of a group of great oaks, the horseman saw the footman clearly, in a patch of white light. It was Trooper Dunning, unarmed and bareheaded. The object at his feet resolved itself into a dead horse, and at a right angle across the animal’s neck lay a dead man, face upward in the moonlight.

“Dunning has had the fight of his life,” thought the major, and was about to ride forward. Dunning raised his hand, motioning him back with a gesture of warning; then, lowering the arm, he pointed to the place where the road lost itself in the blackness of the cedar forest.

The major understood, and turning his horse rode back to the little group that had followed him and was already moving to the rear in fear of his displeasure, and so returned to the head of his command.

“Dunning is just ahead there,” he said to the captain of his leading company. “He has killed his man and will have something to report.”

Right patiently they waited, sabers drawn, but Dunning did not come. In an hour the day broke and the whole force moved cautiously forward, its commander not altogether satisfied with his faith in Private Dunning. The expedition had failed, but something remained to be done.

In the little open space off the road they found the fallen horse. At a right angle across the animal’s neck face upward, a bullet in the brain, lay the body of Trooper Dunning, stiff as a statue, hours dead.

Examination disclosed abundant evidence that within a half-hour the cedar forest had been occupied by a strong force of Confederate infantry - an ambuscade

Old Barns & Houses

Do you know how you can tell an 'old-timer' from someone new to the area? Ask directions. The 'old-timer' will tell you to take a turn where 'Ole Mr. Smith' used to live. They won't tell you who lives there now if there is still a house even standing. While I definitely do not consider myself old, I end up doing the same thing. A friend asked me recently if I knew where a certain road was located. She had never heard of it and I immediately knew why. The road was renamed when our county established the 911 emergency system years ago. I don't think it ever had a name before, probably just a county road number. But, we always referred to it as 'the road to Miss Hattie's house.' We called it that years after Miss Hattie had passed on to Heaven.
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Maybe it's a way of hanging on to the past and keeping those friends and neighbors alive in our memories. I have no idea who lived in the old house above, but I used to sit in front of it waiting while Mom stripped tobacco in a nearby barn. Almost every evening, I would have my school work finished by the time she was finished stripping tobacco. Then we'd head home, dropping off neighbor ladies along the way. Back in the Hollow, stripping tobacco was something usually done by older women as a way to earn spending money or even provide for themselves in hard times. While social security was around, for most of these women, they received very little income if any at all. I had an Aunt who actually drew $98 a month. Even years ago it was a shameful amount.

As things continue to change around me on an almost daily basis, I really do long for those days in the Hollow. They were hard times, but we had ways of providing for ourselves. As more and more of those ways fade into the past, I wonder what will become of us all and who will be around to teach the next generation.

Land Between The Lakes

In my opinion, one of the 'good' things that came from the creation of Land Between The Lakes was a permanent home for a herd of these majestic animals. I never get tired of watching the 'Buffalo' and often stop to see them.
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To get this picture, I had to belly crawl through the tall prairie grass until I was almost close enough to touch them. Just kidding! This was snapped very quietly from the safety of my car because there are NO FENCES once you are in the Elk/Bison range. I wonder if they ever charge at cars?

This old fellow was in a pen all by himself and the first one we saw today. For a while I thought he was the 'token' buffalo on the buffalo tour. Do you ever get the feeling you're the one being watched???


So if you are looking for something inexpensive to do this Fall, take a drive through Land Between The Lakes. Bring some picnic food and enjoy the outdoors. While you're driving through, think about the fact that you are seeing your decades old tax dollars at work and the results of Eminent Domain in action. While I do love the buffalo, I can't help but think about the people that lived and worked the land for generations. As you drive through Land Between The Lakes, you will notice numerous cemetery signs. That, in itself, will give you an idea of the population. Their history is unrecognized in the materials and information you will receive in any of the welcome stations. But, you can read about it here, Land Between The Lakes: A Story of Colonialism in Kentucky. It's a true tale that should make us all question Eminent Domain and what it can do to the heart of America.

The Miracle Ball Method

I have talked about The Miracle Ball Method to many of my friends and also promised to write about it. Lower back pain is something almost all of us have experienced. There is absolutely nothing worse than being in constant pain. After a while it takes over and controls every thinking moment. I can understand how easily people become addicted to pain killers and, unfortunately, overdose. The pills only help for a little while and you constantly need more to help block out the pain. I say block it out, because nothing I took helped for any length of time.
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I tried medical doctors and chiropractors. Medical doctors prescribed pain pills and muscle relaxers. Chiropractors were more expensive and at a loss when the treatment plan ended without my being well again. I tried ice, heat, massage and injections. In the end, I lost faith in ever feeling better. I think I read somewhere that after six weeks of pain, it is considered chronic pain. Like we need anyone to tell us that!
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So, there I was, taking pills that didn't help, trying everything I could think of and feeling pretty desperate. I decided to crawl to the computer, fire up the Internet and search for answers. I found out a lot of helpful information. Some of it I had tried. But, I also found out that there is a group of muscles in your back that run from your femur to your spine. Collectively, they are referred to as The Iliopsoas Muscle. When this muscle spasms, it can mimic a slipped disc and the pain is beyond belief. My next step was to search out treatments. Trigger Point therapy by a massage therapist came up as the most suggested treatment. Sounds easy, right? Well, not if you live in a rural area and find it difficult to drive due to, let's say, a back spasm.
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If you can find a massage therapist trained in trigger point therapy, then I would give it a try. It is something I still want to do. In any case, I searched for self-applied trigger point methods. There are a lot of products out there and it surprised me. They range from hard metal thingys to little triangles. All looked painful to me. Above all else, I did not want to inflict more pain on myself or do any damage. During all of this time, I carried a little hard rubber ball (about the size of an orange) with me. I used it in the car and in the office chair. I found that it helped bring relief if I placed it in certain areas around my back and leaned on it. So, when I came across information on The Miracle Ball Method, I was very intrigued.
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The Miracle Ball Method was developed by a young dancer named Elaine Petrone who suffered an injury to her back and leg. Basically they are two grapefruit-sized balls that you rest your back on for relief. The balls are soft and squish down to about half their size when you lie on them. Through breathing exercises and relaxing onto the balls, the method promises stress and pain relief. For me, they had two things going for them. One, they were relatively inexpensive compared to other products. Two, I didn't see how I could harm myself with the balls. They were soft, and I was already using a much harder one without any instruction.
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I couldn't wait to try them when I received my order. My only hesitation was whether I would be able to get back up off the floor! So, it sounds easy. All you have to do is breath and relax. Easier said than done when you are in pain. But, I did it. And, honest truth, when I got up off the floor, I felt like I had just had a full-body massage. Every muscle seemed to be relaxed and I felt wonderful. I had no idea how tense I had been everywhere. I continued to improve over the next couple of weeks.
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The Miracle Ball Method has a whole range of exercises for different areas of the body. I've only concentrated on my neck and back. It might not work for you, but it definitely worked for me. Well, that's two-cents worth. Do your own research and find a product that is right for you. Just remember, you don't have to live with the pain. Keep looking until you find the problem and solution. Life is too short to live in pain.

(Note: The opinions in this blog are my own and you should seek the advise of your medical doctor before making any changes to your exercise or diet routine.)

Signs of Fall

Somehow October arrived without my thinking too much about it. It seems like the last few months have flown by and it's too early to be Fall. The weather turning cooler so quickly didn't help much either. Have you noticed how differently you look at the thermometer at different times of the year? In February, we'll say it got 'up' to 40 degrees today. But, in October, we'll say it got 'down' to 40 degrees last night. One seems cold while the other seems warmer. But, they are the same.
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There's just a crispness in the air on a Fall morning. Maybe it's knowing that in a few weeks Winter will be knocking on our door. I heard we might actually get our first frost this weekend and that is entirely too soon for me! It is one of the signs of Fall though. For me, one of the fondest memories is passing a barn with tobacco curing inside. The faint smell of smoke, mingled with the beautiful colors of the leaves always mean Fall to me. Those barns are fewer and far between these days.
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In the hollow, Fall was always a time to prepare for Winter. We would gather ears of corn left over from harvested corn fields. It would be stored up in the corn crib. Later on we would shell it for the chickens or sometimes the bird feeders. Potatoes and onions would be dug up and spread in the smoke house for storage. It was also a time to order a load of 'slabs' from the sawmill. Hours would be spent cutting the slabs and stacking the wood. Later on, any fallen trees would be cut up. I don't miss the chores, but I do miss the warmth of a wood stove. I still love the smell of chainsaw smoke! Of course, another sign of Fall is a raking up a huge pile of leaves and jumping into it. When was the last time you did that? Nothing makes you feel more like a kid again! Find your own special memory this Fall and relive it. Hurry though, Winter is right on your heels!
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Here's a recipe for the kind of Hot Cocoa that doesn't come in a packet!
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Old Fashioned Hot Cocoa
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Mix in a saucepan or top of a double boiler:
5 to 6 tablespoons cocoa
5 to 6 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
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Blend in slowly,
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1 cup water
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Boil gently 2 minutes over direct heat, stirring until slightly thickened. Reduce heat and stir in:
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3 cups milk
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Heat slowly over direct heat or simmering water until scalding hot; stir occasionally. Remove from heat. Cover and keep hot, if necessary, over hot water. Just before serving, add 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract. Beat with rotary beater until foamy. Serve steaming hot, plain or with whipped cream, marshmallow cream or marshmallows. Serves 6.
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Like this recipe? Check out more at this weeks Grocery Cart Challenge Recipe Swap!

Home-made Salad Dressing

I know you have heard me say this before, but here I go again. The absolute best way to save money on your grocery bill is to stop wasting food. It takes forethought and planning. It takes time and budgeting. But, in the end it does work. Think about the food you throw out when you clean out your refrigerator or freezer. How much of that could have been used for a quick lunch or dinner. How much money and time would you have saved by not wasting it?
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I'll say something about food to a friend sometimes that will result in a conversation about why I do it a particular way. One of those 'ways' is rinsing jars and containers. I think it comes from being raised by parents and grandparents that lived through the great depression. Everything was used and nothing wasted. I carried those habits into my own household. Take a bottle of ranch dressing for instance. How much dressing is left in the bottle when you think it's empty? Before you throw it out next time, add a couple tablespoons of apple cider vinegar and shake the bottle. Chances are you'll not only find enough dressing for another salad or two, but a healthier version. That bottle of ketchup? Add some water, shake it up and add it to your next pot of soup. There's always a little oil left in the bottle. I like to take the olive oil bottle and add some vinegar and spices. You end up with a wonderful oil and vinegar dressing. Try it next time before you throw out that bottle.
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Speaking of grocery bills, have you noticed how expensive salad dressings and steak sauces are these days? You can make your own and save quite a bit of money in addition to being able to control the sodium and sugar. Mom would make her own Thousand Island dressing by combining Kraft Miracle Whip, ketchup, chili sauce, and pickle relish. Here are a few vintage recipes that you can update to suit your own taste and grocery budget. You start with one basic recipe and add other ingredients to make different dressings.
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French Dressing
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Combine in a 1-pint screw-top jar the following:
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3/4 cup canola oil
1/4 cup lemon juice or vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon paprika
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
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Cover jar tightly and shake vigorously. Store covered in refrigerator. Shake well before using. Makes 1 cup of dressing.
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Garlic French Dressing
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Follow recipe for French Dressing above. Mince 1 clove garlic and add to completed dressing. To season well, chill dressing about 12 hours before using.
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Honey French Dressing
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Follow recipe for French Dressing above. Blend in 1/2 cup honey, 1/4 teaspoon grated lemon peel and 1/4 teaspoon celery seed.
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Blue Cheese Dressing
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Follow recipe for French Dressing above. Add 1/2 cup of Blue cheese.

Tennessee Ghost Stories - Part 1

Since it's October, now is the perfect time for a little ghost story. It's not bloody, just spooky. This one appeals to me because it involves some gentlemen from Tennessee, though the story takes place in San Francisco. This is an expert of Ambrose Bierce's collection of stories from the turn of the century.
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A Cold Greeting
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By Ambrose Bierce
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This is a story told by the late Benson Foley of San Francisco:

“In the summer of 1881 I met a man named James H. Conway, a resident of Franklin, Tennessee. He was visiting San Francisco for his health, deluded man, and brought me a note of introduction from Mr. Lawrence Barting. I had known Barting as a captain in the Federal army during the civil war. At its close he had settled in Franklin, and in time became, I had reason to think, somewhat prominent as a lawyer. Barting had always seemed to me an honorable and truthful man, and the warm friendship which he expressed in his note for Mr. Conway was to me sufficient evidence that the latter was in every way worthy of my confidence and esteem. At dinner one day Conway told me that it had been solemnly agreed between him and Barting that the one who died first should, if possible, communicate with the other from beyond the grave, in some unmistakable way - just how, they had left (wisely, it seemed to me) to be decided by the deceased, according to the opportunities that his altered circumstances might present.

“A few weeks after the conversation in which Mr. Conway spoke of this agreement, I met him one day, walking slowly down Montgomery street, apparently, from his abstracted air, in deep thought. He greeted me coldly with merely a movement of the head and passed on, leaving me standing on the walk, with half-proffered hand, surprised and naturally somewhat piqued. The next day I met him again in the office of the Palace Hotel, and seeing him about to repeat the disagreeable performance of the day before, intercepted him in a doorway, with a friendly salutation, and bluntly requested an explanation of his altered manner. He hesitated a moment; then, looking me frankly in the eyes, said:

“‘I do not think, Mr. Foley, that I have any longer a claim to your friendship, since Mr. Barting appears to have withdrawn his own from me - for what reason, I protest I do not know. If he has not already informed you he probably will do so.’

“‘But,’ I replied, ‘I have not heard from Mr. Barting.’

“‘Heard from him!’ he repeated, with apparent surprise. ‘Why, he is here. I met him yesterday ten minutes before meeting you. I gave you exactly the same greeting that he gave me. I met him again not a quarter of an hour ago, and his manner was precisely the same: he merely bowed and passed on. I shall not soon forget your civility to me. Good morning, or - as it may please you - farewell.’

“All this seemed to me singularly considerate and delicate behavior on the part of Mr. Conway.

“As dramatic situations and literary effects are foreign to my purpose I will explain at once that Mr. Barting was dead. He had died in Nashville four days before this conversation. Calling on Mr. Conway, I apprised him of our friend’s death, showing him the letters announcing it. He was visibly affected in a way that forbade me to entertain a doubt of his sincerity.

“‘It seems incredible,’ he said, after a period of reflection. ‘I suppose I must have mistaken another man for Barting, and that man’s cold greeting was merely a stranger’s civil acknowledgment of my own. I remember, indeed, that he lacked Barting’s mustache.’

“‘Doubtless it was another man,’ I assented; and the subject was never afterward mentioned between us. But I had in my pocket a photograph of Barting, which had been enclosed in the letter from his widow. It had been taken a week before his death, and was without a mustache.”