We've explored the tale of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, discovering that it is based on historical fact and that while it might appear to be a case of plague run amok, it actually is not. If you've not read those two posts, go back and read them now.
So now we move to a new theory, something most of us sitting in our living rooms might find far-fetched but those who attend raves on a regular basis might find completely normal...
Medieval Dance Madness
On a warm summer day in 1518 in Strasbourg, France, a young woman named Frau Troffea stepped into the street and started to dance. Hours passed, but she did not stop. As she spent the long day leaping and throwing herself around the street, she drew a crowd. Finally, in utter exhaustion, she fell to the ground. But the show was not over, folks. As soon as she had rested, she jumped up and began to caper about the streets once more, and she continued to do so, day after day, until about a week had passed, and oddly enough, by that time, about 34 people had joined in the massive party experiment. By month's end, the berserker who had originally caused the crazed dance had been joined by 400 other "dancers" ("Mass Hysteria in Germany 500 Years Ago").
This incident may seem like a strange blip in history, but it's actually an example of a larger epidemic. If people who are not of European descent think that white people are crazy, well, here's the proof. Dancing madness popped up across Europe repeatedly throughout the Middle Ages. According to Wikipedia (and if it says it on Wikipedia, then it must be true, right?), the first outbreak of chorea (from the Greek word for "dance")--also called Dancing Mania, Dancing Plague, St. John's Dance, and St. Vitus' Dance--was in the seventh century (the 600's), and it lasted through the 17th century (the 1600's) ("Dancing mania"). So for a thousand years, people would gather in the streets occasionally and begin convulsing and jerking their arms and legs around until they collapsed from exhaustion.
This phenomenon may sound a bit disturbing and a whole lot hilarious, but it was actually quite deadly. "The unfortunate people who succumbed were described as dancing and leaping until the flesh was worn from their feet and the bone and sinew exposed" ("Mass Hysteria in Germany 500 Years Ago"). But it didn't stop with broken bones and ripped feet. "The people would continue vigorously jumping and dancing about, sometimes also screaming out or chanting, until completely exhausted at which point they would collapse and some would die from cardiac arrest or injuries suffered from their violent dance. Those who didn’t die, once exhausted, would often twitch around on the ground, foaming at the mouth and gasping, until they were able to once again get up and continue their dance" ("This Day in History, 1374"). By the end of Frau Troffea's dance party in Strasbourg in 1518, dozens were dead from exhaustion, heart attack, or stroke ("'Dancing Plague' and Other Odd Afflictions Explained").
Crazed Dancers Led by a Man in Patchwork Clothes?
You can probably already guess how the outbreak of hysterical dancing relates to the tale of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. In the story, the Piper blows on his pipe, creating a music so enchanting that the children begin to dance.
There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,
. . . .
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.
(Robert Browning "The Pied Piper of Hamelin").
It seems completely probable that the story is in fact based on an incident of the dancing plague. Perhaps it wasn't children, but townsfolk who actually succumbed to the madness. Perhaps it was both adults and children.
An incident from history has remarkable parallels to the story of the Pied Piper. In 1237 in the city of Erfurt, Germany, a large group of children set out for the town of Arnstadt, and what was strange about them is that they "appeared to have been dancing and jumping uncontrollably all the way" ("The Dancing Plague and a Raw Deal for the Pied Piper").
What's more is that musicians were often associated with these strange outbreaks of dancing. Some towns actually hired musicians to play during these interludes, matching the rhythm of their music to the pace of the dancers. Then, they would attempt to slow the music down in the hope that the dancers would naturally begin to slow their dancing as well and eventually stop. It didn't help, however. Sometimes the added music would just encourage other people to join in as well.
However, this idea of the dancing plague and the accompanying musician does seem to be a compelling origin story for the historical event and the fairy tale of the Pied Piper. Perhaps a man in motley clothing was hired to put an end to the madness gripping the town of Hamelin, or perhaps a man with a pipe led the children from Erfurt to Arnstadt, someone in Hamelin heard about it, and somehow the two stories became mixed up so that suddenly the man who was supposed to be curing the children of their mad dancing became the bad guy who killed them all.
It's a good theory, so obviously there must be something wrong with it, right? I actually can't find anything in my research that disputes the idea that the story of the Pied Piper was inspired by an incident of the dancing plague--after all, it seems to have been a popular pastime in Germany during the time--however, I can't find anything that confirms it either. The only problem I can see with it is that the journey from Erfurt to Arnstadt--and the dancing that ensued--happened in 1237, fifty years before the children of Hamelin were said to have disappeared. On the other hand, that doesn't necessarily mean that the epidemic of hysterical dancing hadn't put such a grip on the public imagination of the people in Hamelin that it gave rise to the claim that a musician had led their children astray either.
There is one more tiny glitch in this theory though. In the original quotes that I cited from my first post, there is never any mention of dancing. The children are said to have "disappeared," been "led away," been "lost," or simply "left." And actually, when I look at the different versions of the fairy tale, Robert Browning's is the only one I can find that even uses the word "dance." Of the child who was left behind when the Piper blew on his pipe, Browning writes, "One was lame, / And could not dance the whole of the way" (Robert Browning "The Pied Piper of Hamelin"). Then, later in his poem, Browning adds, "And Piper and dancers were gone forever" (Robert Browning "The Pied Piper of Hamelin"). Browning published his famous poem in 1842, roughly six hundred years after the children mysteriously disappeared from the town of Hamelin. So it appears as if the children who went missing were not seen dancing at all...at least not until Robert Browning put his particular spin on the tale.
So what did happen in Hamelin in 1287?
In my next post, I'll be looking at another theory behind the tale of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, but before I do, here are some strange little factoids about the dancing plague, including the idea that it was caused by a fun guy. No, wait, that should be spelled "fungi."
So what do you think caused the disappearance of 130 children from Hamelin, Germany in 1287: the plague, the dancing plague, or something else? I'll discuss another theory in my next post.
As I discussed in my last blog post, historic records indicated that something happened in Hamelin, Germany in 1284 leading to the disappearance of 130 children, something possibly sinister. The question is what exactly happened. Did a fellow with a pipe and bad fashion sense really charm the children away with his magical pipe? Well, probably not. The truth is that we don't really know what happened, but as with any good mystery, that fact doesn't keep people from guessing.
In this post, I begin by looking at one of the many theories surrounding the tale of the pied piper of Hamelin.
The Black Death
Rats, missing children, the Middle Ages...it all but screams bubonic plague, right?
Black Death is the name given to a highly infectious illness otherwise known as bubonic plague that broke out everywhere from China through Europe during the Middle Ages. Giovannio Boccaccio, writing in the Decameron, describes the appearance of the disease this way: "in men and women alike it first betrayed itself by the emergence of certain tumors in the groin or the armpits, some of which grew as large as a common apple, others as an egg . . . which the common folk called gavoccioli. From the two said parts of the body this deadly gavocciolo soon began to propagate and spread itself in all directions indifferently; after which the form of the malady began to change, black spots or livid making their appearance in many cases on the arm or the thigh or elsewhere, now few and large, then minute and numerous." The blackening of the skin as a result of the buboes (infected lymph nodes) is what inspired the name "Black Death."
The plague is transmitted by infected rats. As you probably know if you have a cat or dog, fleas like to hang out on hairy animals where they can hide in the layers of fur and take their sweet time sucking out as much blood as they want. Unfortunately for them and the rats (and later the humans as well), plague is a fast-acting killer. It only takes about a week or two between the time of infection to the time of death. So as the rat population diminished, the fleas who had been sucking the plague-infested blood from the rodents' bodies had to turn to a new host. And that happened to be the humans (and doubtless other animals) living nearby. "Thus, from the introduction of plague contagion among rats in a human community it takes, on average, twenty-three days before the first person dies" (HistoryToday).
The Black Death ended up killing about 30-60% of the European population. Some regions were hit harder than others. About 40% of Egyptians were killed off, half the population of Paris, and 60% of Hamburg (Germany) and London. If a similar catastrophe hit the United States today, it would kill about 144 million people. That would be like losing everyone in the the seven most populated states in the U.S.--California, Texas, Florida, New York, Illinois, Pennsylvania, and Ohio--everyone suddenly gone in less time than it takes for a freshman to flunk out of college.
But it wasn't just a matter of numbers. Real people were affected. Boccaccio writes, "The fact was that one citizen avoided another, that almost no one cared for his neighbor, and that relatives rarely or hardly ever visited each other--they stayed far apart. This disaster had struck such fear into the hearts of men and women that brother abandoned brother, uncle abandoned nephew, sister left brother; and very often wife abandoned husband, and--even worse, almost unbelievable--fathers and mothers neglected to tend and care for their children, as if they were not their own." According to author J.F.C Hecker, so many died that "[t]he church-yards were soon unable to contain the dead, and many houses, left without inhabitants, fell to ruins. In Avignon, the Pope found it necessary to consecrate the Rhone, that bodies might be thrown into the river without delay, as the church-yards would no longer hold them" (History-world.org). People were surrounded by death, in their cities, in their neighborhoods, in their very homes. So pervasive and devastating was the Black Death that it inspired a morbid artistic conceit known as the Danse Macabre, or Dance of Death.
Rats, dancing children a la the "Dance of Death," a menacing piper who himself personifies death--it seems that every detail of the Pied Piper fairytale points to Black Death as source material. Could the story be an allegory for those lost in the town of Hamelin during the plague?
There is one VERY BIG problem with this theory, attractive as it may be. Black Death did not arrive in Europe until 1347...Okay, so I have to interrupt here because the story of how it arrived is pretty creepy and must-be-shareable. On an otherwise ordinary day in October 1347, twelve ships floated into the docks of Messina, in Sicily. But there was something very strange about those ships--most of the sailors on board were dead, and those still living were gravely ill. "The Sicilian authorities hastily ordered the fleet of 'death ships' out of the harbor, but it was too late: Over the next five years, the mysterious Black Death would kill more than 20 million people in Europe–almost one-third of the continent’s population" (History.com).
There are two other problems with this theory. The first problem is that people didn't understand that the fleas that rats carried could spread the plague until the late 1800's, far after the rats became a part of the story. So why would they include rats in a story about Black Death if they didn't even know that rats spread the disease? Speaking of which, the rats did not make their appearance in the Pied Piper's story until 1559. Since they weren't even implicated in the original historical record, it is highly unlikely that rats and the plague killed off 130 children in Hamelin in 1284.
So maybe Black Death was not the source of the fairy tale, but there are a few other details about the plague that are frightening yet fascinating at the same time:
Next week we'll look at another theory--Was the dancing induced by the piper's pipe actually a form of fungal poisoning? We'll take a looksy in my next post.
Chapter the First,
In Which We Meet Our Courageous Heroine
Alice Carroll could think of a hundred places she’d rather be than staring at an old dead woman on a Sunday afternoon.
Not that she was actually staring. In fact, she was trying to keep her eyes away from the front of the room where the old woman lay in her coffin. She was looking at the bald head of the old man in front of her instead. Until then, she’d never realized that the back of someone’s neck could be so wrinkly.
She shifted her eyes and looked around. Bad idea. Viewing the living at a funeral was almost worse than viewing the dead. The church was full of old people, with their wrinkles and their age spots and their loose skin. They were like skeletons shuffling around. She grimaced as she caught the eye of an old man with whiskers coming out of his nose. He smiled at her with his stained teeth, and Alice shifted closer to her mother.
Her mother gave her a sad smile and patted her hand. Alice glared at her and crossed her arms, covering the bleeding apple on the front of her black t-shirt.
She didn’t know why her mother had dragged her to this stupid funeral to begin with. It’s not like she even knew the dead lady. Nellie Stephens or Simpson or “S” something or other. Alice had only seen the woman a couple of times in her entire life, and her mother hadn’t worked with her for years.
She’d tried to get out of coming. She’d even asked the neighbors if she could babysit their two little blobs that afternoon, but they’d given her a funny look and said they thought she was too young or maybe they were going to be home all weekend. They couldn’t decide which.
Thirteen years old was not too young to babysit; Alice knew for a fact that they’d had sixth graders babysit for them before. The real reason was that they thought she was a bad kid. Just because she wore black clothes and dark eyeshadow didn’t mean she was a juvenile delinquent. It’s not like she did drugs or punched babies; actually, she got straight A’s and had never even had detention. She just happened to like things that were slightly macabre. Except funerals, of course.
She pulled up her black knee socks and admired the pattern of skulls sewn into them.
“We’re going to a funeral, not a Halloween party,” her mother had said when she’d seen them.
Alice thought they went pretty well with the black and blue streaks she’d put in her hair the day before. Plus, she had been hoping the outfit paired with her crazy hair would make her mother so angry she would let Alice stay home. That hadn’t worked either.
She twisted a strand of hair around her finger and noticed that the people in front of them were standing and leaving their seats.
“What’s going on?” she asked her mother.
“It’s time for the viewing,” her mother whispered back.
“The what?” Alice asked.
“Shh. Come on.” Her mother stood, and before Alice could say anything, her mother had pulled her into the line of people moving down the aisle.
Alice looked around, but she had already figured out where they were going. One by one, each person walked by the casket and paid his or her final respects to the dead woman. She noticed a few who actually leaned over the body itself, and although she couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, she had a sneaking suspicion they were kissing the dead woman’s face.
She felt a gag forming in her throat. She clutched her mother’s arm as the line edged closer to the casket.
“Mom,” she hissed. “I don’t want to go up there. I think I’m going to throw up.”
Her mother shook her arm loose and shushed her. “Stop it, Alice. Don’t make a scene.”
“I’m serious, Mom,” Alice insisted. She was beginning to panic. “I want to go home. I don’t feel well.”
Her mother turned impatiently and looked her squarely in the eye. “Stop. It. Right. Now.” She hissed.
Suddenly they were standing right next to the casket, and Alice felt her eyes being drawn to the corpse, like an insect drawn to light. The old woman’s face was peaceful, as if she was asleep. A strand of white pearls lay across her neck, and someone had brushed her eyelids with violet eye shadow. As Alice stared at the corpse’s face, her vision began to waver. She blinked to clear her eyes, but the image continued to flicker. The skin on the woman’s face began to wobble and smooth out, the wrinkles disappearing one by one. A healthy pink glow crept into her skin, a blush entering her cheeks. The woman opened her eyes, which were clear and blue, and then she smiled, revealing shiny white teeth. Suddenly, Alice was looking into the face of a little girl. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the color seeped out, the eyes closed, and the youthful image was gone. Once again, Alice was looking at the pale, sunken face of a dead woman.
The vision could not have lasted more than a second, but it was long enough for both Alice and her mother to pass by the coffin. Alice felt her heart skittering in her chest.
“Mom,” she gasped. “I saw…I saw…”
“I know,” her mother cooed and put an arm around her shoulders. “I know it’s hard.”
“No!” Alice exclaimed and shook off her mother’s arm. “Listen, Mom. I saw—“
“What?” Her mother asked testily and grabbed Alice’s arm to steer her out of the church. “What exactly did you see, Alice?”
Alice crossed her arms and kicked a pebble. “Nothing,” she muttered.
“Then, let’s go,” her mother said. She stopped and with a smile pasted on her face, said hello to a woman in a long black dress wearing strappy black heels.
Alice felt like punching somebody, but instead, she just followed her mother to the parking lot and bit a strand of black and blue hair that had fallen across her face.
She refused to talk to her mother during the car ride; she couldn’t get the weird picture of the little girl’s face out of her mind. She was so distracted, she didn’t even notice when her mother passed by the street that led to their house and kept on driving. In fact, she didn’t even know what was going on until her mother put the car in park, and she looked up to find herself in the middle of a cemetery.
“Um, this isn’t our house,” she said.
“I want to go to the graveside service,” her mother answered. “It’s the proper thing to do. After all, I owe my complete livelihood to Nellie, and believe me that you wouldn’t be enjoying the life you have now without her help. The least we can do is see her off to her final resting place.”
“Why?” Alice asked. “It’s not like she’s going to know we’re there. I don’t think she’s sitting up in heaven keeping tabs on who came to her funeral.”
Her mother held up her hand abruptly and hushed her. “All right, Alice, that’s enough. If you don’t want to show your respect and gratitude, then you can just stay in the car.”
“Fine,” Alice shrugged as her mother got out of the car. She didn’t like the idea of sitting by herself in a graveyard, but it was better than standing around a hole in the ground while a bunch of old people blew their noses and cried. Besides, she was still peeved at her mother.
As her mother walked away, Alice cracked the car windows, turned up the radio, and started playing with her phone.
Even with the radio on, she was bored. It was also kind of hot, and her feet hurt. She took off her leather jacket and removed her boots, replacing them with a pair of her mother’s boring brown sandals laying in the back seat.
She watched as elderly people shuffled past the car and stared disapprovingly in at her. She squinted at them and gave them a closed mouth smile, wishing they would mind their own business. She reached over to turn the volume up on the radio and heard a tap at the window. She looked up to see a little girl with curly blonde hair smiling in at her. She was the exact image Alice had seen in the coffin.
“Hey,” Alice said. She fumbled with the car door to roll the window down, and when she looked up again, the little girl was gone.
That was strange, she thought. She wondered if the fumes from the hair dye were making her see things. She scanned the parking lot and saw an old man hobbling along with a cane, but there was no sign of the little girl.
Suddenly, the little girl’s blonde head popped up from behind a blue sedan.
“Hey,” Alice shouted through the open window. “Wait a second.”
The little girl grinned and covered her mouth with her hands. Then, she turned and darted into the graveyard. She stopped and looked back at Alice, motioning for her to follow.
Alice wasn’t keen on chasing a little kid around a graveyard, especially a little kid who looked just like the vision she’d seen in the casket earlier. But, she was pretty sure the little girl was flesh and blood; ghosts didn’t generally knock on windows. Weren’t they more into rattling chains or something? Besides, Alice figured she should probably grab the little brat before she tripped over a headstone or tree root and broke her leg.
She groaned and popped the door open. The little girl was standing on a hill looking at her, and when she spotted Alice climbing out of the car, she turned abruptly and raced down the other side.
“Wait,” Alice yelled after her. “Stop. You’re going to get hurt.”
She slammed the car door in irritation and reluctantly began to jog after the little girl. After a few seconds, she reached the top of the hill, stopped, and looked around. Miles of headstones and trees stretched in every direction. She couldn’t see the little girl anywhere. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of white, and turning her head, she spotted a white ruffled dress disappearing behind a tree.
“Hey,” she yelled. “Stop running. I’m not playing with you.”
She was starting to get angry at the little girl. Little kids could be so annoying.
She was panting a bit by the time she reached the tree where the little girl had disappeared. But when she looked behind the trunk, the child was gone again. That was odd. She’d had a complete view of the tree and the field surrounding it as she’d been running. There was no way the little girl could have snuck away without Alice seeing her.
She heard a giggle a few yards away. It sounded like it was coming from behind a headstone rimmed with weeds. She crept down to the grave marker, and when she reached it, she leaped around it.
“Ha! I’ve got you now, kid,” she said.
But the little girl wasn’t there. Instead, there was a large rectangular hole. Alice was moving too fast to catch herself, and she fell head first into the open grave.
What if people who were dead came back to life, but instead of just being normal, they were flesh-eating monsters, you know like zombies?...No, wait, that's been done. Night of the Living Dead and ad infinitum.
But what if these so-called zombies destroyed civilization, and we got to watch the survivors in the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse?...Oh, no, that's been done too. The Walking Dead et cetera.
So then what if one of those brain-eating creepers accidentally fell in love with a girl and regained his humanity?...Okay, that's been done, too. Warm Bodies, a zombie romance.
Insofar as zombie-related plots are concerned, it seems like it's all "been there, done that." Hmmm....
Ah, but what about this--The zombie apocalypse has occurred, but the survivors have reversed it with a new miracle drug?
Hey, that hasn't been done before!
And now it has. Welcome to In the Flesh, a post-zombie apocalypse story courtesy of the BBC.
I've only seen about the first 30 minutes of the first episode of this series (okay, so I'm definitely not an expert--I know that), but I am really psyched about the premise. A boy named Kieran is one of the undead...or at least he was, but now he's been identified as actually having Partially Deceased Syndrome (PDS), an ailment that apparently causes people to lose their minds and go cannibal all over people's butts (well, every part of their body, not just their butts). But now, with the help of medication, he's learned the error of his ways and has recovered enough to be returned to his family. The problem is that he's wracked with guilt and suffering flashbacks of the people he's eaten in his zombie state, his home is ground central for a militia that hunted and exterminated "rotters" like him, there is still a lot of simmering anger towards people with PDS, and Kieran's sister Jem was/is a zombie hunter (Her buddy in the Human Volunteer Force (HVF), Billy "Sarge" Macy calls her The Rambo of Roarton). How is Kieran going to navigate this new life as a regular-teenage-boy/recovering-human-flesh-addict?
I can't wait to find out!
Here's what I like about this series so far:
As far as I can see from a rudimentary Google search, In The Flesh originally aired on BBC three and BBC America. It's available now on Hulu Plus. I don't know if it's available anywhere else right now, but if you get the chance, check it out, and please let me know what you think about it in the comments below.
Thanks for reading. If you like this post, hit one of the share buttons below. :-)
This poem, which I penned rather quickly at DFW Writers Conference and have since revised, was inspired by a contemporary poet who is some-kind-of-wonderful named Joaquin Zihuatanejo. He gave us this poem (follow the link!) and asked us to model it in our own writing.
Here is the prompt Zihuatanejo gave us: A young man drunk on whiskey and heartache has just crashed his car into a tree. Well, the image that came to my mind was not a drunk kid but an animal on the side of the road, the victim of a car bumper. I originally imagined a dead moose thanks to my obsession with This American Life stories, but then I thought it would make more sense if the dead animal were a dog. So here it is:
dead dog backwards
The sun knits the worms
of your viscera back
together as the flies
unseal their kisses
and buzz away.
The shovel lifts
your rag doll body
back onto the gravel road
where you unfreeze
just as the bumper
pushes the blood
back into your internal organs,
the headlights spark
across your white eyes,
and the boy spots
your dark outline
against the darker night
and smashes his foot
from the break pad
to undo a smiley
face on his cell phone.
Kinda gross, huh? Don't text and drive! :-P
NOTE: No dogs were harmed in the making of this poem.
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Today is James' birthday.
James is my first cousin. His mother and mine are sisters. We grew up together on a hill in Stringtown, Oklahoma where my grandparents lived. My family and I didn't live in Stringtown, but we visited every weekend.
I remember James was always a sweet guy, ready with a laugh. My cousin Rachel and I used to run up to him, wrap our skinny arms around his chest, and scream, "Daddy!" whenever we saw him. That's the kind of guy he was--the kind you'd want to be your dad.
I say "was" because James passed away almost a year ago after a long, arduous fight with cancer. He fought for years, and I honestly thought that he was going to make it. But God had other plans for him.
Today I am remembering James because it is his birthday, but this is not the only day that he crosses my mind.
James was a nice guy, a genuinely nice guy. It seems like everyone has some sort of shortcoming, and some people make you wonder if their friendliness is authentic or if it's coming out of some sort of self interest. But not James. He was just a good guy.
He worked at the Sonic in Atoka, Oklahoma, and whenever I would pass through, I would often stop there just to say "Hi." He would always come out with a big smile lighting his face and give me a hug. "What ya'll up to?" he'd ask. Even though we didn't see each other much as adults, there was never any awkwardness. It was hard to be awkward around a guy who exuded such friendliness.
Sonic has a program to fund teachers' projects through donorschoose.com called Limeades for Learning. When I was working at Ardmore as a librarian, I decided to try to get a project funded, but I needed to collect those stickers they used to put on the cups. The stickers each had a code you could use to vote online for your project. I knew there was no way I'd be able to get that many people to vote for me, and I was wracking my brain trying to figure out how to get my hands on as many stickers as I could when I remembered that James was the assistant manager of Sonic in Atoka. So I called him up and made a bald-faced plea for sticker codes. It didn't matter that it had been months since I'd last spoken to him. "No problem," he said. He was happy to help me out.
Okay, so I'm a cheater (I prefer "go-getter.), but that's not the point here. The point is that James was a great guy, loyal, humble, and gosh-darn sweet. How could you not love a guy like that?
He took care of his family. It seemed like he worked all the time. I know every time I stopped by Sonic he was there. I wondered if he ever took time to sleep. He sure didn't let cancer slow him down.
It makes you wonder why bad things happen to good people. But for me, I am just grateful that I knew such a good guy and that I happened to be related to him.
I suppose he's somewhere else now...a place where there's plenty of beans and tators like we had when we were growing up, a place where Grandma is still baking biscuits and Grandpa is still drinking a mason jar of milk every night for dinner and telling his stories.
We miss you, James.
Word and Book Lover.