Best Little Helper

I was stuck in the old willow tree. Grandma finally answered my calls for help after what seemed a very long time. She laughed while dragging the old wooden ladder from behind the wash house to the tree.

Leaning the ladder against the tree, she said, “You’ll have to get yourself down, I didn’t put you up there”. She stood, watching and waiting. It was difficult getting my nerve up and slowly I worked my way to the ladder. Down I came a step at a time until I was standing firmly on the ground. My bare feet felt the softness of the grass. I was glad.

She grinned, pulled the ladder from the tree. “You’re the reason this ladder is here and you have to help get it back to the wash house” she said. I struggled with one end as we carried and drug it back. Behind the wash house and under the eves was a rack where the wooden ladder hung. The ladder wasn’t used much and had been made by my grandpa many years ago.

The wash house is where grandma did the wash. The smoke house was converted to the wash house. Since grandpa died there was no one to butcher and smoke the hams. An electric wire ran from the house to the wash house and grandma had a new Maytag ringer machine. Sometimes neighbors would come down to use the machine. They’d always bring a pie or cake.

I had turned six the summer of 47 and never met my grandfather. He died before I was born. My mom had recently died of a brain tumor. I really didn’t understand what the adults talked about in medical terms. I knew she was gone and wouldn’t come back.

I was four when she became sick. I remember riding with my Dad to the hospital in Charlottesville. It was the University of Virginia and the doctors were supposed to be the best. She had several surgeries and eventually she didn’t make it. Most of my memories of my mother were as a sick lady who spent lots of time in the bed. I would lie on the floor next to her bed and fall to sleep. She’d always smile when I woke up and gave me a pat on my head or a half way hug. I was afraid I’d hurt her. I didn’t know what was ok or not ok.

It was my first trip out of the Shenandoah Valley riding in a pick up to visit my mom at the hospital. I was excited and saw big trucks, mountains and watched people in other vehicles. The fields were full of cattle, horses and sheep. I couldn’t believe all that I was seeing. I decided I would count the cows. My sister had taught me how to count to 20. I started counting. I would fold a finger down each time I counted 20. When I made a fist I had 5 times 20. When I got to 2 fists (10 times 20) I had to stop. I knew then I’d have to learn how to write. I had no way of remembering the count.

As we drove into Charlottesville, there were a lot more cars on the road. We stopped at a stop light. Back then the light was only red and green; there were no yellow lights for caution. We drove through several on green and would stop at the red. As my dad drove under one of the lights it turned red.

A policeman on a motorcycle pulled us over. It was the first motorcycle I had seen. It was noisy. The policeman talked to my dad and gave him a ticket. My dad told him about my mom and the policeman said for him to be more careful.

The motorcycle drove off and my dad started to cry. I didn’t understand at the time but he had reached a stress level. I couldn’t do anything. I held his hand and he stopped crying and said he had to get to the hospital before 2 o’clock because that’s when the visiting hours started.

We arrived at the hospital and I wasn’t allowed to see my mother. Children 12 and under were not allowed into the patients rooms. I had to wait in a waiting room. It was supposed to protect me from getting or giving germs to someone. I was by myself and could see nurses at a desk. Once in awhile a nurse would walk to the door, look in and walk away. They never spoke. Dad came back in a couple of hours and he started driving us home. He didn’t speak the whole way back. He was very sad.

After my mom died I was shuffled between grandmothers through the summer until school started. My sisters were 8 and 10 and my brother was 12. We had a good time; my sister learned to fry chicken. Nearly every night we had chicken for supper and eggs for breakfast in the mornings. At different times someone would bring a crock of beans or potpie or something like that.

My Aunt Betty moved in with us during the school year, she was a high school senior and would stay with us. She helped us clean and take care of ourselves her cooking wasn’t as good as my sister’s.

My recollections stopped as my dad pulled into the drive in his 1939 Chevy pick up. I loved to climb on the back and figure out how to get into and out of the truck bed. It was a greenish color. My sister had taught me about colors to. Back then most cars were black, so green was neat.

Grandma said, “come into the kitchen, I’ve made some banana pudding”. It was one of my favorites. My other favorite was the banana cake my other grandma made. We sat at the kitchen table eating our pudding as she told dad about me getting stuck in the old willow tree. He laughed and said he’d need a branch from the tree as he had to do some divining for a woman in Timberville. I ask what divining was and he said he would take me with him and I would be able to see.

After eating, dad took me outside to the old willow tree. He stood under the tree and started talking to the tree. He said something about needing the right branch to find water. I was confused, in our part of the country a branch is a stream of water. They have creeks, branches run into creeks and creeks run into the Shenandoah River.

He stood and walked around the tree stopping and looking at certain areas. He picked me up and told me to grab the branch just over my head. I did and he let me down until he could reach the branch. He took out his pocket knife and cut the small branch from the tree.

He sat on the ground and cut the twigs away and in a few moments there was the big 2 prong fork. He looked at me and said, “Let’s go find some water”. We jumped into the Chevy and I held the fork as we drove toward Timberville.

We drove to this big old house sitting on a big piece of property. A woman older than grandma came out of the house. My dad introduced himself and me as his little helper. The woman said I’ll pay for your services and not the little helper. Dad said it would be OK.

This woman said she was going to build some chicken houses but needed to drill a well for water. She wanted to make sure she could find water before she had them built. She wore a bonnet and an old faded apron. She reached into the apron pocket and pulled out a dirty Popsicle stick and a tin of Old Navy snuff. I had seen men use snuff but never a woman. She licked the stick, stuck it into the snuff. The stick had snuff running along the side she had licked. With her finger she pulled out her lower lip and dropped the snuff into her mouth. It was ugly. She licked the rest of the snuff off the stick and closed the tin replacing the dirty stick and tin back into her apron pocket. As her and dad were talking she’d spit a long stream of brown juice toward the ground. Each time she repeated the spitting act my stomach turned. I decided then I’d never use snuff.

My dad asks about where she wanted the well, it had to be close to electricity so she told him to look in a small area. She wanted it close to the house as she was going to put plumbing in for a bathroom and kitchen sink. She was tired of carrying in cistern water for baths and doing dishes.

Dad told me to gather up some rocks and showed me where to build a pile. He said, “Make a fist”, I did, and then he said “get only rocks the size of your fist”. I took off, I was going to be the best little helper. Soon a pile grew until dad stopped me. “You’re a pretty good little helper”, he said. I was really proud.

After marking off an area with rocks from the pile, he told me, “Let’s go get our lucky charm”. I trailed behind him as he walked toward the pick-up. He reached in and picked up the forked willow stick and let me carry it. We walked back to the area marked by the rocks.

He took the forked branch from me and walked to the first rock we’d laid out. Then he took the forked ends in each of his hands and the long straight piece was pointed upward. He held the forks inward instead of outward. He started walking very slowly toward the second rock I had put down. Walking a few feet the stick bent downward. He stopped. He had me place a rock, just under the point of the stick.

He then started walking again back and forth between the original rocks I had placed. As he walked between the markings the branch would bend and I’d place another rock where he told me to. He finished and explained to me that the water flowed in the direction of the rocks I was putting down. He explained it was an underground stream because of the direction of the flow and we would search the flow to find where to drill.

“Let’s find the spot closest to the surface so it won’t cost as much to drill the well”, dad said. We started at the farthest point from the house. He gripped the stick again. He winked at me and told me to watch for the deepest bend in the stick then mark it with the number of stones he would tell me. We started walking along the line we had marked with the rocks. I watched the stick go up and down. He had me mark certain spots with one rock at different intervals. The stream was big and deep he told me. We continue as the stick kept bopping up and down and I kept putting down one or two rocks where he told me to.

All of a sudden the stick bent the farthest down, almost to his knee. He told me to put 4 rocks on this spot. We walked on toward the boundary nearest the house. From start to finish we had 1 rock or 2 rocks marking the spots. The 4 rocks spot was about 30 feet from the house. He told me that the well would have to be drilled only 100 to 120 feet and the drillers would hit water.

We drove short stakes into the ground at the 2 stone markings and a long stake at the 4 rocks. Dad went to the house and called for the woman to come out. He showed her the spot to drill the well. “If they don’t find water I expect my money back”, she told dad. She paid him three dollars for marking the spot to find water.

We drove back through town and stopped at the gas station. Dad paid me a quarter for being a good helper and ask if I wanted a Popsicle, I said, “No Way”. We both laughed.

That evening we sat at the dinner table eating my sister’s chicken and talked about divining for water. I told them it was a gift and only certain people could do it, me and dad.

Sunday afternoons we’d go to grandmas for dinner. I would always visit the old willow tree. People didn’t have dad do divining for water, modern devices took over. My career as a divine helper was a short one. I still wonder if I have the power to do it.

Over the years I’d always visit the old willow but progress makes changes. The magic tree was cut down to make room for a new four lane highway. I may have been the last kid stuck in the old willow tree. I do know I was the best little helper just like the old willow tree.