Health Care “Down On The Farm”!

              All this talking, posturing and focus on health care got me to thinking about Charlotte Melton. I fell in love with her when I was in the eighth grade. She lived even further out of town than we did! It was a pretty good hike up the Como Road, then down Highway 22 to get to the Melton farm. I walked it. Gladly. Charlotte was that pretty!

           We’d saddle up and ride horses all afternoon. Charlotte, and a fireball of a horse named Pesky, Jr., had combined to win barrel racing trophies in every arena from Tupelo, Mississippi, to Berea, Kentucky. I rode the oldest, most gentle looking nag left in the barn. We’d sometimes stop and help Mr. Melton, who was bigger than John Wayne and tougher than Clint Eastwood. If he nodded to lend a hand, out of fear, I’d jump right in. I figured a little fence mending or hay hauling was a small price to pay for riding along with Charlotte.

           I’d walk home with the sun sinking low over my right shoulder. And I’d eat my pinto beans and cornbread with a grateful heart because I was hungry and worn out. If Dad didn’t have much for me to do the next day, I’d mossy on back out to Charlotte’s. It was a good two miles from our house to the Melton’s. I was walking that sucker twice a day! If I was running late (we had to be home by sundown, no exceptions!) I’d sprint all the way to the house. We had a car. But it was not for frivolous use. Gas was twenty-five cents a gallon and Daddy wasn’t going to waste it driving me around to look at girls.        There was a recent health campaign that was big on walking….. “It’s hard for a heart attack to hit a moving target”. We knew nothing about that in the summer of 1961. We did, however, play ball in every field where we could gather up a crowd. We’d race down that big hill over on Forest Avenue. We swung on grapevines across the ditch behind George Sexton’s house. We played hide-and-go-seek every night. We’d work in between clearing those big rocks out of Terry Brown’s cornfield or hoeing them long cotton rows for Mr. Brooks. And we’d swim most every day at the Twin Pools.  

           I spent my growing up days outside, in the fresh air, walking to most every place I wanted to go. If I was in a real hurry, I’d take the Western Flyer. My legs looked like a windmill in a hurricane as I pedaled up that little hill down by Jim Williams’ house. We walked, ran or bicycled out of necessity. Dad wasn’t going to “take us” and we couldn’t fly. Of course, it never crossed our minds that we were working on our long term health care way before it became fashionable.

           We were just living large. And reaping more benefits than met the eye!

           There seemed to be a balance back then. After Charlotte rode off into the sunset with that tall skinny guy I fell in love with Cynthia Wheat. Her mother made the best cookies. It was a pretty fair walk past Bethel College to get to Cynthia’s house over on East Cherry Street. I’d eat about six of those homemade sugar and molasses treats and then walk home. By the time I’d cover the mile back to the house I figured I’d walked off any effect the cookies had on my system. Natural balance……I’m not sure any of those late night tv health raconteurs are offering that today.

           Leon thinks Jerry Lee Lewis helped. He’d come on the jukebox singing “Great Balls of Fire” or “High School Confidential” and the whole Dairy Bar would be dancing! You think Jane Fonda had a work out! I’ve seen Kent Wilson and Penny Barksdale shed ten pounds apiece in one evening trying to keep up with Jerry Lee!   

           It seems nobody got sick much. Now, you can say that I was young and just don’t remember. But I think there was more to it than that. We had injuries. Daddy broke his ribs once when a dogging chain flew back on him. And Mr. Martin split his arm from “stem to stern” when the hand crank on his old Farmal engaged before he was ready. Didn’t nobody go on disability. Or write their congressman. Or demonstrate for universal health care. Daddy grumbled about his bad luck and lit a fire under me, Leon, David Mark about getting the work done! Folks came from all around town and got Mr. Martin’s hay in.

           Mother allowed the good health came from the cod liver oil laced orange juice she forced down us each morning. She thought the pure hog lard she cooked every thing in lubricated our systems. And she demanded we rest a few minutes after lunch to let our stomachs settle. We didn’t have fast foods, pre-packaged potatoes, canned biscuits or steroid chickens. We had to dig for our potatoes, wait patiently for our biscuits and you could work up a healthy appetite chasing one of those hens down for supper.

           It seems to me we’d all be better off if we quit dwelling on this health thing so much and start walking to town more often. Maybe you could find a girlfriend that rode horses and lived way out on the highway. You could turn off that tv, move the couch back against the wall and put on a Jerry Lee Lewis record.

           It worked for us!

                 Respectfully,

                       Kes