I'll Keep Sal!
My Uncle strode behind the mule to turn the rocky soil, while his small son sat beneath a tree at the end of the furrows. It was the 1930s and such was the plight of a man without a woman in the hills.
At about the same time period, a Hillman had lost his wife to the grim reaper and his life was being complicated by a long dry spell. The despairing husband had followed her to the grave and was the last to leave the burying ground. About six weeks later a friend of his from town drove out to see how the widower was doing. He found him setting on the porch staring hopelessly at the cloudless sky. “If it would only turn in and rain,” he stated, “I wouldn’t ask nothin' of nobody.”
“I suppose the dry weather is hard on the crops,” observed the town visitor. “It ain’t the crops I’m worried about,” remarked the widower, “it’s Miss Darcy Johnson. She swears she won’t marry me till it rains.”
The remark puzzled the visitor and he asked, “Why not?” With a deep sigh the Hillman explained: “She allows that it wouldn’t be showin' proper respect for my first wife to marry before my tracks in the graveyard is washed out. I shore do wish it would turn in and rain. I been courtin' her six weeks. Good Lord, a man can’t wait on the weather forever.”
Marriage there, as in other rural communities, was a necessary institution. Young people didn’t decide if they wanted to marry, only who they would marry. If a partner died, neither a man nor a woman remained unmarried for long.
It was hard for a country man to farm without a woman’s help, especially if he had a brood of children. His days would begin with dressing the children, preparing them a morning meal, care for the livestock and then go to the field and work until noon. He then prepared a noon meal, watered his stock and returned to the fields, only to return at sundown to do the evening chores, preparing the evening meal and getting the children into bed. All of this was more than a one man job even without the cleaning and laundry. A man needed a woman on the place. Sometimes a man’s need for a wife would necessitate a detailed explanation of the composition of the family.
A woman in the hills was heard to explain, “I’m John’s third woman. Five of the kids are ours. One he got by his second woman and the oldest one is by his first woman.”
All of this could even lead to huge age differences. There was an Eli Simmons, aged sixty-five and his wife was only twenty-four. Some of her step-children were twice as old as she, which just goes to show that no matter how battered the skillet is, you can always find a lid to fit.
My grandmother used to remark when an aged or ugly woman caught a husband, “even a poor jug don’t lack for a stopper.” This brings to mind the tale about the Ozarker that traveled up to St. Louis on business. He had never been in a big city before. He walked down the streets, looked in all the windows and was really enjoying himself. At one place he saw a sign which read: “Woman’s Exchange.”
The hayseed thought about this for a moment and then hurried into the store, which was filled with various specimens of feminine articles of attire.
Behind the counter was a very tall, very gaunt, and very spinster like person. The Hillman looked her up and down and thought to himself, “She’s so ugly that you’d have to blindfold the baby before it would suck.” Nevertheless, he looked around for another female but did not see another soul.
He eyed her keenly and asked, “Be you the woman?” She replied quite primly, “I guess I am.” “Well, I guess I’ll keep Sal.” He said apologetically and hurried out.
