Read Online Milkweed Ladies by Louise McNeill - Free Book Online Page B

cabin; but he heard the panther following him and could see his eyes in the night. Everytime the panther moved close, Grandpa Jonathan would throw a burning brand, until at last he got safe to the cabin. Next morning when he got up, a little skiff of snow had fallen; and there, on the outside of the window sill, were the prints of the panther's forepaws where he had reared up to look in at Grandpa through the pane. In the dark night, after we had sugared off and were trekking wearily home, I often wished for a little kettle of burning firebrands. Behind me, in the dark, I could always sense the sneaking, yellow shape and feel its green slanty eyes.
    We had taboos, and a lot of them had good reason: Never stand under a locusttree during a lightning storm. Never eat a bite of food in the privy house, for every bite you eat there you feed to the Devil. Do not pick up toads for they give you warts. Do not play in the fire or with matches, or you'll wet the bed that night. Never touch a thousand-legged worm. Never kill a ladybug or your house will burn. Never kill a news bee or you'll get bad news. Never milk on the left side of a cow. Never bellow at a mad bull. Don't sleep in the light of the full moon, or you'll go moon-mad and turn blue.
    If a cow is bewitched and won't give her milk down, sprinkle salt and pepper on the root of her tail. If a dog howls at night, a soul is passing. When the “death bell” rings in your ears, no one else can hear it. When you hear it, you will die. Always cut your brush in the dark of the moon. If you can't find your cows, talk to a grandaddy spider and he will point one of his front legs to show you which way they've gone. Yellow-root tea will cure a sore throat; a piece of fat side-meat tied on your foot will draw out a thorn; stump water is good for flea bites and running sores.
    Aunt Malindy and Mama both had their old songs and ballads; and, in summer when the men were away, we would sit on the porch in the evening and sing together, or we would sing snatches as we worked:
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    Where have you been, Lord Randall my son?
    Where have you been, my own dearest one?
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    Or:
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    A carrion crow sat on an oak
    Fol do riddle de, Lol de riddle de
    High ding doe…
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    Or Granny Fanny's thin monotone would quaver from the shadows: “Oh the black and the bay and the dapple gray.”
    From Aunt Malindy, and from Uncle Dock too, we had the lore of the fields and woodlands, as we ran their paths in summer and made up our games. Never look in a bird's nest or the baby birds will die. Weasels kill to suck the blood. A red squirrel will eat off the private parts of a gray squirrel. Talk to a doodle bug down in his dung hole, and he will tell you the secret of the earth.
    We saw the baby skunks walking along in a straight row behind their mother, perfectly disciplined and with their little tails waving back and forth in rhyme. And we watched the chipmunks frisking along the fence rows, found the soft baby rabbits in their nests. Never touch a baby rabbit. Never kill a buzzard. If you see an owl in the daytime, bad luck will come before dark.
    Once, G.D. took me out to the smokehouse to see the big white owl. I must have been three or four and he came and woke me up. He picked me up, wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me outdoors. Something had been killing our hens that roosted on the “plate” of the log smokehouse, and G.D. had set a trap. It was a cold, snow-covered night, and I remember the snow and the great white owl there in the lantern light. His eyes were big and golden and had fiery streaks in them. I looked at him, and he looked back at me. I felt his hate and his fear. He seemed to be looking at me alone and asking me a question I could never forget.

    Up at the cow spring, we whittled out water wheels, set them in the rushing water, and watched them whirl around. We whittled out wooden boats too, and set them adrift on the flood: “Boats of mine a-boating