days in the life of a
September 12, 2008
THE STORYTELLER
My grandpa, Andy Britt, was what you might call a colorful character!  He was
born September 1, 1912, lived his entire life in the state of North Carolina, and
when he died February 21, 2003, the world lost a unique man and our family lost
an amazing storyteller.

Looking at his weathered face, you can see his Indian heritage come through.
Andy's grandmother was a Native American.  These were true North Carolina
people, proud and strong and hardworking...survivors during tough times.

In January of 1930, my grandpa married Hazel Thompson, a treasure of a woman,
when he was just 17 and she only 14.  They had 12 children, my mother Lois
being fifth-born in that family.  The oldest 2 children died in infancy, when
Grandpa and Grandma were still teenagers themselves.  It was a hard life with
struggles I can't even imagine.  And yet they endured, and survived, and evens
thrived through 73 years of
marriage, never having much
money but content with the
blessing they did have.

Grandpa was a sawmill man.  From the time I can remember,
Grandpa ran a sawmill wherever they lived.  I suppose they
must have moved around to follow the sawmill jobs.  He would leave
home early in the morning, driving around in his open-bed truck
picking up his crew, which consisted mostly of black men.  He drove
them to the sawmill, where he was their foreman, barking out orders
with the efficiency of so many years of experience.  It was amazing
to watch him at work!  We visited his sawmill once, and we were
fascinated to watch them hoist, debark, and cut up those huge pine
logs.  It was hot, hard, dirty work and it was clear to see that
Grandpa was in charge.

At home, Grandpa loved to tinker with his tractors.  He spent count-
less hours fine-tuning their engines until they just purred.  No visit
was complete without Grandpa starting up his tractors for us to hear
just how purdy they sounded!  After Grandpa died, my dad was
fortunate enough to get a couple of those prized tractors and brought
them back to Indiana.  Grandpa would be proud to know that Dad has
them.  He always did love my dad!  But that's another story for
another time...

Yes, Grandpa Britt was quite the character, a tough old guy that lived life on his own terms.  I once saw him take his gun out in his front yard, shoot a squirrel right out of the tree, take it in the kitchen, skin it right there in one quick pull, and give it to Grandma to fry it up in the skillet...in a matter of just a few minutes.  And he could squat down on his thighs, just sitting there perfectly balanced, for hours it seemed, picking with a stick in the dirt and talking.  Grandpa loved to talk, and he had some tales to tell!

That's what I remember most about him, his stories.  Two stories in particular, that we begged him to tell every time we went to visit.  One day when he shared them with my own children, I taped them.  What a treasure that is to me!  I came across that tape the other day, and wanted to share it with all of you.  For those who've never heard them, you're in for a treat.  For those of us who knew and loved him, it brings back memories of sitting around the kitchen table as he related his stories in his own special way. 

I tried as best I could to interpret his telling into a transcript of the story.  I got most of it, missing a few phrases that got lost in the recording (which, by the way, include the restless voices of my own small children, which you will hear).  This tape was recorded in July 1988.  Enjoy!









The Bear
"...an' one time we went down there an' the bear was been agettin' in the cornfield, stealin' corn an' carryin' it out,
an' we set a trap for him, an' when we went down there to see if the bear was in the trap, he was in the trap an' he
had done an' drug the trap way off in the woods an' we had to go down there an' go through them woods an' find
that bear.  He'd crawled through the barbwire fences an' things, took that trap with him, climbin' up trees, an' he
went to a big ole waterhole an' he went in there an' got him a great big drink of water, an' he went back out there
an' scratched on the tree, an' then he left an' went on down the path...an' it was so thick in there we had to go
down on your knees acrawlin' in there an' git behind an' ketch up with that bear.  We follered him all through the
woods, then we stopped an' dug a hole in the ground to get us some water 'cause we so hot, we jus' like to give
out.  An' we sit there awhile an' I heared that ole bear up 'ere in the woods then, he's tryin' to get his chain
unhooked from aroun' some trees.  An' I slipped up there up that path an' looked up that path at him an' he
looked right straight down at me an' I had a double-barrel shotgun an' pointed it right straight up that path,
aimed right straight at that bear, an' pulled the trigger.  Knocked him down...Yeah, he fell right down, an' we went
on up there then an' got him unhooked from the trap.  An' I cut one of them foots off an' gonna carry it home
with me an' show it to my diddy when we got back.  I had to throw it away but it was a long time 'fore I got to it,
an' I tried to knock some of them big old teeth out wit the hatchet so I could carry some of them great big ole
great long teeth, those great long teeth in his mouth, an' they breaked off an' I couldn't get one knocked out
like I wanted.  An' I throwed that away.  An' they wanted me to cut some of him off to carry home to cook to eat,
an' so we cut a great big ole hind quarter off back there, an' nobody wouldn't tote it and I was carryin' the
shotgun an' they wanted me to tote that too, an' I toted it a little ways, nobody wouldn't hep me so I throwed it
down in the woods and left it too.  That was a great, big ole bear...he'd been in a fight with another bear
somewhere, an' had a great big cut down his shoulder there, a great big...He been caught in a trap before 'cause
didn't have but about 4 toes, 3 toes on one foot, got 2 or 3 of 'em done cut off.  He was a ole bear..."


 
Grandma & Grandpa Britt
with Kim, me, & our 4 children    July 1989

<-----  Hear it in Andy's own words!
September 14, 2008
GHOST STORY
Nearly every year since we've been married, Kim and I have
taken our children on vacation in North Carolina.  We love the
beach, of course, but when my grandparents were still living,
we always stopped by their home for a few hours.  Over their
long marriage, they lived in many different home in North
Carolina, but this is the one I remember best, and the only
one my children ever knew.  The porch was always the best
place to sit and talk, and where Grandpa often told his stories.

My other favorite tale that Grandpa Britt told was a ghost story
of sorts.  Now I don't know whether he believed in such things
or not, but he sure could tell a convincing tale!  He enjoyed
weaving the yarn and watching the little faces of his grand-
children as they clung to every word.

I've heard this story maybe 20 times or more, and each telling
is just a tad bit different.  I guess that's what makes it a true
folktale.  As I was listening to the tape of him telling it, I realized
that one detail that I vividly remembered was missing!  I asked
Mama about it, and she agreed that he forgot to add it as well,
and she's heard it MANY more times than I have.  So, after you
listen to it and/or read my attempt at a transcript, I'll tell you
what he didn't add in this telling.

So here' Grandpa Britt, in his element as he tells his favorite ghost story...












Grandpa Britt with my oldest 3 children
(Kyler hadn't arrived yet), July 1988

Kamaron (almost 2), Emily (almost 4)
Kristoffer (5 1/2 years)




















The Boy in the Tree
"...They was possum-huntin' out there in the woods one night, my daddy an' one of his friends, an' neighbors had
went off possum-huntin' way off in the woods.  Back then had great big woods, wadn't people settled right close
back in them days.  They went off there apossum-huntin' or coon-huntin' one night, the dog kep arunnin'
something an' they'd tree 'em an' they'd go there, an' whatever was up in the tree they'd jump out an' run an' the
dog would just chase him and chase him.  An', uh, finally at last they chased him up a tree an' they said, "Well,
let's go surround around him now an' come up on different sides an' so some of us'll see what it is."  So they
split up the torches, they had...fatlighter torches they'd light up to fire an' hold them lighted torches up an' maybe
a lantern or something they'd carry.  So they surrounded around him the dogs was just barkin' just like they's
about to get him.  An' they come up to him, an' they said when they got close to him an' the dogs just, just
couldn't reach him, they just near about reach him but they couldn't reach him.  An' he was sittin' up there in a
little dogwood tree, a little boy just about your size, little-bitty boy, an' he had on a blue serge suit an' a little blue
serge cap.  Back then a little blue serge cap...He had a little bowtie, just like he'd been to Sunday School, way
out there in them woods, was 10 mile across.  Don't know where in the world that little boy come from, and they
all got so scared they run an' left him up in that tree an' called the dogs off an' made them come too an' left that
little boy up in that tree.  An' that man tole me that, about the last time I seen him, he tole me he said that was
a accurate fact, if he ever tole the truth in his life said that was it.  He said we never did know, said the little boy
looked at him, he knowed it was a little boy.  Every one of 'em seen the same thing, they's all around him, ya
know, an' ever one of 'em tole the same story about it, they's all the way around the tree.  They all runnin' an'
when they got together at home they each one tole their story about what they seen an' got scared an' run.  An'
left that little boy up there in that tree.  I'd awent back, I'd astayed there to see what that was, so hep me.  I
couldn't arun an' left him up there.  Had all them dogs there, he run from the dogs, you knowed he wasn't goin' to
hurt me with the dogs all around here.  But they said they don't know what the little boy was doin' way out there in
10 mile o' woods, by hisself at night, dressed up too...said he was dressed up nice an' clean like he been to
Sunday School.  [a few comments, then Kristoffer asked it it was in these woods]...No, that was way down
yonder in lower edge Montgomery County, way down there by Biscoe, back in there toward Moore County some
of the time.  That's been a long time ago..."


Now, as I told you before, Grandpa Britt left out an important detail that he always had told before.  He always added that the little boy was sitting up there in that tree eating an ice cream cone!  All dressed up, sitting up in that tree
in the middle of the night in the middle of 10-miles of woods, eating an ice cream cone!  Where did he get the ice
cream???  Besides all of the other obvious questions...

For some reason, Grandpa didn't put that in this time.  I suspect he just forgot to mention it, but whatever the case, it's still quite a sensational story!  A wonderful tale told by a master storyteller, my grandpa, Andy Britt!

the final earthly home of Hazel and Andy Britt,
near Mt. Gilead, North Carolina
(that's Kamaron checking something out
on the right side of the photo)
July 1994
July 11, 2009
MEMORIES FROM EMERALD ISLE

I can't remember a time when I didn't love Emerald Isle. 

A long narrow island, just off the North Carolina coast and a few miles south of the famous Outer Banks, Emerald Isle has been a special place to me since I was a little girl.  While my own family enjoys vacationing in a rental home on the beach there every year, things are quite a bit different on Emerald Isle now than when we used to go there back in the 1960s and 70s.

Mama was born and raised near the little town of Maysville, just inland from the coast and not far from Emerald Isle.  Many of her family still live in the area, so from the time I was born we took road trips two or three times a year to visit my Tarheel relatives.  And when we were old enough to realize how close we were to the ocean, us children always begged for a day at the beach.

Although Mama grew up near the coast and loves the ocean, Dad never was one for just lying around on the beach.  But he usually did give in and gave us at least part of a day at the beach.  If only for a few hours, it was magical to us land-locked Hoosier kids!

While we visited various places along the coast, I most remember Emerald Isle.  We had to take a ferry across Bogue Sound which separated the island from the mainland, and that was an expedition in itself.  It was so much fun feeling the salty breezes blowing through my hair, the delicious ocean smells filling up my senses!  What a thrill, an incredible feeling of freedom and adventure, so completely and excitedly foreign to me!  We'd spot the graceful white egrets standing on their long legs in the shallows, watch the gulls circling over the marshes, see the fishermen in their boats gently bobbing on the water...all amazing sights for a Midwestern girl.

When we arrived on the island, there wasn't much there except scrubby plants, a few weatherworn island cottages, a couple of campgrounds, the occasional market, a few fishing piers, and miles and miles and miles of unspoiled beach fringed by sea oats waving in the breeze.  A handful of people would be basking in the sun or splashing in the waves, but it was a calm, quiet place, and it was very easy to find our own section of beach where we were all alone.

We would park our car in the parking lot next to the fishing pier, get out our beach gear, and head over the dunes.       I can remember how hot that asphalt would be, nearly melting right through the soles of our thin flipflops.  Mama always kept our swimsuits and Coppertone lotion in a bright green drawstring fabric/vinyl tote, and we carried our towels down to the beach.  The adults always took their sweet time to get everything out...we were rearing to get into that water!

Racing down to the water's edge, we could hardly wait to cool
off in the clear salty seawater.  But the waves coming in and out
always made me feel a little dizzy at first, like the whole
world was moving.  Such a strange sensation, but after a
few minutes we quickly got used to it and ventured farther out
to where the waves were breaking.

The wonderful thing about the beaches at Emerald Isle is that
the water is fairly shallow a long ways out.  Sometimes, if
there has recently been a big storm or a front moving
through, there may be a small drop off or a strong undertow,
but usually it is nothing but gentle, rolling waves that are
perfect for Indiana children who didn't know how to swim.

Sometimes our cousins Stevie and Vince, who lived just a few
miles away, would join us.  What fun times we had together,
jumping the waves and giggling as we would occasionally
lose our balance and get flipped over!  We adored these
cousins of ours that we barely knew, and Vince especially
could always make us laugh.  Those were great times!             

We could never get our fill of the beach in the short time
Dad allotted.  Too soon, he would be calling us in and telling
us it was time to go.  Reluctantly, we would drag ourselves out of the waves and back onto the shore, dry off as best
we could (swimsuits in those days were not made of the fast-drying fabrics we have today!), put our clothes back on,
and say good-bye to the Atlantic Ocean for yet another year. 

   At the opposite end of the island was a historic landmark that
   we often included in our visit, Fort Macon.  It was a Civil War
   era fort, with a lot of brick steps and dark, damp rooms and
   old cannons sitting around.  Not much to thrill young girls, for
   sure.  And you could always count on the weather being
   extremely hot and humid the day we planned to see Fort
   Macon!  It was always the most miserable day of the summer!

   But Fort Macon had one redeeming attribute.  When we made
   it up the endless stone staircases to the very top, what an
   incredible view of the ocean!  We could see for endless miles,
   uninterrupted ripply blue water and always a nice cooling
   breeze to make the day bearable again. 
  
   I remember standing up there and just imagining...imagining
   what it must have been like for the Confederate soldiers as
   they looked out from this very spot, across this very same
   ocean, watching for the danger of approaching Union ships and
   wondering if and when they would ever see their loved ones
   again.  I could almost touch the history that was played out on
   the grassy top of that very fort over a century ago, an
   incredible but almost eerie feeling.
 
   We haven't visited Fort Macon in probably 20 years, and
   perhaps it's time to go back.  I'm sure they've continued to
restore and improve the upkeep of this North Carolina historical site.  But I kind of like to remember it as it was, the way I felt walking through it when I was ten years old, magical and nearly pulsing with tales of long ago. 

So many things about Emerald Isle have changed.  It's now a bustling island, with new vacation homes constantly replacing the old ones and filling in the empty beach lots.  Dad says he had an opportunity to buy oceanfront lots for $500 each when they first started going down there, but that was money he didn't have at the time.  What an investment that would have been...he'd be a millionaire several times over! 

The ferry has long since been replaced by a magnificent arched bridge that stretches over the sound as you leave the mainland behind for life on an island, if only for a week.  More stores and shops, lots more restaurants and condos and people.  The old fishing piers are gone, swept out to sea in several strong hurricanes that have wreaked havoc on the island in the past twenty years and never replaced.

But the gorgeous beaches are the same, where the sea turtles still crawl out of the ocean to lay their eggs on these same sandy shores as their ancestors have for thousands of years.  The egrets and the shorebirds and the pelicans are thriving, still constantly roaming the waters for fish to eat.  The moonlight still reflects off the black night waters, giving the wet sand a luminescent glow.  The porpoises still meander along the wavebreak in the morning and evening, their dark fins visible just above the water as they follow the minnow schools.

And the ocean itself, its gentle waves relentlessly rolling in and ebbing out with the tide pulls of the moon.  No matter what changes on the island, the sea is forever the sea.  Always the same, perhaps moody at times as the weather changes, but the same today as it was when I was a child and when Mama was a child and her parents before her.

Maybe that's why I love Emerald Isle!  That and the beautiful memories we made...and are still making...there.  

Me (on left) at 10 years old on Emerald Isle, NC
with my sisters Maria (5) and Barbara (7)...
notice the attractive tan lines!!!
Our family entourage at Fort Macon, NC    Summer 1967
That's me (goofy glasses!) and my sisters on the middle step, Mama (pregnant with Mark) and Grandma in front,
my Aunt Rachel and Uncle Percy and little Vince to the left,
my cousin Stevie in the white shirt on the very top row,
and three of my uncles Larry, Eugene, and Jeffrey