Yesterday I surprised myself with a Christmas present I will treasure forever.

A day with my daddy.

Russell and Blanche Fuson, 1920.

Kim's grandparents shortly after their marriage.

All that talk about Russell's premonition in yesterday's post caused me to dig out these 3 old photos of their horse and buggy days.

Twenty-five years ago (wow...has it really been that long?...) when Kim's grandpa Russell Fuson was on his deathbed, he often spoke "out of his head."  He was blind from the time I knew him, but his hearing was keen and his images were vivid in his still-sharp mind.

Grandpa Fuson would seem completely aware and alert, and out of the blue he'd say he heard work horses clopping down the road.  We all kind of poo-pooed it, since Grandpa had farmed with horses years and years ago, thinking he was just remembering old times.

Now I'm not so sure that's what it was.  Every time I see an Amish farmer (which are getting more numerous all the time) driving his horse team down the very road where Grandpa Fuson lived, it makes me wonder if his "crazy exhortations" about days long gone were actually a premonition of days to come.

I will always remember Grandpa Britt for his storytelling.  Here is a post including his other story that I remember most from my childhood days, originally posted in September 2008.

the final earthly home of Hazel and Andy Britt, near Mt. Gilead, NC July 1994

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 homes 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 mesmerized grandchildren 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's Grandpa Britt, in his element as he tells his favorite ghost story...

Grandpa Britt with my 3 oldest children, July 1988

Download Andy Britt's Boy in the Tree Story

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 if 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..."

My cousin Lydia recently posted this photo of our late grandpa, Andy Crowell Britt, and it got me thinking about him.

Born September 1, 1912, 101 years ago, Grandpa Andy was one-of-a-kind.