Farming in Trickem, Alabama – Bartemus aka A.S. Hinton, 7/5/1889
We are needing rain at Trickem, we have had some very slight showers, but the crop calls for a rootsoaker, a cloud-burst
such as will put mud creek on a boom and smooth the landscape out to a lovely dead level. Ald what would Sugarville not
give to add such water scenery as ours to her picturesque gullies? Then indeed, could her poetic correspondent rave in a
volcanic frenzy of inspiration on her gorgeous beauties making her, by his resplendent genius, the rival of Venice and Chicago.
The fishing season is over. Bush & Vaiden’s squad have muddied the last hole in Mud Creek. The Methodist niggers have
built a new church at Trickem. During the week the lurid fires of torment are banked up in a corner, but when the preacher
begins to blow the bellows on Sunday, the church is soon painted red, the brethren howl, the sister moan, coons are saved
and chickens lost. We regret to learn that Col. Weaver was taken quite sick on Thursday last. It is said he has pneumonia.
His many friends wish him a speedy recovery. Mr. Pink Tubb visited our village last Saturday. He was formerly a citizen of
Liam, but has now bought a place in that menagerie of political wild cats, called Cunningham beat. In a horse trade you can
rely ou what Pink says Mr. Bob. Walker works the Petty place; he has insured his life as he has gone in with Major Straus.
Mud creek is navigable at that point. Capt. Tom. Stone has a fine crop Tom..has added to his house and is said to be on a
still hunt for a bird of paradise. Major Billy McAuley lives on John Bell’s place. Billy is a sociable fellow, a good company
keeper and almost subline on a narrative. Riding in his road-cart, behind his prancing broncho, at a distance he reminds
one of the lamented Wm. H. Vanderbilt driving Maud S. Trickem is for Reub. Kolb for governor, no other candidate need
apply. Reub. is the farmer’s man and is sound on the watermelon question, and that is taking with us all regardless of
lace, color, previous condition. However if his patch was near Trickem he would not ship so many seed. Farming, Mr.
Editor, is the noblest of callings, especially when the sun is hot and you have hired some day labor.
The farmer is the true apostle of altruism. He works for everybody but himself and, like atlas, bears the world on his shoulders.
He rises with the sun and sees the beauties of nature unfolding in the coming light. Be gazes rapturously on the waving crop,
and feels that it waves because it is out of the ground by waive-note. What can more completely fill the soul with the afflatus
of divine poesy, than to follow a line of black coons through the green fields on a July day, and to return home in the evening
under the spell of a romantic dream that you have been hunting muskrats? How much more sublimely could Byron have
composed had he been a Trickem or Sugarville farmer. Noble farmers, I hail and greet you all, we are heroes unrecorded,
democrats unwashed, capitalists without a cent, and independent to the back-bone. Let us meet at Nonnenmacher’s and
discuss cattle raising and smile at our grandeur.
Last Updated on March 23, 2021 by Bill Arp
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