Alex Reeves. Grandson of my great aunt Barbara and great uncle Wayne Robinson. The three of them live in a Tennessee farm house in Bethel Springs, right outside of Selmer. They share their property with five dogs, a herd of guinea hens, a couple peacocks and peahens, and, once upon a time, some cows.
Unfortunately, my time with the Robinsons was short during this visit, so if you will be patient with me for a while, I will reminisce a little.
From a young age I have been going to "The Farm" once every few years or so for a Plunk Family Reunion. "Liberty" happens every year during mother's day weekend. All of the Plunks and branches of the Plunk tree gather for a potluck fit for twelve kings in the yard of Liberty Church in Selmer, Tennessee. Plunks of all shapes, ages, and sizes, mingle amongst the graves of our ancestors eating barbecue, coleslaw, and corn.
The kids, however, were never satisfied with this boring, old person activity. We don't care about talking and family history. We care about adventure. As soon as there was a break in introductions (and this is your second cousin three-times removed on your grandmother's side...) we would head for the woods. We headed for the spring.
Tucked away in the forest behind the church is an old freshwater spring that Plunks have been visiting for generations past, and will continue to visit for generations to come. We know this because of the trees that surround the little spring. The trees in this forest glade no longer have trunks that are full of bark. Instead they are full of history. Names, dates, hearts, declarations of love, all of these litter the trunks of the big gum trees that lend their shade to us small adventurers. My name is on one of those trees, as is my brother's. It is next to our father's name, which he carved when he was our age. One day, whether or not the Liberty Reunion is still happening, I will take my children to that little white church and I will hand them a pocket knife. Above all things, they will know that they are Plunks.
After our little get-together, the Plunk-Robinson clan (the siblings of my Grandfather, and their families) head back to the Robinson family farm. This has always been my favorite part. When I was younger, the place was a working cattle farm. My uncle Wayne would raise cows and sell them for meat. I will always remember one particular cow, of course. His name was Spark Plug. The little guy had lost his mother during childbirth, and Wayne was raising him by hand. He would hold a bottle full of milk between his legs and Spark Plug would go to town, loving all of the one-on-one attention he was getting from Mr. Farmer. As he got older and was weaned, the little guy still followed Wayne wherever he went, sometimes even sucking on his fingers. That calf was the sweetest little piece of livestock I have ever met. But, of course, Wayne was running an operation, and in the long run, Spark Plug was just another cog in the machine. A yummy, juicy, grass-fed cog.
Uncle Wayne has always been an animal man. Another Robinson critter that will always remain etched on my memory was Precious, the three-legged deer. When Precious was just an infant deerling he liked to spend his days laying around in the tall grass with his loving mother. Now, this is all well and good until it became time to cut the long grass. When it's time to cut the long grass, you must do it with a very large machine. A large, loud machine. A machine that can easily run over a mother deer, killing her instantly, and take the leg of a baby deer that was mercifully off to the side.
Of course, when Wayne realized what had happened, he was mortified. He was able to save Precious, however, and the little three-legged Bambi would roam around Wayne's farms for a few more years until he died of health complications.
The last time I saw Precious was several years ago - almost a decade I believe. That was also the last time I was on Wayne's farm when he still owned cattle. As the years dragged by and Wayne got older it became harder and harder for him to maintain his bovine business. And so he retired. Life goes on.
But just because there are no longer any cow pies to fling does not mean we don't have a good time when my branch of the Plunks gets together with the rest of the family. Every year after the Liberty gathering there is a night of revelry. A night of pit-bbq pork. A night of horseshoes. A night of Oh Hell! (A card game invented by my great aunt Woozie) A night of family stories, from that of PRT to the time that Alex hopped a train to Birmingham (he was 13).
Of course, the moral of the story is to befriend the older generations of your family. They are a goldmine of information and good times. Even now, when Wayne is almost gone "upstairs," his eyes still lit up when he saw me. He gave me a big (although weak) hug, and he said "Welcome home." My eyes glistened a little at the sentiment. It's nice to know that wherever my wanderings may lead, I can always find a place to lay my head and call home.
Here's to you and your home,
Love love, cow pie flinging love,
Plunk!
Progress across this country of ours
A) Boulder, CO
B) Cheyenne Wells, CO
C) Lubbock, TX
D) Austin, TX
E) Baton Rouge, LA
F) New Orleans, LA
G) Vancleave, MS
H) Meridian, MS
I) Bethel Springs, TN
Total mileage so far: 1,977
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