Whitesburg KY
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Remembering the good and the bad




As we wander along life’s maze of everyday obstacles, we sometimes make mental notes of things past, whether good or bad.

We always desire to remember the good things, but sometimes no matter how hard we try we can’t seem to shake the effects of the bad things that have happened either.

Sometimes when we get to the point where we dwell on unpleasant things of the past, we can remember enough good things to override those bad thoughts that torment us as is the case with mental landmarks we make along the way.

We may see the old swimming hole located in a secluded spot and remember those who swam there with us, and all the fun we had skinny-dipping on a hot summer day, especially after a berry-picking foray. It was just plain un-American to not stay in the water long enough to drown all the chiggers we had inherited during the day. When our skin began to look like a dried prune, we were about ready to rejoin the ranks of civilized folk again.

Most folks would consider it uncivilized to go swimming in our birthday suits, but actually it was a lot of fun because we didn’t have to worry about all of the sand, which usually collected in normal swimming attire. Besides, if a water snake decided to use the swimming hole too, we could exit the premises a lot faster without the weight of clothes, however abbreviated, to slow us down. If we decided to swim under a submerged log, we didn’t have to worry about getting caught by the seat of our britches and drowning.

At times we can visualize hoeing corn at a certain location that has been reclaimed by nature, leaving no visible signs of it having ever been anything other than a thicket. Or we can visualize how we used to sail down a broomsage on nothing more than a chunk of cardboard, or a pasture field full of pawpaw trees with a lot of fall grapes along the top.

I have my own way of remembering things such as the little Rockvine Baptist Church over on the Cumberland River. I see it and I think of Russell Cole and Brandon Wilder, who were killed in a rock fall at a mine.

Russell was a member of that little church and died providing for his family. There are no granite markers commemorating his or Brandon’s life, but yet they were as important as those who do have fancy markers.

Along the same road there’s a house I call the ‘death house’, the house where Lisa Jenkins was slain. And I remember how brutal and senseless her death was, and quite frankly, I didn’t believe either one of the defendants and believe that one was as guilty as the other.

I could be way out in left field, but I am also entitled to my opinion.

When I pass by where the Scotia mine was, I remember the 23 miners who perished there trying to provide for their families, and speculate as to what could have been done to prevent the tragedy, if anything.

Well, that’s all from down on the funny farm until next time.


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