Tusquittee Chronicles Part II

Like Abe, Claude was born in a log building

Part II

By Claude R. Moss

SAN FRANCISCO– 1953–On September 29, 1875, I was born in an old log house on middle Tusquittee and lived there for almost the entire period of my childhood. It wasn’t a very fine building, but we did have good floors and one glass window. The lower story was divided by a partition so that the back could be used as a bedroom; and the “upstairs” was also used for this purpose when necessary. There was a front porch and a lean-to kitchen at the rear.

It was the house that Grandfather Moss had built for himself long before the Civil War, and after dad married, he moved it to his own place. Before this beginning of winter, it was necessary to daub up the cracks with mud. This was always done by Newt Robins, and old Confederate war veteran, who was very lame, since the minnie ball that had lodged in his leg had never been  removed.

Near by was the well, about sixty feet deep, with its old oaken bucket. Occasionally it was necessary for a man to be lowered to the bottom of the well to clean out the silt and rubbish that had accumulated there. I thought of him as a very brave person, as indeed he was; for the windlass was not very substantial.

A short distance away was the “stables” with six stalls for the “stock,” and a loft where the corn was stored. We shucked and shelled the corn on rainy days, and my dog Tige was always there to help with the rat killing. The gable ends were boarded up only about half way, and a nimble thief could easily enter through the opening. However, this mode of entry was usually unnecessary, as the gates were rarely locked. Dad had a lot of confidence in his fellow man.

It is not possible to see very far westward without going to the top of the hill beyond the stables; but eastward for approximately a mile there was an unobstructed view of the valley. Across the fields toward the south loomed the Double Knobs, and on the north was the Tusquittee Bald although I do not believe it was visible from the house.

A cradle was made for me by Uncle Mahan Russell. When Maud came along, I had to vacate for I wasn’t the baby any longer, and throughout my childhood days there were promotions at fairly regular intervals from the cradle to the trundle bed. I believe that my first useful work was rocking the cradle while singing “bye-o, bye-o, baby bye-o” to the tune of Babylon is Fallen.

Even if I wasn’t the baby, dad and mother had some time to amuse me. Mother would grab each of my toes in succession as she repeated: “This little pig said, ‘I’m going to steal some corn; this little pig said, ‘Where you going to get it?’; this little pig said, ‘In massa’s barn; this little pig said ‘I’ll tell.’ And this little pig said, ‘Wee, wee, I can’t get the gate open.” Dad would sometimes get down on his hands and knees and play horse with me. I doubt if he was so accommodating to the younger boys, but I was something comparatively new.

Next week–Early memories and waiting for Christmas

Part II of a 24 part series. This is an account by Claude Moss of growing up on Tusquittee in the late 1800’s. It was written at age 78 after he had retired as a successful attorney and was living in California.