By Don Kenton Henry
There are times – most often when this planet drifts a little closer to the sun for the season to come
My mind turns to the days when these old legs could run
No direction; and only because they could
Only difference between me and a June colt was a colt had more sense. And I had no fence.
It’s often down to the crooked creeks of Southern Indiana , past Trafalgar, Gnaw Bone, Bean Blossom, Milltown down to Cain-Tuck way …
Back somewhere in time, somewhere in yester summer day
In the hollers off the back roads far from the paved road of the revenue man
I go where the smell of corn malt is sweet and the squirrels and coons are fat as farmer John’s spotted hogs
That’s where you’ll find me many a yester summer day
Me and King Henry, my orange spotted English Setter dog
We slide that red cedar canoe into the cold spring fed Blue and drift with the current past caves and limestone cliffs
Past sand bars we float like a leaf adrift, dancing in the sunlight
Sleeping turtles on rock pay us no mind nor a frog on the reeds seemingly frozen in time
And we bank in an eddy
And I swear that dog smiles and his tongue goes a waggin’ when I strip off my clothes – which doesn’t take long
Since I left the house with almost nothing already on
Just a pair of old cut offs was all I did need – ‘cept a pair of bvd’s both of which I hang on the branch of a sycamore tree
And I dive to the sandy river bottom and King Henry swims along up above
Have you ever looked up at dog swimmin’ by, like a four legged angel –
Or a dog paddlin’ dove, way high in the sky
Then the eddy shoots us out in a big pool of blue still
Where I sit and watch Henry do it time and again
Have you ever swam naked with your dog
And lay on a log and with your buns in the sun while being watched by a frog
Cause if not, you ain’t nare been young, friend
And after awhile the cane pole comes out
And catfish and croppies fight to get on my string as Henry tries to assist
He’s a field bred setter that goes on the point whenever the bobber bobs in the reeds
And lets out a yelp when spiked by one big catfish
Once more I tell him, “Henry, don’t try to retrieve!”
That night at my paw paws we fry up that fish on the porch of his cabin
And Betty McSweeny comes out of the woods
Says, “something smells grand!”
She’s wearing a red bandana disguised as a top –
Her Daisy Dukes, long blond hair and a dark summer tan
But I know the truth
Betty McSweeny didn’t come for no fish
Though she certainly likes it, it’s not first on her list
See, Betty McSweeny likes to be kissed
But we all get our fill of catfish, croppies and frog
So as Paw Paw plays some Earl Scruggs on his banjo
Uncle Bob breaks jumps in on Foggy Mountain Breakdown till his fiddle smokes and I swear Bill Monroe’s gonna show up anytime
Then Betty walks right by the pump toward the river sayin’ let’s go clean off this griddle!”
I look up and hesitate cause–my foot’s a really tappin’–and Paw Paw gives me a wink, “Get along, boy or you’ll be an old man of twenty before you can blink!”
Yes, Betty McSweeny liked to be kissed
And that night Betty got her everything that was at the top of her list
Not the least of which was catfish, croppies, fried frog an’ kissin’
And if you weren’t nare there boy, you don’t know what you were missin’
And yester summer day is where this mind goes as this planet drifts a little closer to the sun
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