By Josslynn Forth

There was nothing better than sweet, iced tea on West Virginia summer days. For as long as I can remember, my Uncle Luke and I would make our daily trips to McDonald’s and get one large, sweet tea on our way to his farm on the right fork side of Cow Creek Road. He is who I must thank for my love of sweet tea. After each swig of sweet tea, we would swallow and say “Ahhh…”. As we drove along in his white Chevy S10, he would put in a cassette tape and play “Cajun Baby” by Hank Williams Jr.

Way down yonder in the Bayou
Country in dear old Louisianne…
That’s where lives my Cajun baby the
Fairest one in the land

He’d sing as he looked at me and patted his knee. He never got annoyed when I asked for the same country song over and over. The drive out Cow Creek is long, the roads twist and turn, trees and flowers line the roads, and houses get farther and farther apart as you drive deeper into the holler. On the warmer mornings, we would roll the windows down, the fresh air would seep in and fill my lungs with happiness. The closer we got to the farm, the faster I’d bounce my legs and wiggle in my seat. At the bottom of the gravel driveway was a gate, my favorite part was opening it and directing him through. The truck would bounce up and down as we would go up the hill, the crackling and popping of the tires was always a soothing sound. There was a small pond on the right side with tall brown grass lined around it. Fences line each side of the road. Once we pulled up to the house, he’d park the truck in front of the concrete pavilion and would immediately move whatever tractor or truck he had to so I could ride the yellow four-wheeler. I had a four-wheeler, it was electric blue, but it didn’t go as fast as his. My feet would barely touch the plastic platform, but I didn’t mind.

“All right, go on. But don’t go too far, ya’ hear?” he’d always tell me.

“Okay!” I yell as I peel off.

I would fly around the yard, kicking up grass and dirt. I’m sure the tire marks I made are still there. I’d drive around the white two-story house. He didn’t live in it, but I never understood why he didn’t. The house was made of white brick with a grey roof that was worn and discolored from the elements. Inside the house, there was this lingering musty smell that could only be described as old water. The walls that were once a breathtakingly beautiful white are now a dull eggshell. It had linoleum floors with flower detailing, and oak wood flooring furnished the rest of the home. It was beautiful and it felt like home. It had one room in particular that was like a magnetic force; at the end of the hallway was a room with several windows that let in a lot of natural light.

On the eggshell-colored walls, there were black and white Polaroid photos of his family. The frames were chipped in some corners. Some of the photographs were from the 40’s. I would always wonder who was in each picture. He was in some of the pictures along with his siblings and parents. In each corner sat a worn lounge chair and in the middle of two chairs sat a piano. I didn’t know how to play but I loved to sit and listen to each key and make up my own songs. I don’t know what it was that drew me to that room, but it was like a magnetic force.

I would then make my way around the garden behind the house. He planted rows of corn, broccoli, tomatoes, squash, and all kinds of other vegetables and fruits. I would help him pick fruits and vegetables sometimes. I didn’t necessarily enjoy picking them, but if he would ask for help, I’d do it. When I got bored, I’d go ride the four-wheeler some more. The whole property was fenced in, so I would drive along the fence watching the cows out in the distance grazing in the fields. I would wave to them and they would look up and moo back; it always felt like they were saying hello back. Sometimes, they would meander over to the edge of the fence and I would reach out and scratch their ears. I would always giggle when they licked or nibbled at my hand. He had too many cows to count, there were black, brown, and white cows. The black and white cows were always my favorite. At one time, he had horses on the left side of the house in the fenced-in field. I never rode them; I was always too nervous and I knew the horse would know. When I wasn’t riding the four-wheeler, you could find me playing in the loft of the barn. I’d jump from haybale to haybale. I’d lay in the hay and make up my own stories. There was one big hole in the floor of the loft, and I’d look down on the cows and sneak them some extra hay.

When it would start to get dark, he’d call for me. “C’mon Josh, Let’s go!”.

Josh was my nickname, Uncle Luke called me that for as long as I could remember. I don’t know why he called me Josh; it could have just been another way for him to show affection towards me. I’d reluctantly get in the truck, but I knew I would be back tomorrow.

~

Every morning like clockwork, mom would drop me off at his house on Teays Valley Road on her way to work. He would have breakfast waiting for me. As soon as I walked in, I would smell the most salivating smell- BACON! The crinkling and popping of the bacon, the old westerns playing in the background, the anticipation of McDonalds sweet tea, and the long ride out Cow Creek was enough to get me excited. We would laugh and joke around while eating our “country breakfast”. He would tell me stories from his childhood and adulthood. My favorite one is how he purposefully shot off his pinky toe so he wouldn’t get drafted to the Vietnam War.

“Uncle Luke, you didn’t do that! You are just telling a story.” I’d laugh and shake my head.

“Oh yes, siree I did,” He pulled off his slipper so I could see.

My eyes widened, “Lukey! You really did do it.”.

He would clean up breakfast and we would make our way to McDonald’s, get our large sweet tea, and head down Cow Creek to the farm. Luke always brought Sam, his yellow lab, with us to the farm. I always enjoyed the ride to the farm. I loved the smell of fresh country air, the overpopulated areas of oak trees and wildflowers on both sides of the road, the feeling of the warm breeze across my face and arms, the country music playing in the background, and sipping on sweet tea. While I played, he’d be working on one of the tractors, working in the garden, feeding the cows, or anything else he needed to do that day. I always admired how hard he worked. I loved the summer days I spent on the farm. Roaming around, sometimes barefoot, and feeling the soft grass between my toes. I’d ride the four-wheeler out the dirt roads. On the hotter days, Luke, Sam, and I would ride down to the pond. The feeling of the wind in my hair, the smell of the cows and fresh cut hay floating in the air and leaving dust clouds wherever I went. We’d kick off our socks and shoes and sway our legs back and forth in the water while sipping on sweet tea. There was nothing better than sunshine and sweet tea.

Sam would always want to play fetch and I’d spend ten minutes looking for the “perfect” stick.
“Okay Sam, sit! Fetch!” I’d yell as I threw the stick.

He never waited to see where the stick landed before he’d take off like a roadrunner. I watched as his body bobbed up and down as he swam, his loud breathing clear as day, his head darting left to right looking for the stick. Watching him swim back was funny, he would always have this serious look in his eyes. He would climb up the bank and shake off the water- usually on me.

“Sammmm…” I whined while wiping off my face.

I’d grab the stick and toss it again.

~

As I got older, I stopped going to the farm as often. In the summer of 2015, I barely went down to the farm. I got older and wanted to hang out with my friends instead. It didn’t matter what we did, I never got that content feeling I did when I was on the farm. We would talk about boys, practice putting makeup on, and watch movies. He never told me if that made him sad, but I know it did. If I had known that was my last summer to go, I would have gone every day. That winter he got sick and couldn’t go anywhere. I went to see him as much as possible at the hospital. We would talk about the farm and all our fond memories. I went to see him the day before my birthday, but he wasn’t all there. But we talked as much as we could. I didn’t know he was dying. I honestly didn’t think he was dying. He had a stroke and just wasn’t the same afterwards. He held on long enough to see me turn 14 and died about a week after my birthday on April 4th, 2016.

Sometimes I thought he needed me more than I needed him. But the truth is, we needed each other more than we realized. He was the grandfather figure I never had, and I was the daughter he never had. He had three sons, but they each tragically died as infants. Their names were Timmy, Tommy and Scott. We each gave the other something we desired- Friendship, and an unconditional love for each other. I think the reason I considered the farm “Home” was because of him and the peace I was surrounded by. He let me be a kid and explore. Most importantly, he let me be myself. After he died, I didn’t think I would ever feel that way about a place or person ever again. Sometimes I think, he sent me a new best friend, Christian. We met each other when I was in a dark place, he made me feel the same way I felt when I was with my Uncle Luke. We share a love for sweet tea, country roads, Hank Williams Jr., and dogs named Sam.

~

I think of him every time I drink Sweet Tea. When I start to miss him, I listen to “Cajun Baby”, I hear him singing it to me while patting his knee.

Way down yonder in the Bayou
Country in dear old Louisianne…
That’s where lives my Cajun baby the
Fairest one in the land

I roll my windows down, let the breeze roll over my face and arms, and sing along to the music. I see him in the sunrises and sunsets. I know he’s thinking of me too when I think of him because I always see a Cardinal sitting on a tree branch. I see him in the flowers and trees scattered on both sides of Cow Creek Road. I ended up living on Cow Creek five years later, but not on his farm. I live on my own farm now. This is home now. The grassy fields, the red barns, the dark starry nights, the fresh country air, the bumpy gravel road, and the fenced-in land with a gate. I have a dog named Sam, but he is a Golden Retriever, and he is a constant reminder of Uncle Luke and Sam. Every summer morning fills me with the happiness I had when at Uncle Luke’s farm. Every day is like a sunshine and sweet tea kind of day.