Granddaddy King

Last week I began "Vintage Photo Friday" with a photo of one of my grandfathers.  I began with him since his birthday was that week.  Well, as it turned out, my other grandfather's birthday was exactly a week from his.  They were even born in the same year.  The photo today features George King sitting on the back steps at their house.  The house is no longer there -- development has replaced it.

This photo of him shows a bit of hair.  I remember him as bald.  He did have some hair that would grow on the sides of his head -- but he shaved it.  He once told me that if he could not have hair all over his head, he did not want it at all.  George was the youngest child of George and Doritha King.  At the time my grandfather was born; his father was 69 years old.  At his birth, my granddaddy had adult brothers.

Granddaddy tended a garden -- heading out early in the mornings before it got too hot.  He drove an old black Comet -- slowly.  He would sit in the car while grandma would go into the store to get groceries.  When I was along, I would sit in the car with him.  I think this is when my love of snarkiness was born -- he used to make the best comments.

When I was in elementary school, I would catch the bus at his house.  My mother would drop me off on her way to work.  Granddaddy would stand at the stop with me; it was on the side road (dirt road) along the side of his property.  I was the only one at that stop.  Every morning we would stand there and wait for Mervin to arrive with the school bus.  While we waited, he would give me a weather report based on the clouds and wind patterns.  

Granddaddy always called me "Peter."  I will never know why.  He would let me follow him around while he did things in the old dirt floor garage.  He would tell me to always look out for Number 1 (good advice).  He had a little room in the garage with a recliner and magazines -- I guess that was his 'office.'  In that room he had some jars on a shelf labeled "cotter pins" that actually held money.  When I was very little, I would spend the night on Saturdays.  On Sunday mornings, I would sit on his lap in his recliner while he would read the Sunday comics to me.  He liked Dennis the Menace, Henry, Gasoline Alley, Nancy, Lil' Abner, and Peanuts.  I remember seeing the scythe he used hanging in his garage.  He would tell me about using it, working all day, eating lunch from a bucket, and earning a dollar for that hard work.  I have the scythe at my house now.

When I was little I remember spending time with him sitting on the front porch in rocking chairs watching the cars go by.  It was shaded in the afternoon and a good way to spend some time on a hot summer day.   

Granddaddy

Yesterday I had a cool idea -- I will begin featuring old photos on the blog from my collection.  I have many old family photos.  They are wonderful treasures to have and every Christmas I decorate my Christmas tree with over 100 photos from great-great-great grandparents through the years and through the families down to my children.  

Today I am beginning this with a photo of my grandfather, Guy H. Ferguson.  I am beginning with him because earlier this week was his birthday.  He would be over 100 now and he is no longer with us.  We do have many wonderful photos and memories of him.  This photo is Granddaddy holding my mother.  I did not have to do a lot of restoration on this photo.  There was a bit of contrast adjustment and a few specs to clean up -- but overall the photo was in good condition.

On the blog when I say "forty years since Donna tracked the woods of Virginia with her grandfather..." this is the one I am talking about.  I remember many times following him through the woods and listening to him tell me about the trees and plants we passed.  We spent many hours fishing together -- he always baited my hook and took the fish from the hook when I would catch one.  He taught me to shoot a gun and a bow and arrow.  I used to help him plant the garden and pick the vegetables when they were ripe.  I also remember helping him clean fish, pull feathers from turkeys, and skin a deer -- at least he let me think I was helping.

Granddaddy and I would go bottle hunting.  We would dig at old homesites to find buried treasures from times gone by.  I would go with him to "The Base" (Quantico) to see about his hunting license or just to see someone about something.  He took me with him to the water plant a few times -- where he worked when he retired from the Marines.  It was loud -- but very interesting.  The first time I drove a car -- I was probably 13 or 14 -- was on a lone road on the base (Camp Barrett to be exact) and I think all of my cousins -- or at least three of them -- were in the old Pontiac LeMans as I worked hard to keep it on the road and not travel over the double yellow line.  The same LeMans he would say "whoa" to when he pulled up to the house and parked.  I remember following him through the garden when I was very little.  He would find arrowheads, rub off the dirt, and hand them to me to look at.  One of my most vivid memories is of a time when I was small -- he held the pistol and let me pull the trigger to shoot a copperhead in the garden.

My granddad taught me about respect -- respect for the land and wildlife through his gardening and hunting, respect for firearms, respect for the past, and to respect family.  I can't ever remember hearing him say a foul word or smoke a cigarette.  I think I can only remember ever seeing him drink any alcohol twice.   I had a great childhood hanging around with my grandparents and I wish my children could have had the same experiences.  It was hard to beat catching crawdads with your granddaddy and frying fish you caught for dinner.