Milking Flossy

Lucy awoke from a dream; she smelled bacon frying and the hint of cinnamon apples drifting into her room. She looked outside the window just as the first rays of light from the sun started to peek over the mountain and pierce the black sky. She watched the morning light turn to grey, then to yellow, as the sun climbed past the top of Grapeyard Ridge and shined in the little community of Turkey’s Roost in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

She had a hard time waking. She felt tired from yesterday’s adventure. Her parents took her to visit friends that lived in Cade’s Cove. They started the day with a ride in the wagon and arrived just in time to attend the morning service at the Baptist Church. After the services were over, she played games with the children. In the graveyard, they crouched behind the tombstones and played hide and seek. A shiver ran down her back as she remembered the tombstones marking the people’s names buried there who had been killed in the Indian massacres.

She watched as the trees became illuminated and her imagination soared. She looked toward the top of the mountain as the sun brought the tree line to life. She imagined that the trees were Indians. The first tree on the ridge looked like a chief and the shadows made the fall leaves look like his war bonnet of feathers.

The tree behind it looked like another Indian and this one carried a tomahawk and wielded it over his head. The wind rustled the leaves and magically the trees were Indians doing a war dance. Her mother’s voice interrupted her daydreaming. “Lucille Watson, time to get up. We got lots of work ta do today. Times a wastin' Lucy, come on now,” yelled her mother from the kitchen.

Lucy pulled the quilt up over her head and squirmed farther down in the warm bed. Cold air engulfed the cabin this late October morning because the fire in the fireplace went out during the night. She heard the fire crackling this morning, but the warmth had not made it into her room.

“Lucille Watson, I means today not tomorry. Now, I need some milk and Flossy is belerin’,” her mother hollered.
“Oh, Ma, why do I have to milk her? I hates that old heifer. She’s mean. How’s come Jeb ain’t milkin' her?” Lucy yelled.

“Jeb went to Gatlinburg to meet the train. Yer Uncle Little's a comin' today. Come on now don't be lollygaggin' this mornin',” yelled her mother.
“Why don’t ya let Ben do it this mornin'?” Lucy shouted and snuggled back down in her bed.