Ole Mars an' Ole Miss

by Edmund K. Goldsborough

De witches in Haylan’ Branch is keepin’ uh good many sistus fum cummin’ ter de chuch Sunday nights. De c’lections consequationly is so small I is ’fraid we kyant git de kyarpet fuh de pulpit by Chrismus; but ev’y little bit helps, ef’n hit’s only uh rabbit’s foot, kase dey will sell at de festival fuh 6 cents uh dozen.

Ez I ain’ had uh ve’y long notice, meh discose dis ebinin’ will be breef. You will fine meh tex’ in de book ub Gen’sis, 11th chaptah, thud vus:

“LET US MECK BRICK.”

Den, ergin, de fif’ chaptah ub Exodus, all ub de sebinth vus: “Ye shall no mo’ gib de people straw ter meck brick, ez heahtofo’; let dem go an’ gavva straw fuh demsebs.”

You all recommember dat Mars Nickey say lars’ New Year Day dat ef’n his serbents, young an’ ole, ’habe demsebs well fuh uh hole yeah he gwine ter build ’em uh little brick chuch. Well, de serbents is bin monstus good fuh uh hole yeah, ’skusin’ Little Billy, an’ he so curisome Marster don’ mine him. ’Sides, he muvva Nancy nuss Mars Pinckney. So arfter de cawn wuz hus’in’ Mars Nickey tole me an’ Reubin ter go ter de clay bank an’ meck boutin fifty thousan’ bricks, an’ dey wud be uh plenty ter build uh chuch dat wud hab uh real top-lofty pulpit, uh moaners’ corner, an’ hole boutin two hun’erd serbents. Mars John Chamberlain, Mars Tench Tilghman, Mars Samuel Dickinson holp ter buy de shingles an’ furnachy.

Wuckin’ dat clay (an’ Moses wud hab praised dat clay), meckin’ an’ haulin’ dem bricks ter dat lubly cedar grove, made me think ub dis tex’ night an’ day, an’ I is wanted fuh uh yeah ter preach on dis gre’t subjec’.

I see some dear sistus heah fum Queen Anne’s. I s’pose you cum ober ter de bushmeetin’ in Oxford Neck, so I wan’ you ter ondastan what uh ’squisite spot Cedar Grove is fuh uh brick chuch, befo’ I git fudda wid meh spressifications boutin bricks.

Sistus, da is uh little creek called Peach Blossom. De fus’ peach seed dat cum ter Amer’ca wuz fotch ober an’ planted ’long Peach Blossom Creek, Mars Pinckney say, erbout de time Klumbus ’skivered Amer’ca; dat’s why hit’s called Peach Blossom. De same man fotch ober some apple seed, an’ de apples wuz named arfter him, Catlin apples.

Peach Blossom is erboutin uh harf mile long an’ uh hun’erd ya’ds wide, an’ empties inter Fausley Creek. De watah is fum five ter eight feet deep, de bottom ez clean ez de deck ub Cap’n Stitchberry’s schooner, de Margaret Jane, sandy, an’ ez hyard ez uh mule’s haid, but you kyant see de bottom ’ceppin heah an’ heah, kase da’s wha Mars Nickey got he oysters bedded, an’ da’s wha Uncle Stephen sets Mars Nickey’s net, ketches de spot, hogfish an’ pan rock dat cums in dat creek ter feed ober de oysters, an’ den ter meddowtate. Mos’ at de haid ub de creek is uh proud-lookin’ grove ub cedars; ’mong dem cedars is twenty cedar toomstone poses, wha Ole Mars burried he good an’’ favorite houn’s, an’ da’s wha de new Zion Chuch gwine ter be swottuated.

Belubbed, da nebber wuz uh mo’ ’chantin’ creek! On hits banks grows lubly trees, fum de sas’fras an’ dogwood ter de gre’t elms, walnut an’ poplar trees. Sistuh Cassey, befo’ she died had uh cabin at de haid ub de creek; de honeysuckle an’ wile rose seeds strayed fum huh house all ’long de banks ub dat creek, an’ now de honeysuckle an’ wile roses blooms an’ clustus ’roun’ one nerr day an’ night—hit’s uh heb’nly spot. Hit don’ matter how de win’ blow, ef’n you paddle yo’ skiff in Peach Blossom Creek hit’s so cam, quiet an’ shady you kin heah de little jinny wrens, sparrows an’ crickets singin’. De watah looks so smove an’ happy when de tide go out an’ when de tide cum in, dat it al’ays mecks me think ub Ole Miss’ face; fac’ is, you jes’ wanter set down an’ muse, an’ you won’er why all erligeons ain’ de Babtis in Talbot County, ter wash deah sins erway in Peach Blossom. But I mus’ tu’n ter de application.