Grandpa Joe was as full of tricks as a pet ‘coon.

As regular readers of this newsletter know, my paternal grandfather was in many senses a boy trapped inside an old man’s body. He only had two or three short years (six months or so each year) of formal schooling, and although literate, he barely merited the description.
Yet Grandpa Joe was as full of tricks as a pet ‘coon, so fiercely independent he would never work for another man (or listen to much advice from anyone), and an abiding source of intriguing information which an adoring grandson absorbed in sponge-like fashion.
Although I don’t know for certain, I doubt if Grandpa ever ventured as far as 200 miles from the place he was born. I do know for a fact that he figured the high country of the Smokies was about as close to an earthly heaven as anyone could imagine. On that score I happen to think he was exactly right.
Grandpa didn’t particularly care for February. He always maintained that it was the shortest month of the year because it invariably featured nasty, depressing weather. Also, it was a time of the year when Grandpa Joe was likely to be seized by what he described as “the miseries.” This was a catch-all term to describe his suffering from arthritis, general aches and pains associated with old age, and the sort of depression normally characterized as cabin fever. Mind you, Grandpa was too much of an optimist to let some pain leave him down in the dumps for long. Read more about Grandpa at Troutu.com.