When I was a young girl my parents spent many weekends at the “club house,” which consisted of two houses on stilts along the Gasgonade River. The men fished, running trot lines four times a day, and the women cared for the children and cleaned and cooked and read Mickey Spillane mysteries. These houses are owned by my two uncles, and these weekends are filled with easy camaraderie and a lot of teasing. After supper and before running the last trot line they play cards and drink beer, laughing and often accusing each other of cheating, while the kids “sleeping” on the porch listen.
My favorite times were when my Aunt Alvina was there. I loved her and my uncle the most among all my family, and no doubt was a pest, but Aunt Al was very kind to me. She was the only woman I knew who fished, and hunted, and joked and cussed, just like the men. I thought she was beautiful, with a widow’s peak that I envied, and a strong, athletic figure. Even as a kid I could tell that my uncle was very much in love with this, his second wife, and the family treated her with respect.
Aunt Al took me, a plump, bookish kid, out to run the trot lines, and taught me how to unhook the fish and bring them into the boat. Catfish are ugly fish, vicious when you touch them, slick to the touch, and smelling of dirty river water, and I never really liked this task, but I loved being with Aunt Al on the river instead of with the women in the house, and waited for the gift of a chance to steer the motorboat on the way home.
One night she took me frog-gigging, showing my how to paralyze the frogs with a flashlight so she could spear them. The bottom of the boat filled with hopping frogs, and I was afraid to put my feet down. Their noise was pitiful, but I still tried to spear them when she let me try while she held the light. These frogs would be eaten, as were the catfish, helping lower-middle class families live on depression-era wages.
Another time she set up a step ladder and got out a gun, which she taught me to shoot using the ladder’s steps to steady the rifle. My nearsighted eyes and fear resulted in terrible aim, but she praised any time I got near the target.
Aunt Al was a beautician in her work life, and she gave me my first manicure and tried valiantly to teach me feminine grooming. Many years later I realized how important she had been to my development into a woman who was the first in the family to go to college, and who dared to break out of the “feminine mystique.” But in those days I was simply grateful for her attentions, and the chance to get out of the house.
--Charlene Hurt, 31 August 2008
[Editor's notes]
I do not ever remember meeting Alvina, but I do remember my time(s) at the "club house". I distinctly remember the call-outs between Lester (my grandad) and Milton (my granduncle)--as was their wont--when our respective parties did come to meet:
"What-the-hell's-goin-on-around-here?!?"
It's a warm, awkward, joyful, catfish-laden memory for me, also.
Oh, how we laughed!
I had a chance to meet (and share-space-with) Betty Friedan on one of our many trips to Star Island back in the 80's
Presumedly, Betty had more on her mind than assuaging the timid-awkwardness of a young boy such as myself :) Still, She took time to acknowledge my existence, presence and participation.
It's odd what a person remembers--and associates-with--when one reflects upon such far-gone memories...
I have this hazy-memory of Betty, Char, and I sitting at a table debating the benefits and efficacy of whether we should actually consume the Tomalley of the $1 lobsters that we had somehow found available to enjoy.
I thought it disgusting; Betty rejoiced in the consumption. Charlene--always the peacemaker--ate just enough to please us both.
As things stand, no one living exists to ratify events (if you--viewer--were somehow there, edit me: please!)
As I sit here editing these thoughts, I find solace in the realization that I am also a better person by-virtue of the captivating, erudite, powerful, and strong women in my life.
--ah
[retrospective #1 in a series on Charlene's writings]