Of all the things I have done, places I have been, and times that flew by like a UFO (something you can't really describe but sure was exciting), the thing I miss most is Minnie, the hollow community where I grew up and where much of my family still lives. Twenty five homes and farms along 2 miles of dirt road and nestled between hills so tight that the sun only hits most houses about 4 hours a day might not sound like much, but there's not a day that goes by that I don't regret living there again.
Minnie once boasted a school house and a railroad station, but both were gone by the time I was born. The closest store or gas station is 5 miles away but it's an inconvenience no one ever mentions. If you're a resident, and find yourself hospitalized, you'll be visited by the other residents who will come with an earnest hug. When you get home your lawn will be mowed, and oh yeah...there's never a need to lock the doors because the neighbors are armed to the teeth and would love to put some rock salt under the flesh of a prowler's ass.
Anyway, around Halloween I miss the holler the most. Around dusk, everyone would meet at my grandmother's house which was at the head of the holler. Most of the adults would dress up and thinking back, enjoyed it as much as we did. The youngest kids would get in the back of a pick up, most of us would walk, and the older teens would lurking in the woods along the way to scare the younger kids. That was my favorite part - being scared, even though everyone's silhouette voice were easily recognized. I hated growing older and taking my turn in the woods because I liked being scared, but I did so because the younger kids deserved it. We walked the 3 miles to the mouth of the holler, stopping at every house and giving the elderly folks their biggest joy, which was guessing who each of us were under our costumes. We didn't just hold out a bag and run. It was a yearly social event and all the occupied homes ended up with an extended visit. That was only a few homes because almost everyone was in the walking group. I remember it taking weeks to eat all the treats, which included homemade cookies, popcorn balls and candied apples, and this was back when we didn't care about too many sweets.
The nice thing is, although my daughters are near adults they still keep that tradition, as do most of the residents. I could walk with them this weekend and the roster would be about the same as it was back 40 years ago, only much larger.
You just can't plan life events like that. They can't be organized over the web, or with fliers handed out, or by an local club. It's a living thing, and like any living thing it just happens, and when nurtured becomes a beautiful lifetime running into generation.
