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Come on boy, I got two big Georgia Rattlesnake Watermelons a cooling

over at Kukawallas spring. A city boy like you wouldnt know bout them
kinda watermelons. Your old Grandpappy is a gonna teach you lots about
Georgia Country livin this summer. You Mama might have a hard time
getting you back to Detroit after you git used to this part of the country.
You know, Ill be happy if I dont never have to leave sight of Old
Kincaid over there, Lookout back here behind us and High Point over
yonder to the North East. In all the world I bet there aint no more
peaceful and satisfyin place to live.
Your Aunt Jinnie keeps a tryin to git me to come down to Atlanta to
stay a while with them. Shes got one of them modern houses jammed
up against the next one. Not even enough land to plant a tater patch. All
kinds of modern conveniences, but the rooms is so small I have to put
my shoes out in the hall so as they wont stink me out at night. You can
even smell what all the neighbors is a cookin for supper. They aint never
goin to get me hemmed up in that place again.
Oh, I go up to Chattanoogie sometime to the market, but that aint
out of sight of Old Lookout so I feel like Im still clost to home.
Been a long time since you was down here to the spring. Spect you
dont even remember. Well, it aint much futher. Come on, see if you can
walk this footlog crost the creek. Thats the way to do it. Youre a learnin
fast, boy. That springs a big un - this whole creek comes a flowin out
from it. See that old oak tree with the big limb a hangin low? Remind me
to tell you a story bout that tree.
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The spring comes out of a cave back in that little bluff over yonder at
the foot of Kincaid. I bet that cave goes way back inside the mountain,
but as far as I know there aint never been nobody, less it was the Indians,
that ever got back in there. The waters too swift, it would wash you right
out again. When we was boys like you we useta hear stories bout the
Indians hiding treasure in there. This part of the countrys got lots of nice
springs, but Old Kukawallas here is the Grandaddy of um all.
Well, here we are. Git that gourd a hangin over there and lets have a
drink before we start on them watermelons. This here is the coolest,
sweetest water in the whole U.S.A.
Dont look so disappointed boy, them watermelons aint gone. You see
that wooden box there chained to the Sycamore tree? Thats called a
spring box. The watermelons is in that box so as they wont wash on
down the creek. Soon as I git my shoes off and breeches rolled up Ill
wade back there and git us out one. Uh huh, this is shore cold water.
Nothin like coolin yore feet in this spring on a hot summer day. Come on
son, get them shoes off. It aint so deep and them rocks wont cut your
feet even if you are a city boy.
Did you ever see a watermelon like that - long and striped like a
snake? Takes this hot August sun to get em sweet and ripe. They come
from up yonder on that hill. Takes just the right kind of land to grow
them kind. Some day Im gonna make a farmer out of you, boy, and Ill
learn you all about this land.
No, you dont need no knife; all you gotta do is bust um on a rock.
This here one must weigh forty pounds. Look at that - red plum to the
rind. Boy, I want you to eat yore fill and if this aint enough well bust
that other one. I always say if I cant have at least half a one I dont want
none.

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Boy, you aint no watermelon eater. Bring that big piece with you and
lets sit over here on these rocks cooling our feet in the water an Ill tell
you the story bout that oak tree and Kukawalla.
When my Grandpappy was a boy bout like you there was Indians
living all through this country. They was farmers like we are, and right
peaceful most of the time.
As the story goes, even though they was farmers, certain times of the
year the braves would go off somewheres else for weeks and sometimes
months. When they come back they always had gold or silver and
sometimes precious stones to trade with the white folks. You know
Georgias got all kinds of minerals and valuables hidden in her
mountains. I guess them Indians knew where they was at.
There was three Indian families living round this spring. Chief
Kukawalla lived in a cabin up there on the bluff. Red Wing lived over
yonder on that hill to the North and Blue Bird on the rise to the South.
More and more white folks kept coming into the country, clearing the
Indians hunting grounds and takin their lands. That started trouble.
Pretty soon the Government began a rounding up the Indians and
shipping em off to reservations. Kukawalla, Red Wing an Blue Bird was
sent to Oklahoma.
After that my family bought this here land all the way to the top of
Kincaid. Everything went along pretty well, and our family was right
successful farmers. They had a few slaves to help out. Them slaves made
bricks to build our house back before the War Between the States. Georgia
red clay makes mighty fine bricks. If we take good care of it, that old
house will still be standing for your grandchild.
By the time I came along most folks had done forgot about the Indians
cept for a few stories the old folks told us younguns.
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It was the Fall of the year when I was about eight years old. Most folks
think spring is the prettiest time of the year in these mountains, and it is
a sight to see, but Ill take the fall. Its the fulfillment of everything God
promises us in the spring time. All them fields covered with golden corn
stalks, puncheons and hay stacks, or white with cotton. However, its
them three mountains that really outdo themselves. They dress up like
fancy ladies, each one trying to outshine the other. Then there is them
tall gentlemen pines in all their green glory. Its as if they was all specially
placed besides the ladies in their bright read and gold dresses, a havin a
fling before the cold weather sets in.
Anyway, we was all a pickin cotton in the field down by the road. Just
fore dinner time one day we seen a stranger riding down the road on a
horse and pulling another horse with a pack on it behind him. When he
started to turn in our lane, going down toward the house, Pappy walked
out to see what he wanted. Back then not many strangers come through
the county so, curious like a boy will be, I dropped my cotton sack and
walked on over with Pa. I was kinda scared when I got up close. Id seen
pictures of Indians in books and this shore was one, even if he did have
on store bought clothes.
He asked Pa if he was Mr. Brighten, an Pa told him he was and what
could he do for him. That Indian said he had come all the way from
Oklahoma to see where his Grandpappy, Chief Kukawalla, used to live.
Old Man Newton down at the station had told him how to find the
place.
Pa was a little suspicious of him, but we aint never been known to
turn away a stranger, so Pa told him to come on down to the house and
eat with us. You can bet all us chillin was excited cause we aint never
seen an Indian before.
He told Pa Kukawalla was dead, but he had always talked about this
country and wished he could come back to see it. Anyways, fore he died
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he made this Indian promise to come. He said he wasnt going to stay

long, but if Pa would put him up for a few days he would earn his keep
by helping out around the farm. Course Pa told him he was welcome and
hed be glad to pay him if he would help with the cotton picking.
He worked all that day and the next two days. Every night hed walk
off down here by the Spring an we wouldnt see him again til breakfast.
He wouldnt talk much to nobody.
Pa let him sleep in that cabin back of the smokehouse. The third
morning he didnt come down for breakfast, so Ma sent me down to the
cabin to call him. Well, he wasnt there and his horses was gone too.
Pa had us all search the place to see if he stole anything. The only
thing we could find missing was a pick and shovel. Pa said it did look like
he would have asked for his cotton money fore he left.
Well, that was Saturday, so we all knocked off work a'fore sundown so
as we could go down to the creek to take a bath. It was getting past time
of the year for that, but Ma said she didnt think it would hurt us as it
was a pretty warm day. We was all for it, cause we sure hated to have Ma
scrub us in that tin tub at the house.
We got us a chunk of Mas lye soap and some clean clothes and all
took off for the swimming hole down by that big oak tree I showed you.
Fore we got there we could see a big mound of dirt with Pas pick and
shovel stuck in the top of it. Right under the big low limb of that old oak
tree there was a hole four or five feet deep an about that big across. Down
in the bottom of the hole it looked like there had been a round pot. The
only other thing we could find in the hole was a couple of pieces of
broken pottery.
Course we was some excited, so we got the pick and shovel and started
digging all around. Pay jest stood there shaking his head and said, Boys,
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it aint no use, that Indian got what he come for. It must uv been mighty
valuable for him to ride all the way from Oklahoma on horseback after it.
Ever since that story got round this part of the country theres been
some tall tales told about it. I even heard there was some men tried to
pick up his trail an follow him, but that Indian was too smart for um. He
jest disappeared in the night and took his treasure with him, whatever it
was.
Well, boy, that ought to be enough watermelon an Indian Tale fer one
day. Anyways, its time we got the night work done. Get them shoes on
an well walk on over by the barn an slop the pigs and feed the mules. By
then the women folks ought to have supper on the table.
You aint hungry? Course not, after all that watermelon, but it dont
stick to your ribs for long. Time we walk up that hill to the barn, an you
help me with the feedin, youll think you aint had nothin to eat all day.
This here mountain air an a little exercise gives a man a powerful
appetite. Some of your Grandmas cornbread and good cold buttermilk
will taste mighty good long about sundown.
Better get the gourd and lets have another drink of Kukawallas Spring
water fore we get started. Aaah as I always say, there aint no finer
drinking water in the whole U.S.A.

Note: The mountain in the cover photo is Kincaid Mountain in Chattooga County, Georgia.

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