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Lula Wright (Negro), Green's Plantation, Rural Route, Tuskegee, Alabama. Widow Farmer
AL-56 610
Rhussus L. Perry, (Negro Field Worker) Macon County,
Ex EC
A DAY WITH LULA WRIGHT
I set out to spend the day out in the country, on Green's plantation. It was a lovely day in January. The sun was shining warm and nothing seemed more inviting than a day's visit with some of the country folks.
Out on Green's plantation live a number of interesting persons but really, "Miss Lu", (Lula Wright) is the central character in the community. The women gather-up at her house to hear the latest news and [[happenings]] gossip. When they have a member of the family sick they set out to "Miss Lu" for advice. They bring her their family, troubles, their trials and tribulations. On Fridays and Saturdays the men and boys come to her house for her son to cut their hair and shave their beards.
Going across the flelds from the highway, I enjoyed looking at the sloping hills thick with pine saplings, every now and then a sturdy, bare oak, sweet gum, or black gum. The fields near the house were thick with broom "sage" [[(this]] which they, all gather and make into brooms[[)]]. I noticed a pine-pole square pen built by, piling pole upon pole until it was about four feet high. In this pen were four large banks of sweet potatoes. The potatoes are banked by piling them up on pine straw, then laying straw all over them. Boards are stacked around them in tepee shape. Some use corn s talks or pine bark. More straw is piled on and then dirt piled up on all this. Just beyond this pen is a little smoke house built for the purpose of [[storing foods and curing meat by, the smoking process]] curing and storing meat. My attention [[sifted]] was drawn to the old dilapidated house in which "Miss Lu" lived. It is a large, old barn-[[looking]] like house.
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The few windows are wooden, resembling doors. The house leans forward and reminds one of an old man bent with age. As I neared the steps I noticed on the right of the house a barn and lot. In and around were several healthy-looking chickens, three pigs, a black dog, and two spotted puppies. A gray mule grazed lazily not far from the lot. A little calf was sleeping in the sun just beyond the large pile of wood and kindling.
In the yard not far from the steps stood a huge chinaberry tree, the largest I have ever seen. This tree is not very tall but it's trunk [[will]] would measure almost four feet in diameter. [[The]] Most of its roots seem to be above the soil. There is another [[tall and slender]] chinaberry, tree [[to the left]] – a tall, slender one – near the gate. Farther to the left is a large pecan tree. Here and there are beds of flowers.
As I started up the steps, I had to look close for a safe place to put my feet. I called "hello Miss Lu". "Come right on in iffen yo' can git in. Well suh! Come in and sit down by de fiyah." All the while she was busy moving things back out of the way and making the fire burn. "I brought you something" I informed her as I handed her a paper bag. "Much erblige ter yo'" She grinned as she took it, joyfully looking into it. She burst into a laugh as she remarked, "Now ain't de Lawd good? Now ain't he good? George Washington smoking tobacco; jes' whut I likes. De Lawd gwineter bless yo' honey," she assured me. She then introduced me to the others who were sitting there. "Dis yeah's my baby daughter. She married 'n lives right 'cross de road there. Dis yeah's my, sister; she lives a pretty good piece frum heah. She come ter see me terday." After she finished telling me about her sister and daughter she said, "Lawd chile pull off yer coat 'n hat an' make yerself at home. 'S[[k]]cuse my manners. I ain't had real good sense since I come frum dat funeral yestiddy. O, 'twas a lovely,
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meeting, out it sho' [[wuz]] was sad. Jodie Gobson wuz her name, poor critter. She done groanin' in dis lan'. She had a hard time, her husband treated her so bad. Her folks tuk on so hard. De church was jes' packed. Rev. Reuben Ford, he had to stop praying; de folks dey, [[wuz]] was carryin' on so bad."
She put another piece of wood on the fire as she said, "I like a good [[fiyer]] fire, an' den hit has ter be a good [[fiyer]] fire in heah, dis ol' shack so open. Dis jes' ain't no house now, it useter be, but hit ain't good as a hoss barn now. Us begs Miss Green to fix hit but she jes' won't do it. She won't fix nary house on de place, on dis plantation. She got plenty money, but she won't give us a nail ter fix nothin'." I looked up as directed and there were rotten boards overhead ready to fall, it seemed. She carried me across the hall into a large room to show me how decayed and open it was. The floor was still damp from the rain of two days before. Cracks large enough to see the sky through were in the roof of this room. I said to her, "It is a wonder the government allows people to live in such dilapidated houses. Why don't you move?" "Well", she said, "I jes' lak dis place. I hate ter leave. I axed Miss Green ter tear dis house down 'n jes' buil' me a little two-room and kitchen house but she won't do hit. Iffen she don't do sumpin', we gwineter have ter leave 'cause dis house 'bout ter fall in on us."
We returned to the room where we were sitting. Nearly everything in her house is very old. In the room where we sat were two large wooden beds, and one of those olden-time dressers with three drawers and a dim mirror. There [was] were a sewing machine, and several chairs that had been rebottomed with plaited shucks. On the mantel I noticed several liniment bottles, a large bottle of castor oil and several salve boxes. At one end was an oil
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lamp without a chimney. From this mantel hung a scalloped blue oil cloth. Down by the open fireplace sat an old iron skillet with legs, that they use to parch peanuts. All around on the smutty planks of the walls hung hats and pieces of clothing. A rusty horseshoe hung downward over the door. Old coats stretched over the wooden windows to help keep some of the cold wind out.
"Heah dat dawg howlin'?" she asked. "Dat's a sign o'death sho' ez yo' bawn in dis world. Some people don't believe in signs, but I does.
Her sister said, "We had a dawg once; 'member, sister Lu? When dat dawg howled someone sho' died. Dat's de truf. Yas, suah."
Then Miss Lu interrupted, "Yas suah, las' night my hands etched an' I rubbed dem tergether and see dis mawnin' I gits de smoking tobacco. Same as money ain't hit? Yas suah, I believes in my signs."
"No'm I ain't lived in this community all my life", she replied to my question. "I wuz bawn in 1868 in Cotton Valley, not fur over the way, in dis county of Macon. Yas'm." She kept on as she leaned forward slightly in her chair, folding her arms in her lap, gazing straight in the fire. "My ma an' pa had leben chillen, seben boys and four girls. Ums de oldes' girl." Her sister sat there witnessing every statement. That was about all she could do for "Miss Lu" always did the talking when she had company.
"Did all of your sisters and brothers get a chance to go to school?" I asked.
"Yas ma'm, ev'ry one uv us went ter school 'ceptin' Laura an' she died 'fore she wuz oler 'nuff ter go. Yas ma'm I loved my gwine ter school an' I had good teachers too. I went ter school til I wuz in de fifth grade. I coulder went on but all dem wuz in my class dey married an' I jes' stopped 'cause dey all stopped but I coulder went
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en two more years. We allus had ter stop an' go ter field 'bout March an' dat's reason we didn't git no fudden de fi'th grade. I sho' lacked school."
"I bet your dad fed you all, too," I said. "Fed us," she repeated. I say dat man fed his younguns! My dad ud buy bar'ls uv sugar, flour, sacks of rice an' things lak dat. He kilt plenty meat. Chile de hardes' time I evah seed wus since I been married." She looked at me and smiled as she assured me that she had never really suffered for food. She reminded me however that she has had to turn in close places to keep things going. She got up, went over to a little pocket hanging on the wall and pulled out her pipe. She laughed heartily as she held it up and said, "Dis is my satisfaction."
She came back, sat down and continued her conversation. "Yas suah, we wore good clothes. Homespun, osnaburg, das whut all de chilllun wore den. Dey wuz good close. We allus went ter Sunday school an' my ma an' pa dey had fambly prayer ev'ry mawnin' an on Sunday, ev'ry one had ter git on dere knees."
Her sister witnessed this fact, rose and said: "Scuse me, lady, I sho' is glad I met yo', hope ter meet yo' ag'in. Sorry I got ter go but I must go now." Her sister Lu asked me to excuse her and she went to the steps with her sister and there they chatted a few minutes.
She returned shortly, seated herself near the fire and began to tell me more about herself. "I bin married, les' see," she began counting her fingers. "Les see, I married in 1886; yeah I married Jasper Sanford in 1886. We had leben chillun. I wuz jes' as good a woman as my ma wuz. She had seben boys 'n fo' girls. I had seben girls and fo' boys. Eight of my chilluns livin'. I got three dead."
The smiles left her face as she began thinking of her children who
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