It Was Only A Nail In The Foot.
If the story of my grandfather’s ambush and my mother’s malaria doesn’t give you some idea of just how tough everyone was in Mississippi during the early 1900s, this espisode should settle the question.
When they lived on a farm in Amory (Didn’t own it. Rented it as far as I know. Sharecropping doesn’t make sense because my grandfather was a very poor farmer, according to my mother.), they had a few cows. As cows do so frequently, theirs tended to disappear. I don’t know the entire reason, but my mother, who was somewhere around 8 or 9 at the time, was told to go check on a particular cow. Between the house and cow was probably several acres of land and a few gates. On the way to check on the cow, or possibly on her way back, my mother stepped on a 2’ x 4’ that had a spike sticking out of it. The piece with the nail was probably two or three feet long.
At any rate, it wasn’t enough to step on the board. I know, you’re already ahead of me. That’s right, she stepped square on the nail, driving it up under the ball of her foot. Well, as she told it, she sat down and worked on pulling the nail out. Nothing doing. It was stuck fast. So, she did the only thing she could do. Made her way back to the house, dragging the board with her. Along the way, she duitifully opened AND closed every gate she went thru. Had to. She’d have gotten a whipping if she hadn’t.
When she got to the house, Roxie (her mother) spent some time working on the board and finally managed to pull the nail out of my mother’s foot...along with a chunk of flesh surrounding the nail. Did they call a doctor? Nope. Poured coal oil on it and that was it. No doctor, no tetnus shot (tetnus shots didn’t exist), no stitches.
According to my mother, she got over it without any further attention. Sustain that kind of injury today and you’d wind up with an ambulance, hospital operating room (or emergency room at the very least), anesthetic, sterile cloths, latex gloves, blood workup, eight or ten stitches, possibly a skin graft, followup doctor’s appointments and counseling to help you deal with the emotional trauma.
Back then they jerked the nail out while you were laying in the yard, soaked the open wound in coal oil and told you to quit crying. By the next day, you were running barefoot in the dirt and never gave a thought to infection ...which you didn’t get in the first place.
And we think we’re tough? Not a chance.
When they lived on a farm in Amory (Didn’t own it. Rented it as far as I know. Sharecropping doesn’t make sense because my grandfather was a very poor farmer, according to my mother.), they had a few cows. As cows do so frequently, theirs tended to disappear. I don’t know the entire reason, but my mother, who was somewhere around 8 or 9 at the time, was told to go check on a particular cow. Between the house and cow was probably several acres of land and a few gates. On the way to check on the cow, or possibly on her way back, my mother stepped on a 2’ x 4’ that had a spike sticking out of it. The piece with the nail was probably two or three feet long.
At any rate, it wasn’t enough to step on the board. I know, you’re already ahead of me. That’s right, she stepped square on the nail, driving it up under the ball of her foot. Well, as she told it, she sat down and worked on pulling the nail out. Nothing doing. It was stuck fast. So, she did the only thing she could do. Made her way back to the house, dragging the board with her. Along the way, she duitifully opened AND closed every gate she went thru. Had to. She’d have gotten a whipping if she hadn’t.
When she got to the house, Roxie (her mother) spent some time working on the board and finally managed to pull the nail out of my mother’s foot...along with a chunk of flesh surrounding the nail. Did they call a doctor? Nope. Poured coal oil on it and that was it. No doctor, no tetnus shot (tetnus shots didn’t exist), no stitches.
According to my mother, she got over it without any further attention. Sustain that kind of injury today and you’d wind up with an ambulance, hospital operating room (or emergency room at the very least), anesthetic, sterile cloths, latex gloves, blood workup, eight or ten stitches, possibly a skin graft, followup doctor’s appointments and counseling to help you deal with the emotional trauma.
Back then they jerked the nail out while you were laying in the yard, soaked the open wound in coal oil and told you to quit crying. By the next day, you were running barefoot in the dirt and never gave a thought to infection ...which you didn’t get in the first place.
And we think we’re tough? Not a chance.
posted by Relative | 9:12 PM
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