A Life Before All This

“The soil is the great connector of lives, the source and destination of all. It is the healer and restorer and resurrector, by which disease passes into health, age into youth, death into life. Without proper care for it we can have no community, because without proper care for it we can have no life.” 
― Wendell Berry, The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture



               In today's great modern society, the idea of living on a farm and maintaining your own food is a bit of a lost art.  We live in a country of grocery stores, fast food chains, and processed foods.  We use words like "organic" to justify higher prices for food that doesn't have growth hormones used in it's cultivation.  The question I always have is what would happen if we were to become unplugged?  How would we be able to survive and preserve this great country without the common knowledge of how to grow corn or hunt for meat?  

              The beginning page in the diary is brief.  It is obviously written by Alabama in his youth and there is no indication of a date at all.  I suppose dates were not his concern at the time.  It is in the writings that we catch a glimpse of Alabama's life that he grew up in.  It is a world that most children today would probably not survive in.  He does chores, like feeding the chickens, and he hunts for food  to survive, not for entertainment.  It seems a hard life, but when one knows no different, I suppose then, it's just life. 

            The writing on the pages seems slow and intentional.  It appears that Alabama's mother found his education to be very important.  Though there is no indication of a date, I know from later pages that the timeline is before the American civil war.  It was not uncommon for grown men to be unable to read at this time, much less write.  Ms. Sharpton valued the knowledge in books, and made sure to pass the knowledge found within them to her child.

The Simple Life of a Farm Boy

          

            It is my birthday today.  As a gift, my momma gave me this diary.  It is a very nice gift and even has my name on it.  Momma told me that a diary is a book that you write all of your thoughts you had for the day into.  Today while feeding the hens I thought that I saw a coyote.  Papa says there are a lot of them around these parts, but that was the first time I had seen one.  I hope he doesn't try to get at them chickens.  Papa also said that I can go hunting with him in the morning.  I have cleaned the muskets.  I was allowed to miss most of my chores today because it is my birthday but I still had to do my studies.  I went fishing.  The fish did not bite so I caught frogs.  Momma made me put the frogs back. I kept one.  I named him Boingo.  He is very jumpy.  I am excited about tomorrow.  

The Beginning Seemed To Be The End

“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” 
― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms






           I suppose that when one keeps a diary, one presumes that at some point your memoirs will be read by someone other than yourself.  I imagine that understanding your own mortality may have something to do with this.  We all die.  Death is something in this world that is morbidly comforting in it's consistency.  Sure we all view it differently, whether it be with fear or acceptance, but you have to appreciate it's efficiency.  

          The first page of the diary was interesting because it wasn't dated like the rest of the pages.  It seemed to be a page of acknowledgement.  Alabama had come to a point in his life where he knew that time had caught up with him.  He knew that these were the last words that he would ever write, and he wrote them with a sense of comfort.  A sense of appreciation.  There is a tone in the words of a man who was totally at peace with where he was in the world.  There is no frantic thoughts of pain or fear of what follows, just peace.  I myself can only hope to feel the same when it is my time.  Maybe in my last moments, I will think of this.

Good-bye Coyot

          Upon the reception of this journal, which was in my younger days I admit, I scoffed at the idea of taking the time to invest my thoughts and deeds onto paper.  What was a happen chance at the time, leaving the very first page free of writing was most assuredly not intentional, has come to be a means to end at the beginning.  The end has come for me.  While I sit here, pondering in my thoughts, my soul is preparing to leave this earth and cast itself skyward towards the horizon.  
     
     Due to the circumstances in which I will soon depart, I am sure that someone will happen upon this old journal.  Also, due to the nature of mans curiosity and inquisitiveness, I know that these pages shall be read.  To my reader, I ask that you please declare to all who knew me that there is no trepidation and that I am happy.  My affairs should be handled by Mr. Schroeder operating out of San Antonio.  

     As I am confident that the study of these accounts will not conclude with the opening page, I request that an empathetic mind be prevalent while analyzing the thoughts and behaviors of my person through the years.  Understand the circumstances that motivated my decisions and maybe even consider your own reactions to situations.  I hold that there have been lives impacted by the actions that are within, some of which I am aware of, and I am contented with the conclusions.  I am thankful for all whom I have encountered in my travels and all that I have received in their companionship.

     It is in our final moments that we piece together the puzzles that had been laid out before us.  All has made sense to me now and how I've come to be who I am.  It's as if God has brought everything together in one final glimpse of joy and understanding...  

[There is a round spot on the page here where the paper is a darker.  The writing pauses in between and seems to move on to a different thought]

     So, for one final time, I howl at the moon and stare off at the stars.  A little buckaroo on a mission from far.  Though the days a comin and the night soon fades.  I thank you Lord for another new day.



     

This is not a picture of Alabama Sharpton

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."

- Abraham Lincoln

              Let me begin with my beginning.  Not my beginning like my birth or anything crazy like that, but where I began on this journey.  Wait.  You may be wondering who the heck Alabama Coyot Sharpton.   Well if I were to tell you now, I feel as though it may ruin the whole build of his charater and who he was, what he did and how he impacted our society today!  I can tell you though that within these pages I will write out the lost tales of the legend that was Alabama Sharpton.  I know that few of you know his name, but the impact that he had on our history continues to shape our society today.  It is in this way that you will learn who exactly Alabama Sharpton was.  My hope is that it will captivate you, as it did me, and allow you to have a story to tell for yourself, about Alabama Coyot Sharpton.

                   My journey started pretty simple. A quick trip into my attic on a cool November morning in an effort to find and display Christmas decorations. This year they were a bit more difficult to get to than they were the year before, and that year more difficult than the year before that. As one continues to collect senseless decor that spreads the true meaning of the holidays, one tends to play Tetris in the attic in an effort to hide away all the new and old decorations. No one ever throws away Christmas decorations. You just keep adding to them until you have a hoard of Jesus’s, Nativity’s, Santa Claus’s and Elves to call your very own, all to be forgotten until that day you decide to bring them out and broadcast your Christmas cheer to the world again, but this time with more lights! On this particular morning though, I had to battle more than usual. 

                 The decoration box was wedged fairly well between two rafters and had become so deeply lodged, that it seemed to have become one with the pine 2x4’s it was resting between. I had resorted to the shimmy technique to get it. Pushing up, then pulling down on the box, having a tiny bit of hope every time the box shifted, and increasingly becoming more and more frustrated. My pushes and pulls increased in my frustration as well. What started as tiny nudges with a delicacy as to not tear the box or break the fragile contents inside, eventually turned into violent jerks and shoves with vulgar obscenities racing out of mouth with every movement. With little regard for the box anymore, it was in one of these fits of pulling that I managed to rip the cardboard, sending myself tumbling backwards while large red glass balls tumbled out of the opening and shattered on the flooring below. I landed on my butt and hit my head on one of the beams behind me while watching a small statue of Joseph fall head first from the box. He landed on his head and I watched his decapitation as my vision doubled from the impact, which knocked me for a bit of a loop.

                    On a side note, I can’t think of anything that can make one feel more like a child than falling back and landing on your butt. You sit there with your feet out in front of you and suddenly your sent back to kindergarten with a sheepish look on your face, listening to some teacher come up with a clever rhyme to teach you to tuck your feet in. Maybe that’s just me though.

                     So, after sitting there dumbfounded and waiting for my vision to correct itself, I noticed that my elbow had become stuck in a hole in the flooring. As I regained my senses, I realized that this wasn’t a random hole, but was actually a cut piece of wood in the floor that had shifted when my elbow had hit the corner of the wood when I fell. At first I wondered how I had never noticed this before. I slid the board back over the hole and was immediately impressed at how perfect and almost seamless it seemed to fit the flooring. Combine that with the accumulation of dust and such in the attic, and it became obvious why I had never seen the panel before. Even though the piece was a 12" x 12" square, it blended in perfectly with its surroundings. The next thing I wondered was what was in it? Maybe I would find some money or gold or something. So, pushing on one of the corners again, I lifted the board up from its resting place and set it aside. Inside the hole was a single left brown boot. It was fairly worn and old looking, like it had seen some extensive use. Inside the boot was a roll of paper currency that I didn’t recognize, and a small leather bound book that I assumed was some type of journal or diary. On the bottom right corner was the name Alabama Sharpton.

                  My dive into this book had taken me many places. Mr. Sharpton was an incredible man. I believe, if you will read the pages I post on here, you will believe so as well. Maybe through showing his story and the roll he had on Americas future, he will finally get the recognition that he so rightly deserves.