Tales from Hogwaller Holler:

Old Man


© 2018 by Walter Reimer



Well, it’s been a long winter down in Hogwaller Holler, and people around these parts are looking forward to spring and the planting season. So, real early in the morning on the first day of spring, just before the sun comes up, the town council gets together to get things started. There’s seven of them, three felines, a canine, an opossum, and two deer.

“Everybody here, Luke?” Mayor Hogwaller asks. The township board of selectmen elected the boar, but every time a mayor’s been chosen it’s been a descendant of Red Porcus Hogwaller, who founded the town. Kinda odd, but they’re sort of set in their ways down in Hogwaller Holler. Luke Watt, now, he’s the chief of police, and the opossum nods. “Okay, people, let’s get going ‘fore the sun comes up.”

All ten of them – council, Mayor, Chief, and the township clerk – pile into their cars and go on up the ridge road out of town. Then they stop at a dirt road while Luke unlocks a gate, and they go on up into the woods. A few miles, mostly up, and when the road ends they stop and head into the forest to the Old Man.

Old Man’s an oak tree. Big thing, maybe eight feet across and fifty feet high, and maybe just about as old as the town itself. Some scientist fellow from a university come by – oh, must’ve been back when Kennelly was President, it was - guessed that it was that old, but he didn’t take one of them cores out of the wood. Chief Watt, Luke’s grand-uncle, threatened to arrest him if he tried. See, the Watts have a powerful good reason for wanting to protect the Old Man.

According to tradition, before Black Silas Watt passed away, he told his family that he wanted a fine churching, but there’d be no box for him in the graveyard. No, he’s supposed to’ve said, “Put me in a hole up in the hills, in the fur I was born with, and plant an acorn over me after you fill it in.” His sons and daughter followed his orders, so they say. They had the churching for that old opossum, and had the preacher say the right words, and did everything he told them to do. The Old Man, they say (and the Watts believe) is both Black Silas’ tombstone and his legacy.

Now, back around the time that old Mallard Fillmore was running the country, a wise woman said that the tree was old Black Silas himself, and that no one had ever try to lay an axe to his roots or there’d be a right powerful curse on whoever did. The Watts believed her, and that was that.

Of course, that didn’t stop some tom-fool from trying it. He needed wood for a fire, so it’s said, and he goes up the mountain with his axe in paw. They found him a few days later, fur gone white and himself gone mad. Something like that, you know, makes an impression on folks.

Anyway, Mayor Hogwaller he walks up to the tree. “Old Man,” he says, “we’re here, and happy that you’ve survived another winter. These things here are in your honor, to help your roots dig deeper and your leaves grow greener.” And he steps back as the sunlight comes up over the mountain so the others can come up with some gifts.

Water, mainly, usually in a bucket or jug. A few who’ve been here before bring bottles of rum and whiskey, or some beer. Chief Luke, though, he takes the cap off a jug of moonshine (not his own of course, he’s a law-abiding fellow) and douses those roots good with it. He takes his cap off and bows his head, which is good manners seeing as how he’s Black Silas’ kith and kin, and maybe he says a prayer or two, real quiet-like. With that over with, the ten furs take their time to look around and make sure that everything’s all right with the big tree. Later on, about a month or two, they’ll have a fellow come on up to prune down any dead branches. He’ll ask the tree for permission, of course.

People round here like the Old Man, and in summer you’ll see hikers or picnickers under him. But they don’t climb up, or hang from the branches. I’ll tell you why.

With a tree that old and big, sometimes queer things can happen. They say that he can talk to every other tree for miles around, and they tell him the news. His roots cover the whole Holler, and it’s said that there’s nothing goes on around here that he don’t know. Over the years, people have learned that if you want to clear land up in the mountains, you go ask the Old Man first, or nothing you’ll do on that land’ll prosper, no matter what you do.

You all might get the wrong idea here, so let me tell you there's nothing so sinister about the Old Man. There’ve been no murders or hangings, and there’re no ghosts or spooks. It's really nice and peaceful up there.

Which brings me to Jessie Mae Watt's grandmother, May Cranborne. Jessie Mae’s partly named for her.

This young opossum was a flower child back in the 60s. From up Pennsylvania way, so I heard tell of her; but anyway, May always says that she was just passing through the Holler and felt as if someone was calling to her. She headed up to the Old Man, and it felt so peaceful up there that she shed her clothes, strung flowers in her headfur, and sat against the trunk, playing her flute.

And that's where she met John Watt, later her husband. After he introduced himself (John was always polite; he had a good raising by his folks), he took her home to meet his family. About a year later, with her just starting to show with Ned, they were married under that old oak tree. There’s some who were there at the time say that the Old Man was right happy and proud to see Black Silas’ family going on as it is.


Least, that’s how I hear tell it, and those telling the story have no need to lie.




End.