We didn’ do nothin’. We just had our own ways of livin’. That was workin’ a little, cuttin’ wood . . . . The
man of the house, if he made a good livin’ – Pa made a pretty good’n, better’n any of the rest of ‘em I
think, the way I look back on it – the’ was always somethin’ to do, buddy. You didn’ have no leisure
time much, just on Sunday maybe.
We would long – I would, he didn’ know it – I would long for a rainy spell to come, so that I could go
fishin’. All the other time we had corn to hoe, and taters, and . . . . The’ [wudn] no funny up in there,
not in them lives . . . .
Well, sometimes they whittled. The old men would git out on Sunday. If they went down to a town, like
Whittier, or somewhere, they had big old tubs they spit their [ambure] in, whittled along, ‘n’ gas, and
blow. I think they had their whisky, too, they had a little of it sometimes, once in a while.
Pa was always out. He never fooled with whisky. He didn’ set with them bear-talkers much. He ‘as busy
all the time. That man never had no foolishness . . . .
We would walk in the woods a lot of the time, an’ in the fall of the year, we’d go hunt chestnuts, when
we [wudn] a-workin’.