The Bottoms

I grew up in a small agricultural town in Southwest Arkansas. I loved, and fondly remember, my childhood. It was so innocent, so sweet, almost like a scene from a 1950's movie.

We could ride our bikes all day, but not after dark, in lightening, and not across the "tracks."

The "tracks" were, of course, the railroad tracks, and we couldn't ride across them. Not because it was "the bad side of town," which is the common response to hearing "the tracks," but because it was too far away from home. We also couldn't ride downtown, which was one two lane street with a grocery store, a Bill's Dollar Store, and for a few years the local clinic (the clinic closed when I was in Junior High because we couldn't keep a doctor in town).

It was a wonderful place to be a kid. Everyone knew who you were, where you belonged and called your parents the second you acted up. I'll never forget being in the first grade when I got in trouble for not being in my seat. My teacher, Mrs. Gage, took me into the hallway to give me "a paddlin'" i.e. a spanking with a ping pong paddle.

I remember looking at her, pleading my case that Robert sat in my seat before I could get to it, and it wasn't my fault that I was standing after the fifth time she'd told us to sit down.

There I stood in the hallway, an innocent little six-year-old child trying to talk my way out of punishment, when Mrs. Gage said, "Would you rather me paddle you now or would you rather me call your mother and you can explain the situation to her?"

I took my paddling and somberly walked back in the classroom to take the seat Robert had, by then, vacated (I really was telling the truth, and Robert, I hold it against you to this day).

When my mother picked me up from school I heard it all over again. See, Mrs. Gage didn't call my mother, but someone else did. And, boy, was she mad that I was unable to obey my teachers.

That's the kind of place Foreman was. It was really down home--in such a good, honest, real sort of way. And it was a great place to be a kid.

All this is to say that I've come full circle. One of the programs I now oversee at work involves small cities across this great state, and one of the newest participating cities is Foreman. For the past two days, I've hosted a workshop for the participants of this program and representatives from Foreman were present.

I asked how things were at home, who was still around, how they were, what we could do to help, was it as hot there as here?

As usual the conversation quickly made its way to rainfall. Agriculture drives the economy in Foreman, and the weather is always the main topic of conversation.

"How are things," I asked. "Oh things are moving great," Mike responded. "Of course, it's hot and dry. It hasn't rained in town for weeks, but the bottoms got a half inch the other day."

The Bottoms.

"The Bottoms" refers to the farmland near the Red River. I suppose it's called The Bottoms because it's the delta of the Red River--the bottom of where the river once flowed.

That's just the way things are in Southwest Arkansas. It can't just be called the river delta or the farmland or the old river way. It must have a different name. Therefore, The Bottoms.

It's been about a decade since someone used the term "the bottoms" with me.

Oh, to be so close to home. It makes me wonder what Mrs. Gage is doing today.

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By the way, I'm glad The Bottoms got some rain. But, of course, Mike also told me that it only rained on the Cowling Place Headquarters (another place no one "from away" could ever find, but I could place in an instant) for about 15 minutes.

The rest of the place is bone dry and 110 degrees.

God help the farmers in the bottoms.

L.

PS--Speaking of things Southwest Arkansas people say. A shout out goes to the first person who can accurately describe what it means to give someone "a pump".

I'll even use it in a sentence. "You don't have to walk. I'll give you a pump."