Mother called it peep-eye and played it with my brothers and me. My wife Mary enjoyed it for a while, peeking round pillows and books at our sons. Then, at a new pastoral appointment in 1994, our toddler Daniel attracted unwanted attention during worship. Over the back of Mary’s pew, distracted little girls bobbed up and down; and inattentive elderly women held up hymnals and folding fans and whispered to the red-headed preacher’s kid, “Peek-a-boo.” Daniel giggled. Mary, her eyes on the pulpit and me, did not smile.
At the Stephenson family’s home, where South Holbrook crosses Mt. Vernon’s Cotton Belt tracks, a toddler is pictured playing peek-a-boo with a dog. I believe that same girl grew up to teach my second-grade class in the 1960-1961 schoolyear. We remember Mrs. Margaret Stephenson Campbell (1907-2001) as “Miss Margaret.”
The Supreme Court’s suppressive “Engel v. Vitale” would come soon, in June 1961. For us the diminutive, yet formidable Miss Margaret still read scripture and prayed every morning. Next came an oral spelling quiz. One day, after prayer, she peeked out over the light green roll book’s ring-bound pages and called on me to stand and spell a word aloud.
“V-O-C-A-B-U-L-A-R-Y,” the letters came in a little boy’s high-pitched voice. Then, turning up the corners of her mouth just so, Miss Margaret nodded in affirmation. With relief and satisfaction, I sat down, never to forget her better-than-a-blue-ribbon, almost-a-smile expression. Maybe I caught a glimpse, through those tortoiseshell reading-glass frames, of a puckish glint in the eyes of a beautiful girl.
The Poster Girl for Peaches
A 1908 Franklin County soil survey by A.E. Kocher and W.S. Lyman included agricultural records for prior years; and it suggested a remarkable future for peach production: “According to reliable farmers, 80,000 peach trees were planted near this town in 1905; in 1906, 180,000; and, in 1907, 150,000 more. It is safe to estimate that at the present time there are at least a half million trees in this vicinity just coming into bearing.”
And bear they did. In a 1920 edition of the Mt. Vernon Optic Herald, an adorable Miss Margaret, the poster girl for peach growers, poses on a ladder. The caption reads, “More than twelve bushels of peaches were picked from this tree near Mt. Vernon.” On the annual “Peach Day” harvest-time shipments between one hundred and two hundred fifty railroad cars typically left our depot loaded with peaches. Historical figures in the Optic’s October 12, 1934, Anniversary Edition reveal record shipments “about the year 1920” of four hundred forty cars!
The book “A Walk through Mt. Vernon” has preserved the promotional photos shown here. One labeled “Peach Day, July 2, 1921,” shows wagons parked at produce sheds, to be unloaded for buyers’ inspection. Purchased lots would be moved to outbound railcars. In another, orchard owners appear in their Sunday best, with baskets of Elberta peaches (meaty but firm and good for shipping). B.F. Hicks coins a memorable term for this special time in our local history, calling it Franklin County’s “green-thumb glory days.” The Great Depression would diminish the influence of agriculture throughout the country, but even in the late 1930s the Optic Herald would proclaim itself “County Seat Paper for the Garden Spot of the World.”
Over the Folds of Years Gone By
While working at Hometown Food decades later, Sharon Martin frequently saw Miss Margaret shopping and, too, cutting through the store’s parking lot on her daily trips to the Post Office. Owner R.B. Carr, says Sharon, “had a conversation with Miss Margaret about the danger of her speed. She responded, ‘Everybody knows I cut through; so they need to watch out for me.’ Miss Margaret continued using her shortcut until her health would not allow her to drive!”
Those teachers of my generation's childhood could be unyielding. But now and then their faces peek over the folds of years gone by, surprise us with sweet memories, and remind us of useful lessons. After picking peaches with Allen and Ruby Cates in Como one day in my mid-thirties, I peeled them with Allen in the backyard. Inside, Mary and Ruby sliced and bagged them for freezing. After a while, Allen wiped his chin on his sleeve, looked at me, and shook his head in aggravation: “Brother John, ain’t you gonna eat any o’ them peaches?”
“I’m sorry, Allen. I’ve just been so busy lately.” I paused to enjoy a tree-ripened peach; and, its tangy-sweet juice running down my chin, my mind oddly wandered back to second-grade mornings begun with a certain poster girl. “Is this a quiz?” I wondered. Yes, I needed to slow down and get it right: “L-I-F-E.”
This article is an excerpt from the author’s book, Bottomland Credentials.
