Gilpin observer., 1908-05-07
Sundays in
the Country

and riders going to town, and occa-
sionally a lone pedestrian could be
seen cutting across the fields. bound
for the county seat. The usual work
went on in the fields, and late in the
afternoon and on until midnight the
home-returning vehicles and horses
ratified or galloped by US. But when
Sunday morning came there was
sharp and clear demarcation between
work and rest. No longer the men
could be seen following the plows. cul-
tivating corn, working with the
thrashers or reapers, or "shucking"
corn with the wagons slowly filling to-
ward the side-board.
There was wide silence over the
helds. An ebb in the tide Of affairs;
q lull in the round of rural industry.
The wood had been carried in Satur-
day night, and even the smoke from
the kitchen chimneys seemed to crawl
out stealthily and creep away unob-
trusively, as II fearing to stain the
blue vaults of Sabbath stiffness.
"Chores" appeared to have been done
before daybreak, for you rarely found
q farmer about his barn on Sundays
until the time came for going to
church.
1t was a peculiar sensation to really
abide in a community where Sunday
meant something in the way Of old
fashioned peace and quiet. The bells
on top of the smokehouses. which
were accustomed to clang out regular
ly at halfpast eleven, calling the men
in to dinner from the fields. hung mo-
tiopless now, unless possibly set In
motion by the hands Of some wander
ing child. Teams went by with the
usual cargo Of church-goers. filled with
men, women and children. all dressed
in their best, and all. except the
horses. enjoying the respite from daily
cares.
II you went to farmhouse you
would nearly always find the people
gone. and almost invariably to church.
In town. hitching- racks were lined
with farm wagons, and every hitching-
post was occupied by either team or
q saddle-horse. Church windows were
open everywhere In the summer time
and even on into the fall. and echoes
u
ish voices fioated out on the mild sun
laden air.
In the earlier part of the day there
had been long and dangerous pealing
out over the tops OF the houses. and
from the country steeples the bells
had sent brassy or iron messages to
the farmers dwellings; but later the
churches had hived In their environ.
ment the greater part Of the communi
ty. and the drone of voices or the
sound of a preachers intonation was
all that could be heard from the out
side.
Sometimes. along the country roads
would come a cavalcade with the toss
ing plumes and mourning cortege
that told of the transformation from
the uncertainties of life to the endur
ing peace of the beyond. A funeral In
the country was in some respects
city. In the country, the women
mostly stayed In the church. together
with the Immediate relatives of the
departed. There they remained
through the services, joining in the
hymns. and listening to the funeral
sermon. But the friends and neigh
bors OF the deceased very often gath
cred under adjacent trees and visit
cd among themselves, talking over
the life and character OF the dead
and indulging in "reminiscences of old
times in the settlement. Particularly
was this the case II the deceased was
an old settler, or the wife OF an old
settler. In that event the attendance
would be from far-distant points, and
even the editors Of the town papers
would come. Old men would gather
in the shade OF oaks and hickories and
tell of the days when the country was
one unbroken mass Of heavy timber
and when they rode on horseback &C
miles for salt.
Young men and boys would appeal
TO these veterans for confirmation In
regard to some legend which had been
part OF the life history OF the lost one
and . general historical survey OF the
past would be the result of the outside
assemblage.
We'll. l reckon Uncle Billy knows
all about it now" would remark some
whiskered six-footer.
YES" would be the assent from an
other, biting into a redcheeked apple
and munching away with subdued sat
isfsction. Uncle Billy was right smart
Of a man in his day. rickolect when
he nrst came over from Big Bend
ther wuzn't more n dozen people al
the lend. an Billy said they wuz toe
thick ther fer him: he clard that forty
wher the ole log house stood that he
ux married in. an he fenced her 18th
walnut rails. reckon they hain't nc
walnut now for fence rails"
THE fust railroad they put through
here had walnut ties. and Billy split