The coastland times. [volume] (Mnateo [i.e. Manteo], N.C.) 1947-1959, 1955-03-25
SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES
AND BRINGS THE TEARS
CARLTON NORRIS
in Gates County Index

Walking along the street IN ouI
little town the other afternoon, or
one of these cloudy, gray Febru-
airy days, my nose and eyes were
burning oak wood smoke. Which
suddenly assailed by the sting OF
was enough to remind me of the
pleasure of smelling wood smoke
and other things as well.
Nearly always in February, the
weather turns warm for a few
days and thoughts begin to turn
toward spring, but then winter re-
fuses to go away and overnight
the spring-like weather is driven
away by cold and gloom. Thus it
was like that the other afternoon.
The weather had been warm, but
had turned beastly cold as l walk
ed down the street and thought of
smoke and spring and the swift
march of time.
Earliest recollections concern
smoke and smell of it. Hardwood
smoke hanging against the winter
skies, burning broom sedge in the
spring, burning leaves in autumn,
and the unpleasant smell of burn
ing coal as we'll as the acrid clean
smell of burning half-green
marshlands, all combine to make
up an unforgettable part of a
country persons life.
Little things of no Importance
at the time of their happening
come back into focus as the years
roll by, and often they are mingled
with the smell of smoke. The hazy
smoke and it's smell only serve to
make memory the clearer.
Once my boyhood companion
and l decided to run away from
home. We had no idea why we
were leaving, but we had both
read "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckle-
berry Finn" and we never stopped
to realize that those two immor-
tails did most of their travelling
during the warm weather of sum-
mer. Thus, we accumulated two or
three pounds of sausage, by the
simple expedient of going into the
kitchen when no one was looking
and wrapping it up in an old pa
per and walking away with our
shirt fronts bullying. Salt we car
ried loose in our pants pocket.
Armed with an old single-barrel
shotgun and five shells, we took
to the woods during February.
The day was cloudy and gray and
we wandered along through the
dripping brush until we were sure
the time had come to prepare our
first meal, which of a necessity
would consist of sausage" We
found a reasonably dry place be-
hind the giant roots of fallen
tree, uprooted by previous hurri-
cane. We started our fire with
pine and with my dads Ratchet,
which 1 had brought along, we
built the fire up until we were
comfortably warm.
Then the problem of cooking
sausage, which were two inches
through, reached major proper
tons. We tried roasting them on
a sharpened stick. Held in the
open fire, they burst and fell into
the fire. Somewhere I had read
that they were best when cooked
on live Goals, so we cut a wealth
of green oak and piled it on the
fire. We waited for hours until
the slow burning oak had simmer
ed down to Goals, then we hope
fully placed them in the midst
thereof. They fried and spat and
finally driven by hunger, we fish
ed them out and tried to eat them
without bread or water. Filled
with ashes and half raw, I couldn't
choke them down. My friend
wouldn't even taste of them. 1t
had started to rain and there was
snow mixed with the falling
weather.
We left our almost dead fire to
the elements and by mutual con-
sent we started homeward.
When we reached the back OF
our field, darkness was descending
over the land, but the most well
come sight to our burning, smoke
blackened eyes was the long pal
of wood smoke that escended al