Rural Preacher

 

Dad was never ordained, but he preached at

a circuit of three churches in rural Georgia.

We lived in the parsonage at Culloden.

He preached every other Sunday at Culloden or

Yatesville and one Sunday a month he doubled at

Rogers.  His congregation were farmers and dairy owners.

They put cornmeal, bacon, smoked sausage, and fresh vegetables

in the back of his car.  Lard, flour.  There was a well and a pump

a man in the congregation worked on.  Bill and I caught fish

in the stocked ponds at the dairies.  The ponds were-nutrient rich

from having cow shit hosed in them.  Mom didn’t like to

fry fish but Bill and I caught them and cleaned them

and she cooked them.  We had a place to sleep

and food to eat and Dad had a car to drive

back and forth to Atlanta in.  He was

finishing his classes.  During the week

he visited the sick and counseled

the aggrieved and the disturbed.

I don’t remember him marrying

anyone or preaching at anyone’s funeral.

He did baptize a couple of babies.

This year was like something out of a Bergman movie,

for Mom and Dad, but for me and Bill it was like

The Adventures of Huckeberry Finn.  Or Andy Griffith.

 


 

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