Goldonna, Louisiana. Ever heard of it? That’s the small town/hamlet/village in rural Natchitoches Parish where I grew up 88 years ago. Actually, I didn’t grow up in Goldonna; we lived a mile out of town next to a red dirt gravel road that in summer, created a fine red dust that covered everything. It was worse when the occasional car came bumping along the road, kicking up the dust. When it rained, the dust became mud which made travel along it sometimes challenging.
In fall and winter, my brother and I tagged along with our dad to hunt squirrels. Our main duty was to follow along quietly, careful not to step on dry leaves or sticks as we watched dad sneak up on a feeding squirrel. We were later, after following along and observing our dad, able to hunt on our own, eventually graduating from squirrels to ducks, deer and much later, wild turkeys.
We didn’t walk to school; we rode Mr. Curley Bryant’s school bus with no heater nor fan, much less an air conditioner. The trips were only a mile long in the mornings but in the afternoons, the bus made an hour-long circuitous route around what was known as the “Loop” and hot afternoons involved lots of sweating and fanning.
I remember first grade and the only spanking I got when I was playing chase and running around the room before the teacher, Mrs. Jessie, came in. I bumped a ceramic lamb on a shelf it fell and broke. When she came in and found the shattered pieces and wanted to know who did it, a dozen six-year old fingers pointed at me and I got the spanking I deserved.
High school was not bad and I especially liked, and was at the same time fearful of one of my teachers. She was my aunt; my dad’s only sister and she knew her stuff but could be tough. Her toughness seemed to be directed more toward me as her nephew when she noticed I excelled in writing. She seemed to know despite my negatives that I had potential in writing so she was stern with me and pushed me to be the best I could be. Today, I’m thankful that she saw something I for sure didn’t see back then.
My parents had a plan for me that today, I still have no idea how they were able to afford me going to college but while no one else in our senior graduating class went to college straight out of high school, they somehow paid the way for me to enroll in school at Northwestern State in Natchitoches and four years later, I walked out of there as a college graduate. Every semester I was there I had working scholarships that helped with the expenses.
My first job after college was to teach high school business at Shongaloo in a village that was somewhat comforting as it was no bigger than the one where I grew up. I was married by then and we made it through surprisingly well on the monthly salary of $257.
After my one year at Shongaloo, I bounced around attempting to sell insurance to being assistant manager at a dry goods store until I settled into a job to which I gave 30 years as a social worker, securing a graduate degree from LSU in Social Work. From case worker to supervisor to office director, I did it all and learned much about working with people.
Before retirement, I started writing outdoors columns on weekends for a small weekly newspaper in Homer and from there, I took advantage of other opportunities to write for other newspapers and I’m still at it today 53 years after I wrote my first column.
I realize this column is not one devoted solely to outdoors activities but I just want to share with my readers a glimpse as to just who I am and where I came from.