Family Story Page 4

The Rowan Tree Roan-Rowan Family Stories Page 6

The writings of Leon Virgil Rowan, 1901-1983

(Graciously contributed by Jan & Winston Rowan)

The Mud Man ©

by Leon V. Rowan

Our home was surrounded on two sides by a forest and undergrowth, and one side of the woods was a shallow winding creek, flowing gently through the forest creating a sort of paradise for any adventurous boy. I was one who at times, would find himself hanging on a spreading oak tree with large limbs, near enough to reach from a self-made ladder and build a so-called roost, or house: where I played tree man or Indian scout. The days were varied and full of adventure for a seven-year-old lad who cared about his family's livelihood. I had a plan to help aid my father with the many jobs and difficult tasks involved in maintaining a farm. This seemed too large of a burden for my father to bear: even with my older brother's help. Besides, my brother would soon be going to boarding school leaving a vacant gap for my mother and me to fill. This plan would help with the light jobs to lessen some of his burdens of hardship. Without my plans aid, my father's efforts would seem an ordeal of failure, in my simple way of thinking, how could my father perform two jobs and at the same time, accomplish the same results?

My father was a constant student of nature, books and especially the bible. From them he stored away much knowledge that made him an interesting storyteller. One of his stories that especially intrigued my mind was the story of the creation from the book of Genesis. I remember so well my father's telling of how that God created the heaven and the earth and all living things therein. His word picture of how God created man from the clay of the earth caught my boy-like imagination. The idea that perhaps I could build a mud man and pray to God to breathe life into him and let him become an heir to our family and my father's helper on the farm. Perhaps this is the reason I must say now that little boys' and girls' minds are motivated by mental pictures such as we older ones live by from day to day. The more I thought of my fantastic idea (but so real to me), the more I gathered together the tools of my trade. With a gleam in my eye that enhanced my activities I began to work, with never a thought of complications or the unseen presence of a peeping Tom.

Our home was surrounded by woodland that furnished me plenty of undercover to hide away a suitable workshop near a creek that formed a sort of bench bank that would produce all the clay and water for my purpose. I immediately started assembling together such items as a tub. Pick, wooden paddle, shovel, scrap lumber and a hammer and a few nails to use in building a form, similar to a wooden man that would give me a guide to follow and a structure to hold my clay form together while it dried. I would smooth the rough places with my wooden trowel, to keep my form looking more each day like the man I hoped God would accept and give life at his completion, thus making him an heir to my father's family.

As I unveil my memory today and try to delve into the mysteries of boy's thinking I remember how difficult it was at times to get an idea to materialize as I wanted. This one was no exception, or easy to develop. It was not easy to keep a secret, because I had a few play friends who played in the woods. Also there were hunters who would be passing through. At times, my mother and father would have to follow my tracks and call me in, but never from my workshop that I believed no one had ever discovered, but that thought didn't live long.

I had my man finished and in an upright position looking very much like an overgrown midget. Squatty and athletic legs, arms and a chest under a pumpkin sized head; with a short neck that made his nose appear to extend beyond his mouth, over curving large lips. With sparkling blue eyes made of marbles that I had stored away. His overall appearance might have halted some wild beast of the forest, but he looked pretty real to me. It was on Sunday morning in September that I would give my last final touches before that hour of my prayerful dedication and thanks to the Lord for my part as his helper.

The dawn of that Sabbath morn was to be one of prided joy and excitement when I would announce my secret to my mother and father and show them what the Lord and I had accomplished and to introduce and offer them a new heir and helper. Sounds fantastic doesn't it? It is a fact of a boy's dream that he almost made come true. His man had disappeared from his workshop, without leaving any sign of tracks or parts of his body. If he was destroyed anywhere near my workshop, it was a futile search for me until another day. I slowly turned back to my home! Thinking perhaps the Lord knew someone who needed him more than we did. I became totally dejected but complained to my mother that I wasn't feeling well. I was lost in a mental stupor that made my life miserable for the next few days, just as though a member of the family had deceased.

My father's subtle nature kept me guessing about my secret motives. He always understood, was thoughtful, kind and sympathetic to my problems, ready to rescue me from my mistakes. Even through he maintained a strict discipline: his corrections were never harsh but rather imparted a philosophy that helped create new ideals. He helped me to explore them with methods that would lead me to understand the purpose of my doings.

If rural people's lives seemed crude and full of hardship to others, there surely could be no misgivings about their meaningful purpose to live a useful life. Solving their own problems with a pioneer spirit added a spice of tranquility that others may not know. Perhaps their social functions were just as varied and crude but not without glamour, that reflected their mode of entertainment in a provincial way of life. Some occasions were weekly, others annually, such as brush arbor tent meetings in the summer time, and county and state fairs in the fall. One other occasion that created quite a bit of interest and fun was a community affair of horse trading, rummage sale, and trading. It was a custom to hire an auctioneer who was witty with jokes and had a lingo of his own that would draw the attention of the people around his crude stand. He would then begin his cry for a bidder and buyer until he had finished his assignment. On this occasion, my father would welcome my help, because he had a wagon full that had to be unloaded and grouped together. We would wait our turn for the auctioneer to make the sales to a higher bidder.

I soon became interested in the auctioneer's funny jokes and lingo, and as he would move about, I began to notice his stance, and profile so much that a sudden, known image appeared in my mind. The closer I looked, the more I was convinced that he was ''my mud man'' came to life. I soon began a close up view from every angle. His stance, head, neck, nose, arms, legs and his athletic body fitted every description of my man. Soon there was intermission, and I made for the stand to be near him for another look and perhaps a question or two. As soon as he came down into the crowd. I was near him to see and say ''Hello.''

The auctioneer remarked, ''Lad, I bet you are having a great time''. I said, ''Yep, you are a stranger here, aren't you?'' He replied in a sonorous voiced ''Yep just moved in''. Then I said, ''Why did you run away?'' He answered laughing, "Why my lad, you can move faster running than walking'' and kept moving on thus removing all doubts from my mind that he was ''my mud man".

Soon after my father had disposed of his wares and tares and had indulged in a bit of gossip we were on our way back home, as we traveled along, I was doing some fast thinking on how to approach my father with my fantastic idea of replacing my brother with a new helper.

I began to relate my secret in no uncertain tone of disappointment and in a manner to draw my father's sympathy and blessings to believe my story. As I looked into his faces I saw an expression of love and compassion that could only come from a Father who truly loved his son. He then consoled my feelings by saying my name. ''Leon, all things are possible by the will of our Lord. His ways and thoughts are not our ways, but he will bless us for the good deeds we do in helping him to make a better world for all people. My son, be of good cheer. God remembers and blesses you for being one of his helpers.'' Then I replied "Daddy, I will remember to try harder to make you a better helper indeed."

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