To Eskimo Roll, or Not to Eskimo Roll? That is the Question.

In the late Winter of 1990 I was home from MSMS with my best friend Marcus. Uncle Richard had a friend Treg, who would come by twice a year to visit with the family as he traveled from college to college selling books. Mamaw was well into her state of "pleasant confusion." (We dared not say "Alzheimer's" because, at the time, that meant you got MEAN when you got old, and that definitely was NOT Mamaw. She was "pleasantly confused.") Treg and Mamaw would sit quietly and read together while Uncle Richard took care of the animals. They both enjoyed books, reading and quiet. Treg brought his kayak down from Nashville that winter and Uncle Richard decided that he wanted to learn to Eskimo roll. Treg made it look easy, Uncle Richard did not. We were in the Atchafalaya, and Uncle Richard was DETERMINED to get the Eskimo roll down pat! Treg stood beside him in the chest high water, and Uncle Richard would flip, and wouldn't come up, so Treg would have to flip him over after what seemed like several minutes. He was spit and sputter and say, "I've almost got it! Lets do it again, but this time don't help me!" And he would flip, and wouldn't come up. Treg would flip him up again. This went on for at least an hour in the cold. Mama, Marcus and I sat on the river bank rolling laughing. It was quite hilarious. There are photos of this somewhere, but I cannot find them. I wonder if he took them with him! I hate to say that he never learned to Eskimo roll. Uncle Richard referred to this experience as "one of a few near death experiences" he had.
That summer Mama and I were walking each evening along the river. It was peaceful and relaxing. We saw the fox that stayed around the bail of hay. We heard frogs and birds. One afternoon, just about dusk, we were walking and talking and we heard a sound, a different sound, coming from the river. It sounded scared, sad, maybe hurt. It was a baby animal. It sounded like a baby otter! Just the thought of rescuing a baby otter made my heart beat faster! I LOVE OTTERS! I WANTED A BABY OTTER TO RAISE! We squatted down close to the side of the road and called out to the baby in the river. The louder and higher pitched we called, the louder it got. It NEEDED us! We hurried to Mamaw's house to get Uncle Richard and his kayak (that he bought after trying, and failing, to learn to Eskimo roll.) He was ecstatic!! He wanted a baby otter too! He loaded the kayak and the dogs in the truck and we went to the spot where the baby critter could still be heard crying. It was getting a little dark at this point and Uncle Richard was more than a little nervous, after all, he didn't know how to Eskimo roll, the Yazoo River has a pretty fast current, and it was just after alligator mating season. The high pitched squeak COULD be a baby gator, which meant that mama gator would be close by. Uncle Richard got in his kayak, we held the dogs back so they wouldn't grab the baby or get attacked by the mama gator, and we repeatedly called out in loud, high pitched voices to the baby. Uncle Richard hummed nervously and kept talking to us. All of the sudden Pete jumped in the water to follow Uncle Richard. Uncle Richard screamed, "Gator! A gator just jumped in the water!" We tried to tell him through our laughter that it was Pete. Uncle Richard charged on to help the baby critter once he composed himself. As he got closer to the critter he called out, "I see it!" We were so excited! "Is it hurt? Is it ok?" I asked. "It is ok." he answered. "Is it an otter?" I asked. "NO!" he said sheepishly. "Oh crap! Is it a gator?" I asked. "NO! BIGGER!" he yelled. Oh hell! I have gotten Uncle Richard into something that is HUGE and he can't Eskimo roll!! This could be IT!! Uncle Richard said, "I'm not bringing it back!" and he wouldn't tell us what it was until he got back to the bank of the river. By this time, it was dark! When he got back he said, "You will NEVER guess what it is!" We couldn't, despite our best efforts. Uncle Richard told us that it was a small tree, that had fallen in the crook of a larger tree, and the current was moving it back and forth, causing it to rub, and make a high pitched "Eak! Eak!" sound. We laughed so hard that we were calling in high pitched voices to A TREE!!! It honestly seemed to be responding! Uncle Richard was the best sport about the weird situations that we got him into! He loved us, he loved animals, and he would do anything to help a person or animal in need, even if it meant putting himself into peril because he couldn't Eskimo roll!
I love you. I miss you. I cherish the wonderful memories we have made together! Thank you! You still make me smile and laugh!

Shannon Outlaw-Kimsey
8/15/2011

Stories We Grew Up On as Outlaw Children: Part 1

As everyone knows, Uncle Richard LOVED to tell stories. From the time he returned from his "nomadic days" wandering across the United States in 1980, I remember him coming over to our house and sitting at the table to tell stories. We would sit there for hours listening to him. (***Disclaimer: These are my memories of the stories he told, as best I can remember, but as we all know, HE MAY HAVE BEEN MAKING THIS UP!***) Uncle Richard took college courses all across the nation. Wherever he landed, he took a course. At one point, he stopped in Tallahassee, FL and took art courses at Florida State. The way he paid for the courses at FSU was by attending Florida A&M, which is a historically black college, so they paid him to go there as a minority and one of a hand full of white students at the time. His art teacher at FSU was amazed by his knowledge and use of color and asked how many other art classes he had taken. He explained that this was his first college class. Then he proceeded to go into a story that went something like this: "Well, you see, I grew up on a farm in Mississippi, and every fall it was time to slaughter the pigs for food. Mama would take us out to barn and we would cut the pigs throats. We would then hang the pigs up to drain the blood and skin them. We were poor folks, so we had to use every part of the pig in order to survive. We kids would follow Mama and take the pigs to the sun baked side of the barn. Mama would take the first intestine in both hands and swing it over her head like a lasso and pop it like a whip. (He made the motions as he spoke.) The crap from the intestines would splatter on the sun baked side of the barn. It was like a color pallet of yellow corn, white oats, red blood, green bile... every color of the rainbow in a beautiful display on the faded paint of the sun baked side for the barn. Then one by one, each of us children would try to swing and snap, but none of us were as good as Mama. After a day of slinging chitterlings the sun baked side of the barn looked like a painting, and that is how I learned my use of color. " He said the other students in his class sat wide eyed and quiet, in shock at his demonstration and description of barbaric country living. He said that he made the whole story up on the fly, but never let on to his teacher or the students that it was anything but 100% truth. As he said, "There is nothing wrong with "leg pullin'." The difference in "leg pullin'" and lying is that lying has malicious intent, where "leg pullin' " is strictly for entertainment!" Another one of his favorite sayings was "Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story!" So here my friends, you have the first of MANY wonderful stories from Uncle Richard. I miss you, your humor, and your magic!
Shannon Outlaw-Kimsey
8/7/2011