In the early eighties, Dad got permission to fish an “oxbow” off of the Tallapoosa River. This is a section of “dead” river left behind when the river changed its course slightly at some time in the past. Because several alligators were its most notable inhabitants, we called it “The Alligator Pond”.  The general shape was a shallow crescent of open water that disappeared into cypress… swamps on each end. The large cypress trees that flanked the edges along with lily pads and old fallen trees gave it a prehistoric look that made it easy to imagine just about anything lurking in its dark depths. We caught mostly bream, bass and crappies but sometimes one of us would snag an alligator gar, a mud fish (which Dad called Grinnell) and I once caught a northern pike.

Most of the time we would have a “mess” of fish of one sort or another and if we fished till dark, the last thing we wanted to do was get home late and have to clean them.  That’s where Annie Maude came in. The old dirt road wound for several miles through various fields and then climbed from the river basin up to a large plateau and then northward to Rifle Range Road. About a mile off of the paved road was a dilapidated old farm house with worn clap board siding and a rusted metal roof.

The matriarch of this simple abode was an ancient black lady, “Annie Maude”. We would pull into the rear yard of the house and several dogs of dubious lineage would announce our arrival. A young man would come to the back door, yell at the dogs and hearing our offer, he would shout over his shoulder, “Annie Maude, you want some fish?”   Soon she would limp into view, back lit by a bare light bulb suspended from the wood plank ceiling by braided wires. She was a plump old lady and she would turn sideways to ease down the couple of rickety wooden steps that led to the bare earth. She would be wearing a faded cotton dress and her wide feet splayed over the edges of worn out shoes. Her white hair was pulled up into a tight knot on the back of her head.

“My, my! What yall got there? Oh, my goodness! Willie! Bring me a tub! Mr. Leary’s got some fish!”
As Willie counted the fish into the galvanized wash tub, we would chat with this sweet woman. She was always cheerful and happy to see us. One day, Dad asked her, “Annie Maude, how long have you lived here?”
“I have lived right here all of my life! I was born right in this house!”
“Wow!” Dad exclaimed. “Have you ever traveled?”
“I went to Birmingham one time.” And then, reflecting on the subject she added, “I’ve never been out of the State of Alabama.”
“Never?”  You could hear the incredulity in Dad’s voice.
“No, sir. But I have had a wonderful life! Just wonderful!”

Those words sunk deep into my mind. I knew what her life would have had to have been like. Born in the early part of the twentieth century on a southern plantation, you wouldn’t have to be a slave. You could work the hot, dusty fields or you could starve to death. That pretty well summed up the options. But now, after a life of poverty and toil, she proclaimed in the most certain terms that she had enjoyed a wonderful life!

She has long since gone to a better world but I will never forget this sweet lady who lived out what the Good Book says, “Not that I speak in respect of want, for I have leaned in whatever state I am, therewith to be content.” I Cor. 4:11

I can’t wait to see what her next home looks like! God bless you, Annie Maude!
God Bless Us Everyone!

Hal F. Leary