In the heart of Perry County, Kentucky, where whispers echoed through the hollows and raindrops painted stories on cabin windows, my father’s childhood unfolded. His roots ran deep in the rugged land, amidst the mystique of Engle. The small cabin, perched on the edge of the hollow, held secrets and memories like treasures hidden in plain sight.
The tale begins in the late 1930s, a time when the world outside was colored by hardship and resilience. Toddler Gabe, a mere 2 or 3 years old, stood by the front window, raindrops tapping gently against the glass. His eyes, wide with innocence, waited eagerly for the daily visit from his mother’s brother, the elusive Chester.
Rain poured relentlessly, but Gabe persisted, a tiny guardian of the window, announcing Chester’s impending arrival. His mother, balancing the demands of a household, tended to her infant son and prepared dinner. She shooed the persistent toddler away from the window, but Gabe’s excitement refused to wane.
“Momma, Chester is coming, Chester is coming,” he insisted, his voice carrying the pure belief of a child. Each time she glanced out, the landscape remained untouched by Chester’s presence.
Dinner came and went, yet no sign of Chester emerged. A strange emptiness lingered in the air, a void where the familiar footsteps should have echoed through the hollow.
As the rain continued its nocturnal lullaby, the following morning unfolded with a different visitor. Another family member, burdened by the weight of sorrow, navigated the long trek into the hollow. The cabin, a haven now touched by an unspoken tragedy, welcomed the somber news. Uncle Chester, the anticipated guest, had met an untimely end.
In the dance between raindrops and whispers, the cabin held the echoes of a story that transcended time. Gabe, who had stood sentinel at the window, carried the memory until his last breath at 62. The hollows of Perry County whispered secrets, and the raindrops told tales of a time when a child’s innocent anticipation collided with the harsh reality of loss.