My First Vacation At Granddaddy's Home
An excerpt from the book, Holden Beach History, by John M. Holden.

On one of Granddaddy and Grandmother Holden's visits to my parents' home, their ten-year-old grandson begged to go home with them. In the middle of the week, Wednesday or Thursday, my parents agreed to let me go, saying they would go to get me Sunday afternoon.

Most little boys have a lot of curiosity, and observe many things of which adults are unaware. My first afternoon at Granddaddy's was no exception for me. As the evening sun was disappearing in the west, Grandmother informed me she had to gather the eggs and I could go with her. The chicken house was about fifty yards from the house, in the direction of the big barn. On the way to the chicken house, she told me the eggs had to be removed each afternoon or the opossums and foxes would eat them that night.

Back in those days chickens were not confined in houses or cages as they are today, but were allowed freedom to the field to catch insects or pick up the loose corn around the barn. As we approached the chicken house, very few of the chickens had gone to roost. I noticed these chickens were different from any I had ever seen before. They were about the size of a brown Leghorn, but black with little white splotches. Their combs and their nervous actions resembled that of a brown Leghorn. When I asked about the breed of these chickens, Grandmother informed me they were Anconas and they laid white eggs.

While writing this story, I became interested in "Ancona" and did some research. It is the name of a town in Italy. This breed of chickens came from that Mediterranean area and is recognized as outstanding layers.

Several nests resembling wooden boxes were attached to the outside wall of the chicken house, about three feet from the ground. Grandmother gathered the eggs from these nests before going inside. When she went inside, most of the chickens that had gone to roost flew out of the chicken house. After the dust and feathers cleared, I could see several chickens left on the roost swinging.

The roost was made of small poles about eight feet long; these were spaced one foot apart so as to form a rack. The rack was suspended from the roof by four heavy wires and was about four feet from the ground. This rack was spaced with two feet clearance from the sides and back wall.

While Grandmother gathered the eggs inside, I watched the remaining chickens on the roost. Yes! Enjoying their swinging. I remarked to her, that was the largest swing I had ever seen. She explained to me that the opossums and foxes could not get the chickens off that roost while they were asleep.

On my first morning at Granddaddy's house, another unusual thing attracted my attention. When I entered the breezeway on my way to get breakfast, I discovered six or eight of the prettiest yellow cats I had ever seen. All were on the east side of the kitchen; some were on the porch banister, while others were perched on the yard posts.

All the cats were short haired and had the same shade of yellow markings. Their clean healthy appearance made me want to touch one and be convinced that they were real cats. However, I was disappointed: three feet was as close as they would allow me to go.

Most homes had cats with a variety of colors. The true characteristics of Granddaddy's cats proved that they did not believe in integrating with other cats in the community.

Several years prior to my visit, Granddaddy purchased a tract of land from a family by the name of Galloway. The land bordered the Lockwood's Folly River on one side for a distance of over a mile, and the tract encompassed almost five hundred acres. The original growth of virgin timber was standing with an abundance of large live oaks. He had the entire tract enclosed with a fence and used it for a pasture. It was very appropriate to identify this tract of land as the "Galloway Pasture." During the months of October and November, the hogs would get fat from eating the live oak acorns just as others gained weight from eating corn.

Fifty-five years have past since Granddaddy's death. The Galloway Pasture is now being developed into a resort with a modern golf course, Lockwood's Folly Links.

It was mid-afternoon when Granddaddy drove his T-Model Ford down to the big barn and began to prepare for a trip to the Galloway Pasture. He loaded several bags of corn which had the husk on; with this load he could not close the trunk lid. He told me to get in, and he closed the door on my side.

He went around to the other side and turned the switch on. While he was walking around to the front to crank the motor, the coils under the dash were singing like bumblebees in a board. Finally, the motor started and we were on our way to the pasture, which was 2 ½ miles away.

We traveled down the narrow one-lane road and arrived at the big gate to the Galloway Pasture. At that time, the nearest house to the gate was nearly one half-mile. He told me to get out and open the gate; and after he drove in, I was close to it.

What he did not tell me, was that he would start blowing the T-Model horn when he got inside the gate. Not many people now know the sound of a T-Model horn, but it was similar to that of a young calf in distress. The hogs knew this was a signal; corn was going to be served in the feed lot about one quarter mile from the gate.

Before I could get the gate closed and get back in the T-Model, I heard a noise in the bushes. When I looked, it was two or three big hogs coming at full speed. I barely had enough time to get back in the T-Model.

As we chugged along the narrow trail to the feed lot, blowing the horn along the way, the number of hogs and pigs increased. The area where he fed the hogs was about 100 feet by 100 feet, surrounded by tall pines and large live oaks loaded with Spanish moss hanging in the limbs.

By the time we arrived at the feeding area, there must have been forty or fifty hogs. When Granddaddy slowed down, all the hogs converged on the T-Model. As he attempted to move the T-Model more to the center of the area, he ran over one big hog and it was caught fast underneath the T-Model. Each time he tried to move off the hog so it could be free, the hog would squeal and kick. After several such attempts he said, "I guess I have killed her." Finally, he got out and decided to unload the corn. Really, had had no choice; the hogs were about to unload it or "mug" him; they were demanding their corn.

Granddaddy spread the corn over a large area; this attracted the hogs away from the T-Model. After several attempts, the big sow underneath the T-Model freed herself. She did not appear to have any broken bones as she joined the other hogs feasting on the corn, although the rolling, scrubbing and turning beneath the T-Model had given the old sow an unusual "hairdo."