Boomer Winfrey  

Varmint County Correspondent

The holiday season is in full swing here in Varmint County as everyone has completed the digestion of Thanksgiving turkey and is now anticipating the consumption of prodigious portions of Christmas ham.

Not to say that holidays around here revolve entirely around food, but for many, such amenities as giving thanks or wrapping gifts to place under a tree take second stage to the eating, belching and rude gastric noises, not necessarily in that order.

Still, holiday cheer does make Varmint County a gentler, kinder and therefore more pleasant, place to live. For instance, Corky Haig has recovered from his recent misadventure involving a female mud-wrestling tournament and the Dead Rat Tavern has already held the first of two auctions to raise money for Toys for Tots. 

Corky’s arch-rival in the tavern business, Barney Hockmeyer, even brought his Rocky Topless Lounge crowd down from the mountains to participate in the auction. Of course, that gang has little choice if they’re looking for a watering hole, since clan patriarch Caleb Hockmeyer burned the Rocky Topless Lounge to the ground a couple of months back.

But the talk of the county this year revolves around former County Judge Hugh Ray Jass and his decision, after several years have lapsed, to reinstate the Jass Family Thanksgiving Celebration, complete with the firing of a Civil War era cannon.

You might recall that Hugh’s grandpa, old Cornelius Jass, had a tradition for years of flying the Confederate Stars & Bars, playing “Dixie” over loudspeakers and firing off his smooth-bore howitzer every Thanksgiving, which old Cornelius termed “Mister Lincoln’s Holiday.” 

When the old man finally passed on to that big Cotillion in the sky, Hugh Ray, embarrassed by his grandfather’s intractable attitude, suspended the tradition and donated the cannon to the Varmint County Historical Society.

Only when Hugh moved into old Cornelius’ antebellum home did he discover a hidden room in the basement and a diary that showed that Cornelius’ father, Colonel Cornelius Jass of the Third Georgia Cavalry, had been a conductor on the Underground Railroad, and as a staunch abolitionist, had helped hundreds of escaped slaves find their way north to freedom before the Civil War broke out.

Perplexed, Hugh asked his great aunt Penelope, “If he was so strong against slavery, why did the old man fight for the Confederacy?”

“Well, Hughie, I asked my daddy that same question a few years before he died. He just said, ‘I never did like Yankees all that much,’ ” the old lady replied with a chuckle.

At any rate, Judge Hugh Ray decided it was time to bury the hatchet with his forefathers, and invite everyone else in the county to use the Jass Thanksgiving feast as an excuse to resolve old differences and forget and forgive, in the true spirit of Thanksgiving.

He invited the Haig clan, which traces their roots to the old Confederacy, and the Hockmeyer clan, who were all pro-Union mountain men, to have dinner at the Haig mansion and celebrate a reconciliation of sorts, with the traditional firing of the Jass cannon to kick off the season of peace on earth and good will toward all.

Things got complicated right off the bat when Carlisle Gump, also known as Chief Carlisle He-Who-Runs-With-the Wolves Blackfeather of the Kisokonee Band of the Eastern Cherokee Nation, complained that reconciliation between Rebels and Yankees left his people out of the picture.

“Carlisle, I didn’t include your people because there is no ‘Your people,’” Hugh Ray replied. “You know the Cherokee Nation refused to recognize the Kisokonee Band a few years back. They told you that as best they could determine, you might be one sixty-fourth Cherokee on your grandmother’s side, but then again she might have been a Choctaw, or even a Caddo. They couldn’t be sure.”

Carlisle, having just been divorced by his fourth wife, had applied for membership in the Eastern Band of Cherokees so he could move onto the reservation and land a job posing for tourists wanting a photograph of their kids with a real Indian Chief.

Rejected by the Tribe, Carlisle didn’t give up. When that consortium of Chinese investors decided to open up a water park in the Town of Confusion, formerly Pleasant View, over on the eastern fringes on Mud Lake, Carlisle once again tried to get federal recognition for his Kisokonee Band.

“I talked to some gentlemen from Hong Kong who were here for the grand opening of the water park. They seemed real interested in financing a casino if I can get the U. S. government to recognize our status as Native Americans so we can buy some land and get it proclaimed a reservation,” Carlisle, rather, Chief Blackfeather, told lawyer McSwine.

Philbert, for a small fee and a promise of a cut of the proceeds, happily filed all the necessary papers and the chief is now eagerly awaiting official recognition by the Department of the Interior. To strengthen his argument, he makes frequent appearances at all public gatherings, along with his latest wife, Princess Blossom Bonnet Blackfeather, the former Sally Ann Pinetar. 

“Well Judge, it’s hard to see how you can celebrate a reconciliation of North and South and leave out Native Americans. Yankees and Rebels both stole the land equally from us in the first place,” Carlisle argued.

Finally Hugh Ray relented and told Chief Blackfeather that his tribe was invited to the Thanksgiving feast. Carlisle’s tribe consists of his wife and a half dozen of his pool-shark cronies from down at Smiley’s Pool Emporium, along with Varmint County’s only genuine Native American, old Julius Cornhusker, who lives by himself over on the side of McCracken’s Peak.

The Jass Family Thanksgiving was quite a sight to see. The Haigs all showed up in their ancestors’ Confederate uniforms, borrowed for the occasion from the Louisiana branch of the family. The Hockmeyers arrived sporting blue Union uniforms, more or less. They were actually Spanish-American War uniforms rented from a  movie set down in Florida.

Doc Filstrup came sporting a white surgeon’s smock, prepared to treat casualties from either side, while Archie and Gabby Aslinger, Judge Hard Time Harwell and the rest of Hugh Ray’s poker buddies dressed as civilians with no particular affiliation.

The Haigs brought the turkeys, a dozen or so wild gobblers that they shot over in Haig Hollow a couple of days earlier. The Hockmeyers cooked three whole hogs and brought those as their contribution while Hugh Ray’s wife and aunts cooked up the biggest mess of yams, fried okra, green bean casseroles, dressing and giblet gravy ever seen in Varmint County.

The Kisokonee Band of the Eastern Cherokee arrived decked out in full regalia, and appeared to bring nothing but their appetites. Old Julius Cornhusker did bring a jug of his patented “Bug Juice,” which he happily shared with many members of the Haig and Hockmeyer clans.

“What’s in the Bug Juice?” Archie Aslinger asked Julius.

“Not much, just a few mushrooms I found growing out in the cow patties on Ike Pinetar’s farm, along with a couple of ounces of Peyote buttons my cousin out in Arizona sent me for Christmas.”

“Thanks anyway, I think I’ll stick to Haig Hollow moonshine. I want to keep the few brain cells I have left from my wayward youth,” Archie reflected. 

After everyone had eaten to the point of exhaustion, Judge Hugh Ray commenced with the official ceremony of reconciliation. He invited Elijah Haig and Caleb Hockmeyer to shake hands, declare the War Between the States officially at an end and the two old men took turns firing off the Cornelius Jass  Memorial Cannon.

Chief Blackfeather then rose to announce that the Kisokonee Band of Eastern Cherokees had also reconciled with the white man. “I have here a deed signed by Elijah and Caleb, granting the Kisokonees ownership of Haig Hollow and all of Stinking Creek between McCracken’s Peak and Mud Lake,” Carlisle loudly proclaimed. “We now have our ancestral lands returned to us and can establish our reservation and open up the Kisokonee Casino!”

Elijah and Caleb, having sampled some of Julius Cornhusker’s bug juice, had signed what they thought was a compact of peace and reconciliation with Carlisle’s tribe. Instead it was a warranty deed for all of the Haig and Hockmeyer lands, drawn up by lawyer McSwine.

“So you are now in ownership of all of Haig Hollow and Stinking Creek?” Judge Harwell asked.

“That’s right your honor. This here paper proves it,” Carlisle said with a wide grin.

“That’s good, because the property taxes on that land have been delinquent for fifty-three years. The Haigs and Hockmeyers have been squatting on the land without paying taxes since before anyone can recall,” Hard Time announced. “Last time I checked, the county is owed somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-three million dollars, plus interest and of course, court fees.”