Story of the Month-January 2012
12 Jan
‘Twas the summer of 1834, folks in Jasper County Mississippi begun ta spin a yarn about a legendary beaver by the name of Jessie “Bulwark” Preston; named so for his unmatched talent in the industry o’ dam buildin’. Naw, most folks nowadays just refers to him as “Bully” for short.
Well, it came about in the summa’ o’ 1834, near-abouts June, that ol’ Bully set out ta build him a dam ‘cross the mighty Miss’a’sip. Naw Bully had never seen the likes o’ no steamboats before, an’ most folks in the beaver community did their best to persuade Bully to reconsida’, given that steamboats posed a mighty big problem to Bully’s plans. Well ol’ Bully, never known to be moved ‘gainst what he was set on, set out towards the Miss’a’sip to ‘complish what most beavers, and the fine citizens of Jasper County Mississippi, thought could not be done.
You talkin’ bout ol’ Bully Preston? Ooh, chil’, that a name that bring back memories. Now, as was tolt to me, Bully had him a appetite for trees. None brought em down faster that ol’ Bully, no sir. My mama tolt stories of them singin’ they songs why ol’ Bully kept beat wit’ ‘is tail. Why, when the fair came, ‘em city folk jus couldn’t get over how a damned beaver brought ‘em trees down faster than ‘em men with axes. And when folk saw that dam start bein’ built…oooooh, chil’! Towns folk was linin’ up jus’ ta see ol’ Bully work.
I know the beaver of whom you speak. Hairy little guy, tail as wide as the midwest fields. i saw his first dam ‘cross that river. Held up three days ‘fore the first boat plowed through… sad sight. Never saw a beaver cry. Though he’d been swimmin’ in that muddy water all day, that beaver got even wetter with his tears. Fruit of his labor just flowin’ down the river, the current pullin’ his dreams under. Sad site, a wet beaver. But what good man hasn’t seen his share of those?
Mind your tongue, Tom, we in mixed company. Ladies, that mouth of his has gotten me in more trouble, I do declare. Now we was talkin’ about Mistah Preston, or so I called him. More dignified, you know. And Mistah Preston was nothin’ if not dignified, no sir. Had him taste for the whiskey, same as my husband Tom drinks. Well he’d get gotten himself a top hat and cane somewhere along the way, and when I first saw him, well, ladies, it was all I could do to restrain my virtue. Why, Mistah Preston marched right on up to me and asked me to dance. Not that he so much as said the words, as I could see it in his eyes. You understand ladies. A gentleman has a way about him after a few drinks, and in the presence of a lady. “But Mistah Preston,” I said. “I’m a married woman and…well…you are a beavah.” But Mister Preston did not let up, and soon I soon found myself dashing along the gardens, swayin’ with the unheard music of our dreams. Don’t look so dreamy, ladies, it was a fluke and that is all. Why, that story still gets Tom red in the face when he hears it, I do declare. Isn’t that right, Tom? Tom? Why, what’s he doin’ with Daisy Mae? Excuse me, ladies.
Why I once reckon that I saw ol’ Bully Preston myself once. Hard as it may be to believe, folks up North knows of him right-fine. Well folks, I say, folks there-a-abouts reckons that ol’ Bully musta been a genu-ine bonafide Harvard educated beavah if’n ever there was one. Why, engineerin’ prowess of that sort? I don’t know o’ none down these parts that could boast o’ the same skill? Yes, by-gum, that there was an Harvard educated beavah, yes sir.
Now, folks, I don’t-a mean to make a stir, an’ you good ladies’ll forgive me for sayin’ such, but up ’rounds Boston folks knows of Bully as Professor Preston, Doctor of Dammery and Fine Folk-Dancin’. So, I reckon there’s some truth to t’ the claim that he’s gone up ways about the North, but I’ll be fit to be tied if’n I ever hear someone refer to Bully as a damned Yankee; beggin’ ur pardons, ma’ams.
But I’ll tell ya true, folks. Dam-buildin’ o’ that skill? Why Bully’s got him some o’ that educatin’ from up North ways, or I’s a beavah myself!
Wellp, folks. I’ve shore had some great conversation about ol Bully. Po’ Beavah nevah did get that dam built. Well I s’pose’s for the best though. That mighty rivah’s still a-flowin’ an’ carryin’ folks all the ways from Saint Louie to Nawleans. Why, I believe Mardi Gras’s right ’round tha cornah, too!
I figures I’m hearin’ my ol’ hen, Mary-Lou callin’ me t’ suppa. You folks have a fine evenin’ and I’ll join ya back tomarrah aftanoon for mint juleps an’ som-more fine visitin’. Next time, I’ll tell ya the story about Chattery Codswollop, the famous wrastlin’ armadilla from Houston Texas!