Well, folks, you asked for another story of the Reverend Findaly, the famous, or infamous as the case may be, Reverend. I grew up at the edge of a reservation in southeastern Ontario. Our farm house was about six or eight miles from the official 'res'. We actually 'owned' our own land, which was an uncommon thing for Mohawks to do. But I had this grandfather who was 'white' under the legal terms then. That meant that he had an Indian mother and a 'white' father. The land had been in his father's family for many generations, passed down from father to son. My great grandfather was prone to 'mind sickness' as it was called back then, and during the terrible depression, he went out to the barn and hung himself from one of the barn beams. My Granny found him, she was just a young girl of 16 or so. Sadly enough, most people were happy to be rid of him as he was 'mean as a snake' to just about every living thing. Since my grandfather was only 15 at the time, and too young to farm much, the farm sort of ran down hill for a few years. This meant that the apple orchards, with about fifty trees, were left unpruned, and kind of grew a bit wild.

Now, time passes, as it is wont to do. Over time my grandfather grew up, married and had a son, who then grew up to be my father, James his name. James inherited great grandfather Sanford's 'meanness'. He was also known to be lazy as could be. He made 'corn likker' and hard apple cider which he sold around the country side. He was a big drinking man himself, and it was hard for him to sell his 'hooch' for much, since he drank most of it.

So what does this have to do with the Reverend Findaly? Well, seeing as how my Pappa was a lazy sod, he worked us children pretty hard, while he sat around as much as he could. He had this one 1 Ton truck, with a big hand made wooden container on the back of it. Come apple pickin' season, he would take this old truck, drive us all out to the orchard, and park it under one of the apple trees. As soon as we were big enough to climb a tree, he'd send us up the tree to rattle and shake the tree and the apples fell right into the back of that old truck.

Once we'd gathered enough apples for a load of apple cider, Pappa would drive the truck back home and we would have hours of fun throwing the apples into the huge cedar press that was kept under neath the pear tree behind our wood shed. Sometimes, Pappa would give us glasses of fresh squeezed apple cider, full of pulp, and thick and sweet on our tongues. Have you ever tried it? The smell of fresh crushed apples, the thickness of the juice?

There were a lot of different apple trees in the orchard, and a pear tree or two. Some were large, and yellow and sweet. Some were green, and tart and crispy. There was one very special tree that no one was allowed to pick from, only my Granny. She called it the 'Snow Apple Tree.' The apples on this tree were large, yellow on one side and bright, rosy red on the other. The inside of the apple was fluffy, almost like snow, and full of fresh juices. To have one of these apples was indeed to have a taste of what Heaven must be like! We waited all summer for the first few days of cool weather which would make the apples ripen and be ready to harvest.

Come Fall Harvest, and the many pot luck dinners held all over the community, one of the most highly prized dishes was my Granny's Snow Apple Pie or Snow Apple crumble. Sometimes they even auctioned them off to raise money for various needs there, like new playground equipment, or money to fund the nursing station, there being no hospital for thirty miles or more.

Occasionally, my Granny would want to have someone of importance over to dinner on a Sunday afternoon. It varied from one of the Traditional Elders, who always smelled of woodsmoke, and cedar. We loved to have them come cuz they almost always brought 'sweets' in their pockets, which they would dole out to us in small amounts, or reward us if we'd done some particular act of respect or kindness. We certainly 'got good manners' when one of them came to visit! Made my Granny's eyes twinkle it did, to see us scurrying about, opening and closing doors, or hanging up hats or coats or putting away shoes.

Other times it would be one of the 'penguins', our name for the Catholic Nuns who dressed in funny black and white clothes with something called 'cowels' over their heads, leaving only a round area of their plump faces visible. We'd had a few of them as school teachers, but none of them lasted very long in our little one room school house.

Or it might be an entire family, come to share an evening of good food, laughter, stories and more food. That was the most fun as then we had other children around to show off our chickens, ducks, goats, pigs, jersey cows and jersey calves to. And to pick on and beat up and throw in the pond at the bottom of our hill.

So this particular time, my Granny decided to invite the Reverend Findaly. If'n he had another name, none of us ever knew it. And he was always, 'the Reverend Findaly'. Well, some of you know, and some of you don't that the Reverend Findaly was hard of hearing. He wore black horned rim glasses without the glasses, to hold the hearing aids in his ears. He was prone to hauling them off his face, slapping them against the palm of his hand when he couldn't hear what was going on around him.

We would come up to him, talk to him, (with no sound coming out) just to make him take off those awful windowless black glasses and bang away on his hearing aid! We really were full of mischief we were. It made our Granny hide her laughter as she smacked us and told us to 'be respectful, now, he's a God Fearing man'. Many the time I knew she hurried us outside fast so she could laugh in private about our tricks on the poor man.

The Reverend Findaly was a spindly, skinny sort. Not much 'meat' on him as Granny would say. He'd never married, said he'd never found a woman 'Godly enough' to marry. Not that this stopped him from asking every girl of a marrying age (16 or so) out at every opportunity. None of the local girls would bother with him, since he couldn't hunt or fish or do any 'real work'. He loved to preach tho. And what a voice! It ebbed and flowed, up and down, from quiet to loud and back again. Once he got to 'expounding' on a topic, one was guaranteed at least an hour or more of entertainment! None of us really agreed with what he said, but we all enjoyed HOW he said it!

Granny would make us attend the 'white mans' church every now and again, partly for fun and partly to help us fit in with what other folks was doing. If they went, we ought to as well, to keep good neighborliness going. My Granny was really good on 'keeping good relationships' with our neighbors.

A few weeks back, we'd had an 'event' with the Reverend Findaly, and our pet crow, Blackie. And Granny felt bad that the poor man had been so embarrassed that she wanted to do some peacemaking with him by feeding and watering him good. Being single, we all knew he was a poor cook, and that was likely why he was so skinny and spindly.

So she sent my brother Sandy and me to give him a written invitation to Sunday Dinner. Have I mentioned that my brother Sandy's real name was Donald and to call him that was 'fightin words'? Can't recall just how he came to be Sandy, but that's what we all called him. Everyone back home thought he'd 'come to a bad end' being the way he was. He took after my great grandfather Sandford and my Pappa James, being 'mean as a snake' ya know. He was always into trouble of one sort or another, poaching, stealing things, like the only peaches in the whole area.. He snuck in one night and ... well.. that's another story..

Well, I got sent along with him cuz I was known to be a 'goody two shoes' and would keep Sandy in line. Or at least tattle on him if he was bad. So we walked the mile or so down the old country road to the Preacher's house. It was a small house attached to the side of the white framed church. The roads were all graveled, hard on our bare feet, so we walked on the grass at the side of the road. Stopping to look at anything of interest. It took us all of an hour or so to get there, but gee we had fun. The sun shone high in the later summer sky. The trees were just beginning to turn into a rainbow of colors. Fall was one of my favorite times of year. No pesky mosquitoes to suck at me blood, nor chiggers are wood ticks.. just fresh air, clear sky, and lots to look at.

So we get there and we walk up to the front door. He had a big old, carved brass 'knocker' on the front. It looked like it oughta be on a mansion, it was so pretty and big! My brother banged it a few times and we settled down to wait. We knew the Reverend Findaly would make us wait awhile before he answered the door, just to remind us that he was an important person, and white to boot, and we were just to poor heathen Indian children.

My brother and I spend the time coming up with cusses that we could throw at each other. We hoped one day to enter the County Fair cussin' contest. My Granny won most years and we figured that just listening to her we could learn enough to win in the junior age group. It was lots of fun. Swearing wasn't allowed at all, but a good cuss was FUN! I'd gotten to the point of telling my brother that 'his relatives were so low they had to put on elevator shoes to climb UNDER a snakes belly' when the door creaked open.

We delivered our invitation and turned down one to go inside and 'set a spell' with him. He wasn't near as much fun one to one as he was when there was a crowd around him. We hurried back down the road before he could grab us by our collars and haul us inside for a lesson in 'how to be good god fearing, saved heathen Indian children). We made it home in record time, as it was just about dark and we didn't like to be out much after dark. That darned old Truant Officer, John Taylor, took great delight in catching us where he figured we shouldn't be.

Now, we weren't all that excited about having the Preacher man over for Sunday dinner, but we figured out that Granny had something else in her head about it, and, being curious as we were, couldn't wait to see what it was. I wish I'd known that my brother had his own plan in mind too.

Next morning, (Have I mentioned that I HATE early mornings?) after helping milk the cows, Granny said she had a special treat for us. We were going over to the Snow Apple Tree and collect enough apples to make some pies! She gave us buckets to put them in, instructions on not eating 'too many' and sent us off. I decided this warranted a ride on my pony, so I caught him, hauled Sandy up beside me, and away we went. My pony was named "Silver", that being his color. Have I mentioned that we didn't have much imagination when it came to Naming things?

We didn't have saddles or anything, just an old rope hackamore, but Silver was quiet and gentle and did what ever I asked. It didn't take us much time to get to the orchard, and find our favorite tree. Sandy climbed up one side with his bucket, and I climbed up the other. It was a beautiful Saturday morning. Sister Hawk was flying high on the thermals, looking for unfortunate field mice in the hay fields, swooping and diving. Other birds were singing their sounds. Crickets and grass hoppers could be heard, and a bull frog or two was croaking. I liked to sit high in the tree and watch everything going on around. I could pretend that I was the only person for many miles, and that was fun too.

This time wasn't quite so quiet, as my brother Sandy had this habit of filling up any quietness with the sound of his voice. That boy was just in love with himself! He asked a million questions, he practiced cussing, he sang songs from Sunday School and a few he wasn't supposed to know. His favorite was one about a lady named Luluu who like to.. well... best not go there.. this is a family story after all!

After a while I noticed that Sandy was taking an unusually long time in choosing what apples he was picking and that he'd only eaten one apple the whole time we were there. It was unusual, but I really didn't give it much thought until after the episode of the Reverend Findaly and the Apple Pie was over.

Oh yes, where was I? Ah.. we finished gathering two buckets of apples, climbed back down from the tree and found ourselves with a dilemma. How to carry two big buckets of apples on horseback? After a bit of heated discussion, to my surprise, Sandy offered to carry them back to the house by himself. This was strange, but I was too happy to have a fee horseback ride alone and went tearing off on Silver, hair flying in the wind, and enjoying life greatly.

It took Sandy quite some time to get home, by which my Granny had made a huge bowl of pie dough and was rolling out the dough into circles to put in the pie pans she had. At that time we cooked on an old wooden stove, and one had to get just the right combination of woods, burning at just the right temperature to cook a pie, or anything else for that matter.

Granny sent Sandy out back to peel and cut the apples and slice them up. He asked her if he could help make the pies, saying that "All men oughta know how to cook a pie, right Granny?" Granny, surprised, smiled and said, "Well yes, that's right, all men surely oughta be able to cook or bake" adn "I'm proud of you Sandy, maybe you'll amount to something after all!" She gave him a pie pan with dough in it, some sugar and set him up at the end of the summer kitchen. There was a bigl old compost bucket to put the peels in. The piece of dough for the top of hte pie sat in a glass bowl beside him. He went right to work, peeling and chopping and laying the apple peices in the pie pan, and layering brown sugar and cinnamon in it like a real pro. To say that I was amazed would be an understatement! Sandy, the laziest boy in two counties, volunteering three times in one day? Unheard of. I began to be suspicious, but not having enough to go on, kept it quiet.

Didn't take Sandy any time at all to get all the apples peeled and his own special pie ready for the stove. He even offered to fetch some more firewood for Granny! And to split some kindling. I wondered just exactly what he'd done that Granny hadn't caught him at.. and hoped I was there when she did. A royal 'whupping' was a great entertainment, if'n I was not the one on the receiving end!

Well, let's skip ahead to the next day.. I'm sure you folks don't wanna hear all about the rest of that day, and baby care and such. I had four other little brothers about and we all took turns looking after them. My parents were out drinking again and we were always glad if'n they went else where to do that. Pappa drunk was no fun at all.

So, anyhow, it's Sunday afternoon, just about supper time and there's a rumbling on the big bridge over the creek leading up the great hill to our house. We called it our 'Indian Doorbell'. Pretty soon our old hound dog started making a series of barks and growls that announced a visitor. We knew the Reverend was about to m ake his appearance. Granny had dinner about ready, (fresh killed, and fried chicken. Ver fresh and I oughta know, I had to catch the danged thing, and get it ready for our supper!)

Freshly gathered green beans, tomotoes, radishes and lettuce from our garden and baby red potatoes, boiled with herbs and onions. Yummy! My mouth started watering in anticipation. Our ancient wooden table was set with our best dishes, and real silver, not often used. Fresh flowers sat in a mason jar in the middle of the table, their perfume adding to the aroma's in the air. Us children were in our Sunday best clothing, the boys wearing white shirts and ties, adn I was wearing a dress, which I truly hated.

Granny welcomed the Reverend Findaly into our summer kitchen, and gave him the seat of honor at the head of the table. Granny usually sat there, her holding that most men were a waste of skin, and would all come to 'bad ends'. I never quite got what she meant by a bad end and had about made up my mind to ask her one day soon.

Granny was dressed in her 'Ceremony clothes'. Brightly colored cotton shirt, and an old flannel skirt. Her worn old moccasins, with their beautiful bead work glittered as she walked over the rough wooden floor and took her seat. All the children sat on the benches, and two of the littlest babies sat in ancient high chairs on either side of her. It was my job to feed at least one of them, and for the most part that was fun enough.

My brother Sandy had this strange look on his face.. like he had this wonderful secret that only he knew about. I smelled trouble with a capital "T", but didn't have any hard information. If he thought it was going to be fun, well, it likely meant trouble for our honored Guest.

The Reverend Findaly took it upon himself to ask the Blessing on our food. He really should have waited to be asked, I thought. How rude he was! And how sure that his way was the only 'right' way. His wonderful voice went on and on. He asked for Blessing on the food, on the home, on every Heathen Indian in the whole world. He asked for peace in the world, an end to hostilities everywhere and he asked God to find him a God fearing woman to marry and make babies with, and promised that they would grow up to be Saved Heathen Indians, and do great work. He was just about to get into Blessing every man, woman and child in the nation, when my Granny's foot accidentaly collied with his shins, causing him to take a quick breath, start to say 'ouch'. Before he could resume his 'Blessing', we all shouted 'AMEN', and shouted; "Hey Granny can we eat now>"

We didn't wait for an answer, but started dishing out food right away. We were hungry and the food was getting cold! Our meal was full of fun, laughter, jokes, riddles from Granny to the kids. What covers the truth, brings out what's real and is invisible? The answer? Fear, of course.

The Reverend Findaly was in fine form and for once, none of us played any tricks with his hearing. I'm sure Granny wondered what was going on.

Finally it was time for desert. The Reverend Findaly had made many references to the fact that we were having 'Snow Apple Pie' for desert, and how much he was looking forward to it. He'd enjoyed it many times in the past and it was one of his 'favorite things' about living among us 'Heathen's', having such fine food!

Sandy jumped up and said to Granny, "I'll go get the pies. I've got them all cut up and ready to go. You just sit there and rest, now, and I'll look after it."

Granny looked surprised and then suspicious, but seeing as how Sandy was acting so grown up and responsible, she let him go. Sandy came back in with generous pieces of pie on small desert plates. He served everyone but Granny and the Reverend Findaly. Granny was making us all wait to eat till all had been served, and we were a bit impatient.

Sandy was in the back pantry for what seemed like forever. He emerged with this HUGE piece of pie that he set down in front of our guest. The Reverend Findaly's eyes lit up. WoW! He'd never seen such a big piece of pie before on his plate. You could see the wheels turning in his head. "Maybe I'm making real progress with these Heathens he seemed to be thinking. Maybe there's hope after all! Won't that be a coup? Getting this old Witch's grandchildren saved and all!"

We all looked at Granny to tell us we could start eating. She nodded quietly and we all dug in, except me. Something was wrong here, I was sure of it. So I decided to watch the Reverend Findaly's face, just in case. Wouldn't do to miss what ever was going to happen. Not me! Have I mentioned how much I HATE missing anything?

The Reverend Findaly took up his fork, and cut off a big peice of the famous Snow Apple Pie. He put it in his mouth. A look of absolute bliss came over his face. He chewed, and chewed.. and the bliss changed to, well, let me say, it wasn't pleasant. All of a sudden he reached into his mouth and took out a small peice of something.. what was it? Oh no, it was a WORM! Worse, it was a bunch of worms!

Looking at the thing in his hand, the Reverend Findaly jumped up, horror on his face.. we could see he wanted to spit it out all over the table, but didn't want to disgrace himself. Clapping his hand over his mouth, he bolted out the old spring door, ran around the corner of the house and we could hear him loosing the contents of his stomach, complete with sputtering, muttering, moaning, and the.. was that really swearing??

Since the incident of Blackie the Crow and the Reverent Findaly, we knew that he had a grand command of a great many swear words, so we waited in anticipation to see what would happen next.

My dear brother, Sandy, who always put a high premium on his own skin, had managed to vanish during the first few minutes of this new incident, and was no where to be found. The rest of us now had a terrible conflict. Did we go ahead and eat our wonderful pie? (after making sure there were no worms in our pieces, and there weren't) or did we commiserate with the Reverend Findaly on what a horrible waste of skin our brother was, and how we all knew he would 'come to a bad end'?

Silence grew.. until one particularly creative combination of words caused me to sputter and begin laughing.. next thing we knew, all of us, including Granny were laughing, tears streaming down our faces, holding our tummies. I ended up on the floor, having lost my seating on the bench in the midst of my laughter.

The more he cussed and swore, the harder we laughed. One of the little boys, I can't recall which one, asked Granny if a "Man of God was sposed to talk like that?"

This apparently was heard by the Reverend Findaly, who then darted past our door, down the lane that ran from the road to our house, jumped in his ancient car and fled.

When we finally were able to stop laughing, we finally got to eating our pie. We discussed the experience, savoring each moment of it, and laughter came and went the rest of the evening. We rushed to get clean up done, as it was Grand Ole O'Pry night and we wouldn't miss that for anything.

This wasn't then end of our experiences with the Reverend Findaly. There was the time.. well.. let's leave that one till later..

To this day I can't make or eat an apple pie without lifting the crust to make sure it's a wormless one, and I always remember the look on the Reverend Findaly's face.

Life is full of surprises, both happy and sad.. and memories make it more enjoyable..

Now you folks stay safe going home now, ya hear?

Deedee