Many times I think of Hazel Creek, the place where I
was raised,
It was there I spent my happiest days.
That was my home for my first thirty-one years,
and that is also where I shed some tears.
I liked to sit on the porch on a moonlit night,
and listen on the water as the creek rolled by.
As I sat there alone, while everything was still,
I could hear the call of the whippoorwill.
Early in the morning, the birds would be singing,
and over on the hill, the cow bells were ringing.
The sun came over the mountain, shining so bright,
And cows were to milk, before it was dark at night.
We would rise at five in the morning to be ready for
the day,
We all had to work - to help make our way.
The corn was to hoe, and a big garden to make;
And the potatoes were to dig, before it got too
late.
Then we liked to go in the woods, when we had time,
And gather wild flowers - so many different kinds.
Lillies, yellow, pink and white, and violets of
blue,
And daises of many colors, and wild iris, too.
Then we would go fishing, in a group sometimes,
We could fish all day and it didn't cost a dime.
We would fish a few miles up the creek,
Then the boys would make a fire, and we would fry
and eat!
There were many things on Hazel Creek that we
enjoyed,
But then one day along came a gang called T.V.A.
And our homes and land they destroyed,
And they forced all the people to move away.
We didn't have a lot of money or wealth,
But we cared for each other when we needed help.
But then came a time we all had to part,
And so many went away with a broken heart.
They had to find homes in other counties and states,
All because of that Fontana Lake.
But there is a home that man cannot take,
And there are many of us that won't have long to
wait.
So now, I'm like the Lonesome Dove,
that flies from pine to pine.
Mourning for its' own true love -
Just like I mourn for mine.
Written by Myrtle L. Laney in 1984
