JOY ALONG THE WAY: GRANDPA, WHERE IS GOLD MINE HALLOW?

Down the lane by the wild plum thicket, across the wide meadow, the river, the railroad tracks and another field, was the foot of Simms Mountain. Somewhere up on that mountain was a place called Gold Mine Hollow.

Lots of folks seemed to know, vaguely, where the hollow was but I could never find anyone to take me there. Grandpa referred to it often as a place of reference when recounting a fox chase. The hounds struck a trail there, above it, below it or on yon side."Why is it called Gold Mine Hollow?" I asked when I got old enough to wonder about such things. We were in what was known as the Leadbelt area. Mines for lead distantly encircled Simms Mountain.

No one had an answer for me and looked around at others present as if hoping that someone would answer the question in some reasonable, believable manner. Once in a while someone, thinking the question should be answered, would say, "I think someone once found a piece of fool's gold there." Another, being more facetious, said, "It's where Goldilocks found the home of the three bears."One day, in my most demanding voice, I said to Grandpa, who lived with us, "I want to see this Gold Mine Hollow." After that the events and conversation went something like this.

Grandpa said, "The time isn't right," or "It's too far for you to walk."After I'd heard these excuses many times, I said, "Grandpa, you know I can ride a horse as well as you." "Yes, you can," he agreed. "I'll make a bargain with you. When the first redbuds bloom in the spring, I'll take you there." I wondered if he felt I would forget.

Several months later, when the redbuds were in bloom I reminded Grandpa. One early morning thereafter he saddled the horses and said, "Let's go." I detected a bit of reluctance in his voice as if he, maybe, hadn't picked the right time after all.

I was as excited as a ten year old could be. Perhaps I'd find some gold nuggets just lying around the hollow.

Along the way, Grandpa began to offer, somewhat apologetically, descriptions of the place. "It's just a little clearing in the woods, not much of a hollow. More like a little dip in the land. Something like this," he described, as we led our horses down and out of a low tract of land among the thick stands of oaks, hickories and sour gums.

A few hollows later we came to a large such dip and followed it upward to its beginning."Will there be chat?" I asked, used to the Leadbelt chat dumps."No," Grandpa said. He didn't say why.

When we got to the head of the hollow, there was a sort of cliff jutting out over something that appeared to be a cave."Is this it?" I asked."I guess so," Grandpa replied.

He guessed so! Of all people, didn't Grandpa really know?"You kind of have to squinch your eyes and look around to really know. It is an old, old place," he offered, leaving me wondering how squinching one's eyes could make anything clearer.

I dismounted, walked toward the cave-like entrance and into it. It was very shallow with solid rock walls that had never seen the marks of a pick or shovel. When I turned to look out, I noted the red and yellow wild columbines hanging down from the overhanging cliff roof, like a lacy, embroidered scarf. Pretty, I thought.

We were high up on the mountain and, looking down, I could see a mosaic of redbud, dogwood and serviceberry bushes. These bushes were in bloom too, polka dotting the mountain side as if puffs of white clouds had fallen down and tangled in the trees. Sunlight glinted on the newly opened satiny buds of the hickories and every oak leaf glimmered in the sun's rays. Far away I saw our home, smoke rising from the kitchen chimney, and knew that Mama and Grandma were cooking something good for dinner. In another direction I saw Stacy's and Alexander's homes. Everything seemed so right.

Grandpa stood patiently beside his horse, a somewhat worried look on his face."This isn't really a mine, Grandpa," I pronounced."No, lass, it isn't. Only in the minds of those folks who live and have lived around here. You see, they need to think, always in the back of their minds, that there are riches to be found in these hills, and they consider this place one of them."I kicked up a few loose pebbles with my foot while I let Grandpa's words assimilate in my mind.

I looked out over the scene before me again, taking it all in. There was birdsong different from the songs of the meadow and pasture birds. Chipmunks and squirrels scampered along the edges of the hollow, leaving the low growth shaking behind them. Someone's lost hound came up to Grandpa and licked his hand. Grandpa comforted it, called it by name. One of the horses whinnied. The other one answered.

Few times have I ever felt as good as I did that moment. I think my heart was squinching. "Oh, Grandpa, it is all so --- so golden." That was the richest description I could think of.

Grandpa's worried look disappeared. He smiled, stroked his mustache and said, "I thought you were old enough to see it." He took two sausage sandwiches and two apples from his pockets. We found a flat place to sit and took in, slowly, the gold nuggets from Gold Mine Hollow.

REJOICE!Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.