LEGEND OF AN OLD TATER FORK

His birth name was Paul but people who knew him, called him Pete. He grew up with the Youngblood family at Ridgedale Mo, a small community about a mile from the Arkansas border in southern Missouri. Born out of wedlock, with a speech impairment, his mother and family did not want anything to do with him. At that time he was thought to be mentally retarded. So at a young age Pete was turned into an outcast and homeless person. He was ridiculed and mocked by his peers at a time in his young life that should have been the Golden Years. When my grandfather first met him and saw the living conditions he was trying to survive in, decided right then and there that Pete was going to be a permanent part of the Youngblood family. He was a colorful character. His love was working the outdoors. Vegetable gardens were his favorites. In the spring when everything ripened he enjoyed showing everyone things that he had picked. His favorite past time was digging new potatoes. His most prized possession was a (tater fork) as he called it, which was used to dig new potatoes. He never worried about money, bills, taxes or current events, he enjoyed living in his own private world of simple and beautiful things. So you see I would never call Pete mentally retarded because in his small world of limited knowledge the things he loved to do were done well. I grew up with Pete, and when Granddad left he came to live with our family. Dad and Mom built him his own private house where he lived until his health got so bad that he had to move to a home where he could get professional care. Pete and I spent a lot of time in the woods. I think he could talk to the wild animals because they were never afraid of him. He would spot a deer or squirrel before I ever knew that they were there. His constant companion was an old homeless dog that dad had picked up somewhere wandering down the road. In his later years he would often go down into a hollow and couldn’t climb back up. So I would have to help him. He loved to cut down small trees with an ax. After the branches were all cleaned up, he would stack them in big piles ready to be cut up for firewood. They were a prized possession he would show everybody. He never forgot a name. When introduced to him for the first time you would never forget his name either. He was always doing things to make you laugh. Mom was working outside in the yard one day, she heard a racket coming from his house and decided to investigate and see what he was up to. There he was, singing a song and dancing. He sure was happy. He loved to chew tobacco. He would tell everyone, I was born in a (baccer) patch. Pete never asked for much out of life, just a kind word, something to eat and a place to lay his head. I am thankful I had the privilege of knowing him. He was one of the last true Legends of the Ozark mountains that will always be remembered with a smile when folk lore is discussed. Nature has now reclaimed the wood pile he created, old animal friends weep at his passing, his (tater fork) stands in the corner of the shed gathering rust from lack of use and the old lawnmower he used to cut the lawn with is silent, never to run again. Pete’s in heaven now, free of pain and reunited with the family that loved him so much. A true Legend is a special person like Pete that only come around once in a lifetime. It’s always hard to give them up. But I know God puts these special people on earth for a purpose and will never tolerate abuse or let them suffer too much. He will always find them a safe haven with families that treat their disabilities with love, not scorn. Pete, you were my friend. May the sun always shine bright on your new home and your vegetable garden be blessed with an abundance of fruit, May your (tater fork) stay bright and shiny. You were such an important part of my life and to all others that knew you. I will never forget. God Bless You, Rest in peace my friend.

Your Pal Max