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THE WAY THINGS WERE AT CROOKED RUN is autobiographical of Bob Green and begins with family stories of the Civil War, including their contact with Sherman's army. There were at least four Confederate soldiers in Bob's family. Many fascinating descriptions of primitive living conditions in South Georgia during the early 1900's will amaze you. You will be entertained by reading how children occupied themselves during that period. Your heart will be ripped apart as tragedy strikes the Green family over and over again. You will wonder if these things really happened, but they really did.

There is a sweetness to the story as you read how Bob struggled with his call of God from a successful business to full time ministry. You will be encouraged to read how he left a large salary and was supported by his wife, Martha, and how God met all of their needs.

ENDORSEMENT: "My husband bought your book at the Archery Club meeting. He was already reading another book but put it aside and couldn't put yours down until he finished. He said he could really relate to those stories."

PAGES FROM THE BOOK:

HOW WE ENTERTAINED OURSELVES

Not having a great deal of money to “throw away," we found plenty to do. We spent lots of time in the woods. After all that was where we lived. We always had dogs. Daddy got us a possum dog named Boston from a fellow named Braswell that worked with him at the J. P. Stevens Woolen Mill. I never knew why his name was “Boston," but he was a fine possum dog. Later on, old Boston died and we got three other hounds: a red bone named “Troup” and two blue ticks named “Punch” and “Judy." Mama didn’t want any female dogs around to raise more dogs, so we got rid of old Judy. I was too young to know much about it, but we went out at night and turned the dogs loose to catch a possum. We really didn’t care much whether they caught one or not, but we enjoyed hearing the dogs bark. We talked about what a good mouth the dog had. It was great fun running through the bushes without a flashlight toward the tree when the dogs ran one up the tree. We sat around the campfire while the dogs hunted and told all kinds of tails and scared one another, but I was really small, so I mostly slept until the dogs “treed."

One very cold night, a boy from the swamp named Hackle decided to go with the older boys. He didn’t have a flashlight and they were running to the tree. They had to cross the Hoopee River on a log. Everybody close to the lead man with the light could see pretty well, but the Hackle boy got behind. Everyone else saw the fork in the tree across the river, but he didn’t. He split the difference and went straight ahead, falling over his head in the bitter cold water. They got him out, built a fire and dried him out and he never got even a cold from it.

Jerry Clower told a story similar to this, but daddy told me this long before I ever heard of Jerry. Some of them were hunting in the Hoopee one night when the dogs treed something. That was always exciting in itself, because it could be a possum, coon, or even a wildcat. When they got to the tree, one of them decided to climb the tree and shake out whatever it was and let the dogs fight it. One of the crowd volunteered to do it and started up the tree. He climbed to the bud of as big a sweet gum tree as you ever saw in the swamp. The pack of, I don’t know how many, dogs was gathered at the root of the tree barking, jumping and otherwise showing off. They were really anxious expecting whatever it was to come out of that tree amongst them. Well, something happened to the tree climber and he slipped off the limb and came tumbling down out of the tree into the thick brush below. Limbs were breaking, clothes ripping, and he was screaming. The dogs could hear the commotion and began to almost claw the bark off the tree. By the time he got to the bottom, the dogs were at a fever pitch. They jumped on him ripping and tearing. They just about tore all his clothes off and would have got to him if they hadn’t gotten them off. It was really funny when they found out the fellow wasn’t hurt bad, just skinned up, but it could have been a disaster.

Another time, we hitched Old Boston up to a little cart. That was kind of fun. We let him pull light loads around on it. He tolerated it, being a very gentle pet, but he didn’t appear to be very happy about it. His ears weren’t perked up. He always had a sad look, but it was even sadder hooked up to that little cart. He was hooked up one day pulling something and all of us younguns were walking along with him enjoying the day, when all of a sudden, a rabbit appeared on the scene. Now old Boston would chase anything in his path including rabbits. He took off with our cart strewing stuff everywhere, tearing through the brush and tore that cart all to pieces.

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ANOTHER TRAGEDY

I had hoped that writing an epilogue to this book would also end the trials of life for our family. Sadly, we must re-open the book and add another chapter because of something that suddenly and unexpectedly came and removed one from us.

It was a rainy, dreary Wednesday on July 13, 2005. Martha and I had gone with Dawn and her two girls, Emily and Mollie Kate, to take care of some business for her brother-in-law on Hilton Head Island, while her husband, Travis, worked in Atlanta. We had returned to our home near Statesboro, as Travis was to join them that day and go back to the beach for a family vacation. Martha had left that morning to go to Atlanta to spend some time with our other daughter, Pam, and her family.

At about 5:30 PM, Travis called Dawn from Macon and said he should arrive in a couple of hours. The time passed for him to arrive and Dawn began to get very upset, because he was always punctual to call if he were late. I was playing with the children and didn’t notice how concerned she was. I left to find here and she was in the kitchen pale and trembling. “Something is wrong. He would have called,” she mumbled, her voice shaking.

We went out on the front porch and noticed a bad looking cloud in the direction from which he was to come. She went back in the house and put the children to bed, though it was a little early for them. We began to call hospitals along the route and tried to call his cell phone. Dawn had heard Boyd talk about a friend who had a police scanner, so she called Boyd to see if the friend had heard anything. In the mean time, I called the sheriff’s office in Soperton, my hometown, which is along the way. They answered and I told them Travis was overdue, and they put me on hold so long that I had to hang up.

We tried to call Boyd’s cell phone and got no answer. The tension was building and Dawn and I bowed in the kitchen and prayed for Travis’s protection. A car drove up in our yard and it was Boyd and his friend. By that time, we were on the porch. As Boyd ran from the truck, he called out with tears, “Dawn, he didn’t make it!” She began to scream and I grabbed her in my arms, as she began to crumble to the floor sobbing, “No, no, no, I can’t go through this again, no, no, nooooo!” She was torn to pieces. It was just thirteen years before on June 12, 1992, when her first husband, Scott, of only seven months and ten days had died of cancer at age twenty-five. Dawn and Travis had been married for ten years.

We called Martha and she and Pam traveled through the night from Atlanta to get to Dawn. Boyd told us what had happened. Another car had hydroplaned and skidded off the interstate in that blinding thunderstorm. Traffic had slowed down to a crawl and Travis ran into the back of a semi. He never knew what hit him. Reports were that you could hardly see the hood of your own car the rain was so heavy.

It was a devastating blow to Dawn and us. The children woke up at about three AM asking about their daddy, and Dawn had to tell them the painful truth. They looked stunned and sad but would not then fully understand what all of that meant, being only seven and five years old.

It has been very difficult time for Dawn, the girls, and for all of us, but God has been our strength and it is a little better. They have a large number of friends in their church who are sticking by them. Our family has pulled together much closer. We look to the future with hope knowing again that “All things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28