True story. Earlier today, we were helping an elderly friend move to a new, smaller apartment. There were a few special pieces that she just didn't trust to the movers, so Nancy and I and the boys went over to collect several boxes of china, crystal and such.
At one point Johnathan got stung on the back of the neck by a yellow jacket. He died (the yellow jacket, that is), smacked by a dust pan and squished by a sneaker. We got his brother, too. We also tore down a dirt-daubber's nest right over the entrance. Lots of flying, stinging things hanging around.
Once we were all done, standing in the parking lot saying our thank yous and goodbyes, a red wasp got me, between my fingers, right where the middle and ring fingers meet. OWWW!!!
It started to swell right away, and since we were finished with the moving, I tried to excuse myself to drive to the closest convenience store. Of course the ladies both wanted to put “something” on it. Baking soda was mentioned and, since he'd earlier finished a Scout hike, Johnathan had a small first aid kit complete with, of course, a stinging insect pad.
I knew I couldn't argue my way out of it, so I let him put the little pad on the sting. It did feel cool, but the thing was starting to throb.
FINALLY, got in the truck and drove straight to a 7-11 and started looking at cheap cigars. There were dozens, but I didn't want “flavored” or “slow burning”, I needed straight tobacco. I told the girl that I wasn't going to smoke it; I was going to put it on a bee sting.
The look on her face was priceless!
I even told her I'd learned it from my grandma, but she wasn't buying it! LOL!
(My grandma really did “dip snuff”, but she was such a lady that nobody could tell, even while she was doing it!) Really though, it was my Uncle Mutt who taught me the value of “good” tobacco. It was never meant to be “smoked” but, like marijuana, as a medicinal herb, it is without parallel.
Once as a child, at a family reunion, I got stung by a bee. I hate bees to this day, because it seems, I was always getting stung! It would throb, swell up and itch for days. My parents had an “Indian medicine” that my dad bought at the old stock yard down by the river. It was miraculous, but it was at home in the bathroom closet.
My uncle Mutt called me over, “C'mere young-un”. All my uncles would sit around talking, most of them smoked cigars, Mousey had a pipe, and Mutt always had a “chaw”.
He pulled that big wet wad of twisted tobacco out of his mouth, bit off a chunk, and plopped it right smack on the sting. Ewww!
It stopped hurting almost immediately. I think I was too grossed out to notice, but he told me to hold that “chaw” on the sting and to “run on, now”.
The sting never swelled. Within an hour I'd forgotten all about it, and continued playing with all my cousins. (Thirteen aunts and uncles, there were DOZENS of Cousins!)
I remembered that day, and when I was older I started doing the research into what had happened. It's fascinating stuff.
My grandma was known as an herbal healer. Neighbors would come from miles away, bringing their sick kids and “ailing” family members. Grandma would go for a walk around the yard, pulling up grasses, picking leaves and berries, maybe digging at a root. She'd come back to the house, empty her apron pockets on the kitchen table, and start boiling, mashing, grinding, whatever, to make a tea or a poultice or a salve, and the neighbors, so it was told, always got better.
Grandma died in 1964; I was still a child. But I've wished many times I could have walked with her and picked her brains about what she was mixing and how it all worked together. I've gained a lot of knowledge for myself over the years, but I've always imagined Grandma was the Master Healer. Who knows, maybe she was.
Anyway, I'm sitting here, typing away, my hand is still a bit tender, but there's no swelling, and no loss of function whatsoever (a swollen finger would be a REALLY bad thing for someone who types Every! Single! Day!)
Thanks Grandma, thanks Uncle Mutt
And thanks tobacco farmers everywhere!
