My Will Be Done - Agnes Caldwell - Bog

My Uncle Caleb
I was just five or six years old. The last memory I have of him at our house was the only time I remember him with two legs. After that, we got news he had been shot by a man he thought was a friend. Shot at close range through his knee and half of his left thigh. Gangrene set in and took a long time to heal. He was in the hospital for quite some time. Dad brought him to our home with one leg and a crutch. He had to carry him across the high river to keep his cast and crutch dry.

For the next few years we kids, who were older, helped take care of him. We would take the train to stay with him and Grandma for two or three weeks at a time. We would work the fields and river banks. Uncle couldn't get a job, so he started his own business making fishnets to sell to neighbors and keep himself busy. He would set traps in the winter to capture animals for skins and sell them to a Louisville fur company. Sometimes I would go to the woods with him. Those woods were full of all kinds of fur creatures. Uncle would tell me how he owned land up on the mountain, and one day he was going to cut trees from his property and have a houseboat made from the wood.
Many years passed. I lived in Ohio and would take trips to visit my hometown when I could. I had heard Uncle Caleb had built his houseboat, so on one trip, I ventured to find Uncle Caleb's houseboat nestled under the river bridge. Boy, was he surprised when I knocked on his door. We had a wonderful visit--my last one. Later I went to his funeral on the mountain, where the trees that made his home were cut from. I am so glad I got that unplanned wonderful visit.