the family was poor it was rich in many things, in music, in song, in contentment. Linda's father, Uke Dixon, used to sit for hours before the door of his cabin, lazily stringing on an old guitar, with a group of tattered friends about him, crooning bits of old songs, some a throw-back to the pre-slave days in Africa, a few Spirituals with now and then a reference to the Civil War and Mr. Lincoln.
"A possum, a possum
Is a-hidin' in de tree,
A nice fine possum
Is a-hidin' in de tree.
Whut a gran' dinner
Dey's goin' to be.
'Cause I know where dere's a possum,
I know where dere's a possum,
Now listen to me.
I know where dere's a possum
But I done lost de tree."
Groups of negroes would amble over and join the merry throng. Perhaps someone
would start a fire, a bit of a fire cleaving the
