- Fiction or folklore?

Certain things; however, are just discouraging: $6 eggs, when Taco Bell took the Fritos Burrito off the dollar menu, and the fact that there has never been — not in the long, proud history of Webster County, Missouri — one single bigfoot sighting.

I know, because I’ve researched it.

It seems like somewhere out in the woolly boogers off of Old Jericho Road or Sarvis Point there ought to have been at least one grainy, nondescript picture of something that we can all agree is a sasquatch.

Even Greene County reports three!

I just don’t think we’re trying hard enough. For this reason, I personally offer a cash reward of $13 for a believable photo of a Webster County bigfoot or $14.50 for a mated pair. Don’t shoot ‘em, a snapshot will suffice.

Somewhat more seriously, Ozarks folklore has always fascinated me. The stories that are passed down verbally through our family’s generations that seem to have that

“I’m not so sure about that” feeling to them are really rich examples of our oral, family traditions. The fact that they are likely gigantic fabrications isn’t really all that important.

In fact, if you push an old-timer too hard for factual evidence of their story, you’re liable to be written out of the will.

When it comes to folklore, the story is always more important than one’s ability to prove it. Here are a couple from my own clan that I accepted as gospel when I was a kid that have since raised an eyebrow.

When my Grandma Idy, my dad’s mom, was still with us, I would pester her relentlessly for stories. She swears that when her mother was a young lady, she was followed a distance of several miles by a mountain lion late one summer evening.

As her story goes, she was at a neighboring farm, a relative as I recall, doing some baking and the time of day had passed when she had originally planned to leave for home. She gathered up her basket of supplies, mostly baking items, and headed through the woods in the direction of her parents’ farm.

She would occasionally hear soft footfalls behind her, but every time she stopped to identify their source or location, they would stop.

She was terrified. She knew that she was being stalked by something but had no idea what.

She began to leave handfuls of cornmeal along the path behind her as she walked increasingly more briskly toward home. She noticed that as she did, the creature would pause over it for a moment but would quickly resume its pursuit.

Eventually, the story goes, she had completely dispensed the cornmeal and had begun tearing off small pieces of her apron to at least attract the creature’s interest for a moment and hopefully buy the time she needed to get to safety.

It worked; she hit the screen door of their farmhouse and slammed the wooden door behind her and shrank to the floor from exhaustion and complete terror.

The next morning, her father, my great-great-grandfather, went outside and reported finding cougar tracks surrounding the house from where it had apparently paced around it for most of the night.

Not to leave my mom’s family out, my great-grandpa Clark’s mother, another great-great relative, was walking back home from town one afternoon and she decided to take a shortcut through the Hickory County countryside. She inadvertently arrived at a creek that was flooded and running dangerously out of its banks.

Examining the situation for a few minutes and not arriving at a safe alternative to her dilemma, she surmised that her only option was to backtrack several miles and take the much longer route home which would keep her out well after dark.

She had barely begun her trip back when she was greeted by an unfamiliar gentleman on horseback. He greeted her politely and asked if she was in need of assistance and she explained her predicament.

She thought to herself that it was unusual that anyone would be on horseback so far off the main road and even more unusual that she had never seen this individual in her life.

Hermitage, Missouri, was the closest town, and she knew everyone in town and outside.

The man offered a solution that would save her several hours of walking; however, so she allowed him to help her up onto the back of the horse and he slowly and carefully forded the creek, letting her safely down on the far side.

Upon returning home, she shared her story with the rest of the family and put it out of her mind. Some time later, maybe a week or better, news came through the county that Frank James, brother of Jesse James and a member of the notorious James-Younger Gang, had been seen in the area about a week prior and that citizens should be on the lookout for unfamiliar persons and report them to the authorities immediately.

Speculation led them all to believe that it was none other than James himself who had carried her across the rushing, flooded waters of the creek. There was certainly no one who could dispute it.

Well, despite the lack of any solid Webster County Bigfoot leads, I know there’s some local lore out there worth fleshing out.

A few years back, my old friend, Marty Grann, sent me a picture of a yellowed newspaper clipping taken somewhere in Webster County of a huge wolf that had been slain and was hanging from a tree.

The thing looked to be 8 or 10 feet long. I was so amazed I could hardly stand it ... and proud to know that it was a local conquest.

Then Mr. Dan saw the same picture and deflated my sails with news of its imposture.

If you have any cool family folklore that you would like to share with me, particularly including Webster County people and circumstances, please forward it via the Webster County Citizen.

I love that stuff, and with your permission, I might share a snippet of it with our readers.

See you next week. Be good to yourselves and take care of each other.

I’m always proud to be a Webster County citizen.

Scott Nicholson is a columnist for the Webster County Citizen, as well as an English teacher at Seymour High School, where he’s in his 10th year as a full-time staff member. He’s also the school’s yearbook sponsor. He can be reached via e-mail at snicholson@seymourschool.net.