Daniel MacCulloch Goes To Washington - Chapter 3 By DHMcCarty

Davy  MacCulloch was a  homebrewer.  He bought his hops from a farmer in Willamette Valley and had them shipped to Leicester.  The citrus undertones pleased his palate.  He would cap the 5-gallon jars and store them in a root cellar he had dug out under a small utility building that housed a 1940 Ford 9N.

The 9N was the second major purchase that his father Angus made after he had emigrated from Braemore, Scotland in 1950.  His initial purchase had been 38 acres of rolling farmland in unincorporated Leicester, 15 miles from the heart of Asheville, NC.

Davy made a living writing articles on hunting and fly fishing for magazines like Field & Stream, American Angler, and Outdoor Life.  He lived with his son Daniel in a home that he had built with his father in 1986.  He had studied philosophy and literature at Gallaudet.  He kept a diary since he learned to write.  It took a while for his fingers to catch up with all the memories he had before script.

Davy was born deaf. His mother died in childbirth.  Angus was devastated and overwhelmed.  The thought of raising a child without his beloved Mary was more than he could stand.  He retreated to his bedroom until he heard the infant cry out.    He lifted Davy from his bassinet and clutched him to his chest, facing the sun.   If he could not hear the crickets or whistle of the birds than he would damn sure feel the wind in his hair,  the sun on his face and feel the dew on long grass as his father swept his child's  bare feet through the reeds.

Davy was born with the eyes of the hawk.  They were never at rest.

Angus placed his  6-month-old son into a cardboard box alongside a squirming gray ghost with baby blue eyes. Angus knew that Davy would need ears to navigate his world.

From that day forward, Davy had a Weimaraner named Bruce at his side. Davy grew up with a 30.06 on his shoulder.  He knew where the wild turkeys nested and where the rabbits burrowed.  He sold flys to the tourists that would pass through Asheville on their way to  trout streams south of Candler.  

Angus would hustle up Bruce and the boy into his 57 Willys 4x4 pickup and take them trout fishing.  Angus would sit on the far bank, smoke an old briar and watch his son cast.  It was his favorite downtime.

Angus lived in a 16 x 40 , rectangular wood frame box, that had been built in 1912, on the opposite perimeter of the farm.   A wise man planted live oaks surrounding the structure at an equal distance of 50 feet from the house and 90 feet from each other.   A healthy live oak lives two hundred years and has an 85' wingspan.   Angus found shade and peace in Western Buncombe County.

Angus was a welder.  He created works.Working art, ornate gates, and fences that swiveled silently on ball bearings.  Each barrier unique.  His customers slept soundly behind their MacCulloch.  

Everything that Angus did was self-taught.  He would find an interest, devour the literature and then observe.  He learned to weld from a local blacksmith and trailer manufacturer.

Angus grew a half-acre garden on the  Lohlan' huh th' farm'.  

Daniel had his fingers in the soil at 3 years old and driving the 9N when he was 8.  It was his 'Grahmp' that gifted the Ford to 'Dan'l'  on his 10th birthday, after the boy demonstrated expertise in dissembling and maintenance of the tractor.  The Ford was 60 years old and looked showroom, except for the mud under the fenders.

Daniel learned the value of observation from his Father.  Davy took in the world through his eyes.  He had never heard a katydid count cadence.  He communicated with his hands, his demeanor and his keyboard.

Daniel learned to use his body from Angus.

Angus loved to watch his son Davy interact with his world.  The hair on his face would rise and fall over his lip and his eyelids would temporally flutter only to open 'wide agin' lest he miss 'hs blessings'.

There was love in this family.

This family with no feminine voice.

How about a little something from the Queen of the Scots