[prariepoodle]

OH! YES! This is a wonderful place. Walt was born and raised in that area and went to school in sopcoppy and went swimming in that river. I have a cook book that the town folk put together back in 1980. Mixed in the pages is this poem about the Sopcoppy River. Hope you like it. There is one of these at the begining of each section of the cookbook.

THE SOPCOPPY RIVER

Way down South where the soft wind blows, there's where the Sopchoppy River flows,With its white sand banks and evergreen trees,
Where the long moss waves in the gentle breeze,On the banks of the Sopchoppy River.

Near the banks of that river is the home of my birth, and to me its the dearest spot on earth, There's the old swimming hole and deep shady pool
Where we used to fish when we came from school, From the banks of the Sopchoppy River.

Where the flowers bloom and the squirrels play, that's where I wandered the live long day,
where the trees on the banks spread their limbs so low
They are mirrored in the sparkling stream below. From the banks of the Sopchoppy River.

I lay in the shade with my face to the sky, and watch the shimmering clouds go by. Then out in a boat of the flowing tide,
I'd row along for a quiet ride, On the crest of the Sopchoppy River.

While on the banks the squirrels run,and the snakes are basking in the sun, and the bullfrogs leap in the cool clear pools and the little fishes go in schools,
In the bottom of the Sopchoppy River

My pals and I would walk 'til lame, Through the swamps and woods in search of game, We always knew there was plenty there,even wildcats and big black bear,
On the shores of the Sopchoppy River

At school next day big tales we'd tell, How we had hit the mark so well, We were envied by the boys and girls,
When we'd display the tails of squirrels,Shot near the Sopchoppy River

The years may come, the years may go, But the Sopchoppy River will ever flow, and as I grow older and wonder away, I'll always feel as I do today,
Towards the dear old Sopchoppy River.

My duties may call me away from home, but I'll always remember where'ere I roam, The happy days of childhood there, with never a worry never a care,
So near the Sopchoppy river.

There, memories sweet about the place that even time cannot erase, With barefoot pals, we'd climb the trees, and listen to the birds and bees, and the music of the Sopchoppy river.

And OH! the joys on Saturdays, My pals they'd come from many ways, and together down the winding path, with soap and towels to take a bath, In the cool Sopchoppy River.

When the moon shone bright and all was quiet, The hootowls had a perfect riot, They'd hoot and laugh and make one shiver,Down in the swamps of the Sopchoppy River.

But in spite of the tales of the owls and the bear, When I get the chance, I'm going back there, and play like an Indian with arrows,bow and quiver, and float in a canoe down the Sopchoppy River.

Written for Bruce Kemp by Aunt "Ta", Mrs. Charlotte Broyles Blaylock (age 77) January 17, 1944
Bruce was 13 years old when this was written. He was killed on January 7, 1953 while returning from the front in Korea, after fighting there for about one year. He was 22 Years Old.