We miss Dessie Carter

Dessie Carter was one of those unusual people who became a part of our lives. She lived on Germantown Road in a little white house on property that had been in her family for generations. Her modest home was obviously in desperate need of some attention.....clearly something that was not in her means to address.  I had always admired the multitude of purple irises she had planted all around her little home. The irises mixed with the bright yellow patches of daffodils added to the charm of her little rustic homestead.  Dessie was one of several black folks that we befriended and became quite attached to. 

I first came to know Dessie when she cleaned various offices of local businesses around Minden. My husband's business was one of them. It was clear she had some mental challenges.  Knowing what the minimum wage was and how much you owed her for her time wasn't one of them. She knew to the penny what you owed her.  You dared not pay her one penny more or less. She wanted the exact amount and no tips were acceptable. 

She cleaned in a most peculiar way. She was thorough and you knew it was clean when she was finished. Only problem was, she would move the furniture from the wall in order to clean behind them and some of the office furniture would end up against the opposite wall, only backwards. Even when you pointed it out to her, she would do it the same way. Those businesses who hired her appreciated her cleaning skills and were tolerate of her little quirks. 

I came to know her a little better than most because we both lived on Germantown Road. Highway 534 on the map.  Germantown Road is one of several rural road that connects Claiborne Parish to Webster Parish. But it  is the only road that leads to The Germantown Colony, a nationally recognized historic settlement  The locals also know this road  for it's gift of color in the fall when the leaves of the many hardwoods that line the road would change.   I drove this road to town each day to drop my infant son off at daycare on my way to work.

Dessie didn't have a car and probably couldn't pass the drivers license test anyway. She hitched a ride into town as often as possible but not with just anyone. She was careful about who she chose to ride with. My husband tried many times to pick her up and she would refuse, even knowing that he was my husband. She walked the ten mile trek into town most everyday.   I  picked her up many times and took  her wherever she needed to go. She always insisted on paying her own way,  even after telling her that I was going this way anyway and it wasn't necessary. And when I would try to drive off, she would toss her money through the car window. It was always the same amount, $1.54. How she came up with that amount was any one's guess.  Dessie was careful with her money. She wrapped her dollar bills and coins in a cotton handkerchief, tied off  and carefully placed inside her bra. I remember during the summer months  trying to dodge the sweaty dollar bills and change I knew she would hand off.  

I loved picking her up because it was always a surprise as to how I would find her. On one occasion, I noticed that she had baby blue eye shadow on her eyes. Now the baby blue color wasn't the only thing that stood out. She had applied it under her eyes instead of on top of her eye lids.  I commented on how pretty she looked that day. She beamed. She seemed so proud that someone would notice. Dessie was not a young woman. Her age was not know to many who knew her. She was average height with a somewhat husky build. She always wore dresses and seemed quite intent on looking her best on her trips to town. She and I were quite comfortable with each other and she seemed to be quite fond of my son, Ben, who found her fascinating. She commented often about what a good baby he was.  He seemed to have gotten  comfortable too with our frequent passenger. 

On another occasion, my husband, Rick, stopped to check on her. She was dragging a big pine top down the road. He stopped and asked if he could help. She thanked him and said no.  And while carrying an ax and a  big pine top down the road wasn't enough to draw attention, she also had a big blooming rose bush, roots and all, wrapped around her head. When asked her why she had a rose bush in her hair,  she didn't answer. She just touched the roses as if to once again appreciate that someone had noticed.  Dessie had short black hair.  We often saw her with one of her kitchen forks stuck in her hair. We assumed she used it as a comb. We never asked.  

 Dessie was an avid church goer. Her church home was also located on Germantown Road. As we befriended many of the folks who live along Germantown Road, we discovered from some of our neighbors that Dessie wasn't always challenged. Seems the story was that she was once married and her husband abused her often. We were also told that 'he used an iron skillet on her to get her straight.' 

We loved Dessie Carter. She was her own person.  My husband and I offered to bring her firewood for her wood burning stove only to be turned down. She had many offers from local folks who knew Dessie and knew her struggles.   She insisted on paying her own way or she wasn't having any part of it. We later figured that pine top she was dragging home earlier must have been for her pot belly stove.

It's been years since we've seen Dessie. Last time we checked on her, she was in the parish jail. She was accused of attacking a bulldozer with her ax. Seems she thought her family still owned much of the land around her home and when a logging company came into log, she attacked the bulldozer with her ax.   We called the sheriff's office to plea for her release. We worried that they would not be sensitive to her mental challenges. And we worried that she would not understand why she was being locked up.  We were relieved to find out that she was no longer in the jail and that her brother obviously bailed her out. She left with him.  

Several years before the attack on the logging truck, Dessie's brother had the old family home demolished. A new brick home was built for her. She lived comfortably there for years until her arrest. We tried several times to make contact and check on her. Sadly, we never saw Dessie again. We were told by the locals that her brother moved her in with him. And her brick home became rental property for the family. 

We miss seeing her walk down the road with her coat on even in the heat of summer. Summer days in Louisiana can be brutal. With temperatures climbing upwards to 100 degrees Fahrenheit , we never understood why she insisted on wearing her black, wool coat. She was such a sweet soul. We miss Dessie Carter.  We miss seeing her walking down the road with a fork stuck in her hair. I miss the unusual conversations we would have on our many drives into town.  

Dessie Carter passed without notice. That sweet little woman touched our hearts and even now we can't drive by her house without smiling and remembering her fondly. 

We miss you  and love you, Dessie Carter.