By John C. Glass
Colorado River (Photo by Billy Hathorn)
Growing up on a farm and ranch along the Colorado River below Austin in the 50’s and 60’s a young boy could only described it as a true never-never land. My Mom had come from a family of 5 girls, no boys, in Pennsylvania only to come to Texas and give my Father 6 boys, no girls. Dad use to say “Didn’t have any real need for girls on a Ranch.”
Even though he repeated that many times, I have no doubt that if one would have “happened to come along”, she would have found her place in the scheme of things with the certainty of never having to worry for anything.
Life was not boring on our ranch, all one had to do was let your imagination go and use the many natural resources that a Texas summer offered. There along the banks of the river, in the shadows of the large Pecan, Cottonwood and Sycamore trees and down the long rows of cotton and corn, it was our farm and ranch itself that offered to keep us entertained.
This post was submitted by John C. Glass.
(Stories for Children)
“Hold that steady, partner. Don’t want me to lop a finger off do ya? I need you to concentrate. Pay attention to what you’re doin’, son.”
Charlie knitted his brow and stared at the board as though he was scolding it with his glare. He leaned on it hard to anchor it down.
He wanted Uncle Bob to understand just how seriously he was taking his instructions. There was no one in the world that he admired as much as Uncle Bob, and he so wanted to please him.
The power saw screeched on with a twang and then a roar. Uncle Bob carefully guided the board through the blade to make a perfect cut along a faint line he had sketched across it earlier with his pencil. The saw clunked to an instant stop when Uncle Bob cut the power. It’s blade rang out a final, soulful tone that lingered in the air for several moments.
Charlie savored every sound and smell, and every minute that rolled by when he was with his Uncle Bob.
My Brother Making a Fort
We lived on four acres. Not large by country standards but a whole universe to a child and her dog.
My father worked in the city but wanted his children to have the country experience that he had growing up in a small town in east Texas. So, braving the commute, he moved us out into the “boonies” where we would have the opportunity to build forts, create mud pools, maintain an aviary, and know what it feels like to run bare foot through the field that you, a child by others standards, mowed with your John Deere tractor that morning.
My siblings and I loved tramping through the woods claiming forts and tree houses that the other gender was not allowed to cross. The girls made homes with rolls of toilet paper and transplanted cacti. The boys made watch towers with tire swings and snake skins. A paradise of wood and mud – and we loved it.
This post was submitted by Beverley Strong.