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.

You have to remember the time frame. Back then, there were no, PCs, cell phones, quads or even mp3 players. The telephone was a party line where at least 3 other families shared the same line. And television, television consisted of three channels starting at 6am and shutting down with the Star Spangled Banner at midnight.

There were very few store bought games, or plastic guns emitting the rat-tat-tat sounds of those found in the city. Your gun was a stick and the sound effects came from deep within a boy’s throat and his imagination. We didn’t have sidewalks to ride a skateboard on even if you had made one. But there were other sports that had been passed down or made up that could be used to keep us happy.

The Tractor Tire 500

The Objective:

Stuff two, possibly three boys, depending on their size, into the innards of a tractor tire at the top of a hill. Straps consisted of usually everyone’s T shirt or an old sheet that had been snuck out of the house and ripped into strips.

In most cases the “test participants” were usually the youngest kids available but only after being chased down kicking and screaming, while they were stuffed and tied into the tire and sent down the hill before they could escape. These trips lasted usually less than 30 seconds with the large tire finally wobbling in a large circle and settling on its side in a cloud of dust with the riders scrambling out now screaming to do it again. In defense for the game, we only hit the barbed wire fence at the bottom of the hill once.

The Hay Barn Tunnel of Terror

Objective:

To design and build a tunnel along a 200 foot long and 20 foot high stack of hay bales. Then dare your friends, cousins and neighbors to try to best your best through the tunnel of total darkness.

Now picture this, a completely dark tunnel, a boy trying to complete the timed trip not knowing if there are turns, pitfalls or other “things” in there with you, which there all were.

It was only at that first touch of something furry and that banshee scream that you remembered someone mentioning that there had been a skunk found in the tunnel before. I don’t know which was scared more the participant or the cat, which had been dropped into the tunnel ahead of you after you went in. But we did have one city cousin who never came to spend the summer with us after that.

River Camp Out

Objective:

For at least five boys to camp out on the banks of the river for no less than one week without outside sources. This included hunting, fishing and trapping all food supplies. Except of course for any marshmallows, graham crackers, bread and bologna and other odd snacks that were found sitting in a box once every other day or so, along the fence line leading into river bottom (Thanks Mom).

Upon completion of the trip, Mom did have certain stipulations regarding being able to return into our house.

Step 1: Take bath, using soap, in river within one hour before returning home.

Step 2: Take water hose shower, with soap, prior to entering back door of house.

Step 3: Go directly to bathroom, take indoor shower, again with soap and now adding shampoo to hair.

Step 4: Report to Mom for inspection with the strong possibility of repeating Step 3.

Years later we found out that Mom and Dad had their own name for this game which was “Mom and Dad’s Summer Vacation”.

There were many other games such as Nighttime Jack Rabbit Hunting out of the back of a moving truck, Chinaberry Fights, War, Kick the Can, Playing baseball with a Crocket Ball, (I will never be the pitcher again and maybe that’s why I am the way I am.) Aluminum Sled Rides and of course, 50 gallon drum swimming parties. But, those are all stories in themselves.

For years these country boy games continued until the hormones started kicking in and the lure for the hunt for girls took their place. Boys grew into teenagers then into men and the games are no longer played, at least not physically. But get my brothers, cousins and old friends together and the games start all over again, only now, sitting in someone’s living room reliving the past.

This post was submitted by John C. Glass.

“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.

“Yep! That’ll do. Good job, Charlie. You held ‘er real steady for me, bud.”

He knew that Uncle Bob didn’t really need his help. Uncle Bob cut wood for his carpentry projects all the time without anyone to hold the other end of anything for him. But Charlie was so glad to be a part, it didn’t matter.

‘Uncle’ Bob was not really his uncle. He was just an old friend of the family, so cherished by all that he was affectionately promoted to ‘Uncle’ by tribal consensus.

As they were clearing up the mess from their work, Charlie blurted out something that had been pushing on his heart for some time.

“Uncle Bob, I wish you were my dad.”

Uncle Bob’s busy hands stopped suddenly, and he turned to Charlie, almost as if startled.

After a pause, Uncle Bob walked over to him, and put his big hand behind his head and neck and pulled him into his side. Then he slid down to sit on one of his work stools so his face was closer to Charlie’s.

It was one of those flat, square wooden step stools that doubled as a tool box of sorts. So it was fairly close to ground. Still, he remained a head taller than Charlie.

“Well, I love you too, buddy, but why would you say that? You have a great daddy.”

Charlie swallowed hard, and looked at the dirt floor of Uncle Bob’s wood workin’ shed.

“He doesn’t have any time for me. He’s always too busy, and he get’s mad at me whenever I go in his office.” Charlie started to choke on his own words. “He never wants me around.”

Charlie’s eyes were suddenly red hot, and his own tears took him by surprise. He had convinced himself that he didn’t care, but now the hurt was about to bust out of him. He was embarrassed for a moment, then crumpled into Uncle Bob’s arms and sobbed.

For several minutes, Uncle Bob didn’t say a word. He just held him snug. When the energy of Charlie’s sobs diminished into stuttering whimpers, Uncle Bob began to console him in a low gentle tone.

“You know, Charlie. Your daddy loves you a ton, and …”

Charlie shot back, “No, he doesn’t!”

Uncle Bob waited for a moment.

Uncle Bob lifted him up so they were looking eye to eye. Charlie’s eyes were still so wet that he had to wipe each one with the heals of his wrists to be able to keep looking Uncle Bob in the eye.

“Say, buddy. Do you remember that terrible accident that happened near your school last month, when that sand truck hit that bus?”

He sniffled out a “Yes.”

“They had all them counselors and all talk with ya about how you kids felt about it. ‘Member that?”

“Yes.”

“Awful thing. Awful, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I hate to bring it up again, but I want you to understand the difference between how your dad loves you and how I love you, and I want to use that bad event to make my point.”

“You feel your dad has no time for ya, and I know he’s very busy. He works hard to make sure you and your mama have food, and electricity, and clothes, and a bunch of stuff, maybe even a present or two at Christmas. He has to work hard when other people may want to get his job if he doesn’t work hard enough to keep it for himself.”

“Now, I imagine when someone feels a whole lot of pressure like that, it can make ‘em a little grouchy sometimes, don’t you figure?”

This time the answer came slower, as he thought about Uncle Bob’s words.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“Well, it sure can make a person cross. Now, here I am, retired. I don’t have to fight to just keep a job and feed my family. We don’t have a lot of money, but we have enough to get by on, and I’d guess that my stress is pretty low compared to your papa’s.”

“Well, he doesn’t EVER want me to be around.” The tears started to well up again.

“Now. Now. I’m sure that isn’t true, but I’m am also sure that it really does feel that way to you. So, I understand.”

He thought for a minute and asked, “Uncle Bob, what about the bus that got hit? Why did you say somethin’ about that?”

“Ah yes! Thanks. About that …

So, imagine for a minute that you, your dad, and I were all standing on the side walk right where that bus was. You followin’ me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“OK. Now, do you remember how the sand truck came blazin’ through the intersection and T-Boned that bus, knockin’ it over on that unfortunate young man?”

“Yes.”

“Awful sad. Awful sad. That young fella lost his life at too young of an age, but I know he’s with God now, and in a better place. Let’s imagine an even more horrible thought for a second, that the bus fell over, and, God forbid, it fell on top of you. OK? I don’t want to scare ya, but I need you to just imagine if that happened for just a minute, OK?”

“OK.”

“Now, if your dad and I were both there, do you know what we’d do?”

“Nuh uh.”

“You wanna know?”

He nodded, and wiped his eyes again. He was listening with great interest now.

“Well, let’s start with me, and what I’d do.

I’d run, ruuuuunnnn over to where you were. I’d start rubbin’ your hair and kissin’ ya on the forehead, and tellin’ ya that you were going to be OK, and tellin’ ya to hang in there, and to not give up. I’d tell you all that even though secretly I was terrified that I was about to lose you, even though I knew you were about to go be with Jesus, even though I knew there was nothing I could really do to save you. I’d still frantically show you all the love I could while you were still alive to give you at least some small amount of comfort, to help you to not be afraid.”

He sat quietly and thought about Uncle Bob’s story.

Then he said, “What would my daddy do?”

“Ah, that’s the difference, right there, Charlie. That’s the difference.

You see, your daddy wouldn’t do the exact same thing I would. Do you know what he’d do?”

“What?” He sat up and looked up at Uncle Bob with intense interest. “What would daddy do?”

“Charlie.” Uncle Bob paused for a long time, then said, “Little buddy, your daddy would try to lift the bus.”

They sat silently for a moment.

“Not everyone shows love the same way. Some folks are all hugs and fun, it seems, but that doesn’t really mean they love you more than someone who’s quieter. Your daddy shows you how much he loves you as he works hard, day in and day out.”

“I get to be the ‘fun’ Uncle, but even though I might have kissed you on the head as the rest of you lay pinned under that bus, your daddy would have tried with all of his strength to lift that bus – a bus that weighed several tons, and even after all was lost and you had already gone to be with Jesus, people would have to pull him away because he’d never stop trying to lift it, because his Charlie was under that bus, and he loves that Charlie with all of his heart.

That’s the difference in how I show my love and how your daddy would and does show his love for you. It’s just different. Mine might feel better sometimes, but his is even more intense inside than mine could ever be, because you are his sweet boy. Understand me?”

He thought about Uncle Bob’s words for quite awhile. Finally, he stood up, and said, “I better get home, Uncle Bob.”

“OK, buddy. Thanks, for helping me with that board. I could’ve lopped my finger off if you hadn’t held it so straight for me.”

“See ya!” He bolted towards the old wooden door to Uncle Bob’s wood workin’ shed.

“See ya later, Charlie!”

He ran all the way home, blew in the front door, and went straight to his dad’s office.

He stood in the door way out of breath, staring at his dad who was lost in thought at his computer. He only half noticed his son huffing and puffing at his door. Finally, as Charlie’s presence became inescapable, he turned with a half grin and said, “Why are you so out of breath rooster?”

He ran over to his daddy threw his arms around him, and tucked his head down tightly against his dad’s shoulder. “I love you, daddy.”

His dad was a little taken aback by the sudden, mysterious display, but he pulled his arm out of Charlie’s hold and put it around Charlie. Pulling him into his chest, he gave him a squeeze, and said, “I love you, too, rooster. Now, git so I can get this report done. Your mom has supper ready for ya. Go wash up.”

Charlie let go. “Yes, sir.” He, turned and headed out as he had many times when dismissed from his dad’s office, but this time, it felt different. It felt very, very different.

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.

1997 Jarrell Tornado News Coverage

Little did my father know that the creature he would most influence with his desire for open air would be a little dog that my sister brought home from work one day.  It was 1997 and there were a string of tornados that tore through the Central Texas hill country.   One of them had been the F5 that killed 27 people in Jarrell, TX, just 7 miles, as the crow flies, from our home.

One of the smaller tornadoes in the chain, however, had managed to throw a newborn puppy from her litter into a stranger’s backyard while sparing its life. The owner of that backyard found the pup cowering in the bushes the next day and brought her to the Anderson Mill vet clinic where my sister worked as a technician.  They bathed the three inches of mud, fleas, and leaves off of her and determined she was less than 24 hours old and would need to be hand-fed.

That evening my sister walked into our house with a sly smile.   “It will only be until she is weaned.  We can put her up for adoption after she can eat on her own.”  She pleaded with my father as she revealed a silent, little puppy underneath her sweater.

“Annie,” as we dubbed her, won an eight week reprieve.  Of course, little orphan Annie ended up staying with us for over 12 more years.

With such a traumatic beginning Annie grew up with a few quirks of her own.  She didn’t speak until she was three months old and when she finally found her voice it’s strength scared her back into silence .  Never a fan of too much noise she decided that she would try not to use her voice unless absolutely necessary; choosing visual and physical communication over barking.

Annie was prone to other neurotic behaviors.  She knew a storm was coming before any of the TV networks did.  Always our little guardian, she would herd us inside, away from any danger when the clouds grew dark.  She would pace, pant, and cry for the duration of every storm and then sleep like a baby when we all got through it alive.

The first Sunday we let her stay outside while we went to church she decided to explore one of our many woodpiles and wound up with a bump on the head and a runaway eye.  Annie now had a cone collar and a new nickname, Popeye.

Despite these traumas at such a young age, Annie discovered a love for nature that few humans can really grasp.  Forgiving the lumber, wind, and clouds for their abuse of her, she would set out for an adventure in the woods every afternoon.  Sometimes I would follow her just to see if I could catch a glimpse of the alternate reality she embarked on every day.

Of course, as a girl with a rampant imagination, I would create all kinds of stories behind her daily disappearances.  She had meetings with the woodland creatures about current issues in the ecological climate.  Her best friend, a deer, would wait for her in a thatch behind our neighbor’s fence.

She taught a pack of wild wolves about living with the humans.  What I couldn’t understand at that age was something more than a fairytale.  It was the beauty of a scented wind that spoke of mice and crickets.   A crackling of leaves that told the story of an escaping squirrel.  The luxury of lounging on a bed of soft, decaying grass and leaves beneath the awning of an ancient oak tree.  These were the adventures our dear Annie enjoyed every day that the skies allowed it.

Rattle Snake (Click Snake to Enlarge)

Annie’s entire life revolved around the next time she could escape to her private universe.  One day, when the winds had changed and the world was starting to cool down, she escaped for an adventure and met the creature no man wishes to cross paths with, a rattlesnake.  She came home with two puncture wounds on her nose.

The vet said that she would be fine thanks to some anti venom they had given her with their annual shots.  We breathed a sigh of relief and forbade any more outdoor adventures.  As the months went on we noticed her joints starting to stiffen.   She began drinking more water and her fur took on an oily, clumpy appearance.   Her gait was slower and she no longer jumped up and ran to the kitchen with every crinkle of her treat bag.

The poison had done its damage.  One Sunday, a year after she met the snake, she didn’t get up for breakfast.  Her legs could not support her anymore. My family, all of the children now adults with houses, families, and careers, gathered at our parent’s house to share our last moments with our sweet, neurotic adventurer.  We did what any true country family would do; fed her some great barbeque and took her outside for one last adventure.  We sat with her in that big, soft field smelling the mice and listening to the escaping squirrels while we watched the clouds scuttle by – whispering their thanks for her gentle friendship over all those years.

She may not have said much in her twelve years but she managed to show at least one little girl the simple beauty of a bright, windy day.

Annie

This post was submitted by Beverley Strong.