Well, social networking is definitely where it’s at these days, but it seemed like the tail wagging the dog last week when our Facebook page got almost 8.3 million visitors but our actual web site just muddled along with only a moderate number of visits.
Why fight it? Folks, check out our Facebook page. Apparently, a few million folks thought it was worth a look this past week! ;o)
Update: We stopped updating the Raised Country website in July 2012. We now have a loyal following on our Facebook page. If you would like to pick up the baton and support Raised Country by posting family-friendly tall tales and stories, please contact us.
(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.
Dogs baying throughout the night in the dark East Texas woods meant that some poor critter was running for its life. When a small red fox zigged and zagged through the thicket at top speed, its heart pounding, its small chest about to explode, the onslaught seemed a tad unbalanced, a bit unfair. At least, Samuel thought so. Sam consoled himself with the fact that the fox’s cleverness and agility would serve it well.
Though its prospects were bleak, it at least had a slim chance of outsmarting Papa Jim’s pack of hunting dogs. Raccoons were rarely as lucky, but this night’s hunt was for neither foxes nor raccoons. It was for wolves.
This post was submitted by Mike Strong.