Whose Present Is Whose?

It was always exciting at our house before Christmas. Somehow Mom and Dad always managed to get Ralph and I at least a couple of presents that we really, really wanted. Of course, we helped them out...by circling what we wanted in the "Sears and Roebuck Christmas Wishbook" and the "Montgomery (Monkey) Ward Christmas Catalog"! Every now and again, they would surprise us by getting something totally off the list, like the year Dad bought me my first hunting knife. An Edge Brand, "Original Buffalo Skinner"! We were blessed with wonderful parents!

One of the great things about having presents under the tree, was trying to figure out what was in your present. To do this, you would use at least four of the five senses. You would squeeze the present (touch), shake it (hearing), size it up (sight) and in desperation, sniff around on it (smell). Taste? Let me tell you, all Christmas wrapping paper tastes just about the same...trust me...

However, the real big question at the Riggs house was "whose present was whose?".  You say "Just look at the tag dummy!" It weren't that simple... My Mom had this little game she played every year...No tags on any of our presents! But...Just because there were no tags didn't mean she did not know whose was whose. Somewhere on the gift, in microscopic handwriting... letters so small you would need a magnifying glass to read them...was "Ray" or "Ralph". Needless to say, you don't want to waste time analyzing the WRONG gift! So...we would go over every gift with a "fine tooth comb!" Every fold, every corner, on every pattern on the paper, until we found our name (or our brother's name).

Sometimes though, this plan would backfire. I do remember times when we were passing out gifts, we would come to one that had no tag and that we hadn't found our names on. "Whose is this one Mom?" we'd ask. "Let me see it" she'd say. She would search all over the present for the name, puzzle around counting the gifts... "Now Ralph has three... Ray has three... Dad has two...hmmm....Let me look at it again". She would finally get it figured out and somebody got another gift. It was her "way" and it did make things more challenging... and it makes for good memories now!

My First Christmas Memories

I have many recollections of our farmhouse at county line. We sold out and moved to the Conklin house at Junction Hill in the late 60's so I spent at least four and maybe five years at the farmhouse.

We never bought a Christmas tree because our farm had just enough poor ground to grow some good cedar trees. It took the whole family (and our dogs, Midgee and Queenie) to select the right tree. We would drive east, up through the barn lot, past the trash dump, along the fence line to the gap that led into the alfalfa field. Along the north side of the alfalfa field, there was lots of sage grass (indicating poor soil) and plenty of good "Christmas Tree" shaped cedars. After we chose the "right" one, Dad would cut it down, trim up the bottom so it would fit in the stand, load it up in the truck bed and then we would head for the house.

Our decorations weren't fancy like folks have today. Although...I do know that history repeats itself...I have seen trees decorated this year with the old type, big bulb lights like we had back then.  There were the usual glass and silk covered ornaments and the tinfoil "icicles" draped over the cedar limbs. For the top of the tree we had big tin star with a light in it that was almost more weight than the top of the tree could take! We also had a cardboard "fireplace" with some contraption in it that made it look like there was a cheery fire a'burnin'! It seems like I always got my birthday pictures (the 19th) standing in front of that fireplace...

The very first gift that I remember receiving, was some little wind-up Jeep trucks.  There were two or three of them and they came with a plastic "track", maybe two or tree foot long with several "hills". You would wind up one of the little Jeeps, set in on one end of the track and it would "zippity-do-da-day" uphill and down until it ran off the other end of the track! Hours upon hours of fun!

One of the most memorable gifts I received at the farmhouse, was a "Johnny Service" gas station and garage. It was a plastic frame "building" with cardboard "walls", with a fully functional "lift" or "rack" for a car. It came with a car that you could take the engine out of, change the tires and put on the rack to change the oil!

It seems like to me, that back then when we received Christmas gifts, we actually played with them...more that just ten minutes like kid do now-a-days. We didn't have a whole room full of toys but what we had, we wore out playing with them!

"I Still Can't Say Goodbye..."

"I Still Can't Say Goodbye", sung by the late Chet Atkins, kinda sums up my thoughts this morning.  Thirty years ago this morning, my Dad, Leamon Harold Riggs, made his journey to the Celestial City.  There is not a day goes by that he does not come to my mind...either by memory or reminder.

This picture was taken at our Sweetheart Banquet in February, 1985.

One of Dads many occupations was Clerking for Earl "Red" Hall, Auctioneer

L-R Bonnie and Red Hall, Gary Don Brower, Dad, Clarence Renfrow

Dad served in the US Air Force in the early 1950's as a Clerk Typist and came home with the Air Force Eagle, tattooed on his arm!

Hand-Me-Downs

Hand-Me-Downs... If there be some rich, elite, snooty, snobbish member of the aristocracy that reads my blog, let me explain.  When a piece of clothing no longer fits because it has been outgrown, it is given, passed down, handed down to a younger family member.  This can cause a lot of problems within the family unit.  My Uncle Elvin said when he was growing up, the only clothes he had were hand-me-downs.  He said "I had three older sisters and no brothers...Boy-O-Boy I Hated Wearing Them Dresses!!!"

Hand-Me-Downs are not always outgrown clothing.  Other things are outgrown also.  And handed down.

My brother, Ralph, was born in January of 1960.  Mom and Dad were living at the County Line, I'm guessing at the little house just east of James Bales store. Sometime in that year, they moved to the old house on the farm that Dad bought from Ruby Vonallmen.  Also during that year, they bought a high-chair. Now ...I can hear some blog reader saying "Well, Big Whoopedoo"! Just remember...I'm writing about hand-me-downs.

After Ralph out-grew the high-chair, it was put away until 1963 when I discovered America (actually it was probably 1964, since I was born in December.) When I was big enough to sit at the table, the little high-chair was put away. It was brought out on the rare occasions when we had some little shaver visit, but basically, it was not used.  We moved from the farm to the Conklin house at Junction Hill, then to the Farley house, then we moved into town to the house on the south side of Third Street.  In a couple of months, Dad bought the house across the street and we moved again! This was in 1976 and we stayed on Third Street until we built at the Homeplace in 1978.  After Dad passed away in 1985, Mom sold the Homeplace and moved to Sixth Street in 1986. During ALL of these moves, the little high-chair was packed up and carried along.

Then...In October of 1986, a red-headed little Riggs was born....Stephanie Mariah!  In a few months the old high-chair was brought out, dusted off and "handed-down" to the next generation. The chair was kept at Grandma Riggs' house, So, in 1987, Tabitha Raeanne Riggs took over the high-chair (again, it was probably 1988 since her birthday is in December!)  Ryan Levi Riggs followed his sister and cousin in April 1990 and then Regan Lewis Riggs in November 1994.  And then...the high-chair was mothballed again.

Mom passed away in August of 2006 and later that fall, we sold her house. Our families got together and divided up the keepsakes and then had a yard sale for all the things that were left.  Somehow, Tami and I wound up with the high-chair!

Little did we know that the old high-chair would soon be put into use again.  In June 2007, another Riggs generation was born when Stephanie had a bouncing baby girl, Clarie Marie!  When we had family get-togethers at our house she was queen for a day in the old high-chair! Then, in September 2013, Ryan and Shayla had another little Riggs, Isabella DeAnn!  Now, Bella was soon introduced to Texas so I'm not sure whether she ever got to use the old high-chair.

And finally...about a year ago, Tabitha and Anson promoted Tami and I to the elevated, noteworthy, and august position of "Mayme and Pawpaw"!  Right before Christmas last year, Lucas Rey Miller was introduced to the Ozark Hills! For several months, you didn't find him just laying around the Grand's house! He was held from the time he came in the house 'til I carried him to the car. But it was soon time to get out the old hand-me-down...the old yellow, metal high-chair! (which still has the chips on the tray where Ralph beat it with his spoon!!)

This is what was written on the bottom of the high-chair in Mom's handwriting...

And...I do have a few pictures of Lucas making use of the old high-chair...

My Dad always said "When you buy, buy the best quality you can afford."  I think this old "Hand-me-down" high-chair has passed the test...

Mountain Town Christmas Parade

I love the Ozarks.  And one of the many reasons I do, is the uniqueness of its towns and peoples.  This originality was on full display at the annual Eminence Christmas Parade last night.  We have made an annual pilgrimage to this "Mecca" for many years now and are never disappointed at the production.  I know there are bigger parades with more "stuff" but the folks in this little mountain town put all they have into it and you know...sometimes "less is more".  Enjoy the pictures and narrative!

The Shannon County Court House was all decked out!

Fried Oreos and Funnel Cakes.   We also partook of grilled hamburgers and Tami cast her vote in the Chili Makin' Contest!

How many of you remember Sinclair Gasoline?  I didn't realize that they were still in business.  The little guy in the pedal car was just too cute for words!

 This is a parade entry for an oil company...with little kids riding in...oil drums!

I'll "Gar-On-Double-Dog-T-U" that you wouldn't see this in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade!  (Or even the West Plains Christmas Parade, for that matter...)  We were on the wrong side to see the full banner (the parade judges were on the courthouse side) but it was something about celebrating Christmas, "Shannon County Style!" and all the little boys...and girls on the float had their hunting rifles!  Now they were just BB guns and pellet guns but can you imagine what the Anti-Gun people would think of this?  I loved it!!

The "float" in the following picture is just too funny for words! A John Boat...cut in two...and attached to the front and back of a four-wheeler.  If that wasn't enough, there is a CAMEL riding on the bow and a SNOWMAN riding on the stern!! There are no words....

And since this is river country with floating being a large part of the economy...A Canoegocart!! 

There were more floats from churches and religious organizations than from the businesses and schools.  They take their faith seriously and the float below was just one example.

When I looked down the street toward the end of the parade, I could see that the street was filled up by a massive float...

As it got closer, I could see that it was a Ginormous front-end loader, on the order of a Caterpillar 950E

And in the bucket was...Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus! The sign on the front reads "If I be lifted up, I'll draw all men to Me" and the "float" was sponsored by the Church of God of Prophesy.  The rest of the machine was made to look like the Inn of Bethlehem, complete with an "Inn" sign, a "No Vacancy" sign and a chimney (covering the diesel exhaust pipe!!!)

When they got to the judging area, they "Lifted" the bucket and Christ was lifted up!!  It was impressive! 

This next picture gives you the perspective of how massive this machine is.

There was a heart on the back with a sign that read "Jesus is the Heartbeat of Christmas"

Now folks, if that ain't unique, I don't know what is!!

Subterfuge and Hydraulics 101

You would suspect certain government agencies to be involved in subterfuge.  The CIA is all about trickery...intrigue...craftiness.  The FBI?  I'd say they've done their share of deceptions, guises and ploys.  But who would suspect the meek and lowly Missouri Department of Conservation of such chicanery?

In the early 1990's, I was the Crew Chief on a four-man survey field crew, working in the Peck Ranch Conservation Area.  It was in the late fall, rainy...muddy...overcast, just right for something to go wrong.  We were in two trucks, (myself in the lead, of course) driving into the area where we were going to begin traversing.  I had talked with the agents at the Peck Ranch headquarters and they had given specific directions on how to access the trail to our beginning point.

Included in these directions is the subject of this whole story. The trail we needed to drive down began at a small camping area with a gravel parking lot.  The parking area had guard posts or bollards around the parking lot to keep people from driving into the camping area (which really makes a lot of sense.)  These guard posts looked like short telephone poles with rounded tops and were firmly set in the ground. Here is the sneaky part...one of the posts was NOT set firmly in the ground. The Department had made a concrete post hole, about two feet deep, just the size of the post.  A post was cut to just the right length so that when it was put into the post hole, it looked just exactly like one of the other (firmly set) posts!  Our directions were to remove the post, drive through the opening, replace the post in the post hole and proceed through the  camping area to the old trail.

We followed the directions to the letter.  Since I was leading, I pulled the post out of the concrete post hole, set it to the side, drove on through and radioed to the guys in the truck behind, "Just drop that post back in the hole when you're clear".  One of the guys (I'll just call him Bob) wrestled the post back to the post hole, tipped it up and positioned it above the post hole...And dropped'er in!

I really haven't forgotten our lesson in Hydraulics 101. Pascal's Law states that the "Pressure applied to any part of a confined fluid transmits to every other part with no loss. The pressure acts with equal force on all equal areas of the confining walls and perpendicular to the walls."  Remember what kind of a day it was...rainy...wet.  The post was loose enough in the concrete post hole to allow water (fluid) into the post hole (confined space).  Along with the water, there were sundry other things that had made their way into the post hole...decaying leaves, mud, insects....which made kind of a black, smelly soup in the bottom of the hole.  When Bob dropped the post into the post hole, it applied equal pressure on this black-smelly-soup...and since it really was not fully confined, the black-smelly-soup shot up the sides of the post and right into Bob's face!

Now...None of us were witnesses to the "equal pressure applied to a confined fluid" but we certainly saw the effects! Bob had leaves in his hair...in his nose...in his ears...down his shirt, black gunk on his face...in his hair...in his mouth...and he had acquired a certain amount of ire! His first comment to me (when he could talk without getting more black goo in his mouth) was "WHY DID YOU TELL ME TO DROP THE POST BACK IN THE HOLE?!?".  In between guffaws of laughter, I said "Bob...Bob...I didn't mean for you to DROP it back in the hole, just ease it down so it wouldn't...Do what it did!!" He was hot for awhile but in a few hours we were able to laugh about it, marvel at the subterfuge of the Missouri Department of Conservation and discuss the darker side of Hydraulics 101...

The New Well

  We moved from the farm house at county line to the Conklin house at Junction Hill in the winter of '69. It was right beside the "Six-Acres" that Dad already owned and was just down the road from the Junction Hill Pentecostal Church where we attended.
  When we moved in, the only source of water was a cistern.  Let me explain... The house and the barn had gutters that caught the rainwater running off of the roofs.  Then, there was a maze of downspouts and gutters, above the ground, across the yard that carried the water to the cistern.

I couldn't find an example I liked so...I just made one. (OK...I know it's not Rembrandt quality but it will suffice!)

On top of the cistern, there was a filter that all of the water from the gutters ran into.  The filter was a concrete box built on top of the cistern, filled with gravel and sand, with a wooden cover.  Just imagine for a minute, all the things that got washed off of the house and barn, into the gutters, through the downspouts, across the yard in the gutters, then into the filter!  Leaves, grit from the shingles, small sticks and....and...bird poop... spiders... June bugs...LOTS of June bugs!...  The rainwater would filter through all the bugs and bird malarky, through the gravel and sand, and fall into the cistern.  The cistern was a round concrete tank, built into the ground, about eight feet across and fifteen feet deep.  There was a pump in the cistern that pumped the water to the house for drinking, toilets, baths, and such.  How 'bout a nice cold drink of cistern water!?!  As a matter of fact, the water did have a peculiar taste.
  It can get purty dry in the Ozarks during the summer and sometimes the water in the cistern would get low.  When this happened, Dad would call the old "water-hauler", Stanley Mock.  Stanley would pull up in his old truck with the leaky water tank, run the hose down into the cistern, turn on the spigot and fill-'er-up!
  It may have been Dad's plan all along to drill a well or he may have just got tired of drinking "June Bug Juice"!  Because in the summer of 1970, an old Well Driller arrived to drill us a new well.  Now the first thing he did was "witch" a place in our back yard for the water well.  In my recollection, he had a forked stick, shaped like a "Y" to "douse" with.

He took the two upper parts of the "Y" in his hands and started walking around the back yard with the bottom leg of the "Y" held out in front of him.  He walked around the yard between our house and the barn until he came to a spot where the stick started to dip toward the ground.  This was a sure sign of water and that's where they started drilling the well!
  First of all, they set up the drilling rig.  It was an old "pounder" or "pound" type rig (more accurately called a Cable Tool Drill Rig) that drilled by raising a heavy metal "bit" and dropping it over and over, through a piece of pipe casing, into the ground.

The "bit" was attached to a cable that went up through a sheave at the top of the derrick and back down and connected to a large hinged arm called the spudder.  The spudder was connected to a large wheel on the rig engine by a connecting rod that was set so that as the wheel turned, the spudder moved up and down.

  After the rig was set up, the drillers went down into our woods and cut down a bunch of saplings and hauled them back up to the "business" end of the rig.  They then proceeded to build a "brush arbor" to shade them from the sun.  They used some of the larger trees as supports, made a framework for the "roof" of slightly smaller saplings, then piled even smaller saplings with lots of leaves on the top to give them shade.  After drilling for awhile, the sludge or slurry had to be cleaned out of the casing.  This sludge was a result of the rock and dirt that was pounded out by the bit being mixed with water pumped into the casing.  After the bit was pulled out, there was a special pipe called the "bailer" that was lowered down into the casing and removed the sludge and ran it out on the ground. Now my Dad didn't want a big pond of gray soupy sludge in the back yard, so, being the handyman he was, he fixed the problem!  He built a trench out of boards on top of the ground that ran the sludge from the drill rig, down past the clothes line, around the little hill by the barn and under the fence into the barn lot!  No sludge in our yard!
  With all the pounding, the drill bit would get dull.  So...The drillers cleaned out the front part of the little open shed on the end of the barn and set up a blacksmiths shop.

It looked something like this...

They had a portable forge, complete with coal and a bellows.  Then there was an anvil and all the tools needed to sharpen the bits when they were dulled.
  As you can just imagine, this was almost more than a little boy could take in all at once!  The best I can recollect, it took two or three weeks for the well to be drilled.  Day after day...from sunup to late evening...Ka-thud! Ka-thud! Ka-thud!...for hours at a time.  And then...quiet for sludge pumping...or lunch...or driving more casing and then back to Ka-thud! Ka-thud! Ka-thud!
  Finally, the day came when the drillers drilled deep enough and hit a good supply of water.  It was time for the constant pounding to stop, the rig to come down, the blacksmith shop loaded up and the most exciting event of our summer to come to an end!
  Dad built a little concrete wellhouse in the ground around the well casing with a flat piece of concrete covering it.  The well was hooked up to the water lines in the house and for the first time in months, we enjoyed pure-de-ole deep well water!  No more "June Bug Juice" for the Riggs family!

Heaven's to Betsy!

You just never know!  On my morning walk in Branson and this "Heeleecoptor" appears.  I had just climbed a gi-normous hill and I wasn't real sure if it was real or an hallucination!

My Little Buddy

I have been very lax in getting pictures of the No. 1 grandson, Lucas Rey Miller, on this here blog!  So...here he is, the "Solemn Ole Judge", with his " ummm...I just woke up" face!

Grandma Riggs' Car

A 1995 Mercury Sable, white, blue interior, high mileage...No, this is not a classified ad...just a little story about a great little car.

I remember when Mom bought this car.  I don't know the year but it was from an individual on Minnesota Street, just north of 1st Street.  Not that it matters but if that person had just of known how much wear we would get out of it...

Mom drove the car until she passed away and we had to decide what to do with it.  The funeral was about two weeks before Tabitha was leaving for college at Ozark Bible Institute in Neosho.  She was driving a hand-me-down from Mom and Dad...an older model, white Ford Taurus with a hare-lipped left rear fender.  Our families sat down and talked it over and decided...that since Ryan Riggs had just started driving, he would get the Taurus and Tabitha would take Grandma Riggs' Car.

Tabitha drove it back and forth to college for three years and it never missed a lick! It even went through a couple of ice storms!  After Tabitha married, it stayed in Neosho for awhile, was parked at our house for awhile and even made a couple of trips to northern Indiana!  When Tab and Anson moved to West Plains, they drove it for awhile and when it was no longer needed, it just sat lonely and forlorn.  A few days ago, a fellow from the El Charro restaurant, stopped to talk to Anson about buying the car.  Anson washed the little car up, put in a new battery (free replacement!), named the man a price and it was SOLD!  Tabitha said she had a few tears in her eyes when he drove the car away!

One story about the car...

Tabitha soloed home, about a month or so after she started college.  We had a family reunion and then we were going to Branson, Missouri for a day.  We left her car at Ozark, Missouri and after we were done at Branson, we were going to pick up the car, lead her through Springfield to I-44, and then...Bon Voyage!  We cut it a little too close...It was 7:45...dark...a little over an hours drive to Neosho...and Tabitha had to be to the dorm by 9 P.M.!  We took off from Ozark, flew down the James River Expressway and finally made it to I-44.  I was talking to Tabitha on the cell phone and told her "We'll get you onto 44 and then we will exit off at Bois D'Arc and you just keep going."  The plan worked to perfection...we exited off, she passed by us honking and when we got to the stop sign at the overpass, we watched her tail lights disappear into the dark....

OK folks...I'm not ashamed to admit it...we sat there and just bawled for a couple of minutes!  After we got our composure, we pulled on across the overpass and headed east toward home.  But we didn't make it very far!  We pulled over at the McDonald's at Kansas Expressway (about ten miles east) and waited for her call to tell us she had made it.  When she pulled into the dorm parking lot, she had about two minutes to spare!

Not to be philosophical, but it seems there was more to this adventure than what we realized.  It was like those tail lights, disappearing into the darkness, was when we truly gave our daughter over to God's will and into His protection.  We have had hard partings since and I know there are some in the future.  However, I have said many times..."When you dedicate them to the Lord, you can't just holler "calf-rope" when God decides to use them beyond your zone of comfort......."

Egg-splosion!

Sometimes, you should just listen to your wife.

Not too long after Tami and I were married, we came home from church one evening and I began searching the refrigerator for a snack.  I finally scrounged up a hard-boiled egg (HBE) and thought I had hit the jackpot.  However, the HBE was cold and I figured it would be much better warmed up.  This is just the thing that microwave ovens were made for...right?

As I put it on a saucer and started to pop it in the microblaster, Tami stated, with a superior air, "Ray, you're not supposed to put eggs in the microwave."  I replied (with a superior air) "That is only raw eggs, in the shell."  I proceeded to explain about the yolk being inside the airtight shell and steam pressure building up inside the shell and the explosion that would ensue if you zapped a raw egg.  "This cannot happen to an HBE because there is no shell and no liquid" (also said with a superior and knowledgeable air.)

I popped the HBE in the micro, blasted it for a minute or so, popped it out and set the saucer with the HBE on the table.  Tami was already sitting at the table eating her cheerios and I sat down to chow down on my HBE.  It was just sitting there on the plate...but there was a faint noise...a gentle sssssssssssssssssss... Now that doesn't sound too ominous does it?  So...using my second digit (right index finger), I poked down on the HBE.

Have you ever been so totally shocked you couldn't move or scream or....????  With a KA-WHOOM!!! the HBE totally disintegrated on my plate!  My finger was still in mid-air over the now-nonexistent HBE.  There was HBE on the walls, on the ceiling, on the stove, on the refrigerator, in Tami's hair, it burnt little spots on her face and Yes...there was egg on my face!

And then...silence...We just sat there looking at each other for a few seconds and then both of us just burst out laughing!  We cleaned up the mess, I got me some cheerio's and sat down to eat again, with a new appreciation for my new wife and her "superior" culinary knowledge!

Oh My Laig!

Hank and Drover...what would our life have been like without Hank and Drover?...and Slim?...and Little Alfred?...and Wallace & Junior?...and Rip & Snort???  If you are not a diehard fan of "Hank the Cowdog", you have no idea what I'm talking about.

In the early 90's (the 1990's...), Mike and LaDona Blue were our pastors at Junction Hill Pentecostal Church.  They traveled quite a bit and they loved to stop at Cracker Barrel.  Back then, Cracker Barrel had a deal where you could "rent" audio books at one Cracker Barrel and return them at another one on down the road.  They started renting "Hank the Cowdog" on cassette tape and came back home telling us the capers of the "Head of Ranch Security"!  Well...we skedaddled on down to the library and rented some for Tabitha...and the rest (as they say) is history.  Tabitha (and Mom & Dad) fell in love with the escapades of ole Hank and Drover!

John Erickson, who hails from Perryton, in the Texas Panhandle, wrote these series of books about a ranch dog named Hank and his trusty sidekick, a stub-tailed mutt named Drover.  Mr. Erickson proceeded to read his books for audio books and do all of the characters' voices. Hank is the "Yogi Berra" of dogdom.  He can mess up the simplest phrases and idioms! Drover is a scaredy cat and is perpetually excusing himself from any work or task by blaming his gimpy leg...hence the phrase "I would do thus and so but....OH MY LAIG!!"  Other characters are introduced in the books such as "Pete the Barn Cat", the ranch hand "Slim", the owners of the ranch "High Loper" and "Sally May", the buzzards "Wallace" (Pa) and Junior (Son) and of course the coyotes "Rip" and "Snort"!  Mr. Erickson is still writing "Hank" books so if you want to get "edgeakated" in the world of "Hankdom" just go to his site right HERE

The last part of January, we traveled to the Texas Panhandle, the the City of Perryton...to our Nephew's wedding.  Bracy Bean and Briana Barton were married in Perryton and John Erickson even helped ole Brace propose!  On the way there, I was privileged to pass through the "Mecca of Dogdom", Ochiltree County Texas!  This is Hank's stomping grounds and is mentioned many times in his books.

The town of Darrouzett is also mentioned in the stories, although I think the spelling is different.

But the "Holy Ground" of "Dogdom" is a town called "Twitchell".  This is where Hank invariably gets into trouble when he rides into town with Slim or High Loper.  In the book, it is a full sized town with all kinds of businesses, but as you can see in the pictures below, it's just a wide spot in the road beside the railroad track! And it's spelled different!  I know the suit is incongruous with the surroundings but you gotta get the picture when you have the chance!

So...all you "Hank" fans out there...be JEALOUS!  I done been there and have the pictures to prove it!

My Ornery Wife

A post on Facebook reminded Tami of an funny incident that happened years ago.  I will relate it here on my blog so every one can have a good chuckle...at my expense...

Mom wanted her new outside thermometer put on an old bird-house post in her back yard...so...on a hot dry, summer day, I commenced with the project.  First of all, this was no ordinary thermometer...it was the kind that the NASA astronauts can read from the Space Station.  And as such...it required more that just hand tools to mount it to the post.  There were no outside plugins so I plugged the extension cord in the house, ran it out the back door and across the yard to the post.  I got Mom's electric drill and the attachments I needed.  Mom was showing me how and where on the post she wanted the thermometer and I marked the spots for drilling.  When I started drilling the holes, the drill worked real good for about five seconds...and then it just quit.  I took it down, looked it over, shook it a little, squeezed the trigger and...it worked!  Back to drilling and a few seconds later, it quit again.  I took it down, Mom and I looked it over, I wiggled the cord, squeezed the trigger and wah-lah!...it worked!  Back to drilling...same thing...this time I checked the drill cord to see if it was connected good...and it was...I wiggled the cord some more, tapped the drill on the post (this usually helps) and after all this...it starts working.  Back to the drilling!   Wouldn't you know it?...after a few seconds, it quit again!  I was getting frustrated by this time because it was hot, I was sweating, this was supposed to be a ten-minute job and THE AGGERVATIN' DRILL WASN'T WORKING!!!

About this time, I just happened to glance back toward Mom's house...Did I mention that Tami was with me that day and... Mrs. "Don't Want To Get All Hot And Sweaty" stayed inside in the air conditioning?...where the extension cord was plugged in?......My glance back at the house revealed her at the kitchen window, laughing and giving me a "little kiddie" wave!  The reason the drill wouldn't work?...she was unplugging the cottonpickin' cord!!  OK...what could we do but laugh with her?!  If the roles were reversed, I would have done the same thing!!  Mom and I went inside, had a laugh with Tami...and a glass of iced tea...and went and put up the thermometer without any further "interruptions"!

Brooklyn Pizza

Sometimes I find coolest places to eat.  If you read online reviews and take a chance every now and then, you can have some unique dining experiences.  I was working recently in Sturgeon, Missouri and had to spend the night in Kingdom City, near Fulton.  I read the reviews of Brooklyn Pizza and decided to try it.  It is on the northwest corner of courthouse square in Fulton and is relatively small.

There's nothing small about the pizza though!  Their only pizza is a 16"!  I ordered pepperoni, ham and black olives and it was scrumptious!

And then there was the live music...The band for the night was a Jazz band and since I am basically an eclectic music listener, I just sat back, munched pizza and enjoyed it!

Here is a couple of samples of the music.  These dudes were really getting into it and I had a front row seat!

If you ever find yourself in Fulton, in the evening, wanting something different for dinner...Check this place out!

Ever had the "Thumps"?

On Thursday night, Tami fixed spaghetti for supper and here's the deal.  It has to be Ragu sauce with my Mom's secret additives (which includes brown sugar).  It was absolutely delicious so...I ate three platefuls!  This may or may not have been the reason for the weird dreams I had, but I do know it was responsible for my indigestion.  When I sat up on the edge of the bed Friday morning, Tami woke up and asked the usual question "How are you this morning?"  This reply just popped into my head..."I think I had the Spaghetti Thumps."

It was a great privilege to grow up in the Ozarks and have the family that I had.  Every region and family has their own expressions, phrases, and idioms but I was especially blessed!  For some time now, I have been collecting the phrases that my Mom and Dad used.  When Dad had a minor discomfort, whether intestinal or otherwise, he would say "I guess I just have the Thumps."

You may not realize it but there is a medical condition called "Thumps".  In 1831 it was first diagnosed by a veterinarian...in a horse.  We call them hiccups but veterinarians call them "Thumps".  I don't think hiccups was what my Dad was referring to.

If you look up the etymology and translations of the word "Thump", things get mighty interesting.  It originated in the 1530's with the verb definition "to strike hard" and in the 1550's with the noun definition "a dull, heavy sound."  In Danish the word is "Dunk", in Catalan - "Volta", in Hungarian -"Puffanas", in Icelandic - "Thump"...   However, in the Swedish dialect the word is "dumpa"...hmmmmm.  We may be on to something here!

These are the times I wish I could just call up my Dad and say "Why did you call it the Thumps??"  All I know is this - I had the "Thumps" but all is well now since Tami just brought me a warm, homemade, slightly doughy, gingersnap cookie!  The "Thumps" are gone!!!

The Corner Post

The corner post stands on the north of the road,
Stained with the passage of time.
It is strange to mull over, consider and ponder, 
That the hands that helped form it were mine.

In 1969 we moved to the Conklin house just north of the Junction Hill Church.  Dad had also bought what we called "The Six Acres" just west of the church and across the dirt road.  As I recall, there was no fence or a very poor fence around "The Six Acres", where the roads were, on the east and south sides.  For some reason or other, Dad abandoned the normal process of large wooden corner posts and decided to put in large concrete corner posts.  To be more precise and technical, these were ginormous, colossal, honkin' big, monstrositous corner posts.  And here's the "skinny" on how they were put in.

Dad built some forms out of corrugated steel pipes or as he called them..."Whistles".  These are the pipes that you put in a road ditch and cover with gravel so you can drive across it and the water in the ditch goes through the pipe.  He took a piece of the pipe about six foot long and fourteen inches in diameter and cut it in half lengthwise.  Then he bolted angle iron to the edges of each piece where he could put the pipe back together by bolting the angle irons on each piece together.  We would set the form over a post hole that was slightly bigger than the pipe in diameter and about three to four feet deep.  I'm not sure how Dad braced the pipe to keep it from falling in the hole but he did and then leveled it where the post would be straight.

The post hole?...Yes....the post hole.  How do you dig a post hole?  Dad started with a spud bar.  Now some people, I have learned, call it a crow bar, a pry bar or even a punch bar but I'll just stick with spud bar since I'm spinnin' this yarn.  It was a solid steel bar, usually five to six feet long with the handle end about an inch diameter and the business end a couple of inches in diameter and I'd say it weighed in at twelve to fifteen pounds.  The business end had a chisel point and you used it to break up the dirt (and rocks...and more rocks.....and even more rocks) so they could be dipped out with the post hole diggers (affectionately called PHD's).

The PHD's had two handles that were attached by a hinge to curved metal blades that kinda had the appearance of crawdad pinchers (that's crayfish for all y'all north of the Mason/Dixon).  You squeezed the handles together, which held the pinchers apart and jammed them into dirt and rocks that were broken up with the spud bar. Then, you pulled the handles apart (which squeezed the dirt in the pinchers), lifted the dirt "load" out of the post hole and set it where you wanted to pile the dirt, squeezed the handles back together, the dirt fell out on the pile and you went back for another "load"!  I know this is real complicated for some of y'all but try to stay with me here...  After you got all the dirt out that you could with the PHD's, you stepped back and let the "Spudder" spud for awhile, then used the PHD's, then the spud bar, then the PHD's until you got the post hole big and deep enough.

After the pipe form was set over the post hole and braced, it was time for the concrete.  I asked Ralph about this but he didn't remember either..."Did we mix the concrete to fill the posts?  I did some ciphering and come up with a half to three-quarters of a yard of concrete per post.  Now this was doable with a portable mixer but it seems like I remember Dad having two sets of forms and if he did, a concrete truck would make a trip for that much concrete.

After the concrete set up, we pulled the forms off and you had a concrete post, in the shape of the pipe that was solid in the ground!

We didn't put anything in the concrete to tie fencing to, so the barb wire was just wrapped around the post and stretched to the next corner post or line brace.

If my memory serves me right, Dad put in at least seven of these concrete posts around "The Six Acres".  Now Folks!...that weren't no small task!

If you drive west, past the Junction Hill Church, through the crossroad, about two or three hundred feet past, you'll see the corner post pictured above on the right or north side of the road.  If you take a right at the crossroad, go up the little hill, there will be a couple of these corner posts on your left or west.