Be Careful Where You "Go"!

With the present COVID-19 pandemic, sheltering in place, social distancing and toilet paper hoarding being the news of the day, I thought a little humor might be in order (especially as it relates to TP).

One blue cold winter day, we were working on a Forest Service project, north of Poplar Bluff, Missouri. We were traversing with a four man crew, using fixed tripods. This consists of an instrument man, foresight and backsight men, and one poor sap out front clearing the traverse line. When an angle set is completed, the backsight man pulls his tripod and brings it to the instrument man. The instrument man leaves his tripod in place and carries his instrument and the backsight tripod up the cleared line to the foresight man. The foresight man carries the extra tripod on up the line and sets it on the next point, so a new angle set can be completed. Somewhat boring and repetitive work, but on this day, we were provided with a hilarious situation.

*Jack was up front clearing the traverse line, *Bob was at the foresight tripod, I was running the instrument, and *Eddie was the tail-end backsight guy.

In the late afternoon, Eddie brought his tripod up to me. I noticed that he had taken off the top part of his coveralls and tied the "arms" around his waist so he could keep wearing the "bottoms". This struck me as being very strange. Did I mention that it was an old "blue" cold day? Overcast, kinda damp and just the kind of day where the cold penetrates all the way to your bones. And Eddie was in his shirt sleeves??

I said "Hey Eddie, are you hot? Man it's cold out here. You need to get your coveralls on."

Eddie: I can't.

Me: Well why not?!

Eddie: (with a sheepish look) Ummm. I had to take a dump awhile ago and I didn't get my coveralls out of the way, and I pooped in the sleeve. I didn't notice it and started to put them back on... Then I realized...

Me: Oh my! That's bad.... Wow! (all this is said while trying to refrain from bursting out laughing!) Well, we're almost through for the day and we'll be back to the truck pretty soon.

I grabbed Eddie's tripod, shouldered up the rest of my equipment and almost ran up to the foresight. When I arrived, somewhat out of breath, I said "Bob! Bob! you gotta hear this!" When I related the story to him, we both literally were rolling around on the ground laughing! Of course we felt sorry for Eddie but if this would have happened to us, we would have been laughing at ourselves!

But Eddie got the last laugh...

When we got back to the vehicle at the end of the day, Eddie just threw his soiled coveralls into the back of the old Jeep Cherokee, along with all of the other equipment.

And as we started back toward West Plains; the engine started heating up... the heater started warming up... and a horrible smell started permeating the confines of the ole Jeep!

Of course we knew right off what the source was. So we stopped alongside the highway, used some old wire flags and survey flagging to tie Eddie's coveralls to the top rack of the Jeep and then continued on our way!

This whole incident brings to mind an old adage "Some days you're the statue and some days you're the pigeon" and that day wasn't Eddie's day!!

*Unless you were there, you'll never know if these are the actual names or not!

Rake? or Blower?

I love modern technology. It gives us a sense that our lives are easier and less worrisome than prior generations. But the "Thomas" in me plus a healthy dose of Ozark pragmatism, makes me look sorta slanchwise at some of the gadgets we use and say; "Wouldn't we be better off if we did it the old way?"

The leaves in my yard needed to be removed, piled and burned. I was offered the use of a gas-powered leaf blower; which seems the most logical, reasonable, sensible and least physically demanding option available.

I politely declined and opted for the raking method.

"Why?" you ask? Well, raking leaves is good physical exercise and helps me maintain my "girlish" figure!! If I was a "tree-hugger", I would say that there are environmental  benefits to raking vs blowing. And there is the financial aspect to be considered: A $20 rake compared to a $150-$300 leaf blower.

But none of these are the real reason I rake my leaves. It mostly has to do with memories...

Many fall evenings, when I got off the school bus and looked up the long driveway toward the Homeplace; I would see my old Dad, out in the yard, raking up the leaves. The Homeplace was surrounded by several large white oak and red oak trees and one lone blackjack oak in the front yard. Dad would wait till most of the leaves were down and then he was on a mission to clear the yard of leaf litter!

The leaves would be raked into windrows of manageable size. These windrows were then raked into piles to be removed.

After the piles were made, a large tarp was laid flat and pulled up to the edge of the pile.

Then, with Dad standing on one corner and me on the other corner nearest the pile, we would pull the edge of the tarp taut and then rake the leaves onto the tarp.

After the pile was raked onto the tarp (or as much as it would safely hold), I would pull the four corners of the tarp together, sling it over my shoulder and trudge to the garden or burn pile and empty out the "Santa Bag" of leaves. This was repeated over and over until the yard was spic and span.

When I am raking the leaves up into piles, spreading out the tarp, raking the piles onto the tarp (with just one corner held) and toting them off to the burn pile; my mind just wanders back... I can recall the sure, steady "whisp, whisp, whisp" of Dad's rake; the silence of both of us - since words weren't really needed; the challenge of keeping one step ahead of him with the tarp and toting the leaves; the aggravation of having to do this chore when there were so many other things I wanted to do; the feeling of pride and accomplishment when I looked at the yard at dusk and it was all neat and tidy.

So... Rake? or Blower? Obviously you can choose for yourself; but for me; I'll just rake.- the memories far outweigh the ease and time-savings...

Dee Doodly Dum Day

"Whistle While You Work" was a song made some-what popular by the Disney movie "Snow White". My Grandpa Riggs, "Popo", did whistle occasionally, but it wasn't his preferred method of workplace euphony.

Popo was a "Dee Doodler".

I was very privileged to be with Popo while he worked for my Dad building several houses, and I have often said; "Popo was the most impulsive person I have ever known". And in retrospect, he was also a person that could focus so intently on a task, problem or situation, that he completely shut out his surroundings.

In those times, when he was so focused, he would start a sing-talking routine that I call the "Dee Doodles".

It wasn't a song... But on the other hand it was a song... sort of. It basically had one pitch and no metered time.

In his normal voice volume, Popo would start something like this; "Dee dee doodle dum dee. Dee doodle doodle dum dee". Then he might pause and for a few seconds and then start up again; "Doo dee dum doodle dum dee. Deedle dee dum dee do". Another pause and... "Doodly doodly   doodly dum"

There were times when it seemed like (to use an old LP record player phrase) Popo's needle got stuck on the "Deedles, Doos and Doodles"! He would begin in his regular way and then... "Deedle deedle deedle deedle de dum" and "Doo doo doo dum de doodle doodle doodle doodle dum day".

The older I get, the more I realize how unique and privileged my childhood was. Everyone has their story but I would wager that very few had a "Dee Doodly Dum Day" Grandpa!

(And If I were brave enough, I might try to recreate an example of Popo's "Dee Doodles" and include it in this post!)

Fables, Freckles And My Grandma Fox

My Grandma Fox's lifetime spanned many monumental changes in society, the sciences and technology. She was born on June 23, 1900 and passed away on December 22, 1983. She was almost three years old when Orville and Wilbur took the first airplane ride, nineteen years old when the 19th Amendment was passed, fifty-five when Salk introduced the polio vaccine, sixty-nine when man landed on the moon, and the year she passed - the video game "Mario Brothers" was introduced. Her lifetime began in the horse and buggy days and ended with the space shuttle flights! I am a very privileged person to have known her like I did!

Grandma Parzettie Roseanna Fox nee Callahan was industrious, tough, gentle, kind, funny and onery! Heavy on the onery! I have heard it said that "she would rather scare someone than to eat!" And I somehow believe it.

And I remember this story that she told...

When Grandma Fox was a young lady, she had lots of freckles on her nose and cheeks. From the way she told it, it wasn't just a few scattered here and there but a very liberal amount that God had blessed or (perhaps rather) cursed her with. It was a source of shame for her and she was determined to get rid of them.

Fables, home remedies and old wives-tales seem to flourish in the Ozark Hills and Grandma heard about a sure-fire way to get rid of all her freckles.

First, she was told to find some stump-water.

Now if all-ya'll don't know what stump-water is, maybe I can 'splain' it to you! Sometimes in a logging operation, a hollow tree will inadvertently get cut down and the stump, with the hollow part in the middle, collects rain water. Or, a healthy tree gets cut and as the stump decays, the middle rots out first, making a place for water to collect. I found a good picture of one on the Avantgardens Facebook page which is shown below.

The water collects bugs, mosquito larvae (wiggle tails), leaves and is usually brownish in color and doesn't have a very good smell.

After Grandma had found her stump-water, she proceeded to follow instructions.

She took some of the stump-water in her hands and rubbed it on the freckles. Yep! She took that dirty, stinky ole water and put it all over her nose and cheeks!

Then, she was supposed to rub her hands on the part of her body where she wanted to freckles to move to!

Well, Grandma chose the top of one of her thighs.

It wasn't supposed to happen immediately, but over the course of a few days or weeks, so the fable went, the freckles would leave her face and appear on her thigh.

And this is the rest of the story....

I know she is older in the picture above, but you will look in vain for a freckle on Grandma's face. And although this is slightly embarrassing to relate, the freckles did move. I distinctly remember her telling me this story and when she got to the point of saying that the freckles moved to her thigh, she exposed enough of the thigh for me to see a big patch of FRECKLES on the top of it!!!

So to all my "be-freckled" friends out there, THERE IS HOPE!!! It may seem somewhat quaint, but a Fable took care of the Freckles for my Grandma Fox!!!

The Battle of Third Street (Updated!)

To really appreciate this blog post, you hafta go back and read a post from 2016. Read it HERE and then come back and read this post.

I'll wait..............

OK. Now you know the story of the Battle of Third Street.

But here is the "Rest Of The Story!"

A year or so ago, Tami and I were waiting at El Charro (south) for a table, when a gentleman I have known for several years came in with his wife. We exchanged pleasantries and then Jim Woodworth said, "I read your story about the snowball fight you had over on Third Street". I thanked him for taking time out to read my little story and then he said; "I just wanted to tell you that I was one of those men in the back of that dump truck!!!" Whoooboy! He remembered every detail just as I had told the story!!! We had a good laugh and now that I think about it... I should have BOUGHT HIS DINNER for being so ornery, all those years ago!!! 

Jim Woodworth

The Thanksgiving Pheasant

Popo and Momo Riggs
(Elmer and Alma)

When I think of Thanksgiving, somehow an image comes to mind of a little house at 1310 West Main Street in West Plains, Missouri. This was the only house that I remember my Momo and Popo Riggs ever living in. When I've had the chance to be inside that house recently, I am completely bewildered and think; "How did they fit the whole Riggs clan inside that house?!"

But they did... And I have the pictures to prove it!

Christmas or Thanksgiving 1967 at 1310 West Main. L-R around the table. Aunt Yvonne, Aunt Lorene, Uncle Bill, Uncle Ronnie, Popo, Momo, Dad and Mom
In the background - I think it is Rita

It seems that I recollect a Thanksgiving or two that the bird of choice for the meal was Pheasant. Instead of turkey, Momo cooked a pheasant. And just where did this bird of the ring-necked variety come from? Well, let's just see where this fine-feathered tale leads us.

Popo was a bird hunter. With his bird dog, Ole Bob, he took every opportunity to roam the fields hunting that elusive covey of quail. As a matter of fact, my Dad said that the first day of quail season was just like the first day of deer season is now; every quail hunter took the day off work and hunted!

Every few years or so though, Popo ranged further afield.

He would load up Bob, his shotgun and other hunting gear, and head out west to the pheasant fields. I remember him going to hunt with Howard Simmons, who had a farm in Red Cloud, Nebraska. And it seems that a time or two, he took the president of West Plains Bank, Dan Gohn, with him on these hunting forays.

Usually though, he would incorporate a visit to his sister's house, in with the hunting trip. And of course, Momo went along.

Uncle Guy and Aunt Ora (Riggs) Jones lived in western Kansas in the town of St. Francis. Their only child, Vaudie, had a farm with her husband, Ward Wiley, in eastern Colorado near the town of Idalia. Ward, Vaudie and their children, Patricia, and twins Sally and Susan; raised grain crops so it was a paradise for pheasants!

On one such trip, a funny thing happened that really sums up the personalities of my Popo and Momo Riggs.

I have said, from the perspective of fifty-plus years, "Popo was the most impulsive person, I have ever known." When Popo got excited about doing something, he got "tunnel-vision" and just did things without really thinking about the consequences. (If you need further evidence, read here) 

Momo, on the other hand, was always calm, cool and collected. Nothing seems to rattle her or shake her up. Now, this may have been a "learned" trait from living with Popo...!

As they were driving across the vast expanse of nothingness called Kansas, a stop had to be made for fuel and a bathroom break. Popo wheeled into the service station and while he was fueling up, Momo went to use the "facilities".

After he finished fueling up and paying the service station attendant, Popo jumped into the truck, started it up and roared off down the road to the west.

But Wait... Isn't there something missing here?...

Yep, you guessed it... Popo had driven off and left Momo in the ladies room!!!

When she came out of the restroom, there was neither hide nor hair of the truck, the dog or Popo to be found!

And Meanwhile... Popo was smoking the road west, talking to an empty passenger's seat. Yes, I really said that... He was so focused on getting to Colorado that he didn't even realize that Momo wasn't in the truck... Until he was a few miles down the road and he suddenly came to the realization that Momo wasn't answering!!!

I have heard Momo tell her part of the story many times. When she concluded that she had been abandoned, she just found a comfortable place to sit, and waited... calmly... Until Popo came high-tailing it back to get her!

Her words to Popo after he had attempted an apology... "Awww Pa, I wasn't worried. I knew you'd be back to get me. I just found me a place to sit and rest until you did."

And so, the Thanksgiving Pheasant didn't wind up in the roaster pan, surrounded by dressing, without a few laughs to help him along in his journey!

Momo's Dressing Recipe

Popo with Ward Wiley and a couple of pheasants

I noticed that the name on the side of the truck is "W.T. Barton - Alton, MO" so I guess Popo had borrowed a truck or Mr. Barton was his hunting partner. (Feel free to give more info on this in the comments)

Mister Pot and Old Man Kettle

Sometimes, the meaning of idioms are lost with the passage of time.

I have been accused of "Beating Around the Bush" and there really is no sick like being "Sick as a Dog." But really and truthfully; when was the last time you saw it "raining cats and dogs"? (I know, I know... it was that time when you stepped in a poodle...) However, when an old idiom is played out right before your very eyes (and ears) the story just begs repeating.

I was working in the southern part of a southern county in southern Missouri when I happened upon a gentleman by the name of *Mister Pot.

We were traversing along an old trail that was the eastern boundary of a rural subdivision. The original surveyor had set large nails at the angle points of the meandering old road and we were locating and tying them with our traverse.

A few hundred feet down the trail, we passed by the driveway to Mister Pot's house. With human nature being what it is and knowing that "curiosity kills the cat", it wasn't long until Mister P strolled down his driveway and initiated the conversation with the usual question; "You gonna widen the road?"

This question, more often than not, precedes a ten to fifteen minute discussion on how you're not widening the road, just finding the old markers at the angle points; and No, you didn't begin your survey at the brass marker, in the concrete post, on top of the big hill, five miles to the north; Yes, we are licensed surveyors; No, that "thang" does not take pictures... *sigh*

When we had satisfactorily answered his questions, Mr. P had a final word of warning for us that went something like this....

"Now you got to watch out for Old Man Kettle that lives on down the road there. Let me tell you, He-Is-A-Weirdo! At night, he gets out and sneaks around, peeking into people's houses and crawling around their yards. Why, the other night, I caught him out in my yard, in full camouflage, face painted and everything! I took my shotgun and run him off! I tell ya! He's dangerous!"

To say the least, he got my attention!

We continued to traverse and about an hour or so later, a pickup truck makes its way down the narrow trail toward us. When it pulled up beside me and stopped, the passenger's window was rolled down so I stepped over to explain what we were doing.

The first thing I saw when I leaned down into the window to talk with the driver, was a rifle with a scope... Which thankfully was leaning on the seat with the muzzle pointed toward the floor. There was also a couple of handguns, of quite a large caliber, lying on the seat, within easy reach of said driver...

By the vivid and colorful description given by Mister Pot, I knew that this had to be "Old Man Kettle"!

For the second time that day, I answered the "usual" questions and received Old Man Kettle's sage and scholarly (but quite useless) advice, that I should start my survey from "The brass marker in the concrete post, on top of the big hill, five miles to the north."

When our conversation about surveying was complete, Old Man Kettle had some parting words of caution for me, that went something like this...

"Now you got to watch out for that ole Mister Pot that lives up toward the county road there. Let me tell you, he's a Blue-ribbon Weirdo! He gits out at night and sneaks around, crawling around people's yards, just a dirty peeping-tom I tell ya! Why, the other night, I caught him out in my yard, in full camouflage, had his face all painted! I took my pistol and run him off! I tell ya! He's dangerous!"

After he had moseyed on down the road and we had had our laugh (because "Laughter is the best medicine") I realized that the old idiom:
"That's like the pot, calling the kettle black" had not lost it's relevance in our "Post-Modern" world!

*Real names are not used to protect the reputation of the kitchen utensils