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!