Sledding! (Dangerously)

The winter of 76-77 was a humdinger. We returned to school after the Christmas break and it started snowing... And snowing... And snowing. Then... Sleet. Freezing rain. More sleet and freezing rain. Until we had almost a foot-and-a-half of snow and ice on the ground.

And then it got cold...

On January 11th, 1977, West Plains set a record low of 19 below zero. Needless to say, the snow and ice didn't melt, the road and streets stayed ice packed and we were out of school for three weeks!

We had moved to town from the Farley Place in the spring of 76 so this was our first of two winters, living on Third Street. Dad had bought Wayne Spear's moving business so we were kept pretty busy, moving people that didn't want to move themselves in the nasty weather. But when Dad didn't have work for us to do, we rambled all over the west side of West Plains.

Now when I say "we", it's not like I had a mouse in my back pocket. "We" was meself, my brother Ralph and the boy that lived next door east, Bobby Moran.

In our wanderings up and down the streets and back alleys of the "west side", one day we discovered the perfect sledding hill.

On the west side of Peoples Park, between Halstead Street and Utah Street, there was an alley.(I didn't realize it until I went to take some pictures, but it is actually a short portion of Cass Avenue, with a street sign to prove it!) Only the city trash truck, propane gas trucks and an occasional resident used it, so we didn't have to worry about a lot of traffic... On the alley.

We would start at the top of the hill, at Utah Street. By the time we reached Halstead, when we had reached Mach 4 speed and 80 Gee's... There was NO stopping for traffic! After a couple of close calls with a car or two, we got smarter (or less dumber, depending on how you look at it...) and posted a "lookout" at Halstead Street to warn the sledder that a car was "coming". Actually it was magnificent display of arm flapping, hand waving, leg kicking and other bodily gyrations and contortions, while screaming at the top of your voice - "CAR COMING! CAR COMING!"

The sledder would then have to make a difficult, split-second decision. Which is going to hurt worse? Turning the sled into the trees, vines and bushes on the one side of the alley? Or hitting the garage or the wooden yard fence on the other side of the alley? OR...the "Nuclear Option" -  Just keep it straight and hit the unsuspecting vehicle passing by on Halstead  Street!

Even if there was no traffic coming, there were decisions to be made once you hit the bottom of the hill at the street - some with potentially serious consequences..

If you just went straight... you would cross the street at supersonic speed, fly through the air off the hill, down into the park, slide over a very steep bank behind the Howell County Volunteers building.... And right into the side of a 1000 gallon, steel propane tank... However, if you would steer slightly to the left, you would miss the bank and the tank and come to a nice smooth stop on the little street beside the park pavilion. BUT, if you over-steered to the left... You would run smack into a big ole elm tree!

If you were a dare-devil (or were just a few lettuce leaves short of a taco) you could steer HARD to the left, fly through the air, off the street into the park and miss (hopefully) the elm tree to the left side, and slide all the way down to the creek that went by the pavilion. HOWEVER... If you steered TOO hard to the left, you might just dead center the electric pole...

Decisions, Decisions!

We played hour after hour, day after day in the alley, until most of the kids in the neighborhood were sledding down our "ski slope". But good times don't last forever, and one afternoon, our sledding fun came to a screeching halt.

Mike Rader's house faced Broadway but he parked behind the house, which was on "our" alley. And since it was right behind their house, Mike's daughters joined in on the sledding fun. On their last trip down the alley, they decided to go "piggy-back". One laid down on the sled and steered and the other one laid on top of her and hung on like a burr in a mule's tail.

When they got to Halstead Street, they took the straight-slightly left option, and sailed off into the park... But with the additional, top-heavy weight, the sled didn't turn as quick as it should and they were headed right for the bank and the propane tank! The young girl on the bottom, steering, gave a hard jerk to the left with the handle... And when she did, her sister riding on top, rolled off...

...Down the slope, down the bank... And smacked her head right into the end of the steel propane tank!!

When we all got to her, there was blood and she was crying but not in hysterics. We bundled her up and since Ralph was the oldest (a junior in High School) he carried her up the hill to the Rader's house.

When Mrs. Rader came to the door, we were all standing there, with Ralph holding her daughter, bleeding and crying. It was just natural for her to get a tad excited. So we gave a short explanation, gathered up our sleds and headed home.

I'm not sure the exact severity of the wound, but I do know that measures were taken to prevent it from happening again.

That evening, when Mike came home and found out about his daughter's accident, he un-slicked our sledding slope. He took wood ashes and spread them all over the area of the alley, right behind his house! This was right in the middle of the slope and the ashes melted a big bare spot! Sledding Over!

This week, while the snow was on the ground, I went and took some pictures of the "alley". As I stood and looked up and down the white, narrow track; I was reminded of Good Times, A Scary Time and the fun that we had... Sledding!(Dangerously)

Standing in Halstead Street, looking up the alley toward Utah Street.

The view from your sled, if you were going straight. You can see the elm tree, across the road and slightly left.

Another view of the elm tree with the electric pole to the left. The block wall was not there in 77 and there was no curbing on Halstead Street.

Another view straight on and the big elm tree. Where the trees are farther down was where the propane tank was.

Looking west, up the alley. Big ole elm tree again!

Standing in Halstead Street, looking south. There was no curbing in 77.

The Launching Pad! Standing in Utah Street, looking east down the alley.  The back of Mike Rader's house is where the black, oblong object is on the left, about 200' down.

"On Frozen Pond"

My brother Ralph and I - "On Frozen Pond"

In 1981, a film debuted starring Katherine Hepburn, Henry Fonda and Jane Fonda. It won a Golden Globe Award, an Academy Award and was nominated for eight Oscars. The film was Henry Fonda's final film and was titled "On Golden Pond". Having never seen the film (and probably not likely to), I cannot give it a rating or attest to its quality.

This little yarn however, is not about a big screen movie with over-paid actors.  It's about two brothers on an Ozark hill farm, that spent a winter's afternoon playing and sliding...

"On Frozen Pond"

We moved from the farmhouse at County Line to the Conklin House at Junction Hill in the late fall of 1968. It was a ranch style house with a garage, a single level barn, a chicken house and an outdoor johnny. (which was only used when you couldn't make it to the house!) There was a fenced in "play yard", a large garden spot (complete with rocks), a six-acre pasture, a couple of stands of timber...

And there was a pond.

How do you describe an Ozark farm pond? And really catch the ugliness? the smallness? the mudiness? the unsanitariness? And winsomeness and charm of a place a young lad can wile away the hours, in any season of the year?

Our pond was in the hollow, down the steep hill below the chicken house. The dirt had been dug out down to red clay mud and then piled across the hollow to form a dam for the water. After a few rains, (if it was gonna "hold" water) a small, shallow pool of dirty clay-colored water would form in the pond.

If the pond would continue to "hold", it would get larger and deeper, the mud would settle and the water would get clearer. Somehow, fish would begin to grow in the pond, in addition to frogs, turtles, snakes and other charming creatures.

In the winter time (at least the winters before Al Gore invented Global Warming) the pond would freeze over at least once during the season. This would happen after a few days of below-freezing weather and usually some snowfall. But even after you KNEW that the pond was frozen enough to slide on, you didn't dare get out on it!

There was a ritual to testing the ice for "slideability."

After we had tested the edges of the ice for thickness by stomping, and sliding a little around the edges; we had to get Dad's stamp of approval. Dad didn't take to well to pestering and whining so just had to ask once... and then remind him every thirty minutes or so!

Dad would eventually make the trek down the hill to "check out" the ice.He would stand on the edge of the ice and stomp... and then listen. He would walk out on the ice and listen to the popping and cracking the ice made under his weight. After a few minutes of this, he would deem the ice thick enough (or not thick enough.) I really haven't figured out his method of testing but we never ended up in the drink!

Since we didn't have skates, my brother Ralph and I did the next best thing.

By trial and error, we had found out which pair of our shoes were the best for sliding on snow and ice. They had to be slick enough to slide smoothly over the somewhat rough, snow-covered pond ice. But not so infernally slick that you couldn't even stand up in'um! - Somewhere between leather soled dress shoes and Converse tenner-shoes.

And we slid... We raced each other. We chased each other. We had contests to see who could slide the farthest and fastest. We tried to turn in circles while sliding. We tried turning mid-slide and sliding backward. It was a glorious hour or so of cold, icy, improvised fun!

Eventually though, our hands got cold, our ears were froze, our clothes were wet and cold; so we headed up the hill to the house.

I feel somewhat sorry for the kids of today. With all the video games, online-gaming sites, cellphone apps and the other knick-knacks that modern technology has provided to them; I hardly think they size up to a wintry afternoon spent "On Frozen Pond".

Christmas Day 2017

Christmas truly is; "The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year." But to realize that, you have to go beyond the hustle and bustle of gift giving, the awesome light displays, and the many social and church functions demanding your time. You even have to go beyond the spectrum of family - and to some, saying that is tantamount to blasphemy of the gods of tradition!

Rev. Dwain Galiher, our pastor at the Junction Hill Pentecostal Church, expressed it so well in our Christmas Eve service yesterday. This isn't exactly how he said it, but the jest of it...

The angel Gabriel said to Mary "The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God." It boggles the mind that the Holy Ghost could somehow "reduce" the greatness of the Son of God to the size of an human embryo and place him in a young Jewish virgin's womb. That moment of conception was when "The God of Heaven" became our "Emmanuel"

And THAT is what makes Christmas Wonderful!

Family traditions also make this time of the year special.

After our daughter, Tabitha, was born, we began a tradition with my Mom, Helen Riggs. We would spend the night with her on Christmas Eve. Tami and I would sleep in the queen size bed, and Tab and Mom would sleep in the full size bed in the "spare" room. Mom would get up on Christmas morning and fix a light breakfast and then later in the day, the rest of the Riggs' would arrive to open gifts, eat and celebrate. I really believe it was the highlight of Mom's Christmas season.

Mom passed away in 2006 and we had to discontinue the tradition... until last year.

Our grandson, Lucas Rey Miller, was born on December 23rd, 2014. If I remember correctly, the Christmas right after his first birthday, the Miller's didn't get to stay the night of Christmas Eve. But the tradition began again last year and continued last night.

We celebrated our Christmas yesterday with a meal and then opened our gifts. We played with Lucas, took naps, ate again, played some more and then around 11 o'clock, went to bed.

Please note that I said we went to bed. That statement does not necessarily equate to "We went to sleep!"

Lucas wasn't quite ready for that!

We played puzzles on my tablet and he watched "EIEIO" until I finally had to put the tablet up. When we turned out the lights, there was an immediate reaction. "Dark!" "Dark!" So.... we turned a lamp back on. This continued for a while with no sign of the "Sandman" showing up.

We finally turned out the lamp and I turned the "Sudoku" game on on my phone, which has a bright light and stays on. This seemed to satisfy Lucas, but still, no sleep.

I finally dimmed the screen on my phone and just started patting his back. It wasn't too long before I could hear his even breathing and his eyes were closed!

And so, we slept through the night. It was a little crowded in our queen size bed with the King and Queen and the little Jester, but I did manage a few hours of sleep!

As of right now, (7:51 AM) Lucas is still asleep and the tradition continues!

Merry Christmas from BigSurveyor and his family to the Blogdom Universe!

(Here a few pictures of our Christmas. And yes, we had homemade pizza for Christmas lunch!!)

Riggs Thanksgiving 2017 - In Pictures

If you read my previous blog post, then you may appreciate the pictures I took of our (The Riggs') Traditional Thanksgiving feast today. I'll try to give commentary in the captions

I fixed up a makeshift table on my deck to cook the cashew chicken. Since our kitchen is small, I cook outside while Tami "Does Her Thang" inside!

The peanut oil is heated to around 300° to 350°

The battered up chicken pieces are...

Dropped into the hot oil...

I originally had the oil up to around 350° to 375°. It was a tad bit too hot! I had to fry them a little longer to get the inside done and the outside got darker than I wanted

After I reduced the oil temperature... Just Right!! 

Tami, "Doin' Her Thang" in the kitchen!

Tami tried a new dish this year. Sweet-n-Sour Casserole. It was very good!

The Thanksgiving table with "most" of the fixin's on it.

Lisa's delicious Fried Rice.
She fixed another dish of Fried Rice this year with cauliflower rice. Good, Good Good!!!

Tami's Chinese Salad. Ooolala!

I fixed the white rice in our steamer. Claire prefers it!

The cashew sauce.

I didn't get any pictures but we had regular Lipton sweet tea AND Lipton with a bag of Earl Grey throwed in (also sweet). There were three kinds of pies; Lisa made (real) pumpkin pie, chocolate pie and Tami made pecan pie. We had coffee (Seattle's Best #5) with our dessert and it rounded out an excellent meal.

Here are all of us, ready to chow down!
L-R  Bella, Tami, Claire, Ray, Stephanie, Ryan, Shayla, Regan, Lisa, Ralph
We sure missed Anson, Tabitha and Lucas but they had to be in Indiana because of Anson's Grandmother's illness.

Stay tuned for Christmas cause you never know what's cookin' at the Riggs' Hacienda!!!

The Riggs' "Traditional" Thanksgiving Meal

Have you ever wondered "What would the Thanksgiving meal look like if somebody else besides the English had landed at Plymouth Rock?"

Greeks... Moussaka and Gyros?

Russians... Pirozhki and Borscht?

Feijoada and Coxinha? It would have been folks from Brazil!

I know Turkey and Dressing with all the trimmings are the traditional Thanksgiving meal. But after two or three meals of this at various kinfolk's tables, have you ever wanted to say "Enough!!!! Give me a Beefy 5-Layer Burrito from Taco Bell!!!" (Now, I would never personally say this because most everyone knows my opinion of Taco Bell...)

Many years ago, the Riggs' family had reached this place. My Mom was to the point that she didn't have the energy or confidence to fix a large traditional meal, so we decided to "shake things up a little bit."

Everyone loved "Tami's Cashew Chicken" so the vote was unanimous to have it for our Thanksgiving meal.

And a Tradition was born...

The first "Cashew Thanksgiving" was 2005. We didn't know it at the time, but it would be the last one we would spend with my Mom.

The main course, of course, is Cashew Chicken. Tami hand breads the chunks of breast meat and I fry them in peanut oil 'til they're light brown and crispy.

Tami shortcuts on the cashew sauce. Instead of boiling chicken bones for broth, she just uses chicken bullion cubes. Soy sauce is added to the broth and then it is thickened with corn starch.

A few years ago, someone bought us a rice steamer so we make up a big batch of white rice for the "Truly Chinese" among us!

Lisa, Ralph's wife, always cooks a HUGE pot of fried rice, loaded with corn, carrots, peas, green beans,. And Boy Howdy!, is it ever good!

Tami also makes a Chinese salad. It is a cole slaw - green onion veggie mix,  mixed with a vinegar-sugar-oil-soy sauce concoction. This is then mixed in with crushed Ramen noodles and cashews that have been fried in butter. My Mercy!!!

We usually buy "Pagoda Cafe" pork and shrimp egg rolls and buy crab rangoons from one of the Chinese Restaurants in town, and this rounds out our meal.

I don't know how to type "Happy Thanksgiving" in Chinese but I hope you and yours have a wonderful day of giving thanks to the Heavenly Father for all of the blessings He has bestowed!

Happy Thanksgiving from the "BigSurveyor"!!

One of our Thanksgiving meals

Tami's (well-used) recipe for Cashew Chicken

OH DEER DEER DEER DEER!!!!

It began as a typical opening morning of the Missouri deer season. Dad, Ralph and I, on our stands, at the "Old Bob Thompson Place".

I think the year was 1982 because... I had just bought Edwin Earls' 1967 Chevy Chevelle. This is a very important piece of information and very germane to this story.

We had hunted the Old Bob Thompson Place for many years and all three of us had our "stands" or special places that we hunted year to year. On the west end, if you walked north from the county road, you immediately dropped down into a big hollow. My stand was at the west end of this hollow, near the east fence line of Droop Harris' Place. Ralph's stand was at the east end of the hollow where it emptied out into another big hollow that led north, down to Gunters Valley.

If you continued to walk north from this hollow, you would cross a big ridge and then dip down into another hollow that was not as steep and much wider than the south one. This is where Dad had his stand.

It was good daylight, the squirrels were scampering and barking, the woodpeckers were pecking, the chipmunks were "clicking", there had been several shots in the distance, when a loud KA-BLOOM! interrupted nature's sounds.

The sound of the shot came from the area where Dad was hunting, so I said to myself, "Well, sounds like Dad got him one!"

This thought had not fully escaped my mind when there was another KA-BLOOM!... KA-BLOOM! from the same direction

My thought then? "That can't be Dad. He would never shoot that many times." While I cogitated on this perplexing situation...and after a short pause...

KA-BLOOM! KA-BLOOM! KA-BLOOM! KA-BLOOM!

My thoughts then turned really serious... Was Dad trying to get our attention? The old "Three shots in the air" signal??

I got up and gathered my stuff and started making my way down the hollow toward Ralph. When I got within his range of hearing, I whistled our special whistle and then I saw him working his way up the hollow toward me.

His first question... "Was that Dad?"

Me: I don't think so. He wouldn't shoot THAT many times.

Ralph: You reckon he's in trouble?

Me: Could be. We might need to check it out.

We started climbing up the ridge to the north and about the time we made it to the top, Dad met us walking south. We asked if it was him that shot and he confirmed that it was. So it just followed that we jokingly asked;

"How many did you get??"

Dad's answer was classic... "Well... I don't really know, Maybe we need to go see."

I know if you could have seen our faces at that moment, our jaws would have been very close to touching the ground!

With Dad leading... And Ralph and I following in a stupefied, barely cognizant state, We started back down into the north hollow. After we had taken a few steps, the "conversation" went somewhat like this:

Dad: There's one over there!

R&R: Silence

Several more steps...

Dad: There's another one over there!

R&R: Silence - Utter Silence

A few more steps...

Dad: Well, there's another one over there!

R&R: Silence ( by this time we are in shock)

Another hundred feet or so...

Dad: There's one right over there!

R&R: Silence....Stunned Silence....

In case you haven't been counting, that's four. Count'em... FOUR DEER!

If you knew my Dad at all, this would shock you. He was one of the most deliberate, careful, calculating persons that I ever knew. The word "impulsive" was not in his vocabulary (I thought!) This was COMPLETELY out of character for my Dad.

When Ralph and I came out of our shock and found our voices, our first question was short and to the point...

"WHY?!?"

It seems that, early that morning, he had found a big, limby post oak tree to climb up in for his stand. A little while before his first shot, a herd of eight to ten deer moved into the hollow by his stand. He watched them for a little bit, picked out the one he wanted, and KA-BLOOM, he dropped it.

At this point, things kinda went south (for the deer at least!) and temporary insanity descended upon my Dad.

Dad said when he shot the first deer, the rest of the herd just milled around and acted like they didn't know what to do or where to run. He related his next thought; "I'm just gonna keep shooting and see how many I can kill."

Whooboy!!!

After the next KA-BLOOM - KA-BLOOM, the deer ran off

But evidently, they didn't catch sight of the temporarily insane hunter in the post oak tree because they CAME BACK!!!

Dad shot four more times until he had emptied the magazine in his Marlin 30-30. (Two thoughts: Thank goodness he didn't have a rifle with a high capacity clip and... As good a marksman as he was, How did he miss with three shots???)

Dad began to field dress the deer (with Ralph and I helping in a dazed, glassy-eyed stupor). The deer were very small, actually just yearlings or slightly older, and none of them had antlers. But it was still quite a chore to drag them up on the ridge, down into the big hollow and back up the hill to the county road.  After we had them all up to the road, but out of sight, we faced another problem.

This was before the day of limitless any-deer tags.

You had to put in your name to the Conservation Department to be put in a drawing for a limited number of any-deer permits. It so happened that that year, Ralph and I had both drawn a permit. But that was only two tags and we had four antler-less deer. The math didn't add up!

So... We loaded up two of the deer, left two hid beside the road, and drove home... With me sitting in the back with both any-deer tags in hand, ready to tag the deer, just in case we were stopped by the Game Warden.

When we made it home, we realized we needed a safe hiding place for the purloined deer until we could skin and process them later that night.

Remember the 1967 Chevy Chevelle???

Yep... We loaded the two deer into the trunk of my Chevelle, which was in our shop building, while I was getting it back in running condition.

After checking to make sure the coast was clear, we headed back to the Old Bob Thompson place to retrieve the other two deer. We repeated the process of me riding in the back with the tags and got them safely stored in the trunk of the old Chevelle! This should give you a clue to the size of the deer, if all four of them would fit in a car trunk - even one as big as an old muscle car trunk!

Later that night we skinned and cut up deer.... and skinned and cut up deer... and skinned and cut up deer... And then we skinned and cut up deer... Until we didn't care if we EVER saw another deer!

I think Dad did put the "hex" on us though. If I remember correctly, we didn't even see another deer the rest of the season. Our any-deer tags were wasted!

It wouldn't happen again though...

The next year, when we all went out deer hunting, we presented Dad with ONE SHELL And informed him that it would have to last him through the entire season!!!!!

The Ghost Of Halloween Past

One morning a few years ago, just before Halloween, the front door of our office clanged open (we had a bell on the handle instead of the fancy electric thingamajiggy we have now.) There was a pause as we waited for footsteps to start down the steps to the reception area. Then... In a very scary voice, we heard "I... Am The Ghost... Of Halloween Past...." The door clanged open again and the "Ghost" was gone! Whoa!

We knew who the "Ghost" was and it still gives us all a chuckle at Riggs & Associates when we bring it up.

Heman Judd was playing "Ghost" that day!!!

Heman Judd was an eccentric older man, that lived in Crestwood Circle. He always wore a big cowboy hat and pulled a little red wagon around town. He attended our church at Junction Hill for many years and there are a couple of stories I could tell about his antics there! But all in good time...

Let me just say right here that I do not agree with the way most of the country celebrates Halloween. The Ghosts, Goblins, Witches, Warlocks,  Zombies, blood, guts, horrible scary masks are completely inappropriate, especially for children. I like to celebrate it as a fall festival, with the children dressed accordingly; as cowboys, princesses, policemen, firemen or some gentle, friendly Disney character.

However, arguments about whether to "Ween" or not to "Ween" are not the subject of this post.

My Grandma, Alma "Momo" Riggs, absolutely loved Halloween. Their house, at 1310 West Main Street, was the happening place on "Trick or Treat" night. I think it was because of her special treat which was Popcorn Balls.

A day or so before Halloween, she would make up the awfullest mess of popcorn balls that you ever did see!! Each one wrapped in plastic wrap with a generous amount of "Momo's Love" included. I would try to tell you about it but it would be best to hear it in her own words.

They are from a cookbook that she prepared for everyone in the family, and gave them out at our Christmas Eve get-together in 1982. Tami and I still use many of the recipes in this book.

Here's the recipe for popcorn balls and Momo's comments about them...

Popo and Momo Riggs (Elmer and Alma)

I hope there are some people reading this that remember Momo, and the kind, Godly, generous person that she was. If there are, why don't you just share it with me and all the readers of this blog in the comments! I would love it!

And as an added benefit, I have added a mystery photograph for your viewing pleasure. It shouldn't take you too long to figure out who the yahoo's are in the picture below!