Winter, Whittier and My Old Dad

 

My Driveway - All Shoveled Clean!
(Thanks to Dave and Anna for shoveling off the first seven inches!)

When it snows, like it has this week, I think of winters past, my old Dad and the poem "Snow-bound: A Winter Idyl " by John Greenleaf Whittier.

I am sure that my Dad did not read poetry. He read the West Plains Daily Quill, front to back, every day. He would read the occasional book or magazine, but poetry... Naaah.

However, Leamon Riggs and the father of JG Whittier shared a common wintertime custom.

It was a ritual around the Riggs house. The morning after a big snowfall, he would roust my brother Ralph and I out of bed with the announcement, "Come on boys, it's time to shovel some snow."

In line sixty-seven of "Snow-bound", Whittier's father expresses it differently, but with the same meaning; "Boys, a path!"

After bundling up in coats, boots and sock hats; we grabbed the shovels and went to work. Our "tools of the trade" were usually a regular snow shovel, a couple of old grain shovels and a broom.

We would begin by shoveling paths. A path from the wood box on the carport out to the wood pile. A path from the back patio, down across the yard to the "little door" of the shop. Paths to the pickups and other vehicles parked near the shop. Dad would use the broom to carefully sweep the snow from the vehicles and then we would shovel path around them!

When all the "path-shoveling" was complete, it was time to get down to business. 

The apron on the shop was shoveled off, the gravel parking area in front of the shop was shoveled off and the patio was shoveled off.

Were we done? Not by a long shot! It was time to start on the driveway!!

You may think I am exaggerating but I remember times when we shoveled the entire driveway, from the carport down to the county road. A distance of two to three-hundred feet!

This was my dad's reasoning. Get the snow off the walking and driving surfaces before it gets packed down. If you get most of the snow off the surface, the sun will do the rest.

I have found that "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree"... "I'm a chip off the ole block" or some such idiom.

When the snow stops falling, I find myself, outside, snow shovel and broom in hand, making the snow fly!!

A path from the front porch to the carport. A path from the front porch, around the house to the back deck. A side path to the propane tank. A path from the path to the carport to my in-law's house next door...

And then the driveway...

From the carport, out to the county road...

As I am shoveling, my mind wanders back to those times spent with my dad. It wasn't extraordinary. It wasn't "fun". It was hard, backbreaking labor that at the time, I begrudged. Now however, it's a bittersweet memory of Winter, Whittier and My Old Dad...

Gentry

"Gentry"
(The red bow has disappeared)

If you drive Missouri Route 14, from West Plains to Ava, you will pass through some of the beauty and ruggedness that make these Ozark Hills famous. However, there is really nothing extraordinary, just hills, hollers, pines, hardwoods, glades... and a crooked, curvy highway.

But when my wife,Tami, and I travel it, there's that one certain place...

Tami and I had our first date on February 15th, 1985. I took her to a church sponsored Sweetheart Banquet and by late spring, we had begun dating steady.

On a particular spring evening, we decided to travel to Ava, eat at the Pizza Hut and look at a project I had been working on in town. After eating a good meal, and driving around the prosperous metropolis of Ava for awhile, we decided to mosey on home.

The sun had set by the time we left and it was dusky dark when we passed through the intersection of 95 Highway at Gentryville. Just down the hill east, right before crossing the Brush Creek bridge, there was couple of old vacant store buildings on the north side of the highway. There was a gravel area right in front of the buildings where you could pull off the highway...

And that's what I did!

Now, I didn't realize it at the time, but Tami was quite concerned. She knew I was a Christian, and surely, surely, I wouldn't be pulling off to "park"! "Maybe he just feels the call of nature" but that too would be very embarrassing! 

In the meantime (while her mind was racing) I had got out and asked Tami to lean forward so I could get something from behind the seat of my truck. I retrieved a little package, put the seat back, handed her the package and got back in.

When she opened it, there was a small stuffed "Bambi" deer inside with a red bow tied around it's neck!

To say she was pleased would be an under statement! Tami immediately dubbed the little buck "Gentry" for the burg we were near and then we traveled on home.

And now, when we travel 14 Highway and pass through Gentryville, we chuckle, remembering this little episode in our courting days and are reminded again of how much we love each other!

As we get close to Valentines Day, there are a couple of observations that I draw from this little adventure in our lives.

Number one, the gift doesn't necessarily have to be big and expensive, to be pleasing. As you can see, Tami has kept this little memento for almost thirty-six years!

Number two, make memories close to home, where you can easily be reminded of them in years to come. A trip to Hawaii or Cancun is nice, but usually, only pictures remain. As Tami and I travel about here in the Ozarks, we are always passing by someplace and saying "Do you remember when we were here...."

After 36 years, all that remains of the old store buildings near Gentryville is the foundations

Thanksgiving - From A Pawpaw's Perspective

On Thanksgiving, a little song always comes back to me from my childhood. "Over the River and Through the Wood" is a song about Thanksgiving. I know it has morphed into a sentimental Christmas song but if you read the words, it is actually about Thanksgiving. As a matter of fact, according to Wikipedia, the actual title is "The New-England Boy's Song About Thanksgiving". These are the verses that I remember...

Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandfather's house we go;
the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood—
oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose
as over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood—
and straight through the barnyard gate,
We seem to go extremely slow,
it is so hard to wait!

Over the river, and through the wood—
now Grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

We usually didn't have snow and certainly didn't have a sleigh, but I can still remember the anticipation and excitement when we finally drove up to my grandparent's houses. At Momo and Popo Riggs' house, there would be cousins by the dozens and the little house at 1310 West Main would be filled with laughter, wonderful smells and general chaos! At Grandma and Grandpa Fox's house east of Crider, the atmosphere would be a little more subdued. Since I was the second youngest grandchild, there usually wasn't very many cousins to play with but there was room outside to wander and explore. And if that got boring, Dad and the uncles were always talking and telling old stories or... watching football on the TV.

These are the memories that fill my mind on Thanksgiving Day.

Now, however, it is different. I am the "Popo"... I am the Grandpa Fox.... In a little while, there will be a white van pull up in the driveway and two little boys will come piling out! They will come through the door looking for Pawpaw and Mayme and then off to their toy room. I know they may not remember everything about today, but hopefully, good memories are being made that they can recall in years to come.

Here are a few pictures of gatherings at the Riggs and Fox households. They may be of Thanksgiving or Christmas (I couldn't really tell) but they are representative of the many meals shared together through the years.

Grandma Fox's house at Crider 1972

Grandma Fox's house on 6th Street 1975

Momo and Popo's house at 1310 West Main 1968

Momo and Popo's house at 1310 West Main. Probably Christmas Late 60's

Our House 2019 - Chinese Thanksgiving Dinner! Cashew Chicken and all the trimmings!

Grandma and Grandpa Fox's house at Crider. 1969

 

Two Kids, a Cat and a Blue Salve Box

Does the age of maturity change from generation to generation? Was a fifteen year-old in the 1920's, more mature than a fifteen year-old in the 2020's? I contend that it doesn't and they weren't.

It's a  story for another time but my wife's Grandmother, Alice Faye Bean, told this on herself. In 1930, she was a fifteen year old bride and her friend's husband and Grandpa Raymond Bean worked together. After the men would leave for work, the two women would finish their housework and meet together at one of their houses. This friend (also fifteen) and Grandma would get their baby dolls out and play house, while the men were at work!

The thing that made the difference was, in the 1930's there was a sense of duty, of dedication to vows; the character and principles forged into young, immature couples that "We're going to make it, come hell or high water".

On December 17th, 1929, Ether Alma Earls stood up with Horace Elmer Riggs and vowed that "whether rich or poor, in sickness and in health, til death us do part" they were gonna stay hitched. Alma was fifteen, Elmer was sixteen years old and I knew them as Momo and Popo Riggs, my paternal grandparents.

It wasn't easy beginning a life together at the start of the Great Depression. Popo told me of how he worked for 25 cents a day and had to pay 5 cents of that for his noon meal. They moved around and Popo looked for work in our part of the Ozarks until eventually, they became part of the "Dust Bowl Migration" and moved to the Imperial Valley in California.

After things improved somewhat in the Ozarks, they returned and settled in the area of Howell and Oregon county for good.

I have heard both Popo and Momo say, "We were just kids that got married!" They had their share of hard times, good times, sad time and lean times, but all the time; they loved each other and just determined that they would stick together.

I don't mean to imply that this was easy. They were both strong-willed and like children, wanted their own way. Popo had basically been kicked out of his own home at age thirteen by his stepfather (scathingly referred to as "Old Joe House") and had to make his way in life. Momo was a tomboy, very athletic and from what I understand, the star pitcher on the school baseball team.

This one story about Momo and Popo has been told over and over through the years, and it bears repeating on my little blog. As you read this, just ask yourself, were young people more mature back then than they are now-a-days?

Wherever they lived when this story took place, there were cats. And they weren't just any ole cats. They were Momo's cats! So Popo, being the teaser and aggravator that he was, just had to keep deviling the poor things.

This particular time, he kept pulling one cat's tail, making it growl, hiss and scratch. Momo kept telling him to "Leave the cat alone!" More tail pulling... "Elmer, leave the cat ALONE!" Of course Popo paid her no mind until she jumped up and took off after him to make him stop!

I have left out one little detail. When she jumped up to chase him, she grabbed up a Blue Salve Box.

Now I really don't know exactly what the blue salve box looked like, but Momo, in retelling this story said it was the closest thing at hand when she got riled up!

Well, Popo outran Momo and got behind the lean-to attached to the barn. He would have been just fine if curiosity had not gotten the best of him. Safe behind the wooden wall of the lean-to, he looked around the corner to see where his "mad-as-an-old-wet-hen" wife was.

I can still hear Momo telling this part. "I saw his little eye just a'peekin' around that corner, and I threw that salve box right at it!" Did I mention that Momo was a baseball pitcher? Yep, you guessed it!

She caught Popo right in the eye with the Blue Salve Box!!

Well now! For Popo the fun and games were all OVER! He came out from behind the shed ready to fight. And did Momo back down? Not an inch!

Again, her telling it - "I put up my fists and said 'Come on buster and let's have it out'"

They eventually cooled off and it didn't come to fisticuffs but a great story was produced that has been passed down from generation to generation!

So, were teenagers more mature back then or now-a-days? I'll let you be the judge of that. But I will bet you two bits that young married folks now days won't have great stories like this to tell their grandchildren!

"Shelter In Place" - The 1970's Version

Governor Parsons has issued a statewide "Stay-at-home" order, beginning on Monday, April 6th. This is in response to the COVID-19 that is steadily spreading across the nation. Since it has been on my mind, I got to thinking about another time we had to "shelter-in-place".

It happened in early summer of 1971.

We lived at the Conklin Place, near Junction Hill. I was seven and my brother Ralph was eleven. It was probably a typical long, lazy summer day but it didn't end that way.

Seventeen year-old Jeffery Lee Borman had been arrested earlier in the year for the double murder of an elderly Mountain View couple. He was in the Howell County jail, which at that time was on the 3rd floor of the Howell County Courthouse.

Sometime in the afternoon hours, Sheriff Gene Jones took a cup of coffee to Borman. When the coffee was passed through the bars to Borman, he immediately tossed the hot coffee into Sheriff Jones' face! Borman then reached through the bars, grabbed the Sheriff and pulled him forcefully back into the steel bars several times. Sheriff Jones' head slammed into the bars and knocked him out cold!

Borman then retrieved the cell keys from the unconscious Sheriff, unlocked the cell, took the keys to Sheriff Jones' patrol car and fled the courthouse!

Borman located the Sheriff's patrol car and took off toward the eastern part of the county - And we just happened to live on that side of the county.

You must remember that there was not the instant communication in 1971 like we have today. Also, the county was not as populated. So throughout the evening, we were listening to the radio for updates on sighting of the (supposedly) armed fugitive.

I'm pretty sure it was Ralph and I that decided that "Sheltering-in-place" was a real good idea! Mom was concerned, but not even close to the point of panic or hysteria. Dad was his usual calm, unperturbed self.

This was on a Wednesday so I am pretty sure we didn't go to the midweek service at the Junction Hill Church. So we continued to listen to the radio as the dusk turned into darkness.

Sometime close to bedtime, the report came in that Borman had been sighted at a residence on Highway 160, about a mile from our house. This was just a little too close for comfort! At least the comfort of sleeping in my own bed...

Down the hallway about twenty feet was just a little too far from the protection of Dad and Mom. I'm sure mom in her gentle , unassuming way, convinced Dad to let us boys sleep a little closer. Actually... A LOT closer!

Before the lights were turned out, there were four of us in a full size bed!! So much for social distancing!!

Thinking back on this, Dad must have been just a little concerned about Bormen's escape. I remember distinctly, him putting one of his 22 rifles, close to his hand, under the bed before we went to sleep.

During the night or early morning hours, a Missouri Highway Patrol airplane spotted Sheriff's Jones' abandoned patrol car near Brandsville. It was determined that Borman was indeed armed since he had taken the Sheriff's .30-Caliber Carbine, and had also broken into at least three residences and stolen other weapons.

The fugitive was finally spotted by a resident and bloodhounds were brought into the chase. Borman was finally cornered in an old barn about a mile northwest of Brandsville and apprehended without incident.

Jeffery Lee Borman confessed to a double murder and was sent to prison in 1974. He was paroled in 1992 and in 1999 he won 3.9 million in the Missouri Lottery.

So... Now you know... "Sheltering-in-place" is not a new concept!

If you want to read more about the Borman story, click here, here and here

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...