A Golfing Memory

Years ago, Dad made a golf club out of scraps found in Grandpa's junk pile.  He used a piece of steel rod for the shaft and a piece of flat iron for the head.  It had a slightly larger piece of iron pipe on the end of the shaft to act as the grip so it would be easier to hold.  The head was probably at about the correct angle for a 2-iron.

I couldn't have been very old when he did that, but I remember him building it just outside the door on Grandpa's old barn.  The welder sat in the corner of the shop and had long leads which would reach outside the barn where it was unlikely that a spark could get back to the hay which was stored in the back of the barn.  The acetylene torch was also inside the shop, right beside the welder, and the hoses on it would also reach outside.  It wasn't the ideal workspace, but it was workable.

Dad had a handful of golf balls which were probably someone's "driving range" balls which he had acquired somewhere.  He took that club and golf balls and went out in the backyard of Grandma and Grandpa's house there on the hill and proceeded to hit golf balls across the dirt road and off down the hill into the Wylie pasture.  He was a natural at it.

A couple of my uncles who were still at home also tried hitting balls with the club.  It was probably their incentive to go off into the pasture and "shag" the balls Dad had hit.  I was hardly big enough to pick up the club, let alone to swing it.

That was the first time I recall "golfing."  It was primitive, but it was a start.  It wasn't long after that Dad took up the game in earnest and became an excellent golfer.  He loved the game and it was one of the few things he would "splurge" on over the years.

I tried taking up the game while in High School.  I could "knock the snot" out of the ball, but just like with a baseball, I had little control.  I seemed to always be playing from the wrong fairway, trying to find my way to the correct green.  It's pretty sad when you have to hit over another green to get to the correct one.

It was probably a good thing that I at least learned the fundamentals of the game while young, because as I became older, there were times it was useful in a business setting.  One company that I worked for would frequently have "customer appreciation" golf tournaments in which I was expected to participate.

It has been a lot of years since I attempted to golf.  I have a set of clubs out in the garage that are probably antiques by now.  I noticed them standing against a wall the other day, collecting dust.  I probably should sell them.

One thing is for certain; any time I think of golf, I will think of Dad and his love for the game.  He loved to play it and he loved to watch it on television.  If they golf in heaven, I suspect he has a foursome together, headed down the fairway....

Boxes and Treasures

For some strange reason, I seem to collect small boxes.  I have old cigar boxes, Altoid's boxes, small wooden boxes, boxes that checks came in -- tucked away in drawers with various things inside.  I use them to store smaller items that I wish to keep for some reason.

One of them that comes to mind contains pocket knives.  Some of the knives were given to me, some were purchased by me, some belonged to a relative and they are reminders of that person.  I have a box which contains several old belt buckles.  Most of them have no value -- either sentimental or monetary -- but, I have kept them nonetheless for some reason.  I have boxes that contain things like old driver's licenses, old hunting licenses, and other documents that are no longer valid, but have made it into a box.  I also have a few small puzzles in a box -- the type of puzzles made from metal or, wood, cut into strange shapes that you either take apart or reassemble depending on its current state.  I always enjoyed puzzles.  I have boxes of old business cards.  Many of those cards are no longer valid, but for some reason they have found their way into a box.  Perhaps they construct a history of my career in some small way.

I think most people have a tendency to store away treasures -- either real, or perceived -- in boxes.  As a child I always enjoyed reading books that included buried, or hidden treasure.  It isn't so much about the desired wealth they might contain as it is about the mystery of their contents.  Of course, discovering a buried box in the backyard which contained old belt buckles would be quite a disappointment if one is expecting gold coins or precious jewels!

Grandpa used to have a box or two with various items secreted within.  I remember that he had old silver dollars in one which was stolen many years ago.  One of my uncles in Oklahoma used to have a box full of old pocket knives which he collected.  Perhaps that is what gave me the idea to do the same.  I suspect most people have small boxes of some sort tucked away in their homes that contain small treasures and keepsakes stored there for memory and for posterity.

If my discourse on boxes causes you to think that I have lost my marbles, take heart, they are probably in a box somewhere, tucked away on a bookshelf or a bedside table drawer.  I suppose I should list the contents of the various boxes, but first I must find a pen.  Now, I wonder which box contains the pens....

Watching the Deer

Yesterday, I again had some time to hike to the back side of our place.  It was light jacket weather and very little wind.

To get to the southwest part of our land you have to cross two creeks with a stretch of woods in between.  The first creek crossing is usually the first to be crossable after a rain, but the crossing on the second creek is often impassable for several days even though it has an old concrete slab that must have been there since the 40's or 50's -- possibly even longer.  There is evidence that there was once a road that led to it, but it has long since grown up in trees and brush.  Some of the trees appear to be in the 30 to 50 year old range.

As you come up out of the creek, there is a fairly steep hill to climb.  I walked quietly and slowly so as not to disturb any wildlife that might be in sight as I crested the hill.

As I came over the top I saw nothing except a few birds flitting among the scattered trees and weeds.  The grass is very lush because it can't be grazed due to the inability to keep fences intact at the creeks.  The tall summer grasses are dry but, beneath them, is a solid growth of tender green ryegrass which will stay green through the winter before maturing in the Spring.

I continued to walk quietly toward the north, around an old Bois d'Arc tree which had shed its bright yellow fruit on the ground, until I reached the highest point, where I stopped and stood in an open area, just looking around and enjoying the day.  Almost due north of me I saw a young whitetail buck slipping quietly through a grove of small trees.  He seemed undisturbed by my presence and I stood watching him for at least 15 minutes as he would stop and graze, look around, take a few steps and graze more.

Shortly a couple of whitetail does made their presence known as they stepped from behind a small shrub and began to graze as well.  The buck slipped off to the east and out of sight, but I continued to watch the does.  After another 15 minutes or so, the buck came walking up the hill out of the creek to join the does.  I continued to watch them and to photograph and video them with my phone.  In total, I spent close to an hour standing in one spot watching the deer grazing and wandering around the hillside.  The two does came within about 15 yards of me at one point before getting nervous and bounding off a short distance to graze more.

Below is a photo of the buck shortly after he came out of the creek after circling around the hill.

Hunting the Draw

Grandma and Grandpa's house sat on a hill overlooking Runningwater Draw.  Across the dirt road which ran along the south side of their place was what I knew as the Wylie pasture.  It was owned by some people who lived in Plainview that I never met, or even saw, to my knowledge.

At various times Grandpa would lease the Wylie pasture for grazing cattle.  For me it was special because it was the first place I got to hunt by myself.

My brother and I had Beagle/Bassett cross puppies that we got from Smitty, the Sheriff who lived just down the road from us on the edge of town.  (I've mentioned him previously in the episode of riding his sheep.)  We called them Daisy and Cleo -- mine being Daisy.  It wasn't long before it was decided that Daisy and Cleo would live out on the farm with my grandparents.

When I was old enough to carry a gun and hunt on my own I persistently begged to be allowed to go hunting.  That finally occurred as long as I always took Daisy with me and stayed in the Wylie pasture.

The thing about that pasture is that Mom could see me from my grandparents house -- no matter where I went, I was in view.  I could walk from the old wooden bridge which was about 1/2 mile west of the house, all along the draw to the southeast and then up the east fenceline and end up back at the house and never be out of view.

Daisy was a requirement because she would find any rattlesnakes before I did.  She was bitten at least once that I recall although not when I was with her.

I would climb through the fence by the mailbox and head off down one of the washes toward the draw.  Sometimes I would detour by a depression in one of the hills which overlooked the draw to see if I could spot a rattlesnake.  That depression was all that remained of an old dugout that had been located there in the early years of settlement of the area.  It probably was a line shack for the old Slaughter Ranch that once occupied that land.

Sometimes I would jump a jackrabbit or cottontail.  Daisy would always give chase and her deep baying voice was a joy to hear.  Maybe she is the reason I have always been partial to hounds.  Once, I shot a running jackrabbit just in front of her (purely by luck).  It went cartwheeling to a stop and she pounced on it.  It was the only time she ever caught up to one of the rabbits with her short legs.  The episode almost ruined her as a rabbit dog since from that time on, she would only give chase a short distance before stopping to look at me like, "Well, aren't you going to shoot it?"

On the south side of the draw was a wash that came from the general direction of the Aigaki place which sat up on the hill opposite my grandparents.  That wash was filled with junk and trash which had accumulated over many years.  Dumping trash in eroded washes was common in those days as it was thought to stop erosion, which it did.  It just wasn't the best thing for the environment.

I used to enjoy exploring that old wash filled with trash.  It was a good place to jump a rabbit or, possibly a small covey of quail.  In later years, after pheasant had moved into the area, it became one of the best places to jump a pheasant.

Between where that wash entered the draw and the bridge to the west was a stretch of willow trees.  They lined an old waterhole.  In the earlier years of settlement there was probably a spring where they stood.  Due to irrigation lowering the water table, there were no longer any springs along the draw in my lifetime, but the willows still stood.  I jumped lots of quail among those old willows.

Those were good times -- just me, my dog and a rifle alone in the pasture.  My imagination would carry me to worlds of pioneer explorers as I traipsed up and down that draw.

I still enjoy taking a walk alone with a rifle in hand to see what I might see.  I rarely fire it, but it is a habit long established.  In fact, just yesterday, I took a walk through the woods to the back side of our place where I sat down and just enjoyed watching the show of fall colors and birds flitting from tree to shrub to weed.  It was a beautiful day.  This was my view as I sat and enjoyed the fading day:

Finding Something New on a Path Well Traveled

Yesterday we decided to take a walk in the woods.  It was a cool, but not unpleasant morning, although a little windy.  Down in the woods you don't notice the wind except for the sound in the branches far above your head.

We took the path down through the woods to the back side of our place hoping to spot a deer, or some other wildlife out and about.  We took lots of photos of the Fall colors which are rapidly developing in the trees.  I may post of few of those photos in coming days.

On the way back through the woods I noticed a shrub I had not noticed previously.  It appeared to be in full bloom at this late time of year.  As it turned out, it wasn't in bloom, but the seeds were opening up getting ready to release.

We spent some time researching the plant when we got back home.  It is a Groundseltree (Baccharis halimifolia).  We are on the extreme western edge of its range.  It is primarily found in Florida and along the Gulf Coast to the east of us.  Below are photos.

Wind Warnings

Our weather forecast for the day is one that we don't see often.  We are under a wind advisory with winds 20-30 and gusts to 45 mph.  There are high-profile vehicle warnings and concern for debris on roadways.  Such warnings are rare here.

It seems like a strange thing to write about -- the wind -- although, if you look back to some of my posts from 2010 and 2011 when we still lived in the Panhandle you will see a number of them.  I suppose for most people it isn't something they think about on a regular basis.  I grew up with wind.

In the High Plains area of the Texas Panhandle/South Plains region the wind blows almost every day.  It is usually just a light breeze but, can be a howling gale that sweeps everything before it.  Winds in the 20-30 mph range with gusts to 45 are not uncommon.  They happen frequently in the Spring and in the Fall and the Winter, but usually not as frequently in the Summer.  It is the one time of year when there are many days with only a light breeze.

Many years ago we moved to Nebraska.  We were in the southeast-central part of the state which is much more humid than the western part of the state.  I recall one of the first days there when there was absolutely no wind.  It was creepy.  It took me a few minutes to realize what was wrong.  It was totally still.

Where we live now is much like where we lived in Nebraska except warmer.  We rarely get much below freezing in the winter, snow is very rare and the humidity remains high throughout the year.  Because of the lower elevation here, water saturation levels in the air sometimes make it difficult to breathe -- at least for this Panhandle born individual.  We also have many days with little or no wind.

I guess I'm looking forward to a windy day today.  I'm curious to see how folks around here will handle it....

Building Positive Memories

It's funny how memories trigger memories.  We were fortunate enough to spend a little time with family over Thanksgiving.  In visiting, the post I wrote a couple of days ago about Grandpa's old barn came up (proof that some in the family read what I post -- probably to see what cockamamie thing I might come up with).  I need to go back and fill in the other items that everyone remembered about the barn now!  Mom even pulled out an old photo of the barn that she had used as a model for painting it.

I think memories are important.  I'm not sure why reminiscing about the past is such a strong tendency, but I'm sure some psychologist somewhere has written a paper or two related to it.  It is something we do when we are with others who we may not see on a regular basis.  Sometimes it is something we do in moments of reflection when we are alone and perhaps "feeling sorry" for ourselves.  There must be some deep-seated psychological need that it fills.

I bring it up for this point:  We need to create strong, positive experiences for our children and grandchildren.  They will become a reservoir to be called upon in times of sorrow, or defeat.  They are the glue that binds family and friends in many ways.  They are important.

Family get-togethers are important.  Cousins spending time playing in the back yard builds memories.  Photographs and written records, in time, become keys to unlocking those memories and making them available to meet unforeseen needs.  Sometimes holidays can bring negative memories as well;  I am sure they are also important.  Those negatives include lessons and point to opportunities.

Our society is extremely self-oriented.  Such orientation is a short-term view.  We need to shift our emphasis to the longer term and invest in the next generations.  Make your life count by providing those positive experiences.

Thanksgiving Wish

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

May we all pause and ponder the blessings in our lives and give thanks.

Grandpa's Old Barn

Yesterday as I wrote about Grandpa going hunting each Thanksgiving, I had a strong mental image of his barn.  I spent lots of time in and around that old barn.

It was a Quonset barn which sat about 100 yards almost due west of the house which sat on a hill overlooking Running Water Draw north of Olton, Texas.  The soil was poor and thin and was underlain by caliche which could be a problem at times, such as digging a cellar, or a post hole.

The doors to the barn slid to either side along a steel rail which had been damaged at some point prior to my becoming acquainted with the old barn which must have been built some time in the early 50's.  Because of that damage and subsequent repair, the doors didn't move smoothly and because of their very nature of hanging from rollers that ran along the rail, tended to move in and out rather than stay in the sparse guides along the bottom.  They didn't run in a track on the bottom, but Grandpa had welded a couple of metal guides, the middle one having been reinforced with a small amount of hand-mixed concrete which kept it steady and I suspect was designed to make it difficult for a thief to get in by prying out the doors.

In the middle, an old chain ran through two holes, one on each side, which had been punched through the tin with some tool that left the holes with jagged edges.  They had been worn smooth by the chain which had the patina of continual use running through them.  When closed, the doors were secured by a Master padlock through the chains.  I recall Grandpa's keychain having many Master padlock keys upon it but, he knew which one was correct for the barn by the number.  As I grew older I was proud to be entrusted with a duplicate of that key so that I could access the barn any time I needed.

To the left of the sliding doors as you faced the barn, was a normal entry door which would have gone directly into the shop had it not been secured on the inside in a manner that was semi-permanent in nature.  It ended up behind the sliding door on that side when the main doors were open.  The only other thing of interest on the front of the barn were the electrical wires leading in from the utility pole which sat near the corner and the insulated wire coming out below them that ran to the electric fence which ran over the old gate to the corrals which was at the corner of the barn on the left.  It was the only opening into the corrals between the barn and the old loafing shed which provided shelter for the livestock housed therein.

As you entered the barn, the smell of dust and hay filled the air.  There was the hint of rodent smells and oil as well.  To the left sat the shop which was a wooden sided structure built into the corner of the barn.  To the right of the door leading into the shop was a wooden ladder which led up top where sat an air compressor.  There was also old junk stored there.  That junk varied through the years, but my earliest memories were of an old propane stove and a few pieces of old harness.

To the right of the ladder, tacked to the wooden side of the shop were the deer antlers and turkey beards and at one time a full turkey tail and a deer skin.  Suspended from the antlers were bridles and bits and hackamores and spare reins and other pieces of tack.

Behind the shop on the left side of the barn ran a slab of concrete.  The rest of the barn had a dirt floor which was permanently powdered from the lack of moisture and the continual traffic which pounded it to a consistency much finer than flour.  On that slab at one time had been a couple of grain bins.  Through the years they had fallen into disrepair and eventually were torn out.  My earliest memories include a time when the first of the bins contained shelled corn which was used for the cattle.  Sometimes the chickens laid eggs inside those old bins.

Prior to my coming along, Grandpa had a number of milk cows.  He no longer had any except an old Jersey cow which he kept for the milk or as a nurse cow for orphaned babies from his beef herd -- at least within my span of memory.  I have herd many stories from my mother of having to milk those cows when she was growing up.  I had the experience of helping my uncle milk the Jersey a few times.  She was kept up in the lots and we milked her under the shed.

Continuing beyond the grain bins on the slab, there were a few pieces of old equipment stored.  They were covered by a fine coating of dust and many were from a time before automation.  There were quite a few pieces of chicken related equipment.  I don't know what you call them but, they were for the chickens to build their nests in which made it convenient to gather eggs.

The barn also had double sliding doors at the back which were permanently chained and very difficult to open due to the accumulation of dirt and weeds behind the barn which required clearing if they were to be opened.  The back of the barn was to the west from which prevailing winds continually added to the stockpile of dirt and weeds.

In front of those doors sat an old silage cutter.  I recall it being used when I was very young.  Grandpa used to always cut silage which was put into a pit out behind the corrals.  It was quite an event when during silage harvest everyone helped either running the cutter, the wagons which caught it, or the tractors which packed it into the pit.  I also recall riding on the old ford tractor with one of my uncles feeding silage.  The tractor had a large scoop on the back which was used to move the silage to the feed troughs for the cattle.  It was very heavy when full and he would have me sit on the front of the tractor as added weight to help hold it down where he could see where he was going.  The front of the tractor would come completely off the ground and he would have to steer by using the brakes on the tractor.  I always thought it was a lot of fun.

In the back right corner (northwest part of the barn) there was almost always a large stack of hay.  I helped stack that hay a few times and helped feed it many times.  It was almost always alfalfa hay in small square bales.  Grandpa kept top quality hay.

Along the north side of the barn was other equipment including old irrigation motors and various small implements.  There was more old harness suspended from baling wire along the inside of the wall and even an old cotton scale and a balance scale and other items from days past.  Near the front, just inside the door was a huge pile of re-bar electric fence posts and in front of that were many oil cans.  The oil cans were generally Amalie oil in 5 gallon cans used for the irrigation motors.  There were also a couple of 55 gallon drums of oil for the gearheads on the irrigation pumps.

Also on the north side sat a couple of racks with saddles on them.  The straps were always neatly placed up over the seats and the blankets laid on top.  A couple of curry combs and brushes were tucked into the boards on the wall which were attached to the frame of the barn.

There are lots of good memories tied to that old barn....

Recalling Past Thanksgiving Holidays

As we approach the Thanksgiving holiday and traditional family gatherings,  I am reminded of past Thanksgivings.  I remember that for many years, Grandpa, along with Johnny Hodges and J Cowart, would go to Sonora to hunt deer during the Thanksgiving break.  They had a deer lease on Phil Jacoby's ranch near there.  If I recall correctly, they would leave on the Friday before and return on Wednesday so they could be with their families on Thanksgiving Day.

I remember Grandpa used to have deer antlers mounted on the side of the shop in his barn.  There was a period of time when he even had a hide tacked up to dry.  It eventually ruined because no one ever took the next steps to finish the hide either as raw hide, or tanned hide.  He would hang his bridles and other small tack from the deer antlers.

Ropes were a different thing.  He never hung his ropes, but kept them rolled up and stored in old metal sodium chlorate cans.  The cans were water tight and the perfect size and shape to store several ropes.  For those who don't know, sodium chlorate was a chemical used to kill Johnson Grass.  At that time and place, it was the only chemical of which I am aware that would kill Johnson Grass.  Of course, it also killed the ground and nothing would grow in the place where it had been applied for several years.

Sometimes Grandpa would bring home a turkey that he had shot while hunting deer.  There were also a few Gobbler beards hanging on that shop wall.  The wild turkeys were never as good to eat as the store bought ones.  They tended to be tougher and occasionally would contain a piece of shot left over from the means of their demise.  Grandma would cook them though.  Wasting good meat was never an option.

There were times Grandpa came home empty handed from those hunts, but they were rare.  He always said it was more about the trip and the time with Johnny and J.  I can understand that.

News and Deception

At some level, we all crave news.  We want to know what is going on in the world around us -- whether it be our community, our area, our state, our country or, places far distant in other parts of the world.  We have a desire to know what is happening that might affect us.

As I was growing up, every morning my dad would read the newspaper.  The rest of us didn't touch the paper until he was through with it, then we would read the sections he had finished.  I think I have previously mentioned that he once challenged me to form opinions of what was going on in the world by keeping myself informed from the newspaper.  He told me that if I didn't form my own opinion, someone else would form it for me.

At that time he and I both trusted the newspaper as a source of unbiased information.  We also trusted newscasters on television like Walter Cronkite.  We believe that we were getting basic news and it was our job to form an opinion of what we heard.

The Lubbock Avalanche Journal was a trusted news source for me for many years.  I also trusted the three major networks that we received on our rural West Texas television -- ABC, NBC and CBS.  Many years later we came to trust CNN when they provided such great coverage of military action in the Middle East.  We felt that we were getting the raw news.

Today, that isn't the case.  We no longer subscribe to a newspaper, although we might should.  We get our news online.  I follow several news outlets.  Each provides a very different slant on the same information.  Often a story generated by the Associated Press is published in multiple sources.  They each provide their own headline.  It is very revealing to compare those headlines.

I admit that sometimes I am lazy.  I also follow Twitter and Facebook.  Sometimes friends "tweet" or post links to "news" stories through those mediums.  They obviously are propagating views that fit their own worldview for the most part and that bias is fairly obvious.  However, sometimes the sources of their "news" stories are questionable.  The stories are complete fabrications that are part of the information wars of groups with a political agenda.

I wish we could get back to the days when news was just news and we could trust the sources.  Today I don't even trust the major news outlets.  Too often commentary is placed and touted on the same level as news and far too often the bias of the reporter is clearly written into their coverage of an event.

I don't know the answer of how we can get back to being able to trust the news.  For now, I will continue to read multiple sources and hopefully form a reasoned opinion as to what is going on.  I will do that knowing that we are in the middle of a war and that much of what passes for news is laced with propaganda.

In this world of deception it is comforting to know the Truth and it has set me free.  John 8:32

Rambling Musings on Quality

I admire craftsmanship.  When you come across something that is extremely well made, it is obvious.  A true craftsman, or craftswoman, puts a part of themselves into the work and it reflects an exacting demand for perfection.

Craftsmen are rare these days.  We live in a world of disposable everything.  Homes, cars, furnishings, clothes -- all are designed with obsolescence in mind.  They are built with cost-saving techniques rather than a focus on durability.

One of the few places this is not the case is in art.  Most artists express themselves in their work.  There are exceptions such as what I call "Motel Art" which is mass produced with a focus on volume, or themes rather than self-expression.

Even among artists though, there are those who are first-rate, whose work is exceptional.  It is obvious to anyone that the talent to create is coupled with the ability to create on a level far above the norm.  There are others who create art as a release of pent-up energy to create that is left unexpressed in their normal occupation.  I would call these recreational artists.  Some of them are very good, others may never have had the chance to fully develop their talent.

It seems that in much of our life we are satisfied with less than the very best.  Generally it is an economic decision -- after all, the cost of exceptional workmanship is very high and most believe they can't afford it.  This has led us to become a "disposable" society.  We pay less, we use, we replace.  The consequence is overflowing landfills.

If we were to establish a mode of thinking that sought high-quality that would endure, we could help alleviate at least some of the environmental issues we face.  A simple example would be a high-quality hand-crafted coffee mug rather than the disposable paper or Styrofoam cups which are everywhere.  Rather than getting a new disposable cup each time you went into your preferred coffee shop, take your hand-crafted mug and have them fill it.

We could very simply alleviate some issues if we would consciously choose first-rate quality rather than settling for good, or adequate, second-rate.  Long-term, first-rate is much less expensive.

At War for Your Mind

In today's world of technology we are bombarded with information.  For those who watch television, or listen to radio (which includes virtually everyone), there is a never-ending stream of messaging that influences what we think, what we want, what we buy, and who we trust.  When you add to that the sources on the Internet which includes various Social Media platforms, the stream of information aimed at each of us is overwhelming.

I read a lot.  Much of what I read that is non-fiction is either Biography, or history.  Within the history category, I am somewhat divided but, with a slight preference toward Old West history (U.S.).  Other categories though, include U.S. and other histories related to various wars and the events leading to them.  I have a number of books related to intelligence gathering, espionage, etc. especially as relates to World War II and Vietnam.

I am currently reading a history of MI6, the British Intelligence Service -- comparable to our CIA.  One of the things that strikes me as I read that history is the amount of propaganda that was sown both directions -- into Germany and its allies as well as that which was sent into Great Britain and her allies.  Propaganda was a tool employed by both sides to sow unrest and to attempt to sway public opinion.

I believe that today we are in the midst of a propaganda war.  It is a war of ideas.  It is a globalist vision versus a nationalist vision.

There are valid arguments for both views.  A global government could potentially resolve many issues such as war between sovereign states and could remove many dictatorial type governments that repress and enslave people.  Conceivably, it could eliminate, or greatly reduce poverty.  Then again, on the other side of the coin, the paramount question is of what form that government would take.  The values codified in the U.S. Constitution are precious to us.  At its heart is the concept that government is established by the consent of the people and is limited in scope and power.  Globalists, on the other hand, seek an all-powerful government that supersedes the rights of the individual and would concentrate control in the hands of the few who, in their minds at least, know what is best for the masses.

The globalist vision crosses political party lines.  It is not a Republican versus Democrat issue, although it appears based on rhetoric that Democrats are at least more obvious in their call for open borders and a one-world government.  It is not a rural versus city issues although values of independence seem to remain stronger in rural areas.  It is not a U.S. versus other countries issues.  On some levels it is a rich versus poor issue.  Wealth concentrates power.  Power lusts for more power.  Global companies want global governance because it makes doing business easier.

I don't really have a point to this brief commentary other than to say, be very critical of what you hear and see in the way of information.  Keep in mind that whoever is behind the message has an agenda.  Discontent is being sown and fomented by the messaging.  Don't take any of it at face value.

To Cross or Not to Cross

We have a couple of creeks that cross our place.  When it rains they are impassable, but during most of the year, there are a couple of low-water crossings where it is easy to walk across -- often on dry ground.

The rains have been unseasonably heavy this fall and the opportunities to walk around in the woods have been few because the first hurdle is to cross a creek.  Earlier this week it was impassable, but yesterday the water was down and I was able to walk across on the muddy, but firm bottom.

It is deer season and although I don't normally hunt them, I will sometimes carry a rifle with me when I walk the woods.  It is more for the possible opportunity to shoot a feral hog than anything.  We also keep a couple of game cameras up during this time of year to get an idea of the wildlife coming to the game feeders or just passing through on one of the many trails through the forest.

The easiest way for me to get the photos off of the cameras is to carry a laptop with me.  I usually carry it in an old backpack.  When I get to one of the cameras I remove the SD card and plug it into the reader which then allows me to transfer the pictures.  Yesterday, with the water down, I decided to download the photos from the cameras.

I was wearing the backpack with my old "clunker" laptop which weighs more than the newer models, along with a full water bottle and a couple of boxes of shells for the 30-30 which I also carried.  After checking the camera, which I have to cross the creek to get to, I decided to head off through the woods and see what kind of tracks there were on the trails and then to see if the crossing on the second creek was passable -- it's a pretty good hike to the 2nd creek crossing.  Sure enough it was below the old concrete slab and I walked across.  

That put me on the southwest part of our place which is about as wild as it was the day it was created.  It has never been farmed like much of the area around here, and is one of the few hills in the area.  Although right on the creek, it is close to the highest point on our place.  There is good grass there and huge oak trees which line the creek.  It is a very steep drop to the creek in many places and it is a very picturesque area.  I enjoy going back there because it is like stepping back in time.

Sure enough, as I quietly walked up the hill from the creek, I spied a young whitetail buck grazing.  He looked at me and I stopped.  We watched each other for a couple of minutes before he decided to bound off into the woods that line the creek to the south.  He acted as though it wasn't even deer season and I suspect he had not been hunted.

As I walked further across the hill and headed north toward some of the more beautiful areas along the creek, I jumped another whitetail buck.  This one had a fairly large antler spread and appeared to have at least 8 points.  I watched him bound off into the woods along the creek and decided to follow him for a ways.

As I headed out onto a point where a game crossing fords the creek, I found the log "bridge" in the photo above.  I seriously thought about attempting to walk across it because it would have saved me over a 1/2 mile walk from going back around by the slab crossing.  The log was plenty wide and if it had been hewn flat on the top I wouldn't have hesitated.  If I had been even 10 years younger I likely would have chanced it.

I have found that my balance just isn't what it once was.  I could just see myself landing in that muddy water with a backpack full of laptop and a 30-30 in my hand and decided against attempting the crossing.  It did make for a great photo though.  The leaves you see floating in the creek are 6 to 10 inches in diameter.  I don't know what kind of tree they come from but, they are huge.

Being Social

Being "social" has never been my strong suit.  It is something that I do because it is necessary, but not because I enjoy it.  Yesterday required social engagement.

I have been on the Board of Directors of our Northeast Texas Beef Improvement Organization (NETBIO) almost since we moved to this part of the world.  It is an organization which was started in 1998 as both a means of educating local cattle raisers on "best" production practices and as a vehicle for having special pre-conditioned stocker and feeder calf sales.

The first sale was in November of 1998, so, yesterday's sale marked the 20th anniversary.  As part of the commemoration of the event, we had a barbeque lunch and trade show at the auction barn prior to the sale.  As a member of the Board it was part of my responsibility to "be social" with those in attendance, including the various vendors who help support our group through their sponsorship donations.

Just a few short years back I would have been one of those vendors.  It is important that organizations let those vendors know how much their support is appreciated.  It can be as simple as a "thank you for your support" or, even better, an expression of genuine interest in their products and how they might be utilized in your operation.  It is a symbiotic relationship.

It is easy to become irritated with salespeople who are always trying to "sell you something" -- especially when you are busy and pressed for time.  Just remember that they are trying to make a living and their approach to you about their products is part of their job.  Take the time to develop a relationship with them and I think you will find many who truly bring value through their knowledge as well as their products.  They can become your ally when things aren't going as planned.  The good ones help to solve problems.

Unlike unsolicited robo-calls....(see yesterday's post)

Robo Greed and Government

I'm sick and tired of robo-calls;
They happen every day.
Sometimes I get two or, more
With the same thing to say.

We have our government to blame
For what these people do.
I'll bet that our Congressmen
Don't deal with these calls too.

If it's about a warranty
Upon an automobile
You can thank your state government
Who sold the list, for real!

And if it is for health insurance
Just thank ObamaCare
That made open enrollment
At the same time of each year.

Political calls are predictable
As election time comes near
When candidates across the land
Seek to bend your ear

So they can hold the offices
That should serve constituent need
But, instead are all about
Fulfilling their own greed

Just like the calls that never end
Of which I now complain
As they seek to take my money
While driving me insane.

Electric Fence

Electric fences are fairly common in farming country.  Permanent fences are in the way when it comes time to plow, but an electric fence can be put up or, removed depending upon the season and the need.

Where we live now, electric fences are much less common than in the Texas Panhandle/South Plains area where I grew up.  Mostly the fences are of barbed wire.  It makes sense because there is very little farming other than for hay which often doubles as late season grazing after a couple of cuttings.

Growing up, I had plenty of opportunity to put up, take down and check electric fence.  I have been shocked by it many times and learned quickly that the wetter the ground, the harder the shock.  My tolerance for the electricity is fairly low and I prefer to avoid the jolt if possible.

I recall many years ago, when my Dad and I were checking fence on my Grandpa's place, discovering a break in the fence that needed repaired.  My Dad, who apparently had a high tolerance for the electricity, or enough mental discipline that he overcame the effects, grabbed the two ends of the broken wire, stretched them and tied them together while the electricity was pulsing through his arms as he completed the connection.  I could see his muscles tense with each surge of electricity.

The reason he did that rather than going back to the barn and turning off the current is that it was about 3/4 mile to the charger.  Rather than make that trek, he simply tied the wire.

We use electric fence around our hay meadow to extend our grazing season by utilizing that grass after the last hay cutting.  This year, due to drought, we only got one early cutting and are very short on hay, so that grazing is especially important.

There are some issues with electric fence in this part of the world that I didn't have to deal with in the drier portions of the state.  1)  There are trees around the outside of the hay meadow which frequently lose small branches and limbs which fall on the fence and knock it off of the insulators, or simply ground it.  2)  There are lots of feral hogs who attempt to go under the fence and often jump at the shock.  When they do they can tear up the fence.  3)  It often rains extreme amounts here and the entire hay meadow will flood.  The water washes tree branches and other debris out of the woods and into the fence.

Yesterday, after our first significant cold front and 3/4" of rain on top of already saturated ground, I walked the 3/4 mile down to the hay meadow to get the fence back in shape to hold cattle.  I walked because the ground was so wet I didn't want to drive on it because it would leave ruts and make the pasture rough.  I carried a little electric wire with me in the event it was needed and a few spare insulators.

As I headed toward the meadow, the cattle were grazing a different pasture, but upon completion of my fence repairs I wanted to move them to the meadow.  They were at least 1/2 mile from the gate into the meadow when I opened it.  I left it open thinking there was no way the cattle would find that open gate without some encouragement.  I was wrong.  It's a good thing I was able to get the fence repaired and "hot" again because before I could walk back up to the gate, the cattle had begun to drift into the meadow, grazing as they went.

I knew before I got to where I could see them that would be the case.  Apparently one of the cows discovered the open gate and I could hear her calling the others to her.  As I came up the hill to where I could see them, I observed them jogging in a steady line toward that open gate before entering, dropping their head and beginning to graze.  If you don't think cattle talk to each other, you aren't watching closely enough.

A Fish in the Woods

Yesterday, as I walked through the woods, I came upon a fish lying upon the ground.  It was at least 30 yards from the creek which contained only a small trickle of water -- maybe 6 or 8 inches deep between 10 foot banks.

The fish seemed to be completely undamaged -- there were no bite marks or wounds that were obvious, but it was not where it should be.  It was, of course, dead. (I sometimes find it necessary to state the obvious because it prevents the question:  "Was it dead?" from being asked.)

It may seem like a waste of mental energy to most people, but to me, I find it intriguing to speculate about this fish.  I immediately began to think of the "why's" of the fish being in that specific spot.  After all, I had never seen a fish lying upon the ground in the woods before.  In fact, I had previously questioned whether any fish ever occupied the nearby creek due to its seasonal nature since it is prone to being completely dry through much of the year, at other times will hold green stagnant pools that appear to be devoid of the silvery swimming creatures, but at still other times roars in flood far beyond the channel which it has carved across our place and those adjoining.

Since the summer drought finally broke back in September, we have had frequently recurring rains which have left our entire area saturated.  I am thankful for the moisture, but now, even the smallest rain merely runs off of the land and creates a flood through the bottomlands, scouring some areas of soil and piling it, along with the leaves and limbs which compose the normal detritus of the forest into deep and treacherous piles in other areas.  It also, apparently, leaves fish in places they don't belong.

The fish was quite simply left behind as the flood receded.

Sometimes I feel like that fish.  This world and this country are changing rapidly.  No matter how hard I try to keep up, the pace of change races ahead until I look around, shake my head and wonder what is happening.  I would prefer not to be that fish.

Wheels and Wheels

I hear a train this morning,
It's lonesome whistle blowing,
The sound of diesel motors
As it rides the shiny rails.

It wakes the lazy sleepers
On this early Saturday
As it drags the cars of commerce
Across this hungry land

That cries for more and more --
The newest and the best --
Discarding what was barely used
Into the earth again.

Connecting Country and City

Yesterday I had the opportunity to meet with a group of scientists who were viewing some technology that I have an interest in.  All of them had Doctorate degrees in some field or another and at least one had a couple of Doctorates.  They were an interesting group.

They were part of a research and development team that sought to utilize this particular technology in some of their research.  One of them was dressed in suit and tie, another in boots and jeans and wore a hat (I happen to know he is legit and comes from a ranching background), another was in sweat pants and looked as though he forgot to shave for the last couple of days.  The others were simply and casually dressed as is common within the halls of many technology companies.

The questions they asked were generally over my head on the science issues, but when it came to the practical application of the anticipated results of their research, I was able to enjoy a more active participation in the conversation.  Ultimately, their research is in the field of animal health and practical implications for developing new technologies for food production.

Often there is a disconnect between the science community and those who are in the livestock or farming business.  I was pleased that these scientists sought diligently to bridge that gap and be certain their endeavors would fit practically into a production scheme.  I attribute that attitude to the man wearing the hat.

We need more hats and seed caps in science and technology fields.  We need them in the halls of corporate America helping to educate their co-workers on the importance of agriculture and the impact of their efforts on the future of humanity being able to feed itself.  They are the individuals that can help bridge the gap between the city and the country.

I've heard for years that it is hard to keep young people interested in agriculture.  They all want to go to the cities where they can experience higher wages and an easier lifestyle.  I wonder if it might be a good idea to make sure they take a piece of that country lifestyle along with them.  A large factor contributing to the divided nature of our country today is the disconnect between the city and the country.  We have different values, different outlooks and a different understanding of what the future holds.  Maybe the answer is to groom more young men and women to carry the "country" values into the cities.

Driving in the Rain

Driving in the rain
Is not my favorite thing to do;
I prefer to do my driving
When the sky is bright and blue.

It makes the cars behave
In unexpected ways
And trucks ahead subject you
To constant water sprays.

It makes the pavement slick
So sometimes you hydroplane
And the slapping of the wiper blades
Can drive you near insane.

So when it is a rainy day
I like to stay at home
And try to handle business
From my high-tech cellphone.

Where Was Jesus Yesterday?

Yesterday, on the day in which we exercised our privilege and right to vote, I saw a meme on Facebook that said, "If Jesus was alive on this earth, where would he be; at a Trump rally or with the immigrant caravan?"  I didn't respond, although I really wanted to do so.

The meme was posted by someone of my acquaintance who has strong Liberal leanings and it was a jab at Christians.  This person appears (based on their posts) to believe Christians are right-wing extremists who tote Bibles and guns and think everyone should believe as they do.  It was intended to be provocative.  It is great that we live in a nation where free speech is still, for the most part, acceptable -- except of course on many college campuses.

 The reality is that Jesus IS alive and on this earth and He was/is in both of those places.  He is in the hearts and minds -- and hopefully the actions -- of Christians everywhere.  The problem is that many Christians don't act the way non-believers think they should.  In fact, many don't act the way believers think they should.  I am first to admit that I don't always act the way I should!

I have seen outcry from Christians at the Red Cross providing food and water to those in the immigrant caravans.  Hmmm....isn't that what the Red Cross is supposed to do? -- help those in a crisis situation?  It should be Christians doing those things, not some NGO.

Should Christians be at a MAGA rally?  Absolutely!  Christians need to be engaged and involved in every aspect of the political process, humanitarian aid, caring for our own homeless, meeting the needs of the poor and downtrodden, in the halls of businesses both large and small, in the classroom as teachers and professors, in elected office and every other aspect of life on this planet.

We sometimes confuse Christianity and patriotism.  I get a lump in my throat every time I see the flag of our country flying and the Star Spangled Banner being played -- and nothing does it faster than the colors flying from horseback at a rodeo.  I have the deepest respect for our Veterans and both their service and sacrifice for our freedoms.  I believe that we do not have a sovereign country unless we control our borders.  Illegal immigration is still illegal.  There are those who call for open borders.  Such a policy would be the end of our country.  The long term result would be the loss of freedom for all -- both those already living here and the newly arrived.  Evil flows to and attacks weakness.  (Don't be confused by the strength that comes from Jesus in our own personal weakness -- that is strength.)

Our country has changed and the pace of change is accelerating.  We are seeing many young voters who hold radically different values from their parents and grandparents.  They will accelerate change.

One thing that stands out to me as I view the election results is the difference between rural and urban voters.  Rural America leaned strongly Republican while Urban and Suburban America leaned strongly Democrat (with the exception of Iowa corn and soybean farmers who have been affected by the trade war with China).  Why is that?  There are poor in the country as well as in the city.  There is racial diversity in the country as well as in the city.  One pundit last night kept referring to women voters in the suburbs.  I wonder if he realizes there are women voters in the country and the city too?

Many in the cities believe that rural voters are ignorant, backward, uneducated Christians (in this sense they use it as a derogatory word.)  Many in rural areas see people in the cities as ignorant, arrogant and rude.  We need to figure out the root of our differences and find ways to overcome them.  Until we do, we face the danger of further division.

The answer though, is to make certain that Jesus is in all of those places - both in the cities, in the suburbs and in rural America -- and not in name only, it must be in the actions of those who claim to follow Him.  He is the answer -- and He is marching with the immigrants and He is at the Trump MAGA rallies and He is even in the deserts of the Middle East reaching out to the hearts of terrorists.

An Election -- Go Vote!

Today is an important day in the exercise of our rights within the political system of this country.  Today we have the opportunity to cast our ballot for the candidates we each feel will best represent our interests.  In some ways it is a referendum on past behavior of certain candidates and their affiliates but, more importantly, it is an act of faith that the system will enable those who are most capable of representing us the opportunity to do so for a time.

It is extremely difficult for the average person to see through the smokescreen of political rhetoric and malignment of character that is common to elections.  We have been bombarded by political advertisements and biased commentary by so-called neutral media for many months in an attempt to sway our votes to the candidates who seek offices.  How can one know what is true and what is untrue in such an environment?

Many voters are "single issue" voters.  Their voting preference is based on one or two key issues such as abortion, same-sex rights, immigration, or some other "hot button" topic.  I have heard and seen many Christians take the stance that no candidate who opposes the "right to life of the unborn" should receive the vote of a Christian.  I understand that position, but I also know that no candidate is perfect and in God's eyes, one sin is no different than another.  His Word is quite clear that "none is righteous, no, not one."  It is incumbent on each of us to form an opinion on things that are important and to look at the record as well as the rhetoric of each candidate and essentially, tally the check marks in each column (weighted possibly based on importance to you) and make choices based on the sum of those marks, rather than using a single litmus test as the point of decision.

At times I wonder if it is in the best interest of all to encourage those who are not well informed to stay home and not vote but, the reality is that no one is truly informed.  If that were the case, I would not vote because no one knows the heart of the candidates, or how they will behave in the future except God.

When it comes down to it, we must trust God for the results.  I would encourage each of you to pray for enlightenment as you cast your ballot and pray that God will allow those individuals whom He would choose to attain the offices they seek.

Deer in the Meadow

This time of year and throughout the winter we keep a couple of deer feeders out and have game cameras trained on them.  Usually it is just the feral hogs that eat the corn and tear up the ground.  The hogs generally come up during the night and the photo quality isn't good.  Some of the hogs are considerably larger than this young buck that has been visiting this year.  I can tell by how tall they are relative to the feeder.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I am not really much of a deer hunter.  I do miss getting to hunt quail though.  Hopefully this guy will spread his genetics among the local population.  He has a classic well-developed set of antlers which, though not of trophy quality, are quite respectable -- especially for this part of the state.

The cameras have not photographed this one for about two weeks now.  He may be laying low with the opening of deer season, or just been caught in another part of his territory due to creek flooding which has been going on.  There is also the possibility he was harvested on one of the neighboring properties which I am sure are part of his travels.

We really enjoy the wildlife on our place.  Sometimes the only evidence of them is tracks, or their photo by a game camera, but at other times we see deer feeding in the meadow or bolting through the woods after being surprised.

East and Northeast Texas have been notorious for poaching for many years.  Because of the relative inattention to game laws, deer populations suffered, however, they are making a comeback as evidenced by this young buck.  Hopefully, that will continue.

An FFA Presentation Challenged

Yesterday I had the opportunity to listen to a practice presentation by an FFA team as part of their preparation for contest.  There were 7 members of the team, 2 of which had come down with an illness and were unable to attend.  All 7 members of the team were young ladies.

The topic they presented was on reducing meat consumption to help prevent climate change.  Two members took the "pro" position, two the "con" position and one acted as moderator.  The "debate" was highly scripted.  After their presentation, it was our job as part of the practice opportunity, to ask questions.  Our group consisted entirely of beef producers who were obviously biased against reduction of beef consumption.

I felt sorry for these young ladies in a way because in our group was a PhD Animal Scientist, a PhD Microbiologist, 2 Veterinarians, a retired County Extension Agent, a Current County Extension Agent an Ag Banker, the owner of a Livestock Auction and me (I'm not sure what my qualifications were.)  The level of questions, which we had been instructed were to be extremely challenging, were mostly way over the heads of these youth.

It was an enlightening exercise.  The issue is complex and requires a fairly deep knowledge of physical science, chemistry, biology, environmental science, climatology, economics and who knows what other disciplines in order to fully understand the impact -- pro or con -- of changing our beef consumption, and possibly more importantly, production habits.

I applaud these youth for taking on such a difficult topic.  I wish them well in their future endeavors.  All of them desire to one day be in production agriculture.  They understand that feeding the growing population of the world in an environment of difficult challenges will be a critical and valuable career and they are preparing now for those challenges ahead.

Deer Hunting Season

Tomorrow is opening day of deer season in this part of the world.  I am thinking about heading out early in the morning to see what I might see.  I don't know that I would harvest one if I did have the opportunity, but I am thinking about it.

Growing up in the Panhandle/South Plains area of Texas, I didn't have a chance to go deer hunting while growing up.  In this part of the state, kids are hunting deer before they are out of diapers -- almost anyway.  It is part of the DNA of most of the folks around here.  My desires to hunt were centered on game birds -- quail and pheasant.

Grandpa used to go deer hunting every year.  He and a couple of others had a deer lease at Sonora on Phil Jacoby's ranch.  When Grandpa sold the ranch at Muleshoe, the new owners didn't want the old trailer house that was on it, so Grandpa moved it down to the deer lease as a hunting cabin.  I'm sure it made a good one.

I never had the opportunity to hunt deer until sometime in the mid 90's when we were living in Justin, Texas.  A friend of ours had a hunting lease on a ranch near Bowie that was in the TPWD's Managed Deer program.  In January of whatever year it was, they determined the ranch had too many does and needed a fairly large number of them to be harvested.  Our friend asked me along with another individual to come and harvest one apiece.  He let me borrow one of his deer rifles and I was successful.  Frankly, it was purely a harvest because there was no hunting involved.  One shot and I was done.

Since we moved to Northeast Texas I have gone out hunting a time or two on our land.  I haven't shot anything, nor have I shot at anything -- deer that is.  I enjoy the hunt though.  Perhaps that's what I enjoyed about hunting birds as a kid -- the hunt.  It was a matter of pitting your wits and stamina against the game.  It was a challenge.

Most deer hunting is not really hunting, but it is a necessary harvest of excess animals.  Otherwise, the animals would overpopulate due to lack of predators and many would die of disease or, starvation.  If hunting/harvesting is conducted appropriately it is a crucial part of managing wildlife that helps it to flourish and be available for everyone's enjoyment.

My First Quail Hunt and a Rattler

The ranch at Muleshoe was a great place to go hunting.  As we enter November I am reminded of quail hunting there.  Since the ranch was mostly in Bermuda grass, the only places to hunt were on a couple of the corners that had not been leveled and under irrigation -- and the neighboring ranches.

The ranch was situated in the sandhills to the southeast of town and south of U.S. 84.  In the summer it was an oasis of green surrounded by sand hills covered in sage, skunk brush and other plants common to the environment.  The surrounding ranches were large -- one in particular covered many square miles of land.  They were havens for wildlife and the windmills situated periodically to provide water for cattle, also drew deer, dove and quail.

We had permission to hunt on Melvin Berry's land which adjoined Grandpa's place.  It was the first place I was allowed to go quail hunting with the men and to carry a shotgun.  It was likely at the age of 8 or 9.  When I was 8 my father first allowed me to hunt on a very limited and highly supervised basis.  I carried my mother's old .410 shotgun.  To the best of my recollection, I was carrying that .410 to hunt quail.  For those of you who have shot a .410, you will know that it is not the ideal quail gun.  The pattern is small and tight and the reach is fairly short.  It takes a highly skilled shooter to be successful with it.  I was not highly skilled at that age, but the difficulties it posed may have aided me through the years as I obtained shotguns of my own that were better designed for the sport.

It was early in quail season of whatever year it was when I participated in that hunt.  We spread out in a reasonably even line with a fair amount of distance between us and began to walk across the pasture.  My short legs made it difficult to keep up with the longer steps of the older men.  I was probably more focused on staying in line with them as we moved across the pasture than I was on spotting quail that would hopefully fly up in front of me.

As I struggled through the sand and sage and skunk brush I was surprised by a prairie rattler that decided to warn me of his presence.  I quickly raised my shotgun and proceeded to obliterate its head.  My dad quickly walked over to see what was going on and saw the dead snake lying there and joked that it probably wasn't much of a threat at that distance to me.  He asked me how I saw it and I told him it was rattling.  He again made light of it and said I must have just heard it rattling leaves as it squirmed through the undergrowth on that warm, early November day.  He was surprised that it was out, but apparently the warmth had drawn it from its den.

He had me take out my pocket knife and remove the rattles from its tail.  I probably still have them in a small medicine bottle stuffed with cotton balls.  I would be hard pressed, though, to lay my hands on it very quickly.

Just a few short years ago, we were cleaning out my grandfather's barn after his death and getting his farm ready to sell.  There was a shop in the front corner that had a pile of scrap iron piled in the corner at the end of the work bench.  Throughout my life I had known there was at least one rattlesnake living in that junk pile.  As we were cleaning out the shop I warned everyone to be aware of the possibility and so took on the task of pulling that pile of scrap metal out, piece by piece, and tossing it out the door to be loaded into the front end loader of the tractor we were using.

After awhile, the bucket was full and my uncle tried to get the tractor to start and it wouldn't.  He climbed down and commented about his difficulty and I said, "Let me try it.  It has a trick to it."

I quickly started it and was about to climb off when he said for me to just go ahead and dump it into the trailer and bring it back for more.  In the mean time, he went into the shop and proceeded to take my place removing metal scraps from the pile in the corner.

When I returned to the barn with the tractor, my dad was headed to the pickup for a pistol and my uncle was "squealing like a girl" that there was a rattlesnake in the corner of the shop.  I just laughed at them and looked in to where, sure enough, there was a prairie rattler coiled in the corner and rattling to beat the band.  It was barely visible behind the scraps of steel which partially obscured it.

Dad walked in about that time with the pistol and stood just inside the door, over 20 feet away from the snake, and started shooting at it.  I didn't really think that was a particularly good idea since the floor was concrete and he was shooting into a pile of metal and his eyesight wasn't what it had once been.

I said, "Dad, get closer."

"I'm not getting closer to that snake!"

"He can't strike further than the length of his body."

"I don't care, I'm not getting any closer!"

I said, "Well at least let me make it easier for you to shoot him."

So, I walked over to the snake and took an old piece of antenna and drug him out where he was clear of all of the metal and then walked back to Dad and said, "Try that."

By then he had taken a couple of steps closer and shot the snake in the head.  It truly was a big prairie rattler.

We carried it out into the driveway in front of the barn where it could be admired and I went back to chunking metal out of the corner where it had been for many years.

I suppose you can figure out why the two events are connected in my mind.  I smile as I think about it.