Frankie Had Ducks

Did you hear the one about the little boy and the ducks? We lived on Monroe Street before my parents were divorced. I was about 10 years old. My dad was home for a few days from flying and we were on our way up to see Aunt Virginia and her family. If memory serves me correctly, they lived in the vicinity of Palo Alto, out in the country. Our trip from San Jose took us past many farms and orchards and thru several farming communities. This was before the freeways and urban sprawl, so these areas still existed in the central coast of California. This was in the spring sometime just prior to Easter. As we drove past some farms and farm houses, my dad brought the car to a sudden stop and put the car in reverse and backed up to the driveway of a farmhouse. A large homemade sign sat propped up by a large tree. “EASTER DUCKS AND CHICKS” the sign screamed. My dad got out of the car and went up to the farm house. Evelyn’s and my noses were pressed against the back seat window as we tried to figure out what our dad was doing. When dad returned to the car he had a cardboard box. He opened the back door of the car and put the box on the back seat. Inside the box were two tiny yellow ducklings! Easter was coming and instead of getting stuffed duckies, we got the real things!

When we arrived back home my dad began to make an area for the ducks to live. The area turned out to be our entire back yard. The little ducklings were so cute and we enjoyed playing with them. Mom cautioned us not to hold them too much or too tight or we might smother them. Did I say they were so cute? Only problem … cute doesn’t last long! Soon the cute little ducklings were DUCKS. Stupid ducks. My dad had built a plywood wall to wedge the ducks inside the back yard. Dad had gone to the feed store and purchased duck mash which had to be fed to the ducks every day. Any idea whose job it was to mix the mash with water every morning and feed it to the ducks? My dad was off flying and Evelyn was only 7. Day after day, week after week I would mix the mash and feed it to the ducks. Evelyn and I didn’t play with the ducks anymore. Soon the entire neighborhood knew that Frankie had ducks! Ducks are not quiet little birds. Ducks quack. They quack loudly. They quack loudly at dawn!

The garbage men came on Wednesday mornings. In those days we didn’t put the garbage cans at the curb, but the men came up to our gate, opened it, collected up the garbage, put the cans back and left the gate open. The ducks had figured out a way to get passed the fortress my father had built, so out the open gate they ran. They were in the bushes, in the neighbor’s yards and they were quacking. At 6 AM on Wednesday mornings, and on any other morning the gate was left open, the phone would ring. “Mrs. Pritchard, Frankie’s ducks are in my yard!” Then Mom woke me up and told me to go get the ducks out of Mrs. Lemus’ yard. Have you ever tried to catch a duck that doesn’t want to be caught? I know I have! Have you ever gone to a duck pond to feed the ducks bread? Even those ducks who will come and eat bread out of your hand will not allow you to actually touch or catch them. My ducks didn’t eat bread out of my hand, they ate mash from a bowl! It would take me what seemed like forever to catch those ducks. I would chase them this way and they would run that way. I had to finally herd them into a corner where the house and fence come together. Then I would have to be fast to catch both of them. Once I had the ducks, I took them to the back yard and put them over the fence and tried quickly to block off their escape route, which never stayed blocked. Notice I said quickly? There was a reason I did it quickly. Duck poop stinks and there was lots of duck poop in our back yard. Ask Heidi about poultry poop! You don’t just go pick it up like you do for a puppy. It didn’t take but a few weeks and the backyard my dad was so proud of was destroyed by Huey and Dewy.

One day when I came home from school, my dad was home and mom had dinner in the oven. Smelled so good! I put my stuff down and went to the back yard to do my duty … afternoon feeding of the ducks. When I got to the backyard to get the bowl, I was surprised. The barricade was gone. The bowl was gone. The yard looked half way decent. And the ducks were gone! I ran into the house as fast as my chubby legs would carry me. “Where are the ducks?” is cried. Mom and dad just looked at each other. Then dad explained that he had taken them down to the butcher and we were having roast duck for dinner. He didn’t want us to have Easter pets; he wanted a roasted duck dinner! I cried. Evelyn cried. Then my mother was crying. Needless to say, we didn’t have roast duck for dinner. Mom just took the ducks out of the oven and dumped them into the garbage. Dad apologized and promised us we could get a puppy. That satisfied me! Then we went to a restaurant for dinner. And thus ended the saga of those stupid ducks.

We named her Goldilocks. She was a cute cocker spaniel puppy. My dad had made good on his promise to get us a puppy to make up for duck ala orange. She was blonde and was as loving a puppy that ever was. Evelyn and I fell in love. Now this story should go on at least as long as the duck saga, but it doesn’t. We got Goldilocks and dad left on a flight and would be gone a week. When he got back, Goldilocks had to find a new home. He promised a puppy and came thru. Mom had the puppy for a week and couldn’t take her any more. Thus ended the stay of Goldilocks. Dad promised he would get us a parakeet.

Parakeets are not 2 keets. In our case it was 8. Our parakeets didn’t live in a gilded cage hanging on a stand in the drawing room. Our keets lived in a fortress in the back yard. My dad never did things in a small way; He decided it would be a good avocation to raise parakeets! But before he actually went out and purchased the birds, he built a bird corral in the back yard. As I recall, this cage was about 4 x 8 and tall enough for a grown man to stand in. He built a series of little bird apartments for the parakeets to nest in. Each had a little perch in the front, just below the entrance hole. He had swings for them to swing on; he had tree limbs for them to perch on; and he had designed great feeders so I (you got it – I, Frankie) could easily make sure they had plenty of food and water. It wouldn’t be too hard for the daily chore of insuring our little feathered friends had feed and water.

On the front and sides of the cage my dad hung tarps for me to drop at night and during rain and cold days. Remember parakeets are tropical birds, and San Jose was not a tropical climate. There also an entrance gate in which one could enter to clean the cage. Of course you know who that one was ... the humble author. The cage had to be cleaned weekly. Parakeets are birds. Birds are sort of like poultry. And we have already asked Heidi about poultry poop! One of my jobs was to line the floors of the cage and houses with newspapers to catch the poop and make the task easier. The little apartments were designed so that they could be opened and cleaned as well. It actually was an ingenious little complex for the birds. But, cleaning those cages was never a chore I looked forwards to. And I had to get those birds to the back of the cage so they didn’t get out when I opened the door. I have never figured out if my dad actually planned on breeding parakeets, and I could never tell if we had male or females, or a mix, or which was which. It not as easy as finding out the sex of a puppy!

One day we noticed an extra bird out on the cage. Only this parakeet was on the outside of the cage and not on the inside. And it was not the color of any of our birds. This one was a stray. It must have escaped from its owner and was out flying in the open .. not generally a healthy thing for a domesticated bird to do. Instead of finding food, they usually ended up as food. But this little parakeet was lucky. He found the condo and was visiting. My mother, realizing the danger this little bird was in and figuring someone would be looking for it, went out into the back yard and slowly approached bird and without much effort was able to capture it. It turned out to be very tame. Mom brought the bird into the house and put it in a bird cage we had and gave it food and water.I was given the responsibility of this little bird. With Mom’s help, we got the bird out of the cage and it stayed on my hand. I could hold the bird for a long time and it would peck at my hand. NOW this was much better than a flock of birds in a cage in the backyard! I could actually hold this one and play with it.

One day my Grandmother and Grandfather Barkley were over and I was showing them the bird. My dad, laughingly, told me to tell Grandma and Grandpa what I named the bird. I proudly told them I had named him Pecker because he pecked so much. I would be a few years later before I knew why my grandparents and my parents were laughing so hard that they had tears running down their faces.

Mom, knowing this bird was someone’s lost pet, put an ad in the paper and a few days later a lady form a few blocks away came and picked up Pecker. So we were down to 8 birds again, and had them for several months. Then one day we got rid of the birds and the bird cage in the back yard. I think whoever got the birds also got the cage.Those were the last pets we ever had for many years. Shortly after the birds departed from our lives, our lives would change forever. It was a few weeks later that we moved to Dallas. I would be in high school, back on Monroe Street after my parents' divorce before we got any more pets. Then we got two kittens, Maynard and Thelma, named after a hippie and the Prom Queen on the old Dobie Gillis television show..Thelma died some months after we got her. We think she was poisoned. But Maynard stayed around for many years. I think he was the only pet my mother ever really loved, except, of course, for Lacy. Maynard, died after many years, also poisoned. This time by our next door neighbor. I would not be surprised it he had poisoned Thelma as well. As a kid, those were the succession of my pets. Ducks named after cartoon characters who became dinner, a fairytale cocker; a flock birds not loved enough to even be named, and a hippy cat. What a menagerie!

Gardens

"We encourage you to grow all the food that you feasibly can on your own property. Berry bushes, grapevines, fruit trees—plant them if your climate is right for their growth. Grow vegetables and eat them from your own yard. Even those residing in apartments or condominiums can generally grow a little food in pots and planters. Study the best methods of providing your own foods. Make your garden as neat and attractive as well as productive. If there are children in your home, involve them in the process with assigned responsibilities." - Pres. Spencer W. Kimball, Conf. Report, Ensign, May 1976, pg 124

Did I ever tell you about the time I set what could have become a major fire on Fort Rucker? Whenever I think about it, I shiver. I can see the headlines now: Sergeant Lights, Rucker Ignites!

Fortunately, this didn’t happen in the housing areas or some other densely peopled area, but was out at the family garden plots. Another fortunate thing is that I was either on leave, or was off work for one reason or another and no one was out at the garden plots, so there were no witnesses. It was in the early spring and I had gone out to prepare my garden plots for planting. In the fall the plots over-grow with weeds and brush, then dry out over the winter. Every spring we faced the same problem with our plots, and it was easier to light the plots on fire and burn off the vegetation. Normally there are a few of us out there and we work together with our shovels and water to keep the fires contained in the garden areas. That being said, you know what is coming.

The day I decided to burn the plots was a warm day with no wind. Prefect. I could control the fire alone. I lit up one of my plots and things were going as planned, then the wind kicked up … not a breeze mind you, but a strong wind! In a matter of seconds I had a raging garden fire and it was now burning the neighbors plot as well. I only had to battle the leading edges of the fire because behind it there was nothing left to burn. It was bad enough that the fire had spread to my neighbors plot, but a particularly strong gust blew the fire across the access way into plots on the next row. Now things were getting critical as I had two fires to fight. Just beyond the new fires were “the woods”, as the kids called them. A few trees and lots of tender dry undergrowth. It would be clear burning right down to Beaver Lake, the small fishing lake a quarter mile from the plots. I don’t remember what was beyond the lake, but it couldn’t have been good!

The fire had spread past where my hose would reach, so I couldn’t use water. I had to be fast (I was pretty fast in those days) and use my shovel. After about 15 minutes, and thankfully, a dying wind, I was able to put out the fires. Making sure there were no hot spots, I went back to assess the damage to my fence, etc. I guess the fire was moving so fast that the tree limbs we used as fence posts didn’t catch fire. I went ahead and prepared the ground with the roto-tiller I had borrowed from Brother E. H. Hayes. I could have burned my car and the roto-tiller! I would be back another day to do the actual planting. When I think how things could have gotten out of hand, I am sure relieved that I was able to stay about one step ahead of the fire. Not a good way to roast your veggies!

A few days later I went back out to the garden and planted. As I remember I planted corn, beans, cucumbers, potatoes, and tomatoes. First I planted potatoes and tomatoes. Then beans and cukes. Then came the corn. Part of growing a garden is keeping ahead of the weeds. On one Saturday it was time to weed the corn rows. Todd was about 4 and wanted to go with me to help in the garden. Todd would always be my garden helper over the years we had garden plots at Fort Rucker.

We were ready to weed and I showed Todd the difference between the weeds and the newly sprouted corn stalks. I gave him an entire row to weed. We got down on our hands and knees and pulled the weeds by hand. As the morning progressed I would ask Todd how he was doing and he would reply that he was doing good. After a half hour we had finished and I was checking my work. Todd was excited about his work and couldn’t wait for me to come and inspect. He was beaming as only a 4 year old can. I got to his row and he had cleaned it slick as a whistle … every weed and every stalk of corn. He was so proud. All I could do was laugh. The corn had only been growing for a week, and I had plenty of seed, so with Todd dropping a couple of seeds in the holes I would dig, we replanted the row.

A few weeks later it was time to harvest our potatoes. I had planted several rows, about 25% of my garden, in potatoes. We were harvesting them early as “new potatoes”. Then Jannie and I would process and can them. Again, my helper, Todd, was with me. We had brought some buckets and boxes for the potatoes. I would go down the row and dig the potatoes and Todd would gather the loose potatoes and put them in the bucket. When he finished with a plant, he lugged the bucket to the next plant and gathered all the potatoes. He did this plant after plant, row after row. I noticed that as the bucket quickly became too heavy for this 4 year old to lug, he would gather up the potatoes in his shirt and carry them to the bucket. When the bucket was full, we poured the potatoes into a box, and began all over again.

About a year later, when I was stationed in Korea, I was asked to speak at Stake Conference. My topic was “Follow the Prophet”. In my talk, I used the story of Todd, and our gardening together. The visiting General Authority, Elder Adney Y. Komatsu of The Seventy, was the concluding speaker and spoke right after me. In the opening of his remarks he referenced my talk and my experiences with Todd. He said these are the experiences President Kimball had in mind when he counseled us to grow gardens. He said President Kimball felt that growing gardens would also grow families. Now, whenever I see a beautiful garden, I can’t help but think of our garden at Fort Rucker and of my little 4 year old lugging potatoes in his shirt.

Texas Towns with Unusual Names

If you live in Texas you know that we do things bigger and better than anywhere (it ain’t braggin’ if it’s true). Texans are a proud lot and sometimes we do things a little bit different here … like naming our cities and towns. Trying to figure out how to get from here to there, you look at a map. But suppose you are going to Gruene, TX; how would you ask directions. Perhaps your destination is Mexia or even Bexar County. Pronounce them phonetically and you will be looking into a blank face looking back at you … like it’s you with the problem. So I am listing below only a few names of Texas towns. Some will be easy to pronounce, but they are, like we Texans, a bit unusual. A pronouncin’ list follows the list.

Texas Town with Unusual Names

Bee Cave
Beeville
Boenre
Burnet
Chillicothe
Cut and Shoot
Dime Box
Ding Dong
Dripping Springs
Gruene
Gun Barrel City
Mexia
Mule Shoe
Noonday
Oatmeal
Paint Rock
Palestine
Ponder
Rising Star
Uncertain

Hard to Pronounce Names (Pronouncin' List)

Boerne: The town of Boerne (pronounced Ber-ney) is a city in the Hill Country of Texas in the United States. It is the county seat of Kendall County Boerne was named in honor of Ludwig Börne, a German author and publicist, and its population was 6,178 at the 2000 census. The city is noted for the landmark U.S. Supreme Court case City of Boerne v. Flores.

Burnet: Burnet is a city in Burnet County, Texas, United States. The population was 4,735 at the 2000 census. It is the county seat of Burnet County.
Residents typically pronounce the name of the town (and county) as "BURN-it" rather than "bur-NET" as might be expected. (Its Burn –it, durn-it, learn it!)

Gurene: The town of Gruene, Texas (pronounced like the color "green", was founded in 1872 by German farmer Heinrich (Henry) D. Gruene

Mexia: Mexia (pronounced meh-HAY'-uh) is a city in Limestone County, Texas, United States. The population was 6,563 at the 2000 census. Original home of Anna Nicole Smith, for you pop culturalists!

Bexar: Bexar County is a county located in the U.S. state of Texas. As of 2000, the population was 1,392,931. Its county seat is San Antonio. It is pronounced "bear"

Palestine: Palestine (pronounced pal-a-steen) is located in east Texas.

Texas Influence on Pop Culture

Harold Jenkins felt that his real name wasn't marketable, and he changed his show business name in 1957. (Harold Lloyd Jenkins would always remain his legal name, however). Looking at a road map, he spotted Conway, Arkansas and Twitty, Texas. Thus, he went with the professional name of "Conway Twitty".

Things I Love

A good way to spend a few minutes contemplating. What are some of the things you love? This is more challenging than those "cut and paste" questionnaires. Here are a few of the things I love. What are yours? These are random thoughts and do not reflect any order of importance, except, of course, number 1.

Things I Love

Holding hands with my wife
Holding my Grandchildren
Texas
A summer night when there are just a few thunderstorms off in the distance that give you a lightning show.
Road trips
Floating in the pool after dark
A new Clive Cussler book
Laughter of children
Family pictures
Bluebonnets
Walking on the beach
James Bond
Superman
Spiderman
Harry Potter movies
Jean-Luc Picard
The feeling of accomplishment when I have completed a job
A just mowed lawn
The ocean
My dogs
The Priesthood
Music
The Beach Boys
Elvis
Church History
Elton John
Billy Joel
Capitola
Spring
Autumn
Waking up in the morning realizing I didn’t wake up the entire night
Taking a nap
Antique Shops
The Old West
Texas Style Barbeque
Soldiers
Rest Stops
A good belly laugh
Fire flies
Cattle
History
Teenagers
Thunderstorms
Indiana Jones
Old Time Rock and Roll by Bob Segar
Sloop John B
A spaghetti dinner at home
A summer morning
Air conditioning
Getting a compliment

THERE I WAS - AGAIN!

I could have added another saga in my THERE I WAS blog entry, but THERE I WAS ... sitting at my computer writing funny stories, and forgot the most recent one. Some of you have already heard it, while some of you were there. But for those who were not there or who have not talked to Brett, here goes.

The first weekend in May is always the weekend of the Stake Fathers and Sons campout.

It started out when Brett asked me to pick up a pop-up camper at the Fort Hood Outdoor Equipment Check-Out Center for the annual Fathers and Sons Rain Out - I mean Camp Out. (No rain this year - but it was hot so the air conditioning in the trailer will be great!) When I picked up the trailer I should have known that things could only go down hill from there. Seems the campers don't have standard trailer light plug-ins for towing. Nooooo - they have military style plugs. BUT, they have adapters! In fact, they have 3 of them. I was the 4th trailer to be checked out that day. THERE I WAS ... driving down the freeway with a trailer and no lights - avoiding cops to the best of my ability. It was bad enough driving on the freeway - but I had to get off the freeway and stop at the house to get my stuff. No cops - WHEW! Got everything loaded in my van and trailer then I had to drive on surface streets to Heather's and pick up her boys! Well, we made it out to Camp Arrowhead without even seeing one of Killeen's finest.

Brett and I had been coordinating our arrival at Arrowhead (that would be a phone call about every 5 minutes, “Hey Pop, where are you at?” “I’m about to turn onto Rancier” “Hey Pop, where are you at?” “About to turn onto Quarry Road” “Hey Pop, where are you at?” “On the other end of Quarry Road” Hey Pop, where are you at?” “Turning into Arrowhead” “Be careful of the low water crossing. There is water running, but it’s not deep”) When we pulled into the camp, Brett had our spot all ready – right next to the power pole. Scott assured us that there was power at Arrowhead because they had it at Scout Camp years ago, so we pulled into the exact area where the Scouts had camped. We unhitched the trailer and set it up. Neighbor campers watched, looked into the trailer, “air conditioning, huh?” “Yep, we are gonna be comfortable”. Then we connected power to the trailer. Nothing. “Hey you guys” someone’s child said, “you gotta hook up this cord to that outlet by the a/c unit. So we did. Still nothing. “Hey you guys” someone’s child said, “you gotta throw the pole breaker”. So we did. Still nothing. Brett and I decided there must be a main breaker somewhere, so we went to look. We found it near the gate. Turned the breaker on. Went back to the campsite. THERE I WAS … 85 degrees, 100% humidity and no electricity to run the air conditioning. Well, maybe it will cool off before we go to bed.

We got set up and the sons ran off to play in the creek and get soaking wet. They will dry. There were about 150 people at the campout. Brett, as Stake Young Men’s President, was the head honcho of the camp, so he went off to do some coordinatin’. Scott showed up with the Mayo twins around 6:30. Scott is the Ward Young Men’s President and was in charge of the campfire program. Me, I was in charge of cooking the hamburgers. We had to provide our own dinner and the Stake would provide breakfast, which will be discussed later. I started the fire when Scott arrived on site. Shawn McCourt showed up to spend time with us, eat and then had to leave. Our camp is pretty nice. We even had a lightweight aluminum picnic table to use. I set the bar-be-que pit up next to the bench on the picnic table so I could cook while sitting and chatting. Shawn, Scott and I were sitting down. I was sitting on the very end of the bench cooking hamburgers. Then Scott and Shawn got up to go do something. THERE I WAS … 300 pounds of dead weight sitting on the end of a lightweight aluminum picnic table bench arms length from a hot fire! Need I go on? You got it! The bench flew up in the air and I launched forward – nothing between me and the hamburgers. The burgers weren’t the only things that got grilled that evening. Have you ever grilled your fingers? I know I have! I lunged forward! My left hand is in the bar-be-que pit and my fingers are thru the grill. Everyone was in shock. No one knew whether to laugh or cry … well, they laughed and I cried. Shawn grabbed the ice chest and brought it to me and I stuck by hand into the icy water. I do have to say, though, I was professional thru and thru. With my left hand in the icy water, I finished cooking those burgers with my right hand. Fortunately the injuries were minor, but once again a huge blow to my pride!

So now dinner is over and it is getting dark. The breeze is picking up and the humidity has blown away. So we figured if we open all the canvas in the trailer, we well be comfortable. Colby wants to sleep with Grandpa and Uncle Brett in the trailer, while the older boys are sleeping either in the tent, or under the stars. Colby and I went into the trailer and we fixed his sleeping bag on his bed. As I pulled the door closed behind us, a gust of wind caught the door and blew it closed, on my thumb! OUCH! And I was bleeding. ‘Gramp, I have to go potty and those bathrooms are dark”. “Here, Colby, take my flash light and go out by those trees and pee.” While he is gone, I start unzipping the canvas. Now, this is a pop-up trailer and you must extend the beds out so that there is a bed on the left side of the trailer and one on the right. The kitchen table converts to a bed, where Colby would sleep. This is a single axle trailer. The front end of the trailer is stabilized with the foot on the trailer hitch. The rear of the trailer by drop down stabilizing feet. I am going to be sleeping in the front bed. I climb in the bunk and unzip the canvas. Next I unzip the canvas above Colby’s bed and on the opposite side of the trailer. Now for Brett’s side. Brett’s main job while setting up the trailer was to put the stabilizing feet on the back of the trailer down. Have you ever climbed onto the rear bed of a pop-up camper when the stabilizing feet have not been deployed? I know I have! It is like being the heaviest one on a teeter totter. Down I go! The trailer is now at about a 45 degree angle! THERE I WAS … butt up in the air and unable to move! “Help!” I yelled. Brett, Scott, Shawn and Colby came running. Only Colby wasn’t laughing! Brett said all he could think of was the RV rolling into the lake in the movie, RV (we were near the small lake at Arrowhead). All Scott could think of was the trailer rolling into his car, which was parked right behind the trailer. Brett climbed in and pulled me up. BAM! The trailer settled back down. “You really are Tommy Boy”, Brett laughed! “I’m sorry, Pops, I couldn’t figure out how to get the legs down. I should have told you. It could have happened to anyone.” Then he started laughing again.

Finally we all go to bed. The only thing left that could top all of this was for a skunk to wander into the camp. Don’t get ahead of me, it didn’t happen and we all went to sleep.

Fast forward to the next morning. It’s 8 o’clock. Brett comes running into the camp and says “Pops, watch my boys, I have to go check on breakfast.” And he was gone. A half hour later he and a couple of men drive over to the main food area and start unloading donuts, bananas, orange juice and milk. The folks in charge of breakfast forgot all about it. Brett went to Wal-Mart in Belton and purchased every donut in the store – 12 dozen; 150 bananas, and several gallons of orange juice and milk. All the donuts, juice and milk were consumed. Brett and I split the 40 pounds of bananas that didn’t get eaten. Gotta make lots of banana bread!

Brett says he is already planning next year’s campout and is devising a plan to make sure breakfast is served. After this year’s campout, I too am devising a plan for next year. Go to Boise or Arkansas the first weekend in May!

THERE I WAS

The Side of the Mountain

It started when I was 8 and my cousins left me sitting on the side of the hill above the Capitola house. THERE I WAS … sitting half way up and half way down. Too scared to move and surrounded by bumble bees. They coaxed me to come up, and then dared me to go down. It seemed like hours, although it was probably minutes before I figured out how to get down. Great fun leaving the little fat kid on the side of a mountain.

The Other Side of the Mountain

The weekend after high school graduation some of my buddies and I decided we were going up to Big Basin. There were 5 of us who went. We had our tents, food, etc. We were going camping and hiking. If I remember right, we spent two nights there. Of course, I had all the experience from my Deadman’s Creek days with Uncle Lee. We met some girls there who were camping with the parents of one of the girls. Naturally we wanted to impress them, although we knew we would never see them again because where they were from was quite a ways from San Jose. After breakfast one morning we met the girls and were going hiking. The trail we were taking led to a waterfall and was well marked. About half way up a steep part of the trail with a deep drop off, I got too close to the edge, paying more attention to the girl I was with than where I was going, and the trail just went out from under me. THERE I WAS … sliding down the side of a mountain … feet first on my butt, trying desperately to not get hurt and to grab onto something! I grabbed but couldn’t hold on. I could hear everyone yelling at me, but I was going down fast and they were getting fainter. Finally I saw a good sized tree in looming in front of me, so I rolled over on my side and caught the tree with my feet and stopped. I probably slid a couple of hundred yards or more, and now I had to go back up. I hurt. I was bleeding from all the scrapes on my arms. My ankle hurt like a sprain, but I had to show her that I was a-okay. It took a good 15 minutes, but I made it back to the top.

Down in the Valley

I knew a girl in Salt Lake City whom I dated a few times in the summer when we were both in high school. She would come to California to visit her uncle. A few months after I got home from my mission, a few of us guys from the Institute decided to drive to Salt Lake City for winter break. This would be a great time to see her before I got into school full time. The fellow who organized this trip, Brent, sold cars and could get a new car from the dealership for the week and we could drive out in style. As we drew closer to the departure date, Brent found he couldn’t get the car; but that we could still go in his Camero. Another day went by and Brent found he couldn’t get off work, but that we could still use his Camero. But, now we needed a replacement guy because we had the gas money figured out for 4 of us. So a girl, Bonnie, decided to go. The morning we were supposed to leave, I got a call and they would be a little late. Finally, 8 hours late and several more phone calls, they showed up … in a 1954 Ford. This was 1967. We piled in and off we went. We drove about 6 hours, arriving in Reno at about 8 PM. We stopped and got something to eat, and off we went. We traveled about 10 miles to Sparks and the car sputtered and died. The driver fiddled around under the hood and found gas pouring out of the "whatyoucallit". In 1967 there were no 24 hour services in Reno, except for casinos. It was nearing midnight. THERE I WAS … in the middle of the night with 2 other guys and a girl, in a broken down Ford and very little money between us. We rented a motel room and slept there. The next day being Saturday (naturally), no mechanics shop was open. We found a Sears store open with an automotive shop, so we limped into there and had the fuel pump replaced. Good to go!???? A couple of hours later, the car overheated. We limped into the next town and found a gas station. The attendant, a shade tree mechanic of sorts, told us the thermostat was out and that he didn’t have the one we needed (does this sound familiar?) But we were in luck … between where we were and where we were going, there weren’t many hills (ever hear of the Rockies?) so the car won't over heat if we just removed the thermostat and made our way to SLC.

Naturally, the cars owner was somewhat apprehensive about driving several hundred miles without a thermostat, so we decided we would stop at one of those now non-existent desert gas stations, café, and junk yard. We figured we could find the part we needed in one of those old junks on the side of the hill out back. Now, we were good kids, two returned missionaries, one about to go on a mission and a girl. We had not shaved in 24 hours and we looked pretty rough. We strolled into the café and asked the owner if we could get a needed part off one of the cars out back. We were the only people in the shop. An old desert rat and the “Wild Bunch” – three guys and a girl. THERE I WAS …. looking down the barrels of a 12 gauge double barrel shotgun! “We ain’t got no parts, so get out!” We did. We got to Battle Mountain and I called the girl I was going to see. We had been on the road now for nearly 24 hours. She told me that she had called my mother and that they had the highway patrol in three states looking for us! It was after dawn when we finally made it into SLC. None of us looked forward to the trip home. A couple of days later I found out that he had gotten rid of the Ford and we were on our own. I flew home.

Down the Side of the Mountain

She wanted to take me skiing. I could end the story here and let your imagination take over. But, no … we went to Brighton Ski resort and I rented an outfit! She had an outfit, I had and outfit, and if you had an outfit, you could be a skier, too! (But that’s a different song.) She took me to the ‘bunny” hill, although I didn’t feel like a bunny! I got two practice runs and then it was to the chair lift. Yep, the Chair Lift. Ever get on one? You stand in the path of the chair and when it hits you in the butt, sit. Have you ever almost not sit on a chair lift that hits you in the butt? I know I have! Harder than getting on is getting off. You would think the lift would stop so you could get off, but NOOOOO, you have to stand up at the right place and ski off to the left. I stood up at the right place but skied off to the right. There is no place to ski off to the right. I just fell down into a culvert.” FRANK, where are you?” “I’m down here in this culvert!” “HAHAHAHAHAHA”. That was all I needed. I made it back up then had to quickly get across the landing point before the next chair got there. Ever get hit in the head by a ski chair? I know I almost have! Then we skied(?) over to the starting point. “Meet you on the bottom of the hill”, she said, and down she went. THERE I WAS … on the top of a snow covered mountain; skiers everywhere! How am I supposed to get to the bottom … on my bottom? In the end, I got down the hill on my end! I lasted on the skis for about 15 seconds and down I went, and the skis came off my feet. Fortunately they didn’t go far. I gathered them up and slid down the hill ON MY BUTT! The skiers were not happy with me, but I finally got to the bottom. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for a half hour. Want to go again?” You can see why that relationship didn’t go far!

McDonald’s – One of the Finer Things in Life

In Vietnam we did without the finer things in life … things we take for granted here. Things like flush toilets, hot and cold running water, having water whenever you want it, McDonald’s! In Tay Ninh we had running water when the engineers remembered to fill the water tank on the top of our hooch. If the tank was full, we had running water. If the engineers were late, as often they were, we didn’t. Like the shower at home, we had cold, warm and hot. If you wanted cold water, you got the water early in the morning after the night of cooling and before a day of heating. For hot water, you got your water during the day, say about 2 pm after several hours of the sun heating up the water. For a warm shower, you usually waited until at least 7 pm. Then it was warm. One evening I decided to take a shower. It as about 7 pm. The sun was still bright outside, which meant it was not as bright in our hooch. In our hooch slept 8 soldiers in bunks – 4 per side, and an aisle down the middle. I showered, shaved and returned the hooch. One of the soldiers was cleaning around his area and had moved his bunk into the aisle of the dark hooch. His bunk was the first one on the left. I came in the hooch. THERE I WAS … my little toe on my left foot smashed up against the leg of his bunk. CRACK! Had there been a mortar attack and I was running from the shower to the bunker and broke my toe, I would have gotten a Purple Heart. But NOOOOO – I got a roll of tape, instructions how to tape my toes together, and sent back to duty. I did get to wear a flip flop on my right foot instead of a combat boot, though.

Clean Sweep

Because there was no running water, we had no flush commodes. We had outhouses. We had a one holer for the NCO’s and officer, and a 4 holer for the enlisted puke. Every Monday morning at the chow hall we had to take a malaria pill. Actually, we had a choice. We could take two white pills every morning, or we could take the orange horse pill on Monday. If you chose the white pills, you had to be faithful in taking them or they didn’t work. So most took the orange pill. Only problem with the orange pill was that it was like taking a big dose of ExLax. And when it hit, it hit hard! I had a standing (or sitting) appointment in the 4 holer for every Monday at 2 PM. Now, you need to know that the outhouses received the “human waste” into the bottom quarter of a 55 gallon drum. Every day our Vietnamese worker would take the drums and soak them in diesel fuel and burn it off. Wonderful aroma! It was a Monday afternoon, shortly after 2 PM, THERE I WAS … sitting in the 4 holer with my copy of Stars and Stripes, fanny hanging thru the opening. WHACK! “Sargie, move over to other seat”. She had hit me on the bum with her broom! She wanted me to move so she could take the barrel. So I moved. Privacy? Hey, this was war!

It’s Second Nature to me now

Finally the war for me was over. I returned to my lovely bride and our baby girl. A few days after I was home we went shopping. You never realize how second nature things can become; you react without thinking – you just do! Mortars ,rockets and whatever the enemy can throw at you comes in mostly at night when you are sleeping. You wake up in a bunker not knowing how you got there. You hear a hollow thud far off in the distance and you drop your cards in the middle of a card game, yell as loud as you can, “INCOMING” and dive into the bunker. Wherever and when ever you walk somewhere you are constantly scanning your surroundings for a place to dive should you hear a thud or a siren. You learn the difference between friendly and enemy fire. You jump at any loud noises. It becomes second nature. As Jannie, Heidi and I strolled from the parking lot to the store, somewhere in the distance a construction worker started his jack hammer. THERE I WAS … laid out flat on the pavement of the Sears parking lot. People were looking at me. “What’s wrong?” my bride asked. Nothing was wrong, I was home. We laughed.


Santa Claus is Coming to Town

If you ask my grandchildren if there is a Santa Claus, they will tell you yes. If you ask my grandchildren if they know who Santa Claus is, they will tell you yes. And, if you ask them if they know where Santa Claus lives they will tell you yes. You see, for the last 30 years, I have been Santa Claus. Some of my grandchildren even call me “Grandpa Claus”. Every year for 30 years I have been Santa at one function or another. With 8 kids, I had my own Elf Corps, and I also had Mrs. Claus. I would stroll thru the lunchroom at the elementary school during breakfast or lunch and the kids go wild. So much for a stuffy principal and his “no talking” lunchroom. At Ward Christmas Parties I had the same effect on the kids as I entered the Cultural Hall. I have had the wonderful privilege of being Santa in many places in Central Texas. Once, after another sterling performance at Clifton Park Elementary School, I was invited to be Santa at the faculty Christmas Party at the Fort Hood NCO Club. Once while serving in the Bishopric in Alabama a sister in the Ward saw me on my motorcycle in jeans and a t-shirt. She was taken aback because she had only ever seen me in a suit. That’s how I felt when I entered the club. These “covered from neck to foot” teachers of our babies, now were practically bare from neck to foot! I was supposed to go in and hand out the gifts for the gift exchange. The evening wore on and finally the gifts were handed out, dinner was over and many “adult beverages” consumed. As I was getting ready to leave, a teacher called out that she wanted to tell Santa what she wanted for Christmas. And before I could get up, she sat down. THERE I WAS … a kindergarten teacher sitting on my lap, her boobs in my beard. That was the last time I ever played Santa for an adult function! Much safer with a room full of kids and their parents.

And Down St. Nick Came with a Bound

For years I have been Santa for our Ward Christmas Party. As my Elf Corps got older, they became my Elf Security force. One Ward Party was a real gala for a ward party. We had gotten word that one of the Deacons was going to pull my beard sometime during the night. His opportunity came early in the evening. Santa made his appearance just before the benediction for the evening, and he was to visit with the boys and girls while the clean-up was taking place. The young man made his way toward Santa during the prayer. Just feet away from Santa, Elf Todd made an open field tackle any NFL player would be proud of. That was the end of that problem for the night. All went well for the rest of the night and then it was time for Santa to catch the sleigh back to the North Pole. Some of the elves kept all the kiddos away from Santa as he made his way out the back door and down the stairs to his waiting sleigh. These were the days before Santa acknowledged that he needed contact lenses and his beard was obstructing his vision. Elf Chad ran ahead to insure the sleigh was unlocked and ready for Santa to get in. Santa got to what he thought was the bottom of the stairs, but wasn’t! One step and THERE I WAS … spread eagle on my back! My hat was off and my beard askew. I wasn’t moving. Elf (?) Tom saw me fall and came to help. I still wasn’t doing much but groaning. Elf Tom ran up the stairs to get Mrs. Claus. She came running out, fearing the worse. When the extent of my injuries was determined to be my ankle and foot, I got into the sleigh. A quick trip home and then on to the emergency room. THERE I WAS … telling the doctor how Saint Nicholas came down with a bound! I spent the weekend with my foot propped up, in a splint. Turned out nothing was broken … except maybe my pride.



Potpourri

In our quarters at Fort Rucker, the washer and dryer were in the kitchen. One afternoon Jannie and I went to the Commissary to buy our groceries. We also purchased a beautiful striped watermelon (melon, water, striped). As usual we set the watermelon on the floor in front of the washer. With a passel of kids in and out of the house, a daddy is always in a hurry, as I was that afternoon. Recently someone asked what my favorite shoe was, and I answered that no shoes were my favorite…I loved being barefoot. And on that afternoon I was barefoot. I rushed into the kitchen and rammed my foot into the watermelon. I felt great pressure on my toe and I noticed that I had watermelon rind crammed under my toenail. Try as I would, I could not get it out. So off to the emergency room. THERE I WAS … explaining to a teary eyed corpsman how I got a piece of watermelon rind jammed up my toenail. His were tears of laughter! After a short wait, I was taken back in and the doctor, splitting a gut in laughter, removed the offending rind.

Chad and Kimber decided one day to take a day trip to Colorado River Bend State Park outside of Lampasas. On their way back they had a flat tire …. then another. Since this is about me, I won’t go into Shawn McCourt and the two cans of Fix-A-Flat. But in the attempt of the boys to mobilize and affect a rescue of Chad and Kimber in Lampasas, I took the old shop van to the Killeen Wal-Mart to get a new tire to replace the one we blew up. After not having any success, I went back to the van and started to leave, but the van was dead. Wal-Mart Automotive was closed, so I couldn’t even get a battery. Fortunately I had the Auto Club. So I called for a tow from the parking lot back to my house. About 30 minutes later the tow truck arrived. He hooked up the van for the tow back home, and I was invited to ride in the cab of the tow truck. This was not some little old tow truck; this baby was on the back of a semi! It was so cool and REALLY HIGH UP! I rode back home and while the driver was filling out his paperwork, I decided to get out of the truck. I took one step out. THERE I WAS … laying face down on the pavement! I was bleeding, hurting and embarrassed. I got up and the driver looked at me and asked, “Hey man, did you just fall out of my truck?’ What could I say? He saw me, as did everyone at the house! I said I did, signed his papers and went into the house. I was wearing shorts and my arms and legs were all skinned up and bleeding.

I think my life is full of little booby traps. Open a cupboard and half the contents fall out. Walk across a dark room barefoot and step on a Lego block. Open a freezer and a pork roast falls out and lands on your foot! Have you ever had a pork roast fall on your foot? I know I have! I used to describe the clumsiness of one of my companions by saying he could walk thru and empty room and trip! How about walking thru your family room and just breaking your foot. Have you ever walked thru a family room and broken your foot? You get your foot taped and you walk around in a wooden shoe – and after several weeks your foot is still as sore as when you broke it. So the podiatrist says he is going to have to put a titanium screw in you foot because it isn’t healing. Have you ever had your foot screwed? I know I have.

I could say THERE I WAS, but after all of this, I guess I am happier to say HERE I AM! Still alive and kicking – even if it is with a foot that has been watermelon rind impaled, pork roast impaired, and titanium screwed! Frankie Boy has it all over some kid named Tommy!

The Mormons

Last Monday and Tuesday PBS showed a 4 hour special entitled "The Mormons"

Here are my thoughts on the PBS program, The Mormons.

Once again the media gets it wrong! Not surprisingly, it wasn’t even close! I am speaking of the PBS documentary on the Mormons. Since PBS has a well defined history of not being fair and balanced, it is no surprise to me that the bulk of the Monday night fiasco was concerning polygamy and Mountain Meadows.

In the pompous and piousness of the judgmental PBS, it became apparent that to the authors of the piece that there is no spiritual background for polygamy. It does not shock me that in today’s flurry of sexual predators and deviants that PBS try to put Joseph Smith into that category. It is, after all, the pop culture of today that puts that level of deviancy into our homes everyday on television.

I am also not surprised that more emphasis would be put on Mountain Meadows than on Hauns Mill and Far West . It seemed to be okay for the mobs to thrust against the Mormons without anyone being held accountable, but when a few “mobocrats”, who happen to be LDS take matters into their own hands, then it was “sanctioned” from the top, even Brigham Young. This, despite the fact that there has never been any evidence linking anyone but the Cedar City LDSers to that crime.

And where did Warren Jeffs fit in? He isn’t a Mormon! He has his own church and religion. He doesn’t claim any affiliation with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Fitting him into this is like having a piece on the Catholics and using the Episcopalians as examples of Catholics.

I was greatly disappointed by the fact that more non-Mormons and excommunicated Mormons, and those who have just left the Church were used in the story as experts, while the use of active members and General Authorities was minimal, at best. They producers tried to present the facts, but the fact is that the facts are meaningless without the Spirit. And it was the Spirit that is sorely lacking in this piece.

In the 89th Section of The Doctrine and Covenants we are warned and forewarned, “Behold, verily, thus saith the Lord unto you: In consequence of evils and designs which do and will exist in the hearts of conspiring men in the last days…”. Certainly there is a conspiracy in these last days against the Church by conspiring men. While they think they continue to do the world a favor by “exposing” the Mormons, they are actually playing into the hands of Satan.

The silver lining in the cloud of this piece is a quotation by Brigham Young. Basically he said that “we will convert the world, and if all men stand against us, we will do it the quicker” Whenever there is great public opposition to the Church, Missionary work increases because people are curious as to whether or not what they heard was true. This piece is so full of holes that it will be easy for the serious investigator to see thru it with the Spirit.

Lacy Dog

Lacy was our dog and she was killed on New Years Eve. She was genuinely a part of our family, unlike any other dog ever was, or probably will be again. She went on trips to Las Vegas with us when we went to visit Heather's family. She went to Utah when we visited Brett's family. Although she would have preferred they leave her alone, all the children loved Lacy and she would put up with their "playing" with her. Sometimes she would hide from them, but she never was anything but gentle with them. This is her story.

Lacy came to live with us quite by accident. She wasn’t our dog, but was Hilary’s. Hilary, Paul and Nathan were going to Germany and Lacy was going to be going, too. Paul was already there and had secured what the military calls “Command Sponsorship” for his family, which, in layman’s terms means that the military is authorizing the soldier’s family to accompany him to an overseas assignment. The ideal way to obtain this travel is what is called “Concurrent Travel.” Concurrent travel accompanied by command sponsorship means that the family can fly together to the overseas assignment. Paul was unable to get concurrent travel, but did get command sponsorship, which meant he had to fly over first, and Hilary and Nathan would follow later.

Hilary, Nathan and Lacy came home to stay with us a few weeks before traveling on to Germany. Her route would take her from Killeen to Atlanta, then on to Germany. When the time to go came for her to go, Hilary was overwhelmed. She had all her carry-on bags, a 19 month old who would be very tired, a dog, and was very pregnant. Hilary also found out that once she got to Germany that Lacy would have to go into quarantine for several months, and it would be her responsibility to care for the dog while in quarantine. To a young wife and mother, the dream of joining her hubby was turning into a nightmare. The closer she got to departure time, the more she realized that she would need to pare down her travel nightmare.

In everything she was about to take to Germany, what could she leave behind and not cause a hardship either in the travel, or in Germany. The answer was easy …. Lacy. So with a promise that she would cover Lacy’s expenses until she returned, Lacy became a member of the Pritchard Household. It didn’t take long for Lacy to become part of the family; and it became evident early on that Lacy would never go back to Hilary.

Lacy endeared herself to us right away. She would sing when we encouraged her. Her place most nights was in bed with us where she would burrow under the covers and sleep. And she quickly became Scottie’s dog, and began sleeping in his bed. Over the years she lived with us, she would become many things to many people; a loved pet, a playmate, an entertainer, and a protector. I think she would be loved by more people for many reasons than any dog I have ever had.

She came to live with us when she was less than a year old, not much more than a puppy. She was very well behaved and loved anyone who paid her any attention. When swimming time came around she was right in there with everyone. She learned to dive into the pool when someone tossed her ball into the water. The ball would hit the water and Lacy would make a running dive into the pool. Her front legs would be forward and her rear legs straight behind her and she hit the water on her belly. She quickly got her bearings and went after the ball. She learned she couldn’t just climb out anywhere, so she would nose her self around the edge of the pool until she reached the stairs and climbed out. She then would bring you the ball and do it all over again. Lacy was a quick learner, and when we taught her to go directly from where she retrieved the ball to the stairs, she made a beeline to the stairs.

The favorite place for the toddlers to gather in the pool was at the stairs, and when we had the kids over swimming, they all were in the water on the stairs. Then came Lacy. She would weave her way around the kids and out of the pool. A couple of summers later, we taught her how to come out of the pool using the ladder. Once she learned that, then she would get the ball and head for either the stairs or the ladder, depending on which was closest. We had to pay attention to her, however, when she used the ladder because if the got herself in the wrong position, she could drown. Once she almost did, but one of us saw her struggling and helped her out. It only happened a few times, but it never dissuaded her from swimming.

When we would leave for a while we put her and the other dog or dogs, out in the backyard. We would come home and the sidewalk around the steps of the pool would be wet, and so would Lacy. When she got hot, she just got into the pool to cool off.

In the fall after she arrived I decided to hold a garage sale. I had quite a bit of stuff to sell, so I put it on the driveway rather than in the garage. I sat at a table in the shade with Lacy and we waited for our customers to arrive. When people arrived to the sale, they would park on the street and walk up the driveway. Lacy would walk down the driveway and meet the people and walk back up to the sale, at their side. She never barked. Once she was back in the sale area, she would either sit down next to me, or she would just walk around, like she was keeping an eye on things. One lady was really impressed with Lacy and asked me how old she was. When I told her she was about 18 months old, she looked surprised. She said that she had raised a lot of Dachshunds and never in all the years that she had them had she ever seen one as well behaved as Lacy.

Over the years we held several pool parties in our yard and pool. Usually the big ones were on the 4th of July and we had several families over. In every case, the kids fell in love with Lacy and were amazed at her ability to dive. Sometimes she would try to catch a stream of water from the hose, and would nearly drown. We would have to keep a close eye on Lacy during these parties because the kids would play too rough with her, or not give her a break. I actually caught one kid holding her under the water. When the kid’s dad found out, he put the kid in time out. That solved the problem temporarily, but I ended up solving it for good by not inviting that family back.

One summer Todd, Sunde and Brynn came to visit. Brynn immediately fell in love with Lacy, as did all the grandkids. Brynn and Todd spent a lot of time in the pool, which meant Lacy also spent a lot of time in the pool. And when she is swimming, she is unavoidably drinking water. After a few swims, she usually ran to the grass and relieved herself. But water keeps on working in the system. After the swim, Todd decided to lie on the couch and take a nap. He put Lacy on his chest and both went to sleep. A few minutes later, he woke up yelling. While she was asleep, Lacy peed on him!

Lacy slept with Scott every night. One night he noticed that Lacy was peeing in his bed. Of course, it made him mad, and he would rub her nose in it, and put her outside. But she didn’t stop. Then we noticed she wouldn’t swim very much. She would go in the pool after the ball, swim to the stairs, get out and go lay down. She wouldn’t bring the ball back to have it thrown back into the water. When the other dogs wanted to wrestle, her favorite sport, she would just walk away and lay down. I thought I had better take her to the vet.

The vet x-rayed her and found that she had a stone as big as the end of my thumb in her bladder. This was making her tired and causing her to pee. The vet didn’t know what caused it, but for the first and only time I ever owned a pet, I authorized the vet to operate and remove the stone. She had a quick recovery and soon was back to her old self. I didn’t like the amount of the bill for the surgery, but because of the role she would later play, I don’t regret having the surgery done. She was with us for several more years after that.

In 1998 my mother moved in with us and Lacy became her constant companion. Mom would sit in her sitting room in her recliner watching television, and Lacy would sit on her lap, hour after hour; day in and day out. Lacy became wonderful therapy for Mom. After a while, though, we noticed that Lacy was getting a little plump. Then we found out that when Mom would eat her meals she would give Lacy a little, too. More than once we would catch her at the dinner table giving Lacy a little something. We would tell her she shouldn’t feed her food from the table, but she kept doing it, and Lacy kept getting fat!

A few months after Mom moved in, she suffered a spontaneous fracture in her back caused by Osteoporosis. She would spend most of the next year in bed recovering. And Lacy would spend her days in bed, cuddled up by Mom. After a while, Mom could begin to get around using a walker. The doctor wanted her to take some walks as she could. So everyday the weather was nice, she would make her way down the driveway to the street with her walker, and then up to the corner and back again. This trip would take her a half hour or so. And Lacy was with her every step of the way. Mom would walk and Lacy was at her side. When Mom stopped to rest for a few minutes, Lacy would stop and sit down by her. Then after a minute or two of sitting, Lacy would get up and walk all the way around Mom, like she was making sure she was okay, and then she would sit down again and wait for Mom to start out again. When Mom resumed her walk, Lacy stayed right with her. Lacy never had a leash and never wandered off. I think after Mom died that Lacy seemed lost for a while.

Then Scott left on his Mission, and Lacy was really lost. She had the Schnauzers, but first Mom was gone, and now Scott. I don’t know what, or if dog’s think, but I do believe she missed both of them.

Hilary moved back to Killeen sometime after Mom died, and either shortly before or shortly after Scott left on his Mission. When they move back, they rented a house with a back yard. Hilary said Nathan wanted to have Lacy Dog back, so Lacy went “home” to Hilary. We told her that Lacy wasn’t used to being alone, and that she might have a hard time. Whenever Lacy was left alone other than at our house, she was mischievous. Once we left her at Heidi’s when we were visiting in Bryan, and Lacy tore up the blinds. Hilary was running into the same problem. One day when she came over I asked her where Lacy was. She said that Lacy was in her back yard on a chain. I told her that Lacy had never been on a chain in her life, and to bring her back home! She could come visit Lacy whenever she wanted; Lacy was no longer her dog.

When Scott arrived home from his Mission, he was reunited with Lacy. However, a dog wasn’t the first thing on his mind. And Val became more important than Lacy. After Scott and Val were married, they bought a house a short time later. He wanted Lacy to come live with them. We told them that Lacy needed another dog because she wasn’t used to being alone. So they went out and got Cali. Then on New Years Eve 2006, Lacy got out of the yard and didn’t come home. The next morning we found her where she had been run over and killed. We brought her home and buried her near her most favorite place in the world, the back yard at the Prather house, near the pool. And her spirit? She is sitting in Grandma’s lap or taking a walk with her around the block; diving in the great swimming pool above, and just waiting for the rest of her family to join her.

The Triangle R Ranch

Future Farmers of America, like the Boy Scouts, had rank advancements. The ranks were Greenhorn, Chapter Farmer, State Farmer and American Farmer. I made Greenhorn as a freshman. After my first project and filling other requirements, I made Chapter Farmer. Most kids only made Chapter Farmer. I wanted to make State Farmer, which was hard to do. There were several things I could do to attain that rank, and one was to enter and win the FFA Public Speaking Contest. By winning the regional competition and qualifying to go to the State contest, I would qualify for State Farmer. I entered the contest; my subject was in favor of removing government price supports on farm products. To my surprise, and joy, I won the local contest. I kept winning. Soon, I was at the regional contest, and I won there. I went to the State contest and had as good a shot as anyone, but came up short. Had I won there, I would have gone to National. The competitors at National made American Farmer, the highest rank. I did make State Farmer and that was my goal. I still have all my FAA rank pins.

Every summer, the FFA from all three schools, and in my senior year, four schools (new high school), had the annual FAA picnic. We planned for it all year and it was a time of camaraderie not only with our chums from school, but our friends from the other schools as well. The biggest event of the day was the softball game. We always lost. We prepared for slow pitch, and the other school for fast pitch. I never even saw the ball fly by me. Every year we would say “next year’, but then next year it was the same thing. We had grilled hamburgers and all the fixings. Most of the veggies we actually grew. While I was in school, the hamburger was fresh ground and came from Uncle Henry’s Highlife restaurant. Uncle Henry always trimmed his own meat and when it was time for the annual picnic, Mom and I would go down to the Highlife and grind trimmings of New York steaks into hamburger. He would end up donating about 50 pounds each year.

To thank Uncle Henry, he was invited every year to the annual FAA Blue and Gold (sound like Cub Scouts) banquet. At the very first banquet he attended, he was awarded HONORARY CHAPTER FARMER. In my senior year I won the Public Speaking contest, and I spoke at that banquet. Then I had the honor of bestowing the rank of HONORARY STATE FARMER on Uncle Henry. As far as I know, he was the first person in San Jose to be awarded Honorary State Farmer.

Every fall the FAA chapter sponsored a Christmas card sales project. The money raised from the sale of Christmas cards helped defray some costs of the activities we had each year. As a reward for meeting our goal every year, Mr. Ralston took the boys who qualified by selling a minimum number of boxes of cards, to a snow trip in the Sierras. We would go to Sonora, CA and stay in the gym at the high school. The Principal of the high school was an old friend of Mr. Ralston and let us go up there each year. The cost to each boy was minimal, mostly to cover the food. We would leave out on Friday after school and have all day Saturday and part of Sunday to play. We came home Sunday afternoon. We would rent toboggans and sleds and have a great time. When I think of the things we did in school and compare them to what goes on today, I wonder how we ever survived. We didn’t have chartered busses or parents drive us up, we all piled into cars driven by students. We usually had 20 or so attend, and the only adult was Mr. Ralston… and he spent most of his time with his friend.

We would travel at breakneck speeds down the sledding hills on toboggans. And we did some pretty stupid things, and some of those things, now as an adult, really scare me. I know I wouldn’t let my grandkids pull any of the stunts we pulled. One time we were traveling down a crusty snow bank in the early morning. I had forgotten to bring my gloves, and when I got to the bottom of the hill, my frozen fingers were bleeding! In the early mornings the snow was crusty, and the crust could be like razor blades! Another time there were three of us on the toboggan and I was in the middle. Half way down the hill we hit a large bump and we all went flying off. While flying off, I slammed my neck into the head of the fellow in front of me. His head hit me right where my vocal chords are. I started spitting blood, but since I was not hurt otherwise, I didn’t seek medical help. However, I did bruise my vocal chords and spoke very softly for several days. And this was fun?

Because of the nature of running an orchard and a ranch, Mr. Ralston required help all day. He had the VoAg classes 3rd to 6th periods everyday, but needed someone for 2nd and 7th periods. So a special class was held those two periods. AG SHOP was the class designed to fill that need. A student had to be invited by Mr. Ralston to take Ag Shop, and generally only one student was invited per class. The class was offered only to seniors. I was invited to take 2nd period Ag Shop and Farns, 7th period. My regular Ag class was 3rd and 4th periods, which meant three of my morning classes every day were Ag, 1st period being PE. My main duty was to help out with the 9th grade class from Hoover. On field trips to the ranch, I would drive the truck out, and would have a load of students in the back of the truck. It was a lawyers dream! Fortunately, there were no accidents. The side racks on the truck were like the ones on military trucks and folded down to bench seating. School was over for me after 6th period, but I usually stayed until after 7th and helped out in Ag Shop. Then Farns and I would walk home.

The beginning of my Senior Year I applied to go to college at Cal Poly in San Louis Obispo, CA. I figured that my last shot of ever owning the Triangle R Ranch was to get a degree in some sort of Ag Science. Mr. Ralston helped me apply for scholarships, but in the end I opted to stay in San Jose and attend San Jose City College. The day I enrolled in City College, I knew I would never raise another steer. The Triangle R would remain a distant memory somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind. But I did raise some beautiful tomatoes in Alabama

YUMMIE PEACHES

The pay phone by the cattle barn was ringing and ringing and no one was answering it. I was in my senior year in high school and it was County Fair time, and we were at the fairgrounds with our animals early one morning during the first week of school. Since no one was answering the phone, my buddy Deane (Farns) egged me on to answer it. So I did. “Fair Grounds Cattle Barn” I said into the phone. “Is Pete there?” came the reply. “I don’t see anyone here but me and Farns”, I said. “Come on, let me talk to Pete”, the female voice on the phone replied. “Mam”, I said, “there is no one here named Pete.” She asked, “Isn’t this Pete’s DoNut Shop?” “No, I replied, “this is the cattle barn at the fair grounds”. “Now she was getting irritated, “Come on, I know that this is Pete’s DoNut shop, and I need to talk to Pete!” Now I was my turn to have some fun. “I’m sorry”, I said, “but Pete got tired of the “hole” business and left.” She hung up!

The Santa Clara County Fair took place during the second week of September, which was also the first week of school. As exhibitors, we had “Exhibitor” passes, and we had 24 hour access to the fair grounds. Because we had animals at the fair, we were also excused from afternoon school classes during the first week. In fact, everyone in Ag just went straight to the fair in the mornings and stayed all day. The school teachers and administrators sort of looked the other way because we were good kids. So, our first week of school took place at the fair grounds. And in the early mornings when donut shops were open and normal people were not at the fairgrounds, we were there to answer the pay phone at the Cattle Barn.

Driver Education was a part of Sophomore Social Studies. We had classroom training for 6 weeks, then were scheduled to drive. The school had three Driver Ed cars and were parked in the Ag compound. Driving was 5 days long and the assignments for driving were made during the first week of school. So instead of getting signed up to drive, I was fooling around at the fair grounds. I didn’t get to drive until the last week of school, in June. Of course my birthday being in August, I could get my learner permit in February. So by the time it was my turn to drive, I was a veteran driver of 4 months! Unlike my own children’s driver ed classes where we had to pay hundreds of dollars over the years for all 8 kids, mine was part of the school curriculum and paid for by the over taxed California tax payers.

The midway at the fair afforded many opportunities to meet girls and have a lot of fun. As we boys sat around the cattle barn each morning, we would tell of our exploits of the night before about all the girls we met. The truth was we never “really met” any girls. Farns and I would just walk around and look at girls. Neither one of us actually had the courage to talk to any one of them. And neither one of us came from well-to-do families, so we didn’t ride many rides either. We just walked around and watched. I do have to confess that one year I was able to make a little money at the fair. There was one booth where you pitched nickels onto a table that had “Lucky Strike” logos all over the top. The object of the game was to get the entire nickel on the logo. If you did, you won a pack of cigarettes. Of course, you had to be 18 to play. And the barker took your word for it. There were several booths with similar games, but the operators kept those tables well waxed so the nickel just slid off the table, but in this one particular booth the table was not waxed and the nickel just stopped where it landed, or slid just a little. It was pretty easy to win. So I would pitch my nickels and win packs and packs of smokes. But I didn’t smoke. But all my friends did and smokes cost 30 cents. So I sold them for 20 cents. I had plenty of buyers, and had plenty of money to keep playing, and selling. I made enough money to keep a little jingle in my pocket.

One thing Farns and I figured out really quick was where the free food was. And it was there every day. Inside the commercial exhibition tent, business handed out samples of their wares. Two local bread bakeries handed out slices of bread sealed in a plastic wrapper. Several meat and cheese purveyors also handed out slices of lunch meat and American cheese. So with a stroll or two thru the tent, we had lunch! A local dairy was giving out half pint cartons of milk, so we had it all. By the end of the fair, though, they had wised up and it was harder to get free food from them. But by then my little enterprise was working well and I could buy a hotdog on a stick or an ear of corn on the midway. I guess that is why I have always liked midway foods.

During the summer time the free labor of Ag students disappeared. The school orchards still were in need of care, as were the animals at the ranch. The school district would hire a students for the summer to care for the orchards and ranch. Each of the schools had orchards. The summer between my Junior and Senior years, I was hired for that job at Lincoln. I think one of the qualifiers for the job was need, and I was from a single parent home. All the other kids in class had Dad’s at home, and in the 50s and 60s, most had good incomes. So I got the job.

The biggest part of the job was caring for the orchard. The school contracted out the harvesting of the apricots and prunes to commercial canners, but we had to care for the trees. Mostly that consisted of irrigating the orchard. The animals at the school ranch needed daily care and each school had a month in which they cared for the farm. My month was July.

When it was time to irrigate, I could hire two helpers. Irrigation generally took 5 days. I couldn’t hire until I was ready to turn water into the orchard. For several days I would use the tractor and an implement (can’t remember what we called it) attached to the tractor to put up irrigation checks and ditches. Irrigation checks are a series of small dams put up around groups of trees that hold the water. The ditch carries the water from the well to the trees. Irrigation could be labor intensive as we had to direct the water to the correct trees, and this was done manually with a shove, and It was very muddy.

One of the guys I hired was Eddie. He worked for his uncle who trucked watermelons to San Jose from the Imperial Valley of South Central California. So every day Ed would bring a couple of watermelons to work. We put them in the irrigation ditch because the water was really cold. By the time we were ready for a break, or lunch, they melons were ice cold. Good times!

I had quite a shock the first day of July when I went out to the school farm to feed the animals. Several of the sheep were dead! I had to drive back to a gas station several miles from the farm to call Mr. Ralston (no cell phones in 1962). He told me to load them up in the truck and take them to the Tallow Works next to the slaughter house (where I last saw Mendel) I got a buck a piece for them! Mr. Ralston told me keep the money! Fortunately, the animals were insured so the students didn’t lose money. I think replacement sheep were purchased. The next day there were several more dead sheep. I think we lost about 15. It turned out that the student, my counterpart, from San Jose High School fed the sheep too much grain. And sheep, not being the smartest animals on the farm, will eat until their stomachs burst. I find it odd that we say someone “eats like a pig”. It should be “like a sheep”. Pigs will eat only until they are full…sheep will eat until they are dead. The sheep that were dead on the second day died from the first over feeding. I made sure I fed exactly what was on the schedule.

For an Ag class project, the class planted an acre of tomatoes that spring. When they were ready at the end of May, we picked them and took them to the cannery and sold them. We learned we had to be very gentle with the fruit because the cannery wouldn’t buy damaged fruit. We had some culls, but in the end, we sold most of the fruit. Since I knew in early April that I would have the summer job, I decided to plant a half acre for another of my projects. I wasn’t going to sell them to the cannery for pennies, when I could do much better with a stand, and with care, the plants would produce all summer. I bought my plants when we got plants for the class project. Tomato plants cost something like a penny a piece, or a penny for two. Anyway, I planted a half acre. Another student planted a few rows himself, but quickly lost interest and gave them to me. I harvested boxes of tomatoes every day when they were ready. I put a sign up in front of the school and one in front of my house. “VINE RIPE TOMOATOES. 5 FOR 25 CENTS” Had people stopping in all the time. Very little fruit was wasted, and I got an A on the project.

My biggest disappointment that summer was over my Elberta Freestone Peaches. The orchard had a lot of cling peaches, which, like the cots and prunes, were contracted out to a commercial cannery. But there was a small section with a half dozen Elberta Freestone Peaches. Those are the best for canning, and are the most expensive to buy at the grocery store. As part of my compensation for the summer, I got the peaches! I could keep them, or I could sell them, but I had to harvest them. My mother was excited because she was going to can them. As the summer was coming to an end, my peaches were about ready to harvest. Finally, they were ready and I would pick them on Monday. On Friday I got the ladders out and the crates to put the peaches in. On Monday morning when I got to work, the trees had been picked clean! I was ticked. I found out that a kid in the younger Ag class and his family climbed the fence and picked the peaches. So my dreams of yummy peaches ….. !

TO BE CONTINUED

Red Ribbon Quality Thru and Thru

My Sophomore year was better than my Freshman year. First of all, Ag was a 2 hour class. We had it 5th and 6th periods … my last two classes of the day. That meant for me that I didn’t have to be back from the school ranch by the end of the 6th period. Most students went to school from 2nd period to 7th period, but some of us went from 1st to 6th. I don’t remember why, but it was normal to start at 2nd period, but if you requested it, you could start at 1st period. I guess that’s why I prefer to go to work early today, and get off earlier in the day.

My Ag project that year was a steer! I had the $50 and I was getting a cow! My first entry in my journal was that I put down a $50 deposit on my steer. Mr. Ralston took us to the bank and we got our loans for the remainder. As I remember, the steer cost $150. The Ag instructors from the three high schools purchased cattle and had them delivered to the school ranch. As an afternoon Ag student, we went to the School ranch when the trucks arrived and helped unload the animals. They were small calves that had just been weaned. We ran the cattle up the chute into the squeeze and put metal tags in their ears. Unlike the sheep, we didn’t stencil their backs. We turned them into the cattle corral and introduced them to hay and grain.

Buying a steer should be like buying a car. You go to the lot, kick the tires, etc, and make your choice. But in high school VoAg, it was drawing a number out of a hat …. literally! All the numbers on the tags we put in the ears were put in a cowboy hat and we got to draw. The number you drew was your steer. I named my steer Mendel, in honor of Uncle Leland, a name he used jokingly. Mendel was a brown and white Hereford.

Now that I had a steer, I had to halter break him. One day in class we made rope halters to use with our steers. That halter was all that we needed to break a steer. It was an easy process to break a steer. First you get the steer up the chute into the squeeze, messy rear end and all, and put the halter on his head. You put on a good pair of gloves and get a good grip on the end of the rope. When you are ready, your buddy opens the door to the squeeze and the steer charges out and you then hang on for dear life! It is a matter of will; and you WILL have a fight on your hands. You weigh 145 pounds and the steer well over 250. You have your end of the rope in your hands and he has his on his head. You are holding your ground, as is he. .The rope can easily slip out of your hands, but it isn’t coming off the steers head!. Then he decides to charge, and you head for the nearest fence! Now you have to go back into the corral and somehow get your end of the rope again. Eventually you do, and after a few hours, he is gentle as a lamb, not as dumb, but as gentle.

Soon all you have to do is go into the corral and the steer comes up to you and you just slip the halter on and walk him like you do your dog. We would walk them around the corral training the steer to be lead as I would have to lead him in the judging arena and auction barn later.

And soon it was fair time again. We loaded the steers into a cattle truck and transported them to the fair grounds. The steers had to always be on a halter once there because the stalls we had were not closed in. So we would give the steer enough slack where he could get his food and water and lay down. Mendel was so gentle that after I put fresh straw in the stall, he would lay down and I could lay up next to him and take a nap and he never moved a muscle. I could actually sit on his shoulders and ride him like a horse, but didn’t do it often.

Bathing a steer is like bathing a dog, only he’s bigger! We actually had animal wash points, not unlike a car wash, but with hoses and brushes, but not a foaming brush! We pampered our steers and bathed them with shampoo that was supposed to leave shiny hair. The biggest problem was the white hair on the steer because living in a dirty corral all his life, the hair wasn’t white. So we used good old Aunt Martha’s Bluing. We would put the bluing on the white hair and scrub and the white became white. One enterprising young fellow decided to bleach his and dribbled bleach on other than white hair, and had a disaster on his hands. Mr. Ralston forbade us from using bleach;, and none of us did.

When the judging came around, ol’ Mendel only got a red ribbon, or second place. It had nothing to do with how he was raised, just the luck of the draw way back with the cowboy hat. Anyway, that red ribbon cost me a kit of cents per pound during the auction. But, I make made enough to pay off my loan at the bank, and not much more.

I will never forget the next time I saw Mendel after the fair. Following the auction we couldn’t do much with the animals because they no longer belonged to us. The next week we had a field trip to the San Jose Slaughter House and it was there I next saw Mendel. He wasn’t his gentle old self. In fact, he was hanging on a hook, all dressed out with his ear tag stabbed into his side so we could find our animals. Most of the animals had a USDA CHOICE or USDA PRIME stamp on their carcass. But Ol’ Mendel was marked USDA GOOD – red ribbon quality thru and thru.

I had two more steers while in high school. In my Junior year I had Stack and my Senior year, Duke. Both were blue ribbon steers and marked USDA PRIME. Don’t remember how much I got in auction, but a lot more than my first one. One thing I did notice, As I grew older I realize that the animals weren’t as important to me as they were when I was a Freshman and Sophomore. The fair was a date place, and the animals were a babe magnet, but I didn’t spend as much time with them as I once did. After all, I did have wheels!

FRANKIE HAD A LITTLE LAMB, WHOSE ....(Part 2)

To get a grade in VoAg, we had to have one major project per year to get our grade. The project could be an animal or a truck crop project of one acre or more. While most of the kids in my Ag class lived in town, many of the kids going to San Jose High School actually lived on farms. The truck crop (plants) projects were mostly for those kids who lived on a farm. For those of us who didn’t live on a farm, our only option was a livestock project at the school ranch. We had a choice of raising at least one steer, a sheep, or hog. I decided to raise a sheep. In fact, I ended up with two in my frosh year. A lamb required a $10 deposit for each sheep. The hog was the same price, but they really STINK! What I really wanted was to raise a steer, but it required a $50 deposit, and my mom just didn’t have $50 …. She barely had the $20.

With money in hand, Mr. Ralston took us to the Bank Of America downtown and we got a loan from the bank for the rest of the money needed to buy the animals. The project ended when we sold our animals at auction at the Santa Clara County Fair the next fall. We then would take our check to the bank and paid off the loan. The rest we got to keep. I made that trip three more times while in high school and borrowed money for steers.

That first year in Ag I learned all kinds of things about raising and caring for animals. Even though we had our own project, we had to work the entire farm. I remember moving irrigation pipe in the pasture, graining animals and unloading hay. We learned to worm animals, tag sheep and cattle by putting a permanent metal tag in the ear (talk about ear piercing), relieving cattle with bloat (whew, as smelly process). To relieve a bloated steer, you drive a sharp steel pipe into its belly and the gas whooshes out! After removing the pipe, a dressing is then place on the wound so it heals. The pipe actually hurts less than the gas bloating … or so I was told. I wonder who told that to our teacher. Certainly not the steer!

My first project as a freshman were my two sheep. I can’t remember what I named them, though. Unlike a dog, or even a steer, sheep have no personality and like a cat, never warm up to you. No matter how often you worked with them, you always had to catch them. I guess I wasn’t a very good shepherd, or if the sheep knew my voice, they thought it would be fun to make the fat kid run around the corral trying to catch them. Once we caught them, though, they pretty well stayed put. During the year we didn’t do much with the sheep besides making sure they were fed and got the proper medication. Since there was a whole herd of sheep, and since sheep all look the same, we had to find a way to quickly identify each sheep. This was so we could find our own lambs, but also to keep a record of what sheep had been medicated, etc. So, we used a stencil and ink and blotted a big number on their back. The number was the same number as on the metal tag we put in its ear. Simple enough. The freshman classes of the three high schools had the task of stenciling the sheep.

Another task we had was to move cattle into a squeeze. The squeeze was a pen that would actually render the animal immovable. The messiest job was moving cattle up the chute to the cattle squeeze to tend to the animal. Cattle feeding on alfalfa pasture for the first time develop scours, or the runs. These young steers were only in the pasture a few days when we had to work on them. Needless to say, their rear ends and tails were covered with … well you know with what they were covered with. You must coax a steer to go down a chute, and the easiest way is with a cattle prod, which the school did not use. We had to do it the old fashioned way, grab the steer by the tail and twist the tail up to get the animal to move. This caused a little discomfort to the animal, and he moved! It also caused a great deal of consternation to a 14 year old to grab a tail full of runny cow poop! We tried to find a few clean hairs and gently twist. But our mentors, the Ag Shop students made us grab the tail and twist. After all, we could wash our hands later! So, I learned to roll up my sleeves and grab on to the tail, poop and all, and then wash my hands. It is a lesson that would stay with me thru high school, and thru my life …. It especially helped when it came to changing diapers!

In September we went to the Santa Clara County Fair. We would show our sheep for judging. We had to walk our sheep into the ring and then have them stand still while the judges looked over the animals. Before the judging, we had to prep our sheep. We put the sheep on a stand with its head immobile, then we would trim them up so they looked almost square. Wanted the back straight as a board.

Of course, the best part of going to the fair was meeting the 4H girls. One girl was trying to get her lamb upon the stand to trim it up when the sheep bolted out of her arms and headed for the freedom of the midway. We were in the sheep barn and the animal had to go down several isles before reaching freedom. Once free, the animal would have been impossible to catch, and would actually run itself to death – not to mention a cute 4H farm girl losing her project. Several of us tried to catch the runaway sheep, but most people just jumped out of the way. As the sheep rounded the last corner before its freedom, I made a beautiful open field tackle and brought the sheep down. It was great. The girl was really grateful, but that was it. She would never talk to me again. Stuck up Junior farm girls just don’t talk to Freshman city boys who were trying to pass off as Juniors, and trying even harder to be country!

At the appointed time, I entered the arena along with 9 others and our sheep were judged. Most of us got blue ribbons. I got one for each sheep. I think I still have them. A few days later our sheep went to the auction where I sold both sheep. The auction was on the final day of the fair, and after the auction I returned the sheep the their pens, and never saw them again. I am sure they ended up as lamb chops in Safeway! After the fair was over, Mr. Ralston took us all down to the bank and we paid off our loans. I think I ended up with about a $50 profit total for both sheep.

Raising sheep was okay, but I had determined that I would never raise another one. Sheep are really stupid animals and I decided to let others raise them!

Radishes Don't Grow in Bunches

Radishes Don’t Grow in Bunches

Okay, I will admit it. In high school I was a roper or an aggie! I belonged to the Future Farmers of America, better known as the FFA. I enrolled in Vocational Agriculture as a freshman at Herbert Hoover Junior High School. Hoover was next to Lincoln High. The Ag Department and classroom were in the school orchard and Ag area across the street from the main high school. The Ag area was between the campuses of the two schools. I had Ag first period and we walked over to the Ag classroom every morning. Actually, as I remember (although my rememberer may be wrong), Ag class was during the 1st period at Lincoln, but was 2nd period at Hoover. I think my first class in my freshman year was Wood Shop. But back to the story.

I really don’t know why I took Ag, but it sounded more interesting than science. And it counted as a science class. I had always day dreamed of owning a ranch, and I guess it just fit right in… although I had no chance of ever actually owning a ranch. It did afford me the opportunity to raise some livestock and truck crops. As a young boy I dreamed of owning the “Triangle R” Ranch. I have no idea where that name came from, but if I ever was able to own a ranch, it would have been the Triangle R. I think it may have come from the Spin and Marty series on the Mickey Mouse Club. The summer ranch camp Spin and Marty attended may have had a similar name.

My Ag teacher was Mr. Ralston … M.C. Ralston … Merrill Chauncey Ralston. He was old when I knew him, but then I am old now to a 14 year old. He had been a teacher his entire career, teaching many subjects, but now taught VoAg. I think in my freshman year he also taught a math class, but by the time I was a sophomore, he taught only VoAg.

VoAg consisted of classroom and hands-on farming projects. Our classroom was across from the main campus and was a modern, 60s style classroom. I think the classroom was only a couple of years old. Next to the classroom was a metal barn building. In the barn were all the faming implements, the tractor and the farm truck. The compound was fenced in, and large orchards of peach trees, walnut trees, prune trees, and apricot trees and an acre or so of unplanted land for Ag projects, were all inside the fence.

Each year we were required to have an Ag project. We maintained a journal in which we had to keep an accurate log of our projects. Our education consisted of animal and plant biology and how to actually raise animals and crops. Our first project came during January. We were learning how to plant tomatoes from seeds. We planted the tomato seeds in wooden flats (shallow boxes), and kept them in a green house. When the seedlings were a couple of inches high, we transplanted them into individual planting pots. We kept them in the greenhouse until time to plant them in April. We all got a few plants to take home and plant in our yards. It was my very first attempt at planting anything and we were able to have fresh tomatoes in our salads all summer.

Next to the tomatoes in my back yard, I decided to plant some radishes. I love radishes and learned that they were easy to grow. I planted them from seed and soon I had a patch of radishes. My mom would ask me when the radishes would be ready, but I just didn’t know. Finally, my mom came out and picked some radishes. When I got home from school she asked me why I hadn’t picked any radishes. I told her I was waiting for them to grow into bunches! After all, the only radishes I ever saw were those she got at the store, and they were all in bunches! She told me that radishes don’t grow in bunches! I had no clue that radishes didn’t bunch up for harvest. I guess I am lucky I knew that milk came from cows and not cartons!

TO BE CONTINUED

A Fire in the Pasture

A Fire in the Pasture
Thanksgiving 2006

I had lived in the deep south for nearly ten years back in the 70’s and early 80’s, and coming into Arkansas after not having been here in more than another ten years, brought back vivid memories of the past. Ashdown is a stereotypical small Deep South town. The main road thru town is the “4 lane” that runs north out of Texarkana. The town is quaint and sports a good little shopping area with a McDonald’s; a small Wal-Mart (Heidi says it is the smallest Wal-Mart ever built), a Sonic, a self storage and several convenience stores. As you roll north out of the business district, you pass the old down town, much of which is boarded up; and the little brick homes built right along the highway. You could have taken the city limits sign down and exchanged it with any number of city limits signs in Alabama – Opp, Elba, and Newton, and you wouldn’t know the difference.

Heidi and Shawn and their kids moved to Ashdown a couple of years ago and actually live about five miles north on 350 acres. Shawn’s father and mother raise chickens on the land for Tyson Foods and decided to move to a smaller house next to the bigger house, and Heidi and Shawn moved into the big house. They are in the process of remodeling the house to bring it up to current design, and making it easier to live with seven children.

Last year Heidi invited all up to the farm for the Thanksgiving holiday. Several families came up, but Mom and I stayed in Texas with the kids who couldn’t come up. This year, however, we decided to all come up, and except for Todd and Sunde, all were coming up. Mom and I, along with Chad, Kimber and Maddy, came up on Tuesday afternoon. Heather and Shawn came up later that evening, arriving at about 1 AM. On Wednesday, Brett and Cindy arrived and then Hilary and Paul at 2 AM Thursday. The last to arrive was Scott and Val on Thursday, at about 8:30. Holly was supposed to come up, but at the last minute decided to stay in Killeen. This group, along with Heidi’s, gave us 31 people, men, women and children, all staying in Heidi’s house with two bathrooms, overworked bathrooms, I might add! All that was missing was Todd and his family and Holly. Maybe next year we can all be together.

Thursday morning Heidi and Mom were up putting a turkey in the oven, making dressing and gravy, etc. Later in the morning, Chad fired up the turkey fryer and fried two turkeys. Then the rest of the family, Shawn Miller’s family, began showing up, bringing hams, potatoes, and all sorts of sides and desserts. When all was said and done, we had 62 people in Heidi’s house eating Thanksgiving dinner. We had tables in the house and in the yard. Some were eating in the living room with plates balanced on their laps; some just found a spot in the yard and had dinner. When everyone was done, we had put a huge dent in the food!

Heidi had said that by 3, all of Shawn’s family would be gone, and by three there was only us! We ate, played games and watched the kids and just had a great day.

Some of the boys went hunting and mid-morning Shawn Mc came in with a huge smile on his face. He has got his deer! He shot a doe, about 2 years old. We all went out to the truck and ooo’ed and awed over the kill. Then the boys butchered the deer and iced the meat so Shawn Mc could take it back to Killeen. Of course, this kill brought out the deer fever in the other boys, so up went the targets and they spent the afternoon shooting and sighting in the new rifles purchased for the Thanksgiving Day hunt. At 3, all of the hunters, decked out like a Sears and Roebuck Hunters Catalog, were ready to go a-hunting… with visions of prancing deer in their heads. By dark they were all back, no new deer, but with big plans for early the next morning.

Later in the evening, Jannie and I decided to take a walk to work off our dinner and the bloat! We had two little tag alongs, Jannie and Rachael. Our walk took us out in pasture by the lake and it was a perfect night for a country walk. Earlier in the afternoon, we watched a cow birth her calf, and on our walk we could see the new calf with its mother. As we got to the other side of the lake, we could see a fire in the pasture. Then we could hear the unmistakable voices of adolescent boys and younger children. The fire was confined to the burn pile. The boys had found the pile with smoldering embers. Being Boy Scouts, it didn’t take them long to build the fire back up. When we rounded up the boys to send them back to the house because it was dark, I had to laugh at Reilly and Nathan, who were covered head to toe with dirt and soot. I don’t think the make up department of Viva Les Arts could have done as good a job making boys look like they were having such a good time. Talmage said the fire was okay and we left it to burn itself out.

By nightfall, leftovers having been devoured, games were brought out and the older kids outside playing capture the flag and the younger kids watching TV, we had a roaring good time visiting, laughing, and watching the kids. The older boys had a tent in the front yard and were sleeping out. The girls and younger kids where on the floors in sleeping bags. Not enough sleep was had by all, but memories to last a lifetime were made by even the youngest.

As I sat in the living room last night, watching my children and my grandchildren having such a wonderful time, my thoughts drifted to Psalms 127: 3-5.
“3 Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.
4 As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.
5 Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: …”

My quiver is full and what great joy it is to me. If I had some counsel for my children, it would be to love your children, be patient with them, enjoy their ups and downs, listen to them with your undivided attention, support them in their activities, encourage your boys in their Aaronic Priesthood duties and to be Eagle Scouts and your girls to be Young Women of Excellence and in their becoming valiant daughters of their Heavenly Father, who loves them.

Whether or not we come to Arkansas again in mass, Thanksgiving of 2006 will always be a wonderful memory and a fire in the pasture of our lives.