Jake Smith and his grinding wheel.

Now this is a grinding wheel!  It is not the one in Jake Smith's back yard, but it is pretty close.  His had a bicycle seat on the end where the pedals are located.  He used to set there and pedal which caused the stone to rotate.  He would hold an axe blade against the side.  When the first side was sharp, he would turn it over and sharpen the other side. He would finish by dripping water on the blade and the spinning stone.  When he was finished he had a blade that was so sharp it could be used to shave and he tested it by removing a patch of hair from his arm.

Granted he could not make a living by sharpening axe blades, but it did help supplement the income he and his wife received.  She cleaned houses for some ladies in town to help make ends meet.  He was a retired police officer, or so I heard.  He would occasionally "strap his  service weapon" on his belt and scare us kids.  He was quick to tell us how fast we would be dispatched to the other side if we did not get out of his yard.  And to emphasis that he meant business, he would twirl the pistol on one finger.  Then he would set down in the chair that was located by a tree, lean back against the tree and have his afternoon nap.  

One afternoon, Jake and one of his cronies waited until he was sound asleep and then they crept up and carefully encased the old guy in ropes so when he woke up and started to tip his chair back down, it did not tip.  He pulled the ropes over his head, tipped the chair down.  Sadly when he stood up to walk, he found his feet were tied and catapulted to the ground.  He did not find this nearly as funny as us kids hiding over in the weeds behind the shed did!  Damn lucky he did not shoot us that time.  He knew who did it, but of course we all lied and said, "No!  Jake went bike riding and he is not back yet."

Life was so simple back then.  Sorry to say I have not seen one of those wheels in years and the one I saw was in an antique shop and priced far out of my range. Nor do I own an axe.  I do possess a 10 pound sledge hammer and a hatchet.  The hatchet was a pricey little purchase, but there are times when that little guy comes in very handy.  I used it a couple times to separate a chicken head from the body, but I do not do that any more.    My favorite way to butcher chickens was to grasp their feet, step on the head and jerk upward.  It was quick and painless, but barbaric.  Kenny's mom used to tie thier feet together and hang them from the clothes line.  She then streeeeeeeeeeeeetched out their head and proceeded to cut their head from their neck with a butcher knife.  Now THAT was barbaric!  I could scald and de-feather a chicken faster than anyone in the county, but that is history and I now buy my chicken breasts at the local frozen food section.

I just remembered why I started this blog!  I came across my hatchet the other day and noticed that there was a nick on the blade and that the blade was dull.  I have an electric grinding wheel in the garage with coarse and fine wheels.  I used to use it to sharpen my hoe, but since the snakes have taken over the garden, I do not plant any more and that area goes to weeds for the geese.  I am sure at some point in time I am going to have to do something, but for now, I am just going to have my humble breakfast of grits and cheese  and think about something else.

May Jake Smith rest in peace setting in his chair, propped against the tree, dreaming of his bygone life as a peace officer retired and sharpening axes and knives on North Strong Street, in Nickerson, Kansas.

My daddy did not have a gun.

He did not have a gun.  What he did have was a buggy whip and a 2 x4.  My brother tasted both of them.  I did not.  I did live in mortal terror that I would.  I could tell when he was mad or that something was bothering him because he would rub his thumb and fore finger together and talk to himself.  He was a strange man.  He did not seem to have any friends that I knew about.  He had a few acquaintances.  He also had a couple farmers he worked for on occasion.  John Britain and Ed Crissman.  Mostly he just hung out at the local pool hall where the "ne'er do wells"  hung out.  He worked there some afternoons.  He did let me go in there once when nobody was there.  He actually played a game of dominoes with me.  Of course he won.  He always won.  Score was kept on a stick with a series of holes.  Each time one of us made a score the stick was moved forward a  number of holes.  The score was always a multiple of 5, so 10 points was 2 holes  and so on.  I still enjoy playing dominoes, but rarely find anyone who knows how.

I always thought my dad was a very big man, but I think he was 5'10" which is not tall at all.  He had a ruddy complexion and hair with a reddish tint.  I inherited neither of those.  My sisters and brother did, but I was a miniature of my mother.  I had brown hair and hazel eyes that turned to blue or green, depending on my mood.  Dad's skin was light and mine was darker.  I tanned very easily and the sisters burned easily.

My father did not like pets.  We never had a dog and the cat mom kept as a mouser was not allowed in the house.  Mother did have a canary at one time.  It had a cage that hung on an iron post that kept it off the floor.  The cat did come in one time on my watch and made short work of the canary.  Mother was livid.  Seems the bird was the only thing that really gave her pleasure in her mundane world.  She had received it from Grandma Haas.  Not sure mother ever forgave me for that little fiasco.  I do know she never forgot.

Dad never interacted with any of us kids but Mary.  Mary looked a lot like Dad with his rather ruddy complexion and the hair that had an almost red tint, but not quite.  Mary was always delicate.  I do not mean sickly, because I was the sickly one.  I had my tonsils removed when I was 10 or 11 and then became the healthy person I am today.  Donna and Dorothy were bordering on being pudgy, but Mary was just delicate.  There is no other way to put it.  Josephine was the oldest and she was a half sister.  Jake was the son.  I was the oldest daughter born to the union.  Then came Donna, Mary and Dorothy.  That made me the middle child and I lived the "middle child syndrome" my whole life. Still do.  I am not quite happy with anything I do so I try harder.  Just can not do anything completely and revel in success.  I always fall just a little bit short.  You would think after this many years I would give up on that!

Don't know why I got this in my head today, but here it is.  Guess I will go downstairs and do something constructive.

Randy Travis calls this "Pickin' Up Bones."  Just makes me wonder if we ever really escape our childhood?  There are only 2 of us left now.  We live 400 miles apart and visit sporadically if at all, but it is enough to know she is there. And I am here.

Box Car Willie

I love youtube and usually have it playing in my background.  The other day I lucked onto the life story of Box Car Willie.  I do not remember dates, but he was one of the old singers and very successful in that endeavor.  He grew up in a shack with his mom and dad just a few feet from the railroad track where his dad worked.  The man could make the train whistle sound and it was so authentic that it was like the train was right in front of you.  And guess where that man took me?  Right back to Nickerson.

The railroad ran right across Main Street from East to West.  It came from somewhere and went to Hutchinson.  Kind of ran parallel to Highway 50 as I recall.  I have found in later years that it runs to La Junta, Colorado and turns south there and goes some where.  I used to ride from Garden City, Kansas to Hutchinson with my kids when I lived in Western Kansas.  But back to Nickerson.

In grade school I had a friend named Eveline.  She had very black hair and eyes.  Mother always said she was an Indian.  I did not know.  She had one sister and her name was Georgia.  They lived in a boxcar that set where the water tank for the train was located.  In Kansas, and I suppose all the places the train ran, there was a water tank every 7 miles.  The first trains had to take on water as they were steam engines.  Water had to be kept ready for whatever time the train came through.  That is why all the towns are 7 miles apart.  Some of them survived; some did not. Nickerson was one that did.

A lot has changed.  I know many years ago there had to be a man who shoveled the coal and kept the engine running.  I am sure now that if there are coal fired engines they are fed through some sort of mechanical means.  Now how I got off on this tangent is more that I can figure out!  What I want to tell you is how I would lay in bed at night and sometimes here the train whistle far off in the distance.  It was always the loneliest sound in the world.  The whistle would also bring on the howls of the wolves.  Train whistles and wolves have been ingrained in my mind as long as I can remember.  There is not a train track near my house now, but sometimes on a clear summer night with my windows open I can hear a faint whistle and it takes me back.

I recall when I started high school that I had to cross the tracks to get back to the road that led to my house.  That road was actually a county road that ran North to Sterling.  I lived one block off the highway.  Sometimes the train would be lumbering through and I could stand and watch it pass.  There were times that I could see men through the open door of the box car.  One time there was a man setting in the open door and he waved at me.  He wore overalls and he looked very sad.  After that I talked to Jake Smith who lived on Strong Street and he told me about how the hobos and tramps "rode the rails."  He said sometimes the "bulls" would pull them off the train and beat them to death.  Not sure if that was true or not, but in my impressionable little mind, anything was possible.

Then my brother, Jake, took me around to show me some of the signs that hobos left on peoples fences or trash cans to either denote a friendly person, a mean dog, or a hot meal for the asking.  They would make a mark to communicate and the other hobos knew to ask or pass that house by.  I do not know  if there are still hobos or not and I do not know how to find out.  I do know in later years the railroad owners hired people to keep the hobo's off the trains.

Life is so sad, isn't it?  Who knows what stories these men (there may have been women too) could tell.  I wish I could go back in time and talk to one of them.  I am pretty sure had I tried my mother would have beat me to death, but what a rich history that time was, and I was not smart enough to know it!  But back to Box Car Willie.  He brought the railroad to life.  He brought poverty to our door and he took the history of the box car  to England.  He was a scruffy little man, but he could pack a house.  They do not make them like that any more.

That era is gone and soon there will not be anyone to remember.  Sometimes my heart is very sad that I do not have knowledge of what I was living at the time.  My grand kids will never know what the outhouse was or that water had to be pumped from a well in the ground, or that the homeless people of today are the ancestors of the men who rode the rails.

Peace! and prosperity to all.

Plevna, Kansas holds my roots.

Gagnebien, Haas, Beck, Miller, Hatfield, and the list goes on.  When Haas members began to arrive through Ellis Island, they went straight to the "Beck Home" in Nickerson, Kansas and then branched out into the surrounding area, mainly Abbyville, Huntsville and Plevna.  Homesteading was active at the time and Nickerson was pretty well taken, causing them to branch further out in Reno, County. I have a family album that shows the Haas family cutting cottonwoods on the Arkansas River.  My branch of the family did not come here until 1884.  As I recall my grandfather was 6 or 9 years old when he went through Ellis Island.

I can still recall with fondness my Uncle Goll, Uncle Coon, Aunt Lizzie and my dear sweet Aunt Lena.  For some reason I thought my grandfather came to America in 1900, but it was actually 1884.  He was 12 years old at that time.  He married my grandma I 1900.  His father would be my great grandfather, Johann Jakob Haas.  Great granfather actually fathered 16 children by two women.   I come from a long line of weavers. tailors, vine dressers, bakers, and of course, farmers.  But all this is irrelevant to this post.

It must have been about 1970 or so that Dorothy and Ernie moved into a farmhouse outside of Plevna.  I know Little Ernie was just talking good.  I went to visit fairly regularly, but usually when Ernie was at work.  Little Ernie was always a special little boy to me although I had a nest full of my own.  He called me Aunt Do Do, since he could not pronounce Lou Lou.  "  I love you, Aunt Do Do."  Once he came running out of the bedroom to announce "Aunt Do Do, there is a hop grasser in my bedroom!"

Ernie had fenced off a portion of the yard and made that a pig pen.  I do not remember where he worked at the time, seems like he worked for Morton Salt.  Could be wrong.  The important part was that he was gone all day and Dorothy was pregnant.  One weekend he decided to build a new sty for the pigs so he got his lumber and drill.  Please know, that lumber and drill should never be used in a sentence with the name, "Ernie".  In typical fashion he held the 2 x4 up with one hand and drilled through it into his other hand.

They had a station wagon at the time so Ernie laid down in the back, kids were some where and Dorothy began the flying 20 mile trip to the hospital in Hutch.  Ernie would call out every few minutes, " I am still alive.  Drive carefully so you don't wreck.  Hurry!"  Dorothy told me that was her most harrowing trip in her life.  They sold the pigs soon thereafter and moved into town.  Think they moved out on Duffy Road at that time.

For many years we had a Haas family reunion at the school gymnasium.  Everyone brought a dish and we just kind of caught up on each other.  They tore down the school where I had attended my freshman year, but left the gym intact.  Hinshaws Dry Goods store burned.  I went through there once many years ago and the Smith house was a trailer park of sorts, meaning there were several mobile homes on the lot.   The Congregationalist Church was still there as was Grandma Haas's house.  The bank was still there.  I have got to take a day and go there next time I head East.  Course I remember when I stopped at Grandma's old house and got covered in ticks!  Do not want anymore of those.

Towns were built 7 miles apart back then because the trains needed a water stop.  Kansas is full of those little towns, or the remains of them.  Some of them survived, but many did not.  I love to look at my family book and try to envision what life was like back then.  Grandpa Haas married Josie Miller in 1900.  Uncle Gol married Aunt Helen who was Josie's sister, so I have double cousins out there in Southeast Kansas.  

My family is so diverse and far flung that one time I met a boy at a dance and came home to tell mother how great he was.  Her response was  "Forget it!  He is your cousin."  End of that romance and I do not even remember his name, so that is that.

I think I will plan a trip back home and go touch base with the old places in Plevna.  Aunt Lena is gone.  As far as I know the house where grandma lived is still standing.  Maybe I could find one of the Hinshaw twins!  Dean and forgot the other one.  Dean was dark complected  with dark hair and thin.  The other one was fair skinned with freckles and reddish blonde hair and a little on the heavier side.  I have forgotten my friends names!  Janet something.  Charlene Smith.  Damn!  A complete blank!  Maybe I will forget that trip.

Sure wish my momma was here.  She would remember.  

Happy Birthday to Hammer!

I am not sure how old Hammer is today, but I am pretty sure he is old.  He is married to my oldest daughter.  They live in Longton, Kansas.  They are survivalists to the max.  They have a 40 acre farm, many cats, a dog or two and are right now down to a couple calves.  Usually they buy calves, fatten them up and then sell them to pay the bank the money they borrowed to buy the calves and feed them.  It is not a real profitable operation, but it keeps them off the streets.  They are also raising 4 grandkids which is not a break even operation, but something that needs done.

Hammer had done his 2 tours in Vietnam before Debbie met him.  Needless to say, he had the normal problems that all the boys coming home from there had.  Vietnam was a terrible operation and PTSD is a side effect that is never completely over come.  He still suffers from the effects of Agent Orange as well as the horrors of a war that should never have been undertaken.  Hammer and I are pretty much from the same era.  I know other men who served in Vietnam and all I can say about that is I hope our government learned something from those mistakes, because it was certainly an exercise in futility and anyone who was there still has nightmares even if they say they don't.

I do not know how many years they have been married, but I know it is a lot and I was there that day.  They had been living up in the mountains above Eleven mile Reservoir as I recall, but were in the process of moving down into Pueblo.  Since they were between homes they spent a few days here and in the course of finding a home, they decided they should just trot on up to the court house and "do the deed" which is the equivalent of "getting this shittin' mess over with that Kenny and I had done several years earlier.  I would be one witness and witness number 2 was decided to be a lady named Shirley Smith.  Shirley and her husband, Bill,  ran the UPumpit in Blende.  So off we went.

For some reason, on our way to town we decided that Shirley would be Hammers Best Man.  I was mother of the bride, because that is what I was.  The Judge who was officiating was very understanding.  I am not sure he had ever married anyone in Levi's before, but that is what we were wearing.  Hammer is a big bear of a man with the full beard, biker tattoos and a gruff whiskey voice.  He and Debbie make a great couple.  They went to the motel for their wedding night.  (I know this because I just called her and asked her.)  It was 30 years ago.  Damn!

There has been a lot of water under that bridge and a lot of changing on both their parts.  Well, maybe not changing so much as just adapting to each others wants and needs.  They are talking about moving out here closer to me and I think that would be great.  I guess a lot depends on the 3 grandkids which are currently in their custody.  When life hands us lemons, we make lemonade!  Just the way we are.

Today was also my sister-in-laws birthday.  Not sure how old she would have been because she tended to sugar coat a lot of things.  Sadly, she is no longer on this side of the veil.  Very few of my relatives are.

So any way, Happy Birthday to Hammer!  I know he is on a road trip right now, but I trust he will drive carefully and hurry home to Longton.

Peace! 

Raised by wolves? Yep, pretty much so!

I think back to when I was raising 5 kids with no child support, no welfare card, no health care and rarely the same baby sitter 2 weeks in a row, and I shudder.  Lucky for me it was back in the day when you could actually leave your house unlocked and went to bed and woke up still alive.  We lived at 217 West 5th in Hutchinson which is now an apartment complex.  It was located across the street from Dillons Supermarket.  5th Street was also Highway 96.  Highway 50 and 96 both run directly to Pueblo, Colorado.  But that is a moot point.  (I just love to say "moot point".)

The kids could walk to school if they were in school at the time.  They went to Allan, as I recall and it was about 4 blocks.   Near the school was a lady named Ferguson who had kids that were mean to my kids.  She watched them after school.  If they were not in school they went to Mrs. Bensing's to be baby sat by  her.  She was the regular babysitter for my day time, 6 days a week job.

To supplement my income I waited tables at the bar on 4th Street.  That was the Dutch Mill.  Back in those days you were allowed to dance in the bars.  Usually there was a juke box, but some times the Mill had live bands.  Oh, those were fun!  I must confess that I did a lot more dancing and not a whole lot of waiting on tables, although since they did not serve food, it was just delivering beer.  Mini skirts were the thing back then and I had pretty legs, so my tips were good.

On the nights I worked I had a lady who came from South Hutch to watch the kids.  She had a car.  I am trying to remember her name!  She was a little short, stout lady and she had a beard.  I swear, more hair on her chin than on her head!  Ida Mae?  Does that sound right?  We will go with that.
Addie Mae was the sweetest little lady.  She was about my height and a little heavier.  She always smiled and never spoke above a whisper.  She always brought a handful of candy.    Always had a secret smile on her face.  The kids were scared shitless of her.

"Is  she was mean?"  "No."
"Does she holler at you?"  "No."
 "What does she do?"  "Nothing."
"Does she give you candy?"  "No."

While at the Red Carpet, I hired the bosses son's wife to babysit and since Allen Ray was in Vietnam, I moved her in with me.  She was pregnant at the time.  That was nice.  When I came home from whatever job I had been to, the house was always clean.  The kids were always quiet and if it was night they were always in bed.  Very well behaved kids.  And then one day I noticed a bruise on Sam's face.  Upon close questioning I determined that she had hit him across the face with a stick she used to paddle all of them with.  I immediately called my boss and told him to get her out of my house before I killed her and proceeded to throw her belongings on the curb so they were easily accessible.  Seems the babies I worked so hard to feed and clothe were being intimidated by (dammit! I forgot her name.  Debbie just called and her name was Janice.)   Bob understood.

Evelyn Decker moved in for a while and between us, we got them up to an age where they were traveling back and forth between their father and me.  They even began to go to school in Garden City and then Lakin.  By that time I was in love again and married and moving to Colorado.  By then Susie was starting kindergarten and was the only child I had at home.  Over the years they took turns living and going to school either in Lakin or out here with me.  Sam is the only one that actually graduated in Pueblo.  Central High, go Wildcats.!  He then attended the University before going to Wichita for his post graduate work.

The years in Hutchinson are mostly a blur.  I do not know whether it was working all the time, or drinking or what, but I am pretty sure I did not earn a "mother of the year" award or the "Susie homemaker award".  I did manage to have all of them survive with no broken bones and no jail time.
Would I do things differently if I could go back?  I sure as hell would.  Momma always said "Hindsight is 100% looking back, foresight: not so much."  I would not have stayed with their father, and I am not sure how I would do it differently, but I would have done something.  The one thing I did learn from those years and the years that followed is this:  "I did the best I could with the tools and knowledge that I had at the time."  My momma told me that.  Momma was very wise! Course Momma is also the one that said my kids were raised by wolves!

Footnote:  I did attend college after Charlie and during Henry and before Kenny.  I received my BA with a 4.0 grade average.  I have a diploma around here some where and it says something about me being an Accountant.  I worked one full time job and one part time job while doing that.  And I drank a lot of Mountain Dew!

South of Nickerson?

When dad worked for John Britain, it seems like the farm was South of Nickerson.  When I look at a map of anywhere, I immediately become directionally challenged.  Seems the only time I was sure which way I was going was when we pulled off of 50 Highway into South Hutch, crossed the river and drove North on Adams to mom's place on Jackson.  When we left Hutch to head west to Colorado, I was fine.  As long as the sun was in my eyes and I knew what time it was, I was good to go.  When we pulled into Pueblo, I was fine in my house, but when I leave, it is God only knows what direction I am headed.

So when I talk about across the river in Nickerson, I am pretty sure it was south of town.  The only time my dad had much to do with me was when he took me, and sometimes Jake, to John Britain's farm when he went to work.  It was not really a farm, it was an acreage that was used to grow crops.  The crop it grew was wheat.  When the rains came, there was a slough that filled with water and ran across the land.  Jake and I liked to play there and he built little wooden boats for me.  Jake was actually 4 years older than me.  I think his job was to keep me amused while dad was busy doing whatever it was he did.  I think it must have been either planting the wheat or getting the tractors and combines in running order for when the harvest came.

The day for going to the farm was always planned well ahead, as was the date of harvest.  I have always been fascinated with the wheat because that was at that time the mainstay of Kansas agriculture.  The fields would turn green in the springtime of the year and everyone watched the progress of the tiny green shoots.  They soon covered the ground and then began to grow upward towards the sun.  The fields were checked regularly for progress and soon the wheat would begin to "head out".   As it began to turn from green to an amber and then to dry, it was checked more often.  Dad would rub a head between his hands to determine several things.  One was how full the head was.  Another was how dry the wheat kernels were.  And then the time came that he and John determined that it was ready and harvest would be in so many days.  And then the work began.

The combine was greased and readied for the field.  Trucks were lined up and every man, woman and child had a job to do.  Dad and John ran combines.  Mother drove a truck.  I remember that one year she had to take one of the younger girls with her (I think it was Mary, but it could have been Dorothy.) She had to work.  Josephine stayed home with us younger kids.  Hell, she was just a kid herself, but that was back in the days when about the only thing to worry about was starving to death.  Jake carried fresh water to the workers.  He had to pump it with a hand pump on a well in the yard.  Somebody brought sandwiches at noon and again at night to keep the job going.  The process was slow and the old trucks crept into town and lined up with the other farm trucks to dump their grain in the elevator.  I never knew how they kept it all straight, but some how it worked.

Harvest is a damn serious business in wheat country.  I think now it has been mostly taken over by custom harvesters.  The farmers just have to be able to predict a year ahead to know when their crop will be ready.  They plant in cycles which vary by just a few days depending on who your harvester is.

Somehow it never left my mind and when I go down in the Spring, I watch to see how far along the wheat crop is.  If I go later in the fall the fields looked like they were raped.  And then winter the fields are barren.  I am not sure, but I think they used to plant in the fall and then graze cattle on it.  Then the wheat would "spool" and make double or triple the crop.  One seed would produce several stalks of wheat in the spring.  Not real sure about that because my job was to play in the dirt and watch the chickens lay eggs.

I have been gone from Kansas over half of my life, but some how I know life is going on without me.  Out here, I watch the chile pepper plants and the workers in the fields bending over in the hot sun, nurturing the plants that are so vital to this area.  Home is where the heart is and sometimes I wonder just where my heart actually lives.

It is a conundrum! 

Mother, Aunt Helen, Werthers Originals , and a very high curb!

My mother died when she was 80.  At the time she was living with my sister, Dorothy.  Dorothy has since joined Mother on the other side, but prior to that Mother lived in a small 1 bedroom apartment on 15th Circle near my sister Donna.  Lordie!  that was a long time ago.  I managed to travel from Pueblo to Huchinson 3 or 4 times a year. I would spend a few days and then back to Colorado.

Now let me elaborate on the title of this missive.  I am not sure exactly how Aunt Helen was my Aunt and not even sure she was.  I do know that Aunt Helen and Uncle Skinny had been in my life when I was in first or second grade in Nickerson.  They were very rich.  Aunt Helen gave me my first and only store bought dress.  It was gray/green over glaze cotton with a white collar and a string tie around the neck with 2 daisies on the ends of the tie.  I wore it until I could no longer get it on.  They also gave me a brownie uniform and paid my dues for one year.  That was a waste of money, because I sure did not fit in with those girls and I only attended one or 2 meetings.  Mother gave the uniform to some one who gave it to someone who would wear it and attend meetings. The gray/green dress ended up in a rag rug.  But I digress.

When I would go to visit mother it was a big deal that my Aunt Helen looked forward to with anticipation.  Uncle Skinny had died by then and Aunt Helen was now alone since they had never had children.  They did have a niece named Paralee who was a school teacher.  She was married and had a daughter and maybe other kids.  To the best of my knowledge Paralee was my cousin.  Or mother's cousin.  Or some shirttail relation anyway.

Back to Aunt Helen.  She visited mother several times a year.  She did not like to drive the "damn big boat of a Cadillac", and for the most part, did not need to leave home.  Ah, but a visit to Christine was something she would drive for.  And when she arrived she would produce from her enormous purse, a bag of Werther Original Caramels.  No other kind would do!  It was those or nothing and be hell and damned that she would arrive for a visit empty handed.  Hell and High water would not stop her from bringing those every time she came.  And she would not leave until every one of them had been eaten.

On one of my later visits, she was late arriving.  Where could she be?  Mother thought she might have became confused and sent Donna  ( I think it was Donna) and I out to the parking area in front of the condominiums  to see if she had gotten "confused".  It just was not like her to be late and she was now over 90 years old and had been known to get a little confused when in a strange area.  She was not in front of the area mother had been designated as hers.  We started up the street and were soon rewarded with the sight of the big green and cream Cadillac coming out of one of the parking areas up the street.  As we watched, it got back on the street and proceeded to turn into another parking lot, or at least attempt to turn in.  She was trying to turn left between the entrance and the exit.  Sadly the curb was in the way.  As she backed up to make another charge at it, she seen us and immediately turned the car in our direction.  Donna and I, fearing for our lives, made a run into mothers parking lot, with her hot on our tail and the Cadillac roared toward us.  I am not sure, but I think Donna was making the sign of the cross on her head and chest.  Hell!  We are not even Catholics!

By her second run at the curb, I had managed to get the door open and leapt in the car.  She smiled at me, her innocent smile of the patron Aunt.  "Oh, dear!  Why do the make these parking lots so hard to get into?  I got confused and tried to go into the wrong one.  My God!  They all look alike!  How are you dear?"

I talked her into getting out of the car and standing with Donna while I drove into the parking lot through the driveway.  Driveways sure make life easier.  Then we went inside and ate the carmels.  All of them!

I do not remember how long, but the next time I went, Aunt Helen was no longer driving.  I loaded mother up and we went to Aunt Helen's house.  Her little dog had been run over and she showed me the pictures of his dead body.  Then we set in the parlor to visit and in front of us was a bowl or Werther's Original Caramels.  We ate them all!

That was the last time I saw Aunt Helen before her death.  I still have only the fondest memories of those days.  Paralee died young.  In my family we either die young or live forever.  I am afraid I will fall in the latter category, but I will never live long enough to not think of my dear Aunt Helen when someone offers me a caramel.  I never buy them.  I should, because it would be my favorite comfort food.  I will never eat one without the memories of the comradery around the kitchen table on 15th Circle in Hutchinson, Kansas all those long years ago.

Some memories never leave us and they come me at the damndest  times.  There are only the two of us left.  I will try to get down to see Donna some time this winter.  There just does not seem to be enough time to do any thing any more, but I do think I will make time for that visit.  We just never know when we will get up in the morning and not make it to our bed at night, so we should try to make all our words kind, all our actions meaningful and all our thoughts good ones.

Life is far to short.

Off to a roaring start!

Well, I spent Saturday night in Lakin with Dona and Joey.   Woke Saturday morning and after breakfast we did errands and in due time were on the road to Hutchinson.  All this was well and good until we passed Macksville and Stafford.  Gets pretty few and far between for rest stops at that point.  Of course as soon as that happens the old bladder kicks it and demands attention.

To make a long story short, we solved that problem.  And then I had a brilliant idea!  On 50 highway just a ways past Sylvia is the house my grandma Haas lived in before she moved into Plevna.  Over the years I had watched it set empty and seen it deteriorate.  I had taken pictures of it from the shoulder of the road , but never gotten brave enough to walk up to it alone.  Today I had a partner who was going to help me!  So I pulled off the road and parked.

The prairie grass was waist high, but we forged onward.  I took pictures through the broken windows of the ceiling laying on the floor.  Time had taken it's toll of the old house and it was hard to imagine my little granny ever having been a wife and mother in that place.  

We walked on back to where the chicken house was.  It was in way better shape then the house, but not by much.  With all my curiosity sated it was now time to wade back through the grass to the car.

We arrived in Hutch just in time to wait for a freight  train to very slowly wend it's way through the crossing on Monroe street.  I thought I felt something tickle my neck so I reached my hand up and felt something that was not a hair.  I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger and looked down at a fat little tick!  Visions of a slow painful death from Lyme disease clouded my vision.  As soon as the train passed we drove quickly to Evelyn's house. (As quickly as one can drive when they do not remember where she lives.) In short order we were at Evelyn's and in the shower.

Next stop was sister Donna's house.  Donna and Karen have a new dog,  I forget what kind it is, but it is a tiny one that barks all the time and it is a very high pitched bark.  It is Pomp(somemoreletters) and it is the dog that guards the Queen of England.  It is black and white.

Now it is the next day and I have already eaten two times and am scheduled for another feeding at 5:30,  I went to Nickerson today and have a lot of pictures of the old places I used to know, but I can not download them to this laptop so you will have to see them later.  For now I am going to go do something even if it is wrong.

Have a good one.  More from the road tomorrow or the next day.

Let them eat toast

Back in the late 60's and the very early 70's I worked at the Red Carpet in Hutchinson, Kansas.  I think I was there a total of 6 or 7 years.  My mind does not retain dates well at all.  The point was that I was not married to Duane any more and needed to work to feed 5 kids.  I was cook, kitchen manager and baker.  I decorated cakes as a side job for extra money.  I also worked in the Bakery down on South Main.  I did that at night.

Any way, if you know anything about restaurant work, you know that it all revolves around the cook.  If the cook does not like you, the orders are slow coming out of the kitchen and might not look quite as neat as other orders, so it is a good idea to stay on the good side of the cook.  My waitresses loved me.  Any excuse for a holiday was reason to shower gifts on Lou.  One birthday I was sent to Wichita to the Charlie Pride concert because I loved that man!  Also that entailed a plethora of 8 track tapes being bought and delivered to my hand by my workers.  I miss the 8 track players.

This morning I lay in my bed remembering those days.  And I remembered that one birthday they gave me a 4 slice toaster because I had mentioned that my toaster no longer worked.  It was a very nice toaster, all shiny and clean.  As luck would have it I kept my empty freezer full of bread because that was more efficient than running an empty freezer.  And bread was cheap.  I think it was 5 loaves for $1.00.

I also had a live in babysitter.  Her name was Janice and she was married to the boss's son who was in Viet Nam at the time.  That is a whole 'nuther story.  She was not the most ambitious person I had encountered, but she did keep the kids off the streets at night.

My regular shift was 5:00 AM-2:00 PM.  Then I came home and had a nap and went to work at the bakery at 10:00PM-till the bread was all sliced and sacked.  On Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday I came back to the restaurant and was back up cook, dish washer, salad girl, or whatever needed to be done.  This one particular night, after I received the toaster, I worked backup.  So I was there from 5-10 and then at the bakery until 11:30.

When I drug myself home, it was almost midnight.  The house was dark and everyone asleep.  I let myself in the back door  and flipped on the light over the kitchen sink.  My eyes fell on a plate full of toast on the counter.  And then another!  The whole counter on both sides of the sink was filled with plates full of toast.  So was the kitchen table!  And the stove!  And the wash machine!

I was still staring at the piles of toast when Sammy came out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes.  He came over and hugged me.  Then the mystery was solved when he said,

"I made you supper!  I ran out of butter, but I thought you could get some more tomorrow."

It is 50 some odd years later and I still remember the look on his face.  He had made supper for him momma.  He was so proud.  I am not sure just how much toast he thought I could hold, but this was a bonding moment.  He and I were alone in the half lit kitchen while his sisters slept and we ate dry toast in the middle of the night.  Probably the best mid night snack I have ever had.

I do not remember what became of all that toast, but I am sure some where there were birds that enjoyed a feast.  (At that time we did not know that commercial bread was not good for ducks, and crows and other feathered things.)

I kind of miss the good old days with the kids, but I rather imagine they are glad those days are behind them.  But just for old time sake I think I will go make a piece of toast for my breakfast.  I actually have butter!

This one came out of left field!

I spent today making Cream of Carrot Soup for the High Tea.  I also whipped up a big jug of Lemon Curd for the scones.  Well, for the Cheese Scones.  I am making Clotted Cream for the Apple ones.  Since I was cooking all day, it came as a complete surprise to me when I set down to watch the news and wound up thinking about Nickerson, Kansas and remembering my father telling my mother about a cross burning incident that had happened the night before.  I am pretty sure he had not been involved in the burning, but he sure seemed to know all about it and the names of the men who were involved.

 Now you must understand that this conversation was not held at the dining room table, but rather in whispered tones on the front porch.  Our bedroom window was on the front of the house so since I was awake it was hard not to hear.  And the fact that it is now 70 years later kind of dims the memory.  All the people who were alive at that time are long since gone on to their reward, whatever it might be.  To the best of my knowledge, I never knew anyone who lived in Nickerson, Kansas at the time I was there to be anything but white.  Oh, wait.  There was one family who lived in the boxcar down by the tracks that was maybe another race.  I never was sure what race they were.  Seems like they might have been Indian, but I wasn't sure of  what  race that was.

Our family was mostly German due to the Haas family on my mothers side.  Dad was mostly Irish or English or something like that.  I think maybe Great Britain came in to play some where in his genes.  Now if you think for one minute that I know where I am headed with this you are sadly mistaken.  Last thing I remember was I was working on some lemon bars and the next thing I remember is I was up here clicking away at the keys.  I think it all has something to do with the latest school shooting.  How sad that is that kids have to go through training to learn what to do if their school is attacked by a gunman.  Seems in the back of my mind I hear a song playing about the days of sand and shovels.  A day of innocence.  I wonder what our world has come to that this is normal and is accepted as normal.  And then I think to that conversation on the front porch and it makes me sad, that I can remember burning crosses from my childhood much as the kids today will remember the boy with purple and pink hair that shot children in a school.  What is our world coming to that violence is a way of life and that it is accepted as normal?

Even sadder, the boys doing the shooting are someone's son.  Some mother held the new baby in her arms and never dreamed that someday he would grow up to kill anyone.  Probably the worst she could imagine was that he/she would need braces.  Or maybe they would steal a candy bar just for kicks.  The world has changed.  Back when I was a kid, we saluted the flag.  We said "one nation under God." I think we even had a little prayer before school.  I vaguely remember one of my school mates being killed in a car wreck.  I do not remember his name, only that he had gone with his older brother to a National Guard meeting.  That was about the saddest thing that happened in our school.  Mostly life was mundane.  Mother went to work.  Dad went to the pool hall.  Josephine eloped and Jake joined the Army.  And the gypsys were camped outside of town, just waiting to steal a kid, but the never did.

The nastiest duck in the yard.

As you will recall I, at one time, had a  flock of 37 ducks and 15 geese here on South Road.  I can only thank God Kenny did not live to see that fiasco.  In that flock there were 4 Muscovy ducks.  All the others were just plain ducks.  By that I mean they were plain little Polander which is a domesticated Mallard that can not fly, or a mix of breeds that were like the United Nations of Duckdom.  I did have one that walked upright.  That one was white.  There was also one that was a cross which walked about half upright.  When Mr. Fox finished visiting, I had 2 ducks left, a Polander and the white upright.  A friend took them to the pond in Pueblo West and to the best of my knowledge they are still living happily ever after.  Below is a picture of the flock about half way through the fox episode.

The point of this entry is to discuss the nastiness of the 4 Muscovy ducks.  To the best of my knowledge, the Muscovy is the  only ones that can fly, and fly they did very well.  Let me go back a little further to the house on Strong Street in Nickerson, Kansas.  You recall it was built in the shotgun design which meant you entered the front and if an intruder was in the back you could  fire a shell in your 10 gauge and the shot would travel through the house and hit the bad man without touching anything else.  On the back wall was the sink and pump with a drain pipe from the sink that went through a hole in the back wall and water from the dish washing process or whatever else could be disposed of that way without having to carry a bucket outside.  It sure made life easier for us lazy little kids.

So now you are probably wondering where the water went after it got outside, aren't you?  Well, the end of the pipe was about 15 feet from the house and that is where the water went.  Also in the back yard was where the ducks lived.  I do not remember how many we had, but I do know they were nasty.  They took their little beaks and dug into the standing water looking for God only knows what to eat.  Of course anything that went in that beak was going to come out the other end.  Needless to say we were not allowed to play in that standing water.  Pretty sure that was one rule that we did abide by!

Now, I have got to explain how a Muscovy duck is different than other ducks.  Domesticated ducks do not fly.  The Muscovy is a whole different story.  The neck on the males is very thick.  The males are also very aggressive.  They did not quack, but rather whispered.  And they flew.  The would leave the pond and fly into my small back yard and roost on my air conditioner.  Now I did not like that.  When I tried to shoo them out back the males would ruffle their feathers and scare hell out of me.  The females were very docile and about half the size of the drakes.  One morning I went to the fowl house and found a dead goose.  It's neck had been broken.  Since the fowl house was attached to a wire enclosure whatever killed the goose had to be inside that place.  I watch my geese fight all through breeding season and never have I seen that kind of violence.  It had to be one of the Muscovy drakes.  So I called the guy over on County Farm Road and he came and was in agreement with my findings.  He then loaded all 4 Muscovy's into his truck and off the to the sale they went.  I never tried Muscovy's again.

Above is what I have left of my flock.  Actually I have all 4 of the African Grays, which are the dark ones. One of them is a hen.   I lost 2 of the white ones, leaving me with 2 male Emidens and 1 male and 1 female Chinese.  The two hens lay in the Spring and I practice birth control via noodle making.  Snakes are rampant in the goose house since they like eggs so as long as I keep the eggs picked up, the snakes are forced to find me some other way.  I am going to get someone out here to go in the neighbors yard and move that pile of tires because I think the snakes live in there. 

Or under my deck!

Well, that is it for today.  Spring is here.  The ducks are all gone and the weeds are coming up in the fence line so I better get on the stick.

Time and tide wait for no man...or woman!

I have miles to go before I sleep.

Spring is here and this is the time of year that I get itchy feet.  I left Hutchison, Kansas in 1977 with my then husband and with everything in a U-haul we moved to Pueblo, Colorado.  Since he had lived here before, it was a returning for him, but for me it was a leap of faith and a complete 180 degrees from my life in Hutchinson.  I gave my mother the keys to my little Lou's Kitchen on 4th Street and fired up the engine on my 1973 Chevy and headed West to seek my fame and fortune.  I was one naive little girl back then.  The husband turned out to be a little less then I hoped.  We did start a business so I had a job to do.  

The husband soon became an ex husband and the job a former place of employment.  At that time I thought about pointing the (now a Cadillac) east and leaving Colorado, but I could not go home a failure, so I stayed.  I went to  College and got a degree in Finance while waiting tables at a small cafe in Bessemer.  I married a local guy and divorced him 2 months later.  Then I met and married Kenneth.  The rest is history.  Through all the years, I made trips to Kansas in the Spring to see the Lilacs.

And, of course, a trip to Hutchinson also called for a stop at Skaets Steak Shop on the corner of 23rd and Main which is the entrance to the State Fairgrounds.  That was the first place I ever worked and a member of my family (sometimes more then one member) has always been on the payroll there.  My sister, Dorothy, had a heart attack and died there.  Luckily they hit the restart button on her and she lived several more years.  

I would meet my friend Joe there for a 2-3 hour coffee.  That was always fun.  I do have a gold elephant I need to send him someday.

But, those days are behind me.  The days of throwing the pistol in the suitcase and driving 8 hours to get anywhere are now behind me.  Water under the bridge.  Lately I have been studying the family tree and I was surprised to find that I am now the top nut on the tree.  I used to ask someone older then me about our lineage, but now I find that the buck stops here.  There is no one to ask.  Damn!  When did that happen?

I think about the trips to Hutch and I get sad that they are no longer.  I have my own Lilac in the back yard.  I feel much like Robert Frost must have felt when he wrote this poem.  Am I really done?  Is this where it ends.  Wait!  I have so much left to do...….

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

So, from someone who knows, life is short.  Love your neighbor, brighten the corner where you are and if perchance you think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, stretch your neck over there and have a bite!  You may be right.

OMG! The great Ski King is here!

I recently came across a site on facebook called Kansas Old and Interesting Places.  Being from Kansas I find the history fascinating.  So I joined the group.  While perusing last night on the site, I came across a picture of a big white house located in Toronto.  I started thinking about when Duane and I were first married, before we had any kids and I remembered that we had lived in Toronto for a few weeks.  History lesson coming up here.

I was 19 and Duane was 21 when we married.  He and 2 of his brothers were in the business of trimming trees.  Now in this day and age they would be respectable and probably have an office some where, but back in those days, the car and the pickup were the office, warehouse, job site, and bookkeeping.  The first year we were married we lived in 14 different cities around the state.  We would locate to a town, sell our service, and when all the trees were trimmed we would move on to greener pastures.  It was honest work and Duane was a very good tree trimmer.  It kind of sucked not to have any real roots, but we were in love.  What more can I say?

Back to Toronto.  We pulled into Toronto and immediately went fishing.  First we rented a room at the local hotel.  It had a big room with a couch and bed and a stove to cook on in the other room.  Arrangements were made with the owners that I would clean the halls and the bathroom in lieu of the $5 a week rent.  I would go to the local grocery and purchase food for the day, cook it and have supper ready when Duane and the brothers came home.  Now, suffice it to say, that one of the prerequisites of being a tree trimmer was you must be a good beer drinker.  The day always ended up in the bar.  I did not drink at the time, nor do I now, but he and his brothers drank enough for me.

I remember this song, (click on the blue letters to open the link. Ski King ) Seems this happened either at Toronto Lake or the Fall River Reservoir.

Toronto Lake was some good fishing, for sure.  On one day I was instructed to cook up a pot of beans and the boys would bring home some corn.  Sounded good to me, so I cooked the beans and later that evening they came in with a peck or so of corn.  Well, unbeknownst to this ignorant little girl from the big city, it was field corn.  So I shucked a few ears and threw them in the bean pot.  After due time Duane pronounced it ready.  Hmmm.  That stuff was very hard.  So we cooked it longer.  It got harder.  We cut it off the cob and boiled it some more.  Now let this be a lesson to all of you, field corn is a whole different ball game then the sweet corn I was used to.  For our supper we ate beans and corn, but the corn was picked out and tossed in the trash.

To end this tale of woe, Yates Center was nearby and I had not been feeling well.  Duane took me to the doctor, dropped me off and went to the pool hall.  The doctor examined me and pronounced that I was pregnant.  OMG!  Where is the hospital where I will have the baby?  He looked at me like I may have just fell off the turnip truck and said "Around these parts folks has their babies to home."

And that ended our life in Toronto.  I am a city girl at heart and there was no way in hell I was going to have my baby "to home."  Hutchinson would become my home for the duration of my pregnancy.  I had a mother there and she had running water and all that stuff!

But I do have my memories of Ski King and I have yet to figure out how all this connects.  If you do, please share with me!

The house where the fancy people live, whoops!

Many years ago, my oldest daughter moved to Longton, Kansas.  Her and her husband bought a 40 acre plot with a mobile home and a lake for less then I bought a car.  Longton is about as far east and south as you can go in Kansas without leaving the state.  Seems as though the population is about 102 on a good day when everyone is home.  To make a long story short, my daughter, Patty went to visit.  

There really is not much to do in a town that size except go to the auctions that pop up from time to time.  So they did.  That particular auction was for a double wide modular that set on 5 lots on the edge of Longton.  Back home places like that were selling for $50,000.  When the auctioneer asked for a bid, none were forthcoming.  So, Patty and Debbie put their little heads together, compared bank accounts and walked away owning the whole kit and kaboodle for $12,000.  

Now this place also sported a 3 or 4 car garage.  Hell, even I was tempted to throw things in a suitcase and head East!

When I finally got around to visiting Patty was using her place as a vacation home.  It was definitely a nice place to visit and the town of Longton was very quaint.  It had a restaurant and prices were very reasonable.  A lot of history on these walls.

This one gave me hope.

A stroll around town (which took about 20 minutes to cover the length and breadth of the city including the liquor store and the falling down building with a tree growing out of the roof) produced this picture of a very beautiful home just a couple blocks from Patty's house.  When I asked her who lived there, she told me, "That is where the fancy people live!  They are hardly ever home and do not come out when they are."  Sadly the house burned a couple years back.

This a house down on the other end of town. Since both houses appear to be of the same design and maybe by the same architect and builder, I asked her if that was where more "fancy people" lived and she told me "No, that is the one the druggies have moved into."  How sad because this one actually had a gazebo.

This is another house on one of the roads going into Longton.  Looks pretty deserted to me!

This is the barn setting on the end of Main Street just catty corner from the liquor store.  Not sure they still use it as a barn for horses or cattle, but who knows.  I could be wrong.  This might be a Debbie's house.

So, any way.  Elk County Reservoir is nearby and the fishing is great!

I must be about due for another vacation!  Who knows?