The Bull that Could

Barnyard Memories

County Fair

One a year the Fair is the end of summer or the beginning of fall.  The projects from the year are put up for judging and viewing.  It is also a time for friends from around the county to renew their friendships. 

Then, there is the carnival and rodeo, the added bonus of the fair.  My father and uncle had a livestock hauling business and usually got the contract to haul the rodeo livestock in to town.  They would help work the animals and keep the rodeo moving along.  It was neat to sit in the bleachers and watch them prod and cajole the critters through their paces. 

For the most part the animals behaved pretty good.  Oh there was always a calf or two that wanted to go over there.  There was the bronco that had a two buck routine then would stop stiff legged and buck no more.  For the most part, things went smooth, steers ran, wrestlers jumped and riders found that the arena floor was not padded.

The bulls were at the end and when that portion came round, the tension rose some.  Could hear them kicking a bawling in the chutes.  The cowboys standing over them trying to get situated just right and out the gate the bull would come with a roar.  Clods flying, spinning bull, rider plowing the dirt, whistle blows and the bull gets rounded up.

There was one ole Brahma bull that wanted nothing to do with the rodeo rider.  Quick turn, high buck and the bull was sending the rider towards the fence.  Doubt it lasted 2 seconds.  The Brahma threw the belt and went for a joy ride across the arena.  The arena workers could not get him turned towards the pens.  Bull on a mission headed for the northeast corner of the arena. 

There the bull met the fence.  Dazed the bull backed up, jumped up, trying to crawl over the fence.   The cowboys were there, waving and hollering but the bull just kept kicking and bucking, slowly working his way up the fence.  The folks in the grandstand were excited and lots of oohs and ahhs were drifting overhead.  

Bull managed to get over the fence and into the runway.  The next fence was but another obstacle for the bull.  Leaping up, he got on the top railing and with some kicking.  The bull on the loose was climbing the second fence.  The cowboys all the time, hollering and waving at him with ropes etc.  The bull was not to be deterred.  It was like he had a girlfriend over yonder he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Across the race track ole bull galloped, coming to the grandstand fence at the southeast corner.   By then folks in the seats were scrambling and looking for safe spots.  The track fence only slowed the bull down long enough for the cowboys to get around the grandstand and try to stop the bull.

Up and over the rack track fence the bull scrambled.   Folks in the grandstand were scrambling also.  There were screeches, screams and lots of hollering.  The escaping bull paid no attention the commotion.  Straight ahead was the carnival and midway.   Folks on the midway and on the rides had heard the racket and when they saw the Brahma headed their way, the volume of hollering went roof. 

Bull saw an opening between the midway and the rides.  Head lowered, he went charging for the carny.  People running hither and yon, the barkers had ducked down in their trailers.   The rides had stopped, stranding riders.  Folks were running any direction they could.  The bull bound through the opening between the rides and the midway. 

Out into the parking he loped.   Cowboys running behind trying to get him stopped.  Some riders had made it out the parking but the bull was ignoring them.  Over there was another fence and beyond was the freedom of a pasture.  The barb wire fence was no challenge for the bull.  Up and over he went.  As he headed to the north, my uncle’s voice yelled out,” Let him go. That is my pasture, We’ll get him the morning.”

The chasers, with a collective sigh of relief, stopped and watched the bull bounce over the ridge.  With the ruckus over, they had to go back to arena and finish the rodeo.  There were still a couple of bull riders waiting their turn.  Folks in the grandstand had gotten back to their seats.  The crowd was still abuzz and there was anticipation with the next couple of bulls. 

The bulls came charging out the chutes, the crowd cheering, wanting to see another escape.  The bulls were not obliging.  Their riders were tossed without dignity to the ground and back to the bullpen they went. 

Next morning my uncle goes riding out across his pasture looking for the wayward bovine.  Couple of guys were with him and by the water tank the escapee lounged.  They got him up and headed him the right direction.  The wayward bull trotted along like nothing was wrong. 

They get him to the gate and headed for the pens at the end of arena.  Placidly the rampaging bull sauntered along into the pen.  That afternoon the bull stood by himself in the pen watching the on goings in the arena.  Folks in the grandstand were talking and pointing but the bull was left alone. 

When the bull riding statured, there were some cat calls to get the wayward bull out and ride him.   An encore of the rampaging bull did not happen.   That evening he was loaded up and sent home with the rest of his friends. 

Annual Fair

 

Once a year the County Fair rolls around.  A time for people to show off their work for the year.  Work of the hands, the canning, sewing and decorations.  The gardening and its fruits, a fashion show of hand made clothing and there are kinds of projects the youngsters made for their 4H project of FFA. Out in the barnyard are the animals.  The rabbits, goats, bleating sheep and the cattle, the pigs lounge around oblivious to the racket.  There are concession stands of buffalo burgers, shaved ice, homemade pie a la mode and the the western gear, saddles, spurs, bits etc.  It is a busy place a people scramble around wanting to be here or over there.

For some this is a culmination of a years work.  here is everything in the basket.  Do good here and they go on to the State Fair.  There the rewards are even greater.  Mom and Dad hovering over their little ones, grandpa helping, grandma encouraging.  There are sometimes four generations involved in their family at the fair.  It is a life style that is fading into the back pages and even ignored.  Yet in the small towns it comes to life once a year and the heritage of the pioneers is celebrated again. 

 

The animals get special attention, whether for the rodeo or the show.  Many of the little people showing their best work, sometimes show up in the arena riding in the rodeo.  It is a rough and tumble life, dirt gets stirred up, manure is made to step in and things go spatter.  Pack the home up, go spend a week at the fair.

There are the trophies from years past that shine on.  The result of training in the early days of going to the fair.  Learning how to work with the animals.  Understanding the nutrition for different animals.  How to train for their specific purpose.  It is a lifestyle that linger on over the years. 

 

 

With patience, they await their turn in the spotlight. 

Next year, many will return.

Wandering Notes

 

Occasionally I will pause and collect the scraps up and put the puzzle out in a semblance of disorder.  Today a cool crisp 60 some degrees and a dusting of snow on the high peaks.  Then I;’ve seen the high peaks get dusted in July.  So the season changes.  Not that I want it, I would really like to see it stay here.  I have become selfish, want to keep my favorite weather. 

The golden haze of fall is tapping at the door.  Chasing away the over bearing heat of summer.  The days of the dog have faded into recesses of vagueness.   

Most of summer was spent getting ready for the icy fingers  from the next chapter.  Paint the house, fix some plumbing and other odd n ends out side.  Tend to the garden, gather in some produce, have fresh veggies, do some freezing and get ready for the fall.  Get the drive ready for the snows, spread some more gravel. 

Life has a rhythm that is different from the city.  One has to look to self for help.  Understand what it means to be independent but reliant on God.

 

The brow wiping time is but a past moment.  Sweltering heat rotates to the south to spread its wings down yonder.  Spring flows from my autumn.  Winter loses it grip to gain a new foothold.  Traveling across the divide.  

No longer can I carp about the heat, now I shall focus my attention on the snow flakes.

Years accumulate, the roof becomes whiter, the brown is subdued yet on goes life.

Now where did I place my notes.  I had some story notes someplace.  Darn it…. if I wasn’t so absent minded, I wouldn’t be so forgetful.  Oh well here comes the weekend…. Ya’ll have a good one.

A Day In Life

 

Sunday morning was magnificent.  It was one of those mornings in a blue moon.  Temp was in the low 40’s, the house was comfortable and life was still.  Breeze was somewhere, clatter was distant, sky was azure blue speckled with lacy wisps few and far.  Life could of not been any better at that moment.

Dogs fed, coffee made, steaming mug in hand I sit down.  Looking out the window was clarity to the ridges beyond.  Calmness traveled throughout, lightly broken by the occasional passing truck on the highway.  It was Sunday morning, I tarried a bit longer.  Sipping on the coffee, gazing into the great outdoors.  Listening to the chirp of birds passing by.

My soul rested, pores absorbing the moment.  There was not the city buzz droning in the ears.  This is why I left the hectic harried cacophony of the metropolis. 

Country life carries a pace that that is easy to follow.  There are no great big golf course lawn, well groomed grounds.  Nature passes by the steps, leaving its mark on the walkway.  Deer were bedded down next door last night, tracks of the coyotes dot the gravel.

Sunday morning was a day that will be cherished and sought after for they are few and far between.  God blessed me that morning with His peace. 

Warm summer…. Not a hot one

 

Wouldn’t that be wishful thinking, summer without any hot days.  Last week was so nice, I was outside just puttering around, trying to clean up the garden beds.  It was in the low 70’s and upper 60’s.  Great weather to be in.  Very little breeze, clear blue skies and late afternoon white fluffs popping up.  Wore a light shirt, worked around the house picking up and cleaning out the winter leftovers.  Tumble weeds gather in the corners and catch on fences. 

Thought to my self, wouldn’t it be nice if the summer was like this.  No days of 90 degrees, light breezes, scattered clouds.  Oh that would be so nice but I know the heat of summer is on the way.  So I try to do some of the heavy work in the cool of spring.  I no like sweating, watching my water drip off my brow.

Reality strikes back though, back into the forties it went.  High humidity and bitter winds.

 

Did get in a country jaunt before the cold showed up.  It was cooler n a slight wind but nice.  The little critters are out and the mom’s are parading in the pasture.

Been making short videos of windmills running and adding some music.  Been coming out interesting.  Just takes so long to download to youtube.  I have a beginning collection of windmill pictures, in particular the old wooden tower windmills.   Not many of them left that operate.  Used a tripod to take the videos. there was enough wind, it was still shaky.  Next time in the wind I will probably hand hold.  I shake less then then the tripod.

The oil boom is reaching into our area.  There are wells here and there, not many but one is a lots for here. 

Now if there would be some nice spring rains.  Things are so dry.  The pastures are pretty barren and not much wheat is peeking out of the ground.  Gonna be higher prices at the food store.  The drought along with the goofed up political mess we have, gonna make the next few years very expensive.  It will be a struggle for many to make it.

Now how to get the climate to really change to my liking.

The Towns of Ghosts

 

The Great Depression left lots of empty shells on the prairie.  Towns boomed around the westward migration and the immigration wave of the late 1800’s into the 1920’s.  During the Roaring 20’s people were living high and fast.  It was prohibition and speakeasies, the flapper girls and gangsters.  Money was plentiful and easy to come by.  Self indulgence was the mantra of the day. 

Then came the crash of 1929, life was to change like no one could of froe seen.  People were going hungry, no jobs.  Dreams that had been built were being shuttered and left, abandoned.  Some small communities disappeared and are but a reminder on old time maps.  A few hung in through the 30’s only to decline with the coming modern age of the automobile.

Along some highways are reminders of these past days.  Small communities hang on but the shells of other days sit empty.  No longer is main street a bustling burg.  People seldom stroll down the sidewalks to go shopping.  Here one can walk the median stipe of main and not meet a car.

With time permitting, I like to drive off the beaten path and drive the streets of these little towns.  It offers a glimpse back into the past that has been glossed over by many or ignored.

This neat old building had been a grocery store at one time.  There were not supermarkets back then.  From the side one can see the living quarters on the second floor where the store owner lived.  Wasn’t much long distance commuting back then.  With the two brick chimneys, it indicates that there was stove of some type, wood or coal probably.  The building was probably built around 1900’s.  There was no electricity back then or natural gas on the prairie.

On the sides can be seen the additions as the shop was expanded.  Maybe another business was opened next door.  It is fascinating to speculate on what when on in this little town 100 years ago.

On the roof one can see the modern conveniences added over time,  The utility lines for electricity, a television antenna and maybe central heating.

Today it sits vacant, falling to the ravishes of time.  With the curtain and shades on the window it appears someone may of bought it and used it for a residence.  I have seen some people move out from the big city and buy places like this dirt cheap and fix them up.  It would make a nice large spacious home, great studio.  Not much racket and noise in these small towns. 

In silence the grand store sits awaiting its fate.

Snow Day

 

Today is the day, the blizzard is here.  The day many farmers and ranchers have been hoping for.  Snow makes for hazards but for the land it is nourishment.   It has been so dry that the water is dusty. 

So take a few and punch out a few keys on the keyboard and write something about something.

I have been writing some stories for the local tourism people to post on their website about the ghost towns in the area.  In the process I have found a variety of old and interesting things.   Mostly old machinery and buildings.  Other day I was visiting with a rancher whose grandfather had operated a post office out of his ranch house in the early 1900’s. 

Hanging on their wall was a relic from Mabel’s time of the barb wire network.  Two short rings was Esther's, a long ring n a short was Mildred’s, two shorts and one long ring was Evelyn’s and any one else that wanted to listen in.  Party line central it was.  News of the neighborhood was broadcast far and wide over the barb wire.

Wonder if the kids today could operate something so primitive.  They would probably ask how to boot it up.

During my journeys into the out back I have some interesting companions, watchers.  Hunting season is still on so they are a bit skittish. 

Have been lucky to find a few ghosts here and there.  The knock at the door, opening and closing, footsteps over the floor.  Check on the door and it locked, no one is in the house.  Then there is frank, he hangs in the side room.  It is amazing some of the stories that people have about their unseen room mates.

Look closely, there is a shadow in the front window and there have been reports of lights in there at night.

Always did enjoy the stories of Caspar. 

Well the ground has turned white where the snow can collect.  The wind is blowing the rest down Texas way.

All Clock Eyed

 

Not sure who to talk with but I wish the politicians would stop messing with my clock.  This day is one of my least favorites.  The spring change I even like less. 

Believe I’m gonna write my local congressman and tell him to get the political types out of my clock.  No matter how one looks at it, time does not vary.  It is us little peoples that get messed by clock eyed politico's.

Now where is clock smashing mallet?

Was reading that some people are upset about businesses making money on the clean up after the east coast storm.  They think the government should be doing it.  Where business is working at clean up they are out performing the government workers…… hum wonder why.

One day a few people may understand where taxes come from…… profits.  Without businesses there would be not much to tax and there would be no wealth for the government to confiscate.

Basically if one is not a capitalist, they are a communist.  The two forms of economic distribution.  Yup there are variations but if one is against capitalism ….. what are they for?

Now if I could get my clock to stop falling all over itself I might go for a ride. 

Hop in, go see the country side, take some pictures, wander the grassland, listen to some tunes and have cold lunch.

Hope you are having a great one.

Small Towns

 

No longer am I in a hurry to get there.  Now I plan my trips with some slack time to tour some of the small towns I pass through.  There are a variety of buildings.  I like to capture pictures of them and there are other things that are unique to that town.

State of neglect is the companion of many of these burgs.  Businesses are gone as are the residents.

The old storefronts line the highway.  Most boarded up and awaiting……….?  Some look like they came from the south, others from another era.

Thriving businesses they were.  Serving travelers, tourists and the wanderer.  Travel changes, people flock to the super speedways of the Interstate, bypassing these little villages.

A few have tried to find a new life for them but to little avail.

Wonder where those gates led to, was it a plantation a large business or maybe a mansion.  Today it is overgrown with weeds and care is neglected.  What could the story be, a dream gone bad?

A southwestern style home, gated and protected from unwanted visitors.

Time moves on, these little towns struggle to survive.  The Siren song of the big city calls their children.

 

-----30-----

Crisp Fall Approaching

 

The heat is subsiding and the days are shorter.  The dog days of summer have departed.  Nights are almost cold, mid 40’s.  Time to explore the roadside stands.  The fruits of summer are on stands in the Valley.

No longer is the produce hauled by the rick.  The stand has been by the road for over a half century.  The family still goes out and digs in the dirt and bring their goods to market.  There are some things that will always remain the same.  Dig in the dirt, put some seeds in, add some water, pull the weeds, harvest and there are rewards for hard work.

Ever since recorded time man has tilled the soil for his livelihood.

The colors of fall are very distinctive.

Whether they harvest is for decoration or function.  Fall is the theme of cool crisp air.  No longer is there the fresh smell of burning leaves.  Store the fruits of summer away in a cool place and the fruits will last through the winter. 

Man is at the basic with nature.  No aspirations of control for nature has the rhythm one has to follow.  The pulse of life moves at its pace

The drought continues.  The ground is parched.  The pocket book feeling pinched.  weeds are brown.  Dirt is powder.  Dust swirls into the air.  Prayers for a snowy winter.

Calvary outpost….. Ft Wallace

 

Took a short trip to check out an old steam engine and chase it.  Along the way there were other things to look at and take pictures.

One of the places I wanted to go to was Wallace, Kansas.  Here are the remains of an old military building.  It had been a museum at one time but Kansas changed their tax policies for places such as this.  Losing their money the locals closed it up and today it sits vacant.

 

It is given some care but for the most part it appears to sit neglected.  There are stress cracks here and there that probably will become worse over time.  Being made of rock it will wear pretty good.  I just hope Kansas will give some funding to it to keep it from falling apart.  Then it is not alone, I have run into other places that have closed up when the state pulled the funding.

I hate to see the funding pulled yet the local county is not all that poor and something more could be done with it.

Yet it is so typical, rely o n big brother, in this case the state, and all of a sudden big brother closes the pocket book.  People throw their hands up and …………

Ft Wallace came into being in the 1860’s to protect the Smoky Hill Trail and the railroad.  In 1868 the railroad stopped building and Ft Wallace became the railhead for a couple of years.  It was a wild and rowdy town.  Railroad workers hanging around, not much to do, gold seekers passing through and the outlaws plundering anything and everything.  Late 1869 the railroad started building west again and Wallace shrunk.  A few years later, most of the Indian problems were over and the Calvary had not much to do. 

On off went the Army to other jobs and the building was left behind.  The town of Wallace prospered until the depression and then dust bowl.  Today it has a few residents and lots of ghosts.  The building was fed and well cared for but today it is abandoned.

In back the horses await the return of the cavalry to go riding on the prairie looking for Indians and bad men.

Things like this I have no problem supporting with tax money but at what level.  So much tax money is spent on special interests and things like this get lost.  There also needs to be some local help and not reliance on big brother because look what happens when big brother changes his mind.  Maybe there is a lesson in there someplace but do we learn?

                     _________________________________

Other Notes

My pelvis is pretty well healed up and the tailbone is doing pretty good.  I am still battling the hematoma, but at least I can sit for a spell now.  I am looking at blogging some more and getting around to others also.  Got a bunch more stories from this short trip.  Some neat train pictures and buildings in the small towns.

Have a good week.

Support Counter Intelligence

 

Out in a little town, in the middle of nowhere, close to somewhere is Mama’s store.  Here is a collection of old stuff, for she rents space to a variety of people.  Even the store is old.

In the old days of saloons and pool halls this shop thrived.  Pool balls made great missiles to be launched at the enemy.  Even the ceiling had it’s stories.  There and here was the occasional bullet hole. 

 

The clientele has changed, it is now mostly the wives of the pool players that wander the aisles. No longer to the six shooters thunder forth, or dodge the lost pool ball.

The floor can still be heard shuffling some soft shoe.  The hair from the barber getting mixed into the floor.  His chair long gone, but a memory.

The bar, cabinets and stools still await the thirsty traveler.  One can belly up to the bar.

I  stop in for the iced latte, maybe a shake just for  the ambiance.  Walk the aisles, hear the memories whisper to me.

Rodeo Time

 

The Ranch Rodeo and Bronc Riding was this past weekend.  Got out there for a part of it.

First round was in the evening, second day was afternoon….. Temps went over the century mark…… lots of drinking….. well ya….. water and…. hehe.

 

Not all the riders had a good grip.

Hope you had a good weekend and  may the Lord bless your week.

Thoughts ----- Random……. From Somewhere or Nowhere

 

 

It feels kind of nice to be able to sit and type for a bit without lots of pain.  Oh I could load up on pain killers and type wack-a-do……. hehe.  I can kind of walk, boy do I wobble though.  With a four wheel drive walker I can go pretty good.  I will probably never walk all that great again ever.

My arthritis has caused me problems for years and it is now my big problem.  The injury and way I sleep aggravates the arthritis in the back.  Boy does that make me hobble.

Any way I am doing better and the battle is mine.

Ranch Rodeo this weekend.  See if I can get some good shots of the wild cow milkers.

On the Backroads

 

In my travels from here to there, I prefer to take the back roads, time permitting.  Lots of small gems pop up and then there is the clutter of civilization.  Over the years things have changed, like it or not.  When my grandparents homesteaded, there was no such thing as electricity or indoor plumbing.  Today it is expected for any and all homes.

What had been open country, dotted by a few trees, scrub brush and rolling hills.  Is now dotted with utility lines and homes.

The barn and corral make a nice pastoral scene but right there in front is the utility pole.  Place for a yard light and lights in the barn.  Until the REA came around it was kerosene/oil lamps to light the way. 

Electricity has had a major impact on the way one lives their life.  It powers our homes, heats it, fuels jobs, a level of security and lights the darkness.  Without electricity I would not be posting this blub.  What started out as small generating plants for communities to large power complexes.

From what had been a pastoral scene to now a cluttered horizon.  They stand there whooshing in the breeze.  Electricity flows off the wind in someone’s pocket book.  I turn on the computer and hear a slight swoosh. 

What’s interesting is the jealousy these things have created.  Just a few people get money from these giant erector sets.  The neighbors that have none, want some and they gripe about the neighbors that have some.

Oh the price of electricity has went up but it appears to of created another type of class warfare.  A struggle among the classes that has been going on for centuries.  The ones that perceive themselves as having nothing and envying those that appear to be rich.

Sop when I look out across the plains, no longer to I see the follies of man spinning but I see their struggles to live within themselves.  Envy is a bitter pill to live with yet so many harbor it.

A bitterness that cascades across the rolls of life.

Now where did my barn get off to.

Demise of an Icon

 

On my blog headers I post pictures I have taken.  Usually they are old buildings of some sort.  On Wordpress I posted a picture of an old abandoned gas station in a ghost town.  I went through there a few days ago.  My gas station has collapsed.  The posts that held the canopy rotted out and the roof fell over the little station.

The highway was rerouted in the 40’s, so I’m guessing this old station was built around 1910-20.  There weren’t many cars traveling the prairie back then but they did need supplies and little stations like this popped up to meet needs back then. 

After the highway was moved the town did not survive much longer, businesses failed and people moved.  A few hung on working for a rancher or neighboring town.

When I saw the roof collapsed a twinge of sadness crawled over me.  Here was an American icon fading into the pages of history, soon to be forgotten.  The Golden Belt Route did not have the fame of Route 66 but it had the character of early Americana.

This little town originally was a stage stop in the 1860’s.  It survived Indian attacks, the Dust Bowl and other ravages but it could not survive the government.

Well I shall jump in my Model A and get ready to go cruising for the weekend.  May your weekend be blessed.

The Calendar Changed

 

When the first day of the month arrives, my calendars I should go forth and change them.  No, I do not go forth and change the months.  It is nor until I look at days to try and schedule things do I realize I have not changed. 

I have become so spoiled by the puter that I seldom use a calendar any more.  In my gadgets bar I have a clock plus a calendar, day and month.  So when I turn the machine on all this nice information jumps up on the screen and says hi.

So the wall calendars tend to collect dust hanging from their hooks.  This year I got a bunch of calendars and probably could get some more.  Lots of the local businesses are giving out calendars and I have collected a pretty varied group of pictures to hang on the wall.

 

The days of life march past and I am but one little character in the play of life.  So as my chapters unfold I desire to enjoy them. 

There are a few events that happen I want to remember, otherwise the days melt into each other.  Passing as ships in a fog but hearing the chimes of the bells floating past.

The snow if passing in front of the wind, a touch of white patches the brown grasses of the dormant ground.  Birds huddle in the trees, search the rafters for protection seldom venturing out.  The hawk of the north has sent it icy breath across the prairies.  Soon the eve will arrive and the calendar will mark another day.

The Empire Collapse... or where is the catalogue

Around the town could be heard the squeals of delight, the spooks and goblins circulated the neighborhood. It had been a night of ghouls, pranksters and witches decorating the streets. Cars were parked in the middle of the street, a small plane was perched on store top and TP floated off trees. The witching hour was approaching and miniature spooks were seeking out their nests to check out their treasure from the evening. Noise was abating, an occasional car cruising down main street and most lights were no longer glowing.

Quietly the neighborhood settled in for the night. Stump had turned off his yard light and was headed for bed. Out of the backyard came a resounding crash and thump. Quickly he rushed out the back door. Dark figures were scurrying in the alley, laughs and guffaws echoed over the yard. Stump glanced over his yard, no longer was his little house standing. In anger he went running after the dark shapes, bent on catching them. As he went bursting down the steps across the yard, he heard screeches and yells of fear.

The cries rang out, “It’s a ghost, run for yer life.” Stump was dressed for bed, he had his night shirt on and nite cap. As he raced across the yard it gave the appearance of floating over the ground and the flannel nite shirt had faded to almost white. Waving his arms, hollering and the tassel on nite cap flapping he had set the dark figures to fear.

Just as quickly as Stump appeared he disappeared. Where the little house had once set was now an open pit. In to this hole Stump tumbled. Flames of blue came flying up out of the pit. The figures stopped, turned gazing back at the blue fire boiling up. Stump had been in the Navy and every word he had learned echoed across the neighborhood.

Stumps handy work had revealed itself. All those years after plumbing had been installed, Stump kept his little building out back. Receiving paint over the years as it needed it. The privy had been untouched all those years. This year was a challenge to the local boys and they had succeeded in tipping over the one out house that had stood for decades.

Mouths open, the boys stood in the alley, staring at the blue flame flickering out of the pit. Never before had they heard such racket. There were other footsteps on the side of the house, the local patrol had heard the commotion and were seeking out the racket. Rounding the house to the backyard they had to pause and catch themselves from bursting out laughing. There was a tasseled white cap bouncing up and down in the hole and words they had never heard.

Old Threshers Day…… finit

 

Threshing day, this is the day the farmer worked for.  Here he would see the fruits of his labor.  The grain was his pay for the years work of plowing, tilling and planting.  I was an area celebration.  Neighbors would gather and help each other with the threshing.  Hay ricks would be towed in, followed by grain wagons.  The wives would show up with lemonade and food, there would be visiting and catching up on the gossip.

Usually one farmer would have a threshing machine and another would supply the tractor and together the neighbors would work from sun up till it set.

Hay ricks would empty and be re loaded with the straw for the hay stack.  Grain wagons would be hauled back to the granary to be unloaded.  It was a frenzy of activity.

The tractor would be hooked up and work begins.  Wheat bundles tossed to the threshers belt and separated out grain rolls out of the chute while straw piles up behind the thresher.

For the farmer this was the most critical part of the year.  It made him or broke him.  No longer do the steamers operate the thrashers today.

The government has passed all kinds of regulations and inspections that most people don’t want to spend the money to show them off.  The government has taken a harmless hobby and quashed it because one individual screwed up and blew his tractor up.  The many have to pay for the screw up of one.

For me these celebrations are about the steamers and the roll they played in pioneer life.  Instead an old tractor gets hooked up and sputters along imitating an old steamer.

This is what I learned to drive, it was one year newer.  I didn’t drive a car till I was 16.  It was trucks and tractors out across the fields and down the country roads.

May the dove of happiness be your companion this weekend.

Old Threshers Day…… VI

 

One of the old days is the old time entertainment.  The singing, with maybe an instrument, something small, a fiddle, harmonica or a dulcimer maybe.  Guitars and pianos were just plain ole big to lug over the prairie in a covered wagon, although a few made it.  There was always the washboard and maybe some spoons.  Otherwise music was pretty simple. 

There were some singers that sang during the lunch hour.  Some good picking and twanging to go with the barbecue.  There were a couple of large canopies with picnic tables under them and a PA system was set for the entertainment.   They had their guitars and a good nasal twang, good ole down home singin’.

Later s fiddler showed up and the hoe down was under way.

Collections, never have I seen so many collectible collections.

And there were also quilts.  What is an old time day without a quilt or two.

Jump in the Ox wagon and go for a ride around the grounds.