"A THOUSAND LOST GOLF BALLS......"

"Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust...
The Word of God came to me saying:
O miserable cities of designing men,
O wretched generation of enlightened men,
Betrayed by the mazes of your ingenuities,
Sold by the proceeds of your proper inventions;
I have given you hands which you turn from worship,
I have given you speech for endless palaver,
I have given you my Law, and you set up commissions,
I have given you lips, to express friendly sentiments,
I have given you hearts, for reciprocal distrust...
In the land of the lobelias and tennis flannels
The rabbit shall burrow and the thorn revisit
The nettle shall flourish on the gravel court,
And the wind shall say:
Here were decent godless people;
Their only monument the asphalt road
And a thousand lost golf balls..."

(from "The Rock," by T.S. Eliot---poet, critic, playwright, and essayist)

Eliot began his early life as a protege of a brilliant mathematician, teacher, activist, and
atheist. Seeing the futility of this road in life, he became a Christian; we see this reflected in his poetry.
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"Something has spoken to me in the night, and told me I shall die,
I know not where.
Saying,
To lose the earth you know, for greater knowing;
To lose the life you have for greater life;
To leave the friends you loved, for greater loving;
To find a land more kind than home,
More large than earth...
Wherein the pillars of this earth are founded---toward which the
conscience of the world is tending...
A wind is rising and the rivers flow."

(from "You Can't Go home Again," by Thomas Wolfe)

This tall eloquent writer, who wrote in the thirties, was about six and a half feet tall.
He wrote many of his books standing at and writing on top of a short early model fridge. He then gathered up his voluminous and unorganized  manuscript pages and  took them to his most excellent, talented, and helpful editor---Maxwell Perkins, who knew how to sort and edit them.(How can  we praise Perkins enough?) No writer was better at description than Wolfe. Once you've read his description of an old locomotive puff-puffing, three miles away across a Tennessee valley on a cold winter night...blowing its lonesome whistle, you will never forget it!
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"O Lord support us all the day long of this troublous life,
Until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes
And the busy world is hushed,
And the fever of life is over, and our work is done.
Then of Thy mercy grant us a safe lodging and a holy rest...
And peace at the last,
And peace...at the last."

    (Adapted from John H. Newman; music arr. by Gordon Young. Pub. Abingdon Press, 1961.)
    ....................................................................................................................

Mil started the first Youth Music Camp at Inlow Youth Camp in the Manzano Mountains near Tajique, N.M. in August of 1962. We had around 250 youth there the first year. It has continued every year since.  My concept was to provide the young Christian singers from N.M. Baptist churches training and experiences to develop and enlarge their music appreciation and skills, and to give them a taste of singing great choral music in a large choir. We also had a youth orchestra.

We invited the best college and seminary choral directors we could find. About the second or third year, we were fortunate enough to secure the excellent composer, teacher, and choral director, Dr. R. Paul Green. As was our custom with our invited clinicians, he selected the choral music to be used during the week.

One day I overheard the camp pastor say to Dr. Green, "Why did you select that piece of music?" ---referring to the above poem. Dr. Green looked at him very seriously and said:   "Have you READ THOSE WORDS:  'O Lord support us all the day long through this troublous life...'"and he quoted the whole music selection above.   I never forgot that, and to this day have a deep appreciation of this music.

                                         

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By Mil, 3/28/12

Sent from my iPad

NOW I'VE HEARD IT ALL: A "PORK 'N BEAN SPOON?"

Who ever heard of a "pork 'n bean spoon?" Let me explain: Rugged outdoor-types of both genders---hikers, bird-watchers, photographers, fishermen, hunters, nature-lovers, and others, using up lots of energy, always have to be prepared "out there" to eat something, and it is often a can of pork and beans, Beanie Weenies, or canned fruit, carried in their roomy jacket pockets. Thus they need a SPOON always at hand!

             

A real self-respecting outdoorsman will be caught only once in the wild without an eating
tool. You see, sticky, gooey fingers are not compatible with cameras, binocs, and hunting
equipment.

        

So the plan is to find yourself a small well-made spoon that will fit handily into your shirt or jacket pocket---and not fall out. Available are three piece spoon/knife/fork sets but they are bulky. You can get a combo of the three built into a pocket knife. Again---bulky, and most
outdoor people already have a trusty, favorite pocket knife. One Arkansas knife company executive's firm sells a nice small spoon/knife set which he and his wife favor when traveling.

In Viet Nam, where the soldiers ate a lot of canned rations, including the much-coveted cans of peaches, they always had their spoons in their fatigue shirt pockets.  Often as not, these spoons were plastic.

Here are some options for you: (1) the plastic spoon (2) take an old unused spoon out of the back of the flatware drawer...perhaps a discolored one (impressive in the field.) You can hack saw an inch off  the handle end and then round it off with a file. Thus it will be small and easy to use, (3) Or you can go to Kitchens 'R Us, like I did one glorious day with my wife and I spotted the pork 'n  bean spoon to end all---the quintessential one---rhe "ne plus ultra" of outdoor spoons, and bought it!

This is a beautiful little 5 inch spoon, highly-chromed (not to worry-- your purist outdoor
companions will simply be dazzled!), light weight but very strong. The handle sort of looks like a very heavy (adverb not wanted)  chromed wire. It comes out of the scoop part, makes a handle, and then is twisted several times like a wire at the end, making a loop, and there are no raw edges to snag clothing,  if you do a "quick draw" when you are very hungry! And are you ready for this? It has a matching fork for those special outdoor dining occasions!!

This set will last for a hundred years...and still look good! It is the  perfect set for highway trips and even taking it overseas, if you don't  lose it at check-in! (Note, you can also get a leather thong for wearing your spoon around your neck on outdoor trips...or as a symbol of your cooking club! LOL!)

I carry my spoon in my pocket around the house, in case my wife brings me a little can of fruit, or pudding, or diet jello---and I hate to ask her to go back for a spoon.

Ladies, keep one of these little chrome beauties in you purse, even  if you don't eat out in the field or on a picnic very often. Then while searching through your purse at a restaurant, as women are wont to do, cleverly lay  your outdoor spoon on the table...and dazzle the girls! And dear readers, when we next meet on the street, or anywhere, just smile at me and open your jacket, and I will knowingly SEE your new pork 'n bean spoon in your shirt pocket, and maybe give you a little nod or a WINK!

Well, guess that about wraps it up this time. Hmm-mm. It's happened again. Writing about canned fruit has made me hungry. I think I'll just go to the fridge and find a cold can of fruit cocktail, get  my trusty P 'n  B spoon, a peanut butter Oreo, and settle down with a good book. Until next time, happy trails with your new spoon!!

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by Mil, 3/23/12





Sent from my iPad

WILD TURKEY STORY: HUNDREDS SAY "WONDERFUL!!"

Have you seen the PBS film, "My Life as a Turkey",  the story of nationally acclaimed naturalist and wild-life artist Jim Hutto and his baby turkeys?  This most excellent and professionally-done documentary was produced by Passion Pictures.  The film story is based on Hutto's popular book: Illumination in the Flatlands: A Season with the Wild Turkey.  The book also includes Hutto's drawings.

The good news is that you may order the movie and the book; or you may watch it on your computer merely by accessing!!  (Go to pbs.com, then type "My Life as a Turkey" into their search bar)  Also you will find a page of 161  rave reviews--and other similar review pages-- most  interesting things to read. Uh-oh, one negative guy! Not to worry!

The story is this, briefly. Jim Hutto was living in a cozy little shack deep in the Florida woods, working on some project. A neighbor brought him 16 orphan turkey eggs. Jim borrowed a brooder, raised the lid several times a day, and gently gave the eggs a quarter turn. He had knowledge of wildlife, having loved, raised, and slept around animals since boyhood. So he began to make "turkey mama" noises to the eggs: "Quar-r-k, quar-r-ck," and from inside the eggs he heard tiny "peep, peep, peeps," answering him. We see this on film.

Hatching time came; he placed an egg on the  table and two feet away at the edge of the table at eye level he kept repeating softly to the egg: "Per-rup, per-rup, per-rup..." The egg broke open, a tiny, wobbly baby turkey emerged into the dazzling light, all the while trying to open his eyes, and headed straight for the "per-rup" sounds--his mama. He cozied up to Hutto and fifteen more followed in due time. He was the mother to sixteen baby turkeys, a job which over the next two years would require his undivided attention 24/7. These birds needed love, attention, and not-the-least...protection, juicy morsels as they were.

As they grew into young turkeys, Joe and the maturing birds tippy-toed and romped through the woods and swamps--the inquisitive, curious little  turkeys (reminding one of dogs on a walk) scarfing every grasshopper they saw on weeds and stalks--so fast that they were a blur!

Parenthetically, may I insert that the camera work and the whole production by Passion Pictures and Nature--is superb. It is a re-creation of the original story from the 1990's and follows the story in Hutto's book. I wondered how the wild baby turkeys seemed to ignore the camera.

Back to our birds - when they got to be "teen-agers," so to speak, they found their wings and the joy of roosting relatively safely up in a pine tree nearby. They flew up there and the next thing we know, Joe, the good mama that he is, can be seen silhouetted up on a big branch with turkeys all around him.

The sad day came when they become adults and finally left to start their own families...except for two: the gentle female Sweet Pea, always a snuggler, and Turkey Boy. He and Turkey Boy were like brothers. I won't say anymore--you"ll have to watch it.

Jim learned a lot of lessons from this experience--I'm not sure he is able to put them all into words. (You will definitely want to Google and hear his interview.) His closeness to these creatures---almost like being one of them,  seemed to leave a profound impression on him. Already accustomed to wildlife, he had a natural affinity for his role as "turkey mama."  He sort of learned  their language. (They say that scientists have identified 30 separate and distinct turkey sounds.) He sees in them something far deeper than most humans would ever suspect. He says they have honed their knowledge and survival skills over millions of years. In some ways, they are sharper and more intelligent than humans.
Jim seemed to feel some kind of a spiritual bond and kinship with them, not being just their "mama," but also their brother.

The reasons I liked this story are several---but one is---that it does us good to get out of our thinking ruts, get away from a lot of this TV (aren't you tired of all the stuff?) and deal with some other things on the planet...like our friends and co-inhabiters-- the animals! Perhaps there is more to the human/animal relationship here on earth, than we have yet fathomed.

                                                        Turkey drawings by Jim Hutto





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  By Mil, 3/19/12

Sent from my iPad

THE GREAT CLOVIS HIGH SCHOOL CAPER: "BUT HE GOT HIS GLASSES"

Most of you readers have heard of "THE GREAT NORTHFIELD, MN. BANK ROBBERY" and "THE GREAT MISSOURI TRAIN ROBBERY," but I suspect you have never heard of "THE GREAT CLOVIS HIGH SCHOOL CAPER," (in April,1951, after the Senior Play, "I Remember Mama.")

Though I have long since given up a life of crime, I was one of the PERPS in that caper, and here is how it went down. It was 61 years ago...and it is all coming back to me now, just as though it happened yesterday.

Through many years of school musicals, Spanish plays, and the junior play, I had been "perfecting my craft," as we actors like to say. My role in the Senior play was Mr. Hyde, a thin, stately, scholarly gentleman, who read Dickens to the family circle gathered around him. I read my lines to the group, and the play wound down:

         
             "It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done.

              It is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known."

After the play, the cast celebrated upstairs with punch and cookies, then  LB, DM, JS, and I went to the basement boys' restroom, to scrub the  make-up off our faces.  When we were all through, and in no hurry, being the last ones in the building, we left by the basement door and the door locked behind us. The four of us walked out back of the dark high school toward JS's car--parked in back of the school.

All at once, DM, who was severely challenged optically, said: "Oh darn, I left my glasses in the boys' restroom!" "Hmmm." What do we do now? Well, finding someone with a key late on Saturday night would be a...federal case. BUT...we just left sixty seconds ago; we can just run back in and grab his glasses and be gone--if-- we can just find an opening. A quick check of the old high school building and we found an unlocked window in the girls' basement restroom.  

So LB and DM raised the window and crawled in. Figuring they didn't need me to find a pair of glasses, I just moseyed around the semi-dark backside of the high school, probably basking in pride over my acting career... just waiting for them, and their quick errand, which entailed entering the girls' room, entering the hallway, then walking to the west end of the basement, then going  into the boys' room, grabbing the glasses and reversing their route and out the girls' window.

 Dear reader, you must remember our mind-set. This all seemed very innocent to all of us. The thought that we were doing anything wrong never occurred to us. After all, it was OUR hometown, OUR high school, OUR building, OUR home for three years, OUR play, and OUR glasses; no evil intent, no ulterior motives, no vandalism...innocent boys---just get the glasses and away we'd go  to burn up some 25 cent gas...and celebrate!

NOT! Life, as you know, can throw its curve balls! Have you ever heard of Murphy's Law? Burns said it in To a Mouse, "The best-laid schemes 'o mice an' men gang aft agley." Yes, Friends, that's exactly what happened to us: our scheme went "agley," and pretty fast!

Back to me: I was relaxing, winding down, and waiting. SUDDENLY, and why and how I didn't know, searchlights from a couple or more police cars went on from the street, and I was in the spotlight, totally illuminated (but not exactly the way an actor visualizes it!)

Cops appeared on foot, a car somewhere backfired, and I IMMEDIATELY SURRENDERED! My memory is kinda vague, but LB and DM met a big surprise as they crawled out that rest room window! As I look back today, it is obvious: We were "sitting ducks!"

They took us to the police station; I'm glad we weren't handcuffed. (They nailed JS too-- he was our driver--thus an accomplice.)  I remember a lot of QUESTIONING-- repeat, a lot. We were so innocent, not having lived lives of hardened criminals, that we didn't fully appreciate our predicament.

 For my one phone call, I called Mom and said: "Not to worry, Mom, I'll be very late; I'm at the police station; but I think I can beat this rap."

After much chewing on us, and warnings about a life of crime, etc. we were released, very late, and had to walk five blocks back to the high school to J.S's car, still at the school. We had served our time, a light sentence of three hours. We dreaded what was waiting for us at home.  The Clovis News-Journal reported the story under the title: "BUT HE GOT HIS GLASSES!"

(Sadly, Donald Mardis is no longer with us; a wonderful classmate, friend, and a gentle person.)

 Read below how a couple of the other “perps” remember this story:

 Recollection from L.B.: " The Jig Was Up"

I recall that when Mardis and I re-entered the restroom,
intending to jump up to the window which was at ground level
and crawl through to leave the school, we heard voices and
assumed it was you guys or some other of our buddies.  We
were not especially quiet approaching the window and then
looked outside and saw the officers and knew the "jig was
up".  So I made the short jump from the floor of the room to
reach the window sill and as I did this it made enough noise
for the officers to become aware of our presence in the room
below.  Them I herd the ominous click of the hammer being
drawn back on a large hand gun and I looked up and saw the
barrel of a six-shooter pointed directly at me.  Fortunately
the officer showed restraint and I and Mardis climbed out
unharmed. and were placed in the back of a patrol car and
escorted to the station.

I believe the officers quickly realized that we were not
hardened criminals, but wanting to impress upon us the
serious nature of our offense, they were not at all jovial
or friendly.  They kept us separated the remainder of the
evening, I assume to check my story against his. They had
quickly told us to empty our pockets of everything in them
and were especially interested in any keys we had.  We
learned a couple of hours later as they released us that
someone had recently been opening parking meters in town and
making off with the contents.  I think that they at first
suspected that we were part of a gang who not only had been
robbing parking meters in town but now had branched out to
raid students' lockers at the school.

Thus the origin of the short newspaper article "BUT HE GOT
HIS GLASSES".

Recollection from J.S.:

Mil, I do not remember any conversation at the police station.  I do remember the policeman telling us, when they went behind the school looking for them, that L.B. and Mardis were lucky because if anything had reflected light such as a firearm, they would have opened fire. (Mil's note: At a September, 2008  CHS Class of  '51 Reunion, J.S. remembered that we waved at friends from the back seats of the police cars.)

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                                                          L.B and D.M.

By Mil, 3/18/12




Sent from my iPad

"RATTLESNAKE RECOLLECTIONS FROM READERS"

MIL'S NOTE: Many interesting reports of snake encounters have come in since "Rattlesnakes" was posted. It is evident, as you can see, and I have known, that my readers are also good writers! I send these replies on to you. Thanks to all... and happy reading!

………………………………………………………………………………………….

So one day I was out hiking in a canyon about 1/2 mile from the house.  I was crawling up a cliff hand-over-hand because it was so steep.  I pulled myself over the edge of a large boulder and was staring face to faces with a nest of rattlesnakes.  I just let go - dropped about 8 feet - but lived to tell the story.

J.B.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

A snake is a snake is a snake is a snake and nothing good comes from them as far as I’m concerned, ESPECIALLY a rattler!  Why did God tell Noah to put two on the ark???? I’ll never understand!

We had a snake come into our living room while living in Spur, TX in 1960.  I had just put my baby boy (about 6 months old) into his playpen in the middle of our living room while I was working in the kitchen.  When I looked into the room to check on him, I saw a huge snake (not a rattlesnake) on the floor between me and my baby.  I gasped loudly enough for the snake to hear me without scaring the baby, and the snake crawled under the furniture.  I grabbed my son from the playpen and ran to the neighbor’s house where I called my husband at work.  He immediately came home, found the snake and removed it from our yard.  It had gotten into the house by coiling up in the Lubbock newspaper delivered to us.  I had picked up the paper in the yard and just put it on a living room chair without unrolling it.  If I had unrolled it and found that snake coiled up inside that newspaper I would not be here today to relate this story to you!!!

J.H.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Mil...I had a fraternity brother who used to keep a rattler in a box under a  glass lid in his room in the frat house.  Don't know what happened to either one of them, as this was back in 1954-55... 

R.S.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

 My earliest memory in life is of my mother using a garden
hoe to kill a rattlesnake which was curled up in the front
steps of our house in Sweetwater, TX, said to be the
"rattlesnake capitol of the world".  That would have been
about 1936 or '37.

I don't have any other favorite stories although I have
encountered quite a few snakes over the years.  In my youth, living
in Clovis and working on a farm, I killed every rattler I
met, but about fifty years ago I decided they deserved to
live too, unless they were a threat to people which they
seldom are.

E.L.B.

……………………………………………………………………………………

MIL’S NOTE:

Dear friends of ours moved to Florida 17 years ago.  They have rattlesnakes there, but I asked him to do some COTTONMOUTH stories. The Cottonmouth, so named for showing its gaping white mouth and fangs as a defense strategy, is on the one hand, said to be aggressive, and on the other, a snake that avoids trouble.  Maybe it depends on the situation.

Cottonmouth stories:

A friend of mine was getting a large cooler of beverages and ice from the back of his pickup.  His feet were on the ground and he reached up and grabbed the cooler “macho-like” and lifted it over the back of the pickup.  At that time he noticed a large cottonmouth crawling from under the pickup next to his feet.  The next thing he realized he was standing upright in the back of the pickup holding the cooler.  To this day he can't figure out how he jumped that high holding the cooler.

Then there was the story of a fellow paddling his canoe through a cypress swamp and a cottonmouth dropped from a limb into the bottom of the canoe.  Dutifully he grabbed his shotgun and blasted the cottonmouth.  It was a long wade home pulling the water-filled canoe through the swamp.

There also a fellow wade-fishing in a lake in Florida.  He had quite a large stringer of brim tied to his waist.  He felt something pulling on his stringer and there was a large cottonmouth swallowing the last brim on the stringer.  This also happened to my son fishing on the St Johns river but the stringer was tied to the bank.  He told the snake to have a "nice day".

If I think of any more stories I'll pass them on.

The Ole Fisherman,

R.W.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

   Had several snake experiences---this one scared me most.   In the summer when I was out of out of school,   Dad would send me to his little ranch north of Clovis to "work the fences".  Cattle seem to always rub on the wires and occasionally break a wire or loosen the wires.   Occasionally the staples that were holding the barbed wire to the cedar post would come out and they had to be replaced.   Well, it was my job to walk the fence, splice broken wires and re-staple the wires.   On one section of the fence some of the posts were fairly old and I came upon one that was really crooked and the bottom wire had popped the staple.  So the procedure is that you push the wire up to the post with your left leg, hold it there and bend over and hammer the staple in.  And as I did, I spotted this big rattle snake just inches from my boot, all coiled up in a position to strike.  Needless to say that instantly I was about 15 feet in the air (well it felt like 15 feet).  Scared me to death!!  He did not attempt to strike but I would not have jumped any higher if he had bit my leg off.  I guess the old boy was just cooling off in the shade of that post.   But soon after that, that rattler had a fatal accident---he ran head on into my fence pliers---killed him dead and for the rest of the summer, I paid a little more attention to the shade of those fence posts. 

“Country Boy” Bob

"A RATTLESNAKE UNDER THE SCRABBLE SET ON THE COFFEE TABLE?"

"Whar I come from" the only good rattlesnake was a dead one. You mod conservative live-and- let-live folks--I must admit--I now just about agree with you. The older I have become, the miracle of all forms of life totally fascinates me. I don't hunt anymore, but watch the doves on our back porch, eating grain. But back to the rattlesnake: he is sneaky, he is deadly; he will bite you from a hidden position, you will get a swollen leg, get very sick, and you may die. And not only do we invade HIS habitat, HE invades ours...as you will see.

Once while hunting south of Mountainair, a friend of mine and I visited Gran Quivira National Monument. There were nice gravel paths laid out and professionally painted signs, saying "Beware of Rattlesnakes!" After our walk, I asked the ranger at the park, "Do you keep a shotgun handy to dispatch those suckers." "No," he replied, "We have a barrel cage on the back of our pickup, and we scoop them up and take them four or five miles back into the boonies!" "Hmmm," now I'll have to admit, that was a new one on me. Totally new. I know they are supposed to be useful in keeping down undesirable rodent populations and other pests.

We lived in Childress, Texas once, for about three years. That is rattlesnake country--that and all around for hundreds of miles. From there to Paducah, Throckmorton, Guthrie, Matador, Aspermont, Peacock, to  Sweetwater (the "Rattlesnake Capitol of the World.") We had a farmer friend a few miles north of Childress.   He once had a nest of rattlers rattling under his bedroom closet. It seems he tried some sort of fumigating, etc. but nothing worked. He finally got someone--a hired hand, no doubt, promised a handsome bonus, to crawl under there and drag them all out. Thanks, but I believe I"ll pass. His  field hands from Mexico would not reach down and pick up bundles of stalks and grain; he had to get rake handles and have a smithy make hooks to hook the twine and turn each bundle over.

One of my friends there got himself one of those great and popular Browning Automatic shotguns with a beautiful glossy blond finish and took it hunting one day. He encountered a deadly BIG rattler about six feet long, the kind with the black and white rings around the tail. He blew that snake's head off and brought me a photo. That snake was bigger than a person's arm!

I hunted and fished over there for three years and never encountered a snake in its habitat.   BUT: a snake came TO OUR HABITAT one warm Sunday November afternoon. We lived on the north edge of town. Out little house had a washer and dryer up front of the garage, in front of the car.

I had left the garage door open...It was late afternoon and we were getting ready for church; I was the minister of music in the church. My wife, went out to retrieve some clean diapers from the dryer--there being no paper diapers at that point in history. She had to cross in front of the car. Now, suddenly I heard all kinds of screamy sounds, like only a scared woman can make (no disrespect intended, ladies.) My first thought was, that since we were near the highway, a bum had wandered into our garage. I went running and met her in the kitchen--HER HAIR WAS ACTUALLY STANDING UP!! I mean it; I never had seen that before. She managed to gasp: "RATTLESNAKE! RATTLESNAKE! UNDER THE BUMPER!"  Somehow that snake had got riled up, and she thought she came close to having been bitten.

Being the quick-thinking, decisive, and protective man that I was, I sized up the situation, ran out the front door, looked under the car and there HE WAS, A MAD RATTLESNAKE, STILL RATTLING. Now, I got mad; he was invading my milieu, and threatening my beautiful wife. I grabbed an old rusty hoe (one I had found buried in my back yard) went up by the front wheel and started rolling him out from under the car onto the lawn, using the full length of that old rotted hoe handle. I dragged him out and by then, miraculously, all the neighborhood kids who were skating and playing, had picked up with their kid-radars that something was going on and there they were. I brought that hoe down over that ANGRY RATTLESNAKE'S head and dull as it was, it cut off its head...BUT THE HANDLE shattered into several pieces, cutting my pinkie severely. It was bleeding.  My wife gave me a "my hero" hug, bandaged me up good, and I'm sure I looked funny that night, directing music at church with my hand all white with bandages.

Once, again on a warm sunny November, 1962, with snow in the borrow ditches, my dad and I were northwest of Melrose, where there is an old homestead, seemingly on every section, from 1930s depression days. I got into a brushy pasture, heard a rattler five feet away, took 12 giant steps, heard another and then another. I fired a couple of shots at them--to "cover my retreat"-- and Dad came over and said: "We'd best clear out of here!!"

My son had a sales route in Texas for a large company. In a sizable city, he became friends with a store owner who had a newly purchased ranch near Matador, Texas. Needing some mesquite for outdoor cooking, he was offered all he wanted by this dealer. Accordingly, my son went there for an all day trip, pulling his trailer. He heard some good snake stories while there.   That ranch was a hotbed of rattlers. The previous owners had killed 15-20 snakes a year, some IN THE HOUSE ITSELF.

The wife lived there and the husband commuted home on weekends. She gave my son a picture of a giant rattler coiled up under the coffee table with a Scrabble game sitting on the table. I have seen that picture! The greatest snake story I ever heard is this: The wife lived out there alone during the week as we have noted. One morning, not too long after acquiring the ranch and its very modest little house, the wife woke up, yawned, stretched, and suddenly heard a loud rattling over her head. She, frightened out of her wits, jumped up, looked up--and of all things-- there was a big rattler coiled ON THE CORNER OF THE CURTAIN ROD!! Now forgive Mil but he wants to embellish this story slightly: She jumped up, grabbed her 20 gauge 870 Remington pump shotgun. chambered a shell, and  firing from the hip, brought the snake down, plaster and all.

Immediately, she heard another RATTLE! ON THE OTHER END OF THE CURTAIN ROD!

Seeing another big rattler and sizing up the situation, she swung the shotgun, all the while shucking the fired shell, chambering a new one, and firing from the hip, bringing down the second snake. My friends, I have to ask you: does even DUCK HUNTING get any better than this?!

Okay, so it wasn't a pump--it was a single shot 410 shotgun (Bor-rr-ing) But she did shoot, go find another shell, and shoot again getting them both.

I would say, (if I knew) she slept on the couch that night...but remember the coffee table snake. Let's say she slept on the cabinet top.  LOL. Oh yes, they found primitive plumbing behind the bathtub: Big cracks where the pipes entered the house; they had it fixed professionally. Later on my son went back, after these events, and spent the night...with one eye open. I'll just get a motel, thanks, and check the bathroom plumbing!!

More snakes: next time from readers! WO! COTTONMOUTHS? CORAL SNAKES? ("Red on yellow will kill a fellow.")

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"MOM, MAKE SOME PIGS IN THE BLANKET, PLE-EE-ZE!"

A good part of the U.S. population in the early and mid-twentieth century called Vienna Sausage "Vye-eenies." We may think that term a little silly, "country," or gauche, but we can't change history. Cronkite always said it: "That's the way it was."

As some of us older folks look back on that period of time, and even later, and remember all the times we ate and loved "Vye-eenies," we wonder why they aren't listed along with "mother, home, apple pie, Chevrolet, and..."Vye-eenies."

Small country stores all over West Texas, when the U.S. was more rural, may have run out of one item or another, but I seriously doubt that they were ever out of Viennas (or pork 'n beans).

A good meal on a quail hunt could be bought at one of those friendly-looking stores with the old fashioned gas pumps out front-the tall ones with the lever on the side.  You'd get some cans of Vienna sausage, a small box of old-fashioned saltines, a chunk of cheese, an onion, a can of pork and beans and a grape or orange soda pop. (In those days people strongly favored the flavored sodas.) And any quail hunter worth his salt always had his pork'n bean spoon in his shirt pocket!

In fact, you hikers, fishermen, bird-watchers, in a hurry to get off on your trek, just think about it: what other possible lunch comes in such a compact, neat, and easily-carried can?! Here's a plan from Mil-- put on your roomy Burberry coat, put a can of Viennas in your right pocket with foil-wrapped cheese and crackers; in your left pocket put a small can of V-8, a couple of left-over catsups from Burger King, and a Snickers bar! I guarantee you, you will not be able to stifle yourself, and wait for lunch! Good old "Vye-eenies!"

This same fare goes good for lunch on the farm on a hot, hard day of plowing. There, substitute a cold big-orange drink for the V-8; you'll need it.

We come to perhaps the most important and famous use of Viennas: kids love ‘em! In the 1940's the little sausages were probably about 15 cents a can. Mothers should have bought them by the case because 3 or 4 cans lasted no time. Eg.- "Mom, make some pigs in the blanket, ple-ee-ze!" How she did them, with what dough, who knows? Just give us a plate of the finished products that we could dip in mustard!!! (The pigs required mustard; the bare sausages required catsup. Who knows who made that rule?)

We live in mod, advanced times. Did you know that you can get...Chicken Viennas now?!  (Mil will pass, thank you.) In fact, chickens are going to be extinct if you ladies don't lighten up a little. And... you'd better be alert or you will arrive home with Chicken Viennas. You can also get "hot and spicy" ones, barbecued, smoked, jalapeno and one that I strongly favor: Beenie Weenies. Talk about a creative product! And what's coming next? Catfish Viennas, Venison Viennas, Turtle Viennas, or maybe Aardvark Viennas, who knows? The good news is: now you can buy a man-sized can of the old-fashioned regular ones!

Mil has to wrap this up. And he has gone and got hungry again from his own writing! Hmmm…maybe there is a can of "Vye-eenies" in the pantry. Mil will go find himself a big dill pickle in the fridge...open some V's, and get a little taste of...history!

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Writer's note: This blog is proudly dedicated to loyal reader C.W.  After reading an advance copy, C.W. wrote:   "I loved your remarks about soda crackers and the old-fashioned gas stations; they held the best kinds of food, didn't they? My grandfather loved his Vye-eenies!" 

Vienna Sausage Choir:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=54yBV6i0IqA

                                                

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By Mil, 3-05-12

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