Let me explain. I have mentioned before about the slope we deal with in our backyard. It starts out gentle, gradually decreasing (or is it increasing) in grade, and then drops off to China about twelve feet from the back fence. My shed/suburban barn is built on piers expanding out over the drop off. Its a wonderful use of space since we can't do anything back there but fall down. We can even store things under the building if we choose. We do not choose though because I'm scared of spiders and snakes. The design was brilliant when it was thought of a hundred years ago when it was first built. I can just imagine the homeowner walking in the backdoor and telling his wife, "Honey, come look at the brilliant way I decided to use some of that useless space back here." She would have thought him brilliant. Years later, when Deb and I bought the place we thought it was brilliant too. I loved my little barn. The years have not been kind to the old structure though and Debbie decided five years ago I needed to replace some of the wood and repaint. I got right on it and started tearing old siding off last week. It appears I have grown old as the barn has because this project is just about to kill me. There is not a square foot of level ground anywhere around the building so reaching the higher levels has been....challenging. I have wished for some of the brilliance used by the guy who built the thing. How did he do it and survive long enough to brag to his wife? Just walking around out there and lifting up 4 x 8 sheets of siding has been awful. On the worst corner I struggled for hours trying to lift the siding up, holding it in place, and driving enough nails into it to keep it from falling off. Four pieces of siding were included in that little experience and two of the four fell on top of me before I could get nails driven into them. Then I had to figure out how to nail them up high on the structure. I stretched as much as my 5'9" frame allowed and still needed to go another couple of feet. I tried building a scaffolding around it but evidently I have no clue how to build scaffolding. Two or three swings with the hammer while standing on it and I felt it give way and slide down the slope. I stepped off before it reached the drop off. I'll have to figure out how to get that pile of wood up from there someday won't I?
Next I looked around and found Debbie's little stepladder hiding in the pantry. I figured it would work since it had four legs. Had to work....of course it would work. I only had to nail those pieces up at the top. I placed it on the slope and carefully took the first step. So far, so good. I took the second step and was able to reach the first panel needing nails. I am brilliant I told myself as I finished up the panel and moved the little ladder a bit more down the slope. The angle seemed precarious but as I took the first step the ladder stayed in place. The second step was a little wobbly but it held. I had to take the third step to reach the top so I carefully tried that step. Not a comfortable feel but I was able to reach the top at least. Now if I had just remembered to bring my hammer I could start nailing. Back down, back up, scared silly. I held on to the roof of the barn with my right hand and tried to set the nail and drive it with my left. There is no way to set a nail with just one hand. If you walk away from this story learning only one thing, make sure to never try this with one hand. I was too scared to let go of the roof line so I had to come up with more brilliance. I made another trip down the ladder, got my portable drill and and a wood screw. Really should have taken more than one screw since I dropped the one I had requiring another trip down and up the ladder. I finally got the screw set in place, hit the trigger on the drill, and felt my world fall out from under me. The little stepladder had given up trying to stay in place while having me make trip after trip up and down. As it fell toward the drop off, my body decided to follow. I tried to hang onto the roof but I couldn't do it. I landed on the ladder and both of us rolled on down the hill and over the drop off. There I was tangled up in a formerly nice little stepladder, splintered scaffolding I hoped to never see again, brush and rocks, and I couldn't get up. I didn't have my cell phone since it fell out of my pocket at the start of the fall and brilliantly decided not to take the trip with me. I lay there until the mosquitoes decided I must be dead and they could safely attack. I still don't remember how I finally got up from that position. Nothing was broken, which was my worst fear. (I had been warned by my surgeon to stay off ladders for some reason.) Anyway, I worked myself free after a while, threw all the scaffolding scraps up along with the stepladder remnants, dusted myself off and went in for a shower. I hurt all over. I have tried to work on the easy to reach portions of the little barn but it hurts to move. I can barely walk from my easy chair to the kitchen. I would like for Debbie to wait on me and baby me but it wouldn't be right. Did I mention she fell off a ladder last month and required shoulder replacement? She is still in a sling. I really need to get rid of my ladders but someday, somehow, I need to figure out a brilliant way to finish that stupid barn.
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
Peaches and the War of 1959.
Good grief, has it been two months since I wrote anything? It's a good thing I don't rely on my writing to buy food for the squirrels. They would starve. But enough about squirrels since there is no way on this green earth they will stay away from Debbie's birdseed. I need to write a story because I have about three of them jelling in my mind and its keeping me awake at night. This next story is a joint effort from my sister Julie, my brother Glenn, and myself. I knew I wanted to tell you about the peach war incident but I couldn't remember the details that led up to it. I consulted my sibs and half of them responded with their own memories. By the way, I told Debbie I would be in my study today cleaning up my desktop. S-H-H....
My dad grew up on the prairies of South Dakota. There was talk at that time of a tree growing in the state but no one really knew where. Anyway, after WWII, daddy settled down in Texas with a wife he met at Fort Hood. He told his family she was of native Indian descent even though her family has been in Texas forever. He thought it was funny. She didn't find it humorous. That's beside the point...he grew up without trees so when he had bought a little piece of Texas land for himself, some would call it "a lot", he couldn't stop planting trees. Some of the trees he planted were peach trees. He loved his peach trees and nurtured them throughout the year. The question which kept me awake last night was, "Did anyone ever see daddy actually eat a peach?" My sibs confirmed that no one ever saw him eat a peach or any other piece of fruit so why did he care so much for those trees. Glenn answered the question though. Mama loved peaches so he grew peaches for her. He showed his love for his squaw in various ways. She ate them off the tree and tried to get us to try them. They had too much fuzz for my taste so I avoided them until they had been transformed into peach cobbler. She froze peaches and served peach cobbler or pie to us way into the winter until the supply was gone. Then I guess we ate Twinkies for dessert. I just don't remember.
Glenn reminded me that the folks loved jelly or jam every morning and that must have been all the fruit daddy got into his system. For years we would drive north on Precinct Line Road and pick wild mustang grapes off the vines along the road. Mama would make the best grape jelly I ever tasted. I never could buy a jar of Welsh's grape jelly after that....just not the same thing. She also bought plums by the bushel from the farmer's market and made jelly and jam that would make your head spin. I miss that jam so much. I begged my sisters to learn how to make it before our mom passed away. They didn't.....or if they did they keep it all for themselves and don't share it with me. I wish now I had learned to make it myself but back then I was still gainfully employed and couldn't grasp the idea of time off with hobbies.
Oh great, my sister Cindy just responded with memories of her own. I either go back and edit what I've written or add her memories later.....I'll add them later unless I get tired of writing....or Debbie comes in and my desk is still a mess.
I may have wandered from the original topic a bit so I'll try to steer myself back. It's pretty much agreed that daddy didn't care for peaches unless they were in the form of a cobbler swimming in heavy cream. In fact, he didn't care for fresh fruit at all. I don't either but I try to eat it occasionally. He took care of those trees for mama though. She was always watching and waiting for the fruit to change from tiny little green peaches, so hard you couldn't even cut them, to the soft, fuzzy, juicy peaches so well known in this area and Parker County just to the west of us. Way back then the waste disposal team, or "garbage men" as we called them, came twice a week. They would jump off the side of the truck with their own cans, 55 gallon drums with a handle cut in, run to the backyards of every home, dump the trash cans into their big drums until they were full. Then they would run back to the truck, unload and repeat the process until every house in the neighborhood was free of trash. They did this twice a week!! Not one single first grader ever raised his hand in class to announce he or she wanted to be a garbage man when grown. If you were a nice neighbor, you would leave your water hose connected to the front of the house so they could get a drink or douse themselves with water. Summers in Texas were brutal back then too. If you were a really really good neighbor you would serve them lemonade. I doubt they got much lemonade but they did discover a golden prize in our yard during the summers. They loved to pick peaches off our trees to eat when they came by. My mom was a compassionate soul so she didn't think too much about it at first. As the practice became more commonplace she would watch for the truck to come down our street and then go out to protect her peaches. One year the entire crop was filled with worms of some kind. She let those garbage men have all they wanted that year.
The incident which became known as the Great Peach War of 1959* happened in one day. Actually, it took only about half an hour to have lasting consequences. Our aunt Dovie and uncle JD Wardlow brought their boys, Jamie and Donnie, to visit one weekend in late spring. Those boys had a knack for doing things that got us into trouble. In fact, it was a rare visit for all five of us kids not to be in serious trouble after Jamie and Donnie came for a visit. This particular time the peach trees were absolutely covered with little green peaches. The harvest was going to be the best ever. We hadn't been out in the yard more than ten minutes before Jamie picked a green peach and threw it at Donnie. We all laughed and then Donnie paid him back with a green peach right to the forehead. It didn't take any time at all before they were picking and throwing peaches as fast as they could. The more they threw the madder they got with each other. We stopped laughing after the battle got really bad because we could see an awful lot of green peaches lying on the ground. It turned ugly. They stripped the trees in back then ran to the front and stripped the little tree in the front. When there were no more peaches left to throw they started wrestling each other "to the death". We actually got scared. I don't know if one of us ran and told the adults or if they just heard the commotion and came out on their own. Those two boys were hauled inside kicking and screaming while we were left in a yard full of ruined peaches....and mama. We told her we didn't have anything to do with it but the look on her face told us that somebody had to die. Since she didn't think it right to kill off one of her sister's sons, it would have to be one of us. We were told to grab some sacks to pick up all those little peaches for the trash and rest assured she would "see to us" after the Wardlows left on Sunday afternoon. I'm sure glad she had the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday to cool down because we ended the weekend alive. We did have to promise to never let Jamie and Donnie do something that stupid ever again. Of course that was an impossible task. We still got in trouble every time they visited.
Oh yeah, let me add Cindy's memories because they are good memories and they involve fruit, which is of course the topic of the day. She remembers that daddy did like rhubarb. She claims that it is a fruit but it appears to be a noxious weed to me. He liked for mama to make rhubarb pies occasionally and when she did he got to eat the whole pie himself.....might as well make a pie out of broccoli. She also reminded me of when grandpa and grandma Hallmark lived down in the valley (south Texas on the gulf coast and bordering Mexico). Citrus was king down there and our uncle Frog always brought us bags of oranges and grapefruit when he visited. She remembers we would sit and watch TV while peeling and eating grapefruit at night. Good times. I now understand why I feel a bit homesick when I walk through the produce section of the grocery store and smell the grapefruit! Still don't like peaches.
*It is entirely possible you won't find this war listed anywhere but here. Some have mentioned that I have a tendency to "add" to the story a bit. When I do this it becomes fact after a few days. The actions were real, the title possibly not. We never saw anything about it on Sixty Minutes.
My dad grew up on the prairies of South Dakota. There was talk at that time of a tree growing in the state but no one really knew where. Anyway, after WWII, daddy settled down in Texas with a wife he met at Fort Hood. He told his family she was of native Indian descent even though her family has been in Texas forever. He thought it was funny. She didn't find it humorous. That's beside the point...he grew up without trees so when he had bought a little piece of Texas land for himself, some would call it "a lot", he couldn't stop planting trees. Some of the trees he planted were peach trees. He loved his peach trees and nurtured them throughout the year. The question which kept me awake last night was, "Did anyone ever see daddy actually eat a peach?" My sibs confirmed that no one ever saw him eat a peach or any other piece of fruit so why did he care so much for those trees. Glenn answered the question though. Mama loved peaches so he grew peaches for her. He showed his love for his squaw in various ways. She ate them off the tree and tried to get us to try them. They had too much fuzz for my taste so I avoided them until they had been transformed into peach cobbler. She froze peaches and served peach cobbler or pie to us way into the winter until the supply was gone. Then I guess we ate Twinkies for dessert. I just don't remember.
Glenn reminded me that the folks loved jelly or jam every morning and that must have been all the fruit daddy got into his system. For years we would drive north on Precinct Line Road and pick wild mustang grapes off the vines along the road. Mama would make the best grape jelly I ever tasted. I never could buy a jar of Welsh's grape jelly after that....just not the same thing. She also bought plums by the bushel from the farmer's market and made jelly and jam that would make your head spin. I miss that jam so much. I begged my sisters to learn how to make it before our mom passed away. They didn't.....or if they did they keep it all for themselves and don't share it with me. I wish now I had learned to make it myself but back then I was still gainfully employed and couldn't grasp the idea of time off with hobbies.
Oh great, my sister Cindy just responded with memories of her own. I either go back and edit what I've written or add her memories later.....I'll add them later unless I get tired of writing....or Debbie comes in and my desk is still a mess.
I may have wandered from the original topic a bit so I'll try to steer myself back. It's pretty much agreed that daddy didn't care for peaches unless they were in the form of a cobbler swimming in heavy cream. In fact, he didn't care for fresh fruit at all. I don't either but I try to eat it occasionally. He took care of those trees for mama though. She was always watching and waiting for the fruit to change from tiny little green peaches, so hard you couldn't even cut them, to the soft, fuzzy, juicy peaches so well known in this area and Parker County just to the west of us. Way back then the waste disposal team, or "garbage men" as we called them, came twice a week. They would jump off the side of the truck with their own cans, 55 gallon drums with a handle cut in, run to the backyards of every home, dump the trash cans into their big drums until they were full. Then they would run back to the truck, unload and repeat the process until every house in the neighborhood was free of trash. They did this twice a week!! Not one single first grader ever raised his hand in class to announce he or she wanted to be a garbage man when grown. If you were a nice neighbor, you would leave your water hose connected to the front of the house so they could get a drink or douse themselves with water. Summers in Texas were brutal back then too. If you were a really really good neighbor you would serve them lemonade. I doubt they got much lemonade but they did discover a golden prize in our yard during the summers. They loved to pick peaches off our trees to eat when they came by. My mom was a compassionate soul so she didn't think too much about it at first. As the practice became more commonplace she would watch for the truck to come down our street and then go out to protect her peaches. One year the entire crop was filled with worms of some kind. She let those garbage men have all they wanted that year.
The incident which became known as the Great Peach War of 1959* happened in one day. Actually, it took only about half an hour to have lasting consequences. Our aunt Dovie and uncle JD Wardlow brought their boys, Jamie and Donnie, to visit one weekend in late spring. Those boys had a knack for doing things that got us into trouble. In fact, it was a rare visit for all five of us kids not to be in serious trouble after Jamie and Donnie came for a visit. This particular time the peach trees were absolutely covered with little green peaches. The harvest was going to be the best ever. We hadn't been out in the yard more than ten minutes before Jamie picked a green peach and threw it at Donnie. We all laughed and then Donnie paid him back with a green peach right to the forehead. It didn't take any time at all before they were picking and throwing peaches as fast as they could. The more they threw the madder they got with each other. We stopped laughing after the battle got really bad because we could see an awful lot of green peaches lying on the ground. It turned ugly. They stripped the trees in back then ran to the front and stripped the little tree in the front. When there were no more peaches left to throw they started wrestling each other "to the death". We actually got scared. I don't know if one of us ran and told the adults or if they just heard the commotion and came out on their own. Those two boys were hauled inside kicking and screaming while we were left in a yard full of ruined peaches....and mama. We told her we didn't have anything to do with it but the look on her face told us that somebody had to die. Since she didn't think it right to kill off one of her sister's sons, it would have to be one of us. We were told to grab some sacks to pick up all those little peaches for the trash and rest assured she would "see to us" after the Wardlows left on Sunday afternoon. I'm sure glad she had the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday to cool down because we ended the weekend alive. We did have to promise to never let Jamie and Donnie do something that stupid ever again. Of course that was an impossible task. We still got in trouble every time they visited.
Oh yeah, let me add Cindy's memories because they are good memories and they involve fruit, which is of course the topic of the day. She remembers that daddy did like rhubarb. She claims that it is a fruit but it appears to be a noxious weed to me. He liked for mama to make rhubarb pies occasionally and when she did he got to eat the whole pie himself.....might as well make a pie out of broccoli. She also reminded me of when grandpa and grandma Hallmark lived down in the valley (south Texas on the gulf coast and bordering Mexico). Citrus was king down there and our uncle Frog always brought us bags of oranges and grapefruit when he visited. She remembers we would sit and watch TV while peeling and eating grapefruit at night. Good times. I now understand why I feel a bit homesick when I walk through the produce section of the grocery store and smell the grapefruit! Still don't like peaches.
*It is entirely possible you won't find this war listed anywhere but here. Some have mentioned that I have a tendency to "add" to the story a bit. When I do this it becomes fact after a few days. The actions were real, the title possibly not. We never saw anything about it on Sixty Minutes.
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