Older Than Dirt!

I hasn't been affle-gaffling too much lately, at least not that I'd want to post, but I wrote up this liitle gem the other day, and I thought it deserved a spot on my blog.

We actually went horse-back riding this morning, and got up early (at least early for us) and everything. I told Joan last night that we needed to go riding early while it was still cooler. She asked me what I meant when I said "early" and I told her "as early as you want to go."

So-o-o-o-o-o, about 7:10 or so, in she came with a cup of coffee, a couple cookies, and proceeded to open the window and let the light in. I guess we were on the trail by 8:30. I know for those of you who know us, this is very HARD to believe, but we really were riding by 8:30. (we couldn't believe it either, and I'm sure Big Guy and Blaze were shocked as well. They rarely even get fed until 9:30 or 10:00 in the morning.

Anyway, we had a good ride - went down the old Smithville Highway that runs behind our house and all the way to Smithville. We only went about half way 'cause we knew we'd have to come back, but it was a great ride. Didn't see one car, and the breeze was wonderful. Really helped keep the flies off the horses.

Well, here's my "older than dirt" story. See how many other things you can think of that might fit in here.

One of my boys asked me a while back what my favorite fast food was when I was growing up. I told him, “WE didn’t have fast food ‘back then’, it was all ‘slow’ food.”

“Aw, come on Dad, seriously , where did you all eat?”

“Well, son,” I told him. “It was a place called HOME. Your Grandmother cooked everyday. And when your Granddaddy was home, we all sat down together and ate. If she cooked something we didn’t like, we sat there ‘til we DID like it.”

He was laughing pretty hard by this time, so I didn’t tell him about us having to get permission to LEAVE the table. But I decided to tell him a few other things.

Lots of parents never owned their own homes, they just rented. They never set foot on a golf course, never owned a boat, never traveled very far from home, never had a credit card, but if they did, it said Sears and Roebuck on it. They didn’t know what the word “designer” even meant. They never drove to soccer practice, mainly because no one had ever heard of soccer.

I had a bicycle that weighed fifty pounds and it only had one speed -- SLOW. We didn’t have a TV, only had one phone in the house, and had to remember a person’s number to tell the operator when she said “number please”.

I was 33 before I ate my first pizza. My Daddy didn’t have a car ‘til I was 12 years old. Before that, if we went, we borrowed my uncle’s old Chevy truck, and we boys rode in the back on some benches Daddy made for us. If it rained, we got wet. Or else, we had to go on the train. Because Daddy was a railroader, it was free for us to ride. We were just limited as to where we could go.

Milk was delivered to the back door and the newspaper was delivered to the front door. Ice came in blocks and was delivered whenever we put our card up in the window to show what size block we wanted. The newspaper was a nickel and ice was a penny a pound, delivered.

We went to the movie, maybe once a week, and generally on Saturday. If it was mushy, it meant that the cowboy kissed a girl, with their mouths SHUT! No French kissing. That was considered “dirty!”

There was no such thing as perma-press. All clothes had to be sprinkled and ironed. Wash was only done on Monday because that’s the day the trains didn’t run and cause coal dust to get on them. Clothes were hung on the line outside as we didn’t have a clothes dryer. Dimmer switches were on the floorboard of a car, you stuck your arm out the window to signal which you were going to turn or stop.

Yep, I was really getting going when I noticed he was sound asleep.. Guess he didn’t believe me or was just plain bored.

As I was thinking about the things I was going to tell him, I remembered things like—candy cigarettes, party lines, butch wax, 78 RPM records, rollerskate keys, S&H green stamps Hi-Fi’s, blue flash bulbs, metal ice trays with lever to break the ice loose, pea shooters, P F Flyers, wax coke bottles filled with colored sugar water, Studebaker cars, Edsel cars, wringer washer machines, those old push mowers that you REALLY had to push, those blister-causing shears we had to trim with, curfews which we had better not violate. And there was 25¢ per gallon gasoline, nickel pop and candy bars.

Yep, all just memories. Wonder what kind of memories he will have when he gets to be seventy. And, will they be the kind he will want to share with his kids. I sure hope so.

Bill <<>>wb

Cotton Pickin' Kids

The first year we had the store, I had a bit of time on my hands and decided to do a little bit of farming. I planted several rows of cotton. It did very well and made a bumper crop. Wished I had planted 100 acres of it, but only had 3 rows.

When it was fully developed, I invited the students from the old Octavia school to come out for a field trip to “look and see”. None of them had ever seen cotton growing before. The teachers had them all lined up, and had threatened them with their lives is they touched. I explained a little bit of the way cotton grows, how the bowl weevils get into the boles and eat the blooms.

I told how they used to pick the cotton, and I even had an old cotton sack to show them. I explained how they took it to the cotton gin and ginned it. THEN, I told them to jump in and pick them a couple or three boles. They were like flies swarming into those three rows. The teachers went bananas.

Then, after all had calmed down, I started asking them questions about what cotton was used for. One little girl said her momma used the balls to take off her makeup. One little girl said they had the little sticks with cotton on ‘em to pick their nose with. (Q-tips)

Then I asked if there was anyone else who knew what cotton was for. They all just kinda looked at each other, and at the teachers for an answer. I then reached down and pinched a little girl’s shirt, and asked her if she knew that her shirt was made from cotton. She said, “Uh uh , my mother bought this at Wal-Marts.”

Anyway, all went well, and I think the kids all will remember it forever, how cotton grows, and what it is used for.

wb

4th. of July Parades

Since we're getting close to summer and that means picnics, parades, fun stuff, etc., I thought I'd tell a bit about our "famous" Octavia 4th. of July parades.

These parades all kinda started as a flucky deal. We'd moved to Octavia in 1982, so the first July we were really here for in 1983, we were sitting around visiting with some neighbors, and just casually asked, "What do you do around here for the 4th. of July?"

The answer was, "Not much of anything." So Joan piped up and said, "Well, in Wisconsin, the 4th of July was a really big deal. We always had a big parade, our school band and neighboring school bands marched in it, lots of folks decorated floats and bicycles and got in it, and then there was a big picnic at the park in town, and a huge fireworks display at night."

Well, that got everyone thinking. "Why don't we put on a parade? That sounds like fun." So, the neighbor kids got on the phone to all their friends and told them we were having a parade on the 4th. of July so come and be in it. We were going to meet up at the old church parking lot in Octavia.

I got busy and made signs that read, "Parade - July 4th. - 2:00 PM in downtown Octavia." One of the old local fellers came by and said, "I've lived in these parts nigh on to 60 years. Where in the world is 'downtown' Octavia?" Little did he know that that would be immortalized on our T-shirts when we opened Babcock's Store.

So, by 1:00 PM on the 4th., folks started showing up in the church parking lot. There were three-wheelers decorated with red white and blue crepe paper, decorated bicycles, some folks on horseback, a dump truck with a couple ladies riding on the top of the hopper dressed up in fancy gowns. All along the parade route you'd here, "Dump 'em, dump 'em!" Of course, Shorty, the truck driver never did.

There was a float carrying a little girl all dressed up as Little Miss Octavia. Joan and I decorated up our tractor and pulled an old wagon we'd gotten from up at her Dad's farm in Wisconsin, and loaded it up with hay bales, and barrels, and misc. junk. She had her accordion, and a few other folks were on the float as well, and they were playing and singing along the route.

We started out from the church, went down the road toward Hwy. 144 past what used to be the old Octavia Store, then made a hard right onto 144, went up the hill, made another right back toward the church, and had so much fun that we did it again.

There were folks lining the parade route waving and smiling, and we even had a couple judges sitting in front of the old store to make it all official. Trophies were even given out for the best entries.

That evening, not wanting to call it quits with just a parade, my neighbor and I gathered up all the fireworks we could get a hold of from the little roadside stands that are all over the place this time of year, and we invited everyone over to our house to "watch the fireworks show" in our back yard. We made up iced tea and had some cookies and snacks on the shop porch, and some music going again, and at dark we shot off our fireworks. We were amazed at the number of people that came over. It was a lot of fun.


And so, the die was cast. For the next several years, the Octavia 4th. of July Parade was the place to be in Oklahoma.


By the following 4th. of July, we'd opened Babcock's Store, so the parade was staged over on the highway in the store parking lot. Of course, you know I never do anything halfway, and I was just itching to get back to promoting "something", and the parade was it.


I started inviting people to come and take part in the parade months before the 1984 parade time, and that morning folks started gathering to be in the parade, and we couldn't believe it. Nobody could believe it. The parking lot was full, across the road was full, back behind us was full.

And on top of it all, Joan and I were trying to keep the store open. It was mass chaos to the highest degree. I had to let people out of the store before more could come in the store. We finally just had to close the doors. We COULD NOT handle it.

We had a long flatbed trailer set up in front of the store for the musicians, and had real good music going all afternoon. Parade time was 4:00 PM. We went across the highway, down 144, looped around through Octavia, and back to the store. About 2 1/2 miles all together. Then we presented the trophies.

That night several of us set off fireworks across the highway in what is now the Octavia Baptist church yard. Back then it was a horse pasture. Fireworks was bigger and better, parade was definitely bigger and better. We were really rolling now.


Newspapers called it the biggest little parade in the country, and the media attention made it even bigger the next couple of years. I think the biggest parade had 497 participants on 100+ entries.

It was a lot of fun, but a LOT of work for a few of us. We finally had to call it quits. It got too big and there was too little help to handle everything.

But it was a great time while it lasted. More about the 4th. parade redo later.

wb

Fun at the Cotton Gin

Hi all,
This is a story I probably SHOULDN’T tell, but I live very dangerously, so here it is.

When I was a kid, there was an old cotton gin on the highway in Heavener - just down the street from out house. It was only in use for a few years in my lifetime, then it was closed down and boarded up. But, not so good that we kids couldn’t get into it and play.

It was a nesting place for pigeons and we just loved climbing up and robbing the nest. They always said that a pigeon laid two eggs, and, when they hatched, one was a male and one a female, and they mated for life. We used to swap the eggs, or put three eggs in a nest. You can guess what the results were.

BUT, one day, when a little neighbor girl and I we playing there, we found a package of two balloons. When we blew them up, they were about four feet long and about a foot in diameter. They were kind of clear in color and had a mouth about an inch and a half in diameter. We tied a string on them and were flying them behind us as we went home.

Then our mothers saw what we had.

Now, we thought they were pretty neat. NOT THEM! My friend's mother got out the Listerine and made us wash our mouths out with it, drink it; they scrubbed our tongues with it, washed our faces with bleach, and threatened us with our lives if we EVER went back up there. They never gave us a chance to explain they were NEW not USED. I’m SURE that would have made a difference.

Later,

wb

THE BIG RIDE 5-3-08

I gotta tell you about the Men's Trail Ride that we had this past Saturday. It was quite a ride!

I got up at 5:30 AM (and that was a real chore for me) to go horseback riding with a group of Christian Men over below Buffalo community. I got Big Guy loaded in the trailer with no problem at all - not always that easy with him.

Then headed over to Tommy Phillips' place to pick him up. I realized that due to the way I had redone my trailer, both horses wouldn’t fit in it. So,we unloaded Big Guy and reloaded him in Tommy's trailer with his horse and off we went.

It was about an hour drive through some real rugged terrain. We crossed several low water bridges that were not really too low. In fact, a couple of them looked kinda “iffy” to me, but we made it across them OK. Kinda glad we were not in MY truck and trailer.

There were about 16 of us on the first ride, mostly guys riding mules. Of all the hee-hawing they did. Our horses just looked at them as if to say “What's your problem ?”

We rode on some really nice trails, crossing several streams of water, up hills , down hills, and then we came to a concrete slab with about 8-10 inches of water running over it and about 100 feet wide. A couple of the horses would not cross it, so 4 or 5 of us went back across and coaxed them to come on with us. The rest of the group had gone on and was heading back to camp. We trailed them and, then, finally lost the trail in the woods. So, we dropped down on the edge of the creek to follow it back to camp.

GOT LOST! Big Time! And had to do some riding in some VERY rough areas to finally get back to camp. We even had to pull some fence posts up and hold the barbwire down on the ground while the horses crossed. We were about an hour longer than the other group getting back to camp for BREAKFAST, which turned out to be LUNCH.

Then, on the afternoon ride, some of the guys were too tired to go again, so the numbers dwindled down. One of the less experienced guys that had ridden a very gentle horse earlier decided to ride one of the mules. That turned out to be a mistake! While we were riding down a rather steep hill, he got off balance, started yelling, and lost the reins. The mule pulled a runaway and started bucking. It unloaded him right on the side of the mountain in a pile of rocks. This could have really been a disaster.

Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt too bad, but was very reluctant to get back on the mule. But, due to the fact we were several miles from camp, he had to. He was just trembling and shaking, but did stay with the mule and rode back. He was, however, being led by another rider (we call this ponying) all the way back to camp.

There were a couple spots on the trail that I just wouldn't ride down. I told the guys if they wanted to ride down, have at it, but I'd been too fortunate in my riding to take a chance on falling and breaking something. That would HURT!! and I DON'T like to hurt! And, being the oldest guy there, I thought that with age comes wisdom, and I was wise enough not to try to go down an EXTREMELY steep, rocky hill on my horse. Not good for him, and sure not good for me.

We stayed around camp for a bit and then decided on one more ride before the evening meal. The temp was delightful all day. Quite cool in the morning, we all wore jackets, and there were no flies to bother us. On the second ride, we finally came out of the jackets, and then the flies bombarded us. On the last ride, the wind changed to the north and it cooled off again. No more flies and back with the jackets. We had a wonderful time, and figured we rode about seven and a half hours.

Two of the guys who didn’t ride were the cooks, and did they put the ol' feed bag on for us. We spent about an hour and a half sharing Jesus with each other, and some good stories. I got home about 10 PM, well after dark.

All in all, it was a very good day with the guys.

"Happy trails to you!"

Burger King

Here's another bit of store trivia about the store that Bill just remembered. He gave me this info last week, but I'm just now getting around to adding it to his blog.

Enjoy.

One morning in the fall, I had just opened the gates and was outside in the front - kinda cleaning up and shifting some of my "junque" around. All of a sudden I heard tires squalling as they tried to stop. I looked up and saw a big Lincoln Town Car go by and then back up and come in the driveway.

A rather distinguished-looking gentleman got out and quickly said to me, "I want to meet the richest man or the dumbest in these parts. And I have a good reason for saying this. I just left Heaven er, ( I knew he was an outsider by the way he pronounced Heavener), and I haven't seen ONE car or person since I left up there. So for anyone to build a store out in this wilderness, he must be rich or really dumb!"

I was ready to go back inside, so I invited him to come on in for a cup of coffee. Before we got inside, a church van from Texas pulled in and about 10 people got out and started in the door.

I poured him a cup of coffee, and started doing "my thing" with the folks from Texas. By this time, another van pulled in with a few more folks. Then I heard a noise outside and knew it was a tour bus - probably with 35 - 50 folks on it.

I immediately hollered at Joan to come down and help me out. I never even had time to visit with the fellow at all, but as he left, he told me HE was the guy who decided where to build the Burger King restaurants. He also let me know that before they ever built one, they did extensive surveys and number counts to be sure it would be profitable.

He then said, "You must know something WE don't. However, you will be seeing me again soon as we are going to put in a Burger King right across the highway from you!"

Of course, they never did, and couldn't even if they wanted to because I had an option on the property across the highway, and later relinquished it to the church.

What I didn't tell him, was that it was fall foliage season, our busiest time of the year. Normally, we averaged somewhere around 200 - 300 visitors a day. During foliage season, it quadrupled.

Sure kept us hopping during those few months.

wb<<<>>>

Deer Meat & Coon Tails

And here's another good "Bert" story. Sorry, Bert. We just had some "memorable" experiences while you all were up here.

I remember the time the four of us were heading somewhere, and about half way to Smithville we saw the car in front of us hit a deer. Bert said, "Stop! Let's go back and get it." So, we turned around in the middle of the road, and checked it out.

It was definitely dead, but didn't look too banged up so we loaded it in the back of whatever we were driving (Joan's Blazer, I think) and headed for the house. We strung that deer up in the shop and commenced cleaning it.

Now, it didn't look bad on the outside, but the inside was ooooeeeeee!!!! If you have any idea what getting hit by a car does to the insides of a deer, you KNOW what we ran into when we cut him open!!!

I don't think I even stayed out there, but Bert was determined to get some deer meat out of it, so he kept at it a good share of the evening. I actually do believe that he got a roast and maybe some steaks out of the hind quarters, but that was about all that was salvageable.

I really think I could smell "deer insides" when we were eating it. Surely not, but it definitely left a lasting impression.

And, that brings to mind another story.

We were tooling down the highway one day, just Joan and me, and I saw a raccoon by the side of the road that looked pretty fresh-hit. So, being the cheapskate that I am, and knowing how much coonskin caps were worth, I decided to get that little feller and make me one.

I stopped the truck, and took a look at him, and decided that maybe I'd better just get the tail instead of the whole thing. We were on our way someplace, and I figured the whole carcass would get to stinking before we got home.

So, I grabbed him by the tail and had my knife ready to cut it off. I don't know if you are aware of it or not, but the first thing a coon (and probably any other critter) does when it gets hit, and is probably on it's way to it's eternal destination is to relieve himself. So, of course, I reached down, and got a BIG handful of "coon relief". UGH!!!

I wiped my hands on the grass and proceeded to cut the tail off, but since it had an abundant supply of "coon relief" on it as well, I decided to put it in the tool box in the back of the truck. That way it wouldn't stink up the inside.

BUT, I couldn't get the smell off my hand. I wiped and wiped, and got what water I could get my hands on and tried to wash, all for nothing. It stunk terrible!!! I ended up riding all the way to wherever we were going with my hand out the driver's window.

It took a lot of scrubbing with strong soap to get rid of that smell. The worst part about the whole coontail thing was, that by the time I got home, I forgot I'd put it in the tool box, so after quite a while of baking inside a metal box in the hot sun, it was REALLY ripe when I finally found it.

So, I've learned, if it's dead on the highway, leave it be. You REALLY don't want to mess with "road kill" 'cause road kill will MESS with you!!

WB