Hollis Baker’s Blog

Weather is a topic of conversation we all enjoy. “Sure hot for this time of the year isn’t it? I think this is the coldest spell we have had all winter. My, it is getting dry. Will it ever quit raining?” are a few of the things of weather we discuss. Of course there are the subjects of high winds, black clouds, snow and sleet storms. But the most feared weather happening is the hailstorm. They come unexpected, quickly, and often very destructive.

Back in the ‘30s Mom and Dad had a little farm up the North San Gabriel. It was on a high, dry ridge in the open country of that part of Central Texas. The land was thin, and sparsely wooded with a few fields Dad planted in oats, corn and cotton. Mom took care of the house, milk cow, chickens and a flock of turkeys. The house, cow, and chickens were an easy task to take care of. The turkeys had to be watched for they had a tendency of wandering off and had to be driven home each night and be penned to protect them from coons and coyotes. And the hens had the habit of hiding their nests in the brush and along the creek banks. She followed them, stole their eggs and brought them home to place under setting hens to hatch. Soon she had a flock of about 40 frying sized turkeys about ready to market. These added turkeys took most of Mom’s days. Just keeping up with the young turkeys and driving them to pen each night became a task.

Spring came early and wet that year. The weather at nights was still cool, but the days were hot and turbulent. This was a perfect condition for breeding severe weather. In the middle of one sultry evening and angry black cloud built up in the north west and rumbled and roared. Soon, with lighting and thunder the cloud swooped down and raced across the pasture bringing a killing hailstorm. Mom raced across the pasture and fields, making it to the house and safety. In it’s fury the hailstorm stripped the trees, beat down the crops, and killed all the turkeys. The storm left as quickly as it had come, leaving a strip of destruction across the land in its wake.

Mom and Dad were devastated. Looking across the fields of beat down crops, and killed turkeys, all seemed to be lost. However Dad’s Pollyanna nature soon found one small bright ray of light in the bleak picture. Dad loved gizzards and livers, but seemed to never get enough. Dad called some of the neighbors and invited them to a feast for dinner. They came, helped butcher the young birds, and fried a mound of gizzards and livers. Dad ate all he wanted. And he never ate another gizzard or liver the rest of his life.

Now, when I see a black cloud in the northwest, thundering and lighting or hear a turkey gobble I think of Dad and Mom and the night they ate all the gizzards and livers they wanted for a lifetime.

                   Traveling across the state Monday, almost each city and town had a celebration of Memorial Day.  Old men in their uniforms, young men with their boy scouts and girl scouts, paid their respects to the men and women of our armed forces.

                   The holiday was started in 1868 to honor members of the armed services that had served in the Grand Army of the Potomac.  After World War One the day was changed to include all members of the armed services who had served in any war or military action.  Poppies from Flanders fields in France became a popular symbol of the remembrance of service, taken from the poem by Major McCrey;  “In Flanders fields where poppies blow, Neath crosses, row upon row……”

                    The Liberty Hill chapter of the VFW served breakfast to quite a crowd of veterans as well as their families and friends early Monday morning.  It was a great time to see all the men and women who had served and thank them.  We then moved into Veterans Park where Sergeant Hickman bulged “Assembly.”  Standing before the Wall of Honor a prayer was lofted into the bright spring morning. I was proud of Liberty Hill’s Veterans of Foreign Wars presentation of the Colors, the eulogies of those who paid the supreme sacrifice, as well honoring those veterans still living.

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           A closing prayer was offered.  The sad but moving notes of taps was then blown by the bulgier, and we were dismissed.

          I felt proud that we, as a nation, would take time to honor these men and women, who gave a part, and sometimes all, of their lives to protect us.  May we always keep the faith, the honor, and respect for these who served.

            I guess we all have neighbors.  Well some of you have lived way out in west Texas, and we might not think you had any neighbors, but you did.  They may have lived   20 miles down the road, but they were neighbors.  And they were good neighbors.  If a problem arose, you could bet your saddle they would be there to help any way they could.  And if you had a good thing happening they would be there to help you celebrate.

            The first six years Alice and I were married we moved 12 times.  That will create a whole lot of neighbors.  You know I can’t remember any of them being difficult.  We had fun neighbors as well as stoic ones.  We had rich ones, but mostly neighbors just like us.  Army privates don’t generate a whole lot of cash, but we all shared what we had.  We have great memories of making ice cream together, or sharing a pot of brown beans and cornbread with each other.  Many times in El Paso we got together and made a batch of hot tamales that was as much fun in the making as it was in the eating. 

            We finally bought a house in the city and our varied list of neighbors was more limited.  We still had plenty of folks living real close as well as neighbors across the street and around the corner.  I remember one neighbor who had a mischievous streak he enjoyed, and we tolerated.  He loved finding my car parked on the street and he would wash and wax one fender and half of the hood.  I guess he thought I would be a little miffed and wax the rest of the car.  I fooled him; I thought that 1950 Chevrolet look kind of cute with one waxed fender and drove it that way.

            Some of our neighbors enjoyed borrowing things, like lawn mowers and watering hoses.  I felt ok about that for that gave me the license of returning the favor by borrowing his tools and garden wagon.  Neither of us ever returned a borrowed tool, we just went into each other’s garage and got what we needed.  Worked out fine.

            We lived one place with a neighbor that gave me a little trouble.  He worked in his yard all the time.  Alice on occasions pointed out this fact.  His yard looked great.  That put the pressure on me to try to keep my yard a little neater than I really wanted.  He was a fun guy and we had many good times together, and I suggested that he might slow down a little.  Didn’t do any good.  He just kept planting, pruning, and mowing.  He even sometimes crossed the street and helped me mow my grass.  But I got even with him.  When he would spread commercial fertilizer on his lawn I would conjure up a rain.  The clouds would boil up in the northwest, lightening flashed, and thunder rolled.  Then came the soaking rain.  Washed all his grass greening fertilizer right across the road into my lawn.  Now I had a beautiful green lawn also.

            We moved a few more times, but now we seem to be pretty settled.  And I am happy to say we again have a great bunch of neighbors.  God bless them all.

            Tom Green lived in our town, and hung out at the feed store where I worked.  He was a big man with a quick grin and a quiet voice.  Most folks were attracted to him.  It felt comfortable being around him.  It was said in his youth he had traveled and worked all over the world at all kinds of occupations.  He followed the oil field crowd from west Texas to Venezuela and on to the Philippines. He worked as an Archeologist in China’s Gobi desert as well as in the shadows of the pyramids of Egypt.  Some stories hinted he had served as a French soldier in North Africa.  Few in our town had been far from the county line, and especially me.

            One day I summoned up enough courage to ask him a question.  “Mr. Green, what was the most exciting adventure you remember?”

            Tom leaned his rawhide-bottomed chair against the feed store wall and sat quietly staring at the ceiling.  I was afraid he hadn’t heard me and was about to repeat my question.  “Well it may have been the time I almost saved a young damsel in distress from the ravages of a Dragon,” he said.

            Don’t you know this statement got my full attention?  I stood closer, not to miss a single word he said.

            “I was living in Houston at the time and got an anxious call from a niece of mine,” he said.  “She had grown up in west Texas and had just moved to a little village in the country.  Her excited voice on the phone told me she had a problem.  She said there was a Dragon in her back yard that had eaten her cat and was now chasing her dog around the fenced yard.  I grabbed my gun and a rope, jumped into my pick-up and raced the few miles to her home.  In my haste I was driving a little fast.  A police car, with lights flashing, pulled me over.  He gave me a ticket for speeding, and going the wrong way on a one-way street.  The Cop asked me what my hurry was?  I answered that I was going to capture a Dragon that was threatening my niece.  He pulled me from the truck and made me walk the centerline of the street.  Convinced I was not drunk, he let me go.  My niece met me at the door almost in tears.  She said as her dog was making the fifth run around the yard, ahead of the dragon, she opened the door, let the dog in, and slammed the it shut just as the Dragon hit the screen, tearing it to pieces.  I peeked out the window.  I did not see any fire and smoke billowing from a Dragon’s nose or mouth as I had expected.  In fact I couldn’t see a Dragon.  What I did see, lying flat in the grass in the middle of the yard was a five-foot long alligator.  I thought about teasing her for thinking an alligator was a fire breathing; smoke blowing Dragon, but considering she was from west Texas I thought perhaps I should let lying Dragons lay.  I roped the ‘gator’, and with the help of a neighbor dragged the ‘monster’ back to the nearby bayou.  On the way back to my niece’s house, we found her cat, high in a tree, safe and unscorched.”

            All these years since that tale was told to me I have wondered about its veracity.   However, now that I am his age, as he was then, I wonder what I would tell a freckle faced, tow headed little boy should he ask me, “What is the most exciting adventure you have had?”

           Driving from here to Odessa is bad enough, but to give the eulogy for a favorite brother-in-law makes it more difficult.  The Odessian Plain is austere, flat, dry and oil rich.  The men are sun burnt, strong, tough and honest.  Add a sly grin to that description and you have a picture of my brother-in-law Eugene Pirtle.

          Eugene was born and grew up in a lovely family structure; he had 4 older sisters and 3 younger sisters.  His older brothers had already left home to serve in the army.  This may have colored his life a bit.  The girls teased Eugene when he was very young into making him think he was a girl.  One day he came in and announced if he were going to be a girl he would just dress like one.  He had on his mother’s corset.

          He grew up to become quite a man in spite of that rough start.  He and a neighbor, Orlee Haygood, bought a goat together.  It was supposed to be a milk goat, but as it grew fate decided it was a billy goat, and a mischievous one at that.  Mrs. Pirtle had washed the bed sheets on a rub-board with lye soap and hung them on the line to dry.  Looking out the window Mrs. Pirtle noticed the goat chewing on one of the clean sheets.  She shooed the goat; the goat ran, pulling all the sheets into the dirt.  That was when they all decided the goat would make better cabrito than milk.  This episode inspired Eugene, so he wrote a song and taught it to the girls:

     Oh, the billy goat, the billy goat,
 Was feeling fine Was feeling fine,
    He ate those sheets, those six white sheets
     right off the line
    Then the billy goat, the billy goat
      was feeling pain, was feeling pain
     He coughed up those sheets
      Those six white sheets,
     And flagged the train.

          Once Frances, and Fay, 2 of the older sisters, and Gene were digging a new cellar.  The younger sisters, Alice, Willine, and Betty were close by supervising.  They dug into a bed of baby skunks.  The older girls convinced Eugene the baby skunks would make great pets and would not smell.  Eugene convinced Mrs. Pirtle, so she relented, letting him have them for pets.  He kept them in a shoebox behind the cook stove.  One morning something disturbed the babies, and they all released their smell at one time.  That morning breakfast tasted good, but had a peculiar smell.  The shoebox was burned and the baby skunks were returned to the woods.

          Living on a farm the man of the house milks the cows.  You may be assured Eugene got the job.  One cow, “Legs, she was called,” was famous for having the habit of kicking the bucket just as it reached the halfway mark.  That morning she did it again.  All the milk did not spill, so Eugene took the pail with the little remaining milk, walked to the front of “Legs” and poured it over her head.  Of course the girls saw this.  From that time on the act was known as “The Time Gene baptized “Legs.”

          Once a neighbor, Mrs. Dutton, whose husband was out of town, said she was afraid of being home alone.  Brave Faye and Eugene offered to stay the night with her.  Unknown to them there was to be a total eclipse of the moon that night.  As the night, bright with a full moon, began getting darker a strange feeling crept over the farm house.  Eugene went to the window to see what was happening.  Mrs. Dutton noticed the unusual light and  came to the window and stumbled over Eugene.  They both screamed.  Faye, still in bed, leapt up and screamed.  Not knowing what was happening they all raced to the living room and landed on the couch, clutching each other.  They finely figured what was going on and had a good laugh.  

          The war ended and Eugene’s brothers, W.A. and James came home and moved to Burnet, Texas.  Eugene packed up his shirts, his sly grin, and came to Burnet, my home town.  Eugene was well received by us boys, and the girls were ecstatic.  Eugene helped organized an ‘Outlaw’ basket ball team.  We ordered satin black   uniforms, each with white double numbers.  Eugene’s number was eleven.  He stole so many balls from our opponents he became known as “Stealing Leben.”   Us six boys took on all comers.  We played the State Champion team from Johnson City and held them to 100 points to our 40.  Eugene invited a team from Ft. Hood to play us.  Their 4 teams arrived in 3 busses and pretty well ragged us until the only thing left in us was Gene’s grin.  Eugene was the only one of our gang to earn a ‘letter’ in basket ball.

          Eugene and I, and 3 other guys hatched  a plan to take a road trip to the Grand Canyon.  Dad loaned us his car and we loaded it with food, bedding and headed west.  Each night we  found a spot by the side of the road and camped.  Eugene was elected camp cook and he did a fine job. We later learned the reason he took the task; he didn’t want to drag firewood, or wash dishes.  We sampled Juarez, swam in the Pecos River, and reached the bottom of Carlsbad Caverns.  At the Grand Canyon we raced down Bright Angle Trail, and crawled back up.  On the way home we took in the Meteor Crater in Arizona.  Camping out that night Eugene cooked up pancakes from our dwindling larder, using substitute ingredients. He may have invented the toughest pancakes in history.  However, later we were able to use them to swat mosquitoes.  Arriving home, Dad was glad to see us 5 boys safe and sound.  And the car looked ok also.

           To the Burnet girl’s dismay, Eugene began dating a beautiful red headed, rancher’s daughter from Lampasas.  He and Veona, and me and my girl double dated all over central Texas.  Soon Gene introduced me to his little sister, Alice.  Us four became inseparable and dated in not only central Texas, but widened our scope to include the complete state.  We climbed mountains, swam rivers, explored caves, ate in cafes from Amarillo to Brownsville, and stayed up late from Texarkana to El Paso.  He married Veona, I married Alice.  He went west, and built a fine ‘oil patch’ buisness, and became a leader in the city of Odessa.  I stayed east, and enjoyed the green grass.  But the best thing Eugene did was introduce me to Alice, his little sister.    

          We reluctantly released Eugene into God’s care.  I know with his exuberance for life, his love for family and friends and his infectious sly grin he will take Heaven easily. 

            I don’t know why boys do it.  But on bright, cool, days of late winter we liked to walk in the woods, with no purpose or destination in mind.  We just headed for the nearest wooded pasture and walked for the thrill of being away from houses, streets, and perhaps parents. My friend, Roy Edward and I practiced this pass time often. 

            This particular day the weather was just right, the temperature perfect, and we felt that primeval urge calling from the pastures like Ulysses’ sirens.  With a gentle breeze to our backs we headed for the woods.  We heard a yell. “ Hey guys, where are you going?” a voice called.  It was Donald Guy Hicks.  Donald was an ok guy, but a little round all over and considered a little sissy.  And he was just a kid.  Roy and I were fourteen years old and almost grown, and this boy could not have been much older that ten or eleven.  “We are just going walking,” we said.  “Hey, I want to go too,” Donald said.  With some disappointment we agreed, but he would have to leave that stupid rope.  He said he would walk behind us and be quite, and besides we might find a tall tree to swing from. “Ok, but the first problem you cause, it’s back home you go,” we demanded.

            The pastures, meadows, and woods were particularly pleasant that day.  We walked for some time and came upon an old abandoned quarry.  The scar in the hillside made by the equipment and the cutting of stone had left a jumbled, other world landscape.  We climbed tumbled rocks, and boulders, jumping from one to another with glee.  Exhausted, we found a comfortable place to sit and toss pebbles into the pond of blue green water at the bottom of the quarry.  Hunger is never far from young kids thoughts.  So Roy and I hatched a plan.  We sent Donald back to my house for something to eat.  I wrote Mother a note asking for bacon, potatoes, bread, and a frying pan.  Donald soon returned with the food.  We built a fire, fried the bacon, fried the potatoes, and even fried slices of bread in the bacon grease.  We ate it all.  Like three fat dogs we lay on the warm rocks and talked of far away places, with strange sounding names, and expansive white sandy beaches.

            Suddenly we were aware of the fact it was getting late. We hurriedly scooped up all our stuff and started towards home.  In my hurry I took a short cut close to the forbidding pond.  A sand covered rock, and my hurry caused me to fall into the greenish water, skillet, sack and all.  The walls around the water were all perpendicular and proved impossible to climb out.  I yelled and splashed about looking for a handhold.  Roy was running around the edge yelling.  But Donald coolly uncoiled that stupid rope, tossed me one end and he and Roy pulled me to safety.  That was one cool walk home, but a happy one.  Donald Guy looked a lot older that day, and he wasn’t as fat, or as sissified as we first thought.

            We have a lot of cats.  Well, really they have us.  You see these cats were abandoned on the road that runs by our house and they just naturally take up residence at our place.  We can’t touch them, nor do I want to.  When I holler scat you can be sure they all head for the timber.  All but one.  He is a big black tomcat with a white streak of fur that runs from his nose, down the front of his chest and disappears under his belly.  He has long shiny black hair that gives him a set of wide whiskers that reminds me of an old time banker.  He looks mean.  He doesn’t scat very well.  In fact he looked up at me and said, “What do you mean, ‘scat’?” 

            The first time this happened I was a bit taken aback.  But we soon were on speaking terms, and are now getting along well.  I named him Felix for no other reason than he looks like a ‘Felix’.  Felix refuses to speak or answer me when any other cat or human is around.  That seems to suit us both just fine.

            The other day, when we had a few spring days and the weather was fine, I was sitting, swinging in the porch swing when he ambled up and sat there eyeing me closely.  I spoke to him and asked how his new year was progressing? 

            He licked his paws, preened his fur and replied, “Just fine, as long as you keep the cat food coming.”

            I felt that was a sassy reply, but not surprising.  “No, I mean how do you feel about the financial problems, the wars, the weather, and the new administration?”

            “The finance’s of a person, state or nation is a natural roller coaster ride,” Felix said. “ Most of the trouble is in our attitude towards the problem.  We probably need to be more careful with our spending anyway.”  “As for the wars, you know what the Bible says about armed conflicts. We all deplore them but keep getting ourselves involved in them anyway,” he continued.  “As for the government in Washington, I think the new administration will do about as well as it can.  There are a lot of folks with their hands out for many reasons, some worthy, some greedy, and some down right swindling.”

            About this time a calico cat came upon the porch, arched her back and hissed at Felix.  He took umbrage at the interruption and chased her back into the woods.  He soon returned and lay down and curled himself up as if to take a nap.

            “Hey,” I hollered, “You didn’t say a thing about this weather we are having.  You know it is dryer than I can remember.”

            Felix got up, stretched, clawed the gallery post and said, “You know, you humans must spend a lot of time thinking up things to worry about.”  “You know there has only been one time when it never rained?” 

            Well he had me there.  “And when was that?” I demanded.

            “This time,” he said sarcastically.   “Happy New Year, and don’t forget to get another bag of cat food at Winkley’s Hardware and Feed store.”

            With that he ambled off down the porch and into the woods. 

Hollis Baker  4 January 2009

            The three sisters were busy looking for hidden presents.  It was Christmas Eve and they had not found a single package, wrapped in plain paper or bright tissue and bows.  They had searched the whole house, it seemed.

            “Do you think Mom and Dad have forgotten what time of year it is?” asked the youngest.

            “No, they never forget anything.  You know how our folks are,” the oldest, and leader of the trio said.

            “I know,” the thinker, and middle sister said, “lets look in the attic.”

            In haste the three climbed the dusty, dark stairs to the mysterious room beneath the roof.  The door creaked open.  An eastern window let in what light was left of Christmas Eve.  They spied a single light bulb with a dangling string hanging in the middle of the attic. 

            In a whisper middle sister said, “Turn the light on.”  The room was suddenly illuminated, casting strange shadows from stacked boxes, discarded toys, and baskets of last year’s clothes.   A quick search still found no hidden holiday presents.

            The three sat in the middle of the room in a dejected clump.  Disappointment filled their whispered voices, “I so wanted an I-phone. And I wanted new Nikes. And I need a new Blackberry.” They wailed. 

            Then a voice came from a rolled up carpet, leaning against the wall ”Muffump.”

            “What was that?” they screamed in unison. 

            “Un…roll…me,” the voice said.

            With trembling hands, the sisters undid the tied roll, reveling a tattered, and faded piece of carpet. 

            “You can talk?” they asked.

            “Yes,” the carpet said, “I am old and worn out, but I think I have one more trip left in me.  Climb aboard.”

            With that the three sat and clutched each other as the carpet fluttered, lifted off the floor and flew out the window.

            “Where are we going?” the girls demanded.  “And what are you anyway?”

            “We are going east, a long way, and back in time, a long way back.  And if you must know I am a carpet, a tired, but Magic Carpet.”

            Soon the carpet slowed, flew lower, made a wide circle around a small village whose streets were filled with people, and carts, and animals.  The carpet flew, slowly down winding streets, and alleyways, and then stopped at a barn like shelter.  Inside were donkeys, sheep, and a few cows.  From a corner of the barn a bright, shimmering, glow of light illuminated the shelter. In a manger lay a newborn child.  The parents huddled closely in the cold of the coming night.  The children watched in awe as a group of shepherds, in their tattered garments,  knelt at the borrowed bed. Then came three richly dressed men upon handsome steeds bearing gifts.  The glowing light brightened as singing voices lifted to fill the area with music.

            The Magic Carpet said, “We must go.  I feel week, and my strength is ebbing.”

            The sisters tarried, in wonder.  “Quick, we must go,” he insisted.

            Suddenly they found themselves sitting on a tattered, and worn piece of carpet in the middle of the attic.  Their voices were muted, and their eyes misted with tears of joy.  Filled with a newfound wisdom the girls filed silently down the stairs.

            “Girls,” their Mom said, “what have you been up to while I was gone?”

            In unison they said, “Mom, we have just seen the Magic of Christmas.”