Sunday, October 28, 2007
Halloween Surprise
Author's Note: In honor of Halloween, I thought I would share a short story I wrote about a memorable Halloween from my youth. I can still hear my dad recounting the story at family gatherings. Enjoy.
My father was in the chicken business. To be more specific, our farm produced eggs. Our chickens were in wire cages with a slanted wire floor suspended from the ceilings of two long buildings. The hens would lay eggs every day in these cages and the eggs rolled out onto a wire tray. My cousin Marty and I had to pick them up and place them into paper flats or holders stacked one on top of the other. We pushed rickety, old, wooden carts down the aisles between the cages gathering these eggs. The flats on the carts were then unloaded into two-sided, cardboard egg cases. Each side held six flats. The egg cases were then stacked and stored inside the cooler, a refrigerated room at the front of each building. Several times a week, a truck picked up the cases of eggs and took them to market. This was the heart of my father’s business.
With all these chickens came plenty of chicken manure. Each chicken house had manure pits running underneath the cages that had to be cleaned out twice a year. This was not a pleasant job in those days, as it involved scoop shovels, wheelbarrows and manual labor in a hot and smelly environment. My dad and my uncle hired local high school boys to accomplish this task. These boys quickly learned there were easier ways to earn a buck, so it became harder and harder to recruit them. Several years later, someone invented a machine to do it quicker and more efficiently. Eventually, we bought one of those machines, but at the time, this backbreaking, stench-filled process was essential. The manure was taken from the pits and loaded onto a manure spreader. A tractor pulled the spreader out into the area fields and the manure was then distributed as fertilizer. Nothing went to waste on our farm. Even the chickens were recycled to the soup factory after they stopped laying eggs.
One fall, some of the high school boys got together and decided they would have some fun with all the eggs we had stored in our coolers. They made plans to strike on Halloween night under cover of darkness. There was a deserted lane just up the road from our chicken farm where they would park the “get-away car” for their escape back to town. One of them would stay in the car with the engine running. Fortunately, for my dad and my uncle, one of the boys tipped them off to the plan, so they were able to plan a little Halloween surprise of their own.
I was only ten years old at the time, but I will never forget my father and uncle’s account of what took place that Halloween night. Sometime after dark, my dad and uncle made their way out to the chicken house to set up a trap by the cooler. They took our farm dog, Shotsy, and a loaded shotgun. Dad meant only to scare, not hurt, the young egg-bandits who would be sneaking into the chicken house that night. They settled in, listened in the dark for footsteps and the telltale laughter, and hushed voices that would follow.
Finally, just after 10’clock, the boys came sneaking up to the building closest to the road. My dad and uncle figured this would be the more likely target of the two buildings. As the door opened slowly, my uncle reached around for the light switch. Suddenly my dad, shotgun in hand, and our dog were bathed in light before them.
“What are you guys doing here?” Dad shouted, trying hard not to laugh at the surprised look on the boys’ faces.
Once the initial shock of being discovered by my dad holding a gun and a growling dog sunk in, there was a mad scramble for the door. No time for words. Escape was their only thought. Quickly my dad and uncle followed them out of the door. Shotsy was barking and growling but dad held her back until the boys had a good head start running out ahead of them. Suddenly a shotgun blast rang out and the boys changed the direction they were running. Now they were headed toward a dark patch of ground by the ditch beside the road. What they did not know is that my dad and uncle had dumped a large load of chicken manure in the ditch at that spot.
As the boys ran knee-deep into the pile of chicken manure, they began to slip and fall down, thoroughly coating themselves. Shotsy was not far behind them, now. She was barking ferociously to make sure they kept running down the road to their waiting car. The driver having heard the shotgun blast and seeing the boys running toward him with a dog on their tail jumped into the car and got ready to move out. Unfortunately, for the boys, the driver could also smell the chicken manure on the mob running toward his car. Discretion being the better part of valor, he quickly rolled up his windows, locked the doors and sped off toward town, leaving the young would-be egg breakers stranded. They now had to walk the two miles back to town in the dark covered head to foot in chicken manure. I still cringe when I think what that hike back to town must have been like for them.
My father had quite a reputation in town after that Halloween. We never had to worry about vandalism after that. He had a newfound respect, especially among the high school boys. A few years after that, we moved away to the suburbs of Chicago. Marty’s sister, Brenda, and her family moved into our old farmhouse. My father and Shotsy are gone now. There is not much left of the farm but a vacant building surrounded by weeds amid the sprawling corn and soybean fields, but I think about those days and I miss them. I miss hearing my dad telling the story of his Halloween surprise.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
The Skunk and the Fur Coat
When I was a young boy, I grew up on a farm in central Illinois. My dad was always bringing home animals or people were dropping them off because...well we lived on a farm. He was always bringing home dogs. Dogs were his favorite, but we also had goats, Guinea fouls (birds that roosted in trees and made noise), Shetland ponies and even a pet raccoon. I think the strangest animal though had to be the baby skunk that someone left with us.
The baby skunk was very tame and we could hand feed it. I seem to recall my dad saying that only adult skunks spray and only when they feel threatened, therefore we should not worry about the little fellow. We kept the skunk in a cardboard box until one day the little guy made a break for it and joined his pals in the wild...or so we thought.
We lived in a 100-year-old farmhouse. It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. There were not a lot of closets for the upstairs bedrooms so I had to put some of my clothes in the small closet downstairs in the living room under the old staircase. Dad and I had our suits in that closet. The foundation of the farmhouse had a low crawlspace with one opening, a piece of circular drain tile, just big enough for critters the size of a cat. That was good because we had plenty of farm cats that kept our rats and mice to a minimum.
Okay, so why am I talking about suits in the closet of this old farmhouse and what about the escaped skunk? Well, you see, one Saturday night, after we all went to bed, one of those farm cats had a run in with...you guessed it... a skunk that decided to take up residence under the house. Our little skunk had not gone far from home.
By Sunday morning, the house reeked of skunk. It was especially bad at the center of the house right under the closet in the living room. Mom ran around opening widows, but it was too late, the damage had been done. Our suits had soaked up the wonderful aroma wafting up through the floorboards of the old house.
That Sunday, Dad had promised to take me to church for some reason (a rarity by the way, now that I think about it) and so we put on our suits (yes, we actually wore suits to church in those days) and headed off to town. The smell did not seem so bad once we were in the car driving a few miles down the road...with the windows open.
Dad and I got to church late with all the excitement back at home. The service had already started so we slipped into the pews at the very back of the church. Fortunately, they were empty so no one would be sitting next to us. Unfortunately, Joe Whaley and his wife were seated in the pew right in front of us. They were neighbors who lived just a mile up the road from our farm. Now, Joe was a short, little old man with a shiny, baldhead. His wife was a rather large woman with a brand new fur coat that Joe had proudly purchased for her. She was in her glory before God and the rest of the congregation that day. Sadly, Dad and I became the “fly in her ointment” that morning.
As the service droned on, we noticed Joe’s wife sniffing the air with disdain. She began sniffing her new coat, then she sniffed the air again. Finally, she poked her poor husband and made him smell her fur coat. Joe just shrugged and she poked him again, harder this time. This sniffing and poking went on through the rest of the service. Dad and I made a hasty exit, the first chance we got and headed back home.
I always felt bad about ducking out and not telling the old man and his wife that it was us and not the fur coat, but then I guess it was God’s way of teaching about pride in material things. Who were we to question the ways of the Lord?
Food for THOUGHT...
The baby skunk was very tame and we could hand feed it. I seem to recall my dad saying that only adult skunks spray and only when they feel threatened, therefore we should not worry about the little fellow. We kept the skunk in a cardboard box until one day the little guy made a break for it and joined his pals in the wild...or so we thought.
We lived in a 100-year-old farmhouse. It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. There were not a lot of closets for the upstairs bedrooms so I had to put some of my clothes in the small closet downstairs in the living room under the old staircase. Dad and I had our suits in that closet. The foundation of the farmhouse had a low crawlspace with one opening, a piece of circular drain tile, just big enough for critters the size of a cat. That was good because we had plenty of farm cats that kept our rats and mice to a minimum.
Okay, so why am I talking about suits in the closet of this old farmhouse and what about the escaped skunk? Well, you see, one Saturday night, after we all went to bed, one of those farm cats had a run in with...you guessed it... a skunk that decided to take up residence under the house. Our little skunk had not gone far from home.
By Sunday morning, the house reeked of skunk. It was especially bad at the center of the house right under the closet in the living room. Mom ran around opening widows, but it was too late, the damage had been done. Our suits had soaked up the wonderful aroma wafting up through the floorboards of the old house.
That Sunday, Dad had promised to take me to church for some reason (a rarity by the way, now that I think about it) and so we put on our suits (yes, we actually wore suits to church in those days) and headed off to town. The smell did not seem so bad once we were in the car driving a few miles down the road...with the windows open.
Dad and I got to church late with all the excitement back at home. The service had already started so we slipped into the pews at the very back of the church. Fortunately, they were empty so no one would be sitting next to us. Unfortunately, Joe Whaley and his wife were seated in the pew right in front of us. They were neighbors who lived just a mile up the road from our farm. Now, Joe was a short, little old man with a shiny, baldhead. His wife was a rather large woman with a brand new fur coat that Joe had proudly purchased for her. She was in her glory before God and the rest of the congregation that day. Sadly, Dad and I became the “fly in her ointment” that morning.
As the service droned on, we noticed Joe’s wife sniffing the air with disdain. She began sniffing her new coat, then she sniffed the air again. Finally, she poked her poor husband and made him smell her fur coat. Joe just shrugged and she poked him again, harder this time. This sniffing and poking went on through the rest of the service. Dad and I made a hasty exit, the first chance we got and headed back home.
I always felt bad about ducking out and not telling the old man and his wife that it was us and not the fur coat, but then I guess it was God’s way of teaching about pride in material things. Who were we to question the ways of the Lord?
Food for THOUGHT...
Monday, October 15, 2007
The Hand of Fate
Even though it was an Inconvenient Truth, one man (who lost the presidency even though he actually won the election), wins the Nobel Peace Prize and an Academy Award all in one year. How amazing is that?
The other man (who lost the election, but gained the presidency) misled us into a quagmire war, alienated half the world, including most of our allies, destroyed our nation’s reputation and bankrupted the country. How unfortunate is that?
Fate gave us two men, one seeking to enlighten the world and the other...well, let history write his final chapter. We can only wonder where our nation would be if fate had not handed the presidency to George W. Bush. Assuming 9/11 would have happened to both men as president, one has to wonder if we would be fighting two wars and getting ready to start a third in Iran, if the U.S. Supreme Court had chosen Al Gore. We will never know for sure, but I believe it highly unlikely.
Many of the political pundits are now speculating that Gore might or should jump into the presidential race after winning the Nobel Peace Prize. I hope he has sense enough not to run. The Democrats do not need their own version of Fred Thompson to muddy their waters. No, we need Al Gore to stay out of the race and continue to use his power and influence on the issue of global warming. We need a strong leader on this issue. Our survival on this planet may depend on it. Washington has this way of changing men and women with even the best of intentions and the best of ideas. Unlike our congress, Gore might just get something of lasting value accomplished without being bogged down by political compromise.
When I look at the accomplishments of former president Jimmy Carter and former vice president Al Gore since leaving office, I am astonished. I have to wonder what Dick Cheney and George W. Bush could ever possibly accomplish after they are out of office to match what these two men have done for our country and the world at large.
Perhaps Fate dealt Al Gore the better hand after all.
FOOD for THOUGHT...
The other man (who lost the election, but gained the presidency) misled us into a quagmire war, alienated half the world, including most of our allies, destroyed our nation’s reputation and bankrupted the country. How unfortunate is that?
Fate gave us two men, one seeking to enlighten the world and the other...well, let history write his final chapter. We can only wonder where our nation would be if fate had not handed the presidency to George W. Bush. Assuming 9/11 would have happened to both men as president, one has to wonder if we would be fighting two wars and getting ready to start a third in Iran, if the U.S. Supreme Court had chosen Al Gore. We will never know for sure, but I believe it highly unlikely.
Many of the political pundits are now speculating that Gore might or should jump into the presidential race after winning the Nobel Peace Prize. I hope he has sense enough not to run. The Democrats do not need their own version of Fred Thompson to muddy their waters. No, we need Al Gore to stay out of the race and continue to use his power and influence on the issue of global warming. We need a strong leader on this issue. Our survival on this planet may depend on it. Washington has this way of changing men and women with even the best of intentions and the best of ideas. Unlike our congress, Gore might just get something of lasting value accomplished without being bogged down by political compromise.
When I look at the accomplishments of former president Jimmy Carter and former vice president Al Gore since leaving office, I am astonished. I have to wonder what Dick Cheney and George W. Bush could ever possibly accomplish after they are out of office to match what these two men have done for our country and the world at large.
Perhaps Fate dealt Al Gore the better hand after all.
FOOD for THOUGHT...
Monday, October 8, 2007
Grandpa Again!
As some of you may know, my oldest daughter and her husband are expecting their second child in April next year. That means that I will be a grandpa again (grandpa X 2) and Emma gets to be a big sister. It started me thinking about my own Grandpa on my mother’s side of the family. I never knew my other grandpa, as he passed away before I was born and my parents divorced when I was quite young.
There are many things I could say about my Grandpa Hembree, but the one thing that sticks out in my mind is that he was a man of few words. When our families would get together for holidays and other occasions, my grandfather would find a nice quiet corner and fade into the background.
He would take out his pipe and have a smoke. He never liked to be far from home and when he was ready to leave, it was always to check the old potbelly stove back at home. Even when a modern gas heater with a thermostat replaced the old coal-burning monstrosity...he had to go home and check it anyway. I never really felt comfortable trying to talk to my grandfather. He always seemed lost in his own thoughts far away from what was happening.
He liked watching the western, Gun Smoke, on television every Saturday night without fail. Then he listened to boxing on the radio sponsored by Gillette Razors. Grandpa also loved to fish. He and his next-door neighbor often went fishing after work on Friday nights. If I spent the night, I would rush outside the back porch the next morning to see what they had caught. I loved to watch the fish swimming in Grandma’s old washtub. Grandpa was fond of his little dog, Ginger. She slept under the front porch of the house and sometimes I would try to wiggle under there with her, but Grandpa would find a way to coax me out from under there so she could have some peace and quiet.
Once, when I was older, my mom and I stopped by for a visit. I found myself sitting on the front porch alone with my Grandpa Hembree as my mother and grandma talked inside the kitchen. I remember feeling awkward at first, wondering what to talk about with this man who rarely had something to say. I do not remember who started the conversation, but one thing led to another and before long, we were chatting away. Before I knew it, we were in Grandpa’s car going to see the new highway being built just outside of town. I am not sure why, but my grandfather and I really bonded that day. I saw a completely new side of him. He was suddenly this man with plenty to say and to my surprise, I had plenty to talk about as well. I will never forget that day as long as I live.
San Antonio, Texas is a long way from Des Moines, Iowa and the kind of family gatherings I had with my grandparents are not likely. My daughters, brother, sister and I are scattered all over the country these days. There are other grandpas and grandmas who live closer and visit Emma more often. There are times when I worry about being a stranger to my grandchildren, but I have to be content with e-mailed pictures and video clips that my daughter sends me on a regular basis (thank God for the internet) and the occasional phone calls and trips up north. My hope is that someday, I too, can have that wonderful bonding moment that I had with my Grandpa Hembree. I have so much to tell my grandkids.
Being a grandfather is an awesome responsibility. Who else is going to tell them stories, spoil them rotten, forget who broke the lamp when they were jumping on the couch and slip a few “pesos” into their little palms...but grandpa? It is the “Grandpa Code” of the West.
Hang in there, Emma. I’m coming soon with Alamo Crackers and stories about your mom when she was your age. We will also have to go over some things now that you are about to be a big sister, so don’t grow up too fast! I am working on some of my best material.
FOOD for THOUGHT...
Gramps
There are many things I could say about my Grandpa Hembree, but the one thing that sticks out in my mind is that he was a man of few words. When our families would get together for holidays and other occasions, my grandfather would find a nice quiet corner and fade into the background.
He would take out his pipe and have a smoke. He never liked to be far from home and when he was ready to leave, it was always to check the old potbelly stove back at home. Even when a modern gas heater with a thermostat replaced the old coal-burning monstrosity...he had to go home and check it anyway. I never really felt comfortable trying to talk to my grandfather. He always seemed lost in his own thoughts far away from what was happening.
He liked watching the western, Gun Smoke, on television every Saturday night without fail. Then he listened to boxing on the radio sponsored by Gillette Razors. Grandpa also loved to fish. He and his next-door neighbor often went fishing after work on Friday nights. If I spent the night, I would rush outside the back porch the next morning to see what they had caught. I loved to watch the fish swimming in Grandma’s old washtub. Grandpa was fond of his little dog, Ginger. She slept under the front porch of the house and sometimes I would try to wiggle under there with her, but Grandpa would find a way to coax me out from under there so she could have some peace and quiet.
Once, when I was older, my mom and I stopped by for a visit. I found myself sitting on the front porch alone with my Grandpa Hembree as my mother and grandma talked inside the kitchen. I remember feeling awkward at first, wondering what to talk about with this man who rarely had something to say. I do not remember who started the conversation, but one thing led to another and before long, we were chatting away. Before I knew it, we were in Grandpa’s car going to see the new highway being built just outside of town. I am not sure why, but my grandfather and I really bonded that day. I saw a completely new side of him. He was suddenly this man with plenty to say and to my surprise, I had plenty to talk about as well. I will never forget that day as long as I live.
San Antonio, Texas is a long way from Des Moines, Iowa and the kind of family gatherings I had with my grandparents are not likely. My daughters, brother, sister and I are scattered all over the country these days. There are other grandpas and grandmas who live closer and visit Emma more often. There are times when I worry about being a stranger to my grandchildren, but I have to be content with e-mailed pictures and video clips that my daughter sends me on a regular basis (thank God for the internet) and the occasional phone calls and trips up north. My hope is that someday, I too, can have that wonderful bonding moment that I had with my Grandpa Hembree. I have so much to tell my grandkids.
Being a grandfather is an awesome responsibility. Who else is going to tell them stories, spoil them rotten, forget who broke the lamp when they were jumping on the couch and slip a few “pesos” into their little palms...but grandpa? It is the “Grandpa Code” of the West.
Hang in there, Emma. I’m coming soon with Alamo Crackers and stories about your mom when she was your age. We will also have to go over some things now that you are about to be a big sister, so don’t grow up too fast! I am working on some of my best material.
FOOD for THOUGHT...
Gramps
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
To My Granddaughter Emma
Emma, I am your grandpa in San Antonio. You don’t know me that well because I live far away and I’ve only been to see you a few times since you were born, but believe me I think about you all the time. Your mom sends me pictures and video clips of you so I feel like I have been watching you grow into the “big girl” you say you are every chance you get these days. I am so old I even have pictures of your mom and Aunt Erin when they were about your age.
Emma, the world is a wonderful place, but it has its ups and downs. Each day gives us another chance at happiness and sadness. I wish I could say that my generation was leaving you a perfect world, but the truth is we made a bit of a mess of some things. We are leaving you with problems like global warming, worldwide terrorism, war, poverty and pollution. Each preceding generation helped create these problems to be sure, but my generation should have done more for yours.
My generation forgot a lot of things. We forgot that while Mother Nature is very forgiving, She has limits to the amount of abuse She can take. We forgot that we should love and respect one another and to treat others the way we would want to be treated ourselves. We forgot how to share. We forgot the joy of giving to those less fortunate than ourselves. Sometimes we got so busy with worldly things that we forgot how to laugh out loud. We forgot how good it is to stop and smell roses and watch the beauty of sunsets. We forgot how to be tolerant of others. So many times, we forgot how to seek the truth and be honest with ourselves.
What we leave your generation is our hope. We leave you with wonderful scientific advances that have led to marvelous discoveries in medicine and science. We leave you with possibilities for a brighter future on this planet. Will you find a way to deliver affordable healthcare to everyone who needs it? Will you find a way to end poverty and feed the hungry? Will you find a way to end our thoughtless pollution of the planet and reverse our global warming? Will you find a way to bring peace, justice and tolerance to a world so tired of war and terrorism? Soon it will be your turn to change the world and try to make it into a better place and I wish you all the best.
The challenge to your generation will be to undo our mistakes, find solutions and accomplish what we could not do during our time. Your challenge will be to find a way to bring more peace, joy and love into a starving world. I challenge you to wage peace, not war in a world too quick to go to war, too quick to use force to resolve complex problems. I challenge you to find long lasting and meaningful solutions, not quick fixes. I challenge you to laugh often, love with an open heart and cherish your friends and family. Be the best Emma you can be.
God Bless you!
FOOD for THOUGHT...
Gramps
Emma, the world is a wonderful place, but it has its ups and downs. Each day gives us another chance at happiness and sadness. I wish I could say that my generation was leaving you a perfect world, but the truth is we made a bit of a mess of some things. We are leaving you with problems like global warming, worldwide terrorism, war, poverty and pollution. Each preceding generation helped create these problems to be sure, but my generation should have done more for yours.
My generation forgot a lot of things. We forgot that while Mother Nature is very forgiving, She has limits to the amount of abuse She can take. We forgot that we should love and respect one another and to treat others the way we would want to be treated ourselves. We forgot how to share. We forgot the joy of giving to those less fortunate than ourselves. Sometimes we got so busy with worldly things that we forgot how to laugh out loud. We forgot how good it is to stop and smell roses and watch the beauty of sunsets. We forgot how to be tolerant of others. So many times, we forgot how to seek the truth and be honest with ourselves.
What we leave your generation is our hope. We leave you with wonderful scientific advances that have led to marvelous discoveries in medicine and science. We leave you with possibilities for a brighter future on this planet. Will you find a way to deliver affordable healthcare to everyone who needs it? Will you find a way to end poverty and feed the hungry? Will you find a way to end our thoughtless pollution of the planet and reverse our global warming? Will you find a way to bring peace, justice and tolerance to a world so tired of war and terrorism? Soon it will be your turn to change the world and try to make it into a better place and I wish you all the best.
The challenge to your generation will be to undo our mistakes, find solutions and accomplish what we could not do during our time. Your challenge will be to find a way to bring more peace, joy and love into a starving world. I challenge you to wage peace, not war in a world too quick to go to war, too quick to use force to resolve complex problems. I challenge you to find long lasting and meaningful solutions, not quick fixes. I challenge you to laugh often, love with an open heart and cherish your friends and family. Be the best Emma you can be.
God Bless you!
FOOD for THOUGHT...
Gramps
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