Looking Back

I was not old and had no immediate plans for arriving at that state until the day I began meditating about the general discontent that was sweeping across our nation.  On that day, I began to wonder what had been happening while I had been busying myself being a homemaker and raising our children the best that I could.

It was apparent that although I had been dutifully voting in all elections, I had been oblivious to much that had happened afterwards. Over the years a very large number of people had become very unhappy with taxes and what they considered increasing infringement on their freedom of choices. Were they justified in their feelings, I wondered? If so how had it happened? 
  

Why had such unrest suddenly erupted? Was it the proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back? Obviously a large group of citizens had had enough, already.

      At this point, my thoughts meandered back to my childhood when I had listened to my father rave and rant about the government’s city slickers telling him how he had to conduct his business, which was farming.

      Now this couldn’t have been too terribly long ago, could it? I remember it all so very clearly. So, I thought back to those days and went a step farther…I counted the presidential administrations  of my lifetime and suddenly I became old.  No, that is not correct: I became ancient!  I counted fifteen of these. I counted again and then I made a list. The total did not change. I wondered if the ones I did not remember clearly, counted, but of course they did. One must be honest about such unavoidable issues, especially since others can also count. Of course, I have only made it through a portion of the present Obama administration, so I guess one could more accurately say I have lived through fourteen administrations, Sounds better, somehow.

In fairness, or to diminish, to my suddenly advanced years, I do not remember Calvin Coolidge or Herbert Hoover. In fact, I seem to be continually referring to my list to remind myself of their names.

Now Franklin Delano Roosevelt is entirely another issue. He was a person of impressive presence. He conveyed confidence and assurance to a nation floundering in desperation. When he spoke, his voice rolled out from the radio in a distinctive tone and an accent that could never be confused with that of a Texan. Not only did one listen because it was the President of the United States speaking, his was an enthralling voice commanding attention.Surely as FDR campaigned for office he was aware of the scope of the problems he would face if elected, for there were daily dreary news updates, and from the countryside to the large cities, there was desolation.

What type of man would voluntarily campaign for the position of leading a country with so many people practically starving, with no jobs, no homes and no hope? It took a very confident man; a man with great vision and determination. He may have had private doubts but he never hesitated as he proceeded to put our nation back on its feet. In the first 100 days of his administration he managed to get 15 legislative proposals passed into law.  Private interests were subordinated to public policy, and the federal government took on the mission of doing what no other interest could do on its own. The role of government was transformed.

From his first proposals, to today’s reviews of his administration, there has been controversy about Roosevelt’s actions. Historians still debate whether FDR’s programs were helpful in ending the Depression, or whether it was WWII that lifted the economy out of its slump.

It's also become clear to researchers, that FDR fundamentally expanded the reach and power of the federal government, a role which most Americans now accept, especially in times of crisis. And that marked a monumental change in American life.

This was confirmation of a suspicion of mine that the Roosevelt years had marked the beginning of the larger role of the government in the lives of the American people. From this administration forward, Government has continued assuming more and more authority over more and more areas, in what we can hope has been a well-meaning attempt to better our lives. Were these actions the first straws to be laid on the backs of the people?

To be fair in our assessment of those years, FDRs famous statement of “all we have to fear is fear itself” and his declaration of a “Bank Holiday“ which closed banks for three days, staving off a panicky run on the banks, were master strokes.

Perhaps the most valuable actions for future generations were the conservation measures that went into effect. At that time, there was little understanding by those using our land, of the means or value of being good custodians. This attitude, combined with a period of unseasonable winds and droughts, delivered a double-whammy to a nation already in bad trouble from the 1929 stock market crash . Fortunately for the nation, Roosevelt, or his advisors, knew the answer to that problem.

Although they may have been surprised that they could not provide the needed rain, they immediately set about salvaging what was left of our soil.

This was good, for the blinding dust storms were sending a frightening amount of our nation toward the oceans.

Farming practices that are now considered the normal and sensible way were generally unheard of until the Roosevelt policies went into effect. Terracing and contour planting stopped the terrible erosion that was scaring our farmland with head-deep ditches that were getting deeper with every rain. Cover crops were planted to hold the remaining soil in place despite the strong winds. Soil enriching crops were planted and crop rotation was encouraged.

Today, I can drive by my old home place and look at level fields where once there were once deep intersecting ditches showing layers of red clay, scarring the land. And I can mentally vision the young surveyor laying out the contours the terraces needed to follow. I can see my father with his horse-drawn scraper or scoop, moving dirt across low places to stop the flow of water or with a team and plow going back and forth, gradually making a ridge of soil that formed the terraces that also controlled the runoff. In particular, I can remember heavy rains that filled a terraced low place to the top with muddy water and then breaking through, leaving an impressive gap three or four feet deep and at least five feet wide, that had to be rebuilt.

How would our landscape appear today had President Roosevelt not instigated the programs to save our land. In those efforts we can see the value of caring for our environment. Without that wonderful top soil which was disappearing at an alarming rate, what would have happened to our food supply?

 Other programs of the FDR administration proved extremely successful.

A Civilian Conservation Corp or CCCs was created for young men to enter. They were paid about $21 per month, with the biggest part of that amount being sent home to assist their families. The young men, some mere boys, kept a small amount for their personal use.

CCC camps were established across the nation with barracks and tents for housing. The training and discipline were thorough and strict and usually administrated by army sergeants according to army standards. Many kinds of training prepared these groups to do environmental work where needed or to build community centers and other facilities for towns in need. They established many of the parks we are presently enjoying, much of their masonry work still available for use.

       In recent years, the Parks and Recreation Department has held reunions of CCC members, to show their appreciation for the great work they did. In chatting with one old fellow (well, he appeared to be a few years older than I), he reflected the view of most of the attendees: they were the ones who appreciated the help the program gave to their families, and the discipline and training that they received. There is no doubt that we who appreciate the preservation of the special places that have become our state and national parks, have these men and the  CCC program to be grateful for.

Another work day 

The CCC s were not the only family relief program. There were soup kitchens and food subsidies for a starving people and work programs were created. One, the WPA, provided work at various projects, at the government’s expense. I remember seeing participants carpooling on their way to work, while my dad went about his independent ways, harnessing his team for ad pay the mortgage and buy a pair of shoes for a growing child.

Ah, that father of mine; honest and law-abiding in all ways, but with an independence and confidence in his own ability to provide for himself and his family that after years of hard work, finally paid off.

He continued fuming at the Roosevelt polices, often in colorful language, until the attack on Pearl Harbor. With the president’s words, in his unforgettable voice, “We are at war,” my dad turned to me saying, “You’ve heard me cussing this man and you know how I feel, but we are at war and he is our Commander-in-Chief and you won’t hear me say another word.”

And he didn’t!

Fourteen years of varying political shenanagins cannot be covered in a single posting. The Roosevelt years, alone, are worth another post. As my beginning words indicated, my interest in the discontent of so many citizens, led me to delving into what actions (or lack of action) of past administrations had brought this about. Surely we must have been asleep at the wheel.  Unfortunately, those years of sleep, have brought about sudden awaking to a world that is causing a great amount of  political  unrest. 

The question is: will it be to little too late, or will good things happen because of this unrestThe first 100 days

Dannie

Dandy's Yogg on the 4th of July

Woof, woof.

     Today was a great change from our usual ones. We drove miles and miles on  I-20 and turned in all kinds of directions before stopping, and I found I had arrived at this really neat place with lots of rooms and a big puddle of water to look at.  It was nice to see the humans that I knew and I got to go all around and smell every thing.

      It was an interesting place with lots of doors and a big window to look out and watch my friends play in that water.I didn't ask to go out there  though; I wanted to stay close to My Lady.

Real cats

      When we first arrived we were greeted by what my friend claimed to be a pair of resident cats. I’m not sure about that. One of them disappeared soon after we arrived and the other looked like no cat I’ve ever seen before.  I know what a cat looks like. I’ve chased them, let them rub all over me, and follow me everywhere I go. I’ve even watched them eat my food (but only when My Lady has me on a tight leash) these are cats, right?

The Big Fellow

     Anyway this cat which they called Fairlane, pretty well ignored me and I certainly wasn’t interested in cozying up with a cat, so we touched noses once and went our own way….for a while.

     It was near lunch time when disaster hit. I had been comfy under the table until I spotted dishes of food and water over in a corner. Well I meandered over to check it out and this Fairlane fellow attacked me.
     Now, I’m an average size for a Dinmont Terrier; about 13 pounds. This animal that they claim is a cat, weighs at least 25 pounds. I heard his Lady say so. So you can imagine how surprised I was to  have a 25 pound bundle of clawing fur rolling me around on the floor.   I have to tell you, I was more than surprised! I was scared out of my wits and besides, you readers just imagine having something twice your size knocking you around on a hard floor. I think that with all the snarls and yowls it got terribly noisy. I did my best to defend my reputation as a Terrier, but frankly, it was humiliating.

     Well, my friend grabbed me up in her arms but it took a while for me to be convinced I was safe. I seem to remember yowling a lot. She keeps saying that animal and I will become friends, but frankly, I doubt that either one of us is interested in friendship. I’m an independent, free-roaming kind of guy, and these sudden attacks aren’t what I want.   Of course, I didn't know I shouldn’t have touched his food. At my house  the cats went after my food and I sometimes slurped up theirs.

      Anyway, I expect the only thing this fellow and I share in our lives is the love of having our bellies scratched! Just look at that fat cat! Whooee! I'm glad I'm home on my own pillow.

Woof, woof.

Dandy's Yogg

      Woof, Woof!
This afternoon I heard something that has been puzzling me: I heard that I smelled like a dog. Now I ask you, what kind of remark is that? I am a dog so what am I supposed to smell like--a rose? There are times when the human race is beyond my understanding.
     The next thing that happened was a rather sneaky attack on my dignity. My Lady clipped a short lease on my harness and plopped me into a sink of warm water harness and leash attached! I think that had something to do with the last bath that I had and I ran and hid under the furniture!
      Well, I learned that time that My Lady is as obstinate ( I like that word) as I, so there"s no point in dodging the issue--if she says hush, she means hush now or go to the quite corner and if she thinks its bath time it is definitely bath time. So I just stood there in all that water and let her thoroughly wet my hair and she was so surprised all she could do was keep saying what a nice doggie I was.
I guess I was being nice, but mainly I was just doing the smart thing. I've listened to a lot of talk in my years of living with humans, and one thing is that you're not going to win an argument with a woman. So why waste your energy?

     Of course I had a few good shakes before I jumped on the couch but it wasn't over yet. My Lady followed me with this noisy contraption that she used with my brush to groom me even more. Now I hope no one tells her, but this part was great fun, I just rolled over and let her brush my belly throughly.  It was rather nice to get the rest of me dried off and brushed, so this bath thing really isn't too bad.




Anyway, I'm glad to have the burrs brushed out and the next time I hear a tub of water running, I may go jump in. I like to hear that I now look handsome so I guess I'm in good company with all the movie stars I hear people raving over. There's not much else to do around here any more. The cats have disappeared and even the 'coon hasn't been around lately. I go the window every night and watch but nothing comes around. I guess it's for the best because My Lady was getting a little irritable when I couldn't control my barking. I hear the talk that that coon would have torn me to pieces but I'm not convinced. I got so angry with that arrogant fellow daring to prowl around on my porch that I still dream of taking him on.

My Dad

     On this day, 1890, my father was born to William Floyd Anderson and Sarah Clementine Colville Anderson; he lived until October 29, 1974. His early years were spent in Hill County, in a little community named Vaughan, located south of Hillsboro, Texas. He was the first son in a family of six girls, followed later by a brother, Clark and sister Fannie.

     He never denied the family claim that he was spoiled outrageously and accepted it as his due after his marriage to my mother.

     Spoiled or not, he enjoyed his childhood in the black land of Hill County, and often spoke fondly of those years. He told of making wagon trips in the late summer or early fall to what he spoke of as “the timber” to stock their winter supply of wood and he also spoke of bluebonnets growing knee high and of the children playing and rolling around in their lush growth.

     Christmas was celebrated happily in his family but drastically different from today’s extravaganza. Each child received a toy or other appropriate gift and fruits, candy and nuts filled their stockings. His favorite gift was a small saw which he kept all his life, and which has been passed on to one of his granddaughters with do-it-yourself carpentry inclinations.

     He often spoke of an older cousin trying to trade various items in an effort to relieve him of that little saw.

     There was a traditional Christmas cake baked by his older sisters; one he described as stacks of “teacake-like” layers decorated with icing and candies such as gumdrops and jellybeans. He declared that it was so dry as to be almost inedible but year after year it appeared as a traditional Christmas goodie Obviously, it was memorable.

     Dad’s most prized possession was a covered pocket watch of white gold or platinum passed down from his father. I am now very curious about its metal; it did not darken as silver would, it did not turn yellowish as I am told white gold does, but I see no old pocket watches of platinum.  One of Dad’s great grandsons is now the owner so perhaps he can find the answer.

     His greatest regret of lost or destroyed family pieces was the thoughtless destruction of the old grandfather clock which he found lying shattered on the floor of a storeroom. Old things were not always valued and cared for, as they should have been.

      Dad spoke of a school he attended in Ft. Worth as the old Polytechnic school, which now is Texas Wesleyan. If some of his old textbooks were an accurate indication of its curriculum, most of us would be in trouble taking the courses. I never saw any signs of him absorbing any Latin so I expect he soon moved on to other interests!

      From Ft. Worth he joined other family members in West Texas. There were two sisters living in Sweetwater and he spent a short time working for a brother-in-law there in a dry cleaning business but soon decided that dealing with the public was not his life-time goal and invested in a farm in a nearby community named Eskota. There he became a successful cotton farmer until the Crash of ‘29, which wiped him out. Cotton, was too cheap to pay for its picking and lay wasting in the fields.

     He and my mother had become acquainted upon the urging of a niece who knew my mother as a teacher and prevailed upon her uncle and friend to write each other. They became acquainted via the U.S. Mail and later married in 1925, only four years before the world changed for the United States with the onset of the Great Depression.

     With no cash crop and a wife and child to support, (My mother was a teacher but as a married woman she no longer was allowed to teach) Dad was more fortunate than some, finding a place to live in Parker County and after moving there, it became his home for the rest of his life.

     I remember him as a roll-your-own cigarette smoker; one who strictly limited himself to two smokes per day, always from his can of Prince Albert tobacco. He was a voracious reader and somehow managed, even in those depression days, to subscribe to The Saturday Evening Post and a few other periodicals, which were probably part of a trade, magazine salesmen being desperate to take anything they might be able to turn into money. Until he declared I was old enough to read for myself, he read to me from those magazines and filled many hours of my life with bits of information concerning all phases of nature which he loved.

     He was a hard worker and a very independent man, determined to continue his life as a farmer, for he loved the country. He had chosen the life of a farmer for its freedom and chafed under the Government intrusions into his life as laws were passed to help the nation recover from the Depression.

      Nevertheless, together he and my mother had worked their way up from being sharecroppers to once more owning their own place and saw their daughter married to a young man who promised to take care of her.

    

Dandy'Yogg

Coon Trouble

     It’s mighty hard for a guard dog like myself to stay out of trouble if your people don’t appreciate what you’re doing! I’m doing my best to keep this persistent coon off My Lady’s porch but he keeps coming back. My Lady even put a long stick by the door to whack him with if he didn’t scat so I think she will be on my side if this ever gets serious.

I'm watching

      One evening she opened the door and that arrogant fellow just stood on his hind legs and looked at her. He knew he’d better leave the country when she picked up a stick. He looked rather impressive, though, all stretched up like that. I may need to rethink my strategy.  Anyway, since that first night when I let loose with my really big, get out of my yard, bark, I’ve enjoyed exercising my lungs, but My Lady seems to get annoyed at times. Especially when I start clawing the window glass while I’m barking. When she says hush she seems to think I should be quiet. Me? With that ring-tailed trespasser outside my window? Seem as though I get in trouble ‘most every night and have to spend time in my ‘bad dog ‘ spot on the sofa.

     I’m not real sure what she thought that night I heard something at the front of the house and sounded my alarm. That it was 2:00 in the morning and that I was looking directly at the door to the hall appeared to be a trifle upsetting to My Lady but she behaved very well and we both went back to sleep….after she locked the door. She patted me a lot so I didn’t get any ‘bad dog’ treatment that time.

I try so hard to make folks
understand

     I have two great places My Lady has fixed just for me, so I can watch outside: one by the back where that coon keeps coming, and one by a front window so I can watch cars on the street and visitors parking and lots of other interesting things.

      Yesterday she kept pointing and saying “Fox” and I finally spotted this kinda skinny fellow running around outside, He didn’t try to come up on the porch or get bossy with the cats so I didn’t see any reason to get excited about him.  He finally left and I didn’t even need to bark.

     I guess everything is fairly well under control around here. I almost slipped out the door tonight while My Lady was threatening that coon with her stick and could’ve caused some excitement! Don’t know which would have been worse … tackling that coon or living with My Lady after doing a bad thing.

Such is a dog’s life!

Exibit at the Doss Heritage and Cultural Center

Connecting Threads: Tapestries and Masks

Sherri Woodard Coffey and Pat Souder

Purple Haze, one of my favorites

Today I had a second opportunity to visit my daughter’s exhibit at the Doss and was given permission to photograph her display to share here. I didn’t have permission to take pictures of Pat’s masks, but will tell you that they are outstanding and constructed of many ever-day items that can be found in our “can’t throw that away yet” box.

The walls of the huge exhibit room were lined with Sherri’s wall hanging alternating with Pat’s masks for an outstanding display. 

This display demonstrates the many detailed steps involved in working out a design. 

Badlands,another favorite

Elemental Vision

  
These photos were taken with my cell phone and the colors are probably not exact.  I also took notebook and pen in order to enter each piece's title but failed to do so.

In an adjoining room was a fabulous display of needlework, a special cove showing a cozy needle-working corner. Glass enclosed displays of small items and beadwork added to the interest.

     The needle work ranged from an intricately quilted square, to framed reproductions of old paintings; from delicately formed fabric flowers to metallic flowers and vines. All types of stitches in every conceivable design were shown in this “eat your heart out” display of the work of some very talented needle workers.

Visit this Connecting Threads  exhibit (both rooms) and see the items displayed of some very talented artisans!    

The Old Weatherford Square

     Have you noticed our square lately? Probably not for few of us voluntarily navigate the area. The square has had many changes since1855 when Weatherford was first designated the county seat of Parker County. We citizens have protested each change since our original spacious square surrounding the courthouse was sliced away to accommodate the increased interstate traffic demands of Hwy 80. In my opinion, the trees have now grown large enough to compliment the courthouse and the surrounding landscaping is attractive. Of course, we will continue to exercise our right to criticize and complain ……..

      In the beginning we had a courthouse made of logs or split timber and log cabins and tents formed the square. In those days navigating the square was simple…unless a horse chose to buck or something caused a team and wagon run-away.

      My family moved to this county in 1929, one of many seeking a new beginning after the October market crash. Of course I don’t remember the move…truly I don’t! I do remember coming into town from the east side before the bridge over the railroad tracks was built.

         Weatherford, as the hub of the county, became the marketing center for the area’s farm products with the north and east sides of the spacious courthouse square utilized as an open market. In the earlier days the produce was usually brought to market by wagons and teams but by the late ‘30’s many old cars had been modified to carry a load of produce in a makeshift bed covered with canvas to help shade the highly perishable

produce from the sun.

    The ladies of the town could shop from a wide range of produce, some for fresh fruit or vegetables for the evening meal and some buying larger amounts for home canning. Most of the growers preferred to sell in bulk and usually had baskets of tomatoes, black-eyed peas, or peaches displayed for sale. Occasionally baskets of wild plums or grapes were brought in. As a child the job of picking ripe plums fell to me because I was the lucky person small enough to crawl under the low growing trees. What a bit of malarkey but I picked several bushel baskets of those tiny plums. Prices were low: a half-bushel of tomatoes might be 50¢ and might not sell at even that low price. Often a depressing amount of produce was returned home and fed to the hogs. When watermelons ripened, loads of Tom Watsons, and Black Diamonds were brought in and like the vegetable, were priced cheap, the price declining toward the end of the day as the farmers tried to avoid hauling them back home.

          On First Monday,the traditional marketing and trading day of many counties, the square swarmed with horses, mules, goats and dogs. There were crated chickens, geese and rabbits and probably a few wild critters. Anything that could traded for something useful or turned into cash was brought to First Monday, and tools and farm equipment, home canned goods and hand pieced quilts could usually be found.

          Although the marketing portion of the square retained a driving space between its two rows of parking and vendor sites, it was still a navigational nightmare. The square’s parking space had four exits; one on each side of the square but the traffic was two-way.  Shoppers were wandering around, other vehicles were leaving and even a few wagons with their occasionally very .nervous teams, had to make their way out these exits from the square onto the street that circled the entire complex

   Model Ts chugged as they waited an opportunity to move and old Chevys, that collectors would “die” for today, also took their turn, all giving a few “Ooggles” from old horns, their drivers fervently hoping their engines would not die and cause even more confusion while their vehicle was being cranked.

     If you think learning to drive with a stick-shift and stalling on a steep incline is a bad experience, reflect upon the days a car had to be cranked. First the driver needed to adjust the spark and gas levers properly, then getting the crank and going to the front of the car he started cranking to make the engine catch. Sometimes he was lucky and one turn sufficed. Sometimes he cranked and cranked and sometimes there was that dreaded odor of gasoline: flooded!

      The lucky guy whose car started immediately had to rush back to the drivers seat and again adjust those levers and hope that dagburned contraption didn’t stall again.

The next time you are caught in traffic around the square, just think about those good ole days.

Dannie

WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE

     What a pity it is that a person is so evil that across the world there is celebration because of his death.

       There are many things that we forget. Time and other events crowd out many memories, but the memories of the morning of 9/11 do not leave us. The enormity of the destruction and that of the horrific deaths will never leave us. Witnessing the fear of so many others as they fled the area and watching the heroic actions of firemen and police as they attempted the hopeless task of saving people are scenes that will not be forgotten..

     How many other atrocities did bin Laden mastermind?  Was he responsible for the bombing of an embassy and the USS Cole? We had no proof of who was responsible so we did nothing. These incidents were a slap in the face to the United States. They were meant to be. Neither compared to the enormity of 9/11. How did a man born into wealth, with an opportunity to do good, change into a monster? Was his hate so great that he had to destroy?

     Other questions arise. Why was he protected from discovery for so many years? Was it fear of his far reaching power or was it admiration and liking for that power. How many other bin Ladens are waiting to take his place?

     The headline shouted “WE GOT HIM!” and the nation is jubilant as it should be. It is proud of all who contributed to locating and killing this man. However, his organization still exists and will it ever be eradicated?

     It was in 1993 that we first experienced an act of terrorism against our nation.

Eighteen years ago!  All but one of those responsible were caught and sentenced and forgotten. Bin Laden was an unknown at that time and did not mastermind that attack…at least not to our knowledge.

     We’re celebrating the death of a very evil man, and we’re celebrating finally reaching our goal of capturing or destroying this man…but it’s not closure; it remains a war and will remain a war even when every member of our troops return home. It will remain a war against evil and hate.




Note:In the midst of jubilance there are some very serious thoughts.  Now we wonder: What next? And we must not forget and we must be forever vigilant.

Did You Know?

      Several months ago, before I fell and messed up my well-organized plans, I started writing about the history of Parker County. I found much more information than I expected and what I found made me realize afresh that history is much more than the dates and happenings we once worked so hard to memorize for the next day’s history test.

     History is the lives of people, whether cave men (and women) or astronauts: People who were once children, who loved and married and people who died in developing our country. Pioneers took on a new meaning as I read about those adventurous people who left the shelter and safety of Fort Worth (the army fort, not yet a town) and with their wagons loaded with all their possessions and provisions for months to come, headed west into Indian territory.

     Their lives and those of their families depended upon luck and their skill with their weapons against the extremely cruel Comanche and Kiowa Indians who claimed the unsettled area that was to become Parker County.

      After all these years, dates and names differ according to the various records, but generally 1850 is considered the beginning of this county’s settlement with one of the first settlements being established in the northern part of the county on a stage line known as the Old Fort Belknap Road.

     William G. Veal opened a general store at that location which was originally referred to as Creamland or Cream Hill. Several years later, Veal and fellow settlers John Lantz and G.W. Coleman constructed a large building that served as a Masonic meeting hall and a school. A huge bronze bell above the building was used to warn settlers of  Indian attacks. Soon after the building was finished Veal moved his general store near the school, and gradually the place came to be known as Veal's Station.

     Until the Indians were driven out the little settlement’s growth was slow but developed rapidly once that huge bell no longer rang announcing an impending attack.  The settlement grew to over 100 residents who along with surrounding farmers, were served by Veal’s original store, three churches, a school and two cotton gins.

     These were the days before our public school system and schooling had to be paid for by the parents of those attending. The Veal Station school became known as Parsons College after its director, Sam W. Parsons, and grew to an enrollment estimated at 500. This was an extremely high enrollment for the times and was made possible by an energetic agent who promoted the school throughout the developing state. Anything of value was accepted as payment for tuition and board. When Parsons resigned in 1899, he received as his last year's salary 100 cow ponies, sixty of which he traded for a store at Veal's Station.

     The routes chosen by the railroads decided the fate of many settlements across our nation and when Veal Station was bypassed it gradually declined.

     Unless there has been a revival in the last few years, a historical marker is all that now marks the site where Indians were fought and lives were lost.

    Some old timers called the area Dark Hollow and it was a bit spooky with deep valleys and streams.  My father used to take a bottle of water and hike that part of Parker County hunting for Indian artifacts. He found many in the Veal Station area indicating that it had once been the site of a major encampment. He was able to bring home many arrowheads and knives and even occasionally a grinding stone but most of these he had to leave.

      As a rock hound he also picked up interesting rocks and once brought a small chunk he identified as only a piece of Fools Gold or iron pyrite. I chose to disbelieve him. It was much more fun to let my imagination run wild. After all, this part of Texas has a history of Mexican mule trains carrying gold ore back to Mexico.  Ah-h history! There so much we don’t know; so much is lost!

Yet we can be thankful that interested people such as those listed below have saved so much.

Bibliography: Parker County Historical Markers and Joe Harper, The History of Education in Parker County, Texas (M.A. thesis, Southwest Texas State Teachers College, 1951). Gustavus Adolphus Holland, History of Parker County and the Double Log Cabin (Weatherford, Texas: Herald, 1931; rpt. 1937). Henry Smythe, Historical Sketch of Parker County and Weatherford (St. Louis: Lavat, 1877; rpt., Waco: Morrison, 1973). Weatherford Democrat, August 1

Kittens & Coons

Woof, Woof.    

        Just when I thought it was getting dull around here I heard a lot of squeaky stuff on the back porch that I couldn’t see but I looked hard as I could out the back window. I could hardly wait! When My Lady finally got around to taking me for a walk I gave that porch a real search and I found four little squeaky things. I brought one out to show off but I had to put it down double quick. My Lady said it was a baby cat, but it doesn’t look much like one.  I’d like to bring one inside to play with, but My Lady nixed that idea immediately. The Momma cat didn’t seem at all bothered  by my attention.even care.

     Those cats act as though they like me. Maybe I’m something warm to rub against. That may be what it is. They rub on me all the time…except for those two black and white ones. What’s going on with those uppity felines, anyway? Every time I’m out they try to pick a fight. You know I’m a peaceful fellow, but if they’re going to hiss and show their claws, I can still show them who this yard belongs too. After all, they’re just strays. My Lady asked for me!

     Well, now the little kittens are gone. I still look for them. I hope nothing bad happened but I’ll keep watching.

      But tonight! Oh boy, what happened tonight! I heard something that didn’t sound exactly right outside on my porch where My Lady feeds that herd of cats so I looked out and there was this huge animal with black rings around its eyes. It looked a lot like My Lady looked for about three weeks (still does some, but I don’t let her know I think so) This old fellow was trying to sneak up on the cat food and I didn’t like that a bit so I brought up my biggest and loudest bark and away he went.

Being good is sometimes dull

     I was sort of surprised at how loud I was and My Lady certainly was. She knew I talked a lot and used a lot of wimpy barking but this was my “Get your tail out of here “ bark. It worked, too, but that varmint kept coming back. Finally My Lady put my leash on and I knew the fun was over so I jumped into my bed. What else could  do? I sure didn’t want any more of that “bad dog” name-calling. I think she liked my loud barking, anyway. I showed her what I could do if it was necessary. 

      Meanwhile, since I’m not going to get to go outside, I’ll  have pleasant dreams about chasing that fellow into somebody else’s yard.

     Yep. that bundle of contentment up there in that pics on the left is me. I hadn't told you that  some of the pack took me down for a grooming, had?. 

Dandy's Yogg

A bad month

                              Woff, Woof!

     Things were going rather smoothly around here, My Lady was shaping up rather nicely to a dog’s ways, I was allowed to clear the doorway of cats if I wished, and somehow, I escaped getting a bath. Well, then My Lady got really busy with this contraption and was getting rather contrary: THEN one morning she had company and left with them….Early!  My Lady does not do early so I thought this was very strange.

      I waited and waited for her to come back but she didn’t. Other pack members came by and took me for walks and put out feed but they couldn’t talk dog talk so there I was, all alone and I didn’t know why. I really liked My Lady and I was pretty sure she liked me so this was a real puzzle.

     Well, two days and nights later she came back….kinda. It sounded like her but, whoo-ee, what a change! She looked a lot like one of my coon toys! And she was creeping around the house holding to things. There was a lot of confusion and people and telephoning and such, so I just went over to my spot and watched it all. I didn’t like this new development one tiny bit!

     I’ve done my very best to communicate my concerns to some of the pack. I’ve used every tone of yowl that I know and all the body language I have but they still don’t understand. They’re nice and sympathetic and they’re nice to My Lady so I guess I’ll just have to do my part and worry a lot.

     I talked her in to taking me out this morning and we sat a while in the sun. Those pesky neighbor dog came rushing over in My yard barking like they wanted to attack us both, but I just ignored them. I had My Lady to take care of and she told them to go so that was that. Some day I plan to try out my Bull Dog fangs on those pests. They need to be taught about property rights. 

I'm watching.

     Did you know that I suspect Bulldog ancestors? Of course the Dandie Denmont Terrior line is what I’m proud of and this Bulldog  linage does mess up my normally handsome face, but a touch of Bulldog might come in handy. We’ll see!

     Anyway, I stayed close to My Lady and just enjoyed the sun and wind and when she stood up I just trotted slowly to the front door and she followed. I think that I need to be careful with her. Something isn’t quite right and now she’s my responsibility. You betcha!

I heard something!

My Lady left this on this box and you might find it 
interesting. Of course, she's  prejudiced and I'm glad! But it is kinda interesting.
http://dogtime.com/dog-breeds/dandie-dinmont-terrier

What's Your Gripe?

    Last week I decided to supplement my usual evening snack of Cheetos and Coke with a can of Campbell's Chicken Soup. When I reached the bottom of my bowl, I realized I had seen no chicken. After emptying the can I found plenty of noodles but still no chicken. This called for study so I read carefully the label's list of ingredients and found chicken stock, noodles, chicken flavoring and chicken fat, AND chicken meat, plus assorted unpronounceable words.
     So! Where's my meat? Who got my chunks of chicken?


     Hunting that piece of chicken reminded me of the one constant in our canned goods: that little piece of fat in a can of pork and beans. I've never known it to disappear or to change and pork and beans have been on the market since 1885 when Heinz started commercially canning their version. Frank Van Camp, an Indianapolis grocer, remembered the popularity of his family's old recipe for salt pork with beans and tomato sauce and opened a canning company and has produced this staple of picnics and quick meals.
     I have fond memories of many Sunday dinners of pork and beans and deviled eggs, equally as tasty as another standby: fried chicken. At 5¢ a can it was a bargain. What a relief that nothing has changed...except the price!
     My discovery that the chunk of chicken was missing came on the same evening that the news reported that our rate of inflation was at 2.9%, no surprise to anyone who had been to the grocery store recently. There are several explanations for the increases, most of which we've heard before. There is always some crises causing these price increases. It is a puzzle, however, why prices never drop when the crises is over.
      I understand how the weather can make or break any agricultural venture. I also understand that if a business does not make a profit it cannot continue, unless, as we have seen, the government steps in with assistance; and that's another subject, entirely!

      

     We must eat and to stay reasonably healthy we need some of the most expensive of grocery items;  fresh fruits and vegetables. Price a large apple and you're courting a heart attack. 

     In its simplest form, our economy is based on a producer, a seller, and a consumer. What is going to happen when the later has no more money?

Leave my chunks of chicken alone!

Dannie

The Good Old Days of Wintertime

     To this date I know of any legislative attempt to change our weather to a more pleasant year-round average so we may as well plan on enduring the extremes of both summer and winter.

     For me, my memories of each season are quiet vivid, for I grew up in the days of the Great Depression and comfort was not a high priority item, especially if one lived in the country.

     Of course, there were numerous nice country dwellings, but in general, the majority of the farm houses were box houses, built without a wall framework but instead of wide vertical boards striped with 1x4s to cover the crack between each board. A board of one-inch thickness does not keep out much

cold.   

    Most of these houses were being lived in without the benefit of any repairs and their original poor construction and the effects of weather had taken their toll, resulting in wide cracks and humps in the floors.

     A winter in 1930 is the one I most often think of in terms of cold. We lived in a fairly well built house--I remember no wide cracks or missing windowpanes. As was the custom, it had two flues for the escaping wood smoke: one for the cook stove and one located in the living room for a wood burning heater.     

     My memory is of a wood heater sitting at an angle in a corner of the living room:  a stack of wood near by, my father’s rocker and a library table with a kerosene lamp lining the wall. My mother’s rocker was also near the table and lamp, for they both spent a few hours reading each night.

      As a four-year old, I was constantly on the move, standing by the heater until my legs were red and burning and then returning to my play across the room for only a few minutes before another thawing session by the stove.

      When I think of past winters, that is my first memory of being cold. Children’s winter clothing in those days was far different from that of today.  Although there were“long johns” for the boys, the girls had to contend with dresses and cotton stockings, which would not stay in place and were hated heartily. Surely there were under vests but I don’t remember any.

It was cold and you lived with it.

    

     By the time I was ten we had moved into our very own home with four large rooms and two wonderful porches all interestingly dilapidated

     This house was also of box construction, but as a much larger one, it showed more serious effects of settling, creating cracks along in the flooring that made sweeping out the dirt an easy chore.  Its large “L” shaped back porch had buckled with the settling resulting in a huge hump at one end.

     The walls were insulated with layers of newspapers and magazine pages that today would probably be worth more than the old house itself.

     None of these flaws bothered me in the least, for I loved that old house at first sight.

     In this house the heater had a short wall of its own making it easier to crowd around when the weather turned cold. Despite this old house’s construction flaws, it never seemed to be as severely cold as the earlier one…  except for the north bedroom with its one north window. I expect a glass of water would have frozen hard overnight.

     School closings were unheard of in those days. There was no way to communicate such notices, and after walking some distance in snow only to reach a locked schoolhouse was unthinkable.

      One’s common sense was the guideline and I have no memories of missed days. There are, however, quite a few of crowding around a huge wood burning stove with a roaring fire, trying to warm feet that felt frozen from tramping a mile over a frozen and rutted road.

      Realistically, there was no way that red hot stove was going to warm a large room in near freezing temperatures, so when completely chilled, students would again hover around the stove.

      Once, after a snow storm arrived during the school day, I choose when going home, to take a shortcut through the woods, reasoning that there would be less time in the cold and a nice windbreak from the blowing wind. My mother was not happy with my decision. In fact, she was extremely unhappy, for as every mother knows, children get disorientated in the snow and are lost and suffer all sorts of other terrible consequences….

I believe these are a few of the days sometimes spoken of as “The good ole days.”

Dandy's Yogg-

A New Year's Eve visit


Woof! Woof!

      During all those days with snow on the ground and with nothing to do except to look out the window and take naps, I got to thinking how nice it is to have company. That got me to thinking about what happened New Year's Eve.

     I’m a quiet kind of guy so I’m content with taking walks and naps, and talking My Lady into playing a game of tug-of-war with one of my toys, but when New Year’s Eve came, it was nice to have two of our regular visitors come to visit, but it wasn’t such a nice surprise to see a squirmy little girl dog rushing in the door. She was going in five directions at once and sniffing me    and barking like crazy. 

     Well, of course, I barked back and tugged at my leash so I could better handle this situation, but My Lady held me tight. This little newcomer must have been named Rosie, for that sure was yelled a lot.  Finally I got tired of the whole situation and went to my chair by the window. I couldn’t look out though, because if I turned my back on this Rosie dog she’d try to jump there with me.

      Oh, it made me tired to watch her run around, wiggling all the time and sniffing at everything. I left my chair a time of two but here Rosie would come, barking and kissing my nose in a most forward manner. I got plenty tired of it and when I’ve had enough, I’m through, so for the first time in my new home, I rolled m lip back and did a snarl that should have delivered a strong message.

         Well, that snarl and several more, didn’t impress that Rosie one little bit. I guess she was wiggling to much to get the message so finally when she crowded me again, I really got serious because I was ready to take a piece of hide. You can imagine how that went over with My Lady! She took me to my place in the corner of the sofa and told me to stay.

.

It was nice that she petted me a little and rubbed my favorite spot under my chin so I didn’t feel to badly about being an ungracious host but I sure didn’t like what that Rosie dog did next. She jumped up in My Lady’s lap and kept squirming around so I would be sure and notice her. I wish My Lady had dumped her out on the floor on her little wiggly rear!

     It was nice when midnight rolled around and Rosie went her way and I went mine and we settled down for the night.

 Things were much better the next morning and I managed to sneak over and eat Rosie’s food and drink her water. That made my day! 

      Well, you can imagine how boring this week has been, to make me wish for another visit from Rosie but I guess it wouldn't have been long before all that running and wiggling would have had me hunting for a place to hide. 

Woof!

Dandy