Thursday, January 28, 2010

STILL PLANNING TO MOVE. BUT FIRST...

GOOD GRIEF! How can we move on under conditions like these? Karla has almost swallowed her teeth. [Now a separate story. ] She also knows something about Uncle Dillon, Aunt Thelma, Mother and Daddy double dating down by the railroad track with marsh mellows, a bond fire and "love making" mid-century style, of course. And Dori, who is hanging you up and going off and leaving you? I thing this blogging is a great way to bait the lake. As soon as the bobbers begin to switch about, you know an unknown tale is about to surface. Thanks to all of you.

And by the way, I've tried to respond to some of your comments. But I'm not sure they're ever leaving my computer. Or they maybe just falling into the Grand Canyon.

I should explain. On the north side of the Shumaker farm, the Santa Fe Rail Road track ran along parallel to the highway from Eldorado to Olustee. That may have been the scene of the dating, to which Karla refers.

We may not get moved this trip either. There are still tales of amazement in the air. In his teens, Daddy bought an "Indian" motor cycle. (There's a great movie on DVD about one. It's called "The Fastest Indian on Earth.") When I was young it was rusting out by the trench silo west of Papa's barn. They, the Indians, are very heavy and the wheel base is rather long.

On a late Saturday afternoon, Daddy was riding his Indian on his way to "court" Mother. There had been a rain earlier in the week. Someone had been driving their car on the road in the mile that runs north to south along the side of the Shumaker farm. Because of the wet muddy conditions the car wheel ruts slid along from side to side of the road as the vehicle progressed in it's journey. By the time Daddy and his Indian came rolling along the path to courtship, the road had dried. He drove along the right side, as the ruts were taking up the left half of the path to future plans. But alas, the earlier car had begun to slide toward the right and came very near the bar ditch. The rider in wisdom told the Indian to leap the rut and take the path between the two ruts. No sooner was the thought conveyed to the machine than it made the manuver. However, what was supposed to have been a leap became something of a sag. The wheels of the heavy means of transport sunk irretreavably into the rut. For all the cleaver heaving of the driver on the seat of his engine, it refused to leave it's track and so was propelling, pelmel toward the ditch. With another fervent and earnest heave to the left the Indian simply lay down on its owner as they speed northward on a dirt road of disaster. They finally came to a stop.

Daddy dragged himself out from under the motor cycle to survey the damage. All was well..with the cycle, that is. But he had been rolled and ground into the dirt. To add insult to ingury, every button of his shirt had been popped off. He was too near the goal to turn back now. With the Indian upright, he eased it out of the rut and rode on. With an approach well anounced, he arrived in something less than dapper attire. He brushed the dirt off his jeans and shoes, took off the shirt and shook it out. While his future Mother-in-law began sewing new buttons onto his shirt, he borrowed the wash pan and cleaned up a little. His pride was the most wounded part of all.

Not to be out done, he took the horse next time. She was famous for shaking her rope knot loose. But Daddy knew what to do. He tied her securely to a misquite tree. I really don't know if they walked around the farm, ate supper, sat in the corner of the living room whispering, or what. Anyway the courting of the evening finally came to a close. The fine young dandy went out to mount his riding mare, but......... she was not there. He felt around in the tree, but the rope was not knoted where he had left it. Nothing to do but walk the 5 miles home in the dark. Moon light would have helped. But there was no moon that night. After walking a while, he heard his horse. She was grazing along the side of the road. He spoke to her in a soft and coksing voice. She moved on. He began feeling for the rope dragging on the ground. After a long while, he was finally able to grasp the rope. He climbed in the saddle. I think the story ended with the moon finally coming up a little before he got home.

1 comment:

  1. Grandaddy on a motorcycle? Who'd-a-thunk-it!

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