Straight Fs, Sobriety, and Six Shots: My Not-So-Serious Life

If y’all notice, I’ve taken up writin’ like the country boy I always been—part farmer, part cowboy, and maybe just a dab of pure ornery...OK, maybe more'n just a dab. Figured it’d do good for my great-grandkids’ great-grandkids to know ol’ great-great-great-grandpa wasn’t exactly a genius. Bless my heart, I tried to be serious, but that dog just wouldn’t hunt. Heck, I even gave preachin’ a go for six years. Learned to mimic them good ol’ fire-and-brimstone Baptist radio preachers with their thunderin’ voices, but I just couldn’t find the passion for it. Once I left the nest, well, that country boy in me busted loose like a calf outta the corral.

I went off to college, but shoot, I’d rather be shootin’ pool than sittin’ in some lecture hall. Don’t know if you know it or not, but them highfalutin university folks ain’t too fond of an empty seat in their classrooms. I got the boot after a semester of straight Fs, and they showed me the door right quick. Took me 30 years to figure out maybe they had a point. Around 45, I got it through my thick skull and went back to college, earned my degree at 48 with a shiny 3.9 GPA. But not before dealin’ with them Fs—funny how they stick with ya, huh?

Now, I ain’t no stranger to tough times. Spent 18 years drinkin’ like a fish, but I’ve been sober for 40 now 2 different sobrietys a breakin' the 18 years. Even so, I never could take life too serious. It’s all been one big joke to me—‘course not all jokes end with folks laughin’. Back when I was a West Texas cop, I got a wild idea one cold night, ‘round 20 degrees out. Spotted a big ol’ dead rattlesnake someone’d run over in the road. Figured, “Why not have a little fun with this?” Tossed that snake in the back of my pickup, headed to the station, and found my buddy—poor feller who’s scared stiff of snakes.

Lucky for me (or not), his squad car was parked right by mine. Grabbed his keys, coiled that snake up real nice in the passenger floorboard, and waited for detail meetin’ to wrap up. Oh, I was grinnin’ ear to ear, waitin’ to see the fireworks. Soon as detail ended, my buddy hopped in his car, flipped on the interior light, and started fiddlin’ with his paperwork. Then it happened—BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM! Six shots fired! He emptied that six-shooter into the already-dead snake, plus a good bit of the floorboard for good measure. When he figured out I was the mastermind behind it, well, let’s just say he called me words I reckon Webster’s ain’t published yet.

That night, I thought, “Boy, better not get yourself in a fix where you’re acountin’ on him to back you up!” Next mornin’, Chief called me in, laughin’ so hard he was nearly cryin’. Then he managed to get out, “Oh, and by the way, that’s two weeks off without pay!” Yep, seemed like a good idea at the time!

Have a Good Week, Ya'll!

Baths, Buckets, and Lessons Learned: Memories of Life on the Farm

Well, lemme tell ya somethin' here, partner. Back in the days before I was even knee-high to a grasshopper, my folks got by just fine with a good ol’ windmill and a sturdy oak bucket for all our water needs—drinkin’, cookin’, and cleanin' up. When I was ’round four years old, I recall we still had that windmill spinnin’, but now we’d gotten fancy with a hand pump to pull the water up. I reckon it felt like a big upgrade back then.

Come my seventh year, Daddy decided to tear down that old windmill, and in its place, he put in one of them newfangled electric pumps right in the well. To top it off, he ran pipes straight into the kitchen so we could have water right inside the house. Lord, I tell ya, we thought we’d gone and made it to town livin’! Only catch was, we didn’t have no hot water heater yet, so for warm water, we’d fire up the stove. It took a while to heat enough water to fill up that ol’ number 2 washtub for a bath. Once we had the water hot, the whole family took turns bathin’ in it, same water, one after another, right there on the kitchen floor. Yep, that’s how it was—so, baths were reserved for Wednesday nights before prayer meetin’, Saturdays for town visits, and Sunday church. And I gotta admit, we were a little *ripe* between washes.

Now, let me share somethin’ funny about that ol’ #2 washtub. Back then, me and Mama would get our baths first, and by the time it was Daddy’s turn, the water had cooled off a bit but was still good to go. Daddy would climb into that tub, sittin’ right in the middle of the kitchen floor, which had a door opening onto the porch. Now, folks who came visitin’ always went to the back door, which we kept wide open with just a screen door to keep the critters out. Well, wouldn’t ya know, one fine day, right in the middle of Daddy latherin’ himself up, one of them right-righteous ladies from the church showed up. She came to the screen door fixin’ to knock, but when she saw Daddy sittin’ there in his altogether, her eyes just about popped outta her head! She let out a holler, turned tail, and ran faster than a fox in a henhouse, yellin’, “I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING, I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING!” From that day forward, anytime she came by, she’d start shoutin’ her arrival long before she got near the door. Lesson learned, I reckon!

By the time I was nine, the farm got to be a tough haul. We packed up and hightailed it out to California, where Daddy took up a job as head ginner at one of the cotton gins his buddy managed. Let me tell ya, he made more money in three months of ginnin’ than he did in a whole year on the farm! But Daddy was a man of the land—his heart belonged to that Oklahoma dirt—so when ginnin’ season wrapped up, we headed back to the farm.

Now, with that California money, Daddy went and built us a proper bathroom onto the house. We got ourselves a lavatory, a shiny new hot water heater, and even a big ol’ porcelain tub—way bigger than that number 2 tub! Boy, I was happier than a pig in mud. I could take baths every day, and sometimes twice. Then came the day I laid eyes on my first shower, and, well, that was it for me! When I got hitched, my wife couldn’t believe it—I’d take a shower every morning, every night, and sometimes sneak in a third if the mood struck me. And you know what? I still do.

Ashes of the Prairie, Echoes of the Heart

The old cowhand stands, his battered hat pressed to his chest, silhouetted against the flames that stretch like an angry sunset across the once-peaceful prairie. His voice is low and weathered, cracking like the dry grass underfoot.

“Well, ain’t this a sight to behold? This land—this was my chapel, my livelihood, my home. The prairie... so endless, so alive. Now, she’s a red sea of fury, devouring all in her path. I reckon every blade of grass out there knows the end’s come callin’.  

This ol' land—she gave me everything. A place to lay my weary bones at the day's end, the scent of wildflowers carried on a stubborn wind, the quiet symphony of crickets beneath a watchful moon. Lord, I didn’t just work this land; I poured my soul into it, bit by bit, day after day. And now she’s burnin’, screamin’ to the heavens with a voice louder than thunder, sayin’... ‘No more.’  

Maybe it’s my fault. Took too much, gave too little. Or maybe it’s fate, nature’s way of remindin’ us that nothin' we claim is truly ours. But damn it all, it don’t make it easier to stand here and watch her die.  

The cattle’ll scatter, the barn’s bound to go up, and the wild’ll be barren long after the flames die down. But you know what scares me most? It ain’t the loss of land, nor the hard years ahead. It’s the stillness after the flames—that deafening silence when the fire's done takin’ and leaves you with nothin’ but ash and regret.  

I guess... I guess I’ll find a way, same as always. The prairie burns today, but I’ll saddle up tomorrow, pick through the ruin and see what’s left worth savin’. That’s what us cowhands do—we endure. And maybe, just maybe, the prairie will forgive me one day and let me start anew.”

He wipes his brow, dusts the soot from his trousers, and turns to face the fire once more. The wind howls, carrying embers into the starless sky.

How long’s it gonna take for folks to finally reckon with the land, the environment, to cherish her and treat her like the lifeblood she is?

Have a Good Week, Ya'll

Let’s be mindful of our earth and its well-being!