Blue jays and cats will never get along.  Cats just don’t care for blue jays, and blue jays seem destined to play tricks on the cats.

Early one morning a cat began a climb on the trunk of a tree near our house.  The tree had leafed for the spring…and it was curious as to why that cat was climbing that tree. It was a very young cat, so may be this was some sort of training mission to learn all about climbing in trees.

Sure enough, this young cat had its eye on a blue jay that was calmly sitting on a lower limb.  Of course, the blue jay was ignoring the cat.  Sleuthing was also on the training mission for that cat.  It was very obvious the bird knew exactly where that cat was headed, but being young and inexperienced, the cat continued to sneak.  As the cat crept along the branch with the blue jay, the bird simply hopped to a higher branch.  The cat watched this, and raced back the trunk of the tree, and scurried up to the branch and the bird.  Again, stealth was one of the training issues. The cat kept its belly closed to the limb and reached out far with each step, sneaking up on the bird.  Of course the bird knew along the cat was there and again, hopped up a couple of branches.  The cat continued to pursue.

This went on for several branches. You and I (and the blue jay) know the higher you go in a tree, the weaker the branches become.  Well, the young cat had not yet learned this lesson.  So, high up in the tree went the blue jay to a really weak and shaky limb.  To make matters worse, the blue jay was joined with several friends.  The limb moved precariously up and down…and up and down.

The cat was not to be denied!  The youngster began that slow crawl out to the end of the limb where the blue jays were perched. As the cat came within striking distance of the closest bird, they all flew away at once.  Of course, with the weight of the birds leaving the tree, the limb whipped up and down.  The cat quickly recovered from the shock of the moving limb, and was hanging upside down on a tree limb several feet off the ground. A fall by the cat at this height would certainly be injurious if not fatal.

The quarry was long gone. The youngster now faced a difficult maneuver to right itself, and then figure out how to safely come down the tree.  After several harrowing trials, the cat finally made it safely back to the ground where an older and much wiser cat lay stretched out lazing in the leaves.  There is no way to tell if a conversation took place, but the younger cat scampered to a nearby bush and set to rest.

Sure enough, a curious blue jay came hopping down the tree limbs, and eventually landed on the ground just a little too close to the old wizened cat. A flurry of activity took place, and there were feathers left at the scene of the crime as the old cat trotted off with a prize.

The younger cat saw all of this and learned a lesson.  Never saw that cat climb a tree again, but we did see that cat lounging underneath the trees quite often.

As you might expect, there is a story behind this picture.  This is a picture of my uncle Frank Willard Turney.  We called him “Big.” He was my favorite uncle. We spent a lot of time together, and I asked him for a picture.  Told him I would take it any way he wanted.  Uncle Big was a true cowboy, and most cowboys did not like having their picture taken. Big was one of those cowboys so he politely declined. Years later after I had asked for that picture, he pulled this picture out of his back pocket and told me, “I know you wanted this. We all dressed up a little.”  This is the picture he gave me. It was folded, faded, and dirty, but it was my picture of my uncle “Big.”

Time passed and that picture was lost in our belongings. Fiddling through a box one day, that picture suddenly showed up!

I sent it to the Fort Worth Photography studio to see if they could help it any. Boy did they ever!

Isn’t that just incredible? My Uncle “Big” dressed up, dog with a bath, and the horse all brushed-just waiting to roll in the dirt.

I had a favorite uncle.  His name nickname was Big.  I understand that he came by the nickname Big because he wasn’t.  My other uncles called him the runt of the litter!  I think that is what endeared him to me, as I was considered to be the runt of our litter.  When you embrace that position with enthusiasm, as my Grandmother used to tell me I must, you find yourself always pulling for the underdog.  And, when the underdog comes out on top, well, it’s an emotional experience.

I tried to spend a lot of time with Uncle Big.  I really don’t know if he minded, he never said.  Looking back, I think Uncle Big kind of took me under his wing.  Really, there is another reason I picked him as my favorite.  I met him after he came back from WWII and after he had broken his leg in so many places the doctors wanted to take it off.  He would not let them amputate.  This is a touch of irony because his brother Hilton, had to have a leg amputated due to a bone disease.  Uncle Big had a big heart!  I thought that is where his nickname originated until I was corrected by those in the know.  He was the original horse whisperer, and he had a touch with just about every animal with which he came in contact.  When we would round up for vaccinations, drenching and docking, Uncle Big would take charge of the round up, but after that, he would leave the rest of the work to the others.  He told me he was too much of a softie to do that stuff.

We had a round up scheduled, and Uncle Big and I were put in charge of gathering the goats.  I have to tell you, that is one of the most exciting things a young man can be told.  You and Uncle Big are rounding up the goats.  I am fired up!  First thing I do, is find Uncle Big to let him know.  He had already guessed at the job duties and had a plan in mind.

We were to leave the pens at five o’clock in the morning, round the little hill south of the pens and bring in goats from the big pasture.  He said it shouldn’t take very long, and after we take care of our rides, we can sit down to a breakfast of pancakes and sausage.  Now that was something else. There were some mighty fine horses from which we were able to choose.  I secretly had my eye on a beautiful bay horse that I had ridden before during a pleasure excursion with my uncle.  Big and I managed to find a fairly nice saddle, and he adjusted the stirrups to where they fit me perfect.  We had to punch some holes in the straps, and the fenders ended just at the top of the stirrup.  I remember it was a little funny looking, but it was perfect for a short fellow, and Uncle Big thought it looked just fine.

My Grandmother knew I was sort of anxious about the next day’s affairs, and after supper handed me an alarm clock so I could set it and wake up in time so I wouldn’t miss the round up.  In my house, if you were not up when everyone else left, you were left behind.  I set my alarm clock, and lay awake all night waiting for it to ring.  I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but is was a little after four o’clock when I last looked at the clock.

Well, that alarm clock went off, and sent me to the ceiling.  You see, I had never had an alarm clock before, and really didn’t know how the thing woke you up.  After that experience, I knew how it worked all too well!  I jumped into my clothes I had laid out the night before, boots on, hat on, I am ready and head to the pens to meet my Uncle Big for the round up.

Much to my surprise, Uncle Big was already in the pens.  His favorite horse was saddled, and he said mine was saddled and standing on the other side of his.  I walked around his horse to find the biggest mule we had on the place wearing my saddle.

The saddle Big and I had worked so hard on the night before.  I didn’t understand why my saddle was on that mule.  Uncle Big told me to meet Gus, a really fine mule.  He said Gus was beyond wise in his ways, knew every inch of the ranch, and would be my ride for the day.  I was more than just a little let down.  My pick for a horse was the bay, but before I could address the situation with my uncle, he had mounted up and was headed out of the pens.  I mounted up, and turned old Gus to the gate that led out of the pens and Gus seemed to be just fine with the situation.  He handled nicely, had a comfortable walk, and seemed eager to get on with the job.

Uncle Big got his horse up to a little gallop to get around the hill, and was quickly out of sight.  I found out that old Gus did not have a gallop in him.  As a matter of fact, a quick walk was out of the question for Gus.  I thought to myself, how is this going to work? We have to round up goats, and they can be as quick as lightening when they want to go somewhere other than where they are supposed to go.  No amount of coaxing was going to get old Gus in a hurry.

Gus and I managed to walk slowly to the trail that went around the hill and suddenly old Gus just gave out.  Quicker than I could react, Old Gus lay down and rolled over on his right side.  My leg was under there!  I was not in pain, as old Gus was about as soft as the mattress I slept on last night.  But, Gus was heavy.  Heavy enough I couldn’t get my leg out from under him.  I am in a quandary here.  I want to help with the round up in the worst way, and here I am, pinned to the ground by an old mule who did not understand the importance of the situation.

Gus quickly fell to sleep.  I could tell because he snored really loud.  If you have never heard a mule snore in their sleep, count yourself among the lucky.

I tried everything I knew to get old Gus to stir.  I figured if I could get him up, I would unsaddle the ungrateful old mule, and let him get back to his nap while I saddle that beautiful bay and join the round up.  I yelled at Gus and he continued to snore.  As a matter of fact, I think the more I yelled, he would answer with a louder snore.  I kicked Gus with my left foot.

Did you know old mules can have a lot of gas?  Kick one that is lying down someday and you will find out.  I came really close to being gassed to death on that trail that led around the hill.  By this time, my right leg had gone completely asleep, and I think it was due to the influence of that old mule.  I tried throwing rocks, and I tried using a stick as a quirt.  Old Gus kept snoring. The round up was going on, happening without me, because I was pinned to the ground by an old mule named Gus.

As you might expect, I began to see a few goats coming around the side of the hill, and I could tell the round up was just about over.  Sure enough, Uncle Big came into sight with the herd of goats.  Gus just kept snoring.  Uncle Big never looked my way.  I was able to watch a master at hand with a horse, a dog, and a bunch of frisky goats.  I was a sight to see, and I learned a bunch watching the end of that round up.  I had a great seat, too.  I watched pinned to the trail by an old mule named Gus.

After the goats were penned, Uncle Big took his horse to the corral.  He fed and watered his horse. He brushed, and brushed and brushed that horse until I thought he was going to wear the brush plumb out.

Uncle Big seemed to be taking his time at getting all the chores around the pens completed.  He had taught me that after a ride and a working ride, you had to take care of the horse that took care of you.

Finally, I was able to get Uncle Big’s attention and he ambled over to where Gus had me pinned to the trail, and Gus continued to snore loudly.  As Uncle Big approached, Gus snorted a few times, raised his head to see my uncle, and quickly jumped up to all four feet.  I did not know lazy old mules could be that quick, but after all, old Gus had just taken a really nice nap.

Uncle Big asked me where I had been to get that mule so wore out.  I couldn’t hold it in any more.  And I let my uncle know that Gus was the worse thing God ever put on this earth, and I was fairly upset with him for saddling that old thing and making me ride a mule for a round up.   My uncle just kind of grinned at my reaction to being pinned on the trail and told me something I have carried forward my entire life.  When you want to leave the pens for a round up at five o’clock in the morning, you need to be up before you leave.  He had saddled my bay horse first, and waited for me while he saddled his horse. I found out later he actually heard my alarm clock go off at five o’clock sharp, and decided then and there you needed to be up before you leave.  You see, I should have set that clock for four thirty to get dressed and down to the pens to saddle horses.  So, instead my special horse, I was assigned to ride the jewel of the remuda…ole Gus.

We had a really good after round up breakfast.  Uncle Big put his arm around me and asked if we were still friends.  I told him I kind of thought we were friends for life.  He said we were, and he just wanted to let me know that he knew old Gus would pull that stunt, because it had happened to him before.

Uncle Big was my favorite uncle. Someday, I would like to tell you about my Uncle Big, I think he would be your favorite uncle too.

Frank Willard (Big) Turney 1910-1966 Cowboy,  T/4 Army Medical Corp.

WWII tour of duty Philippines 19th infantry

The fellow that invented the electric lawn mower way back when was a favorite for my Grandmother.  She liked to keep a tidy place, and since she had to take down the fences and get rid of the animals at her house in town, she had to mow the grass.

The house was originally out away from town.  However, as the town grew, houses began to be built close by.  My Grandmother, being the good neighbor, thought it wise to get rid of the chickens, the milk cow, and the other assorted menagerie for the benefit of the neighbors.  That being said, she was having problems with dogs honing their hunting skills on her property.

As you might have guessed, when the animals left the place, grass began to take control of everything.  Occasionally I would be put to work with a reel mower to keep it trimmed.

My Grandmother had electricity installed in her house a few years before I came along.  Even so, she did not trust the stuff all that much.  She had wood burning stoves outside, a gas cook stove inside, and really didn’t have much use for electric lights.  When the sun goes down, my Grandmother shut everything down.  One lamp would be on so she could sew or what ever.

Much to my surprise, she requested a long extension cord! When pressed for a reason, she told the story of a fellow that dropped off a brand new electric lawn mower, and she wanted to plug it in to see if it really worked.  She couldn’t plug in inside the house, so she needed an extension cord.

My Grandmother sometimes thought her kids were a sandwich short of a picnic when it came to her needs!  But, she got a one hundred foot extension cord.

I helped my Grandmother raise a window to get access to the closest electrical outlet.  That was a chore in itself.  That window, she told me, had not been raised since the house was built in 1900.  Of course, we had to choose that one.  A half day later, the window was up, and the extension cord snaked in and plugged in the wall.  There was no male end on the wire coming from the lawn mower, so my Grandmother called the hardware store and had them deliver one.  Stores did things like that in those days, especially when someone like my Grandmother makes the call.  The fellow that delivered the male electrical end had no idea he was supposed to install the thing.  My Grandmother told him she did not buy it to look at, she bought it to use, and he needed to hook it up so she could use it or he could just take it back and explain to his boss how my Grandmother felt about him.  In short order, my Grandmother had a male electrical connection on the electric lawnmower.

I was young enough to be really interested in all things that make hard work easier.  Even so, my Grandmother made me stand on the other side of the yard while she turned the lawnmower on.  Who knows, this thing could take off and trim the hedges and trees before it was all over. After all, there was a one hundred foot electrical cord, you know.

That lawnmower clicked on with a flip of the switch, and my Grandmother mowed her yard in short order.  Word kind of got around town that my Grandmother had a new electric lawnmower that mowed the grass almost by itself. Before you knew it, people were coming by to have a cup of coffee or tea (which was a requirement if you stopped by my Grandmother’s house) and to try out the new, electric lawnmower.   Several weeks past before we even touched the mower, since folks were so enthused about mowing the grass for us.  I even thought about charging a little fee, only to help my little allowance don’t you see.

The little electric mower was a hit, and my Grandmother loved to mow her lawn.  The lady barely tipped the scales at 100 pounds dripping wet.  However, she was born in 1880, and was as strong in mind and body as that guy who held up all those columns.  She mowed and a week later she would mow again.  I began to notice the property close adjoining my Grandmother’s property began to look nicer and nicer.  I asked her one day if neighbors had taken care of that property.

My Grandmother set me straight.  That is her property.  She is taking care of that property now, so it belongs to her.  I had to ask how she figured that out, and she told me that in her day possession was nine-tenths of the law.  She had plans to fence it in and take total control.  Unfortunately when she was 97, she had spent the morning mowing, came in for a rest, and when she woke up to go back to work, she slipped and broke her hip.

We had the property taken care of for her while she rehabbed her hip.  However, she was never able to return home.  Sometime after my Grandmother’s funeral, my aunt sold the property, and yes all the property under my Grandmother’s mower was included in the sale.  Possession is indeed nine-tenths of the law.

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photo by Russell Lee

There used to be benches in front of the courthouse, and there used to be folks resting in those benches most days.

These folks were the world’s problem solvers.  If one could take a moment and sit on the bench and listen to the discussion taking place, one could learn a lot of good, factual, scientific information to take care of all the problems of the day.

For an example, how to handle your domino hand when you are holding the double six and the fellow you are playing has the six-three. You are ahead just 15 points in the game. If you want to know the answer to this problem, you need to go sit on the bench in front of the courthouse.

We now know why the March weather has slipped to April. According to the wisdom of the bench, NASA fired off so many rockets from Florida all that energy expended leaving the earth kind of moved the earth a little forward in the rotation.  Simple solution to get the weather back in sync with the Old Farmer’s Almanac would be to fire some rockets off in California.  There is an in-depth, scientific answer to a world problem. It was solved right there on that bench in front of the courthouse.

There is a really good method, according to those on the bench, for keeping quality people in the community.  If you keep your nose clean for ten years, you will get a letter in the mail saying you can stay another ten. If you don’t get that letter, it is time for you to move on.

Progress has to continued to move on, and someone inside the courthouse decided the outside benches had to go.  So, you don’t see all that wisdom solving problems on the bench in front of the courthouse now days.

I know they would have been able to solve a lot of problems that we have before us today.  Shoot, back then, we really didn’t have all that many problems in the first place. But, look at us now.  Maybe they need to put those benches back in front of the courthouse.  Think so?

There is nothing like the sound of a windmill pumping on a breezy day miles away from anything.  It is almost like the thing wants to talk to you.  I know they must get a little lonesome out there all by themselves. And, they have such an important job.  They bring life sustaining water up from the depths.  It is cool water in the hot Texas summer.  How does it do that?

I have fallen asleep next to a windmill; the noise it makes is almost like a song that goes on and on.  That sucker rod slides down to the unknown, and then there is the clank.  It is coming back up with a load of water.

The huge fan moves with the slightest change in the direction of the breeze. This windmill seems to just be alive.

Then there is that wooden handle attached to one of the legs of the tower. When you pull that thing down, you can engage the brakes on the pump.  It can be a real challenge for a youngster growing up, but it is something that needs doing because the tank is full and you don’t want it to run over and waste that precious water.

Really, putting the brakes on a windmill can tell you a lot about the condition of the mechanics on top of that tall tower.  If it pulls easily and the fan takes its time to stop, we need to crawl up there and check the brakes.  You want to make sure you have pliers and a crescent wrench with you when you go up there to make adjustments…oh, after you get up there, you discover a tool box nailed to the walkabout.  How clever, who thought of that? And, it has all the tools you need to work on that windmill.

Be careful while you are up there!  That little stretch of rope in that tool box is to tie that thing off so it doesn’t swing around and knock you off the perch.

This story can really go on and on, but it may be boring for you because all of you have climbed to the top of that windmill haven’t you?  Well, if you haven’t, I must say you have really missed a good part of life.

I think as we age, we begin to truly learn what lonesome is really all about.  We have lived enough years to have enjoyed and remembered moments from the family we had when we were growing up.  And, then we have special memories made during the time we enjoyed as grownups, our new family, our spouse, our kids, our grandchildren. Later in life, when the kids have grown up we are given time to think. We suddenly have a lot of time to think, maybe a little too much time to think. That can be where that lonesome sets in.  For example, I remember this as though it were yesterday.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day was always a big time at my Grandmother’s house. When I stayed with her during this holiday season, we worked like everything to get the house ready for company, making sure the yard was in perfect shape, and lining up food and kitchen help.

Christmas Eve day was spent welcoming family travelers to town from all parts of the state.  Since most families lived on ranches and did not come to town often, it was a real treat when the opportunity came to gather and visit. They would come and go during the day, and would be extended an invitation to return for the hot tamale supper that evening.  Before the supper time bell, someone would be designated to drive my Grandmother around town as she delivered dozens of hot tamales to friends. Of course, everyone welcomed her and had a good story for her, so this endeavor always took all afternoon. The hot tamale supper was more of a come and go sort of thing.  It was almost a warm-up for the big day…Christmas Day.

At noon on Christmas day, we are all gathered around the dinner table, talking, laughing and carrying on like there are no cares in the world.

My Grandmother is standing in the kitchen watching everyone to make sure there was enough food on that table for all my aunts, uncles, cousins, Mother and Dad, brother and sister.  It was a big crowd.  The table had been stretched out way beyond, and we had to scramble for some lumber to put in the middle.  Some of it didn’t fit just right, however, my Grandmother said it would do. She rearranged some of it, put down a pad to cover the table and then a nice starched white table cloth went over all that. It will be all right, she said.  We can put some things in the middle to dress it up and no one will ever know the boards don’t fit.  She was so right.  Those boards were never mentioned as we renewed relationships with our family members that we haven’t seen in quiet some time.  We were all delighting in their new escapades.  And with this family, there were plenty of escapades.

There was special china brought out for this meal, and some of the relatives wanted to know how my Grandmother got so rich she could afford such luxuries.  I remember seeing her blush a bit over that remark, and I remember hearing her say she was rich in more ways than one.

What a delicious meal this was.  Loving hands prepared it and every single one enjoyed it.

After such a nice meal, everyone kind of settled into groups…young ones in the side yard playing some games, older folks on the front porch catching up, and some stayed inside that old house to help finish up with clearing the table and taking care of those precious dishes.  My Grandmother was the only one allowed to wash those dishes.

Some of the older youngsters badgered my Grandmother into playing the piano.  The living room was crowded with folks, she finally said she would try a number or two.  My Grandmother let loose with ragtime, and old saloon tunes much to the surprise of some of the in-laws.  She could roll her hands on that piano to make some of the quickest, brightest music ever. The in-laws had no idea of my family’s past history or of my Grandmother’s real education.

I tried to split my time listening to the piano, playing football in the side yard, and sitting next to my uncles to listen to their stories of the day.  I tried to get one of my uncles to talk to me about his time as a soldier in world war two.  He told me he was not sure I would ever be old enough to hear about those stories.  His brothers asked (apparently on my behalf), and he told them they were not old enough, either.

Eventually, everyone had their ways to go. Some went back to the ranch, some to visit their in-laws, and some to travel to their homes in other cities.  My Grandmother’s house became quiet, really quiet.

As I thought myself becoming of age, my Grandmother decided it was time to invite me to her tea.  Her father was from England, and she took tea at ten am and four pm.

My first time at tea with my Grandmother was the day after Christmas.  Goodness, I can still remember the taste of that tea to this very day.  Of course, we must talk.  That is what one does at tea, right?  I ask my Grandmother how she dealt with everyone being in her house one day, and the next day, everyone was gone. It was so quiet.  She told me that was why we must stay busy. Yes, we will get up at five am for chores, take a rest at ten for tea, back to chores till lunch (which was usually early afternoon), rest after lunch then back to chores, break at four pm for tea, finish chores and enjoy the day.  And that is exactly what we did.  She kept the lonelies away by keeping occupied with routine chores.

At the end of the day, she would start receiving friends and neighbors who stopped by for a cup of coffee and to either catch up on the goings on, or to tell about the goings on.

This routine went on and on.  I would go to school, come home to help with chores, and get homework done while she visited.

All of a sudden, I find myself grown, family of my own, and yearning to establish the way my Grandmother taught me to establish.  My brother remained somewhat distant during that time. My sister lived in another state, and we hardly saw her. My mother and father worked day in and day out.  While we enjoyed the occasional Sunday dinners, a few hunting, and fishing trips, it was as though we were trying to get to the closeness my Grandmother’s family had.

We all hope to instill in our children that yearning for that family life, and hope they will carry it forward.

All of my dad’s family is gone. My Grandmother, aunts, uncles, all but one cousin are all gone.  My Mother, My Dad, brother, sister, they are all gone. What is one to do now?  We look forward to seeing our children set up shop and get that family put together.

And we will have time on our hands to reflect, to remember what was and what will never be again.  Now we have the opportunity to learn what lonesome is really about.  I wouldn’t wish this on anyone but, you have to wonder sometimes that maybe dementia and Alzheimer’s disease could be a blessing for those suffering lonesome. I know those left behind suffer a great deal, but it may be a relief for those to not remember, to not be lonesome.

All of this is something you never get over; it is something you just get through.

This old wagon has a message

My day is done.  I am tired, and I just want to rest right here in the shade.  I have taken the family to church on Sundays.  The laughter of the children, the aroma of all the food that we carried in for dinner on the grounds-yes, I will always remember.  I have brought all of the supplies safely home once a month for how many years.  We moved, and I was loaded with all your precious belongings, and we made it fine.  Yes, Mother, that piano was really heavy, but we made it.  I must say, I enjoyed the family sleeping on the ground under me-I felt like I was really the protector.  I know that oldest boy scared the hound out of you when the horses ran away with us. Actually, I had some fun with that since he kept us on the road just fine, and finally got control. We worked those fields together for years. I can’t count the number of teams we wore out!  I really enjoyed the canvass stretched over my bows, kind of kept things cool. Mother made pallets for the children to sleep in there, and that was really special to me. That jug of milk wired to my sideboards, yes, it was butter by the end of the day-just to let you know the roads were a little rough.  My memories are many, but now I am tired.  I will just stay here in the shade and rest for a while. Thanks for all the fun.

Text copyright©geneturney                            photo by Teresa Fuller Anderson