From A Wide Spot In The Road

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
I live in Oklahoma, the former Indian Territory, situated across the lower Red River from Texas and south of the states of Kansas, Nebraska, South and North Dakotas. There are thirty-nine Indian tribes in Oklahoma but only five of them native to the Territory.

The thirty-four other tribes were rounded up and transported to Oklahoma by the US military, that is what was left of them. There is one exception. The Cherokee nation, who was marched from Georgia to Oklahoma under escort of the US military. That walk is know as the Trail of Tears. Many Cherokees died during that migration. The word, Oklahoma in the Choctaw language means ‘red man.’

I have an association with some of them.

After the Civil War or War Between The States as some prefer, A land grant was established along the South side of the Red River. It was located north of Nocona, Texas. The land across the Red River belonged to the Wichita Indians and it was hoped trade between the new settlers and the peoples of the Wichita Indians could and would be established and a friendly environment maintained. And for a while this did indeed happen.

My great grandfather and his family were living in the township of Winchester in Clark County, in Kentucky and were some of the Clark County residents who took advantage of this particular land grant in Texas.

They traveled mostly by covered wagon but there were some who didn’t have or couldn’t afford a covered wagon but instead, loaded what they could carry onto their topless wagon, loaded up the kids and headed west, their hope and spirits uplifted by the promise of free land in the new territory.

A colony was organized, property settled on, and duly recorded, and the new settlers went about the business of planting crops and schooling their children. It was hard work and much bartering look place. It was to their great advantage that game was readily available. The settlement began to thrive. They built cabins and looked forward to their first harvest. Trade with the indians was generally a good thing. They traded what they could do without for hides which could be used for a number of purposes.

Not sure how the trouble started. It has been suggested an Indian tried to steal a gun, a treasured possession of the frontiersmen, was caught and shot. It had previously been established that much petty thievery was carried on by the Indians. However it started, the settlers were not prepared for the attacks that followed. Many settlers were killed, men, women, and children. In several surprise raids the settlers were forced to abandon their homes and the settlers were eventually driven on South and Southwest to a site north of present day Albany, Texas, where a US Fort was being built to protect settlers. A troop of calvary was already in place. It was called Fort Griffin. Outside the fort a community of settlers had gathered seeking protection from Indian raids, mostly Comanches. The families driven from their grants along the Red River moved into this new community known first as the Flats and later took on the name of the Fort and became Fort Griffin. Their land grants of course abandoned. Life was a struggle. Indian raids were common and continued until the US Calvary and armed civilians at last prevailed.

I come from this environment of settlers, these pioneers, moving west seeking a better life. I can draw a direct line to those brave, desperate souls who left their homeland in Ireland and Scotland and trekked however they could to America, seeking a better way and a better life. My wife ’s family was part of the Oklahoma land rush that settled Oklahoma. Her family settled on the north side of the Red River in Southwest Oklahoma, beginning life here living in dirt dugout until they could afford to build a house.

All that remains of the original settlement along the Texas side of the Red River, north of Nocona, Texas is a metal marker. I have been there several times. It tells the story of these settlers of which you have here read.
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
Went out in my back yard a few minutes ago to spread some bird seed underneath and round about my bird feeders. Noticed the ground
is cracking awful all over the back yard
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
Books



I am something of a reader, albeit a slow reader. My wife sometime tells me I move my lips when I read. She notices this because sometimes and it is usually after we have been to the library, we turn off the TV off and read the evening away,she sipping her iceboater, me sipping tea.

I have probably twelve or fifteen books picked up and checked out from the library this year and read, wall to wall or is it, cover to cover. That’s not many, you may think for a whole year, and I’d have to agree, but then I’d have to tell you about my Kindle books and the ninety-four books therein. And I have deleted a dozen or more. Why delete? Because they were, if not deplorable, certainly not the books I thought they would be. But to be fair some of these ninety-four kindle books have been on my computer awhile.

Some I have fondness for. For instance, “On Writing Well” by William Zinsser. I don’t remember when I first picked it up and read it first but I have read the book at least twice and have used it as a reference book for many years. The Kindle edition is the 30th Anniversary Edition. I treasure it and go back from time to time and read passages for inspiration. I have a fondness for the book and the author who has passed on.

Another book I have a fondness for is Semper Fi by W.E.B. Griffin. It is a story of the Corp, I have read all his early books twice and several three times. They seem to suit me. Some of those books I would purchase again, if i could find them, but they are out of print. They are not stories of war but rather stories of people at war.

There is a thread that runs through my reading that goes back to when I was twelve years old. My uncle came to visit and when he went to leave he reached behind his truck seat and handed me a paperback western novel, saying, ‘you might like this’. I did and have been reading western novels since. I am just starting to read again, “Riders of the Purple Sage.”

My reading varies. Looking at all my westerns you might think me frivolous in my reading habits but I have some of the classics, I have mysteries from best seller lists and writings by Thomas Paine. My list of books may not rise

up to your own reading experience but again, I might surprise you.

I read for entertainment and to learn. I have writing books, some I have read two and three times. Sometime I learn a bit from each book. If i like them I keep them and read them again. After all, I am retired and not much to do, and if I were totally honest, there’s not much I can do now days.

Well, this is not about what I can or cannot do but what I read. A number of books I have purchased, I did so on somebody’s recommendation. Some I read but most I toss. I also read some from Flipboard. Flipboard is an accumulator of reading material. Many of the subjects you like to read and you can choose. And whenI am out of anything to read I have an online thing called, “The Electric Typewriter,” where I can always find something to keep me reading and happy. I’m always trying to read a little better and a little faster. So if you are a reader, happy reading.
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
I'm posting ahead so if I'm gone a few days, no one will realize it.
So with nothing much on my mind, here's a short, short.



Silent March


Once upon a time two old people lived in an old house on a street of many old houses. The old house was not a fine house or even a good house, it was just a house with some cracks in the ceiling, with windows that had stood too many tests of time against driving rains and high winds and dust storms and now suffered warped panes and rain rot and looked out upon the world in a state of dilapidation.
The once stately doors crinkled and squeaked and one had the impression they could hardly stand upright. The roof's shingles curled at the edges and some were missing and the outside paint resembled not paint at all but thousands of tiny brown leaves stuck on its walls to hide its embarrassment.

Inside the old couple greatly resembled the house where they had lived so long. They both used canes which they used to tap their way around the house, arising early they tapped their way to the kitchen, there to make the morning coffee and a solitary piece of toast for each. For many years they had eaten oatmeal with their toast and in the years of plenty they often had a strip or two of bacon to supplement their breakfast but that was long ago for the years of plenty never came around anymore. Now they were simply old grand-parents.

But it was a day of joy for word had come to them that their son and daughter-in-law and two grand children were coming for a visit. It had been a whole year. My, how the grand children must have grown, they said to each other in their excitement and anticipation.

They changed the linen on the guest room bed and tided up the bathroom and placed a glass and bottled water on the vanity for convenience and a vase of flowers from their garden on the dresser and dusted and cleaned, their canes tapping happily all bout the house as preparations were made for the coming guests.

At last the appointed time arrived and their children and grand children pulled up in their driveway. They tapped their way out onto the porch to greet the new arrivals. It was indeed a happy reunion.

Grandmother, after shopping for the anticipated visit, prepared an evening meal of fried chicken, green beans, scalloped potatoes, yeast rolls and iced tea. And in the oven, two homemade chocolate pies. Grandfather thought this a scrumptious meal and wished guests would come around more often so grandmother would have cause to prepare such a meal.

They all sat around the dinner table in their pleasant faces and with their gentle voices and talked of meals past and recalled memories of growing up in this place.

Now these times have become memories. The old house is silent. The grandparents don’t live here anymore. They have moved off life’s stage, first one, then the other, ancestors now, on their long, silent march into history.
 

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RadishRose

Well-known member
Location
Connecticut USA
I live in Oklahoma, the former Indian Territory, situated across the lower Red River from Texas and south of the states of Kansas, Nebraska, South and North Dakotas. There are thirty-nine Indian tribes in Oklahoma but only five of them native to the Territory.

The thirty-four other tribes were rounded up and transported to Oklahoma by the US military, that is what was left of them. There is one exception. The Cherokee nation, who was marched from Georgia to Oklahoma under escort of the US military. That walk is know as the Trail of Tears. Many Cherokees died during that migration. The word, Oklahoma in the Choctaw language means ‘red man.’

I have an association with some of them.

After the Civil War or War Between The States as some prefer, A land grant was established along the South side of the Red River. It was located north of Nocona, Texas. The land across the Red River belonged to the Wichita Indians and it was hoped trade between the new settlers and the peoples of the Wichita Indians could and would be established and a friendly environment maintained. And for a while this did indeed happen.

My great grandfather and his family were living in the township of Winchester in Clark County, in Kentucky and were some of the Clark County residents who took advantage of this particular land grant in Texas.

They traveled mostly by covered wagon but there were some who didn’t have or couldn’t afford a covered wagon but instead, loaded what they could carry onto their topless wagon, loaded up the kids and headed west, their hope and spirits uplifted by the promise of free land in the new territory.

A colony was organized, property settled on, and duly recorded, and the new settlers went about the business of planting crops and schooling their children. It was hard work and much bartering look place. It was to their great advantage that game was readily available. The settlement began to thrive. They built cabins and looked forward to their first harvest. Trade with the indians was generally a good thing. They traded what they could do without for hides which could be used for a number of purposes.

Not sure how the trouble started. It has been suggested an Indian tried to steal a gun, a treasured possession of the frontiersmen, was caught and shot. It had previously been established that much petty thievery was carried on by the Indians. However it started, the settlers were not prepared for the attacks that followed. Many settlers were killed, men, women, and children. In several surprise raids the settlers were forced to abandon their homes and the settlers were eventually driven on South and Southwest to a site north of present day Albany, Texas, where a US Fort was being built to protect settlers. A troop of calvary was already in place. It was called Fort Griffin. Outside the fort a community of settlers had gathered seeking protection from Indian raids, mostly Comanches. The families driven from their grants along the Red River moved into this new community known first as the Flats and later took on the name of the Fort and became Fort Griffin. Their land grants of course abandoned. Life was a struggle. Indian raids were common and continued until the US Calvary and armed civilians at last prevailed.

I come from this environment of settlers, these pioneers, moving west seeking a better life. I can draw a direct line to those brave, desperate souls who left their homeland in Ireland and Scotland and trekked however they could to America, seeking a better way and a better life. My wife ’s family was part of the Oklahoma land rush that settled Oklahoma. Her family settled on the north side of the Red River in Southwest Oklahoma, beginning life here living in dirt dugout until they could afford to build a house.

All that remains of the original settlement along the Texas side of the Red River, north of Nocona, Texas is a metal marker. I have been there several times. It tells the story of these settlers of which you have here read.
Fascinating, Drifter. Those greedy settlers were committing genocide; it's no wonder the Tribes revolted to save themselves and land they were forced to inhabit.
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
It was their home before we came.
We thought them bad;
They thought the same of us.
We won out and they paid the price
But in war all share in that tragedy.

Thanks for reading.
 

RadishRose

Well-known member
Location
Connecticut USA
I'm posting ahead so if I'm gone a few days, no one will realize it.
So with nothing much on my mind, here's a short, short.



Silent March


Once upon a time two old people lived in an old house on a street of many old houses. The old house was not a fine house or even a good house, it was just a house with some cracks in the ceiling, with windows that had stood too many tests of time against driving rains and high winds and dust storms and now suffered warped panes and rain rot and looked out upon the world in a state of dilapidation.
The once stately doors crinkled and squeaked and one had the impression they could hardly stand upright. The roof's shingles curled at the edges and some were missing and the outside paint resembled not paint at all but thousands of tiny brown leaves stuck on its walls to hide its embarrassment.

Inside the old couple greatly resembled the house where they had lived so long. They both used canes which they used to tap their way around the house, arising early they tapped their way to the kitchen, there to make the morning coffee and a solitary piece of toast for each. For many years they had eaten oatmeal with their toast and in the years of plenty they often had a strip or two of bacon to supplement their breakfast but that was long ago for the years of plenty never came around anymore. Now they were simply old grand-parents.

But it was a day of joy for word had come to them that their son and daughter-in-law and two grand children were coming for a visit. It had been a whole year. My, how the grand children must have grown, they said to each other in their excitement and anticipation.

They changed the linen on the guest room bed and tided up the bathroom and placed a glass and bottled water on the vanity for convenience and a vase of flowers from their garden on the dresser and dusted and cleaned, their canes tapping happily all bout the house as preparations were made for the coming guests.

At last the appointed time arrived and their children and grand children pulled up in their driveway. They tapped their way out onto the porch to greet the new arrivals. It was indeed a happy reunion.

Grandmother, after shopping for the anticipated visit, prepared an evening meal of fried chicken, green beans, scalloped potatoes, yeast rolls and iced tea. And in the oven, two homemade chocolate pies. Grandfather thought this a scrumptious meal and wished guests would come around more often so grandmother would have cause to prepare such a meal.

They all sat around the dinner table in their pleasant faces and with their gentle voices and talked of meals past and recalled memories of growing up in this place.

Now these times have become memories. The old house is silent. The grandparents don’t live here anymore. They have moved off life’s stage, first one, then the other, ancestors now, on their long, silent march into history.
I loved this story. I think many of us have a memory like this no matter where in the world we are. A family memory, and thanks for the few you reminded me of.
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
Books That Shaped My Life
by Guest Author

Books have been an integral part of my life, shaping my thinking, directing my success, creating adventure, contributing to my happiness, and influencing my connection to society around me.

In the late 1930s my first book was Raggedy Ann & Andy. I still remember the warm feeling of love I felt when told the words on Raggedy Ann’s candy heart read, “I Love You.’

In the late 1940s while spending afternoons in a small, one room city library, I experienced growing pains with Little Women’s Jo, and got acquainted with St. Luke in Taylor Caldwell's Dear and Glorious Physician. During the 1950s my thinking was shaped by the works of Norman Vincent Peel in the Power of Positive Thinking; Napoleon Hill’s, Think and Grow Rich; The Magic of Believing, by Claude Bristol; Maxwell Malt’s Psychocybernetics, and tempered with Dale Carnegie’s, How To Win Friends and Influence People.

Dr. Spock guided me as I raised my children. The late 1960s were my inquisition years, ‘what if’s’ from the works of Edgar Cayce, Ruth Montgomery, and Adela Rogers St John. The Honey Badger and Valley of the Dolls were my first introduction to explicit sex in novels. Elizabeth Forsyth Hailey’s, A Women of Independent Means and Oliver Ann Burn’s, Cold Sassy Tree exemplified the strong southern woman I would choose to become and reminded me to appreciate my southern heritage.

In the latter years of the ’70’s Dag Hammarskjold directed my spiritual path in Markings and I sensed the privilege of being in contact with a great, good, and lovable man’. W. H. Walden pointed out in the forward of his book. During the 1980s Erich Fromm’s, The Art of Living, and Leo Buscaglia’s Love, taught me the definition of love. In the late 80s, I was Getting Better All The Time with Liz Carpenter, started to wear purple with Jenny Joseph, and spent time, Going Within with Shirley MacLaine. Then learned, What To Say When Yo Talk To Yourself from Shad Helmstettler.

The 1990s were the ‘two hankie’ books’ where I shed two hankies worth of tears of joy, laughter, empathy or sorrow. Notable were Bailey White’s, Mama Makes Up Her Mind and The Bridges of Madison County and The Notebook. I am a world traveler via the magic of books, had a wonderful time crossing the United States with Charles Kuralt, ‘Charley,’ and John Steinbeck.

I have grown a wonderful life through books and plan to continue throughout this lifetime.
 
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drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
I ordered some elbow pads to protect my sore elbows. I sit at my desk prompted up by my elbows. I play the harmonica every day, elbows on the desk, harmonica in hands pressed to my lips. After months of this usage, either harping or reading or sometimes leaning on one elbow while I type with one hand, something has to give. My elbows are raw. Its why I ordered the pads. Today those pads were delivered by UPS. Sad to say they don't fit. They are a large size but I can not get them over my arm even with help. I have placed a call for instructions prepared to wait yet longer.
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
Had a sandwich for dinner. My roommate has gone out to a movie, The new Lion King. I'm holding down the fort, staying on the keyboard all evening, putting words together trying to type out the first draft. However, I write as some fishermen fish, catch and release. I call it to write and delete. I've been trying to put this one together for two weeks. Still not sure where I'm going with it. I've quit for the night. This one needs thought.
Wil
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
I am convinced many women, maybe most would not be too upset at the demise of their husbands because of the way
They have been treated or neglected over the years. This comment based on observations and comments overheard.
 

Gary O'

Well-known member
Location
Oregon
I am convinced many women, maybe most would not be too upset at the demise of their husbands because of the way
They have been treated or neglected over the years. This comment based on observations and comments overheard.
Well, mine sez she's gonna put my ashes in a urn the caricature of me, and carry me around wherever she goes.
(Tween, you and me, if I go first, she'll miss me a few sad days, then I think she's gonna get gussied up and snag a true mountain man and live waaaay out somewhere)
 

C'est Moi

Dishin' it out.
Location
Houston Y'all
I am convinced many women, maybe most would not be too upset at the demise of their husbands because of the way
They have been treated or neglected over the years. This comment based on observations and comments overheard.
I'd hate to think that "most" wouldn't be upset by their husband's death. Personally, I would be devastated if anything happened to my husband. (But he has never mistreated me and is the best person I know, so there's that.) I have instructed him that I am going to die first and I don't want any argument. :D But not right away.
 

Gary O'

Well-known member
Location
Oregon
I know I could be wrong but I have heard, "It's my life now."
and not a rant but gentle relief. Or so it seems. And if true,
it's sad.
I don't see it as sad.
I truly hope, if I go first, my lady will lead her life the way she sees fit.
We don't agree on everthing, but have melded, over the years, to let each other have their way with certain things.
That worked so well when we lived at the cabin.
She had her chores
I had mine
She let me go as pristine as I wanted
I let her set out her gnome (as much as I hate that crap), but....just the one...OK, three...but only three
Same with living in town
The kitchen is hers
Mine's the shop
The bedroom...well, that's ours

Once I'm gone, she can have all the flamingos and gnomes she desires
I'll be busy fertilizing her daisies (to cover up those GD gnomes)
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
I'm not talking about when or after we're gone. I think it's sad
when we live half a lifetime together and a woman feels she
has to tow the mark or be continuously careful lest she upset
the man she lives with, a life spent on pins and needles.
That's sad.
 

C'est Moi

Dishin' it out.
Location
Houston Y'all
I'm not talking about when or after we're gone. I think it's sad
when we live half a lifetime together and a woman feels she
has to tow the mark or be continuously careful lest she upset
the man she lives with, a life spent on pins and needles.
That's sad.
It is sad. But I always wonder what is lacking in a person to allow themselves to be mistreated and to spend years in a miserable situation. I'd never put up with that "pins and needles" crap. :D
 

Gary O'

Well-known member
Location
Oregon
I'm not talking about when or after we're gone. I think it's sad
when we live half a lifetime together and a woman feels she
has to tow the mark or be continuously careful lest she upset
the man she lives with, a life spent on pins and needles.
That's sad.
No argument
A guy must be cognizant of that kinda situation
I've seen it
Very uncomfortable for even bystanders

Men truly can be pigs (dead serious here)
I have no understanding of lording it over the fairest of our species
 

drifter

Well-known member
Original Poster
Drifter should know a big mess of prose
will surely spoil the pot.
And what you will see is less of me
Here on this Dairy Lot
 

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