Singing in the car.

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I know a place where the birds sing bass,
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And a jackrabbit laughed in a bulldog's face.
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And the train doesn't stop at my hometown,
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'Cause the woodpeckers pecked the depot down!

 My grandfather taught this little ditty to my father when he was young. I am under the impression granddad, who was born in 1910, also learned it as a youngster. Very recently, thanks to the internet, I believe I've found the origin of the song.

A soundtrack is included in this website. It is not the same tune that I learned from my dad.
Way Out West in Kansas  I liked the poem better when my imagination supplied a fantasy town in some far off place instead of Kansas.

When riding in the car, my granddaughters listen to songs like The Wheels on the Bus on their i-pads. When I was a kid riding in the car, my dad sang. He knew all the words to dozens of songs and the choruses of many more. For a guy who didn't go to church, he knew a lot of hymns by heart.

These are some of the songs I remember singing.

On Top of Old Smokey
By the time I was through second grade that folk song had morphed into the parody verses of On Top of Spaghetti.

Little Church in the Wildwood

In the Garden

John Brown's Body to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic which he also sang with gusto.

Love songs like Burl Ives' Lavender Blue. Dad would ask, what was the first love song? or what did Adam say to Eve? The answer, naturally, was Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree With Anyone Else But Me.

Counting songs like This Old Man, and The Ant's Go Marching One by One to the tune of When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again.  Hurrah! He knew the words to that one as well. And of course 99 Bottles of Beer. After listening to that countdown a few times, Mom proclaimed a new rule that said the song had to start with only ten bottles of beer.  Who could forget singing Roll Over?

He liked Gathering Flowers for the Master's Bouquet so much he requested it for his funeral service.

Cowboy gospel by Marty Robbins. He didn't sing it but was crazy for The Master's Call.

Old Rivers sung/spoken by Walter Brennan. If you know the name of the mule in this song you are a music trivia expert.

Cattle Call and Red River Valley. Don't forget the Streets of Laredo.

Yodeling. My dad could yodel. I don't know if he did it very well or not. When I tried, my mother made me stop. Perhaps the car isn't the best place to practice yodeling.

Kawliga, the cigar store Indian.

Ghost Rider's in the Sky by Sons of the Pioneers.

Mom liked to hear How Much is that Doggie in the Window.  That song was always followed by How Much is that Hound Dog in the Winder.

A naughty little ditty called Sweet Violets. I specifically recall a grade school classmate teaching me the words to a moderately risque song called "Two Irishman", not to be confused with "The Scotsman."

Sometimes we'd learn a new song in music class at school and teach it to him. By the way, my mom didn't sing.

We kids sat in back the seat. Until he got too big to fit, my brother rode on the shelf under the back window. Another rule was that we couldn't lean on the back of Mom's chair and touch or breath on her hair. The eyes in the back of her head told her when we were too close.

Maybe my kids will tell theirs about riding in the car and singing Achy, Breaky Heart, John Deere Green, My Grandfather's Clock or especially There Once was a Woman Who Swallowed a Fly.

I would be glad to hear what songs you sang in the car.

Milk Cows

A milk cow was a family necessity back in the day. Here are three little stories featuring a milk cow.

One of my great-grandmothers grew up in the late 1800's in a hilly wooded area of southeast Missouri. The nearest neighbor with children her age lived over the hill. When she was a young girl the livestock ranged freely. In the mornings, after milking the cow, her father turned it out to graze on whatever it could find to eat. In the late afternoon it moseyed back to the barn because it wanted to be milked again. Other families' livestock often mixed with theirs. She and her girlfriend over the hill would leave notes to one another tied to the cow's horns. Telephone. Telegraph. Tell-a-cow.

There was nothing great about the Great Depression. Just ask anyone who lived through it. My mother's uncle tells about his widowed mother raising six kids during the Depression. Everyone had a few chickens and grew large gardens to survive. In their small town, only one family remained who maintained a milk cow. Much like the above scenario, the cow was milked in the morning then released to graze at the edge of town. On the west side of this little burg was a deep gully. In the afternoon it was the prefect spot to take a pail and lead the cow out of sight to be milked. My great-uncle said half the town stole milk from that cow, but not so much that she wouldn't give any milk at all when she went back to the owner's barn for the evening milking.

I once interviewed an elderly lady whose family homesteaded near me. She and her brothers were mere youngsters when the family pulled up stakes back east and trekked to central Kansas in the early 1880's. By that time the buffalo herds had been wiped out and the wind-swept prairie was littered with their bones. One of the jobs given to the children was to collect the sun-bleached bones and pile them in the buckboard wagon. When the wagon was full, her father would make the two day round trip to the nearest railhead at Larned to sell them. From there they were loaded on rail cars and shipped to eastern states to be ground into fertilizer. 
While father was away, the bored, or perhaps liberated, children devised their own entertainment. Finding an unused board, the boys thought it was about the right size to slide around on if only they had some way to pull it. Using their imagination and the few resources available, they tied a length of wire around the middle of the board and the other end to the cow's tail. One must assume they made certain the wire was long enough to keep the cow from kicking them in the head.
After solemnly promising her brothers she wouldn't tell their father, or mother, the fun commenced. She said they were having a pretty good time taking turns sitting on the board, taking a cow-powered ride around the farmstead. Until...  The front of the board snagged on something in the ground. Her brother rolled off at the sudden stop but was unharmed. However...  The sudden stop produced an opposite and equal reaction when their milk cow kept going. The end of her tail was jerked off.
No amount of threats or coercion could keep this disaster hidden from their father. The punishment? Follow the cow around all summer and keep the flies away.

It's Sedimentary My Dear

Sometimes people gift me with rocks. 

Growing up, we always looked forward to It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Charlie Brown never got any goodies in his Halloween treat bag. Poor guy. As Halloween evening wore on, he grew resigned to his ill luck. While the other kids in the Peanuts gang, minus Linus and Sally who are in the pumpkin patch waiting for the Great Pumpkin, excitedly exclaim over their cookies and candied apples, Charlie Brown quietly says, "I got a rock." 

So, I wasn't surprised when, a few years ago, my dad gave me a rock with my name on it for Christmas. My brother received the same gift with his name on it. We fulfilled our dad's expectations by looking sad and telling each other:  "I got a rock."  We really were unhappy when it was time to lug them home from his house.

 Here are a few of my favorite rocks.

 Large deposits of limestone prove Kansas was once a sea. Central Kansas is famous for stone posts. Turn one on its side and, voila, people know your name, or the name of your business, or your favorite sports team.

 The grinding wheel is cut from sandstone rock.

The two large, shapeless rocks at both ends below are also Kansas limestone.

  


I've been dragging rocks home with me for years. Mostly from Colorado. Sometimes I pack less so there is more room for an extra specimen or two. 

Rule 16: If I can get it to the vehicle and load it up by myself, I can take it home.

My rock collection/display isn't finished. I think I need to fill in the gaps with some sand or black lava rock. So far the gophers haven't chewed through the weed barrier.

Rainbow rock. Kind of reminds me of a Tequila Sunrise. 🍹

I think the pattern in the little guy at top left looks like a whale. 







 

Actually, the design formed is a nice example of Liesegang rings.

Texas holey rock, or honeycomb limestone. Apparently, this is popular in home aquariums.

Sandstone ribbon rock.

Iron oxides, manganese oxides, and other impurities can cause bright and contrasting colors in sandstone.

Banding is due to layers of deposits with differing characteristics. Sandstone is formed in many deposits, and the resulting layers can be very different from previous layers.








See the patina, or desert varnish, on the dark rock on the left?


Sometimes the sand is courser or finer than the previous layer, and this difference causes the banding.






 

 Whenever I go for a hike, my eyes are usually on the ground instead of the scenery. Besides my rock collection, I've come home with a handful of arrowheads and points and functional tools. 

Technically, these are a continuation of the rock collection since they are knapped from chert and flint. 

Rocks aren't necessarily objects to craft into tools and structures. They can be weapons. 

I don't think the shape of this one is coincidental. The smaller end of this five-pound rock fits comfortably in the hand for up close, personal combat. It could also be used as a pestle. Attach a stout piece of wood to the waist, and it's a hammer or the infamous blunt object.  Attach a length of leather, and it is as effective but weightier than a bar of soap in a tube sock, for all the guys who remember carrying those in their trunk.

Corn Cob Jelly

1976.     The American Bicentennial.     Patriotic Fervor.

Americans showed their patriotism by painting almost everything, including fire plugs, red, white and blue. The celebrations went on all year, peaked around the 4th of July and had waned by Thanksgiving.

At the Kansas State Fair, held annually in September at Hutchinson, an exhibit was set aside for pioneer themes. Statehood was achieved in 1861. I remember a lot of red, white and blue in quilts, art, cakes and even layered jars of jelly. Then I saw something I had never heard of:

CORN COB JELLY

� They're kidding, right?

Thank you, kind anonymous source for providing the ingredients with the display. I stood at the exhibit and jotted the recipe on the back of a book of checks.

Since we raised corn on our farm, harvest was at hand, I had plenty of jars, and the only other ingredients were sugar and pectin, I decided to try it.

In 1876 I expect folks burned corn cobs in the cook stove or heating stove. By 1976 they were nothing more than harvest residue. Between hauling truck loads of corn from the field to the elevator, I gathered nice looking ears, meaning they didn't have any bug damage, and hand shelled them. No scavenging harvested cobs off the ground for me.

This was the easiest, most fail-proof recipe I ever tried.
12 bright red cobs with the husks and corn kernels removed
6 pints water
*1 package powdered pectin  (Don't use liquid pectin.)
3 cups white, granulated sugar
**Red food coloring

Break the cobs into small pieces and boil for 40 minutes in a large kettle. I put an old plate over the top of the cobs to keep them in the water as they tend to float.  While the cobs are boiling, prepare your jars and lids. At the end of the 40 minutes, strain the water through cheesecloth and save 3 cups of liquid in a three-quart pan. You need one at least that big to allow for expansion while the jelly boils. Dispose of the cobs and remaining water.

WARNING:  Never turn your back on jelly. It will boil over. Stir continuously with a whisk.

Add the pectin to the retained liquid and bring to a roiling boil.
Add the sugar and boil two or three minutes until completely dissolved.
Remove from heat.
For esthetic reasons only, add a couple of drops of red food coloring and stir to incorporate.




This recipe foams. (It has air bubbles trapped in the upper surface.) Skim the foam off with a large spoon until you have clear jelly. Pour into half-pint jars and seal using recommended canning procedures.

Make some toast, spread the foamy jelly on it, and eat!









Corn Cob Jelly probably doesn't taste like anything you ever ate before. The flavor is hard to describe. I think it resembles pear jelly a little bit. It is not as good as grape or strawberry, but we think it tastes wonderful on fresh, homemade biscuits. The pioneers had a good idea.


As a gift, it is a great conversation starter.




*NOTE:  Powdered pectin has been around since the 1910's. Therefore the recipe is not the one used during the EARLY pioneer days. Other natural sources for making juice gel might have been used.
** If you want an all-natural product, omit the red food color. The finished jelly will be a mild amber color, depending on how dark the corn cobs were.

Uncle Cephas

In my family, oral history has been repeated and handed down for generations. I am attempting to preserve some of the more colorful stories. A favorite is about my great-great uncle Cephas.

Cephas was born in 1884. He was smart, good-looking and somewhat privileged because his parents had worked hard and provided him with more ease and worldly goods than the average homesteader.

At the age of twenty, he married a beautiful woman from Oklahoma. She came from land and money, but Hattie did not take to country life and hated the farm. She bore him two daughters. Neither infant lived more than a few days. Their farm prospered, but the marriage was unhappy. Finally, his wife moved out of their rural home, and Cephas bought her a handsome house in town where she thrived in the company of other women. Nothing made her happier than ladies’ clubs and hosting afternoon get-togethers and card parties. Nothing made her more unhappy than cigars, dirty boots and dogs in the house. Watching him eat off the same fork with his dog disgusted her.

Cephas accumulated more land and developed retail businesses in town. If he got lonely, he visited Hattie. It didn’t take more than a day or two for him to remember why he lived on the farm instead of with his wife.  He couldn’t do anything right and was nagged incessantly about farting and belching in front of her friends. Frankly, he behaved that way on purpose and seemed to delight in annoying her.

Black Gold was discovered under his land, and Hattie demanded he spend the income on her. Perversely, they continued to live apart. She loved to show off the things his money provided her with, and he seemed to enjoy buying the objects. Thus they remained, blissfully separate, for the majority of their married life.

From 1946 through 1949 the nation was bombarded with an ad campaign which changed the thinking of women everywhere. Diamonds were a girl's best friend. Diamonds were forever. Traveling lecturers spoke at high school and college assemblies, brainwashing young women to expect to receive a diamond ring from their sweethearts.
http://www.thefrisky.com/2012-02-09/the-diamond-myth-how-diamonds-became-a-girls-best-friend/

Courtesy of radio and newsprint, Hattie became convinced by the early 1950's that her husband had been remiss in not beautifying her hand. She needed something with some flash to impress her friends. She began her own not so subtle campaign against Cephas. He allowed the cajoling to continue until he agreed to buy her a diamond ring. But there was a condition. Since she had an inheritance from her deceased parents, he thought it only fair that she pay half the price of the ring. Realizing that was the best deal she was going to get, she accepted the stipulation.

St. John boasted a jewelry store, and Cephas casually told her to pick something out and have the owner send him half the bill. Leaving her house, he high-tailed it to the shop and explained the situation to the proprietor, whose business adjoined one of his own.

Cephas instructed his partner in deception to let Hattie pick out any ring she liked. Intimating that she was probably going to hold him up for the most expensive bauble in the store, the owner suggested he show her salesman samples. They were cheap metal and glass representations of costly settings which he would order from Kansas City.

The conversation ended with Cephas saying he didn’t care what ring she chose. The catch was that the owner was to quote her a price exactly twice the actual value. It didn’t take the jeweler two seconds to catch on. They shook hands and slapped each other on the back at the joke they were going to pull on her.

Hattie showed up at the jewelry store the next day and pored over the pieces in the cases. The jeweler used all his skill at flattery to convince her none of the rings did justice to her lovely hand. Slyly retrieving the samples from beneath the counter, he waxed eloquent as he enticed her to imagine the light glittering from a one-carat diamond surrounded by smaller stones. 

Hattie was carried away by the description and didn’t even blink at the price. When informed it would be eight weeks before the ring would grace her finger, she snidely thought her husband could use a couple more months of income to pay for his half of the one of a kind masterpiece. She would also receive the sample. No other customer could order her ring.

The anticipated day arrived, and she imperiously summoned Cephas to town with a reminder to bring his checkbook. When the ring was slipped onto his wife’s finger, he dutifully admired it and complimented her excellent taste. The jeweler pointed out the qualities of the platinum band and elegant setting. He coaxed her to the window where the sunshine did indeed refract light into thousands of glittering facets.

Hattie wrote a check for her half. As Cephas filled out his check, he thanked the owner for helping his wife choose such a lovely ring. He expected her to get years of enjoyment from it. As they happily left the shop, Cephas offered to take her out to a restaurant where she could show it off. Looking over his shoulder as the door swung closed behind them, he saw the proprietor tearing his check into tiny pieces.




Cephas and Hattie discovered the secret to a happy marriage.  Live in separate houses.