A story I told for my birthday! Help me celebrate this year by watching and enjoying!
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
Wednesday, July 26, 2017
Thursday Story Planting Corn
Thursday's Story: Planting Corn
by Cynthia Raxter
My dad grew up along the French Broad River in Brevard NC, on a dairy farm. He was the oldest son of 14 children - born 1921. They farmed in the spring and summer and logged in the winter.
He said down by the river the corn field was so long, he'd plow down and back, and he'd have to have a biscuit. Twice again and it'd be time for lunch. After lunch six more rows, and it was time to do the milking and get the chickens in.
When the days were long in the summer - like now - he'd get another row or two in before dark.
He wasn't plowing with a tractor - they worked mules. There was one Ford pickup on the farm to haul milk to town. (Daddy said he never had to mow ditch banks - his sisters - my aunts kept them cleaned out learning to drive.) All work was done by hand and with draft animals.
With mules you don't say, "Stop!" "Go!" "Turn right!" or "Turn left" - you say "whoa and giddyup" (which we all hopefully know from watching Bonanza!). To turn right you say "gee." To turn left, "haw."
"Gee and haw" was significant again just a few years ago:
I was home in the mountains, washing dishes with my mom. My dad was in the den. And my Jack Russel, Rascal, sneaked in despite the "no dogs in the house" rule.
Daddy wanted to read the newspaper. She wanted attention. She kept trying to jump in his lap and he kept fussing, "Rascal get off of me!" "RASCAL you're messing up my newspaper!" "Stop it RASCAL!!!"
After about five minutes, I looked at my mom and rolled my eyes and wiped the soapy water off my hands. Jack Russels - the more excited you get the more excited they get! And my father was past red-faced mad.
"Daddy Daddy Daddy! You have to say 'Rascal down!'" Rascal immediately stopped spring-jumping off the ottoman, and plopped her little bottom on the rug, and looked at me! "Okay Mom! WHAT WE DOING NEXT?"
This just made my father madder. "What's wrong with saying 'Get off of me!!!!'???"
How could I explain this? "Daddy, Rascal doesn't speak English. It's like... like... the mules on the farm... to go right or left..."
I laughed too. And realized for the first time in a long time, me and my father were talking - not just butting heads.
From then on when I was up home, I was showing Dad Rascal's new tricks. Then he'd take her to the feed store or the post office and show the fellers. Those years - me, him, Rascal - before Parkinson's took over... well... that time was golden.
Later, I started telling stories to children. The "gee and haw" stories and one more always seemed to be told together. Finally I realized, this last story was when my dad and his father learn to talk to each other - not just butt heads:
My father was planting corn in that long cornfield. Two kernels in a hole - a hand-width apart. Two kernels in a hole - a hand-width apart. Two kernels in a hole.... Can you imagine how long it would take a 10 year old boy to plant that field of corn? He got about halfway across and he dropped the bag of seed.
It was 1931 - the Depression - and they still had to spend money to buy seed corn.
Corn doesn't breed true. Field corn will cross with sweet corn. When it does, your field corn will rot in the silo, and your Silver Queen will be too tough to knaw.
Give my dad credit - he was only 10! "I picked it up... well, most of it." And what kernels were left he covered over and ruffled up the dirt so none would be wiser.
But we all know what happened. Spring! "And the sun comes out and dries up all the rain...."
When Papa walked in the barn my dad said he knew he was in trouble before Papa even spoke.
"Come with me, Calvin."
Across the farmyard and the old farm road and over the fence into that big old cornfield. And, there. In the middle. A hundred corn plants were growing up in a wad.
Daddy said Papa didn't whoop him, he didn't chastise him - he just looked at him and said real quiet, "Calvin, learn yourself good: no matter where you go and what you do, your sins shall find you out."
by Cynthia Raxter
My dad grew up along the French Broad River in Brevard NC, on a dairy farm. He was the oldest son of 14 children - born 1921. They farmed in the spring and summer and logged in the winter. He said down by the river the corn field was so long, he'd plow down and back, and he'd have to have a biscuit. Twice again and it'd be time for lunch. After lunch six more rows, and it was time to do the milking and get the chickens in.
When the days were long in the summer - like now - he'd get another row or two in before dark.
He wasn't plowing with a tractor - they worked mules. There was one Ford pickup on the farm to haul milk to town. (Daddy said he never had to mow ditch banks - his sisters - my aunts kept them cleaned out learning to drive.) All work was done by hand and with draft animals.
With mules you don't say, "Stop!" "Go!" "Turn right!" or "Turn left" - you say "whoa and giddyup" (which we all hopefully know from watching Bonanza!). To turn right you say "gee." To turn left, "haw."
"Gee and haw" was significant again just a few years ago:
I was home in the mountains, washing dishes with my mom. My dad was in the den. And my Jack Russel, Rascal, sneaked in despite the "no dogs in the house" rule.
Daddy wanted to read the newspaper. She wanted attention. She kept trying to jump in his lap and he kept fussing, "Rascal get off of me!" "RASCAL you're messing up my newspaper!" "Stop it RASCAL!!!"
After about five minutes, I looked at my mom and rolled my eyes and wiped the soapy water off my hands. Jack Russels - the more excited you get the more excited they get! And my father was past red-faced mad.
"Daddy Daddy Daddy! You have to say 'Rascal down!'" Rascal immediately stopped spring-jumping off the ottoman, and plopped her little bottom on the rug, and looked at me! "Okay Mom! WHAT WE DOING NEXT?"
This just made my father madder. "What's wrong with saying 'Get off of me!!!!'???"
How could I explain this? "Daddy, Rascal doesn't speak English. It's like... like... the mules on the farm... to go right or left..."
He finished my sentence, "...you say gee or haw!" He laughed. "You've taught her some English words! She's does what you say... Well! Most of the time!"
I laughed too. And realized for the first time in a long time, me and my father were talking - not just butting heads. From then on when I was up home, I was showing Dad Rascal's new tricks. Then he'd take her to the feed store or the post office and show the fellers. Those years - me, him, Rascal - before Parkinson's took over... well... that time was golden.
Later, I started telling stories to children. The "gee and haw" stories and one more always seemed to be told together. Finally I realized, this last story was when my dad and his father learn to talk to each other - not just butt heads:
My father was planting corn in that long cornfield. Two kernels in a hole - a hand-width apart. Two kernels in a hole - a hand-width apart. Two kernels in a hole.... Can you imagine how long it would take a 10 year old boy to plant that field of corn? He got about halfway across and he dropped the bag of seed.
It was 1931 - the Depression - and they still had to spend money to buy seed corn.
Corn doesn't breed true. Field corn will cross with sweet corn. When it does, your field corn will rot in the silo, and your Silver Queen will be too tough to knaw.
Give my dad credit - he was only 10! "I picked it up... well, most of it." And what kernels were left he covered over and ruffled up the dirt so none would be wiser.
But we all know what happened. Spring! "And the sun comes out and dries up all the rain...."
When Papa walked in the barn my dad said he knew he was in trouble before Papa even spoke.
"Come with me, Calvin."
Across the farmyard and the old farm road and over the fence into that big old cornfield. And, there. In the middle. A hundred corn plants were growing up in a wad.
Daddy said Papa didn't whoop him, he didn't chastise him - he just looked at him and said real quiet, "Calvin, learn yourself good: no matter where you go and what you do, your sins shall find you out."
c. 2012 cynthia kay raxter
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Thursdays Story - A Rascally Tale!
Thursday's Story
vol. 3 no. 6
A Rascally Tale
** Written on September 14, 2001 **
Rascal is my new dog, a Jack Russell Terrier. She is a bit over a year old -- rambunctious... and as cute as puppies come. She has been my salvation this week also. She knows nothing about "tragedy" - just that life is good and the weather has been fine.
Last night she started barking under/at the kitchen table. Like there was a squirrel or opossum under there. Sometimes there is an opossum under there.... but not last night.
Just the cat food bucket, the dog food bucket and the bird seed bucket. Five gallons each. Tightly closing lids. It would be a prime spot for an invading opossum! But not last night.
Then. Hiding in the back... behind the buckets... I found a Christmas decoration/ toy Moma gave me last year. It is a reindeer about 10 inches tall. He is in "Santa Town Jail": plastic bars, plastic padlock, handcuffs -- all.
When you press his hoof that has a hol't of the bars, he shivers and shakes and sings "Grandma Got Ran Over By a Reindeer."
It is a favorite with visiting children! To the point -- it is usually hidden by me or a mom to preserve our sanity. In fact, I think Carol Payne stuck it behind the bird seed bucket during a party in June.
So last night, when Rascal saw this guilty reindeer in my hand, she laid down almost flat. And she increased her volume of ruckus considerably.
I sat it down on the floor so she would know it was just a toy.... and as I did she jumped backwards 10 feet into the living room.... still raising all kinds of commotion, sticking her head out around the door. RoooooW RooooW ROooooW RoooooW RoooooW! And if I could imagine it, it was even louder than before.
An important point. The barking was not "afraid" but: "ALARM! ALARM! ALARM!"
I reached down to get, as I call it, the Indicted Reindeer... and noticed as I picked it up.... the hoof -- the "Press Me" hoof -- it had a tiny tiny--very very small tear in its upholstery.
Perchance? A small dog... hadst she chewed upon it?
I pressed the hoof.
Rascal backflipped and dove, back'ards-first under the couch.
Hmmmm hmmmm hmmm.... Grandma got run over by a reindeer..... and, a chorus of "RoooooW RooooW ROooooW RoooooW RoooooW!" emanating from somewhere near the dust ruffle.....
Thank you Rascal. Thank you.
My love to you all, Cindy
My love to you all, Cindy
Cynthia Raxter
P.O. Box 182
Bynum, NC 27312
919-444-9535
CynthiaRaxter@gmail.com
Watch: http://vimeo.com/115031922
YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/user/RaxterCyn/videos
Calendar: http://CynthiaRaxter.blogspot.com
Pinterest: CynthiaRaxter
Monday, September 7, 2015
Thursdays Story - Dinah the Abra Slayer
Thursday's Story
vol. 3 no.5
Have you heard my stories on Soundcloud? I add a new one every week or so. This week's Thursday's Story is "Dinah the Abra Slayer." You can listen on your computer, tablet or smartphone. Hope you enjoy!
If the Soundcloud box doesn't automatically load, find the stories here: https://soundcloud.com/cynthia-raxter
- Copyright 2012 by Cynthia Raxter
Pinterest:CynthiaRaxter
Email:cynthiaraxter@gmail.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/cynthiaraxter
Twitter: @cynthiaraxter
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