Category: Texas

Day 319-The Adult Easter Egg Hunt

Our family has its own traditions, one such, is the annual Adult Easter Egg Hunt. My mother and aunt, decided many years ago that the kids weren’t the only ones that should have this fun. Therefore, they devised a hunt for the adults.

To participate, you have to be high school age or older. There is only one egg per person. Once you have found an egg, you may watch but you may not find, or direct others to hidden eggs. At the beginning a collection is taken from the players; pretty much whatever cash you have on hand. This is divided between the eggs starting with a large amount and the getting smaller in each egg. One egg is a Booby prize and could have anything that amuses the hiders in it. All the eggs are different colors and sizes. The two top prize winners each year have to hide the eggs the following year. This hunt takes place each year in an area between 3 old barns and a field behind them. There is a mass of old implements, old natural gas tanks, old tractors, old vehicles, hay, rocks, trees, and even a small well house in this area, so hiding places are aplenty.

Several years ago, there were about 11 adults hunting. Among these, were myself and my brother, Glenn, whose mission in life is to harass me, and pretty much always has been. That being said, you have the catalyst for this particular hunt. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to the rest of us, at least at the beginning, he was the first person to find his egg. Remember the rules, well he doesn’t follow rules well.

As the rest of us diligently hunted for an egg, taking clues from the two hiders, Glenn went around moving the eggs that he found after finding his, and distracting the other hunters so that they wouldn’t realize what he was doing.

This created a situation where certain ones of us were hunting very hard in areas that should have eggs, but no longer did. Others were finding eggs in places that shouldn’t have them, had been previously checked, and now mysteriously did. Eventually, as the hunt went on, the hiders and other hunters became aware of what was going on, especially after they were practically directed to an egg.

My poor dad became collateral damage, as dad and I searched an area with no egg for quite a long time. Glenn allowed him to hunt along because he didn’t want to make me suspicious. Once I gave up and moved on to another site, Dad miraculously found an egg in a place we had both looked dozens of times. Of course we found out later that it was because Glenn was carrying it around in his pocket the whole time so I wouldn’t find it.

By this time everyone else had found an egg, and become aware of what Glenn was doing. I was the last one. For this reason they were all watching with bated breath, to see what he had planned for me and my egg. He kept me hunting for a while longer, and others even chimed in as to where there might still be an egg, even if they knew there was not one there. Then they even all collaborated to make me believe that they really didn’t know where the last one was hidden. This was easily believable since they had all been moved around so much, and the hiders only knew what Glenn told them.

Finally I was directed to a spot around the little well house. I had scoured this area earlier and knew at that time there was no egg. Glenn was all too interested in me finding this egg, so I knew something wasn’t right. Sure enough on top of the roof under some wood and trash was a small blue egg.

Now I am told that this egg originally held pennies as the booby prize, but by the time I found it, those had become part of another party’s egg. Mine held a small square piece of paper with a hand written note, which left no doubt as to whom was responsible. It was covered in my brother’s clever little wit, and read:……………………………..?

Well I know it had something to do with winning and/or being the Booby prize myself, but I no longer remember how he worded it. Regardless, he was extremely proud of himself, and I vowed revenge, which I am still waiting to collect. And so there you have it, the hunt goes on!

P.S. I am still waiting for my revenge. That being said, we actually haven’t had this hunt in a few years because due to weather, time, and other factors it just got missed. But my oldest daughter and I have had some new prize ideas. Most of the players are over 21 now, so we were thinking of mixing it up with travel liquor bottles in some of the eggs. Of course Glenn’s booby prize is still a work in progress……:)

Day 314-The Written Page

I live my life through ink and quill;
Each thing that happens a story still.
Sometimes events are very sad,
While others make me very mad.

Some have lessons in them to learn;
While others in my soul still burn.
Still others are very happy;
But sometimes words for them get sappy.

My life lies on the written page,
For others to read and gauge.
But for me it’s just how I deal;
And get past each notch in life’s spinning wheel.

Day 299-Who’s Gonna Shoot the Dog?-A Humorous Anecdote About Last Wishes

So there they were watching a scene right out of a “Far Side” cartoon. Six red neck men who had it all figured out. They had a huge bon fire built-in the field. They had an air tight metal box that should be able to withstand the heat and keep the ashes contained. They had the dog rounded up and surrounded between them. And they had six shot guns in hand.

What a sight they were, with old straw hats on their heads, well-worn blue jeans, and faded pearl snap shirts. Each one staring at a frightened dog that had no idea what he had done wrong. It was all ready according to their plan except for two details. The first of which was who was gonna shoot the dog? The second detail should have been the first, but none of them were aware of it.

You see, it all began with 98-year-old Granny, whom had passed away three days earlier, leaving a large adoring family of country hicks behind, and a few last requests.

The thing about large families is sometimes they get spread out, and those not closest to home (Granny’s home) might not hear all the news in people’s lives back home. The bigger things tend to find their way down the grapevine. Some smaller events just might not be important enough to anyone but those directly involved, and so once dealt with they are forgotten and not passed along to everyone.

There is good reason for this too. Most of us don’t rightly care to get a holler every time Aunt Margaret has to have her toe nail cut out, Uncle John gets a fishing hook stuck in his behind, cousin Mark falls in the creek trying to walk and look cool for pretty girls, sister Jean’s cat dies because she plops her 50X behind on it, or one of Granny’s dogs dies. Granted these things are tragedies to those immediately involved, but the rest of us just don’t want to know.

Most of us aspire to that cliché, “ignorance is bliss” in such situations. Well there were those among us on this particular day that would have appreciated if at least one of these gems had indeed been passed along.

So anyway, three days earlier after Granny’s passing, all manner of red neck, country bumpkin relatives from everywhere Hicksville, USA, had descended on the old home place where Granny had lived to come pay their respects. It is truly amazing what a family reunion a funeral gathering can be.

As everyone became re-acquainted with one another, many stories and such about Granny were passed along. In the process, the subject of Granny’s last requests became a hot topic of concern. You see, Granny had every last detail mapped out for after her life from not only who got what and who got not, but what was to be said, sung, done and who was to be buried with her at her funeral. The only detail missing or so they thought was who was to carry out that one final wish, since it had to be done by the next day, in order to be ready for the funeral.
Granny’s final wish was that the ashes of her dog be buried with her. This caused quite a stir among all the relatives gathered there visiting.

My parents and I were at the funeral home seeing to the funeral arrangements, so it became clear to the gathered throng that they would have to handle this last request on their own. In amongst this band of cowboy, red neck, hicks sat Fred, Granny’s dog, alive and well and enjoying much attention, oblivious at this point to the pity he was receiving.
The first order of business was to decide how they were going to accomplish this doggy cremation, and worst of all who was going to have to shoot the dog so that he could be cremated. So sad a task they had in hand because Fred was still a good dog with years left in him, but they had to honor Granny.

Since Granny had hand-picked her six pall bearers, it was decided that they would decide how this would be carried out. Once all was ready, they circled up and drew straws on who had to put poor Fred down. In case the first chosen couldn’t do it, they would all bare arms and be prepared so that surely one of them would be able to carry out Granny’s last wishes.

That brings us back to where we were with all preparations ready and six red necks with shot guns circled around poor Fred, as he stared back at them wide-eyed and sheepishly. The rest of the gathered family watched from the house. Children cried and adults shook their heads and waited.

It was into this scene that my parents and I, returned from making Granny’s funeral arrangements. We had seen the bon fire behind the house and the crew standing around outside, but it really hadn’t concerned us that much. After all, what better way to reminisce then around a good fire?

We entered the house to find everyone watching through the windows, not outside around the fire. We knew something was amiss. Therefore, we questioned what was going on. One tearful child answered, “We are waiting to see who’s gonna shoot the dog?”

“Shoot the dog! Why on earth do they wanna shoot poor Fred?!” asked Mom.

“Granny wants his ashes buried with her. They can’t very well cremate him if he’s still alive,” the same child answered.

“Oh my goodness!” Mom exclaimed as she looked around with a new appreciation for this very surreal scene. Then it hit her and she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard she couldn’t speak, and tears came to her eyes.

The crowd, turned to see what she could possibly find so funny about this obviously sad dilemma. Dad walked in as one of my cousins demanded to know what her hysterics were about.

“How can you possibly find the impending death of Fred so outrageously funny, have you no heart?”

“Death of Fred, the dog, why? He was fine when we left,” said Dad.

“Well they’re gonna shoot him, quick and humane like so as they can cremate him like Granny wanted. Just look outside. We were all watching to see who would have to do it,” said Uncle George.

“Oh no,” Dad said, running for the door, and throwing it open with a bang that startled the six-gun toting, doggy doomsday, do gooders of sorts.

Fred took this distraction and ran behind dad. “Its ok Fred, no one’s gonna shoot you today or any other day.”

“But what about Granny’s last request?” all six asked.

“Guess you boys hadn’t heard that Milo made that deal with Granny about three months ago,” Dad smiled.

“Milo, what do ya mean? Where is Milo?” they asked as Mom appeared in the door, having finally regained her composure, holding a small silver Erne inlaid with Milo’s picture, and engraved with his name, date of birth and death.

Fred reappeared, sitting himself in front of Dad now. I swear I saw him shrug in a sigh of relief, as he cocked his head to one side, staring at the harbingers of his past doom.
“I wish you guys could have seen yourselves standing in that circle, debating on who was gonna shoot the dog! My gosh, do you really think Granny would have made us bury a dog with her that was still alive?” Mom snickered and then burst into laughter again followed by many others.

Well since we had a bon fire to watch, we gathered around it to reminisce about Granny and the kids roasted marshmallows and weenies. Funeral or not, you can’t waste a good fire. Besides, that’s one camp fire story no one will ever forget.

As for Fred and Milo, well Fred died of natural causes at our house ten years later. He and Milo reside in a pet cemetery we started on the farm. You see, apparently the cemetery where Granny’s buried has an association and rules kind of like those neighborhood associations in them fancy sub divisions. Believe it or not, it has a no pets allowed in the occupants residences (graves) rule. Now don’t that beat all!

Day 275-The In and Out of An Idea

Some days ideas just jump into my head,
But then they look around at all the clutter,
Get scared and jump back out again.

Often I catch them before they get away,
But then they just dangle there
Like a fish on a hook waiting to be reeled back in.

The problem is no time, no room, and
No clear thought process that lasts
Long enough bring them to fruition.

If they get away then often I see them,
Peeping in the window reminding me they tried this once already,
And they still don’t see an opening large enough for them to fit.

So I think on them, trying to figure how to make them work.
Often this annoys them, and instead of seeing my solutions,
They disappear taking half my work with me.

This they seem to do just to punish me
For not paying closer attention and making them room
When they first arrived on the scene.

Why do good ideas always come at bad times;
When you have no access to pen and paper,
And then they expect your full attention and memory?

For example, in the shower;
Even if you were to have a pen and paper,
Just try writing in the shower, it will melt and you will never remember it all.

Day 222-Christmas Magic

When I was very young, my parents celebrated Christmas with us, steeped in German traditions that brought life and magic to the holiday. They went over and above in order to make the magic of Christmas real.

In our home the big celebration was an open house at my mom’s on Christmas Eve. On the 24th the house came alive with family and friends. There were decorations, a huge tree, tons of food, drink sweets, music, gifts and fun.

For us, the kids, all the wonderment began on Christmas Eve morning, but for my dedicated parents, the work began late on the 23rd. You see, my parents sent us to bed around nine o’clock on the 23rd in a house with not one decoration or obvious sign of Christmas, no tree, nothing.

When we awoke on Christmas Eve morning, the excitement and magic of Christmas had arrived at our house while we had slept. We came down the stairs to air-filled with the wonderful aromas of food cooking for Christmas Eve dinner. The house was decorated, and in the living room, was a Christmas tree that stood from floor to ceiling tall and almost as big around. It was fully adorned with decorations. In those days, the decorations consisted of beautiful glass balls and birds, golden garland, silver tinsel, and old-fashioned bubble lights, along with hundreds of colored twinkle lights which were ringed in little plastic star bursts. It was gorgeous, like a Christmas card in our living room. And best of all there were gifts of all sizes under the tree.

We were allowed to peak at the tree, but then the doors were closed and we weren’t allowed in again until time for gifts and guests. When we were older, we could help set the dining room table which was next to the tree, but we were not allowed to snoop around the gifts. Of course we couldn’t help but try to see names on the gifts as we worked, in such a way as to not get caught snooping. That was a tedious endeavor, I assure you. As soon as our work was done the door was closed again, and we were back to waiting.

The best part of this whole thing was the knowledge that Santa Claus had done it all, the tree, the gifts, decorated the house. He and his elves had been here while we slept. I know what you are thinking, “But Santa doesn’t start delivering until Christmas Eve.”

Well that’s right, but Christmas Eve starts at midnight, and it takes him all day since there are so many children in the world. And since he knew we had our Christmas that day, my parents had a standing agreement that he would come by our house before daylight on Christmas Eve.

I think the must have given him fresh turkeys for his Christmas table from my dad’s turkey farm each year to seal the deal because they quite often, got him to do special favors like this.

I remember quite well one of those favors he did for them. I was very young, perhaps 5 or 6 that particular Christmas. The day had transpired as I described previously. The extended family was there. We had read the Christmas story from the Bible and opened all our gifts.

I had wanted a bicycle that year, but there wasn’t one under the tree. We had begun to entertain guests and eat food. General merriment was being made all through the house; there was laughing and stirring but thankfully no mouse.
About half way through the evening, the door bell rang, as it had been doing all evening to announce more guests. I was told to open the door and so I did.

Outside on the step, there stood a brand new, red bicycle with training wheels. No one was there with it. Everyone I knew was in the room behind me watching. I heard jingle bells in the distance, and I searched the sky but never saw him, only heard the sleigh bells. Santa had made a special delivery, and was quick to be on his way so that I never saw him. I was excited and disappointed all at once.
I’m still not sure how my parents and “Santa” pulled that one, off and to this day, those who know aren’t talking. I do know it was probably the most exciting and memorable Christmas ever. The magic couldn’t have been more real that year. It was wonderful and fun.

After my special delivery had been safely ushered through the house to the utility room, where it couldn’t break anything if it fell over, the party continued as before. I looked out the window and up at the sky often that evening, never quite sure how Santa could get away so fast, and secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of his sleigh somewhere in the sky. I never saw it, but then that’s what made it magic.

Day 176-Halloween-The Harpist’s Wife

Happy Halloween! Today I am sharing another one of my ghost stories with you. I wrote this one some years ago as well, but it is all my own.  It was inspired by years of playing in the local cemetery behind my grandmother’s house, with my cousins while I was growing up.  It was published about 3 years ago on  Yahoo Contributor when I was writing for them, before they closed down the site, so there is some chance you may have seen it before. If you have, enjoy it again, if you haven’t, than welcome to the world of:

The Harpist’s Wife

It was a cold, dark, rainy, windy, night with lightning flashing and thunder rumbling loudly, and yet we were still there. We were stupid, foolish teenagers. We knew we shouldn’t be there; it was crazy and dangerous. We knew the stories were true, but we just had to see for ourselves. The legend said that if anyone went out to the cemetery on a night like this, one of them would not return from the Harpist’s grave, yet we still went. We had to know for ourselves. Call it dumb, invincible; know it all teen age pride and morbid, curiosity. We were six, when we went there that night.
Legend was that if anyone ventured into the cemetery on a night just like this one, you would see the Harper, hear him play, and watch as once again, he murders his wife, who smashes his harp in a jealous rage. Because the harp truly was his first love, in his will he left his full estate to the harp’s protection. It was to be enshrined atop his grave, in the most shatter proof glass, held together with thick steel, plated with solid gold. Lights shone upon it from either side, that it might shine like a god of the music world, he perceived it to be. He wanted it there, where he was sure, even in death; he could reach up and play it. And many say he plays it often. Many have heard it, and tell stories of reliving the night he murdered his wife with one of its broken strings, severing her throat. But each time there have been new witnesses to this crime, there has also been a new victim. His wife still tries to escape him, but for this there must be a trade, a soul for a soul. She must possess a mortal in order to flee from him.
So there the six of us were, standing in the stormy, dark night with only the light from the harp and the lightning waiting like lambs to the slaughter at the foot of the Harpist’s grave.
The thing about legends is that sometimes there are parts of them that people know, but are too afraid to speak of, so they only tell what they think will scare others away.
At precisely, 2:13 a.m., the harp began to play, and the harpist appeared at its side, an ordinary looking man, slender with shoulder length dark hair. Soon his lovely wife appeared, a vision of beauty with long flowing red hair, which surprised us, because every recounting of this story described her different, but always beautiful. They both were dressed in the finery of the late 1800’s. We watched as they began to fight. The real harp never moved from its shrine, and its music continued to play, as a vision of it fell to the ground. The Harpist scrambled to protect it, as she chopped it with an ax. Several times he narrowly escaped harm himself, crying in anguish as his precious harp broke into pieces.
She stood back weary and exhausted, dropping the ax to the ground, smiling. The Harpist plucked a long thin, sharp string from among the wreckage, and rose to face her. His hands wound tightly around the ends of the string until they began to bleed. Her smile faded, and she began looking for a place to flee for safety, it was then, they became aware of us watching.
She ran toward us wildly begging for protection, for a place of refuge. We scattered in different directions trying to get out of their path. I ran, my heart pounding, I could hear her footfalls behind me and her voice beseeching me to save her. I screamed that I could not help her because she was already dead. I stumbled over a low headstone, and fell and she fell upon me, and then we were one.
I felt her fear and my own, as she urged me to run, but I had broken my ankle in the fall and could only hobble. I cried for help from the others, but they would not come near because they had seen us become one, and they were afraid, but watched from the shadows.
I stumbled away as quickly as I could, but the Harpist overtook me, and I felt the bite of the string around my neck, cutting into my flesh. I could neither scream nor fend him off, though I tried. He over powered me. I felt my blood flowing down my neck, and my life slipping away.
In my head I heard her voice, “Thank you for setting me free, I am so sorry it had to be you.” Then I felt her fade away, and my world went dark.
When I awoke, the Harpist was once more playing his harp as though nothing had happened. My friends and the traveler were crying and screaming as they ran from the cemetery, leaving me behind. I called to them to wait, but they didn’t seem to hear me. As I started to follow after them, my foot caught on something on the ground. It was then that I knew what she had meant. Below me lay the body that once was mine, on the ground.
As I looked up, the Harpist beckoned to me. “Come my dear wife; let the music of the harp bring you peace, at least for a while.” I tried to walk away, but I found I could not leave the cemetery.
This was the part of the legend, no one would pass along. This was why no one described her the same way twice. Because each time she succeeded in freeing herself, she passed on her legacy to the one who took her place. This I now know, because for now until the next legend seekers came to the cemetery, on a stormy night, I am the Harpist’s wife.

Day 175-Hook Arms’ House- a Pre-Halloween Treat

Well with Halloween being tomorrow, I thought I might share one of my ghost stories with you. I wrote this one some years ago, based on a story that was passed around by high school students when I was just a young child. A place on an old country road dubbed Hook Arms house due to these rumors actually existed, but has long since been torn down.

This story was published once on Yahoo Contributor when I was writing for them, before they closed down the site, so there is some chance you may have seen it before. If you are from my small town,  you have probably heard the original rumors before, but now here’s the whole story. Hope you enjoy a good spook story. Happy All Hallows Eve Eve. I will have another original ghost story for you for tomorrow.

 

Hook Arm’s House

In the 1970’s, a series of unfortunate events, hurled a small Hill Country, rural town, into a ghost story, never forgotten.

Because of the trouble that ensued at the time this story broke, I am not allowed to tell you exactly what road, what town, or even any real names that are in any way connected to this tale. It has taken more than 30 years, to restore the peace around this area, which can only be kept by keeping thrill seekers away. He is now, just a forgotten legend, and for everyone’s safety, that is best. But, I haven’t forgotten, thus, I share his tale.

He returned from the war, with a hook in the place of his left arm, and adopted the name, Hook Arm, whether he wanted it or not. He lived alone in a meager two room shack that stood 100 yards off the county road just outside of town at the end of a short country lane, lined with trees. A grove of trees stood behind the shack as well, and one large and very old tree stood just to the left of it, giving shade to the small abode.

Hook stayed mostly to himself, haunted by the memories of war, and the family he had lost. In the beginning he did nothing to warrant the fear people had for him and his hook, but then one summer, quite by mistake, that all changed.

A family with a little girl, about seven, moved into the cabin in the field, across the county road. Neighbors immediately warned the family to stay away from the man who lived in the nearby shack. They told terrifying stories of Hook Arm, though he had never harmed anyone.

The girl often rode her bike down the county road. She would waive to Hook Arm tending his garden, and he would wave back. One day, she fell from her bike, around the curve just out of sight of her house, but still close enough for Hook to see her from his garden. He went to her. Her legs were scraped, she was crying, and could not ride her bike like she was. He carried her back to her house, walking her bike alongside him. Her parents were afraid, and thanked him, but quickly sent him away, warning the girl to stay away from him.

In spite of her parents’ warnings, the little girl was not afraid, and would ride down to his house to visit him, bringing him biscuits and things she snuck from her mother’s table. They became fast friends. He would often tell her stories of the little girl that he had lost.

One day the little girl arrived at his house, with a basket of muffins, and found that he was not home. Wanting to leave the muffins anyway, she left her bike leaning against the big tree at the side of the shack, and tried to find a way in. She wandered around the back of the shack and fell into an old, shallow hand dug well, when she stepped through its rotten plywood cover. That evening a storm came and the well quickly filled with water.

It was after dark and raining when Hook Arm returned and he did not see her bike leaning against the tree.

The little girl’s parents became alarmed when she did not return home before dark. They enlisted the neighbors to search the road for her, but did not find her or her bike.

From his kitchen window, in a flash of lightning, Hook Arm saw the bike leaning on the tree. He went out into the storm with a flash light, looking for his little friend. In the back yard, he found a piece of her torn dress on the collapsed plywood well cover. Shining the light into the well, he could barely see her face beneath the water. He knew she was gone. He laid in the mud, and stretched out his arms, barely able to reach her and drag her to the surface.

When he laid her down, he saw that there was a large gash in her head, and her leg was broken. He knew then that she had been knocked unconscious and drowned. He picked her up and carried her all the way back to the road. He wailed so loudly that his anguished screams were heard by the search party out looking for the girl. When they saw Hook Arm carrying her, they attacked him, assuming the worst. He tried to explain that he had found her and was too late to save her, but their fear turned to instant blame, and the neighbors became an angry mob. They chased Hook Arm back to his house, where he tried to barricade himself in, but they broke in and beat him until he could no longer fight back. Then they hung him from the large tree in his yard, left him to die, and set fire to his shack.

The storm became tremendously vicious that evening. When morning broke, his body was gone from the tree, never to be found, though the noose still hangs there, and his house though scorched and blackened still stands.

According to legend, he bargained with the Devil, who set him free, and allowed him to seek revenge on mankind for hating him. Many mysterious deaths occurred, including one by one each of the neighbors who helped to hang him.

The story made headlines, causing countless groups of fun seekers to travel to Hook Arm’s House to see where this happened, as well as to see if they could glimpse him roaming the grounds. Often an old, soaking wet, disheveled man, with a hook arm, and a bent neck, twisted from hanging is seen walking the dirt road leading down to his shack.

Almost all who return tell stories of running for their lives from a wet, dirty man with a hook arm but even more have gone, and never returned.

Occasionally, the missing thrill seekers are found brutally beaten and hanging from the tree by the house, while others appear to be drowned in the old well. The trees on his land are scarred with slashes from his hook, left behind from when he exacted his revenge on his attackers. But for each new person he catches, a new slash appears on one of his trees, and to date, there are many.

Often Hook Arm is seen tending his garden next to be blackened house. It grows beautifully ever year. He waves at passers-by; be sure to wave back, but don’t ever stop!

Day 145-Bull vs. Toyota-Livestock and Animals on Texas Highways

I saw something last night that has been a fear of mine for some time. Black Angus cattle are very hard to see at night. Quite often on my own road to the house, where I am already watching for them, I have come to a fast halt while rounding a corner due to one lying or standing in the middle of the road. Of course, I know they are there, so I am always watching for them.

Last evening we received a call from a concerned friend about a bull up by the old road side park on FM 965. They identified the tag, and luckily it was not our’s. We also located our’s standing in the field in front of our house, so we were doubly sure. We gave suggestions for other neighbors in the area that had similar animals.

A short time later a Sheriff’s deputy called us a second time, asking about the bull. I gave him the same information. At this point Brett and I decided to go up and see if we could lend a hand in any way.

From the time we got the call from the deputy, until the time we arrived on scene, which wasn’t more than ten minutes, things had taken a drastic change. We arrived to three sheriff’s vehicles with flashing lights blocking the road and we could tell by the debris in the road that an accident had occurred.

We pulled off the road in behind the last Sheriff’s car, and walked up to the scene to speak to the officers and see if we could help in any way. The bull was lying in the ditch alive but severely injured. Slightly in front of it, also in the ditch, was a white Toyota FJ Cruiser with the whole front end smashed in. The passenger’s side was the worst, obviously the main point of impact, but the vehicle was definitely totaled.

Apparently something spooked the bull and he ran across the median and straight out in front of the woman in the FJ. There was coolant and car pieces all over the road in her wake, but no skid marks that we could see. I don’t believe she even had time to react before impact.

The driver was still sitting inside the SUV with the door open waiting for the EMS to arrive, and a Sheriff’s deputy watching over her. Luckily the cab of the vehicle was completely intact and had held up well in the impact. The air bag had deployed, and most of her complaints injury wise were from the air bag and seat belt. Other than that she was distraught over having hit and injured the bull. She was actually more concerned for him than herself and was literally sick over seeing him lying in the ditch suffering while they tried to determine who he belonged to.

Shortly after we arrived one of the other cattle owners, that leases in the area pulled in behind us, and right after him the ambulance. The vehicle owner was treated and released at the scene with instructions to go to the ER if any symptoms worsened.

At this point, the second cattleman didn’t perceive the bull to be his. At the Sheriff deputy’s request I called another property owner in the  area to inquire if the bull might belong to him. After verifying the tag it was determined not to belong to him either.

Eventually after sending a picture of the tag to the previous owner, the neighbor on scene with us did verify that it was the bull that he had just moved in for a 3 month trial before buying. It was a very disappointing discovery for him, coupled with the fact that the animal should have been on the complete opposite side of the property no where near this road.  At this point he had no choice but to shoot the bull ending his suffering, and winch him up onto a truck bed to be hauled away. This was a very disheartening scene for all of us.

Folks I am telling you this story because this is an inevitability of rural Texas, or anywhere people raise livestock. Of course, this is a well used highway and the right of way is fenced all along it, but that is where we all get too  comfortable. Fenced or not, if there is livestock in the area we have to be vigilant. Deer  and wild animals are not the only creatures that may wander into the road ways in front of your vehicle. Domestic livestock do not always follow the rules even if they have fences, and in many rural areas, they are not fenced out of the roadways.

Cattle, horses, sheep, goats, llamas, and various others can and will get into roadways from time to time. Any of them can do damage to your vehicle and you if you hit them. Many of them come in dark colors that are hard to see at night. And the larger ones could cost you your life if you hit them at a higher rate of speed.

Don’t count on fences. Always watch your surroundings. If you see livestock in the area where you are traveling be careful and watch for them even if they appear to be in fenced in areas. No one expects a black bull to run out in front of them in the middle of the highway in the dark. If the animal is not facing you were their eyes catch the light, you may not be able to see them at all.

In this area of Texas, animals of all kinds are the rule, not the exception. If you haven’t hit an animal, at some point you probably will.  It is not your fault, it just happens, but driving with caution and being aware that you are in areas where animals roam, both domestic and wild, is your best defense. Altercations with livestock, are bad for everyone involved. Everyone is out money and property.

The woman last night was very lucky. Yes, her vehicle is totaled, but she came away, so far with what appear to be only minor injuries. There are people everywhere that have much different stories to tell, and some that are no longer here to tell their stories at all.

Don’t be reckless when trying to avoid an animal, swerving and skidding can be just as dangerous. Don’t depend fully on the protection of your grill guard either, smaller animals and deer may be deflected but larger animals are most likely not running as quickly and their larger mass doesn’t deflect away or under as well. In smaller cars you could just as likely end up with the animal in your lap as on the road after the collision.

Animals and livestock are a fact of life here in Texas and most rural areas, expect the unexpected.

Day 108- Final Summer Week High Lights

August has just gone by in a blur. Football began on the third so things have been busy. Brett made Varsity this year, so that is both a “Yeah” and an “Oh my are we ready for this?” Varsity has a lot more parent involvement than the sub varsity teams did. So the short answer is, yes, Brett is ready and we are proud of him. I am not, but that’s ok, because here we go anyway.

I am ready for game nights though. We went to the scrimmage in Lago Vista, and it was so much fun watching him play again. I just pray all goes well with no injuries. That is always my fear. Seeing him on the field taking down other players is just so exciting. Go Billies! They play the Lampasas Badgers this Friday to kick the season off.

Chelsea took a week off work before school started again and came home. We had a real nice week together. Tuesday, she and I went to the San Antonio Zoo, the river walk and the Spanish market. We were crazy and walked all around to the places in the downtown area. We put over 8 miles on our feet in the 100 degree heat. I know, what were we thinking. The simple answer was we didn’t want to have to move the car and pay another parking fee. The real truth of the matter is I believe the heat got to us. We had a great time and ate at the Original Mexican Restaurant on the river walk.

We were absolutely exhausted when it was all over and barely made the drive home. We even had to stop in Comfort at the Luvs to grab another drink and walk around a little.

Thursday after the scrimmage we went to the Austin airport to pick up Chelsea’s boyfriend, Guy, after which we stopped at Jim’s at the Y to eat and still made it home at the same time Brett did. One side note to this evening, the road to Lago Vista is unbelievable. That area has their own built-in roller coaster system they get to drive on a daily basis. I would not want to live there and drive that all the time. Poor Chelsea got car sick just getting there. That road makes “Devil’s Backbone” on  Highway 12 outside San Marcos seem to be a cake walk. The drive was definitely an adventure.

Friday was nice. We attended the Fair parade and then met my parents, brother and sister-in-law, and great-nephew for lunch at Enchanted Inn. Later that evening we went to the Gillespie County Fair.

While touring the grounds, we walked, visited and talked, which is actually one of the bigger high lights of the fair. You see people you don’t see the rest of the year, or don’t have time to visit with any other time. Later Steve went to the car and got our camp chairs because chairs were in short order around the dance floor. We sat  off the edge of the floor where there was a nice breeze and we quite enjoyed it there. Friends joined us bringing in their chairs as well.

Saturday, after lunch at Porky’s we went to James Kiehl park on the river in Comfort and just played around in the water. Guy made a make shift fishing rod from a line he found and a stick. We had equipment with us in the car,but he found this to be more fun. He didn’t catch anything but did have bites stealing his bait, and he saw a needle nose gar swim by. He had never seen one before and wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Later we returned to the fair with our chairs in hand to attend the dance.

Sunday morning we loaded up Chelsea and Guy and then went to a friend’s house, where we loaded up more stuff Chelsea had in storage there and sent to two of them on their way to Lubbock.  I always hate seeing her leave.

My mom and I had the opportunity to go see Fredericksburg Theater Company’s production of Greater Tuna. Mom has seen all but the Christmas Tuna from the original Greater Tuna plays and we were excited to see it here.

Before I say anymore about this, just let me say, that I love FTC and have never been disappointed in their shows. They are a top-notch group that Fredericksburg is so lucky to have. I am sure that all future performances will be just as award-winning as they have always been in the past. This is also not a direct reflection of FTC itself  or even the performers, only this particular play.

That being said, if you are sensing a ‘but’ in here, you are quite correct. Let me remind you that my mom has seen the originals, and she was ready to leave  this performance by the intermission. If we had we wouldn’t have been the only ones to do so. Most stayed through the whole performance, but there were some that left.

I had been so excited to see Greater Tuna because I had always heard so much about it both in media and from my parents, and I was so disappointed. This was so far below the standards of FTC. The humor was lame and lacking as was the story line. I did comment to mom at one point during one of the town news segments, that it was like watching an episode of the Doss News, which would have been more interesting. Shirley Lange could have written this and done a better job.

I read that they are planning to do the Greater Tuna Christmas as well. Honestly I think it would be better to quit while they are ahead, and go back to the type of magical stories and performances everyone is used to expecting and seeing at FTC. Yes it was sold out, but that was to be expected since they were per forming a play that had so much notoriety from its originals. As for Greater Tuna, mom and I agreed that this was just spoiled fish! Sorry if I offend anyone, you are entitled to your own opinion as am I, and this is mine and my  moms.

On the brighter side, at least mom and I had something to go do together, since we don’t seem to manage that very often. The evening and weekend ended well as we spent time visiting with my parents at Dairy Queen and then their house. And now it’s back to the grindstone with work and school returning. Have a wonderful school year all. Go Billies!!!

Day 62- SystemsGo Team Ends Another Successful Year

The SystemsGo team traveled home from White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico today. They left Alamogordo around 0800 and arrived safely in Fredericksburg around 1845.

They have now completed another successful year with launches in Houston, Willow City, and WSMR. The group helped students attempt the launches of over 90 Tchaikovsky and Oberth rockets and 6 Goddard level rockets.

Now they take a short needed break before getting fired up for a new year with more schools, students and rockets. It won’t be long and the “launch season” will be back again.

SystemsGo transitions back to helping schools and teachers implement this STEM based program so that more students can participate in this system of learning.

That concludes Thursday’s WSMR Rocket update.

www.systemsgo.org as always is the place for more information on this program. Take the time to get your school involved, the future of your students will be greatly benefited. SystemsGo is a Texas-based STEM curriculum program.

Team photo includes from left to right, Brett Williams (SystemsGo founder), Cade Ottmers, Brian Heffner, Josh Hampton, Chelsea Burow, Gene Garrett, Steve Burow, Randy Kuhlmann, Robert Dever, and Andrew Matthes (FHS STEM program instructor).