Easter Season is so near,
With bunnies, eggs and cheer.
But what of the cross;
The tomb can’t go lost,
Or Easter’s message, won’t be dear!
Tag: fredericksburg
Day 321-When I Look Upon the Sacred Cross
Each year as Easter rolls around, I find myself once again in awe of our Lord and Savior and the sacrifices He made for each of us. He created us beautiful and perfect in His sight, but we chose to turn our backs on him and follow in the path of sin. He spent centuries trying to bring us back by showing His power and wrath with floods, famine, plagues and destruction of the worst of us, but never all of us. He spared any that showed Him reverence and faithfulness at all. He continued to love us and when He realized that we were a foolish lot and these things only scared us back to Him for a little while, He chose another route.
He didn’t want to destroy us, but saw that through sin we were destroying ourselves. He took pity on us. He was and is GOD! He could have destroyed us and started over. He could have reached into our hearts and minds and changed them Himself, making us follow Him. He didn’t do that! He wanted a relationship with us. He wanted us to come to Him. He wanted to save as many of us as possible. He wanted us to want Him and love Him. He didn’t want puppets, he wanted children that came to Him in love and served Him in love.
There for He gave us grace.
Long ago He had established that the wages of sin was death. This was a death that would forever separate us from Him, and condemn us to an eternity of pain and suffering. He didn’t want to lose us all to this fate.
So once again He extended a hand to us in saving grace, the hand of Christ His only son. He sent him in the flesh, human like us, and able to feel and know our every pain and temptation. But yet fully divine and perfect and totally undeserving of the suffering He endures for us.
God could have done it any other way, but instead He chose to come to earth and become all that we were, except that He was sinless, in order to save us from all that we are even to this day, which is a sinful and totally undeserving people. He bled and died, was whipped, scourged, beaten and crucified that we might have everlasting life and have it abundantly. He died and rose again, conquering the grave so that our deaths might be a doorway to eternal life with him instead of eternal damnation.
He did all this out of love and a wanting and willingness to have a relationship with us. We did nothing to deserve this outpouring of love yet he freely gave it. We still do not deserve his love, grace and forgiveness, yet we have it and he continues to give it.
How sad it is that it took such drastic measures for us to realize that He wants us to turn our back on sin and follow him.
He didn’t have to die; He chose to do it for us. He chose to take our sins upon him. He could have just as easily destroyed us. Instead, He was able to “destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days,” (Matthew 26:61) hoping that we might finally realize who He is and all we mean to Him.
When I look upon the sacred cross,
My heart is broken in my chest,
My lungs are still, my breath a loss,
My soul to Him my one bequest.
He gave Himself for me his all,
That I might live instead of die.
My tears a flood begin to fall,
His pain, my grief and so I cry.
He owes me nothing, He is my God
My sins and burdens, He freely takes.
My life He spares with just a nod,
But with shame my soul still rakes.
Upon that cross He hung for all,
A sinful undeserving lot.
It took His life for us on our knees to fall,
And find the love that sin forgot.
As I look upon that sacred cross,
And see the pain He bore for me,
So that from Him I’d not be lost,
My eyes are open, I finally see.
His hand in grace He now extends,
With faith in Him I do believe
In God whose love has shown no ends
So His service I will never leave.
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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……:)
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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.
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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.
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Day 187-Focus Challenge 2-Writing Scenario to Story Premise
Fiction Writing Exercises for Stimulating Creativity Writing #365daynovel
From a simple scenarios form the basis for a story. Your job is to come up with three story premises for the scenario. Be creative and try to avoid the most obvious premises.
Chosen scenario:
- A man and a woman are sitting across from each other at a small table in a dimly lit restaurant.
Premise 1:
A young, attractive couple sits together in the same dimly lit restaurant night after night. She has long auburn hair and bright green eyes, he had crystal blue eyes and thick dark brown hair. They are the picture of health and beauty. They are always deeply engaged in conversation. Just simple things that seem so very day-to-day, yet they exude excitement and wonder as they talk. They seem to never notice anyone around them, they are totally in a world all their own.
Young lovers, most would assume, happy and engaged in each other’s interests.
They talk only to each other, and look only at each other. The locals are used to them. no one ever talks to them or approaches them. They are allowed to carry on alone, uninterrupted, and almost unnoticed. Rarely is anyone ever seated close to them, so they continue in their own way. It is best this way.
Then strangers come in. Some don’t give them more than a passing glance. Some notice that something is different about this striking couple, others are attracted to them wanting to engage them in conversation. Their excitement for life seems to bubble over needing to be shared. It is like an energy that flows from them in quiet waves that invigorate the senses of anyone close by. They draw others in without even a glance or word to them directly. They have a unexplainable attraction to those who don’t know.
Locals watch, pitying those that fall under their spell. Those that join them at their table appear to have a wonderful evening with them, but when the restaurant closes, this beautiful couple is the last to leave, and somehow they always leave alone. Their new friends, what of them? The rumors among the townsfolk speak of untold horrors, and these new friends are never seen again.
Premise 2:
A young couple in their teens sits together in a dimly lit restaurant trying to blend into the atmosphere of romantic lovers. The environment around them is strained as they practically will themselves to appear as completely enthralled young lovers, hoping that no one will notice them from anyone else in the place.
They hide in the darkest booth in the far back of the restaurant, praying that creature that killed their parents won’t look for them here. They don’t know what it is or where it came from, only that it is after something that their parents knew and now it seeks them since it did not find what it was looking for in their house or glean the information from their parents.
They are hunted by the police as well because they neighbors reported the murders and only saw them running from the house. They have no money, no car, and no place to go, and it is only a matter of time before they are found. Somehow they must escape the creature and the police until they can figure out the truth about what has happened and find the only person they can trust to help, and old friend of their father’s. But even this man is shrouded in mystery and they must walk in shadows until they can be sure if he will be their salvation, or more of their doom.
Premise 3:
An innocent couple is tucked away in the far corner of a romantic restaurant enjoying their meal, talking of an upcoming vacation when an explosion rocks the neighborhood sending the high-rise hotel next door crashing into the restaurant. They manage to flee the bay window table they are in, just as the building dissolves around them and they are trapped beneath the rubble. A section of the building remains where they are all trapped, but many are injured and the structure that is left won’t last long. Now they are in a race against time to get help and to find a way out, helping as many others as they can.
Roger is an EMT and Miranda a nurse, and they must use all their skills to survive, even as warning on Roger’s radio warn of another impending attack in more buildings in their area.
Ok, this was my writing exercise for the #365daynovell course I joined yesterday. This is day 2 of my challenge. Let me know what you think of my story premises from this exercise. The exercise was supplied by Writing Forward.
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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.
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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!
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Day 166-The Writing on the Stall Wall
Our 8:00 am conversation around the Billing department was rather comical this morning. It all began because Neil brought donuts to share for his birthday.
Sharon announced, as we were coming in, “Neil brought donuts to share, they are in the back!”
To which I responded, “Oh cool, is it his birthday?”
At this point several other ladies chimed in and the conversation went something like this:
“Yes today’s Neil’s birthday.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, I read it in the bathroom.”
“Oh, on the stall news, I guess I missed that.”
“Ya that’s how we find out everything these days.”
Laughing, “It used to be when someone said they read it in a bathroom, that meant it was written on the wall, like in the old days. “Call for a good time…””
“Now the Safety Stall News is where we find things out.”
“It just sounds wrong, “I read in the bathroom that it is your
birthday today.” Laughing.
“Yup we get our news on the Toilet Tabloid!”
The conversation really went down hill from here with much humor, but not everything said can be repeated, only laughed at.
Have a great day, I will be watching for your name on the stall walls.
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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.
On the Wings of Angels 