FRIENDSHIP, LOSS AND FIGHTING

The parking lot for the high school was on the other side of the building. Most mornings the guys would meet up there before class. One Monday morning was quite different, a member of our football team was missing. He hadn't been seen since dropping off his girlfriend at home in the new town of Kearney. That had been Saturday night, the night that the mineral creek bridge had washed out. During the Monday morning parking lot meetup word came in that his car had been found downstream from that washed out bridge. Three Harmon Cousins were standing together when we got the news, Ronny Harmon, his brother Donny Harmon and myself.
There was no plan made, somehow we just knew. We were going looking for him. Before we could load up and leave, the principal came up to us and tried to get us to go on into school instead. However the upperclassmen would have it no other way, they would search for our friend. The Freshmen, including Donny Harmon and I, would stay behind at school, as a concession to the principal by the older boys. Later that day Ronny Harmon found our friend about a mile down the creek from the bridge before it ran into the Gila river. Ronny was a pall bearer at the funeral.
It wasn't long before the annual "ditch day" when upper classmen played "Hookey" from school for a day by tradition. The ditch day turned into a school wide gathering at the small park located at the Gila river where Mineral creek joins. The majority of the high school classmates had left the parking lot as a group to remember our lost classmate. School administration had no idea what was going on, so, worried about the mass exodus, they called the Police, whom found us later that afternoon down on the Gila River, the wake for Les Mcdowell was over.

TACOS GAS AND SUNRISE

I can remember that morning on the construction job quite well. It was in mid November in Tucson Arizona. I was living in a camping trailer that was getting smaller by the day as I struggled to stay on the job.
I expect that part of my problem was that my mind kept sneaking off and going back to Arkansas for Deer season. It had been a strange construction job that was plagued with labor and management issues right along. Then there was that other thing, my mind just kept sneaking off to the Ouachita mountains for deer season.
Taco Bell was opening a string of new locations across Tucson and they were selling ten tacos for a dollar. When I had filled up with gas the evening before as I cashed my check, I had walked across the street and bought a big bag of tacos.
This morning just as I left the camper I grabbed that bag of tacos and hefting it, I thought, wow, there may still be a dozen still in there. They would be lunch on the job later. After a quick stop for a bag of ice and cold drinks for the ice chest in the back seat, I arrived on the job.
I could tell right away that something was up. The foreman was in a huddle of guys gesturing with his hands in the air, instead of looking at blueprints and sending guys off on jobs. I walked up to the group and got the word, we would be off until further notice. They would call us.
Amazingly I realized that the stars had suddenly aligned !
I didn't even go back to the camp trailer, I cut across town and came out on the highway down by the triple T truck stop. The sun was just coming up, I had a ice chest full of cold sodas, a bag of tacos and I was headed east, and, yep here it comes, it was deer season in Arkansas.
By the next time that the sun came up I was beginning to smell the pine trees in the air, the sodas were warm and I was down to my last taco. I could deal with all the stuff I had left in the camp trailer refrigerator when I got back, . . . . . it was deer season in Arkansas !

COFFEE, DARK AND SILENCE

It was pretty comforting to see that old battered Stanley thermos jug sitting on the desk near the laptop. Dented and scratched, it's green paint faded and worn thin, yet I knew it was still a good one. It would hold fresh hot coffee for hours, even when being opened to pour a cup at various times through the day.

Something had awaken me during the night, and I thought back upon it. An old ghost from SEA, South East Asia, had followed me back stateside and would come to visit from time to time. Probably prompted by sleeping in one position for too long and a aching hip.

Though it was 0330 hrs., it was time to get up and sit for a bit. No checking the cell phone for messages, no seeing if there might be an email on the laptop, just me and the warmth of a hot cup of coffee in the dark, still of the night.

Old Smudge the Cat was on the job. He was laying on the roof of the jeep. Silently observing every least sound and movement. He looked at the kitchen window where I watched in silence. Somehow he knew I was there. A brief "I SEE YOU' passed between us, like two silent sentry's passing in the dark, giving a slight knod of the head that meant "ALL'S WELL".

As the ghost faded into the past once again and the hip ceased it's aching, I knew Smudge was right, all was well and it was back to bed for me.

I thought, as I dozed back into a restful sleep, some people here on the internet complain about cat tracks on their car but not me ! It's a small price to pay for being sure that there are no Mice chewing on the jeep's wiring. No snake around our door step. No rodent sneaking in the house to plunder.

Thanks, Smudge for a job well done and leaving your calling card for us to see.

UNCLE CHUCK AND THE HARLEY DAVIDSON

UNCLE CHUCK AND THE HARLEY DAVIDSON

The walk back from the mail box was usually pretty dull. Ol' Ruff, my buddy and squirrel dog had already stirred up all of the excitement that he could on the way up to the mail box. But today was different, there had been a letter from Uncle Chuck in the mail box !

It was the biggest part of a mile out to the county road and that was where the mail box was located, on the letter carrier's mail route going west towards Oklahoma. On the way out Ruff had chased and treed every squirrel along the way, and, he had stirred up the resident water moccasin at the branch crossing.

The long walk back was going pretty quickly as mom read the letter., with occasional breaks for such things as crossing the stepping stones at the branch. And the usual stern admonitions to Ruff and I, such as get out of that and stay away from the other, so on and so forth. At the branch crossing we could still smell the stink of that old water moccasin that Ruff had really riled up.

As Mom continued to read we learned that Uncle Chuck, Charles Thurman Harmon, had went halves with a buddy he was in the Army with, and had bought a Military surplus Harley Davidson. And, now here is the cool part, they planned to ride it home from way over near the coast.

Now, talk about exciting ! Here was a cool Uncle that I hadn't seen since I was too young to remember, a warrior coming home from the great war, on a Harley Davidson motorcycle ! They would be traveling US Highway 70 to Durant Oklahoma and since we were not too far off of the route would be stopping to visit for a few days. Holey cow !

Speculation ran high around the evening supper table that evening. Topics about the travel time, Army discharge date and weather were being thrown about so fast that we forgot to turn on the battery powered radio to hear the Louisiana  Hay Ride program. That was a favorite radio show that we almost never missed.

We knew that they would ride mostly in the daylight and avoid riding at night, especially when they started up into the Ouachita Mountains where the roads were considerably in worse condition.

Time seemed to pass ever so slowly as we listened for the exotic motorcycle sound coming down the road to our house. A few days later when we finally heard that sound the weather had changed for the worse and it had slowed down their progress. They were both still in Army Uniform with heavy wool long coats, gloves and goggles on.

Ruff just knew that we were being attacked by a dragon and rushed out to bite a tire, nearly causing a wreck by the well in the front yard ! After getting Ruff called off, the hugging and back slapping began.

Soon the whole family was sitting around the kitchen table exchanging tales and catching up on family events since Uncle Chuck had last seen us.

Coffee, sausage biscuits left over from breakfast and lots of smiles and laughing. Uncle Chuck was home at last !

AMERICA'S SUGAR BEET HARVEST
http://www.theperennialplate.com/episodes/2018/10/america-betty-and-larry/
Feature Article in Perrenial plate

BUS By Larry Mountainborn Harmon > Made in 1949, the Chevrolet school bus had been Mena schools #9 bus. After years of service with the Mena School, the old bus then became the property of the Mena Boy Scout troop where it was worn out for the second time. In later years the bus became the property of a Mena outdoors man that converted it to a hunting/fishing camper. When I saw the ad in the classified section of the Mena Star, the local newspaper, it was simple and straight forward. FOR SALE; camper school bus, ready to hunt or fish. I called the telephone number and talked to an older man with a slight quaver to his voice. It was obvious that he was turning loose of a retired hunting lifestyle and was a bit reluctant. He had built the camper to suit him and health was forcing him to let it go. He loved that old bus and it had been the center of many adventures. He loved it enough that he could hardly stand to let it sit and rust away. He wanted to see it out there doing what he had built it to do. The inside was laid out as follows: On the highway side right behind the driver’s seat was a full size propane refrigerator. Next to it on the left was a four burner with oven, apartment size cook stove, followed by a double kitchen sink. Next on that side was a set of bunk beds that could fold up out of the way. The bathroom was all of the way to the back. On the curb side as you came up the stairs was the kitchen dinette that used two of the bus’s original seats with storage underneath. Then a cabinet and counter top, kitchen work space, followed by a closet and shelves. Behind that was two more bunks that could fold up out of the way. Mounted on the curb side rear bumper and standing straight up was the one hundred pound propane tank. On the highway side was the television antenna. The bus was painted hunter green with two black stripes down the sides. There was no insulation in the bus, that was added later. A Honda QA50, the folding handle bar mini trail, was small enough to ride under the kitchen dinette. It quickly became standard operating practice to leave Arkansas in late winter or early spring to go west and work various construction jobs. Then in the fall return to Arkansas to “winter up” for the holidays with family. When passing through or working in Arizona, Dad’s house in Tucson or Mom’s house in Superior were regular driveway surfing spots where we could catch up on family events. For a few years there were construction jobs in Southern California and in-laws there to visit. While there, the military surplus yards provided many parts to upgrade and improve performance on the bus. One of the first upgrades was a vacuum shift two speed rear end or third member which really improved our gas mileage and hill climbing ability. Hot rodder’s home brewed split manifolds for both intake and exhaust were added to a upgraded 235 six cylinder engine that had replaced the old 216 cubic inch engine. During our visits Brother Phillip developed an interest in our Nomadic lifestyle and one spring when we were heading west to California, he told us to stop by and pick him up on our way through Tucson. It was late at night because we were traveling long hours to make the construction job on time. We pulled up and he came out with a gym bag, then we were on our way. It was several days later in California that we learned that he hadn’t told anyone in Tucson that he was leaving. It was about a year or so later, as we were nearing Tucson that he said he was ready to be dropped off at Dad’s. He had traveled with us from coast to coast. One winter we had decided to spend CHRISTmas in Florida and we were running a chain service station for KAYO Oil Company in Lakeland Florida. It turned cold and snowed about an inch ! We decided that we could be at home in Arkansas where it was actually warmer for CHRISTmas. I called the company, dropped the keys in the safe, and headed for Arkansas. When we woke up CHRISTmas morning, we were in Grandma’s driveway. We sometimes pulled a trailer. At one point a trailer with a Lloyd automobile on it. We were usually loaded pretty heavy and that put extra work on the engine. Parts were cheap and readily available. That insured regular rebuilds and modifications for performance. As the price of gas worked it’s way back up over a dollar a gallon, it was time to go back to standard manifolds for improved mileage and dependability. I missed the sound of those dual carburetors sucking air and the dual exhaust sounding off on a long pull up a steep grade in the Smokey Mountains ! One summer our job had wrapped up early, catching us by surprise and we were headed back to Arkansas, a bit short on cash. Interstate highway I-40 was under construction and we were coming out of the Carolinas, jumping on and off of completed and detour sections of the interstate. The completed sections of the interstate were not built up and if you needed gas, sometimes you would have to drive a short distance into a by passed town to a service station. On a long gradual downgrade the engine backfired and died. Ahead was a off ramp with a dug out slate pit and we coasted on in. It was hot in that slate pit without a breath of air moving. The next day the radiator was out and the front of the engine was off, to reveal a broken fiber timing gear. The distributor had seized up and the timing gear had broken. Those Tennessee mountain boys at a local service station had a good used distributor and I replaced the timing gear with a aftermarket metal gear. Three sunburnt, greasy days later, we are on the road again. This time totally strapped for cash. When we got to Benton Arkansas I traded a half case of STP oil treatment for a tank of gas and that would get us home to Hatfield. There was no by-pass in Hot Springs Arkansas and as we are passing through about noon, I began to think about that cool mountain stream near Joplin Arkansas that ran right beside the highway. It had been a hot, sweaty, greasy, three days and was thinking about taking a bath in that cool water. As I pulled into that rest area parking and set the brakes, I thought to grab a bar of soap and a towel on the way to the creek. I must have looked a real fright to those Mom’s whose kids were playing in the water. I was so focused on how good that water felt as I soaped up, that it wasn’t until I heard them calling their kids out of the water that it dawned on me. There I was, flip flops, greasy cut offs, badly sun burnt, with wild hair, soaping up and polluting their play area. I kept on scrubbing, even after they had gathered up their kids and left. Man, oh man was it ever good to be back in Arkansas ! When Hurricane Camille dead centered Gulfport Mississippi, Phillip and I decided to go down there to help rebuild and make a little bit of money too. Yeah, well, it didn’t work out that way ! We got there early found a great camping place and went looking for work. Everyone that we talked to took one look at that bus and decided that we couldn’t be trusted and some even treated us like we were going to start looting any minute. The last straw was the day that the local employment office told us it would be weeks before they were ready to put anyone to work. We gave up and left. On the way down to Gulfport the small outer wheel bearing on the steering axle driver’s side seized up while going through a town. We immediately pulled into a shopping center parking lot and it even had a auto parts house in it ! They didn’t have the bearing in stock but could have it the next day. The wrong bearing came in and it took an extra day. After taking the brake drum off, we discovered that the bearing puller wouldn’t budge the inner bearing race, no matter how much pressure we put on it,or how hard we beat on it. It was time for ole redneck ingenuity ! We filed as deep of a slot in the race as possible, wrapped a shop towel tightly around it, put a chisel in the slot and hit it with a hammer. The race split and was loose enough to take off of the spindle by hand. Soon we were on our way again.

Truck patchin’ By Larry mountainborn Harmon The last thing that I had heard as I went out the door to make the long walk to the school bus stop was, “ come straight on to the house when you get off of the bus this afternoon, don’t be dilly dallying around about getting home !” The screen door slamming probably drowned out my “yes mam’ “, as I crossed the creaky old wooden porch and front steps. I didn’t know it yet, but it was a set up. Although it was a Friday late in the summer, all Friday’s were not created equal, a taking produce to town on Saturday required a little extra effort from everyone and we were already beginning to get signs of the changing of the seasons to come. The previous Sunday afternoon while walking with Grand ma Crowell to cut short sweetgum twigs that she would fray on one end to dip her Garrett sweet snuff, she had commented, “sap’s already a’ goin’ down and the switches are getting brittle”. She would test each one that I cut for her with my Barlow pocket knife by biting one end to expose the fibers and then fray it until it looked a bit like an artist’s paint brush. That was the end that she would moisten and put in the snuff bottle, then place it between the cheek and gum. The twigs were about six inches long and about one eighth of an inch round. The twig would stick out of the corner of her mouth much like some folks do a toothpick now a days. Some days she would be sitting in her old wooden rocking chair on the front porch, which would be on the cool side of the house, rocking and looking down the road for me walking home from the bus stop. Great Grandma Crowell and Grandpa Andy were the only tobacco users in the household, Dad hadn’t made it home from the Navy yet. Grand pa’s tobacco preference was fine cut Copenhagen in the round can. Dad smoked cigarettes, he preferred the old green label Lucky Strikes. Ole Scoop wasn’t at his usual place where he would meet me as I walked home from the school bus. He was running a little late. As Scoop met me near the front porch and the screen door slammed behind us, the house was totally silent. Sometimes I would hear, “Butchie ! Don’t you be a’ slammin’ that screen door so ! Since we now had electric lights in every room, I carried my books to the kitchen and dropped them on the table. No one there and the old brown cast iron cook stove was just barely warm. Thinking they might be out in the garden I went out on the kitchen porch to look. That was when I found it. Then I knew. There it was. A message for me. Just as plain as if it had been a written note. I had inherited Grandma Crowell’s garden hoe and it was leaned up against the cook stove kindling box with my straw hat hanging on it. Everyone was down in the river bottom at the truck patch and as soon as I changed clothes, split stove wood and kindling I was to go down to the bottom to help hoe out the garden. I should have noticed that Great Grandma’s rocking chair was missing from the front porch. Yep, it had been a set up alright ! The day before going to town with a load of produce from the truck patch on a Saturday, we would have an all hands effort where we got it ready for the trip to town. Grandma Crowell would be with the team and wagon under a shade tree over by rock creek, sorting and culling produce and rocking in her rocker when it was slow. One of my jobs was to load the crates of produce into the wagon. Sometimes I had trouble getting it just right to suit her, because she wanted to make sure it made the trip to town in the wagon in good shape. The prettiest went to town to sell, anything with a blemish we would can and put up in the root cellar to be used in the winter. Now about Grand ma Crowell’s hoe, it was short and light. The head had been sharpened by filing so many times over the years that it wasn’t very wide and Grandpa Andy had taken a broken hoe handle, scrapped it down with a piece of glass until it was smooth and light. I think that the Idea was that I would use a hoe that I was less likely to chop a toe off with. Since I was shuttling back and forth between the garden out in the hot sun and the wagon in the shade, there was plenty of opportunity’s to get a cool drink from the large water jug that was wrapped with layers of tow sack material and wet down from time to time so that the water inside would be cooled from the evaporation. There was a hay stack somewhat in between the team and wagon and the truck patch. So with that in mind I could make a bit of a hole in the hay stack where it would be a little cooler than under the shade tree. It was a dangerous thing to dig into the hay stack for it could slide down and bury anyone in the cool hole. Possibly smothering them. I had been warned, but still, was reckless about it. One time I dozed off and was awakened by Grandpa hunting for me and calling “Butch” ! I got my britches dusted off over that alright ! It took me awhile to figure out why it was called a truck patch when we didn’t have a truck. Though some others had farm trucks, we were still using horses and wagons. Our hay was cut with a sickle bar horse drawn mower and the hay was drug by a horse drawn hay rake to the fodder stack where it was thrown by the pitchfork full up onto the hay pole. The hay pole was a tall cedar tree that was planted in the ground and rose around twenty feet. It formed the center of the hay stack and kept it in place. The shape of the pile caused it to shed rain and the hay was pretty well preserved that way. The cattle were up near the house in a different pasture and when we harvested the last of the garden, canning most of it, the cattle were moved down to the river bottom and turned in on the truck patch. It just gave the cattle a little something extra to start into the winter with. Grandma’s “kitchen garden” was up near the house where it was handy. I would often be sent out to that garden to get a couple of this or a couple of that as it was needed when she was preparing something in the kitchen. On the Fridays where we worked the truck patch we would get back to the house with just enough light left in the day to take a quick bath in the creek and settle down in the living room to listen to the Grand Old Opry on the old battery powered radio. That radio was one of the last things to be replaced with one that operated on electricity. Before going to the creek for my bath I would rinse out the large cast iron wash pot out in the laundry area and put a couple of buckets of water in it before starting a small fire under it to warm water for those that bathed in a wash tub in the yard behind the house. Grandpa Andy would unhook the team in the yard under a tree in case it came a storm, then walk the team back up the hill to the barn for the night. Grandma would go with him carrying a milking bucket and while he unharnessed, fed and brushed down the team, she would be milking the old Jersey cow. Drawing fresh well water for the kitchen was the last thing before heading down the hill to the branch with a towel and a bar of soap. Busy times, yes, busy times indeed.

DOWN ON THE FARM in POLK COUNTY ARKANSAS By Larry Mountainborn Harmon Times were hard in America when the J.I. Case Tractor Company in Racine Wisconsin closed it’s doors, laying Grand Pa off. Grand Ma and Grand Pa knew that as bad as things were they were only going to get worse before the economy turned around, and who knew how long that would take. They chopped the back end off of their ageing Pierce Arrow automobile with an axe, added a saw mill slab flatbed to the bare frame, loaded everything that they owned, and headed back home to Arkansas. They knew that they could “hunker down” and scratch out a living by farming until things got better. Grand Ma’s Sister and her husband, Beulah and Henry Reynolds, were in the same fix, and did the same. Helping each other out, moving slowly over a primitive Midwestern American road system, sleeping nights in their cars, they headed back home where they would stay. One morning just about daylight they were awakened by someone loudly calling, “ham and eggs, ham and eggs !” It was dark when they stopped for the night and unbeknownst to them, they had parked by an asylum. The closer that they got to home the more primitive and crooked the Ouachita Mountain roads became. The search for a place to live brought up lots of possibilities, most of which they couldn’t afford. When they did find the right place, it was a match made in Heaven ! They traded the cut down Pierce Arrow car/truck and fifty dollars for eighty acres with a frame house and a large barn. The previous owner had a promise of a good job in California and he needed the automobile to move out there in and the cash to provide travel funds. A few details about the livestock and some implements were finished up by mail over the following months. The Old House wasn’t much but it was big enough, though it was only an uninsulated single board thickness wall house, it had the inside lined with Newspaper, cardboard and flour paste glue that had been wall papered over. The barn on the other hand was wonderfully built ! As was the style during the era., and, as was the house. The barn was large with a gigantic hay loft and large stalls down each side of a lower level breezeway. A spring fed year around branch ran in front of the house, joining Rock Creek before it ran into the Mountain Fork of the Red River. The junction of Rock Creek and Mountain Fork made the South West corner of the Eighty acres. There was a hand dug well in the front yard and a long covered front porch ran across the front. One year we got a new couch and the old one went out on that porch, Ole Scoop the Rat Terrier, immediately claimed it for his own, and it had to get pretty bad in the winter, to make him want to come in the house. Grand Ma kept wanting it hauled off but I kept begging for it to stay for Scoop. I put a blanket out there and on a rainy day me and old Scoop could really get in a proper Nap ! A hand dug root cellar was out back with a smoke house a few feet away. A large garden spot was to the south of the house and it could be seen from the back kitchen door. The road that came to the house almost ended there, but actually turned into a dim track, that crossed Rock Creek and came out near the present day Boy Scout Camp Pioneer. Dad was in the Navy and when we came back from Hawaii we traveled by train from Long Beach California to Mena, Arkansas, where we were met by Gran ma and Gran Pa in a borrowed rusty International flatbed truck. Soon, I was enrolled in school at the two room Potter School. There was no cafeteria or lunch room. Every one brought their lunch, usually in a syrup bucket or a lard bucket. That is the way syrup and lard was packaged for sale back then. They had a tight metal lid that snapped on to keep insects and so forth out. At lunch time we would grab our lunch bucket’s and sit in the shade of a large red oak tree in the school yard. We had an hour for lunch and it didn’t take long before a baseball game broke out. If no one had a ball we would make one out of tightly tied rags. As a special treat, I would sometimes be given a quarter and would walk up to the dirt road intersection where old school mates of Mom’s, Marcus and Lora, had a general store. Lora would hand slice the lunch meat of my choice, make a thick sandwich from hand sliced bread with a soda pop of my choice and candy bar or banana. There was a dime in change given back to me. Dad was still in the Navy, but processing out, as were tens of thousands of other GI’s. When he finally arrived home after getting out of the Navy, it was by the Kansas City Southern railroad. He tried farming for a while but after the stress of war, the farm life was hard to take for him. America was recovering and big paying jobs were out there. As a certified welder he soon left on a pipeline job. I wanted to stay home so I settled in for the long run and it was just great. Times was still hard in the Ouachita Mountains though things were getting better. We watched excitedly as the Rural Electric Association brought electric lines closer and closer, then one day the power lines came to our house ! A whole new world opened up for us. For months when we had visited neighbors or even at the Potter School, we enjoyed electric lights and we could hardly wait. Yet we were so far out it seemed to take forever. It was several days before a guy from the County seat could come and put a single light bulb in each room with a string hanging down in the center to turn it on with. It would be weeks before we even thought about other things that electricity could do besides provide light. In the early days the power went off fairly often. We clung on to our tried and true coal oil lamps, it was nearly a year before we got our first large, noisy refrigerator. Grand Ma wouldn’t have it in her kitchen. She had it put out on the porch beside the ice box. Then it sat there for almost a week before the electrician could come out and put our first plug in up on the wall above the refrigerator. Any time the weather got bad, Grand Ma pulled the refrigerator’s cord from the wall, she was afraid that it might burn the house down. We never did add any more lights to the house and never added another plug in, that one was enough. In the evenings we would talk about an electric well pump, but that would mean plumbing and it never did happen. I kept on drawing water from the well with a bucket by hand. As more and more folks left the county to follow higher paying jobs, help around the farm became more and more scarce and it was harder for Grand Pa to do everything with just me to help in evenings and on weekends. As was the practice every member of a neighboring household would arrive at the house about daylight with teams, hay rakes or other implements to trade out labor as needed. Then on another day we would go to their farm to work a day. Grand Pa’s old war injury’s and age made it harder and harder to hold up our end of the deal. His injury’s from the world war kept coming back to plague him and there were several stays in the VA hospital. One day while in the County seat at the Court House someone made an offer on the farm. Our days on the farm were coming to a close.

SATURDAY’S in POLK COUNTY ARKANSAS By Larry Mountainborn Harmon Friday afternoons after school could be very busy, or at least it seemed so to me. They went like this. Get off of the school bus at the end of the road that ran out to our farm. It was a mile and a quarter and I could get in trouble for dallying along the way. I was bad about getting distracted by the cool things such as squirrels, terrapins, rabbits, etc. . Then, ole scoop the family Rat Terrier and my buddy, would meet me along the way somewhere. It was pretty often that I heard, “you better get on around, you have kindling to split and a bath to take”. On Fridays I had to make sure that there was enough kindling and cook stove wood in the box on the back porch to last a couple of days because Saturday was town day. Drawing well water and filling up the hot water reservoir on the old brown and cream colored cast iron stove in the kitchen and filling the sink side buckets, as well as the drinking bucket with the enamel dipper was part of Friday’s chore list. But the water drawing didn’t end with the kitchen. I had to draw bath water for that old galvanized washtub that hung on the back porch. In warmer weather, I could skip drawing the bath water and slip off down to the branch in front of the house with a bar of soap and a towel. As the weather cooled and when I finally stretched that branch bath as long as I could stand it, I had to draw well water to bathe in. By the time I came back up the hill from the branch it would be getting dark enough that I needed to watch my step while keeping an eye out for snakes. The coal oil lamps in the living room were coming on by then. And I could always tell when Grandma lit great grandma’s lamp it had a tall glass globe/chimney and it was much brighter. Scoop would be “muting” around by the branch, but he could always beat me to the house, noisily crossing the front porch and tapping the front door screen. By then everyone was beginning to gather in the living room and when I came through the door I often heard, “your Saturday clothes are laid out on your bed, don’t get them dirty”. The old wooden battery radio cabinet was the focus of attention on a Friday evening, because the Grand Old Opry was on then. Radio station WSM was located at 650 on the dial. However Grand pa had made a small pencil mark near the number to fine tune the AM frequency. While the Old tube type radio was warming up, Grand pa would fill up the living room wood stove, if it was cold weather. If not he would fill his pipe with tobacco, carefully tamping it down and lighting it as we listened to see if the reception would be good on that night. Warm weather meant less of a chance of good reception. All too soon it was time to turn in for the night. Usually the last thing I would hear before dropping off to sleep would Grand pa putting wood in the living room stove and Grand Ma walking back to the kitchen with a coal oil lamp to shake down the ashes in the cook stove fire box and add wood before dampening it down for the night. Even though four thirty came early, I seldom heard the alarm clock go off, especially on a Saturday morning. In the predawn cool of Summer time I could hear the gentle creak of the boards in the floor of the house as Grand pa tended the living room stove and Grand ma went to the kitchen. The creak of cast iron stove doors seemed to be my signal to get up and get going. In warm weather the living room stove didn’t need wood so Grand pa would draw an extra bucket of water for the kitchen. Grand Ma always did the dishes before leaving out for town. One of my favorite sounds in the morning was hearing that large old wooden bowl put on the counter and the biscuit dough being kneaded by Grand ma. It had a certain rhythm and smell as the buttermilk was poured in. By the time the biscuits were put in the oven I was already getting instructions about what to fetch to the table, stove or sink counter to help out. The old wooden ice box was outside on the back porch to one side of the kitchen door by the wood and kindling box. At some point while the biscuits are beginning to brown and the gravy is beginning to thicken, I would get the word to shake down the ashes in the cook stove and add wood to the fire box. During one of my fetching runs out to the icebox I would hear the harness jingle as Grand pa brought the team of Percheron draft horses down the hill from the barn and hooked them up to the wagon. The old blue speckled coffee pot had been slid back off of the stove eye and was slowly percolating as I waited for Grand pa to come out of the dark, stomping his feet on the porch steps before coming into the kitchen. Always grand ma said “pour PaPa a cup of coffee and come to the table”. When we had Black strap molasses it was a tough decision about which to pour over smoking hot, well buttered cat head biscuits. By the time “town Saturday” came around we were out of, or nearly out of ice in the ice box, so one of the things that we had to make sure was in the wagon, for the trip to town, was an old heavy quilt, several clean tow sacks and a tarp to put over the fifty pound block of ice that we would bring back. Soon Grand ma was mentally going down a check list of things to be sure we had, such as an umbrella and a collapsing drinking cup in every ones pocket so we could get a drink from the spring in Janssen Park. I always had mine in my pocket because I would often slip away and be roaming the town at large and if I came back to the wagon, I ran the risk of being collared and taken in hand to stay with the adults. Lots of folks brought extra produce to town and we also did. Packing flats of eggs so they wouldn’t break and produce so it would not get bruised. Most mornings the sun would be coming up as we listened to the wagon brake squeal on the metal rims of the wood spoke wheels, holding the wagon back while going down the Rock creek hill. When we got to town we would make the rounds of the stores where Grand ma traded, dropping off eggs and produce as needed, before tying up the team and wagon by the bear pen in Jansen Park. Many that brought wagons and teams to town wouldn’t park near the bear pen because the bear would spook them. Training the team about the bears smell and sounds meant that in the summer’s heat of the day, the wagon and team would be in the shade.

CAMPFIRES by Larry Mountainborn Harmon  July 9, 2016  By mountainborn  In Camping Tips  No Comments lakegreeson It is that special time of day on most camping trips, not long after happy hour, when the evening breeze carries the magical aroma of campfire smoke. That time of the day when folks gather with their lawn chairs to review the days fun and plan the adventures of the coming day. I am convinced that there are no average or generic campfires, and, that many of the worlds ailments can be clearly defined and resolved while looking across the campfire through a light blue haze of smoke. Yet, some campfires will stick in our minds more readily than others. Today I was pleasantly reminded of one such campfire. Jugfest 2009 was in full swing and a whole gaggle of molded fiberglass Nomads were camped out on Lake Greeson in South West Arkansas. I had just retired from many years of public service, though Betty was still on the job at that time. Here is the video that I found while looking for something else. It caught me by surprise and brought a broad smile to my face ! This, for Betty and I, was one of those memorable campfires. https://youtu.be/YX_qY8EwJwQ
Sorry about the poor quality of the video but the audio was the main thing, for after all, we were sitting around a campfire. Turn your volume up and imagine the expressions on our faces as we heard it for the first time. Our clever entertainer friend even worked the name of our boat,”Harm’s Weigh”, into the verses ! I wish that I had caught the jaw drop expression on Betty’s face when the author/singer referred to how she got her nick name, “butcherknife”. Should you or a family member be allergic to the smoke of a campfire then consider a propane campfire to set the stage for a good night’s rest while camping. Either way, here’s hoping we see you around the campfire where problems are solved and memories are made !

SNOW CAMPING by Larry Mountainborn Harmon

Home / Camping Tips / SNOW CAMPING by Larry Mountainborn Harmon TrujilloBettShovelsnow  SNOW CAMPING by Larry Mountainborn Harmon  June 11, 2016  By mountainborn  In Camping Tips  No Comments Our campground assignment for the summer was up high, at 10800 ft., and we were arriving early, so the likelihood of the road being still blocked by snow drifts was high. Because we would be passing near by, to get to our staging area, we thought that we would swing by and take a look anyhow. Here is what we found.

Local fishermen hoping to be the first to fish the lake were stuck in a drift that blocked the road. Though we were hooked to our Oliver trailer, we were still able to pull them straight back then turn around to get out. Yep, welcome to the front range of the Rocky Mountains, we were just a bit early ! Two weeks and another snow storm later we were able to get into the campground.

The post in the foreground is our water hookup and the picnic table top is just barely showing above the snow bank in the background.

Later in the week, Betty digs around the picnic table, looking for the fire ring. It was a couple of days later that she found it on the other side of the table. Before we were able to get our Oliver into the campground, we got in with the Jeep to check things out. Our four season camper with a couple of solar panels and an extra propane tank kept us comfortable even with on going, early season snow storms, during the days that we worked to get the campground ready for opening day.

In this photo the solar panels are covered with snow from a overnight storm. The sun came out and by mid morning our battery’s were topped off again. It was pretty nice to be able to catch the news and weather thanks to the King Dome satellite TV. Between snow showers we put our screen room on the awning and set up Betty’s cook shack. Cooking cornbread and biscuits above ten thousand feet is quite a trick but Betty has got it all going on !

COULD A MACERATOR BE IN YOUR FUTURE ?

Could a macerator be in your future ? By Larry Harmon The first time that we considered a macerator, our Oliver had sat in the RV port with the holding tanks about half full. We had stayed at the lake until late in the day and just didn’t have time to dump the tanks because we had to be at work the next day. Well, naturally, one thing led to another, and the following weekend we had out of state visitors. Yep, you know it, they also wanted to stay in the Oliver during their visit, to check it out. Not being tank volume conscious boondockers, out visitors waved their way down the driveway with us looking at approximately a forty mile round trip to dump those full tanks. You know that is when I thought how easy it would be to run a water hose over to the sewer line clean out cap and pump the tanks out with a macerator pump. That way we wouldn’t even have to hitch up to the Oliver ! Later, I bought a macerator pump and a couple of hoses that would readily stow in the back bumper storage. The hoses were 5/8 of a inch for maximum flow and stored in their own roll up case. Here is a look at a different one that we have now, but, it is the same portable style that will stow easily. One great feature of the macerator was that I could pump up hill as high as ten feet if needed. This set up gave us years of good service, weighed little, took very little space to store and it was simple to clean and sanitize. As we traveled dumping was usually done with the regular stinky slinky hose, but when the occasion demanded we had the macerator and we did use it quite often even out on the road. Our overall macerator experience was so positive that we have had one with us ever since as we travel about America.

SALT FREE OLLIE ?

SALT FREE OLLIE ! Wintering up down on the Gulf of Mexico and wondering about the possible effects of salt air on your aluminum framed Oliver ? Not a problem ! Back in the winter months of 2009/2010, Betty and I spent eleven weeks down on the Padre Island National sea shore. Our senior pass, read that as “geezer pass”, got us into the park for free and the associated half off senior discount let us stay right on the beach in the paved but primitive campground for $4. Per. day ! The stay limit was fourteen days, so we left for two days, giving us a chance to do laundry, restock groceries and so forth. Then move right back to the beach. The campground we stayed in was just up the beach and was ran by the County, located right by the Bob Hall fishing pier, and again, was right on the beach. The Jeep that we towed our Oliver, hull #3, was driven on the beach for many miles almost daily and our Ollie was exposed to the salt air environment constantly. Our salt abatement strategy was to drive the Jeep and the Oliver through one of the local salt free car baths upon arrival and when departing the area. These are easy to locate and are operated by coin or credit card. At first when you enter the car wash you can feel the powerful surge of the high volume of the rinse. And that high volume rinse is a good thing, for it removes little pockets of very fine salt laden sand that will be in every niche. Because our winter stay was longer than our plan, we actually rinsed at a car wash three times. I am not convinced that three times was necessary. Most of the salt away car washes are plainly marked and simple to use. We probably did over worry the issue, since we rinsed in clear water then followed up with a separate rinse that included the salt away solution in the rinse.

Propane Quick Connect, are you ready to plug in ?

When building your Oliver, as you work on your build sheet, you may decide to add a propane QUICK CONNECT to facilitate use of various propane appliances such as a BarBeQue grill or Little Red campfire in a can. In the photo above the female fitting on the left is where your appliance will be plugged into. This port is often times mounted to the trailer tongue on the curb side of the trailer. A lever valve is just behind the female port as a emergency shut off. The part on the right, in the photo above, will go on your appliance hose to attach it to the quick connect. So, you are ready to hook that grille up to propane for the first time, here is something to look for during your project. If your appliance has a hose with this connector on it then it is designed to hook up directly to a tank like the those under the cover on your trailer's tongue. This is a high pressure connector and your appliance has a regulator to drop it down down to a useable value. Now if you replace this hose with one that has the male quick connect half on it and leave the appliance's regulator in place, your appliance will not work like it should because there will be one regulator behind another, dropping the pressure well below a useable value. Should you need to use the appliance before you replace it's hose, regulator and add the male fitting, you can hook your high pressure connector direct to your other propane tank that is on the tongue. I think that the easy solution to resolve all of the "what if's", might be to have your appliance with you when you pick up your new Oliver and ask the factory technicians if it is ready to plug in to the quick connect and use.

Part eight cooking with grandma's castiron cookware

COOKING WITH GRANDMA’S CAST IRON COOKWARE A SERIES OF ARTICLES ABOUT REFURBISHING AND USING CASTIRON BY LARRY & BETTY HARMON Part eight- storage, care and maintenance of the outside of cast iron In this final part of the Dutch oven series, the meat of our topic has been revealed right along through the series, a little at a time, out of necessity, in order to fully cover each area. So, let’s pull those little fragments together. INSIDE cast iron care, maintenance and storage. Simply put, oil it, and keep it oiled. Cooking oil of the type that you plan to cook with will work nicely. Some folks will fold up a few layers of paper towel, soaking them slightly in the oil and leave them inside the cast iron so that it is handy to rub it with. If this is your choice care must be exercised not to over saturate the towels as they will attract dust and so forth. OUTSIDE cast iron care is often done in one of two ways, lightly oiled or well smutted as it comes from the cook fire. Either way provides a quality rust resistant coating and it works well. However both ways will rub off onto anything that they touch. A carrying case , box or bag is in order. Heavy fabric shopping bags seem to work well for us. Some cast iron cookware can be quite collectable and fairly valuable, so keeping it in that “ready to use” condition is a natural concern. Learning how to determine the value and collectability of your cast iron is not difficult at all since there are so many on line resources out there on the internet. Here is a link to one such page that talks about the numbers on the cookware and how to read them.

Childhood memories BECAUSE OF A DAY THAT LIVED ON IN INFAMY Dad was in the US Navy at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack. And, he was an E-7 First Class Aviation Metalsmith, teaching the Aviation Metalsmith trade to sailors, before they were deployed to the fleet. We were living in enlisted housing nearby the Naval Air Station Alameda close to Oakland California. I was too young to remember much at that time, but curiosity caused me to inquire of Mom & Dad in later years. It took awhile after the attack at Pearl Harbor, for us to go, but Dad was sent to Pearl Harbor right away and was stationed at Naval Air Station Ford Island. Probably because there were well over three hundred aircraft that were damaged or destroyed during the attack. It was only after it was decided by the war department that it was safe, that we were allowed to travel as dependents, to Honolulu on the Hospital ship USS Benevolence. My first early childhood memories was living in Enlisted Navy Housing and playing in and on the partially buried bomb shelters. Naturally this was a strictly forbidden activity, but ever so much fun. Even though down Inside the shelters was dark, dank and mostly skeery ! Made out of very thick concrete, the bomb shelters were shaped like a Quonset hut with rounded sides that we could scramble up quite readily. The Navy housing was always manicured and neat, but the nearby bomb shelters were always grown over, mostly I guess to hide them. The shelter nearest to our home was covered with wood rose vines that made a good hand hold when scrambling up to the top of the shelter. Once up on top of the large, long shelter, there was a long wood rose tunnel running full length down it. Now, unless you have been there, it would be hard to understand just what a wonderful play house this was. With sunlight filtering through the vines that had flowers that closed up at night, then opened up in daylight and seed pods that were shaped kind of like a wooden rose, it was colorful and nearly always had a gentle cool breeze flowing through it. This majestic hidden playhouse did have it’s downside though. Because it was a place that we weren’t supposed to be, we would at the first sign of adult activity, go quiet and still. All in all though, it was a pretty peaceful place to be. The concrete was cool to the touch and felt quite pleasant to lay down on, during the heat of the day. Lots of times I would go there by myself just to lay quietly on my back watching the wildlife that also thought it was a cool place to hang out. One day I awoke to Mom calling me, she was standing at the bottom of the shelter looking up when I peeked out. Yeah, I hadn’t fooled her by hiding then falling asleep, she knew just right where to find me, it was time to pull the “Santa brought it”, red wagon that I had wanted so badly, down to the Navy Exchange Commissary, one of my least favorite things to do. Now you would think that I would like to pull that wagon to the commissary since I probably pulled it a hundred miles all around the housing area while playing with the other kids ! Years later. While in the Navy myself, I always felt that it was a Honor to man the rail and salute as my current ship that I was stationed on passed Battleship row. It was quite a sight in the early years, even though there was no memorial, just rusting metal sticking up out of the harbor, with tiny droplets of oil coming to the surface, much like the remains of the Arizona was sobbing quietly in grief.

COOKING WITH GRANDMA'S CASTIRON part seven

COOKING WITH GRANDMA’S CAST IRON COOKWARE A SERIES OF ARTICLES ABOUT REFURBISHING AND USING CASTIRON BY LARRY & BETTY HARMON Part seven- “I lost my cast iron’s seasoning trying something new, what now ? It is a quick fix that you can do readily after cleaning your cast iron cookware. It is just a simple matter of preheating the cookware, adding cooking oil and rubbing it down with a paper towel. Here is a look at the finished cookware ready to use. The easiest thing to do before putting up your cast iron up is to deep fry something in it then wipe it down with a clean dry paper towel. Your cookware will look like that in the video and be nearly ready for your next use. During our extended fishing trips Betty has a couple of tricks that make things easier and reduce the cost of multiple fish fry’s. Your cooking oil will have cornmeal and French fry bits in it and look a bit tired. One of the last things that we cook in the oil after the fish, while the oil is still at a good cooking temperature is sweet potato fries , French fries and onion rings, all together. You will be amazed at how the oil clears up ! Then it is time to strain the oil and store it until the next use. To strain the oil, Betty uses a cotton jelly strainer because it can withstand fairly hot oil, yet, strains well.

COOKING WITH GRANDMA’S CAST IRON COOKWARE PART SIX A EIGHT SERIES OF ARTICLES ABOUT REFURBISHING AND USING CASTIRON BY LARRY & BETTY HARMON Part six- “do I use a tripod, a campfire grille or on the ground ?” Most of the time your fuel source will dictate which method will work best for you. For example if you are cooking with live coals on the ground and your fuel source is foraged but un cut limb wood, the tripod will give you some good options. Because live coals vary in intensity rapidly, a tripod can give you the ability to adjust the proximity of the Dutch oven to the heat source quickly without removing it from the fire. You can raise and lower the oven by moving the “s” hook up or down the support chain. If the fire wood is limb length foraged fire wood, then it can be end fed into the existing bed of coals, then as it is pushed to the center of the circle, it will crowd the coals up into a more focused pile under the oven, at the same time that fuel is added. The tripod will give many options for suspending different types of cookware over the heat source.

PART FIVE of a EIGHT PART series COOKING WITH GRANMA'S CAST IRON

COOKING WITH GRANDMA’S CAST IRON COOKWARE A SERIES OF ARTICLES ABOUT REFURBISHING AND USING CASTIRON BY LARRY & BETTY HARMON Part five- charcoal briquettes or campfire coals, your choice When the wagon trains were moving west as America was being settled, there weren’t any charcoal briquettes down at the corner convenience store, so everyone used hard wood or buffalo chips for cooking fuel. While cooking with coals from the campfire, using a grid works well for the bottom heat in a Dutch oven, but what about the top ? Most users put live coals up onto the Dutch oven top with a metal scoop or tongs. Live coals from the campfire are not tightly compacted like the charcoal briquettes are and must be replenished more often. While on the topic about wagon trains and live coals, I have been asked why the Dutch oven could be seen hanging from underneath the wagon at the back. It was a safe way to transport fire from one night camp to another. They would put a scoop of ashes in the oven, then a scoop of live coals topped with a scoop of ash and the lid put on. Because live coals tend to burn with a higher intensity they burn out quicker and need to be replenished more often, making temperature regulation somewhat more difficult. A long handle shovel makes handling live coals more comfortable because of the more intense heat. Betty and I like live coals for Dutch oven biscuits in the morning so we will add extra fuel to the campfire and shovel dirt over it to bank it up overnight. That newly added fuel will become charcoal overnight and you just pull the cover of dirt off to the side, shoveling the live coals as needed. As the dirt is removed the charcoal gets the air that is needed for combustion and begin to glow brightly immediately. Again, a long handle shovel is a handy thing.

COOKING WITH GRANDMA’S CAST IRON COOKWARE A SERIES OF ARTICLES ABOUT REFURBISHING AND USING CASTIRON BY LARRY & BETTY HARMON Part four- cooking with cast iron, applying heat evenly to top and bottom Needing to apply heat to the top and the bottom at the same time is almost exclusively a Dutch oven thing. For example when coking corn dodgers, it is usually a cast iron frying pan that is used and the dodger is turned as needed with a fork or spatula. Here is a look at cooking corn dodgers over a campfire. Dutch oven cooking however seems to need a bit more heat on the bottom and a bit less on the top. Our rough rule of thumb for most recipes is about one fourth less coals on the top. Only time and experience will get it perfected to suit your old traditional family recipes. In this short video Betty is putting the corn bread batter in the pre heated Dutch oven. After adding the batter, the lid is put in place and the charcoal is put on the oven lid. The charcoal on the Dutch oven bottom is on a sheet of aluminum foil because we didn’t have a good dry layer of ash in our fire pit. We were having daily spring time showers and the foil directed the heat up to the Dutch oven instead of being wicked away by the damp ground. Though not quite done yet, here is our first peek at our corn bread. As you can see in these short videos it is a fairly simple process and the even distribution of heat makes for well browned and delicious campfire corn bread !