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This Friday, November 11th, we will observe Veterans Day, which was originally called Armistice Day to mark the end of World War I. Unfortunately, we’ve had too many wars since then, so the day had to be renamed.
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As Halloween approaches one of our readers shared the following story . . .
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My favorite “newspaper” story of the week….
Read moreThey don’t make creeks like they used to. I speak of Buck Creek. To narrow the search for the creek I am speaking of I direct your attention to the county road between Stonewall and Owl Creek. Just north of the city limits on this fairly insignificant stretch of road this little creek crosses. If you were to park and look over the edge you could see it. Buck Creek. In summertime it is a small trickling stream of water winding its way through the Poison Ivy and Water Moccasins as it cuts its way through a jungle of green jungle-like undergrowth.
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I loved Goat Ridge Farm, the farm my dad’s parents operated in Leflore County, Oklahoma. My readers know that’s the farm my brother Gerald and I were often exiled to in the hot summers of the 1940s. My dad, in his fatherly logic thought he might be helping out his dad by sending us down there for a few weeks each summer. He said he wanted to help out his dad since all his sons grew up and (like my dad) fled the paradisical farm and its abundant farming chores. Like character building plowing, hoeing, gathering and milking six or eight cranky cows every day, slopping hogs, and so forth. Besides, dad said, the suffering and hardships would do us both good.
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