Burying the Hatchet

A phrase my father used in this family story was "bury the hatchet." According to the Cambridge Idioms Dictionary, the origin of this phrase traces to a Native American peace ceremony that literally involved burying a hatchet, a weapon of war.

 The Neighbor, His Brother, and Edmund Gates, Sr.
As told by Edmund Gates, Jr. to Bernadean J. Gates

              In the early 1920s, a neighbor hit Grandpa Black over some small disagreement at the Black home on what is now the Travis Anson place. This neighbor hit Grandpa Bob Black in the head with a club “addling” him and bloodying his nose. As a result, Edmund, Sr., my father, was “laying” for the neighbor, wanting to get even.
             About a year later, when I was around four years old, I was in the wagon with my father. Papa was bringing a load of corn out of the bottom from the Dyer Place’s triangular field. He had been shucking corn all day. I was with him because I always liked to go with Papa even though I was too young to work. We were getting ready to go home through a gate that opened onto the main road. Suddenly, out stepped the brother of the neighbor who had struck Grandpa Black. He wielded a club in his hand as he stood at the gate refusing to open it. Papa, with one swift motion, reached behind and brought a shotgun down, lowering it on the brother blocking the gate. Papa had the shotgun with him hoping to get a rabbit to take home for Mom to cook. The brother of the neighbor quickly said, “Oh Ed, Oh Ed, Hold it!” and immediately opened the gate. The incident was the talk of the community for a while. Thankfully, that day we decided to call a truce and “bury the
 hatchet.”

Edmund Gates, Sr. and Edmund
Gates, Jr.in the 1950s

             As I prepared this blog post, I purposefully left out the names of the neighbor and his brother since my father and my grandfather put this disagreement behind them over ninety years ago. Revealing the names might “unearth the hatchet” or "take up the hatchet" which incidentally means just the opposite of a peace pact.

           “Burying the hatchet” or “letting bygones be bygones” continues to be a healthy, life-altering choice and is just as relevant today as in yesteryears.  I fInd it interesting that Dad used the pronoun "we" in the final sentence of his account of this happening. Since he was a preschooler, evidently Grandpa conveyed unequivocally to his young son,my dad, that this feud was ended and in the past. What a powerful impact my grandfather's actions, as well as the other two men's responses, had on this impressionable, little boy!
             This Christmas season of giving is the perfect time to consider a mutually agreed upon answer to an ongoing argument or family squabble. The best way to accomplish this begins with requesting prayerfully from the Prince of Peace a heart for resolution, words for soothing the disagreement, an understanding heart from the seeming adversary, and a perfect opportunity to “bury the hatchet.” The forgiveness of past bitterness can be received from the One who brings peace on earth, good will to men. What a wonderful way to honor Him as His miraculous birth is recognized at this season of the year!

Advice From Bob for a Successful Season of Holidays

I've had people indicate that family holiday celebrations are a necessary evil. It seems important to spend time with loved ones at Thanksgiving and/or Christmas, but sometimes spending a prolonged amount of time with those loved ones can end in a verbal barrage.

Eating In Peace

If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men. Romans 12:18

     Bob, the orange and white manx kitten, is larger than Tailer, the kitten who is mostly orange with the normal long cat tail. As my sister jokingly says, “Bob loves the groceries.” But one evening I observed something a bit unusual.

      I always feed Bob and Tailer using separate bowls. Somehow though, Tailer frequently goes to the bowl where Bob is eating. He squeezes his smaller head into the bowl where Bob’s larger head is involved in some serious consumption. Bob lifts his head, takes notice of the vacant bowl, and simply moves to that bowl that Tailer had left.
       I observed the above scenario happen at least four times. Each time Bob just moved to the unoccupied bowl without a meow, low growl, or even a chirp for which he is famous.
      As I silently watched them eat, I had to ask myself how often I seek the peaceful solution the way Bob did – over and over and over. Bob sought and retained peace at their evening feeding because he chose to change what he had control to change. He didn’t try to change Tailer, but changed his stance.
      Sometimes our actions say that we want peace, but under our breath, we complain about others’ behavior that put us in these situations. Not Bob. His actions and his silence did nothing to stir up any problems at the feeding bowls.

May that soft, furry, bob-tailed, half-grown kitten be our example for how to retain peace as we go through life.

 

                                                                  Bob taking a break from "the groceries" he dearly loves.

Note: Bob is much larger now - about twice as big as the above photograph shows. The manuscript "Eating in Peace" was written several months ago. 





A more recent photo of Bob.

For more about Bob and Tailer, go to the first blog post in which they appeared entitled Four Little Kittens that was posted on April 27, 2014, or see The Orphan Kittens - Almost 90 Days Old which posted on July 6, 2014.

When the Little Brown-Eyed Durgan Lived with My Grandparents

Remembering Marilyn LaVerne Rainey

           Marilyn LaVerne Rainey was born in the Big Bend on November 8, 1933, to Eugene and Raucie Snow Rainey. Eugene “Gene” was the younger brother of my grandmother, Gladys Vivian Rainey Smith. (See the blog post of February 9, 2014, entitled Alice Rainey – The Valentine Baby to see a photo of young Gene Rainey.) My mother recalled what a pretty, little girl Marilyn was with enormous brown eyes. Marilyn’s father called her affectionately his little brown-eyed durgan. A durgan is another name for a dwarf. Marilyn was always petite.

Earliest Photo of Marilyn in
Grandma's Collection

            In 1943, Marilyn and her older sister, Billie Jean, moved to Tulsa with their mother. Her mother became a riveter in the booming airplane manufacturing industry in Tulsa during the World War II era. However, in April of that year, Marilyn’s mother died of double pneumonia leaving Marilyn at age nine and Billie at age 11, suddenly without their mother. The heartbroken girls moved back to the Big Bend and lived with their father and other relatives.

Marilyn LaVerne Rainey

           Within a year, Marilyn came to live with my mother and my grandparents, Marilyn’s aunt and uncle. She lovingly called my grandfather “Cul” that had its origins in his Cherokee name. Marilyn never had to walk to school because he always drove her to Belford School even though it was only about a half mile from where they lived.
           She used my grandfather’s nickname for my grandmother “Lyde” when she referred to her. Grandma braided her hair, created custom-made dresses for her, and provided stability and encouragement for Marilyn.

Marilyn with a custom-tailored dress.
Trademark signs of Grandma's attention
 to creative details and tailoring are the
 buttons on the shoulder seams, rickrack
 trim, and the inset sleeves impeccably
tailored to Mailyn's shoulders.

             In her final days of her life, Marilyn recalled treasured memories of activities at her beloved grade school. Other than her daily school classes, she also attended weekly Sunday School and church services at the Belford School. Actually, almost any community-wide event enjoyed by the close-knit group of relatives and neighbors took place at this hub of activity since it was the only building large enough to allow all to participate.

8th Anniversary of the Belford Sunday School taken
in 1938 - Marilyn is the shortest girl on the front row.

           For the Christmas program of 1944, my mother taught Marilyn, her other cousin, Delores Dean Rice Littlestar, and Nadine Clifton to sing “White Christmas” in three-part harmony. That level of singing was quite a feat for the three eleven-year-olds to accomplish, as well as for my mother who coached them to a flawless performance!
           Marilyn, like her mother, loved nature and the outdoors. (To see a photo of Marilyn with her pet rabbit, see the blog post entitled The Bittersweet Shared Birthday posted on August 10, 2014.) From the stories I’ve heard, Marilyn was allowed by grandparents to keep every stray, sick cat she brought home. Grandpa never spoke a negative word to her, even when one of the homeless, weak felines died under the porch of their house. He just retrieved the dead cat for her!
          Marilyn’s father’s missed her so much that he asked her to move back with him and her Grandma Rainey and Aunt Alice Rainey. In her later high school years, Marilyn joined her sister who was living with their aunt, Emma Rainey Buckley, in Washington, D.C.
          Marilyn completed her education and became a registered nurse. This accomplishment pleased my grandma since she herself was a nurse. Perhaps Marilyn had observed the nursing provided pro bono publico (Latin meaning “for the public good”) by my grandma in the Big Bend community during the Great Depression.
          Neither of my grandparents verbalized very frequently, but it seemed they wished Marilyn had lived longer with them. She always seemed to express that this time in her life was such a happy one.
          Marilyn passed peacefully from this life on October 22, 2014. Her memorial service was in Dallas, Texas, on November 8, 2014, on what would have been her 81^st birthday. Our thoughts and prayers continue for  her daughters, Suzan Firestone Brawner and Lisa Firestone Feagins and her son, Craig Firestone.

The Spanish Flu Pandemic of 1918

The recent concern for the ebola epidemic's expansion to the United States brought back memories of my grandfather's experience with the Spanish flu during World War I.

The November That Calvin Callcayah Smith Was Left to Die

                Calvin Callcayah Smith, my maternal grandfather, was inducted into the United States Army on July 22, 1918. Grandfather was based at Fort Snelling located in the Minnesota state capital.

                Just four months later as he served as a medic, the Spanish flu ravaged the military community of Fort Snelling, as well as the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. According to the National Institute of Health website (nih.gov), the influenza received its name because Spain was the first country acknowledging publicly the presence of the highly contagious disease.

                By October 1918, the Spanish flu was in full sway with over 500 cases at Fort Snelling alone. St. Paul city leaders closed most public buildings for around 10 days in early November. By January 1919, when the city epidemic had run its course, over 600 people had died.

                Grandpa trained and served as a medic, which may explain how he contracted the deadly flu since influenza vaccinations were not given in 1918. Just weeks before he died at age 88 in 1982, he told my mother of how he was placed in the area of the military hospital designated for those who had no chance of survival. He was put with other military personnel  whom the doctors knew were going to die. Miraculously, Grandpa survived and had a doctor tell him that, in his opinion as a physician, he credited the fact that Grandpa had not smoked with enabling him to live and not die like others around him. My family credits God’s intervention on Grandpa’s behalf even though he would not choose to enter into a relationship with God through Jesus until around fifteen years later.

                My grandfather remained in St. Paul, until July 31, 1919, barely a month after World War I ended. He thoroughly enjoyed himself while in Minnesota. He enjoyed winter parties on the frozen lakes in the area, telling Mother of the lakes being frozen so solid and thick that vehicles could be driven on them and bonfires could be built on them as well.

                Just about ten years ago, over twenty years after Grandpa’s death, I had a woman upon meeting me and learning who my grandfather was, remark to me, “Your grandfather was a very handsome man.” In his one and only recounting to my mother of this time in his life, he mentioned a vaudeville actress with whom he socialized. Marguerite Nelson performed regularly at the Strahn Theater in St. Paul. While in the Twin City region, he also met Hildegard Malone, the daughter of the owner of Red Wing Distilleries of Minneapolis. During the evening not long before his death, he explained to Mother that Hildegard’s father, a millionaire living in Minneapolis, offered him a position if he would remain in Minnesota. Grandpa told my mother that he wanted to come home to Oklahoma, so declined the job offer.

                Grandpa returned to Oklahoma, content to leave what appeared to be a lucrative opportunity behind in the land of 10,000 lakes. His love for family and deep bond with the Oklahoma lifestyle trumped money, high society, and all of its frills.  Reviewing family stories often reveals how ONE simple choice can change the course of a family's history.

Calvin Callcayah Smith on the right with two of his buddies in Minnesota.