Sunday, May 28, 2017

A Big Bender Celebrated His 88th Birthday

           Bob Hightower was born near Quay, Oklahoma, (His birth certificate says “Yale.”) on May 25, 1929. He was the youngest of four children born to Beulah Christina and Arch Cleveland Hightower. Jack, the firstborn son, Janie and Mildred, the two daughters, were Bob’s older siblings. 
His family moved to Fairfax, Oklahoma, when he was around four months old in September of 1929. They had a car to move, but more importantly, Bob’s father moved his herd of cattle in a traditional cattle drive from their farm near Quay to their new farm on the northwest corner of Fairfax. (Donald and Mary Lou Crabtree now own the farm.) Since it was about 50 miles from Quay to Fairfax, Bob’s father had to plan the drive of the cattle to have adequate places to stop to feed and water them along the multi-day trip. They lived at that place, leased from Mollie Burkhart, from 1929 to 1942.
The Hightower family accessed city water from Fairfax. However, they lived without electricity and a telephone. Many rural families did not have electrical power.
In 1942, Beulah and A.C. Hightower moved to their farm east of Fairfax about three miles. Bob’s niece still lives on the place. The land was known as “Yellowhorse Camp” with the remnants of a round house, Osage worship place, and a family cemetery on the hill of the property. The Hightowers purchased the land from Anna Ham’s widower, Merle Ham. The house on the property was a two-story structure with 12 rooms built in the opulent Osage-style of that era– massive for those days! (In actuality, Bob said in observing the plumbing, one can see that the huge dwelling was the result of several renovations and add-ons!) Three-Mile Creek ran near their property. Bob recalled helping drive his father’s cattle to their new pastures on the 280-acre ranch located southwest of what is now Kah-Wah-C Golf Course.
Now the Hightower family had electricity but a poor water well. Bob speculated the deep well may have been compromised during early day oil exploration. Initially, they had no phone service, but their neighbor, Jakie Harrison, moved. He had innovatively installed his own private phone line from the telephone office in Fairfax to his home east of Fairfax. Mr. Hightower negotiated with Mr. Harrison to purchase the private phone line – what an enterprising example of deregulation! As a result, the Hightowers had a private phone line when everyone else was on a party line.
Mr. Hightower became very ill and was diagnosed with arthritis. His doctor prescribed many medicines, including sulfa drugs. His condition worsened. He switched doctors. His new doctor, Dr. Hudson, took him off the medication and prescribed vitamins. Within a week, Mr. Hightower was much improved.
Bob began driving around 14 years of age because of his father’s illness. He took his driving test around this same time. The examiner passed him based on his safe driving, expressing only one concern--Bob was so short, he had to look through the upper portion of the steering wheel! In 1945, his brother-in-law, Joe Thompson, got a 1932 Model B Ford for $75. That was Bob’s first car.
Despite having a vehicle, Bob did not drive his car to school. Instead he rode a horse the three miles into Fairfax to the blacksmith shop owned by Shorty Barger. It was north of the current Osage Language Center. He tied up his horse at the blacksmith shop and then walked up the hill to the school.
During his father’s illness, Mr. Hightower arranged for Alvie Tucker to walk from town daily during the winter months to feed the cattle. Bob’s weekend responsibility was to grind the feed for the upcoming week. No matter, how much feed Bob ground on Saturday, Mr. Tucker fed it all. He never skimped on feeding the bovines!
Bob missed school some days during his father's convalescence so he could drive the tractor to plant the corn. Mr. Hightower hired a man to assist Bob with the planting as they put in the corn crop on their field that was adjacent to Hamilton Field where football has been played in Fairfax for almost a century.
School could be described as a mixed bag for Bob. Math always came easy for Bob. Spelling never ranked as his favorite activity. In high school, accounting proved to be a subject in which he excelled. Bob graduated from Fairfax High School in 1950.
Since those days in school, Bob has self-diagnosed himself with ADD, Attention Deficit Disorder. Ironically, in the army, when Bob’s IQ was tested, his records revealed that he scored highest in his group. (During my entire teaching career, I retained a poster identifying people like Albert Einstein and Thomas Edison with ADD. Bob was in pretty good company.)
Bob was drafted into the Army in September of 1953. First, he was transported to Fort Sill in Oklahoma for his first assignment. His basic training took place at Fort Chaffee in Arkansas. The basic training was comprised of eight weeks of infantry instruction coupled with an additional eight weeks of artillery training.
Bob again boarded a train and headed to Chicago to await reassignment. Bob traveled by rail to his new assignment at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Bob described his time at Fort Carson as “playing soldier.”
Bob and his comrades must have been successful at their “play.” The 40th Division convoyed to Fort Sill to train rookie lieutenants in fire observation. Bob and his fellow soldiers fired Howitzers based on precise criteria given to them so the young lieutenants could develop the skills needed to identify the specifics of artillery lobs.
Always a thinker, upon arriving at Fort Sill for his final time, he realized they were looking for a fireman, a person willing to be responsible for keeping the heat and hot water operational. Bob had been building fires and keeping them going since his youthful days. He reasoned that this task might keep him clear of the dreaded KP or guard duty. His speculation proved correct. He never did one hour of KP or guard duty during his time at Fort Sill.
Bob was mustered out of the army on September 2, 1955. Prior to his discharge, Sergeant Hightower was approached about entering officer training. He declined since he had important event on his agenda.
In Wichita, Kansas, at the Wichita First Methodist Church, on September 27, 1955, Bob married pretty Ruth Ann Fabian, the girl with whom he had chosen to build a life. They moved to the farm that Bob had purchased in the spring of 1951. Barely able to afford the materials, Bob began to renovate the farmhouse that he had purchased from Mr. and Mrs. John Woodward, the parents of the late Vesta Woodward Gates. His brother-in-law, Albert Phillipe, provided invaluable assistance in his home upgrade.
Bob has raised wheat, cotton, milo, alfalfa, hogs, cattle, and even chickens, briefly. In the last fifteen years, Bob’s energy and innovation has been invested in the production of pecans. He characterizes it as a hobby.
He raises four pecan varieties – Pawnee, Maramec, Kanza, and of course, Natives. Bob indicates this lucrative hobby began when he bought pasture land and tried to rid it of the small pecan saplings. When he experienced failure with his goal, he decided to take classes about pecan production. He now has around 300 improved trees. All the family promotes sale of his yearly harvest, but his daughter-in-law, Amber, remains his chief marketer via Facebook.
For 61 years, Bob and Ruth Ann have been successfully investing in the lives of their three children, Debbie, Mike, and Joe. That same time, effort, and support is now extended lovingly to their six grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. They have sought to pass on their commitment to bettering one’s self, practicing hard work, and living out their faith.
After my father’s stroke, each Sunday I would comment to him as I looked out the living room window, “There goes Bob and Ruth Ann on their way to church.” Dad would shake his head as if to affirm their faithfulness in their weekly worship. Bob served 22 years on the board of their church, Ralston Bible Church. 
Since Dad, Junior Morris, and Herbert Gates had constructed a home for Bob and his family, Dad could attest to his honesty and integrity. Living out faith in the Lord almost always speaks louder than words. Dad believed that Bob’s character and reputation illustrated the lifestyle that blesses a community, a state, and a nation.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Long Division, Local History, and Learning at Any Age

            As I attended Woodland High School commencement ceremonies, my mind bounced to several places. The young people who walked across the east side of the gymnasium to receive the coveted diploma reflected the beauty of youth, laced with lofty dreams, and tons of exuberance and confidence.
            Without much prompting, my thoughts reverted to the year’s end of 2008. These same young people, as third graders, and I were plodding through long division, with silly little prompts like "Dad – divide, Mom – multiply, Sister – subtract, and Brother – bring down." Incidentally, that sequential reminder was something I had picked up from a workshop somewhere along the line, but it seemed to help the young mathematicians execute those devilish long division steps!
             The third graders in May of that year had much more interest in local history, particularly the founding of Fairfax and the horrendous Osage Reign of Terror. I tried to stick with the basic facts of sudden abundance among the Osages and unscrupulous greed that precipitated heinous crimes. I told the students that some of the more graphic details I would elaborate on when they got older. Surprisingly, a high school student saw me in Fairfax and requested the information I had promised to share after she had matured.
             At that time of the school year, all of us were wearied from the stress on our brains. The state-mandated test had drained us. But persevering, we finished strong, learning something each day until the very last one when we hugged goodbye for the summer.
            My mind leaped forward to just days prior to this commencement. Looking nothing like the teacher I had been in 2008, I was garbed in faded overalls with a long-sleeved shirt for sun protection along with a wide brim hat. Instead of my heels or cute, little flats, I trudged in unsightly boots to the livestock tank on my mother’s farm with a submersible sump pump and an ancient hose in tow.
           As I lugged the contraption for draining the tank of rancidly stale water, I remembered many years earlier. It was an extremely rainy spring season, causing the flooding of the underground housing of my parents’ water well. I think it was spring break so Dad had conscripted me to assist him with pumping the water out of the below-ground area where the water well pump operated. It was raining cats and dogs!
           I still question why I was surprised to observe my father, in his 80s, climbing down into the tiny underground enclosure to plug in the sump pump. I had never seen my father afraid to tackle anything. His age made little difference.
          Having been trained regularly in OSHA standards, everything he was doing defied every standard in which I had been instructed. Somehow despite my trepidation and unheeded warnings about electricity and a rainstorm, we pumped the water out, restarted the well, had water again at the house, and were soaked to the bone! He daily lived out the proverb, Never give up.
          Little did I think in 2008, that the use of a sump pump would be at the top of my agenda for a day in May nine years later. That yucky water in the livestock tank would only serve as a breeding spot for mosquitoes. The water, accumulated from the many rains of 2017, reeked as though the stock tank held a ton of dead fish. But I guess When the going gets tough, the tough get going.
           If I wanted to reduce the chance of having an infestation of mosquitoes, I needed to empty the tank of the revolting water. After all, I had taught third graders -  Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
           Finally, as I returned to the present and gazed with pride on the accomplishments of former third graders during the commencement exercises, I began to hope they will remember, as their teacher does almost every day, You’re never too old to learn.
           Hardly a day goes by that I do not learn something new. Often, I am learning from necessity, not from the sheer joy of it. Frequently,  I am having to “google” an unfamiliar procedure so I can learn the steps to do it. Let me clarify, most of the things I have to learn never made my bucket list of “must-do” activities. In fact, I could have died a happy person and never learned to do some of these things. But my mind has stayed incredibly active. I think I am staving off dementia!
           Congratulations to each of the Seniors in the Woodland Class of 2017. May each of us, including your third-grade teacher, focus and embrace one of the greatest proverbs ever written by wise King Solomon, the sovereign during Israel’s Golden Age.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.
Proverbs 3:5-6

Sunday, May 14, 2017

21st Century Mothers

The Power of Young Mothers United
Do you ever find yourself cursing the darkness or maybe just complaining about how bad the world is? I consciously try to avoid complaining since I don’t find a release, but instead just get depressed.
                Maybe you have heard or read of horrendous behavior on the part of 21st century mothers. After hearing a news story of this nature, I have commented to Mother, “Your young cows are much better mothers to their little calves than so many women today!”
                 The photograph included in this posting is the first one taken of our newest calf and her mother. Grand Sir's Baby Girl, the first time mama, was one of the last heifers born from Dad's last bull that I had dubbed Grand Sir. Grand Sir's Baby Girl resembles the notorious bull and surprisingly, has his gentle, yet determined nature. As with all the other cows, Grand Sir's Baby Girl is already a stellar example of diligent care, watchful attentiveness, and nurturing mothering.
                A few months ago, I heard of some outstanding mothers in our community. Many of these young women have children under five years of age. These young mothers wear numerous hats – responsible employees, supportive wives, helpful daughters, volunteers in their churches and their children’s schools, and of course, caring mothers. Several of them are former students that I taught at the elementary school or they are married to young men who were third graders in my class.
                A young woman in our locale had a baby recently. When I stopped by to check on her, she shared of the highs and lows of the few weeks after her delivery. Then she told me of some incredible acts of compassion and kindness. The aforementioned young mothers organized and mobilized themselves with the use of social media to provide meals, baby necessities, flowers to cheer, along with many other encouraging gestures daily to help this new mom get back on her feet physically, mentally, and emotionally.
                When she related her postpartum experience, she also explained this cadre of caring, youthful women repeat this any time they learn that a baby is born in the community. I exclaimed, “That’s Christianity in action!” Whereupon, she wholeheartedly agreed with me and vowed to be a part of reaching out to the next new mom.
None of these generous girls’ names are appearing here for fear I might neglect to mention even one of them. If you know them, speak a word of encouragement and praise to them for being part of the solution needed in our world today. What a tribute to the good people that can be found in our area!
                As a loving gesture to my own mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, I have given her a reprieve from being the primary focus of this week’s blog posting. She says to me, “You write too much about me.”
                 I am refraining from relating a story that illustrates what a talented, loving, kind, sacrificial mother she has been to Angie, my sister, and me. Let this serve as a notice to her. This abstention from using her life experiences in my blog postings is only for this week. Mother’s stories are too good to not be told, especially while she can make sure I am accurately retelling them!
                Happy Mother’s Day to my mother and all mothers who work diligently to rear responsible children and continue to support their adult children in their life endeavors.             

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Tailer2 the Trusting Cat

He Trusts Me Completely
                Tailer, one of the four orphaned kittens, was a hyper, but loving, ginger-colored cat. Since he is no longer living, when I saw the ginger-colored male kitten last year, I dubbed the kitten – Tailer2.
Tailer2's favorite spot as I load the feed buckets.
                Tailer2 is the largest of our tom cats. Unlike his namesake, Tailer, he doesn’t have a hyper bone in his body. Instead his easygoing, loving nature endears him to anyone who meets him.
                Most days he is leisurely stretching and resting at the base of one of the barrels where the cattle pellets are stored. I try to be careful as I tramp in my boots filling the buckets with pellets. Tailer2 never gets alarmed about my movement, the buckets banging together, or even when I tip over empty barrels occasionally. It appears that he implicitly trusts me to do him no harm.
True to my teaching profession’s scheduling rigidity, Tailer2 and the other farm cats could set their watches – if they wore timepieces – by my feeding of them. I am not indicating that he equates feeding him with loving care, but he seems to have no fear of me, no matter my movements or noisiness.
Tailer2 lollygagging with complete
trust in me.
Recently, as I talked to Tailer2 about his trusting nature, I thought about myself. Am I like Tailer2? No matter what I see God do or not do, is my implicit trust evident? When it seems chaos suddenly invades my life, does my faith in God grow or do I begin to question His love and care?
Even when storms blow into our lives, do we look for Him walking on the water, as the disciples saw him do? (Mark 6:47-50) When we find ourselves in the fire as the three Hebrew young men did, do we look for the Son of God with us in the fire? (Daniel 3:23-25) Many times, I am more prone to question or jump on the “worry wagon” and insist on leaning on my own understanding and my wily finagling to fix the disaster.
The Bible has so much to say about trusting or relying on the Lord. Here are some verses for meditation and obedience:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart; and lean not on your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5

It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man. Psalm 118:8

Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him and He shall bring it to pass. Psalm 37:5

The Lord is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me? Psalm 118:6

These verses provide only a springboard for further Bible study. Nathan Boehm in his blog posting entitled How Many Times Does the Bible Say “Fear Not?” indicates that over one hundred times, humans are commanded to not be afraid.
I hope I can mirror with my heavenly Father the same level of trust that Tailer2 has in me. May we assuredly know that God causes all things to work together for good for those who love Him.
One of my favorite quotes attributed to Charles Haddon Spurgeon, the renowned preacher of London during the 19th century, deals eloquently with trusting the Lord with all our heart. Let the words of the pastor known as "the Prince of Preachers" inspire us as we journey through this upcoming week.
God is too good to be unkind. He is too wise to be confused. If I cannot trace His hand,  I can always trust His heart.

To hear a song, based on Spurgeon’s quote, performed by Babbie Mason, click on the following link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XWk8DRwDYDc