Celebrating the 95th Birthday of the Bend's Oldest Man

Dad would refer to his dear friend, Hubert Hutchens, as a "transplant" in the Big Bend. This upcoming week marks a birthday for the oldest man now living in the Bend. Happy birthday, Hubert!

I photographed Hube at his
Quilt of Valor presentation
for his military service.

        Hubert Hutchens will celebrate his 95^th birthday this week on June 26. I got to know Hube, as Dad liked to refer to him, when I helped Dad and him work cattle. The humor exchanged between Hube and Dad as I drove the calves into the chute lightened the task. Funny stories were retold as vaccinations were given. 

        Later, Hubert and Dad regularly took in the Woodland Cougars games. They even attended several Oklahoma State football games. I often wondered how they handled games against Hube’s high school alma mater, Hominy.

       Dad delighted in Hube stopping and joining him under the tree as they sat in Dad’s swing. Often Hube’s classic line was, “I’m so full of gossip I can’t hardly bend over.” Truthfully, they just exchanged family and community happenings and events. I never heard them speak unkind or malicious tales about anyone.

       Hube’s friendship with our family continued after Dad’s stroke. He regularly stopped to visit Dad and bring apples from his tree or vegetables from his garden. After Dad rehabilitated from his first stroke, Hube would drive over in his golf cart to take Dad for a spin. 

       When he discovered Mark Anthony was the first occupational therapist assigned to Dad, Hube informed us of his family’s friendship with the Anthony family when both families were neighbors in Colorado. Charlotte and Mark’s mother almost “had their husbands’ heads” when Mark was born. The women had informed their husbands that the birth of Mrs. Anthony’s baby was imminent, but the men proceeded to go up into the mountains to hunt for wild horses. Hubert was reluctant, but Mark’s dad assured him they’d get back in time. When the men returned, since Baby Mark had already arrived, they had to do some sweet talking!

      One could easily be mesmerized by Hubert’s tales of days when he worked on the North Slope in Alaska. Frigid temperatures, so brutally cold, rigidly limited the number of minutes to which Hubert and his coworkers could be exposed. (When I had to thaw a stock tank hydrant in subzero temperatures in February of 2021, I told myself, Hubert worked out on the North Slope in colder temps than this.) Harrowing flights shuttled Hube to the work sites in a chopper piloted by a Vietnam veteran. Each takeoff and landing required prayers for survival.

       His wife, Charlotte, a writer herself, and I have discussed the difficulty of transferring Hubert’s stories of adventure to print. The compelling element in his stories is hearing Hubert tell the stories.

A photo taken one of the days Hube stopped by
for a visit with Dad following his stroke.

       During Dad’s stroke convalescence, Hubert faithfully picked up our trash each Monday morning. Hauling off trash may have seemed an insignificant effort for a family engrossed in the care of a paralyzed loved one; but for us, it represented such a genuine act of love for Dad and our family.

    Just days before Dad’s death, Hubert and Charlotte dropped by. Mother and I joined both of them around Dad’s bed as we said the Lord’s Prayer. What peace to hear the words from our lips – Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, and what strengthening of our souls as we closed in perfect unison of voice and spirit, For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen!

          

One of my Journal Entries that Reflects the Type of Neighbor that Hubert Has Been

Based on Bernadean’s Journal Entry on January 29, 2013

Today began as a glorious day because we awoke to lightning and thunder and by noon had a couple of inches of rain.  As the day grew colder and more dismal, I started growing anxious as to what I should do for the cattle. 

Angie and I had put out a large bale on Sunday, but it was almost gone. I was becoming weary of trying to decide when to conserve hay, based on the amount we had, as well as when to follow the advice of an OSU professor to allow the cattle to go without for one day, or limit their access to the hay. The cattle were wet and miserable-looking.

The bull was standing just outside the area that Ben had secured for hay storage, looking longingly at the hay as if to say, “I am hungry.  Why aren’t you feeding us?”

Suddenly I observed as we ate lunch that the cows were slowly moving. Then to my surprise the bull quickly left where he had been standing for such a long time. I wanted to hop up and see why, but that might have distracted Dad from eating and caused him to begin worrying. I silently prayed for inner peace and calm to replace my anxiety and weariness.

          After Dad finished eating, I assisted him in getting back to his chair in the living room. As I was waiting for him to get settled in his chair I glanced out the window. I couldn’t believe my eyes.  The cattle were clustered around an enormous bale.  To myself I said, “You are dreaming!”

I blinked and looked again and excitedly said to Mother, “I think there is a big bale up there!” as I zipped outside with binoculars to confirm what I was sure was a figment of my imagination. But to my astonishment, it truly was a huge bale filling what had been a large empty bale ring. It was as though the hand of God had gently placed this large provision to energize and encourage me. I prayed to remember this act whenever I am tempted to doubt that God is in control and cares about us.

I sent Angie, my sister, this photo with the caption
An angel must have brought this bale.

Note- I had to go back and correct my journal entry since at the time I wrote it I didn’t know who had so wonderfully provided the bale for us. Hubert, thank you so much! As I told Charlotte, it was one of the most encouraging acts after Dad’s stroke.

Memories of Hubert from the Summer of 2017
Hubert hauled in the bales of our first cutting off Mother’s meadow earlier this month. I was alarmed when he told me of losing his wallet during one of the trips when stacking bales. We thanked the Lord together when he told me of finding it. For Hubert, age is about attitude. He retains an attitude of gratitude for all God has given him. 

 

Just this week, before we hopped on his golf cart to view his two garden plots, I told him of a little boy, in Vacation Bible School, making the comment with such a sincere, little heart, “I like Jesus.” Hubert replied with his trademark twinkle in his eye, “That’s what it’s all about!”

Happy 95th Birthday, Hubert!

Tribute by a Mother-in-law to her Son-in-law

            A few months ago, my mother found a time-worn poem entitled “Only a Dad” with her mother’s handwritten words at the top left "Grandma Smith to". Scrawled in Grandma’s bold cursive writing were these words, “Girls Read This.” Below it, in Mother’s perfect script, was the date - June 1978.

            I had just turned 22 years of age and my sister, Angie, was still in her teens, a mere 16 years old. I never remember either of us being disrespectful to Dad. We tried to help whenever he needed us. Only as much older adults, however, did we realize the unfathomable sacrifices Dad made to provide for our family.

            This week as I reread the poem given to us by Grandma Gladys Rainey Smith, I recalled Dad’s work vehicles. They had to always be pickups, always a long wheelbase for all the hauling he did with his carpentry tools and materials. In the 21^st century vernacular, Dad always drove a beater. It never looked like much, but it got him to his worksite and back home. The old model pickup could always carry all his tools needed. He wanted a motor that gave him any power he needed on the farm, too. That meant only one pickup for carpentering and farming. Interestingly, I recall as a young kid hearing discussions about putting into one of his pickup trucks a new engine. He and Mother weighed pros and cons. He proceeded with this major expense but far less than upgrading to a later model pickup.

            Mother remembered how many times when we were quite young Dad came in from “pounding nails” and then doing any farm tasks that need his attention before dark yet expressed no displeasure about rough housing with us. I would have been around 7 years old with Angie being around 2 years old. I think Mother wanted to tell us to leave him alone because she knew how tired he must have been. We never got a hint at that as he laughed and played uproariously with us.

            Grandma so valued the strong work ethic her son-in-law had. Never the gushy grandma, it did not bother her to remind us how hard Dad worked and to let him rest. She knew Dad was working so diligently to be sure to make the yearly land payment on the farm Mother and Dad bought in 1959. Grandma encouraged Dad to pursue the offer of Uncle Herb Gates to work on his construction crew building homes in Ponca City. As so many rural dwellers know, it was and continues to be nearly impossible to be a farming financial success without a salary earned off the farm.

            Most people have heard of horror stories of clashes between mothers-in-law and their sons-in-law. Apart from the fact that each night found all six of us, my parents, my maternal grandparents, my sister, and me, reading the Bible and praying together, this arrangement would have never worked.

            None of the six of us were perfect, but I think Paul’s admonition to the Christians in Rome recorded in Romans 12:16 may give some insight to our family. As Mother has stated frequently, “It was hard to be mad at each other, read the Bible, and pray.” May this passage encourage families of the 21^st century how to live in harmony.

Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty (snobbish, high-minded, exclusive), but readily adjust yourself to [people, things] and give yourselves to humble tasks. Never overestimate yourself or be wise in your own conceits.

From The Amplified Bible – one of Grandma’s favorite version of the Bible to read

Photo of Angie, Dad, and Me a few years 
after Grandma gave the poem.

One of our last family photos before Dad's Stroke
Seated - Dad and Mother; Standing- Ben, Angie, 
and me.

Learning to Carry On

For this week's blog posting, I am opening with my father's words about the uniqueness of the birthdays of his father, his brother just two years younger than him, and my dad. This week will mark these three birthdays and one tragic death. I concluded this week's post with a piece entitled Learning to Carry On and published along with other tributes to Oklahoma fathers in the June 2009 issue of Oklahoma Living feature entitled Fathers: A Tribute.

Papa’s birthday was June 16^th.  I was born on June 15 in 1919, so Papa named me after himself.  Two years later another boy was born exactly on Papa’s birthday.  Frederick was born on June 16, 1921.  The three of us always celebrated our birthdays together on June 16. By Edmund Gates, Jr. as told to Bernadean Gates   

Gates children just a couple of years before the 
Great Depression struck - Mary, Ella, Frederick,
Edmund, Jr., with Martha in front of him, & Jess,  

The day following Dad’s 16^th birthday, my father’s brother, Frederick, was struck and killed by lightning. Who would ever imagine this 14-year-old lovingly called “Freddie” by his family would be killed instantly on his birthday? Dad learned to deal with loss, to grieve, and “pick up the pieces and go on.”

Dad enlisted in the Army Air Corps eight days after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He flew 25 missions over Europe as an upper turret gunner on a B-17 Flying Fortress. After completing his combat duty and being awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, his crew was shot down over Berlin, killing some of his closest buddies. Instead of allowing the devastation of war to destroy him, Dad used it as motivation to become the best carpenter, husband, and father that he could be. He viewed his survival of the war as an incredible gift and his experiences as precious memories with valuable lessons.

Sometimes when I become weary of the stresses and responsibilities in life, I recall the life-altering situations that Dad experienced and how he thrived in spite of them. That very thought spurs me to a life of faith, courage, and resolve to live a life worthy of being called his daughter.

As I concluded meshing these two writings together, I thought of the powerful result of living out Paul's writing as read in Romans 5:3-5. How God uses this progressive sequence to lead us to do hard things.

...We also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope. Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

To view a cherished photo of one of the last birthdays of Grandpa Edmund Gates, Sr. access at the link below:
https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/06/singing-on-grandpas-birthday.html

Musings on Memorial Day Morning

    Just last week when working in the yard, I thought to myself, Oh, look at the vintage rose bush! I wonder if it truly survived the drought. Near the bottom of the bush, there were a couple of the tiniest pinkish buds trying to emerge.

    On Memorial Day morning of 2023, I rejoiced at the glorious morning following the much-appreciated half inch of predawn rain. What a surprise to glance at the corner of the yard fence and see the vintage rose bush reveling in all its glory in the pristine, rain-cleansed early morning!

Grandma Gladys Rainey Smith's
Vintage Rose Bush in 2023

    My mind rolled back to Memorial Days beginning in the mid-60s. Early each Memorial Day morning, Dad would take a couple of large tubs in the back of his pickup and drive northeast in the pasture. Grandma Gladys Smith explained Felix Deputy had planted roses near a small house where he lived in what is now Mother’s northeast pasture. Mr. Deputy identified himself as a servant or laborer on early 20th century United States Census records for the Big Hill Township, the area that includes the Big Bend.

    The tiny, light pink roses were cut from the hidden former residence noted only by the roses and a foundation. Dad cut them with his knife, put them in the big tubs, and added water. At the cemetery, Dad delighted in having an inquisitive young relative peer into the tubs. Dad allowed that child to help by pouring water around the small bouquet of flowers placed into the little hole Dad had dug. Dad usually shared a brief biography of the deceased.

    Sometimes the vintage rose bush I had recently observed provided a few extra roses for those Memorial Day flower tubs. It is hard to believe the longevity of the vintage rose bush in the southwest corner of Mother’s lawn. Year after year the beauty of the little rose clusters have graced the yard of Mother’s pink house. Some of the tiny posies are so small yet so exquisitely captivating.

The Beautiful Clusters of Roses in 2023

    I thought of how much the lives of the godly mirror the vintage rose bush. Isaiah recorded in Isaiah 46:4 these words that state God provides sustaining support for His people as they age. “Even to your old age, I am He, and even to the gray hairs I will carry you! I have made and I will bear; Even I will carry, and will deliver you.

    As I looked at the attractive little bunches of the pink roses, I recalled the Apostle Peter writing specifically to women these words from Peter’s first letter, chapter 3, verse 4, “You should be known for the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God.” Every believer’s heart cry should reflect the words of the old song, "Let the beauty of Jesus be seen in me."

One of the Tiniest Pink Roses

    Some of the most delicate, exquisite, yet vibrant colored roses on the vintage bush were gorgeous in color but miniscule in size. The unnamed author inspired by the Holy Spirit wrote the longest chapter in the Bible, Psalm 119, based entirely on the Word of God. Verse 141 appears in New International Reader’s Version of the Bible like this, “I’m not important. People look down on me. But I don’t forget to obey your rules.” Just as the tiniest roses might have been overlooked on the bush so may many believers appear insignificant. However, we will never be unimportant in God’s eyes when we know and obey the commands of God. In turn, we will impact and influence those around us. 

    May the roses that come and go so quickly yet bring such lovely sights for the eyes and fragrance for the nose enable us to embrace and pray these phrases from the prayer of Moses as recorded in Psalm 90:12 and 17.

So teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

...Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us and establish the work of our hands for us; Yes, establish the work of our hands.