Fourth of July Memories of Yesteryear

 Ball Diamond Hill is located about a mile and a half west of Mother’s place. Later the Big Bend Baptist Church was located nearer Big Bend Road just south of Ball Diamond Hill. Baseball games were held regularly on Sunday afternoons during the summers throughout the first half of the 20^th century. Otis Goad’s descendants have said their grandfather earned his nickname, Babe, during games when he swung the bat like the icon of those days, Babe Ruth, the Yankee slugger.

                Fourth of July celebrations in the Big Bend were held on Ball Diamond Hill. Edmund Gates, Jr., my father, anticipated that summer holiday. Until Dad was in his latter teen years, his family worked seven days each week. Dad always liked Independence Day. Without fail, Dad loudly whooped early, “Hurrah for the 4^th” every year. July 4th reminded him of the one holiday that Grandpa Gates observed, allowing the kids a day off from the summer field work. Grandpa originated the loud proclamation of “Hurrah for the 4^th!”

I am indebted to Roger Noble, her grandson,
for this beautiful portrait of Mrs. Mayse.
 Roger was only 6 years old when his beloved
 grandmother died. 

                After fully awakening us each Independence Day, Dad recalled his neighbor, Mrs. Mayes. She owned a place southwest of the Gates farm. Ida Mae Rogers was born on October 18, 1882. Her father, Thomas J. Rogers, had been born thirty years earlier in Ireland. Her mother, Lillie A. Captain Rogers, had been born in 1864. Lillie’s father, Augustus “Ogeese” Captain, a highly revered Osage had died in 1877. Little Ida was born to her mother just a month before Lillie turned 18 years old. When the little one was only 18 months old, the unthinkable occurred -  her mother died.

                My father did not know the sad background of his neighbor that he knew as Mrs. Mayse. My father, as a kid, only knew Mrs. Mayse made Independence Day one of the most fun-filled, special days of the year. Dad remembered that Mrs. Mayse bought 100 bottles of pop and furnished the ice.  A tank was filled with ice and the pop was put in the icy tank.  Everyone else was so poor and no one had any money but her.  Dad recollected the entertainment involved terrapin races but mainly the baseball game.

                During the Great Depression, Mrs. Mayse and her family were one of the few Osage families living on their original land allotment in the Bend. Congress had passed the Osage Allotment Act in 1906, that changed the tribal ownership of their land to individual ownership by Osage allottees. In 1907, Principal Chief Peter Bigheart negotiated retention of mineral rights for the Osage Nation. This resulted in quarterly payments to the allottees when the Oil Boom came to the Osage.

                Mrs. Mayse shared big-heartedly and graciously with her neighbors not only on Independence Day but gave readily to any worthy cause in her community. Dad always commented on her kindness to him and his siblings. As I reflected on her sharing lavishly with the little ones in the Gates family, I recalled Paul’s advise to the young pastor, Timothy, as he ministered to early-day Christians who had been blessed materially. This verse from I Timothy 6:18 seemed so appropriate to describe Mrs. Mayse’s lifestyle.

They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share.

Roger shared this family photo of Bennett Noble, his father, and George Noble,
his uncle, with his grandmother, Mrs. Mayse standing behind her sons.

Pictured below are Ann and Alex Noble, as I remember them when I rode the Bend bus as a first grader. I was in awe of this high school junior and sophomore.

They were both children of George Noble. Photos from my first yearbook.

                                                                      

After reading this post, Roger Noble, Mrs. Mayse's grandson, recalled innumerable times he spent with his grandmother. His father worried about her living alone as a diabetic. Roger described her as "a wonderful grandma" with her caring, generous nature. She always had Grapette pop for the little boy she loved dearly. His grandmother lived in the Bend until she moved to Pawhuska about six months prior to her death. 

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.