Running Bear     Irish Sailor

The Ozarks of Northwest Arkansas are so wonderful and beautiful.  I will always treasure the memories.  Those hills provided a safe haven for youngsters growing up.  I spent many hours climbing bluffs, wading in the creeks, walking miles in the timber, and fishing the streams before I grew up and left for a short time.

Upon returning to the Ozarks as a young man, it was there the Lord found me.  I was not lost in the woods and could have found my way out of the timber, but I was lost in the world.  After surrendering my life to the Lord, I was thrust into the challenges of life in this world.  I was fortunate to have made the return trip so early in life and, yes, to be found.

Now looking back, I can hardly believe some chapters in my life happened as they did.

We lived amongst the timber.  This was the setting of my childhood life.  Deep in the timber, there was a log house that was home.  As a toddler I was permitted to wander into the woods, as Mom and Dad had a cat that they knew would bring me home.  This may seem hard to believe but it is true.  I am here today so I made it back to the house OK.  Years later I asked Mom why they permitted me to do some of the things that now seem unreal, her answer was that I was a boy who could be trusted.

As a small boy I had a bb gun that I do not remember.  However at an early age, I was taught to handle a 22 rifle.  This mini-size 22 and my squirrel dog were constant companions.  When Dad had time he hunted with me for squirrels, which was fun and relaxing after working in the fields.  Then there were the exciting times of coon hunting, which usually started in July when the coons began to raid the corn fields.  This was done at night, as coons are nocturnal in their habits.  The raccoons were masked robbers, running from the scene of their crime and also for their lives.  With hound dogs in hot pursuit and everyone running in the dark after the hounds, it was not unusual for a thorn bush to snap back into a persons face.  This was just some of the excitement.

There was time for play, along with a very strong work ethic.  Of course work came first.  Everyone works on a farm, I believe this is what is meant by the term “a working farm”.  The farm ran smoothly at the hand of my dad.  He could always manage us children even if we acted like kids of the animal kind.  The term “out behind the barn” was understood by all.  Yes, I mean all.  We kids did some high jumping in front of a hickory sprout.  I do not think that we were quite as noisy as the howl of a hound dog that had been caught sucking eggs and found itself suspended in midair by a hind leg, receiving the same treatment and not knowing if he would ever touch ground again.  The only difference I noticed, the dog was never sent to cut the switch, but if Dad had said bring it to me, I suppose the dog would have been afraid not to.

As you can see by and large, the farm ran smoothly under the hand of my father.

My dad’s uncle left his mule with Dad while away one summer.  Dad decided to work, so the mule was harnessed to a small rubber-tired wagon.  Now understand we had always used horses, and mules are known to have a mind of their own.  Leaving from out behind the barn, we started to the back forty, and not a hundred yards from the barn the mule balked.  The mule should have known better, he just decided to lie down in the middle of the path.  No amount of abuse would move the beast.  Dad said, “Now when I come back, just hold his head straight up in the air.”  Dad went down to the creek, not a hundred feet away, and returned quickly.  I held the mule’s head up.  Now Dad had fanned himself with his old felt hat, carried peaches in it and who knows what else.  This time it was filled with water and was poured into the nostril of the beast.  The Ozarks now had their own Old Faithful erupting, along with a mule with a new understanding of “out behind the barn”.

The farm was again running smoothly at the hand of my dad.

CD