Brian.Evans
Registered Member
- Joined
- Aug 20, 2011
- Messages
- 3,267
A couple months ago I took the babies (Caleb aka Kee-bob and Kinsey aka Kiki or Peanut) and my wife's grandfather down to my parents farm during harvest. I miss farming, but there was no way I could have done it as a profession. Not enough land. As we drove down, I had to drive down a road called the Hidalgo Road. Instead of turning east towards my parents', I turned west into Hidalgo, which is where our journey into my childhood, some of my best memories, some pain, and a beautiful day I will remember until I die.
Hidalgo is a small farming town that grew up around a railroad and a grain elevator, then declined as people moved away. Now there is basically nothing there but several houses, a couple churches, a post office, and Bob's.
Down Main Street in Hidalgo.
This was my grandparents' church. When I was a child, it had several families, in fact, enough for three different ages of Sunday school classes. Twenty years later they closed its doors, as there were only two couples left; my grandparents and another couple, the Tharp's. We used to call Jesse Tharp the bulldozer man because he ran a bulldozer occasionally. I remember going on Saturday with my grandma to clean the church. Lining up with the other kids after church to get a piece of gum from my grandpa. The outside belies the old world beautiful wood inside. I can still smell the inside of the church in my mind if I try.
One of my good friends growing up lived here. We fished, camped, skinny dipped, and rode bikes all over creation. I crashed my bike right on that street corner and knocked the wind out of myself once so badly I then surely I would die.
I learned with Mitch that you absolutely cannot fry pond caught bluegill in an aluminum foil pan full of lukewarm cooking oil suspended over a campfire. It might have worked, but we just got sick. Mitch was a gunner in a Stryker in Iraq in the early days of the war. He dropped out of the position to switch with the replacement gunner. A few seconds later, their Stryker hit an IED and the gunner up top was killed. Mitch bears scars inside and out. I have been to Camp Warhorse to the Stryker Memorial. Sobering.
Crooked Creek Fire Protection District. Tiny department that was my first taste of fire fighting and the reason I'm a medic now. My dad is a Lt here. Incidentally, this building is a converted school, the same school I went to kindergarten in. I tried to learn to tap dance in the gym but I didn't have tap shoes so I tried to use cowboy boots, with not much success. They park fire trucks in that gym now.
Which brings us to Bob's Hardware, owned by Bob and Gail Green. I went to school with their son, who is a few years older than me. If you look on the extreme left side of this picture you can see the park and the baseball diamond where I played six years of little league for the Crook Creek Cubs.
The old timers would sit in here and lie and lie and lie when I was kid, especially when it was winter and there was little else to do. Those candy jars used to have tootsie rolls in them, a penny a piece. I'd beg and beg my dad for a nickel for candy. I didn't always get it either.
Now, what did I spy on my trip down memory lane? Yes, a knife display, in a real hardware store, in 2013. There is a knife god. I conned Gail into opening it up and I selected a knife for my son, so he will have a knife from a hardware store to remember this place by. It might not mean much to him, but it does for me.
Later, I introduced Kee-bob to his new knife.
He was mighty impressed, let me tell you. I know it probably is right on the edge of traditional for some of you guys, but my dad, my grandfather, and I until a few years ago all carry lockbacks with plastic handles. My dad's and mine are Schrade Sp3s and my grandpa's is a Gerber. I figured he would want a knife like his pawpaw's and every little awesome boy likes camo!
Kiki was going to head over and see what all that noise was over there! Except her little legs were too short to get over the stubble, so she got carried. She has her daddy figured out.
This is where all the commotion was coming from.
Anyway, most of the other pictures are of the farming operation itself, and I've probably stretched the forum's limits enough already. It was a great, beautiful day. I don't get down there nearly enough.
Hidalgo is a small farming town that grew up around a railroad and a grain elevator, then declined as people moved away. Now there is basically nothing there but several houses, a couple churches, a post office, and Bob's.
Down Main Street in Hidalgo.
This was my grandparents' church. When I was a child, it had several families, in fact, enough for three different ages of Sunday school classes. Twenty years later they closed its doors, as there were only two couples left; my grandparents and another couple, the Tharp's. We used to call Jesse Tharp the bulldozer man because he ran a bulldozer occasionally. I remember going on Saturday with my grandma to clean the church. Lining up with the other kids after church to get a piece of gum from my grandpa. The outside belies the old world beautiful wood inside. I can still smell the inside of the church in my mind if I try.
One of my good friends growing up lived here. We fished, camped, skinny dipped, and rode bikes all over creation. I crashed my bike right on that street corner and knocked the wind out of myself once so badly I then surely I would die.
I learned with Mitch that you absolutely cannot fry pond caught bluegill in an aluminum foil pan full of lukewarm cooking oil suspended over a campfire. It might have worked, but we just got sick. Mitch was a gunner in a Stryker in Iraq in the early days of the war. He dropped out of the position to switch with the replacement gunner. A few seconds later, their Stryker hit an IED and the gunner up top was killed. Mitch bears scars inside and out. I have been to Camp Warhorse to the Stryker Memorial. Sobering.
Crooked Creek Fire Protection District. Tiny department that was my first taste of fire fighting and the reason I'm a medic now. My dad is a Lt here. Incidentally, this building is a converted school, the same school I went to kindergarten in. I tried to learn to tap dance in the gym but I didn't have tap shoes so I tried to use cowboy boots, with not much success. They park fire trucks in that gym now.
Which brings us to Bob's Hardware, owned by Bob and Gail Green. I went to school with their son, who is a few years older than me. If you look on the extreme left side of this picture you can see the park and the baseball diamond where I played six years of little league for the Crook Creek Cubs.
The old timers would sit in here and lie and lie and lie when I was kid, especially when it was winter and there was little else to do. Those candy jars used to have tootsie rolls in them, a penny a piece. I'd beg and beg my dad for a nickel for candy. I didn't always get it either.
Now, what did I spy on my trip down memory lane? Yes, a knife display, in a real hardware store, in 2013. There is a knife god. I conned Gail into opening it up and I selected a knife for my son, so he will have a knife from a hardware store to remember this place by. It might not mean much to him, but it does for me.
Later, I introduced Kee-bob to his new knife.
He was mighty impressed, let me tell you. I know it probably is right on the edge of traditional for some of you guys, but my dad, my grandfather, and I until a few years ago all carry lockbacks with plastic handles. My dad's and mine are Schrade Sp3s and my grandpa's is a Gerber. I figured he would want a knife like his pawpaw's and every little awesome boy likes camo!
Kiki was going to head over and see what all that noise was over there! Except her little legs were too short to get over the stubble, so she got carried. She has her daddy figured out.
This is where all the commotion was coming from.
Anyway, most of the other pictures are of the farming operation itself, and I've probably stretched the forum's limits enough already. It was a great, beautiful day. I don't get down there nearly enough.
