Assigned the task of plowing for my Uncle Calvin who farmed a rented place not too far from my grandparents’ house in the country west of Abilene, I would stay nights with the old folks. This farm was near the Clear Fork of the Brazos in Jones County, good wheat land. Proud owner of a driver’s license, I was delighted when Mom, and mostly Dad, decided I could take our old F150 pickup truck on the trek to Grandma’s house. It was a late 1940s model and a bit worn, but it as what we had and I was happy to drive the 35 or so miles to my summer assignment.
Spending time after long workdays with grandparents was not terribly exciting for a teen of the new decade of the 60s. They fed me well on the chickens that Grandma had raised and when the feed bill got too big called in the family to “process” the chickens for the freezer. These few months later, chicken was served 3 meals a day, some times cold. Bed time was as welcome as the food they provided me. Grandma was used to boys having raised a bunch in her house full of 12 children. Grandma and Grandpa seemed much older than they really were. Such were the times they had lived.
Plowing wheat ground was a boring task. Equipment was smaller and less powerful in those days. A mid-sized John Deere and a one-way plow. I don’t remember having a shade from the relentless sun. Starting on the outer edge, one drove the outer edge of the field cutting a swath of maybe 8 feet turning up the soil to a depth of 6 inches or so. The route around the field was counter clockwise as the disc plow could only be turned to the left, hence the term “one-way”. As the starting point as reached after a “round”, the large rear tractor tire could easily slide into the furrow cut on the previous round. Plowing shallow, for there was never much deep tillage in the arid lands, caused a “hard pan” to develop helping to keep any rain that did fall near to roots of the plants. Of course, sometimes a powdery soil resulted and the winds would carry the dust into the next county or beyond. The fields were usually large, maybe 40 or 50 acres. So round and round you went for hours in a single field. Then back to Grandma’s and some chicken, maybe fried this time.
As this story goes, several days of this ritual had passed and boredom was really setting in. Something needed to happen.
Thunderstorms in West Texas often is spectacular, clouds building to tower heights above the flat and seemly featureless landscape. Visible on the horizon for 50 or more miles, one has an anticipation of rain and relief to come. More often than not, the once sighted storms moves another direction and someone else get any benefits promised. Stormy nights illuminated with a flashing strobe and bursting with continuous roars in the distance signal promises missed.
But this night the promise was met and at the time for sunrise a gully washing thunderstorm had settled into a steady rain. No work today! Sleep in today!
Then I realized that the creek near Grandma’s house subject to some flooding when the big storms came was quickly rising and would soon cover the low lying road. Time to quickly gather the few things I had taken with me into the old F150 and get going while I could cross the creek.
Home beckoned for a few days of rest from boredom and chicken.
I love rainy mornings to this day.
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