219 Chapters
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Medium 9781574413205

Fishing

Edited by Kenneth L. Untiedt University of North Texas Press PDF

7978-ch05.pdf

10/6/11

8:17 AM

Page 331

FISHING by Vicky J. Rose

When the call came from the Texas Folklore Society for papers about hunting and fishing lore, I immediately dismissed it. I never hunted and haven’t fished in years. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I realized what an important hand fishing took in developing my attitude toward life and people.

In those pre-feminist days during the late fifties and early sixties, women with children rarely worked outside the home. I was the middle child of three girls, tow-headed, with wide and trusting eyes. To keep from driving our mother crazy, she kept us busy playing with dolls in the winter, carving doll houses out of cardboard boxes and decorating them with scraps of wallpaper and fabric. In the summer, we were expected to play outdoors. Our only enemies then were snakes and the sticker-burs that infested the deep sandy soil where we lived. My older sister, with her delicate hands and tiny wrists, had an almost abnormal fear of spiders.

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2 No Irish in Ireland

Mike Roos Quarry Books ePub

In the heat of this Saturday afternoon, the first of what Betty Roos decided would be a long hot summer in purgatory if not downright hell, she knew the day would be one of those that would drag her to the end of her wits. Wrapped tightly in the crook of her left arm, her nine-month-old baby boy, Scott, wriggled inside a freshly full diaper, while in the desperate grip of her right hand, the chubby paw of Eric, her three-year-old with Down syndrome and a wickedly contrary attitude, struggled to break free. Betty was now in the process of dragging Eric furiously out of the bathroom, where he had just gotten into the storage cabinet beneath the sink and spilled Ajax in powdery streams across the tiled floor. She had found him sitting in it, with both hands caked in gritty white paste, just as he was about to lick them clean. Having narrowly averted disaster, she left the bathroom mess for later. Now, she had to let go of Eric just long enough to yank the bathroom door closed, but it was more than enough time for him to waddle away out of reach toward the living room, with a devilish giggle.

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15 Devil in Blue Jeans

Mike Roos Quarry Books ePub

Jim Roos was pleased to see a remarkable difference in the atmosphere in Ireland High School the following Monday morning. The pall of gloom that had hung over the building since the beginning of fall classes was gone, and in its place was a mood of sunny optimism, focus, and anticipation. Everything seemed brighter now in the light of the two season-opening wins. Students were more attentive and respectful of their teachers, the buzz in the hallways between classes was louder and more energized, and even janitor John Radke took greater pride in his work. And the generalized optimism was only enhanced by the Spuds’ third game, a road contest against nonconference opponent English, which offered no special difficulty and required no special strategy or stunts to motivate the players. The team cruised to an easy twenty-point win, 65–45, and now stood 3–0, although they faced next a challenging match with the Monroe City Blue Jeans, a home game on Tuesday before Thanksgiving.

Rapidly Pete Gill was becoming the talk of the town. In these early weeks of the season, he began to make a habit after practice of stopping for coffee and friendly chatter at Ame Leinenbach’s cafe. Although, on occasion, Pete had privately sampled some of Morris Weidenbenner’s home brew or would sneak a beer at Wop Fritsch’s tavern in Jasper, he had so far carefully avoided public consumption of alcoholic beverages in Ireland. Roy Allen, on the other hand, while only a moderate drinker, never tried to hide his consumption of alcohol, and in fact he frequently tended bar for Ame as summer employment, which had caused Roy some difficulty when Tommy Schitter was township trustee.

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Detail maps

Geraldine Ellis Watson University of North Texas Press PDF
Medium 9781574414615

Weather

Ron Tatum University of North Texas Press ePub

Weather

Shoeing horses is not a pleasant way to make a living, but when the weather is extreme, it is downright miserable. The extremes are heat, cold, and rain. It’s best to stay home when these conditions are severe, but when you have no food in the house, you have to do what you have to do.

Heat, without question, is the most troublesome for me. I’ll choose rain over heat, any day. In fact I will no longer shoe a horse on an extremely hot day unless there is a cool barn or some kind of shelter. I’m from the Northwest and we don’t quite know what to do on hot days. We don’t get a lot of them, so when it gets to be in the high eighties or nineties, everyone just stands around in confusion and complains. Air conditioners have arrived in most business offices and fastfood restaurants, but are seldom found in anyone’s home. I only recently got a truck with an air conditioner.

One hot day in California during my first year of shoeing when I usually took two hours to shoe a horse under normal conditions, I took almost five hours to shoe one horse. I drank a lot of water, but the heat got to me. I’d work for awhile, get dizzy, and go into the hay room and lie down on a bale of hay until the dizziness went away. I turned a hose on my head and upper body every now and then, but that didn’t stop the dizziness. That horse stood out there the whole time in the blazing sun, mostly asleep, and didn’t seem bothered at all by the heat. I probably suffered from heat stroke and didn’t have the sense to recognize it. No one was around to point it out to me.

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Pranks in Hungting Camp; Or, the Physiological and Psychological Benefits of Ancient Rites Practiced in Bucolic and Fraternal Settings

Edited by Kenneth L. Untiedt University of North Texas Press PDF

7978-ch05.pdf

10/6/11

8:17 AM

Page 297

PRANKS IN HUNTING CAMP; OR, THE

PHYSIOLOGICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL

BENEFITS OF ANCIENT RITES PRACTICED

IN BUCOLIC AND FRATERNAL SETTINGS by Robert Flynn

For reasons yet to be explained, God and the Supreme Court placed hunting season during the shortest days of the year. For those who venture into nature to collect something edible rather than to escape TV, that means a lot of non-hunting time in hunting camp. Some hunters fill those hours with eating, drinking, arguing hunting strategies, conjuring visions of the next hunt, playing cards, eating, cooking, tinkering with mechanical devices such as hunting vehicles, cleaning hunting gear (including selected game), cleaning the cabin, and/or cleaning oneself.

While those are meaningful, productive and necessary, the serious hunter also requires creative activities. The two fundamental exercises of the imagination are: One, the preparation, polishing, and delivery of the day’s hunting story that includes in detail every animal seen, and the description of the width, breadth, length and points of the bucks’ horns with poetic license; and also the enumeration of the number of turkeys, feral hogs, and other game with manly exaggeration. Two, the preparation of the

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Other Kinds of Creatures

Ron Tatum University of North Texas Press ePub

Other Kinds of Creatures

Domestic horses and cows aren’t the only four-legged mammals that need work done on their feet. Sheep, goats, llamas, and baby mini horses also have hooves that sometimes need trimming. I’ll discuss this group of animals because I have some limited experience in this area. There are other animals that should perhaps be included, like oxen who occasionally wear shoes, but I’ve no experience with them. Look it up in some other book.

Sheep and goats are easy. These animals have cloven hooves that are leather-like and softer than a horse’s foot. Cloven feet double the shoer’s work because there are two separate little identical parts to each foot, although “work” isn’t exactly the right word. Most of the time it’s a real pleasure to trim the feet of an animal that’s smaller than you are. The feet will need trimming if the animal spends most of its time on soft ground. If the feet grow too long the animal could end up walking on its heels or the sides of its feet with useless, flappy parts curling out. If the feet of a sheep or goat grow too long, they will become twisted and distorted, throw the body off balance, and put a strain on the legs. A person would experience the same thing if they were to suddenly have a two-inch extension added to the toe of their shoe, or have the outside of the shoe one inch higher than the inside. The whole body would be affected as it tried to compensate for this change. If the terrain is cement, rock, or hard ground, cloven hoofed animals will wear down the excess growth just by walking around.

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Medium 9781574413205

Roping a Deer

Edited by Kenneth L. Untiedt University of North Texas Press PDF

7978-ch05.pdf

10/6/11

8:17 AM

Page 315

ROPING A DEER

(Names have been removed to protect the stupid)

[Editor’s note: The following has been passed along by email, from many people. If an original contributor can be located, please let me know so proper credit can be awarded. –Untiedt]

Actual letter from someone who farms and writes well:

I had this idea that I was going to rope a deer, put it in a stall, feed it up on corn for a couple of weeks, then kill it and eat it. The first step in this adventure was getting a deer. I figured that, since they congregate at my cattle feeder and do not seem to have much fear of me when we are there (a bold one will sometimes come right up and sniff at the bags of feed while I am in the back of the truck not four feet away), it should not be difficult to rope one, get up to it and toss a bag over its head (to calm it down), then hog tie it and transport it home.

I filled the cattle feeder, then hid down at the end with my rope. The cattle, having seen the roping thing before, stayed well back. They were not having any of it. After about twenty minutes, my deer showed up—three of them. I picked out a likely looking one, stepped out from the end of the feeder, and threw my rope.

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Our Family Fishing Trips

Edited by Kenneth L. Untiedt University of North Texas Press PDF

7978-ch03.pdf

10/6/11

8:16 AM

Page 183

OUR FAMILY FISHING TRIPS by L. R. McCormack

One of my fondest memories of my Coney family is the fishing trips. Fishing was one of the activities the Coney boys loved. The

“boys” were the four sons of Leon Josephus Coney and Ida

Augusta Hawkins Coney. Their farm was located about five miles southeast of Ladonia, Texas. Not only was fishing their favorite sport, but it also provided some good meals. Their fishing was not done with a rod and reel. They used seines, and “grabbled” for the fish. My dad, Lowell (Sheep), and his brother Roy Leon (Buster) were the only two of the boys who could swim. Being the two youngest boys, they had developed a close bond through the years.

Dad could hold his breath under water so very long that they sometimes wondered if he had drowned. Buster could dive deeper than Dad. between the two of them, they checked out each fishing hole for suitable fish—as well as for water moccasins that were living in those holes—and selected the holes they would fish. They had several places that they visited regularly.

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Medium 9780253346988

6. Air-Tecs

Abraham Aamidor Indiana University Press ePub

Chuck Taylor was sitting on a narrow bench in the cavernous, tile-lined fieldhouse at Wright Field, Ohio in early December 1944, watching his “boys” go through an early evening workout and jawing with a local newspaper reporter. John Mahnken, who not long before was the 6-foot-8 starting center on the Georgetown University Hoyas, “dripped sweat” as Taylor continued sitting on the bench in his birch-colored sweat pants and shirt and egged on Mahnken and the other young basketball stars.

“Lt. Charles (Chuck) Taylor cast a quick glance at Mahnken,” the reporter wrote, “and the rest of the basketball players who were rounding out the first scheduled practice of the Air-Tecs, the quintet which will represent the Air Technical Service Command this year against professional, collegiate, and service teams. ‘They’re getting tired,’ he grinned. A minute later he called his team together. ‘That’s enough for today. You can shoot baskets for a while if you want, but we’ll meet here tomorrow same time. Okay? See you tomorrow night.’

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Nocturnal Woodpecker

Edited by Kenneth L. Untiedt University of North Texas Press PDF

7978-ch01.pdf

10/6/11

8:14 AM

Page 41

NOCTURNAL WOODPECKER by W. Frank Mayhew

The “afternoon” was only slightly half-over and already that day’s sun, which could only be described as weak, waning, and indifferent, was seen scurrying over the southwestern horizon. Hiding in the lengthening shadows, the cold-weather gods, with little to fear, boldly strode forward, announcing their evil intentions for the approaching night. Their single digit temperatures were already audaciously nipping at the heels of the few fading remnants of that pusillanimous sun.

It was going to be a cold night, a very cold night, exactly what

I had been hoping for. Looking forward to a few days of peace and solitude, I had set up camp the day before, deep in the East Texas woods. This trip had become an annual event for me.

My family had long ago come to recognize that a few of us need some time alone, to sort out all that has gone before, and to plan for that which we know will be coming. For me it is a time of rationalizing and rejuvenation. As I mentally go over the recent events of my life I begin to rationalize their causal behavior patterns, both mine and other peoples’. Once I reach a level of acceptance, the behavior and the events are then filed away to be retrieved only on an as-needed basis. To a psychologist this is called a coping device, and this particular device is called “compartmentalization.” The psychology community is split as to whether compartmentalization is a good thing or a bad thing.

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Part Three Day 2

Geraldine Ellis Watson University of North Texas Press PDF

Part Three, Day 1

Part Three

Day 2

L.N.V.A. CANAL

River Mile 37.4

The morning after the storm, the canal was smooth and lovely, reflecting the still-green trees and the few maples and Chinese tallows which had begun to turn color. The bends are small compared to those of the Neches, and only the first few have sandbars. The canal was constructed in 1925 and, though it is artificial, it follows a series of sloughs and cypress swamps, so retains a natural configuration. One particular cypress swamp on the right is broad and deep and one can paddle about and explore it to some extent. I wanted to save my paddling arm for Cook’s Lake, however, so I passed it by.

One bend is especially wide where a slough from the interior of the island enters the canal and becomes like a lake. Daddy and I once came here fishing, and witnessed a sad sight. A mother with her two teenage children, a boy and a girl, had come to picnic and swim. The young people were splashing about in the shallow water near the shore when the girl slipped off into a deep hole. She couldn’t swim, so the brother jumped in to help and was dragged under also. The mother was almost drowned trying to save them, but managed to struggle to shore and go for help. Divers found the bodies while we were there and brought them to shore. Their limbs were frozen in that last moment when the muscles relaxed in unconsciousness and they drifted downward. The air in their lungs, mixed with blood and mucus, oozed out and formed exotic pink foam flowers about their mouths. The mother

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Part One Day 2

Geraldine Ellis Watson University of North Texas Press PDF

Part One, Day 1

Part One

Day 2

BURIED FOREST

River Mile 103.5 10:30 A.M.

It was a misty, magical morning. The gentle rain lasted a short time; a dense fog lay over the water, but it was dispersing, so I packed and stowed my gear and pushed off over the glassy water into the mist.

About ll:00 A.M. just below Cowart’s Bend, I came upon a high, colorful bluff. It was once a steamboat landing, and was the terminus of a branch of the Magnolia Springs road. The cutting action of the river here reveals about

25 feet of floodplain history covering possibly 5,000 years. At normal water level, there is at the bluff base a shelf of the rock-like gray clay found at various shoal sites between Dam B and Sheffield’s Ferry. It appears to be of

Fleming Formation age as it tests high on the pH scale. (I carry a small bottle of 10 percent hydrochloric acid to test materials suspected to be calcareous.)

Above this rocklike clay are several strata of different materials. There is a layer of ocher-colored silt above the clay, then a layer of compressed snowwhite, fine-grained sand, over that a layer of red iron oxide sandy clay, all topped by a dark topsoil. The erosion of these materials has created many strange and beautiful shapes and colors. They are transient in nature as the heavy rains, water seepage, and floods erase them and make blank walls for new creations. One white wall had an abstract design of brilliant red oxide painted onto the surface by water seepage from above. Buff-colored walls

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3 Neither a Drunkard Nor a Bank Robber

Mike Roos Quarry Books ePub

As Betty was putting the second pin in Scott’s diaper and was about to go in search of Eric, she heard a loud, metallic knock at the front screen door and wondered if it was Eric trying to escape the confines of the house.

But Eric was sitting contentedly in his own wet diaper on the hardwood floor of the living room, holding his toy saxophone in one hand while quietly watching the pattern of sunbeams on the oak planks, fascinated by the play of light on the wood grain. When the figure of a man appeared knocking at the screen door, he instinctively stood up to stare at the dark outline of the stranger against the pale blue sky in the background. Then, raising his right hand to point at the man, he lifted the horn to his lips with his left hand to screech out a series of discordant notes.

“Hey there, little buddy,” the strange silhouette responded. Eric paused to gape, then blew on the sax again. “Ha ha! Real good!” the man exclaimed, then crouched and put his face next to the screen. “How about you play me ‘Summertime and the Livin’ Is Easy’?” The man crooned the words Frank Sinatra style, in a surprisingly silky timbre compared to the rasp of his speaking voice, and Eric blurted another sour note in response. “Yeah! That’s it, in the key of E minor!” The man grinned, and Eric grinned back.

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Medium 9780253014993

5. Domesticating Sports: The Wii, the Mii, and Nintendo’s Postfeminist Subject

Thomas P Oates Indiana University Press ePub

Renee M. Powers and Robert Alan Brookey

IN 2005 NINTENDO BEGAN RELEASING INFORMATION ABOUT their next console, code-named “Revolution.” The reception from the video game press was rather mixed. Ryan Block, covering Nintendo’s introduction of the Revolution at the 2005 Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3) for the tech blog Engadget, had this to say: “The Revolution is a really unsexy device, all things considered – but it is a prototype, and [Nintendo] did hammer home that they want input from their adoring public. This may also just prove that Nintendo is serious when they say they don’t care about the hardware as much as they do about the gaming experience. They had to show something, and they did. It didn’t hurt them, it didn’t help them.” Mark Casamassina, writing for IGN, provided a more positive assessment: “At E3 2005, Nintendo unveiled the Revolution console. It is the company’s sleekest unit to date. The tiny-sized system is designed to be quiet and affordable. The revolutionary aspect of the machine – its input device – remains a secret.”1 Yet even Casamassina noted how the new console broke with industry tradition by not incorporating significant technological advances in graphic capability.

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