STORYTIME TAPESTRY

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June 3, 2005

Now on to the good stuff..........

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How Big Are The Snakes

Sharon Bryant

Ok, I admit it, I'm a city girl.  I grew up used to hearing sirens flying down the street, neighbors living close by and hearing conversations through open windows.  We roller skated down the sidewalks in days, and leaned out our windows at night and yelled at folks who walked down the street taking a stroll.

The closest I ever came to camping was going to visit my grandparents who had a cottage on a lake.  And still we slept in a cabin, not a tent. 

In 1989, I was staying in Phoenix, Arizona working on a painting contract. It was my first time to Arizona. Trying to get used to the heat, bugs, and windless days was not easy for someone who came from the Midwest with cool evenings and breezes coming through windows at night.

One day I was on the construction site when one of the guys asked me if I camped.  I told him not really.  He invited me and my kids to Scottsdale where he said was a gorgeous lake, nice campgrounds, pretty as a picture was the way he put it.

If I ever find him again, I'd like to show him what I thought of his pretty as a picture campgrounds!

I had an '88 Chevy King Cab pick up at the time.  Plenty large enough for the kids who were young, to sleep inside or in the large bed on the truck if we had to.  I didn't own a tent.  I didn't have a grill.  Matter of fact, all I had was one fold up chair at the time.  I was only in Phoenix long enough to finish the painting job and I was heading back east soon as my contract was up.

Men and women describe things differently.  What I would call pretty as a picture would be luscious green trees, fields with wild flowers, a nice gravel or dirt road to get to the site, and of course, a toilet on the premises somewhere.

What men think is pretty, is a road you need a hummer to get through, an ax to hack away all the small bushes you dodge as you practically tip your truck over in the huge ruts on the single lane path..that's what I'd call it, a path......to get to this "beautiful site."

Ok, we arrived.  I saw no trees.  I don't think there are trees in Arizona.  I called them bushes.  Anything that is shorter than me, I call a bush.  I saw tents all over the place.  People sitting outside their tents in lounge chairs, kids playing, and yes, there was a lake.  Even around the lake, there were no trees or bushes.  It was a man made lake and whoever made it, forgot to add some scenery to the pretty as a picture site.

It was hot, 117 degrees in fact, that day.  I was sweating like a hog, there was not a hint of a breeze so I parked my truck on this patch of sand.  Grass was not on the premises.  Just the bushes.  And the tents.  And people.

One of my kids said they had to go to the bathroom.  I looked around, there was nothing.  I could see over those little bushes and still, no structure that even looked like a bathroom.  So I asked the guy where the bathrooms were.  He pointed and said, "Over there."  I looked 'over there' and saw nothing.  I said, "Where?"  "By that tree," he replied.  "What tree, there are no trees, just little bushes," I said.  "You have to relieve yourself by that tree or bush as you call it, over there," he said.  I stared at that bush that didn't stand four feet tall.  "You mean, people go by the bush???" I asked.  "Sure, this is roughing it, there are no modern conveniences here at all," he stated.

My daughter was nine years old and she looked at me and said, "Mom, I am NOT going to pee out where everyone can see me, and I'm NOT going to go by that bush."  The guy looked at her and said, "Oh, there's a hole dug there, you just squat over it."  He turned back to putting a little tent up he'd brought along.  I said, "Hey, just show me the way back to the highway and we'll be on our way."  He said, "What?  You want to leave?"  "Yep, you hit the nail on the head, I want to leave," I said.

He got a shovel out of his truck and I sat on the tailgate of my pick up and watched him.  Once the tent was up, he began digging into the dirt making a complete circle around his tent.  I noticed everyone else was doing the same thing.  The hole they dug was a good ten to twelve inches deep and about three feet from the edge of the tents.  I said, "What's the holes around all these tents for?"  "Snakes," he said, "They keep the rattlers from coming into the tents."

"That's IT!" I said.  "I want to leave."  "Oh man, don't tell me you're getting scared of a little old snake," he replied.  Little old snake.  I'd already seen little old snakes out there wrapped around cactus, snakes that measured over 15' and 18' long.  No way was I sleeping in the bed of my truck that night.

My daughter and I never got to use a bathroom that night.  My son was five, so the bush was fine for him.  I stayed up all night long as my kids slept in the back seat of the truck.  They wanted to sleep in the bed but I told them no way.  And come sun rise when I could see where I was going, I headed up that one lane horrible so called road to find the highway.  I have never regretted leaving that "pretty as a picture" sight behind me.

I have never been camping since and I refuse to go again.  My version of camping would be with an RV. With a bathroom.  I work in rattle snake country in the woods, and I see snakes all the time.  People that tell you they won't come out at night.........not true.  People who say they won't bother you......that's not true either.  My son killed three copperheads at work on Thursday.  He carries a gun and his job is maintenance for a golf course.

On that little camping trip in Arizona, we had our cat, "Casper" with us also.  He was walking around the chair I was sitting in when I heard him make a horrible noise and run.  He ran up one of the bushes.  A Bobcat came flying from who knows where and struck the chair I was sitting in and I went flying.  My poor cat ran for all he was worth that day, and luckily the Bobcat gave out.  Casper slept in the truck with us that night.

If you're ever on a first camping trip and you see tents going up and folks digging holes around their campsites, just ask, "How big are the snakes here?"

Sharon Bryant

1946 @bellsouth.net

About Me:

 I am Sharon Bryant, 59 years old and reside in Alabama.

I lost my child in 1977 when he was five and I write
articles on bereavement often.

I am a chocolate/candy maker and also a wood crafter and knitter.

I am married to a wonderful man, and have two remaining children, a daughter 25,
Amy, and a second son, Randy, age 22.

My main goal in life is to help those who
have lost a child. My website is: www.angelsremembered.tk

Today's Queue Stories
~**~**~**~

Talking

Bill Walker

wildbill6807@yahoo.com

 I was stopped at a street crossing the other day, one of them red lights said I must stop.  Anyways I looked over at the car beside me,  I noticed the lady driving the car.  You know I am well schooled in the art of watcher of women. Women needs a lot of watching you know?

This lady best I could tell had no one in the car with her, she may have and I just couldn't see.  I have someone in the car with me most of the time.  That used to be Tinker and Poo, now it is Little Girl.

Anyways the lady was talking,  one could tell that, sure wasn't a wad of gum she was working on.  I do that a lot too,  the  talking bit, but I get by with it, as like I said I have someone in the car to talk to. Yes a dog is someone to talk to, at least most of the time the dog will say, yes that is right. They know which side of the bread the meat is on,  agree and get more meat, less bread.

Now I think people as they get older do a lot of talking to what seems themselves,  that is to an on looker,  are they really alone?  You know I don't think so, they have someone with them, and they really may be talking to him. Oh your eye sight just don't see the one they are talking to, but that someone is right there,  hearing every word.

Now I am going to take you back in history a bit.  The years of 1940 to about 1945.  World War Two.  China is the place I am thinking of.  There was a group of Americans that went to China to help the Chinese fight the nation of Japan.  These where what became known as the Flying Tigers.  These men were at war with Japan before the rest of us got into the war.  They were working and flying for the Chinese Government. They were what one could say was a few, against many.  One of these men was one named Col. Scott.  Scott wrote a couple books about his life.  One was "God Was My Co-Pilot."    In his writings, he said he talked to God a lot, while up there in the sky in his one seater P-40.  God helped him fly that plane, and make it back to the air field.  Now a lot of people gets a bit upset with him saying God was the Co-pilot. I wonder if they are misreading his words?  I think he means,  God was with him.  You see sometimes he was against two and more at a time.  For all you young people, the P-40 was sure not the best plane of those days.  Their day had come and went, in lots of ways were no match against the Zeros the Japs had.  Every time I see some car from Japan,  I think of Zeros.  What you think the plane makers of Japan makes today,, Cars, Zeros.? ZECKS as our boys called them. 

Now getting back to the lady, that looked like she was talking to herself.  I don't know as she was all alone.    Maybe God was setting there, hearing every word, and enjoying the ride,  just letting her do the talking.

~**~**~

Bill Walker

wildbill6807@yahoo.com

Well I??™m a story teller, not a writer. Never learned the art of fancy English. I

happen to live in Nebraska, but I??™m still Missouri. Never married, all the Dollies I

ever took a second look at was too smart. Now at 74, just turned that other day, I

figure they all home safe. I love Doggies and Dollies in that order. Lost my two

true friends this year, that be Tinker and Poo. So I found me a new one. This

time a little girlie Peke. She is a normal female. Got a mouth, talks all the time.

She will never be a great writers of stories like Tinker and Poo. They have

about 50 stories on HWS. And now writing back from Rainbow Bridge.

I just try to write about people, places and things best I remember. Have something

over 250 stories on HWS. under three names.   

~**~**~

Good morning,

Dianna Doles Petry

I have to write to you and tell you how the morning has gone so far. No matter what else is happening in my life, strange things never seem to take a holiday.

Yesterday, my friend's truck had a part to go out that needs to be repaired today. He had an appointment in Summersville for early this morning so naturally, I suggested that he take my Jeep and I would get the truck to the garage this morning.

I called the mother of a boy who practically lives here with us and who rides to school with my boys every morning to see if she could take them all today. She agreed and even told me that I should let her help more often. I then called the mother of the little girl I pick up in town when I make the morning school run and asked her to bring the child to me this morning.

Knowing that I didn't have to leave the house this morning, I didn't bother to get dressed in street clothes when I woke up. I tossed a load of laundry into the washing machine, started the coffee pot and let the dogs out for a walk.

The boys were dressed and patiently waiting for Jonathan's mother to arrive and I was happy not to have to defrost the Jeep or lace up my boots. I looked around and in walked Jonathan.

The boys got up and started out the door with him but his mother had gone. He was giving me quizzical looks like he didn't know what was happening and I knew that she had forgotten that she was going to drive this morning.

There was no time to get dressed so I tossed on my jacket over my dark blue nightshirt emblazoned with a wild-eyed cat holding a cup of coffee while declaring, "I don't do mornings." I was also wearing jogging pants that were now boasting puppy paw prints since the dogs had run back through the door as Jonathan came in. We won't even talk about the mess of hair on my head that had a mind of it's own or the thick knitted beige booties that I had on my feet. I did manage to stuff my feet, booties and all, into a pair of slip on shoes as I headed out the door.

Have you ever tried to put three teenage boys and one middle-aged woman with a little too much fluff into a pick-up truck? You barely have enough room to pass gas and changing gears was going to require a degree in "Human Pretzel Physics."

Chris quickly scrapped some frost off of the windshield and I started the truck. For those of you who are avid followers of Ford trucks.....grrr.......she took forever to warm up and until she did, she sputtered and jerked like a mechanical riding bull. There were all scrunched together and being careful not to touch knees or "gasp" chests since they think that is very uncool. I was pushed against the door so far that I could barely reach the brake and accelerator and it took full cooperation from all involved to reach the gear shift. No wonder the boys asked me to stop a full block before we got to the school!

I looked down and the gasoline gauge showed very little fuel in the truck. I was at a loss for time but I couldn't run out of gasoline either so I stopped at the nearest station. I am thinking that the looks I was getting was not because of my wonderful fashion statement this morning. Does everyone really dress up in their Sunday finest to pump gasoline?

I put ten dollars in the tank and went inside to pay for the purchase. When I got to the counter, the man asked if I'd ever worked before. I'm sure the look on my face was one of total disinterest but I replied, "Yes, a time or two."

"Well, you look like a nice lady just down on your luck. Come on over this afternoon when Willy is here and we'll put you to work. Heck, we'll pay you a full $5. 65 per hour too!" He looked so excited that I wanted to smack him. There is nothing like falling from being a proud, well-dressed and educated woman down to a bag lady status to wake you up and show you the evil in your ways.

I thanked him for his kindness and thanked him for rescuing me from a life of stealing bread crumbs for survival. I promised him that I would return this afternoon and I would be ready for any work he could offer me to ensure that I won't lose the farm. I hope he isn't planning to have me a hot lunch ready.

By the time I got back into the truck, I was muttering unmentionable things to myself and plotting the pain I was going to inflict on my neighbor for not showing up this morning and my friend for having a truck that would have made Fred Sanford proud! You know, he could have at least tossed the dead Christmas tree out somewhere by now.

The little girl was waiting for me by the time I got home and she had helped herself to some chocolate milk. I'm not sure why she had the bright idea to heat a full bottle of chocolate syrup in the microwave but I think she left it in there a little too long. Thank goodness the cap pushed the door open when it blew off and thank God that she wasn't standing there watching it turn when the door opened. I've been needing to so something about that wallpaper in there anyway. I guess she was busy trying out the fabric paints that I don't allow them to use and just forgot about wanting the chocolate milk.

I guess that since one of my dining room chair cushions is so colorful now, I can just paint stick figures and minature skate boards on the rest of them to match. Anyone in the mood for a GI party? Come back here, where are you going?

It's time for me to get busy now.....hopefully, the rest of the day will be a bit smoother.

Love,

Dianna Doles Petry

Dianna59@charter.net

Proud founder of:
Women With A Unique Soul
www.womenwithauniquesoul.com
Webmaster of Short Stories
http://pages.ivillage.com/dianna40
Webmaster of Poetry From Life
http://www.geocities.com/diannawv/
Poems By Dianna
http://members.tripod.com/~poemsbydianna/PoetryofLife.html

 ~**~**~

 The Country Life and a Barn Raisin'  (CS)

 B.J. Cassady

          I remember my aunt fixing food for the crew during harvest time.  A

lot of  hungry men who were perfectly mannered.  I never heard profanity on

the farm, never saw a drunk or a police car, sheriff??™s car, never heard of

anyone being robbed, beaten.  I never heard of anyone getting divorced.  I

remember my aunt using the old cast iron (I think) irons, one on the stove

getting warm, the other she used while it was hot.  My aunt would use the old

scrub board to get the dirt out before she used the old wringer washer. 

Before electricity, I played on the floor by kerosene light. 

        The smell of fresh cut hay is incredible.  The beauty of wildflowers in

spring and summer is breathtaking.  Watching lightening bugs fly at night

and not hearing a car pass maybe all day is a memory I still cherish.  Home

baked pies, homemade ice-cream and good ole fashion corn bread and

chicken were the highlight of Church dinners. 

         On the farm, everyone worked.  Gathering eggs, milking the cows,

slopping the hogs and yet I can not remember hearing any complaints....well

other than the 5am wakeup call.

         My aunt made me shirts from feed sacks and left over cloth, she made

her own soap from lye.  Canning fruits and vegetables and made some of the

most mouth-watering dishes you could imagine.

        My aunt and uncle reading their Bible every day, saying prayers over

meals and not working on Sundays is still with me.  Going to church was a

spiritual and a social event.  People who didn't see each other for the

previous week met.   One Sunday a farmer was not there and we learned he

had an accident on a tractor, quite common, and during his illness his barn

was struck by lightening and destroyed.  Two days later, EVERYONE in the

community was at the farm, people brought wood, material.  My uncle drove

his pickup and I went with him.  In one day a barn was raised.  It was not

uncommon to hear of a dozen combines cutting a sick farmer??™s crop, all done

by neighbors at no cost.

       A neighbor of my uncles had a barn catch fire one night and we went

there to help pull the horses out of the barn and help with the fire. 

        No the farmers didn??™t have vcrs, dvds, suvs, cable or color tv, but a few

things they had that are rare today in this fast paced world are: harmony,

faith, gentleness,  commitment, and lastly but not least, respect for each

other. 

B. J. Cassady

Guthrie, Oklahoma

 B.J. Cassady

BJ.Cassady @ af-group.com

B.J. Cassady is a Stephen Minister at

Edmond Trinity Church and ISD professional

in Guthrie, Oklahoma.  A disabled Vietnam

era USAF vet,  BJ enjoys giving back to

the world with his writings and is putting

together a CD audio collection of his best

writings.  For further information please

write: bj.enterprises @juno.com

Also look for his story 'Medals' in

"More Patriot Hearts" by Lt Col William

Coffey and "The Quilt".

Writers Feedback

Bill Walker, "Thorns" wonderful words of wisdom. I personally will take heed. Well written Bill, thank you. Gabrielle Morgan.

Way to go Congrats to Bill! I think it is so wonderful and what an awesome gift Bill has given to others, the inspiration to pursue their talents and abilities to conquer goals only maybe a faint dream at one time in life and now an awesome accomplishment. Again, Congratulations Bill and may we all spread the word of a book worth reading and "writing home about"

And God bless you again and again Carol Roach for your sharing such fine talents with us.
God bless Leona

Announcements

Greets all!

I know many of you haven't heard from me in awhile, but I have some news to report.

My first real official book signing has been scheduled for June 18 at 10 am. at the St. John Parish Library in Reserve, Louisiana.

As it happens, it's the day before my birthday (June 19). 

Sincerely,

D.A. Arthur

Author of The Maverick Princess

ISBN #1-4137-1294-0

http://www.daarthur.us

http://www.publishedauthors.net/daarthur

Prayer Requests and Updates

SENIOR WRITERS

Agee, Vance;  Apted, Violet;  Baker, Kathy;  Batt, Al;  Berry, Nell;

Boda, Ginger;  Bryant, Sharon;  Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.;  Crider, Mark; 

Deming, Barb; Goodier, Steve;  Harris, Kathy Anne; Hunt, Sharlette; 

Jacobson, Gary;  Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Jenkins, Pamela;

Liles, Norma;  Mazzella, Joe; Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

  Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan;  Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam;

Walker, Bill;  Walker, Joe; Warner, Gorden K;

Whirity, Kathy;  White, Robert;

STORYTIME TAPESTRY STAFF

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Moderator: Thelma Hartselle-co founder

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