I looked for a stick to move the brier vine with before sticking  my hand in like my Dad had taught us. “Scare any snakes off before you put your hand inside a bush to pick a Blackberry” he always warned. I found the right stick and began feasting on some of the juicy fruit. Blackberries have a range of flavors depending on their ripeness. The still red ones are bitter and tart, The Black ones are less tart but the purple black ones they are my favorite sweet and juicy. Some times we would pick some to take home making a pouch with our tee shirts but mom would get mad cause it left a purple stain she couldn’t wash out. We seemed to be eating more than collecting.

I HEARD THE RUMBLE OF A TRAIN COMING WAY BEFORE I SAW IT ROUND THE BEND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE TRESTLES. It was the late morning freighter heading into Houston from the North, The engine whizzed buy and we waved and watched awhile then started harvesting again. It’s hard to focus at a simple task of picking berries within 15 feet of tons of steel whizzing by at 25 MPH. So I looked up and saw the caboose crossing the trestles coming toward us. Mr.Caboose leaning out the window to see what we where doing, he was waving to us. I had just picked the biggest blackberry of the day when the Caboose came along side my brother Steve . I hollared over to Steve “WATCH THIS ” (which I now know as his famous last words) I wound up and threw  the berry towards the man in the caboose waving out his window. He did not see it coming. the lead was perfect as a quarterback to a wide reciever going on a post pattern.

SPLAT!  Blackberry hit him right between the eyes making a reddish purple spot that exploaded  like he had been shot. We couldn’t help but started laughing then I saw him pick up this radio to call the Engineer. Instantly we heard the train brakes begin to squeal and the whistle blow. We looked at each other dropped our snake sticks and began running and yelling for the other boys to get the hell out of there. The others did not know what was happening but instinct kicked in and they took off too. We where long gone before they got that train stopped but hid in the woods for another hour in silence just in case. You can bet we where as hidden as those blackberries we where searching for earlier.

So If your reading this Mr. Caboose consider this my Appology. I’m Sorry! Can’t help but still chuckle, when I think about it though.

Once upon a time, outside of time, before clock radios, digital watches kept time. Long ago before time was captured so we would know what time looked like. There was a time of spirit and a place called Oak Forrest where we as children lived.

It was in that forest along the waterways of White Oak Bayou my nine siblings and I grew up. There in the bend of the bayou, where the stream slowed and the water went deep, cutting through a shear high sandy bank  lined with weeping willows. Several sloping trails cut through the bush that lead to soft white sugar sand near the waters edge. Here just far enough not to be able to leap onto but close enough to bridge with a plank of wood was a  magical spot, a Island of red clay “Red Rock” at least that is what us locals called this safe harbor. Here time stood still. The veil of reality opened up to the experiences of the moment, allowing us to transcend space and time. Here is where my great, great, great uncle Stanku’s  Watonga tribe roamed a millennium ago.

On the way to Red Rock one early winter day I sensed Uncle Stanku’s Spirit in the cool breeze. I looked upstream and there he was near the beaver dam. He was praying . I could tell ’cause he always danced in a slow circle when he talked to the Great Mystery (his words for the Creator). I stood still out of respect. No need to holler out I was coming because Stanku had sensed my presence miles back. My Head dropped in reverence, then I too looked up at the blue sky and began my own grateful prayer. I saw him sit down, then I approached him, waiting his nod then sat facing him. “Nephew how goes it with you.” he asked. I told him I was heading to altar boy practice to get ready for the big Christmas Eve High Mass Ceremony.

“Yes” he softly spoke ”ceremony is very important”!  He continued tenderly, “When human beings gather with intention, and prayer magic happens, we become one with the Spirit. Each tribe is responsible for their role in joining with Creator, to breathe life into the universe, in their own special way.  Just like each one of us has a mission, to line ourselves up with the Great Mystery’s breath. Then we flow in the song and dance meant only for us. That is the power of ceremony. Even the Tree Tribe has it’s ceremony of giving of it’s self so the oxygen tribes can live. Remember the Spirit of the  Give-a-way.

He stood up to leave. He held his hand flat in front of him signaling a good smooth journey. I left heading south toward the old gas pipe line that crossed the bayou near Red Rock. I could shave off twenty minutes crossing via the pipe and going through the woods.

Crossing the pipe was a Rite of Passage in it’s self – you could get real wet. This time I found the slightly bent six inch pipe dry about three feet above the bayou. Attitude is the most important thing when  approaching the crossing pipe. As my tennis shoes first touched the pipe I felt its curved sandy surface.  I would tell myself “You can do this ” and then start walking before my doubts had a chance to form. Using my fear to help me focus on the next step I would practically run across this balance beam like bridge to the opposite bank.

Later at church the Pastor  would shout “who brought this sand onto the church rug?”. My black high top P. F. Flyer’s tennis shoes didn’t  hide white sand very well. The little Italian Priest continued his rant, “this is our last practice before  Midnight Mass and I want it to go real smooth. Each one of you has a job to do and I expect each of you to do it perfectly, be back here at eleven o’clock sharp.” My brothers and I looked at each other kind of  scared of this Napoleon.

That evening at the dinner table on Christmas Eve Mom and Dad asked all ten of us to go into our rooms and find some clothes and toys we where willing to  give away to a family in need.  I remember the excitement and the spirit we all had as we each put our own items into the give-a-way box. Some pain hit my stomach as my older brother Rich put his baseball glove in the box. I always wanted that mitt and was hoping for a hand me down when he got a new one someday. I was really struggling with my feelings as I tossed my  Robot into the mix on top of Jimmy’s Lincoln logs. We boys came back to the kitchen with our cache.  The girls entered w ith a  box filled to the top with toys and clothes. There where old jackets, colorful dresses, assorted shoes, wool blankets, denim pants, a pocket knife, worn pencils, coloring books and a not quite full large box of crayons. Dolls some brand new but the majority in  states of anatomical disrepair from the us boys playing ruff with them. I know I had chewed a few fingers off Julies favorite one during a  nervous night of “Twilight Zone”. Mom and Dad came into the Kitchen  with their loot. Dad carried old grey Stetson hat, brown belt, pair of black dress pants, old wallet, and stainless steel money clip with ” Jacuzzi Pump’s ” logo engraved on it. Mom saw the clip  and said ” Dante Jacuzzi gave you that”. Dad didn’t respond just gave her his iconic grin. In her hands mom had a laundry basket full of things. A half dozen maternity pants with mismatched  tops, old iron, costume jewelry necklace, pair of green high heel shoe’s and a complete set of baby bottles, rubber nipples, brush and steam sterilizer,

“This will’ do” Dad said to us all honorably. “Take it all outside and load it into the station wagon”.

The plan was to deliver the gifts at dusk then after dark watch the Xmas lights come on as we returned and get ready for church. Oh and if we where good we might get some hot chocolate. Dad told us all to load up. So we piled inside the Red 1950 station wagon fighting for our favorite territory along the tweed covered seats. My brothers Steve, Billy and I crawled into the way-back with the boxes. A fight irrupted when someone got elbowed by another that started a chain reaction like dogs inside a movable den. One push from one caused another to feel squeezed  and rebounded through the Kids area’s. We where all being reprimanded. Dad lost his temper and burst out with threatening words of force to calm the tribe. Mom promised to call the whole thing off if we didn’t settle down and behave. I thought yeah like a normal family of twelve cramped inside a station wagon. But we all snapped to attention when she threatened “HOLY MARY” to take away the hot chocolate.

It was getting darker by the minute we backed out the driveway on Saxon and headed towards the old brick yard along the north west Rail Road tracks off Mangum Drive. Some houses where already lit up. Anne-Karen said in unison “let’s sing some carols!” I didn’t feel like singing I was still stuck in my warrior mode trying to find just a skouch more room. I was also feeling sorry for myself cause me and Steve seemed to always end up in the back and the heater never seemed to reach the way back. I was pouting so where others I could tell cause there was no spirit in “Frosty the Snowman”.

The windows where fogging up just like the tension inside the wagon as we drove to the other side of our neighborhood. Across the tracks and down a dirt road. The caravan pulled up in front of small shack at the end of the brickyard road. The house was a old shot gun style shack  broken down and barley standing . Everyone was quite now staring straight ahead. We could see by the headlights my father walking up the rickety old steps he banged on the loose door.

A man came to the door my father spoke Spanish to him I could tell because dads mouth, cheeks and tongue always morphed into a totally different shape when he poke his child hood Spanish. Then I heard the man respond” Buenos Notches Senior’ then,  Se Senior, Mochas’ Gracias. I noticed some people looking out the partially boarded up  broken windows. Dad came back to the rear of the wagon opened the tail gate letting in the freezing blue Northern air. “Help me with these box’s and gifts” said dad. Instantly we all rolled out of the wagon, doors flying open  totally interested in helping. We began ferrying boxes and clothes and tricycles into the cabin. I will never forget what I saw inside that rundown house. In one corner some children where huddled together inside of a cardboard box with some newspaper covering them to keep warm. The little girl’s nose was running and she had little clothes on but a diaper made of an old green rag. The other four seemed older but they two where shivering from the cold. Next to them a woman sat on stacked card board breast feeding a infant she held wrapped in  worn newspaper. The smell of musk filled my nose until I walked forward into another smell. Onions. the delicious smell of onions frying. In front of me was a one burner hotplate where a old woman dressed in a ragged red dress stood kneading tortillas, now and then stirring onions in a handle less bent pan.  The old woman smiled a toothless smile. The children where wide eyed now looking over at the loot we just brought In. I  went outside and down the steps for another load of gifts, only to find they hand all been taken into the house. Work goes fast when everyone is chipping in.

“Gracias Mochas’ Gracias the Father was saying over and over to my father. My mother carried my brother Billy on her hip walked up to the man  hung her purse strap by her teeth opened the purse and handed him the envelope with our hot chocolate money in it. I felt a lump in my heart that tasted like marsh mellows it was the love I was seeing through the power of giving.

As we drove away there was a reverent silence you could feel in the old wagon, broken only by my sister Cathy’s words” My stomach is sad Mommy”. Ann and Karen began singing “Silent Night…….  holy night” Mary said “all join in”  it was the best I have ever heard. We continued to sing together and to ourselves, the CHRISTMAS LIGHTS SEEMED  SO MUCH BRIGHTER , the wagon was warmer , we sang our way  back home to get ready for midnight mass. “all is calm all is bright “………

Back in the home it was a scramble to get dressed for church. With only one and a half bathrooms there was always a lineup at the doors. Finally I was dress and got my turn in the john.

“Hurry up Walter ! We are supposed to be there a hour before mass starts” my brother Steve voiced through the closed bathroom door. I was scared really scared about my role as a altar boy in this evenings ritual. I could hear Richard go out the front door and when Dad didn’t see me with him began honking the horn. I was panicking so I kept looking through in the cabinets for something to put on my hair cause i had a terrible cow lick from my hooded sweat shirt. there’s got to be something baby oil or Brill-Cream or Wild Root  darn where is everything. Richard must be hiding his stuff for his Hollywood. Honk Honk Hooooonnnnkk honk honk. My hair stood up like I’d seen a ghost. There in the back of the cabinet some clear bottle of oily substance. I opened it and splashed it on my hair rubbed it in and drug a comb through it . Yes it laid the hair flat like a row of cut hay. Out the house I ran, jumped into the wagon and the remarks of disgust from everyone but little Mary she was glad to see me cause there was talk about leaving me again. Off Dad drove the short cut to the church. The singing started immediately. Oh come.. all ye.. faithful…

The church was beautiful with flowers and candles and full of people already. Veteran mid night mass Catholics know to come early for a guaranteed  seat. Cause the not so regular parishioners who come to church only a couple of times a year and you wouldn’t want to be out seated by those sinners. Didn’t matter to me cause as a altar boy we had to suffer in reverence standing the whole hour and a half.

In the vestibule all the boy’s where getting their royal maroon robe on with the pure white caste on top. There where not enough smalls to go around and someone grabbed the last one out of my hand. Now all I coud find was a medium that was dragging the floor when I got it buttoned and stood up I almost tripped. Steve saw my dilemma and helped me do the nerdy last one to get dressed improvise job of taking off my belt and wrapping it  around the lot then we tightened it with a fold at my waste Steve laughed cause now I had the high-water look with white socks showing. Out of time we grabbed our candelabras and lined up outside according to height for the procession into the church. Steve in front of me and Richard behind we all began the slow march into church. Incense burning my brother started sniffing my head as he was nose to head next to me. What is that smell Richard said ? Then he blurted out the answer to his question. That’s 6 -12  insect repellent on your hair isn’t it ? Yeah it was the only thing I could find I said back sheepishly. But Steve overheard it and busted out laughing setting of a chain reaction of muffled laughter between the two of them, I wanted to die. The whole church is now looking at us and smelling me I thought. Well those two better stop laughing before we pass our families pew or Dad will kill us. The laughter seem to die but I couldn’t stand it, I did what I always do when scared. I cracked a joke turning my head towards Richard and saying “Don’t see any mosquitoes do ya ! Now all three of us where laughing and can’t stop cause we are doing the laughing in church thing. When splash I got thumped up side the head wth the holy water wand by Napoleon and Steve was hit with the incense smoker and we all became holy again.   Merry Christmas Everyone!

Back on Red Rock, before the pause, this had happened:  “Walt, he’s just smelling the bait. Wait, Walt”. He sensed my impatience. Then a moment later, “Sluooop”… the cork sounded and  disappeared under the water. “Now!” Rich hollered. I jerked back hard on the fishing stick and held on tight as the stick doubled over and began to vibrate and pull like a Bull Mastiff on a leash. 

Richard continued to coach me while he worked fast to get Stephen’s fishing stick finished and in the water. We could all be catching fish. He didn’t have another cork in the tackle box, so he found the right size twig over in the driftwood that could float the bait. He tied the stub of wood to the line, not bothering to teach now, rushing… I could smell his mind burning with excitement as I fought my fish.

My right hand was squeezing the pole so tight that it hurt. A sharp stump was sticking me in the soft palm. I was afraid to adjust my grip for fear of losing this fish. There was only ten feet of line out, and that’s not much give and take for a fish to run with. I quit worrying about my hand as I began to slide on my butt toward the Red Rock cliff, closer with each tug from the fish. Darn, I didn’t bargain for this! “Rich , I’m sliding.”   Rich had already heard the sound of my butt on the dry clay of Red Rock.  I was about a foot from the edge, with my left side facing Richard. He commanded, “Stephen, go hold on to Walter! Hurry!” Stephen got up and walked over to my back, sat down and put his warm arms around my chest and held me tight. I stopped sliding, but now I  really felt the rod digging into my palm.  ”Ouch”   “What?” Richard inquired.  “My hand is bleeding from this spike.” That got his attention, and he came over to take a look at the situation, still tying on his hook.  “It’s just a scratch! Stephen, grab the pole with Walter.”  Rich  was done with Stephen’s pole and began to rig  his own pole. I could hear him testing the drag. Stephen scrunched tighter to my back and reached towards my fishing stick and grabbed it.  When he stretched to reach the stick, though, he lunged forward a little, pushing my butt off the clay and my center of gravity shifted to my bare feet.  That was all it took. The fish felt the slack and dove deeper into the water, dragging me and Stephen with it. Richard leaped towards us, barely catching  Stephen’s waist band, pulling him backwards with his other hand, and grabbing me as we all fell onto the red clay. He reached for, and saved, the fishing stick as well. Now all three of us had a hand on the stick, and were laying in a puppy pile, trying to land the fish. Richard started crawling backwards.  We followed his lead, and the fishing line got “tight as Dick’s hat band”… (Dad never told us who Dick was, just that he wore too small of a hat). I mean, the line was tight and beginning to sing. “It’s gonna break”,  I cringed, and then I saw it.

At first it was just this huge mass of muddy water swirling up from the darker depths, the size of a garbage can lid. ”What the hell!” Richard said, as we continued to pull this thing toward us. Then a swish in the water, barely catching my eye. Was that a snake ? No, it’s too short. Our mind’s were reeling, trying to figure out what we had caught. Then a claw broke the surface of the water, splashing us all.  Is that a possum?   No… Then a long neck stretched out of the water towards me, with a snout and two beady eyes, a shiny hook in its mouth. I focused hard. This thing was huge, bigger than home plate. “All together lift… One,… Two…” Richard began to count…   “three!”  We wrangled  it up and onto Red Rock. “Stephen, stay behind me!!!” I said, and spread my arms to block him from coming around me “What is it?!” he exclaimed.  Richard held the fishing stick by himself now, and named the Being. Richard shouted, “It’s a soft-shell turtle and  it was perfectly camouflaged”.  ”Right,” I said “and she is now pissed as hell!” 

The turtle was upside down and trying desperately to right herself. I’d only seen small ones, and this one was incomprehensible for a 7 year old boy, eyeball to eyeball. This was the Mother of the soft-shell turtle clan for sure. Richard finally said the magic words,  “She won’t hurt you”.  I could feel my breath exhale, and Stephen let go of my arm. We still kept our distance, though. She was beautiful with a white underside and sandy brown top side, almost perfectly round.  Fighting to get right-sided, she stretched her neck and head under her body and tried to pirouette off to one side.  Using her legs for leverage, two legs would pull and the other two push,  one more great attempt to reach the tipping point and roll over. It wasn’t an exact science because she had already failed four times in rapid succession, since being rudely hauled top side. Her body was so flat, like a badger or a flounder. Her feet had dark, almost black, claws that were making noise as it scratched lines in the red clay.

“I name her Sandy.” Steve said proudly. He was now on my right side. “Steve  go get my pliers out of the tackle box. “Richard said in earnest, Steve got em and ran back over to his side. “You guys listen up, we are gonna have to hold her down to get that hook out her mouth our she might die” Richard said as he knelt down and hesitantly grabbed Sandy’s hind legs just above the claws where she couldn’t scratch him. “This is how you are going to have to hold her guys while I get that hook out so she can go home to her youngen” he said with convection so we would know there was no backing out. “Walt you take this leg” he said. I nelt next to him, then reached out and he carefully put her left leg in my hand, claw facing up and away from my wrist . “Both hands” he added and hold on real tight or you wil get scratched he said mater of fact. ”OK Steve you …. but Steve started backin away. “No way” Steve said . “Oh don’t be a baby we need you” I said, Steve shot back immediately “I ‘m not a baby I’m six now” he walked over nelt down beside Richard then showed him how to safely hold her Right leg. I said “her leg feels like  a live chicken neck” I noticed now her claws were webbed. Sandy was really tugging, I felt her power once again. Richard put His foot on her belly, grabbed her just behind the head with his left hand, then with the pliers in his right hand he grabed the now bent  hook twisted and looped his wrist, done the hook was out. A very small amount of blood trickled out of her beak, the bright red contrasting  with her earth tone. There she’s free Richard said you guys can let go. We did. He lifted her buy the neck and put her right side up. We stood silenlty still as she scuttled quickly into the water, not bothering to look back towards us at all. We watched as she dove deeper, swimming fast and smoothly, creating a beautiful swirling slip stream behind her….. gone. We looked at each other lonely for her already. Steve broke the silence “hey I lost my grasshopper”.  “Come I”ll go with you we’ll catch some more” I put my arm around his shoulder he grabbed my waste, we began to walk up the trail towards the grass field.

“I loved this place I said to Steve “ya never knew what was going to hapen here”.

 ”Yeah” was all he said.

Downhill I heard the sound of Richards Shakespeare reel s…inging, as he cast it far into the deep waters off Red Rock. 

(to be continued)

Once along time ago I went fishing with my two brothers at our favorite spot. Red Rock on the White Oak bayou at the (then) edge of Houston’s city limits. It was in July we wore our summer clothes, cut off blue jeans, no they weren’t designers unless you consider cockle burls stuck to the fabric and sand on the butts fashionable. No this was more the dress for the weather attire (we thought anyway). My older brother Richard was a true fisherman he had the patience and Stephen he too could sit still for times. Not me I was the hyper one way before hyper was cool and the fad of pharmaceutical companies. (Oh there I go into the conspiracy stuff, Stop it Walt!)  We got there early and caught the grasshoppers along the field trails, this time of year there where the big ones, the size of my palm, wings still wet from the dew made em a easy catch. Brown legs with yellow specks green thorax, black prehistoric mandrels full of a dark juice they would spit on ya sometimes. Richard chased one to me and I trapped it.He came over to my side and said “Ya put that one on your hook and ya might get a bass”. I took it as a promise and began to dream like the old man in the sea while we caught two more.

 Richard  had taught me the hierarchy of a fishes value. First there are minnows then tiny perch, pan size perch, large bluegill perch, then a catfish trumps a perch, well that is if its big enough to eat. Then there comes the bass and because of it’s fight-en power, it is a good catch at any size, then ya move onto the bony fish. There’s the carp and the gaspergoo then all the way up the list to the largest of the Red Rock pool, the infamous and elusive Alligator Gar that could get big as a young boy and scary as hell when your swimmin.

We took the bait we’d caught down to the waters edge and walked across the ol’ wooden plank onto Red Rock. I dropped the tackle box and it made a loud rattling noise…..     ”Schessh”….. Richard hissed “you’ll scare the fish”. He stood still and began reading the environment. I followed his eyes into the water which was clear to a point then went sandy then brown. A circle wave of water appeared along with a swirl in the middle of the bayou, “look” he whispered  “a fish”. Then his eyes  quickly moved to the bank and a water moccasin slithered out of the willows and plopped into the water, we looked at each other and both  made the facial cringe signaling fear. We looked back to watched the snake swim down stream away from us. Sighs of relief.

Richard knew to get me fishing first then Stephen and finally he would rig his rod and reel Mom had ordered him for his birthday, only three books of S & H Green Stamps. He opened the blue rusty metal tackle box and took out a cork, BB weight and a small shiny brass hook. I didn’t own a pole so he reached for  his pocket knife inside  his cut-offs, went over to the willows and cut a five foot limb, began stripping the leaves off it. He took his pole and asked Steve to hold it while he pulled on the string. The reel began to clatter he  quickly flipped the free spin lever and it silently rolled out some black fishing line, he cut off about ten feet for my new fishing stick. Tying one end of the line to the tip of the willow stick and the other end he threaded through the round cork, slid it up about three feet and pinned it with  a orange wooden stopper. Then he  picked up the barbed hook and softly said to Steve and I “watch this”  we knew to watch cause he had taught us everything that Dad had taught him, he was allot like dad. He made a game out of everything so it was fun. ”This is a fisherman’s knot” he continued,  he put the frayed end of string in his mouth slowly pulled it out through his wet lips and stabbed it into the hooks eyelet. Rich then twisted the hook and began to count the turns  softly…1..2…3…4…5…6… stopped and placed the wet end through the loop of string he created from the twisting motion, pulled the string taunt into a knot. He nodded in satisfaction  of not just doing it right but satisfied we had watched closely too. Then he took the lead BB weight and placed it six inches up the string from the hook put it to his mouth and used his teeth to squeeze it tight. He said  ”Give me your Grasshopper Walt” . I slowly opened my hand and almost lost the hopper, he took it from me and hooked it right behind the head, then let the line dangel as he gave me the fishing-stick. “Fish off to that side so we won’t get tangled” , he mumbled,  and turned to   begin to make Stephen his fishing-stick. I noticed the grass hopper was still very active as I carefuly placed it  into the water. I no more sat down when the cork started to move, “Richard” I whispered,  he said “I see it, wait tell the cork goes all the way under Walt he’s just smelling the bait, wait Walt” he sensed my inpatients. Then a moment later, Sluooop the cork sounded, it disappeared under the water. “Now” Rich hollard. I jerked back hard on the fishing stick  and held on tight as the stick doubled over and began to vibrate and pull like a bull Mastive on a leash. 

It is one thing to feed someone, yet more noble to teach em to fish, so that he can feed himself and his family !

Happy Sixtyth birthday Richard 

Me and Rich

(to be continued)

Walt