Brief Moment in Time

by Dicksion, William Wayne

  Everyone was talking about the bombing of Pearl Harbor. No one knew where Pearl Harbor was, or why anyone would want to bomb it, but all the young men were talking about joining the military to fight the “Japs.” No one had ever seen a person of Japanese ancestry, but everyone knew that they were bad people because they had bombed Pearl Harbor.

  I never knew how much we sold the farm for, but we must have ended with a little extra, because Dad bought a farm in western Oklahoma, and we moved there in the dead of winter. The bitter cold wind came howling across the flat land. The house was small, and our family was large. We were able to cut only a limited amount of wood for heating the house. We had no money, no animals, no garden, and even the creek was just a miserable ditch running bitter, gray water. For the first time, I knew real hunger.

  We lived off the land, much as the Indians had done before the white man came. We gathered wild fruit, nuts, and berries. We caught fish from the dismal little streams and hunted wild birds and rabbits. In this way, we were able to feed ourselves. The family worked together to survive, and we made it through the winter. Father, my two older brothers and I, tried to find work outside of the farm to subsist, but times were hard for everyone, and jobs were hard to find.

  At long last, spring came. We scraped up enough money to buy a couple of milk cows and some chickens. We were on our way to recovering. After two years, we bought a bigger and better farm.

  By 1942, the economic depression was over. World War II was raging. Naoma was away somewhere teaching college. Everett had enlisted in the Army Air Corps and was a crew member on a B-17 bomber. J. D.—two years older than I—had been drafted into the army and was training at a base in California, awaiting transfer to Europe.

  At seventeen, I had spent much of the last four years away from home, working to earn money to send home to help the family. With Everett, J.D., and Naoma gone, I was needed at home to work on the farm. After I graduated from high school I was subject to be drafted into the army, so I went to Altus, Oklahoma, to enlist in the air force. I wanted to be a fighter pilot. I passed the examination for flight training, and I was thrilled. Although I was not required to undergo the physical a second time, I didn’t know it, and took the army physical anyway.

  As it happened, while working in the wheat harvest the summer before, I had been exposed to an excessive amount of wheat dust, which left scar tissue on my lungs. X-rays revealed the scars, and I was classified unfit for military service. When the air force was informed of the X-ray, they rejected me.

  That was by far the most devastating thing that ever happened to me. My life was forever altered on that fateful day. I was rejected, dejected, and humiliated. Everything changed in that moment. Now I had to find a new direction and a new purpose. I left Oklahoma, feeling disgraced, and went to California, where I worked in a defense plant and enrolled in Compton College.

  CATCHING FISH

  Since beef and pork was too expensive to buy, fish was an important part of our diet, so when we fished, we weren’t fishing for fun or sport—we were fishing for food. Here are a couple of methods we used to catch fish.

  When the flow of water in the creeks subsided, ponds formed with just a trickle of water between them. The ponds were four to eight feet deep, about ten feet wide, twenty to thirty feet long, and contained fish of all sizes. Some were big enough to eat, and some were too small. Of course, we were interested in only the larger fish, but the small fish kept getting the bait off our hooks. We spent a lot of time trying to catch the ones that were large enough. Finally, we devised two methods that worked very well for getting only the fish we wanted.

  One method was to gather green walnuts, place them in a burlap bag, and beat the bag with a stick until the sap from the walnut hulls seeped out. We then dragged the bag back and forth in the water. The sap from the green hulls made the fish sick, and they floated to the top. We gathered just the fish we wanted and put them in a smaller pond of fresh water until they recovered. We then broke the earthen dam and allowed fresh water to flow back into the pond. The fresh water revived the sick fish, and they continued to populate the creek. It was a trick I learned from the old Indian, and it worked like a charm, but that method worked only when the walnuts were green.

  When green walnuts were not available, we used another method that was a little more work, but it was even more successful. We dammed the stream above and below the ponds, and then two of us stood with our backs downstream. Using scoop shovels like oars, we threw the water out of the ponds. The discharged water continued to flow downstream. Two people working steadily could throw about three hundred gallons of water per minute out of the pond, empting it in no time. The fish were then easy to pick up from the bottom of the creek. We gathered the fish we wanted, and then opened the dam, allowing the pond to refill.

  If there were more fish in the pond than we needed, we transferred the extra fish to lakes on the farm. Putting fish in the farm lakes helped to control the mosquitoes, and we had fresh fish for another time. This method was better than refrigeration because the fish in the lake continued to grow and multiply.

  I don’t recommend using either of these methods for catching fish today. You would get into a lot of trouble doing that now.

  COYOTE RUN

  This event happened after I returned from working in California. It was late summer of 1942, and we had harvested our wheat. I was plowing the land getting it ready for replanting. The fall semester of school would be starting soon, and I was hurrying to get the plowing done.

  The morning was half gone, and I had plowed a strip of land about two hundred yards wide all around the field. An outcropping of rocks near the middle of the field, covered with grass, weeds, and small bushes; it was a haven for small game, such as rabbits and quail. The birds used it for nesting in the spring, shelter from the heat in the summer, and protection from cold in the winter. The rocky area covered approximately an acre of ground.

  In the distance, I heard the baying of hounds and knew that the hunt club was chasing a coyote. The hunters followed the hounds on horses, as they did in the fox hunts in England. I heard the hounds coming closer. Then I saw a young female coyote running across the plowed field. She was running toward the outcropping of rocks. I hoped she wouldn’t try to hide there—it was too small to escape into, and she would be trapped by the hounds.

  To my dismay, the coyote ran alongside the rocks for only a little way, and then leaped into them. Then, to my surprise, out jumped a young male coyote. He was bigger than the female, and he was fast. The male coyote took the female coyote’s place in the run. I could hardly believe what I saw. Are animals really that smart? I stopped my tractor to watch as the hounds and riders went by. Sure enough, the hounds took up the trail of the male coyote.

  I sat on my tractor and watched with a big smile on my face, as the hunters faded into the distance, chasing the second coyote. The young female remained securely hidden in the rocks.

  After about an hour, I heard the hounds again, following the same route as before. The male coyote came into view, running across the plowed land toward the rocky outcropping. He followed almost the same path the young female had taken earlier. I wondered, are they going to do it again? Sure as sunrise, he ran alongside the rocks, made a big leap, and out jumped the female! I was so astonished that I stop plowing. I have to watch this! The hounds were farther behind this time, and I could tell by the way they were running that they were exhausted. The hounds ran past and continued after the now refreshed young female.

  The riders rode up to me. Both riders and horses appeared to be exhausted.

  “Have you seen a coyote?” one of the riders asked.

  “No,” I lied. “I’ve been busy plowing, and I haven’t seen a thing.”

  There was no way that I was going to reveal the coyotes’ secret. That was the cleverest thing I had ever seen animals do.

  “We may as well call off the dogs,” the lead rider said to the others. “There’s no use runn
ing them to death.” He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. “That’s the runningest coyote I’ve ever seen.”

  One of the riders blew a bullhorn, and the hounds stopped baying and walked back to the riders.

  “Will it be all right if we leave our horses in your corral for a while to rest them?” the leader asked.

  “Yeah, that’ll be all right. There’s water in the tank and hay in the loft.”

  They rode toward the barn, looking beat. I was pleased by how the hunt had turned out. I had never approved of that method of killing coyotes. I don’t approve of killing animals, just for the fun of killing.

  I continued plowing. I’ll never again underestimate the intelligence of an animal. If a general had devised a strategy that had worked that well, he would have been called a military genius. I had always thought of animals as being cunning, but I hadn’t given them credit for the ability to reason. I learned a lesson that day, and my life was enriched.

  I finished plowing wondering, Will the two coyotes get back together?

  That evening, after sunset, I heard the call of a coyote, and then I heard a distant reply.

  LOST IN THE SNOW

  In the winter of 1942, we moved to a farm farther west where the land was even flatter. It was barren, except for grass, mesquite bushes, and an occasional willow or cottonwood tree. Some people said that the only thing between western Oklahoma and the North Pole is a barbed wire fence, and it’s down in places. In the winter, when the north wind blows, it gets cold, very cold.

  The day began with a gray, dusty sky and a light wind blowing. As the morning progressed, a dark cloud appeared on the northern horizon. Everything became quiet, with a feeling of impending danger that comes before a storm.

  “Son,” Dad said, “you’d better saddle a horse and bring the cows in. Put them in the corral and put out some hay. It’s going to get cold, and we can’t afford to lose any animals.”

  After we lost our farm on Winter Creek, we moved to western Oklahoma and struggled through a terrible winter. When things got better and we got enough money, we bought back some of our favorite horses. Ol’ Brownie was one of them. He was my favorite horse, but he was getting old and developing arthritis in his ankles. He didn’t like to be ridden because it hurt his ankles to jump ditches or make fast starts. He knew I would never ask him to do things like that, so he liked me. I always shared my candy with him when I had any. We were buddies. He was a smart, gentle animal and could be depended on in a pinch.

  On this stormy day, Ol’ Brownie was my choice because I knew that rounding up cattle under storm conditions was going to be difficult. The cattle were scattered across a wide area, and I was working alone. I didn’t want a skittish horse under me if things went bad.

  Father was too old to walk great distances and too heavy to ride a horse, and we had other animals to care for so I went alone.

  The storm hit before I could get the cattle bunched for the drive. The wind howled out of the north, swirling and drifting the snow, making it difficult to keep track of the cows. I knew and could identify each and every animal, but to be sure I had them all, I counted them as I rounded them up. We had thirty-seven cows in that pasture, and I counted thirty-seven and started them to the corral.

  With the wind behind me and the herd, the drive should have been easier, but the wind-driven snow was forming into drifts. The cattle wandered, instinctively trying to find shelter. Working alone made it necessary to chase after each straying animal, so it was difficult to keep track. It was taking longer than it would have under normal circumstances, and it was getting late by the time I got the herd to the barn.

  Dad had opened the gate and put hay in the feeding troughs. That helped to get the cows into the corral. After the animals were secure, I felt good. Now I could unsaddle Ol’ Brownie and go to the house. I was looking forward to a hot cup of coffee and getting my feet warm.

  Dad counted the cows as he always did, and then walked into the barn with a worried look on his face. “Son, you missed one—it’s that old brindle cow that’s missing. She’s a contrary animal and probably wandered off in the storm. You’ll have to go get her. She’ll freeze to death for sure in a storm like this. Did you have her in the herd when you started them to the barn?”

  “I don’t remember her specifically, but I started in with thirty-seven head.”

  “Well, looks like she wandered off somewhere along the way; she shouldn’t be too hard to find. You’d better go get her.”

  I pulled the ear flaps of my winter cap down over my ears, put cloth gloves on under my leather gloves, and patted Ol’ Brownie on the neck. “Well, old buddy,” I said, “we gotta go back into the storm to get one more, so let’s go.” He moved his head up and down as though he understood.

  We left the shelter of the barn and rode into the teeth of the storm. The thermometer on the side of the barn had showed ten degrees below zero. The wind was blowing up to fifty miles per hour, and I estimated the wind chill to be around forty below.

  “Now, don’t get lost out there,” Dad called out as I was leaving. “We’d never find you in this storm.”

  I yelled to be heard over the roaring of the wind. “Don’t worry, Dad, I’m familiar with the area—I’ll be okay.”

  Dad nodded, and I rode away on Ol’ Brownie.

  I didn’t know what time it was, or how long I had been searching, but it began to get dark, and I still hadn’t found the cow.

  The snow was coming down harder and harder; the drifts were getting deeper and covering all landmarks. The swirling snow made it difficult to maintain a sense of direction. I knew the wind was coming out of the north, so that helped some.

  I rode for a long time, and I didn’t see hide nor hair of that damn cow. Because of the swirling wind and the driving snow, I could see no more than twenty feet in any direction, and it was getting darker and darker.

  I looked for landmarks and couldn’t find any. Then I realized that I wasn’t sure where I was. I could find nothing that gave me a clue as to the direction I should ride to get back to the barn.

  I didn’t want to go back without the cow, but I had lost all feeling in my hands and feet. I had to keep looking at my hands to make sure I hadn’t dropped the reins, and I had lost the feeling in my ears. My ears were frozen, and I was afraid to brush my hands against them for fear of chipping them off like ice. I’ve gotta get back to the barn before Ol’ Brownie and I both freeze to death, but which way should I go?

  I dismounted, removed the saddle and threw it under a mesquite, wrapped the saddle blanket around my shoulders, and with more than a little difficulty remounted, hoping the warmth of the horse would keep me from freezing.

  For the first and only time in my life I was lost. I knew that horses have a built-in sense of direction, so I patted Ol’ Brownie on the neck and said, “Let’s go home.” His head bobbed up and down, and I loosened the reins. Ol’ Brownie started walking briskly in a direction I thought was wrong, but I wasn’t going to interfere because I sure didn’t know the way—all I could do was hope Ol’ Brownie did.

  I don’t know how much time passed before I saw the shadowy outline of the barn looming up out of the darkness. Ol’ Brownie didn’t stop until he was inside the barn. I was so cold I couldn’t dismount. Dad and Valatus came and helped. I would have fallen for sure if they hadn’t.

  I took Ol’ Brownie’s head in my arms. “Thanks, old buddy,” I said. “I couldn’t have made it without you.”

  “The old brindle cow wandered in about a half hour after you left,” Dad said, “We were getting worried, and we were about ready to come hunting for you.”

  THE WELL

  The water in western Oklahoma was contaminated with gypsum. Our only source of potable water was rainwater we caught in gutters that drained into a cistern. Long periods without rain created problems.

  Dad thought it might be possible to dig a well and get drinking water. He told J.D. and me that he would pay us a dollar a foot to dig
a well.

  We lived twenty miles from the closest town, and jobs were scarce. The going wage for farm labor was fifteen cents per hour, so to make a little extra spending money we jumped at the chance. We figured we could dig at least four feet per hour.

  The first six feet of digging was easy, but as the hole got deeper, it was more and more difficult to get the dirt out.

  At about ten feet, we had to make a windless to draw the dirt from the well with a bucket. Using only one bucket was too slow, so we rigged a two- bucket system. While the person in the well filled one bucket, the other would lower the second bucket into the well on a separate rope. While the one in the well filled second bucket, the one on top pulled up the full bucket with the windlass.

  The system worked, but it was tiring. We alternated work positions and that helped, but as the hole got deeper, the work got harder. At thirty-six feet, we hit a ledge of granite rock, and our moneymaking came to a complete stop.

  We had to get through the rock, but we needed to know how thick the ledge was, so we borrowed a rock drill from a neighbor. With the help of a sledge hammer, we drilled an eighteen-inch hole, but we still weren’t through the rock! Now, what to do?

  “I’ve seen people use dynamite,” J.D. said. “We could blast through the rock.”

  We drove into town and bought six sticks of dynamite, two blasting caps, and ten feet of fuse. The man who sold them to us warned us that the fuse was slow burning; he wanted to know if we knew what we were doing. It was not unusual for boys to be doing the labor of men, so we told him that we were old hands at blasting. I saw doubt in his eyes, but he sold us the stuff anyway.

  We returned to the well and filled the hole in the rock with dynamite, but the only way to get out of the well was by climbing the rope.