Say Hello To The Folks Back Home

Pull up a seat and take a load off because it’s Friday already. Last Saturday as I crossed the Sabine River from Texas into Louisiana something came over me like it always does. For some reason the homing instinct kicked in and I felt very familiar with being on that highway and getting closer to where I grew up. (I think this is the Spirit implanted homing instinct we also have for heaven, or should have.) I drove through the Pisgah/Toro Community. It’s one of the oldest in that part of Louisiana. It’s also where many of my grandfather’s people lived. Growing up I visited them a number of times and they always seemed odd since they more or less lived off the land and appeared to be totally disinterested in the world in general. It was quite an education each time I was out there but there were some good memories as well. Their laid back lifestyle lived out one day at a time was conspicuous and their obvious grit and determination was commendable.

A little further up the road as they say I passed by the turn off to one of our favorite hunting spots. It was called the ‘old Cabra place’ and we would drive back into the woods and make camp. I can well remember many a cold morning with daylight barely visible, my teeth chattering, as we made our way down old abandoned roads to find our location. I was there for the thrill of being there. My grandfather was there for the ‘meat on the table’. But he loved it and it showed because in some ways it connected him back to his upbringing. I recall him telling me about the first deer he killed as an eleven or twelve year old. He had a funny look on his face as he recalled the conversation between him and his dad. Such memories.

I’ve already mentioned my visit to the cemetery but just past that turn off within a couple of miles stands what is left of the old baseball park. That was the scene of many of my greatest triumphs that is if you count people being fearful because no one knew where the ball might go when I threw it. I did hit a few batters when I was pitching. I had a modified sidearm fastball that was really fast but I couldn’t really guide it very well. I remember one night when we were playing Rosepine I unintentionally beaned a fellow who went down like a sack of bricks. Suddenly their whole team all came out on the field. There’s nothing like a good fastball upside the head to get people into the game. My errant missiles may be one reason I converted to third base early in my career.

As I turned left I saw where the old Bridges’ place used to be and next to that the Slay homestead. Lots of memories connected to those places. From there I made my way into the little town where I grew up. As I crossed the railroad tracks over on the left was the Conoco service station where I once worked. (Its now a parts/hardware place, if its open at all, it was kind of hard to tell.) Now you wouldn’t know it by my photo on this blog, and I readily admit that I do carry the marks of a high mileage vehicle, but back in the day as a teenager the girls used to flock to that station. While it may be hard to believe, they said I reminded them of James Dean, (the photo is of him, not me), and they were always coming up with things for me to check, from tires, oil, washing the windshield to checking their radiator, you name it and they wanted me to check it. But my stepfather who owned the station would eventually run them off because they rarely bought anything.

Who knows? Maybe I’m just imagining that’s the way it was. Perhaps I have, over time, become the joke we used to make, a “Fig Newton of my own imagination.” Or as they say, I’ve perhaps become a legend in my own mind. However, I do remember that day a carload of girls on a field trip stopped for gas. They were city girls from Shreveport and they were part of something called the Sunshine Girls. Believe me, they did enjoy flirting with and pestering me that day. As best as I recall, I didn’t mind it at all. But come to think about it, I’m not sure anyone can vouch for that story and if there were any witnesses, they are all probably dead by now. But thanks anyway for the memories, real or imagined. You be the judge. Have a great Friday, Saturday, and Sunday and I’ll try to have something to jump start your day on Monday. May God bless. Amen. …..More later.