aug sept 09 issue

1“Encourage, Enlighten, Inspire.” AUG/SEPT 2009

Remember our Philosophy:AUG/SEPT 20092


this issue...JACKIE LEWIS & TIFFANY BYRAM

Owners/PublishersRegional Editors Graphics/Layout

VICKI CASKEYSales Manager

DANA DENNY & LESLIE COYLE

Photographers

ALLISON BARRONNew Orleans Sales

JENNY REYNOLDSFounder

Circulation & Distribution:James “Shay” Callen

Allison Barron

CIRCULATION OF 15,000READERSHIP OF OVER 37,500

Contact Information:Office Phone: 318.382.1900

Ad Sales: 318.548.2693

Mail: 512 Fort Avenue, Minden, LA 71055

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Copyright 2009. All rights reserved. No part of this maga-zine may be copied or reproduced without permission. The

Minute Magazine cannot be responsible for unsolicited materials. The editorial content of The Minute is prepared

in accordance with the highest standards of journalistic accuracy. Readers are cautioned, however, not to use any information from the magazine as a substitute for expert opinion, technical information or advice. The Minute

cannot be responsible for negligent acts, errors and omis-sions. The opinions expressed in The Minute are those of our writers and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher. The publisher has the right to accept or reject

any advertising and / or editorial submitted.

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HAPPINESS IS LIKE JAM. YOU CANNOT SPREAD IT WITHOUT GETTING A LITTLE ON YOURSELF!

This quarterly magazine is FREE! However, you can have it mailed to your home or business for $20 a year to cover postage and handling. Call 318.382.1900 or send your check and mailing address to The Minute Magazine, 512 Fort Avenue, Minden, LA 71055.

INSIDE

Contributors:Donna Arender

Dorothy BowdenSchelley BrownTiffany Byram

Vicki CaskeyElizabeth Drewett

Anita GoodsonJackie Lewis

Lela RobichauxMargaret Timmons

Melissa TeouletGalen White

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Please tell us what you think - we’d love to hear your input!

7 Louisiana Nights Were Dark by Dorothy Bowden

12 Eating Watermellon by Margaret Timmons

14 Centenarians by Chris Broussard

22 Laundry’s Dirty Little Secret by J. Lewis

30 Running of the Bulls by Tiffany Byram

32 James Burton Looks at Life

36 Weeder’s Digest by Anita Goodson

38 Smother Mother by Vicki Caskey

40 On the Spectrum by Lela Robichaux

42 Hurricane Hunters by Jackie Lewis

47 It’s Really Free! by Dorothy Grant

49 The Waffle by Melissa Teoulet

50 Dance Marathon by Schelley Brown

52 Antique Junkie by Donna Arender

54 Confessions of a Hormonal Woman by Elizabeth Drewett

56 The White Elephant by Galen White

The cover shot was taken by our staff photographer, Mrs.

Leslie Coyle. The lightening bugs in the mason jar and flickering across the land-

scape convey the feeling of late summer in Louisiana. For other shots from this

photo shoot that took place just outside of Minden, Loui-

siana, turn through the pages of this issue.


Louisiana Nights were

DARK

My husband (now ninety years old) tells me that nights were really dark in his neck of the woods when he was a boy. And the oil lamps they used did little to light up their part of the world. In fact, they were about as effective as lightning bugs in a Mason jar. So, when night came, they mostly just went to bed. They were usually tired out anyway from a hard day’s work on the farm.

Some of those dark nights, though, provided them with some of their more interesting and entertaining experiences. Times like when a neighbor’s son had to return a borrowed mule to its owner after dark. Making his way through the deep woods, he was already frightened nearly out of his wits when he heard, “Who-who-who-o-o are you?”

“This here’s Doc Carter’s boy,” he cried. “GET UP MULE!”

Back then, fun was mostly homemade. My husband had an uncle whose idea of fun was to wait for a really dark night and scare someone. His opportunity came one moonless night when he hid in the roadside bushes and waited for a neighbor boy to walk by on his way home from a friend’s house. Just as the boy came alongside, Uncle scratched on his britches leg and made a growling sound in his throat. The boy, convinced a vicious animal was after him, actually ran out of his shoes! And, he left them there! He must have been really terrified, for likely they were the only shoes he had—it being the Depression days of the early ‘30’s.

Some cousins of my husband worked hard at the practice of scaring people. They made a contraption they called a “dumb-bull”-- (I have no idea how to spell it)—it was made from a hollow maple with a water-soaked cowhide

stretched and nailed over it. They put a hole in the middle of the cowhide and beeswaxed string through the hole. They tied a knot in the string on the outside so it wouldn’t pull through. Then when the string was pulled real slow, it would sound just like a lion’s roar.

Dumb-bull ready, these cousins waited for a dark, moonless Saturday night. That was the night when neighboring boys would go to a nearby town to drink and “live it up”. Of course, in those days, most people had to walk everywhere they went, as most families did not have cars. This particular night, the cousins had the dumb-bull set up as the boys were walking the gravel road toward home. High on “spirits” they were having a good time, when one short pull on the string stopped the boisterous group in their tracks. Another longer pull and a sound like a lion’s roar sent the boys running so fast that the kicked-up gravel actually sparked fire! Or, at least, that’s what I was told.

One night when my husband was walking home from church along a graveled road, it was so dark he literally could not see his hand in front of his face. The only way he knew he was still in the road was hearing the gravel crunch under his feet and by the sound made by the stick he was carrying dragging against the weeds growing in the edge of the road. He was easing along, minding his own business when all of a sudden, he left the ground. Talk about scared, he was! It took him a little while to realize that he had walked up on, and straddled, a cow which was lying on the road. (There was no stock law then, and cows ran out in the woods and often came to the open country road to sleep.)

He was finally able to get off the cow, and continue his dark walk home. He is not sure to this day who was the most scared, him, or the cow!

Yes sir, nights were dark when he was a boy. HE KNOWS, BECAUSE HE WAS THERE!

by Dorothy B. Bowden


I love picking blackberries. Wild ones. You know the kind you have to fight the briars to get. I won’t sweat to the oldies and I won’t break a sweat exercising, but I’ll sweat bullets for a bucket of blackberries. In the middle of June, I’ll grab my bucket, jump on the four wheeler, drive down a dirt road into a nearby thicket and begin to scour for a vine of black, plump blackberries. While I search for the ripen berries, I love to look around and see the purple headed Bergamots blooming and I feel real lucky if I get to see a patch of pink Bouncing Bet. I’m usually singing some old song about this time. Singing loudly, I might add. There’s just something about the wind in my hair, the ride through the woods and the anticipation of filling up my bucket with one of nature’s gifts that brings out the kid me.

Some of you that might wonder how I know where to pick the berries. Well, we berry pickers know to watch the landscape in the spring and look for the blossoms. And then by early to mid June, we know it’s time to go check them out. You can spot them usually by the red berries. The black ones seem to disappear into the landscape until you get up close. And when I can find a vine of plump black ones hanging down in clumps, I catch myself squealing uncontrollably. Sounds silly, I know. But unless you are a diehard berry picker you can’t understand that ‘ah ha’

feeling you get when you

think you’ve found the mother lode.

It’s funny, I can get on the four wheeler in the middle of a hot day and go search for those luscious purple clumps. The sweat will be pouring down my back. I can feel the prickly briars digging into my legs. And let’s not mention the chiggers. Good grief, there is nothing more irritating that chigger bites around your unmentionables. I can pick until I’m dehydrated. Then I’ll jump on the four wheeler to make my way home and the wind hitting my hot wet skin turns it cool and by the time I’m home, I’m refreshed and ready to figure our what I’m going to do with this bounty of berries.

I don’t know where I got this love for blackberry picking. Probably from my childhood. I grew up in Doyline near Lake Bistineau. We would walk down to Burge’s camp each summer to go swimming and on the way, we’d spy the blackberries along the ditches. Of course, we’d pick them and eat them on the spot. My mom could make a mean blackberry cobbler. Her buttery pie crust would turn purple around the edges from the bubbling blackberry juice. I loved it hot or cold. Didn’t matter.

A few summers ago, I spotted a big blackberry patch near our cabin in the Ozarks. I went crazy picking those berries. It must have been a bumper crop. They were everywhere. Lavonne Killian, a native of Heber Springs

and a dear friend of ours offered to teach me how to make jelly. I took her up on her offer and we turned my bounty of blackberries into jelly. I was so proud of myself. I had never made jelly before. This started a real frenzy. I couldn’t stop making jelly after that. I bet at one time I had no less than 12 cases of different kinds of jelly scattered around my house. I gave it away for Christmas. I gave it away for birthdays and then I just gave it away.

This summer during the Farmers

Market at the Farm I offered my jellies up for sale. I sold out of the blackberry jelly and that set off another frenzy of jelly making. I’ve got a freezer full of various juices and I can’t wait to make up another batch of blackberry jelly.

I think we’ll have blackberry jelly and homemade biscuits tonight to supper. Yum! And the blueberries should be ripe next week. ….Yipee! I feel a song coming on.

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Remember the old stories about Sallie Baker’s grave. The legend of Sallie Baker’s grave is probably the best-known ghost story in Webster Parish, according to John Agan, parish historian. One uniting factor for teenagers from the Bienville Parish line all the way to the Arkansas border is the tales of the odd happenings at Sallie Baker’s grave near Cotton Valley. The stories of midnight visits to the site have been passed among the youth of our parish for several decades. Many different versions of who Sallie was are commonly told. Most involve her killing multiple husbands, attacking unsuspecting trespassers and in general terrorizing all who came near. Sallie Baker ghost has been spotted each year during “Moon Over Minden” and is expected to be there again this year. “We have it on good authority, that she’s talked some other colorful characters from the past to join her,” comments Julie Vogel, president of Cultural Crossroads and sponsors of this year’s “Moon Over Minden” Harvest Festival. “Bonnie and Clyde will be there along with some other scary gangsters from the 1930’s. “I know we can all conjure up different memories of Halloween as a child,” adds Miss Vogel. “And it is those memories that we want to embrace while we offer up opportunities for new ones.” Minden’s noted arts community will once again bring us a spectacular weekend of fright lights, haunted hay rides and haunted garden tours. The organization’s four acre Farm will be transformed during the

months leading up to the October event. Cultural Crossroads Harvest Festival

will include a variety of events all month long as part of a bigger

celebration called “Triumph over Tragedy” Commemorating the

Great Depression and New Deal Era. The 21 parish

commemoration of the Great Depression will

be remembered in

M i n d e n while art groups across the state have tailored their annual events to fit the depression theme or sponsor new ones. Starting with the official lighting of the Farm on October 3rd, followed up by an outdoor showing of “The Grapes of Wrath,” on October the 10th, the Farm will be the place to be in October. The haunted gardens and haunted hayrides will open to the public on Friday, Oct. 30 and Saturday, Oct. 31 from 8pm to 11pm. “This year’s special feature will include a tour of the old homestead,” Stated Chris Broussard, festival chairman. “The house hasn’t been unoccupied for more than a quarter of a century,” adds Mrs. Broussard. “The modest house was built in 1933 following the tornado that devastated the town. Since the house was built during the great depression, we thought this would be a great time to include it in the tour. This will be the first time we’ve opened the house to the community.” The house and the lot at the corner of East Union and Talton will light up the beginning of October as a reminder that the best is yet to come. According to organizers, the hayride and the haunted house and garden tour are separate but folks can choose to do one or both. The cost of each tour is $8 or $15 for both. Concessions will be open offering hot chocolate, hot cider, snacks and special haunted dishes to delight the pallet of every goblin and ghoul in attendance. For more information about Cultural Crossroad, the Farm or Moon Over Minden, visit their website at www.artsinminden.com.

by Chris Broussard


FOR GOOD MEMORIES, WE ARE THANKFULA WRITTEN HISTORY OF THE CARNELL & LONNA TRIPP FAMILY OF CULLEN, LOUISIANA.

WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY MARGARET TRIPP TIMMONS

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EATING WATERMELON~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What would summertime be without shade trees and watermelon? Thanks to our Daddy, we had plenty of both.

Now, the ten acres that we called home were at the end of the East Road in Cullen, Louisiana. This land used to belong to my Grandpa and Grandma Tripp. It was part of the old home place. Grandpa had owned quite a few acres around the place several years before any of us kids were born. The old home had been up the lane from where our house stands today, then to the left, between where John Blake’s house and Mr. Broughton Moore’s house stand today. Grandpa and Grandma owned all of the land where Moore’s Dairy was when we were growing up. When hard times came during the great depression, they lost all of the land except for the ten acres where we lived. They would have lost that too, except for Grandma’s determination. She worked hard and sold eggs, buttermilk, fresh milk, and garden vegetables from their own farm in order to be able to keep the land.

The hill behind Mama and Daddy’s house was where Grandpa raised watermelons. To hear Daddy tell it, they were the biggest and best melons in the country. Daddy would tell us how they plowed the terraces

just so and rounded up mounds of soil so that they could plant the seeds. His eyes would light up as he described the vines and the melons to us. There were Formby melons, Charleston Grays, and an old variety called “Moon and Stars.” Each one had their own individual traits that made them better than any others in the country.

When it was time to harvest the melons, Daddy and his brothers Hurley and Durwood would drive a wagon drawn by two mules through the field. They would load the wagon down with the biggest melons that you have ever seen. Many of the melons were used to feed their hogs.

Since our land was part of the melon patch, Daddy always grew watermelons in our garden, just like his dad had done before him. He’d plant them in the chosen garden pace. Once their seeds were planted, he would take special care to see that they were properly watered, fertilized and weeded. After many, many weeks of watching, weeding, and watering, we’d anxiously wait for Daddy to go to the garden and come back with a big one on his shoulder that had finally “thumped ripe.”

Finally, the day came that we had

waited for so long. Daddy came striding up from the garden, proudly carrying a huge, green watermelon. We were about to sample the fruit of his labors. He laid it gently in the shade of the big weeping willow tree in the backyard to let it cool. Us kids would go out and sit on the grass beside the watermelon, giving it a touch now and then to see if it had cooled off enough to eat.

After what seemed like forever, Mama and Daddy would make their way to the back door and down the steps with the salt shaker and a big butcher knife. Daddy would squat down, roll the watermelon over, and thump it one last time to make sure that it was good and ripe. He’d stick the knife in the end of the emerald green skin of the melon, and if it was really ripe, it would automatically burst open to reveal the dark red, juicy meat inside.

Daddy would proceed to slice it carefully into two equal halves. The halves were then divided into two equal quarters. The littlest kids were given a third of one of these quarters. The bigger kids, along with Mama and Daddy, were given one of the quarter pieces of the melon. The watermelon was so big it was all we could do to eat our part!

Eating the melon was no big deal. Only Mama and Daddy and one or two of the older girls ate their watermelon with a fork or spoon. The rest of us would sit on the green grass, cross our legs “Indian style” and eat ours the only natural way. That way was to hold up our slice, bite out a chunk, and try to keep from soaking the front of our dresses or Jimmie’s shirt, with the sweet sticky red juice. No matter how hard we tried, we always ended up with little rivers running down our arms and dripping off the tips of our elbows. It would splash on our knees and dribble down our dusty legs in a long, muddy streak clear to our ankles. The smallest child would usually have the juice streaming from their mouth, down their bare tummy, only to settle in their diaper.

Daddy took great pains to teach each of us kids how to defend ourselves in case of a “sudden seed fight.” There was always a sudden seed fight because HE would be the instigator of such action. Dad could pinch a watermelon seed between his thumb and forefingers and send it zipping like a speeding bullet directly at whatever he aimed it for. He could catch us on the arm, leg or side of the head with a seed so hard we could swear we’d been hit with a small brickbat! That’s all


it took. War was then on with those who could shoot seeds with their fingers!

Those of us who couldn’t quite get the hang of shooting a seed with our fingers resorted to a much more efficient manner of propelling our weapons. We learned to save time and effort by not having to fish the seeds out of the watermelon or having to grasp it just so, or taking a chance it would slip out of our fingers and fall to the ground. Instead, we just resorted to a surer manner: we would SPIT the seeds and they were all directed at the enemy! This led to heads, ears, hair, arms, legs and anything else in plain sight, being covered with plenty of sticky, red juice and chewed up watermelon pulp spewed out from fully loaded watermelon “cannons!” Before long, the casualties began to appear. Someone would get an earful of juice. Another one had a shoulder dotted with brown seeds and still another one was trying to disassemble a wad of pulp from her bangs! Mama and Daddy would finally demand a truce and order

their troops into the house to bathe and get ready for bed.

Now if scientist can ever figure what ingredient God put into a watermelon to give it worthy deservance of its’ name... WATER MELON... they’d have the remedy for the drought situation in the Sudan. If that one formula could ever be patented to seed clouds for rain, we’d have another Noah’s Flood overnight!

I can remember waking up that pitch dark of the night and thinking, “Maybe I should get up and go to the bathroom. I shouldn’t have eaten so much watermellon!” I’d lie there a minute, hear the crickets chirping and the frogs croaking outside the bedroom window and think, “I hope there ain’t nothin’ under this bed!”

The longer I lay there, the more miserable I became. Finally, not being able to stand it any longer, I’d slide a foot out from under the covers, and say to myself, “If I step out FAR enough, the snakes under this bed can’t get me!”

I’d sit there a minute, trying to calculate how far a snake could jump, and how hard I’d have to leap from the bed to get myself safely beyond that point.

Before I go any further, let me ask you a question. How many of you have ever encountered a huge, mad grizzly bear in the pitch dark of the night amid a leap from your bed in order to escape a nest of ankle hungry poisonous snakes? There’s something to be said for a child’s imagination.

Somewhere between the time I made my leap from the bed and the time my feet touched the floor, there came the most terrifying, deep, gutsy “growl” from around the dark corner of the room. I could literally feel the breeze of the bear’s claws flapping the shirttail of my nightgown as if it was being torn!

I pivoted on the bare tips of my toes in mid air and sprang back into the bed. Quickly, I pulled the covers tightly over my head all in

one movement. I no longer cared if the snakes were dangling from my gown. It’s better to be snake bit any time than devoured by a ravenous grizzly bear! The next morning I’d awake, covers still over my head. “My,” I thought to myself. “I certainly did work up a lot of sweat last night under all of those sheets!” While checking a little more closely, I found a large damp circle on the mattress.

I leaned over the side of the bed, looked underneath, and discovered that the snakes were no longer there. It’s no wonder, though. Not many animals survived Noah’s flood, either!

“But what about the bear?” you may ask. He did survive and planted many more patches of watermelons. That ole’ bear turned out to be my Daddy.

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Minden is home to the oldest living citizen in Louisiana. Maggie Thornton Renfro holds the distinction as our state’s oldest voting citizen and it doesn’t end there. “Aunt Sugar” as they call her is also the 5th oldest person in the nation and the 7th oldest person in the world. The 114 year old centenarian will celebrate her 115 birthday in November and Cultural Crossroads board of directors will be doing it up right. A special celebration will be held in her honor along with her two sisters who are also over 100 years old. Maggie Renfro and her two sisters, Carrie, age 107 and Rosie, age 104 will also be honored during a special celebration on Sunday, November 8th at the Minden civic center. The three centenarians were selected as the celebrated elders of Webster Parish for the upcoming “Triumph over Tragedy” commemoration of the Great Depression. The three sisters were part of the greatest generation and the stories about their early lives will be chronicled in a documentary, a book and a specially written play

about the Great Depression. During a special interview, the sisters were asked what they attributed their longevity to. Their answers were almost identical. Miss Maggie said, “Well….I don’t know I couldn’t tell you exactly…all I know …is just be good to everybody…and treat everybody right and don’t mistreat nobody and if you can help anybody…help ‘em… and just be good to everybody… that’s all I know…I don’t know nothin’ else…I never was a bad person….” Carrie’s said, “I think about thanking God for bringing me safe this far…he didn’t have to do it…..He brought me safe this far…his grace……I lean and depend on him. I don’t forget to pray. … I rely...how far he brought me…he didn’t have to do it. ….I treat ‘em like I wish to be treated…do all I can and all I can do…pray for ‘em…treat people like I wish be treated….give them my best respect…uh hum…. help them in the name of the Lord….do just what I can do ..and .all I can do.” All three sisters were born in Claiborne parish and Carrie and Rosie lived most of their lives in

Athens before moving to Minden while Maggie spent most of her life in Texas. Miss Maggie lives with her daughter and husband in law, Mattie and Curtis Ellis. Rosie lives with her daughters, Ella and Lovie Warren and Carrie lives in the Town and Country Nursing home. They all get together every now and then to attend the church their mother founded in Athens, the Pleasant Valley Baptist Church. The interview that took all day included a variety of funny stories about their childhood. Carrie, “Aunt Noonie” as they call her remembers their favorite game. . “We’d pull a pine tree down and ride it…ride it like a horse. Yeah, that what we’d play. Them old pines…been around our house…in them woods….yeah.” And we couldn’t leave without getting their favorite recipe. Rosie, “Aunt Squate” as they call her told us how to cook collard greens. “you get you some good meat…ole…then…ham…well….you smoke it…..then you hang it there…..three weeks….you hang it up…. three weeks…then you put you a good big piece of dried

meat in your pot…then you let it boil…let it boil…awhile….” These stories and more were recorded digitally and videotaped. Nationally acclaimed artists will be tasked to take these stories and create new works of art as part of the “Triumph over Tragedy” Great Depression commemoration, according to Lane Callaway, project director. Susan Roach, regional folklorist for North Louisiana and Chris Broussard of Cultural Crossroads conducted the interviews. “They were all just so delightful,” States Miss Roach. “We spent a wonderful day with the three of them and their lovely family. It’s a day I won’t soon forget.” The special celebration for the Thornton sisters on November 8th will be for family and friends only. A special display about the sisters will be created by local artists and placed on display at the main branch of the Webster Parish library sometime in October. To learn more about the “Triumph over Tragedy” commemoration, visit Cultural Crossroads website at www.artsinminden.com or www.shreveportbossierfunguide.com.

written by chris broussard. photos by Leslie Coyle.


Fishin’ with Homer Humphreys!

“Give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, and he’ll eat for a lifetime.” The Ancient Chinese knew what they were talking about when they wrote this proverb. Many kids of today’s generation happily order the fried catfish plate at their local diner, but have absolutely no idea about how or where their dinner was hooked. Homer Humphreys, local resident and professional fisherman, recently opened up his home and his pond to teach children from Richardson Elementary School in Minden, Louisiana a few lessons about fishing and ecology, and along the way he taught them how to eat for a lifetime.

The early morning sunshine dealt out a dose of summertime heat, but despite best efforts, it did little to melt the spirits of this group of excited 5th graders. The kids’ excited voices echoed across the pond as Homer Humphreys stood proudly in the

middle of the the crowd of 10 and 11 year olds peddling his craft. It’s not very often that a professional fisherman takes the time to give fishing lessons, and this group of students hung on his every word.

The Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries were on hand to teach the ecology of local waterways. Kids learned about the different types of fish in the region and were given pointers on where to catch “the big ones.” Local Rangers set up their Aquatic Education station and were quick to point out that they are passionate about helping children become interested in their environment.

We at The Minute Magazine would like to thank Homer Humphreys and the staff of Richardson Elementary School for taking the time to make this trip possible for the 5th grade class. We commend you for caring so much about the next generation!

CLOCKWISE, BEGINNING TOP: THE 5TH GRADE FROM RICH-ARDSON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL; LOUISIANA DEPARTMENT OF WILDLIFE & FISHERIES; STUDENT FISHING ON BANK OF HOMER HUMPHREYS’ POND.


Fishin’ with Homer Humphreys!


LAUNDRY’s DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

When I was a little girl, I would walk around in the back yard at my grandmother’s home in Cullen, Louisiana and weave in and out of the laundry hanging from her clothesline. Some of my most picture-perfect memories were formed between the two T-posts that held up strands of freshly washed linens. To this day, I find something beautiful and nostalgic about strung-up sheets blowing in the summertime breeze. When I fast forward my memories and find myself thinking of the way that laundry is handled today, I can’t help but feel that the simplicity of the clothesline should make a comeback.

The Bottom Line.If we are to ever make a reconnection with the simple clothesline, then we must ask ourselves a very basic question: “Why should I?” The answer might surprise you. In 2001, the Department of Energy estimated that electric clothes dryers use 5.8% of the total home electricity usage in The United States. What does this mean for you? If you have a monthly energy bill of $150, then approximately $9 of your bill is spent

on drying your clothes.

Go Green.You can save valuable fossil fuels by choosing to hang your laundry out to dry. But there are also a few other benefits that you might not be aware of as well. For instance, hanging your laundry out will give the sun’s UV rays a chance to kill viruses and bacteria that could slip through your dryer unnoticed. The sun’s rays also act as a bleaching agent, potentially saving your money on the chemical alternative. Chemical fabric softeners aren’t really necessary for clothing dried outdoors, so add in a few dollars of extra savings into your laundry budget here. Clothing holds up much better when it is line dried, and colors that “bleed” onto the rest of your laundry load in a typical dryer will not do so on a line when the items are spaced properly.

Feel Better.Think about this for a moment: would you go into the garage and bring back a quart of oil to use for washing your clothes? Of course you wouldn’t! Unknowingly, most Americans are doing something similar every time

they begin a new load. The majority of cleaning products found on store shelves are made from carbon chains that have been used to form solvents. But there is an alternative. Natural, plant-derived products are available. I use SEVENTH GENERATION laundry detergent, cleaning supplies, paper towels and toilet paper. This wonderful company takes pride in offering affordable, sustainable and non-toxic products. There are many other environmentally-friendly laundry detergents on the market. With a little research, you can find a detergent that’s perfect for your family’s needs.

The Down Side.Because we feel that it is important to remain open and honest, there are a few disadvantages to turning to the great outdoors for your laundry drying needs. Thunderstorms will send you into a “everyone run outside now and get the laundry” frenzy! Towels and blue jeans dried on the line do feel a bit like sandpaper compared to their electrically dried counterparts, and Grandma’s undies hanging outdoors aren’t really the most attractive sight you could hope to see. Our family

decided to dry socks and underwear in the clothes drier for a couple of reasons. Number one, I don’t want my neighbors to see my polka-dot underwear and laugh. Number two, I refuse to take the time to hang up an entire load of socks and undies.

The Law.Some areas do not allow outdoor clothes lines. Much controversy has been raised across the country over the homeowner’s right to bear clotheslines. I don’t think that it will go as far as the Supreme Court, but arguments over clotheslines have definitely pointed toward the direction that suggests that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I love the look of a clothesline, but not everyone feels the same. Check for local ordinances on clotheslines, and try to keep them tucked away discreetly and hidden somewhere on your property. If ordinances or a lack of space makes it impossible for you to string out a line, then hang one indoors in your laundry room or in your garage! There are hundreds of laundry line businesses on the internet. Do a quick search on Google for “Clothesline” and you’re


sure to find something suitable for your needs.

The Point.No matter how hard we try, it is impossible to escape the laundry chain of wash, dry, fold, iron, wear and repeat. The bottom line is that you are going to do laundry. You will continue the cycle of wash, dry, fold, iron, wear and repeat for the rest of your life. So make the process fun and clean, and while you’re at it, take ownership of your right to claim environmental responsibility. 5.8% of home electricity usage is an enormous chunk of the home energy

pie. If we all begin to make small changes, it will undoubtedly make a big difference.

Once you’ve decided to make the change, send us a picture of your clothesline and we’ll share it with our readers. Your family’s commitment to old fashioned values, a cleaner environment and lower utility bills is important to us. We want to hear your comments and suggestions.

So until we meet again, we at The Minute Magazine encourage you to let it all hang out!


it is the FLASH of afirefly in the night.

it is the BREATH of abuffalo in the wintertime.

“What is life?

photos by Leslie Coyle

”it is the LITTLE SHADOW which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

Crowfoot


During the months of October and November, Minden will join many other cities across north Louisiana in a special commemoration. “Triumph Over Tragedy: The Great Depression & New Deal Era in North Louisiana” is a collaboration of more than 200 arts groups, artists, schools, businesses and municipalities that will mark the 80th anniversary of the stock market crash and the beginning of the Great Depression. “The decision to commemorate

this time in history was actually made before our most recent downturn,” states Chris Broussard, chairman of the board of Cultural Crossroads. “We’ve been working on this project for nearly three years and I know folks are probably wondering why would we want to remember those hard times. But remembering the greatest generation and collecting their stories is probably long over due,” adds Mrs. Broussard. “I think the stories of how they triumphed over tragedy may be even more timely now.”

Cultural Crossroads, Dorcheat Museum, Minden Main Street and the Minden Community Chorus are among the several non profits in Minden who have joined forces with the arts councils of North Louisiana to host one of the largest collaborations in recent history. “This project just grew,” states Pattie Odom, Main Street Director. “We saw an opportunity to showcase our town and the list of events just kept growing.” As a result of the local collaborations, a festival was born.

Minden remembers the Great Depression

This painting of tenant farmers by Chris Broussard will be one of several paintings on display during “Fes-tival of Memories” This painting and those created by area children during summer art camp held this past July will also be exhibited. Area children ages 7-15 will present their tribute to the great depression during a special exhibition at Christophers’ on Main November 7th and 8th. The exhibition of artwork in com-memoration of the Great Depression sponsored by Cultural Crossroads is one of many that is expected to be mounted during the month of November. Christophers’ will also open as a soup kitchen for breakfast and lunch as part of this special weekend celebration known as “Festival of Memories.

“Festival of Memories” will include a variety of events sponsored by Minden’s most notable non profits. From a marathon dance to a dinner theatre, people from across the state and the region will have a wide choice of cultural events to choose from. “We’re looking forward to showing off our museum,” states Schelley Brown, executive director of the Dorcheat Museum. “And it will be our privilege to kick off our first ever “Festival of Memories” with “Moon over Minden” at the Farm,” states Chris Broussard, Chairman of the Board of Cultural Crossroads and parish representative. “Triumph Over Tragedy: The Great Depression & New Deal Era in North Louisiana” is the inaugural collaboration of the EYE-20 CREATIVE CORRIDOR. The EYE-20 CREATIVE CORRIDOR is a unified effort of three North Louisiana Arts Councils: Bossier Arts Council (BAC), Northeast Louisiana Arts Council (NLAC) and Shreveport Regional Arts Council (SRAC), to provide a long-term regional Cultural Economy Initiative that will unify the communities along Interstate-20 ensuring access to the highest quality programs and services offered by artists and arts organizations in North Louisiana. In their first group effort, the EYE-20 CREATIVE CORRIDOR will spearhead a cultural commemoration of the 80th Anniversary of the Great Depression beginning in October, 2009 that will engage 200 Arts Organizations, 100 professional artists, 525 eighth grade students and 50 elders sharing their stories and experiences. Events are planned throughout North Louisiana during the Fall of 2009 through the Spring of 2010. For a list of events from across the state and to learn more about Triumph Over Tragedy go to www.shreveportbossierfunguide.com beginning in September or contact Julia Foley, Marketing Director, at (318) 673-6500.

by Chris Broussard


J B

ames

urton

by Jackie Lewis

Call him a Rocker, a

Country-boy, a Self-

Made Man or a Leg-

end. Whatever you

call him, he’s making

a difference in this

world, one guitar

at a time.

His music is so hot that it’s practically on fire. The legendary master guitarist and creator of “chicken pickin’” has the ability to make six strings sound like twenty, something that he very humbly confesses “is a gift from God.” With a style all his own, a career like no other, and a heart as good as gold, it’s easy to see why Shreveport, Louisiana is proud to call James Burton a native son.

Let’s take a tiny step back in time for a moment. It’s 1958. Ricky Nelson is more than a sensation: he’s one of the first teen heartthrobs in America. Behind him, standing strong, is sixteen year old Guitarist James Burton. A professional musician for over two years, in 1958 James is only beginning a career that will lead to thousands of recordings, hundreds of concerts and eventually into the studios with two kings: Elvis Presley (the King of Rock and Roll) and Michael Jackson (the King of Pop.)

It all began very early in James’ childhood. “Mother told me that when I was a kid running around the

house, I loved country music, gospel and blues. I’d go through the house beating on a drumstick and acting like I was playing on a guitar. She (Mom) knew it was in me because of the way I loved music so much.” As he talks, we sit in his office. The small space might seem a bit cluttered at first glance, until you begin to realize the significance of the items scattered around. Photos of James with legends such as Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison, Johnny Cash, Emmylou Harris and Bruce Springstein hang unpretentiously on the walls surrounding his desk. Then you begin to notice the guitars. And the records. The gravity of his contribution to American music really begins to sink in about this point.

We all dream of finding a fulfilling career, though very few of us actually have the opportunity to live out that dream. When we asked Mr. Burton to give his advice on the matter, he answered without hesitation. “I think that first off, you have to do something in life that’s going to make you happy, and you need to think about the financial outcome of what you’re doing. Whatever makes you happy in life is something that you need to pursue. I find that it’s very important to lean toward God first, then your family and your job. You have to count your blessings. No one’s perfect. But it sure is a lot easier to know that you can turn your life over to God and let Him control your actions.”For James, music is instinctive. It’s

something that he is passionate about, and he has been blessed with the opportunity to do what he loves and reap the benefits of seeing his passion flourish. One of the most amazing things about Mr. Burton is that he is a very humble, down-to-earth person. Not only did he find the secret to success, but he also had the inner strength that was needed to prevent that success from turning into corruption. “You need to know who you are. If you get up and you turn your day over to God and ask Him for control and guidance, that’s all you need. Then you can go do your thing,” he says with a genuine smile.

On August 22, 2009, you have the opportunity to not only see James “chicken pick,” but to also help support his foundation and bring music to the people that need it most. His foundation helps provide technical training, music lessons and free guitars to young musicians. By attending the James Burton Guitar Festival, you will help make that dream come true for him and for the

young

men and women waiting for their chance. The entire staff of The Minute Magazine will be there and will no doubt be clapping crazily and feeling every single note. So don’t miss it! To purchase your tickets, visit www.jamesburtonmusic.com or call Ticketmaster.

We all know that James Burton is a master of the guitar. But finding that he is also a master of living life to the fullest is both surprising and inspiring. Now that you know a bit more about one of Shreveport’s finest sons, you’ll find that there’s something very comforting about listening to James Burton jam. In his fingertips lives the power that once backed up greats such as Jerry Lee Lewis, Rick Nelson and Elvis Presley. That power is now busy helping our next generation of great musicians. Maybe that’s why there is something in his performance that grabs you by the shoulders and makes you believe, if only for a brief second, that Elvis hasn’t left the building. So thank you, Mr. Burton. Thank you very much.


t h e n e w NORMAL

with Anita

Goodson

Weeder’s Digest

“America’s landscapes are lawn-dominated, and lawns occupy an area equal to the size of the state of Michigan. In addition to offering little or nothing of value to wildlife, lawns are the largest consumer of landscape water, of pesticides, and of fertilizers in our urbanizing areas. Mower noise and fumes pollute our neighborhoods. Grass clippings add significantly to our landfills. Gradually get rid of fifty percent or more of your lawn. Trees, shrub masses, ground covers, flower beds, prairie or meadow patches, and attractively mulched areas are much better environmental choices, for people and for wildlife.” The National Wildlife Federation, 1990”

Today everywhere we turn people are talking about going green. We even have a new TV network called Planet Green, (DTV ch286, DISH ch194). I recently watched a show with reporter Bob Woodruff, “Focus Earth”. He interviewed six people in Kenya; six people changing the world. One was Dr. Wangari Maathai, a recipient of the 2004 Nobel Peace Prize. Dr. Maathai is a former member of parliament and founder of the Green Belt Movement. Her organization has planted more than 40 million trees in Kenya, earning her the name “Tree Woman of Africa“. Her group is replacing the trees being harvested in the rainforests. We must renew our forests to live. The trees hold down the soil when the rain falls. If no trees are present the soil washes away. The soil is the way of life for all people. Trees absorb carbon dioxide and manufacture oxygen for us to breath. You have a choice, think small, changing just one habit of conservation will reach everyone. You can make a difference. Our everyday actions, that means you and me, simply by the way we live. We can give away things instead of throwing it in the trash, “Freecycle“.

One persons trash is another’s treasure. Recycling cuts energy use greatly on such materials as steel and glass. Reduce the amount of plastic consumption, buying tote bags alone would create a huge amount of savings, cut back on bottled water, besides it’s expensive. Save cans, they pay money. We can do our part as gardeners by composting grass clippings and leaves from our yards. Many kitchen scraps are recyclable. My worms are wonderful digesters. The soil they make is amazing. I clean out my worm box about three times a year. I put the castings in my garden sparingly, one reason is our gardens are HUGE and MANY! You can buy worm compost in some garden catalogs at an outrageous price. They even sell the worm juice for around $10 a gallon. Why would you buy this great material when you can make it yourself for just the initial price of a container, the worms and some of your finished compost. It isn’t hard to start out. This would be a wonderful learning experience for you and your kids. Another environmental step that will help you and all is to redesign your irrigation systems. The use of misting systems versus sprinklers keeps your plants in better shape and only cost a fraction for water usage. The savings can be up to 80%. Drip irrigators let you water a garden or fruit trees at better than a 85% savings. Our land fills are filling up at an unbelievable rate. I visited the landfill in Webster Parish and couldn’t believe it. It looks like a huge mountain. The EPA has done something to change some of the side effects. Vent pipes have been installed to harvest methane gas emitted from decomposing trash. All trash must be covered by soil daily. Looking at the landfill will make you realize what a problem it really is. Did you know 80% of our trash is recyclable? We could keep 400 tons out of the local landfill if we would just recycle, freecycle, reduce, & reuse daily. In Australia you are charged for

the weight of your trash. This is a wonderful incentive to reduce, reuse and recycle. If you sort your glass, newspaper and yard clippings you are not charged for this weight. You only pay for the weight of what will not compost or recycle. If you don’t have time to sort your trash them you pay more for trash pickup. We have to start somewhere. Everyday ordinary people will make the difference. Think about what you can do. Small steps such as plant drought tolerant plants. You can even go natural. Quit watering your lawn and see what grows. It may take awhile but natural plants will take over. We can start a garden in our back yards. Live off the land as our ancestors did. It wasn’t that long ago for me. We did have a large garden when I was growing up. The food we raised was unbelievable in the taste and freshness. A lot of gardeners raise tomatoes, peppers, peas, okra, corn, ect. because of the taste and freshness difference. When you raise it, you know what was put on it during growth. This reminds me of the Permaculture course I took several years ago. Permaculture is a word meaning Permanent Agriculture. Permaculture ethics: “Care of the Earth”--includes all living and non-living things, such as animals, “Care of People”--to promote self-reliance and community responsibility; “Give away Surplus”--to pass on anything surplus to our needs ( labor, money, and information); In addition to their instrumental value to humans and other living organisms, they have an intrinsic worth. Permaculture is an ethical system, stressing positivism and cooperation. Principals of Natural systems and design - Guiding principles of Permaculture design: Everything is connected to everything else. Every function is supported by many elements. Every element should serve many functions. Design is composed of two elements: aesthetics and function. Permaculture design concentrates

on function. Functional design is sustainable, it provides for its own needs. It also has good product yield, or even surplus yield. For this to occur, elements must: have no product unused by other elements, and have their own needs supplied by other elements in the system. If these criteria are not met, then pollution and work result. Pollution is a product not used by something else; it is an over-abundance of a resource. Work results when there is a deficiency of resources, when an element in the system does not aid another element. Any system will become chaotic if it receives more resources than it can productively use. Example: too much fertilizer can result in pollution. A resource is any energy storage which assists yield. The work of the Permaculture designer is to maximize useful energy storages in any system on which they are working, be it house, urban property, rural lands, or gardens. A successful design contains enough useful storages to serve the needs of people. Our needs are becoming greater as the earth is changing. You will hear more and more about this each season on the news and read about this in the paper. Our climate is changing. You can blame it on what ever you like, greenhouse gases, ect., but it is a fact. We have to change if we are going to survive. We should teach our younger generation how to live on the land and to become more self sufficient. It could be life saving. The path starts at our own backdoors, just outside our kitchens. This is a way to contribute to health and wealth of your own family and all species. I have only scratched the surface of Permaculture. If you would like to learn more check out the book, “Permaculture Design Course Handbook“, by Bill Mollison.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you have any questions or comments email me at [email protected] or the Minute Magazine.


Thoughts from aSMOTHER MOTHER

by Vicki Caskey

Recently, my 14 (almost 15) year-old daughter looked at me and called me “Smother Mother.” Of course she was laughing when she said it, but I (as only a mother could) saw that in her eyes she meant it! I was not quiet sure how to take this. Was this a bad thing? It sounded like it might be, and that upset me in the oddest sort of way. Is this truly how my sweet precious child, the one that I carried and anticipated the arrival of for 9 long months, sees me? If knowing where she is, who she is with and what she is doing at all times means that I am a Smother Mother, then I guess a Smother Mother I am.

Now let me please tell you that I am blessed beyond measure with a teenage daughter who brings me much joy. Aside from an occasional smart mouth and strong will, she is a really great kid. She makes good grades, excels at everything she sets her mind to, and still actually enjoys being around me most days. But she is trying to spread her wings a bit. And I’m sometimes left wondering, “Can I clip them?” After all, isn’t that what you do to birds when you do not want them to fly away? As we approach the beginning of her sophomore year, my heart begins to flutter at the thought of her growing up and leaving the nest. With each day that passes, my only child becomes more independent and shows me that she is ready to take on more responsibility. Sometimes I question

myself, though. Dare I let her drive the car? Her father and step-father often let her behind the wheel, and she proves time and time again that when she takes her driving course in August (as all teenagers must do) she will be ready! But will I be ready? I don’t think so!

I want more of the silly faces she makes at me from the basketball court during her ball games. I want to see more of the way she laughs at me when I sing the wrong words to one of HER favorite songs. As her mother, I treasure the way she loves to hear me talk about her when she was little. It is the little things that bond us together! It is the touch of her hand, her big bright smile, and the secrets she whispers in my ears that take my breath away. This is all happening too fast for me. I am not ready for her to grow up! Can I stop time? Can I bottle her up just as she is and keep her safe from harm? I had these thoughts when she was 3 years old- or maybe it was when she was 5- oh no! I must have thought that when she was 10! I just can’t help but wonder where has time gone? My head is starting to spin at all the thoughts running around in it! How in the world did my baby girl get to be 14 (almost 15) and brave enough to look me dead in the eye and call me “Smother Mother?” This revelation is bittersweet. Will I change the way I am and LOOSEN up? Absolutely not! It is my belief that our purpose in life is to be the best mothers we can possibly be; I pray everyday that I am the woman God wants me to be so that I can help my daughter grow into the young woman God created her to be!

Something that we do in our home

(that you might want to do in yours) is pray together every day as a family. We started this about 5 years ago, and we have found that it is something that gives us the strength we need to get through any bad day that comes our way. Does this mean life is a breeze all the time? Of course not. But it makes even the worst days seem bearable.

I find myself rushing around so much that I forget to soak in the little things that happen in a day. I am going to try to take a few moments everyday to just soak up my child (if she will let me... you know teenagers). I

challenge you to do the same! I have decided it is ok to be a Smother Mother! Most teenagers need us to care about where they are and what they are doing! Calling us names just makes them feel like they are being cool! I know that sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me! This Smother Mother is one tough cookie. So for all of the other Smother Mothers out there, God Bless!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


H e i f e r s & B u l l s F O R

S A L E !

S t a r t y o u r o w n H E R D !


on theSPECTRUMA narrative about one family’s life on the Autistic Spectrum, written by Mrs. Lela Robichaux of Shreveport, Louisiana. Her column lets you peek into their world and experience what life is like raising a son with Aspergerr’s Syndrome.

So far this summer, we have only enjoyed camp as an extracurricular activity. I volunteer my time as a chapter leader with our local Autism Society of America chapter and we sponsor Camp Rainman each year. This camp is for people with autism and each camper has their own counselor. I just want to talk a little about our experience at camp this year. My son is not necessarily what you would call an “outdoorsy” sort of person. He much prefers the comfort of his room where he has access to his computer, video games and television. We have always struggled to get him to do more outside and to get more exercise and time away from all things electronic. So this year, we have messed around with his medicine schedule and then decided to throw him into an environment that he doesn’t find all that exciting and, just for giggles, let’s throw in 100 degree heat on top of all that! Needless to say, we had three days of meltdown after meltdown after meltdown.

Our theme for camp this year was Camp Safari (oh, and thanks to the Minute, we found a wonderful safari park to take all the kids to: thanks to High Delta Safari Park!). We had all sorts of wonderful things planned for the campers this year; we made scrapbooks, we went on a safari to gather information about animals, we had a 60 foot water slide, we went to a real, live safari park and fed the animals! Well, for starters, my son is the antithesis of crafty. He does not enjoy arts and crafts. Don’t get me wrong, he loves to draw – he just does not get into coloring, gluing, cutting, or anything else that is not done with just a pencil and a piece of paper. So, in between all the duties I had at camp as an organizer, I tried to make some pages for my son’s scrapbook. There were supposed to be seven; I think we ended up with three. That’s ok, we packed a heck of a lot of memories on those three pages! I really thought I was

prepared for the heat this year too. We have an issue every year with my son about how hot it is. I’m almost convinced that he has something out of whack in his body with the system that is supposed to regulate body temperature because he heats up and turns beat red within seconds of stepping foot outside. But he complains non-stop about how hot it is outside in the summer and he never wants to do anything that requires being away from air-conditioning. However, he does love the water, so the water slide was one of his most favorite things next to the swimming pool! I think he may have been a fish in his past life. The problem came when it was time to move on from those activities. I think our first major meltdown came at the swimming pool because I had informed his counselor that he was not a strong swimmer and if he wanted to go in the deep end of the pool, he had to wear a life jacket. Well…he insists that he has had swimming lessons (these are lessons his dad and I gave him in the little plastic backyard pool, mind you) and that he can swim and how come his friend gets to go in the deep end without a life jacket?!?! So, what I hear over my little walkie-talkie that all the group leaders and people in charge are carrying around is something along the lines of “Trent is having a fit at the pool!” I trudge the small distance to the pool to find out what is going on. It takes about 20 minutes to calm him down and by that time the group only has about 5 minutes left to swim. But we get out of that one ok by promising he could come back later.

Another major meltdown came when our lovely volunteer ladies who cook for us had sandwiches on the menu. Oh, for the love of all that’s good, why sandwiches, I scream inwardly. But only I know that my child loathes sandwiches with a fury that makes the Tazmanian Devil look on with envy. He proceeds to yell at them and tell them that they need to have hamburgers or something of the like. His counselor is standing there with a glazed-over look that tells me she is totally unprepared to know how to handle this. I go over and we smooth this one over fairly quickly. He only has to eat the meat and thank goodness they have cookies and juice to smooth over everything else! And there was one lovely lady who made sure my child had bacon with just about every meal so that he would be happy. THANK YOU,

wonderful lady, whoever you are!There was a meltdown also when I tried to hide from my son the fact that there was a piñata. I could see the train wreck waiting to happen as soon as he didn’t get more than one chance to hit and he wouldn’t be the one to bust it open. There were much bigger and older campers there who were bound to be the one to break the piñata. So I told his counselor to let him stay in the cabin watching a movie. And I was right; the second person that hit that piñata broke it open and everyone scattered for the candy. Just about the time that all the candy had disappeared, my son had walked out of the cabin and figured out that there was a piñata. The scream that emitted from him was equal to a banshee wailing. He cried and screamed because he wanted to hit and break the piñata. I should have known better than to try to keep it from him. It really was all my fault. However, I am also at fault of being too protective. I should have let him participate and handled any situation that arose from there. I took him to the side and explained to him that mom was only trying to keep him happy and that I was very sorry and that I did not let him have a chance. I will have to think of something very special to make up for that one, folks! There were small meltdowns in between all this that

were easily calmed but those were our major issues. Over all, I would say camp was a good experience and all my son can talk about is what a great time he had so it couldn’t have been that horrible. I also come away from camp with a sense of accomp-lishment. I have not only helped my own child to experience what “neuro-typical” children experience, I have helped fifty people with autism have an experience that they would not otherwise have. Our campers always seem so full of joy about camp and it makes me feel good that I can be a part of creating that joy for them. My favorite memory from camp was when it was time to go home. My son was saying good-bye to his friend and they just stood there very awkwardly making different hand gestures and half-started attempts at parting ways. They had no idea what to do to say good-bye to one another. Finally, his friend just came over and hugged him. At least they figured it out on their own! It was very cute but it also shows how lost my child is at the simplest of contact with other people. He doesn’t even understand how to say good-bye to someone. He knows he is supposed to do SOMETHING, but what exactly that is, he has no idea. This is only a part of our journey – we have a long way to go.

with Lela Robichaux


When conversation is lacking, the majority of Americans turn to an old standby question sure to cure any awkward silence: “So, how’s the weather?” At Keesler Air Force Base in Mississippi, the Airmen of the Air Force Reserve’s 403rd Wing are on call twenty-four hours a day to answer that question, and they want YOU to know exactly what it takes to find out. They are the Hurricane Hunters, and it is their duty to fly into the

most dangerous weather systems on earth.

Modern-day Hurricane Hunters owe their humble beginnings to a Texan. Sixty-six years ago, a young and daring pilot by the name of Major Joe Duckworth flew into a hurricane on a whim and ushered in a new age of exploration. Little did he know that his actions that day off of the coast of Corpus Christi

The FEARLESS men and women of the Air Force Reserve’s 403rd Wing have a thing or two to teach us about the devastating storms that plague us dur-ing Hurricane Season.


(CONTINUED FROM PG 43)

would blaze a pioneer’s trail for future pilots to follow.

Storms refuse to submit to human will and be tamed. Fortunately for us, modern-day Hurricane Hunters have a similar mentality. When the rest of us are boarding up our windows and heading for higher ground, this group of men and women are loading up their gear and heading into the belly of the beast. These weekend warriors of the Air Force Reserve man the front lines of an entirely different battlefield when they point the noses of their WC-130J “Hercules” aircraft towards the darkening horizon.

Hurricane Hunters fly into the heat of battle for one purpose:

to gather information which can be interpreted by weather centers back on land. Armed with a Stepped Frequency Microwave Radiometer sensor on the exterior of the plane and the Dropsonde Windfinding System on the interior, Hurricane Hunters circle back into the eye of the storm and cross through the eyewall to gain the valuable measurements that are an absolute must for accurate predictions. Their efforts are rewarded by the increase of 25 - 30% in accuracy of landfall predictions.

For those of us living near the Gulf Coast, our only chance during hurricane season depends on the ability to predict a hurricane’s landfall. We can’t change the course of a storm, but we can clear a

path before its’ impact. That’s why Hurricane Hunters are so important. On average, evacuating one mile of coastline carries the price-tag of $1,000,000.00, but there is no amount of money that can be placed on the value of life. Their missions give greater accuracy to landfall predictions, and that in turn saves lives.

Epicures once stated, “Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests.” If such is true, then we have surely found the most skillful pilots in all of the world. We salute you, our fearless Hurricane Hunters. May God be with you and your families.

Top: Back view of the WC-130J Hercules Aircraft pri-or to takeoff. The Minute Magazine flew with a Hur-ricane Hunter Crew from Keesler Air Force Base just prior to the beginning of the 2009 Hurricane Season. Right: An Air Force Reserve Hurricane Hunter Air-craft on the Flightline at Keesler Air Force Base. Bot-tom: Hurricane Hunters awaiting the 2009 Hurricane Season. The WC-130J Hercules Hurricane Hunters also fly into Winter Storms across the United States, making their Unit one of the busiest Reserve Units in the southern U.S. Left: A Dropsonde capsule in the Air Cannon that deploys the unit into the heart of a storm. Once their, it can send back information to the aircraft’s computer systems.


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I’m passionate about recycling! So in 2007 when I read about a online group called Freecycle devoted to recycling through it’s members offering and asking for free items, I was intrigued enough to check it out.

I joined existing groups in Bossier and Shreveport and followed their activities for a while. I found that the groups seemed to work very well, but driving from my home in Minden to their locations was not practical.

So I decided to start a Freecycle

It’s really

group in the Minden area. I went through the Freecycle screening and training process and kicked off the group in the fall of 2007.

After a slow start, the group has grown to over 260 members and is beginning to function well, both for

those seeking a needed item and those seeking to recycle something they no longer need.

It makes so much sense to recycle…we’ve had everything from fish tanks to pantyhose (needed by a fisherman) so far!

The Freecycle Network™ is made up of 4,760 groups with 6,790,700 members across the globe. It’s a grassroots and entirely nonprofit movement of people who are giving (and getting) stuff for free in their own towns and thus keeping good stuff out of landfills.

Membership is free, and everything posted must be FREE, legal and appropriate for all ages. To view the items being given away or sought in Minden, you must be a member of the local group.

If you are interested in joining our Minden area group, go to “http://www.freecycle.org/” www.freecycle.org/. Type in Minden LA. Click on GO. Click on Minden. At bottom of page click on sign up. Then follow the instructions.

------------------------------------------------WRITTEN BY DOROTHY GRANT------------------------------------------------


Sometimes I think that breakfast was invented just for me. It can’t get any better than eggs, bacon, and biscuits all on one plate with a glass of orange juice to wash it down. But there is one breakfast food that tops the list. In my opinion, it is a perfect food. Crispy on the outside and light on the inside with wonderful pockets that are just the right size to hold lots of butter and syrup. They were one of the first things I taught myself to cook as a child, right after cinnamon toast. Yep, you guessed it, waffles. Great, delicious, extraordinary waffles, certainly not the ones you can pick up from the freezer section of your local grocery store. Those are hard as a brick and taste like cardboard. Now there are any number of recipes on the internet and in cookbooks but I happen to like this one the best. It’s a basic recipe using ingredients that you probably already have in the pantry. Waffle Batter Ingredients:2 cups all-purpose flour1 1/2 cups milk1/3 cup butter3/8 cup sugar4 teaspoons baking powder2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract1 teaspoon salt1/2 teaspoon almond extract2 eggs

Specialty Waffle Ingredients:Chocolate or peanut butter chipsFresh fruit (like blueberries)Dried, canned or frozen fruitSpices (like cinnamon)Pudding or Jello mixesChopped green onion and sun-dried tomatos Directions:Turn on the waffle maker and allow it to start preheating. If desired, use a small amount of cooking oil on a cloth to grease the waffle plates. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, sugar, salt and baking powder. Set aside. Using the microwave, melt the butter and lightly warm the milk. Pour both into a second bowl. Add the eggs, vanilla, and almond extract. Whisk just to break the yolks and blend the liquids. Pour the liquids into the larger bowl with the dry ingredients and mix everything together. Be careful not to over-mix, the lumps are natural and will not be in finished waffle. Depending on the size of your waffle maker, use either a 1/4 or 1/2 measuring cup to ladle the batter onto the preheated waffle maker. You can also use an ice-cream scoop, a ladle, or even pour directly from the bowl if yours has a spout. Follow the directions of your particular maker for the cooking times and reheating times. If you’re making a large batch, keep the waffles in a warm oven until you’re ready to eat. Now here’s the fun part. A waffle doesn’t have to be served with just

butter and syrup. And it doesn’t have to be a plain jane either. I like to make this batter and sprinkle toppings on the waffle right before I close the lid. Chocolate chips make an excellant addition as well as fresh fruit like blueberries. Dried, canned or even frozen fruit works well as long as it’s thawed, drained and chopped into small bits. Spices like cinnamon can be added to the batter to suit your individual taste. I’ve even tried adding a chocolate fudge flavored instant pudding mix which resulted in a great tasting chocolate waffle. Using a cherry gelatin mix turned out a very nice red colored waffle that kids would love. Keep in mind that when adding pudding and gelatin mixes, you may need to reduce some of the flour or add more milk to keep the consistancy of the batter. One of my more unusual waffle experiments involved making a

savory waffle with chopped green onion and sun-dried tomato. The results were spectatular and a new family favorite. Feel free to try fresh herbs and spices for a different approach. If you’re going to try making a savory waffle, eliminate the vanilla and almond extract from the recipe. Another idea is to make a savory waffle and cut it into breadsticks or make waffle pizza. Make the waffle and then add your favorite pizza toppings and pop in the oven.

Next time you’re in the mood for waffles, round up the family, mix the batter, and let your kids go wild making up crazy conconctions.

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Melissa has a Bachelors in Culinary Art from The Chef John Folse Culinary Institute. She lives in Chalmette, Louisiana with her boyfriend Eddie and their Bull Mastiff - Boxer Brutus. Melissa enjoys staring at gardening magazines in the hopes of one day having her own fruit and vegetable garden.

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IT’S ALL ABOUT THE

WAFFLE

Written by

Melissa Teoulet


November 6th - 7th, 2009 the Dorcheat Historical

association will be the host of “Marathon on Broadway”.

This dance marathon reminiscent of the dance

marathons that became fads during the depression

era will be a step literally back in time, with dancers

competing for the chance to win some big money! This

event will take place at the Minden Civic Center as a

fundraiser for the museum. The event will be open to the

public for viewing as well as participating. Participants

will be in 3 categories with dancers as young as 12

allowed to dance with a guardian’s permission. Prizes

awarded in all categories plus a Grand Prize of $1000

will be awarded to a lucky winner. Don’t miss lots more

fun and food for everyone. For more information please

contact Schelley Brown at 318-423-0192.

THE OLD FASHIONED

DANCE MARATHON

Main to Main Trade Days to

Celebrate 10th Anniversary

Main to Main Trade Days, 50 miles of food, fun, and shopping in Webster Parish Louisiana, will celebrate 10 years on November 6th and 7th 2009. The project is

coordinated by Minden and Springhill Main Streets. The event features art, crafts, flea markets, garage sales and food from the Arkansas line into Springhill Main Street, down highway 371 through Cullen, Porterville, Sarepta, Cotton Valley, Couchwood, Dixie Inn, highway 80 to Minden Main Street and down highway 371 to Sibley Main Street and south to the Webster Parish line. Hundreds of vendors bring their wares to sell at Main to Main. “Thousands of visitors travel to Webster Parish for this unique

shopping spree,” says Jan Corrales Springhill Main Street Director. “Some folks plan their vacation around the Main to Main event,” she adds. “Minden Main Street will feature art and food mixed with history as the community also commemorates the great depression during Main to Main weekend,” says Pattie Odom, Minden Downtown Development Director. There is no cost to participate; however vendors are asked to pre-register in order to be included in the event directory and also to receive

assistance in location setup. Main to Main Trade Days offers a great opportunity for commercial vendors, downtown businesses, non-profit groups, clubs, schools, churches, civic organizations and individuals. Call 318-539-5699, Jan Corrales or 318-371-4258, Pattie Odom, to receive a registration form and more information. Registration forms may also be downloaded at maintomain.com. Vendors are encouraged to register early.

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Minute MagS Society ection

the

1. Jerry & Katie Caskey; 2. Amie & Katelyn Roberts (Both photos were taken at the Foodbank of Northwest Louisiana’s Annual Empty Bowls Fundraiser); The beautiful home of Randy & Claudette Wright of Arcadia was the perfect July setting for the surprise 40th birthday celebration in honor of Rachel Cook: 3. Ginger Pickett, Claudette Wright, Vicki Caskey, Rachel Cook & Heather Gantt; 4. Clau-dette, Rachel & Randy; 5. Jeannie Washburn & Marti Burke; 6. Homer Humphreys and participants of the Richardson Elementary School 5th Grade Field Trip; 7. Sherry Wright, Peggy Ragus, Debbie Ragus Cook; 8. MaryAnn Tice, James Alexander (At The Independance Bowl announcement celebrating their new Title Sponsor Advocare)

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You may send your event photos to [email protected]!


the true confessions

of an

ANTIQUE JUNKIE

G r e e t i n g s to my fellow antiquers and junk collecting friends! Time for a quick review. Remember how Mike and I started our life together with hand-me-down furniture and eventually up-graded to pressed-board pieces right out of their cardboard boxes? Then we discovered a few primitives here and there and we were hooked. Especially after Mike’s grandmother gave us the old pie safe that her dad built and gave to her mother as a wedding gift. What a treasure!

Well, the story continues… not just with the pieces of furniture but with the house that “they” now call home. Similar to our furnishings, we started our life together with a hand-me-down house and worked our way up. Our very first place was a small 10 x 50 trailer house. It wasn’t too bad

considering we didn’t own much more than the clothes we wore. Next, we rented a house for a few months after we moved to a different location. Then we got the bright idea that we could “own” a mobile home instead of wasting all that money on rent. So within a year after we were married, we were living in a brand new mobile home. It was furnished with our new particle board furniture and of course the color scheme was peach and country blue. My “home décor” was ordered out of a small catalog where everyone took turns hosting home parties. Hearts, ducks and geese were popular themes back then. And so was life… in the mid-1980’s.

All that changed in 1992, the year we sold our “mobile mansion” and 6 acres of land and moved into town. We weren’t able to purchase a house at that time, so after months of searching we finally found an older home that we could afford to rent. It

was during our time in this house that our love of old furniture began to take root. That’s when we slowly-but-surely started to replace those pressed-board pieces that had no character with the one-of-a-kind treasures that we now cherish. After 3 years in that location we moved to Ruston for 4 months. Unfortunately, we had to sell a lot of our wonderful pieces that didn’t get to make the move with us.

In February of 1996 we moved back to Minden. The house we had previously rented was occupied by another family so we desperately searched for yet another rental home. We saw a house that looked empty and began to inquire. It was owned by an elderly couple that lived next door. The house was in such poor condition that they didn’t want to rent it at the time. And they were not physically able to do the work themselves. Mike and I are good at fixing things up and we took pride in the fact that we left the other

house we rented in better shape than it was when we moved in. We finally convinced the owners that we could get the house back in livable condition. And so…the journey began.

We rented the house for three years. By then, we had not only made friends with the elderly couple, but we had become their “adopted family”. In 1999, the owner was now a widow and no longer wanted the burden of rental property. She made us an offer to purchase the house since we had already invested so much time, energy and money into fixing it up. At last, we were real home owners! For the sake of “space” in my column… I can’t go into every detail, but I want to pause her for a minute to give God the glory for this event in our lives. There had been several unfortunate things that had happened along the way that led us to this point. At the time, we felt desperate and couldn’t understand where we had gone wrong as we tried to follow the path that we thought God was leading us down.


written byDonna Arender

I was so broken-hearted when I had to sell my “treasures” and move to Ruston. I never though that the plan God had for us would bring us back to Minden, to our faithful friends, and to be able to live in such a wonderful old home.

Our house is a Craftsman style built in 1924. It has all of the original construction with the exception of a second bath and a back porch that was probably added at a later date. One of the unusual features is that it has a door leading to the outside in EVERY room of the house with the exception of the kitchen and the two bathrooms. Of cours, this can be challenging in the arrangement of furniture in the rooms. One of the downfalls is that it only has two closets in the whole house. For a family of four, that took some creative thinking for storage… and we definitely couldn’t be pack rats!

We haven’t done any remodeling to the house, however there were some changes made by previous renters. Our landlord told us that the kitchen cabinets were the handy-work of one tenant who traded his labor for the rent he owed. Let’s just hope he didn’t owe too much rent because his carpentry skills were at a beginners level or below! The two bathrooms have the original claw foot tubs but the sinks and toilets have been replaced. The kitchen has a cast iron sink, also original to the house. Tucked away behind the sheet-rock are shiplap boards and the pinewood floors are still in tact. The living room has a fireplace and French doors which add to the southern charm and coziness of the room.

Having an older home is lots of work. It seems there is always something that needs to be repaired or improved. But the character that older homes possess just can’t be imitated by more modern ones. Old homes just seem to reek of charm, not to mention historic value. My old treasures, yard sale finds and antique bargains just wouldn’t be the same in a new house. Yes, they are much happier in a house that reflects their personality; old and worn but refined with dignity and honor. They proudly display themselves inside a home that has many stories to tell as they do. After all, this old house has been around for 85 years and has plenty of memories for each of the families that have ever called it home.

Our children were still young when we moved here. Michael was eight years old and McKensie was six. This will always be considered their childhood home. From Batman and Barbies, a playhouse and prom night, to graduation and grandbabies, these walls have recorded many family events. If only these old walls could really talk!

There are not a lot of changes I would make even if I could. I’d like to update the wiring and add extra insulation. An updated heating and air conditioning system would be nice, too. The changes would make it more energy efficient. As far as the interior, I’d love to take up the carpet and linoleum and refinish the wood floors in all the rooms. But, overall I’m happy with my little o’ house just the way it is. It’s just as plain and simple as I am.

One of my favorite things about the house is the “L” shaped wrap-around porch. We love to sit out in the rocking chairs and reminisce about the good times we’ve shared here. We spent many summer evenings playing the “car game” with our children as we watched traffic go by. These days you might get a glimpse of Mike and I out there rocking our grandson- wanting time to stand still because we know how fast those years fly by.

My kitchen, another favorite spot, is located in the center of the home. It has two big windows that look out into my flower garden. I love feeding the birds there every morning and each of the flowers has a memory to lend… from the friends and loved ones who shared them with me. My kitchen has been more than a host of family meals. It has seen my joys and my tears for the last 13 years. It has been a work station for tons of homework, several scrapbooks, plenty of coloring contests, and of course an assembly line for cupcakes and cookies. But most important, it allowed me a place to journal and spend my “quiet time” with God. It’s almost as much of a friend as it is just another room in the house.

There is a series of events that took place in our life to get us to this location. And I must say, some of them were not happy ones. At times, I doubted that we made the right choices, but we walked by faith, not by sight. Looking back, I know that God was leading the way. Today I feel so blessed to be living in my “dream home”. We have great friends and neighbors and we enjoy being caretakers of this wonderful old structure, until the next generation that will someday call it HOME.

In loving memory and

appreciation of Henry & Margaret Stamm (Landlords/owners who sold us the house.)


Confessions of aHormonal Woman:

Evidence andCrazy Talk

Crazy talk. I’ve heard that expression before. But Newsweek published an article about Oprah entitled “Crazy Talk,” and I was scared to read it.Why was I scared? My own personal experience with bioidentical hormones has made me a huge advocate. When Oprah revealed on national TV that bioidentical hormone therapy had worked for her, I was thrilled! “Maybe Oprah’s support will encourage her viewers to learn more about them,” I thought. “Maybe her media power will help open the closed minds of many traditional doctors and give them a reason to listen when their patients ask questions.” A week after it was published, I finally mustered up enough courage to read the article. It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. The article certainly had a negative tone, but it was more about Oprah’s power than bioidentical hormones.

Read the Newsweek article for yourself.

The most important thing we can do is think for ourselves. If you are reading this in print, look up the article on Newsweek’s website (“Best Life or Risky Advice?”, Newsweek, published 6/30/09), or follow our links to it from the Seasons website (www.seasonswc.com/confessions-of-a-hormonal-woman). The authors, Weston Kosova and Pat Wingert, point a finger at one major issue: Oprah has an unopposed platform to air her views and give credibility to whatever she chooses. That’s true. Oprah’s greatest accomplishment is her media power, through television, radio, print and her website. With that great power comes great responsibility. Mr. Kosova and Mr. Wingert work on the assumption here that Oprah has missed the boat on the responsibility part. And while I might agree with some (or even much) of what they said, I think they “threw the (bioidentical hormone) baby out with the bath water.”

Make medical decisions based on medical research and evidence.

There is definitely controversy on the topic of bioidentical hormones, and plenty of it: controversy between traditional medicine and a more progressive approach to medicine; controversy between drug companies and compounding pharmacists; even controversy between doctors and their patients. But there is also plenty of research and evidence that supports the use of bioidentical hormones. Loads of it, actually. Visit the Seasons website,www.seasonswc.com, and you will find numerous links to actual research articles. I encourage you to read for yourself! Bioidentical hormones are not the “solution of the week.” They are not a trend. Many out there are claiming bioidentical hormones are the cure for all that ails you. They are, however, a great solution for many women.

The Right Approach to Bioidentical Hormones Is Balance.

The key to weathering the hormonal storms of womanhood is balance: balance between what we eat and how much exercise we get; balance between work and play; balance between rest and activity.

We also need balance on the inside. Balance between estrogen, progesterone, testosterone, DHEA, cortisol, thyroid, and melatonin. When these hormones became imbalanced (as mine did), we develop symptoms: hot flashes, fatigue, mood swings, irritability, mental fog, weight gain, just to name a few. This may or may not have anything at all to do with menopause (mine was stress and pregnancy related). But once these hormones are back in balance, the symptoms diminish or disappear. And, oh, the bliss when the symptoms disappear! Don’t underestimate the value of just plain old “feeling good.” (Ladies, feel free to chime in with an Amen here!)

There Is No Blanket Prescription For Womanhood.

We can’t just take three pills and feel better (and if that doesn’t work, just get a hysterectomy). But that seems to be how modern medicine treats us. Think about it. We all have different bodies, different levels of hormones. These hormones are affected by environment, genetics, stress, pregnancy, etc. There’s no way my hormones and yours could be the same.

So why is it that many physicians want to prescribe the same treatment for all of us? Birth control pills and anti-depressants are the prescription du jour for women between 30 and menopause. And for the those dealing with the BIG change of seasons (menopause), the prescription du jour is synthetic hormones and (yes) anti-depressants. Don’t get me wrong, here. There are some who need an anti-depressant for true symptoms of depression. But as a blanket prescription for womanhood, anti-depressants are a bad idea.

In fact, my husband once told me a few years ago that I was the only wife

he knew who wasn’t taking an anti-depressant - he and his friends actually had this conversation. That’s not to say I wasn’t having mood-swings. I just flat-out refused to take an anti-depressant even though my physician at the time offered it as an option. I knew depression was not my issue. It was something else. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Individualized Treatment Results in Balanced Hormones.

My hormones were tested, and they were terribly out of whack. The doctor developed a therapy plan which included several varieties of bioidentical hormones according to my individual needs, and life changes like proper nutrition and exercise. After a period of time, they retested my hormones and adjusted my prescriptions. This cycle continues until the body returns to normal hormone levels with no bioidentical hormone support.

My course of treatment will soon come to an end. It has been nearly a two-year journey marked by gradual and noticeable improvement. I feel

by ElizabethDrewett


so much better now. And, girl, has it been interesting! I am so much more educated about my body and how it works.

I also have more courage. I stood up to “hearsay” with scientific evidence. I feel comfortable researching medical issues. I am aware that there are multiple sides to any story. I am confident I made the right choice for me.

Give Kudos To Courageous Women.

Right or wrong, Oprah and Suzanne Somers said, “Hey - traditional medicine isn’t working for us! Is somebody listening?” Many of us echo that sentiment. I’ve had multiple conversations with multiple doctors in different states about my health problems. No one seemed to have an answer other than those treatments du jour I mentioned earlier.

The fact is, Mr. Kosova and Mr. Wingert, women listen to Oprah because they identify with her. She listened to us. She is one of us. She came from nothing, worked hard,

made her dreams come true, and now helps her viewers and listeners accomplish their goals. She has challenged us to run marathons, read books, and ask questions. We listen when she asks questions! And we listen when she offers solutions. And this time, she found the same health solution that I did.

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Elizabeth Haynes Drewett: a hormonal woman. Her job: Marketing Director for Seasons, the medical practice of gynecologist Dr. Nathan Goodyear, and Seasons Medical Aesthetics with locations in Ruston and Monroe. Her training: journalism degree from LSU and a fine arts degree in piano performance from LA Tech University. Her life: wife of Ruston architect C.P. Drewett and doting mother to Langdon, age 10, and Reagan, age 4. Her passions: Miss Louisiana 1992, devoted her year of service to breast cancer education and the importance of early detection; lover of music, invested 10 years as piano teacher into the lives of the most wonderful kids in the world. Her favorite things: a good laugh, a good book, a good melody, and a good hair day.


The White Elephantby Galen

White

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A WRUNG OUT

MOM AND A

WRUNG OUT

CHICKEN

SNAKE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you remember your mom’s old outdoor clothesline... the one she screamed for you to run to and bring in the clothes ‘cause it had started to rain? The one that sun dried my blue jeans, and after mom had added bluein’ and starch to the wash, those jeans could stand on their own, were bullet proof, and by the time I got ‘em broke in enough to wear, turned my legs and Fruit of the Looms were denim blue? The same clothesline that Dixie, my dog, just couldn’t resist jumpin’ up to and catchin’ a pants leg or dress hem in her mouth and pullin’ them down to the ground? As many times as mom threatened to “skin that dog alive”, I knew she wouldn’t ‘cause she knew just how much Dixie and I meant to each other.

I also remember the old wringer type washin’ machine sittin’ out on the back porch of our old house. It’s the same ol’ washin’ machine that taught a six year old a very valuable lesson, as well as left me with one of my fondest and funniest memories.

Now, a wringer washin’ machine had two rollers that pressed against each other, tight enough to squeeze water out of a dress, shirt, or pants, and leave ‘em

flatter’n a pancake. I always thought the clothes that had been run through the wringer looked funny, and reminded me of cartoon characters who had been run over by a steam roller.

I really don’t think I have to ‘splain further about my valuable lesson ‘cause you are right. Ol’ Galen had to find out if my hand would be flat if I put it in the wringer. The answer is no. It didn’t come out flat. But my fingers came out skint up and sorer’n if I had hit ‘em with a sledge hammer! I don’t recollect laughin’ a’tall!

The funniest memory came from the mid to late 1950’s, when my mom washed (and ran through the wringer) a chicken snake. No, she didn’t hang it out on the clothesline to dry, but it’s safe to say the snake nearly hung my mother out to dry.

Back during the winter, my mom’s sister who lived in Dallas, Aunt Della, had given mom a hand-me-down summer dress. Mom rolled the dress up and put it in our clothes closet, which was nothin’ but the corner of a room, hidden behind a sheet draped over a rope which was tied between two nails in opposin’ walls. It was forgotten until this late spring day when she decided it was time to prepare the dress for wearin’. This, of course, meant washin’ and hangin’ it out on the clothesline.

Mom gathered up the clothes, along with the dress, and placed it in the agitator part of the washin’ machine where it agitated for a while in the hot, soapy water. A few minutes later, she picked up the edge of the dress and fed it through the wringer. From there, she put it in the clean, hot water, rinsed it around, and fed it again through the wringer.

That’s about the time she figured somethin’ wasn’t right ‘cause the dress “felt lumpy” to her. So she grabbed the dress by its hem and gave it a good shakin’. And that’s when the chicken

snake hit the floor.Now, I’m convinced the snake was wonderin’ if he was bein’ punished for what his ancestor did in the Garden of Eden – you know, convincin’ Adam he could eat of the forbidden fruit. Regardless of whether or not that was the case, the snake lit a shuck for the kitchen and slithered underneath the chifferobe.

I was about five or six years of age, and was sittin’ on the floor right up against the screen door that led out onto the front porch and yard, playin’ with what few worn out toys I had. My thoughts were deeply into drivin’ a truck when a faint noise interrupted my play. The noise came from the back porch where mom was washin’ clothes, and grew in volume and intensity along with the footsteps tramplin’ on the old wooden floor.

All of a sudden mom came blastin’ through the livin’ room, blew by me like a runaway freight train, shoved the screen door open to the point the hinges almost reversed themselves, and sailed out into the front yard never settin’ foot

on the eight to ten feet of wooden porch between the door and yard!

Now, even as young as I was and after many folks had told me there was no such thing as the boogie man, I wasn’t completely convinced he didn’t exist. And mom, bein’ the fine Christian lady she was, hadn’t really helped me in this matter by tellin’ me the devil WAS real! When I realized the guttural scream was comin’ from Mom, I commenced to lookin’ ‘round for the boogie man or Satan himself! Neither one of which I really wanted to come face to face with.

A few seconds later when neither of the disciples from Hades appeared, I tried to fig’er out what my mom was screamin’ about. It soon registered that she was screamin’, “SNAAAAAAKKEEEEE! SNAKE! SNAKE! OOOHHHHHH, LORD HAVE MERCY, SNAAAAAAKEEE!!!. Well, I hadn’t seen no snake, so I stepped out on the porch to offer whatever consolin’ I could. It didn’t matter none ‘cause Mom was out of it. Oh, she hadn’t fainted or nothin’, it was just that nothin’ else in the world could penetrate her fear. Everything else simply didn’t exist.

After a couple of minutes gatherin’ her wits – which seemed to me to be scattered at least a couple miles in every direction – Mom regained her composure and lit a shuck down to the field where Jerry, my brother, was diskin’. He came back with her, got the .22 rifle, loaded a round of rat shot, and killed the snake. Although the snake was skint up a good bit (and up until that time, the snake had been very much alive) it most likely would have lived to steal another egg had Jerry not put an end to it.

Mom lived over the incident, but I could tell she never really liked to talk about it. Like I said, the snake and mom both had been through the wringer!

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aug sept 09 issue

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