Ponderations From the Back Porch

I am really excited to have a new Wednesday's Guest here to share with us a bit of homespun philosophy. Roy Faubion is a retired radio broadcaster, and he has written a number of columns for newspapers throughout his professional career. Roy has agreed to share, from time to time, some of his "ponderings" as he refers to his writing, and I am very grateful for that. So, without further ado, let's welcome Roy as he tells us the story of his Uncle Ed. Since Father's Day was this past Sunday, I thought the topic quite fitting.

Out on the back porch on a summer morning in Texas, we still have our cup of "joe" to start the day, so here is a cup for you. and a little something sweet to go with it. Enjoy.....

I think my image of tough men did not include tiny little flowers, lady bugs and raindrops, but Uncle Ed forever changed my thoughts on that summer day so long ago. Just the two of us - Uncle Ed and me, sitting on the grassy slope of the ranch near a tiny rivulet.

A main reason for my image of a real he-man type person was formed by my admiration for Uncle Ed. He was a cowboy. Tall, hands made of calluses from dark early to dark late physical work required just to keep the ranch going day to day. I knew him to be a loving man, a God-fearing man, a true man’s man.

There we were, nine year old me and Uncle Ed, taking time out from repair work on barbed wire fencing just to breathe in the air and watch for little animals that may be scampering about. A time of bonding, that special moment all boys seek. Truly, it was a slice of my life destined forever to remain in my memory. My uncle reached slowly out to a grass stem an arm’s stretch away and allowed a ladybug to crawl on his finger. Showing me the pretty little bug he cautioned me to never harm a ladybug. They are very important little creatures, he told me.

Gently he pointed to a little flower so tiny I had not noticed its existence.  It was so very small, yet to Uncle Ed it was a work of art. He explained to me how beauty is everywhere, if we only take time to look for it, from mighty oak trees to the tiniest whisper of a flower, all contributing to our world.

About that time a raindrop fell on my face. Uncle Ed explained to me how the heaviest rainfall is really a team effort of little water drops, combining to bring life to every living being, both animal and vegetable, on the ranch.

That day I grasped the real meaning of having a purpose. Uncle Ed, tough as a boot and gentle as a breeze, gave me understanding of what life is about. Alone we may not seem to be much. But together we can make a difference, just as the little flowers, the little bugs and the little raindrops quietly go about their business making our world a better place.

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MORE ABOUT ROY
Roy has written columns for small-town newspapers for most of  his adult life. The first column was entitled Around The Sagebrush. Second was The Clodkicker. Finally, he arrived at a title and concept with which he is most comfortable, Ponderations from the Back Porch. Through the years of being a radio announcer (preceding the term Disc Jockey) and years of news reporting, and doing all the other jobs in the industry, he racked up enough experiences to shape a column of thoughts, remembrances, and often, true stories. He is married to Dr. A. Janet McGill, retired educator, and both are active members of their church. They are also members of the North East Texas Choral Society, a 100 plus member performance choir in Sulphur Springs, Texas.

Great Thinkers

I hope everyone had a fun and safe Memorial Weekend. Today, Memorial Day, we take a moment to stop and remember all of the people dear to us who are no longer near to us. This is my moment. Pause.

Okay, now we really do need a bit of humor from Slim Randles. Enjoy....

When, in the course of rural events, it becomes necessary to straighten out the world situation, invent a new gadget, or provide for the common fishing good, there are two venues: coffee or the hunker.

It struck Dud out at the sales barn the other day. No coffee, therefore no choice. All the signs were there. He turned quiet and he started checking the weed margins for a grass blade.

In a hunker, two props are necessary: a stick and a blade of grass. Oh, sometimes straw is substituted, but it's kinda like trading your French fries for cottage cheese on the lunch special: they'll do it, but it isn't the same.

Dud found a good stick, finger thick, about a foot long. Cottonwood, maybe. Then he found a tall blade of orchard grass, broke it until it was hunker length, and stuck it in his mouth. Doc and I, having witnessed these events, began looking for our own grass blades, albeit reluctantly. Our knees aren't as young as Dud's.

That's when Dud went headlong into Phase Three. Grass... check. Stick ... ten-four. Phase Three, the right location.

Dud began turning slowly, checking the ground beneath his feet, lining up with the azimuth in just the right way so as to maximize his powers, keeping the sun in the proper location to light his face while not causing his own eyes to squint. Slowly he turned, like a mare about to choose her foaling bed, then a silent string was pulled in Dud's mind, releasing the knees, and he dropped down into a proper country hunker.

Doc and I stuck our grass between our teeth and - with occasional moans - followed suit.

Dud silently brushed a clean slate of dirt in front of him and doodled on it.

"Been thinking," he said.

Doc and I nodded and checked the doodle to see if we could recognize anything about the design. Nope.

"I think, Dud said, "if we could just irrigate more, we'd get more rain."
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Brought to you by your friends at Cabela’s  www.cabelas.com remind you to take a kid fishing with you this spring.

Homespun Philosophy and Fans

A long time ago when asked in an interview why I want to be a writer I voiced grand and noble ideals about the power of the written word to impact society. "If the words I write," my answer continued, "can make just one person laugh or cry, think or question, then I will have accomplished something significant."

Well, I must admit the basic dishonesty of that answer. Yes indeed, I've always wanted to stir emotions and challenge minds.  But of just one person? Let's be real here, Will Rogers did not attain national prominence with an audience of one.

I've always liked Will Rogers, and coming from a long line of homespun philosophers myself, I've felt a kinship with his ability to bring a a down-home, simplistic approach to complex issues. When I first started writing a personal column for a Dallas newspaper I thought if I really tried I could develop that same style and speak out as a modern-day version of that great sage.

Pretty nervy of me, huh?

Now in my more mature years, I can chuckle at the brashness and idealism of that youthful vision. Maybe I had more nerve than good sense back then, and sometimes I wonder if I still have that disparity.

While I never gained national prominence with that column, I did touch a few minds and hearts, and that was a source of great satisfaction. Not too long ago I ran across a  letter I received from a reader. The letter started "This is a fan letter," and was signed. "Your friend, Charlie." I never got to meet Charlie, even though he continued to send me letters over a period of several years, but his gesture early in my writing career meant a lot.

It still does, these many years later. It was my very first fan letter.