Toy Story—Western Style

My sweet friend and her 16-month daughter were coming for a visit one day this week. I dug deep in the upstairs closet for toys that she might like. Most of the little dolls looked like they needed a trip to the washing machine. Then I saw it!

The grand toy of my children's early days. My daddy gave this to my son when he was four or so. A Vintage Ertl Chevy Titan Bronco Bustin' Rodeo Set, made in the 70s and 80s. Under the influence of daddy (Hayley Dandridge), Jason was a cowboy for a time.

This thing sells for $299 new in the box. Mine is
not in new condition and I'm sure didn't
cost that in 1980.

Here is the description I found on eBay.

 Of course mine is not in pristine condition. But take a close look. This big rig trailer was meant to haul four horses and had a furnished living quarters including a bed, swivel captain's chair, dinette table, and a sofa.

I want you to know that I have never had a trailer like that. Notice the bucking bull and horse, rodeo clown, and barrel.Those are long gone from my house. You see there was a problem. I guess the bucking animals were supposed to be played with outside of the trailer. But they had to get there somehow, right?

Well to a small cowboy, they needed to go inside the trailer. The animals were bigger than the trailer, but by George, he got them in there. Some went in the back door of the trailer sideways, and some went through the sunroof in the top of the trailer. Maybe that's why they lost legs and I don't have them anymore.

The top of the trailer has a crack where he or one of his evil sisters tried to ride on top of if. The girls pretended it was a fancy horse show trailer, so they didn't need bulls and bow-legged cowboys.

Jason did, indeed, go through the cowboy stage. For a while he only wanted to wear jeans and boots....cause Granddaddy did. No shorts for him.

He roped and rode every piece of furniture in our house. His poor stuffed horse, Brown, took a lot of abuse. We still have him too. His neck is broken and he is missing an eye.

Here's Jason  in "perfect riding posture" on Tiger the pony. Next my little red-headed cowboy and me on High Spots Tobie, our all-time favorite horse.

Jason continued to ride on and off until his early teens when he realized his true talent on the baseball field and basketball court.

I know people my age sometimes dwell too much on the past. But sometimes when you find a vintage rodeo trailer, you find a little pocket of happiness. I didn't shed a tear.

Jason and his wife Janice. Thay live in Memphis, where
they operate Senior Care Management Solutions. They have a daughter,
Caroline Dandridge Gibert, and a grown son Riley Allen.

Thanks for the memories.........

For those of us who are followers of Ernie Brents’ Facebook page, we have seen dozens of precious memories of Senatobia from days gone by, from the mid-1800s up to now. Pardon me if I use Ernie’s page to editorialize a bit, but these old photos have made me do some thinking.

Are we leaving downtown Senatobia with local businesses that our children and grandchildren will remember fondly?  Will they eat at a place like Roy’s Café, watch local craftsman like Lee Neal repair a boot, or walk to town to shop at Ben Franklin or with Mrs. Ruby Lyon at Volunteer Grocery? 

Even though those businesses are long gone, Senatobia is beginning to see growth in downtown. Just recently we have seen a beautiful mural come to life on the side of the old Varner’s Building, the future home of Community Pharmacy and Soda Fountain thanks to funds from the city and painted by artist Cristen Barnard. With funding from Sycamore Arts, another mural by artist Vitus Shell graces the wall of the Pocket Park at the corner of Main and Ward. 

Tate Nutrition, which sells nutritious teas and drinks, also opened its doors on Main Street.

On Front street, The Delta Steakhouse opened in the building formerly occupied by The Loft, and in my day, home for the Mississippi State Extension programs and U.S. Soil Conservation Service. Next door Is the beautiful home décor space of Wheat and Willow. This building had many other occupants including a funeral home, flower shop, and in the early days an Opera House.

The Five Star City Fest is growing each year, Market on Main is in its second year, and Movie Night in Gabbert Park is a hit. Thanks Senatobia Main Street. So….looks to me like we are leaving our children with a downtown that will spark sweet memories down the road.

And my second point is…Ernie tells me his collection of historical photos and memorabilia were collected from old newspaper clippings, found on microfiche, downloaded from the internet, and in old yearbooks.

With small hometown papers dying across the country, what historical documents are we leaving?  All across the country people have collected newsprint clippings from of their son’s little league team, award-winning vegetables and livestock, groundbreaking ceremonies for churches and buildings, and countless more events. These occasions may not have been national news material, but they are stored in frames, scrapbooks, old trunks and boxes belonging to people who treasured them.

I’m not against new technology. And I think that looking at the events of the past keeps us grounded and tells us who we are, but we also need to look at today and into the future. Where will people a half century from now find a photo of a church built in the 2000s, or an article describing a Garden Club meeting that their Great Aunt had held at her home….maybe a home that doesn’t exist.

Hats off to the remaining small papers, especially the Tate Record. And thanks for the memories Ernie Brents and David Grisham’s Senatobia History and Landmarks Facebook page.

PS: If I left out a new business, forgive me.

Plague invades north Mississippi

We read in the Bible about the seven plagues of Egypt. Not to make light of blood, frogs, lice, boils and such, but I think we have a new plague in this part of Mississippi......STICKERS! Last year we had stickers, but not like this. Until then, I can't remember battling the pesky little things. They are actually burweed or spurweed.

I have been taking a survey of all my neighbors.  "Do you have stickers?"
"Yes!" they usually respond.

These are not just little prickly pests. They hurt, they draw blood, they make grown men cry. The jump off the ground and attach their burs to your toes if you are wearing sandals or crocks. You need snake boots to water the lawn.

What's worse, is that they invade the house. You can check the bottom of your shoes and see the burs imbedded in your athletic shoes, sandals, and especially flip flops.

And once in the house, look out!  They are stuck in the rug and bath mat. Then they get in the clothes hamper, and before long they are in the laundry and your underwear.  OUCH!

According to The University Georgia the plants are native to coastal Georgia. The seeds must have come in on the wind. From what I've read and been told, it is too late to do much about it this year. This winter when we have forgotten about them, we need to spray a pre-emergent to stop next year's crop.

All we can do this year is to cut the grass really close with a bagging mower and water the good grass really well.

Warning! Once they turn from green to brown they are really deadly. Besides stopping running children in their tracks, they also get between your dog's toes and make them look like a sad hound even if they are a curly poodle.

Good luck with your stickers. We might all need waders before this is over.

Listen to the music of the night

From the back porch you can see our shop and horse barn
thanks to our security light. If you live in the country,
you just need a security light.

I've been sitting on my back porch with little Ellie the Silky Terrorist for her last visit outside for the night. She is mesmerized by the sounds—I like to call it my night music. She forgets why we are out there. Cash the lab is asleep in his Igloo doghouse with only his nose sticking out. Jilly, the shepherd I got from the shelter, is standing at the gate, ready to play. She has enjoyed this cold winter. Every time I come outside, she assumes her play position—rear end in the air, front end down, tail wagging, and she's smiling. She is 10 this year, but when it is cold, she plays like a puppy. When it's Mississippi hot, she moves with her head down and pants every breath. You would too if you had to wear a white fur coat that weighs 10 pounds.

So, while I'm waiting on Ellie to focus and remember why we are out there, I listen. A few nights ago I heard a female fox. We have heard the scream before, but this one was especially loud and really close. By the time I ran upstairs to get my phone to record it, of course, she quit screaming. It sounds like a damsel in distress shrieking out by the propane tank. I'll try to get a sample recording before the season is over.

Speaking of seasons.......Every frog in Tate County is down at my lake and they are all singing. If this means what I think it means, well, I don't want to think about it. I can just see all the tiny frogs-to-be dipping and diving in my swimming pool before long.

Looking into the dark with her special night vision is Lilly, the dilute calico cat. She is 14 and has never sat in my lap. My daughter found her in a wood pile, abandoned by her mother. When they moved, she didn't want to take her with them. My daughter is a dog person, not a cat lover. Her first word was DOG, not MOM. So, Lilly came to live with me. She has always been skittish. After all these years she will let me scratch her on the head. One move of my finger past her ears, and she's gone. When I go walking she follows about 10 steps behind me. If I stop suddenly and turn around, she freezes and looks away, like she is embarrassed that I caught her being somewhat social.

Almost time to go in when I hear a horse snort right at the backyard fence. This gray, wet, muddy winter has been hard on the two horses. My barn has been in a state of renovation, so I haven't been able to put them up on stormy nights. "What do you think the wild Mustangs do when it storms?" says my non-horsey husband. "They get hit by lightening," I reply. Come on spring, I say.

The horses look horrible, like big goats. Since the weather has been so cold, they grew extra hair. The long hairs under their chinny chin chins looks like a beard. They roll in the mud at least once a day. I dream of clipping their ears and giving them a warm soapy bath. "Quit being horse show Nancy," says one of my friends. "Be trail riding Nancy." I say, "Life is too short to ride an ugly, hairy horse."

My Memphis daughter-in-law is right—it is loud out here. Besides the sounds my animals and frogs make, I hear my neighbor's coon dogs baying. A distant siren blares, making my big dogs throw their heads back and sing. I'm so blessed to have night music and country dark. It makes my stars brighter.

Book two set to hit shelves early April

My new book, The Bargain, the prequel to The Carving Place, is in the proofreading stage. When I did the math to figure out how old Characters Asa Sinclair and Paulette would have been when this story began, I landed on the 1967-69 time frame.

Wow.  I started to include some of the cultural, political, musical situations that marked that landscape of time. There were too many. True rock and roll was new, culture was marked by experimental drugs, and free love.

Where were you in 1968? I was only 13, but was already feeling the influence of the music.

Instead of focusing on a cultural history lesson, I chose to weave just a little of it into the story so you knew where you were in time. I let Paulette Toliver, Asa Sinclair, and a host of new characters tell their own stories.

If you read The Carving Place, the new book is a prequel, telling you the story of Buck's mother Paulette and how he came to live with the Sinclairs.

I'm dedicating this book to the friendships of women, especially the relationship between and older woman and a young girl. I can't say more or I will spill the beans. Read The Carving Place before you read The Bargain.  The story will be more meaningful.

I hope to have the new book out around the first of April. So, get ready. Turn on the lamp on your bedside table and get ready for a night of reading. That's about how long it will take you to finish it. But I hope the characters of Paulette, Asa, Merry Bell, and Winston stay with you a long time.

I never tire of a good journalism flick, especially this one

I'm watching the 1976 movie All the President's Men for the umpteenth time. It helps if I let a few years lapse between viewings so that I can be blown away by the beautiful, raw, journalism that is demonstrated by Washington Post reporters Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) and Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) as they blow the Watergate scandal wide open.

Woodward and Bernstein

Robert Redford as Woodward and Dustin Hoffman as Carl Bernstein
walkerart.org  no copywriter infringement intended

In case you don't remember or were born before or near 1973, The Watergate scandal was a major political scandal that occurred in the United States during the early 1970s, following a break-in by five men at the Democratic National Committee (DNC) headquarters at the Watergate office complex in Washington, D.C. on June 17, 1972, and PresidentRichard Nixon's administration's subsequent attempt to cover up its involvement. After the five burglars were caught and the conspiracy was discovered—chiefly through the work of a few journalists, Congressional staffers and an election-finance watchdog official ^[1]—Watergate was investigated by the United States Congress. Meanwhile, Nixon's administration resisted its probes, which led to a constitutional crisis and the ultimate resignation of the President.

Watch trailer below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLt6djxhNe8


This movie takes me back to the summer of 1973 when I was asked to be a news intern at WNJC, the NPR-affiliated station of then Northwest Mississippi Junior College. I had no longer finished exams than I started working with News Director Ann Muchmore,who taught me how to rip and read Associated Press copy, how to search for local, small-town news, get sound bites and much more. We didn't have long because May 17, 1973 the station began carrying gavel to gavel coverage of the Watergate hearings. They continued until Aug. 7, 1973—just in time to go back to class.

We never played a record all summer except at night after the hearings had adjourned for the day.

Later I worked with Dr. Ann Whitten, journalism instructor and director of Public Relations. She loved to show her journalism students a few good movies that she hoped would inspire them to be good reporters. All the President's Men was at the top of the list.

If we can get past the changes in the way the news was gathered in 1973 compared to today, we can still be inspired. The reporters' cubicles were armed with reporter's notebooks, rotary dial phones, dozen's of phone books for every city imaginable, and other research materials, cascading off the small desks. No click of a mouse to verify the spelling of a name or exact wording of a person's title. There was a lot of checking, rechecking, and verifying.

As soon as they interviewed a source, furiously taking notes in their spiral bound notebooks.....name, date, spelling of name, title, quote, any other background information, any phone numbers or references....They grabbed a form and furiously typed their notes to be kept in a file to be used when they began the first draft on the story.

Some of the quotes are classic.

"Ben Bradlee: Now hold it, hold it. We're about to accuse Haldeman, who only happens to be the second most important man in this country, of conducting a criminal conspiracy from inside the White House. It would be nice if we were right. 

(Ben Bradlee was the executive editor of The Washington Post from 1968 to 1991.^[1] He became a national figure during the presidency of Richard Nixon, when he challenged the federal government over the right to publish the Pentagon Papers and oversaw the publication of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein's stories documenting the Watergate scandal.) Wikipedia.com

"Ben Bradlee: Bernstein, are you sure on this story?
Carl Bernstein: Absolutely.
Ben Bradlee: Woodward?
Carl Bernstein: I'm sure.
Ben Bradlee: I'm not. It still seems thin.
Howard Simons: Get another source."

I didn't learn much about writing news that summer, but I learned a lot by listening. When the movie came out three years later, I was fascinated.  Still am.  Journalists of today should take note. 

Pray for Poplar, Montana

The view looking out our window in the house where we stayed with 25 other
volunteers. Air mattresses on every inch of floor space. 

A caravan of trucks, trailers, and cars traveled two days to the Fort Peck Indian Reservation, to Poplar, Montana, July 19-28 to conduct a four-day Wrangler Camp for kids. Bryant Lane Cowboy Church in Sarah, Three Trees Cowboy Church in Wynne, Ark., and Damascus Road Cowboy Church in Clinton, Ark., sent groups on the road for a brutal two-day travel to the Sioux Nation.

Each day started much like any Vacation Bible School. Kids were registered, contact information—if they had any—collected, then they were given granola bars and a juice box. Second step, inspection and treatment for head lice. Seventy-five percent were positive.

When we provided lunch, we noticed that many children came back and asked for an extra hamburger or hotdog to take home. We found food hidden all around the camp that they intended to come back for later to take to their siblings or caretaker.

Cowboys and cowgirls divided into eight teams led by trail bosses as the youth navigated eight activity stations. These included four horse riding stations, a mechanical bull, archery, shooting gallery, and a stop for a devotion. Who thought cowboys from Mississippi and Arkansas would go to Montana to teach Native Americans to shoot a gun and a bow and ride a horse?  Times have changed.

Roy Wooten at the shooting gallery.  

These kids have no hope!
Life on the remote Fort Peck Indian Reservation in northern Montana has all the ingredients for sex trafficking -- poverty, isolation, joblessness and violence, topped with an epidemic of crystal meth addiction. http://www.thedickinsonpress.com/news/crime-and-courts/4034703-fueled-drugs-sex-trafficking-reaches-crisis-montana-reservation

Most kids live with a "grandma" sometimes not related by blood, but someone who took them in.  Parents are meth addicts or alcoholics, are in jail, or just don't care. The traditional family is almost non-existent. Teen suicide is the highest in the nation in this community. There has been another young man lost to suicide since we left.

The mechanical bull was a favorite
at the camp and at the block party.

Day one of the camp, the youth were distant, stoic, hesitant to interact.  On day four they cried when we left.  We did too.

Two nights we hosted Block Parties at the Blue Church in town, a small Baptist Church with a membership less than 20.  Sunday services there were an experience we won't soon forget. We got to meet some families and members of the community. They came out for free food, cotton candy, rides on the mechanical bull.

The last night we had a special performance by the Pretty Little Feather Dancers. They dressed in traditional ceremonial regalia accompanied by singers and drummers. We even got to join them in the friendship dance. (pics to be posted in next article)

There is so much more to this story.  I'll be sharing more as I have time to process it.  In the meantime, pray for Poplar, Montana.

Rhydale LeMarr gave about 400 rides around the pen
before the week was over. An average of 144 kids a day
attended the camp.

Twins Rider and River were a
challenge to say the lease. Here
one of the boys can't wait
to get a hug from his
trail boss Rip Copeland
at the first Block Party.



Photos by Nancy Patterson
and Rip Copeland

Cotton candy at the block party.

Block party at the blue church.

Teresa Copeland, Olivia DeMuth, Pastor Tracy Wilson, and
Pastor Woody Key worship at the Blue Church.

Chastain, Greyeyes shine in Woman Walks Ahead

It's too hot to do anything except watch movies or read. Today Woman Walks Ahead came out in theaters and pay per view on DISH.  This is the story of Catherine Weldon (Jessica Chastain), a New York painter, who goes out west to paint the legendary Lakota Sioux Chief Sitting Bull (Michael Greyeyes).

Greyeyes and Chastain wow us as Catherine and Sitting Bull.
Richard Foreman/tiff

Westerns have made a comeback lately. I'm thrilled, or I was until last week. I set my DVR to catch the entire TVminiseries Yellowstone.  Oh. my. goodness. I didn't make it through the first episode. It was terrible.  Kevin Costner what were you thinking?  When picking projects it's hit or miss with Costner.

We all loved him in Dances With Wolves and then there was Waterworld.  See what I mean?

Weldon Portrait of Sitting Bull
indiana.com

Oh, back to the saga of Catherine and Sitting Bull. It gives you a little history lesson. After all Sitting Bull was not as docile as he seems in the movie. He did lead the massacre of George Armstrong Custer and his men at the Battle of Little Big Horn.

Jessica Chastain shows us again the versatility of her acting. You will remember her from Zero Dark Thirty and The Help. Greyeyes is a Canadian actor, a Plains Cree. He is trained in classical ballet and is a graduate of the National Ballet School. His movie credits include The Dreaming, Dance Me Outside and many more.

Catherine Weldon
teaser-trailer.com

Catherine went on to be a champion for Native American rights through the National Indian Defense Association.  This movie gets a four in my book. I'm not giving up on well-done, well-written, beautifully-shot, and well-casted movies to tell the stories of the American West.

Delta rain

I stay in my little area of Mississippi—the rolling hill country of North Mississippi—so much that I forget how beautiful other parts of the state are. Only 35 miles from my back door you drop off into the Mississippi Delta—flat, treeless, but beautiful in its own right.  Land of the field hollers, birthplace of the Delta Blues, home for the rich and poor, and landscapes all its own. Driving back home today I saw rain in the distance but never felt a drop, then looking in the other direction experienced one of the most beautiful full rainbows I've ever seen—the sign of a promise. Only a few raindrops fell.