I’m old enough to remember the drought in Texas during the 1950s; it cost my grandfather and every farmer in his township their crops until a small shower dumped almost 8 inches of rain one night. The town of Santa Anna, Texas, had prayed for a miracle, and it came. Just enough to save some of the crops, but many had already lost their farms to the banks, sold their cattle, and given up, moving to Fort Worth to work menial jobs.
My Grandfather was too much of an old hard-ass to do that. He figured Johnson grass was good for something, so he cut it and sold it for hay, at a discount to his friends. Cotton, grain, corn, maize, nothing would grow. No rain, no plants. It wasn’t the 1930s, but it was too close, and they survived those years as well.
Days of playing on the farm, 100-degree-plus temperatures, it was so hot the Rattlesnakes wouldn’t come out, or for us to shoot them with our BB Guns. The chickens weren’t laying, Granny wasn’t making money on eggs, and my grandfather, Papa, had crops that shriveled away like a neglected plant on a hot windowsill. The cows were constantly thirsty, which kept the windmill pumping the well full-time whenever there was a breeze. The stock tanks were dry and cracked; there wasn’t even enough mud for a crawdad to survive.
The farmhouse had no air conditioning; no one had that in those times. It was windows open, pray for a breeze to dampen the sheets at night, and hope to wake up the next morning without the Mountain Boomers stealing you from your sweat-soaked bed. It was a slice of hell on earth, but my cousins and I were young kids, and it didn’t affect us the same as it did our families. I didn’t notice the worry and desperation in my grandparents’ eyes as they went about their chores. I happily shot chickens and snakes with my BB Gun. Children are often clueless about adult misery.
To me, my grandparents were old. They were in their early sixties at that time, so that was ancient. They both looked twenty years older than their actual age: wrinkled, sun-baked, and worked to the bone. A hard life produces a hard exterior
I was six, on the forefront of my life’s journey. A city boy raised by a country mother and city father, playing country kid in the summer. It wasn’t Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, but it came close. They both worked from daylight to dark hoeing weeds, trying to keep what they could alive, suffered monetary problems that would drive a man to drink, and would count change to buy food at the small local grocery store that was less than any convenience store we have today. Whatever food they could grow was immediately canned for the winter or eaten that day. Those good old days, the 1950s, weren’t all that good, looking back now. At the edge of Seventy-Seven years old, I’ve outlived my grandfather by more than a decade. But he thought he was healthy until he wasn’t. Years of cooking everything in lard and saved Bacon grease took its toll on his system, and he died young from a long list of medical issues. Clogged this, hardened that, bad heart, diabetes, you name it, he had it. I personally thought it was all the chicken. All of their children were on their own with families, so no one wanted the farm. Granny sold it for a pittance, moved into a small public housing unit in town, and finished out her life there. The days of the farm and the misery of the drought years of the 1950s are all behind us now.
This relentless heat and drought in Texas give me pause to remember my childhood summers. I’m old now and remember the good times, but this heat and drought bring it all home. The good old days.
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Thanks for that perspective. Compared to our grandparents we’re all wimps.
Yes, I think we are. I was out for less than two hours, and Momo thinks I had a TI and almost took me to the ER. I’m out early this morning with the Copperheads. People back then were made from different stock, their DNA was different, and their mental attitude was shaped by the depression years. They were all born in the late 1800s so that has much to do with it.
It has definitely been a HOT one this year, Phil. You’re right (of course!) about children being clueless about their elders’ anxieties and miseries. I think our elders back then kept quiet about such things, too. But, yep, great memories of childhood summers, for sure.
Some of my best and worst summers were spent on that farm. I was bitten by a rattlesnake, but the fangs didn’t penetrate my Sears and Roebuck jeans, so I was ok. I shot the little shit with a shotgun. As I grew older, I worked alongside my grandpa, and only then did I realize how hard a life they led. It was 109 yesterday, and that’s more than a Texan can take.
Those were some tough years your grandparents had to endure. Thanks for sharing your memories of a time when you worked for every grain of corn your family ate.
They didn’t complain about it, just went with what life handed them: both tough old folks. I endured it, but kids can take anything and turn it into a game or a fantasy. Not so much anymore. My mother told me stories that were so depressing they made me cry like a child ( which I was). Farming is the hardest work there is, espcially when nature ignores you.
God bless the farmers. 🙏👨🌾👩🌾🙏
Now, more than ever, Nancy. To me, it seemed almost everyone in our families was a farmer in one way or another, all connected to the earth. Both grandfathers and grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins all grew up and worked on farms. Sure, they were tired of the endless labor and left for the big city to make a career and more money, but secretly, they all missed the farm. My mother, after a few glasses of wine, would always tell me this. I even had a farm at one time in the 70s and raised cattle in Paris, Texas, so the circle is not unbroken.
Have you read the Elmer Kelton book, “The Time It Never Rained”? It was recommended to me by my friend in Llano and was definitely an enjoyable read. Your post today reminded me of that book, Phil. My friend in Hill Country is also suffering the extreme heat, as are our rear-round friends in our park in the RGV. It looks to be Texas wide. You’ll soon be heading north and hopefully a reprieve from the heat.
I talked with my son on North Padre yesterday. He said this is the most miserable summer he’s had, and he’s been going there since 1980 and has lived there for 10 years. He said the Gulf is like a hot bath, so that doesn’t help. The RGV needs rain soon. There is a hurricane in the gulf but it looks like it will hit MS or Alabama.
I don’t like the sounds of a hurricane, unless it dumps some (but not too much) of the much needed water inland. Is that asking a lot?
My son’s been through 2 in 10 years and has not suffered much damage. All the lakes in Corpus are full, but the valley is still hurting. Need a good blow with lots of rain, and then bring it on up to North Texas.
One year our air went out when I was around 12 during the summer…I would not be a happy man now with that…but when you are a kid…you just shrug it off…it’s amazing what kids can do…both good and bad. I remember sweating going to sleep but still listened to the Dodgers play the Cardinals on the radio.
We don’t get as hot as you guys…but we do get a hell of a lot of humidity.
Max, it was 109 here yesterday; no one, not even the toughest Texan, should have to endure that. I’ve thrown in the towel on my landscape.
Yea I hear you…this past week we cooled down to the 80s…I hope it gets better there.
We are driving to South Dakota next month for 10 days to see all the historical sites and enjoy the cooler weather. I’ll tell you truthfully, Max, I’m a Son of The Alamo and a Texan that bleeds Lone Star Beer, but I can’t take it anymore. 109 here today.
I don’t blame you Phil! No one could stand that day after day. I hope you and her have a great time! Get to some cooler weather.
Our family didnt have AC until 1962, only an attic fan which was so strong it would suck up a tomcat and hold it there.
Now THAT is a fan!
(1) That lifeguard tower and its large fan were obviously abandoned after the breach in the kiddie pool drained all its water. (The lifeguard should’ve taken the fan with him to stay cool for the rest of the summer.)
(2) Considering your birth year, if you lived in the mountains, wouldn’t you be a Mountain Boomer?
(3) The older we get, the older and less good the good old days become.
(4) This is one of your best posts. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Thanks, LE. I appreciate you. I dig your blog and can see why you are a lyricist; the limericks and words flow together. The picture is AI. Most of my grandfather’s cattle troughs were kept at least half full from the windmill pumping water. Not many crops survived, but the cattle made it for seven years. The good old days, my ass. I am officially a Mountain Boomer. The mountain is still there, but the boomer legend has long vanished, like most of the old townfolk.