10-31-o9 Halloween

Halloween has filled me with mixed emotions this year. A very late fall including the start of a late autumn. The late autumn of the fall season part has been alright with me. Extra warm days have felt good on my old hide my incessantly attempt to catch up slowen meanderings about the farms. This wet fall, the wettest I can remember is only just insisting starting to stir the mud in the yards. The Cushman already’s become near useless out and about the estates. The Cushman may very well be a handicap my getting out opening day deer season. This change of season has nastily touched by the grim something or other than the traditional reaper. Now this is something to either work on or conjure up another grim occupation?
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Frieda tells me she didn’t sleep worth a hoot. Myself, I had managed a good blaze in the woodstove and then immediately laid it out to soundly sleep for the next eight hours, stirring only to change sleeping positions. Damned if I don’t wish Halloween a holiday a man may wish upon. Me, I’d go for one more decadent time to indulge in tobacco, beer and a wild wife’s pursuit. A nature’s opening of a seductive scene on a picnic blanket, downing a bit of even home made Kickapoo juice swilled away and chasing the contracted miss removing her from her pedestal for unseemly pleasures play. Oh, how blessed my mind be all the grand memories I may privately replay behind closed eyes. Oh how we had put on happy faces, made happy talk, and taken on the hours exploring each other feeling on our way to some memorable earth shaking ends.
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OMG……My faith has been restored in man kind. I’m delighted to read I’m not the only one to pickup on the ABC’s savage portrayal of the Adkin’s blueberry farm practices.
I know I said it before and I’ll say it again, I wasn’t hurt a damned bit caught up in my parents entering me and my brother into the child work force.
To get back to the migrant work force when I was a kid I went to school with these migrant kids. I-chi-wawa, those tan skinned, dark eyed and haired Chicano girls were living breathing dreams to some of us preadolescent country boys. And the Chicano boys when they played ball they played hard. My country school mourned all their leavings when they packed up at the end of our harvest seasons and returned to Texas and perhaps beyond. I’ll tell it like it is. I’ve never known any of them that weren’t a hard working people, and when they party, they partied hard. I’ve met a lot of lovely senioritas. HmmmHm! They know how to take care of a man. And, There’s no better Mexican eating than eating in a genuinely Chicano rural community
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We worked the spring calves through the chutes. All of them inoculated for old diseases prevention and the human equivalent of flu shots. Those with horns lost them even one baby with scurs (small unattached horns. Always liked those, kin-a cute in my mind on a cow. All the bulls but two lucky ones (one’s already called Lucky) were steered; the club calves banded, the commercial stock burdizzo clamped.
Personally I never felt a thing.
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Passed curfew, past bewitching children of all ages hour, by the time we had finished late night chores It were to late for me to dress up, grab my shot glass and go trick or treating.

BGKC
Fernan