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We tended our bulb, watching the white roots descend and the green leaves nudge their way out of the bulb. Cheryl spent time at the Unruh grandparents' farm, just as I did, and she grew up smelling the dill weed that Grandma grew just off the porch.
So Cheryl, who was at Bluestem Farm and Ranch Supply in Emporia, tossed a box of Laurie's Kitchen cucumber dill dip mix into her shopping basket, wrapped it up, and mailed it to us.
Yesterday I made the cucumber dill dip, adding the beloved flavoring (includes onion and garlic) to a cup of mayonnaise and a cup of sour cream and blending it.
For my wife, dill is just another flavor, and for the boys, it's a shame they aren't growing up with a dill plant in the yard.
We got many very nice and sometimes expensive gifts, but the dollar box of cucumber dill dip mix may be my favorite.
I hope yours went just as well, and if this past year didn't make you happy and prosperous, the next one is sure to do just that. Tuk, Domple, Vernie, Biggy, Daylight, Greaser, Buff, RD, Beans, Diggs, Bugs, Gopher, Gil, Buck, Goofy, HS, BJ, Jake, Tub, Cricket, Cotton, Boo, Festus, Philly, Turdby, Marion, Squinty, Bub . We heard many stories about fishing on the river with all his friends and how Willard Wilson built the first dual engine combines in the area. Rodney Walker, who attended Pawnee Rock Junior High in the early 1980s, now is the police chief of Hennessey, Oklahoma. The Paretskys: A couple of days ago, I mentioned Sara Paretsky and her new book, "Bleeding Kansas," wondering where in northeast Kansas the Paretsky family had come from. The museum, with its frame buildings and metal sheds (and metal house), is a great half-day excursion when you're in Great Bend. Taking a lesson from Kay, I'll try to listen with my sons' ears this coming year and not assume they know what I'm talking about.
Sheila Sutton Schmidt: Sheila Sutton Schmidt taught in the Pawnee Rock schools for decades and then moved north. Sheila is celebrating her 97th birthday between Christmas and New Year's and might enjoy hearing from you, writes Jeanine Mull Haynes, passing along information from her dad, Keith.
An author you know: Check out Pawnee Rock expatriate Cheryl Unruh's poem about winter light.
Only when I was a grade-schooler did I imagine that the black panther or the bear or the coyote would slip out and maul me.
As stinky as the zoo was, it didn't begin to compare to the December afternoon I spent with Dale Unruh fixing up his pig pens on his family's farm just this side of Dundee. I know zoos have their purpose; I'd have no real idea of how an endangered Siberian tiger or bactrian camel moves were it not for the zoo here.
A few years ago some Australian yahoo climbed inside the "do not cross" fence to get better photos of a polar bear. Shortly afterward, the zoo built a new polar bear exhibit and put the people behind a glass wall. But some smaller things remain bugaboos for a very long time -- much longer than I expect them too.
In January 2005, a year before I created, I was in Pawnee Rock and Great Bend while Dad got some medical things sorted out.
There was the western end of Bismark Avenue, where trees (even in winter) seem to close over the dead end and the houses huddle beside thick trunks; all I needed was Randy Wilson to step out and humiliate me. And then there was the other end of Barton, a dead end south of the tracks where I had played in overgrown weeds as a grade-schooler. On South Rock, a woman poked her head out of a trailer and asked basically the same question. The boys, 11 and 9, had conspired among themselves to let us sleep an hour longer and then trick us into getting up. I expect you all got very nice gifts, without a willow switch or chunk of anthracite in anyone's stocking. Many of you e-mailed Christmas and New Year's wishes, and it brightened my snowy Monday and white Christmas. From my back seat on the left, I'd look out my car window and wonder which of those stars belonged to Baby Jesus. That singular star, of course, was the symbol of Christmas Eve services the world 'round, and ours in Pawnee Rock was no different.
Christmas Eve service wasn't attended by everyone in the Bergthal Mennonite congregation; it strikes me now as being mostly for families with grandparents and parents who grew up in the church. And then there came the reading of the nativity story from Luke, and the mood of the service changed from solemn expectation to joy.
I don't think I was the only kid whose idea of joy came from the sure and certain knowledge that a pile of presents was that much closer to being opened. As we filed out of the sanctuary, the ushers handed the kids brown lunch sacks of candy, nuts, and an apple or orange. Unlike most church events, Christmas Eve was something even the youngest of us could understand. And say it we did as we gathered up Grandma in her cloth coat and walked out into the brisk night.
As Brad said when he wrote to us in August, the Pawnee Rock of the book is not the Pawnee Rock you and I know but rather a city that has been given our hometown's name. The PIPM plan, guided by long-winded, hard-fighting, hard-loving military leaders, goes beyond genocide and holocaust. I might quibble that the book practically ignores issues that I suppose would still be relevant in 2035 -- climate change, omnipresent electronic media, and so forth. Being a Pawnee Rock native, I read with an eye toward how Pawnee Rock appeared and I was disappointed that the Pawnee Rock and countryside we know didn't show up. My dad once showed me some of the robes the Pythians wore, and we've had a couple of photos of the lodge and its members here on Leon Miller, a Pawnee Rocker in Dallas, wrote yesterday to mention that the Knights of Pythias "is primarily an African American fraternity in the south." That, of course, is the polar opposite of the membership of the local chapter when it existed in Pawnee Rock. I did a little looking around on the web and found the Knights of Pythias website and an entry on Wikipedia. Some famous Knights (Pythians?) were William Jennings Bryan, Warren Harding, William McKinley, Hubert Humphrey, Nelson Rockefeller, and Franklin Roosevelt. Frozen turkey: On December 14, I posted a few tidbits from the Pawnee Rock Community News of December 1995. I pieced it together -- the Mixes did a good job of making each of the four images the same depth, which made it easy to match them up.
You can find more about Larry and Carolyn on their definitive Santa Fe Trail Research Site. For example, it says that today in Wichita -- and all towns on Wichita's latitude, which is pretty close to Pawnee Rock's -- the sun will be up today for 9 hours, 33 minutes, 13 seconds.
My Grandpa Unruh had died in his farmhouse bed about that time, and I was having nightmares.
As I curled up in my bedroom and worked my way through the book, December after December, it became a more personal guide than any other book I had. I don't know whether I ever told my sister or parents, or Don and Norma, how I loved "A Christmas Carol." The book has been a secret I've held to myself, because speaking it cannot adequately express the layers of meaning and emotion. Threshing crew from the early decades of the 20th century, when cutting wheat was hard, hot work. If we start pooh-poohing those stories, our own Tales From Childhood might be the next to fall by the wayside. But before we start feeling like 98-pound weaklings in the memory department, we have to realize that what we did filled our lives as much as our parents' adventures filled theirs. So, all you folks in your forties and fifties, pull up a kid and reveal what the world was like before iPods and SUVs. Tell how we used to ride our bikes all over Pawnee Rock and play baseball on vacant lots, because there were enough kids in town to do that.
Or how we happily got our entertainment on two or three black-and-white TV channels and our music on AM radio stations from Larned, Great Bend, Hays, Wichita, and KSAL of Salina broadcasting from Cloud County, Kansas. Sure, the kids today already have heard that we paid 37 cents for gas, but they're not going to believe that yarn any more than our silly tales about nickel candy bars and penny jawbreakers. No, our adventures aren't as good as our parents' were, but they're the best our generation could do in an increasingly civilized Kansas.
If the folks born in the 1920s and '30s want to go on about how they had to crank the tractor while juggling a bucket of milk and a pitchfork barefoot, I'm going to believe them. There are a couple of markers, carved a century or more ago from the Dakota sandstone that underlies the area and pops into visibility on farms and in the bluff that makes up Pawnee Rock State Park. Each spring, when I was younger, two tulips pushed up through the chill and bloomed within inches of the larger stone. I don't know why the empty area isn't marked with plots on the cemetery plat, although my dad, when he was sexton three decades ago, suggested that the folks buried there were paupers and had no one to buy stones for them or that the dead there had died of an epidemic and lay in a mass grave. The little sandstone markers always got my special attention when I was clipping around headstones before Memorial Day and later in the summer. On top of the damage left by the ice storm Monday and Tuesday, the city got about 10 inches of snow Friday and Saturday. Gary wrote that he and Aleta stayed in their home until it got down to 49 degrees inside and then they went to Larned for a couple of nights. If you had a relative's will probated in the 1960s, 1970s, or 1980s in Pawnee County, there's a good chance Leona was the judge or clerk in charge of the matter. After several months of doing so, Bruce decided that he could manage the probate office better than Leona had, and so he ran for the job. Being a summer intern for the paper and at KU the rest of the time, I wasn't privy to how well Leona handled her rejection by the voters. Leona struck me as the essence of "old Larned," with connections going back to the end of World War II. Snow depth: If you're curious about how much snow is on the ground near Pawnee Rock, check out this compilation of observer reports from across Kansas.
Yesterday, the photo was of the American Legion hall in the old fire station before it was moved to the south end of town. Don Ross, who sent the photo of a crowd gathered around a crew preparing to pump water out of a basement downtown, adds a little more about floods in Pawnee Rock.
Normally, I think of floods as coming down the ditches from Ash Creek or the Arkansas River, but in the 1950s, it came from the north. My dad, who provided the photo, told me that the man in the hat and tie in the background is Otis Unruh, my grandpa. The following snippets were recorded in the Pawnee Rock Community News of January 12, 1995.
Winners of turkeys were Bob Girard, Brian Harrison, Bill Robbins, Wilbur Russell, Carol Edwardson, Kim Bandy, Dorothy Bowman, Don Lee, Jack Link, Gary Rainbolt, Arthur Sayler, J. Those who won roasts were Brandon Ritchie, Tricia Walker, Bill Linderer, Randy Staggs, Joshua Schmidt, and Doug Smith. I knew, though, that I had a shot taken about the same time; it's found on page 17 of the Gallery.
All the hubbub makes me wonder whether there wasn't something else going on that we don't know about -- did a basement wall collapse, or did someone fall in and drown? Don's photo shows, on the right, that the powerlines are hanging loosely to the street, also a detail we hadn't had before. I know I should have outgrown it, but I still feel like a kid when we have a big snow in the picture postcard setting where we live now. I wish I had known the town in the early days, when Pawnee Rock was important enough to have a two-story hotel right across from the depot. One of the hotel's early owners -- I don't don't whether he was the hotel's founder -- was James H.
This is a detail of a photo made of Pawnee Rock in the late 1880s, looking north from the intersection of Centre Street and the highway.

The earliest Flicks in Pawnee Rock are buried in the western half of the southern center section in the township cemetery. There was a large auction arena with bleachers on three sides and on the fourth, was the auctioneer's stand with gates on either side for the livestock to enter and exit. When I was a teenager, I got to work there some of the time during the summer for the Thursday cattle sale along with other teenage boys from the area. A lot of walking was required and one day I went to work with a new pair of jeans that hadn't been washed. I hated to part with him when the time came, but as a farm boy, I knew that it was inevitable and looked forward to a new project. Elgie (or Dad) bought all the stamps and first-day issues you'd expect a philatelist to acquire, but he didn't stop there. In 1987, Dad combined his passions by photographing the Pawnee Rock post office and postmarking the print, making it a postal postcard. I'm glad now that I kept all my pictures -- I think I have every one -- as clean as the day they were printed, but I do wish that sometimes I had been less earnest and more playful. Don wrote: "Hanna's cafe was in the building on the hwy where there is now an antique store.
The only souvenir I have of that season is a mimeographed game program I discovered in a box of childhood souvenirs. By 1969, Radium -- 11 miles southeast of Pawnee Rock -- was little more than a few homes with a elevator and a joint post office and grocery store. Radium suited up nine Panthers against our twenty-two Warriors for the game, which I think was played on the eight-man field behind Radium school. The athletic rivalry between Pawnee Rock and Radium went back decades -- baseball games are mentioned in the Pawnee Rock Heralds of the 1920s -- but it was near its end.
Three autumns after this football game, our high school was closed and many of us Pawnee Rockers joined our former rivals at their district's high school in Macksville.
It was fun to become friends and schoolmates with boys we had competed against in football, basketball, and track.
Of course, Pawnee Rock had a quaint prefix, YUkon 2, but we didn't have to dial it when we were calling around town. In a pile of stuff I got from Dad was a set of Lillian Sweeney's phone books from the 1950s.
Downtown buildings: Joan and Virgil Smith put some thought into the nearly forgotten buildings of downtown Pawnee Rock. My folks, Anita and Elgie, and her folks, Helen and Adam, hung out together all the time, and as parents go so go their kids. Back on this occasion, a day so chilly that Ida wore long pants under her dress, friends and family had gathered to honor me. The upholstery was dark brown, and the light-colored flecks were created by a brittle gold thread. I had endless hours of fun driving my pre-Matchbox cars on that couch, bouncing across each gold-filled pothole in the fabric. I know we had other furniture in those days, because I've seen it in pictures taken with our Brownie. Don had to do a bit of fancy darkroom work to make the print from the ancient negative made by a photographer who saved his life's work. Two or three of months invested in a project here and there, and success came as surely as if ordained by nature. I had been mixing my own dillish delight: dill mixed with cream cheese and slivers of smoked salmon. The stories of the Legions' fish fries were very entertaining (if anybody else knows what I'm talking about?). Cal Wiebe, a lawyer in Wichita and a friend since college, informs us that the Paretskys are from Lawrence. But the altar in the Lutheran church is off limits; I suspect it may be something people would love to touch a little too much. I didn't understand a lot of it, as a child, and this past week I had a chance to explain to my 5 yr.
She and Harold (now deceased) lived in the Rock House northeast of town, where the Dale Unruh family now is. Still, we half expect there to come more bad news, because there's always going to be an idiot who thinks the bears and big cats have lost their killer instincts. Animals in cages may get my pity and curiosity, but bears, tigers, and even pigs also get my respect. I had free time, so I spent part of several days walking up and down the streets of Pawnee Rock, taking photos of every bit of streetside scenery as the remnants of a snowstorm melted into the ground. There was the north end of Barton Street, between the old Schultz and Dirks places and where a plane once crashed into a tree and burned; a ghost is there. I'm sure the folks and dogs who live there now are pleasant -- I met a couple of the dogs -- but I kept expecting a door to open and let out a Stephen King character.
Randy Staggs, then the manager of Farmers Grain, pulled his pickup up beside me as I worked my way past his elevators. I told her that I was Elgie's son, and that right there seemed to explain or excuse everything. As I walked up the eastern county road south of the tracks, a young man I hadn't seen yelled from his house, "I hope you got what you wanted!" and a moment later slammed his pickup door and drove off the property not down the driveway but through a muddy field. But I did cover every street and reacquaint myself with parts of town I hadn't been in for years, and I'm glad I did. Outdoors was dark, but it was going to be dark until 9 and we never would have known the difference had it not been for the telltale timepiece. Coincidentally, he and Joan lived two doors west of where Gary Trotnic, the snow-and-ice photographer, lives now. They were probably taken around 1970, judging from the vehicles that Willard Wilson had and there being no curbs. Willard still had the red Dodge Power Wagon, which was later replaced by a newer black one. I used to think that they had a care-free life, but reflecting on it, I know that they were depended upon by their mothers. No one threw the seating chart out, but families like ours that usually sat off to the side instead sat with Grandma on the middle pew where she had parked herself for decades. The service had reached its turning point, and we were heading for the sunny side of Christmas. Think about this: How traditional was the church to know that its kids would have a nutcracker at home and be willing to crack -- and eat -- a handful of walnuts, filberts, and almonds? As we waited for the Chevy to warm up, I pressed my cheek against the window and looked into the sky. Brad's Pawnee Rock of 2035 has a sheriff, a main street at least a couple of miles long, and 17,000 more people than our Pawnee Rock. There was an imposing white gazebo for special events, outdoor lectures, and marching bands. The way this works is that drug abusers, layabouts, and nonproductive people are subtly removed from society, and then more and more "good" people are taken as the years pass.
In fact, the sheriff and his deputy hardly seem worked up about the loss of folks in their county; the disappearances cause more conversation than action. In essence, the plan seems to be "how could we get rid of everybody who's not like us?" and it disconcerted me to see how easily the gung-ho protagonist dragged me toward that goal.
The physical and behavioral world of "PIPM Ultimatum" carries a sense not so much of 2035 but of 2010. Now there's nothing to do but open presents, eat well, watch basketball and maybe shovel a little snow. In 1880, an organization called "The Supreme Lodge Knights of Pythias, North and South America, Europe, Asia, and Africa" was founded; it reserved its membership to Blacks and Asians. One of the items was a list of the folks who won turkeys, hams, and sausages at the Lions Club drawing, and one of the winners was my brother-in-law, Dave Leiker. Tomorrow you'll be 11,000,000 kilometers closer than you are today, so put on extra sunscreen.
I didn't understand it all as a youngster, but I got the plot and the rest soaked in over the years.
The Bible was about love and everlasting life, but Scrooge and Cratchit, Fezziwig and the remorseful Marley were characters I could identify with, and there was redemption at the end. My mom's brother and sister gave me a masterpiece that was far beyond my understanding, to be put away on a high shelf until I was ready. It really doesn't matter, because legends like that are what make our ancestors' lives so interesting. Between our parents' childhood and ours, the Depression and a couple of wars had come and gone; space, not rural Kansas, was the next frontier.
Or how we lined up to play Pong, the first video game, down at Bob's Place, which sat across the highway from the depot. And how the movie theaters were real theaters in the county seats, and the county seats also had drive-in theaters that showed 50-foot-high half-naked people to the whole world.
I'm glad my parents' generation is the last one that has good stories about accidentally burning down the outhouse; I don't miss outhouses. As long as we make our children's lives easier than the ones we've led, our adventures will be exciting by comparison. If you sent me any e-mail Monday afternoon that I didn't acknowledge, please send it again. The names and dates, if there were any, eroded long ago, but the stones clearly were handworked into gravestone shapes. Or perhaps the first users of the cemetery were laid to rest before anyone started keeping records of who went where, or maybe they were not whites.
Surrounding the open area are family plots for old Pawnee Rock families: Dirkses, Gilberts, Mosbergers, Morrises, Sieberts, Spreiers, and Williamses. Down on my knees, I pulled the unmowed grass away from the rock and scissored it off close to the ground. But perhaps somewhere there's a family that still remembers, that still thinks of the graves when tulips bloom. In the mid-1970s, when I worked for the Larned Tiller and Toiler, the county's official newspaper, it was the responsibility of one of the reporters -- in this case, Bruce Janssen, who grew up in Holyrood -- to collect the list of cases that were probated. But when the next election came and Bruce gave the job back to the county, Leona stood for it and was re-elected. I respect her for not giving up, and I suppose that her resilience -- and Larned's return to the way things were before -- says a lot about both Leona and Pawnee County.
In our wilderness -- the dusty Arkansas River drainage where I posed for childhood photos -- we never had anything like this, of course, but in my mind I walked out of a cabin many times to check my mink trapline, leaving a long trail of snowshoe tracks. The post met there until the 1980s, I think, when it moved into the former grocery store downtown. The reason I say that is this person is wearing a hat similar to what my dad wore and the way it is cocked on his head makes me further believe that its him. He thinks the man in the overalls on the left, turned away from the camera, may be Stanley Tutak.
The 20th Century Club and the Half Century EHU met, and there was the annual drawing for turkeys and sausages.
13 at the Petroleum Club in Great Bend for a Christmas luncheon and gift exchage with 11 members present. Staggs, Tag Henricks, Doyle Foster, Florence Johnson, LeAnna Unruh, Gene Schmidt, Richard Mead, Karen Clark, Dan Stafford, Dave Leiker, Melinda Adams, Bob Kuskie, and Chandra Walls.
They included Farmers Grain and Fuel, Mull Farms, M&M Upholstery, Vown Epperson, Roth Equipment, First State Bank, and Farmers Bank and Trust and Beckwith Mortuary.
One is his mother, Gladys (confirming Larry Smith's notion), as well as Roy Smith and Galen Koehn.

One doesn't see many photos of construction projects, especially a shot decorated with circus posters. What surprised me was how closely related the shots were; it looks as if they were taken on consecutive days. His photo reveals what kind of posters those are and gives us a look at the street before it's awash with pumped water. It seems likely that people would gather to watch water be pumped out of someplace it shouldn't be, certainly.
We'll talk fondly of childhood snowball fights and, if we have to, we'll watch Frosty the Snowman on television with the kids. Heavy snow or ice may cancel school, although the thrill may be not in missing school but in simply doing something out of the routine. I've tried to tell them of a little boy in red boots and sodden cotton gloves building a snowman in his front yard, but in their own childhood a snowman is a common creature and they're not impressed. For me, however, the Rock Hotel is a mythical place known only through black and white photographs.
For example, the 1902 Pawnee Rock city plat shows the Rock Hotel as well as a block Flick owned north of Santa Fe between Walnut and Barton streets (many of us later would know it as the block anchored by the Carpenter, Ritchie, and Bowman homes, east of the New Jerusalem Church). Flick has always been one of the leading citizens of Pawnee Rock and has had a great deal to do with its upbuilding and making it one of the important towns of the county. The Rock Hotel, with an adjoining room that may be a kitchen, is at the left margin, next to the Gano office. The Doll Livestock Commission was an important site for farmers, cattlemen and meat suppliers to buy and sell their livestock and the sale often ran into the evening.
I was in awe of the fast-talking auctioneer and had to listen closely to know what the bid was.
I don't know whether he finally got them all before he settled into his quiet years, but I do know that somewhere he has boxes and boxes of post office prints.
To me, struggling to learn photography 15 years before Dad took these shots, each of my prints was a treasure. Lloyd Hanna would have been around the time of my sister, Corinne, who graduated from PRHS in 1943. For all my intentions of becoming a wide receiver and catching long touchdown passes, I was turned into a guard -- coach Bernard Williams put my 95 pounds up against guys weighing 150 pounds or more in the middle of the line. Both sides had cheerleaders; ours were Crystal Davidson, Anita Loving, TaWanna Mason, Brenda Schmidt, and Susan Schmidt. Radium's junior high was in its last years, and the handwriting was on the wall for Pawnee Rock's too. We had our old games in common, and we bonded as survivors of towns that had lost their schools. Reading the names is like driving the streets of town and township again, waving to the neighbors.
A three-year-old is already the center of the universe, and public acclaim is icing on his lemon cake.
The gold threads resisted my attempts to pick them out for closer inspection, but that's just as well because Mom had a hairbrush to gently guide me toward nondestructive behavior. Eventually it was replaced by an off-white couch with padded cushions, but it was my first couch and the one that took my heart. Nevertheless, I'm perfectly willing to believe that my fourth year was everything a kid could hope for. The cookies were kept in glass front containers behind the counter, and he would always let you try one to see if that is the one you wanted to buy. George) Stansbury lived in a blonde brick ranch-style house along the asphalt road that led south from Pawnee Rock. For as much as I caught on to flats and sharps, I never solved the mystery of what my left hand should do while my right hand tickled the melody and pounded G-clef chords. I think it was in the late winter or early spring of 1969, and we had weeks of warning, plenty of time for me to build up a sense of dread. For example, the trip we made on Biking Across Kansas required many hours of hard practice, but it was a backbone-building success and an adventure. In our stores, I shouldn't hope to find cucumber dill dip mix; it's hard enough to find okra.
Warshawski series, apparently is a native of northeastern Kansas and has decided to plant her next book there. I'm sure the keepers did their best, but monkeys and big cats made it their lives' work to mark their personal spaces. They paced, like the big cats did, but the pigs didn't have that resentful look of trapped death that the panther did. Binky walked smartly around his cage with the shoe for days and even was remembered on a T-shirt. I've walked backward away from grizzly bears and clung to a cliff without dying, and I make deadline every night at work.
It didn't take long, however, before I realized that the neighborhoods that used to give me the shivers still did.
I needed to overcome the suspicion that some guy with bad beard was going to point a rifle at me for capturing the soul of his house. Walking the streets as a grownup helped me realize that my personal map of Pawnee Rock didn't have to be colored by my growing-up emotions. Dad had been getting up with the chickens, neither earlier nor later, since he was a toddler; his wake-up time was in his genes.
I'm glad he chose "Pawnee Rock" to identify the town whose people learned to go along to survive. Twenty minutes after this, the sky's mood changed and the clouds threw lightning daggers at the ground and all men who stood on it.
The trouble was that it had been rolled up for storage long ago and they couldn't get a good look at it without damaging it. To top it off, I put each of the four separate images into the regular Gallery, so you can look at them in even greater detail. Everett Shinn's drawings -- extravagant and plentiful and piercing -- became my images of England and Christmas and Plenty, as well as Death. Even a fourth-grader knows he is one step away from the lake of fire -- our church made sure we knew that -- and the Spirits could slide into my room in the night.
Or how only new cars had seatbelts and people could get free maps at gas stations, where gas was 37 cents a gallon and beer was legal for high school seniors to buy. And how we bucked bales onto a trailer for a nickel apiece and took Cessna rides for a penny a pound.
Unlike the granite and marble stones, these could be damaged by a scraping blade so I was careful. And perhaps I watched too many Disney movies about bears waking up to tinkly music as the snow melted in the spring. In fact, I believe he spent most of his free time at the Legion Hall, which was across the street from where I grew up. His wife Eva, everyone called them Little Dave and Little Eva, she went to the cave but he stayed in the house.
Halliburton, Dowell, Pawnee County and others came to town and pumped out the basements at no charge. Berdene Russell was co-hostess and she and the hostess served tea and hot apple cider with the finger foods brought by the members.
I had assumed, from looking at my photo, that the street was muddy right after a rain, but in Don's photos a bunch of people are sitting on a pile of excavated dirt, which they wouldn't do if it were muddy.
What makes me positive that Don's photo was taken first is that I can't imagine the gentlemen of downtown gathering to watch a disaster operation be taken apart, but they would gather to help supervise its construction.
Kids need snow every winter so they'll know what snow angels are and how it feels to get a snowball down the back of their coats.
And in a few years, Pawnee Rockers will talk fondly of how they survived the Ice Storm of Aught Seven. I know one of his descedents, Tom, lived on Centre at Santa Fe Avenue, but I'd really like to know where James lived when he moved to town from his farm.
When he was thirteen years old the family moved to Illinois where James remained for twenty years. He enjoys a wide acquaintance in all parts of the state of Kansas and is well known among the traveling fraternity. Even though I made this photo in 2005, the sink and view are almost the same as when I officially moved out twenty-six years earlier. He dropped envelopes -- addressed only to Box 7, 67567 -- into boxes at distant post offices and waited for them to show up in the family box.
It reminds me of the postcards of houses that our grandparents used when they wanted to show their distant friends what Pawnee Rock looked like in the early 1900s. I don't think I ever intentionally marred a print with a postal stamp or even a rubber stamp. The pigs were doomed, but they weren't dying of boredom, as I imagined the panther was as it lay flat on the ledge on its wall. Making matters worse, most of the houses were filled with new people, strangers who might look unkindly on a prodigal son come home. Mom also was an early riser, and she was smart enough to check the clock or look out the window.
They were so happy, and in twenty years they'll tell their own kids about the night they tricked Mom and Dad. Wal-mart hadn't yet replaced the mom and pop country stores, and there were no cookie-cutter housing tracts or large-scale commercial developments. I remember wading up to my mom's house and she said look into the basement to see if any water got in. We enjoyed the hour visiting and then all went ot Fantasy Village which was just two miles North. They need to ride a sled down the Rock and push a snowshovel down the sidewalk, and how else are they going to learn to break an icicle off cleanly and lick it like a lollipop? We don't like it when the power goes out and we realize that we're not prepared to go a single day without the grocery store or the 7-Eleven or Blockbuster. The older pens were built with wooden planks and the newer ones of pipe and concrete -- strong enough to hold the most enraged bull. There were gates to open and close in front of and behind the cattle so that the cattle lots would be kept separate. Seeing Pawnee Rock through a viewfinder was the way I grew up, but I realized that nowadays I might appear to be a cop or a tax man.
There were lots of dirt roads, small lakes and streams with plenty of good fishing, and wide open fields with corn, wheat and alfalfa. In spite of the cold winds which made it seem more like Christmas the tour was an inspiration and enjoyed by all. We don't like it when our Internet and cable don't work, and we especially don't like it when the cold furnace can't protect our pipes. He took up a homestead and bought land near Pawnee Rock and at once took a part in the development of the county's resources. Rathbone, who had been inspired by a play by the Irish poet John Banim about the legend of Damon and Pythias.
Flick survived his first wife and in 1884 was married to Miss Sarah David and to this union there were born seven children all of whom are deceased except Jessie who is now living in Pawnee Rock.
This legend illustrates the ideals of loyalty, honor and friendship that are central to the order.

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