Happy thoughts

As you read this Grannie Annie and I will have been to El Paso, Texas to deliver Adopt A Chaplain "Christmas care packages." All those boxes, our SUV packed full to the roof, to Captain Ch. Saare, assigned Chaplain responsibilities for a unit deployed to Bogotá, Columbia in South America. Who knew we had troops in that part of the world? Evidently it is a contingent of troops that has been deployed to duties there for some twenty five years and counting.

All that precious cargo will be stacked on pallets and put on a C-17 delivering regular supplies to that far flung unit working in a foreign clime to keep our country safe. An earlier arrangement had an Army aircraft dispatched to McCook to pick all Grannie's boxes lovingly donated and packed by this caring community but somehow the Army flunked and the military "pilot proficiency training" flight got canceled. I suspect political correctness the cause hence the road trip. Cheaper than the postal service with the bonus of four days traveling with Grannie. Good time.

I could write on the current unrest in our beloved country so recently touched by the Islamic-fascistic terrorism event in California but elect to reflect on a happier time. The year was 1956 and other than the Cold War the world was in a state of relative peace due to the strong leadership of America. It was summer between academic terms at the Air Force Academy. We cadets in three separate groups were touring military bases throughout the country being exposed to the "real Air Force" their missions and how ordinary airmen conducted duty and life.

My roommate at the time was Dave "Doc" Shearin (now long deceased from lung cancer) and Doc had grown up in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Somehow we had a weekend off from the Base that we had been visiting nearby so Doc and I hitchhiked to his home in Chattanooga. Yes GI's in uniform safely did that in olden times. People willingly shared rides to wherever and sometimes that was an adventure in itself.

Doc had worked as a lineboy at the Chattanooga airport prior to service and learned to fly there. We rented an airplane, a Supercub, and went off to explore the Smoky Mountain country where he had grown up. Tennessee is different from Nebraska where I had learned to fly. The Smokys are old, worn-down-low mountains and in places quite steep and rocky. The thin rocky soil is mostly covered with hardwood trees. It is both rugged and pretty from the air. Doc headed west to a hard-scrabble plateau where his father's relatives had scratched out a living with a few cattle on pasture and small patches of farm ground to grow oats, wheat and hay. He pointed out an uncle's lonely farm home which was accessible from a long two-track driveway connecting to a county road. The driveway crossed a small stream, no bridge, the family had to drive their car through the shallow water to ford the rock bottomed stream. After a rain with water too deep to ford they just stayed home. A bit primitive but a two story square German-style home with a large garden.

Sunday, brother-in-law Bennie summoned the folk together to drive to a family picnic at Sewanee, Tennessee, population around 2,000 people. Possibly a dozen and a half families gathered to enjoy a day together. Young, old and all but me related by blood or marriage somehow. A few were professional people with city jobs but mostly just simple country folk. I felt comfortable and included. Even the old couple from the isolated farmstead made it in their 1946 Ford tudor sedan.

Typically the ladies gathered to talk women things and babies the ties that bind families together. The men clustered to discuss current events, cattle prices, jobs, etc. Somehow the civil war didn't come up probably out of respect for this northerner. One gentleman present was a large animal veterinary who several months prior had been accidentally injected with serum for Bangs disease. A heifer had kicked in the squeeze chute and he had received the full dose. He told of being bad sick for a while but seemed to be recovering back to normal. Others discussed their civil service jobs at the nearby Tullahoma nuclear weapons facility. Good people, country folk just like the extended Hoyt clan of my childhood.

A major event of the day was noon meal. Real fried chicken, no store-bought Kentucky Fried in a box there, meat and potatoes, good salads and more, country cooking. Before grace and the feast to follow came the event that evidently had become a looked forward to big tradition. The pie judging contest orchestrated by brother-in-law and favorite uncle Benny a well-loved verbose burly chested man of Italian descent. Over a dozen homemade pies were presented, every single one a pecan pie which obviously was Benny's favorite. It was a matter of pride with each cook bringing her best. I being an outsider was volunteered by Benny to assist in the judging.

Benny and I each carved out a small sample piece and judged the flakiness of the crust, how well it stood on the plate and ah the sublime taste. After a couple of samples I quietly whispered to Benny, "This one is a bit better than the ones we'd tasted before." "Shush -- just keep sampling and eating!" his response. With each pie tasted, our platters cleaned, Benny stood on a chair, and loudly gathered all present to announce the winner. "It is a tie." Yay cheers and laughter! Turned out it happened the same way every year. Benny obviously loved pecan pie and knew that if he picked a winner the next year there would be a variety of homemade pies and only last year's winner would create one of his favorite pecan.

Ah, the wonderful memory and yes today pecan pie is still my favorite, almost as good as cherry with a dip of ice cream on top. Just don't tell Benny!

That is how I saw it.

Dick Trail