Hoochie-koochie dancing at the funeral;
snow in the Hill Country

By Bebe and Sissy Fenstermaker

The world seems crazier than ever before. I thought when Christmas was over and the New Year started things would smooth out a bit but, if anything, it’s worse.
I almost hate to go to the post office because no telling what will arrive. The other day I got a present back that I had sent to a cousin who has lived in the same place for 30 years. The package was returned as addressee unknown. Upon checking, I saw the street name (a number) and zip code had been deliberately touched up, thereby changing the numbers. Now, who changed that address? (Whoops! I have now found I originally made a zero into an eight -- I addressed it wrong in the first place. After that, others played their parts. I await the package in the return mail!)
People aren’t listening. I waited and waited for a telephone call about the delivery of some cattle panel. I found the feed store had arbitrarily changed the prefix of my telephone number. Mighty hard to get ahold of me that way. Then not all the panels were delivered and upon checking on that, I found they had only charged me for three. A three-sided pen won’t hold calves very well.
Are we all supposed to be roaring geniuses now? I’m uncomfortable around people who are right all the time; they kind of worry me with their need for super track records and all.
People say things aloud before sounding them out to themselves to see how others might hear them. Recently someone astounded me with his idea of a grand scheme. What seemed so great to him was clearly a very bad proposition, if not a little bit scary. As I questioned him, trying to get him to see further than his nose, he kept repeating himself, never understanding someone else might not see things just the way he did. Guess his internal dialogue was turned up too loud.
In that same vein, an "important" person we were often compelled to note died. There was a hoochie-koochie dancer at the gravesite service. No one is sure he really wanted that but at some point, he boasted he thought it would be a nice touch at his funeral. He got it.
A friend just received a bequest that was given in an interesting way. The deceased, her cousin, willed a thousand dollars to everyone in his address book by whose name he had written "F" for friend. The estate’s lawyer had to send everyone whose name appeared in the book a copy of the book since they were mentioned. That way no one could claim they had money coming if indeed they did not. There were a number of names with Fs but many had none. The deceased’s thoughts certainly came across with a clear hello and goodbye.
Looking for the beautiful and the good takes some doing these days, but it is there and well worth noting. Day before yesterday all the weather forecasters went crazy predicting snow for the Hill Country. About five that evening television stations had reporters tearing around Kerrville recording the "snow" as it fell. Nothing was sticking that much but they even said that we at the beginning of the Hill Country would get some. When I fed the cattle later, a couple of stray flakes came by, but a fine mist was about all there was worth noting in the air. At four thirty in the morning, the sister who hasn’t seen snow in 20-odd years called. White was covering bushes and tree limbs but not sticking to the long wet grass in the yard. The pastures were white and that beautiful snow silence pervaded. By morning the mist had resumed, melting the snow on the ground. It continued to stick to the trees, bushes, and corral rails but by noon the mist turned into drizzle and all white disappeared into mud. In the afternoon I found the mare tucked up alongside the limestone wall of my bedroom trying to get a little warmth and dryness. It ended up being a day to work inside on drawings and reading materials.
This morning the sun broke through the clouds and lit up the wet landscape in a way I have rarely witnessed. There were diamonds and multi-colored jewels hanging from every branch, leaf, and grass sheaf. The fences were organized grids of shimmering lights. Fine mists of humidity rounded off corners and sharp lines. Along the Ranch road were ochre grasses and blue green trees with red birds in them. The sunlight glowed through the trees and the blue sky satisfied a hunger held in for too many days. The gorgeous sight of land untroubled by the hand of humans and resplendent in sunlight and raindrops is the true blessing of life.

Bebe Fenstermaker

We’ve had snow! It came down as fat, fluffy snowflakes during the night and by morning had left a light dusting. Sounds were muffled from both far and near. When I stepped on a clump of grass to see if the white stuff was icy it was not, just soft snow. And then, it was gone before mid-morning.
I have just a brief note to add to my story about our neighbors who received four of Bebe’s fighting hens so one of the daughters could conduct a school project. That daughter, Allison, baked Bebe the most delicious homemade apple pie, and fortunately I got to sample it. Allison, I have seven fighting hens and one fighting rooster and I would happily trade them all for one of your apple pies!
Our propagation group began a new project just before Christmas, building trellises and trellis towers out of cedar. Another definition could be "how to rope one’s friends into clearing cedar." We have built eight towers so far and the poles to make flat trellis are already cut. We also have to work out a method of marketing our creations. I find even the thought of that process more difficult than what we have done so far.
The hunters were here to move hog traps around and bait them. I have enjoyed sausage with my eggs, also home grown, several mornings. There always seem to be two eager faces waiting for a handout. I haven’t seen signs of hogs where the dogs and I walk along the creek and through brush. I keep my eyes and ears open and alert for signs and sounds of them. It has always been a concern when walking in the pastures.
I expect our spring to be spectacular for wildflowers. The ground is still moist and small plants are beginning to poke their heads up in the form of leaves. The grass has turned red, brown, and yellow and has become nests for the chickens. The dogs and I raid the nests as the birds go to roost in the coop. Sometimes we find a cache of eggs under a cedar pile and end up rearranging it. In the morning when I’m enjoying those eggs I realize how lucky I am to be able to snatch my breakfast so easily.

Sissy Fenstermaker