My morning starts like any other day get up, shave, get dressed, eat, shower, though not necessarily in that order.
Yep!
Ndns’ do have to shave because of a little facial hair just enough to aggravate me!
The wife has already finished feeding Jo Coffee and Viente’ Latte her lop eared rabbits.
Time to get on the paved superspeedway back road leading up to the ultra-faster 100 hwy leading into Stilwell.
I am headed to my old grade school of Dahlonegah because, today is game day.
I have time to reflect as I drive the distance of 27 miles to the game. It is not only the game but I have to drop Marta off at work before the game starts.
Which gives me plenty of time to reminisce. The drive once I leave Stilwell to Dahlonegah is only about 10 miles or 12-15 minutes depending on traffic.
Once out of Stilwell you pass through the Zion community and school district. Our arch foes during and even now in sports. I remember the games against them in softball and wondered now if they had NIL money back then?
Just a thought not even worthy of that.
A few more miles of pastures and houses I speed into Cherry Tree community. As I pass the Facet industry and Commodity buildings, I think about the changes to this place. The more than 50 Indian homes now scattered about this little community.
Changes I have lived and observed whether for good or bad time will tell.
Is it for me the end of an era or just the passing into the future?
Alongside this highway called old 59 is where I grew up and played ball. Games of football, basketball, baseball, and softball were played between the houses long gone now. It was a little place that boasted of 10 house and one gas station. Two gravel roads and one seemingly very tall yard-light.
With the scary graveyard that sat on top of the hill.
Games were played on the roads and yards with beer cans as bases and even those cartons that once held sixpacks of Bud.
Weiser that is.
Now of course one just did not slide into home because of the gravel that tended to scratch your legs raw. Injuries of course got no sympathy from mom or granny! Just a scolding for tearing up your jeans if that happened. We used whatever was available for gloves and bats with all sizes of rubber balls too.
Fun times and defeats with many rules made up as went along playing ball.
I come to the turn off that leads to Dahlonegah, and right pass what I still call mom’s old house. My home for over 20 years and moms for over 39.
About a quarter mile later I slow down and look over to my right at a tree line pasture. This place formerly called the Cherry Tree ball diamond or ballfield and now is just a pasture or just someone’s yard.
This place that no longer exists as a ballfield once hosted baseball games and later those morphed into games of fastpitch and even slowpitch softball.
How long it existed before I can only recall back to 1965 till late 2000 though I cannot be sure.
Here we played fastpitch and slowpitch after grade school was over for us. Even before this were the games played between boys and girls since there might not be enough to field a full team. If there were not enough players then we had games of workup with both boys and girls once again.
Workup a game for 12 players three batters and 9 fielders. With the bigger and older ones who always wanted to be the batters. They could hit harder and place the ball. You had to get them out by the normal way of strikeout, throw them out as they ran to the base or catch a fly ball hit to you. If you got called out then you went to the leftfield and everyone else moved up one position. But a flyball caught meant the batter went to that position and everyone stayed in theirs no move up.
Simple game you could not cheat!
But you could argue and some did.
On my drive I see familiar places where houses once existed and the families who lived there. Past Chulio Cemetery or the Cherry Tree Graveyard home a place of rest to those who have passed from this life.
Passing over Hanging Dog bridge memories of the bus rides over muddy dirt road out into the what is now a pasture. The road would cut back through a tree lined route that would cut back towards Dahlonegah.
Passing our swimming place called Dahlonegah pond or dam if you prefer the school comes into sight.
Today just as other times, when I come here the school does not look the same. Time has brought many changes.
Here stands a big modern schoolhouse not the four room school I graduated from. The pasture across the road from it is no longer just a pasture. Where we once saw and heard the mooing of cows and occasionally the bellowing of a bull sits a sports complex.
Now it holds a football field with a track and dressing rooms, and bleachers even a scoreboard! Down a ways to this is the softball field not just one but three of them!
All with covered bleachers, fences, wire backstops and team seats.
I pull into the pasture, I mean sports complex parking lot park my Ford Ranger and walk over to the stands.
As I sat down on the bleacher I look over at the school and see a bigger building squeezed into the original grounds.
With the buildings of a new gym, garage, added classrooms, offices, and bus parking lot gone are the old ballfields.
One on the south side where the first, second, third, fourth and fifth grades had their playground. On that side sat the little ballfield for these grades too.
The north side sat the seventh and eight grade ballfield where all the school games were played.
The ballfield had no backstop nor stands for fans if any. You either stood or sat down on the grass if lucky under the elm trees down the first base side.
As I reminisced the teams came out all dressed out in their uniforms and carrying their equipment of balls, gloves, and batting helmets.
I shook my head recalling our teams had neither uniforms nor helmets but faded blue jeans and tennis shoes. Our gloves either belonged to the school or to one of the players. Mr. Parsons’ the fourth, fifth, grades and shop teacher was also our coach. He stitched up the old gloves and occasionally bought new ones. The new ones started many a fight on who got to use them. The bigger, tougher, ones got them, never mind they might not be any good at playing ball.
No longer was the team colors blue with white numbers but red, blue, and white numerals.
Our team also had different colors but, only because we played in our school clothes.
The change in colors came as Dahlonegah had merged with Greasy School whose colors were red. This merging shows an of appreciation for the schools’ histories.
Time had certainly changed my old Dahlonegah and now what used to be a cow pasture now sat a modern Softball field.
I watched the teams warm up and quickly noticed things not quite right. I being a former player and in my own mind a pretty good one started down that rabbit hole of what was wrong with..
First, the players did not even know how to throw the ball the right way. Second, where were the coaches showing them how!
Third, how to catch the ball and fourth, who were the coaches?
I ticked off the things wrong and filed them away for further reference as the teams got ready to play.
I almost forgot, why I was here in the first place! I had come to watch and support my great-great niece El.
Well, she didn’t get to start and I was disappointed me being a really good player back in the day. I got into watching and well actually found myself again critiquing the players and coaches.
With the game came some wondering about rules and why did they call that? Why were they trying to play fastpitch in the fourth and fifth grades?
I went through all the reasons of why and when did all these things change?
Three outs still the same as with strikes and balls too.
El got to bat and play and I watched her do her best and I critiqued again. I sat with her mom and her uncle as she played in the field.
After the game we talked among ourselves and found our critiquing along the same lines of thought.
I waited for her to come by and said “good game.” It was not what I would have said at any other time but now it was different.
I sit here thinking back and gathering thoughts and emotions of what had been versus what I think it was.
She was playing what she enjoyed and being with teammates and classmates. She is growing up differently than we did.
How many times did a bad thought of why, how, do you not, you cannot, who taught you, came to mind? I kept quiet as I have in watching my nieces and nephews play sports. I know that games of playing workup or games on Saturday or Sunday after church no longer happen. Today games are played on the computer and spent time on facebook or some other thing.
I groaned with every strike or missed catch but thank God he has kept my tongue from destroying these precious people. Whether they are my own family or those of other families. Plus to do so, and you can start a fight by criticizing and hollering at their son or daughter.
Mark 18:6 whosoever offend these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were drowned and cast into the sea.
I need to make sure I am helping all to grow and not tearing any down.
I’m no longer the scrawny kid from Dahlonegah but, just an overweight (fat) great uncle now.
My nieces and nephews whether I’m their uncle or their great, even great-great are worth my attention.
If I tell them my playing days have come and gone over 50 years ago now. They may say that is over a half-century ago. They also might say “did they even play softball way back then, what they use back in the stone age, uncle?”
Yes, and sometimes in a cow pasture and we would actually even use cow patties as bases.
No lie!
