What I Remember About My Time At McClellan Processing

The silly things you keep when you're a sentimental person. I could have used this on the #occupation prompt but I didn't know I still had it. I'm the daughter of a #butcher

McClellan's Processing Co. was the family business. Many of us worked there through the years -- Great grandparents, grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins... some more than others but we all spent some time there. It's an interesting way to spend your youth, that's for sure.

I was really young when they still killed poultry on Fridays. I remember getting up extra early on those days. It was still dark by the time we'd make it over the plant. And I woud climb those tall narrow concrete stairs. I'd be given a broom to start sweeping the porch while Dad starting setting up and we'd wait for our first customers. Later, when everything got under way I helped my Mammy band the bags of finished product (chickens and turkeys). I , with my trusty Australian Shepherd, rounded up strays, I unloaded cages (I hated that - I was a bigger chicken than the chickens - probably why there were so many strays!). The few times I made it to the 'line' Grandma Nall taught me not to bust the gall-bladder lest you turn green. I don't remember the year they quit doing poultry but I think I was still in single digits.

When you're as young as I was, there wasn't a whole lot to do while waiting for age appropriate tasks. It was often cold and I can remember sitting close to the room heater and touching the bottom of my shoes to the glass panels and it melting the bottom of my shoes (yes, on purpose -- boredom is a terrible thing.). The heater looked something like this:



One of my age appropriate tasks was helping Grandma Nall wrap and stamp the meat and I also got to shove the meat down the grinder to make hamburger. When I grew up I had to help on the boning table. Curse that stupid boning table. I HATED that job. HATED it. I didn't mind grinding the hamburger, or tenderizing the steaks or rubbing the hams down with cure. I did hate that stupid white towel I had to wear on my head to keep my hair back but I hated hair nets worse so I wore the kerchief.

My dad lived next door and I loved the days Uncle Mike would fire up the smoker for the cured meat. It smelled so amazing outside.

I remember we were occasionally able to quit cutting meat early, but we still had to wait until 5 o'clock for customers. Those times were often filled sitting in the office and reading The Reader's Digest out loud with my dad.

I remember long time employees, Opal and Belva. And lunch time when it was a pot-luck.

I remember Tyson hogs. They would bring in a HUGE trailer full of hogs and we'd do pork for weeks.

There was one customer who would bring in his beefalo (the offspring of a cow and American Bison). He would often like to come and watch us cut his meat.

Another thing I remember is certain smells. Sometimes cookies or cake will take you back in time to a grandmother. The smell that will take me back to my time spent at the locker plant every time, is the smell of bleach and blue dawn dish soap. That is what we used to clean the tables and equipment and was a signal to the end of the day.

These are a few of my memories of my time spent working at the family business.

I hope the rest of my family will weigh in with some of their memories.

Until next time,
Becky

The Sound of Her Voice

Growing up, I had a special relationship with my paternal grandmother, who we called Mammy. My parents divorced before I was a year old and my daddy got me every other weekend and a few long spells during the summer. The only "problem" with that was that he worked every Saturday at the Washington County Sale Barn, so he needed someone to watch me. That job fell into the hands of his parents, my Mammy and Bampy. It's funny how when I think back on my childhood it's the memories associated with that time that seem to stand out. I don't know why exactly, but I always assume it was because those moments were where I got the most attention or one-on-one time. It may have been doing chores or flat out working but I didn't have to share that with any other kids very often.

Anyway, when my Mammy passed, I was asked if there was anything I wanted. I didn't answer truthfully because honestly, I wanted ALL. THE. THINGS. But that wasn't realistic or fair. So I asked for her tapes. Every time the church we attended held a service, they recorded it, beginning to end. And my Mammy purchased every single tape, I bet. There were several boxes full. Through the years I have sifted through them and tucked in with those tapes was the best surprise ever; a few tapes that Mammy had recorded of herself singing (either making up songs or singing along with the radio), a few tapes where she sang specials at church (New Sulphur Free Will Baptist Church) and two other very special tapes...

Before the age of computers and cell phones people wrote letters and because my Mammy had left her home of Texas, where her mother and all of her siblings lived in the early 1960's the only other way to keep in touch was with a phone call. Back then, before cell phones, there were long distance charges to call outside of your local area and they were pricey. Towards the later part of my Mammy's mother's life, Grandma Jones couldn't read or write very well so my Mammy and her would exchange  recorded cassette tapes of conversations with one another. Hence the two other very special tapes. One of Grandma Jones that is labeled 'Mother's Last Tape' and one that my Mammy recorded to send Grandma Jones. I don't know if she never sent it, or if she somehow got it back after Grandma Jones passed away. But either way these two tapes were tucked inside with all those other tapes. They are some of my most treasured items.

I have shared these on Facebook, before, but I think I would like to share them here in my genealogy post.

I hope you enjoy hearing her voice again. Honestly, I tear up every time I listen. But sometimes the soul needs a good purge.

Until next time,
Becky

Mammy Original:

Grandma Jones' last tape from the nursing home in Knox City, TX:

And last but not least My Mammy singing Far Side Banks of Jordan with Brother Glen Faulkner April 2001:

The House(s) That Built Me

It's a rainy day today. The kind of day that is perfect for inside chores and relaxing. We have recently moved to what we think will be our last home. How many times do people think that, and end up moving again? I thought I would use moving and the houses I have lived in as a prompt for a blog post. If my children ever end up interested in this crazy hobby of documenting family history, they may find this one interesting.

House # 1

When I was first born, my parents lived in the same house my Dad still lives in. Right next door to the slaughter house that employed him and that his family owned during the 1970's-90's in Canehill. That house was built in the 1960's and has gone through a lot of upgrades through the years. My Step-mom has a great knack for seeing improvable space. When I was growing up, that house had a pea green carpet in the living room and I think, hallway. My room had wood floors, and so did the family room. Dad's room had a flat red carpet, not plush at all. The kitchen had linoleum that had the same pea green colors of the carpet in its pattern. When I was in my single digits, it had two bathrooms. The one you entered directly into from the hallway was pastel pink and had a bathtub. It had the wall tiles similar to this picture.

The one you entered into from the laundry room was pastel blue and had a shower. Later on, walls were torn down and it became one larger bathroom. This was a 3 bedroom home. Growing up I went back and forth between the two bedrooms at the back of the house. When I was in my teens, I helped remove the old pea green carpet and we replaced it with a hunter green carpet. I can vaguely remember gold vein mirror tiles I think above the cabinets in the kitchen....

House # 2

I don't remember the house my Mom moved into after she and dad divorced. The only "memory" I have of it is a picture she has of me and my **step-dad next to a huge snowman he built. I was about one or two at the time. It was on the corner of Cheri Whitlock and Mt. Olive/Hwy 43 in Siloam Springs.

**When you read 'Dad' from this point on - I will be talking about my step-dad, Steve, since while I was growing up and even today, my Dad (Johnny) only had one house. Mom and Dad (Steve) had several.

For more on my feeling about the whole step-parent thing, read here.

House # 3

The first house I do remember was on Stonewall Rd, in Prairie Grove and it is a great example of how our young minds remember things vs how things really are. The way I remembered this house was that it sat on top of a hill. A pretty steep hill and at the bottom of that hill along the road were two apple trees. When I drive by that house today I can barely call that "steep hill" a knoll and I don't think the apple trees are there anymore. That house had a basement that leaked. I remember having a sand box to the east of the house. This is the house we lived in when my little brother, Tyler, was born. This is the house we lived in when Dad worked the late shift at Franklin Electric and when he would come home, he and I would sit on the couch and eat while he watched TV. I was about 3 or 4. He and I were really close during this time. Mom was going to school and working during the day, I wasn't old enough for school yet, so it would be just the two of us all day and baby Tyler once he was born. (Jared and Laney had a similar relationship because I worked graveyard and slept during the day, while they two of them hung out - and baby Ashley mainly slept.)

Remember those apple trees? Its funny the memories you have. One year I was allowed to make my own lunch. I gathered apple blossoms from those trees, wild onions from the yard, and pickles from the fridge and made myself a salad! Dad actually let me eat that! I remember a time when I spotted a baby mouse behind the couch so I went to the kitchen and grabbed the cheese and threw pieces of cheese behind the couch to feed it. Mom and Dad were not happy when they discovered what I had done. I remember Dad with the help of my Grandpas, Uncles and other family members, built on the back room of that house as well as a covered patio to park under. While they were adding on I was running around barefoot and stepped on a nail. I remember when I was sat into the bathtub the water turned red. They had a wood stove in the new family room and one time mom threw the bathroom trash in there. Dad had thrown a shaving cream can in the trash and she didn't know it. It blew up and she was burned pretty badly. I remember being afraid of sleeping alone for a while and I would crawl into their room at night and sleep on the floor beside the bed on Mom's side. She would drape her hand down on the side of the bed and I would reach up and hold it until I fell asleep. I remember one summer mom kicking us outside to play (that was very common thing when I was growing up). She actually locked us out and I wouldn't' leave the porch. The next thing I knew there was a HUGE tarantula on the porch with me. I remember Dad trying to argue on our behalf to let us in. I don't remember the outcome. I only remember that huge spider! I remember a large Mimosa tree that was to the west of the patio. It had several branches that forked right there at the ground and I would often climb in there and just hang out. During that time Mom and Dad both had motorcycles and Mom's sister Michelle, lived a little ways down a nearby dirt road on a chicken farm. We would sometimes ride those motorcycles to her house to visit. Doesn't that seem strange? My mom driving a motorcycle? Hers was a little gray Honda. Dad's was red and seemed like more of a dirt bike. I can't remember what make it was. We also had a few stray dogs that would show up. I vividly remember one was a dark red colored golden retriever. Because of her color we called her 'Red'. She would follow me to the mailbox to catch the bus each morning and would be there waiting when I got home. I seem to vaguely remember a little puppy maybe named 'Socks' or 'Boots' that we had for a while too. When it was time to leave this house and move to our next home, we had to send Red to stay with my Grandma Reba. I don't remember exactly what happened to her, but I think she ran away.



House # 4
The next house we lived in was a rent house we had to stay in while our new home in Siloam Springs was being built. When I was in second grade we moved to a little house on W. Graham Street, in Prairie Grove. I remember being allowed to walk to school. I remember we were friends with the little family at the end of the street and I would sometimes 'baby-sit' the little boy named Justin, though at that age, I'm not sure I was baby-sitting as much as maybe just keeping him occupied. I don't have too many memories of the interior of this house. I remember it had carpet in the kitchen and it seems like the carpet was burnt or stained in a few places and left a life long impression on me that you would never want to have carpet in your kitchen. We still lived in this house by the time I started 3rd grade but not long after. I vaguely remember Dad driving me from Prairie Grove to Siloam the first few weeks of school.

House # 5

This house was a very exciting home. Mom and Dad had designed it. It was a mansion compared to all our other homes. It was in a little living addition called Country Acres. We lived on Hickory Lane. It was brand new and had an upstairs. Stairs are a big thing when you are young and have never had them before! The exterior was brown cedar and had brick half way up.  When you opened the front door you were facing the staircase that took you upstairs. Tyler's room was on the left, our bathroom was straight ahead, and my room was on the right. We had those gabled windows in our bedrooms and my closet also had a door that led to the attic. From the front door, when you entered and looked right you were in the living room. There was a fireplace to the right and entries on the left and right of the back wall. The left took you into the dining area, the right took you into the kitchen and the garage door was there too. The kitchen and dining area were an open floor plan. The dining area had a wall sized book shelf and to the left of the dining room was the master bed/bath. We had a deck and large backyard accessible from sliding glass doors in the dining area. We also had a garden. I loved that house. While we lived there we gained ownership of a beautiful collie that we named Lassie. She belonged to a neighbor that lived a few houses away. I'm not sure why but she would never stay home and made her residence at our place. Dad went and talked to the owner and she became our dog. Mom started her career as a first grade teacher in Gentry, when we lived there. We lived in that house for about three years.

House # 6

When I was in about the 6th grade, Mom and Dad sold their home and we again moved into a rental. This one was a trailer house that sat right where 412 is now. When they put in the new highway the rental was moved and the highway went in. It sat very close to 'humpback' bridge. We didn't live there for very long. I remember seeing "ghosts" when we lived there. There were a few instances when my cousin Christy and my best friend Cheryl were there and they witnessed this strange phenomenon  - I can't remember which story belongs to which person but once a silhouette ran through the yard and right though a barbed-wire fence. Another instance we were up late and Christy or Cheryl (who ever was there that night) their eyes glowed bright red. To this day I find it strange that there's a haunted house that takes place right there at Riverside each Halloween. When we lived there I also remember Tyler getting in very deep trouble when he and a friend walked down to the river without asking and none of us knew where they were.

House # 7

This house was not very far from the one in Country Acres. It was in a living addition called Meadow Wood on Crestwood Drive . I loved this house too. It had a lot of neat things like an intercom system, a built in vacuum cleaner, and a toaster that was built into the wall too. My bedroom was attached to the bathroom, so even though I had to share it with Tyler, and guests, it felt like it was my very own. My bedroom had mauve carpet and I had a canopy bed. This house was very long, no upstairs. When you entered the front door you were in the living room. We rarely used this room. I took piano lessons when we lived here so there was a piano sitting in this room and the NW wall had a mural on it. To the left was the hall way that would take you to the bedrooms. At the very end was the master bedroom and bathroom area. You would step down into the master bedroom. And it was huge. If you went straight at the front door you would enter the dining room and to the right was the kitchen and then you would step down into the den. Dad built a really nice deck onto the back of the house that wrapped around a rather large tree and it had built in benches. This house was dark blue on the exterior and gray brick. It had an attached patio to the right and a shed type room to the right of it. We lived in this house until I was in about the 9th grade.



House # 8

This was another rental that we stayed in while Mom and Dad renovated their next house. It was a little house on Rodric Drive, I think the house number was 207. I walked to school from this house too. This house didn't have much of a yard, front or back. I don't remember very much about the interior. We didn't live here too long.

House # 9
This is the last house I lived before I "grew up" and got married. I remember mom and dad doing a lot of painting, and fixing up before we moved into the house on Summit Drive. It had a fenced in back yard and a large lot to the North. When you entered the house it had a foyer. The hallway was on the left. The washing machine and dryer were down the hallway. I don't remember the laundry area of the other houses. Probably because this is the house we lived in when I learned how to do laundry. Across from the laundry closet was the bathroom and down the hall to the left was the master bedroom and bath. The hallway then made a right angle turn and my room was on the left and it made a dead end at Tyler's room. Tyler's room had a western theme. Mine room was two tone, hunter green on the bottom and a tan color on top and a  fleur de lis type pattern wall paper border between the two. Mom took my childhood toy box and painted it the hunter green color and added the border around it. I had a desk to do my makeup and a pretty good size closet. If you went straight from the foyer  you were in the living room and could look straight to the sliding glass door that went to the back yard. To the right  was the kitchen. It was quite small and led to the garage. I got my first care while living in this house. It was a white late 80's model mustang with red interior.

I married in 1998 and by the end of 1999 Mom and Dad had built the house they live in now on River Valley Road.

I don't know how or where they found the energy to do all they did when I was growing up. Besides moving that many times, my brother, Tyler, was heavily involved in baseball. Dad coached him in little league and later, on a travel team. Mom and Dad both worked full-time jobs and did most, if not all of the repairs and fixing up of all the houses we lived in, rentals included. The few times I have moved as an adult convinces me each time that I never want to do it again.

We have had quite a few hiccups with our new place but I do hope we can endure and spend the rest of our lives here.

Until next time,
Becky

Lucky To Be Alive

This week's writing prompt is "Luck of the Irish". I considered writing about a few ancestors I have traced back to Ireland, but felt that it would be a bit dry and fact based. I also thought about writing about my 23 and Me DNA results that said I am 63.9% British and Irish but I didn't know what else I would say since it has been nearly two years since receiving my results and I still don't fully understand how to read them, aside from ancestry composition. Then last minute it hit me... I'll write about my dad!




Now my Dad isn't exactly what you would call a lucky man. In fact, growing up he would always say "If it weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't  have any at all." But after some thought I decided that I would have to disagree. You see my dad has had too many near death experiences, only to come out on the other side still breathing to be called unlucky.

My dad first cheated death when he was just an infant, around 6 months of age. He swallowed a safety pin. After a tracheotomy to help him breathe the safety pin became lodged in his lung. At one point the respirator quit working and Grandpa Rufus and the attending nurse had to get it up and running again. In order to remove the safety pin from his lung the doctors had to nearly cut his arm off, reaching in from behind at his shoulder to remove the pin. It was a very close call. I can still remember being a little girl and massaging my daddy's sore back and tracing that scar, that reached from right under his armpit all the way up to the top of his shoulder, with my tiny fingers.

Now being a rambunctious little boy (My Mammy, his mother, always spoke of how he kept her on her toes.) at the age of five or six, he decided to climb a tree one Sunday morning (yes, Sunday, before church), when a limb broke and he came crashing down, only to hit his head on the retaining wall beside the tree. Not long after that he would tie a make-shift cape around his neck and jump from the roof of the house. The boy was fearless. Or hard headed. Maybe both.

At the age of about 15, he was driving the family's tractor from his dad's place to Mr. Odell Brown's when it slipped out of gear and the brakes wouldn't work. It began to "frog hop" first the front left tire hitting the ground followed by the back right. He was going down hill and was only gaining momentum, while the tractor ride was becoming more and more violent. He managed to jump off right before the tractor began to roll end over end. And as if that experience with a tractor wasn't enough, fast forward a few more years to when he was fueling up his the family's 8N Ford tractor.  Dad recalled that the exhaust on that little tractor was hot and it was near overheating. When he began filling it with gas some splashed onto the exhaust and before he knew it the tractor was in flames. Not too far off in the distance was the farm propane thank. Some quick thinking and he began kicking up all the dirt he could and threw it on the tractor until finally the fire went out. Another close call.



He's not even 18 yet, and I'm just getting started. Sometime in either his Junior or Senior year of High School (He remembers almost not graduating because of missing so much school) he found himself hanging side by side with a half skinned calf, on a gambrel-bar, used in dressing animals at the family owned processing plant in Canehill - known as McClellans. Dad was skinning a black angus calf when the cord of the hoist had come unplugged. FDA regulations state that the electrical outlets must be 10 feet up the wall. Now growing up around the processing plant I have an good understanding of how wet and slippery and kind of bulky the boots and aprons can be. I didn't spend much time on the kill floor, but I remember  the conditions very well. Dad, dressed in his heavy, yellow apron and black rubber boots, got out the ladder and began to climb it in order plug the hoist back in. His boots would've been covered in blood and other slippery animal excretions and of course, he slipped, and when he did, he fell into the hook on the gambrel bar and was left hanging. Next door his mom and dad were processing chickens and just inside past the cooler, his Granddad Rufus and Grandma Willie Belle were cutting meat. There was a lot of machinery running and no one could hear him screaming for help. He said he eventually used his good arm to wedge it between him and the half-skinned calf and was able to push himself off, just before Rufus had shut off the band saw. Once he did, Grandma Willie Belle heard him yelling and they came running. He recalls his granddad telling him it wasn't that bad, saying, "I've had worse in my eye-ball". Of course, he hadn't, and dad was taken to the local doctor in town, Dr. Tucker. A fairly good indicator of the times, he remembers the nurse cleaning his wound just in time for the ashes from Dr. Tucker's cigarette to fall into his wound.

The next tale come from right around the time I was born. He and his best friend Cary Bartholomew and Cary's younger brother Mitch were trying to load some cattle into a gooseneck trailer when the truck slipped out of gear and began to roll down hill. Dad recalled that Mitch ran for the truck first, but that Cary yelled at him to stop. Dad being closer to the truck anyway, decided he'd try to get in and try to stop it. He reached the truck and just as soon as he got the door open and started to step in the trailer jack-knifed and crushed the door into his chest and neck. Crushing his windpipe and lungs. The last thing he remembered was slapping the back glass just before passing out and seeing a white light. By then Cary made it to the truck and entered in on the passenger side giving it some gas. The tires spun out but he was able to move the truck about a foot, which was just enough slack to let the door open enough for dad to fall out. Working like he did on the farm, my dad was a pretty stout young man. He recalls the ER doctor telling him if he hadn't of been quite so muscular the impact of that trailer pinning him in the door would've left him with pizza for lungs.

Fast forward to when I was about 11 or 12. I had my heart set on getting a horse so Dad bought me one. A green broke strawberry roan filly. She got out one day and Dad was trying to herd her in the right direction with the truck. She was running at him hard and made no signs of stopping for the truck, just before she jumped right in the back,  he cut the wheels hard and she clipped the back side sending the truck rolling. The horse and Dad made it out alive, but the truck was totaled. I remember that horse with fondness and then also not-so-much. She was very gentle as long as you were petting her. But once the saddle went on, it was a different story. When he was trying to break her, he and Dawna each took turns riding her so she would be completely wore out by the time it was my turn in the saddle. After what seemed like an eternity, it was my turn. I climbed on and was ready for the ride of my life but she just stood there, refusing to move. He told me to give her a little kick. I did, and she just stood there. He told me to kick her again, and again she just stood there. Then he told me to kick her harder, and you guessed it - she just stood there! Finally he said, "Beck, I can spit harder than you can kick!" And I thought to myself, "Oh, yeah?" So I hauled off and kicked her in the flanks with all I had and well... that was the last thing I remembered before coming too on the outside of the corral screaming at Dawna who was coming in across the field through the gate. I sure was sore and thought I had broken my arm, but the doctor in Lincoln said I had just bruised the bone.

Another close call was when Dad was brush hogging and stirred up a hornets nest. He was stung so many times that he swelled up so badly he had to put a straw in his mouth just to get air.

There are many more close calls, as it can be a dangerous job being a cattle farmer, and even more so working at the sale barn. I remember some of my favorite times was when he would come home from the sale with all his stories of near injury to both himself and the boys he worked with. My dad may not be one much for luck when it comes to equipment working, or things going right, but I'd say he's definitely got a guardian angel when it comes to keeping him alive, and I couldn't be more grateful! I love you Dad!

Until next week,
Becky

And don't forget to check out my blogging partner in this #52Ancestors challenge - my talented SIL over at Days of Our Lives. This week she uses Irish Limericks.

*Winnie Sue's sister, Francis, says they drove to the hospital in their station wagon with a mattress in the back and made Winnie Sue and Charles go take a nap in it while she watched over Johnny. She said that because he had that trach you couldn't hear him crying but you could see his tears. Such a pitiful story but amazing he survived!!