~ July Featured Columns ~
420 N Main - Weatherford 817-598-0526
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Click or double click the Willhite logo to go to Willhite's website.
Creekside Automotive is now an Authorized U-Haul Dealer
The Stockyards Museum is located in the Live Stock Exchange Building.
Their hours are Monday - Saturday 10:00 to 5:00 .
For more information, call them at 817-625-5082.
“In 2001, he became the first clinician to create a made-for-TV horse training program that aired on RFD-TV. The use of untrained horses and a variety of topics covering common problems faced by horse owners quickly made Downunder Horsemanship the network’s number one equine program. In 2011, Clinton launched a half-hour version of Downunder Horsemanship on Fox Sports Net, a national broadcast station that reaches 80 million viewers. Later that year, he created and released DownunderHorsemanship.TV, an internet TV site that gives horse owners around the world free access to the Downunder Horsemanship television show.”
“In 2003 and 2005, Clinton faced the country’s best horse trainers and clinicians in the prestigious Road to the Horse, an event that challenges trainers to gentle and ride an untouched horse in less than three hours. Clinton became the first person to win the event twice in a row.”
“In 2007, Clinton created the No Worries Club, a community for horsemen who practice the Method. Through a website, exclusive DVDs, a quarterly publication and nationwide events, Clinton inspires and educates his most loyal followers so they can accomplish their horsemanship dreams.”
“In addition to being a clinician, Clinton breeds, trains and shows his own reining and cow horses. He currently competes and wins at the highest levels of competition.”
The Online Poolville Post is extremely pleased to have Downunder Horsemanship and Clinton Anderson on its pages. As the name suggests, Clinton is from Australia. While there, he apprenticed with Gorden McKinlay, a horseman and horse clinician. After a three year apprenticeship he began working with Ian Francis for a year until opening his own facility in Rockhampton, Queensland. In 1996 Clinton served a brief apprenticeship with Al Dunning in the U.S. In late 1997, Clinton moved to Texas and began Downunder Horsemanship.
“Today, Clinton continues to instruct horsemanship clinics, presents Walkabout Tours across the country, produces a television show, hosts an Internet TV website and is constantly creating comprehensive study kits and training tools to make learning horsemanship as accessible and easy as possible. Clinton and Downunder Horsemanship are recognized as world leaders in the equestrian industry and continue to offer the very best in innovation, inspiration and instruction.”
“The Downunder Horsemanship Ranch is a world-class training facility located in Stephenville. Every feature of the ranch was custom designed by Clinton with the goal of giving horses the best care possible and ensuring he had the finest facilities to bring out a horse’s full potential. The 250-acre property is meticulously groomed and cared for, and is a horseman’s paradise. From the barns and arenas to the wash racks and saddling bays, the Downunder Horsemanship Ranch is equipped with every amenity a serious horseman could hope for.”
Click the logo to go to their website.
13635 FM 3025 / 254-552-1000
The Online Poolville Post is looking for local authors and writers who would be willing to contribute articles. I am working on several leads, but there is plenty of space. Please contact me at email@example.com if you are interested.
Every Monday David Sawyer "The Guy With The Guitar" hand writes a verse of scripture and sets it to music.
The message is always inspiring and the music is always impressive
Click the FB logo below to watch him create his magic and listen to his guitar playing.
Editor's Note: If you enjoyed this presentation, leave David a note in the Guest Book.
You Do Not Need A FaceBook Account To View This Video
Olde West History
Day by Day
And that's how it was in the olde wooly west.
In 1941, a commercial for Lava was heard at the closing of a VIC & SADE broadcast. The subject of the commercial was an invitation by Procter & Gamble to the radio listeners to write a letter to the company on their experiences of washing their hands with Lava. In finishing off the commercial, the announcer said Lava cleaned extra dirty hands in only 20 seconds.
Click the radio to hear an actual "voice from the past."
Waynetta hails from Pawhuska and Bartlesville, Okla., moving to Texas after she graduated from college. Since childhood, the horse has been her favorite animal. Her Lucky Me Ranch near the Red River is residence for a variety of critters. Waynetta’s love of nature and the West is the foundation for her stories. Waynetta is a past Storyteller in residence at Texas A & M University, and broadcasts weekly radio shows of Cowboy music, cowboy poetry and stories in Sherman/Denison on KJIM/1500 AM/101.3FM. She has had radio shows broadcast out of Mesquite, Texas, as well as Ada, Oklahoma, and on Clear Channel Radio in Oklahoma City. Waynetta also has had a 24/7 internet broadcast on Live365. During these broadcasts, Waynetta combines tales from the Old West with insights from her life on the Lucky Me Ranch. Waynetta sprinkles interviews with interesting guests of the West, everyday cowboys as well as Western celebrities.
To find out what happened in Texas on this date, click the Texas State Historical Association logo above. You will then be taken to their website.
The Texas Rangers began in 1835 to patrol the borders of the Republic of Texas and were later given authority to enforce Texas state law.
To read some exciting stories of the Texas Rangers, see the books that have been written by San Antonio author Richard Womack on the Wordsmithing page.
This Side of the Valley
by Skye Clark
Skye is a rancher, a model and an accomplished self-taught photographer. At near forty, it is hard to image that she ever had any issues with self confidence, especially given the independent and rugged life-style she chooses to live, but in this recent blog she shares her thoughts on self-confidence.
Skye has agreed to share her random thoughts on life and ranching with Poolville Post readers. If you want some inspiration or maybe just another perspective, this new column is for you. If you want to see one of her ranch photographs, she always has one on the PS page. You will also find links to her Facebook and Smugmug pages.
The following year, it took from 20-50 seconds--- and the year after that, it was from 30-50 seconds. No, Lava wasn't slowing down with age, because it would take from 30-50 seconds to wash the hands clean for the remainder of radio's golden age.
I pulled out an interview from the Archives of the Lucky Me Ranch, a short interview I called Snapshots on my radio show. They are short interviews with folks that I think people would like to know more about. John Buttram is one of those folks. His unmistakable voice reminds you of his uncle, Pat Buttram, whose distinct voice you heard in Gene Autry movies.
I visited with John a few years back at the Ft. Worth Stock Show. We were at an event called Camp Fire Tales. It was a fun 3 day gathering of entertainers sharing cowboy poetry, music and stories, and John was the MC. I always got a kick out of John as an MC. He came up with funny jokes and comebacks as quick as could be. I just had a few minutes to interview him and this is that Snap Shot.
W - How are you doing, John?
J - I’m doing just fine.
W - I bet everybody recognizes that voice.
J - I had an uncle named Pat Buttram. Pat’s voice was pretty much like mine; he was Gene Autry’s sidekick and also he was Mr. Haney on Green Acres and then he did a bunch of the Disney cartoons. He was the voice in some of those.
W – That is so neat. So what are you up to these days? I know you MC for a lot of festivals.
J - That’s about it mainly; I retired about 11 years ago and just travel all over to any festival that will have me, just introduce folks and tell some kind of joke on them and that’s about it.
W – I’m always so impressed with you because you are so quick to come up with jokes and people never know what you are going to say, but you can sure come up with it fast; that’s quite a gift!
J - I’m one of them that doesn’t know, too, you know. All I can do is tell stuff like that; I was going to write songs but I never could. I had one that I was going to write, “Meet Me in the Corn Patch, Honey, and I’ll kiss You Between the Ears”. Then there was one, “Don’t Run Through The Screen Door, Granny, You Might Strain Yourself”, and then there was, “I was Lonesome When I Was With You”.
W- Well, I bet that one certainly endeared you to a lot of people’s hearts.
J – That’s probably right!
W – So what do you have coming up in the future?
J - The Cowtown Gala is coming up and it’s to raise money for the Cowtown Opry. There’s also the Gene Autry Festival in Gene Autry, Okla. That’s in Sept. They’ve got a whole passle of folks coming up there, a lot of the old movie star . It’s going to be a great time.
W – Gene Autry was quite an entertainer, wasn’t he?
J – Yes, Pat used to say that Gene used to ride into the sunset and now he’s made enough money to where he owns it.
W – How many years have you been an MC here, John?
J – I think it’s the 4th year at the Stock Show. It’s always a good time; you see a lot of good people and it’s just a lot of fun.
W – It’s kind of like a family reunion after a while, isn’t it?
J - Sure is and that’s the way these festivals turn out.
An Interview With John Buttram
John Buttram is not only known for his quick wit as an MC, but has been in films such as Tales of the Cap Gun Kid, Gene Autry: White Hat, Silver Screen, and Bill Tilghman and the Outlaws.
Editors Note: The venue at the Fort Worth Stock and Rodeo called "Campfire Tales" still lives and is now know as "Music and Poetry of the West." It is still a three day event, held on January 27th, 28, and 29th. While John Buttram will not be there, the creators of Tales of the Cap Gun Kid, (Wild West Toys - Bob & Johnie Terry) will be sponsoring the event. Come meet them and a host of other musicians, story tellers and cowboy poets.
Know When to Retreat
Author: Clinton Anderson
Photo credit: Darrell Dodds
Whenever you introduce a new object or experience to a horse, the key to your success depends on how well you understand and apply pressure.
Pressure in relation to horses refers to movement. Anything that moves creates pressure. The smaller the movement, the less pressure the horse feels. The bigger the movement, the more pressure the horse feels.
Anything that moves creates pressure, and that includes objects you can’t control, such as flags, branches, tarps, etc. A flag that is hanging limply from a flagpole creates very little pressure, but a flag that’s flapping and cracking in the wind creates a lot of pressure.
Sometimes you’ll want your horse to stand still and ignore pressure, and sometimes you’ll want him to move away from it. The horse will know what to do by using the thinking side of his brain and reading your body language.
You Can’t See It, But Your Horse Can Feel It
Pressure is like electricity –you can’t see it, but you know it’s there. Does electricity hurt? It just depends. If you bump into a nine-volt electric fence, you’ll feel just a little tingle, but if you stick your finger in an electric socket, it will hurt a lot.
Pressure can make a horse feel uncomfortable, and just like electricity, the discomfort level depends on the amount of pressure applied. If you wave the Handy Stick slowly and only create a little bit of pressure, then the horse will feel a tingle. If you wave the Handy Stick fast and create a lot of pressure, then you could make the horse feel really uncomfortable.
You don’t even have to be touching the horse for him to feel pressure. You can tap the air with your Handy Stick in front of his nose and he’ll back away from it. You can point with your hand and the horse will follow the feel of that pressure. You can step behind his drive line and look intently at his hindquarters and he’ll yield and face you with two eyes.
Horses Learn From the Release of Pressure
Horses don’t learn from pressure; they learn from the release of pressure. While pressure motivates the horse to look for another answer, it is the release of pressure that teaches him that he did the right thing. That’s why timing is such a crucial element in training horses. If your timing is off, you may be rewarding the horse for the wrong behavior and sending him mixed signals. Whatever the horse is doing the exact second you release pressure is what you’re rewarding him for. So if he rears and you release the pressure, you’ve just rewarded him for rearing. If he pushes into your space and you back off, you’ve just rewarded him for being dominant toward you.
It also works in reverse. If the horse is responding correctly, but you don’t release the pressure, he’ll learn to ignore you. You have to be very conscious to release the pressure as soon as the horse
even attempts to respond the way you want. The quicker you can release the pressure, the faster the horse will understand that he did the right thing. Always reward the slightest try.
Always Ask With the Lightest Amount of Pressure
No matter what you’re asking the horse to do always ask with the lightest amount of pressure possible. Even if you know he isn’t going to respond correctly at first, you still need to give him the benefit of the doubt by asking lightly. If he ignores you, then you’ll gradually increase the amount of pressure until he responds correctly. Ask him, and then tell him. One day when you ask him, there will be no need to tell him.
Most people want to start with a low amount of pressure, which is great, but when their horse ignores them or doesn’t move his feet, they don’t increase the pressure. First, you ask the horse to respond with the lightest amount of pressure possible. If he chooses not to respond, you’ll increase the pressure until you get what you’re looking for.
If you start gently and finish gently, then eventually being gentle will be all that’s necessary to get the job done.
PO Box 528 / Azle, Tx 76098
Tim Green: 817-344-8464
Marshall Sprague (1909 – 1994) a Princeton graduate (1930) with a degree in English, was diagnosed with tuberculosis in early 1941. His recovery took from 1941 to 1943, the first six months of which he spent hospitalized at Glockner Hospital in Colorado Springs. In 1943 his first book was published, The Business of Getting Well, based on his experiences of more than a year of bed rest and inactivity.
While his hospitalization was seventy-seven years ago, I found some startling similarities and resounding truths to being hospitalized, even briefly, during this second decade of this twenty-first century. I offer it here as another perspective of what is being faced today.
I cannot say exactly where or when this essay was published. I found it in a box where my mother had squirreled away assorted articles that had a particular fascination for her at the time. Most of them were from the early forties and were clipped either from Better Homes and Gardens or Good Housekeeping.
The Business of Getting Well
By Marshall Sprague
Most people are in some sort of business, and most people make a great fuss over their own line. We don’t talk much about ours, but it is mighty important just the same. It keeps us on the job twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, no vacations. Our business is getting well.
Who are “we”? A million and more individuals in hospitals throughout the land. We are the people with tuberculosis, with cancer and strained hearts, with arthritis and anemia and serious digestive troubles. We are victims of accidents by tornado, flood, and the carelessness of man. We are convalescents from wasting pneumonia, scarlet fever, typhoid, and a thousand other bugs and growths and follies and poisons.
To outsiders we are a grim lot. Week after week, month after month, and sometimes year after year our world is four walls and a window. Presumably we are in pain half the time, very low in mind most of the time, and bored to tears all of the time. We are supposed to be oppressed by fear of death and bitter with a sense of uselessness. Friends are resigned about invalids like us. “Poor Emma!” they’ll say. “Still in that ghastly hospital.”
Chances are that Emma does not deserve to be “poored.” Chances are that Emma, like most of, is too busy getting well to fret over being sick. Busy how? Well there is routine to start with. We are experts at it. We know to the second when the sun will set, when the Rocket will whistle at the Pearl Street grade, when Elmer Davis comes on, when the Army trainers fly over on exercises. That rubles-clatter at 9 P.M. is the town street sweeper. Each night at 11:10 a car stands five minutes at the corner with motor running and then moves off quietly; it is the local patrol. The grass is mown Wednesday, the hedge clipped Thursday. Joe cuts hair Monday. Tuesday and Friday are bath days. Wash water at 7 A.M., breakfast at 8:15, mail at 9:50, milk at 10:55, doctor at 11, rest hour at 2.
It sounds deadly and would be if it were invariable. But it isn’t. It is constantly breaking down, and when it does, it is like front-page news. The other evening we missed the rumble-clatter of the street sweeper at 9 P.M. What had happened? The street-sweeping machine had got stuck in a ditch. Another evening nobody came at back-rub time. It turned out that all the nurses were down the hall pleading with an old lady. She had set out to eat a ball of yarn and already had swallowed several feet of it.
Hospital employees are not supposed to discuss patients with other patients. Nurses and orderlies are cautious with newcomers; but the lid soon flies off, and the newcomers join the inner circle. No other gossip is as lush as hospital gossip. Over a few invalid months I have learned more of human affairs than in all my years of health. I know which doctor is sweet on what nurse and exactly when they were last seen together and where. I know a woman with only nine toes and another who screams at the sight of prunes. I have a food idea what hope looks like, and a man I meet in the bathroom now and then is all I care to see of despair. They tell me he hasn’t much the matter with him except a feeling that he’s in the way.
Most of the gossip is cheerful—indispensable in our business of getting well.
It is cheering news to hear that young Mrs., Jones can have her baby after all. It is tonic to know that the man in 310 wears ski socks in bed. Surgeons find the oddest things in the most conservative stomachs –a brass button labeled “JFD” in Mrs. Snodgrass’ a buffalo nickel in Mr. Brown’s. Mrs. Snodgrass is mum about JFD. Mr. Brown claims he swallowed his nickel in ’06 during the Frisco fire. He insists this is true, though buffalo nickels didn’t exist until 1913.
Every job has a knack to it, and the knack of staying in bed for six months or more is simple, like most knacks, once you get the hang of it. The first thing you do is to forget about everything you’re used to doing that can’t be done in bed. Instead, here is a new world to conquer, a world of four walls and a window.
The human mind is such a wondrous thing that four walls and a window can be more than enough. My walls are of brick—thirty-six rows top to bottom—and the bricks came from a kiln south of here owned by a Mormon whose father had seven wives. My bed is in an alcove formed mainly of five windows. On four tables beside my bed are the tools of my business—an atlas, a radio, a World Almanac, dozens of pencils and notebooks, bird guides, binoculars, novels and histories, a plant or two, a couple of goldfish—all the things invalids collect.
I am not going to pretend that I can look in my fifty-cent atlas and fell the taste of a mango in my mouth while the monsoon cools my brow. I’m not a fellow who can put down a novel and imagine the room full of sperm whales, white rajahs, or luscious debutantes. Those goldfish never pay the slightest attention to me, though I bought them with the notion that we’d soon become great pal and I’d write a book on our experiences.
One sweet thing I see much of from my window is human devotion. Almost every day some young man tramps the walk below, back and forth, waiting to know what only time and doctors will tell. There are old trampers too, facing more serious consequences than babies. Is there a certain way a man has of walking when he thinks about how he loves somebody and how he is afraid for that somebody? I don’t know for sure. But I do know there is an alikeness in the way these anxious people walk
There must be fifty men and women getting well long-term on the floor. I would like to tell you that all fifty of them are as busy as bees with fifty different varieties of ingenious enterprise. Unfortunately, this is not the case. The proportion of progressive minds among invalids is a small as among well people. Perhaps a half dozen have specialties.
A fellow down the hall took needlework last year and now gets food prices for what he makes. Close by me is a cattleman, who toils five hours a day on a vast chart of bloodlines. His son is to break down the pedigrees into exact mathematics and then draw up a breeding program what will produce nothing but top-price animals. The little man in 306 has become an expert magician—his act worked out entirely on invalid time.
Nothing is a bad for us whose business is getting well as your pity. Our main business ethic is not to feel sorry for ourselves, and we ask the same of you. We came here seriously ill, and we are getting well. We came here in various degrees of terror or uncertainty, and the strongest of us could not help suspecting that perhaps the sun was sinking, love dying, flowers fading, beauty and work and pleasure about over. We were bound to have such thoughts; but now we know we are getting well! So what of these dreary days of confinement by four walls and a window? Is the path dreary to the foot of the rainbow?
I miss the simpler times and the days when kids could be kids.
When common sense was found in most people. When technology hadn’t completely taken over.
And where people had RESPECT for everyone and everything regardless if they agreed with the person or not.
When SELF RESPONSIBILITY existed. When suing people and greasy lawyers were almost never heard of.
I miss being a kid riding in the back of the pickup everywhere we went. From the hay fields to across the state of Wyoming.
I miss small town county fairs, rodeo burgers, kids riding sheep without helmets, and J.R. Rodeos where everyone brought the old work mare or dude horse to run the barrels on. Not some $20,000 horse their parents bought.
I miss riding or walking anywhere we wanted, even through neighbors fields.
There weren’t such a thing as no trespassing signs because we were taught to respect people’s property and always shut the gate.
I miss all the neighbors being in the ag industry and having something in common with everyone you run into in the grocery store.
I miss the old high school parking lot full of pickups with a couple rifles hanging on the rack and nobody locked their doors.
I miss seeing every hay field full of kids loading hay by hand.
I miss neighbors putting livestock back in when they got out and pulling a fence up without saying a word.
I miss calling home collect from a pay phone.
I miss hand written letters.
I miss old film pictures and the excitement of opening the envelope and also the disappointment when most were black .
I miss not having computers and only “catching up” with family and friends a couple times a year at a BBQ or rodeo or camping trip.
I miss the respect, morals and values that were instilled in kids.
I miss the bus drivers kicking a kids ass when he needed it.
I miss being able to hitchhike without worrying about getting killed by a serial killer.
I miss the days when going out to eat was a very rare and special treat.
I miss all the good ol boys in the coffee shop each morning.
I miss the slower, less technical days and the people and lifestyle they loved so much.
I wish I could remember where I read the passage or which movie the scene comes from, but I was reminded of it today. It goes like this: People are gathered for an event of some sort. They have limited instructions other than being told to be at a specific location at a specific time. The people gather and wait. Anticipation builds, and then with no official notification, no bell – no whistle, everything and everybody begins to move. The movement is contagious, and even those who might be called slackers find their place in the line.
Perhaps the scene is from a western where a wagon train is being formed, due to depart on a certain day at a certain time. Such was the event at the Weatherford Public Library this July 3rd, 2020. The instructions were to show up at the library at 9:45 and prepare your vehicle for a July 4th parade that was to depart at 10:00.
At any rate, responding to an FB post that mysteriously showed up on my wife’s feed, we made our way to the library parking lot where we were joined by a group of motorcyclists, a beautiful two-door coupe hot rod and maybe twenty other vehicles, cars mostly, all being decorated in red white and blue. The plan was to head south on Bowie Drive for about a half a mile, with a sheriff’s escort, and drive through the circular drive of the Keeneland nursing home.
And so off we went, one sheriff’s vehicle with lights flashing and a whole bunch of assorted vehicles all dressed up in parade regalia. Other cars graciously stopped and allowed us to enter Bowie, not knowing how long they might be stuck behind this odd assortment of vehicular traffic.
As we turned into the circular drive, we were greeted by staff members and residents, maybe forty folks in all. Those that could stand were standing; those that couldn’t were sitting in wheelchairs. It seemed like they were all waving flags!
As we drove through the driveway, my wife waving and taking a few photos, I waved, but I tried to make direct eye contact with as many of those residents as I could…oh those faces. I saw joy beyond measure, smiles and twinkling eyes, but I also saw despair and faces with little hope for a better day. It was a mixed blessing of faces, but they were there, all of them, celebrating a day that is unique to Americans … a day that somewhere in their assorted pasts they too had also celebrated, perhaps with a family picnic in the local park and early evening fireworks.
I do think that those who could understand, appreciated the fact that they were remembered, either by family who decorated their cars with notes like “We love Auntie” and “We love Mimi,” or by complete strangers who took time on this holiday weekend to do something for someone else.
Perhaps one day I will remember the book or the movie that this morning’s event triggered, but until I do, I will remember a warm morning in July when I answered an unknown call to take a journey into the unknown and be in a July 4th parade.
I like living in a small town, and like to think that these sorts of things happen all over the U.S. in small towns. I’m pretty sure they don’t happen in the larger towns that I have lived in like Phoenix, Houston or San Antonio.