Saturday, June 25, 2016

There’s a place, down East of me, along the highway, that I find interesting and wouldn’t mind owning.

Been that way for years, now, and I’ve never minded driving by the place and saying”L “Wonder who own s that place?”.

Truthfully, I look forward to seeing it.

I got to thinking about the place as I was watching Renter fill up the feed bunker this morning. Looked a bit hot and sweaty, he did, pausing between shovelful after shovelful by shovelful  coming  off the truck amid dust and grunts and the bunker accepted the offerings.

Renter, I says, when he got the bunker full, “You know that white house sitting against the bluffs down east, the one on the North side of the highway?”

Right away he gets all excited and starts telling about it, describing it and nothing seems correct. It took us almost thirty minutes of talk to reach impasse; which wasn’t resolved until I climbed into the feed truck and smoothed over some corn and started drawing in the grain.

I had to do that corn business because my grass pretty well covers the are rich and thick, you see. Anyway, come to find out he had been thinking of the place ass backwards – using north for south and keeping bends in the road and river going opposite of what is.

Confusing.

We got there.

He did tell me that the place was owned by a friend of his that is in New Zealand. Seems the man introduced the Brits down there to Popcorn. That’s the short story.

Fellow went down there with his brother and their families and went to a movie and found out at the movie they girl at the concession stand didn’t even know what popcorn was. Man made plans and did his home work and the Zealanders grew the seed he imported and the movies now have popcorn.

Renter said the man sold the business after it got popular. Renter also said that the man was comptroller at the company he works at, and they use to ride to and from work together.

I got Renter whoa’d up enough to pry from him that the place use to be in his family. And that the Schenkiels owned it. I assume the Schendiels are in his tree somewhere, though he’s never said.

Then he was off and running about the highway having trouble with an Indian grave yard up on the bluffs south of the highway and they’d had to bend the road around it. The house, Renter said, and the area about the place was used as a winter over place on the Trail of Tears.

Renter said that arrowheads can be found up on the bluffs around the grave yard. But, you know, I still don’t know who owns that place now.

Nope, don’t. In fact I don’t know if anyone owns it now. At all.

I do know, now, that the museum in Fall River Ks has all kinds of information about the area.

Problem there is, I’ve never found the place open in the past twenty years. Pretty in that area however.

cherokee - museum

________

From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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