Showing posts with label #Cardinals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #Cardinals. Show all posts

Monday, November 14, 2016

R-E-S-P-E-C-T


November 13, 2016.

 In the words of the old hymn:

"Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of harvest home.
All is safely gathered in
E'er the winter storms begin."

Used to be, we were disappointed, but not surprised, when the men of the family would get up after Thanksgiving dinner and head out the door from Grandma and Grandpa Hurst's house to pick a few acres before evening.  A couple of years, due to drought, or government programs, or both, we actually finished harvest by Halloween.  That was bad.  But more recently in terms of Hurst Farms lore, we fervently hope to bring in the last wagon load of corn...or, in wet years, soybeans, by mid November...because that is Charlie's birthday, giving us twice the license to celebrate.

It wasn't always that way. When Charlie was a boy, the crops were planted much later so the last pass with the plow would catch the late germinating weeds.  Without grain dryers or bin fans, the crop had to do all its drying in the field, so harvest lasted well into December. I reckon he got a cake (Grandma was a great cook!) but otherwise November 15 was just another day of work on the farm....

 Before we were out of college and back on the farm, Blake and I stayed with his folks on weekends.  As a rookie at the farm wife business, I wanted to make a good impression on my in-laws and did the only thing I knew how to do: I got up as early as I heard Millie stirring in the kitchen.  The kitchen was warm, busy, and smelled of coffee.  The table was the nerve center of the family and farm, a place where plans were made, stories were told, and sports were analyzed and deconstructed, years before that word was a part of the vocabulary.

Time passes, but the kitchen table still serves the same function for the much larger family that drops in for coffee, Sudoku, and conversation.  
Sports, from elementary volleyball, through East Atchison junior high and high school, to the collegiate black and gold of Missouri, and culminating at the pinnacle of fan and family allegiance, the St. Louis Cardinals, is subjected to a gimlet eye and partisan 's critique of the referee's and/or coach's judgments.  If one has attended as many sporting events as Charlie and Millie have, on hard bleachers, in cold mist or pouring rain, rooting for winners...and losers....one has earned the right to an opinion!  

2016 Fair

1995 Fair, Ann's steer

2014 Fair, Aaron's pig

And then there are all the 4H and FFA projects.  How many steers and hogs, meek and mild or crazy and wild, underfed or overfed, winning or losing, has Grandpa Charlie put up his hand and bid for.  How many times has the auctioneer sidled over to the fence and crooked his finger for one more bid while a granddaughter with a pie or cake stood in the ring?  So many county fairs...more seats in the bleachers....and more appreciation due than any thank you note can express.  
Chocolate cake 1990

Apple pie 1994
In 1978, Charlie helped these two rookie carpenters make a bare bones little tenant house with a toilet in one room, a shower stall in another, and no furnace at all, into our first home.  In 1986, he helped frame up, roof, sheet rock, and finish the addition doubling the size of our farmhouse so kid number three would have place to lay his head. Without his do-it-yourself ethos, I don't know that we would ever have attempted to build that addition, to take on even one greenhouse, much less the much larger projects that followed.  
1978

1986
16 By their fruits you will know them. Do people pick grapes from thorn bushes, or figs from thistles? 17 Just so, every good tree bears good fruit,  (Matthew 7: 16-17)
I've got a whole album of photos to prove this verse true.  There's a black and white with Millie and Charlie, Grandma and Grandpa Hurst. 
 There's a wedding photo, circa 1977, of Blake, his folks and his brothers at Trinity Lutheran in Jefferson City.  Sorry about the tuxes, guys; it WAS the '70s.  
Here's Millie and Charlie one Christmas in their old house, sporting personalized red and white Tarkio Indian polo shirts, all the better to endure nights of basketball games in an overheated gym. 

Wedding receptions too numerous to count.


  Cardinal baseball in Redbird gear of many vintages, including the classic set with "Together 19"on one shirt and "Since 56" on the other. 

 We've gotten a lot of laughs from the guy in Chicago who couldn't recall a Cardinal player named "SINCE". Here's Charlie hobnobbing with the Canadian Consul, 
at the podium in the White House West Wing press room, 
querying pundit Michael Barone at a Farm Bureau Foundation banquet,
 laughing with the Vice President at the White House Christmas Party,

 thumbs up at Brooks' college graduation, 
with Alissa at her high school graduation,
 signing the papers at Ben's commissioning into the Army

 and dancing with Lee at her wedding.  
Finally, a hilarious, chaotic  sequence shot at the 60th Anniversary party this past June, with at least one kid crying, one kid dancing, and who knows how many heads turned and eyes closed . 




 By  "these fruits" you will know the "good tree" at the base of our family tree: by good example, frugality, hard work, sacrifice, perseverance, honesty, and dedication.  

We can't fix the Missouri Tigers.

We can't fire Joe Buck.

We can't advise Mike Matheny.

But we can sure wish you a Happy Birthday!

Grandpa and his birthday buddy, Josh

Together they are '88'!































Wednesday, July 15, 2015

We're on a Mission....


"And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters."
Field of Dreams, 1989



Charlie says he went to a game at Wrigley Field once: he thinks it was about 1948. I remember going to a game there once too; the memory is vivid even though I wasn't very old. The day was cold; the stadium was empty; the Cubs were shut out. I couldn't sit still, but it didn't matter; there was no one sitting anywhere close to us. What year was it? I don't know but it has now taken me a half century to get back there.


This pilgrimage...and yes, that's the right word for it...has always been just around the corner, a possibility, an option, but never reached the threshold of a plan, a date, a promise....or purchasing tickets. This year I watched the calendar for the Cubs/Cardinals dates like someone looking for the winning numbers in the lottery. There they were: dates in July, away from planting (so I thought!) months from harvest, a Monday night game, perfect for a drive up from our neck of the woods to the friendly confines of Wrigley Field. Shopping for those seats was a labor of love, as I imagined the big green and white manual scoreboard in center field with the pennants atop snapping in the breeze, the bleacher seats above the ivy from which disgruntled fans would fling opposing teams' homers, the fans watching from the housetops across Waveland and Sheffield. This view is what we'd watched on television ever since cable brought us the wonders of baseball on WGN. That was just after Harry Caray joined the Cubs as announcer. Hearing Harry back on the job and watching the Cards in our living room on a summer's eve was about as good as it got for two fans of modest means.

The caravans made their way to Chicago from three different directions on three different interstates, touching base by text and photo...a Five Guys break here, a brew pub there, our lunch at a busy Culver's in Geneseo, Illinois, joining three tables of ladies playing bridge and a remarkably quiet clutch of Girl Scouts in pastel t shirts.


The western Missouri contingent and the St. Louis contingent come to a traffic jam at exit 267 on I-55 simultaneously. We throw down our windows and wave like crazy people: what are the odds? Tracy has traveled thousands of miles to get to St. Louis...and now has ridden another 300 plus miles to watch two teams she doesn't root for play ball! It is Wrigley, of course; she says her husband envies her opportunity to see a game there.

The Illinois toll roads separate us. Text traffic:

Mark: We got delayed at the toll booth. Was coins only and the person in front of us kept throwing pennies. Finally gave up and drove on....

Kenzie: Wait that was us!!! The first 3 toll booths stole all the quarters....

The walk down Addison takes us under the EL. Levi, his neck craned to watch the train, has more big league ballparks under his belt than most fans. He swings and skips between his daddy and great grandpa. Ben is wearing number 7, Holliday's number. Charlie's shirt says "SINCE 56", a reference to Millie and Charlie's 50th wedding anniversary. We tease him, "SINCE didn't have much of a chance in the big leagues if he wore number 56!" The sidewalks and sports bars are teeming, a mass of Baby Bear Blue and Redbird Red.
The seats are heavenly...the panorama of green field and the mosaic of the crowd unrolls before us . We can see the whole field, every position, the ballet of adjustments between pitcher and batter.
The crowd in the ballpark is a live thing, a moody creature flexing and shrugging depending on the caprice of the game. It's a new experience, watching your team play off their home turf.
Levi applauds with the crowd, much to the delight of the Cubs fans behind us. He will get his chance to cheer for the Cards... The lights come on as the sky fades from lavender to blue velvet....
..and then....it rains. Because that's the kind of baseball year it has been. We wait..and wait...and finally open our umbrellas and splash our way back to the cars, our night at the ballpark shortened by an inning and a half.



To paraphrase Harry Caray, it was still "a bee-yooo-ti-ful day for baseball...": a one of a kind trip to a place rooted in the past (never mind those giant annoyingly bright jumbotrons), a place part of every fan's fiber, a game part of our collective memory for years to come....


Actor Bill Murray, rabid Cubs fan, made news the next day calling Cardinals fans 'satan's messengers'. Seems a bit uncalled for and extreme. The Cub fans sitting behind us were loud and not shy about jeering at a Cardinal player or two. But visiting with them after the seventh inning stretch made it clear that no offense was intended to red clad fans: we are all part of Baseball Nation, Red and Blue.


After all, we all stand as one at seventh inning stretch time to sing 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game'...

.... because we are at Wrigley.














P.S...More text traffic:

Mark: Approaching B-U-T-ful Joliet. At least that's what Laura claims from her youthful memories.
Me: We are just a few from I-55...We hear Joliet, we think prison...More childhood memories..
Me: Field trip for my 5th grade class.
Mark: I hear you were in maxim security.
Kenzie: "We're gettin the band back together."
Mark: What band?
Kenzie: "We're on a mission from God."
Me: Nice one! Sing it!


ELWOOD No, they don't got my address, I falsified my renewal. I put down 1060 West Addison,
JAKE 1060 West Addison?...That's Wrigley Field!