A Child's Sandhill Play

I always thought of the hills in back of our home in Lincoln County, Nebraska as being the Sandhills. I was wrong. The Sandhill's soil extended itself out to the Platte River about a mile and a half south of my house. This mile and a half between the Platte River Valley and home, was pasture land. One could stand in the pasture and see the ranch which was nine miles away, consisting of clay land,  fed by the Platte River.
    McCullough's Grove was  a part this area and a  favorite for the entire town. . By crawling between  barbed wire, one found themselves  in a grove with hundreds of fallen logs, trees, owls, and birds. School kids came here for a picnic each year. Back then we brought a sack lunch and everyone had to cross our pasture to get there.That made me proud though it seems funny to consider this.
    My family made great use of that forest. Evenings we would go there for picnics. My father cooked our meat in a skillet while having a work day beer. After eating, we'd sit still in the dark with the awesome, silent cottonwoods, ash, and  elm trees  standing overhead,  with cedars everywhere, keeping their secrets along with the owls and their hoots. One year my older sister had a Halloween party there and hung mummies from the trees, Dad was in charge of dropping them to the ground when the girls walked by. It scared them witless. My sister also built white graves, did the grapes for eyes trick, and other antics. It made for a fabulously spooky and fun party. Other times, we picked currents at the grove. Mother made current jelly which was the best. My friend Eddie and I walked the grove many a hot summer day. There here was an old abandoned house where a man had lived. No one knows who it was or when, but there was a stove pipe and walls still there.
   To the right of the grove, a  cow tank overflowed making a small pond. Eddie and I would walk there after school and put on our skates. It was horribly cold and it seems amazing that we would put ourselves through such a long walk. At that time, we still did not have television or air conditioning. Frankly, I for one am glad. It gave us a chance to be one with nature and the outdoors and to develop patience. Nothing was instant. Usually you had to involve some sort of effort to derive satisfaction.
    Along with the grove, I had my playhouse in the top of our barn which was built to match the house. The playhouse was upstairs and quite elegant. I had my parents red velvet table and chairs up there and I also had little crystal dishes that were my grandmother's. Kids came from town to play there with me. The horses were right outside in the corral. One day Eddie and I got in the tank trying to find the hematite ring that Dad lost. He said he'd pay us. We found it but didn't get paid. He never forgot his omission. Years later in his late eighties, he walked out on Christmas with the ring. It went to my son, and Dad apologized. As I look back to my Sandhills formation years, I feel warm inside. At the time, I thought growing up there was punishment Little did I know the values that would come to me as a result of those hot summer days and frozen winter months. This land still beckons me, calling out, "I am yours forever..." 
Next the ranch, homesteading, and the Platte Valley-templeranch.templeranch.wordpress.comwordpress.com

My Home-Nebraska Sandhills-Prairieland

   I am passionate about the Nebraska Prairie. As a child growing up just outside the small town of Brady,Nebraska,  my father's ranch was nine miles south (with clay soil), while we lived  at the foot of the Sandhills. It was here that I spent hours hiking the hills, hunting for the lake that "didn't exist," and chasing lizards whose tails fell off in my hands. I also found snakes and blowouts from which I jumped, enjoying the free sail through the air. The Sandhills were barren and greatly void of trees. Loaded with various grasses and a sand base, they made wonderful grazing country for cattle. Raising crops was harder due to lack of irrigation and water. A classmate had a party one night and a friend and I sat and looked over the land from a hilltop. Some forty nine years later, I remember how the snow reminded of a huge ocean under the moonlight.That land spread out for miles, hill after hill, unhampered. It was awesome.
   My wish was to spend a winter up there, a really bad blizzard, snowed in. I wanted generated heat, garden produce, canned meat, and all the amenities needed for survival in this less populated area of the United States. Little did I know that these hills were one of a kind. That they weren't to be found anywhere else in the world. Today, authors write a fair amount about them and the people who lived there.I find the Sandhills  most beautiful at sunset, during the winter, when they take on a cold bluish hue that makes me want to fix warm stew when I go home.
   The Sandhills were filled with jack rabbit and pheasants. I used to go with my dad who hunted these rabbits.. I have a picture of me standing on the hill with about six rabbits dangling from my arm..Other times, Dad would go pheasant hunting and he and his pharmacist friend, and a man named, Doc Pyle, would go up north and shoot these birds.Both the rabbit and  pheasant made for delicious eating-I keep feeling that I should apologize. I wasn't the hunter and I didn't watch. Anyway, along with these, I would listen to the coyote howl at bedtime, an eerie, but wonderful sound. Rather lonely.
   One day when I was alone and hiking-I went to my favorite blowout and was on my way home, I looked down and saw a fully beaded and most colorful snake. It took my breath away-both because it was http://templeranch.wordpress.combeautiful and also because I feared it might be poisonous-though I knew it wasn't a rattler. As I remember it had blue and orange beading. I still wonder what it was that I encountered.
    I had a relative, Art Nelson, who owned the Big Dipper Ranch up in the Sandhills north of Brady in Wild Horse Valley. His cattle brand was made to represent a dipper, and he had cowboy boots on the top of the fence posts, used to greet people. At least one pair of boots were still there a few years back.
    I am going to stop here with the Sandhills. I will return with the clay hills, south of the Platte in the Platte River Valley next time. After that, I want to write about the plains in their very early state before they were settled by hundreds of pioneers. After that I have my vast collection of literature to share from.
   The wondrous prairie with its grass, wildlife, flowers, and all that makes it quaint and charming, is part of my heartbeat and soul.  Please share your thoughts and knowledge.I would be most grateful.