Flight From Callahan County

I buy lens caps by the two- or three-pack because I lose so many. They fall off the lens while stored in the camera bag. They fall off while stored on the shelf. They fall off – and then down through the drain grate – while walking down the street. They fall off – and then roll into a bottomless canyon – while hiking through the mountains. They fall off – and then into the ocean – while on a whale-watching tour. Lens caps should be sold by the bag like cookies. Not only do I lose lens caps, I break them. If a lens cap falls onto rock, concrete or asphalt, the plastic shatters or cracks. If the plastic survives the plummet, the locking mechanism is damaged. Part of my problem may be related to my choice of camera system. I switched to Olympus micro four thirds cameras soon after they were introduced by Olympus and Panasonic in 2008 because of the smaller size and weight. The kit-lens zooms and the early primes came with clip-on lens caps. When I attached thir

When I was a young boy, my dad used to take me with him to Scranton, about 2-1/2 miles east of our farm over the county line in Callahan County. In warm weather there were usually old men, telling stories while sitting on the porch of either Morgan’s Store or Gattis Brother’s Store. Morgan’s faced west, providing shade in the morning. The Gattis store was situated eastward, making it a cooler afternoon spot for conversation. A lot of little towns had gathering places like this. In some communities in the South, the old men played dominoes. But in Scranton, these geezers did nothing but talk. And chew tobacco. And spit on the ground. There were usually brothers Felix and Lee Boland (Uncle Drake, husband of my dad’s aunt Lena) and brothers Arthur Baily (husband of my dad’s great aunt Nancy Elvira) and Jim Bailey (husband of my mother’s aunt Grace – In those days, most people in Scranton were related either by blood or marriage). Add to the mix of regulars farmers with chores

When I was a boy living on the Callahan County side of the Scranton community, my grandfather, John Shrader, used to take me and some of his other grandchildren with him to fish in one of the local stock tanks. Granddad was the elementary school principal at Baird, the county seat, and usually had plenty of time in the summer for one of his favorite leisure activities. As a longtime fixture in this sparsely-settled area, he knew most people who lived there, and he made it a point to make friends with the ranchers with watering holes for cattle, known as stock tanks. These ponds were usually stocked with fish – bass, crappie, bream (sunfish), perch and/or channel catfish. One summer afternoon during the drought of the 1950s, my grandfather took us to “Mr. George’s tank” to fish. Grandmother, who was often better at fishing than Granddad, went along with us, and there may have been a couple of my cousins, too. My grandfather explained to us Mr. George had been reluctant to gr

Welcome to Flight from Callahan County, a blog from an old, retired guy. Here I’ll occasionally post my thoughts on whatever comes to mind. I grew up in Callahan County, Texas, a rural county situated along Interstate 20 just east of Abilene. The Census Bureau reports a population there of 13,660; median age of 43.3, older than the Texas median of 34.3; median household income of $40,945, lower than the Texas median household income of $59,206; a poverty rate of 15.6%, higher than the Texas rate of 14.7%. Callahan County is part of what is known as the Big Country and where I have always thought West Texas began with traditional farm land giving way to gentle hills and valleys of scrub brush and mesquite good for ranching only. I love Callahan County. I always roll down the car window to smell the fresh air when I drive into the county. I love seeing the magnificent wildflowers along FM 1864 near Scranton in the springtime. I love traveling farther west on that