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It has been quite a ride. From the “Green Country” of Eastern Oklahoma to the rugged “Mountains” of Haiti, never once did I ever dream as a child that I would wind up one day being a Missionary. As a boy I had greater plans in mind. I dreamed of being a “Royal Mounted Policeman” just like Sergeant Preston. You see back then we had no television, so we spent hours glued to the radio listening to programs like, “Dick Tracy, Red Ryder, The Shadow, and Jack Armstrong, the all American boy.” My favorite program though was, “Sergeant Preston of the Yukon and his wonder dog King.” I could just see myself chasing bad guys, who had robbed the bank at Dawson, through the snow on a dog sled shouting to my dog team, “On you Huskies, mush mush.” Alas, that was not to be.
My dad’s people had come from the Ozark Mountains of Missouri and were what some people might call Hillbillies. They were fighters and scrapers. On the other hand my mother's people were God fearing, dirt farmers from Western Kansas. I never got to know my Grandpa Chaney as he passed away before I was born. My Grandma Chaney was perhaps the sweetest person I have ever known. She had nothing but good to say about anyone. Her life was hard, as she raised five (5) girls and a boy on a farm; which she took care of by herself. She plowed the fields, raised crops, and then raised all of her children to know the Lord. I remember my mother telling me about the fact that her folks came to Kansas from Ohio in a covered wagon. My Grandma Chaney was born in Western Kansas where they lived until they were wiped out by a prairie fire. I remember her telling about returning from church to find everything they had destroyed. She said that their big hogs were laying there roasted by the intense heat of the fire. They just turned the wagon around and went to Oklahoma.
My Grandma Chaney used to tell of her family losing an older brother to some renegade Indians on the Santa Fe Trail. He had been driving a freight wagon hauling supplies to Santa Fe, New Mexico. My Grandma Chaney’s maiden name was Anderson and her father fought in the battle of “Pea Ridge”, Arkansas; which was a huge defeat for the South. I remember them telling of how during that battle my great Grandpa Anderson had killed a man in self defense. He was wounded with a mini ball which busted one of his knees and he suffered with that for the rest of his life.
My Grandpa Jones used to talk about the “James Brothers” coming to their area. I remember him telling about one elderly lady who had lost her husband and both sons in the civil war. He said that she owed some (end of page 1 of 96)
It has been quite a ride. From the “Green Country” of Eastern Oklahoma to the rugged “Mountains” of Haiti, never once did I ever dream as a child that I would wind up one day being a Missionary. As a boy I had greater plans in mind. I dreamed of being a “Royal Mounted Policeman” just like Sergeant Preston. You see back then we had no television, so we spent hours glued to the radio listening to programs like, “Dick Tracy, Red Ryder, The Shadow, and Jack Armstrong, the all American boy.” My favorite program though was, “Sergeant Preston of the Yukon and his wonder dog King.” I could just see myself chasing bad guys, who had robbed the bank at Dawson, through the snow on a dog sled shouting to my dog team, “On you Huskies, mush mush.” Alas, that was not to be.
My dad’s people had come from the Ozark Mountains of Missouri and were what some people might call Hillbillies. They were fighters and scrapers. On the other hand my mother's people were God fearing, dirt farmers from Western Kansas. I never got to know my Grandpa Chaney as he passed away before I was born. My Grandma Chaney was perhaps the sweetest person I have ever known. She had nothing but good to say about anyone. Her life was hard, as she raised five (5) girls and a boy on a farm; which she took care of by herself. She plowed the fields, raised crops, and then raised all of her children to know the Lord. I remember my mother telling me about the fact that her folks came to Kansas from Ohio in a covered wagon. My Grandma Chaney was born in Western Kansas where they lived until they were wiped out by a prairie fire. I remember her telling about returning from church to find everything they had destroyed. She said that their big hogs were laying there roasted by the intense heat of the fire. They just turned the wagon around and went to Oklahoma.
My Grandma Chaney used to tell of her family losing an older brother to some renegade Indians on the Santa Fe Trail. He had been driving a freight wagon hauling supplies to Santa Fe, New Mexico. My Grandma Chaney’s maiden name was Anderson and her father fought in the battle of “Pea Ridge”, Arkansas; which was a huge defeat for the South. I remember them telling of how during that battle my great Grandpa Anderson had killed a man in self defense. He was wounded with a mini ball which busted one of his knees and he suffered with that for the rest of his life.
My Grandpa Jones used to talk about the “James Brothers” coming to their area. I remember him telling about one elderly lady who had lost her husband and both sons in the civil war. He said that she owed some (end of page 1 of 96)
Pappa Bob! thats so cool, i can't wait to read the rest of the book! I've got a special space cleared out on my bookshelf just for you
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