A Texas Ranching Family

J. K.’s Life with Frankie and E. K.

            Being the oldest grandchild of Frankie and E. K. Fawcett, I was fortunate to have the privilege of being with them both at the ranch and in town. Most of the grandchildren and all of the great-grandchildren did not have that privilege. Of course some did have the privilege of knowing and being loved by Frankie. Many were the evenings that this young impressionable boy would join them on the garret, as he called it, today people would call it the porch or patio, and I would listen till bedtime of the many exploits, adventures and of course problems of early days and times. E. K. enjoyed having visitors at the ranch and there were many. These were looked forward to by both grandfather and grandson. The conversation inevitably would be of the early days.

            E. K. was a very astute person who was innovative in his views of life and its problems. He was a large person in stature as well as in his visions of the future. This was proven by his many accomplishments in the ranching world, as well as his many civic duties and projects.

            Actually in many respects he was a man out of character for the world in which he lived and worked. He never used foul language, had no use for liquor, tobacco, or violence. Yet he was the Justice of the Peace for his precinct and the area around it. Maybe it was because for many years, he was the only person permanently settled in the area.

            E. K. had a pistol and rifle but was a person who had very strong convictions that they be used only as a tool of necessity, that being for food or as absolutely the last resort in a confrontation. He frowned gravely at his grandsons when, as country kids are prone to do, they had great fun playing cowboys and Indians. Many were the times the he would step in and say “John Keyes, Will F* and H. K* stop pointing those pistols at one another (cap pistols). Of course, it was cease and desist, until Grandpa went in the house or we moved our base of operations to the barn or pasture.

            Speaking of his not cursing, as many people of these times and our times were prone to do, this was not to say he did not have his pet expressions of frustration. If Grandfather uttered “Dad-Burn-It” you had better pay attention but if “Consarn It” came out – you had better look for a hole to hide in because business was a fixing to pick up. The next stop was Grandma’s Salt Cedar switch tree. You had to cut a switch that was then applied to the appropriate spot on your anatomy. They did smart; I can assure you from experience.

            Now that we have brought Frankie into the story, she was the most fabulous generous, congenial woman and the best cook anyone could have for a grandmother. Their life was the picture of love and devotion few people are blessed with. She never turned a person away without feeding them. Many were the times I saw a carload of people arrive right at mealtime. It never seemed to bother her in the least as she always seemed to have enough for everybody to eat. She always made them welcome and everybody always felt at ease in Frankie’s home.

            Theirs was a partnership that bore a mutual understanding with each carrying their portion of the multitude of responsibilities. Talk about “frontier women”, she did most of the raising of the six children. She had her milk cows, milked them herself until arthritis got so bad she couldn’t. Many a day, I would see her coming in carrying two big buckets full of fresh milk. She would put it in the milk cooler, which was a screened in cabinet that had a pan of water at the bottom, with cloth curtains hanging down the sides into the water pan. The cloth wicked the water upwards and you had evaporative cooling, if you had any breeze. Of course it was not too cool but most of the time it would last till it was used up. She churned all of the cream into butter with a hand cranked churn; until a motorized one was developed. In later years I had the chore of turning the cream separator for her. Now it may seem strange for this woman with six kids and ample workers available to milk her four or five milk cows. You have to understand, they were her cows and she wanted to milk them herself. She would, if she absolutely had to, allow someone else to milk them, but it had to be a very good reason. I only knew of about three people that ever had a hand on one of her cow’s teats.

            She did allow some of us to feed her chickens and turkeys. Of course she made some of her own brand of feed, corn bread about three inches thick mixed with left over clabber (milk by-products).