Grease. (original) (raw)

GREASE by George Lester

Sam and I found great pleasure in walking down to Big Creek every chance we got. It was the one spot on our farm in Spunky Flat where we could escape the reality of the everyday labor in the fields. All the kids in the area had to work, not just the Lester boys. Times were tough, and it was the only way we could survive. After many hours tending the crops under the hot central Texas sun, the brief sojourn to the creek was a real treat.

Photo courtesy George Lester

Our farm was a featureless plain except for the creek bottom with its tall trees and cool shady areas along the sparse stream. Down there, we discovered the delicacy of crawdad tails. It took a bunch of these little critters to make a meal, but we found catching almost as much fun as the eating. Crawdads find a way to survive drought by burrowing holes deep into the muddy creek bed and there waiting out another rain. Catching them is a tricky operation. We would tie a piece of fat meat to a string, let it down, and then wait for �Mister Crawdad� to latch on to it. It takes a delicate touch to get him to the surface. If you pull up too fast he will let go; too slow, and he will pull the bait off the line.

We became quite expert at the sport, and after a while, we would have a tasty treat for lunch. A little grease, heated over a campfire with some wild onions chopped up in it, made a dandy saut�. An old frying pan, discarded by our mother because of a faulty handle, was our cooking vessel. That old skillet handle was loose, and it had a tendency to turn over when it was picked up. That is just what happened to Sam as he was about to serve up our banquet. The frying pan turned upside down, spilling hot grease on his foot. He later described his dash home, mostly hopping on one foot, as a new half-mile record. His record held until later, when we accidently stirred up a bumblebee nest down by the creek. I think we made it home even faster that time!