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Back during the depression in '33 Little Darwin saw the light of day. He was welcomed by his Mom and Dad And his big brothers the 30th of May. When he was only five years old, Still small with many needs. He and his brothers lost both of their parents, Leaving the family in dire need. He went to live near his grandparents On a farm on Blythe Ferry Road. The two room school where he learned to read Also taught him how to carry his load. His oldest brother became his guardian. Then he was drafted during WWII, Darwin went to live with his Auntie Over in Alabama to start anew. Four brothers in all were drafted. Then his guardian brother came home. Little brother and he were back together. Birchwood now was again their home. When Master Lane was only eleven He worked at a concession stand. Chattanooga was his home in summer. Seven summers straight he made a good hand. A strong work ethic was established Some brothers and he worked together. Darwin was determined to succeed And did so in most his endeavors Hard work paid off in high school. He graduated in the No. 1 slot, Being valedictorian so impressed his gal By the senior year, Joyce liked him a lot. College years at Middle Tennessee State, Then at the University of Tennessee, He always worked hard to pay his way. Not wanting to stop 'til the end he could see. After three and a third years of hard work, Graduation, long sought, finally came And four months later he married. The love of his life took his name. That fall after his graduation, His teaching career began. He was hired to teach in high school And enjoyed its awesome demands. Pretty soon he became a principal. Thus a master's degree was required. George Peabody College was his choice For the courses that he desired. Four sons then blessed their home. Joyce and Darwin had reason to smile. All four graduated from college. They felt blessed of God all the while. Together they had a good life. Years of hard work met all family needs. God blessed their home, so they in turn, Helped family and friends with many good deeds. Serving thirty-seven years as principal, Shows you were just the best. The times you willingly helped a child, Proved you successful in your quest. Now that you're enjoying retirement And you've reached the harbor of your life, You will still reach out to help others Who seek your guidance and advice. Forty-six years you've worshipped at Red Bank. You'll serve Him 'til your life is over. You'll sing a song of thankfulness Over and over and over. Prez Darwin, your cousins give a big cheer For the super job you've done. We remember your classic pig story. Retold was so much fun.  It was about 103 in the shade this week in our town, and, if you were a long-haired cat or dog, you were spending it stretched out on the coldest concrete you could find or inside on a nice old lady's air conditioned living room rug. I know, because Mother and I qualify as little old ladies in Hallettsville (we can eat at the Senior Citizens Center next door, if we choose),and all of our many pets wanted to spend time staying out of the heat. I hope y'all in Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, and parts east are having a better week climate-wise than we are having during this red-hot spell known as August. As a child, growing up in Kansas, I never minded August. We rode our bikes to the library, checked out books by the half-dozens, and rode back home; then, we changed our clothes, rode to the public swimming pool, and splashed around all afternoon. Sometimes our parents would go along, usually on weekends, and we would stay for a concert at the 1930s-style band shell in one corner of the park where the swimming pool was. Does anyone even venture out anymore for an outdoor concert? Do children today still ride bikes around small-town neighborhoods? We see few children on bikes on our streets today, even in a two-stop-light-town such as Hallettsville. Now you readers may think there's no rhyme nor reason to my opening comments, but I want to make a point. If you're over 40, you have different memories of summer and growing up than those younger do. And if you remember the '50s, as I do, you can tell tall tales to today's youngsters about evenings at a drive-in movie, watching John Wayne ride across the horizon or Mary Martin fly across the sky in "Peter Pan." If you ever caught fireflies in a jar, or sat outside to watch the full moon come up and the crickets chirp, or ran through a lawn hose to get cool, you may have spent your childhood summers like me. It was a lazy, carefree time to be young, and we enjoyed it. I don't mean to imply there weren't any chores in our small town. We put wet laundry out on the clothesline (I remember one summer I was reading "Gone With the Wind," and in between tears over Ashley, I would run out and check the towels to see if they were dry.) We picked strawberries (ugh, the bugs!), green beans, okra, tomatoes, cucumbers, and sweet corn; we shucked sweet corn, snapped beans, made fruit jelly (or rather helped Mother make wonderful strawberry jam), and, kept some of the weeds pulled. Daddy loved his garden, about half an acre, and he loved to see tiny things grow. It reminded him of growing up in the 1920s and 1930s in Missouri. I never see a thriving vegetable garden without thinking about those summer days and what it meant to him. He was known far and wide in our hometown as "Farmer John." What memories will we leave to our children and grandchildren? Too few, I imagine, about how our food is grown, about our ties to the land, to the climate, and to the water. I never mind the rain, I tell people who chat about the weather in the office where I work. I remember the drought of the 1950s and the well we had outside our house in Kansas. We pumped water from that well (it drew from the water table, fed by the aquifer below much of Kansas) and we kept our garden growing most of the time. We were lucky to have that well; so many didn't have enough water for the bare necessities of living in the '50s. The elm, poplar, and hardy cottonwood trees didn't fare well in those years; the grass was often dry, but the old-fashioned vegetable garden did survive. My father would tell his acquaintances who liked home-grown vegetables to come and take a free basketful. Many a night, people would pull up in our driveway, go pick cucumbers or tomatoes or beans in the twilight, chat awhile with our parents, and leave happy. Well, it's about time to dust off the photo album of those days, pack it in my suitcase, and head off to cool Chattanooga to sit a spell and chat with my "distant" cousins, the Roarks, the Palmers, the Webbs, the Thorntons, the Witts, the Lanes, the Grosses, and a dozen other families of the old Birchwood-Salem connection. I look forward to seeing you and to hearing stories about your summers, past and present. If you can't drive over and enjoy our autumnal break in Tennessee, write me at 307 S. Main St., Hallettsville, TX, 77964, or email me at eliza.jan@yahoo.com. I am slowly at work on a history of Maximilian Conner and your thoughts are always welcome. Go pour yourself a glass of lemonade, sit in your favorite rocker, and read the rest of this wonderful issue. What's New | Contact Us | Roark-Conner Store | Cousin to Cousin | | Return Home | Great Links | Calendar | History Page | Happenings | Roark-Conner Association Family Newsletters | |
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