Here is David and I at the Woodall ranch in Susanville in Northern California. The word ranch is used loosely. There were more rug rats and curtain crawlers on the ranch that summer than there was livestock.(Check it out on Google Maps.)

Okay, there are a few stories that go along with this picture.

This was my Dad's Mom and Dad's ranch. I must have spent about a month there that year. (about 1959)

I fancied myself as quite the Roy Rogers or Gene Autry in my day. The person that enjoyed my impromptu concerts the most was me, myself, and I. I think the two most popular requests were Over the Hill and Far Away, and perhaps the most popular, Please sing solo; so low we can't here you. At any rate I enjoyed it and have ever since. The only thing that has really changed is the number of instruments I have to anoy everyone.





My Cousin William showed up sometime during the stay. His parents are my Aunt Bunny (Lovina Woodall) my dad's only sister - number 7 out of 10 and his brother in law Johnny (John Woodall). Yes, they had the same name before they were married, Yes they were first cousins, and the biggest YES of all, they were from Arkansas! Weirder yet, Like my aunt bunny was the only girl out of ten, My uncle Johnny was the only boy out of 9. But I digress.

I don't have a picture of my cousin William; us kids always called him Wig, but we spent a fair amount of time the first few days he was there making sling shots and trying to figure out how to make an indian bow and arrow. We did pretty good on our third try. We could get it to shoot a good hundred feet and it didn't seen the accuracy was bad to us especially when we took care to find and prepare good arrow stock.

Here is a shot of me and a couple of the slingshots I made. The slingshots were probably the more deadly weapon but they just didn't seem as much a "real man" weapon so we started out one day with killing us a rabit on our mind. There were so many rabits around that Grandpa would loose a third of his hay each month just from the rapits pilfering it.

Bow and arrows in had off we went. It wasn't too long and we started runnig into rabits out in the wilderness (that what we called the unplowed area in back of and about a hundred yards from the house.) No matter how hard we tried we could not hit a thing. Tired and frustrated, we sat down to eat the sandwiches Granny made for us. We were sat down for about five minutes and we heard a big Jack Rabit run into and get stuck in a thicket about ten feet away. We jumped to our feet, loaded our bows and began to shoot into the thicket. We could see the litte bugger. He was no more than five feet from us and all tangled up. If the shot didn't miss, it seemed to just bounce off him. Wig got so frustrated that he fhrough down his bo and arrow. I took out my sligshot and started looking for rocks when I heard that screech a rabit makes when it's getting stuck or choped. I turned around just in time to see Wig use one of his arrows as a spear. After a couple of good jabs it was all over and we brought the prize home. My Grandpa skined hip and gave us each a rabit's foot for good luck.

The end of the story is, I coldn't be patient to let the foot cure and dry in the son and began carying mine around every where. It was so dirty out in the high desert that we didn't bother with washing clothes or children with any regularity. I missed the previous Saturnight bat so it was mandatory that I take the next one. My mom told me to peal off my clothes and throug them in the pile and clime into the old wash tub for my turn in water that had only been used three times before me. Everyone began complaining about a terrible smell comming from the dirty clothes. When they found the rabit's foot in my pocket green and moldy, my mom was anything but happy. I spen the next tow days back up on the fence post working on my guitar lick again.

odeoladyo odeo ladyyyyyyyyy!