I remember- A sequel to Phil's

The very first memory I have of Cedar Vale is hitting Jack Foster on the head with a hatchet. We must have been four or five years old and were playing under the front porch of our house. Jack and the Fosters lived right next door. I don't recall why I wielded the weapon nor what happened to me for doing it, but it happened. Mrs. Foster must have forgiven me because I did go next door to their house each morning to finish the homemade biscuits that she always made.
I remember the big snow during the winter of 1950-51. I had wanted a Daisy B-B gun, but I got an off-brand cheaper model for Xmas. That afternoon, I trudged through the snow up the road to Snyder's house, and Lloyd did get a Daisy. I was happy for him but sad that I only had a spin-off. We took our new guns and wandered off behind the barns along the little creek and, tramping through the snow, we, the great hunters shot at squirrels and crows and rabbits and the owl. Thank goodness we hit nothing.
I remember either Don Cox or Morris Jones standing on top of the Cox's house across the street from us, playing "Taps" on his bugle. He was dressed in his Scout uniform and I am sure that the rendition was not very professional, but I thought it was beautiful, with the sound carrying out across the neighborhood, a sad wail. I still cry when I hear Taps being played anywhere.
I remember riding the old John Deere tractor in December, freezing all day long, plowing our long field that ran parallel to the Hewins road, no enclosed cab with heater and radio like they have nowdays, but singing "Unchained Melody" at the top of my voice. Probably not musical but loud. Happily no one was around out there on those cold days to critic my singing, although my dad was still able to critic the rows that I had plowed. I had these thoughts that if he didn't like my plowing, he might want to do it himself. I was not an intelligent twelve year old, but I was smart enough not to tell these thoughts to his face. I remember on warm summer days sitting on the bank of Cedar Creek where it ran along our south property line, and trying to catch a gigantic catfish. All I could manage was a little sunfish which was no more than three inches long. This after sitting there all afternoon. But there was always the reward of stripping off my clothes and jumping into that dark-green,murky, muddy water and cooling off. That made it all worthwhile. I remember getting mad at our dog Cappie, and chasing him the whole length of the alfalfa field just north of our house. By the time we got to the end of the field, I had forgotten why I was chasing him, and we were both so tired that we lay down together in the alfalfa and I got my face licked. Good days, those. At that time there was a big bridge east of our house across the Big Caney river, between our house and Grunden's farm. Just above the bridge there was a wonderful swimming hole and car washing gravel-bar. On some Sunday afternoons Dad would drive us down there in the old car, he would wash the car in the "riffle" and we kids would swim or play in the water. We were very careful to not go above the gravel bar because one of the older Snyder boys told us that there was a deadly whirlpool there. You could not see it, but it had almost killed one of the Snyders (So the story went). I remember riding my tricycle on the sidewalk back and forth in front of our cleaning shop, from the post-office to the shop. At the time, the concrete sidewalk ended at our shop and there was only a flat stone paving from there on up the street. My dad was always warning me not to go too fast down the sidewalk, and at four years, of course, I knew how fast I could safely go. Until the time I was really flying and ended up in the gutter by the post-office with a bloody head and bruised ego. I am sure I remember this wrong, but it seems that Mrs. Pate came out and wiped the blood away, and led me bawling back up the street. One year our school was selling magazines and Dick Williams and I were headed home with our Catalog of magazines for sale. We stopped at our cleaning shop and, major insult, MY DAD bought an order of magazines from Dick. Not from me. Later that eve I asked him why he didn't buy from me and he told me that Dick was ready to sell and I was not, so he bought from the better salesman. I guess there was a lesson to be learned, but maybe I am still mad at Dick. I can't be mad at dad because he had the gall to die. I remember Raymond Clark and his hands. Raymond had come home from "the war" in the South Pacific and the skin on his hands was covered with "jungle rot", a bad fungus disease that he had acquired while killing Japs "over there". Raymond worked for dad there in the cleaning establishment and eventually bought the shop. I remember working in the solvent was terribly hard on his hands. He was a big tall guy,(at least to me, he was)and I could imagine him strangling those Japs with his diseased hands. After all, Japs were scrawny little yellow critturs, and Raymond could probably kill two at a time. I remember being told where babies came from by Bob Hays, sitting on a flat-bad trailer in the big yard north of our house. Thank God for that revelation, otherwise we might have more children than we did. I remember E.J. Clark with a perpetual scowl on his face when the little kids would go into his shop to listen to the clocks chime. But he never asked anyone to leave, that I know of. I remember Gary White and I had a secret hiding place in the stone wall of the stairwell that lead up to the high-school band room. We would hide treasures and messages in that little hole, and the other would retrieve it whenever it was convenient. I wonder if there still might be a treasure there in that little hiding place that one of us had forgotten to pick up. Good memories!! More??