Hattie, her husband Jimmy, and their grandson Pete Coley, my father on a road trip to Ft. Payne, Alabama, in the 1930s.
My father Irvin Stewart (Pete) Coley was born May 22, 1921 at his grandparents’ farm in Bryson, Texas. In case you are unfamiliar with Bryson, it is a small community in the western part of Jack County. His grandmother, Nancie Hazentine Sampley Coley (Hattie) was a talented seamstress, played a concertina, wrote poetry and grew wonderful flowers and vegetables.
On the day he born Hattie picked a ripe, juicy tomato, the first of the season, even though May 22 is very early for tomatoes to ripen in North Texas. Every year thereafter, someone in the family tried to duplicate the agricultural feat. In 2012 I did it! But it was a bittersweet accomplishment. As I shared that first tomato with my dad, an Early Girl believe it or not, I realized that my dad’s days were numbered. I tried hard to smile through my tears.
My dad passed away on June 29, 2012. He lived a full life, was a WWII veteran, a mail carrier, Boy Scout leader, fisherman, and a good human being. We often talked about his childhood in Jacksboro, the county seat about fifteen miles east of Bryson. I also grew up there and we actually had several of the same teachers.
He taught my brother and me how to fish, how to shoot a rifle and then showed us how dangerous a weapon could be by shooting a sapling to demonstrate the devastation one bullet could cause. We learned to eat frog legs, to grow tomatoes and roses, and not to lay a thermometer on the driveway on a 100+ degree summer day.
This year would have been his ninety-fourth birthday. I decided it was time for me to celebrate his birthday by doing some of the things we enjoyed together. Even though the date fell on a Friday, I was able to adjust my schedule to dedicate some time for memories of Pete Coley.
I started out late as I had another event to attend that morning. But as soon as I got my jeans and boots on, I was ready to go. My first stop was CBs. My dad loved their cheeseburgers and so do I. I’m so glad they are still in business.
Then I went to the Merit Cemetery where he is buried. The cemetery sits on top of a hill that slopes slightly down on the east side, where our family plot is. I left the car at the tabernacle and walked down to his grave, glad I had worn boots. Water was standing in even the shallowest low spots. My dad’s tombstone is a military one. But the bottom part looked as if water had stood about a foot deep recently. I had to chuckle.
My dad experienced at least three droughts. His memory of the Dust Bowl was of his mother trying to keep the house clean and everything dusted. The drought of the 1950s ended his dream of being a farmer. In 2011 I drove him around Possum Kingdom Lake to see the destruction caused by wild fires, results of the drought. But he didn’t really like rainy days. He often told me it rained too much in Greenville.
After the cemetery I went by another of our favorite places, Dairy Queen for a Mint Oreo Blizzard. We often went for that special treat later in his life. When I returned home I had to check the garden and the flowerbeds. While I have quite a few green tomatoes, there’s not a single ripe one yet. You know what? I don’t know that I ever want to win that family competition again.