The Civil War

Mr. and Mrs. Poe have maintained their dignity, their marriage, and a good measure of faith.  Most everything else is worn-out, busted, or missing.  Mr. Poe was born here on the home place.  He and the Misses have raised three sons and a daughter.  The daughter’s back east and all three sons are dead. Mr. Poe’s Grandpa fought in the revolutionary war.  He’s proud of his country, its cherished heritage, the grand ol’ flag, and all she represents.  He’s been a proud American all his life; his loyalties lie with the Union, and patriotism still smolders in his china blue eyes. His three sons loved their daddy, his traditions, and their home, and they joined the confederacy to support his way of life.  They too served the cause of freedom, and the America of their dreams, and they served it with the last full measure of their devotion.  They’d given their lives to preserve the land their forefathers fought to till; now they joined it ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. Mr. Poe had been a Bible believing Christian all his life.  He’d fought the fight, run the race, and faithfully passed the torch to his three grown sons.  They were the reward for his years of faith, the fruit of devoted service, his reason for living, and the seeds of the family line.  All that heritage was torn asunder now; the family tree was finished, reduced to broken branches and a smoldering stump.

The Poe’s joined some of the Yanks and us, there on their porch that evening.  The Yankees lit a fire as dusk approached.  The sounds of battle grew silent, the western skies went crimson, and we stood by the campfire and gazed into the coals.  Frank Reed stood silent with head bowed for a moment, silhouetted against sky, and then he raised his bugle and passionately sounded taps. Both the Poe’s stood there hand in hand, in the battle scared yard of their families’ ancestral home.  The light from the campfire reflected in their spectacles and danced in the cavernous wrinkles of their worry worn faces.  Now in the winter of their lives, falls fairest memories faded, summer was passed and spring would come no more.  They say that scar tissue is the strongest tissue in the body.  If that’s the case, the south is made of iron! “Obie’s Quest” (Photo is actually of my great Grandma & Grandpa Daniels) 

The Ozarks

Photo by S. T. Casebeer

Leaving Kansas, and shaking the dust out of most everything, we drove east into the Ozark Mountains of southern Missouri.  The highest point in the Ozarks is about seventeen hundred feet, and compared to the Sierras, the Rockies, or even the Grand Tetons, calling them mountains is a bit of a stretch!  On the other hand, these rolling, dogwood-covered slopes could probably measure up well to the slopes of Eden.  The bugs are mighty carnivorous, and the humidity downright tropical, but the mountains are lovely and their people the salt of the earth. “Obie’s Quest”

Would You Believe, Casual Friday?

Am I happy?  Why, I’m happy as a bug on the bow of a boat!  Have ya ever watched a grasshopper at the bow of a boat, when the ol’ steamer is churning along at a good clip, the hull is pounding the cobalt blue water into a fine spray, and the shore is sailing by? And that old grasshopper is clinging to the railing for dear life, his little antennae are trailing in the wind, his molars are all catching sunlight, his eyes are glazed over and glistening in grateful satisfaction and the tobacco juice is streaming out the corners of his mouth and collecting in his whiskers and his ears?  Now that’s happy!  Obie’s Quest

The Casebeer Boys

All of us have a thousand wishes: to be thinner, or bigger, or more prosperous, to have a cooler car, more free time, all the newest electronic gadgets, or to date someone really hot. A cancer patient has only one wish: to kick cancer's butt! In honor of all the precious souls who have already succumbed to cancer, or all those who are fighting cancer now, please join the fight. My son very nearly died of cancer; my dad did, and I've already had a number of skin cancers removed myself. Please join the fight against cancer now. Support The American Cancer Society.

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My Ol’ Dad

We built a house in ‘82

Of pine and fir and Elmer’s Glue.

And a finer crew I never had;

We built it all, just me and Dad.

I drew the plans the best I could,

Of a country home, all made of wood.

I planned it grand as it could be,

And still be built by Dad and me.

Footings and all we dug by hand.

We laid it out just like I planned,

All the foundation, the floor and the rest,

We’d hammer, and figure, and hammer and rest.

We did all the plumbing and wiring and such.

My blisters had blisters from working so much.

We built all the trusses, till my fingers were numb!

Dad never once cussed when he hammered his thumb.

We both worked together, and when there was doubt,

We got out the books and we figured it out.

We never once fought, disagreed or got mad.

There’s no better crew than my ol’ Dad.

We worked as a team from fall until fall.

We stained all the siding and sheet rocked each wall.

We shingled the roof and we hung every door.

We worked all we could and a little bit more.

We worked in the rain and the cold and the heat.

When Mom brought our lunches, we’d stop and we’d eat.

She’d brag on our job, and we’d brag a bit too!

We were both pretty proud, and I’m sure Mom knew.

Now I live in that house with two kids and a wife.

We have a nice home and a real good life,

And a mighty fine house that we built out of pine,

Just me and my Dad, and we did just fine!

I remember that year that I worked with my Dad.

I remember the work and the fun that we had.

I remember the heat and the rainy weather.

I remember the time that we shared together.

I thank the Lord God for His help from above,

For all of my blessings, a home full of love,

And the very best crew that a guy ever had.

Thanks a lot Lord, for my ol’ Dad.

STC

Granddad Daniels

My Granddad Daniels loved me unconditionally.

Even as a toddler, I could tell.

Even when I did my drawers or pulled the kitty’s tail,

I knew my Granddad Daniels loved me well.

His was the smile I counted on.

His approval trumped any sorrow.

My darkest clouds were silver lined;

I’d see Granddad tomorrow.

His the delight on Christmas night

That gave the season joy,

In my mind his smile outshined

All other gifts and toys.

At holiday dinners or fire lit camps,

His zest for life shone through.

His childlike spirit incited mine;

Because of his faith, mine grew.

In ’69, we’d been away.

We returned to a note on our door.

My Granddad Daniels had passed away.

I’d see his smile no more.

It wasn’t like the God I knew

To treat our family so.

It wasn’t like the life I’d known,

To deliver such a blow.

What in life could bear the price

Of Granddad’s empty chair?

I saw no purpose for my life,

Without my Granddad there.

Life went on, the seasons passed,

New relationships brought new joy,

But none replace the special place

Of my Granddad and his boy.

That was many years ago.

Decades have brought me here.

My Granddad’s pale, white whiskered face

Now greets me from my mirror.

Still today, I miss him,

As I strive to take his place.

I pray that when folks glimpse my smile,

They see my Granddad’s face.

I know you’ve suffered losses too.

You too have searched for grace.  

And I know you have no earthly cause

To accept this strange embrace.

But I’d like to offer Granddad’s gift,

Of unconditional love,

The Gift the Savior brings us

From His Father up above.

We’re called to love each other now,

While the good Lord grants us time.

And I can’t replace the love you’ve lost,

But I humbly offer mine.

STC

3-25-2011

My Prayer

Give me a corner of God’s green earth

Where I can watch each season’s birth,

And hear the March wind’s serenade,

Or cool fall breeze as the pines are swayed;

Someplace where fall in long and fair,

Warm afternoons that I can share,

Cold autumn evenings, crisp and brief,

As early frost on golden leaf;

Where all the blessings God bestows

Are cherished as each season goes,

And all the things we truly love,

Are gifts to us from God above.

Give me a place where nature thrives,

Where God can touch my family’s lives,

Where spirit never hesitates

To love all things that God creates.

And if it be God’s will for me

To raise a Christian family,

As seasons change, from sun to sun,

Lord guide me, that Thy will be done.

                      STC

Camping

We did lots of camping when I was a kid.

We camped in an old canvas tent.

I remember the sound as it flapped in the wind.

I remember its feel and its scent.

I remember the sound of warm rain on its roof,

And the comfort it offered each night.

I recall how I felt looking out at the stars

By the campfires flickering light;

The feel of my pillow at the end of the day,

When my shoulders were pink from the sun,

My grandmothers’ kiss as she tucked us in bed,

After our prayers were done.

First thing in the morning the fire was lit.

Great Grandma brought graniteware dishes.

Golden brown hotcakes for breakfast of course,

And for super fried tatters and fishes.

Each day we’d go swimming and play in the sand.

My granddad would take us out hiking.

Sis and I watched as he whittled a cane.

And Stick horses were just to our liking.

We’d sit by the fire in the late afternoon.

I’d sit in my grandmothers’ lap.

Dad would go fishing, Mom would read,

And Granddad enjoyed a good nap.

Later on in the evening, when dinner was done,

There was coffee from a graniteware pot,

Delicious marshmallows we roasted on sticks,

And dried figs that my great grandma brought.

I remember the feel of hot sand on bare feet,

And melon seeds stuck to my chin,

The stories of camping trips long, long ago,

And the way that my granddad would grin.

Now we take our kids camping whenever we can.

That’s how all our best weekends are spent.

We retell all the stories that made Granddad grin,

When we camped in that old canvas tent.

                                STC