The area has recently been cleared at the northwest corner of FM 2978 and Hufsmith Road. This property has been a mixture of grass and underbrush. As a kid growing up I used to run the road up and down Hufsmith well before FM 2978 was ever built and in my mind, this land has always been vacant. As the heavy equipment moved the brush, I soon noticed a concrete slab that I had never seen before. As the week has passed, I have begun to piece together the puzzle of the who, what, when, where and how this slab came into being. I hope to complete the story next week.

One of my calls while conducting my archeological survey brought me to a very familiar family I know, the Mueller’s. My first call was to my lifelong friend, Beau Mueller. Now to me personally, Beau is actually Bimbo, but I guess as he got older Bimbo became Beau when his real name is Johnny…confused?

Beau and I both tried and tried to remember this location but we both drew blanks. He told me a few days later his little brother, Tommy, a.k.a. Tomato Head, said he vaguely remembered a blue or green building on the site, but his recollection was fuzzy. I figured if anybody knew, one of the Mueller Boys would recall the spot but alas, they could not remember. I don't know how many of his brothers he asked because contacting each of them could tie the phone lines up for a long while.

There are five remaining brothers in the family of seven. Charlie, Rotten Cotton, Bimbo, Bill Hockey and Tomato Head. Now don’t ask me why or how come these nicknames arrived in their lives. There is no rhyme or reason, but those are my personal nicknames for each of them and it’s been that way as long as I can remember.

My parents were friends with Mox and Mary Mueller from way, way back. Ms. Mary is a long time Hufbollion…Hufsmithian…Huftollian…oh well; she has lived in Hufsmith almost all her life. The two of them had seven sons. Of course, there is a several year span between all their ages, but as a youngster growing up I was friends with each of them. As time passed, my younger brother Keith also became part of the group of friends.

As I look back at the life provided them by their parents I am somewhat awestruck at the fact that even though their number was large, they all learned the values of responsibility and respect. I also know that times could have been hard on them, but I don’t think any of them ever missed a meal or didn’t have a roof over their heads as they grew up.

It’s just a fact that raising seven boys in one household can be very taxing on a family, but regardless how things might have been, each of them learned the honorable things of life from their parents. Now, as adults, they know and understand the family values taught to them by their parents and they do their best to pass these values down to their children.

I must honestly say that not once in my childhood did I ever hear any of the boys back-talk their parents. None of us did. I can’t recall any of my friends back-talking our parents. First of all, our little tiny hinies would have been tore up or, as we got older, a more manly application may have been applied. I also never recall any of the boys ever complain about something they didn’t have. Of course, we all talked about buying something new and exciting, but instead of begging or whining to our parents we simply went out and worked for it. Man…have things changed.

There comes a point in life when we as parents soon learn that our once little kids grow into adulthood and regardless of all the parenting, preaching and teaching, the fences we once placed around our kids will come down and when they do, all we can do is hope and pray for the best. We all hope we did as good of a job as our parents did for us.

Over time, different bulls I have owned broke down fences and got out of the pasture. Just like a hormone driven bull, our kids sometimes do that. We pray they don’t stray so far away from home that we can’t find them again, but even better, we keep the fresh hay out and water in the trough with the knowledge that even though they may show back up scratched, battered and bruised there is always a home for them to come back to.

Clifford

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