It’s now time to continue on with our journey to Fort Worth. We can’t stay at the roadside park picnicking forever, now, can we? We continued on through various little towns and down various scenic roads until we drove through Lake Worth, which was just south of Fort Worth. Our anticipation and excitement began to mount as we arrived at the Jacksboro Highway, for we knew what would soon be up ahead! It wouldn’t be long, now, until we reached our destination…
“the ranch”, as we loved to call it.
We would keep driving until we came to that certain special little gravel road where we would turn off to the left and begin the short drive to our Grandparent’s house…Route 10, Box 85 (The box number was later changed to 92-K). I can remember how we would transition from the smooth pavement of the highway to the gravel road and we could hear the crunch of gravel underneath Lizzy’s tires. We would eventually round that final little curve in the road and there would be the brick house…the house that Grandpapa built with his own two hands so many years ago. In the front yard, at the edge of the property was the silver trailer that they had once lived in while the house was being built.
Our Grandparents, my Daddy’s parents, lived in the country on a small circular road, off of the Jacksboro Hwy, that surrounded what was called “Copperhead Hill” because of the snakes that supposedly lived around there (thankfully, I never actually saw any snakes, although, during the summer, at times I thought I could hear the sound of the rattle of a rattlesnake). In our younger days, Grandpapa (as we so fondly called him) owned a couple of cows, one of which he called “Old Mixer”. At one point, there were two little calves born and Grandpapa allowed my brother and me to select the names for them. Gary named one of the calves “Zipper” and I named the other one “Button”. As the years passed, Grandpapa sold the cows and concentrated on just having a very flourishing vegetable garden at the bottom of the hill. Whenever Grandpapa went to the store (he did most of the grocery shopping), he never had to buy potatoes or vegetables…we ate them fresh out of his garden. He would buy meat, milk and other things like that from the store. I always remember the brand of milk that was in their refrigerator. It was called Metzger’s milk.
Moving right along, we would arrive at the house, drive around their driveway and park in the back. We would be greeted by Grandpapa and we would go into the house. We would make our way to the kitchen, and I can still remember the scene…Grandmama would be standing over the stove with her apron on, cooking a home-cooked meal that most people would consider a “Sunday dinner”. She would usually either have fried steak or chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, or fried okra, another vegetable, salad, bread and iced tea. Yum, Yum!!! Later in the day, we would have a generous serving of Grandmama’s homemade boysenberry cobbler which was still warm. You can’t hardly beat home country cooking, especially from your own Grandmother’s kitchen! We would have that first meal very soon after we arrived and the food, the visit and the lively conversation were just so special to all of us.