A few years ago while this olelongrooffan was still living up in the Birthplace of Speed, thejeepjunkie clandestinely stopped by my Taj Mahal beachside on his way to pick up the Kid from basketball practice. We shared a couple of those beverages emanating from the city with the Arch and got to looking at some old photos that were leaving my possession and being turned over to their proper owners on an epic Road Trip previously shared with my fellow Hoons. Now this olelongrooffan has shared the fact I spent some of my formative years growing up on a farm just off Route 66 near Halltown, Missouri. Actually, just a country mile from some of fellow Hoon Marcal’s kinfolk. Anyway, we came across several photos of the horses on the Halltown Haven Lee Farm of our childhood. We had it fantastic out there and, partially, understood that at the time. Not when we were feeding 7 storebought calves at 5:30 am before the hour long ancient GMC bus, driven by an equally ancient Mr. Taylor, ride to school. I know that sounds like a walk up hill both ways in the snow kind of story. But it is true. The largest baby bottles you have ever seen. But when we got to ride the horses or ride in Bob’s Jeep, then it was fun. I would say 85% a blast, 15% a struggle, for which, today, I am grateful. Life ain’t easy but it is fun once a Hoon figures out how to Celebrate Life. So we came across some pics of the 10th out of 10, BabySisterJoan, with the nickname Bill. I believe this nickname was from my Dad’s older brother who suffered a tragic heart attack at an early age. Dad always thought highly of his older brother, as thejeepjunkie and I do ours. Bill was, and Joan still is, a blast to be around. Never a dull moment, then or now. She lived horses and has quite a few on her acreage up in Bolivar or Buffalo, or there abouts, these days. This is a school pic of her, Mary Joan Lee, 8 years old, 2nd grade, East Elementary, Halltown, as she had written, in cursive, on the reverse of this pic. I remember she had to have speech lessons and her pathologist, okay at that time, it was a speech teacher, but like so many things, we have changed the terminology. It is okay, though, because my daughter’s Mom makes more as a pathologist than as a teacher. But I digress. Joanie had a speech path who had a southern accent and pronounced the word “apple” as “opple”, so that is how Joan learned to say that word, especially funny as we had an active 20 acre Jonathon “opple” orchard there on Haven Lee Farm. Alright, now back to thejeepjunkie and this olelongrooffan sitting in my spacious 2 1/2 room condo, surrounded by all my automobilia crap, talking about 40+ years ago on my Dad’s 173 acre farm. And we are talking horses. Skinny Jane, thejeepjunkie and Bill were the three residents of that farm who could talk to those horses. We had, I think, seventeen at one time. I have no idea how we came into possession of most of these horses, they just are remembered as being there. Thanks to TheGentlemanFarmer. In no particular order: Lady, she was Skinny Jane’s horse. Sixteen hands, read that as big, a thoroughbred not quite race horse. I remember we, Dad, Skinny Jane and I, went to pick her up, I think from the Pruett’s pasture. Lady hated trailers. It took us several hours to get her into one, plus my Dad cut the hell out of one of his fingers. If you ever buy a horse who is trailer shy, park the trailer in the pasture for a few days with grain inside of it. It works. We were quite successful in doing this when picking up another, unremembered by this olelongrooffan, horse at a later date. I tried a trumpet once when I was a kid. (Yeah, I’m not Louie Armstrong.) I remember playing it outside and Lady came running over to the side field fence and stood as if at presentation. She was the finicky one. Always wanted to be pampered and primped. Just like her owner. Buckskin was the grand old Dame. Dad and I shared her. She is pictured second in the above image photo, not a big ego but definitely the leader of the herd. Once when we all were riding through Turnback Creek, she decided she was hot and needed to cool off. I was atop her and she simply laid down in that cool water. Yeah, she was the grand old Dame. More about her later. Stormy. So named because he was born, to Buckskin, on a stormy night on June 2, 1972. thejeepjunkie informed me of this as this was his horse. He also mentioned we lost a number of “opple” trees that night. Ed trained him from birth and those two were better than Helio Castroneves and whoever his partner was on, yet another stupid, “reality show”. I mean, they clicked. Those three are pictured in the photo above. That is our old barn, the corral just behind the stampede and the head lock where we eartagged, with tags from Dick Wilson from his firm Temple Tag, the cows is just to the left. Not pictured but remembered. Blackie, an old Welsh mare, the grandmother of them all. She let us get away with anything including a young Bus_Plunge standing fully upright on her rear flanks with Joanie navigating. Flint, a pain in the ass, mean, full mouth teeth bared, biting Shetland pony, we got from Rocky Hitchcock, the same kind of guy. Rebel, a wild American plains pony, who, when we got him, would not let a person near him for over a year. My youngest sister, Bill, broke, no wrong word, trained that horse to accept domestication, a feat of which I am still amazed. It took her a lot of time and patience but she did it. Mostly in secret. I will never forget the first time I saw Bill ride around the same corner of the barn from the corral on Rebel. Still a hearty congrats to you. Melody, the cute blonde, much like the Kid’s same named Aunt. Melody belonged to BigBrotherBob, only fitting. Cute and Sassy. Had a smooth gate and looked real flashy. And finally, Blue Damn You. Now what kind of name is that? Damn You was an Arabian, either blue in color or grey in color, really, depending on the light, direction of her hair flow at the time, really no way to tell. She had only recently come into our possession and, as yet, was not named by our family. Some good friends of my Mom and Dad’s, Uncle Bob and Aunt Virginia Bingle, were out for a weekend of libations and stories. I remember Uncle Bob and my Dad, Bob, Sr., leaning against the fence in early evening while the womenfolk were rousting up some grub, and those boys were getting aboard a cold ship called Cutty Sark, looking at us kids in the barnyard with the horses. Now, it was a small barnyard and, in the countryside, voices carry far. I could hear them, what this then 13 year old thought was, arguing. What? Uncle Bob and Dad pissed at each other? No F’ing Way. So I scooted closer to hear what they were talking about. Uncle Bob and Dad were discussing, albeit a bit under the influence of the sail of that Cutty ship, the color of our newest horse. Dad: I tell you she is grey. Uncle Bob: She is blue! Dad: That horse is grey!! Uncle Bob: You colorblind SOB, she is blue!!! Dad: She is my horse and I say she is grey!!!! Uncle Bob: Bob Lee, that horse is BLUE, DAMN YOU!!!!! Well, that grey horse is Blue Damn You for the rest of our lives. Now on to this picture. As thejeepjunkie was looking at this pic, he was commenting and thinking about the things he saw in it. When sorting photos earlier in the week or so, I saw only Joan/Bill and knew this pic had to go to her. Ed having not seen this pic in years, saw other things. He was looking at this photo and then handed it across to me. He said. “Look at this and tell me what you see?” I studied this recently reviewed photo, really studied it. “jeepjunkie, that ’74 Chevy doesn’t have an outside rear view mirror.” thejeepjunkie cracked up. He grabbed the pic from me and agreed with me. Then he commented on Bill and her control of that animal. In quotes now, “Joan is in, probably 4th or 5th grade, can’t weigh 75 pounds, in control of a thousand pound animal, no feet in the stirrups, not even reaching the stirrups, three fingers and left handed.” Now, as Bus_Plunge and this olelongrooffan are the only lefties in our family, I grabbed the photo back. “Ed, that print is developed backwards. Joan is not a leftie and I don’t care how great of the a Horse Whisperer she is, she’s no leftie.” thejeepjunkie put the photo up backward, to the lampshade, with glasses perched on the end of his nose, just like his old man did, and proclaimed, “You are right. Given the background of this photo compared to the teardrop driveway, there should be a pond in the background, not the frontfield.” We had a good laugh about that and thejeepjunkie told me I needed to share that story with our fellow Hoons. Hope you find it amusing as we do. To sum up, a great upbringing there in Halltown, thanks Mom and Dad, glad thehorsefarmer was able to carry on the namesake, on a minature scale. And as minor as it is, my knowledge of a ’74 Chevy and its rear view mirror realized the mistake of an unnamed, unknown photo developer at Ozark Camera on Walnut street, who printed that old school photograph in reverse, circa 1975. Images Copyright Hooniverse 2014/longrooffan