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Young men--Oklahoma--Fiction, Farm life--Oklahoma--Fiction, Family--Oklahoma--Fiction.
publication date
:
1984
lcc
:
PS3561.I4165H3 1984eb
ddc
:
813/.54
subject
:
Young men--Oklahoma--Fiction, Farm life--Oklahoma--Fiction, Family--Oklahoma--Fiction.
Page iii
Harvesting Ballads
Philip Kimball
University of Oklahoma Press Norman and London
Page iv
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Songs by Steven Kimball
"Isadora Whitehands Learns Who She Isn't" originally appeared in New Mexico Humanities Review; "Soft Shooting" originally appeared in Green Mountain Review.
Indian verses are from: Walk in Your Soul by Jack Frederick and Anna Gritts Kilpatrick, used by permission of Southern Methodist University Press.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kimball, Philip. Harvesting ballads / Philip Kimball. p. cm. ISBN 0-8061-2632-9 1. Young menOklahomaFiction. 2. Farm life OklahomaFiction. 3. FamilyOklahoma Fiction. I. Title. [PS3561.I4165H3 1994] 813'.54dc2093-38191 CIP
The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources, Inc.
Published by the University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, Publishing Division of the University. Copyright 1984 by Philip Kimball, transferred 1993 to the University of Oklahoma Press. All rights reserved. Manufactured in the U.S.A. First printing of the University of Oklahoma Press edition, 1994.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Page v
To Mama and Daddy, all the family, wherever deposited in the slip of time. For the lessons of this life, discipline and inward calm.
With many thanks to Jerret Engle and George Garrett
Page 1
Soft Shooting
Shooting snooker and pissing in the shuffleboard machine. Seemed to be bout the only things to do in Buffalo Gap. The wind howling, hot dusty night and stars, roiled the South Dakota shortgrass prairie hills. A wind-eaten, wood-frame tavern out south of town on Highway 85. Yellow wind-tossed light on a splintered creosoted telephone pole, the gravel drive swirling up dust. A few pickups, cattle sideboards, an old blue-green GMC ton-and-a-half with a jag of wheat, scoop shovel sticking out the northwest corner of the bed. A John Deere tractor. The screen door of the place kicked out at the bottom, the front window neon beer and wine. Open.
Inside the air is yellow brown dust-hung smoke, vibrating, pulses beer sign lights, watch fobs turning red blue green blobs of oil and clocks. Falstaff, Miller, Bud. The jukebox plays some Kitty Wells. A long wooden bar the entire length of the building, brass rail, gray wooden stools. A nine-point buckhead glass-eyed on the
Page 2
wall. We made a deal with the banker. We won't cash checks if he don't sell beer. Fly-speckled. Uneven board floors, kernels of grain in the cracks, trod dustworn from door to bar, around the shuffleboard at the south end and the snooker table to the north. Lots of loud laughing, pounding beer glasses on the bar. Just plain ol whiskey. Cowboy boots, hightop shoes, old Levi's, Big Smith bib overalls, khaki sleeveless army shirts, discolored T-shirts on muscle dark sun harvest brown.
Snooker balls clicked thudding pocket drop and the jangling electric digit counters flash neon numbers from the shuffleboard machine. The old farmer zippered his pants, slobbering a grin, two or three brown teeth nubs, and wobbled straight-legged prostate to the door. Amber yellow foamy puddle uric across the floor around the leg of the machine. For the life of me I don't know how he kept from shorting the damn thing out and electrocuting himself.
Hank and I sat down, ordered a couple of beers. The short stubby-fingered woman behind the bar plunked down the bottles. We pull them empty.
"How's the wheat harvest looking around here?"
She washes a few glasses. "Well. I don't reckon it's gonna be the best we've ever seen. Hasn't rained in six weeks, and it's been over a hundred and four the last ten days. If you fellers is looking for wheat to cut, you might as well come back next year. A crew stopped by this morning heading back south. Say it's just as bad on up north."
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