Home of the Pirates

One last post before I put another dream to bed.

The picture featured below is the second house that was built on the farm. It’s the house that I remember going to as a child. I mean, look at it, it’s the perfect farm house. Built on a hill far back on the property, this is the house that Papa grew up in. He and Granny also lived there together until they built the new one in the mid-eighties.

The white house was sold and moved off the property when the new one was built, but remnants of the old homestead still remain. A large hen house sits empty overgrown with dry brush but still impressively sturdy, and there’s also an old metal shed left standing that was probably used for hay storage. Scraps of metal and debris still lay strewn about the area from a tornado that touched down sometime in the early nineties, and a small, underground storm cellar sits just a few feet away from where the white farmhouse once stood. If I had my dream, I would rebuild on that same spot, far removed from the highway, a perfect farmhouse on a hill, a shelter from the storm already in place, and a hen house ready for occupants.

Highway 16 runs straight through Priddy, Texas, and the Niemann Oaks ranch sign is hard to miss just on the outskirts of “town.” The first old house that was built on the property, along with the windmill, can be seen right off the highway which are landmarks to the area, second only to the Zion Lutheran Church.

I stole, nay, borrowed the following pics from the Zion Lutheran Church’s Facebook page.

I’ve attended three funerals at this church: my granny and papa, and my Uncle Tony. It was built back in 1889 by German settlers. Most families in Priddy can trace their origins back to those immigrants who started farming and ranching the land during that time. The church has a tradition of singing “Silent Night” in German every Christmas.

An arial view of Priddy. The Zion Lutheran Church is in the center of town. They also have a pretty good sized school there in the foreground. Home of the Pirates.

The sun sets on Priddy, Texas. Niemann Oaks is about a mile or so down the road from the church.

Maybe I’ll get out there for a visit sometime this spring. It’s always hard on me though. Lots of what-could-have-beens, what-should-have-beens, and memories of deceased loved ones. Some of my last memories of my childhood best friend are from the farm. Julie “Big Bird” Snideman went with me for a visit one summer not long before she died. We were both about seventeen at the time, I had just gotten my driver’s license, and we were given the keys to Papa’s old blue Dodge truck. “Have fun, girls,” was the sentiment as Granny flashed her half smile and sent us on our way.

Papa’s old blue truck that Julie and I toured the farm in. Windows down, foot on the gas, open dirt road filled with bumps, pot holes, and cow patties, hold on.

It’s the absolute sense of freedom that draws me to that land, the skies dark enough to view the Milky Way. We set up the telescope during my last visit, but the hail storm got in the way. My dad once saw a UFO with Papa years ago. He said he looked up, saw a bright light he couldn’t explain or identify, and then watched it shoot up through the sky. Priddy is not too far from Stephenville, TX, an area now famous for a series of UFO sightings back in 2008.

I guess I should take solace knowing that my cousin, Travis, vowed to never sell the land. He plans on retiring there someday and that I’m welcomed to visit anytime. Maybe I could just pitch a tent where the white farmhouse once sat.

In the end, I suppose dreams rarely come true, and if they do, it’s usually the bad ones.