I was born in the first half of the last century; not by much, but sometimes life is like a game of horseshoes and "leaners" count so, 1947 lies in the first half, and "first half of the last century" makes it sound much more an artifact of antiquity, which fits me quite suitably. Many things were different then, at least in remote and sparsely populated south Texas. Our families, as many others in the nation, had endured the deprivations of the worst economic depression thus far in the United States, and had dealt with the horrors of the worst, most devastating war known to mankind. Values seemed to be, well, more valued back then, at least in our little community. I was brought up among people, both family and community, who had unassailable standards of good and evil, and believed deeply in them, and lived their lives according to those standards. They were standards, by God: right was right, and wrong was wrong, and nobody could claim they didn't know the difference, even along the frayed gray edges of polite society. Even those few in our small community who were guilty of crimes and had been caught, truly felt remorse at their actions because they knew those standards. Why, even politicians didn't seem to fib so much back then as they do now, and the media would never refuse to cover inconvenient scientific findings. It's so different now, as even people in the smallest communities are linked to the world at large by television, movies, internet and social media. Those image producers enable and allow so many cruel and crude and less-than-genteel thoughts that otherwise would not ever have been considered, and so many people, now desensitized by the onslaught of crudity and outrageous foulness, don't seem to care. They probably know the difference between real right and real wrong, deep down, but they just don't care. There seems to be a growing syndrome of callous heartlessness, little remorse, and no repentance. Blessed with good family on both sides, I had the happiest of lives as a child. I practically lived with my mother's mother, as she cared for me while Mom was working as the secretary to the District Attorney in the whistle-stop town of Edna, Texas. I shared a little about my Ma Maw Cox in 'Cherokee Buckskin', my book on how she taught me to brain-tan animal skins. In the summers I lived with my father's parents, Royal Augustus and Dolly Whitely Putnam, on their dairy farm just a few miles outside of town on the Lavaca River, the last remnant of a fifteen-thousand-acre land grant in what was old Mexico, then old Texas. It was, for me, literally a Garden of Eden, overflowing with good things, and insulated from all the bad in the world. The mold of my life was cast in honesty, innocence, naivete, and truth; there wasn't anything to be untruthful about. Come share those early days with me. I wish you and I could sit together on the back porch, watch the sunrise or sunset, slap at the occasional mosquito, and swap tales, one-on-one, but unfortunately I am constrained to share with you in print. I hope you enjoy this little collection of tales from my youth, and ancestral memories from my former lives.