The Greeneville daily sun. (Greeneville, Tenn.) 1918-1920, 1920-06-18
A Daylight Ride
Through Texas


When | crawled out of an upper
berth in which ] had spent the night,
enroute from Tulsa, Okla, to New
Orleans via. Dallas, | got my first
glimpse of Texas this Sunday morn
In, June 18th, 1920.
Wheat in the shock. oats ready for
the harvest, corn looking fine and
great fields of cotton, give eloquent
testimony that the farmers have been
busy out this way.
arrived in Dallas at $3.50 this a.
M, and when / walked up town and
saw the crowd Of men sitting in the
shade on the steps of the post office
building, it reminded me Of the crowd
that used to congregate on the steps
of the old court house at Greeneville
years ago. The people Of the South
seem to have the idea, in which the
writer concurs, that the steps OF pub
lie buildings should be useful as well
as ornamental.
Dallas is great city, and gives ev.
idence that it's citizenship Is thrifty
and progressive. However, when 1t
comes to real live town, for its size
(which is 10000 Tulsa, Oklahoma
has every town out-clas5ed that i
have visited.
After a three hours sojourn in Dali
las, | am now out on Texas Pacific
train and again viewing the great
stretch Of land that lies on either side
of the railway. The country is so
level that one can see a long way,
Fields Of cotton everywhere. Cotton
is as powerful out here as tobacco is
in the good old county of Greene.
The train has just now stopped
and | am looking out of the window
upon the streets of Terrell. This
name sounds familiar and ] think
some Of the boys from Greene county
used to sell lightning rods in this set
Element to the sturdy yoemanry who
wanted to avoid trouble from the
skies.
The train is moving again, and ]
now see field of corn that is begin
ming to "tossle" as they used to say
back in the good old goth "deestrict"
where was "fotch up"
The fields of wheat in the shock
out here remind me of the good old
harvest days of long ago, when j
used to ''tote" water to the harvest
hands. When it came to drinking wa
ter they were wonders; and between
them and the sweat bees | had much
to contend with that tried my pa
thence. That was in the days wher
the grain cradle was used and man
tha n1NaIla rnaHnL
plenty of water in his "biler," and SO
during harvest time my days were
full of trouble.
But "toting" water was not with
out It's sweets, for cherry pie was hello
out as a reward if | did not weaken
on the job; and in those rays cherry
pies worked wonders.
Harvesting with grain cradle hal
to a great extent passed away, a.
we'll as my lifelong friends, Rev
John Peters, Billie Peters, Billie
Young and Tillman Ford, who used tc
make them. Peace to their ashes, and
eternal repose for their immortal
spirits in that wonderful city whose
maker and builder Is God.
The train thunders along and tho
land seems to get poorer. We are out
of the famous black waxey belt, and
are now in timber country where
there are large forests of pines and
scrub oaks. Red banks of earth
along the track is now seen upon
which grow in profigate abundance
golden daisies with eyes as black as
chinquapins.
Just now | saw black berry brian
with ripe berries upon it, and my
mind was instantly carried back to
the days of yore, when, at this sea.
son of the year or little later, as
boy ! used to pick black berries and
dry to sell to my good friend 7. N
King, to get cloth to make me new
shirt buttoned up on the shoulder.
In those days picking black-berries
was not as profitable as digging
"sang," but | could find more Der
ries than | could Sang" or Senaca
snake root.
God must have loved Texts, be.
cause He made so much of it, or rath.
er He supplied the raw material and
the sturdy boys who came here years
ago with their worldly possessions
packed in a black satchel from the
old Volunteer State helped to do the
rest.
Now and then we pass beautiful
small lakes, the edges Of which arc
fringed with water lilies. The
thought occurred to me that we mus
be getting into the lowlands, when
the train stopped at Longview june
ton, and | heard the news boys call /,
ing the Shreveport Times, so we are
about sixty miles from Shreveport
Louisiana, and it is now O'Clock
p. m.
Just passed Marshall, Texas, and
we are now in country where the
scrub oaks are seen no more, and the