Published: October 05, 2009 02:45 pm      

Pete Kendall: The soil was so fertile, he grew a Ford Torino

Almost everything I know about horticulture I learned around Granbury.

The Hood County News, where I worked for five years, is not necessarily proud of this, in that I learned virtually nothing beyond the fact that anything will grow anywhere for a while ... if treated with proper rest, care and composted bat dung.

Then, in all likelihood, it will die, no matter how much you plead for it to pop a bud or blossom.

I did a story, for instance, on a fellow who had grown a banana tree that actually produced bananas.

I asked him what his secret was, and he candidly answered, “a mild winter.”

I should probably mention that the temperature dipped to 28 three days later, and he hung up on me when I tried to call and sing the Spike Jones melody, “Yes, We have No Bananas.”

I did another story on a fellow who had grown some little pineapples, miniscule pineapples ... pineapples so small you could barely read the word “DOLE” stamped in the sides.

They were the star attraction of the Middle Eastern gentleman’s motel hotel on U.S. 377.

I had fun with the writing though not as much fun as the person who decorated the page.

Her headline read: “Pineapples in Hood County? You bet your Don Ho albums.” Don Ho, a Hawaiian entertainer, performed “Tiny Bubbles” and other light classics.

Numerous horticulturists in Johnson County have attempted to educate me.

Ben Oefinger taught me how to grow a 15 cent tomato for only 75 cents. The first thing you need, he said, is a large bank account.

Ronnie Galbreath taught me that horticultural surprises come in all shapes and sizes.

I put a bell pepper plant in the ground one spring. It grew the darndest eggplant you’ve ever seen.

From Rob Fraser, I learned that the funniest things grow in compost.

A few months after chunking uneaten watermelon near my fence, a vine with a watermelon appeared in my yard. The birds were appreciative.

Another spring, I deposited the remains of 438 okra in an unused portion of the garden. Talk about fertile soil.

Within three months, I’d grown a 1972 Ford Torino.

It won second place “most unusual planter” in that year’s Johnson County Master Gardeners show. First place was Yellow Jacket Stadium.

It probably won’t surprise anyone with local roots to learn that the black land around Grandview has produced many bumper crops over the years.

Grandview in its formative years was known for cotton and corn. Others were wheat, oats, cornfield peas, garden vegetables and football players.

Grandview was one of our first great cotton centers.

As many as 7,000 bales were produced by the Grandview area alone every year. Hogs, cows and small children supplemented the income.

It was all on exhibit at Grandview’s annual Corn and Livestock Show, which began in 1939.

Through the years, Grandview historian Brenda Edwards wrote in 1999, the show “grew into a community fair featuring arts, crafts and organization exhibits in addition to the Corn and Livestock Show.

“It was first held downtown. The streets would be blocked off, and a huge crown would assemble to enjoy the parade. A Corn Queen was chosen each year. There were lots of good eats, visiting and shopping.

“In the later years, a building was erected, and the event was held there. Also in the early years, a drawing would be held every Saturday night for money to be given away.

“The stores would stay open late. This venture drew lots of people from neighboring towns and helped the business owners survive. The town even had a movie theater into the late ’50s.

“Cotton is no longer king in this area. The older farmers have all passed away, and no young farmers have taken up the hard job of trying to make a living by tilling the soil. Years ago, a farming man could take 200 or 300 acres and keep his family well supplied with food and clothing and a nice place to live.

“Now, it would take a new farmer 200,000 or 300,000 acres or more and lots of expensive equipment to even start to make a decent living. The price of seed, fertilizer, and the manpower and low prices that a farmer gets for his crops have caused the very best of farmers to just give up.”

My favorite agricultural writer, Larue Barnes, described how R.B. Locker, superintendent of Farmers and Merchants Compress and Warehouse Co., “pulled the lever to compress the plant’s last bale of cotton in 1980. Back when cotton was plentiful, and cotton pickers willingly worked for about a dollar a day, the compress was ‘a machine designed to reduce the size of a bale of cotton so that it could be shipped or warehoused in less space,’ according to Locker.

“Farmers and Merchants in Cleburne was located in the 600 block of North Wilhite. The compress was built by an individual in 1896, Locker said, and was bought by Farmers and Merchants in 1932.

“It was one of 12 compresses owned by a large corporation with a home office in Dallas. All 12 were liquidated in 1980. In our area, Locker recalled that competitors also owned compresses in Fort Worth, Ennis, Waxahachie and Brownwood.

“The compress in Cleburne received cotton bales from approximately 25 cotton gins in the area. After bales were made smaller, many were shipped out from here to Galveston, Houston and the Eastern cotton mill states.

“In 1947, many Johnson County farmers say they recall having a bumper cotton crop, getting $245 or more for each bale, which averaged 500 pounds each.”

Many early years were lean, though.

Locker said that in 1932, 1933 and 1934, farmers sometimes received only five cents per pound for their cotton.

Of course, five cents in the ole days would buy you a lot of things. It could have bought you my 1972 Ford Torino.