Back to Kingfisher, back to Irving.

"Going back" is a value that I learned from my parents, who often took us back to where they each came from. These pilgimages taught us kids a great deal about our roots, and about the American story of rural to urban transformation.

KINGFISHER, Oklahoma: Back to the farm.

My father was from a farm near Kingfisher, Oklahoma, the eldest of 6. My grandparents both died not long before he finished high school: his mother first, then his father the next year. The 6 kids owned and operated the farm together til they had all moved away. Then they rented it out for years. That is still true, but now my father's portion has been sold to one of the other siblings.

Day Trips from OKC to Check On the Renters

Anyway, we took frequent trips to the Kingfisher farm throughout my young childhood, because in those days, my father was acting as property manager. I think our trips to Kingfisher usually meant that the renters hadn't paid their rent, and had to be talked to. But he made a lovely day out of it for us kids, and we always thought it was great fun.

We (my two older brothers and I plus my parents) would spend practically an entire Sunday going to the farm and back from Oklahoma City. Since my parents weren't in favor of "skipping church," we probably went to an early church service and then headed straight to the farm with a McDonald's "meal" to tide us over. I don't know for sure, but I just imagine that would be the case.

'57 Chevy

We no doubt made our trips in the '57 Chevy, which had a huge backseat area! Big enough for lots of jumping up and down, and I do remember my #2 brother and I playing "London Bridge is falling down" with one arched over front to back and the other crawling back and forth underneath. At some point in the rhyme, the one arched over would crash down on the other and there would be lots of laughing and perhaps wailing, too.

I would guess that these trips took place from about the time of my birth until I was 10 or so. Not sure about that. Less frequent as the years went by. Maybe the renters got more reliable or something.

Horses in the Country

Driving out to the country from Oklahoma City was like going back in time. I loved seeing the horses most of all, and especially loved palomino ones! I promised myself that sometime in my future I would have a palomino horse -- a dream which I, alas, had to let go with the passage of time.

Daddy Used to Open the Car Window and Sing!

My father was totally in his element -- smiling, singing and very relaxed -- as we got near Kingfisher. He would crank down the car window, lean with his entire left arm hanging out the window, and sing loudly songs like, "O, why oh why'd I ever leave Wyoming?" He would have been in his late 30s. It must have been a huge nostalgic thing for him to return to the farm, and he was always relaxed and happy as I recall.

Recalling Hardships of the Past

Once we got to the farm, we would first schmooze a bit with the nice family living in the old farmhouse where my father was born. It felt like sacred ground to me. I was aware that my grandparents whom I had never met had worked hard to raise kids and eke out a living during the Dust Bowl. I know it was not easy, and they no doubt did their best.

Anyway, after chatting with the family (and they probably fed us something, though I don't recall what), we would look around the farm and interact with as many animals as we could.

Checking Out a Kitty Stud

I was interested in the fact that they had a yellow male cat that looked like my female yellow cat. So . . .when my cat (who was only allowed to be an indoor cat) went into heat, we actually borrowed that male cat from Kingfisher, brought it home to our house on 15th Street, and put the two cats in the garage for an entire week!

Grandkittens

Ha! Imagine! One was always a house cat, and now had to be in the garage. The other was a farm cat, and now had to be shut up! After a week, we took the male back to the farm, and 10 weeks later or however long it takes, Kitty had kittens! Fathered by a Kingfisher cat! In retrospect, it all sounds really funny, but at the time, it made sense to my parents to do it that way!

IRVING, Kansas: back to the ghost town.

My mother, on the other hand, was from a small town in Kansas which was torn down in the late 1950s when Tuttle Creek Dam was built by the Army Corps of Engineers. This little town, Irving, was not only her birthplace but also her father's birthplace. I'm pretty sure that her father's father had been born in Brooklyn, New York, and the family came west during his childhood.

A Has-Been Town That Was Still a Special Place

As I understand it, Irving had a population of just 400 in its hey-day. But it was so isolated that, to those 400 people, it was their whole world. Each generation "went out" (went to the army, went to college) and then either came back or not. By the time of my mother's generation, it seems that most young people had very itchy feet and felt they needed to get out into the world where the action was and make something of themselves, unless they were farm people.

How My Mother Met My Father in Kansas City

Anyway, my mother did just that, and landed her journalism job after college in Kansas City. There, she met my father who was working there for a couple of years, married him in the Irving church, and immediately moved with him to Oklahoma, his home state. (He was 30 by then, and had diligently saved enough money to buy their first house with cash!)

Red Dirt, Black Dirt

For the first 18 years of their marriage, Oklahoma City was home. But my mother was very close to her parents, so multiple trips "back" were built into our annual routines: back to Kansas for Christmas or Easter or Thanksgiving, etc. We often sang, "We're from Kansas, good old Kansas, where the great big sunflowers grow!" as we crossed the state line heading north each time. We always noticed the change in scenery, from the red dirt of Oklahoma to the black dirt of Kansas.

Ghost Town

The most exciting thing about going "back" to Kansas for me was whenever we would go "back to Irving." Irving, of course, did not exist anymore by that time. But it existed socially in the minds of all who were from there. And it existed physically as a weedpatch full of trees that had once adorned people's yards.

Alumni Banquets After There Was No More School

Socially, there was a time once a year to re-experience Irving at an "alumni banquet" on Memorial Day in Blue Rapids. As most people who ever lived in Irving have died off or are dying off, I wonder if those gatherings still take place??? Last time I knew, the answer was yes! These potluck meals serve as a sort of historical society, since people always bring old artifacts, photos and stories of Irving. Once a year, the town comes alive again.

Irving Stone Marker Still There Today

There is a stone in front of the old Irving townsite that looks like a huge tombstone or sorts, and says simply IRVING. There is a guest book in a little mailbox there, that people sign when they visit. Besides that, it's just weeds and trees and flowers. During hunting season, people are allowed to hunt there. The rest of the year, it's just a nature preserve.

Leaving Irving Was Hard on the Old Folks

Of course, there was a lot of human loss and tragedy associated with losing the town for people who were from there. In Irving, they had been "somebody." With the demise of the town, they were thrown out into other communities where they had to get used to being "nobody."

I understand that a lot of old people died not long after being forced to leave Irving, not surprisingly. They probably lost a lot of the support network that kept them going, besides their own peace of mind and comforts of home.

Memories . . . . . or Figments of the Imagination?

But by the 60s when we kids visited there with my mother who was from there, it was great fun to run through the "town" -- you could still see where streets had been, and some foundations remained. A true ghost town, with no buildings left at all . . . just memories, or figments of the imagination. I had memories of being there at the age of 2 when the town still existed. After that, Irving was gone.

Strangely, I have no memories of the actual moveaway of my grandparents to Dwight. Perhaps it happened during the school year and my parents weren't able to get away to help. Or maybe I did witness it but was just too young to remember anything.

Going Back Is Still Moving After All These Years

In any event, to this day, although I rarely get to do so, I love "going back" to the Irving townsite even though I myself never lived there, no one lives there, there is nothing to see but trees and weeds, and "nothing is going on" other than butterflies flitting about.

My Grandmother's Flowers Still Bloom There

But the most exciting thing to see in the late springtime are the yellow irises and the bluish-purple "sweet rockets" that have spread throughout the old townsite.

Those flowers are exciting to me because my maternal grandmother was an avid flower gardener, and I understand that she had planted and nurtured the predecessors of the flowers that still bloom there today.

Of course, probably other families in the town had flowers. But it is my understanding that my grandmother gardened more than most people did, and that she did, in fact, bring the yellow iris. At least, that's the legend we are familiar with.

I really want to post pictures of Kingfisher and Irving here, but don't know if I have any such pictures of my own. I will have to wait til someday when I can get access to all my father's old slides, get a scanner that can get take slides and digitalize all those images. I'll need a laptop computer, scanner and about a week at least at my mother's place.

Enough for now about "going back." More tales to come when I am so moved.