Kings River Blues

What a productive weekend I had !! Acutally the last 5 days ! I spent 5 hours last Thursday morning and afternoon in the Hanford Library browsing through yellowing and crumbling newspapers, booklets, hand written letters searching for clues. The library staff calls me "the Long Beach lady". I discovered some environmental news regarding Kings River. Back in the late 1800's and early 1900's, Kings River used to cause devastating floods and was responsible for outbreaks of malaria amongs Kingsburg residents and I assume neighboring towns as well. According to this pamphlet by James L. Brown, entitled "The Story Of Kings County" a Spanish explorer named Captain Moraga discovered and named Kings River. They called it Rio de los Santos Reyes( River of The Holy Kings) in honor of the Magi.

The Yokut Indans were already present before the Spaniards arrived. So most likely they already had a name for the river. I'd like to know what that name was.Anyway, after meticulously thumbing through so many documents I had to stop. I was exhausted and decided to call it a day.

From the laborious hot summers of one room houses and wooden floor boards in Tenaha,Texas to the city presently known as the raisin capitol, Selma,CA; he's finally relaxing. His face displayed lines of hard work and wisdom as he sat in his black tattered recliner. He and the recliner are surrounded by hundreds of picture frames, antique boxes, knick knacks,and stacks of photo albums. Sunlight struggled to break through the thick curtains and sliding glass door that shielded his dank living room. He stands 6ft tall, the frame of his body, slightly angled from aging yet he still drives and is active. He's competent and witty as ever. He told me about a female mule named Della and made a clicking sound with his mouth like a South African warrior, demonstrating the command sound for Della. He built a wooden house in California's first black settlement called Allensworth and was covered in one of Fresno's local papers called the Daily Collegian. He explained how he threatened a white man with an axe and a gun when this white man attempted to take away his hard earned clothes stamps when he lived in Tenaha, Texas. My grandfather share's other fascinating stories as I sit propped in front of him with a voice recorder.
Who is this man that I write of ? He is my last living grandparent. This is the first time in my life that I spent quality time or even visited my grandfather. Friday, I spent the whole day with my paternal grandfather, H. Joice who was born Feb 12, 1920. What a rewarding day. I'm lucky to have a grandparent still with me. However, I don't know him. I know of him, but I don't know my grandfather. Not spending time with him in my early stages of life extend beyond circumstances that I controlled. Now, I'm trying to play catch up and it's rewarding yet melancholic. I'm not sure if anything can replace those lost years because I still feel disconnected, worlds apart. I feel like I have the "Kings River Blues."
I have fond memories of my mother's father, Cornelius Frazier, and I could say that I got to know him a bit more because of my mother. I remember my grandfather's(my mother's father)tone of voice, his speech patterns, his smile and laugh, the way he tilted his head when I rode in the car with him. I have memories of him wearing a white "wife beater" as he fed hogs. I have no recollection of my mother's grandfather or my mother's mother, Queen Mary Frazier. Only memories that her children, my aunts and uncles share with me. I plan to visit my grandfather again next month. I wished I lived closer, I'd go see him everyday. But I'm thankful that he's still around. Every minute I'm around my grandfather I'm mentally recording his behavior. I pay attention to the programs he watches on television, the jokes he makes, his diet, everything. He catches me staring at him in awe sometimes. How people can be involved in elder abuse or take advantage of the elderly is beyond me, people who commit such horrible acts should be burned at the stake!
My husband and I spent half a day with my grandfather(Bumble Bee)
and his wife Barbara, nicked named Honey Bee( okay, for the record they gave each other these names)


Barbara offered to fry us some fish and chips. As we walked to the car, Barbara shouted out the door, " Bumble Bee show'em the new buildings downtown!" So we drove through downtown Fresno before we headed to the local fish market to buy the catfish nuggets, white bread, and a bag of potatoes.

A fish aquarium is nestled in the corner of my grandpa's kitchen. These fish belong to Barbara. Various bottles of medication lay adjacent to this aquarium. In my grandfather's bedroom, there's another aquarium, THESE fish belong to my grandpa. In the kitchen, the cooking oil crackled and popped like liquid fireworks as the catfish fried.The aromatic portions of catfish breaded in corn meal permeated the entire house. When Barbara was finished with the frying,
we ate at the kitchen table and drank ice cold red fruit punch soda. I gave my grandfather a birthday card for his birthday. My husband recorded some blues music on a cassette for my grandfather too. Interestingly enough, as I mentioned earlier that I share my maternal great grandfather's birthday(Feb 9th) and this grandfather's birthday is just three days after mine(Feb 12th). After lunch, I inspected my grandfather's patio. There were crushed aluminum cans, fishing rods ( he's an avid fisherman)a rusty bird cage and gardening supplies (rake,shovel)recycling bins among some of the items occupying its own space. But I noticed something tacked on wooden walls that encased the patio area. What did I notice ? Two fading vintage wash boards.