The colors of Oklahoma spring

"Southern Oklahoma Springtime," 8 x 10 watercolor, 140 lb. cold press paper

Driving into southern Oklahoma in spring is always an adventure in color for me. The farther south you get, the more green, the more color.

Every Mothers' Day, I see this as I drive down to the Waurika Cemetery to plant flowers at my Mom's grave.

I drive alone, in silence, eyes and ears and imagination open to the landscape, to the colors, to the memories of when we lived in that area.

Long ago, I learned that. Having lived in the northern midwest, in Iowa, you pay more attention to the seasons than here, and appreciate the changes. When we'd drive south to visit family in spring of those years, you could see the landscape green up before your eyes, the father south you went.

You just have to look, to enjoy the rural views, the wide open spaces. The trip to Mom's grave takes time for me to adjust to, so it's been three days since I painted.

But today it came, almost spontaneously. A bright sunshiny day, meant more color just when I needed it. I remember the green fields, the full trees, the hay bales, and especially the wildflowers along the roadsides. And of course, the skies are alive with clouds, and colors too.

Today is a gloomy pandemic day, and that means we need more color than ever. Thus today's landscape, opening my senses to the colors of creation.

My newspaper died--I

I had the "stuffing" knocked out of me.

Our last issue--address label to our son Vance, a student at Lubbock Christian

So much so that it's taken me this long to overcome avoiding writing about it.
I'm still recovering, as a matter of fact, after learning of the death of "my" paper, the Waurika News-Democrat at the first of this month.
I was surprised that after all these years--29 to the month after we sold it--I was so raw for my 12 years there.
John Dunn's poetry comes to mind: "No man is an island…any man's death diminishes
me." Any newspaper's death does the same.   I am always sad when a newspaper fails, and I know what a paper means to a town. But this made it very personal.

Clark, with the Don Morrison School of Journalism

The notes and thoughts have been piling up, and it's helped that I wrote a little about it in The Oklahoma Publisher this month. And now  folks in Waurika have started a new newspaper, The Waurika News Journal. It's backed by people I have know a long time, and the editor, Curtis Plant, graduated with my son Travis.
Curtis asked me to write a monthly column for them, and so I put one together, named "Coffee with Clark," from this blog, and  the descendant of my long ago column "Trail  Talk." It appeared this week, 29 years after I quit writing the other one.

That got me started, breaking the logjam of emotions and thoughts. I've also heard from old newspaper friends like Ray Lokey in Tishomingo, Gloria Trotter at Tecumseh,  Ken Chaffin of Healdton and Barbara Walter at Hennessey, Nell Largent of Waurika and others. A weekly newspaper guy in Minnesota wrote about it, and changing my old opinion about broadcast news, the old and new paper even made the television evening news twice on KSWO.
So my excuses are past, the roadblock has been removed.
I go back to Waurika every Mother's Day and plant flowers at Mom's grave, and then drive down those red brick streets, past the old paper office, through the neighborhoods, remembering raising a family there. It can be depressing, as the town has dwindled some. More telling are all the names I know on gravestones in the cemetery.

We gave these away as subscription promotions. 

Still, I want to share some of those memories...they are so much a part of who I am. In fact, those dozen years in Waurika may have been more formative in my life than any since, including raising four wonderful children. That's where I graduated from the Don Morrison school of journalism. Waurika is the closest I have to a home town, having grown up in a city.
Those thoughts and images are brewing in my coffee pot and in future posts. Ironically, when talking about this blog--billed above as an old-fashioned newspaper column, a good friend said to me once, "You've got your newspaper back."
Lots of stories to come--backshops, cut and paste, darkrooms, selling advertising, and more--a salute to the Waurika News-Democrat, the town's oldest business.

Memories of Mom in photos

Francis Faye Culp Clark, 1949, Fort Worth

I have more photos, of course, but these span the years.  With my somber Mothers' Day trip coming up tomorrow to her grave in Waurika, they hint at her, better than the sparse letters on her gravestone--a life is so much more than a name and dates. With memories of a recent family reunion, and old photographs, I wonder at the years and stories untold. We know so little, don't we, but we love more than words can tell.

Oldest photo of Mom--1909?

East Texas girls, from left, Ima, Faye, Gladys, Vera

The Culp kids,  early 1930s? (Old car in background). From left, Vera, ET, Faye, Ima, J.C., Gladys

Faye, I don't know the year

Southwest Bell basket ball team, 1929--Faye at right, front row

Ima, Vera, Faye, dated 1931

Easter Sunday, Albuquerque, 1950s, Dad, Jerry, Me, Mom

1950s in Dallas...Mom, Sissie, Grandmother, Gladys, ET

Mom, Houston, late 60s

Mom's retirement at MD Anderson

Grandkids, late 70s, Waurika...Travis, Dallas, Mom, Becky, Derrick, Vance

Waurika, Oklahoma