| |
The Love Boys by
Bob Bowman | |
For
more than fifty years, brothers Olen and Seaby Love have lived on the same plot
of land in rural Morris County, living in ways that haven't changed much from
the days of their pioneer parents.
Since they were young boys, the brothers,
often mistaken as twins, have farmed their land and raise cows and hogs. "We were
born in a cow lot and raised in a hog pen," quipped Seaby, who at 77 is five years
younger than Olen.
Their parents, Dutch and Dizzie Love, "were just good
ole' hard-working country folks," said Seaby. "Daddy couldn't read and momma could
barely scratch her name. But they took care of us and we all got along just fine."
Like many rural East Texans, the Loves grubbed a hard life from the soil, raising
their boys, seldom getting involved in worldly affairs, and minding their own
business from sunrise to sunset.
Olen and Seaby didn't stray too far from
the family's roots. They live today on a fifty-acre farm less than a half-mile
from where their parents were buried when they passed away. "Daddy went in '77
and momma passed on in '93," said Seaby. "He was eighty-five and she was ninety-three."
The Love boys, as the folks in Morris County know them, reached the sixth
grade at old Browntown school, north of Omaha, before they dropped out to help
their mother and father run the family farm. They still own the plot of land where
they were born near old Browntown.
One of the few concessions they've made
to modern ways is the use of a four-wheeled recreational vehicle to herd their
cows.
Their tastes these days run to the simple side of life. They "were
raised on Irish 'taters and pork" and "we don't have much use for movie stars."
Occasionally, they'll cook a "good ole ribeye steak, but pork is the best meat
of all," said Seaby.
But, he admits, "we sure like catfish caught out
of the Sulphur River, "which is only two and a half miles from their home. They
caught a 58-pound catfish in the river a few months ago.
The Sulphur River,
and the possibility that Dallas could build a huge lake on the Sulphur that would
"take up our land," brought the Love boys to many water planning meetings held
in North East Texas for the last several years.
With their identical dress--denim
bibbed overalls, light blue work shirts, work boots and white caps--the Love boys
were often regarded as twins. They seldom said much, preferring to listen while
someone else did the talking.
The reason they've always wore overalls,
said Seaby, "is that we've worked all of our lives."
Disenchanted with
people who might take away the land where they've made their home for a half-century,
the Love boys are bothered by what is happening in the world.
"The country
is in a mess," said Seaby, "with dope, crime, crooks and the like."
His
solution is: "We need to have more hangings on the first Saturday on each month
so people can see 'em. And leave them hanging there all day Saturday and Sunday.
After four or five months, there wouldn't be any more meanness."
Olen,
who doesn't say much, nodded and smiled.
As you may have suspected, he's
the silent member of the Love boys. |
|
|
