“Slow down, son. We want to get there in one piece,” John said to his grandson.
“But Gramps, I’m barely going the speed limit,” replied Tommy, the driver of the old Buick.
“We are getting close, and I don’t want to miss any of the sights,” John replied.
“Johnny, nothing has changed here in 60 years. You probably have every draw and hill memorized. After all, you went around them hundreds of times,” said his wife, Mary.
“Grammy, are you okay back there? How’s the temperature? Cool enough or too cool?” Tommy asked.
“Just right, my boy. No need to fuss with me. I grew up in a time when we didn’t have AC, and dad would open the windows to keep us kids cool,” she replied.
“That’s not why he did that. He just wanted you ornery children to quit horsing around so much and figured a blast of air might stop you,” John declared.
“Good grief, Johnny, and your family was just the prim and proper group, right?” Mary replied.
“Okay, you two. Knock it off. You’re talking about my family now, and that’s not going to sit well with me! You two are still so competitive, just like your dads were. Haven’t you learned anything in the 60 years you’ve been together? Think back to all the good things that began on your wedding day,” said the grandson from behind the steering wheel.
“Oh, we do, honey. Even though we’ve been on the same team since then, we still love the competition. That’s what keeps it interesting,” grandma giggled as she gave John a wink.
“Oh, there it is! Pull over and stop in the driveway of the pasture. I can’t believe it is still here. Cheatgrass all around it and the metal is all bent up — kind of like me,” John humorously declared.
“What are you talking about grandpa? You mean the old combine parked by the road or the rusty auger sitting next to it?” asked Tommy.
Grandpa replied, “No, no, look farther out towards the corner of the field to the old gray metal frame with the chain-link fencing. I’m talking about the center of the story of our life. My dad proudly made it so long ago. It’s the blessed backstop. Drive over closer, right next to it.”
An apprehensive Tommy said, “Gee, I hope the car doesn’t start a fire out here with all the dried-up weeds.”
Grandpa John assured him, “We’ve sat long enough to cool the exhaust down. It’ll be okay.”
They parked near the backstop, and John opened his door and proceeded to get out, cane first. Tommy got his grandmother’s wheelchair out of the trunk and placed it right beside the open rear door where she sat.
“I’m never going to be able to push you over there through this tall grass,” Tommy declared.
“Well, pull me backwards,” she suggested. He got her over to where the right-hand batter’s box would have been and spun the chair around to face the imaginary home plate. Grandpa John was already in place behind the base, since back then, he was catcher for the Johnson family.
“Can you please grab the catcher’s mitt with the ball and get her the wooden bat and her ‘Wilson Farms’ hat from the trunk?” John asked.
Tommy walked back to the car to get what grandpa wanted and then another time to get his camera, since he had been given a special job to accomplish for his beloved grandparents. They wanted a unique photo for their 60th wedding anniversary party.
“Where did the time go, Mary? It seems just like yesterday when that harvest was over, and the game began,” John mused.
“You’re not getting all mushy on me now,” she replied. “We’ve got more innings to play before our game is over, Mr. Johnson! Now, I need to concentrate on getting that competitive feeling back before we take the picture, or it just won’t be right.” She put on her hat, adjusting its curved bill down low, right above her eyebrows.
“Okay, son, I’m going to kneel, and I want the camera placed on top of my right shoulder. Don’t get her wheelchair in the picture, just closely focus on the ball in the mitt, her hat, and her beautiful but stunned eyes looking at me,” John instructed.
With the scene set and Tommy ready at the camera, John stretched out his left arm and placed his open mitt, with the ball inside, on top of Mary’s hat. At that moment, she turned and looked at John with that same ‘you just saved me from getting hit on the head from a foul ball’ look she had some 60 years ago. Tommy’s camera clicked as he took the picture, but the sound inside of John’s head was “Click, click, click, …” as the old reel-to-reel projector of his mind began to replay the scene from his late teenage years. As if in a trance, he began to recount this story to his grandson:
“Foul ball,” cried the part-time umpire and full-time preacher, Pastor Brown. John’s eyes switched from staring into Mary’s eyes to the ball as it fell off his glove onto the dirt below.
“Good grief, Johnny, get your head into the game,” his dad, Buck, declared. The next pitch came, and Mary hit a slow-moving grounder out towards the second baseman, encouraging the runner on third base to head to home. John’s brother, the second baseman, ran for the ball and fired it home. Mary’s brother was a fast runner, and the slide was on to home plate. When the dust settled, the umpire declared, “You’re out!” Both benches emptied towards the home plate to dispute the call, but the preacher held his ground. As the crews were leaving, he shouted, “Tomorrow is Sunday, and you two families had better be there because the entire sermon will be directed toward you, and it won’t be one of those ‘feel good’ messages either!”
The rivalry between the Johnson and Wilson families began when Buck Johnson and Mac Wilson were in high school. They competed against each other in every activity that their little country school offered, even academics, although neither were what you would call “scholars.” They both married their sweethearts and took to farming and raising large families. They probably competed in that area as well. But when Mary was born, the Wilson family seemed complete and, strangely enough, the Johnson family quit expanding about the same time with the arrival of little John. However, neither family stopped acquiring more property, buying larger equipment, and hiring more employees. Year after year, potential landlords were courted, and custom farming jobs yielded leases from those who had no heirs to take over their property. Competition between the families raged even in church, as the Johnson family sat on the left side and the Wilson family sat on the right side. Pastor Brown could see this disunity every Sunday. Even people in the community started lining up with one family or the other. Thinking that a ball game might help the two families put an end to their prideful struggle, he declared one Sunday, “There is going to be a baseball game between the Johnson and Wilson crews at the conclusion of harvest, and this wooden cross will be the trophy. I’ve decided that Buck will make the backstop, and Mac will make the baseball diamond in the grassy area on the border of your fields,” he said as Buck and Mac glanced at each other with that familiar fire in their eyes. The game was on!
Editor’s note: Look for part 2 of “The Catch” in the March 2026 issue of Wheat Life.
