Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Fire! Fire! Or The Blame Game
One fine late summer day, Kurt was out in our field playing on a rock formation that we used to pretend was our fort, or a ship, or whatever we came up with at the time. This rock formation was sort of in the middle of a field bordered by trees. The grass was tall, and the summer had been quite dry. Thus, the grass was very flammable.
Kurt had been out there playing army with his army men and toys. I think Kirby and Karson had been playing there with him as well. Kurt thought it would be great fun to try and use firecrackers and make it seem like his army men were really being blown up (yes, we usually had some contreband firecrackers from South Carolina around). Well, as one can imagine, with the wind blowing and the extremely dry grass, and if one is not careful a fire can get away in a hurry. I can imagine the horror that must have run through Kurt's mind as he frantically tried to stomp out the fire, but the flames would just jump to more grass until it was way too big for him to control.
I was maybe 10 or 12 at the time, and saw the smoke billowing up from out in the field. I ran and told Dad, then grabbed one of the fire beaters he had around the place and headed out to start stomping out the flames. Dad, Kevin, and anyone else who was around grabbed the fire extinguishers, and other firefighting equipment and drove out to the location. We fought frantically for about 10 - 15 minutes before all the flames were extinguished. It was the closest I ever care to be to a forest fire.
When everything was settled down, and we were certain no more flames would crop up, attention focused on Kurt, and how the fire started in the first place. He began to relate a story of how the youngest Glembin boy - I believe is name was John - came over and started lighting matches willy-nilly around the place until the grass caught fire. He began to elaborate on how John wanted to get him into trouble, and didn't care what he did with the matches.
Well, Kurt's story didn't make sense, because we didn't have much interraction with the Glembins by that time, and it didn't make sense that suddenly one of the boys would think to come over to our property and just be malicious. However, Dad was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Then along came supper, and Kurt was told he had to stay in his room to figure out what had happened.
In the end, Kurt finally fessed up that HE was the one playing with matches and that one got away from him in the wind. He did feel bad he was not able to put it out, but then instead of coming to get help he tried to run away and let it all go. I think it was a life-changing lesson for him that day. We all grew a little bit that day. I felt some responsibility of a grown-up, because I just responded by grabbing the firefighting "whomper" (as I used to call it) and was a big help in getting it put out.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Lions, and Tigers, and Bears...
My older brothers, Kevin and Kory, and I decided one fine summer day that we wanted to go camping up the river from our house. There weren't many houses along the river at this time. There were more on the north side than on the south side, which was where our house sat. That was due partly because we owned between 1/4 and 1/2 mile of frontage property along that side of the river. There was an area maybe 1/4 mile up river that was vacant land, and had a nice flat spot up the bank to camp on. It was definitely a different day and age, when you didn't need to seek out who owned the property and obtain permission to just camp. We never defaced the property, and always took (or burned) any trash we had.
Well, since we were going by boat on this campout, we figured we had better determine all the supplies we needed for one night. I don't believe we bothered to take a tent, because we loved sleeping out under the stars. That brings me to my one fear that plagued me all during my growing years - fear of the dark.
I don't know if it's because the darkness can hide all sorts of things that makes one fearful of it or what. In my belief system, I believe that Satan has power over the darkness. As evidence look at all the evil things that take place at night. People tend to become more decadent in the darkness. I mean, there's a whole different world that lurks in the darkness. So I think that is part of where my fear came from. To this day, I'm still not the most comfortable in the deep woods at night, but have at least arrived at the point where I can stand to be there and not tremble in fear. For me, I always conjured up images of bears, or badgers, or other mean animals seeking me out in the night. Any noise would get me wondering what was out there watching us, or waiting to tromp on us.
So, I knew that if I was with my brothers, and was sleeping between them it would be more like safety in numbers for me. I gathered up my things - which probably consisted of maybe a sweatshirt and a sleeping bag - and lit out with Kevin and Kory on our trek. We arrived at the campsite before dark, and set up what we needed to set up. Then we got a fire going. By this time it was getting dusk. I grabbed the hatchet and began chopping on a log - mostly to keep myself occupied. Suddenly, Kory decided he needed the hatchet to chop down a larger branch or something. I was kneeling near the log I was chopping on, and he just reached out to grab the hatchet as I was swinging it down. It veered from the log and hit me in the left knee with the sharpened edge. Needless to say I was devastated, not to mention that I also had a sizeable gash in my knee.
Kevin took pity on me, and helped me down to the boat and ran me home. We didn't have much to do with doctors in those days, so Mom was the doctor/nurse. She cleaned up the wound with water and peroxide (much to my displeasure and pain), then put two or three butterfly bandages on the wound and I was good as new. I was a bit sore and limping, but decided to go back out and finish the campout.
Things settled down between Kory and I, and after having marshmallows or hot dogs or something, we were just sitting on our logs around the fire enjoying the night. By this time it was plenty dark.
Suddenly, I began to hear rustling in the ferns and woods around us. I'm sure that Kevin and Kory knew I was afraid of the dark, so they began conjuring up stories about bears being around and watching us. Well, the hairs began standing up on the back of my neck, to be sure. Then I hear more rustling, and I was sure there was a bear or wolf just waiting to attack us. Heck, I may have even thought it could have been a werewolf. Then, I start hearing some growling sounds. Well, it just about did me in at that point, and I think I just froze where I was and couldn't even breathe!
Whoosh, "Roar", and out pops this figure in the dark from the bushes, and runs up upon us! I about nearly wet my pants, until in the light of the fire I could see it was Dad who had snuck his way up the river in a canoe . He had come to check up on us. I said, "Thanks, Dad!" facetiously. That pretty much did my nerves in for the night, and I had to go back home with him to sleep safe and soundly in my own bed.
I've often reflected back on that experience, and wondered if anyone really even knew the extent of my fear of the dark. I guess that's why I'm more self-reliant than most, because I just learned to overcome things like that on my own. It does make one stronger to go through such experiences.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Playing Chicken
Still, one-upmanship was generally the norm with us. Along with that one-upmanship, we were constantly trying to see who was more daring. Usually I would win out - mainly because I was bigger and older. I thought I was always smarter, or wiser than Kurt as well. However, it just might be that he let me win out on so many of the competitions.
When we would try and build forts in the woods, we would start out on one together, then I would get too bossy or persnickety and he would get tired and go build his own. He generally finished ahead of me. I always went for fancy schmancy, and he went for practicality. I generally never finished mine.
One area where Kurt far excelled was when it came to firearms. I never really got into them too much, and he went full force into getting his own reloading equipment and making his own shells. He became quite expert at firearms.
Well, our quest for one-upmanship played into almost everything we did. We had a road that went west from our road for about three miles. The road began at the top of a fairly steep hill, then went down and up another hill about half the size of the first one. In our earliest years the road was made of gravel, which would wreak havoc on sled runners. Eventually, the township paved the road, and boy did it make for some fantastic sledding. The surface would ice over making it a perfect run for a runner sled. Car drivers travelling on that road didn't appreciate us too much, because they would have to slow down since we were often on the road. Come on, it was our private sledding hill! The drivers would sometimes lose too much momentum for getting up the big hill when they had to stop and wait for us to clear the road. Then they would have to back all the way up the smaller hill to get a good run at the large hill. Fortunately, there weren't too many people who used the road.
One day when I was about 10 or 12, I went out to the hill with Kurt. We decided
he would go down first on HIS sled and see how far he could go up the smaller hill without stopping. He went down in a flash, and in watching him I could see that he did not want to go up the smaller hill, because then it was a long walk back up the big hill. Somewhat reluctantly, though, Kurt walked up the smaller hill and got himself ready to go down and climb the big hill. I decided it would be a perfect opportunity to go down the large hill and see who could go faster.
Down I go, and picking up speed ever so quickly. I figured I was going about 30 mph, but in reality was probably doing about half that. By this time Kurt had started down the smaller hill. I kept a steady course, and steered straight into his path. So, here comes our oneupmanship...neither of us veered in either direction. By now we were steering straight for each other, and Kurt was now picking up speed. Closer and closer we are speeding towards each other, still neither of us veering off course.
Suddenly, when it felt like I was doing about 60 (but in reality probably only about 15-20) we collided. Since both of us were laying down head first on our sleds, where would our heads go but to slam into each other. Kabam!! There was nothing left but to pick up the pieces. I think Kurt got a bloody lip and some loose teeth out of the incident, and I just bumped my head. I think we were both totally amazed we weren't maimed with our skulls cracked wide open.
What this incident proved was how very determined each of us were at besting the other. I know I had no intention on steering out of the way. I figured that since he was the younger brother HE would be the one to veer out of the way. I guess, in the end, we were just too dumb to know how hard we would collide, and how much it would hurt. Neither of us won that day - or did we both win? At any rate, we're left with an interesting memory.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
The End of the Spear
Anyway, we spent a great deal of time working on those weapons to get the arrows as straight as we could, or make sure the bow was strong enough to pierce thick cardboard at about 50 feet, or whatever we could think of to make them more "real".
When we made a spear, we tried to keep it for as long as we could (providing it didn't break in playing with it). We came up with our own unique markings to identify our individual spears. At first, for the tip, we would just use a hatchet and chop it into the sharpest wedge we could make. However, eventually we would tire of that and want it to stick into more things at which we would throw the thing. So, we would take a knife and whittle away at the tip to round it, and make a nice tapered and sharp point. But, even that got tiring, because when we threw it at something the point would usually break off and we would have to sharpen it all over again.
Eventually, we figured out that we could slightly burn the tip then rub it on a river rock to sharpen it. Not only would it get sharp, but it seemed to harden the tip more than it was naturally. That was nice for awhile, but it soon became old hat. Besides, we didn't always have a campfire to use to keep sharpening the tip when it got dull.
As would normally be the case with us, we began experimenting. Now, if my parents always knew what we were doing, they would have suffered many fits over our antics. However, Mom would send us outside most of the time, because in the house we either got in her way, messed up the house, or just roughhoused too much. We didn't mind, though. We loved spending countless hours outside, winter or summer, playing all our games, or just looking for some new adventure. As I was saying, we began experimenting with our spear tips. What did we come up with? Tin! Yep, those tin cans were finally proving useful for something. All we needed to do was to cut out the round tin top from a can, then cut a slice to the center. Since the spear tip was round and tapered, a round tin can lid fit almost like a glove - well, as long as you could tap a glove onto your hand with a hammer and tacks.
It was important to take our time while installing this tin tip to the spear. We wanted it to be as sharp as it could be. We finally hit pay dirt! The spear would stick in wood and pierce through that thick cardboard like it was butter. We were quite pleased with ourselves. Yes, we would even play our "Hunter and Hunted" game with these metal tipped spears!
One fine summer day, we were out playing our game of "Hunter and Hunted". Kory was the hunter. He had just newly tipped his spear with some heavy-duty tin. Low and behold one of us ran by the twenty-one foot travel trailer that was stored in the back yard. (Not only was it great on long trips, but it served as an extra bedroom when we had more company than we had rooms in our large house.) Well, as I said, Kory wound up and let that spear fly from where he was stalking in the field. Whomever was the target of that spear was so very lucky, because it sailed straight and true - right into the side of that travel trailer! He threw it with such force that it penetrated the side of the trailer, and stuck part way through to the inside! We were quite impressed - and also knew that Kory would suffer the wrath of Dad when he found out what had happened! It was a priceless moment! It also pretty much ended our modified, metal-tipped spear experiments.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Hunter and Hunted
One such idea was a game we came up with called, "Hunter and Hunted". The rules were fairly simple. We would divide up into two teams. One team was the Hunter team, and of course the other was the Hunted team. The Hunted team usually had until the count of 100 to go out and hide in our expanse of field and woods. That's where our country property came in very handy. In fact, we usually had to set boundaries so no one had to spend all day searching for those on the Hunted team.
Our tools (weapons) were fairly simple. We would cut down birch or maple saplings for spears. We spent a great deal of time getting their tips sharp so they would stick well into the ground when being thrown. We worked hard at finding the correct balancing point so they would fly the farthest and stick in the ground rather than hit tail first, or flat. We also took either saplings, or green branches of birch trees to make bows out of. If needed we would shave the bow down some so it could bend easier, then notch the ends for string. We usually would use twine for the bowstring, but it didn't last long. We would also try taking regular string, waxing it, then making multiple strands twisted together. That would make for a longer lasting string. For arrows we would use young saplings from poplar trees, because they usually grew fairly straight. We never messed with trying to put fletching on them. We weren't too awful accurate anyway.
So, the way it would work was that each member of the Hunted team would go out and find a good hiding place. Sometimes that would be up in a big tree. While other times it would be to find a depression in tall grass or ferns, and just try to blend in. Did I mention that we would often create loin cloths to be more like "Tarzan" or "Indians" while playing this game? It would help us blend in better to the environment.
After counting, the Hunter team would go out and search for the other team. Now, the Hunted team members did not need to stay put. They could move around all they want as long as they weren't spotted by the Hunters. If memory serves, there was no real goal to reach. The Hunted team just wanted to spend the most amount of time without being "caught".
Speaking of "caught", the way a Hunter caught a Hunted member was by throwing a spear, or launching an arrow at that person. If the weapon landed within two feet of the Hunted person, then they were caught and would then join the Hunter team. Sound dangerous? I suppose, but we were pretty good at shooting arrows, and throwing our spears without hitting someone. To this day, I don't ever recall anyone being hit or wounded by one of our crude weapons.
On one particular late summer day, I was on the "Hunted" team. I usually liked that team, because I loved to see how creative I could get with my hiding places. I thought I was pretty good at it. Anyway, on this day, I chose a depression between a couple of mounds in tall grass to hide. This spot was quite open, but with the tall grass, and my ability to lay flat, I was pretty invisible. I was quite pleased with the fact that no one saw me, when suddenly I heard my brothers scrambling around closer to me. I began to think I might need to move from the spot. I held tight, though, and just listened more intently. Suddenly I heard some footprints coming from my right side. They did not sound so loud or heavy as my brothers, though. Just then, I looked up and saw this brown figure leap right over the top of me. I thought, "Could that be?" I got up just in time to view the white tail of a deer bounding into the woods. I just sat there stunned. Imagine me lying there in wait for one of my brothers to try and find me, and a whitetail deer gets scared up and leaps over me to run away. I believe it was a once in a lifetime experience. I wish there had been some way to record that event, but I can only describe it in words some 30 odd years later.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Victims of a Different Sort
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Toadstools, or What to do with Fungi
Now, our property ran along the Wisconsin River approximately a quarter of a mile or so. Most of the property had a high hill you had to descend before reaching the river. It made for some fantastic views - especially in the winter when all the leaves were off the trees.
The property consisted of a large open field surrounded by wooded areas which met up with the road running along the property to the West and South. There were pockets of pine trees where nothing would grow on the ground but mushrooms. We had an especially fun grove of pine trees that lined the driveway leading up to the house. On the South side of the driveway it was almost like walking into another world blanketed by tree canopies. We spent a lot of time playing in and amongst those trees. On hot summer days, it was always so much cooler in there that we tried to linger and play as long as possible.
In our quest for something fun and exciting to do, one day Kory, Angé, and I (I don't remember if anyone else was involved) decided it would be a great time to gather up some of the rather large mushrooms that grew in and amongst the pine trees. The idea, then, was to ride our bikes around and throw them at each other to see who could last the longest. Far be it for us to ever check to see if the mushrooms were edible. We were pretty much certain they weren't. We didn't like eating mushrooms anyway.
We gathered our ammo and were soon riding willy-nilly around the property attempting to land a good one on each other. Well, as it usually goes with children, things got a bit heated. Then suddenly, Kory landed one big mushroom right in Angé's face and mouth! She likely would have died! I mean, it plastered her from one side of the face to the other, and a big chunk of it was in her mouth. It was a sight to behold.
I'm not sure if her biggest fear was that she thought she was poisoned, because of getting that non-edible mushroom in the mouth, or that her ego was just damaged for getting hit (and in the face) in the first place. We were a bit scared for her, although I believe Kory and I had a pretty good laugh over it. Nevertheless, it calmed us down, and Mom didn't have to worry about us rough-housing for the rest of that day. Funny how a good scare would do that to a person.
I haven't checked with any of my brothers and sisters lately, so I don't know if Angé ever lived that one down. It made for a great memory, though.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
To Air or Not to Air
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Technorati claim blog
Technorati Profile
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Sunday, June 1, 2008
Of Motorcycles and Men II
Update: I sold my Vulcan 750 in April 2010, and bought a 2003 Kawasaki Vulcan VN1600. Lots more leg room, much bigger bike for long trips, and electronic fuel injected. I've already put more than 13,000 miles on it, and am riding it on good days in the winter.
Additional update: In April 2017, I was finally in a position to purchase a new motorcycle. I wanted to get the best. Since Polaris Industries purchased the Indian name and rights, they have been producing some great motorcycles. I looked at the Harley CVO Road Glide Ultra Classic, but it felt much more top heavy than the Indian. So, after a couple of test rides of the Indian Roadmaster I pulled the trigger and bought one. My oldest son made a deal with me to trade for my Vulcan. So, he now has another bike, and I have my dream bike.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Wagons Ho!
We did find time to use these wagons for fun as well. In fact, we loved to put on a wagon train periodically. Now this was no ordinary train. It usually ended up being a circus train where we would literally tie wagons, tricycles, bicyles, and any other object that would roll, together in a train and see how well we could roll the whole thing around our driveway.
Now, up until the late '60's it was more difficult to do since our driveway was made of gravel. However, sometime in the late '60's my father decided he had had enough of the constant puddles and potholes that formed in the gravel (sometimes by our doing), and he had the whole thing covered in blacktop. We thought it was the neatest thing since sliced bread. I mean, such a smooth surface for riding bikes, roller skates, or unicycles. The best was the surface it created for our pogostick marathons.
So, back to our wagon train...we loved to see how elaborate we could make our "cars" of the train. Sometimes a wagon would be a conestoga wagon; sometimes it would be a cage car carrying tigers or lions. The key was to avoid being the engine car, because that person had to pull the whole shabang - usually from a bicycle that had everything tied to it. Needless to say it didn't usually go too far.
I think the most joy from making our wagon train was the actual process of making it. Making it go was always short lived, because what we loved best was the creative part of making it as elaborate as possible (in our own way). Our parents tried to get us to do activities other than to sit around and watch television. My mother would regularly tell us, "Go outside and do that!" Of course, since we loved any opportunity to play outside, we would jump at that one as well.
That type of creativity is lost on youth today. With more television programming all the time, video games, computers, and so much more, it's no wonder our youth are going into adulthood with little to no creative juices flowing.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Stilts and the Polecat
Growing up in the boonies of Northern Wisconsin gave us plenty of time to be creative. I mean, even though I had 9 other siblings, we did not have other friends around much. So, we felt the need to figure out things that would help us get thrills and chills. One such activity that the older of us siblings used to like to do was to make our own stilts. I don't know why we thought we could do this, but we played around cutting down young poplar saplings, then stripping off the bark, nailing a couple of 2" X 4" wedges to them and figuring out how to walk on them.
Of course, like anything, we were not very good at it immediately, but it did not take long to figure the things out and walk around on the short ones. We would use the picnic table as our platform to start off from. The foot rests were usually at that height. We would cut the spars long enough to fit into our arms to support them as we walked. I always wondered how stilt walkers in circuses and parades were able to walk around without that type of support for their stilts. Later on, I saw their type of stilts - ones that went up the calf and were supported by a strap around the top of the calf. Once I tried them they were actually quite easy to manipulate.
Well, never satisfied with just the usual routine things, we always had to take things to the limit. We wanted EXTREME thrills! So, we sort of broke up into teams to see who could make the tallest stilts to walk on. I think Kevin and Kory got the most bold on this effort. They made a pair of stilts that were at least eight feet tall for the foot rests! These things were monstrous and heavy, so only the older siblings were able to even attempt them. The good thing was that they were so large at the bottom that they helped the person steady his/herself.
For these tall stilts, we had to use the garage roof to start off from. Kevin and Kory got to using them pretty well. I don't much recall if I ever mastered them. I do recall walking on taller stilts, but don't recall if they were these giant ones. We spent countless hours playing with our stilts. The thrills we got from going taller and taller were eventually satisfying for us.
On one particular nice summer evening, we had been out walking around on our stilts. It was getting towards dusk. The cool evening air began rolling in, and the sky was quite clear. The moon was nearly full, and we could see quite plainly without the aid of any artificial light - albeit not as plainly as during the daylight. The back yard extended east from the house towards an expansive field. we mowed the yard a ways into the field, then the tall grass jutted out. We always had all sorts of critters roaming about the place since we were out in the woods. We even saw a bear from time to time. Of course, stray cats would often wander near the place. We usually had a cat or two of our own roaming the place. We never really believed in having to tie our animals up. Since there was so much room to roam, they knew where home was.
On this particular evening, Kory had been walking around on some stilts when out towards the field, just beyond the sand pit we used for a sandbox, Kevin spotted a cat. It just sat there looking at us. He walked up to the animal wanting to pet it. When he got close, the cat rolled a bit and suddenly Kevin saw the white stripe going down its back. He knew in an instant he was completely mistaken about what the animal was. He flew from there like a rocket ship! I think it startled the skunk as much as it startled Kevin! We had the most uproarious laugh from that experience. I think Kevin learned to always check and see what he was approaching from that time on. We never let him forget how he almost became a skunk perfume bag that night - how he so wanted to be kind to his polecat pet!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Humble Beginnings
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Slingshots
I just found a great video that goes right along with this post. Check it out:
Humble Beginnings
Somewhere around 1955 or 1956 my parents moved into a large house along the Wisconsin River just a few miles west of Eagle River, WI. It had once been a sort of bunk house for the workers of Wisconsin Public Service Corporation, because it was built right across the road from a power dam that had served as the main power source for the entire area in the early 1900's. My mother affectionally named it "Branham's Damsite". The house was of adequate size for a growing family, but what made the place a goldmine was that it had nearly 21 acres of land running along the river on the high side of the dam. What that meant was that you could start by boat from our place and be linked to a chain of 28 lakes which dotted the landscape all around the area. The land also bordered on hundreds of acres of County land that we had free access to. It would have been a virtual Eden for most people. There was ample fishing, hunting, trapping, tree climbing, trail riding, and so much more just from our place.
Our neighbors across the street, the Gough's, were friendly. My oldest brothers were friends with their boys. Somewhere in the mid '60's the Public Service Corporation bought them out of their land. They decided to move their house just about 1/2 mile up the road along State Highway 70. However, the dam was in the way of moving the house the short way, so they had to go about 3 miles around the other way to get the house onto the property where it now stands. With our nearest neighbors, the Glembin's, about 1/4 mile away we had loads of room to roam.
This blog is going to serve as the catalyst to recount the exploits of my brothers, sisters and I as we grew up in that little slice of heaven. Since we were so isolated from town and everywhere else we had to use our imaginations to wile away our time when we weren't going to school, studying, playing sports, etc. We found numerous ways to be creative - sometimes funny, sometimes dangerous, but almost always fun (to us, anyway).
Here is a brief introduction to the cast of characters:
Arnold H. Branham - Dad, a product of the Northwoods of Wisconsin as well. 6' tall, slender build, a mostly serious and religious man with a dry sense of humor.
LaRae M. Branham - Mom, born and raised in Park City, UT. A petite woman - about 5' 2" and 98 lbs soaking wet. She had a zest for life and health, was sometimes on the neurotic side, but was always the ultimate hostess.
Kevin R. Branham - Eldest brother, always full of ideas, somewhat eccentric, but way intelligent. He would always come up with ideas that challenged us to think.
Korin (Kory) A. Branham - Second oldest, an adventurer and all-around jock. He was one of the most popular people in school. He is also highly intelligent, having been selected Salutatorian behind younger sister, Angé.
Angé (pronounced Angie) Branham Workman - Oldest sister. Since she was the only girl amongst 6 brothers she had to fend for herself. She held her own in the roughest of circumstances. She is highly athletic, and loves the outdoors. She is also highly intelligent, graduating from High School a year early, and being selected Valedictorian at that!
Kerry I. Branham - Me, myself, and I. I was always the tag-along. My older brothers and sister were always doing things that I was too little for, but I always wanted to tag along. They were my heros, and I truly looked up to them. I sort of had a chip on my shoulder for much of my early life, which caused me to feel more of a black sheep in the family. I have always been adventuresome - mainly because my older siblings were.
Kurt C. Branham - Fifth sibling - a middle child. Kurt was always into hunting, fishing, trapping, and the outdoor arena. He didn't focus as much on academics. He could tell you anything about guns. He also loved motorcycles.
Kirby L. Branham - The other middle child. He had deep red, curly hair, and hated it all while growing up. He's the tallest of the clan, and was always into guns, hunting, fishing, trapping, motorcycles along with Kurt. Kirby is another intelligent, but humble soul - he's a thinker. He always tries to do what was just and right.
Karson M. Branham - Youngest boy. I think that sometimes comes as a curse, because you are oftentimes too young to do things with your older brothers. Karson is a mechanical minded person. He learned to fix cars, motorcycles, guns, airplanes, etc. He loved shooting with his two older brothers.
Amber Branham Anderson - The tallest of the sisters. Amber is a sweet, sensitive soul. She took things very personal, and thus was not necessarily always happy with her childhood. Her three next older brothers (and sometimes myself) would tease her and her younger sisters to no end. She always loved babies, and never wanted to disappoint our Heavenly Father. She is also very musically inclined.
Apryll Branham Walker - The redhead sister - well more redhead than the others. Apryll was always very happy and popular while growing up. I hate to admit it, but she seemed to be the favorite of my younger sisters. I always cut her more slack than the others. She used to make me laugh a lot. She has a lot of musical talent.
Aurora Branham Brandaris - The blond sister. What can I say about the baby of the family. We spoiled Aurora (at least I think we did), because she was always a cute child. She has a bubbly personality, and loves children. She is also very musically talented. She was only about 16 or 17 when Mom passed away. I'm sure that was difficult on her.
Through it all, my siblings and I have all grown to have a deep love for the Savior, and for following God's plan for us on this earth. We will be ever so grateful that our parents raised us in the true Gospel of Jesus Christ.