The Only Expense was Time

The Casey family on Easter Sunday before heading to church in Dell City 20 miles away; 

This is near the part of the yard where we spread the blanket to watch the meteor shower in the middle of the night

"Wake up! It's time," my father said to us in the middle of the night when we lived out in the middle of nowhere in far West Texas. We stumbled sleepily out of the house to a blanket spread in the front yard. We lay there looking up at the night sky, witnessing something we'd never seen before and haven't seen since. Falling stars covered the sky like a fireworks show. It must've been some kind of heavy meteor shower. I'll never forget it, nor many of the other experiences Dad and Mom took us through. And when I think about it, the only cost in most of those experiences was time-- their time.

Hiking up Bone Creek Canyon at the foot of Guadalupe Peak ten miles from our house

I can still look up in the sky and find Orion, the Big Dipper, the Seven Sisters, and the planet Venus that Dad taught us to recognize. For years we took empty baby food jars with us on vacation to collect soil samples from all over Texas and the other states we visited. We had every kind and color of soil imaginable, including pale caliche with bright yellow specks of uranium in it. [That accounts for our glowing personalities and nuclear appetites]. We visited educational places such as museums, historical parks, and the State Capitol, and went beach combing for shells and unbroken sand dollars at the coast.

The Casey Kids on vacation in the mid-sixties in our usual firing squad pose

During one of my dad's FAA training stints in Oklahoma City, our budget was very tight. For entertainment we found the book mobile nearby and discovered the joy of reading, or we'd walk several blocks to play in a park, and one day we even toured a meat packing plant. They warned us that we'd probably never be able to eat another hotdog or bologna sandwich after that, but unfortunately, it didn't phase us. Mom and Dad still had to knock us away from the dinner table. [that uranium thing].

My parents pose in front of our home in Salt Flat before heading to a party; 

the picket fence in the backyard housed the "fort" playhouse

Dad built a cool playhouses for us out of a large equipment crate during our elementary years when we lived in Fort Stockton. Due to its huge size and the fact that it didn't cost anything to build, it had to remain when we moved out to far West Texas to a place called Salt Flat. But the next big equipment crate that arrived turned into a cavalry fort within the picket fence yard behind our isolated house. Our imaginations soared in a place where TV reception was almost non-existent. Mom and Dad taught us many games and played with us often. We lived twenty miles from the very small town where we went to church and school, and ninety miles from the nearest doctor, dentist, and adequate grocery store. We spent many, many hours in a vehicle together, which allowed for plenty of singing and conversation, as well as the occasional debate [Did, too! Did not!], and wrestling match. [pre-seatbelt days]. 

Visiting friends in Cloudcroft, NM 

I started reading a book recently that stated all families were dysfunctional, and the unrealistic Walton and Brady Bunch mentality about happy, functional families were why people in general were so messed up. I put the book down. My family was far from perfect, but my parents were onto something right when it came to spending time with their children. They had the same number of hours in the day everyone else had. They were and have always been there for us kids. We never had to question their love for us.

Those things don't cost money, just a little time.