Hear is an e-mail that my Uncle Don Holland sent to me on the subject of Mary Ada Sling Stischer on 1997-05-18.
When Grandma Mary Ada (Sling) Stischer was in her late 70's, she asked
her Granddaughter, (my wife, Lita Kay Stischer Holland), to take her to
the family ranch in McMullen County, Texas for "a last visit". It had
been several years since Grandma had been to the ranch she grew up on
and she seemed to suddenly be driven with a desire to go back to her
roots one more time. Lita would have done anything for her Grandmother
and she wasn't about to refuse this request. So we made plans for a
weekend trip to the ranch with her. Making the car back seat as
comfortable as possible for Grandma with pillows and quilts, we left
one Friday evening after work for the 75-100 mile drive from San Antonio,
Texas to the ranch. We got there late in the evening right at dark. This
would have probably been in the late 1960's as I think it wasn't more
than a year before her death.
When we got to the ranch fence gate Grandma got out of the car to unlock
the gate for me to drive through. At the gate, she was standing in front
of the car headlights when she suddenly froze still in her tracks. I
got out of the car to see what was wrong and when I got close to her,
she whispered "Rattler!" and, at about the same time, I heard the distinct
sound of a South Texas Rattle Snake although I still could not see it.
As soon as I heard the word "Rattler", I slowly back stepped to the trunk
of my car, opened it, took out my .22 rifle, loaded it and slowly walked
back near to where Grandma was standing. Grandma motioned toward the
ground in front of her with her eyes for me, hardly moving her body.
There in between the cattle guard bars not more than a couple of feet
from her was a rattle snake curled up, rattling away and making very
menacing passes in her direction as he swayed his head back and forth.
Fortunately the headlights of the car made him easy to see once I spotted
where he was, so I took aim and when he drew back his head just right I
blew his head off.
Up to this point Grandma had always been nice to me, but it was always
plain that I was not a "real" family member just because I had married
her Granddaughter. With Grandma (Sling) Stischer there was always a
difference between "blood" and "plain old kinfolks" and one always k
new which side of the family they were on with her. When I shot the
rattler's head off with one shot, Grandma was very impressed and did not
hold back on her praise for me. It was at this point that she seemed
to finally accept me as "blood" family even though I was "only married
into it". From this time forward Garandma (Sling) Stischer treated me
as if I were one of her own blood grandkids whenever I was around her
and I always felt the same for her.
We bunked up at the old family frame ranch house for the night, which
at this time was still standing and usable. The next morning I was
target shooting with my son, Philip, who was probably only about two
years old at the time, using an old tin can for a practice target.
Grandma sit on the porch watching for some time and then walked out
to where we were and said, "Let me have a shot."
I figured I would humor the "old lady" and let her "play" with my gun.
Well, as soon as she grasped the rifle I could tell that it was
certainly not the first time she had ever held a rifle. She knew exactly
how to hold it, treating it with the respect that any loaded gun should
be treated with, but at the same time showing no fear. Obeying all the
rules of gun safety, she checked to make sure the safety was on even
though she had obviously seen me put it on before handing the gun to her,
checked the chamber to verify a live round was in it and held the gun very
professionally. Grandma raised the rifle to her shoulder, released the
safety, took careful aim and with the first shot sent the can flying
through the air.
There was no mistaking the pride of accomplishment in her face when she
handed the gun back to me. (And probably no mistaking the look of
amazement in my face.) I asked her if she didn't want to shoot again and
she replied "No, that's all I wanted. I just wanted to make sure I could
still do it." With that she walked back to the house and continued to
watch from the porch while I tried to show her young Great Grandson that
his Dad could shot as good as Grandma did.
After lunch, although it was somewhat difficult for her to get around
at this time of her life, Grandma insisted on walking us down to the
tank on the ranch. Back then the tank was still full of water instead
of being a dry hole like it is now. The tank was a real oasis on the
ranch. It was full of fish, frogs and turtles. Birds, deer, coyotes,
small animals and even snakes came to it regularly. We went fishing
in it and the Largemouth Bass were unbelievable! I don't know how may
years they had been growing in that tank, but they were huge and they
were hungry! I even caught one Bass when my lure wasn't even in the
water! My pole was leaning over a tree branch with the lure swinging
in the air about a foot from the water and a big Bass jumped out of
the water and grabbed it. Grandma sat on the bank, supervising every
catch and wouldn't let us keep any fish that was "too small". Her
definition of "small" was pretty big in my book. She made us throw
back all but the 8-10 pounders and only let us keep two of them for
dinner. She said it was wasteful to keep any fish you didn't plan on
eating that day and the rest should be saved for future meals. It was
obvious that she had been taught to fish for food only and not for sport
and to use only the natural resources that were needed to be used to
sustain your own life. She was probably one of the earliest
conservationist although she had probably never heard the word.
Later that evening at dinner, Grandma told us about growing up on the
ranch as a kid and how she had to learn how to shoot not only for
protection from rattle snakes but also for protection from Indians.
There were several instances that she could remember when renegade bands of
Indians made raids on the ranches around them and at least once they
vandalized the Sling Ranch home (now Stischer Ranch) when she was a small
child. Due to this, she said they always carried a rifle with them whenever
any family member left the house and her Father had made certain she knew
how to use it and use it well.
The next day we drove Grandma through the little town of Tilden, Texas
near the ranch so she could see all the places she used to go to when she
was young. Grandma pointed out houses where she knew the families who had
lived or still lived there and told us their names and various remembrances
she had of them. On one street, she named the families living in every home
but one. I asked her why she didn't mention the one. She replied, "Oh, they
are newcomers. They didn't move here until about 50 years ago."
This was the last time that Gandma (Sling) Stischer was ever to visit her
ranch and Tilden. It was one of the best weekends of my life and I will
always cherish the memories of this trip and thank her for allowing me to
take her.
Grandma (Sling) Stischer was one of the last pioneers of South Texas and
was very much like my own Grandmothers on both sides of my family who
were pioneers in Central Texas and Oklahoma. The first time I ever meet
Grandma Stischer I took an instant liking to her because she reminded me
so much of my own Grandmothers. I called her Grandma from the day I met
her and I meant it the same as if she had been my "blood" Grandmother.
The people of this generation were very hardy people who didn't let hard
work, poverty, Indians, outlaws, severe weather or any other adversity
get in their way and I had all the respect and love in the world for her.
One incident I remember vividly that probably describes Grandma (Sling)
Stischer's character more than anything I can say about her happened in
the mid-1960's shortly after I married her Granddaughter, Lita. Due to
her health and due to her son, Walter Stischer, first being away at war
and then becoming a Vietnam POW, Lita checked on her almost daily either
by phone or visit. On one of these visits, we drove up in the driveway
only to see Grandma on the roof of the house. This scared the daylights
out of me as I was certain she was going to fall and wasn't sure but what
maybe she had gone off her rocker or something like that. I ran up to
the house and shouted to her asking what she was doing. Her reply was
that the wind had blown some roof shingles loose and she was up there
nailing them back down! I told her that I would be glad to do that
for her and for her to come down right now before she hurt herself, but
she would hear nothing of that kind of talk. She was determined to take
care of things herself and she didn't need any help. No matter what I
said, she stayed on the roof until she finished nailing the last loose
shingle and then walked over the top of the roof to the back side and
climbed down the ladder she had used to get up there. I don't know
how long she had been up there or how many shingles she had nailed before
we got there but it was plain that no matter what her age or health,
she wasn't one to sit around and wait for someone to come do her work
for her!
When Grandma Mary Ada (Sling) Stischer passed away, I was honored to
be one be one of her pall bearers even though I wasn't "blood family".
This was probably the nicest honor she and her family could have given
me and I will always remember her the same as if she were my "real
blood" Grandmother.
At Grandma's graveside services, her Grandson, Carl Milum, who was also
a pall bearer said he didn't think we should push Grandma's casket on
the roller cart that it was placed on. Instead, he thought we would
show her more respect and honor if we carried it by hand. All of us,
both the "blood" and the "just plain kinfolks" Grandkids who were all
pall bearers together, agreed totally with Carl. We just didn't think
that Grandma was the kind of woman who would want to be "rolled out on
a cart" to her grave. Instead, it seemed to us that somehow she would
feel better if she were actually carried by her family. It was about
50 yards from the road side to the grave site and the funeral director
did his best to talk us out of it. But all of us Grandkids were
determined to give our Grandma this one last honor. Looking back, I'm
not sure if we would have made the same decision if we had really known
what a job that it was going to be. But, once we started, we weren't
about to back down. Walking over the grass, unseen potholes, grave
stones and other obstacles for 50 yards carrying a very heavy casket
was a lot more than we had bargained for. But, we pulled it off with
near military precision and dignity, which is what we wanted her to
have as a final farewell.
Donald R. Holland, LUTCF, CLU, ChFC
Don Holland Insurance Agency
10918 Vance Jackson #100, San Antonio, TX 78230-2556
Office: (210) 641-7711 Fax: (210) 641-7361
Email: holland@ix.netcom.com