A guy walks into a restaurant...

No, it isn't the beginning of a hilarious joke but it is the beginning of us, Ron & Jenn aka Casa Causpanic.

Y'all come on in.

It is a very ordinary, extraordinary life about which we journal.

We would love it if you would subscribe below and  also hope you will join us on Instagram and even on youtube!


Mornin its 7:44 this wonderful day----slept n refreshed--here we go---Grandad was a farmer and why they were in Arizona was to work on the big irrigated farms around Yuma--- from what I remember--I DON'T--Oh-- heck names would be needed at this time--- Grandpa was Ernie, Grandmother was Fronie -- so it was Daddy Ernie and Mama Fronie. Can't forget my aunt--Erna Lee--she was about 10 yrs or so  older.Bet you can't guess who she was  named after. We would ride the bus to Yuma and stay a while n then back to Weatherford. From what I remember--- I DON'T----the place they lived---not far from a Historical place--Yuma Prison--a  place that I'm sure all have heard about, either from movies or stories--- chickens and flax fields and the adobe house they lived in and the Indians that would come by begging---sad but true.

 Anyway back to Weatherford and Papa n Mama  Buntin---if memory serves me correctly---IT DON'T-- Papa came home with a tow sack and dumped the ugliest little Collie dawg out on the floor and he hauled butt under a bed and hid---I remember crawling  under the bed after him---I don't--after a few days he was named Ted--and I was the only one that could get close to him. We became constant companions and once again I had me a dog.

Mr. Turpin--a neighbor and friend of Papa's had a little frame house not far---across an open field--100 yds or so from their house--guess we rented it--Dad was wounded on Iwo Jima and spending  time in the hospital in Hawaii---I remember all of this at the tender young age of 2 or so---YEAH RITE---and we were waiting for him to come home. Like I said earlier, don't know when Dad got home but it must have been 1945--or somewhere there bouts. We were finally the family that we were supposed to be. Mama-Daddy me n Ted. Before Dad went off to war he had been going to College--Daniel Baker down in Brownwood--- not sure whether or not he graduated--but when he got home from the service he went to work as coach at a little school east of Weatherford---Aledo--he was coach and bus driver.Back then you didn't have to  have a degree---just the  desire to coach and teach.

  At our little rent house  we had  a barn with chickens and a milk cow---fresh milk--fresh eggs---can't beat it. Not sure whether we had a garden or not but I'm sure Papa Buntin did. Not sure what Papa Buntin did for a livin but seems like whatever it was he walked to work---carried his lunch in a round lunch pail---that also served as a beer container when he headed home---draft beer I guess. I remember all of this like it was yesterday ----YEAH RITE---- I do know that at one time he had farmed and had the usual farm animals---Mama told me of the cold mornings milkin the cows and gettin hit up side the head with a tail. Like lots of familys back then there were a bunch of  kids--- five girls and 2 boys-- more about them later.

Somewhere about this time---Daddy Ernie and Mama Fronie moved back to our neck of the woods. They moved into the Hale Place- to the little community of Dennis -- a big old house with a dog run--fire places--and a giant porch all the way around it. Both Mama Fronie and Daddy Ernie had been raised in this area and it was like  coming home I'm sure.  Daddy Ernie farmed the land --Mama Fronie had chickins runnin everywhere---a big garden always--pigs--cows and a horse ---Bonnie Breeze--and a lil runt terrier named Penny. Erna Lee went to the Dennis School--the same school that Mama and Daddy had gone to. Mama  was valedictorian of her graduating class.

 Dennis consisted of 2 stores a post office and a blacksmith shop.There were probably about 6-8 houses in the town proper. Right on the Brazos River---old one lane bridge--floor or deck made out of wood--suspended across with steel supports and rails--and seemed like about a mile long to young eyes and kinda scarey----swayed when you drove across. The old stores had big doors in the front and I think one had  been a saloon at one time. They both had wooden benches out in front---gossipin---knife swappin---swappin yarns and drinkin cold drinks--dry county.  

 A creek ran behind the house and thats where I was taken by my Dad on my first squirell hunt. Penny was our squirell dog----that lil runt could find them tree rats. We would walk the creek bed waiting for Penny to  put a squirell up a tree--- Daddy would shoot them with a little 22 rifle. Fried squirell --gravey and taters--home made biscuits a good country meal. Dad was a crack shot---he could in my young eyes and memory shoot their eyes out.  Don't waste no meat that a way.  Remember---and I do really remember-- one time we went to visit and Mama Fronie asked Dad to kill her a chicken--she pointed it out n he shot its head off--talk about fresh chicken.


Real Estate Ready