Refuge Road

Only in America

2008-08-08T06:13:00.000-07:00

I Love It!!! Paris, you go girl!

See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

A Blast From My Past

2008-07-09T12:19:00.000-07:00

Google Earth is one of those programs that I love to piddle around in, whenever I remember it is there. Yesterday was one of those days. I updated it - there are always updates - and then typed in the address of the place I grew up. The expected satellite images did not show up. Just a plain background with an overlay of the streets. I was thinkin, "this sucks, now how do i get the images back", when I noticed a blue dot, and a YouTube logo directly over the location where my paternal grandmother and grandfather lived, until they needed an earthly home no more. They lived on the street above us, the corner. I could see their house from mine, and get there in a couple of minutes by cuttin uphill, across the backyards. I'm from a generation that grew up on their bicycles. We rode them everywhere, in all kinds of weather, by ourselves or in packs. This was also the era of the neighborhood store. Usually run by an older woman, who lived above the store, or just next door. We had both kinds. Both were located a couple of blocks down the hill, at either end of our street. We patronized both of them, with their old-timey candy counters, full of 2, 3 and 5 for a penny tooth decay facilitators. And of course, bicycle was the way we got there. Down was a breeze, but back up helped us work up an appetite for our brown paper sacks of candy. We didn't think anything of it. Every day, this was the route we took to get home from school. And, oh yeah, we walked. Didn't matter if it was cold, snowing, or raining, it's just how it was. As a matter of fact, it was more fun if the weather was doin something. But forgive my rambling. Back to the reason for this post. I clicked on the blue dot over MeMo's house. The picture was taken from the corner of her lot, just beside her driveway!! I lived the next block down, two houses past the last one showin on the right. You can see all the way down Rock street to where it turns at a 90 degree angle, to begin the final descent to the Potomac. Here is the picture and here is the link to the panoramio page with more info.

Here is pic lookin up the hill, 3 streets down, and a link to it's page.

Makes me wanna go home sooo bad. And now for the piece de resistance. The YouTube video. These folks are competing in the SavageMan Triathlon. They are using the switchback method of pedaling, which came to us kids naturally. They are havin a hard time after training, and on professional bikes. We did it with a sack of candy gripped to the handlebars, on schwinn's and spider bikes, with no gears. Right before they start the last block, where the road turns to mostly concrete, I can glimpse the top story of my old house on the far left. The brown rails at the top are at the edge of MeMo's driveway. When he swings around to face down hill, I can see my old bedroom window, on the far right, one street down. And I can't help but giggle as one of them crashes and burns across from my friend's house near the top. Believe it or not, coal trucks used to use this street. Sometime during the seventies, the town put up that silver guardrail, after a runaway. And one final thought. I bet I don't even have to tell you where we rode our sleds, do I?

Quick Change

2008-07-09T11:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday mornin was sunny and hot. Yesterday afternoon was another story. The light from the sky changed and the wind began to pick up. I grabbed the camera and went outside. The camera is a good excuse to be standin outside watchin the summer storms blow in. This one arrived courtesy of a 22 mile an hour wind. The temperature dropped from 91 to 75 in 30 minutes. Across the river, in Illinois, they got 4 inches of rain in a very short time. It also rained like a cow pissin on a flat rock in paducah (30 miles up the road). We were lucky enough just to get the cooler air. These three pics were taken within a three minute time span. Checked the details on the digital cam, to make sure. Nature is really cool, both literally and figuratively, sometimes.

A Few Pics

2008-07-01T09:28:00.000-07:00

The first two I took on the way in to the Dollar General (how we ever got along without it, I don't know, lol). It's not uncommon for me to be able to make the 12 mile drive without meeting another vehicle. If the mood strikes to stop in the road and snap a pic, I have no fear of disrupting the flow of traffic.

The next few are of a time honored summer tradition that we have in common with some members of the animal kingdom--let's go swimmin! These are this year's young geese. There are adults scattered through to supervise, of course, but most of these younguns cannot fly well, if at all. You can see that their wings don't have adult plumage yet, so they are not strong enough to get them airborne. I encountered them yesterday evening on a cruise through the game reserve. They were crossing from the water on one side of the road to the other. You can tell they weren't real worried about my presence.

Gifts from the Grandfathers

2008-06-16T09:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a gift of a day. Went catfishing in the Ohio, and caught a few. Got home in time to see Jr. end his 76 race losing streak. After we dropped the grandson off, we decided to swing through the bottoms, and check out one of our favorite artifact hunting grounds. It was about 7 p.m. when we parked the truck. It was hot and muggy and not a breath of wind stirring. The moon was already up, even though it wasn't close to getting dark. The deep thrumming of a tow making it's way upriver was the only man-made noise to be heard. We set out for a spot about a third of the way down the huge field, and intended to turn around and search back to the truck more slowly. On the way there, though, I found a perfect thumb scraper. Made it worth it to me right off. My companion told me I was going too slow. I told him to turn around and look back my way. The field was covered with lithic scatter, glinting in the slanting sunlight. He was not to be deterred, so we proceeded down the field. We turned back and began hunting slowly. Believe it or not, it is more difficult to hunt in a field with a lot of scatter, because you can't possibly turn up every piece. In a bit, a pic of the day's best finds. But first a report of my companion's uncanny luck when artifact hunting. We had made our way back to the area I wanted to hunt in the first place. I told him to look, that there was scatter in a wide spot of this part of the field. As soon as he headed off, he found the dark point in the photo, with just the tip gone. As he was walking toward me to show me the large scraper, I found the light gray point, with only about a third of the side of it exposed. Turned a good day into a great day.

We both feel honored when the grandfathers allow us to connect with them through things they left behind. We separate again, and in a couple of minutes I hear him say, "I don't know, this must be somethin modern..." and he heads over to me. I am the walkin, talkin, field guide on artifacts. He is the one who is shit-house lucky, and finds these things, and comes to me for the answers. He was holdin it up, but I could only see part of it. From the color and shape at a distance, I asked if it was plastic. By that time he had reached me and I could hear the unmistakable sound when he ran it across his teeth. He handed it to me, and I immediately recognized what it is. After a few good-natured comments on his aforementioned shit-house luck, I tell him what he has found. It is what remains of a bannerstone, made from blood quartz. It's called a butterfly bannerstone, rare for the shape, and rarer for the material from which it is made. Here is a close-up:

The bannerstone is translucent.

Often stones made from this material were completely finished, except for the drilling. Quartz and quartzite are extremely hard to drill. Especially considerin they did it with hollow river cane and grains of sand. On the inside of the hole you can see the lines left from the drilling. This pic is as good as I could get with the digital.

To think that we were the first folks to hold and admire this in 5000 years or so is truly a reverential feeling. It is a spiritual experience that is hard to describe. To think that the damage may have been done by modern day farming machinery, by uncaring folks is a whole nother kinda feeling, but I won't go into that. This was made by what I would consider a master craftsman, for someone of special status. There are various theories of the purpose of these artifacts and you can find them on the web. I just hope the Grandfathers are happy that is now in a place where it will be revered and honored, as I revere and honor them.

Knock On Wood...

2008-06-04T08:54:00.000-07:00

Well, not really. It would not be a wise thing to do until you are sure this is not set. And for a rat, it would never be advisable. My last two posts have had subjects of stone, then metal. I decided to look for something made of wood, and here it is. I acquired this last year, when disassembling an 1870's farmhouse. Before we started with the tear-down, I poked through every nook and cranny, and even got down on my hands and knees to search up under the eaves in the attic, which is where this was discovered. It was not set, just shoved up under the eaves, where the roof met the attic floorboards. Doesn't appear to have ever dispatched a rat. That's not surprising, as we found no evidence of rodents taking up residence even though the house had not been lived in since the early 1970's. It has a kind of macabre attractiveness, does it not?

The manufacturer, Lovell Manufacturing Co. is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It's period of significance runs from 1850-1924. The site consists of 40 acres and 9 buildings. They manufactured a wide variety of household items over the years. I'm a bit perverse, so I proudly display this instrument of death standing upright, on top of my punched tin piesafe in the kitchen. You can go to the Patent Office page and search by patent number 1,726,195 and view the patent drawings, specifications, and more info than you ever wanted to know about this particular trap. The date on this version of the trap is August 27, 1929. Here is the link to the image file. If you can't view the images, click "help" and install alternatiff viewer. The internet is a marvelous thing.

The Rest Of The Story

2008-06-03T08:55:00.000-07:00

Last night I went in search of an ashtray. I was looking for a small one to set on the foot of the bed, where I was sitting cross-legged half reading, half watching Corner Gas. I went into the dark kitchen, pulled out the storage (junk) drawer, and proceeded to dig to the bottom. I heard metal on metal, located the source, and drew this outta the drawer. So that's where this has been hiding! I knew it was here somewhere. This is yet another in my long line of favorite metal things. Don't know where I acquired this affinity for anything old and made of metal. Things made outta brass are probably my favorite category. There are no makers marks on this piece to help identify it or date it. Doesn't matter to me, I love it just the way it is. At first glance, it appears to be a well-done depiction of a soldier and a peasant lass out for a stroll. My guess would be German origin, because of the soldier's attire and mustache. The young lady's hair is gathered up on top of her head, her bodice has short, puffed sleeves, and she has her market basket on her arm. She has her hand up to her lips and is tilting her head in what appears to be maidenly modesty or shyness. A sentimental moment captured for all time. Ah, for the days of such innocence...

And now, for the rest of the story...

PRICELESS!

What A Tool

2008-06-02T11:59:00.000-07:00

Here’s a front and back view of my best find from Sunday’s expedition. Found in a field on the second ridge back from the river. One of my favorite places to hunt. It was hot, and the ground was dry and dusty, which makes the hunt much more challenging. I found several large scrapers and a broken point of another drill, but no arrowheads for me this trip. Truth be told, I enjoy the tools just as much, if not a tad bit more than the projectile points. This piece is called a drill, or perforator. It’s from the Archaic period, which is reckoned to be from 8000 b.c. or so, up to 1000 b.c. Gray to tan flint, well worked and intact. Another fine piece for my collection, and another piece saved from being destroyed by farm machinery.

Great Blue

2008-05-29T07:49:00.000-07:00

I took this one Monday morning, just after some rainshowers had passed through. He (or she) is a Great Blue Heron. A better name would be Great Big Blue, if you asked me, but of course, no one did. We were heading for the river and disturbed his fishing. He left the slough and flew across the gravel road in front of us, and up to this perch. These guys are camera shy, and usually fly too far off for the digital before they light. Must have been some good fishing going on for him to only go this far. Great Blue's can get up to 54 inches tall with a wingspan of just over 6 1/2 feet. Looks to me like this one has maxed out. Luckily, he did not take wing as we backed up a bit, so I could get him silhouetted against the brooding sky. Once again I was presented with a perfect opportunity to use a natural frame. Makes it look like I know what I'm doin, don't it? Here is the entire photo. If you look closely at the large tree trunk on the right, you can see the high water mark from the spring rise on the Ohio.This is my favorite lake on the game reserve, Castor Lake. Don't ask me why such a beautiful spot shares the name of a nasty medicine.

My Green Thumb--NOT

2008-05-28T13:06:00.001-07:00

Aren’t these blooms gorgeous? I could lie and say they are the result of time spent down on my knees and up to my elbows in the “good earth”. But that’s exactly what I’d be doing is lieing. I had absolutely nothing to do with this bit of nature’s beauty. Any guesses as to their identity? Ok, I’ll give ya a hint. Look up, not down, to find their origin. They are the blooms of the Catalpa tree. It has other names; Catawba, Indian Bean, and Cigar Tree. There are 6 of these beautiful trees in my front yard, one on the side and one out back. The blooms have a light fragrance that is filling my front yard right now. As they age, the blooms shower down like gargantuan snowflakes. They cover the roof of my vehicle, Deja, and when I drive off, they blow from the roof a couple at a time, leaving a trail like I’m in a parade, lol. Here is a shot showing last year’s beans, cigars or seed-pods, pick your favorite name.

And here is a longer range pic of just one of these huge, shade giving beauties. You can just imagine how white my yard will soon become.

The leaves are broad and dense. They keep the front yard well shaded even from the brutal full summer sun. They also have one added benefit. Sphinx moths are partial to these trees as a location for their cocoons. The emerging caterpillars are called “catalpa worms” hereabouts, and are prized as bait. Not that I’m waitin on them to make an appearance, or anything like that. At the moment, I’m just enjoyin the show.

My Kinda Afternoon

2008-05-25T17:48:00.000-07:00

Couldn’t ask for much better. Temperature was 81 when we loaded up the fishin poles, fishin chair, and plenty of worms in my new “baby”, Deja Blue. Deja is a 1993 Chevy Silverado Suburban with 4 wheel drive. Her previous owner babied her and it shows. Here is a pic of Deja at our destination. You can see the sand and the huge, old trees that grow right to the edge of the bluff. We turned the back speakers around, left the back doors open, and chose X-Country (Cross Country) for ambience. It wasn’t loud, sound carries real good around all that water.

The Ohio river is up just now. Not floodin anything, but at the top of her banks. Just right for catfishin from the bank. We unloaded the fishin chair, worms, and poles, and we had it made in the shade, literally. The fish were bitin, and we had river traffic to fill in the little lulls between fish. This is the first boat to pass by. I didn’t even get outta the chair to take this one, just turned my head to the right, and let the overhanging branches frame it.

This next one I took because I wanted to include my faithful Ocean City rod. I believe I got it in ’91, and it is well used. After I got home and looked at the pic, it almost appears that I have hooked the boat itself, lol.

And finally, the end result of some soul restoration, the catch of the day. Well, really only about 3 hours. Think I’m gonna get up early in the mornin and go again. Offer them a breakfast buffet. And it won’t be 90 degrees then. Sometimes it is good to live by the river.

(Un)Holy Shit!

2008-05-22T09:10:00.000-07:00

My nose detected the smell as fast as my ears heard the rumbling in the field beside the house. It was about 6:30 in the a.m. What a way to start the day. Gone are the days of smelling that good ole country smell of cow manure spread on the fields as fertilizer. Now they spread chicken shit from those warehouse type chicken production facilities, where thousands of chickens never set foot outdoors. They live in their own shit, and have unaturally large breasts and accelerated growth rates. Not only does the owner of the chicken operation make money from the chickens, they now sell the shit to be spread on other farmer's fields. Stink does not describe it. The fellow driving the spreader is a friend of mine. He waved when he made a close pass and saw me taking pics of his dirty deed. Look at the noxious cloud the spreader is producing. Any way ya slice it, it's a buncha shit.

Civic Duty Day

2008-05-20T07:27:00.000-07:00

Somebody find me!

2008-05-18T18:23:00.000-07:00

Here is an aerial photo of the location of my newest hidden geocache. I hid it on May 5th. Any ideas why it has yet to be found??? Click on the photo to enlarge it. My cache is on the left, "Are You Up To It?". Apparently no one is yet. Or else the friggin price of gas is slowin folks down. Think I will place another one right on the riverbank, so geofolks can pick up two finds at least for all the liquid gold it takes to get out here to the boonies. That is the Ohio River wrapping around our county, in case you're wonderin.

Spring

2008-05-18T17:32:00.001-07:00

It's For Your Own Good...

2008-03-05T09:35:00.000-08:00

“It’s For Your Own Good…”

Damn, I hate feelin like a friggin Republican. But that is exactly how my canine companions are makin me feel. That would be Chev (pictured in sidebar), Chandy, and Millie (short for Sinsemilla). Mill was rescued several years ago, from life in one of those little crates. She spent her days in the crate, set out on the porch, because her owners said she was just too much, when left inside the house. They had replaced her with a smaller dog that had the run of the house, and relegated her to the crate. My companions job at that time, took him past the house quite often, and he always spoke to the little dog in the crate. One day the owners were home, and asked if he would like to have her. He went through the motions of callin me, but he knew what I would say, when I heard her story. The previous owners claim she is a registered Jack Russell, but, if so, she is one of the largest ones I have ever seen. I don’t know how she behaved at her first home ( or residence, cause that ain’t no home), but she has never made me regret her joinin my pack. Of course she is active, that is what a terrier is. But she is not destructive. She loves nothing better than goin with her people, whatever the destination, when a vehicle leaves the driveway. She rides on the console and pays better attention to the road ahead than a lot of drivers do. On Friday evenings, as we are leavin the “big” town, 30 miles away, we always swing by the Hardees, to get her a plain burger. The folks at the drive-up window all love her and she gets free burgers now. I wish I could convince them that the chocolate shake is for her, too. Anyways, I must move on. Chev is my big boy, mom was a registered Pyrenees, dad was a ? . He is a big stuffed dog come to life. Chandy is a mix also. Her mom was a registered Pyr also, and they claim the daddy was a black lab. Chan is all white, except for brown freckles on both ears, has medium length straight hair, and the softest muzzle of any dog I have ever known. She is also the largest and youngest of the three. Chev is a clown, and Chan tries to act “above it all”. Except if the other dogs, or any of the cats, gets too close to her food, or chewies. Then they find out really quickly who is Boss Dog, lol. Now back to the reason for my post. We live just off the road that leads to the headquarters building of the federal game reserve. It opens March 15th, so traffic will pick up considerably, since ridin around on the game reserve is a cultural tradition here. Here are a couple of links to info on the game reserve. Last week the backwater from the ohio river began to rise, and that runs the deer and other critters up this way more than usual. Almost every evenin there are groups of them in the field beside the house. So, last week, my pack decides the heck with the fenced-in yard, and they bulldoze their way over it. By the time I notice they are gone (cause this is a biiig fenced in yard), they are out of sight. They were gone all day, and we just happened to spot Chandy, her big white self, as she and Chevy crossed the road, about a mile away, and headed into another field, towards the crossroads called Oscar. As soon as they heard me callin and knew that I could see them, they headed back, down the middle of the road all the way. Thank goodness no traffic at this time of year. I tried scolding, piling stuff up in front of where they went over, and blockin them in the house when I left. Nothing worked, and I was constantly lookin for my dogs. They would eventually return when they got within earshot of my voice, covered in mud and cockleburs, having had the time of their life in the backwater and bottoms, and possibly the game reserve itself. I couldn’t allow this to continue, because sooner rather than later, it would end in a very bad way. At the moment, I can not afford 6 foot fence to replace the 4 foot one. And I will not pen them up in a small enclosure. So, here comes the “It’s for your own good…” part. On Saturday, I make a beeline for one of my favorite stores. Tractor Supply. I just love that place. Seen from the road, if ya didn’t know better, you’d think it was a used pick-up truck lot. When ya walk in the doors, you are greeted with proof positive that we ain’t nowhere near a concrete jungle. First thing I always do is take a really deep breath through the nose. It’s an olfactory delight of sweet feed and leather. I’d know this place blindfolded. No suits or polyester, or even khaki, for the employees. Jeans and t-shirts. Greetings from the cashiers, that you always know at least one of, personally. Display racks by the door with the company’s free publication, “Out Here”. Bein that Easter is fast approachin, there are stuffed bunnies as big as Labradors draped all throughout the store. I want one. We head towards the back of the store, past the overalls, mud and work boots, mower parts, barnyard fowl cages, mineral blocks, sweet feed pallets, and saddle racks. I hate to do this, but…(see title). One electric fence box, roll of the new kinda wire, that is yellow and black nylon rope with the wire twisted through, and step-in, plastic posts. They call this type of fence portable cause all ya have to do is place those posts and thread the “tape”. No more drivin metal posts and foolin with those damned insulators. Back to the front, to the check-out. While standin in line the neighboring cashier, tells us my companion’s brother was in yesterday, and I’m sure his ears musta burned for just a bit there. We pay for our “instruments of torture” and the girl asks if we want a farm ticket. We tell her “naw”. This is an important question, cause farmers get all kinds a breaks from the “govmint” on farm purchases. Back to the house, and of course, no dogs in sight. The new barrier is placed just inside of the original fence. Two runs of the tape, to ensure no goin under. It is powered up and merrily “snapping” away, complete with little green light indicating fence is not grounded by any branches or anything else touchin it to interrupt the circuit. I continue yellin for the dogs every 5 minutes or so. They show up just about dark, disheveled as usual, and emerging from the woods across the road (the game reserve side). I bring them inside, and wait for the inevitable. They act as if nothing is wrong, bounce around and act glad that we are back. After the new of us bein home has worn off, they head to the back and we hear them goin out the doggie door. I mute the tv and wait. Don’t hafta wait but a few seconds and the first “YERP” is heard. It was Chev, and I feel that yerp in my chest, just like he was a child from my very own womb, dammit. They all run back in, and I can see in his eyes “What the fuck was that???”. A little later, another yelp, from Mill, and later still, a bass one from Chandy. I feel every damn one of em, but what’s a mother to do? I keep tellin myself it’s not cruel. They will only feel the correction if they try to go over the fence. The whole yard is still theirs. I ask myself, “would you rather hear that a few times, or have to pick them up off the road and bury them, or never know why they didn’t come home one day?” They are beginning to get used to it now, and goin back outside for short periods. Chandy has shown her displeasure by chewing on a new ink cartridge in the package (which I rescued just in time), and a candle left out from the power outage. Chev sleeps in the closet where the doggie door is and I can hear him bark with just his head out the door. He has started to go on out and bark in the last couple of days, but I still haven’t seen him just lounging about out there. Surely, they’ll get accustomed to it, won’t they? It’s inexpensive, and easily expandable, so we may just do the entire acre, if they will adjust. And they can still come out when we are doin stuff out in the yard as the weather warms up. I honestly don’t know who it is harder on, me or them. I hate this business of “It’s for your own good…” All I know is that I could not, for the life of me, be a good Republican. Thank whoever, we still have a choice, lol.

No Words Needed

2008-02-13T12:48:00.000-08:00

well, maybe just a few. the following pics show the reason for a forced hiatus from contact with the outside world. blogging from a temporary location, our power should be restored in 3 - 5 days. one of the joys of rural life. the tree across the road had the path cut in it by us. trees over the road in both directions and no help forthcoming from our marvelous road dept., so ya do what ya gotta do.

this is right beside the house, flooded for waterfowl hunting, which only has a couple of weeks to go, thank goodness.

Geo-what?

2008-02-06T10:54:00.001-08:00

My best friend, Johnnie Claude (not her real name, of course) and I have discovered a new high! And wonder of wonders, this one is totally legal! If you had known us for the last, umm, several decades, you would understand why I make that distinction. But I digress. Our newfound adrenalin rush, addiction, obsession, is something called geocaching. Geocaching is a world-wide game of hide and seek. Headquarters and home for the game is at www.geocaching.com. The only equipment needed to participate is a handheld gps, and enough “inner child” left to remember the joys of “hide and seek” or “scavenger hunts”. You then visit the website, and can search for caches near you by several search criteria. A “cache” can be anything from a 35mm film container, with a piece of paper to log your visit, to an ammo box, Tupperware container, or any weather-tight container you can come up with. There are even virtual caches that require you to answer questions about the cache site to prove you found it. There are multi-stage caches, where the first coordinates you locate contain clues and coordinates to the next stage. Geocaching clubs have sprung up all over the planet as a way for cachers to get together and socialize. There are organized teams and challenges for those who like to participate in a group. You can participate alone, with friends, or make it a family pastime. It would take me all day to tell you everything about this new sport, so it is best to go to the home page, if your curiosity is piqued. Now, back to the reason for this post. I have owned a gps for about 2 years now. I bought it so I could have a record of all the places that we go to artifact hunt. I just tie it on to my rock pouch and it records every step I take. When I get home I download the tracks to the pc and open them on an aerial photo map and have a permanent record of the expedition. I can save waypoints if I make a good find, and use the aerial views to set waypoints of likely looking areas for future expeditions. And there is one added benefit. I can slip it into a cell phone mount in the vehicle, plug it into the cigarette lighter, and forget about getting lost. Well, I can still get lost, but now I can always find my way back. I discovered the website way back then, but didn’t really take time to look it over. The other day, I happened on it once again. I did a zip code search for local caches and I was amazed. Even out here, on the backside of hell, there are an amazing number of caches to be found. As I was checkin them out, Johnnie Claude called, just to shoot the shit. I told her about it, and she sat down at her computer and pulled up the site. She and I love nothing better than ridin around in the river bottoms and findin places off the beaten path, so I was not surprised when she took to this like a duck to water. We are both just kids who have somehow ended up in bodies that have attained a surprising amount of years while we weren’t lookin. The realization that this worldwide game was goin on even here in the boonies, without us knowin about it grabbed our interest, to put it mildly. Now, instead of just wasting gasoline by wanderin aimlessly through the bottoms, and on the back roads, we could be ON A MISSION!!! We jumped in with both feet. We read the logs of caches that had been found in our area, and read up on how to hide our own cache for others to find. Caches are traditionally filled with dollar store trinkets (schwag, in geo lingo). So Sunday, we set out for the first time. We had already decided on a unique location for our first “hide”. We loaded up at dollar general, then stopped a short ways down the road, and hiked down a neglected trail to score our first “find”. We took nothing, left some trinkets, and signed the log. Then we replaced and concealed the cache for the next hunters. We continued to Johnnie Claude’s house and assembled our first cache. We were as excited as kids just let outta school for the summer. We drove to the site we had chosen, got out, and negotiated our way through the undergrowth and friggin, ever-present sticker bushes to our chosen spot. Johnnie Claude concealed the container, and I took several readings and stored the waypoint, so we could submit the cache for publication when we got home. We got back to her vehicle, climbed in, and began to back out. Did I mention that there was one hell of a ditch on the side of the pull-off? No? Well, it certainly made itself known to us. I felt the vehicle begin to tilt my direction and before we knew it we were up on three wheels, and within a cunt-hair of rollin over, excuse my French. We were both leanin to the high side for all we were worth. I had forgotten my cell phone at home and j.c.’s was outta minutes. After we got our breathin and heart rates under control, she stepped on the gas a bit and we heard that sickenin spinnin sound of tires with no traction. She let off, and we regrouped while waitin for the truck to stop teeter-tottering. Then we remembered that we were in a 4-wheel drive. We tried 2 low first, but no help. But, hallelujah for 4 low! It took a bit of backin up, then pullin up,but, by gawd, we came outta there, shiny side up and rubber side down! We stopped, once we were back on the level, and got the giggling out of our systems. Damn!! This sport is custom made for us!! That evening, we logged in from our respective computers, and logged our first find. I submitted the info for our first hide as well. Any new hide is reviewed, and then posted on geocaching.com within two days or so. We kept checkin and Johnnie Claude called me to tell me our cache was listed on the site Monday evening. We were tickled and wondered just how long it would take for someone to search it out. We did not have long to wait. It was just after noon on Tuesday, when she called me again and told me we had been found!! The finder logged his visit, and left us a travel bug. Travel bugs are trackable items that are sometimes on a mission of their own. “ This Green Jeep Travel Bug is part of the 2006 Jeep 4x4 Geocaching Challenge.” Now how cool is that!! So far, it has been in Florida, Michigan, Tennessee and Kentucky. If you’re interested in learning more, I’ll add the link to our cache page. We named it “Don’t Lose Your Head”. Our first finder was nice enough to take a picture and post it when he logged his find. Thank you, lewy, whoever you are.

Ooooh, Baby, It's Cold Outside

2008-01-10T10:58:00.000-08:00

Well, not really all that cold for January here in “the dark and bloody ground”. That’s “Kentucky” to us interlopers who pushed out the original inhabitants. I was casting about in my mind, trawling for a subject to write a post about, when I snagged this. I love this old thing.

You can’t tell scale from the pic, so here are the measurements—it is 5 ft. wide by 4 ft. tall. I’ve never put it on a scale, but I would guesstimate 10 pounds or so. Any guesses? Think “dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh”. Yep, you got it. It’s a lap robe. I acquired this at an auction on a cold and rainy day in an unheated building about 15 years or so ago. It was the end of a long day, and most of the buyers were leaving after the high dollar furniture stuff was gone. It was a good day for those with stamina and nowhere better to be. It is in remarkable shape for its age. The material it is woven out of feels like burlap, scratchy and strong. But since you weren’t supposed to be nekkid under it, I guess the scratchy doesn’t really matter. The backing is solid black and it is stuffed with what appears to be horse hair for insulation. I don’t know anything about the process used to color it.

If you look closely at the pony’s neck you can see a couple of small spots of red that are out of place, so maybe some hand dyeing on the picture in the center. I guess the roses blooming in the background were to make you feel warmer, or remind you that warmer weather would eventually return. Another indication that it was owned by “gentlefolk” is that the pony still has his original glass eye. The faithful hound’s has been lost to the ages. If I had lived back when this was new, and had been picking out a lap robe to keep me warm, this would have been my choice of design. It features my two favorite members of the animal kingdom, horses and dogs. I don’t believe I could improve on the color scheme either. It amazes me that the colors are still so rich after all this time. It makes me wish I was psychic or sensitive, if there is such a thing. I would love to be able to drape this over my lap, and be transported back to a simpler time, living in a family that had the expendable income for such niceties. By it’s very existence, it implies that the household had it’s own stable, complete with conveyances and the horse power to convey them. They also had the luxury of free time to spend traveling to visit neighbors or family, or to town for shopping or church services, even in the winter. Maybe school programs, Christmas parties, and dances where the young folk could begin the courting ritual to find a suitable mate. I would imagine a young couple could get to know each other fairly well snuggled together under this heavy robe. If they were so inclined; I mean, folks were still folks, even back then. Necking was not invented by Henry Ford. And if you were lucky enough to acquire a snappy, flashy, high-stepping piece of horseflesh to pull your buggy or sleigh, you wouldn’t want just any dull, serviceable lap robe to ruin the eye-catching, head-turning picture you would present. I imagine the brisk air and the reds and maroons in this robe would accent the blush of health on the cheek of any young lady that availed herself of it’s comfort and warmth. It is an article that has no real counterpart here in the 21st century. Whenever I handle it, though, I can’t help but feel like it held good memories for someone. Surely, it wasn’t just luck that it has survived the passage of so many years in this good shape. It must have been stored away in a trunk somewhere, when it outlived it’s usefulness. It definitely was not left in the stable or barn or carriage house for the mice to find and nibble on, so it meant something to someone. They needn’t worry about it’s fate. As long as I am the custodian of this gorgeous piece of the past, it is still special to someone.

January Thaw

2008-01-07T10:28:00.000-08:00

Not much goin on here today. According to my pws the high today so far is 66.9 and the high wind gust is 17 mph. I do love the January thaw. It's supposed to continue into tomorrow, but of course it will end with thunderstorms most likely. I did do something productive this mornin. I made a dreamcatcher. Just my first practice one, but it turned out well. Now i will have to make a trip to the craft store and get another spool of leather lace to make a good one. That's about it for now. Gonna head outside and enjoy this unnaturally warm weather. Oh yeah, I am actually gonna be watchin for those predicted thunderstorms. I am curious to see just how high the winds will get when that damn cold air chases out this delicious warm spell. T-shirt weather in January, ya gotta love it!

Tonight's Forecast....Dark

2008-01-02T07:16:00.000-08:00

If spoken with the correct inflection, those 3 words send time spinning backwards, and bring an immediate smile to my face. They are the words of Al Sleet (aka George Carlin), The Hippie Dippie Weather Man. Sadly, Al is no longer a weather man. He retired from the field after he gave the ultimate forecast. “The weather will continue to change for a long, long time.” I searched high (no pun intended, well, ok, maybe a little pun intended) and low but could not find a clip of Al that I could embed here, so I will have to settle for a link to a YouTube video. It is not Al in his prime, but a revisit by his creator, a comedic genius, elevated to god status, by those of us belonging to a certain generation. The trigger for this most enjoyable trip (another pun??) down memory lane, is my after-Christmas present. My companion offered to let me choose my own gift, and I promptly accepted. “He who hesitates, is lost” applies here, I have learned over the years. My weakness, or preference, depending on how you look at it, is electronics. I admit it, I am a technology junkie. I had thought, for some time, that a PWS—that’s personal weather station for the tech challenged—would be a cool thing to own. I must admit I had done a bit of research on them through the Weather Underground site. I checked out the hardware and software, but it seemed they had to be ordered online, and possessing no credit card is a definite minus when it comes to that. So I placed it in the “one of these days” category, and decided to get a larger monitor. I am currently running 2 flat screen displays, but I figured I could put one of them up as a spare, and totally fill my available desk space with a new 22” wide screen and one of the current flat panels beside it. A new monitor that size would’ve been a good thing, just not real exciting. I mean, a monitor is a monitor is a monitor, right? I had settled on a model, but decided to walk around the rest of the store just for the hell of it. Really, I just love the fragrance of new circuit boards and plastic wiring, so I was topping off the experience. I was heading for the back of the store, to work my way to the front, when I caught something out of the corner of my eye, that made me stop mid-stride, and do an about-face. Yep, weather stations. At first glance, they all seemed to be the small, for your information only type; but then, on the bottom shelf, slid to the back was a large box. My companion retrieved it, and I tipped it toward me, and lo and behold, it was the model I had decided to shoot for in my internet research for “one of these days.” Cue “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.” This one does not only do temperature, but has a wind gauge and rain gauge. Now, at a glance, I can see temperature and wind chill or heat index, relative humidity, wind speed and direction and high gust, barometric pressure, rainfall, and by pressing a button, see the indoor conditions as well. But the kicker for me was that this one comes with software and a usb cable to enable me to share with the world just how friggin cold and miserable it is here on Sand Ridge at any given moment this winter. Kudos to Weather Underground for letting me share this for free. They also archive the data from your pws, just in case you got nothing better to do while cruising the web. When I got it set up and began sending data, they even created a page for my station. I shall try to place a sticker for my station in the sidebar for the curious, or just plain bored. But I fear this new hobby will have a domino effect. WUnderground also encourages you to hook up a weather cam to add to your site. Recommendations for an inexpensive, wireless web cam, anybody?

Happy New Year

2008-01-01T09:15:00.000-08:00

Been a while since i posted. Now that the holidays are over, I think I can see the black fog of holiday depression beginning to dissipate. Hopefully, the cold northwest wind will hasten it's departure. Happy New Year to all, although as I get older, they all seem to blur together. I was pleasantly surprised when I read the local area morning paper, for a change. This story is from the little town that shares a zip code with us out here in the river bottoms. I will copy and paste it here, just to show that sometimes, good things do make the news; and that living in a small southern town just may have some advantages at times. Here's hoping that the rest of the year will take a cue from this story.

Four times the love
Community pitches in as Ballard County couple awaits birth of quadruplets
By Angie Kinsey akinsey@paducahsun.com--270.575.8657

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

LA CENTER, Ky. — Amber and Jeremy Parker have converted their garage into a family room and traded in their sport utility vehicle for a minivan in the past few months.

“I swore I would never drive a minivan,” Amber said.

That was before they found out they were expecting quadruplets — three girls and a boy to be named Bailey Grace, Miley Jo, Kallie Kathleen and William Crice.

“We had to do something,” she said. “We didn’t have enough room (in the vehicle) to even bring them home from the hospital.”

The Parker quads are due March 13, but, at 29 weeks, they could come at any time. “All babies seem to be healthy and they’re all over 3 pounds,” said Amber, 32.

The Parkers, who have been married for four years, decided to start a family a year after they married. Jeremy Parker, 34, already has a 10-year-old daughter, Mallory, who lives in Providence.

“We tried a year and nothing was happening,” Amber said. “We did fertility work in Paducah with Dr. (Susan) Mueller and nothing showed up. Ten percent of people have unexplained infertility.”

Amber Parker became pregnant after undergoing in vitro fertilization in Nashville, Tenn., but miscarried in September 2006. They decided to try another in vitro clinic in St. Louis.

“The main reason we chose the clinic in St. Louis was because they offered a discount for teachers and teachers never get discounts,” said Amber, a health and physical education teacher at Ballard County Middle School. “I thought these people have got to be good if they’re giving teachers a break.”

Four embryos were transferred in the process, but doctors said it was unlikely the couple would have anything more than twins.

“We were kind of wanting twins anyway,” Jeremy said. “I wasn’t with her when she found out. I was at work.”

When four babies showed up on the ultrasound, “it was a good thing I was lying down,” Amber said. “I was definitely in shock. The doctor just kept rubbing his head, saying, ‘This never happens. You must have a higher power on your side.’ Then I had to call Jeremy.”

Jeremy was at a gas station on his way to work at Ballard Telephone Cooperative when he got the call.

“He said, ‘No, Amber, really how many? Quit messing around.’ I had to get the nurse to tell him it was four,” she said. “At first, I was shocked, nervous and scared, but then it kind of sunk in.”

“Then we had to figure out what we’re going to do with them,” Jeremy added. That’s when Jeremy and his friends converted the two-car garage into the family room.

Doctors insisted on a weekly ultrasound and told Amber to quit work in September. Besides Mueller, Amber sees a fertility specialist in Evansville, Ind., and the babies will most likely be born at St. Mary’s Hospital in Evansville.

“I was very panicked because I didn’t have very many sick days left,” she said. The school system “sent out a districtwide e-mail asking if teachers would donate their sick time. The e-mail went out on Thursday and by Monday morning I had enough days. I am very grateful to teach with people who are willing to give and help out.”

The teachers also gave the couple a baby shower. They have also been given showers by Ballard Telephone, First Baptist Church of Barlow, Amber’s high school and college friends, and family and friends in Jeremy’s hometown of Clay in Webster County. A community yard sale also netted $600, which is in the quads’ savings account.

Two Ballard Memorial High School clubs have chosen the Parkers as their community service projects. FBLA members gave them another baby shower in December, and HOSA (Health Occupations Students of America) members have volunteered to run errands, clean and stay overnight once the babies are born.

“It’s unreal the amount of support people have given us,” Amber said. “I always knew Ballard County was an amazing place to live. I wouldn’t live anywhere else. I think every church in this county and McCracken County have us on their prayer list. Seriously, that’s why I think we’re doing so well. It’s from the prayers. I’ve felt a peace about it from the beginning.”

Amber plans to return to work in August. Baby sitters are already lined up, including her mother, Diane Crice, who lives next door.

“People come up to us and say, ‘Your life, as you know it, is over,’” Amber said. “It may be over, but we’re getting a new life. It’s going to be crazy, but it’s going to be our life. We’ll work together to get it done.”

Cold Snap

2007-11-22T18:37:00.000-08:00

Wednesday was warm and rainy. I had fans on and the windows and doors open. The temp topped out in the low 70’s. About 6 in the evening, the cold front blew in. Thursday the temp ranged from 41 to 37. The sun did not deign to show his face. Today will be much the same. Due to the opening of waterfowl season, there is the occasional flurry of a group of pick-ups, as hunters go to and from the pits and blinds. Farming traffic is pretty much finished for the year. No more mega-tractors, combines, or bizarre looking 3-wheeled spray rigs. And just the other day, I saw a pick-up pass by pulling 2 flat bed wooden wagons loaded with tobacco ready to be stripped. Now is the time for the reappearence of the one big truck that will become a familiar sight on back roads throughout the land. Kinda like our version of lighting the tree in Rockefeller Plaza to mark the official beginning of the holiday season. One that country folks everywhere can identify with. We have a weird kind of love/hate relationship with it. In the boonies there are no natural gas lines. But damn near every yard sprouts a “could this thing be any friggin uglier?” propane tank. I love Eric “Slow Hand” Clapton’s music. This song has absolutely nothing to do with him, but it is a parody of one of his hits. Pinkard and Bowden, you have a unique and wonderful talent. So roll up a page of newspaper, twist it tightly, apply the Zippo, and hope like hell it will stay lit till you can ignite that pilot light designed with professional contortionists in mind.Then fire up that furnace, kick back and give this a listen. And keep your ears open for that welcome/dreaded rumblin sound...

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eSnips Social DNA

A Cautionary Thanksgiving Tale

2007-11-22T15:04:00.001-08:00

YOUTHS ORDERED TO CLEAN UP RUBBISH MESS
LEE -- Because they couldn't find a dump open in Great Barrington, two youths threw a load of refuse down a Stockbridge hillside on Thanksgiving Day.

Saturday, Richard J. Robbins, 19, of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., and Arlo Guthrie, 18, of Howard Beach, N. Y., each paid a fine of $25 in Lee District Court after pleading guilty of illegally disposing of rubbish. Special Justice James E. Hannon ordered the youths to remove all the rubbish. They did so Saturday afternoon, following a heavy rain

Police Chief William J. Obanhein of Stockbridge said later the youths found dragging the junk up the hillside much harder than throwing it down. He said he hoped their case would be an example to others who are careless about disposal of rubbish.

The junk included a divan, plus nearly enough bottles, garbage, papers and boxes to fill their Volkswagen bus.

"The stuff would take up at least half of a goodsized pickup truck," Chief Obanhein said.

The rubbish was thrown into the Nelson Foote Sr. property on Prospect Street, a residential section of Stockbridge consisting largely of estates on the hill across from Indian Hilil [sic] School.

Chief Obanhein told the court he spent "a very disagreeable two hours" looking through the rubbish before finding a clue to who had thrown it there. He finally found a scrap of paper bearing the name of a Great Barrington man. Subsequent investigation indicated Robbins and Guthrie had been visiting the Great Barrington man and had agreed to cart away the rubbish for him. They told the court that, when they found the Barrington dump closed, they drove around and then disposed of the junk by tossing it over the Stockbridge hillside.

Unidentified newspaper clipping, reprinted in This is the Arlo Guthrie Songbook, New York, NY, 1969, p. 39.

Most of us never saw this account, but here is the way most of us were introduced to the story:

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eSnips Social DNA

Lyrics as reprinted in This is the Arlo Guthrie Songbook, New York, NY, 1969, pp. 91-95.
Additional lyrics (chorus) from Digital Tradition (file name: ALICREST)
© 1966, 1967, 1969 Appleseed Music Inc.

And if you want to follow along, here are the lyrics:

CHORUS:
You can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant
You can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant
Walk right in, it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant
RECITATION:
This song is called "Alice's Restaurant." It's about Alice, and the restaurant, but "Alice's Restaurant" is not the name of the restaurant, that's just the name of the song. That's why I call the song "Alice's Restaurant."

Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago... two years ago, on Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the restaurant.

But Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the church nearby the restaurant, in the bell tower with her husband Ray and Facha, the dog.

And livin' in the bell tower like that, they got a lot of room downstairs where the pews used to be, and havin' all that room (seein' as how they took out all the pews), they decided that they didn't have to take out their garbage for a long time.

We got up here and found all the garbage in there and we decided that it'd be a friendly gesture for us to take the garbage down to the city dump.

So we took the half-a-ton of garbage, put it in the back of a red VW microbus, took shovels and rakes and implements of destruction, and headed on toward the city dump. Well, we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across the dump sayin', "This dump is closed on Thanksgiving," and we'd never heard of a dump closed on Thanksgiving before, and with tears in our eyes, we drove off into the sunset lookin' for another place to put the garbage.

We didn't find one till we came to a side road, and off the side of the side road was another fifteen-foot cliff, and at the bottom of the cliff was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pile was better than two little piles, and rather than bring that one up, we decided to throw ours down. That's what we did.

Drove back to the church, had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep, and didn't get up until the next morning, when we got a phone call from Officer Obie. He said, "Kid, we found your name on a envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of garbage and I just wanted to know if you had any information about it."

And I said, "Yes sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie. I put that envelope under that garbage." After speakin' to Obie for about forty-five minutes on the telephone, we finally arrived at the truth of the matter and he said that we had to go down and pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at the Police Officer Station. So we got in the red VW microbus with the shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward the Police Officer Station.

Now, friends, there was only one of two things that Obie could've done at the Police Officer Station, and the first was that he could've given us a medal for bein' so brave and honest on the telephone (which wasn't very likely, and we didn't expect it), and the other thing was that he could've bawled us out and told us never to be seen drivin' garbage around in the vicinity again, which is what we expected.

But when we got to the Police Officer Station, there was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we was both immediately arrested, handcuffed, and I said, "Obie, I can't pick up the garbage with these here handcuffs on." He said: "Shut up kid, and get in the back of the patrol car."

And that's what we did . . . sat in the back of the patrol car, and drove to the quote scene of the crime unquote.

I wanna tell you 'bout the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where this is happenin'. They got three stop signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the scene of the crime, there was five police officers and three police cars, bein' the biggest crime of the last fifty years and everybody wanted to get in the newspaper story about it.

And they was usin' up all kinds of cop equipment that they had hangin' around the Police Officer Station. They was takin' plaster tire tracks, footprints, dog-smellin' prints and they took twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explainin' what each one was, to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach, the getaway, the northwest corner, the southwest corner . . .
and that's not to mention the aerial photography!

After the ordeal, we went back to the jail. Obie said he was gonna put us in a cell.

He said: "Kid, I'm gonna put you in a cell. I want your wallet and your belt."
I said, "Obie, I can understand your wantin' my wallet, so I don't have any money to spend in the cell, but what do you want my belt for?" and he said, "Kid, we don't want any hangin's." I said, "Obie, did you think I was gonna hang myself for litterin'?"

Obie said he was makin' sure, and, friends, Obie was, 'cause he took out the toilet seat so I couldn't hit myself over the head and drown, and he took out the toilet paper so I couldn't bend the bars, roll the toilet paper out the window, slide down the roll and have an escape. Obie was makin' sure.

It was about four or five hours later that Alice--(remember Alice? There's a song about Alice.)--Alice came by and, with a few nasty words to Obie on the side, bailed us out of jail, and we went back to the church, had another Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, and didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to go to court. We walked in, sat down, Obie came in with the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one, sat down.

Man came in, said, "All rise!" We all stood up, and Obie stood up with the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures, and the judge walked in, sat down, with a seein' eye dog and he sat down. We sat down.

Obie looked at the seein' eye dog . . . then at the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one . . . and looked at the seein' eye dog . . . and then at the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each on and began to cry.

Because Obie came to the realization that it was a typical case of American blind justice, and there wasn't nothin' he could do about it, and the judge wasn't gonna look at the twenty-seven 8 by 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explainin' what each one was, to be used as evidence against us.

And we was fined fifty dollars and had to pick up the garbage... in the snow.

But that's not what I'm here to tell you about.

I'm here to talk about the draft.

They got a buildin' down in New York City called Whitehall Street, where you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected!

I went down and got my physical examination one day, and I walked in, sat down (got good and drunk the night before, so I looked and felt my best when I went in that morning, 'cause I wanted to look like the All-American Kid from New York City. I wanted to feel like . . . I wanted to be the All-American Kid from New York), and I walked in, sat down, I was hung down, brung down, hung up and all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly things.

And I walked in, I sat down, they gave me a piece of paper that said: "Kid, see the psychiatrist in room 604."

I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I wanna kill. I wanna kill! I wanna see blood and gore and guts and veins in my teeth! Eat dead, burnt bodies! I mean: Kill. Kill!"

And I started jumpin' up and down, yellin' "KILL! KILL!" and he started jumpin' up and down with me, and we was both jumpin' up and down, yellin', "KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!" and the sergeant came over, pinned a medal on me, sent me down the hall, said "You're our boy". Didn't feel too good about it.

Proceeded down the hall, gettin' more injections, inspections, detections, neglections, and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me at the thing there, and I was there for two hours... three hours... four hours... I was there for a long time goin' through all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly things, and I was just havin' a tough time there, and they was inspectin', injectin', every single part of me, and they was leavin' no part untouched!

Proceeded through, and I finally came to see the very last man. I walked in, sat down, after a whole big thing there. I walked up, and I said, "What do you want?" He said, "Kid, we only got one question: Have you ever been arrested?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of Alice's Restaurant Massacree with full orchestration and five-part harmony and stuff like that, and other phenomenon.

He stopped me right there and said, "Kid, have you ever been to court?" And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one . . .

He stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I want you to go over and sit down on that bench that says 'Group W'."

And I walked over to the bench there, and there's... Group W is where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after committin' your special crime.

There was all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly-lookin' people on the bench there . . . there was mother-rapers . . . father-stabbers . . . father-rapers! FATHER-RAPERS sittin' right there on the bench next to me! And they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible and crime fightin' guys were sittin' there on the bench, and the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one . . . the meanest father-raper of them all . . . was comin' over to me, and he was mean and ugly and nasty and horrible and all kinds of things, and he sat down next to me. He said, "Kid, what'd you get?"

I said, "I didn't get nothin'. I had to pay fifty dollars and pick up the garbage."

He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?" and I said, "Litterin'"' . . . . And they all moved away from me on the bench there, with the hairy eyeball and all kinds of mean, nasty things, till I said, "And creatin' a nuisance . . . " And they all came back, shook my hand, and we had a great time on the bench talkin' about crime, mother-stabbin', father-rapin', . . . all kinds of groovy things that we was talkin' about on the bench, and everything was fine.

We was smokin' cigarettes and all kinds of things, until the sergeant came over, had some paper in his hand, held it up and said: "KIDSTHISPIECEOFPAPERSGOTFOURTYSVENPAGESTHIRTYSEVENSENTENCESFIFTYEIGHTWORDSWEWANTTOKNOWTHEDETAILSOFTHECRIMETHETIMEOFTHECRIMEANDANYOTHERKINDOFTHINGYOUGOTTOSAYPERTAININGTOANDABOUTTHECRIMEWEWANTTOKNOWTHEARRESTINGOFFICERSNAMEANDANYOTHERTHINGYOUGOTTOSAY . . ."

And he talked for forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said.

But we had fun fillin' out the forms and playin' with the pencils on the bench there.

I filled out the Massacree with the four-part harmony. Wrote it down there just like it was and everything was fine. And I put down my pencil, and I turned over the piece of paper, and there . . . on the other side . . . in the middle of the other side . . . away from everything else on the other side . . . in parentheses . . . capital letters . . . quotated . . . read the following words: "Kid, have you rehabilitated yourself?"

I went over to the sergeant. Said, "Sergeant, you got a lot of god-damned gall to ask me if I've rehabilitated myself! I mean . . . I mean . . . I mean that you send . . . I'm sittin' here on the bench . . . I mean I'm sittin' here on the Group W bench, 'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough to join the army, burn women, kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug."

He looked at me and said, "Kid, we don't like your kind! We're gonna send your fingerprints off to Washington"!

And, friends, somewhere in Washington, enshrined in some little folder, is a study in black and white of my fingerprints.

And the only reason I'm singin' you the song now is 'cause you may know somebody in a similar situation.

Or you may be in a similar situation, and if you're in a situation like that, there's only one thing you can do:

Walk into the shrink wherever you are, just walk in, say, "Shrink, . . . you can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant", and walk out.

You know, if one person, just one person, does it, they may think he's really sick and they won't take him.

And if two people do it, in harmony, they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.

And if three people do it! Can you imagine three people walkin' in, singin' a bar of "Alice's Restaurant" and walkin' out? They may think it's an organization!

And can you imagine fifty people a day? I said FIFTY people a day . . . walkin' in, singin' a bar of "Alice's Restaurant" and walkin' out? Friends, they may think it's a MOVEMENT, and that's what it is: THE ALICE'S RESTAURANT ANTI-MASSACREE MOVEMENT! . . . and all you gotta do to join is to sing it the next time it comes around on the guitar.

With feelin'.

CHORUS

Earplugs, Anyone??

2007-11-21T10:48:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow morning, at daybreak, I imagine I will be jolted from my slumber by the sweet serenade of shotgun blasts. Yes, it is the opening day of waterfowl season here in the bluegrass state. From now until spring, my 1 acre kingdom is an island. The cornfields on either side and behind me are flooded to lure unsuspecting ducks and geese of all varieties to their deaths at the hands of “hunters”. I put that word in quotes because it don’t seem like much of a “hunt”. There is an intricate system of levies and pumps to flood the fields. Corn was planted and left standing to provide an “all you can eat before you die” buffet. And all of this is located conveniently less than a mile as the crow flies( or duck or goose as is more appropriate here) from the wildlife management area (killing fields) and smak dab in the Mississippi flyway of migrating waterfowl. The owners and employees of the “hunting club” have been busier than a cat coverin up shit for the past 2 weeks makin sure everything is in readiness for opening day. The blinds are camouflaged, fully stocked and ready to go. They are equipped with padded, comfy, swivel seats to shoot from, refrigerators, phones, electric grills, dog boxes, and baseboard heating. The decoys are in place. There are the familiar floaters, and the higher tech, controlled from a switch inside the blind, rotating wings. Also with a switch, the hunters can turn on ice eaters, which will dispel any ice that may dare to form on the water, thereby keeping the area within their gun sights a welcoming landing spot for the waterfowl. Yes, this a truly a sport for those hardy “he-men” types. It is not a sport for the “faint of wallet” however. Here are the rates from their updated website:

RATES
5 or more hunters
$125.00/hunter/day - unguided
$150.00/hunter/day - guided
4 or less hunters
$150.00/hunter/day - unguided
$175.00/hunter/day - guided
NB! - All first time visitors must be guided at least the first day

I really appreciate that last line, as at least 2 of the blinds that I can see from my yard are facing directly at my little island. This will be the first time I have lived here during the waterfowl season. When I lived in downtown Tulsa, I became so used to the sound of sirens, both ambulance and police, that they rarely registered in my conscious mind. I wonder if I shall become inured to shotgun blasts this winter. My only hope is to figure out a way to divert the unsuspecting feathered ones from the avian Motel Hell surrounding me. Anyone want to invest in a giant 3D eagle kite with a 9 foot wing span, complete with talons?

Green Acres??

2007-11-17T12:36:00.001-08:00

I found the following video on a site I like to visit. The site is Environmental Working Group. Here is a link to their homepage. It's information that affects us all, and they have gathered it all in one place. There are databases of cosmetics, bottled water, what items are safe for children, and a very readable, up-to-date record of the footsie-playing that takes place between big business and our elected officials on issues that affect the quality of our lives. For instance, did you know that there are toddlers that have a contaminant in their systems that is the residue of rocket fuel?? I had no idea, and I haven't seen it mentioned on any mainstream news sites, even those with "health" sections. There are hours and hours of the most unsettling reading here. It is not presented as doom and gloom though. There is a lot of information on what we can do to avoid a lot of these hidden dangers, and how we can help change things. They even deliver info in blog format, with The Mulch Blog and Enviro Blog. Next time you are looking for something informative and entertaining to peruse, check them out. They also maintain a database on recipients of farm subsidies, and that is what the video I have embedded here is about. Mulch Blog provided the code to embed it, otherwise I don't think I could have figgered it out. Thanks, Mulch Blog.

Deer,Deer

2007-11-17T07:39:00.000-08:00

I checked my email just a bit ago, and guess what? In a message from one of my genealogy lists from my home county there was a link to a story from the paper based in Frostburg, the other end of the county. This is one thing I would like to be lucky enough to see someday. Two good stories in a row! Can't remember when I've had a more enjoyable Saturday morning. Makes me even more homesick.

Nov. 15, 2007
A LUCKY SIGHTING – A true albino deer was spotted recently near Swallow Falls State Park. Albinism is a result of inherited recessive genes from both parents and prevents the body from making the usual amounts of pigment melanin, which is responsible for skin, hair, and eye color. Being completely white all year long, an albino deer lacks the camouflaging that conceals it from predators. The genetic disease also causes poor eyesight, creating another strike against it when it comes to survival of the fittest. The hunting of albino deer is highly discouraged, as these creatures are so rare. Spotted with the albino deer was a suspected sibling showing white spots of its own. Photo provided by Garrett County resident Pam Glotfelty.

Happy Ending

2007-11-17T06:19:00.000-08:00

As I was sitting here this morning, getting my wake-up dose of caffeine and nicotine, I ran across the perfect news item for a quick Saturday post. It comes from my hometown paper. At least the paper the covers my hometown area. My hometown paper ceased publication about a year ago. A very sad day for the Tri-Towns, but time marches on. I read it every morning, just to feel close to "back home". This week I learned,through this paper, that the man who shot George Wallace during his campaign for president, has settled in this small town. He has declined all requests for interviews, including those from the big news networks offering money for his story. Stories about encounters with wildlife are not unusual for this paper. Deer have "crashed" weddings by coming through glass front walls of chapels, bear are often captured wandering through the drive-up window by bank security cameras, and this summer, a couple was chased into their home by a bear that refused to give up the pursuit. After they shut themselves inside, the bear proceeded to try to remove a window air conditioner from the front porch window. The wife held on from the inside, long enough for her husband to retrieve and load his shotgun. An autopsy or animaltopsy revealed that the bear was rabid. But this story left me with a smile.

Unable to see, a deer lies in a field outside the Beverly Living Center in Cumberland with a plastic jack-o’-lantern stuck on its head Friday morning. Representatives from the DNR were able to gently remove the pumpkin decoration from the deer without any harm being done. After the deer was rendered free of its affliction, it happily hopped off into the woods behind the nursing home.
John A. Bone / Cumberland Times-News

P.S.

2007-11-16T09:01:00.000-08:00

I did a quick search after my previous post and I think I have found the name of the show where the photo was taken. The internet is truly an amazing thing. I will paste the info I found here:

PURCHASE, Andrew. (2). Menagerist. Born 1835, in Sheffield, the son of Andrew Purchase, senior. Not a vast concern, but in 1899 had a good collection of animals, 5 or 6 cages, with 3 cages of waxworks. In 1908, his lion tamer Marco, a coloured man, was attacked at Purchase's menagerie. Partner in Purchase Brothers' Circus and Menagerie, which altogether comprised twenty wagons, which travelled in fourteen different countries, eight years abroad, before the Great War. Bob Gandey started out with them. Married twice, first to Elizabeth Jane Treloar, and second to Grace Grant. Died 11th August 1909, aged 74 years, in Brighton. Buried Brockley Cemetery, London. Retired but was with the menagerie for a time during the summer. His son Andrew (3) (1867-1942) was in partnership with his father, and continued the menagerie. Son Thomas (1877-1932) was a showman, daughter Jane (b.1877, married a Mr Abrahams), son James (b.1880) was a showman, who married Annie, as was son William (1884-1951, married Alice), daughter Grace Emily (b.1887) and son John Benjamin (born 1886, married Vic), manager of Pat Collins' lion show in the 1920s (Sources - Worlds Fair, 15/2/1908; ibid, 14/8/1909, ibid, 18/9/1909; ibid, 9/3/1929, p.18, col.3; ibid, 10/8/1929, p.24, col.2; ibid, 14/9/1929, p.11, col.1; ibid, 23/11/1935, p.19, col.2; ibid, 4/4/1953, p.20, col.5; Nick Brady, e-mail of 4/7/2003).
PURCHASE, Andrew. (3) Of menagerie fame. Born 11th March 1867. Still alive in 1937, living in retirement with his son John (Sources - World's Fair, 13/3/1937, p.1, col.3; Nick Brady, e-mail of 9/9/2003).
PURCHASE, Andrew. (3). Of waxworks and menagerie fame. Born 11th March 1867, the son of Andrew (2). Was with his father's waxworks show. As a young man set up a side-show of a performing seal, then added a giant horse. After the death of his father, he inherited the waxworks and toured this for some time. Gradually he introduced wild animals, making a waxworks and menagerie. In the meantime he had married, twice, and his sons became animal trainers, under the names Capt. Beaumont and Prof. Williams. Married first to Harriett Buckley and second to Daisey. Died 28th February 1942, 74 years of age. Father of Victoria Jane (married Cornelius Mahoney), Frank, John (1897-1958, showman, married Ann Crowther), Matilda (1896-1945, married Francis Brady), Albert (b.1898) and Edward (b.1900).(Sources - The Showman, 7/3/1902, p.41, col.2; World's Fair, 7/3/1942, p.1, col.2; Nick Brady, e-mail of 4/7/2003).
PURCHASE, John. Menagerist and circus manager. John Benjamin, born 6th March 1886, at Cranbrook, Kent, the son of Andrew Purchase (2) of Menagerie and Waxwork Show fame. Brother of Andrew (3) (1867-1942), Thomas (1877-1932), Jane (b.1877, married Abrahams), James (b.1880), William (1884-1951) and Grace Emily (b.1887). Born with his father's menagerie show, on the village green. The fourth generation of the menagerie family. Travelled with the show in fourteen different countries, eight years abroad before the Great War. The show incorporated the Purchase Brothers, the circus and menagerie (8 wagons), and the New Wild West, altogther 20 wagons. Did his share of the ring work. In 1913 joined Thomas Ord Pinder's circus, with his uncle, under the names of 'Lariat Tom' and 'Jack Corbett'. In 1914 he went to South Africa with Bostock's Royal Italian Circus, staying three and a half years. At Singapore joined H.M. Forces, but was invalided out with malaria. Had three seasons with Frank Bostock, including one in France. Manager of Pat Collins' lion show in the 1920s. Joined G.B. Chapman's Zoo Circus, for the 1928-9 season, as general manager. At liberty in February 1929, his position having been taken over by Albert Flexmore. In 1948 was reported to be in South Africa, with John Kirk's circus. Said to have engineering qualifications. His brother William died in the USA in 1951. Celebrated his 78th birthday in 1964, at his home in Hanwell, London. Died 11th August 1964, at his home in Hanwell, London. Buried 17th August (Sources - World's Fair, 2/3/1929, p.10, col.3; ibid, 9/3/1929, p.18, col.3; ibid, 20/11/1948, p.1, col.5; ibid, 28/1/1950, p.14, col.5; ibid, 14/3/1964, p.1, col.5; ibid, 15/8/1964, p.1, col.5; Nick Brady, e-mail of 4/7/2003).

More From the Dig

2007-11-16T08:06:00.000-08:00

In yesterday’s post, I took a pic of some straight razors. I also unearthed a box of old photos. And the one on the top intrigues me to this day. I remembered that I had “digitally restored” this one a couple of years ago. I slapped my old hard drive in the external drive box, and lo and behold, there were the before and after versions. Years ago I worked in the only professional photo lab in the Jackson Purchase. I was a spotter and finisher in the art department. I learned to cover tiny dust spots, scratches, and any stray airborne debris that might cling to the negatives, and thus appear in and mar the final prints. We used photo dyes we mixed by hand, and sable brushes that we trimmed and plucked until only a single hair protruded at the tip. And that is what we corrected the photos with. If the order was large with lots of the same print, you had to correct the same imperfection over and over and over again. But it was one of my favorite jobs ever. When I got my first copy of Photoshop though, I could see the writing on the wall. Anyone with a computer could correct, alter and enhance any photo with no need for an art department. Other than my web browser, Photoshop is my most used program. I can easily lose an entire day manipulating photos, the possibilities are endless. Today’s photo is one of the first ones that I did extensive work on. It was learn by doing, the self-taught method. I could probably do a better job now, but I’m keeping these files for old times sake. Now to the photo. It is one of those old ones that is mounted on a cardboard type mat. On the back is written “taken in Delray, Mich. May 31, 1912”. First, the scan of the original time worn photo, then my amateur effort at restoration.

There are 2 gentlemen on the far left, one holding his bicycle and wearing a cap, and the other posed against a pole, wearing a straw boater. His pose suggests he may be an employee of the show. Or he could be the escort of the young lady in white. I would guess that the man behind the podium is the barker. The fellow on the ground to the left of the podium seems to be a worker too, bein as he doesn’t have a suit coat on, like you would expect from a visitor. Now for the folks on the box. The young lady in white I would guess to be a carnival goer. She appears to be having fun and is dressed in white. White would be ok for a stroll through the midway, but would definitely not hold up well if the midway was where you worked. The man in the middle doesn’t appear very jolly, but he is wearing a tie. No hat though, as a visitor probably would. Maybe he is one of the snake handlers. The lady to his right does not appear to be amused either. Her no-nonsense expression, the size of her hand, and the way she grips the snake tells me I would not want to arm wrestle with her. I’d guess carny, but I could be wrong. As many times as I have looked at this photo, I still love to zoom in on it and look for details I may have missed. Then I zoom back out and look at the whole picture. It’s a moment frozen forever, a moment of American innocence, just a short time before we were drawn into World War I. There’s a good chance that at least one of the folks in this photo was a first or second generation American, with family ties to a homeland in Europe. Soon enough, the clouds of war would shadow their world, but for this one brief moment, they were all enjoying the sunshine of a young America, and a day at the carnival.

And It Cuts Like A Knife

2007-11-15T12:51:00.001-08:00

Well, not really, but “shaves like a straight razor” just don’t have the same ring to it. I was clearing off some space on my desk. It’s really kind of an adventure, or more like an archaeological dig. There are layers of this, this and the other, which seem to accumulate without any conscious effort on my part. I think it’s really just an outward manifestation of my cluttered mind, but it doesn’t seem to be harmful, so I have learned to live with it. These are 3 of my favorite straight razors from my collection. The black handled one is a Red Point. The reverse side of the blade says “Anton Wingen Jr., Solingen Germany. That’s the original box there beside it. The red circle is surrounded by metal inlay and the letters “Red Point Razor” are inlaid metal as well. The next one is a Silver Beauty, and I just love the tortoise shell handle, with the little metal inlays. On the reverse it says “Hamburg Concave”. The third one is the plainest of the three, and the blade says “Manganese Steel”. The other side reads “Wester Bros. Anchor Brand, Made in Germany. I like this one because the handle is ivory, mellowed with age to the color of, well, old ivory. These were essential components of the morning toilet of well turned out gentlemen in the late 19th and early 20th century. There were enough varieties that a man would be able to find one that suited his style and station in life. They come from a time before everything was disposable. From a time when a man’s choice of razor reflected how he saw himself. Using one of these on his face and neck was probably one of the few times that it was not seen as “unmanly” to be delicate. And if he wasn’t when he first began to use one, I don’t imagine it took him too long to learn. Barbering these days is a slowly vanishing trade, and there are few men who have regular standing appointments for a shave. But back in the days of these razors, I can imagine few people a man would have to have more trust in than the man he lay back in a chair and bared his throat to, with one of these in his hand. And in case you didn’t notice (and I didn’t when I snapped the pic) there is an uninvited subject posing for his portrait on the box. Musca domestica, the common housefly, still around in mid-November. Hmm, maybe there is something to this global warming thing….

Autumn

2007-11-14T14:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was warm. 70 degrees in the middle of November. But it wasn’t sunny, didn’t see the sun all day. The mist that had settled overnight hung around all day long. The game reserve, a mile down the road has been closed since October 15th. There is, however a 2 mile or so loop that is open all year. The road leads to the headquarters building, which is also used as a deer check station, and a sign-in, sign-out spot for those who are “lucky” enough to get to hunt on the closed reserve. Don’t make any sense to me, but I ain’t the one in charge. Anyways, yesterday afternoon, I decided to go idle around the loop, for lack of anything better to do. I have learned to keep the digital cam whenever “Shifty” and I go roaming. “Shifty” is my name for my 1986 Toyota 4Runner, the successor to “Dyna”, my Buick who did not know that she was not a 4 wheel drive or john boat. We traded an old dump truck for a tractor, and traded the tractor for Shifty. But enough of my long and varied vehicular history. I idled down the gravel road and passed not one single vehicle. The road passes first through wide open fields that are bordered by distant treelines. Gates block access to the other parts of the reserve (at least in broad daylight, and to the type of folks who stop at red lights when there ain’t even another car in sight).Locked gates and fences are merely suggestions, or challenges even, to another type of folk. But I digress once more. The gravel road eventually comes to a 90 degree left turn, and here begins the better scenery, in my opinion anyways. On both sides, the edges of the road drop off into sloughs filled with cypress and soon to be home to more ducks and Canada and snow geese than I care to count. The migrators are beginning to show up and you can see and hear em coming in all day long. I shut Shifty off and took some pics on both sides of the road. They are not your typical autumn leaves type shots, but it’s what passes for fall foliage here in the river bottoms.

DoWhat?

2007-11-07T08:17:00.001-08:00

That little phrase is southern for “would you say that again” and a polite way of sayin “you have got to be shittin me”. The voice rises on the “what” and the “wh” is pronounced correctly with the slight outrush of breath for the “h” preceding the “w”. Thanks to Mrs. Malcolm, my first grade teacher, and the Maryland school system, for teaching phonics before teaching us to read. It’s a phrase I had never heard used before moving to Kentucky. It is just one of the myriad turns of phrase that make the southern accent so melodious. I have lived here for so long now, that it has become second-nature for me also. And it is exactly what ran through my mind when I read this in the morning local paper:

“Although consensual sex between a teacher and student at least 16 years old is legal in Kentucky, encouraging a child to disobey her parents is illegal, Marshall County Attorney Jeff Edwards previously said.”

OK, everyone say it with me… “Do What???.” Yet another example of truth is stranger than fiction. And of how far up their asses legislator’s heads usually are. WARNING: offensive language coming up. To me this translates as “you may fuck my daughter or son as long as I give permission. However, if you do so without my approval, I can haul you into court on a misdemeanor charge of unlawful transaction with a minor”. Johnny or Jane may not be able to read, but if they screw the appropriate teachers, they can still get that coveted high school diploma. Here is a link to the entire article. And I have to insert one more paragraph, just to show the thoroughness of the investigation by Kentucky State Trooper Patterson:

“Investigators swabbed the driver’s seat, driver’s floorboard, center floorboard hump and passenger seat of a blue Ford pickup truck registered to Mike or Kathy Colvett in response to an affidavit Patterson filed. Patterson said the girl told him she and Colvett had sexual intercourse Sept. 22 on the truck’s front seat."

The center floorboard hump”, ok, did they go back and read what they wrote before submitting it, or were they just trying to get the judge to crack a smile, and risk losing the “dignity of his robes”? One final thought, is it any wonder that, as a state, we rank about 47th or so in education?

Truth in Advertising?

2007-10-26T08:58:00.000-07:00

It’s been rainin off and on here since Monday. Guess Mother Nature decided to break the drought all at once. I was tired of bein cooped up indoors, so I was rummaging through a box of old newspapers. Most of them are from January and February of 1937, and document the catastrophic flood that inundated the Ohio and lower Mississippi valley that winter. The town of Paducah, where the paper was published, was devastated. Roughly 30,000 folks were evacuated from there and many lost everything. You can still see the effects at antique shops and auctions. There are old chairs that are just a tad shorter than normal; and dressers, tables, and pie safes, etc. that have had several inches sawed off the bottoms of their legs, due to sitting in the floodwaters. Easy way to tell that these items were around before “The Flood”, as locals refer to that time. But that will be fodder for another post. I picked up one paper that was dated Thursday morning, January 10, 1929. Inside was this ad, that shows how much times and the public’s attitude have changed.

After reading this star athlete's endorsement, I had to know if smokin cut short his career, and destroyed his health. Apparently not. But I do wonder if he had to explain to his grandchildren about his irresponsible youth, and the vices he indulged in to keep his slim physique. Here is a link to his obituary in The New York Times. Is it just me, with my twisted, dark sense of humor, or does anyone else see the irony in a golfer taken out of the game of life, by a "stroke"?

Voices From The Past

2007-10-24T12:50:00.001-07:00

From March through early October of this year, we were engaged in what was, to me, a bittersweet venture. We had contracted to disassemble a two story farm house built in the 1870’s. The home had been built by the first member of the family to migrate from Virginia. It was occupied by him and his descendants until the 1970’s. I have an overabundance of natural curiosity, and have since learned enough about this particular family to just about write a book on this branch. Well, enough material for several posts, anyhow. There are a couple of “things that make you go hmmm” discovered while taking the house apart also. This one will be about some things I found in the attic before de-construction began. I say the attic, but it was really an unfinished portion of the second floor, that served as a storage area. To the casual observer, it would have appeared to be empty. But I had to know for sure. The roof beams sloped down to meet the floor, up against the outside wall. There were a couple of places where the floor boards didn’t quite reach the wall. So, flashlight in hand, I got down on my knees and crawled over to inspect. I didn’t really expect to find anything, but lo and behold, my flashlight beam lit up some folded papers that had turned a nice shade of tan with age. When I saw the style of writing, I felt a thrill of discovery. I very carefully retrieved them, and continued my search. There were several more places where letters lay below the floorboards. They weren’t damaged by vermin or rodents, so I have not yet figured out how they got there. The one I would like to share today is from the father of the man who built the house, to his sister. This man’s name was Richard Ivanhoe Cocke , and he was born August 13, 1820 on the family estate, “Clover Pasture”, in Powhatan county, Virginia. His sister was Rowena Glowina Cocke, born there also, on January 1st, 1823. This letter is dated October 15th, 1835. He was 15, and away at school, and writing home to encourage his younger sister, then 12, to continue her education, as well.

This last image is the way that letters were addressed and mailed back then. Envelopes were not in use. You wrote your letter, folded it, and then "backed" it. The address was simply written on the back and then the letter was sealed with a drop of sealing wax where the folds came together.

If you click on the images, you should get a version large enough to read. It is a fascinating glimpse into a time that will never come again. It is very difficult to read these beautiful words from a young man on his way to becoming a cultured, genteel gentleman, and then to realize that the privileges afforded him and others of the planter class were paid for by the bondage of an entire race. On the 1860 census, he is residing in his beloved Powhatan county. He owns real estate worth $44,410, and personal property worth $15,622. Rowena is married with 2 young daughters. The Civil War, needless to say, wipes out that way of life. On the 1870 census, Richard is living in a small township in Buckingham county. He owns real estate worth $10,000 and has personal property valued at $5000. His son, John, is finishing his schooling at the University of Virginia, at Charlottesville. Also living in Richard's household are Rowena's 2 daughters. Rowena departed this life on March 17, 1861. Sometime after this census, Richard and family migrated to land in Kentucky that he had inherited from his father in the 1850's. He died here in Ballard county on August 30, 1873. His beautifully written letter though captures a moment in time, of a young man with his whole life before him, taking time to write home to an adored younger sister. I'm not family, but I think he would be pleased that these letters will be preserved, instead of lost, like that long-ago way of life.

A Night to Remember

2007-10-23T10:34:00.000-07:00

Decided to go arrowhead hunting Sunday evening. We have to go in the evening now, because various hunting seasons are in and the river bottom fields are prime deer and turkey habitat, along with being the site of ancient villages and camps. There are shirts in webstores printed with “I am NOT a deer”, but I don’t know as some of those hunters would take the time to read before pulling the trigger. So it’s evening hunting for now, with the occasional midday during the work week hunt. The night was clear as a bell, with a ¾ moon and countless stars shinin. Jimmy Buffet described it perfectly in “God’s Own Drunk”—“ God's yellar moon was a' shinin' on the cool clear evenin', God's little lanterns just a' twinklin' on and off in the heavens”. As soon as we shut off the 4runner,we could hear the coyotes discussin our intrusion into the quiet evenin they had planned. They were callin to each other from all around us. I love listenin to em, and as long as you are hearing em, it’s ok. It’s when you suddenly don’t that they are prolly close up and lookin at you without your knowledge. All the night creatures started back up within a few minutes of our arrival. Barred owls were familiar calling back and forth. There was one bird that sounded like a kitten mewing. Ain’t figgered that one out yet. Anyways within 10 minutes of startin to hunt we found this:

It was laying right on top of the soil on a little pedestal where the surrounding soil had been washed away by recent rain. The right side is the side that was still in contact with the earth. We only hunted that field for about an hour and a half, and that is the only intact projectile point we found. It sucks hunting by flashlight. We turned around and started hunting our way back to the truck. I was up front about 20 yards ahead of my companion. I had been walkin the edge of the field and had just decided to angle uphill a bit to cross over the ruts a combine had made. The distance from me to the weeds at the edge was about 15 feet at this moment. I heard a rustling in the weeds and could tell something was headed my way kinda fast. Naturally I turned that direction, and what should appear??? Any guesses? Ok, I’ll tell ya. A full grown, not to happy to see me, skunk. Yep, he or she bounded right out in the field a few feet, hoppin on stiff front legs and tail straight up in the air! We were staring eye to eye and I raised my arms out from my sides slowly and began sidesteppin up through the field real easy-like. I spoke my companions name softly, and for once, he heard me the first time. He was a little ways back like I said, and still at the edge of the field lookin down. He stopped dead, and so did I. I always liked those pepe le-pew cartoons when I was a kid, and I’ll be damned if that isn’t what ran through my mind when our black and white buddy appeared. He had the stiff legged bounce, and raised tail down pat. After seeing that we got the message, our furry friend retreated back into the weeds, and we continued towards the truck, unmolested. I told my companion I was glad he heard me the first time I spoke. He said when he looked up and saw me side-steppin, he knew it had to be something. One thing I never have been, is afraid of the dark. In fact, I love the river bottoms at night. No other humans around for miles, just yourself and nature and the night creatures—nothin like it. Drop me on any street in a big city that late at night, and that would be a whole nother story.Humans get up to much more “no good” than nature anyday. Only found the one point, but I’ll always remember the time we found this one.

We Must Be Livin' Right

2007-10-19T12:57:00.000-07:00

Weather is all important here in the “hearland” as our local news calls this part of the country where Illinois, Missouri, and Kentucky come together. Last evening, severe weather was predicted, and did appear for some parts of the area. There were high winds and torrential rainfall scattered all around us. You would think any rain would be good rain considerin the drought conditions hereabouts, but not so. If the rain falls too fast and too hard, it really doesn’t help. The dry ground can’t absorb it and it runs off, creating gullies in the fields, and washing away valuable topsoil. It clogs the creeks with silt, and floods low-lying roadways. The accompanying winds take down power lines and uproot trees that are already unstable from standing all summer in dry ground. There isn’t a town in this county with more than 3,000 folks in it and only one that’s even close to that. Small towns, for some reason, are quick to pass judgement on each other for anything at all that happens. A well-known sayin whenever bad luck or trouble arises for one town, but not the others is “Y’all must not be livin right.” The way the weather played out yesterday evenin, I had to grin to myself when that sayin ran through my mind. Out here in my neck of the woods we did not get a single drop of rain, and the winds were tolerable. Plus look at the show Mother Nature put on right outside my door…

You Can't Judge a Book by it's Cover (or a dwarf, for that matter)

2007-10-18T15:21:00.000-07:00

I was sittin here this afternoon, waitin on the severe weather the local weather service has been in a tizzy about for the past two days. We did have heavy rain last night, with lightning and thunder, but today it has been mostly sunny, albeit very windy. The friggin heat index (in October?) was 87 last time I looked. Something has gotta give, and I’m pretty sure we’ll get more thunderstorms, if not the tornados we are supposed to be watchin for. Something to post about would help to pass the time. Walkin past the oak kitchen cabinet where my prized lu-ray dishes are kept, he caught my eye. “He” being my favorite “little person” if was bein politically correct. Since he is not a representation of a real person (and I am anything but politically correct), I will call em like I see em; he’s a dwarf. This fella joined my family in august of 1993. It was during the best vacation of my life. No particular destination, so ya couldn’t get lost, no money worries, no time limit, and plenty of nature’s gift. Just wandering through my home state of West by-god Virginia. We were on the way back, in the southwestern part of the state, Huntington, to be exact. Happened to pass an interestin lookin antique and junk store and decided to give it a look-see. Browsed through, and finally made it to the counter where the proprietor was sittin. Of course, my companion cannot leave without bullshittin, so I was lookin in the showcase close by, and there he was. Don’t ask me why, but I love what they call Carnival chalk. Made from the teens to late 50’s, a lot of it was given away as prizes. I knew right away this dwarf had found a home. The owner told us what he knew of the dwarf’s past. He told us he had come from the old railroad yard in town. He turned the piece upside down and showed us where someone long ago had glued a piece of textured stuff(like roofing shingle, but thinner) to the bottom. He said they did that so that the dwarf would not vibrate off the shelf as the engines passed by. Made sense to me. Up in my part of the state, the coal trains would often have an engine pullin and one or more pushin to help em get over the mountains. Here is my one-of-a-kind find. I have looked in books and shops and on the net, but have never seen one like him.

Oh, I almost forgot (not really), the shop owner also showed us the reason that this particular dwarf seems to be workin sooo hard to transport his load of "wood"...

"Oh, You Kid!!!"

2007-10-17T10:34:00.000-07:00

It has come to my attention that there is a movement afoot in some parts of this great nation of ours to legislate how a person wears their britches. I kid you not. And kids are the target of this legislation. I’m sure everyone is familiar with the droopy drawers trend. It has even reached out here in the boonies, so I know the rest of the nation has seen it for a while now. Maybe something is wrong with me, wait a minute, strike that, I know there is something wrong with me. Anyways, I just don’t see what all the fuss is about. In fact, whenever I see someone sporting that fashion, I can’t help but grin. I’m glad I’m not a young person now, because I can see myself getting in all kinds of trouble. There is no way I would be able to resist giving a well-timed tug, and watchin those britches collect around the ankles of one of my peers dumb enough to go out in public like that. However, I cannot for the life of me see how this trend is any skin offa my ass. Every generation has its own shocking new trend that spells the downfall of civilization, and yet we’re all still here somehow. Government, both federal and local needs to get it’s friggin nose outta folks private lives. It is glaringly obvious that they have been neglecting the work they were originally intended to do. Just a few suggestions, in case they have lost their list: safe and adequate drinking water, well maintained roads and highways, bridges that are safe for the traffic loads they now carry, facilities for health care even in rural communities, helping industry to find places to locate that benefit them and the local workforce. You know the little piddlin stuff that doesn’t matter near as much as someone’s baggy britches. In an effort to be fair to those who see this particular fashion trend as an example of the deterioration of our society, I will now present before and after photos of some dangerously wild youth of a another generation.

Here is the young lady memorializing her appearance before stepping over the line to become an example of the out-of-control youth of her generation:

And now, our subject (on the far left, after the transformation), and her posse, showing total disrespect for societal norms of the time, and for their own appearance:

Hair (a woman's crowning glory) bobbed, calves exposed, bustles and corsets gone!

Mercy sakes alive, there oughta be a law.....!!!

Pics from Civil War Days

2007-10-15T11:49:00.000-07:00

Here are a few from this weekend, Sunday to be exact. It was hot and sunny, so I felt for the folks in those hot uniforms. This time I decided to focus on the mounted troops, as they made for much better action shots. They fired some huge cannons and even as far away as we were kept from them, I could actually feel the percussion wave slap against my skin. And I have to hand it to the riders, none of their horses acted like they even heard the guns. As for the pics, they were taken with my digital camera. They are versions on which I have exercised creative license. Love that filter gallery in Photoshop! This 1st one is my current desktop wallpaper:

Next, a confrontation about to happen. (note; no re-enactors or their mounts were harmed in these confrontations for the public enjoyment.) In fact, I actually saw their swords bend when they slapped them together. It kinda reminded me of a little league ballgame, where the teams line up at the end, and file past each other, slapping hands and sayin "good game", whether they mean it or not, lol.

This one was taken during a short lull in the action.("Hey, where did everybody go??") The background is not obscured because of the filter, but because of the smoke from a volley from the Confederate battery on the hill.

Another charge. The dashing young soldier on the palomino makes for a lovely picture, but if I was him, and his fellow officer on the white horse, i would seriously reconsider my color choice in a mount to dash about the field of battle upon. Unless of course, they were circus performers before enlisting, and didn't mind a bit doing a complete somersault midair and landing nimbly on their feet after their mount has been shot out from under them. Just my opinion, something to think about...(smartass smirk)

And one final pic, the Confederate colorbearer. I was pleasantly surprised when, at the beginning of the "battle", the hat blew off the soldier's head, and it became clear this soldier was a young girl! This is not as unusual as you may think. There are many documented instances of females that disguised their true identities in order to serve beside husbands, to avenge family members who had been killed, or simply because they could not bear to sit on the sidelines when the fate of their respective countries hung in the balance. This particular young soldier performed her duties beyond reproach. She was constantly visible on the field of battle, and did her job by rallying the troops and pointing the way to the action. A prime example of the difference between "the man in charge, or the woman who knows what is going on."

The Message From The Stone

2007-10-15T10:42:00.001-07:00

Well, damn, the post below this should be on top of this, but not the first time i have ever done things bass-ackward. and the print is too tiny to read. so i will try to insert the text here:

THE MESSAGE FROM THE STONE
A Tribute to the Ancients

So it is that you have now acquired me.
You have found me along with my brothers and sisters, in the midst of deep rest,
Amongst common cobbles and beneath the roots of trees.
Along dry ruts, where mighty rivers once ran swift and magnificent,
With might and glory, you have found me.
Or perhaps you have acquired me without adventure at all,
But simply purchased me for a price.
By now, you have examined me for flaws, and measured the size of me.
Under something you call glass, you have placed me.
Others of your people race to build structures and roads over me for profit.
They gather together, uncaring of the past, or of existence.
But you, you are different.
I am important to you.
And regardless of how you came by me,
You looked for me; you sought out my hiding place.
I matter to you.
And so because of this, My spirit now speaks to yours.
To share with you, and to ask that you grant me one simple request.
Here is my message to you from the stone:

Like you, I once breathed the air of the Earth.
I was a man, a woman, a child, an elder.
The Sun and the stars of the sky knew me well, and I them.
Over rushing streams of clear white-capped water I rode.
And through golden forests of great timber I passed.
My skin felt the warmth of the Sun and the cold of the snow.
By great fires I sat close.
My ears heard the triumphant cries of soaring hawks and eagles.
And my eyes saw every color of their sacred feathers.
My heart rejoiced at new birth, and wept at sudden death.
I bled, and caused others to bleed.
With fibers from plants I bound my own wounds.
And washed them clean in the pureness of the rain.
The wind was my friend.
Yes, I tasted all of Earth’s beauty.
And on every step of my paths, The Great Spirit held my hand in his.
In his goodness upon my last day, he led me to the top of a great mountain.
The vision I saw was you…
With the stone that I made in your hands…
And this was my simple request I asked of you from the top of my mountain
With my last words ,spoken to you on that day, as all that was me faded away.

‘As you look at the stone in your hands that I made with mine,
I ask you only to remember its true significance.
To know and remember always these two words of me…’

“I LIVED”
Tony Raggio/Brand X Indian

Message from the Stone

2007-10-15T09:40:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things to do is to hunt arrowheads and artifacts in the riverbottoms around here. We have found some paleo period artifacts, but most date to the archaic, woodland and mississippian (moundbuilder) times. All of them are before written history and before contact with European settlers. Let me clarify, there is a big difference between hunting and collecting. Anyone with money can be a collector. Artifact shows and sales take place all over the country, and the world, for that matter. You can even find them at yard sales and estate sales. I am a hunter. I have never paid a penny for any of the artifacts in my possession. Don't know how you calculate the value of the sweat and hours spent walking bent double in order to find them. In fact, I consider the hours spent outdoors, away from civilization, able to leave the day to day bullshit behind to be an added value, rather than a cost. I have no doubts whether mine are authentic or not. I am the first human being to hold them in my hand in thousands of years. A feeling like no other. There are places where you may find a couple of artifacts in an entire afternoon of walking, and others where amazing amounts of "lithic scatter" and "debitage" are visible. You can not even set your foot down without walkin on something. Lithic scatter is pieces or chunks of stone that have been broken off or broken open from material deemed suitable for projectile point or stone tool manufacture. It was the way stone was transported from a quarry to a seasonal campsite in the times of hunter-gatherer cultures, and later, to a permanent village, starting in late archaic to early woodland times. The reward for locating these places, and spending hour upon hour searching them, is to find an intact finished product of manufacture, i.e. projectile point, hide scraper, nutting stone, celt, adze, knife and so on. Hell, broken points and worn items are worth it from my perspective. I don't have the words to describe the feeling of reaching down to inspect a sliver of rock partially exposed and pulling out a recognizable object. Not a piece of history--a piece of pre-history! Knowing that thousands of years ago, another human had made this object from raw stone, and had depended on it to feed, clothe, and protect his and her family is an indescribable thrill, combined with a feeling of reverence, honor and awe. Anyways, enough of the lecture. Here is a tribute written by Tony Raggio that comes close to describing what runs through my mind whenever i find a new one, and even when i handle the ones that have been in my possession for years now. The tribute is his, the background image is mine. I made it several years ago, by laying an assortment of my pieces on the scanner bed and saving the resulting image just because. I'm glad i did, it came in right handy.

Re-enactor Weekend

2007-10-12T08:59:00.000-07:00

This weekend is the annual re-enactment at Columbus-Belmont park. The battle of Belmont was U.S. Grant’s first battle as a commanding officer. It was rather unorganized and both sides claimed victory, but Lincoln was very happy with it. At last he had found a general who would actually make a move. Grant wasn’t really in the “old boy” network and the network made sure word reached Lincoln’s ear that this Grant fella was fond of liquor, whiskey—the water of life, to be more specific. The tattling did not achieve the desired results. Instead of a reprimand or demotion, Lincoln informed “the network” that if he was sure that whiskey would make the rest of his generals fight, he would order them to drink also.

Here are two of my prized possessions, carte de visites of Grant himself.

I have highlighted what appears to be the man’s signature on the first scan. It is also signed on the back. The second scan is the earlier picture. If I lived in a big town, I would have it authenticated, but then I prolly wouldn’t be able to afford to keep it.

Anyways, back to this weekend. This event is always very well attended. The park is pretty much like it was then, except for structures. The little building on the high point was used as a hospital then, and is a small museum now. No other original buildings survive, but the network of trenches, redoubts, and artillery placements are still there. Lots of re-enactors attend and camp out for the entire weekend. They fire the cannons, have mock battles and even a ball on Saturday night. Many sutlers set up (that’s vendors for the historically challenged), and craftsmen demonstrate the old ways of makin the necessaries. Here are some pics I took at past re-enactments.

And even soldiers have to eat, after all, an army travels on it's stomach, right?

And one final image, a montage I created. I imagine this is what went through a lot of commanding officers minds, when they were on the verge of ordering men they had come to think of as their family, into an action that might exact the ultimate sacrifice.

And, sadly, those decisions, and sacrifices are still with us today.

Just Some Pictures From My Neck of the Woods

2007-10-11T09:37:00.000-07:00

Right down the road from the house. For those who have never seen one, this is a barn full of tobacco. The tobacco is cut by hand, then speared onto sticks that are about 4 feet long. The sticks are then hung from tier poles (just poles that run across the barn from that lowest level you can see, to the top of the barn). The poles are placed about 4 feet apart. Workers climb up onto the poles, on foot on either pole of the section they are filling, and straight above each other to the top. The wagon full of tobacco on sticks is pulled into the barn. The sticks are handed up from the wagon to the first level, then up to the next, and so on, until the top section is filled. That worker comes down, and the process is continued until the barn is full from the top down.

The tobacco will cure like this for a couple of months. This is burley tobacco (the cigarette kind). Nothing artificial used in curing, Mother Nature is allowed to take her sweet ol' time. You can see a little bit of green leaf in the upper left corner. It usually takes until mid-November for it to be ready to be taken down, stripped and sorted, bundled up and sold.

Side view of the barn. These openings are propped open with the same sticks used to hang the tobacco. They are propped open to allow air circulation on days when the air is dry enough. When it rains, they are closed if the tobacco has not finished curing, to prevent mold and mildew. If the crop is cured, they are opened when it rains, or the air has enough humidity, to bring the tobacco "in order". It becomes moist enough to be taken down and transported to the strippin shed without crumbling. You can see 3 full tiers of tobacco and towards the front, a 4th tier is bein used.

Due to the demise of the quota system, this is sight is not near as common around here as it used to be. Most of the small tobacco farmers have quit growin it and the few who still growing are growin larger crops. Alot of the small farmers counted on that mid-November to mid-December tobacco check to make for a good Christmas. Don't know what will take it's place, but one crop that was historically profitable in this area (till the big chemical companies mounted a campaign to make it obsolete after WWII) is hemp. Not the kind ya smoke, the kind ya make fiber from. Of course, federal agencies like the DEA, are too pea-brained to be able to tell the two apart, so they immediately get "up in arms" (or would that be the ATF?) whenever that movement gets any publicity. But that's a whole nother story. Thanks for your attention, and class dismissed for today.