12 31 12

 

Yeah, I know it's supposed to be Milk!

 

 

Don't get me wrong.....there is no real new baby...that's just a metaphor of sorts.  Let's see I usher out....a year of

 

Endless politicians lying to us.

A year of better personal health.

A year of 108,000 hits on Fine Art America.

A year of 9,700 hits on this Blog.

A year which saw my oldest grand start college.

A year of good health throughout the family.

A 13.2% increase in my annual income.

Only a 12% increase in my annual expenses.

 

And we usher in a year with....

 

A trillion dollar tax increase in an already weak economy.

Hope that the economy doesnt' implode.

Some new photographic adventures.

Maybe a real vacation.

Continued good health for us all.

 

Finally, a huge thank you for.......

 

 All the readers of the blog.

All the visitors to FAA.

All of my buyers without which I would probably take up knitting.

Sheri and God for putting up with me.

My kids and grand kids who are simply the best.

 

And finally my new year's resolution stolen from someone far smarter than I!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

12 26 12

BLESSED!

 

This is the traditional morning after the morning before blog.  Or the day after Christmas.  I finished a five day power trip to Maryland, Delaware and Pennsylvania on the 24th and was home just in time for family Christmas eve events here in SC.  I have to admit that the thousand mile rounder is a little tedious......but worth it.  Maybe next time I'll look into a train ride, which might make an interesting adventure to report here but we'll to see about that.

 

In Pennsylvania!

 

 

One of the advantages of being behind the camera is that you never have to be seen in these obligatory images.  Son [in dark shirt], daughter to the right, son-in-law in red shirt, daughter in law standing.  The rest are the grands....three girls left and son saddled with carrying on the family name.  Great meal and great togetherness, of which I do not get enough.  Love them all beyond reason and don't tell them that enough.

 

 

The family cats could have cared less about what was going on...they literally are fat, dumb and happy.

 

Speaking of dumb and happy....back in South Carolina, McGee just wants to be fed and kept warm.  Presents hold his interest for about thirty seconds.  But mention a cookie and look out!

Missy is our performer and cannot wait to open presents.  It is truly amazing that for two weeks, presents sat under the tree and she didn't touch them.  But on Christmas morning........she knows!  Somehow she KNOWS!

 

She is the opener of all things wrapped and wears herself out doing just that.

 

 

Ready to go for the next one.

 

It's her job..........once a year!

 

Sheri and Chrissy admire a photograph framed in a Victorian antique frame while surveying Missy's handiwork.

 

 

OK, so most of the photos were about toys, pets and family. But we all know the real reason for the season called CHRISTmas and I did get a chance to read the bible last night............so it has been a blessed holiday.

 

Can't wait to see what Missy does for New Years Eve!

 

 

 

 

 

 

12 15 12

OLD AND GREY

 

I borrowed this from an old friend, Carol, with whom I went steady back in the 8th grade for about three days.  She in turn got it from Linked Souls dot com.  I remember carrying her books home from school on one occasion.  I don't know how that counts as going steady, but back then it was that important and that innocent.

 

Does any kid do that any more?  Or adult for that matter.   Maybe it would help our culture if we took the time to quietly relate to one another.  My eternal prayers and thoughts rest today with the parents and friends of those going through a horrendous time in Connecticut.  They're lives will be forever changed by a mentally ill young man who was a step to far from Heaven and one too close to Hell.

 

 

12 14 12

THE ART WITHIN

 

Someone once asked me why I take so many photographs.  I guess it was at a wildlife show in Maryland, but am not sure.  It's sorta like what I do!  And no, I don't throw them up on the wall and see what sticks.  There was once a very famous wildlife photographer, not me certainly, that made a renowned living of taking too many photos.  This was back before digital....you know when the wagons were going across the country exploring the west.  And yes, I do feel that old at times.

 

Back when we bought film [around $8 a roll], had it developed [about $8 a roll], kept only the one image out of 36 if we were lucky [good], and then looked for someone to buy that single image.  It was tough to get a decent business going. 

 

I'll answer that original question in a minute, but when asked what it takes to be a great photographer I had this to say.  "You need money, no family, and the best equipment that money can buy, travel constantly....then to get just the right photo.....You gotta be there" 

 

 And that's how you make a great image.

 

  Selling it is a whole nother herd of cats.

 

Anyway, that famous wildlife photographer [sorry but I can't remember his name, so much for fame] would find, let's say, a moose in the wild.  He would set up his assistants [5 or 6] in a semi-circle around the hapless animal and they would burn hundreds of rolls of film.  This did a couple of things.  First it pretty much insured getting a saleable image.  Second, at that time we had to actually send the slide off to the magazine or book for approval.  Hence, that image would be out of circulation for up to two months.  Nobody else could see it.  But this guy had hundreds and could send almost the same image off to hundreds of buyers.  He got published a lot, made a bunch of money, gained a potload of fame,  but it cost him a boat load of cash.

 

Notice, nowhere up there did I mention "Art" or the artist's "Eye"  Well, it doesn't hurt to have a good eye and to know what does or can put together a decent image.  Like I have said, I shoot some pretty unattractive views.  But in so doing, I get to see just what is "In" the image.

 

 

This is the Congaree River.  The light stinks.  Everything is brown.  Water is reflecting.  Ugh!

 

But!

 

 

Well, that's a whole nuther kettle of fish!

 

 

12 13 12

Who knew?

 

I could probably crop this somehow to eliminate some of the clutter.........Nah! 

 

 

I walk by this table a couple hundred thousands times a day, but never saw it.  I sit at the thing a couple of times a day to eat a meal, but never see it.  I vacuum around it at least twice a week [we have two dogs you know], but never see it and probably cuss the chairs when they're in the way. 

 

Then one day I had the door open [back left] and the sun was setting....you know that golden hour business that we photographers love and brag about.   

 

The idea is to get a low sun casting shadows and emitting a yellow to red tone to things.  Some call it "Painting with light".  I mostly call it lucky, or good planning and luck!  I admit that one can get some pretty dramatic images during the first and last light of the day.  Things do look different.  Prettier perhaps.  More colorful perhaps.  More mystery or intrigue. So what is it the makes us stop and open our eyes.  Like being hit between the eyes with a 2x4!

 

Simply put ........... it is the eternal war between lightness and dark.  Shadow and Bright.  Innocence and depravity.  Good and Evil.  God, is that Edgar Allen talk?  [For those of you with a public school education, I am of course referring to Poe ].

 

  Nah!

 

  Just takes time for stuff to penetrate.  Of course I am only speaking for myself.

 

  The only difference between beauty and the mundane is the light!

 

  Deep huh? 

 

12 12 12

THE ART WITHIN

 

The date alone, 12 12 12, suggests a day within that won't get repeated for a while.  I had the opportunity to visit our local "Old" waterworks building a day or so ago.  Another of my walks for health and the acquisition of bits and pieces of random and probably useless information.  There are a couple of things about Americana that seem to set a tone of some kind.  Rust and cracked paint!  Add ambiance, feeling, nostalgia and more bits of fiction and fact of garbage knowledge from my almanac.

 

 

Within this tourist trap of information lie a number of artsy angles, colors, shapes and history.

The American Gauge Company for instance.  No, I didnt' google it...I leave that chore to you but needless to say this is a collectible image. 

 

It tugs on a number of heart strings.  First and foremost is rust!  Industrial!  Gauges!  Lines!  And a scroll for God's sake in an industrial plant?  And finally, cracked paint.  It just doesn't get any better than that.

 

 

12 11 12

THE ART WITHIN

 

Often there is pretty much nothing but junk to shoot when I am doing my daily walk.  Maybe I should concentrate more on the exercise of my bod and not my eye?  But you never know.  This is part of about a mile of a new walk just outside of town...mostly woods.  To date all I have seen is a nervous blue heron and two squirrels.  Great, I've got the latter just outside the kitchen window.  Missy and I chase them off the feeder about a thousand times every day.  I think there are five separate ones living in the oak tree in the neighbor's yard. 

 

 

Some would say I actually look like a troll living under the bridges as I walk along.  Not much there right?  If you look closer, there are probably gators and snakes that would eat ya alive given half the chance.  So stay on the concrete walkway.  But look closer.  Crop with the camera and not on the computer later.  Makes a better photo.  But there is something hidden within.  No, not a Sasquatch although I did damage my walking stick doing a couple of tree knocks.  Hey, who knows?  If it wasn't for finding Bigfoot and Duck Commanders, there would be no television.

 

 

Who woulda thunk it!

 

 

 

 

THE ART WITHIN

At the risk of giving away any trade secrets, I am going to start a series called "The art within".

 

Of course, you all know that the art within can be found in the website, but here goes.

 

Just a railroad track in small town in central South Carolina.  How many small towns have you been through where the local main street runs right along the railroad?

 

 

Pretty standard photo.  But there's gotta be something one can do with it.  Crop and a little fog!

 

 

 

12 6 12

Some days....no matter what you do.............it just feels so right!

 

 

12 5 12

A fine place to meditate!

 

I have been blessed in this life to find a number of "Fine places to meditate".  Just a shame I never took advantage of most of them.  It seems to me that fog helps me find those places.  Water is just as much of a lure as well.  Put both of those natural events together and I guess I'm in Nirvana.

It is supposedly going to rain today here in the paradise south of the sun.  Not yet---and I was going to use that as an excuse not to take a walk.  Of course that would mean you would have to put up with all my crass commercialism on the blog, Face Book, Twitter and/or Fine Art America.  But i guess that's the price of fame. 

Listening to a DVD by Jimmy Buffet, a childhood idol of mine.  If I had had different circumstances, lots of money, was able to play a guitar and sing....there but for the grace of God go I.  I mean...who else could get away with publishing such songs as "We are the people our parents warned us about" or "Why don't we get drunk and screw"!  Or the old standards like "Margaritaville" and "Cheeseburger in Paradise"  True classics.  Reminds me of another place of contemplation.  A beach side palm in Buffetville!

 

Stately old oak trees either in St. Augustine, Florida or Charleston, South Carolina make great places to give thought to things greater than ourselves.  Just amazing the things around us that don't cost a dime, yet are building blocks for the soul!

 

Flat water and a canoe equals closer my God to Thee!  Or just flat water!

 

 

I guess it's more about quiet places alone with the crazy things that rattle around between the ears.  Some parts of nature I like to call "The big Woods" can prompt the same emotions.  Just a note, if you double click on the highlighted words you can find some more stuff.  Click on the photos for a better resolution.  There is still time to ship before Christmas up to the 12th without doing overnights.

 

Still not raining and the "Coconut Telegraph" is ringing, so I'm going to go find that Cheeseburger!

 

 

 

12 4 12

Sedentary old fool!

 

At least that is what I feel I have become. 

 

 So I have taken up my walking stick and revisited the Riverwalk and other environs.  You'll remember the walking stick [or perhaps not], it has about a pound of lead embedded in one end of a five foot stick and an two inch spike in the other.  The creation of same was spawned from an encounter with a German Shepard and his stupid master.  Dog attacked me while the owner stood by saying....."He's never done that before", and meanwhile the dog is literally at my throat.  Now, not only do I beat the crap out of the dog but shove the stick where the sun don't shine on the owner.  OK, that was off subject but refers back to the old fool part of sedentary.

 

It was foggy on Monday and you know I cannot resist a foggy day.  Sorta like the flasher who can't be seen until it's too late.  Sneaking around, in my case, and taking pictures.  I can't stand the laughter incurred in the other thing.

 

My first image does have some phallic, albeit hairy, representation to it.

 

 

How the heck did I get on that subject anyway.  Falls into the category of the old fool part I guess.  I did walk a couple of miles and it felt good.  Now I won't get my svelte athletic figure of late high school days back, but I have a stress test in February and I don't want to fall off the tread mill [again]!

 

The thing we call "The Riverwalk" is a five mile [ish] stretch of paved walkway along the edge of the Congaree River between Columbia, SC and Cayce, where I live.  This is probably one of the minuscule examples of how government actually spends tax dollars well.  It's either that or somebody donated a barrel full of money to put this thing up.  The physical walk does give some separation of people from crawly critters like gators, copperheads, moccasins and timber rattlers.  The only one I have not seen are the rattlesnakes.  Now their the easy things to avoid, then you have the homeless and thugs looking to steal their way into hell.  For them , I do have a concealed carry permit.  Don't ask if I do----cause if you have to ask it may be too late.  And then there is the all-purpose stick.

 

 

After all that "Rambo" talk, I show my softer side in this image of lace and rock.  The bend in the tree is what attracted me in the first place.  Sensitive huh?  If I were up north, I could say the fog helped to hid the bodies floating down stream, but down here it's just the normal pollution of chemical and human waste that gets into the water.  Hey, I am not a greeny, but come on people just don't throw stuff in the waterways.  It'll go a long way in making the place we live in nicer.

 

 

Just so you know........just because there is fog......there is still color.  Double click on the image and you will get a better resolution.  The river flow is left to right.  The rock formations in the river are left to right.  Hey, the plants are left to right.  Why should I have to point all that out to ya?

Oh, and BTW there is still time to get your Christmas shopping done at that unbelievably fine website of mine.  Just click on the highlighted words in the text, arrange for a second mortgage, and have at it.  See isn't that slick?   My Paypal account would be just tickled if you do.

 

 Time to think about where I will walk today.  I hear the garbage men outside picking up the weeks leavings...maybe I'll just amble out and follow them for a block or two.  Or until they ask me what I think I am doing!  Maybe I'll see that pretty lady at the end of the block doing her walk.  God, I hope not...........I'd have to suck my stomach in and hold it for at least a half block.  Not sure I can do that!

 

 

 

 

 

 

11 29 12

I am sleep deprived because I stayed up late last night to see the numbers!

 

Well once again my government has let me down.

 

 

 

  I mean, I was really looking forward to all that free money from the lottery.  It's just like Obama money!  But wait a minute, that's right I don't live in Detroit and they no longer need my vote.....so I'm not entitled.  Just think, I could have paid off my grand kids share of the national debt, not to mention my own.

 

And what we could have done with that money!  Given portions to kids and grand kids and needy cancer kids and wounded warriors and people on the dole what actually really do qualify for dole and pregnant teenagers raped by horny great grand fathers [not necessarily related] and people whose life was wiped out by a national disaster....and on and on and on.  All in trusts [like a Romney trust]  so we would have somebody else to demonize because he became successful.  But then again we wouldn't be demonized because we could also start some kind of windmill farm on the roof tops of buildings in New York City, so that could get us off the hook with the occupy types.

 

  Otherwise let's see.

 

Of course any of it we spent would probably qualify for some kind of sales tax or other depending upon the state we spent it in. 

 

Federal, state and local taxes would take an immediate big chunk.  Then when I die, the inheritance tax (death tax for those of you with a public education) takes another chunk and by then I am sure that they would get hit with an income tax on that.   And by then this bunch of greedy incompetents in DC with have devised a wealth tax [which is coming by the way], and which the progressives think is just lovely.  So that initial windfall would probably end up being taxed six or seven times by people who produce absolutely nothing for a living or the economy.

 

Finally, at the end, my people not even born yet would have to sell the ranch that their people not even born yet bought with the money they inherited and paid tax upon from other people not even born yet.....just to pay the final tax bill.

 

Maybe just as simple to go to Vegas and drop it all in a slot machine.  Same effect...different thugs.

 

Probably not worth it all in the end.  But a couple of mill in the short term would have been nice.

 

Oh and did I say...."This society is all mucked up"

 

500 Million dollars...............Really?

 

11 26 12

"CONJURING"

 

Yesterday was one of those days when I was able to do some chores and enjoy myself.  Chores included working the Internet and social media to promote my photos and the website that I refer fondly as simply "The Galleries".  Then there were the leaves to be raked in the front. Back yard leaves will get theirs today.  For the first time in my life, this yard work is actually manageable.  I can cut the grass with a "Push me pull you" mower instead of the old John Deere riding second mortgages.  John Deere incidentally make the best lawn tractors...I have worn out three in my lifetime.  But here south of the sun, the property isn't that big and can be "Manicured" as opposed to "Mowed"

 

With the chores done, football took over.  At mid afternoon the alma mater played Wisconsin in an amazing game.  First you have to know that I was blessed to spend eight years at Penn State earning two degrees and learning how to be an alcoholic.  Ain't education grand?  This year has been a real disaster for the blue and white.  You have all read or heard of the troubles endured by the student body because of a jerk of an assistant football coach now in prison for the rest of his life. 

 

 I watched Joe Paterno coach his first game and saw Rip Engle coach, so I go back a bit with those guys.  Short version is that the current players had nothing to do with all the troubles despite the NCAA and the media trying to involve them.  And the whole thing literally killed Joe.  The players were given the chance to leave the University, and some did.  Those that stayed weren't expected to win more than a couple of games.  Long story short, they went 8 and 4, and I have never been more proud of a bunch of guys that got dealt crap and turned it into manhood.  Thank you to the players and new coach.  But not so much thanks to the University itself or the NCAA for that matter.

 

The second half I watched my adopted thugs soundly beat Clemson.  It was a good game but I had no vested irrational desires regarding either team.  It was a good game.

Then Notre Dame put together a fantastic good old fashioned goal line stand for five plays from the two yard line.  All pure football with people who don't make millions of dollars [the players] to do so.  Don't like Notre Dame much either, nor USC but then again what do I know?  I'm just a grumpy old man!

 

11 24 12

One of those "Conjuring" mornings

Conjuring what I am thankful for!

 

Just sipped into the first lick of Pike Place and felt the tang in the taste buds on either side of my tongue.  Sunday mornings around here in Shangra La South are generally quiet and this morning is no exception.  That leaves me with the computer, a blank slate at this point, a warm cup and the constant ringing [more like a buzzing] in my ears.  Doctor says nothing to do about that.  Tinnitus or some such fifty cent word for ya had your bell rung too many times and your hearing now isn't what it should be.  Sort of like a white noise background that doesn't and will apparently never go away.

 

Makes your thoughts turn inward and as we all now that is not a good thing for me to do.  Makes me conjure!

 

There's that 40 degree morning on the big lake in a borrowed canoe.  Salmon flies dragging

about seventy feet

behind.  Nothing but crystal clear nature all around.  The salmon even left me alone that morning....more conjuring.

 

 

I have been blessed!   Despite all the rotten things I have done in my past.  There was that wild and turbulent morning on the Outer Banks, more years back than I wish to admit.  Not totally alone, but placed alone by a storm that the night before had been a hurricane.  That morning I put the nose of the Ford Explorer into the wind and driving rain, sat on the open, protected tailgate and watch mother nature tear up that famous spot called Cape Point.  North Carolina's premier surf fishing spot that day held one crazy cameraman, his wife and a far crazier lone surf fisherman.  Just the right spot to conjure.

 

The Chesapeake bay was for fifty years conjure central for me.  I was blessed again in having a camera and one hour lab business for a bunch of years.  This allowed me to buy film wholesale, which I did, and burn it I did.  There is so much to photograph on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay and I had the first and last hours of each day to go out and conjure.

 

So, as it stands this morning I took the chance to wander back to the index of my mind and drag out a few memories for which I am ever thankful.  As a photographer, I am beginning to understand more and more just how much each image means to me.  It is personal even if at the time the camera was on super burst taking six frames per second.  It's not because the pictures are pretty, striking or even award winning.  No, it's more about the remembering and the "Conjuring" of the event for which I am thankful. 

 

 

11 23 12

THE MORNING AFTER

 

OK, I slept in.  Ten AM and the second cup of Pike Place....Bless your heart Starbucks.  We along with a lot of other folks got through another turkey mauling yesterday.

 

Fortunately, this year I did not
Over do" with turkey and gravy, which I love but also which drives my stomach to the barking point.  Yup, barking....that's just a shade this side of barfing!  So it's all good.

 

 

 

The local food pantry was doing a brisk business and yes, Mr. President....you did build that!

 

No Black Friday silliness for me today, although I do have to go that that adult candy store for men.  You know the kind with row upon row of enticing stuff that you have to put in a plain brown wrapper just to get in the house.

 

  Of course, it's Lowes.

 

  The local Christmas tree dressing and erecting...see I told you it was an adult store, starts today.

 

  The neighborhood sells Christmas trees to the residents for the front lawns.  Everybody... Dan and Ginny...is supposed to dress them with white lights so that the streets are all bordered with lights at night.  Colored lights are gauche!  Bet you thought I didn't know such a word, didntchya?  I am told that I need a Camo cord to run from the house to the street.  Camo electric cord?...where the H do you buy that?  Lowes, Bass Pro Shop or Duck Commanders?

 

Finally, you have only till the first of Dec. to take advantage of my surprisingly generous [but ridiculously small] discount at the website.

 

SPZMXM

 

Use it at checkout and have a great black Friday!

 

 

 

 

 

11 21 12

Wishing all my family and friends a very happy Thanksgiving.

 

 

11 19 12

PRE BLACK FRIDAY!

 

That only means it's not Thanksgiving yet.

 

  Duh! 

 

 I bet you thanked the "Great Turkey" every day when you lay your head down, for ending the political funny season. 

 

Now I lay me down to sleep,

Obama only makes me weep!

 

Please make Nancy's face lift disappear,

And Boehner's balls re-appear!

 

Mitt ya shoulda spoke Spanish,

And hung out more with MSNBCish!

 

The "Great Turkey" really does reside in Washington, DC don't ya know.  He is all knowing and learning more about ya every day, so "Ya better watch out!"

 

OK, that's over. 

 

More on that later!  But if you thought the election stuff, which has been going on for four years without anybody actually governing.............then you're going to love this blog for the next month.

 

 

  Yup....Christmas is coming and I am lurking for your last cent of disposable income.  Only so I can have some disposable income to continue to perpetrate the season.  You see when you spend money for Christmas or one of the other holidays.......it just circulates around.  Economists say that it multiplies, but I cannot attest to that.  I know it circulates tho.....you pay me.....and I spend it.  Just that fast.  It's a simple concept interrupted only by those greedy people who work for the Great Turkey.  Taxes and death sort of thing there.  Wait till next year....death may be the economic answer to the tax deal.

 

Until Dec. 1 I am giving you a small discount at Fine Art America.  Buy something and use the following code at check out.

 

SPZMXM

You can find the website here, but to make it easier just click on easier.  Think Christmas cards....yeah I have holiday and seasons greetings cards as well.  You will find a large sepia and black and white gallery right up front.  Also if your decorating, think groupings.  Like in three pictures or five hangings.....I get to redistribute your wealth to my creditors.  Works for me!

And don't forget to look at my most bought and visited piece.  You can buy it and the rest of the stuff in a whole bunch of presentations, all with a 30-day money back guarantee.

And remember the "Great Turkey" is watchin ya!

 

 

 

 

11 17 12

More back roads to the front of my mind!

 

In that twilight when the alarm has gone off twice and your mind is working and you wish that it wasn't.

 

Perhaps you begin to feel the chill of the morning.

 

Or you start to think of all the chores you have to do around the house.  After all it is Saturday and I slept in already.

 

 

You drift off again and can really see just what those chores can do.

 

 

God Bless the guy that invents the twenty five hour day!

 

 

.

11 16 12

 

More back roads to the front of my mind

 

 

An apparent student driving a year old Beamer speeds by the old man without a second glance.  At least he could have thought I was a vagrant with my walking stick he muses.  What can he be, seventeen maybe a precocious eighteen driving a forty thousand dollar car?  He shakes his geriatric head remembers his first.  A 1940 ford coupe, painted  [at the time] a sharp metallic green waiting in the driveway on his 17th birthday.  A $100 gift from his father just waiting to be made into the hot rod of the day.

 

Then he hears it.  A ghost of those formative years.  Off in the distance, hidden between the sounds of a train's mournful train whistle and a plane on line to land at Philadelphia International.

 

  The distinct sound of a baying beagle dog with his nose full of rabbit scent and screaming his delight loud enough to be heard for a number of miles.
 

 

 "Pal" he thinks and a small tugging begins in the corner of one eye.  No one knows where he came from or how he adopted the old man, but the dog known simply as "Pal" became a constant companion to the boy.  Furthermore, no one knows what happened to the dog when the boy moved away.  He might have even slept by the back step at the Corner House but he was always there.  Never happier than when the boy would embark on one of his daily adventures.  Following along at his side no matter what.  Except when rabbit filled his nose.  Then he would disappear for long howling stretches of time.  But then that was the way it was with a beagle.  Fiercely loyal, but all rabbit hound.

One last thought of pets while sitting there.  His parents bought a lamb which he had named "Jerry"  to help keep the grass down at the Corner House.  There is no known explanation for the name, but he recalls that Jerry made just wonderful lamb chops.

 

 



11 15 12

More back roads to the front of my mind

 

Let's see, when you are in the third grade...your what 8 or 9 years old.  So any cogent explanation of the world has to wait for sixty or seventy years to make any sense to anyone over the age of 12.

 The old man thinks that is a pretty good explanation for his thoughts as a turkey buzzard drifts over his head making lazy circles and feeling the atmosphere for any rotting debris below.  Amazing how those birds have a totally different view of the world than do we.  Sure it's an areal view, but the scent is the thing that grabs them alighting only to feed on the carrion it finds. 

 

 The barn of his youth is gone. Probably would have been smaller than he remembers anyway.
 

But just like the buzzard, he can almost remember the feelings in his nose and even on the taste buds of a large working barn with thirty milk cows and three horses.  On the ground floor there is the scent of cow and horse waste. Not really all that bad once you get used to it.  The second floor and the tell tale musty sniff of ground corn and wheat mixed with some soybean meal to provide feed for the farm animals and chickens.  The third and most exciting floor smells of dried hay and straw baled into building blocks for the forts of nine year old minds.

 

"Jim T" ran the barn.  Literally ran [managed] it.  Took care of the farm animals.  Hand milked the cows, twice a day, every day, every year.  He fed the myriad of cats milk, directly from the source, hitting them squarely in open mouth every time.  That source of calcium kept them balanced with all the mice they were in charge of corralling.  He mid-wifed more pregnant cows than probably now inhabit that urban county.  In fact he helped to deliver the first live birthday gift given to the old man by his grand parents.

 

 

 

 

11 14 12

More back roads to the front of my mind

 

Sitting on the knoll overlooking the scene of his youth, the old man leans heavily into the split rail fence post of a decorative corner in what was once a field of wheat to his left (East) and the fields leading to the Corner House to the west,  It hasn't been that long a walk from the parking lot but speed is not the purpose of this visit.  Memories are!  A little to his left and somewhat behind lies the home of his great grand parents...called by the family the "Big House".  He never did get an explanation from his father or grand father for the reason of such a name.  Other than it was the original home of the family and Big House just seemed appropriate as a sign of respect for those who lived there.  That was the home of the first "Francis" and the one who was the secretary of Agriculture.  The family is now up to Francis the fifth. [Poor kid]

 

 

Picking peonies for the table and not market.  Otherwise, why the neck tie. 

 

He did remember having to deal with those folks on one occasion, probably on the event of the birth of his sister.  For some reason he recalled that he was exiled to spending the night with them in the Big House.  Those folks were seventy years beyond dealing with someone his age, he thought.  They just didn't understand that it took time to get from one end of the farm to the other and would hence make him late for dinner.  As punishment he had to eat cold cereal without milk for dinner.  That he can remember, but not the folks that perpetrated such a sentence.  His answer to this was to run to his grandmother's and explain his lack of nourishment.  Upon which she cooked a full course meal for him before he had to return to the old folks to spend a fitful night.

 

He chuckled at the apparent competition between his grandmother and the older folks.  She [Anna] was a round lady with grey hair most of the time pulled into a bun in back.  Grandfather [Paul] he recalled, was a tall figure in a Lincolnesque sort of way.  These were all no-nonsense people.   In fact, grandfather's  middle name was Lincoln, leading all of us next generationers to claim some sort of relationship to the famous president. 

 

 

His mother Jeanne was a very tolerant woman, but there was also some competition there with grandmother as well.  It's seems to him that grandmother was the center of more than a few squabbles with her in laws.  But to the old man, she was the go to person when he was in trouble or needed something.  All of which brought back memories of a near death experience he had with grandfather.

 

  They bought Studebaker vehicles for family use and one day he went with Paul on a trip to West Chester on some mission or other.  Now Studebaker's were made with doors in the back seat that opened reverse to how they are made today.  In other words when they were opened in a moving vehicle they caught the wind and were pushed open harder, faster and further than expected because of said wind.  The boy had seen his father or grandfather open a door when moving slowly and pull it closed to make sure the latch was firmly caught.  Never a problem.  Shaking his head and trying to reason the reasoning of a nine year old, the old man laughed out loud and said...."How'd I make it this far?"

 

As they sped along U.S. route one on their trip, one of the back doors shook, obviously not closed tightly.  Doing what he saw his mentors do many times, the boy open a back door hoping to close it tightly.  Of course he had no idea they were speeding along at 40mph.  Well, long story short he recalled telling his parents and grandmother..."the wind caught the door and I played Superman, flying out of the car to save Metropolis!"  They picked stones and cinders out of his body for weeks as his entire front took the brunt of the flight from car to roadside.  Grandfather had no idea what happened and had to be pulled over a half mile ahead by another driver.  Superman?

 

11 13 12

More back roads to the front of my mind

 

The farm belonged to his grandparents and lies roughly between Station Road on one side and Temple Road on the other.  The other two borders of the property are Smith Bridge Road and a nondescript one track railroad, along which a small stream held some errant trout and many creek chubs that helped develop the old man's love for fishing. 

 

The old folks [grand parents] were of the old and proper school that seemed to make children with a firm belief in God and Country.  Those people scratched out a living early on but were more successful as transportation improved and they had better ways to get their crops to market.  Great Grand Father was once the Secretary of Agriculture for the state of Pennsylvania, but this current old man could not seem to gin up any memories of him.

 

Grains such as wheat and corn were the primary crops, but mushrooms grew in six or eight buildings.  Stopping for a breath and view down hill he wondered which it was....six or eight?  They were all gone.  He did recall the times when he was allowed to go and help pick that crop,,,,A totally dark room which ran for some fifty yards and housed a half dozen levels of horse manure which was the soil of choice by those famous Pennsylvania mushrooms.  The houses were so dark that miner's lamps had to be worn just to see which delicacies to pick.  There was also a three acre plot where peonies were grown and in the spring the blooms would be picked, packed and shipped to the markets in Chester and Philadelphia.  Asparagus was another of the plants grown for home consumption and the market.  And of course there were some thirty to fifty dairy cows milked daily by a tenant.  Baling and storing hay and wheat straw was a dirty, dusty and sweaty job in which he had taken part.  Following the potato harvester and picking up the spuds was another tedious job he did.  At least he was able to pick up garden worms at the same time and that supported his growing fishing habit.

 

His gaze carried along the field bordered by Smith Bridge, looking west to the first childhood home he could remember.  Simply called the "Corner House".

 

 

The dwelling that seemed gigantic back in the day, but today would be seen as a Cottage.  Remembering that it was up until the third grade that he lived in that home.  Today he can see that the acre and half lot is really not the football field sized image of his historic recall.  Again there were other memories which bubbled forth.

 

Looking east past the central barn and over the primary cow pasture there is a low spot and a weathered tree, all that remains of the tenant's home and the old man's first childhood playmates.  There was "Jim T", the tenant and almost father figure.  Two of his children were Tommy and Herby and he can't remember the rest.  Certainly not the girls, because from third grade and younger who needed girls anyway.

11 12 12

A back road to the front of my mind 

 

The old man parked his vehicle in a maze of blacktop and white lines, all never meant to be found where they were.  Just like the brick buildings which covered a favorite rabbit hide of years past.  Instead of bucolic scenes of milk cows chewing their cuds, the county school system spread before him.  The early morning sun on the horizon betold of the time of day and the parking lot was still driver's choice.  But in a couple of hours he knew that choice spots would require a favored parking sticker obtained only by years of tenure doled out by a teacher's union for which he had little respect.  This Pennsylvania school district is of today and not the hundred and twenty five pastoral acres of his youth some 65 years ago.

 

With a heavy sigh and knees that scream at him as he swing his legs out the door, he none too gracefully lands on solid ground, holding on for dear life to the steering wheel and open door frame of the SUV.  Maybe it was time to give up his pride and get one of those smaller, foreign, "Green" cars which would not be so difficult to enter and exit.  One which would cut his travel expenses in half.  But then after all the years with the SUV's,  he would feel as though he were driving a skate board.  And if in a crash in one of those things, the only result could like a crushed egg in crumpled tin foil.  A smaller lower car would also only mean that he had to climb UP, instead of fall DOWN, when he got out the the vehicle.  And which was easier anyway.  And maybe this year gas would actually go lower, though he knew that was just wishful thinking on his part.

He had driven up the long drive past the homestead house and was now walking slowly down the hill towards "The Farm".  The Farm was and still is bordered by three country roads and a non-named single rail road track.  The walking stick had become a part of his outdoor activity in the past few years.  Mainly to fight off neighborhood dogs at first but now more for support when stepping on errant unevenness in the ground.  The ever present camera slung over one shoulder and sunglasses to give the impression of being hip, but more to cover  the glare from the cataracts.

  Somehow with all the "Growth", or was it urban sprawl, around him had completely changed the photos in his memory bank. The border of a three acre field was still maintained with the hedgerow of Lilac bushes, sixteen feet high 60 years ago.  A great place to push rabbits and pheasant alike to the end only to have them disappear rapidly into an adjoining wheat field.  But to a child's mind, the hedgerow held more anticipation than actual satisfaction of having shot something.  Shooting and killing was never really the point of it all anyway.

Further down the hill on the left was the primary pasture for the milk cows and then the barn.  On the right was one of the first mushroom houses in eastern Pennsylvania.  Past the barn, the complex roles  of  farm management and animal husbandry were played out in different buildings.  A circle surrounded by farm house, milk house, barn, mushroom house, all purpose office building and garage.  Now the farmhouse is an historical sight and museum with only the garage standing the rigors of "Development".  And so called renewal.

 

 

 

8 15 12

What a way to start a work day.

 

Sure it's Friday, but a work day still....We're not France yet!

 

The first cup needs to be replenished and warmed, just so.  Coffee seems to be my current recreational drug of choice.  So as soon as my fingers start to tremble  I will know the caffeine has taken hold I will be able to type much faster even though with perhaps with pretty much less clarity.  And that is my dirty little secret to putting together something for a somewhat awake readership.

 

For a large chunk of my adult life, my drug of choice has been alcohol, even though I am allergic to it.  Stuff makes me do and say stupid things. Inflames my liver which argues with my brain about when enough is enough.   But I would not make it illegal.  We tried that when a bunch of goodie two shoe woman forced the national no drink laws.  How'd that work for ya?

 

  I see a couple of states out west coast [where else], have just legalized pot [I really can't spell marijuana, and maybe that's why the also call it Mary Jane.]. 

 

 Now there is an idea whose time has come.

 

  We already have a vast majority of the populace who naturally have no clue about what's going on in the world .............. without drugs.

 

  Now we put those same people on pot and say "Have at it"!  A clear pathway to more hallucinatory govt activity.

 

To legalize pot is to just put stupidity on steroids.  But the ruling class has found another source of tax revenue.  So follow the money!  Maybe we should just legalize the whole damn bunch of illegal drugs and thin out the ranks of the stupid.  That way we could raise a bunch of taxes to pay for the mistakes Washington makes in their own display of stupid....................AND ultimately end up with all those that vote for large intrusive socialistic govment taking overdoses.  A road to smaller govt. growth through drug attrition.  Probably just create a who new bureaucracy to tax and control it.  It would probably work because the number of doctors needed to treat these hip, educated, publicly accepted potheads has already been reduced by the clairvoyant law called Obama Care.

 

And don't say that I have no sympathy for those poor addicted leader folks.  I do!  Just think how difficult it is to have to spend a few hours each day lying to one another, whilst standing erect on the house floor. thus making it even harder.   And then being forced to go to phony, plastic rock n roll cocktail parties each night with other shallow people, who talk only to themselves, and who daily decide the destiny of 300 some odd million equally stupid people stoned up on their own drug of choice.  And all the sexual high jinks with the leaders would never make it into the papers because, well who remembers anyway.  The press sure won't follow up on such silliness.....Hell they're part of it.   It is really a hard to lead..."Bless their Hearts".

 

We could even go so far as to draft a new bill of rights and wrongs for the lambs out in the public to follow.  "The dooby do bill of dooby do rights and dooby do wrongs" And before each congressional session, a huge cauldron is lit with of course only the best grass wafting through the chamber full of ethereal enthusiasm.

 

Hell, I may have stumbled upon a new direction for the country.  The new and enhanced "Sodom and Gomorrah" fine tuned by your hippity dippity senator  who can afford the better stuff than you and I which makes him or her smarter than you or I.  After all, we voted them into office.

 

Oh what fun..........Then we truly could "All just get along"