Greetings to all and welcome new visitors to the East Wing.
Gingerbread, now that’s something special if there ever was something special. As a kid we didn’t get a lot of sweets. Gingerbread was special, rare but sooo special. Warm Gingerbread with apple butter and cold sweet milk. It don’t get any better than that. I don’t care who ya are, if ya don’t like Gingerbread, apple butter and sweet milk, ya just weren’t brought up right, or you aren’t a hillbilly.
Last weeks email brought a request from an old friend and one of the original members of the Toto Volunteers, asking if I still had a copy of last year’s Halloween Story from the East Wing. I did. And as such, please rewind Halloween 2009. It was a fun story to tell, and today I found it fun to reread.
The biggest holiday, hands down, in Downtown Toto when I was a kid was Halloween. Now ya had the other important stuff like Easter, 4th of July, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day, Jefferson Davis’s Birthday (some habits were hard to turn loose) but none of those holidays could compare with Halloween. It was a holiday built just for hillbilly boys in their middle tens and elevens.
It was the time that tried boys souls, a time to test the courage, to face the fears of the nighttime knowing things were out there and not knowing what or where. A time to see if the testosterone had started working yet. A time to be both horror-struck and happy all in the same heartbeat. A time to scare little sisters. A time to say boo, and mean it. A time to step into the shadow of the valley. A time to march, to prowl the darkness in the company of your band of brothers, we were the Toto Volunteers. We still are.
The Halloween Bounty seemed unlimited, so much so that we, the Toto Volunteers, never made any attempt to control its access. We could have, we chose not to. Toto could have become the model Trick or Treat Community for the National Standard of Trick or Treat, had we choose to make it so. We could have, we chose not to.
The reason for such actions on the part of the Volunteers is as valid today as when the War Council deliberated on that very issue. There was a fraction within the ranks who wanted to do to Halloween what we had been so successful in our summer campaign. Just the summer past, we had collected more pop bottles then most of the army thought existed in the world. We’d won the Pop Bottle Wars of Toto.
The issue of the Halloween Candy was brought to the War Council not by inexperienced people with no knowledge of war, but from people seasoned by fire on the front lines of the Pop Bottle Wars. People who were even as old as 11 and one even held the rank of sergeant.
Now in the Toto Volunteers we had a little different ranking system than the regular army. Ours was more simple. I got to be the General, there were two sergeants, and everybody else got to be a privates. That way we didn’t have to spend a lot of time trying to figure out who was in charge. Besides, we didn’t have different uniforms so it was a lot easier to just remember a few to salute, otherwise everybody would be saluting each other all day long for nothing.
The Halloween Options as they would become know to the Volunteers were quite simple, two different options. The first option being the Toto Volunteers go Trick or Treating the night before the real Halloween and then go again the next night, that way everybody gets twice as much stuff. The second option would be for the Volunteers to just charge everybody Trick or Treating in Toto, and not a member of the Volunteers, a nickel. It was just two weeks till Halloween and the council wanted to make a decision right there, but I told ‘em the decision was too important, it’d have to wait for a while. I had to think this one out.
One of the things I learned by being the General of the Toto Volunteers was when I didn’t know what to do, I could always ask my dad. I’d act like I was just a little kid asking a dumb question, not like the general seeking consultation on an issue of possible war. When I talked to my dad about such important matters we usually done our man to boy talks on the porch swing, even in late October man to boy talks worked better in the swing on Sunday Evenings just ‘bout dark.
As we sat swinging I said “Did ya ever go trick or treating?” My dad said “Yep” “Did ya ever go trick or treating the day before Halloween?” My dad said “Nope” I said “why not?” My dad said “Did ya ever have a birthday party a day before your birthday? Could ya have the 4th of July Picnic the day before? What would happen to Christmas if ya didn’t have the 25th of December, not the 24th but the 25th?” I was starting to see my dad’s point of view on this issue of trick or treating one day early as we swung together on the front porch in the crisp autumn air just nine days before Halloween.
I said “Ya think a person could make somebody pay to go trick or treating” My dad said “Not in Toto, cause everybody that tricks or treats in Toto don’t have any money to start with, and besides who would be dumb enough to even try to get somebody to pay to go trick or treating?” I didn’t say nothing. One of the good things about talking with my dad in that swing was he didn’t make me say anything if I didn’t want to, and right then I didn’t want to.
So there is was. Ya can’t go the night before ‘cause that’s dumb, and nobody’s got any money and if ya even ask someone to pay that’s dumb too. My dad imparted a great deal of wisdom from the confines of that swing on the front porch in Downtown Toto. He made my job of generaling a lot easier on more than one occasion.
Well, I had my answers now I only had to deal with the Toto Volunteers. I spent most of that night trying to figure out a way to get the War Council on my side. I knew what I had to do but wanted the them to tell me, not me tell them. Somewhere in the darkness, about the time today turned into tomorrow and became yesterday I finally figured a way to present my views to the Council. The next day I called an after school meeting of the War Council of the Toto Volunteers. We met on my front porch.
Now one of the downside products of victory on the battle field is the overwhelming desire to repeat the same feat over and over again. I was not about to let that happen to the Toto Volunteers. As soon as everybody was present I presented my plan. The plan was simple. I couldn’t choose which one I liked best so we would do ‘em both.
But for the trick or treat the night before Halloween we’d all have to have get our moms to sign a letter saying we could go out after dark just in case someone wanted to know why we were there at their house a night early for trick or treat, so we could tell ‘em our moms said we could come trick or treating early. Also everyone had to ask their mom if she thought it would be ok to charge people for trick or treating in Toto.
I had printed out a letter to give every volunteer. Because I ran the mimeograph machine at California Township School I ran off 14 copies of the letter. I had printed it on a stencil and it looked really professional, and most every word was spelled ok. As the volunteers read the letter, ya could still smell the mimeograph ink, it was that blue kind and it had its own smell, ya couldn’t describe it, ya could just smell it. I could tell by their looks that they were gona have a hard time getting their mom to sign that letter. I knew I sure wouldn’t ask my mom to sign the letter.
One kid said “my mom’ll kill me if she sees this letter, I’m not gona take it home”. He brought his letter back and reached it to me saying “let’s just go regular trick or treating”. Some of the others thought we could still do both options. My faith was in the letter.
The next morning at the bus stop not a single volunteer who took the letter home wanted to talk about it. One kid said “I might not even want to go trick or treating this year, I don’t know if I do or not. I’ll just have to wait till Halloween an see”. The plan was working. Two days later the War Council of the Toto Volunteers made a decision to do regular trick or treating in Toto and to make sure nobody would ever do anything except regular trick or treating in Toto forever in the future.
We, the Toto Volunteers, took a solemn oath to forever protect the unbridled right to trick or treat in Toto Indiana on Halloween without interference from anybody forever and ever. That right to trick or treat in Toto has been protected to this day.
And then came the politicians, regulating trick or treat hours. I think it was a republican thing first, probably too damn tight to buy candy for little kids. Then the democrats jumped on the band wagon, probably with a bribe of some sort from the republicans. A pox on both their houses, to even think ya can regulate Halloween.
Next thing ya gona hear is some smart ass in Washington will propose to make Halloween a federal holiday and place on the last Monday in October, in order to bring it in line with the other fake Monday Federal Holidays. It wouldn’t surprise me if Obama tries to move Easter to the day after. Easter Monday doesn’t have a good sound to it, but one less work day for the democrats.
Now towns announce the time to go trick or treating. Trick or treating at 3:00PM is like kissing your sister at high noon in a public park, it’s just not that much fun. The question that comes to mind is what ya gona do if some little monster tricks or treats before or after the set deadlines?
Now if ya shoot ‘em all ya get the guilty. I think we need a Halloween Czar. Hey Sophia!!! OH MY GOD ! Sophia’s dressed up like a democrat!
Now the fall season kicks in to high gear on this last Sunday of October, 2010, it’s Halloween. We have all enjoyed you company as usual. As the shades of nighttime are closing around us, goblins, large and small, are marching into the East Wing demanding stuff like Candy Corn, Milk Duds in those little yellow boxes, Pop Corn Balls rolled up in Saran Wrap, Jelly Beans and Milky Ways, not the regular ones, the little kind, ‘bout half the size of your index finger. Halloween, gota love it. Dressed up like a democrat!!!
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing Trick or Treating with the Toto Volunteers back in the day, The Cat & The Costume
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
From the East Wing, With Sophia On the Campaign Trail, The Waffle House From Hell, Flowers & Full Moons, A Cowboy’s Prayer
Greeting to all and welcome to all new visitors to the East Wing.
Seems like I can say pretty much whatever I want to say, just as long as everybody’s informed ‘bout Sophia The Republican Cat. A couple weeks go by and I go to Roswell and tell the story. I get some emails telling me nice things ‘bout my writing style. A friend of mind said “ I felt I was riding with ya as the road fell away and you drove down into Magoffin County”.
I get lots more emails asking ‘bout Sophia, wanting to know is she ok, is she ill, have the 2girldogs chased her away, has she died, did she run away, am I ever going to talk ‘bout Sophia again and if so when.
So now for all you Sophia Fans near and far I’m please to say the cat’s well and continues to hold court in the East Wing. She’s been most busy with the midterm elections and I don’t see her nearly as much as before Labor Day. We all know the real campaigning starts after Labor Day. Even though the political types want to campaign all year long, every year, every day.
In typical Sophia fashion, and with her persistence of goal, the cat’s now become the official Spokes Cat for the National Tea Party Movement. Sophia considers this to be her most cherished honor. She travels far and wide speaking in support of the Tea Party Agenda, all the while translating into nine different dialects of catenese. Did ya ever notice how seems everything cats do tends to be in units of nine, like languages spoken, lives and stuff like that. Even cat food, 9 Lives.
Sophia’s made both friends and foes along the way. She’s endured the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. And ya know what, as this election draws near the cat’s digging in and seems ready to make a final push to ensure her point of view prevails.
I expect that by next week she’ll have a whole lot to say just before we all vote on our collective future. I just know Sophia’s in full campaign mode when I check in on her after she’s fallen asleep at night and she’s snuggled up to her autographed photograph of Herbert Hoover. It’s easy to see Sophia’s confidence building every day, as she continues to do her part for her party. As all indicators point toward an overwhelming republican victory on November 2nd , Sophia now struts around the East Wing like the queen she really is. I’m telling ya, the cat struts like one of the wrestlers from the old WWF. Damn Republican Cat.
Awhile back I said I don’t do Waffles and for sure don’t stop at the Waffle House. Well it seems a Waffle House Owner wanted to know why. And I’m so glad I’ve been asked the question, ‘cause that’s a story I’ve been wanting to tell for a while.
Now if ya own stock in Waffle House, or ya own one of those businesses, I’m sorry, but here’s just the way it happened along the way when February had arrived right on time at midnight but had yet to see the first light of a new February morning.
Johnny and I had driven all night to get to Georgia, and somewhere in the darkness, well past midnight I started to get hungry and didn’t want to take the time to stop. We needed to be in Georgia as soon as possible, me and Johnny, we just needed to be there as soon as possible. As the miles rolled by so did the signs along the way promoting the virtues of a business called “The Waffle House” After many hours of travel and no food, the Waffle House started looking so much better. But the real deciding factor, Johnny too started thinking the Waffle House..
It was cold that first morning of February when daylight had not yet come to Resaca GA as we, Johnny and I, walked into the Waffle House from Hell. Looking back, several things should’ve told us to get back in the car and go away, but we didn’t.
The empty pickup trucks with motors running and gun racks loaded should have told us to go away, but we didn’t ‘cause those damn signs alone I-75 had lulled us into believing culinary treats beyond our wildest dreams were ‘bout to be bestowed upon us. And we were ready to be bestowed upon, so we crossed the threshold.
It was a little surprising that so many people were in a Waffle House so early in the morning before daylight, but it’s Georgia, maybe the locals get up real early and go out for waffles. What was even more surprising was the fact that Bubba & Earl didn’t have on any shirts, just bibbed overalls and shoes with no socks. Just setting there, drinking coffee and looking at us. Earl had a toothpick in the right corner of his mouth and Bubba did too. They didn’t even take the toothpick out to drink coffee.
As we entered to door all eyes turned to greet us, no, not to greet, to inspect us. Being on public display so early in the morning inside a Waffle House in north Georgia after driving eleven hours in the darkness of night goes a long ways toward building one’s self esteem and confidence in your ability to face the other challenges the day will bring. We were ready for the challenges, it’d been a long night.
As we walked the full length of that Waffle House all heads turned and eyes followed as we seated ourselves on the last two empty seats at the counter bar. She came over and said “yallwantcoffee” I said yes, she said “regularerhouse” I said house, she said “wantaspoon” I said “do I need one’ she said “suredo”.
When the coffee arrived I discovered the purpose of the spoon, the house blend is consumed only when it’s strong enough to hold the spoon in an upright position . It was the first time I’d ever had lumpy coffee, it took some getting used to, but the spoon stood up nice. Placing the food order seemed to go well. Two eggs over easy with bacon and toast for me along with a glass of milk, and waffles for Johnny didn’t seem too complicated for a business that specializes in breakfast food.
The real surprise was what was brought to the counter. The eggs were not over easy, they were not well done, they were not scrambled, they were roasted, roasted to the max. The bacon was not medium, not medium well, not well done, it was not crisp, the bacon was black. The bacon was carbon on a plate. The coffee and the bacon were of the same color. The toast seemed unusually light, but then again I’m comparing it to the bacon.
The milk was the right color, however, with my first taste I was shocked by the realization that this milk was very close to the temperature as when the original manufacturer produced it. I dared not let my imagination wander down those lanes, knowing full well this glass in my hand could be a whole new meaning to the term “Fresh Diary”.
When the server came over and asked “howseverythinggonigfya” I commented ‘bout the light color of the toast, she took one look and said Ithinkheforgorettotoastthebread,I’lltakeitbackandmakeemtoastit” I said the toast was ok, but the eggs were not right, she said “themsernotovereasyarethey? I said they were the same color as the bacon she said “yourright,yessirrie,they’rethesamecolorforsure,youlikeemthatwayornot? I said not, as I started to eat my breakfast form hell, too hungry to complain any further. I never saw an egg bend before.
Johnny’s order was less complex and as such much less chance to get it wrong. It’s hard to mess up a waffle order unless ya cook it too long. Johnny’s waffle was cooked too long. I think they must’ve cooked Johnny’s waffle and my bacon the same amount of time, maybe in the same device. Don’t know if my bacon had little squares on it or not, it’s hard to see black on black. Under normal circumstances ya’d expect to be able to eat a waffle with only a fork. Johnny’s waffle was served with a fork, butter, syrup, a steak knife. This was not normal circumstances, Johnny needed the steak knife. When we went to the cashier to pay our bill, a most pleasant surprise, she said
“Idon’tthinkweservedyouboysgood. I'mgonatake25%offyourbillrightnow”. And she did. The background music was dueling banjos as we walked into the dark cold early morning, that first day of February, 2010. As we walked to the car, I’ll swear I though I saw a cow tied to a utility pole behind that Waffle House.
When Johnny drove back onto the interstate, he wondered what kind of discount we would’ve received if we’d complained ‘bout our food. We still laugh ‘bout the waffle house from hell, Johnny and me. The more I think ‘bout it, I’m almost sure the cow was tied up to that utility pole, back there behind the Waffle House.
Ever hear of the “Bride of the Sun”? Why it’s none other than the Marigold. It’s October’s flower. Those yellow, rust, and gold colors of the marigold just seem to yell OCTOBER ! loud and clear to me.
I like marigolds, I think they’re pretty. Some don’t like ‘em because of their smell, and they do, but oh well, most everything smells, even people, and some times that’s a problem too. I remember my dad used to always plant marigolds with his tomato plants, kept those big green tomato worms away.
That reminds me, ya know that thing on a tomato worms butt that looks like a stinger. It’s not, but the ole tomato worm hopes ya think it is so ya’ll leave him alone and let ‘em eat all your tomatoes. Damn worm, tricking people like that, must be a republican like the cat.
Seems I remember when I was a kid there was some kinda remedy for toothache using marigolds, but I don’t remember if ya ate ‘em or just smelled ‘em. Either way it probably didn’t work, or else we wouldn’t have so many dentists around. I read somewhere if ya dream of marigolds that indicates happiness in marriage, prosperity, and success. Now I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’ve yet to have my first dream ‘bout marigolds or any other flower for that matter. But if I do, I'm sure I'll let ya know.
The October Full Moon is called “The Full Hunter’s Moon”, it was last Friday night the 22nd , and is always the first full Moon following autumn’s Harvest Moon. I thought ‘bought stargazing Friday night, but the moon was too bright and there were lots of high clouds. So I just watched the moon go in and out of the clouds for a while and enjoyed the cool crisp air of October.
Ever notice how every once in a while how something just grabs your attention and won’t turn loose. Well several days ago I was reading emails and that’s what happened.
A friend wrote “BobbyRay, now that you and Johnny have been out west and almost rode a horse, I thought you might enjoy reading something I find very special.”
This is “A Cowboy’s Prayer” by Jeril Morton from Gans, Oklahoma
Lord, I know grown men don’t cry. But Lord, when I pulled the saddle off Ole Bill and saw that the girth had left a print deep in his side, I had to fight hard to keep the tears from falling.
Then I knelt down to rub Bill’s leg and found d mesquite thorn deep in the muscle. There was a cactus thorn too. But Lord, I didn’t feel Bill flinch, not once. He carried me 50 miles today, and took those yearlings back without me giving him a single command.
But Lord, when I saw the hole in his leg and the dried blood where a yucca plant had jabbed him, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.
Lord, I ask you to bless Bill and me, and take the pain away from Bill’s leg. But Lord, if you have only one blessing left for today, give it to Bill. He means more to me than anything I own on earth, and I love him.
Thanks, Lord, and amen.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing, With Sophia On the Campaign Trail, The Waffle House From Hell, Flowers & Full Moons, A Cowboy’s Prayer
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Seems like I can say pretty much whatever I want to say, just as long as everybody’s informed ‘bout Sophia The Republican Cat. A couple weeks go by and I go to Roswell and tell the story. I get some emails telling me nice things ‘bout my writing style. A friend of mind said “ I felt I was riding with ya as the road fell away and you drove down into Magoffin County”.
I get lots more emails asking ‘bout Sophia, wanting to know is she ok, is she ill, have the 2girldogs chased her away, has she died, did she run away, am I ever going to talk ‘bout Sophia again and if so when.
So now for all you Sophia Fans near and far I’m please to say the cat’s well and continues to hold court in the East Wing. She’s been most busy with the midterm elections and I don’t see her nearly as much as before Labor Day. We all know the real campaigning starts after Labor Day. Even though the political types want to campaign all year long, every year, every day.
In typical Sophia fashion, and with her persistence of goal, the cat’s now become the official Spokes Cat for the National Tea Party Movement. Sophia considers this to be her most cherished honor. She travels far and wide speaking in support of the Tea Party Agenda, all the while translating into nine different dialects of catenese. Did ya ever notice how seems everything cats do tends to be in units of nine, like languages spoken, lives and stuff like that. Even cat food, 9 Lives.
Sophia’s made both friends and foes along the way. She’s endured the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. And ya know what, as this election draws near the cat’s digging in and seems ready to make a final push to ensure her point of view prevails.
I expect that by next week she’ll have a whole lot to say just before we all vote on our collective future. I just know Sophia’s in full campaign mode when I check in on her after she’s fallen asleep at night and she’s snuggled up to her autographed photograph of Herbert Hoover. It’s easy to see Sophia’s confidence building every day, as she continues to do her part for her party. As all indicators point toward an overwhelming republican victory on November 2nd , Sophia now struts around the East Wing like the queen she really is. I’m telling ya, the cat struts like one of the wrestlers from the old WWF. Damn Republican Cat.
Awhile back I said I don’t do Waffles and for sure don’t stop at the Waffle House. Well it seems a Waffle House Owner wanted to know why. And I’m so glad I’ve been asked the question, ‘cause that’s a story I’ve been wanting to tell for a while.
Now if ya own stock in Waffle House, or ya own one of those businesses, I’m sorry, but here’s just the way it happened along the way when February had arrived right on time at midnight but had yet to see the first light of a new February morning.
Johnny and I had driven all night to get to Georgia, and somewhere in the darkness, well past midnight I started to get hungry and didn’t want to take the time to stop. We needed to be in Georgia as soon as possible, me and Johnny, we just needed to be there as soon as possible. As the miles rolled by so did the signs along the way promoting the virtues of a business called “The Waffle House” After many hours of travel and no food, the Waffle House started looking so much better. But the real deciding factor, Johnny too started thinking the Waffle House..
It was cold that first morning of February when daylight had not yet come to Resaca GA as we, Johnny and I, walked into the Waffle House from Hell. Looking back, several things should’ve told us to get back in the car and go away, but we didn’t.
The empty pickup trucks with motors running and gun racks loaded should have told us to go away, but we didn’t ‘cause those damn signs alone I-75 had lulled us into believing culinary treats beyond our wildest dreams were ‘bout to be bestowed upon us. And we were ready to be bestowed upon, so we crossed the threshold.
It was a little surprising that so many people were in a Waffle House so early in the morning before daylight, but it’s Georgia, maybe the locals get up real early and go out for waffles. What was even more surprising was the fact that Bubba & Earl didn’t have on any shirts, just bibbed overalls and shoes with no socks. Just setting there, drinking coffee and looking at us. Earl had a toothpick in the right corner of his mouth and Bubba did too. They didn’t even take the toothpick out to drink coffee.
As we entered to door all eyes turned to greet us, no, not to greet, to inspect us. Being on public display so early in the morning inside a Waffle House in north Georgia after driving eleven hours in the darkness of night goes a long ways toward building one’s self esteem and confidence in your ability to face the other challenges the day will bring. We were ready for the challenges, it’d been a long night.
As we walked the full length of that Waffle House all heads turned and eyes followed as we seated ourselves on the last two empty seats at the counter bar. She came over and said “yallwantcoffee” I said yes, she said “regularerhouse” I said house, she said “wantaspoon” I said “do I need one’ she said “suredo”.
When the coffee arrived I discovered the purpose of the spoon, the house blend is consumed only when it’s strong enough to hold the spoon in an upright position . It was the first time I’d ever had lumpy coffee, it took some getting used to, but the spoon stood up nice. Placing the food order seemed to go well. Two eggs over easy with bacon and toast for me along with a glass of milk, and waffles for Johnny didn’t seem too complicated for a business that specializes in breakfast food.
The real surprise was what was brought to the counter. The eggs were not over easy, they were not well done, they were not scrambled, they were roasted, roasted to the max. The bacon was not medium, not medium well, not well done, it was not crisp, the bacon was black. The bacon was carbon on a plate. The coffee and the bacon were of the same color. The toast seemed unusually light, but then again I’m comparing it to the bacon.
The milk was the right color, however, with my first taste I was shocked by the realization that this milk was very close to the temperature as when the original manufacturer produced it. I dared not let my imagination wander down those lanes, knowing full well this glass in my hand could be a whole new meaning to the term “Fresh Diary”.
When the server came over and asked “howseverythinggonigfya” I commented ‘bout the light color of the toast, she took one look and said Ithinkheforgorettotoastthebread,I’lltakeitbackandmakeemtoastit” I said the toast was ok, but the eggs were not right, she said “themsernotovereasyarethey? I said they were the same color as the bacon she said “yourright,yessirrie,they’rethesamecolorforsure,youlikeemthatwayornot? I said not, as I started to eat my breakfast form hell, too hungry to complain any further. I never saw an egg bend before.
Johnny’s order was less complex and as such much less chance to get it wrong. It’s hard to mess up a waffle order unless ya cook it too long. Johnny’s waffle was cooked too long. I think they must’ve cooked Johnny’s waffle and my bacon the same amount of time, maybe in the same device. Don’t know if my bacon had little squares on it or not, it’s hard to see black on black. Under normal circumstances ya’d expect to be able to eat a waffle with only a fork. Johnny’s waffle was served with a fork, butter, syrup, a steak knife. This was not normal circumstances, Johnny needed the steak knife. When we went to the cashier to pay our bill, a most pleasant surprise, she said
“Idon’tthinkweservedyouboysgood. I'mgonatake25%offyourbillrightnow”. And she did. The background music was dueling banjos as we walked into the dark cold early morning, that first day of February, 2010. As we walked to the car, I’ll swear I though I saw a cow tied to a utility pole behind that Waffle House.
When Johnny drove back onto the interstate, he wondered what kind of discount we would’ve received if we’d complained ‘bout our food. We still laugh ‘bout the waffle house from hell, Johnny and me. The more I think ‘bout it, I’m almost sure the cow was tied up to that utility pole, back there behind the Waffle House.
Ever hear of the “Bride of the Sun”? Why it’s none other than the Marigold. It’s October’s flower. Those yellow, rust, and gold colors of the marigold just seem to yell OCTOBER ! loud and clear to me.
I like marigolds, I think they’re pretty. Some don’t like ‘em because of their smell, and they do, but oh well, most everything smells, even people, and some times that’s a problem too. I remember my dad used to always plant marigolds with his tomato plants, kept those big green tomato worms away.
That reminds me, ya know that thing on a tomato worms butt that looks like a stinger. It’s not, but the ole tomato worm hopes ya think it is so ya’ll leave him alone and let ‘em eat all your tomatoes. Damn worm, tricking people like that, must be a republican like the cat.
Seems I remember when I was a kid there was some kinda remedy for toothache using marigolds, but I don’t remember if ya ate ‘em or just smelled ‘em. Either way it probably didn’t work, or else we wouldn’t have so many dentists around. I read somewhere if ya dream of marigolds that indicates happiness in marriage, prosperity, and success. Now I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’ve yet to have my first dream ‘bout marigolds or any other flower for that matter. But if I do, I'm sure I'll let ya know.
The October Full Moon is called “The Full Hunter’s Moon”, it was last Friday night the 22nd , and is always the first full Moon following autumn’s Harvest Moon. I thought ‘bought stargazing Friday night, but the moon was too bright and there were lots of high clouds. So I just watched the moon go in and out of the clouds for a while and enjoyed the cool crisp air of October.
Ever notice how every once in a while how something just grabs your attention and won’t turn loose. Well several days ago I was reading emails and that’s what happened.
A friend wrote “BobbyRay, now that you and Johnny have been out west and almost rode a horse, I thought you might enjoy reading something I find very special.”
This is “A Cowboy’s Prayer” by Jeril Morton from Gans, Oklahoma
Lord, I know grown men don’t cry. But Lord, when I pulled the saddle off Ole Bill and saw that the girth had left a print deep in his side, I had to fight hard to keep the tears from falling.
Then I knelt down to rub Bill’s leg and found d mesquite thorn deep in the muscle. There was a cactus thorn too. But Lord, I didn’t feel Bill flinch, not once. He carried me 50 miles today, and took those yearlings back without me giving him a single command.
But Lord, when I saw the hole in his leg and the dried blood where a yucca plant had jabbed him, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.
Lord, I ask you to bless Bill and me, and take the pain away from Bill’s leg. But Lord, if you have only one blessing left for today, give it to Bill. He means more to me than anything I own on earth, and I love him.
Thanks, Lord, and amen.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From the East Wing, With Sophia On the Campaign Trail, The Waffle House From Hell, Flowers & Full Moons, A Cowboy’s Prayer
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The Mobil East Wing Coming Home, The Road Falling Away, Piping Sunshine, Bob Allen, Country Roads & Horses, Land On The Mountain, Tech and Twinkies
Greeting to all and welcome new friends to the East Wing.
As Johnny and I drove past the County Line Sign and descended into Magoffin County the road fell away quick, real quick. Now for those who may not be fully versed in the fine art of Hillbilly Conversation, “the road fell away quick” is simply a very graphic description of an extremely steep declining road in front of you.
And so it did fall away quick, that road leading into Magoffin County. Traveling in the mountains and having an aversion to height makes for an interesting time indeed. When ya traverse the mountains by road beds cut into the side of the rock, ya have two choices, you’re either on the inside of the road next to the mountain, or on the outside next to God, depending on how the road bed is cut in the side of the mountain and which side you’re setting.
As the road fell away quick, I was next to God. Very few rail guards exist on the lesser traveled roads in Kentucky. Ya just learn how to travel or they miss ya when you’re gone. It didn’t take Johnny long to learn how to drive the Kentucky Country Roads. His phone conversation with Bob Allen when we were in Jackson an hour ago had served him well. Johnny’s a quick learner, Bob Allen, knowing that we were not accustom to mountain driving had told Johnny “just watch the signs, they’ll tell ya how to travel”.
And so they did, in graphics and text. Those diamond information signs we all learned ‘bout when we first applied for our drivers licenses take on a whole new meaning when ya see a black curve painted on a yellow diamond more than 180° and a posted speed limit of 10 MPH, and all the while the road is falling away quick. In ‘bout two miles of downhill racing we’re off the mountain and we’re by the creek.
In Kentucky when you’re by the creek, well, that’s ‘bout as low as you’re gona go, ‘cause nothing’s flat, it’s either going up or going down. Now if ya can’t tell up or down where you’re at, just watch the water. The water is always going down. Even from Tiptop the water always flows toward the sea.
There was never a question as where we were going in the mountains, with my GPS on the laptop computer I always knew exactly where we were at all times. It seems sometimes technology gives ya too much information, the darn thing was also showing me how fast the road was falling away. It looked like a clock running backwards.
You’ve all heard the story ‘bout so far in the mountains, they have to pump in sunshine. Well, Bob Allen lives at the end of the pipe. The road’s ‘bout a hundred feet above the house and the descending lane is an adventure unto it’s self. The culvert to cross the creek is almost large enough to drive thru. Rain water runs fast off the hills in a downpour.
It was hard to tell who was most excited to see each other, us or Bob Allen. He was standing on this back porch before we were able to get out of the truck. We shook hands and hugged and shook hands and hugged again. Hillbillies are like that, that shaking hands and hugging stuff, we do that a lot.
We go inside and say hello to Bob’s wife, Toot, don’t know her real name just always called her Toot. Toot offers to feed us, we decline. That is so hillbilly, that offer to feed ya, no sooner do ya walk thru the door and someone’s trying to feed ya or get ya to drink their coffee. We passed on both, with gratitude for the offer.
Bob Allen has lived at this location for many years. One time he told Johnny that when he finally found the place of his dreams, all he had to do was just move Toot in have her start cooking gravy. This family of mountain people truly love where they live, the surroundings, and the friends around ‘em and it all shows on their faces and in their voices and even in the way they shake hands and hug. Happy people, Bob Allen and Toot, they make ya feel at home.
If we’re gona see our real estate holding in Magoffin County this day we need to hit the road right now, and so we’re off to the mouth of Bee Tree, ‘cause that the legal description, “43-39, Mouth of Bee Tree”. I had obtained an aerial map of the section 43 which identified the 39 portion of the map.
Bob Allen took one look at the aerial map, laughed and said the best he could do today was get us in some proximity of our land holdings and point to the side of a mountain. It’d be up there somewhere. Unlike Indiana where most all land is easily identified, land in some parts of Kentucky are not as well defined, in fact extremely difficult to identify in some cases. Bob thought we could locate our land on the side of the mountain, it’s just gona take some doing.
Contact some adjoining land owners, get permission to cross other people’s land, ‘cause our land doesn’t have any road access. That in its self is not unusual or an issue, cause much of the land in the mountains doesn’t have road access. Ya just work that stuff with the neighbor according to Bob Allen. The problem we are facing today is darkness.
Bob didn’t feel we had enough daylight to travel to where we needed to be to allow him to point to the side of mountain to show us almost our little part of paradise. So Bob proposed and alternate plan to use the remaining daylight. That plan was to go see his horses upon the top of the mountain. Then Johnny turned the truck around and we’re off to the races.
We backtracked all the way up the road that fell away quick. All the way back up to the Magoffin County Sign. It was at the very top of this mountain, we took a dirt road leading, not down the other side, rather along the top of the ridge. And so we drove maybe a mile or more, staying all the while on the ridge line, then we came to an area maybe 20 acres or so and almost flat.
Here on the top of the mountain we found many horses, most of the horses belonged to Bob Allen, but some he didn’t recognize, ‘cause in the fall of the year, some people bring their horses up to the top of the mountains and just turn ‘em loose. Both food and water are abundant on the top of the mountain, and it would seen an ideal spot to spend the winter. That way ya don’t have to feed your horse for the winter. I guess ya just leave ‘em up there on the mountain and God takes care of ‘em till you’re ready to ride ‘em again in the springtime. Bob was excited, one his girl horses had a new baby in the last 24 hours. The little baby was running ‘round and having a good time with his mama his first day of being a mountain horse.
We get out to enjoy the view from the top of the hill. Looking to the west is Breathitt County and looking east is into Magoffin County. Such a very special sight, not a house or soul to be seen, just Bob Allen, Johnny, me and the horses. We stood in silence for a while. Ya don’t have to say much in the presence of majestic splendor.
At Bob Allen’s yard, I’d locked in his house location in the GPS on the laptop. On top of the mountain, in the presence of the horses, I checked our current location in reference to Bob’s house and was amazed find were within less than 2 miles from his house. It was ‘bout 25 miles driving to where we were standing.
As darkness closed around us, we had the pleasure of viewing a most beautiful sunset from the vantage point of the top of the mountain. And then the road fell away real quick.
With Bob Allen delivered safely home and us agreeing on how he’d handle the paperwork for our mountain real estate investment, Johnny and I followed that Sunshine Pipeline back to the big road. It was well after dark when Johnny drove onto the Mountain Parkway and turned to the northwest toward Winchester.
The Mountain Parkway, my favorite stretch of Interstate Road in the whole country, runs from Winchester to Salyersville. When ya get onto the parkway at Winchester, you’re still in the Kentucky Bluegrass Country, horses and white fences can be seen for miles. In an hour or so you’re in the high mountains of southeastern Kentucky. The Mountain Parkway ends as Salyersville.
On this night, like all nights, the Mountain Parkway is just another road in the darkness, viewed only to the reach of your head lights. I don’t like traveling this pretty road in the nighttime, but we do. At Winchester we stop for supper. Having had so much for the last 12 hours or so we almost forgot to eat, and for Johnny and me, that’s saying something.
We started the day early, this Tuesday Morning, leaving Roswell GA shortly after sunrise, with Johnny stealing a frog on the way out of town, and now here we sit in Winchester KY at Chili’s waiting for our supper, what else, Chili. With a football game on the flat screens all over the place, I call the she and tell her all’s well in our world and we’ll be home before the sun set across the valley.
I give the she a long distance hug and kiss by cell phone. I love technology and the gadgets that come along. Cell phones, laptop computers, GPS, digital watches, laser lights, pumpkin cannons and twinkies. Yes twinkies. Now these little fellers are marketed as a "Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling". In reality they’re mystery wrapped in cellophane. And I say that ‘bout twinkies ‘cause if ya take one out and just lay it somewhere out of the way, where nothing can get to it. It’ll stay there forever, it’ll not mold, it’ll rot, it’ll not get hard and dry up. It’ll just stay a “Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling". Twinkies are just plain magic wrapped in a “Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling"
By the time we finished supper, Johnny was done driving for the day. With me at the wheel, I’m looking toward Louisville and before two hours had passed so had Louisville. With the bright city lights behind me, I crossed the big bridge. Back Home Again In Indiana. Ya get sleepily late at night driving with a full belly. Just north of Louisville the DAYS INN sign welcomed me home. And so we slept.
One of the true great things ‘bout Indiana is a Cracker Barrel Breakfast when you’re hungry. Johnny had a meeting at 12:30PM in Indianapolis so we made our way up that dreaded strip of I-65 to capital city. Johnny went to his meeting and I sat in the truck and told stories with my fingers to the laptop. And as I told the stories, it dawned on me that I know sign language, but only to computers, not to people. That’s pretty cool, knowing sign language and all.
After his meeting Johnny said he knew a place in Carmel, just north of Indianapolis, that had the world’s best hamburger, but a little pricey. It was the world’s best hamburger. It was a little pricey, and it was worth every pricey cent. I hope to go back and have another hamburger someday, pricey or not. And after the big hamburger I drove home while Johnny slept some more.
As I sit in my beloved East Wing this 17th day of October and watch the leaves falling from the west maple tree in the front garden, which by now has lost most all its leaves, while the east maple tree has yet to lose a single leaf or even start to turn color in the green leaves, I wonder who controls that leaf falling and color changing stuff.
Maybe it’s the same one who plays the wind chimes, that sways the tree branches, that rustles the leaves, who rolls the tumble weeds, the leader of the band.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
The Mobil East Wing Coming Home, The Road Falling Away, Piping Sunshine, Bob Allen, Country Roads & Horses, Land On The Mountain, technology and Twinkies
I wish you well
BobbyRay
As Johnny and I drove past the County Line Sign and descended into Magoffin County the road fell away quick, real quick. Now for those who may not be fully versed in the fine art of Hillbilly Conversation, “the road fell away quick” is simply a very graphic description of an extremely steep declining road in front of you.
And so it did fall away quick, that road leading into Magoffin County. Traveling in the mountains and having an aversion to height makes for an interesting time indeed. When ya traverse the mountains by road beds cut into the side of the rock, ya have two choices, you’re either on the inside of the road next to the mountain, or on the outside next to God, depending on how the road bed is cut in the side of the mountain and which side you’re setting.
As the road fell away quick, I was next to God. Very few rail guards exist on the lesser traveled roads in Kentucky. Ya just learn how to travel or they miss ya when you’re gone. It didn’t take Johnny long to learn how to drive the Kentucky Country Roads. His phone conversation with Bob Allen when we were in Jackson an hour ago had served him well. Johnny’s a quick learner, Bob Allen, knowing that we were not accustom to mountain driving had told Johnny “just watch the signs, they’ll tell ya how to travel”.
And so they did, in graphics and text. Those diamond information signs we all learned ‘bout when we first applied for our drivers licenses take on a whole new meaning when ya see a black curve painted on a yellow diamond more than 180° and a posted speed limit of 10 MPH, and all the while the road is falling away quick. In ‘bout two miles of downhill racing we’re off the mountain and we’re by the creek.
In Kentucky when you’re by the creek, well, that’s ‘bout as low as you’re gona go, ‘cause nothing’s flat, it’s either going up or going down. Now if ya can’t tell up or down where you’re at, just watch the water. The water is always going down. Even from Tiptop the water always flows toward the sea.
There was never a question as where we were going in the mountains, with my GPS on the laptop computer I always knew exactly where we were at all times. It seems sometimes technology gives ya too much information, the darn thing was also showing me how fast the road was falling away. It looked like a clock running backwards.
You’ve all heard the story ‘bout so far in the mountains, they have to pump in sunshine. Well, Bob Allen lives at the end of the pipe. The road’s ‘bout a hundred feet above the house and the descending lane is an adventure unto it’s self. The culvert to cross the creek is almost large enough to drive thru. Rain water runs fast off the hills in a downpour.
It was hard to tell who was most excited to see each other, us or Bob Allen. He was standing on this back porch before we were able to get out of the truck. We shook hands and hugged and shook hands and hugged again. Hillbillies are like that, that shaking hands and hugging stuff, we do that a lot.
We go inside and say hello to Bob’s wife, Toot, don’t know her real name just always called her Toot. Toot offers to feed us, we decline. That is so hillbilly, that offer to feed ya, no sooner do ya walk thru the door and someone’s trying to feed ya or get ya to drink their coffee. We passed on both, with gratitude for the offer.
Bob Allen has lived at this location for many years. One time he told Johnny that when he finally found the place of his dreams, all he had to do was just move Toot in have her start cooking gravy. This family of mountain people truly love where they live, the surroundings, and the friends around ‘em and it all shows on their faces and in their voices and even in the way they shake hands and hug. Happy people, Bob Allen and Toot, they make ya feel at home.
If we’re gona see our real estate holding in Magoffin County this day we need to hit the road right now, and so we’re off to the mouth of Bee Tree, ‘cause that the legal description, “43-39, Mouth of Bee Tree”. I had obtained an aerial map of the section 43 which identified the 39 portion of the map.
Bob Allen took one look at the aerial map, laughed and said the best he could do today was get us in some proximity of our land holdings and point to the side of a mountain. It’d be up there somewhere. Unlike Indiana where most all land is easily identified, land in some parts of Kentucky are not as well defined, in fact extremely difficult to identify in some cases. Bob thought we could locate our land on the side of the mountain, it’s just gona take some doing.
Contact some adjoining land owners, get permission to cross other people’s land, ‘cause our land doesn’t have any road access. That in its self is not unusual or an issue, cause much of the land in the mountains doesn’t have road access. Ya just work that stuff with the neighbor according to Bob Allen. The problem we are facing today is darkness.
Bob didn’t feel we had enough daylight to travel to where we needed to be to allow him to point to the side of mountain to show us almost our little part of paradise. So Bob proposed and alternate plan to use the remaining daylight. That plan was to go see his horses upon the top of the mountain. Then Johnny turned the truck around and we’re off to the races.
We backtracked all the way up the road that fell away quick. All the way back up to the Magoffin County Sign. It was at the very top of this mountain, we took a dirt road leading, not down the other side, rather along the top of the ridge. And so we drove maybe a mile or more, staying all the while on the ridge line, then we came to an area maybe 20 acres or so and almost flat.
Here on the top of the mountain we found many horses, most of the horses belonged to Bob Allen, but some he didn’t recognize, ‘cause in the fall of the year, some people bring their horses up to the top of the mountains and just turn ‘em loose. Both food and water are abundant on the top of the mountain, and it would seen an ideal spot to spend the winter. That way ya don’t have to feed your horse for the winter. I guess ya just leave ‘em up there on the mountain and God takes care of ‘em till you’re ready to ride ‘em again in the springtime. Bob was excited, one his girl horses had a new baby in the last 24 hours. The little baby was running ‘round and having a good time with his mama his first day of being a mountain horse.
We get out to enjoy the view from the top of the hill. Looking to the west is Breathitt County and looking east is into Magoffin County. Such a very special sight, not a house or soul to be seen, just Bob Allen, Johnny, me and the horses. We stood in silence for a while. Ya don’t have to say much in the presence of majestic splendor.
At Bob Allen’s yard, I’d locked in his house location in the GPS on the laptop. On top of the mountain, in the presence of the horses, I checked our current location in reference to Bob’s house and was amazed find were within less than 2 miles from his house. It was ‘bout 25 miles driving to where we were standing.
As darkness closed around us, we had the pleasure of viewing a most beautiful sunset from the vantage point of the top of the mountain. And then the road fell away real quick.
With Bob Allen delivered safely home and us agreeing on how he’d handle the paperwork for our mountain real estate investment, Johnny and I followed that Sunshine Pipeline back to the big road. It was well after dark when Johnny drove onto the Mountain Parkway and turned to the northwest toward Winchester.
The Mountain Parkway, my favorite stretch of Interstate Road in the whole country, runs from Winchester to Salyersville. When ya get onto the parkway at Winchester, you’re still in the Kentucky Bluegrass Country, horses and white fences can be seen for miles. In an hour or so you’re in the high mountains of southeastern Kentucky. The Mountain Parkway ends as Salyersville.
On this night, like all nights, the Mountain Parkway is just another road in the darkness, viewed only to the reach of your head lights. I don’t like traveling this pretty road in the nighttime, but we do. At Winchester we stop for supper. Having had so much for the last 12 hours or so we almost forgot to eat, and for Johnny and me, that’s saying something.
We started the day early, this Tuesday Morning, leaving Roswell GA shortly after sunrise, with Johnny stealing a frog on the way out of town, and now here we sit in Winchester KY at Chili’s waiting for our supper, what else, Chili. With a football game on the flat screens all over the place, I call the she and tell her all’s well in our world and we’ll be home before the sun set across the valley.
I give the she a long distance hug and kiss by cell phone. I love technology and the gadgets that come along. Cell phones, laptop computers, GPS, digital watches, laser lights, pumpkin cannons and twinkies. Yes twinkies. Now these little fellers are marketed as a "Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling". In reality they’re mystery wrapped in cellophane. And I say that ‘bout twinkies ‘cause if ya take one out and just lay it somewhere out of the way, where nothing can get to it. It’ll stay there forever, it’ll not mold, it’ll rot, it’ll not get hard and dry up. It’ll just stay a “Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling". Twinkies are just plain magic wrapped in a “Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling"
By the time we finished supper, Johnny was done driving for the day. With me at the wheel, I’m looking toward Louisville and before two hours had passed so had Louisville. With the bright city lights behind me, I crossed the big bridge. Back Home Again In Indiana. Ya get sleepily late at night driving with a full belly. Just north of Louisville the DAYS INN sign welcomed me home. And so we slept.
One of the true great things ‘bout Indiana is a Cracker Barrel Breakfast when you’re hungry. Johnny had a meeting at 12:30PM in Indianapolis so we made our way up that dreaded strip of I-65 to capital city. Johnny went to his meeting and I sat in the truck and told stories with my fingers to the laptop. And as I told the stories, it dawned on me that I know sign language, but only to computers, not to people. That’s pretty cool, knowing sign language and all.
After his meeting Johnny said he knew a place in Carmel, just north of Indianapolis, that had the world’s best hamburger, but a little pricey. It was the world’s best hamburger. It was a little pricey, and it was worth every pricey cent. I hope to go back and have another hamburger someday, pricey or not. And after the big hamburger I drove home while Johnny slept some more.
As I sit in my beloved East Wing this 17th day of October and watch the leaves falling from the west maple tree in the front garden, which by now has lost most all its leaves, while the east maple tree has yet to lose a single leaf or even start to turn color in the green leaves, I wonder who controls that leaf falling and color changing stuff.
Maybe it’s the same one who plays the wind chimes, that sways the tree branches, that rustles the leaves, who rolls the tumble weeds, the leader of the band.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
The Mobil East Wing Coming Home, The Road Falling Away, Piping Sunshine, Bob Allen, Country Roads & Horses, Land On The Mountain, technology and Twinkies
I wish you well
BobbyRay
Sunday, October 10, 2010
From the Mobil East Wing, On the Road Again, Corn Fields and Windmills, Louisville When She Sparkles, The Goats of Roswell, Chicken With The Colonel
Greetings To All and Welcome New Friends to The East Wing,
Me and Johnny, on the road again. Not gona be cowboys this time, gona be cotton pickers, if we find some cotton. We’re on our way to Georgia, Roswell GA that is. Roswell is a northern suburb of Atlanta. We’re taking my Sister Barbara home from an extended visit to Indiana. And don’t really expect to see any cotton, but will pick some if the opportunity presents itself. Ya gota remember some hillbillies from Starke County have been known to pick stuff from time to time.
Barbara lives in a really neat community in Roswell, it’s not a gated community. But one house does have some real nice goats in the yard. Back in January, I had Johnny take my pictures with the goats. They’re pretty classy goats, some black, some white and some just plain goat colored. One of Barbara’s neighbors is the current president of UPS. Barbara’s late husband, Ed Lopez spent his whole working career doing computer research type work at UPS. Ed died much too soon last January. Me and Ed, we stargazed. My stargazing is not nearly as much fun with Ed gone, but I still do, some.
It’s Sunday early afternoon as we leave the East Wing in bright sunshine, turn south and look forward to a fun four day adventure, me and Johnny and Sister Barbara. With the trip only being in relatively sort segments, I don’t expect to do much if any driving ‘cause Johnny likes to drive and I like to gawk a lot, in fact that is one of my better skills, I’ve honed that skill over years of practice. And now I can gawk with the best of ‘em.
I wonder if I could go back over to that little college in central Ohio and get my PhD in gawking. I already know the paper I’d write. “Gawking in a Foreign Language” by BobbyRay. That would be so cool, I’d learn to gawk in Spanish or maybe Russian or even Chinese . Now I can only gawk in Hillbilly, but am truly good at it. It must be really easy to learn a foreign language, ‘cause just this past Sunday morning at the 11 o’clock mass there was a little baby crying in Spanish. It’s so amazing to think that pretty little baby girl learned to cry in Spanish and she’s not even 6 months old. Now if ya don’t believe in miracles, then you’ve just never seen a pretty little Spanish Angel crying in church. A miracle before your eyes, if there ever was one, that little Spanish Angel.
What’s really cool ‘bout gawking is acting like a tourist and being obnoxious and acting stupid and everybody cuts ya some slack ‘cause they know you’re from out of town, and when they go out of town, they too act stupid. Gawking sure is fun.
The speed at which the corn and soy bean crops have disappeared from the flat lands of northern Indiana ya’d think a magician was at work. Not so, just a combination of early planting, early rain, August drought and September heat make for early picking, and unusual early drying of the crops.
Interestingly enough, ya’d think being able to harvest the crop early makes for happy farmers. That’s not always the case, there are several issues the farmers are dealing with this harvest season. A few days ago I had a farmer in my office who produces seed corn. Now for you non-farmers, that’s the stuff that is used to plant next year’s corn crop. (really it’s more than a year down the road, but to illustrate the point, it easier to just say next year’s crop)
Producing seed corn is a highly specialized type of farming. Without getting into too much detail, suffice to say it takes extra effort to produce seed corn. I first became aware of seed corn farming when I was a little hillbilly boy pulling the tassels from the top of corn stalks.
The problem my farmer client has to deal with this year is the seed corn has dried too much in the field. Regular corn is picked at an ideal moister content of 15%. Seed corn needs to be picked at 20%. Then a very slow dry down process to control the quality of the seed, and to allow the seed to germinate when placed back into the ground.
The test plot to determine if the seed corn was ready to harvest, tested out at 14% moisture it needed to be at least 20%. Samples of the crop have been sent to the Ag Research Labs at Purdue University to determine how best to handle the situation.
The windmill farms north of Lafayette IN now seem pale compared to those seen a few weeks ago when Johnny and I were cowboys. Now that’s not to say that the Brookston Windmills are not impressive, they are. But the sheer volume of the windmills out west is staggering.
As the windmills of northern Indiana blend into the background behind us, we blend into the Federal Interstate Highway System, I-65, southbound toward Indianapolis. Not even 10 miles on I-65 and guess what pops up? Right! A Cracker Barrel. Right there in front of God and everybody, on the east side of I-65. Happy Days Are Here Again!
Ya don’t eat fast at Cracker Barrels, and that’s the way God intended people to eat, slow and enjoying the taste of Cracker Barrel. I’ve even heard that the Cracker Barrel may have catered the Last Supper, but I don’t know that for a fact. I do know they have some really old recipes there.
From the Cracker Barrel to downtown Indianapolis in an hour, with Lebanon thrown in there just to break up the flat land Indiana corn fields with no corn left, only memories of corn gone by this October Sunday. Indianapolis is such a pretty big town. One of my favorite things ‘bout Indianapolis, it don’t smell. Can’t say that ‘bout many cities in the world. And the sad thing ‘bout many of the people who live in those cities that smell, they don’t even know it smells.
Had a conversation the other day with a lady who has just moved to North Judson a few years ago, and dearly loves to live here. She was telling me ‘bout a conversation she overheard when some friends she had invited to her new home in the country were talking with one of her neighbors. The city fellow asked “how’s them outside toilets working for ya?” and the neighbor says “works ok, and oh, by the way, how’s them drive by shooting working out for ya in your neighborhood?” City people AGGH!
One good thing ‘bout traveling with Sister Barbara, she wants to stop a lot, and so we do whatever catches somebody’s eye along the way, we all get to see it when we stop. If I had to pick my least favorite part of the Indiana interstate system, it’s Indianapolis to Louisville I-65 South. Don’t know why, maybe I’ve just rode this concrete ribbon of steel too many times. We stopped twice between Indianapolis and Louisville, once to pee and once to gawk.
Louisville KY at the very edge of the start of the nighttime, a pretty town to behold, tall buildings with pretty lights. Twinkling lights dancing on the waters of the Ohio River makes for a pretty crossing on the big bridge. Traffic delays don’t exist in Louisville on Sunday evening. The same can’t be said for tomorrow morning when the world wakes up to go to work. And tomorrow we’ll still be playing, Johnny and me. For us, tomorrow is the day no work will be done.
Franklin KY is two miles north of Tennessee and a good place to sleep after a fun seven hours of jerking ‘round thru both Indiana and Kentucky. Up with the sun on Monday and off to Georgia, not quite so fast, I’m up with the sun, Sister Barbara don’t do early sun. In fact Sister Barbara don’t do early anything, so Johnny and I go for the free breakfast at the Hampton Inn. A most pleasant surprise, that breakfast at the Hampton Inn. A real breakfast, not one of those coffee and roll deals with old brown bananas and other fruit past its prime. Ya could even make your own waffle, and Johnny did so. I don’t do waffle any more, but that’s another story for another time.
A quick 4 hour run down I-65 to I-24 to I-75 and just like that, we find ourselves in Roswell GA. The goats are inside their goat house when I go by, but I waved just to let ‘em know I’m back. We kick back and relax for a few hours visit with family, sleep a little and up and at ‘em early Tuesday morning, really running early Tuesday morning. Leaving Sister Barbara in Roswell still asleep, means Johnny and I can get started before noon, and we did.
The last time I was at Sister Barbara’s house, back in January, on the way leaving, I stole a stone chicken from one of her gardens. This morning as Johnny drove out the courtyard I asked him to stop and steal one of the stone frogs. I don’t know if that Georgia Frog can stand the cold of Indiana winters, if not guess he’ll have to live in the East Wing. Come to think ‘bout it I’m just gona put him in the East Wing right up, ‘cause Pup Baby sure likes frogs anyways. And besides of all the East Wing stuff, I don’t have a frog, or at least a Georgia Frog, until now.
Did ya ever eat frog legs? I don’t do that, eat frog legs, but the she does. Regina eats every frog leg she comes across. Me, well, I’ve just handled to many frogs in my life to eat ‘em. But I’ve seen some big ones from time to time.
It’s noon on Tuesday and Johnny and I find ourselves in Lake City Tennessee just get gas, pee and go. We’re on a mission this Tuesday as we find our way back home from way down upon the Suwannee River, and the mission is to locate some land I purchased a while back. The land is located somewhere in Magoffin County Kentucky, we just don’t know where yet. But expect to know before the sun sets on this beautiful early fall day in Appalachia. We’re on our way to meet a fellow by the name of Bob Allen, and Bob’s gona show us, what my Mama told me was my “ personal pig in a poke” when I told her I’d bought land sight unseen in Magoffin County KY. But we’ll see.
By 1:30 this afternoon we are looking for somewhere to eat lunch when Johnny spots a sign advertising the original home of Col. Sanders Kentucky Fried Chicken. This house of chicken is on the list of historical landmarks identified by the Federal Department of the Interior. Located in Corbin KY a little town with no other special interests to anyone other than the locals. A little town much like a million others except that Col. Sanders happened to live there. We gawked, ate the chicken, gawked some more, took our pictures with the Col. Sanders statue and it’s back on the road again looking for our land that time forgot somewhere in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky.
We’re two - three weeks too early to see the best of the pretty mountains is all the fall colors, the idea of changing colors has just started to be thought of by the trees here, ya can just tell by the way they hold their leaves. But the green, green mountains of southeastern Kentucky are pretty all the time, year ‘round, just sometimes they’re more spectacular than others. Now when the earth tone colors paint the mountain sides, well, that’s one of the “others” I’s talking ‘bout.
As we drive thru these beautiful mountains, Johnny and I develop a plan to allow us to return in three weeks to see the Annual Fall Color Show of Appalachia, starring in the lead role, Mother Nature herself and co-starring various creatures of the forest including, but not limited to, Bambi, Yoga Bear, Woody Woodpecker, Old Yeller, Pinto the Wonder Horse, and a cast of thousands. It’s always a sellout performance, that Fall Color Show of Appalachia. And everybody that comes to the show gets a front row seat. There are no bad seats in the Kentucky Mountains in the Autumn time of the year .
5:00 PM finds us setting in Jackson KY talking with Bob Allen by cell phone. Yes he knows where our real estate is located, yes he can take us to it, if we can make it before dark. Turns out Bob Allen is 40 miles away and in a part of Kentucky not adjacent to or easily accessible by the interstate highway system. Now when ya got 40 miles to go in the mountains and you’re a flat land driver like Johnny, well, it’s gona take time, ya just know it’s gona take lots of time. Bob Allen tells us we need to take State Road 30 from Jackson to Salyersville, and turn on road 1392, ‘bout 25 miles or so from Jackson.
Now I’ve been on that road before, that State Road 30 from Jackson to Salyersville. On that 30+ miles of road from Jackson to Salyersville there’s not a single stretch of road in a straight line ¼ mile long. The road has curves, lots and lots of curves, and many are more than 180° Now for us non engineers, if a whole circle is 360° that means those curves on State Road 30 are tight, they’re not only tight but often, seems every time ya see the end of the curve ya see the start of the next curve. And so it went as we slowly traversed Road 30, forever climbing to altitude and finally reaching the mountain peak at the Magoffin / Breathitt County Line. We pull over to take our pictures beside the Magoffin County Sign, think better of the idea and just take a picture of the sign, before we start down the other side of the mountain.
Stay Safe in Afghanistan
From the Mobil East Wing, On the Road Again, Corn Fields and Windmills, Louisville When She Sparkles, The Goats of Roswell, Eating Chicken With The Colonel
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Me and Johnny, on the road again. Not gona be cowboys this time, gona be cotton pickers, if we find some cotton. We’re on our way to Georgia, Roswell GA that is. Roswell is a northern suburb of Atlanta. We’re taking my Sister Barbara home from an extended visit to Indiana. And don’t really expect to see any cotton, but will pick some if the opportunity presents itself. Ya gota remember some hillbillies from Starke County have been known to pick stuff from time to time.
Barbara lives in a really neat community in Roswell, it’s not a gated community. But one house does have some real nice goats in the yard. Back in January, I had Johnny take my pictures with the goats. They’re pretty classy goats, some black, some white and some just plain goat colored. One of Barbara’s neighbors is the current president of UPS. Barbara’s late husband, Ed Lopez spent his whole working career doing computer research type work at UPS. Ed died much too soon last January. Me and Ed, we stargazed. My stargazing is not nearly as much fun with Ed gone, but I still do, some.
It’s Sunday early afternoon as we leave the East Wing in bright sunshine, turn south and look forward to a fun four day adventure, me and Johnny and Sister Barbara. With the trip only being in relatively sort segments, I don’t expect to do much if any driving ‘cause Johnny likes to drive and I like to gawk a lot, in fact that is one of my better skills, I’ve honed that skill over years of practice. And now I can gawk with the best of ‘em.
I wonder if I could go back over to that little college in central Ohio and get my PhD in gawking. I already know the paper I’d write. “Gawking in a Foreign Language” by BobbyRay. That would be so cool, I’d learn to gawk in Spanish or maybe Russian or even Chinese . Now I can only gawk in Hillbilly, but am truly good at it. It must be really easy to learn a foreign language, ‘cause just this past Sunday morning at the 11 o’clock mass there was a little baby crying in Spanish. It’s so amazing to think that pretty little baby girl learned to cry in Spanish and she’s not even 6 months old. Now if ya don’t believe in miracles, then you’ve just never seen a pretty little Spanish Angel crying in church. A miracle before your eyes, if there ever was one, that little Spanish Angel.
What’s really cool ‘bout gawking is acting like a tourist and being obnoxious and acting stupid and everybody cuts ya some slack ‘cause they know you’re from out of town, and when they go out of town, they too act stupid. Gawking sure is fun.
The speed at which the corn and soy bean crops have disappeared from the flat lands of northern Indiana ya’d think a magician was at work. Not so, just a combination of early planting, early rain, August drought and September heat make for early picking, and unusual early drying of the crops.
Interestingly enough, ya’d think being able to harvest the crop early makes for happy farmers. That’s not always the case, there are several issues the farmers are dealing with this harvest season. A few days ago I had a farmer in my office who produces seed corn. Now for you non-farmers, that’s the stuff that is used to plant next year’s corn crop. (really it’s more than a year down the road, but to illustrate the point, it easier to just say next year’s crop)
Producing seed corn is a highly specialized type of farming. Without getting into too much detail, suffice to say it takes extra effort to produce seed corn. I first became aware of seed corn farming when I was a little hillbilly boy pulling the tassels from the top of corn stalks.
The problem my farmer client has to deal with this year is the seed corn has dried too much in the field. Regular corn is picked at an ideal moister content of 15%. Seed corn needs to be picked at 20%. Then a very slow dry down process to control the quality of the seed, and to allow the seed to germinate when placed back into the ground.
The test plot to determine if the seed corn was ready to harvest, tested out at 14% moisture it needed to be at least 20%. Samples of the crop have been sent to the Ag Research Labs at Purdue University to determine how best to handle the situation.
The windmill farms north of Lafayette IN now seem pale compared to those seen a few weeks ago when Johnny and I were cowboys. Now that’s not to say that the Brookston Windmills are not impressive, they are. But the sheer volume of the windmills out west is staggering.
As the windmills of northern Indiana blend into the background behind us, we blend into the Federal Interstate Highway System, I-65, southbound toward Indianapolis. Not even 10 miles on I-65 and guess what pops up? Right! A Cracker Barrel. Right there in front of God and everybody, on the east side of I-65. Happy Days Are Here Again!
Ya don’t eat fast at Cracker Barrels, and that’s the way God intended people to eat, slow and enjoying the taste of Cracker Barrel. I’ve even heard that the Cracker Barrel may have catered the Last Supper, but I don’t know that for a fact. I do know they have some really old recipes there.
From the Cracker Barrel to downtown Indianapolis in an hour, with Lebanon thrown in there just to break up the flat land Indiana corn fields with no corn left, only memories of corn gone by this October Sunday. Indianapolis is such a pretty big town. One of my favorite things ‘bout Indianapolis, it don’t smell. Can’t say that ‘bout many cities in the world. And the sad thing ‘bout many of the people who live in those cities that smell, they don’t even know it smells.
Had a conversation the other day with a lady who has just moved to North Judson a few years ago, and dearly loves to live here. She was telling me ‘bout a conversation she overheard when some friends she had invited to her new home in the country were talking with one of her neighbors. The city fellow asked “how’s them outside toilets working for ya?” and the neighbor says “works ok, and oh, by the way, how’s them drive by shooting working out for ya in your neighborhood?” City people AGGH!
One good thing ‘bout traveling with Sister Barbara, she wants to stop a lot, and so we do whatever catches somebody’s eye along the way, we all get to see it when we stop. If I had to pick my least favorite part of the Indiana interstate system, it’s Indianapolis to Louisville I-65 South. Don’t know why, maybe I’ve just rode this concrete ribbon of steel too many times. We stopped twice between Indianapolis and Louisville, once to pee and once to gawk.
Louisville KY at the very edge of the start of the nighttime, a pretty town to behold, tall buildings with pretty lights. Twinkling lights dancing on the waters of the Ohio River makes for a pretty crossing on the big bridge. Traffic delays don’t exist in Louisville on Sunday evening. The same can’t be said for tomorrow morning when the world wakes up to go to work. And tomorrow we’ll still be playing, Johnny and me. For us, tomorrow is the day no work will be done.
Franklin KY is two miles north of Tennessee and a good place to sleep after a fun seven hours of jerking ‘round thru both Indiana and Kentucky. Up with the sun on Monday and off to Georgia, not quite so fast, I’m up with the sun, Sister Barbara don’t do early sun. In fact Sister Barbara don’t do early anything, so Johnny and I go for the free breakfast at the Hampton Inn. A most pleasant surprise, that breakfast at the Hampton Inn. A real breakfast, not one of those coffee and roll deals with old brown bananas and other fruit past its prime. Ya could even make your own waffle, and Johnny did so. I don’t do waffle any more, but that’s another story for another time.
A quick 4 hour run down I-65 to I-24 to I-75 and just like that, we find ourselves in Roswell GA. The goats are inside their goat house when I go by, but I waved just to let ‘em know I’m back. We kick back and relax for a few hours visit with family, sleep a little and up and at ‘em early Tuesday morning, really running early Tuesday morning. Leaving Sister Barbara in Roswell still asleep, means Johnny and I can get started before noon, and we did.
The last time I was at Sister Barbara’s house, back in January, on the way leaving, I stole a stone chicken from one of her gardens. This morning as Johnny drove out the courtyard I asked him to stop and steal one of the stone frogs. I don’t know if that Georgia Frog can stand the cold of Indiana winters, if not guess he’ll have to live in the East Wing. Come to think ‘bout it I’m just gona put him in the East Wing right up, ‘cause Pup Baby sure likes frogs anyways. And besides of all the East Wing stuff, I don’t have a frog, or at least a Georgia Frog, until now.
Did ya ever eat frog legs? I don’t do that, eat frog legs, but the she does. Regina eats every frog leg she comes across. Me, well, I’ve just handled to many frogs in my life to eat ‘em. But I’ve seen some big ones from time to time.
It’s noon on Tuesday and Johnny and I find ourselves in Lake City Tennessee just get gas, pee and go. We’re on a mission this Tuesday as we find our way back home from way down upon the Suwannee River, and the mission is to locate some land I purchased a while back. The land is located somewhere in Magoffin County Kentucky, we just don’t know where yet. But expect to know before the sun sets on this beautiful early fall day in Appalachia. We’re on our way to meet a fellow by the name of Bob Allen, and Bob’s gona show us, what my Mama told me was my “ personal pig in a poke” when I told her I’d bought land sight unseen in Magoffin County KY. But we’ll see.
By 1:30 this afternoon we are looking for somewhere to eat lunch when Johnny spots a sign advertising the original home of Col. Sanders Kentucky Fried Chicken. This house of chicken is on the list of historical landmarks identified by the Federal Department of the Interior. Located in Corbin KY a little town with no other special interests to anyone other than the locals. A little town much like a million others except that Col. Sanders happened to live there. We gawked, ate the chicken, gawked some more, took our pictures with the Col. Sanders statue and it’s back on the road again looking for our land that time forgot somewhere in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky.
We’re two - three weeks too early to see the best of the pretty mountains is all the fall colors, the idea of changing colors has just started to be thought of by the trees here, ya can just tell by the way they hold their leaves. But the green, green mountains of southeastern Kentucky are pretty all the time, year ‘round, just sometimes they’re more spectacular than others. Now when the earth tone colors paint the mountain sides, well, that’s one of the “others” I’s talking ‘bout.
As we drive thru these beautiful mountains, Johnny and I develop a plan to allow us to return in three weeks to see the Annual Fall Color Show of Appalachia, starring in the lead role, Mother Nature herself and co-starring various creatures of the forest including, but not limited to, Bambi, Yoga Bear, Woody Woodpecker, Old Yeller, Pinto the Wonder Horse, and a cast of thousands. It’s always a sellout performance, that Fall Color Show of Appalachia. And everybody that comes to the show gets a front row seat. There are no bad seats in the Kentucky Mountains in the Autumn time of the year .
5:00 PM finds us setting in Jackson KY talking with Bob Allen by cell phone. Yes he knows where our real estate is located, yes he can take us to it, if we can make it before dark. Turns out Bob Allen is 40 miles away and in a part of Kentucky not adjacent to or easily accessible by the interstate highway system. Now when ya got 40 miles to go in the mountains and you’re a flat land driver like Johnny, well, it’s gona take time, ya just know it’s gona take lots of time. Bob Allen tells us we need to take State Road 30 from Jackson to Salyersville, and turn on road 1392, ‘bout 25 miles or so from Jackson.
Now I’ve been on that road before, that State Road 30 from Jackson to Salyersville. On that 30+ miles of road from Jackson to Salyersville there’s not a single stretch of road in a straight line ¼ mile long. The road has curves, lots and lots of curves, and many are more than 180° Now for us non engineers, if a whole circle is 360° that means those curves on State Road 30 are tight, they’re not only tight but often, seems every time ya see the end of the curve ya see the start of the next curve. And so it went as we slowly traversed Road 30, forever climbing to altitude and finally reaching the mountain peak at the Magoffin / Breathitt County Line. We pull over to take our pictures beside the Magoffin County Sign, think better of the idea and just take a picture of the sign, before we start down the other side of the mountain.
Stay Safe in Afghanistan
From the Mobil East Wing, On the Road Again, Corn Fields and Windmills, Louisville When She Sparkles, The Goats of Roswell, Eating Chicken With The Colonel
I wish you well,
BobbyRay
Sunday, October 3, 2010
From The East Wing, In The Garden, In The Frost, Microscopes & Telescopes, Newt & Sophia, The Pear Tree, Bomber Birds of November.
Greeting to all and welcome to my new visitors to the East Wing
Well ya just know it’s fall when your thought turns to frost and when it’s gona happen. This time of year, ya know it will just don’t know when. So here’s a way to tell if it’ll happen tonight when the radio or TV says “frost tonight”
How warm’s it been that day. If the temperature reached 75 degrees F (in the East or North) or 80 degrees F (in the desert Southwest), the chance of the mercury falling below 32 degrees is slim to none.
Is it windy? A still night allows cold air to pool near the ground; a breeze keeps things stirred up. Is it cloudy? If the Sun sets through a layer of thickening clouds, the clouds will slow radiational cooling and help stave off a frost.
What’s the dew point? As a rule of thumb, don't worry about a frost if the dew point (the temperature at which water vapor condenses) is above 45 degrees on the evening weather report. How is your garden located? Gardens on slopes or high ground often survive when the coldest air puddles down in the valleys and hollows.
If you're a gardener, here’re a few tips on getting ready for the frost. When nights get cold, protect tomato, eggplant, and pepper plants with old sheets, paper bags, or plastic at night and remove the coverings in the morning, else they’ll cook when the sun comes out. Bring geraniums indoors before the first frost arrives. Keep them in a sunny window in a relatively moist room, the kitchen is a good spot. ‘Course your other moist room is the bathroom, but ya just don’t want too many geraniums in the potty.
Cut the basil and other tender herbs before a frost. Even if they survive the frost, they don't do well in cold temperatures. The same is true for summer squash, peppers, and most annuals. Harvest all tomatoes and let them ripen indoors on tabletops or counters out of the sun. Another way for tomatoes, it to pick the green tomatoes and wrap ‘em up in brown paper, put ‘em in a cool dark place and guess what, they’ll turn red. When I was a kid, my dad done the brown paper tomatoes every year. Not as good as the regular thing, but it’ll be better than nothing after the frost.
Now ‘bout that coming frost, we don’t have to guess when it’s coming to the East Wing this year. At ‘bout 4:30 AM this Sunday morning, when Pup Baby hada go pee, the frost was on the pumpkins, not a lot, but enough to call it a frost.
But ya gota love the weather of the fall. Not even talking ‘bout the color yet, just the mild days and the oh so cool nights. Ya sleep good in the Autumn Nighttime.
Did ya ever see photograph of a snow flake? Frost is much the same thing as a snow flake, just a lot smaller, a whole lot smaller, ice crystals both. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a snowflake under a microscope, it was magic. I remember the last time I saw one it’s still magic. They’re all different ya know, those snowflakes and frost crystals.
Everybody has things in life they’re thankful for, and for me, two things come to mind. When I was a kid in downtown Toto, I cut grass for a lady by the name of Burger, never knew her first name, always just called her Mrs. Burger, every time I cut her grass, she paid me 25¢, ‘course that was pretty good money, back in the day. It was a reel type mower, not horsepower, boy power, and we, that reel mower and me, we just kept the grass cut for Mrs. Burger.
Now Mrs. Burger also gave me two things that were more important than the quarters, things that changed my life forever. One was a typewriter and the other was a microscope. With that little typewriter I taught myself to type, and haven’t shut up since.
With the microscope I found myself looking at anything and everything small, really, really, small. Eyes of flies, legs of ants, fingers of frogs, hairs from things , and lots of things have hairs, inside the wings of butterflies and bugs, lots of bugs, they all became friends of mine. Grains of sand become boulders under my microscope.
I’d found stuff that nobody I knew, knew. And so I’ve spent much of my life looking at both really little stuff. It was not too long after the eyes of flies that I discovered oil immersion on a microscope and another whole world opened before my eyes. Telescopes and microscopes, one sees little and one sees far, far away and both show magic when ya look thru ‘em.
With all that being said ‘bout getting your garden ready to deal with the upcoming frost. If your garden was like most folks I know, your garden didn’t do well this year. Too much water early, too little water late just don’t make for a fine garden all summer long. Oh well, just like the Cubs, there’s always next year, and there’s a thing called hope. I think hope spelled backwards is CUBS !
Sophia’s beside herself when it comes to the upcoming midterm elections, she’s so excited I thought she would pee her pants the other day as she answered a phone call from Newt Gingrich. Oh sure, the Newt wants Sophia the Republican Cat on his team ‘cause he’s running for president, just like all the other also ran’s in the republican party.
Yet none of ‘em will tell ya so. They go about it in a subtle kinda way, those republicans. Always downgrading the president and his efforts to improve the economy and the overall situation within the country. Yet never offering any real alternative to the situation. And, God forbid, if the President reminds ya of the former administration and the short comings there, well there ya go again, blaming Bush.
But with 30 days or so out from the elections, it does smack of the rats abandoning ship it ya look at what is happening at the White House. The big guns are all jumping overboard before the ship hits the iceberg. “Ya can’t blame me if I’m no longer a part of that mess at the White House. It’s them, not me. I know nothing”.
Chicago Politics just kinda sucks. Always has, always will. It don’t work anywhere in the world except Chicago. Don’t work in Washington D.C. that’s for sure. The people of this great land still have a voice in the way things are handled in Washington D.C. It will be most interesting to see the real outcome, come November. One thing for sure, Sophia is looking forward. She can hardly wait.
One of the really neat things ‘bout this time of the year, Pears, yes Pears, I love Pears. Too many people just don’t give the Pears the respect they deserve in this world. Apples, apples, apples it all ya hear ‘bout come the fall season, apples and pumpkins, apples and pumpkins. Seldom ever a word ‘bout Pears.
Just down the road to the west from the East Wing was one of the very best Pear Trees I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing in my lifetime. First met that ole Pear Tree shortly after I met the she, and that was a ways back. One taste from that Pear Tree and I was a fan for life. I don’t even know the number of years I’ve picked Pears from that, my favorite Pear Tree, but alas, no more.
My favorite Pear Tree was fenced into a feed lot for finishing out steers, and guess what. Yep, you’re right, the steers ate all the bark from around my Pear Tree, and yep, it died. RIP my very favorite Pear Tree, I’ll miss ya next year. A hundred year old Pear Tree eaten by a dumb cow. AUUH!
There are too few Pear Trees in this world. Pears in cans is just not right, it’s just not right. Try to imagine, if you will, how different this world would be had Adam simply eaten a Pear. That thought brings a whole new meaning to “life was simple and easy back then”. But even if Adam had eaten a Pear, I still wouldn’t like snakes.
Ya know there’re some flavors that are just made for each other, like cheddar with apples, coffee with chocolate, and pears with blue cheese and almonds. The sweetness of pears is the perfect complement to the creamy tang of blue cheese and rich, nutty flavors like almonds. I’m telling ya, if ya don’t like pears with blue cheese and almonds, ya got a problem in life, ya may not know it yet, but ya do.
Before ya know it it’ll be time to go see the sand hill cranes again. Did ya ever see those big birds? Large things with 6’ wing span, some maybe even larger. Seeing these sand hill cranes in flight sure gives ya an idea of where the Stark Track people got their designs for alien space craft. If these birds had cloaking technology, well, it would be a site to see, or maybe not if they’re cloaked.
Somewhere between 30,000 and 60,000 sand hill cranes arrive over in the Jasper Pulaski Game Preserve, just ‘ bout 15 miles or so to the west of the East Wing starting in late October and stay till mid December. We’re on the north south fly path and the birds stop here to eat and rest and look at the people who come to see the sand hill cranes.
They eat the left over gain from the just picked corn and soy bean crop here in northern Indiana. Each day the birds will fly out as far as 25 miles in search of food and water. Both are always readily available from multiple sources. It’s sand hill crane county come late October. Seems those big long necked birds show
up ‘bout the same time as pumpkins. Wonder if anybody ever tried to eat sand hill crane and pumpkin pie.
It’s hard to tell who has the most fun gawking, the people or the birds. I’m voting the birds. The best of the bird show for the sand hill cranes starts just a few minutes after day light each morning when they go out for breakfast. Few things are more spectacular than seeing over 30,000 birds take flight all within few seconds of each other. They split the wind, those sand hill cranes, when they fly.
Coming home at night is almost as spectacular just in a different fashion. One time I set along the road side, looking to the east, with all the crops having been harvested, the horizon to the east was several miles from my vantage point. What stopped me in my tracks was the site in the sky, flying in formation, looking much like what I recalled seeing movies of WWll bomber formations flying out of England toward Europe was the sand hill cranes returning home for the night.
As far as I could see to the east, the bombers filled the sky. I stood underneath the flight path of those sand hill bombers flying in formation. As one of those bomber bird formations flew overhear and the splat sound from my windshield reminded me these bombers carry different ammunition.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From The East Wing, In The Garden, In The Frost, Microscopes & Telescopes, Newt & Sophia, The Pear Tree, Bomber Birds of November.
I wish well,
BobbyRay
Well ya just know it’s fall when your thought turns to frost and when it’s gona happen. This time of year, ya know it will just don’t know when. So here’s a way to tell if it’ll happen tonight when the radio or TV says “frost tonight”
How warm’s it been that day. If the temperature reached 75 degrees F (in the East or North) or 80 degrees F (in the desert Southwest), the chance of the mercury falling below 32 degrees is slim to none.
Is it windy? A still night allows cold air to pool near the ground; a breeze keeps things stirred up. Is it cloudy? If the Sun sets through a layer of thickening clouds, the clouds will slow radiational cooling and help stave off a frost.
What’s the dew point? As a rule of thumb, don't worry about a frost if the dew point (the temperature at which water vapor condenses) is above 45 degrees on the evening weather report. How is your garden located? Gardens on slopes or high ground often survive when the coldest air puddles down in the valleys and hollows.
If you're a gardener, here’re a few tips on getting ready for the frost. When nights get cold, protect tomato, eggplant, and pepper plants with old sheets, paper bags, or plastic at night and remove the coverings in the morning, else they’ll cook when the sun comes out. Bring geraniums indoors before the first frost arrives. Keep them in a sunny window in a relatively moist room, the kitchen is a good spot. ‘Course your other moist room is the bathroom, but ya just don’t want too many geraniums in the potty.
Cut the basil and other tender herbs before a frost. Even if they survive the frost, they don't do well in cold temperatures. The same is true for summer squash, peppers, and most annuals. Harvest all tomatoes and let them ripen indoors on tabletops or counters out of the sun. Another way for tomatoes, it to pick the green tomatoes and wrap ‘em up in brown paper, put ‘em in a cool dark place and guess what, they’ll turn red. When I was a kid, my dad done the brown paper tomatoes every year. Not as good as the regular thing, but it’ll be better than nothing after the frost.
Now ‘bout that coming frost, we don’t have to guess when it’s coming to the East Wing this year. At ‘bout 4:30 AM this Sunday morning, when Pup Baby hada go pee, the frost was on the pumpkins, not a lot, but enough to call it a frost.
But ya gota love the weather of the fall. Not even talking ‘bout the color yet, just the mild days and the oh so cool nights. Ya sleep good in the Autumn Nighttime.
Did ya ever see photograph of a snow flake? Frost is much the same thing as a snow flake, just a lot smaller, a whole lot smaller, ice crystals both. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a snowflake under a microscope, it was magic. I remember the last time I saw one it’s still magic. They’re all different ya know, those snowflakes and frost crystals.
Everybody has things in life they’re thankful for, and for me, two things come to mind. When I was a kid in downtown Toto, I cut grass for a lady by the name of Burger, never knew her first name, always just called her Mrs. Burger, every time I cut her grass, she paid me 25¢, ‘course that was pretty good money, back in the day. It was a reel type mower, not horsepower, boy power, and we, that reel mower and me, we just kept the grass cut for Mrs. Burger.
Now Mrs. Burger also gave me two things that were more important than the quarters, things that changed my life forever. One was a typewriter and the other was a microscope. With that little typewriter I taught myself to type, and haven’t shut up since.
With the microscope I found myself looking at anything and everything small, really, really, small. Eyes of flies, legs of ants, fingers of frogs, hairs from things , and lots of things have hairs, inside the wings of butterflies and bugs, lots of bugs, they all became friends of mine. Grains of sand become boulders under my microscope.
I’d found stuff that nobody I knew, knew. And so I’ve spent much of my life looking at both really little stuff. It was not too long after the eyes of flies that I discovered oil immersion on a microscope and another whole world opened before my eyes. Telescopes and microscopes, one sees little and one sees far, far away and both show magic when ya look thru ‘em.
With all that being said ‘bout getting your garden ready to deal with the upcoming frost. If your garden was like most folks I know, your garden didn’t do well this year. Too much water early, too little water late just don’t make for a fine garden all summer long. Oh well, just like the Cubs, there’s always next year, and there’s a thing called hope. I think hope spelled backwards is CUBS !
Sophia’s beside herself when it comes to the upcoming midterm elections, she’s so excited I thought she would pee her pants the other day as she answered a phone call from Newt Gingrich. Oh sure, the Newt wants Sophia the Republican Cat on his team ‘cause he’s running for president, just like all the other also ran’s in the republican party.
Yet none of ‘em will tell ya so. They go about it in a subtle kinda way, those republicans. Always downgrading the president and his efforts to improve the economy and the overall situation within the country. Yet never offering any real alternative to the situation. And, God forbid, if the President reminds ya of the former administration and the short comings there, well there ya go again, blaming Bush.
But with 30 days or so out from the elections, it does smack of the rats abandoning ship it ya look at what is happening at the White House. The big guns are all jumping overboard before the ship hits the iceberg. “Ya can’t blame me if I’m no longer a part of that mess at the White House. It’s them, not me. I know nothing”.
Chicago Politics just kinda sucks. Always has, always will. It don’t work anywhere in the world except Chicago. Don’t work in Washington D.C. that’s for sure. The people of this great land still have a voice in the way things are handled in Washington D.C. It will be most interesting to see the real outcome, come November. One thing for sure, Sophia is looking forward. She can hardly wait.
One of the really neat things ‘bout this time of the year, Pears, yes Pears, I love Pears. Too many people just don’t give the Pears the respect they deserve in this world. Apples, apples, apples it all ya hear ‘bout come the fall season, apples and pumpkins, apples and pumpkins. Seldom ever a word ‘bout Pears.
Just down the road to the west from the East Wing was one of the very best Pear Trees I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing in my lifetime. First met that ole Pear Tree shortly after I met the she, and that was a ways back. One taste from that Pear Tree and I was a fan for life. I don’t even know the number of years I’ve picked Pears from that, my favorite Pear Tree, but alas, no more.
My favorite Pear Tree was fenced into a feed lot for finishing out steers, and guess what. Yep, you’re right, the steers ate all the bark from around my Pear Tree, and yep, it died. RIP my very favorite Pear Tree, I’ll miss ya next year. A hundred year old Pear Tree eaten by a dumb cow. AUUH!
There are too few Pear Trees in this world. Pears in cans is just not right, it’s just not right. Try to imagine, if you will, how different this world would be had Adam simply eaten a Pear. That thought brings a whole new meaning to “life was simple and easy back then”. But even if Adam had eaten a Pear, I still wouldn’t like snakes.
Ya know there’re some flavors that are just made for each other, like cheddar with apples, coffee with chocolate, and pears with blue cheese and almonds. The sweetness of pears is the perfect complement to the creamy tang of blue cheese and rich, nutty flavors like almonds. I’m telling ya, if ya don’t like pears with blue cheese and almonds, ya got a problem in life, ya may not know it yet, but ya do.
Before ya know it it’ll be time to go see the sand hill cranes again. Did ya ever see those big birds? Large things with 6’ wing span, some maybe even larger. Seeing these sand hill cranes in flight sure gives ya an idea of where the Stark Track people got their designs for alien space craft. If these birds had cloaking technology, well, it would be a site to see, or maybe not if they’re cloaked.
Somewhere between 30,000 and 60,000 sand hill cranes arrive over in the Jasper Pulaski Game Preserve, just ‘ bout 15 miles or so to the west of the East Wing starting in late October and stay till mid December. We’re on the north south fly path and the birds stop here to eat and rest and look at the people who come to see the sand hill cranes.
They eat the left over gain from the just picked corn and soy bean crop here in northern Indiana. Each day the birds will fly out as far as 25 miles in search of food and water. Both are always readily available from multiple sources. It’s sand hill crane county come late October. Seems those big long necked birds show
up ‘bout the same time as pumpkins. Wonder if anybody ever tried to eat sand hill crane and pumpkin pie.
It’s hard to tell who has the most fun gawking, the people or the birds. I’m voting the birds. The best of the bird show for the sand hill cranes starts just a few minutes after day light each morning when they go out for breakfast. Few things are more spectacular than seeing over 30,000 birds take flight all within few seconds of each other. They split the wind, those sand hill cranes, when they fly.
Coming home at night is almost as spectacular just in a different fashion. One time I set along the road side, looking to the east, with all the crops having been harvested, the horizon to the east was several miles from my vantage point. What stopped me in my tracks was the site in the sky, flying in formation, looking much like what I recalled seeing movies of WWll bomber formations flying out of England toward Europe was the sand hill cranes returning home for the night.
As far as I could see to the east, the bombers filled the sky. I stood underneath the flight path of those sand hill bombers flying in formation. As one of those bomber bird formations flew overhear and the splat sound from my windshield reminded me these bombers carry different ammunition.
Stay safe in Afghanistan
From The East Wing, In The Garden, In The Frost, Microscopes & Telescopes, Newt & Sophia, The Pear Tree, Bomber Birds of November.
I wish well,
BobbyRay
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