Thunder storms

Tales from the Backyard…Probably the best days of growing up on the farm was when it stormed.  The lightning would flash and the wind would howl in the trees and rain would fall and it was time for my brother and I to go out and round up all the pretend cattle in the woods.  We would mount our pretend horses and off we would go, running madly through the storms, from one end of the woods to the other, much to my mother chagrin, but she didn't stop us.  One storm the wind was especially bad and trees started crashing to the ground around us and here she comes through the rain and wind and falling trees to collect us from the storms wrath.  She couldn't call us in, the wind was too loud.  We didn't resist… After we moved to town and my brother got sick with Rheumatic Fever, we were never close again.

Boat vs Van

 Tales from the Backyard…  Heather mentioned we are  looking at another boat and it got me to thinking of all the misadventures I have had in boats.  The first I will relate to you is after a day of family fishing the mouth of the Williamson River in Mass., I brought the boat back to the ramp and docked.  I told my son of 14 to back it back out and trailer it, after I brought the van and trailer back down.  He was ecstatic, but the current was at its steepest, sideways to the ramp and my son, after 3 failed attempts to bring it in straight, just said he couldn't so he brought it to the dock and everyone switched places.  As my family and onlookers were watching, I backed up, came in slightly against the tide and revved it a little and up the trailer we went.  A little too fast and I hit the winch station hard and bounced back, which knocked me forward and down I went with my hand still on the throttle and off we went again, I hit the winch and bent it over and into the back of the van I went, a perfect ten, as I hit dead center of both doors.  Even above the roar of the engine I could hear the gasps of the onlookers.  Nothing to do now but take a bow and start laughing.

Kids are Kids

Tales from the Backyard…  Kids are kids where-ever you live and park brats are no different.  There was a 3 and 4 year difference between ages from my son, the twins and the older boys they wanted to play with.  The older boys really didn't want the younger kids around so one spring they said to the boys, if they go over and eat those plants, we’ll let you play with us.  The young ones would do anything, so they did.  Unfortunately the plants were False Hellebore, which when young are deadly, they were young spring plants.  One of the park rangers (Dave Panabaker) just happened to be driving by and stopped to talk and see what was going on.  Realizing what had just happened; he rushed the three tots away towards the twins’ home and gave each of the boys some Essence of Ipecac to get them to throw up.  Leaving the twin boys to their mother he rushed to our house with our son and the news.  We called the hospital, about 60 miles away.  Their response was, get them to throw up or if they don’t, rush them down here, “BUT ITS PROBABLY TOO LATE.”  What a thing to say to an already stressed out mother.  Donna called, the boys just threw up, we rushed Tom to the bathroom and he did also.  Enough weeds to kill a horse.  None had any ill effects from it and from then on left the plant eating to the deer.

Dowsing

Last night as I couldn't sleep, I remembered an interesting story about my work in Acadia NP.  I was there for the summer running odd projects, one being, to replace the dilapidated water line for the park.  At the Jordan pond house, we had to dig through the lawn, somewhere in it lay a high voltage electrical line.  I have always had this kinetic energy about me.  I could never wear a watch, as after a couple of days they all just stopped working.  Even as a youngster as I walked down the streets at night, the street lights would go out and then come back on as I passed.  Probably a mere coincidence but after a while it was disturbing.  One of my friends in the park was a dowser and I asked if I could borrow his rods to locate the buried cable, which he did and showed me how to use them.  I arrived at the site and began walking the path of the new trench to be dug and soon the rods became active and then magically crossed.  I marked the spot and walked away, turned and reversed my travel.  They crossed again at the very same location, so I put out a flag and sprayed orange paint, marking the location.  The next morning, the contractor found the line exactly as marked.  Telling this to my wife who was visiting that weekend, she said I was full of it and she wanted to see for herself, so off we went. I walked the line and bang, the rods crossed right at the buried cable.  She said " I don't believe it, you must be manipulating it somehow".  I said "you try".  She took the rods and walked the line and nothing happened and she yelled "see".  I said just a minute and with her over the cable with the rods outstretched I came up behind her and with my thumbs and fingers pinched her ears, one in each hand and immediately the rods crossed.  Taking my fingers away, the rods went straight again.  She said "do that again", the same thing happened and she could only say "I can't believe it".  Ah to have the magical power.

The littlest goose

Tales from the Backyard…  Two friends from work wanted to go goose hunting with me so I took them to the marsh and after rowing out we covered the duck-boat with grass and waited.  The geese were flying about a half mile high that sun filled day so I just called and called hoping something would come our way.  Then suddenly, one goose dropped from the sky and headed straight for us.  The geese I had been shooting ranged about 20 or so pounds and are pretty big.  I told my friends to keep low and I would tell them when to shoot.  When the goose was what appeared to be the right distance, I said fire and they jumped up and began shooting.  The goose dropped about 10 feet in front of us and almost sank it had so much lead in it.  It was a Lesser Canadian and weighed only about 5 lbs, 15 when they finished shooting.  My calculation in distance slightly off.

Knott's Berry Farm

Tales from the Backyard…  One of the things my navy buddies and I liked to do on shore leave was to take the bus to Knott’s Berry Farm and cruise for girls.  It seemed to be a military thing to do as all branches were represented, all doing the same thing.  One night we met about a dozen Marines and were exchanging greetings when I asked one of them where he was from.  He replied, Texas, with that slow Texan drawl.  I said No kidding, I could sense the jabber around us quieting down, and then asked, What part?  He said in the same drawl, South Texas, and I said, What town? He replied, Austin, and then everyone was quiet and had moved in closer, wanting to hear two people from what seemed the same area, connect, so I said, No shit, what school did you go to?  And he said Austin High.  With each answer I grew more excited and I knew I had them all now so I said, What year?  And he replied, ’61, a No shit again and added, Did you play football?  Even the slow Texan was into it now, and said yah, and I said What Position? He said half back and I said, Me too.  Then he finally responded with his own inquiry by asking, Where did you go to school?  And I said in a slow Texan drawl,  “Minnesota” and the whole group burst out laughing, even the Texan.

California surfing

Tales from the Backyard…  In 1963, in the Navy, I was stationed in Long Beach CA and on my days off would go to Huntington Beach and hang out with friends and do body surfing.  I eventually made a body board which greatly improved and stretched out the rides. I had become very proficient and was always looking for that bigger wave and had heard of a great beach just north of San Diego.  So one day I hitched a ride south and tried it out.  It was called Scotchman’s cove and had huge waves, the only problem was they broke only at the beach, most beaches have two breaks, so you had to roll out before they crashed to the sand.  That day the surf was about 8 feet and I was having the time of my life.  As I was waiting for the next big set (the big waves come in threes at seven wave intervals), I saw a big wave coming and got myself ready.  The let the first go by and just as I started to swim and get up to speed, I saw that the wave had sucked out all the water in front of it and there was nothing but bare ground about ten feet straight down.  The wave had already crested and I tried to roll out but the wave just spit me forward and out of it and I crashed head first into the beach and then tons of water came crashing down on me and sucked me out into deep water.  Luckily I can hold my breath for a long time because this wave wanted to keep me.  Rolling into a ball,  I eventually surfaced and finally made it to shore, tired and sore and called it a day and headed back to the ship.  My one and only time to surf the cove, and life lesson, never surf alone.