Thursday, October 20, 2016


Pecan or Pecan

Most of my youth, and some of my adulthood, was spent on a small dairy farm.  At the time 316 acres seemed a giant of a place with fields, pastures, uncut woods, small streams (I still call them creeks), the barnyard and outbuildings and, of course, the old house we called home.  

In front... the front yard naturally, with a front porch and the living room which was a little hard to understand to me because it was reserved for visitors and Christmas.

on the west side back was the "Back door" which opened into the kitchen and was always the point of entry into the house.  For one thing it was closest to the driveway and more importantly to the dairy barn and every thing that happened.

 Directly across the driveway was three of the best things about living on a farm.

Two old pecan trees and one walnut tree forming a triangle  all of which were huge and possible planted in the late 1800's. They all three forked about 5 or 6 feet off the ground and were linked on two of the triangle sides with clothes line wire.

It was a magical place to play in when the sheets were hung on the line.  I could imagine myself anywhere my young mind could conceive.

Not every year, but, maybe every 3rd year the pecan trees would be loaded with nuts.  The walnut tree was sort of old fashioned and steadily provide black walnuts every year.  But the pecan trees were special.

 For one thing, well.. the every 3rd year thing, but mostly because of the fun of eating those wonderful nuts. And besides, the pecans were a lot easier to crack.

You see the walnuts would drop in their thick green husk which then turned black and would stain your skin clothes or anything else they came in contact with. So you either had to wait until that had decayed and then you could smack the nut with a hammer, or a rock if that was handy.  And then you better have a nail flattened on the end ( 8 penny nails were a perfect size.  While the pecan husks would open while on the tree and then drop those brown and black striped nuts which my mom and dad could crack easily in their hands and the meat would almost naturally fall out in two halves.  (better not use too much force though, or you'd crush the halves and would have to hunt and peck for the pieces.

It was a great time to be young and alive.

But, for all my 60 some odd years the controversy has raged.  Even before that and I'm sure even long into the future.

How do you pronounce the word Pecan?

I personally say pa Khan and others say Pee can.  

Each looks at the other as being backwoods or unlettered, perhaps putting on airs in an effort to be seen as superior to the other as if it were a matter of world shaking importance.  Perhaps ranking up there with whether to get a tattoo or not, maybe even as high as whether your drive a Ford or a Chevy.

Maybe it doesn't really matter.

Maybe it really only matters if you eat them in your brownies or your  scrumptious paKahn pie!  



Thursday, October 13, 2016

Why do I feel so confused?


 Did I take my happy pills this morning?

Have you found yourself asking questions like these of late?  Does down seem up and up seem down to you?  WTH is going on here?  Why don't I trust politicians or the msm as much as I used to.  Do you find yourself asking people, "What would uncle Walter Cronkite do"?

 Weren't we getting along with the Russians just a little while ago?  Didn't we say we would wipe ISIS from the scene?  

Did I go to sleep 5 years ago and wake to find the world inside out?

Weren't we supposed to find that our health insurance premiums would go down $2500?  With a better benefit package and all at the same Dr. as before?

 Folks, I have deliberately tried to distance myself from the world a bit.  Sit back and let it go on it's merry way.  Listen to the social engineers and be happy with the new found peace and contentment in my life.

Perhaps you too might be feeling a bit light headed after reading headlines like these,

 I don't know about you, but, I'm beginning to wonder if there is any sanity left, or, 

Maybe I need to talk to the doc about getting my dosage increased!

Sunday, October 02, 2016

White House wants to add new racial category 


 I note with a bit of head shaking that the minions in Washington want to add a new racial category for people from the middle east and north Africa.  
As that big headed kid from the comic strip used to say, 

"Good Grief!" 

Here's a novel idea.

Instead of trying to separate us all into warring factions.  Why don't we just start to refer to all people around the world, without regard to skin tone, shape of eyes or ears, language, big or small, short or tall, as simply HUMAN !

Or maybe even as brother or sister?   

Check out their spurious reasoning here:

Friday, September 16, 2016

It seems a strange thing

A very curious and strange thing that I have been privileged to witness the death of quite a few people during my time.

The strange part is the fact that I do feel privileged as opposed to grief, or sadness.   Certainly not happy in any way, and some I would take great pleasure in being able to once again enjoy their company and conversation... even their love.  To once again see their smiles and hear their stories.

But, I mean to say that I am glad, even if only for a moment, to have been touched by their lives.  Whether it was for good or ill.

I think the first death I was aware of was a young boy in my 6th grade class, Berven Chipley.  He and his brother we playing in the woods.  Their activity was finding dead pine trees that were still standing and if they could they'd push against them until they started rocking back and forth and snapped off.  Unfortunately on the last one when it snapped instead of falling away from them it snapped off and fell toward them.  His brother escaped, but a pine limb pierced him through the liver and pinned him to the ground.  

He'd seemed a happy boy with family that loved him.  While I was not close to him, nor attended his funeral, I marveled at the outpouring of grief and love my classmates expressed.  
My first glimpse of mortality.

The next followed soon after when my maternal Grandfather passed from stomach Cancer.  From a tall hale man he'd withered down to a shell of his former self, to the point that my mother could pick him up and turn him in his bed.  My Grandmother had started taking in borders to pay the bills when he got sick and she kept that up until dying many years later at the age of 75.  And I saw love and nurturing, caring, yes and grief, but an enduring spirit that always stuck with me.

A great uncle who died of leukemia not long after I'd married.

Young student pilots engaged in forbidded helicopter antics during flight school in Mineral Wells, Texas

Comrades-in-Arms in Vietnam.  Some by enemy action, many during acts of heroism, a couple by suicide, and two by stupidity.
Some were very close and dear to me and many I only knew because we served together.  All touched me more than I would recognize or admit for long years after.

And there were the enemy.  Quite a few I'm sure by my actions.
I learned to respect them.

So many through the years, for it seems that as the years go faster so to do the number of deaths that impact you pile up faster and faster.  And each one leaves it's mark.

My father in an accident, totally unexpected.  Grandmother, Grandfather, aunts and uncles.  My Mother after a long long struggle.

And along the way there were the animals; dogs, cats, cows, horses, and of course the animals that provided food.

I'd never been afraid of making the hard choice and even committed a few in great anger that it was necessary.  Maybe because in some way I caused it, or contributed to it.

But, now I'm faced with the, not possibility, but the certainty that my old dog, Gracie Mae, that Dalmatian, fur shedding, one blue eye and one brown, almost 19 years of happiness and joy of having me as her human is literally on her (I want to say last legs) but, the front two work fine.  And she gives the first impression of being much younger, as she runs to see me, begs for touching and petting pushing herself up against me, just for the pleasure it gives her seemingly to have me around.

I'm faced with the choice of keeping her around until she one day can't or won't be able to get up, or paying some veterinarian that doesn't know her to give a final injection, or do it myself in a somewhat more brutal, but almost Viking send off.  Which thing I have done many times..

But this time. 


Sunday, May 31, 2015

And sometimes stuff happens

A quiet day here in the pecan orchard.  Eschewing church for the opportunity to wash, dry and fold some laundry..........floors got mopped the deck cleared of oak detritus the tree rats insist on causing to fall.
The old spotted dog even got washed.  Which came as quiet a surprise to her.

When the cabin fever got too bad I drove over to a buddy's and helped him put a new radiator in a Crown Vic he's been trying to get running, while waiting for a title to be found.  Nice former police care but hasn't been running in a while.  Supposedly all that was wrong with it was the radiator was leaking. Based solely  on the fact that it over heated on a drive to town.  And the previous owner telling the same story.

Anyhoo the radiator got changed out with only a small amount of skin and blood lost.

Crank the Car.  Start filling radiator...........everything sounds good........but it sure seems to take a lot of water.  Look under the car to see if anything can be seen.

Water running out as fast as going in.  Oh, probably heater core he thinks.  So we bypass the heater core.  Surely this will fix it.  Try it again.......


Probably a cracked block.....

I quietly exit the neighborhood before he can get it jacked up and goes ballistic.

Sometimes you just don't get a break.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

First tentative steps back into the Interwebz 

Welcome back to the world of the semi-concious.  Just over two years have passed since I put anything out to the world.  Lots has gone on. Most of it not worth explaining.

Couple of things stick out:

1.  I don't care to be a part of the populace that keeps the current system in place as far as my God-given rights are concerned.  I'll watch and perhaps comment if I just can't help myself, but, for the most part, consider what happens in Washington, DC, HollyshitWood, and things reported by the MSM as something beneath notice most days.

2.  I'll try to give you a taste of rural life and the efforts I'm making to make things grow around here.


Monday, May 27, 2013

Memorial Day 2013

A gentle lesson.

Some congratulate Veterans on Memorial Day.

I worked behind the shop and mowed the entire lawn today.

And thought............

Of all the barbeques and boats bobbing in the lake and all the bottles and cans of beer Consumed...

but, I didn't think much on them.

Please in no way take the next words as rebuke.  I was honored to serve my country as I thought I understood it and the Constitution we took oath to defend.  I am honored that you think of me as hero.  I will always try to be that for you as much as I know how.  My time as soldier marked me forever, ill or good.  Contributed to what and how I am today.  I have an ever greater appreciation of that as the days go by.

But, Memorial day, I'm afraid, will always be a time of sadness somewhat for me, for it is not just the barbeques, or the parades and the politicians high sounding blathering s to masses of ignorant sheeple.  Not stupid people, but people who yearn to have someone tell them what to think and do

Rather, I remember the dead I personally know and those I never knew, except through stories and histories, personal accounts of people who did know and serve with them, before my time and now in wars and conflicts both known and unknown, who believed and believe they were/are doing something required and right, whether it is/was or not, whether it truly made a difference, or not.

I remember the mother and father I had to inform that their precious son was not just missing, but gone.  Obliterated as if he had never been in the front seat of that Cobra, never ran home from school with excitement to tell of what he had learned that day, never taken his first turn behind the wheel of the family car, mother or father nervously watching, hoping he'd never be in an accident where they were not there to guide and counsel him out of the danger zone.
Remember those I saw fall, salute the boots and helmets, grief for the lose of their camaraderie, shameful for the relief that........there but for the grace of God.........

Mine not the only story, only out of all the hundreds of thousands. 

Stories we should remember with sadness and pride, not only on Memorial Day, but each and every day.