Tag: adventures

Writing the recent post about our mockingbird jiggled loose some memories that had become crusted over with the dusts of time. Memories of another bird that I found to be very entertaining; Glitch, the African Grey Tierney parrot. Please forgive the quality of these photos, these are scans of old photograph prints.

Meet Glitch. In this photo he is fully grown and had become a well educated and sassy bird indeed. He had a vocabulary of over 100 words and phrases and what was amazing was the way he would use them to converse. For example; we also had two cats, Ratso and Bear. Bear liked to stretch up the base of Glitch’s platform like we has going to climb it. Glitch would lean over the edge of his platform and yell, “Get down, Bear, get down.” Of course he learned this from hearing me scold the cat in these situations. But he rarely used that phrase except when Bear was teasing him.   Continue reading “Parrot of the Past”

Our little patch of the planet, Dear Reader, has recently acquired the addition of a mockingbird. I count this as a good thing because I enjoy the sound of songbirds, and find the symphony of songbirds to which we are treated just at dawn each day very enjoyable.

Our regular compliment of performers includes squadrons of Gold Finches, Carolina Wrens, Tufted Titmice, Cardinals, Robins and a few Killdeer – although they are not so melodic as the others.  These woods are also home to many Downy Woodpeckers who skitter up and down trees as though gravity were of no consequence whatsoever, a gang of Blue Jays, who are rowdy bullies, several Red Tail Hawks (the primary reason we can’t raise chickens), and an increasing population of Pileated Woodpeckers – upon whom the Woody the Woodpecker character was based.  As large as a chicken (in fact folks around here refer to them as “Wood Hens”) their raucous laughter can be heard easily a quarter mile away.  Fortunately, they are not early risers.  Continue reading “He Whom the Mockingbird Mocks”

A while back Irwin Tools sent me a boxed set of three utility knives to test out and review.  One of these quickly became my de facto favorite knife and I carried it with me everywhere but to church.  For church I have a slim, 2” folder that fits discretely in the pocket of dress slacks.  About a week ago, my favorite knife came up missing: I had it earlier in the day, then it was gone.  I looked everywhere.  Marie looked everywhere.  We looked everywhere again.  Finally I decided it was just gone and I’d have to buy a replacement.  Not just because I liked the knife, but I needed it for a photo shoot for a magazine article I’m writing on knives.

But I procrastinated.

Then yesterday I was up in the play yard mowing.  I was running along the critter fence and had to push the fencing out a little with one hand to keep it from snagging on protuberances from the mower handle.  And there it was: hanging by its clip on the fence, about half way up.  Waiting patiently for me.

“Thank you Lord!”

On that fateful day I had been up here planting some packing grass because Marie thinks it will make an efficient ground cover to prevent erosion.  I must have brushed against the fence, along which I was planting the plugs, snagged the clip and lifted the knife right out of my side pocket. A pick-pocket fence!

When I came up to look (Marie too for that matter), we were looking at the ground.  Even moved the grass clumps around, but didn’t see it.

After hanging in a weeks’ worth of rain, the blade is badly rusted, but being a utility knife, the blade it is easily replaced – it has spares inside that did not get wet (even if I didn’t have 100,000 knife blades in a dispenser on the wall).  There is a little rust inside where steel bolts pass through the body, but some light oil and steel wool cleaned them up nicely.  Even the screwdriver tips escaped rusting.

So it’s another happy day here on the mountain!

Living in a semi-remote mountain area is a mixed blessing.

I call it a ‘blessing’ because it is primarily a good thing. It is for us at least. The beauty and grandeur of The Great Smoky Mountains region is breath taking. Especially at this time of year. The peaceful serenity here is blissful. And the people in these parts are truly the salt of the earth. Mostly descendent from Scotch-Irish immigrants who settled here during pre-civil war times, they have their quirks and peculiarities – like any one. They’re ‘Mountain Folk’ from way back. They have their own way of doing things and thinking about things. But if you take a little time to get to know them and don’t come in determined to “reform” them over night, they’ll welcome you into the fold and be some of the best friends you could possibly want. Continue reading “The Old Homestead: Life in the Mountains”

Hello Dear Reader! February 8^th is my birthday: Happy Birthday to me! Should you feel magnanimous enough to offer me a birthday gift, go here and tell the world what you think of this blog by leaving a review. I’d really appreciate that!

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During my early teen years my father encouraged me to join the Boy Scouts of America.  I believe he felt it would make me more receptive to the idea later on of following in his footsteps and joining the military.  It did not – sometimes I wish it had.  But I did learn quite a bit while in the Scouts and I met some nice people – and a few weird ones.

Because we were a military family and my father’s duties required us to move to a new location annually, I experienced life as a nomad.  As such, I got to taste life as a Scout in several different troops.  Most were large, one was very large; more like an army than a troop, and I did my exercises and assignments, I earned my badges and did my best to stay out of the way until we folded our family tent and wandered off to Dad’s next assignment.  I’ve never been very outgoing; I mean what’s the point, I’m going to move in a few months and just have to leave any friends I make behind; right?

But one troop was very different.  Mom, and my younger bother and sister and I were deposited at Lincoln Nebraska, where Mom & Dad’s family were while Dad went to do a year in Viet Nam.  The scout troop here was not an extension of a military base, not run like an ROTC program.  It was quite small in fact; maybe 20 guys between 12 and 18 years old.  The Scout Master; we will call him Mr. Preston, was very wise and quite cagy.  He taught me more about life in the year I was there than all the other troops did combined.  Not the least of which was something he told me once: “Today is the ‘good old days’ that you will look back on someday; enjoy them while you can.”

One of the merit badges I earned while with this troop was my Cold Camping badge.  To get it we had to prepare for and survive a minimum of three full days camped out – in tents – in weather that stays below 32 degrees.

One of the differences between this troop and the others was that when we went camping with Mr. Preston, we did not load our gear in a truck and board buses for the ride to the camp grounds.  We divided up the gear among the campers, strapped it all to our back packs and hiked – with everything we needed on our backs – to the camp ground.  If it was ten miles away, we hiked ten miles out and ten miles back.  This time, we hiked in the snow.

We brought good tents, we brought extra ground cloths, we brought heavy sleeping bags and enough of the proper clothing to “layer” so we could stay warm when inactive, yet be able to skinny down some while chopping wood or wrestling with bears.  I’m just kidding; we didn’t chop any wood – we beat the bears so THEY chopped the wood.    We set up the tents in a ring and built a good fire pit of stones and earth in the center.  We gathered LOTS of firewood! Continue reading “Cold Camping – An Unforgettable Scouting Experience”