I need to tell about some of the dangers of using poison underground to kill gophers.
In the spring time it was our practice to culivate the fields of alfalfa which envigorated the alfalfa growth it seemed and also killed the first weed which sprouted. For lots of reasons better left alon at this time.
I would use what we called "Spring toothed Harrow. It would sink into the ground a few insches or more and the spring action would loosen the soil and dig out the first sprouted weeds and seeds. Also it would level the gpoher hills down so it was easier and better for mowing.
The sprig tines would sink deep enough to uncover dead gopher bodies which now are shriveled and dried out. The bodies were killed by the pooson and in all cases the gopher had a pouch fup of the BB sized poisoned millet. The millet was treated so that it wouldn't sprout I think.
One morning when I was busy cultivting my little dog name Taffy was out following the tractor. She usually rode the tractor with me and we were inseperable. When I saw a mouse running, I'd point at it and she would jump off and catch the mouse.
This morning was different. When she was following the tractor I noticed that she was walking erratically--really strange. I jumped to the right conclusion--that she was really chewing on a dead gopher and ingested some of the millet poison. I stopped the tractor and picked her up and she went into a convulsion right in my arms--she was a total charlie horse--stiff. I put the tractor in high gear and when I ran into the hous ei yelled to call the VET quick. He said, "Bring her down we'll put her to sleep" --Holy cow --I was losing a very fvorite pet. I rushed down to the vet who was waiting and I though that it was the end. He did put her to sleep because strychnine causes such conviulsions and causes the heart beat to go wild. It was in the nick of time. He gave her a shot in the leg and she went limp--out like a light. I still though that my dog was dead. The Vet told me to go homw and come back in the morning. I did just tha. I was greeted by the gog which was almost normal but when I touched her it was like an electric shock. The Vet aid, "Don;t do that or I'll keep her another night". I wondered why, and he told me what the effects of stychnine was. She would still be touchy for days. And she was.
There was anothe time like this. but I'll save it for another paragraph.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Cynthia was scared of air planes
While I am thinking about Cynthia , it brings to mind the time I flew over the house.Wait till I explain a little.
The AIRCRAFT APPLICATORS and I had a little dispute over the size of the acreage he just sprayed.They charged by the acre --and zoom there goes some more charges. So I went to the airport and talked to Nelson who was a pilot in the Guard ( a Colonel) but had a business of applying insecticides on fields. In this case it was an alfalfa field. WE had an aerial map to compare known acreages but we couldn't agree. So he said," Let's go see". "Hop in the plane and you can even drive"--Ha! dirve? But I did have enough confidence in myself to believe I could actually fly that Cub PLane.
I sat in the front seat. The engine whirled and we were taxi ing down the run way. I was watching every one of his moves and also watched the position of the tail and flaps to get aquainted with the plane in case he challenged me to fly--for the first time ever.How many guys are like that?
We were airborne. I was all dressed up in a nice clean suntan sort of suit. I was beginning to worry about sir sickness--but by golly I was holding out pretty well.
Finally we reached our farm and we made a few passes over the acreage in question. Then I asked Nelson to make a dive over our house. Outside the kids were playing--I could see them. We dove really close to the light pole and I threw out my cap and hollered and whistled. They had no idea I was in the plane. They wondered who the dickens was the goofy pilot who was scaring the kids.
Then I told Gene, the pilot, to get back as quick as he could because I was about to erupt. We climbed back up and suddenly he swooped low again because we were in the airlane of the daily flights of that day to Spokane. Gene was a wise well informed pilot I could see.
But that last swoop was "it"!! I quickly pulled out my clean bandana and I urped it all up--That morning for breakfast I ate heartily of Cantaloupe and I filled that bandana up . It was a savior as far as messing the front seat up with urpings.
THe result of the swooping over the house scared Cynthia so bad that when ever a plane would fly near the house she'd run into the house. I somehow couldn't explain to her that it was my cap she recovered and ME in that plane yelling my greetings to them.
Speaking of being affected by airplanes--it goes back to when my brother John gave us a collie pup. It had Australian Shepard sheep dog markings and a long collie nose. I didn't want another dog of that type but John had a big litter of odd pups and he gave it to one of the girls for a Birthday present--how do you refuse a birthday present? She turned out to be a really goofy dog. When Chink would be digging after a gopher she'd be cheering him on and jumping up biting the dirt he was tossing with his paw. He'd dig down deep enough to hide his body till he got the gopher. FiFi was the name of the collie--I wondered how she was ever named that. Imagine me hollering for "FIFI" out in the field. She was so very unruly.
Once I had to give the dog worm medicine. I saw signs that she had an infestation of worms-it is a common occurance in pups and can really be deadly and ugly for all to see--including the dog. When you give the dog worm medicine a person has to watch to see if the medication is effective--you do that by observing the pile after she unloads, to see if there are worms being expelled. In this case I went over to see the pile--( you know what I mean I'll bet) and sure enough she was eliminating worms in great numbers. BUT also I noticed that she had been eating too much sand and dirt from sheering Chink on while he dug holes seeking to eat a gopher ( he loved to eat gophers).The odor of the poop was terrible even out in a field!! So FIFI was now an active goofy dog which somehow tried to calch an airplane when it flew over. She had a special trail through the alfalfa to run after a plane which flew over. I asked sometimes, what would she do if she caught one?
I'll tell of gophers and Chink. When Chink was a pup I'd take him out in the fields where I would set traps to catch gophers which populated the fields in really great numbers. Trapping then was the only way to eliminate gophers which could cut down a new planting of trees. They would chew the new roots to kill the tree . The root looked like carrot and as sharp as a pencil.
We later learned to poison them by injecting underground with a machine which made a burrow. It was pulled by a tractor. Poisoned carrots were first used dropped into the tunnel which when it crossed a gophers domain, the gopher would wonder which other gopher is entering his domain--They are territorial animals. The gopher would follow the new tunnel and find the poisoned carrots which to them is a delicacy--later we used poisoned millet ( a grain the size of a bb) . The poison had a sweet smell and attracted the gopher which then caried a pouch full to his den--.IN the mean time the poison would get into his blood stream and finally kill him. It was a successful mass eleimination of the field of rodents
But before some one invented that method trapping was the normal way of eliminating a gopher infestation . They multiplied like rabbits and it was an impossible job to rid all of them.
When I would set a trap, Chink was very interested and watched me. I would leave the trap which I marked with a stake in the ground. I bought hundreds of traps in those days.
The next morning I would go check my traps and find the trap on th ground with no gopher--but there was a telltale piece of gopher meat or fur on the trap . Chink would go out to check the traps and eat them before I could have the pleasure of counting all the gophers I caught.
I'll tell more in another story about gophers.
The AIRCRAFT APPLICATORS and I had a little dispute over the size of the acreage he just sprayed.They charged by the acre --and zoom there goes some more charges. So I went to the airport and talked to Nelson who was a pilot in the Guard ( a Colonel) but had a business of applying insecticides on fields. In this case it was an alfalfa field. WE had an aerial map to compare known acreages but we couldn't agree. So he said," Let's go see". "Hop in the plane and you can even drive"--Ha! dirve? But I did have enough confidence in myself to believe I could actually fly that Cub PLane.
I sat in the front seat. The engine whirled and we were taxi ing down the run way. I was watching every one of his moves and also watched the position of the tail and flaps to get aquainted with the plane in case he challenged me to fly--for the first time ever.How many guys are like that?
We were airborne. I was all dressed up in a nice clean suntan sort of suit. I was beginning to worry about sir sickness--but by golly I was holding out pretty well.
Finally we reached our farm and we made a few passes over the acreage in question. Then I asked Nelson to make a dive over our house. Outside the kids were playing--I could see them. We dove really close to the light pole and I threw out my cap and hollered and whistled. They had no idea I was in the plane. They wondered who the dickens was the goofy pilot who was scaring the kids.
Then I told Gene, the pilot, to get back as quick as he could because I was about to erupt. We climbed back up and suddenly he swooped low again because we were in the airlane of the daily flights of that day to Spokane. Gene was a wise well informed pilot I could see.
But that last swoop was "it"!! I quickly pulled out my clean bandana and I urped it all up--That morning for breakfast I ate heartily of Cantaloupe and I filled that bandana up . It was a savior as far as messing the front seat up with urpings.
THe result of the swooping over the house scared Cynthia so bad that when ever a plane would fly near the house she'd run into the house. I somehow couldn't explain to her that it was my cap she recovered and ME in that plane yelling my greetings to them.
Speaking of being affected by airplanes--it goes back to when my brother John gave us a collie pup. It had Australian Shepard sheep dog markings and a long collie nose. I didn't want another dog of that type but John had a big litter of odd pups and he gave it to one of the girls for a Birthday present--how do you refuse a birthday present? She turned out to be a really goofy dog. When Chink would be digging after a gopher she'd be cheering him on and jumping up biting the dirt he was tossing with his paw. He'd dig down deep enough to hide his body till he got the gopher. FiFi was the name of the collie--I wondered how she was ever named that. Imagine me hollering for "FIFI" out in the field. She was so very unruly.
Once I had to give the dog worm medicine. I saw signs that she had an infestation of worms-it is a common occurance in pups and can really be deadly and ugly for all to see--including the dog. When you give the dog worm medicine a person has to watch to see if the medication is effective--you do that by observing the pile after she unloads, to see if there are worms being expelled. In this case I went over to see the pile--( you know what I mean I'll bet) and sure enough she was eliminating worms in great numbers. BUT also I noticed that she had been eating too much sand and dirt from sheering Chink on while he dug holes seeking to eat a gopher ( he loved to eat gophers).The odor of the poop was terrible even out in a field!! So FIFI was now an active goofy dog which somehow tried to calch an airplane when it flew over. She had a special trail through the alfalfa to run after a plane which flew over. I asked sometimes, what would she do if she caught one?
I'll tell of gophers and Chink. When Chink was a pup I'd take him out in the fields where I would set traps to catch gophers which populated the fields in really great numbers. Trapping then was the only way to eliminate gophers which could cut down a new planting of trees. They would chew the new roots to kill the tree . The root looked like carrot and as sharp as a pencil.
We later learned to poison them by injecting underground with a machine which made a burrow. It was pulled by a tractor. Poisoned carrots were first used dropped into the tunnel which when it crossed a gophers domain, the gopher would wonder which other gopher is entering his domain--They are territorial animals. The gopher would follow the new tunnel and find the poisoned carrots which to them is a delicacy--later we used poisoned millet ( a grain the size of a bb) . The poison had a sweet smell and attracted the gopher which then caried a pouch full to his den--.IN the mean time the poison would get into his blood stream and finally kill him. It was a successful mass eleimination of the field of rodents
But before some one invented that method trapping was the normal way of eliminating a gopher infestation . They multiplied like rabbits and it was an impossible job to rid all of them.
When I would set a trap, Chink was very interested and watched me. I would leave the trap which I marked with a stake in the ground. I bought hundreds of traps in those days.
The next morning I would go check my traps and find the trap on th ground with no gopher--but there was a telltale piece of gopher meat or fur on the trap . Chink would go out to check the traps and eat them before I could have the pleasure of counting all the gophers I caught.
I'll tell more in another story about gophers.
the day Cyunthia was born
Of course I kept worrying about when the 'time' would come so I hovered around the house as much as farm work would provide. I think we were harvesting alfalfa seed --even this late in the year.
All of a sudden it was TIME to go. I think we still had the Belair Chev then, and now I wonder who stayed at home with the kids--was it Lois" or was that a school day? see, my memory is a bit dim on this, but I do remember we took the bumpy short cut through the neighbors property and their Yard--.I had to be careful about hitting the bumps in the road.
We finally got on a county road which was good gravel and was heading toward Sunnyside hospital through a lot of farm steads. We still didn't have a name for Cynthia--I told this story so many times, I wonder if I am repeating myself--yes I am--it is indelibly implanted in my mind.
IN those days there was a womens club made up of farm wives--of all names they called it the "Cy_CO " club. I guess that was a 'run' on words for the fun of it. They made stuff like doilies and Afgahns etc--it was a sewing circle I guess-- that best describes it--or a gossip club.
Anyway we drove right by the ladies house who started the club Her name was Cynthia Copeland. The name was in large black letters on the mail box--and we drove slowly by enough to see it stand out . It was almost automatic, that we would name the girl "Cynthia"--Just like that--I don't remember if we had a masculine name or not at that time because in those days there was no way to know if the baby would be a boy or girl. I thinks it's best to be surprised.
So the birth went off uneventfully I guess--y'see, I didn't dare to watch--I didn't see ANY of the kids born. I think I would have been traumatized. I think it would "cure me".
So, when we brought Cynthia home I thought she looked like Ike Eisenhower the president--bald and all. We have some--a lot --of baby pictures to prove it too.
Cynthia had a good appetite and I remember her digging into the bowl which was the last part of Gramma's Meat ball concoction--she stood up on the chair and reached over with the big spoon in her hand and was scooping out the remnants of the meat balls concoction. See , I call it a 'concoction' because it was a one dish meal--with bread of course.
I gotta add this--I always prayed that my family would be all musically inclined so the time came for Cynthia to learn an accordion. So I enrolled her in a school of accordion and she was really doing fine. Then it came time to graduate into a larger accordion. I knew a neighbor whose daughter quit and he wanted to get rid of the accordion. So one day he asked me to bale his hay. I had to do it at night because I had other farm work to do in the day. Ii was a hot day and in the evening it was cool enough to go down to the field in a shirtsleeves. The field was bigger than I thought and I worked all night to finish the field and I was frozen stiff by the time the last bale was dropped. Anyway, Gramma got worried and came down to the field as I was wrapping up. She had a jacket for me I think because I drove the tractor home to have a breakfast at last.
NOW rather than to take money, I settled as payment for that baling job taking his accordion as full and final payment--a couple hunderd dollars.
CYnthia played several months and in concerts held by the Teacher. I was soo proud and also a bit jealous that she was playing better than I could play.
Then the world ended--that accordion world--Cynthia quit. Pow--I was shot and still in a fit of remorse because Cynthia is very very musically talened in spite of her name--Ha! she has a beautiful voice-to go along with an accordion--like Joan Castle on Lawrence Welks show---ask her to sing--go ahead.
So Cynthia , when you read this, operate on my heart strings and cure the longing I have to hear you again play the accordion. On bended knee--I ask--no I am at the type writer--and I am too old now to kneel--. If you do play me, get me a bath towel for my tears.
BUT with all that said, she, Cynthia is and was a hard working intelligent girl and I couldn't have ever thought of a better name than CINTYDOLL. Read the story where she drove my old army truck when we were picking up baled hay. She could hardly see over the steering wheel and standing on th seat. What a girl.
All of a sudden it was TIME to go. I think we still had the Belair Chev then, and now I wonder who stayed at home with the kids--was it Lois" or was that a school day? see, my memory is a bit dim on this, but I do remember we took the bumpy short cut through the neighbors property and their Yard--.I had to be careful about hitting the bumps in the road.
We finally got on a county road which was good gravel and was heading toward Sunnyside hospital through a lot of farm steads. We still didn't have a name for Cynthia--I told this story so many times, I wonder if I am repeating myself--yes I am--it is indelibly implanted in my mind.
IN those days there was a womens club made up of farm wives--of all names they called it the "Cy_CO " club. I guess that was a 'run' on words for the fun of it. They made stuff like doilies and Afgahns etc--it was a sewing circle I guess-- that best describes it--or a gossip club.
Anyway we drove right by the ladies house who started the club Her name was Cynthia Copeland. The name was in large black letters on the mail box--and we drove slowly by enough to see it stand out . It was almost automatic, that we would name the girl "Cynthia"--Just like that--I don't remember if we had a masculine name or not at that time because in those days there was no way to know if the baby would be a boy or girl. I thinks it's best to be surprised.
So the birth went off uneventfully I guess--y'see, I didn't dare to watch--I didn't see ANY of the kids born. I think I would have been traumatized. I think it would "cure me".
So, when we brought Cynthia home I thought she looked like Ike Eisenhower the president--bald and all. We have some--a lot --of baby pictures to prove it too.
Cynthia had a good appetite and I remember her digging into the bowl which was the last part of Gramma's Meat ball concoction--she stood up on the chair and reached over with the big spoon in her hand and was scooping out the remnants of the meat balls concoction. See , I call it a 'concoction' because it was a one dish meal--with bread of course.
I gotta add this--I always prayed that my family would be all musically inclined so the time came for Cynthia to learn an accordion. So I enrolled her in a school of accordion and she was really doing fine. Then it came time to graduate into a larger accordion. I knew a neighbor whose daughter quit and he wanted to get rid of the accordion. So one day he asked me to bale his hay. I had to do it at night because I had other farm work to do in the day. Ii was a hot day and in the evening it was cool enough to go down to the field in a shirtsleeves. The field was bigger than I thought and I worked all night to finish the field and I was frozen stiff by the time the last bale was dropped. Anyway, Gramma got worried and came down to the field as I was wrapping up. She had a jacket for me I think because I drove the tractor home to have a breakfast at last.
NOW rather than to take money, I settled as payment for that baling job taking his accordion as full and final payment--a couple hunderd dollars.
CYnthia played several months and in concerts held by the Teacher. I was soo proud and also a bit jealous that she was playing better than I could play.
Then the world ended--that accordion world--Cynthia quit. Pow--I was shot and still in a fit of remorse because Cynthia is very very musically talened in spite of her name--Ha! she has a beautiful voice-to go along with an accordion--like Joan Castle on Lawrence Welks show---ask her to sing--go ahead.
So Cynthia , when you read this, operate on my heart strings and cure the longing I have to hear you again play the accordion. On bended knee--I ask--no I am at the type writer--and I am too old now to kneel--. If you do play me, get me a bath towel for my tears.
BUT with all that said, she, Cynthia is and was a hard working intelligent girl and I couldn't have ever thought of a better name than CINTYDOLL. Read the story where she drove my old army truck when we were picking up baled hay. She could hardly see over the steering wheel and standing on th seat. What a girl.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Mickey's Picture
Be sure when you read these stories to go to some of the very first stories, namely the one titled "The Kissing Tree". You'll see a picture of Mickey. I was re-reading some of my stories the other day and saw that picture and fell in love all over again, she was so beautiful. Still is.
Halloween Tricks and Kerosene
When Halloween came to our place, we didn't have any tricks or treats. The only thing we ever did that I can remember was to get a piece of carbite chalk and drawing a big pumpkin on the screen door on the front of the house, a jack-o-lantern with eyes.
We heard about the neighbor kids getting together and taking the wheels off a buggy and putting it on top of a barn and reassembling it up there, and the old farmer coming out and seeing his buggy up on top of his barn. I can tell you there were probably some cuss words said.
They also would move an out house away from the hole so when you walked out of it you'd fall in the hole.
That'd have to be done by kids with lots of time on their hands. I never got involved in that. I was too nice a boy (well, a nice boy at least, the 'too' is kind of questionable).
Having kerosene lamps maximized and minimized the days and the nights. The lamp would be sat on the table for eating. We didn't sit up late reading, it would have been wasteful of the light. We were early to bed and early to rise. But it was because kerosene cost 25 cents a gallon and would last about a month. The main use for kerosene was for the lantern kept out in the barn, hung on a nail, which would help you see while you did the night time milking. You still couldn't see much, and you'd need to feel around a bit, but so long as you knew where the cow teats were, where the manure was, and which end it came out of so you could steer clear from it, you would be ok! Kerosene was kept corked with a potato.
We heard about the neighbor kids getting together and taking the wheels off a buggy and putting it on top of a barn and reassembling it up there, and the old farmer coming out and seeing his buggy up on top of his barn. I can tell you there were probably some cuss words said.
They also would move an out house away from the hole so when you walked out of it you'd fall in the hole.
That'd have to be done by kids with lots of time on their hands. I never got involved in that. I was too nice a boy (well, a nice boy at least, the 'too' is kind of questionable).
Having kerosene lamps maximized and minimized the days and the nights. The lamp would be sat on the table for eating. We didn't sit up late reading, it would have been wasteful of the light. We were early to bed and early to rise. But it was because kerosene cost 25 cents a gallon and would last about a month. The main use for kerosene was for the lantern kept out in the barn, hung on a nail, which would help you see while you did the night time milking. You still couldn't see much, and you'd need to feel around a bit, but so long as you knew where the cow teats were, where the manure was, and which end it came out of so you could steer clear from it, you would be ok! Kerosene was kept corked with a potato.
BB Gun
When we were kids, Donald and I traded the .22 we had bought from the Roseburg kids for 50 cents to Albert Bozich, my cousin, for a BB gun. The BB gun had already been used a lot and the stock was broken off, but it was our only chance of having a BB gun like our brother John had. BB's cost money, and when you bought a nickel's worth, you might get 100-200 BB's in a small container. We ran out of BB's and we discovered that tiny rocks (about the size of the BB) would work just as well firing out of the gun. However the rocks not being symmetrically perfect it was a slightly erratic shot. For passing time away while Ma was cooking we would find enough rocks to bring in the house and we thought, well BB guns can't kill birds so these rocks can't do much damage. Donald and I had a challenge to see who could stand the sting from the gun. The only thing we would allow to be shot was the bare foot (we were mostly bare footed anyhow). I was a better shot than Donald and he'd yell a little bit.
I can remember like it was yesterday, sitting on the floor holding my knee up, my bare foot ready for him to shoot out, looking through my toes at the barrel of the BB gun. He fired and it missed my foot and hit me right next to the eye!
That was the end of that experiment!
I don't know exactly what happened to that BB gun. It probably got thrown down the well. If the new owner of the house were to dig up the well, he'd probably find it.
I think I was crazier for guns than Donald was. My mother always told a story about 'killaself' and I wondered what she was talking about. Apparently when I was a little boy I would bang a little cap pistol into my head and say "Killaself! Killaself!" I don't know what I was thinking - just a kid I guess!
A Dick Tracy story told about a prisoner in a cell asking for a large potato. They gave it to him and he carved a replica of a gun. He asked for iodine and poured it on the potato and used that to scare the guard into escaping. I was always intrigued by guns, even from the old Dick Tracy columns.
I can remember like it was yesterday, sitting on the floor holding my knee up, my bare foot ready for him to shoot out, looking through my toes at the barrel of the BB gun. He fired and it missed my foot and hit me right next to the eye!
That was the end of that experiment!
I don't know exactly what happened to that BB gun. It probably got thrown down the well. If the new owner of the house were to dig up the well, he'd probably find it.
I think I was crazier for guns than Donald was. My mother always told a story about 'killaself' and I wondered what she was talking about. Apparently when I was a little boy I would bang a little cap pistol into my head and say "Killaself! Killaself!" I don't know what I was thinking - just a kid I guess!
A Dick Tracy story told about a prisoner in a cell asking for a large potato. They gave it to him and he carved a replica of a gun. He asked for iodine and poured it on the potato and used that to scare the guard into escaping. I was always intrigued by guns, even from the old Dick Tracy columns.
WWII Oral History
I've finally been asked to provide an oral history of my experiences during WWII. In the past visits Kelley came over and set up a camera for me to sit in front of, trying to remember as best I could in chronological order (but most likely not) my experiences. There are many stories in between words that are not able to be put to words, so a readers (or listeners) imagination will need to serve them well. If you hear Oliver North's war stories you know the hazards of war. Some cameramen have actually taken some pretty vivid scenes and it makes me regret that I did not have a video camera with me, although I probably would have been shot in the head using it because I would have been concentrating on getting a shot instead of not exposing myself.
So, this enabled me to get some sort of closure to repeat my history for others to hear during a time when I am not here. I fully appreciate my grand daughter's interest and time in doing this. We also have a project of 16mm film from when I came home up until video cameras became more fancy. Someday I want to set up my projector for the old film and not necessarily edit, but transfer to DVD for use in the future.
Well, this answers the question "What have you been doing lately?" I've been providing an oral account of my history.
So, this enabled me to get some sort of closure to repeat my history for others to hear during a time when I am not here. I fully appreciate my grand daughter's interest and time in doing this. We also have a project of 16mm film from when I came home up until video cameras became more fancy. Someday I want to set up my projector for the old film and not necessarily edit, but transfer to DVD for use in the future.
Well, this answers the question "What have you been doing lately?" I've been providing an oral account of my history.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
1st time climbing Mt. Peoh
I was asked about the first time I ever climbed Mt. Peoh-- the mountain by my old home where I was born.
First I must tell you that it is the most prominent of the mountains on the south side of Cle Elum--. It was supposed to have been named after an Indian Chief---I never met him although I am almost old enough to have known him. Also the name Cle Elum is supposed to be an Indian word for rushing river. This mountain wouldn't be able to compete with the altitudes of the Alps although parts of the face is almost as difficult to scale as the Matterhorn. That's my personal view.
You might not know that Croatia and Slovenia are situated in very mountainous country. Close to the Alps. Hiking and climbing is a favorite pastine of the people there. But really not for me--I can't claim the DNA of a mountain climber, although my Uncle could--.He had a yen to climb that mountain every time he visited our place which is right at the foot of this big rock.
My uncles name was Anton(Tony) Kauzlaurich. He was married to my aunt who was my father's sister named Julianna--we called her Teta Yoola. And Tony Kauzlarich was mostly known by his nick name of "Stovrak". Now in the translation of that nick name ,I can hardly beileve it to be true--My Uncle was a docile handsome man like a movie star actually. The nick name means that he has the wrath of a hundred devils. Sto -vrak--. I never ever heard anyone dare to call him by his nick name.
So on one of the visits, he said " Ve klime it mountain" . My brother John was 3 years older than I am and was very willing to go--and I wanted the experience too. BUT I was just somewheres about 7 years old--. I don't know the exact date but I do know that Uncle Stovrak had a brand new 1928 model A ford. I would have been 6 years old at that date--and my aunt and uncle made frequent visits to show off the shiny spotless Model "A".
With no lunch and no water, and no other climbing gear and I am most likely to have been bare footed, we hiked to the base of the mountain and began scaling the big rocks one by one. Now and then a rock would tumble down and crash into the trees below. The mountain became steeper and steeper and now it was a life or death matter. Looking down at the old farm scared me to death and about half way up I froze in place when I thought I would fall backwards and to my death like those tumbling rocks. Uncle Tony now, comforted me and John teased me for being a chicken. One rock and another . I mean these rocks were as big as a pickup truck--and each one had to be scaled. Often times a foot would become wedged in the crevices of a rock and that was a reason to bawl. I can't remember becoming thirsty but that had to have been a problem and there was no water in sight and we didn't bring any at all. We did stop at the spring at the base of the mountain for a last big drink of icy mountain spring water.
There were several routes which could have been taken to be an easier climb. I had no opinion on which route. But Stovrak, picked a route where there were now a few trees. It was easier to grab a limb or a bush now for stability. I don't know how much moisture I lost by crying but finally we came to the top. It was like climbing over a wall--very steep and a slip on this last foot of travel would have been a fatal error. It was over. And I was so happy to be now out of danger and in the pangs of thirst and hunger. Looking all that distance down on the old farm--thousands of feet--I don't know the exact elevation. But to me is was the top of the world. We could see for miles both ways almost to Ellensburg. We were over looking the cities of South Cle Elum and the whole city of Cle Elum--we could also see the lakes and the mines in the opposite direction.
Now --how to get down? I worried about how will we unclimb that mountain--I mean--do we have to go over that last rock wall? and maybe tumble down like a rock?
No. The decision was made to go down the easy way--down the back and side of the mountain following forest service trails and old deer runs and to where there was a spring and water to drink to quench our thirsts.
I will try to post a picture of my Uncle Stovrak. You will see that he is the dead ringer for Tom Selec. The movie star.
I climbed that mountain face again sometime later with better equipment--I mean lunch and water. and shoes. I have also been to the top many times going the easy route . I hunted every rock and rill and forest. I knew where every spring was running. I loved mountin water. I would lay down on my belly and like an animal I would drink right from the flowing water. I could also see tiny bugs and tiny worms so that I could avoid them. I didn't worry about e coli in those days. We all knew that wild animals would walk through these creeks and even deficate in the water and urinate --but water in the mountains purifies after it runs over the rocks for ahwile. Thirst has no bounds.
Now the mountain has been desecrated. How? by the power line over the base of it for the first thing, then hauling rocks off the face, then people have begun to populate areas where we once hunted. Building resort homes, I think..To make matters worse, now there are No trespassing signs all over--it is closed for me to go any place where I once was free to go hunting for grouse or deer or elk. I wanted to own that mountain--to preserve it--but I didn't have a dime to buy any part of it. In my heart, it is MINE.
ON the peak right where we made it over the top, they have built a communications tower. Prior to that was a forest service lookout station. From that position the whole valley was scrutinized for the tiniest smoke arising from a potential forest fire. I was a nesessity, I know that, but still it disturbed my tranquility.
I wont ever be able to climb that mountain again but I think I would know where every small rill of water emerged. UNLESS there were no trespassing signs in the way.
First I must tell you that it is the most prominent of the mountains on the south side of Cle Elum--. It was supposed to have been named after an Indian Chief---I never met him although I am almost old enough to have known him. Also the name Cle Elum is supposed to be an Indian word for rushing river. This mountain wouldn't be able to compete with the altitudes of the Alps although parts of the face is almost as difficult to scale as the Matterhorn. That's my personal view.
You might not know that Croatia and Slovenia are situated in very mountainous country. Close to the Alps. Hiking and climbing is a favorite pastine of the people there. But really not for me--I can't claim the DNA of a mountain climber, although my Uncle could--.He had a yen to climb that mountain every time he visited our place which is right at the foot of this big rock.
My uncles name was Anton(Tony) Kauzlaurich. He was married to my aunt who was my father's sister named Julianna--we called her Teta Yoola. And Tony Kauzlarich was mostly known by his nick name of "Stovrak". Now in the translation of that nick name ,I can hardly beileve it to be true--My Uncle was a docile handsome man like a movie star actually. The nick name means that he has the wrath of a hundred devils. Sto -vrak--. I never ever heard anyone dare to call him by his nick name.
So on one of the visits, he said " Ve klime it mountain" . My brother John was 3 years older than I am and was very willing to go--and I wanted the experience too. BUT I was just somewheres about 7 years old--. I don't know the exact date but I do know that Uncle Stovrak had a brand new 1928 model A ford. I would have been 6 years old at that date--and my aunt and uncle made frequent visits to show off the shiny spotless Model "A".
With no lunch and no water, and no other climbing gear and I am most likely to have been bare footed, we hiked to the base of the mountain and began scaling the big rocks one by one. Now and then a rock would tumble down and crash into the trees below. The mountain became steeper and steeper and now it was a life or death matter. Looking down at the old farm scared me to death and about half way up I froze in place when I thought I would fall backwards and to my death like those tumbling rocks. Uncle Tony now, comforted me and John teased me for being a chicken. One rock and another . I mean these rocks were as big as a pickup truck--and each one had to be scaled. Often times a foot would become wedged in the crevices of a rock and that was a reason to bawl. I can't remember becoming thirsty but that had to have been a problem and there was no water in sight and we didn't bring any at all. We did stop at the spring at the base of the mountain for a last big drink of icy mountain spring water.
There were several routes which could have been taken to be an easier climb. I had no opinion on which route. But Stovrak, picked a route where there were now a few trees. It was easier to grab a limb or a bush now for stability. I don't know how much moisture I lost by crying but finally we came to the top. It was like climbing over a wall--very steep and a slip on this last foot of travel would have been a fatal error. It was over. And I was so happy to be now out of danger and in the pangs of thirst and hunger. Looking all that distance down on the old farm--thousands of feet--I don't know the exact elevation. But to me is was the top of the world. We could see for miles both ways almost to Ellensburg. We were over looking the cities of South Cle Elum and the whole city of Cle Elum--we could also see the lakes and the mines in the opposite direction.
Now --how to get down? I worried about how will we unclimb that mountain--I mean--do we have to go over that last rock wall? and maybe tumble down like a rock?
No. The decision was made to go down the easy way--down the back and side of the mountain following forest service trails and old deer runs and to where there was a spring and water to drink to quench our thirsts.
I will try to post a picture of my Uncle Stovrak. You will see that he is the dead ringer for Tom Selec. The movie star.
I climbed that mountain face again sometime later with better equipment--I mean lunch and water. and shoes. I have also been to the top many times going the easy route . I hunted every rock and rill and forest. I knew where every spring was running. I loved mountin water. I would lay down on my belly and like an animal I would drink right from the flowing water. I could also see tiny bugs and tiny worms so that I could avoid them. I didn't worry about e coli in those days. We all knew that wild animals would walk through these creeks and even deficate in the water and urinate --but water in the mountains purifies after it runs over the rocks for ahwile. Thirst has no bounds.
Now the mountain has been desecrated. How? by the power line over the base of it for the first thing, then hauling rocks off the face, then people have begun to populate areas where we once hunted. Building resort homes, I think..To make matters worse, now there are No trespassing signs all over--it is closed for me to go any place where I once was free to go hunting for grouse or deer or elk. I wanted to own that mountain--to preserve it--but I didn't have a dime to buy any part of it. In my heart, it is MINE.
ON the peak right where we made it over the top, they have built a communications tower. Prior to that was a forest service lookout station. From that position the whole valley was scrutinized for the tiniest smoke arising from a potential forest fire. I was a nesessity, I know that, but still it disturbed my tranquility.
I wont ever be able to climb that mountain again but I think I would know where every small rill of water emerged. UNLESS there were no trespassing signs in the way.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Chewing tobacco--ugh stay away
Once we were visitingthe Mike Cassassa place.
Mike and his wife were very very Italian and made wine and the best cheeses,
Mike chewed a tobacco from a yellow package. He would stuff a great big 'chaw' in his mouth and seem very elated at the taste. Then he would chew and stuff the wad somewhere in his mouth--under his lips I guess finally needing to spit the juice out. He was remarkably accurate at what ever he aimed the spit. It seemed he could spit and hit a fly at 20 feet distance. Y'know, I envied that ability and when I'd have raisins to eat I'd pretend I was chewing like Mike and waste some of my sweet raisin juice on a target--usually a fly.
When we visited Mike's place for some reason or other, we were taken to the root cellar. I saw three packages of this chewing tobacco in the back of the cellar , and when no one was looking I helped myself ( God was watching and the devil too) to a package of tobacco. Wow now I could learn to chew and spit like Mike can.
It came time to get on the old truck--a flat bed 1927 Chevrolt truck--to go home. When no one was looking, I sneaked a big 'chaw' into my mouth and boarded the truck. We stood up at the back of the cab holding onto the back board for stability.
I chewed my wad hurriedly to get some juice to spit off the side of the truck trying to maybe hit a squirrel or a stump--- anything for practice. Mike was able to even swallow some of this juice. BUT, I didn't intentionally try to swallow the readily made excess juices. BUT I absorbed some of the deadly nicotine through the tissues in my mouth and it wasn't long till I was very ill and dizzy. When we drove into the yard, no one had any idea what was wrong with me. I was dying-- or felt like it and it would be better I thought if I did die. I went to the outhouse and heaved and urped and again I learned that tobacco was a poison. But why is it that others could with stand it? was I a freak? I think I dumped the rest of the package into the out house hole. I couldn't confess to any one about this particular theft for which I was immediately punished, but y'know what? it was one of the sins I confessed when I became a real Catholic over seas. Yes I was finally absolved. The punishment was life long.
There was another tobacco chewing person I can never forget. He was the owner manager of the Thorp water powered mill. It was where we most often took wheat down to have made into flour and Farina --. One winter day, we loaded the sleigh up with about 6 sacks of out own wheat. John drove the mules with Donald and me going along for the sleigh ride about 20 miles away from home. That's a day of nothing but cold misery you can bet..On Ice and snow.
When we got to the mill and John asked the miller to do the grinding, the old man took us to his tiny office. In one corner was a large pot bellied stove which was a very welcomed item. We hugged the stove to regain our body warmth while the miller ground the wheat. At one point he entered the office and asked if we'd like him to make for us , some FARINA--gee, we never heard of it so we agreed and he filled a sack which is now a cereal--it was new to us.
Looking at the office walls, the old calendar and the stove itself, it was readily known that this man was a tobacco chewer. Every inch--even the ceilings were spotted with tobacco juice--the stove too. He most likely killed flies with his spit. We could also smell an odor of burning scalding spit on the hot stove. Ugh!
We made it home at dark, and we told our mother about the miller who chewed and spat, then in our minds we conjured up the ugly thought that what and where did he spit as he was grinding the wheat? Nobody knows.
Mike and his wife were very very Italian and made wine and the best cheeses,
Mike chewed a tobacco from a yellow package. He would stuff a great big 'chaw' in his mouth and seem very elated at the taste. Then he would chew and stuff the wad somewhere in his mouth--under his lips I guess finally needing to spit the juice out. He was remarkably accurate at what ever he aimed the spit. It seemed he could spit and hit a fly at 20 feet distance. Y'know, I envied that ability and when I'd have raisins to eat I'd pretend I was chewing like Mike and waste some of my sweet raisin juice on a target--usually a fly.
When we visited Mike's place for some reason or other, we were taken to the root cellar. I saw three packages of this chewing tobacco in the back of the cellar , and when no one was looking I helped myself ( God was watching and the devil too) to a package of tobacco. Wow now I could learn to chew and spit like Mike can.
It came time to get on the old truck--a flat bed 1927 Chevrolt truck--to go home. When no one was looking, I sneaked a big 'chaw' into my mouth and boarded the truck. We stood up at the back of the cab holding onto the back board for stability.
I chewed my wad hurriedly to get some juice to spit off the side of the truck trying to maybe hit a squirrel or a stump--- anything for practice. Mike was able to even swallow some of this juice. BUT, I didn't intentionally try to swallow the readily made excess juices. BUT I absorbed some of the deadly nicotine through the tissues in my mouth and it wasn't long till I was very ill and dizzy. When we drove into the yard, no one had any idea what was wrong with me. I was dying-- or felt like it and it would be better I thought if I did die. I went to the outhouse and heaved and urped and again I learned that tobacco was a poison. But why is it that others could with stand it? was I a freak? I think I dumped the rest of the package into the out house hole. I couldn't confess to any one about this particular theft for which I was immediately punished, but y'know what? it was one of the sins I confessed when I became a real Catholic over seas. Yes I was finally absolved. The punishment was life long.
There was another tobacco chewing person I can never forget. He was the owner manager of the Thorp water powered mill. It was where we most often took wheat down to have made into flour and Farina --. One winter day, we loaded the sleigh up with about 6 sacks of out own wheat. John drove the mules with Donald and me going along for the sleigh ride about 20 miles away from home. That's a day of nothing but cold misery you can bet..On Ice and snow.
When we got to the mill and John asked the miller to do the grinding, the old man took us to his tiny office. In one corner was a large pot bellied stove which was a very welcomed item. We hugged the stove to regain our body warmth while the miller ground the wheat. At one point he entered the office and asked if we'd like him to make for us , some FARINA--gee, we never heard of it so we agreed and he filled a sack which is now a cereal--it was new to us.
Looking at the office walls, the old calendar and the stove itself, it was readily known that this man was a tobacco chewer. Every inch--even the ceilings were spotted with tobacco juice--the stove too. He most likely killed flies with his spit. We could also smell an odor of burning scalding spit on the hot stove. Ugh!
We made it home at dark, and we told our mother about the miller who chewed and spat, then in our minds we conjured up the ugly thought that what and where did he spit as he was grinding the wheat? Nobody knows.
Nancy asked if I ever tried smoking
Nancy asked if I ever tried to learn to smoke.
Yes I tried. It was a 'learning process' I saw all the old men smoking--some smoked pipes --some smoked cigars and some rolled their own. It looked like something a 'man' had to learn to be a man.
Daddy smoked when he could--that is even a nickels worth of Bull Durham was expensive in those day--you got a small bag of groundup tobacco and the paper was in a little packet glued to the bag. My Dad would hold a paper tween his left fingers and made a trough into which to pour a dab of this ground tobacco. Then with a bit of acrobatic skill he could roll the paper into a cigaret form and to prevent the paper from unraveling. he'd lick the paper an that was the ingredient to stick the papers together. Then he'd twist the ends to prevent a little loss of this precisous stuff from falling out. Inserting it in between his lips he was able to strike a match on the seat of his pants--he'd lift a leg to cause the denim to be like sand paper and the match would light. He's hold the burning match in a cupped hand taking the lit match to his cigaret end --this cupping would prevent the match from being extinguished. The twisted end ot the rolled cigaret was like a fuse to a fire cracker.Then with a draft from a puff or two the tobacco was lit. Ah !! such enjoyment to puff and puff like a locomotive at the station. Sometimes --no--more often he'd take a mouth ful of smoke and bloww it out his nose like a mad bull in the funnies. It looked like a lot of fun.
So why not do the same as Daddy? We rolled up newspapers and lit the end . The taste was horrible and the smoke wasn't like tabocco smoke. With a little more experimentation we sneaked coffee and rolled someup into a cigaret to smoke. Right in front of Daddy and Ma too!! but my mother didn't think that was so bad, she had brothers and a father too who smoked. It was how a man was growing up. So the next experiment was to find dried up sunflower leaves and crush them into a powder that resembled Bull Durham. When that burned it had a sweet taste which lasted forever on your tongue.
When we visited the neighbors they also would experiment with learning to smoke. And wouldn't you guess that there was no limit on what would serve as tobacco--hear this!! dried Horse manure--yes, it's finely ground vegetable fibers now and "purified".It wasn't suitable for smoking I learned. Are you urping yet?
The neighbor boys folks had a hired man named Bill Nelson. He smoked real tobacco. He would buy a whole carton of Granger tobacco which must have been made by the Bull Durham company because the tobacco came in very similar little bags.
When we'd visit the neighbor boys, we'd often hide in the empty irrigation canals to try out the tobacco. They'd steal a bag from the upstairs room where Bill Nelson roomed. We'd smoke and I had to finally give up because of the burnt tongue taste which lasted for days. I could see why smoking is a crutch to lean on when you wanted to diet--nothing tasted like food--it always was 'burnt tongue".
Once at a Grange dance which we tried always to attend, One of the boys, somehow bought a pack of rreal cigarettes--they were called "KOOLS". They had a menthol taste and a little bit better taste with better results if your nose was plugged up.The menthol served as a nasal decongestant. It did more for me at least.To smoke in a school in those days was a crime but at the dances and Grange meeting that rule didn't apply. So the place to be trying this pack of cigaretes was down in the men's room which was under the stage. I remember Charlie Newton smoking as if a veteran at it--and Fred too and Bob Roseburg--and I don't remember Donald being there. Or Junior Roseburg--maybe they were excluded from our "smoker's club' because they were two years younger than I was. I wasn't the ring leader by any means and did not have money to contribute to this but because it was on a dare basis, I did try smoking. I don't remember my folks ever admonishing us for trying.
I made corn cob pipes and I made a pipe out of elder berry brush. I also found many used old clay pipes at the old Bednar farm after the Bednars nearly all died off and left the place. Smoking was the 'thing to do' and pipes were a fashion. I was never ever though, a great fan of smoking and I absolutely abhored women to smoke--and here's one reason which stuck in my mind--/
In the old days my Dad couldn't afford a license on the car to go to town so he'd alaways take the back streets as soon as he entered town and would park out side of nearly the limits, by the rail road track. Now in those days Cle Elum was famous for its string of Whore houses on Railroad street. There were lots of rumors about the street of houses and why and how come they were allowed. No use telling those rumors here.
Well as we drove pass some of the houses there'd be a lady (?) in the window all dolled up with heavy red lips and other make up beckoning passers by for business. I didn't know beans about them. But those women smoked and I found out later their trade. So I felt that if a woman smoked she was beckoning.Soliciting--so I hated to see women smoke and it was a requirement and my most important behavioral traits when thinking of a marriagable mate. So I shied away from women who smoked--really.
So as time went on, I left home to work in a saw mill. I thought that smoking a pipe was the cat's meow so I bought a cheap pipe and a can of tobacco. My buddy JIm Graves and his brother Chuck smoked heavily/ I couldn't hack the cigaret route and the pipe might be better. But the hot smoke coming out of the stem hit my tender tongue and burned it and also made the ugly taste of burnt flesh. It also compelled me to spit so often I was losing weight I think.
So I just quit for ever and became an obnoxious tobacco hater--so much that my brother in law told me "Why don't you get on a soap box" -- ,hearing that I then toned down my rhetoric agaist smoking and as you know now today there are laws which I am in favor of but I didn't contribute a bit toward to cause the banning of smoking in nearly all places.
BUT I must say the most --the very most--experiment was when Donald and I found a brand new unwrapped and banded cigar in the trash which Daddy hauled from the restaraunts in town. WE had a teepee made of burlap out in the yard for a play house. We had a kerosene wick burning in the middle. Then we unwrapped the cigar and with a pocket knife we spilt it ever so carefully to not cheat the other one out of a cigar. Then over the kerosene wick, we lit the cigars and began to puff puff puff-to make a big flame. It wasn't long till I had a couple brothers on the other side of the flame--I was sick beyond words. Somehow Donald wasn't as sick. I made it to the creek and laid there with my hands and face in the cool water--and urping violently feeling as green as the tree leaves. MY older brother John came by and just laughed a big horse laugh as I lay there in my death throes. I was able to make it from there to lay in the sun on a wood box. The illness lasted for three days. I was cured. I knew that tobacco was a poison. Later Donald used it to worm hogs--yes some tobacco in the feed and the pigs would poop out any worms it had in the intestinal tract. The pigs then grew faster. So yes, Tobacco is a poison.
When I went to the army, soldiers were given cigarets free, but I sold mine when I got my ration. Over seas cigarets was like having gold--for trading to civilians. I bartered for other items.
I am now happy the anti smoking laws have passed. I discourage the use of tobacco --except for worming pigs.
Yes I tried. It was a 'learning process' I saw all the old men smoking--some smoked pipes --some smoked cigars and some rolled their own. It looked like something a 'man' had to learn to be a man.
Daddy smoked when he could--that is even a nickels worth of Bull Durham was expensive in those day--you got a small bag of groundup tobacco and the paper was in a little packet glued to the bag. My Dad would hold a paper tween his left fingers and made a trough into which to pour a dab of this ground tobacco. Then with a bit of acrobatic skill he could roll the paper into a cigaret form and to prevent the paper from unraveling. he'd lick the paper an that was the ingredient to stick the papers together. Then he'd twist the ends to prevent a little loss of this precisous stuff from falling out. Inserting it in between his lips he was able to strike a match on the seat of his pants--he'd lift a leg to cause the denim to be like sand paper and the match would light. He's hold the burning match in a cupped hand taking the lit match to his cigaret end --this cupping would prevent the match from being extinguished. The twisted end ot the rolled cigaret was like a fuse to a fire cracker.Then with a draft from a puff or two the tobacco was lit. Ah !! such enjoyment to puff and puff like a locomotive at the station. Sometimes --no--more often he'd take a mouth ful of smoke and bloww it out his nose like a mad bull in the funnies. It looked like a lot of fun.
So why not do the same as Daddy? We rolled up newspapers and lit the end . The taste was horrible and the smoke wasn't like tabocco smoke. With a little more experimentation we sneaked coffee and rolled someup into a cigaret to smoke. Right in front of Daddy and Ma too!! but my mother didn't think that was so bad, she had brothers and a father too who smoked. It was how a man was growing up. So the next experiment was to find dried up sunflower leaves and crush them into a powder that resembled Bull Durham. When that burned it had a sweet taste which lasted forever on your tongue.
When we visited the neighbors they also would experiment with learning to smoke. And wouldn't you guess that there was no limit on what would serve as tobacco--hear this!! dried Horse manure--yes, it's finely ground vegetable fibers now and "purified".It wasn't suitable for smoking I learned. Are you urping yet?
The neighbor boys folks had a hired man named Bill Nelson. He smoked real tobacco. He would buy a whole carton of Granger tobacco which must have been made by the Bull Durham company because the tobacco came in very similar little bags.
When we'd visit the neighbor boys, we'd often hide in the empty irrigation canals to try out the tobacco. They'd steal a bag from the upstairs room where Bill Nelson roomed. We'd smoke and I had to finally give up because of the burnt tongue taste which lasted for days. I could see why smoking is a crutch to lean on when you wanted to diet--nothing tasted like food--it always was 'burnt tongue".
Once at a Grange dance which we tried always to attend, One of the boys, somehow bought a pack of rreal cigarettes--they were called "KOOLS". They had a menthol taste and a little bit better taste with better results if your nose was plugged up.The menthol served as a nasal decongestant. It did more for me at least.To smoke in a school in those days was a crime but at the dances and Grange meeting that rule didn't apply. So the place to be trying this pack of cigaretes was down in the men's room which was under the stage. I remember Charlie Newton smoking as if a veteran at it--and Fred too and Bob Roseburg--and I don't remember Donald being there. Or Junior Roseburg--maybe they were excluded from our "smoker's club' because they were two years younger than I was. I wasn't the ring leader by any means and did not have money to contribute to this but because it was on a dare basis, I did try smoking. I don't remember my folks ever admonishing us for trying.
I made corn cob pipes and I made a pipe out of elder berry brush. I also found many used old clay pipes at the old Bednar farm after the Bednars nearly all died off and left the place. Smoking was the 'thing to do' and pipes were a fashion. I was never ever though, a great fan of smoking and I absolutely abhored women to smoke--and here's one reason which stuck in my mind--/
In the old days my Dad couldn't afford a license on the car to go to town so he'd alaways take the back streets as soon as he entered town and would park out side of nearly the limits, by the rail road track. Now in those days Cle Elum was famous for its string of Whore houses on Railroad street. There were lots of rumors about the street of houses and why and how come they were allowed. No use telling those rumors here.
Well as we drove pass some of the houses there'd be a lady (?) in the window all dolled up with heavy red lips and other make up beckoning passers by for business. I didn't know beans about them. But those women smoked and I found out later their trade. So I felt that if a woman smoked she was beckoning.Soliciting--so I hated to see women smoke and it was a requirement and my most important behavioral traits when thinking of a marriagable mate. So I shied away from women who smoked--really.
So as time went on, I left home to work in a saw mill. I thought that smoking a pipe was the cat's meow so I bought a cheap pipe and a can of tobacco. My buddy JIm Graves and his brother Chuck smoked heavily/ I couldn't hack the cigaret route and the pipe might be better. But the hot smoke coming out of the stem hit my tender tongue and burned it and also made the ugly taste of burnt flesh. It also compelled me to spit so often I was losing weight I think.
So I just quit for ever and became an obnoxious tobacco hater--so much that my brother in law told me "Why don't you get on a soap box" -- ,hearing that I then toned down my rhetoric agaist smoking and as you know now today there are laws which I am in favor of but I didn't contribute a bit toward to cause the banning of smoking in nearly all places.
BUT I must say the most --the very most--experiment was when Donald and I found a brand new unwrapped and banded cigar in the trash which Daddy hauled from the restaraunts in town. WE had a teepee made of burlap out in the yard for a play house. We had a kerosene wick burning in the middle. Then we unwrapped the cigar and with a pocket knife we spilt it ever so carefully to not cheat the other one out of a cigar. Then over the kerosene wick, we lit the cigars and began to puff puff puff-to make a big flame. It wasn't long till I had a couple brothers on the other side of the flame--I was sick beyond words. Somehow Donald wasn't as sick. I made it to the creek and laid there with my hands and face in the cool water--and urping violently feeling as green as the tree leaves. MY older brother John came by and just laughed a big horse laugh as I lay there in my death throes. I was able to make it from there to lay in the sun on a wood box. The illness lasted for three days. I was cured. I knew that tobacco was a poison. Later Donald used it to worm hogs--yes some tobacco in the feed and the pigs would poop out any worms it had in the intestinal tract. The pigs then grew faster. So yes, Tobacco is a poison.
When I went to the army, soldiers were given cigarets free, but I sold mine when I got my ration. Over seas cigarets was like having gold--for trading to civilians. I bartered for other items.
I am now happy the anti smoking laws have passed. I discourage the use of tobacco --except for worming pigs.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sandra will be 60 on August 4th wow
Yes it's true, Sandra will be 60 years old tomorrow!!! I can't believe it. I tell my kids I am feeling sorry for them and they ask why Dad? and my response is, "You all are getting older than me". Gee to think I am going on 87 myself. I am so very lucky to have had this life. There were so many times when I thought I had breathed my last breath. The army--I was in the Infantry you know and was in the midst of front line war--often in no man's land--that's being on duty between the lines. How did I ever ever make it?. I guess it is attributed to the many "Hail Marys" I learned from the front line Priest , Father Hanley--the catechism he taught me.
So Sandra now nearly is retirement age . I'm proud of her. We didn't have much money for higher education but we were able to afford a business school course. She lived with my brother in law George and Sue in Vancouver for maybe 6 months attending the business school. Then she came home and worked in a local bank.
She applied for work here in Yakima and found a job at Merrill Lynch. She went from there to another Stock broker and from there to be manager of Dain Rausch stock broker office. So it is with pride I commend her for lifting herself above the ordinary.
Maybe she'll read this portion of my blog--Happy Birthday Sandra.
Have I told you about her name selection? And the day she was born? Well here goes.
It was time to go!! We had to drive all the way to Yakima from Grandview and I worried about getting there in time. We went to the St Elizabeth Catholic Hospital and checked in. She was on an upper floor in a room with another 'birthing person'. I was having a visit from Chuck Graves for 'support' and we were just killing time walking around and around the hospital awaiting word of the birth. How would we know? if we didn't keep checking at the desk.
At last the attendant said it had been happening all the time I was visiting with Chuck. I couldn't send him away could I? No so he stayed as a best friend and support. Would I faint maybe? Ha!
I came into the room not yet knowing if it was a boy or girl. If it was a boy it would be named after me--that was a forgone conclusion --if it was a girl , it would be Norma Jean--but I rejected the Norma Jean name because I had a date or two with a girl name Norma Jean. It wasn't all that bad a name, but I didn't want to recall those 'old dates' each time I called my little girl.
The lady in the next bed--I think she was the wife of Henry Stotsenberg--the famed used car dealer in town. She admired Sandra's 'olive skin' ..Yes Sandra did have an "olive" skin taking after my skin and ethnicity I guess-. The lady suggested that Sandra should be named---hear this---CORDELIA--. That's as bad as Esmirelda--. WE went thru a litany of names and selected Sandra for no other reason than it was the 'right' name for her--Sandra Norma--wouldn't you guess.
When I walked into the room , I saw the bundle in her mothers arms and her mother began to cry--she said, sobbing, "It's a girl". She did all she could to have a healthy little baby. We were blessed.This was part of my hopes and prayers when I was on Anzio, praying that someday to have a family and be free. My life was shaping up to be a good one. I made the right choices.
In choosing names for our kids I always tried to fore see the probabilities of teasing in school. And we succeded in that except Toni had a tease or two--Toni--baloney--that's the usual moniker that goes with that name.
I just recalled another aspect to these days in waiting. I was warned by one of Mickey's relative who were some what anti Catholic, that I had better have the money to pay the hospital on the spot or I wouldn't be able to take the Baby homer. That sounded a bit cruel and off color but I couldn't take a chance on an arguement at the checkout desk.
So I went out with the combine and sought job after job doing harvesting peas and beans to collect enough money to have to settle at the Hospital. I didn't have good credit at those days being just out of the army and whatever we bought was with cash--except Sears and Wards gave me credit for furniture and appliances.WE kept those payments up on time--but it was a different story now regarding paying the hospital.
It was as hot a summer as it is at this time. I worked long and hard taking care of the irrigation and the combining jobs. Then it came time.
I went to check out at the desk and I was pleased and surprised when the girl asked,"How do you want to pay for this?". The bill came to about $150, Imagine that. So it wasn't at all like the anti Catholic aunt had warned me. The Hospital was the most benevolent there was and in these late days they had to fold because of the large debt because of the services to the poor and non payers.
It was always opened to the poor. The bums and hungry could always go to the back door and get a lunch, one bum told me. It was a late as in the 90s when I picked up a hitch hiker in Grandview. I asked where he wanted to be let off ( he rode in the back of the pickup) and he said, "Drop me off at the Hospital--I need a lunch".
So Sandra now nearly is retirement age . I'm proud of her. We didn't have much money for higher education but we were able to afford a business school course. She lived with my brother in law George and Sue in Vancouver for maybe 6 months attending the business school. Then she came home and worked in a local bank.
She applied for work here in Yakima and found a job at Merrill Lynch. She went from there to another Stock broker and from there to be manager of Dain Rausch stock broker office. So it is with pride I commend her for lifting herself above the ordinary.
Maybe she'll read this portion of my blog--Happy Birthday Sandra.
Have I told you about her name selection? And the day she was born? Well here goes.
It was time to go!! We had to drive all the way to Yakima from Grandview and I worried about getting there in time. We went to the St Elizabeth Catholic Hospital and checked in. She was on an upper floor in a room with another 'birthing person'. I was having a visit from Chuck Graves for 'support' and we were just killing time walking around and around the hospital awaiting word of the birth. How would we know? if we didn't keep checking at the desk.
At last the attendant said it had been happening all the time I was visiting with Chuck. I couldn't send him away could I? No so he stayed as a best friend and support. Would I faint maybe? Ha!
I came into the room not yet knowing if it was a boy or girl. If it was a boy it would be named after me--that was a forgone conclusion --if it was a girl , it would be Norma Jean--but I rejected the Norma Jean name because I had a date or two with a girl name Norma Jean. It wasn't all that bad a name, but I didn't want to recall those 'old dates' each time I called my little girl.
The lady in the next bed--I think she was the wife of Henry Stotsenberg--the famed used car dealer in town. She admired Sandra's 'olive skin' ..Yes Sandra did have an "olive" skin taking after my skin and ethnicity I guess-. The lady suggested that Sandra should be named---hear this---CORDELIA--. That's as bad as Esmirelda--. WE went thru a litany of names and selected Sandra for no other reason than it was the 'right' name for her--Sandra Norma--wouldn't you guess.
When I walked into the room , I saw the bundle in her mothers arms and her mother began to cry--she said, sobbing, "It's a girl". She did all she could to have a healthy little baby. We were blessed.This was part of my hopes and prayers when I was on Anzio, praying that someday to have a family and be free. My life was shaping up to be a good one. I made the right choices.
In choosing names for our kids I always tried to fore see the probabilities of teasing in school. And we succeded in that except Toni had a tease or two--Toni--baloney--that's the usual moniker that goes with that name.
I just recalled another aspect to these days in waiting. I was warned by one of Mickey's relative who were some what anti Catholic, that I had better have the money to pay the hospital on the spot or I wouldn't be able to take the Baby homer. That sounded a bit cruel and off color but I couldn't take a chance on an arguement at the checkout desk.
So I went out with the combine and sought job after job doing harvesting peas and beans to collect enough money to have to settle at the Hospital. I didn't have good credit at those days being just out of the army and whatever we bought was with cash--except Sears and Wards gave me credit for furniture and appliances.WE kept those payments up on time--but it was a different story now regarding paying the hospital.
It was as hot a summer as it is at this time. I worked long and hard taking care of the irrigation and the combining jobs. Then it came time.
I went to check out at the desk and I was pleased and surprised when the girl asked,"How do you want to pay for this?". The bill came to about $150, Imagine that. So it wasn't at all like the anti Catholic aunt had warned me. The Hospital was the most benevolent there was and in these late days they had to fold because of the large debt because of the services to the poor and non payers.
It was always opened to the poor. The bums and hungry could always go to the back door and get a lunch, one bum told me. It was a late as in the 90s when I picked up a hitch hiker in Grandview. I asked where he wanted to be let off ( he rode in the back of the pickup) and he said, "Drop me off at the Hospital--I need a lunch".
Nancy asked about the time she danced on the ceiling
Nancy asked about dancing on the ceiling---yes it's true she danced on the ceiling more than once. She was a little girl then--I mean a few years old --in that era maybe even in diapers.
I would pick her up and hoist her feet to the ceiling where she would dance . I can vaguely remember her patent leather shiny black shoes and white stockings. Tapping on the ceiling. These events happened often --just for entertainment and fatherly fun.
At that time I had built a big new room addition --we had 7 foot ceilings which made it practical for dancing on the ceiling.
I would pick her up and hoist her feet to the ceiling where she would dance . I can vaguely remember her patent leather shiny black shoes and white stockings. Tapping on the ceiling. These events happened often --just for entertainment and fatherly fun.
At that time I had built a big new room addition --we had 7 foot ceilings which made it practical for dancing on the ceiling.
But I had to be careful. This brings to mind a time I am not happy about. We were visiting Mickey's family. They lived in a tiny one room house in very poor surroundings. The house was cement block about 16 X 32. The family was still very young. In the middle of the room was a single light fixture. It was an inexpensive set up with a glass shade. I was in a playful mood with Sandra and I lifted her up over my head for a thrill and to my sorrow, I bumped her head on the light fixture. I guess I even busted the bulb--CRASH! I was so embarrassed and ashamed and full of remorse at the instance. So I vowed I'd be more watchful and careful any time I'd think of lifting the kids up over head for a thrill . I see many father's do this with their off spring and I worry about the child being injured in some way. Sooo--father's don' do dat'.
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