The Forestry Forum

Twenty some odd years ago, I was returning from a fishing trip with a buddy of mine in my '74 F150.  We were not far from the house when a quail stepped out into the road and started to cross.  

We were admiring him and slowed so as to give him time to get across.  When he got about 1/2 way into my lane he realized, all of a sudden, that the truck was there.  You could see the startled look in his eyes.  He  tried to hurry, got his feet crossed up and  busted his butt right there in the middle of the road.  

This got him even more flustered.  He got up took a couple of more steps, tripped and went head over teacup again.  Now he was not only scared, startled,  confused but embarrassed.  Twice more he got up and fell before finally reaching the far side of the road and slipped into the underbrush.

We were laughing so hard I had to pull off the side of the road and park the truck so that we could compose ourselves.

You see things like this happening to people who try to pass head on  and dance from side to side or trip on a step in a public place like going to receive an award etc.  but you never think about a wild thing getting so discombobulated.  Why, wild things are supposed to be aware and composed...... they never trip.   HA-- :D

I liked your story. :D

Now, if we could just find that quail and ask if he knows about the chicken who crossed the road...


 8) 8) 8) 8) 8)

When I was about 16 and attending Military School, a friend came home with me for Thanksgiving.  The men in the family would spend 3 or 4 days in the "old" tomato fields between YeeHaw Junction and Fort Drum on US-441 west of Ft. Pierce and Vero.  There was no turnpike then and YeeHaw was composed of a filling station and a restaurant.  Fort Drum was a ghost town.  There was not much civilization west of US-1 which ran up the coast.

We were to get turkey, deer, quail, catfish or anything else we could find in quantity that would suffice for a good Thanksgiving dinner.

My Uncle put us boys in the Jeep to take us each to our own private hunting hammock.  Granddad walked to his because he would return early and fix us breakfast and lots of boiled coffee.

I was placed in my hammock and sat at the base of a big cypress.  It was still dark and I knew I would need a little light so I sat as still as I could.

Just as the sky started to lighten there was a shot from the direction of my Uncle's hammock.  BOOM!  Then a few moments later another. BOOM!  Then a few moments later, BOOM, BOOM!  What in the world could Uncle Pete have found?

The sky lightened up some and I could see that the birds normally in the roost in this hammock weren't there.  I waited patiently for an hour or so when shooting began to come from my friends hammock.  Figuring it was late and I had missed my turkeys I got up and started to walk out of the swamp.  

Gobbling was coming from outside of the hammock.  I had to duck to get under the outside limbs of a water oak and there, not 30 yards out in the plain was a lone cabbage palm tree.  Out of the tree flew a turkey, laboriously flying right over my head.  I put my hand-me-down model 11 Remington to my shoulder, pulled the trigger and nothing happened.  The bolt had not been fully closed.  I closed it  and aggravatingly put the butt on the ground, when out of the same tree, came another turkey.  It flew right over my head as well and there was no chance to get the gun up in time.  

Thoroughly frustrated, I walked to my friends hammock to see what he had gotten.  "Oh, I got bored and was just shooting at some crows."

I couldn't believe it,  every bird in woods had probably left.

Returning to camp we entered to the smell of fresh coffee and fried bacon.  A big pot of grits and a platter of scrambled eggs were on the table. Granddaddy had done good, my brother, cousins, friend and I were starved but ....no Uncle Pete.

Before the eggs could cool he stepped through the door and said " you're not going to believe what I've done."  Here's his story.

With first light he saw a turkey roosting on a limb high in an oak tree and shot it.  It didn't fall so he shot it again to knock it out of the tree.  It still didn't fall so, knowing better, he shot again.  when the bird stayed in the tree he decided he would come back later when there was more light, climb up there and get it.

When he returned to the tree, there against the trunk, was a large burl with a stick sticking out of it that looked just like a turkey with its head under its wing.  

He laughed....."and there wasn't any bark on anything up there."

Heh,  heh!!!!!!  That's a good one!!!!!!!!

At my little brother's insistance I have decided that trees create wind.

When the leaves wave, there is a breeze.
When the limbs wave, there is a gust or squall.
When the trunk bends there is a storm.

The wind always seems to come from the direction that the tree is waving.

I've not quite figured out an offshore breeze yet.  There must be trees out there somewhere. :-/

Uh, Tom...

I just looked at your profile. It says you're 58. Just how old is your little brother?

 :D :D :D

well, lets see.........He'd be about 57 now.

But, I've got him by 20lbs.

Tom ::)

The Hat!  I won THE HAT!!!


I won something once before.....let me see.........it was Thanksgiving of 1958 I believe.  I was a student at Georgia Military College in Milledgeville, Ga. and had gone home with a friend to his house in Sparks.  Sparks is/was a little place.  It had a post office and a main street with 4 or 5 stores.  Most everybody went to Adel for entertainment.  Adel was a little bit further south.  Adel's claim to fame was a mill and the slogan......"when you're in Adel, your so close to Hell that you can see Sparks".
 
So, we went to Adel.  There was a drive-in movie there and when you bought your ticket you were entered in a drawing that took place at Intermission time.  The number on my ticket was called and I ran to the concession booth to receive my prize, a toaster oven.
 
Even though it was against the rules to cook at school I managed to keep it under raps and on weekends we would make and heat sandwiches.
 
When I went to the University of Georgia it went along with me and probably kept me alive.  My diet was composed of a 25 lb. sack of turnips a week, an occasional can of soup and hot peanut butter or cheese sandwiches cooked in that toaster oven.  My living allowance was $5 per week.  
 
I left it in Athens, still operable,  to save the lives of more students.
 
Now I've got a hat.

My hat will be like a helmet to an astronaut, or a secret decoder ring when I was a kid.

I'll sit at my keyboard and wear it.  This'll make me official. 8) :D ;D

I better insure that hat!

Oh...congratulations.  :(

I was kind of hoping I'd win something. I was really thinking hard about how to choose between the hat and the turkey call.

Wear it in good health! You sure sound happy about it!

BTW, how do you prepare turnips in a toaster oven?

Thanks Ravioli!

I had a hard time with the decision too.  I would really have liked to have had a hand-made turkey caller.  I'm real partial to hand-made stuff, but like I said, I can call a turkey without one and it sounds like the hat is a neat thing to have.  Gordon liked his.  I'm going to try and get a turkey caller next time

By the way, I don't think I ever tried to cook a turnip in my toaster oven. I ate them raw.  sandwiches and soup were about a twice a week thing.


We'de go to a bar-b-cue place called Poss's on the Atlanta hi-way on Sat. nite and get a Hamburger steak.  That was real special.

You could get a hamburger steak, a big pile of french fries and all the rolls, butter and catsup you could eat and all the tea you could drink for a dollar.  It was a popular place for the students.

I was sawing up in Folkston, Ga. and an Old Black Gentleman was standing around watching.  When I broke he told me he had worked in a sawmill for a half a day when he was about 12 years old.

"We needed the money but I couldn't do it."  "I told the man at lunch I couldn't do it,  I had to quit."

"Shucks,  I'da quit 30 minutes after we started if he'd-a slowed down long 'nuff".

Over the years I have seen a lot of guys that Thier first day was thier last day. Several that went to lunch, and just never come back.

We just came down off the roof for lunch. Don't think I'll show this to Michelle,she might make plans. :D :D

The best meal I ever ate:

If you enjoy food as much as I do,  occasionally you think back to all the great meals you've eaten in your life.  I've had the good fortune to have dined in restaurants of note across the nation.  From The Del Coronado in San Diego to the French Quarter in New Orleans to fancy grub put on by IBM in Poughkeepsie, NY.  I've eaten barbeque at The County Line east of Austin, Texas and a steak at Chick and Millie's Blue Moon Café in Ponca City, Oklahoma.  

As far as home cooking,  Mary is an excellent cook.  She tutored under her mother who was a true farmwife.  They raised their own chickens, eggs, pigs, cows, vegetables, nuts and fruits, etc.  Every meal was a BIG meal.

While I can remember quite a number of great meals,  still one comes to mind that wasn't a result of the above list.

In the spring of '69,  I had completed my first year of trade school.  As our family was by no means rich in dollars,  I had to accumulate as much money as I could to pay room and board and such for the coming year.  Well, after a couple of desperate calls from local farmers wanting workers to put up hay,  I struck on the idea of getting together a hay crew and using dad's flat bed truck.  

One of the farms was owned by Mr. Swan Ferguson.  It was a beautiful, well-kept farm in a small valley.  He raised pure bred, prizewinning Polled Hereford bulls.  Mr. Ferguson was probably well in his 70's.  He would come out to the barn on every load we brought in - even if it was midnight or past.  

He had his herd bull in the barn lot.  I couldn't tell you what it weighed but it looked huge with a head about the size of a number one washtub.  It was tame as a pup - too tame for one of my cousins who had just started helping us as he was afraid of him.  

It was about 11:00 when we came in with a load and before the first bale was unloaded,  Mr. Ferguson was out there.  Our Wonder bread and bologna sandwiches had worn off.  We were talking about it and someone on the crew suggested he was so hungry he could drag that bull into the barn and burn it down so he could cook him and eat him.  

The next load in,  Mr. Ferguson said: "When you come in with the next load and get it unloaded,  come to the house.  We'll have something for you to eat."

We came into the house and were led through the kitchen to their dining room though we were hardly fit to set at the dining room table.  Food was everywhere!  It was like finding King Tut's tomb!  Mrs. Ferguson had baked a thick roast beef and a whole country cured ham - complete with gravy to match.  There were mashed potatoes, candied yams, green beans,  corn on the cob and other vegetables from the garden.  To drink, there was iced tea, lemonade, and Kool-aid.  There were jars of jams and jellies she had put up to go on the rolls she'd baked.  Needless to say,  we ate and ate and ate.  Still, she wasn't sure we'd eaten enough, though our earlier flat stomachs were now bulging,  so she brought out the ice cream to go on the cream, apple and blackberry pies and a cake she'd made from scratch and fresh baked.  It was a sinful binge of eating we enjoyed suffering over.

To multiply the circumstances,  it was quite warm and heating up the house with all that baking and cooking had to be uncomfortable in a house without air-conditioning.  But she had not become soft to the summer heat over her seventy some years in spite of being confined to a wheel chair since a young woman because of fall from a horse.

Welcome Bibbyman!

I can smell that kitchen...

Hey Bibbyman,

Mrs. Ferguson sounds like she cooks like my Grandmamma, A country farm girl who's sole purpose in life was to take care of the house, the kids and the men.  You couldn't clean your plate at our table because she would fill it up again.  To this day I leave a little smidgeon, by habit, so I can get up from the table.

Welcome to the Forestry Forum.  You'll find these to be great folks.

What a great story!

Kind of makes me think of my own mother. Not that she would have pulled out all those dishes, but she always had something ready for me whenever I pulled in from out-of-town. Whether it was 5:00, 10:00 or 2:00 am, I always could count on her having something ready for me.

There is a heck of storm on top of us now.  Lots of lightning and raindrops big as milk pails.  Lightning ran me in from the barn and I'm sitting here twiddlin' my thumbs thinking about stuff.

About 1976 I had a much younger friend that I fished with.  He was in the Coast Guard and we had met wade fishing out in Ft. George Inlet one day.  His name was Roger Peoples and I've wondered what ever happened to him.

We took my 14' flat bottomed boat out in the St, Johns one afternoon with the idea of fishing all night.  As I remember we had a few yellow mouth trout, to keep from being skunked, and pulled up to the U.S. Gypsum docks (they make sheetrock) about 9pm to fish for catfish. We had no trouble hooking big catfish on 4/0 hooks but had a lot of trouble landing them.  It was a lot of fun.  About 2am we had enough and headed home. Too tired to clean all our fish we put all but two 30 pound cats back.

It was getting on toward 4am when we crossed a little tidewater creek not far from the house and  decided that maybe the trout were enough after all.  So we stopped the truck and slipped the catfish into the creek under the bridge.

Now this creek was frequented by all the neighborhood children who caught little red bass, croakers, black bass etc. in the 1 lb range.  Being brackish there were bream in there too.  Cane poles were what they used because we parents could keep them outfitted for 3 or 4 dollars a month.

There were tales about the neighborhood, following our fishing trip, about the bad time the kids were having trying to land the fish from the creek.  Apparently there were some prehistoric monsters living there that had moved in from the St. Johns.  These monsters were breaking lines and stealing poles right and left.  

Our children's fishing pole budget went up tremendously.  A new pole per week.  Nobody could figure out what it was.

Fall came, school started and the fishing trips became fewer until football, basketball and baseball became the entertainers.

No one ever caught whatever that was in that little creek.  

I've wondered many a time of the stories being told to another generation of the summer these kids experienced. (snicker)

What a hoot! Talk about the "one that got away!"

 :D

Back in my "corporate world" days,  we were waiting out a rain storm in the lunch room.  A bunch of us were standing at the window looking out over the parking lot at a torrential downpour.  One of the Salesman decided he was in too much of a hurry to wait any longer and said he was going to "make it" for his car.

I said, "Don't run real fast". " If you run then you run into all those raindrops and get wet all over,  If you slow down then only the ones falling straight down will get your head wet."

We watched him through the window as he ran about 5 steps.  Then, as if thinking, he slowed to a walk and slowly sauntered to his car on the far side of the parking lot.

We stood there in disbelief as he drove off.  

I don't know if anybody ever said anything to him later,  I didn't, and wonder if he still walks in the rain today.

Do you reckon you would stay dry if you just stood real still in a downpour?  I'll have to try that on somebody else sometime.....another salesman maybe.

I fellow about five miles south of me bought a Wood-Mizer mill one year after I did.  While I had worked around sawmills and logging all my life,  he had really no experience to start with.  But we became friends and worked to our mutual advantage rather then compete. There was plenty of work for both of us.  He soon ramped up and we were exchanging ideas and techniques regularly.

On one visit, he was moaning and groaning about some difficult customers he had been working with.:(  I listened for some time as he went through the list of aggravations and problems he had had with these customers.  Then he ended by asking me how I handled difficult customers.  "I send them to you." Was my comeback.

He caught that comeback in an instant and it sure took him by surprise. He had to laugh as he was making disparaging comments about my family heritage. :D :D :D

That's a good one to remember. :D

I need a notebook for stuff like that.  It's usually 30 minutes later that I realize what I should have said.  Kind'a loses some of it's impact then. ;D

I ate lunch with two of my "old timers" today.  Somehow the subject turned to going barefooted.

(you need to read re-a-a-l slow for effect now)

John S. said "In Colquitt, Ga. we never wore any shoes and our feet got pretty tough". "One Fall it was getting cold and my brother got up on the hearth to warm up."

"Daddy said, 'LP you've got your foot on a hot ember', and LP said 'which one Daddy' ".

My Dad's Family was very poor, there were 8 boys and 2 girls. The oldest, Lena, left the farm to get married and work in Flint. She returned one weekend to visit bringing a surprise for all the boys, something new they had never seen or had before. Bananas! Later in the day my uncle Donus came into the house complaining to Lena, that even though he had thrown away "the Cob" those bananas had upset his stomach.

We've got an old, prominent family around here that was among the first settlers.  I know a number of brothers in this one branch of the family – all are well over retirement age now.  

One told that they went barefooted all the time when they were young.  He said their feet were so tough, they at just after sundown they would run down the gravel road and slide on the gravel just to see the sparks fly from under their feet.  And back then we used creek gravel what was a mixture of all types of rock – including flint, granite, and such. :o

In 1963 I was fishing for Snook in my home town of Ft. Pierce, Florida.  A Snook is a large game fish with delicious white meat .likened to Speckled Perch (Crappie).  He is long and slender with a powerful tail, a large mouth with no teeth but sharp gill plates.  He is silver in color with a single thin black line that runs down his lateral line from just behind his gills to his tail.
  
We were fishing for meat.  Fun was secondary.  Fish was a staple to us and we only fished for fun once we had our freezers filled.  We young bucks were responsible for filling the freezers of several families.

The limit was 4 per day and the minimum size was 18 inches.  we usually threw back anything less than 10 lbs and were looking for fish in the 25 to 30 lb range.

I snatched several glass minnows on a small treble hook out of a minnow bank  and threw it about 10 feet off of the jetty rocks into the ocean just outside of the surf.  

There were Jack Crevalle, Blue Runners, Flounder, Lady Fish, Spanish Mackerel, King Mackerel, Bonita and an occasional Shark feeding in a frenzy all up and down the Jetty.

Something grabbed my hook and took off South.  My reel, a Penn Squidder loaded with 15 lb line, screamed and smoked.  Whatever it was didn't run and stop,  it was leaving the country.  The only thing I could think it may be was a Bonito but this fish was following the beach and Bonito usually went to deep water.

After what amounted to about 10 minutes, felt like 10 hours, he stopped and I started reeling him in .  It was just a dead weight and I could see him on the surface of the water.  I would pump and reel, pump and reel.  Finally I got him to the Jetties and found that I had caught a 6 lb Snook by the tail.  There wasn't a hook in him.  

He had struck at the minnows and missed, the treble hook had wrapped around him, back onto the line  and lassoed his tail.  That's why I couldn't stop him.  He had run until he could run no more......I turned him loose,  What spirit.

...............and that's the truth.

Here's where it happened and this is what it looked like 38 years ago(except for the color of the old slide).........and yep, that's me.
(https://forestryforum.com/images/YaBBImages/userpics/tom%20fshng.jpg)

Back in about '75, I was fishing for striped bass at the base of the Oronoco Power Dam using a little yellow jig. It was getting dark so I decided to make one last cast. All of a sudden, something hit and started stripping my line out. I had visions of a 15 pound Northern. I tightened the drag and it took me forever to fight that fish to shore. It turned out to be a 5 pound carp that the hook had snagged in the tailfin. We were both plumb tuckered out. What a fight that was though. We weren't supposed to turn carp loose, but I figured that one had earned another chance.

WORKING WITH TOM :-/

This story is what I really started out to tell before I got sidetracked with that fish story. Anyway, I'm what used to be called a "pencil pusher" but since we don't use pencils anymore, I reckon I'm a "keyboard pounder" which equates to not being in the best of shape.

My Sweetwife had a business trip to Orlando, so I took the opportunity to fly down with her and visit Old Tom and work a couple of days as his helper.

After a good breakfast we climbed up into his big flatbed truck (has a grab bar to help get up into it). The temp was 95 degrees (no shade, cause the trees were now logs)and high humidity.

Tom started sawing and I was pulling the slabs and boards off the mill. Dang it, that was hard work when the man only cuts 2 bys. I said, "Tom, don't you ever cut any 1 bys?" "Nope" Tom says, "Not if I can help it. Ya get more board feet with less cuts that way" I'm thinking..."Sheeesh these green 16' 2" X 12"'s?" are heavy. I was drenched with sweat. It was dripping from the bill of my cap.

At 1:00pm Tom says, "Let's break for lunch." I had visions of climbing into that truck, driving into town and having a burger and a taaaall glass of ice tea with ice chickling around inside. But instead, Tom looked under the seat of his truck, threw his son a can of corn, threw me a can of peas and he took a can of sliced peaches.

We opened the cans and Tom and his son took their spoons and went over and sat on the front end loader on the tractor. I said, "Tom, you got a spoon?" Tom said, "Nope, you'll have to carve yourself one." and threw me his knife. I selected a piece of pine and carved a fine spoon and went over to the front end loader (still out in the hot sun).

I ate the peas and said, "Tom, is this all you got?" Tom says, "Yep, If'n ya eat too much you won't want to work." I'm thinking....For what I'm getting paid, I don't see that as a problem. After a 15 minute lunch Tom says, "Well boys, lets get back at it. He sawed 16' 2 X 12s 'til 5:00pm before he said, "Let's go home."

Now I tell ya...I was one wet whupped puppy and my arms felt like they were 6' long. I was so tired I could hardly climb up into that big truck.  While he was driving home, I got all stiffened up.

He stopped at his mailbox (which is dang near a mile from his house) and said, "Would you get the mail?" I looked at him like he was nuts! He was actually asking me to move! Geeeez that was tough climbing down, getting the mail and climbing back up. Then, to top it off, when we got to his house, Tom proceeded to give me a lesson on how to sharpen a chainsaw. Of course the lesson was out in the hot sun standing next to the back of the truck and all I wanted to do was sit down and not move.

I was dieing at this point. But all in all it turned out pretty nice. He built a fire and threw on a 5 pound chunk of meat. While it cooked, we sipped on a pint of Jack, chased grasshoppers and fed 'em to the fish.

That Christmas Tom sent me my wooden spoon, framed in a thick chunk of aromatic cedar and labeled..."Pea Spoon". It's hanging in my office. Whew. Now I'm tired just thinking about that day. By the way, the next day was a repeat. I was glad to get back to my workplace so I could rest. :-[ :D ::)

Tom told me if I ever ventured down there, we would go fish'n!

Charlie,

What a story! Have you ever accepted another invitation from Tom?

I'd think twice!

 :D

Yeah, I think I was down there once after that, but I didn't offer to help him saw wood. Instead, he took me up into South Georgia to show me some 20" plus wide Longleaf pine boards he had sawn for Doctor's lodge by a river. Amazing! We then did a little looking around an old 1800's homesite with his metal detector for fun and also found the Doctor's key to his lodge that he'd lost a couple of years earlier. Tom left that in an envelope in the lodge. Then, we went to a restaurant in a tiny town that had the best buffet I've ever seen. Everything fresh, nothing overcooked. Only problem with it was that I ate too much. ::)

Charlie's story about helping Tom and his elegant lunch reminded me of my youthful days when I helped dad in the stave timber.

Day after day, week after week, year after year, lunch was the same: a half loaf of Wonder sandwich bread,  a can of Treet (like Spam), small can of Van-Camp pork and beans, and a 16-oz, glass bottle of Coke.  The only variation allowed was that sometimes we'd split a package of snowball cakes for dessert.

On the really hot days,  I'd wrap the bottle of Coke with a rag and wet it in a stream or with water out of the jug.  The evaporation of the water would cool it at least to below body temperature.  

Come dinner time (12 noon for our northerners friends) dad would dig out his pocketknife and wipe the blade on his pants leg in some clean place and slice the Treet – using the plastic bread sack for a carving plate. He'd take two slices and make one sandwich for himself.  I was a growing boy and I'd eat the rest.  We seldom had a bottle opener – we'd just find a sharp edge on the bumper or door latch and set the edge of the cap on it and bump it with a fist.  The beans were divided into the can the Treet came out of.  Sometimes we'd forget spoons so we'd eat the beans with a bent lid and the Treet can lid – carefully!  

I've eaten many a lunch in the thick of the forest on insufferable hot days with sweat and grime and flies and bugs.  Hands grimy from black off the tractor steering wheel,  bar oil, chainsaw gas and dirt.  But when you're hungry,  it tasted good.  And you didn't miss the elegant china, a dozen pieces of flatware and fancy napkins.

If you read my earlier post about the meal Mrs. Fergurson fixed for us in the middle of the night long ago, you remember the list of fancy restaurants I've eaten in.  I've often set with a group of men at these tables and listened to them complain that they couldn't chouse between the lobster and the Prime Rib – nothing looked good.  I've often smiled inside thinking of my meals "al-fresco" with dad and thought: "I'd bet if you'd been working all morning in the hot, humid woods even Treet on Wonder bread served of a stump would taste real good."
 8)

OH yeah, I've been there.....both places.  I think the spam and coke tasted better than the lobster in the Air conditioning.  

A 10 minute rest in the woods feels better than the Office politics after a "corporate" dinner too.

SEEEEE! WhadItellya! Did ya read Tom's note? He said 10 minute lunch break. I even gave him the benefit of the doubt and said 15 minutes. SHEESH! A slave driver! And SPAM?  Don't let him kid ya, I didn't see any SPAM.....just peas, corn, and sliced peaches.....unless he was hoarding that SPAM for himself.

By the way, Hormel makes SPAM and their main plant is in Austin, Minnesota about a 40 minute drive from Rochester (SE Minnesota). Every year they have SPAM Days and if you want you can eat SPAM 24 ways from Sunday. Oooooooeeeee. Is that good? I'm not so sure.

Bibbyman, I enjoyed your stories about the best meal and your meals in the woods when working with your Dad. I've had a few like that. Ya just don't worry about your hands and wiping the knife on the pants is sort of a gesture.

Jeff, if Tom told you he'd take you fishing.....he will. He's a natural fisherman and a lot better at it than I'd ever be. He can clean about 3 fish to my one too......or maybe I just clean fish slow so he cleans more....I wonder which it is?    ::)   I wish you'd go on down there and make him take you fishing. I think Tom has forgot that a guy should take a break from work. I bet he hasn't been fishing in a long time. :-/

I was about 9 years old and Granddaddy had given me my first gun. A Winchester single shot 410 made in the 1890's. He would give me one #8 shell and send me out in the field hunting.  When I shot that one I would hike back to where he was working and he would give me another one.

My cousin form Orlando came to visit one weekend and we were hunting out at the farm.  Because John was a little older and much more firearm knowledgable, Granddaddy gave me 3 or 4 shells.

I shot a dove from the power line that crossed the property and ran over to pick it up.

"John! It's still alive...should I shoot it again?"
John was 50 yards or better from me and said "Yeah, I guess so".

BOOM...........!

The bird couldn't have been 10 feet from me and the 410 was full choke.  There was nothing but a dusting of feathers coming back down from about 6 feet.

That was quite a lesson.  I found out just how destructive a little 410 could be.

Gun's didn't do that in the cowboy movies.

I remember that one.  I always taught my son to respect the power of a gun. They have a  good program here in Minnesota where they require children to take a gun safety class before they can go hunting. According to my son, they show a movie that graphically shows what guns can do to careless people...and that left an imprint on his mind. Every state should require children to take a gun safety class even if they don't plan to hunt.

Earlier, Bibbyman told of his lunches of Treet sandwiches and then Tom mentioned Spam. I then said that Homel made Spam not 40 minutes from where I work. My Father-in-law served in the Merchant Marine during WWII and to this day won't eat Spam. Anyway, the SpamJam Festival is coming close. Y'all might want to take a look at
http://www.spam-jam.com/home.htm     Who knows...you might want to plan your vacation around it.

Tom, your story reminds me of the time Ben and I (musta been 14 at the time) were hunting and Ben  winged a high flying mallard with his 20 gauge. It circled and landed not more than 100 feet from us in the marsh. Ben went out to get it and the dang thing was swimming around. Ben was scared to pick it up and was going to shoot it and was chasing it around with the gun not more than 10 feet from the duck. What a sight! I had remembered what you had done to that dove and hollered to Ben to backoff and I'd dispatch the duck for him. I wrung his dainty little neck.    :'(

Okay, I can't top these great stories about privation and hard work, so how about an unusual meal story?

When I was in college back in the mid 70's, I spent a semester in Spain. This was really my first time on my own, and I wasn't used to spending money. I didn't know how long it would last, so I was very careful with my funds.

After the semester ended, a friend and I had Eurail passes and we set off to discover the marvels of Europe.

The first leg of our trip was from Valencia to Barcelona. We spent hours and hours crammed in a compartment with a family. They looked at us with great suspicion and hurried out of the train compartment as quickly as possible at the end of the journey.

For some reason, it seems that Spaniards regarded us as loose women. It was explained to us once that we looked Swedish, and everyone knows what Swedes are like.

In their haste, they left behind their dinner - a rotisseried chicken, bread and wine.

We hesitated for a minute or two, to see if they would return. Then, we scooped up the windfall and headed for the nearest park for a dinner al fresco.

Incidentally, my friend and I spent a per diem amount of $8.52 each on our travels - and that included everything except the train travel between cities.

Ah, those were the good old days!

 8) :D
Wow! That's a great story. Overseas on a budget tour.  Are you sure it was a Chicken?

I'll bet you came back with more stories than that Rav.  Come on........clear out the cobwebs.....let's hear'em.

I can never be so lucky.  Me and a buddy hitched to Atlanta when we were 13 with hardly any coins at all.  Stayed in a $1.00 hotel room because we were afraid to sleep in the underground (before they commercialized it) and bought a loaf of hard bread and some cheese for supper.   We couldn't get back to school fast enough the next day.  Thought we were going to starve to death or get mugged in a dark alley.

Are you still on Vacation?  What are you doing now?

Tom,

I'm back at home - we got home this afternoon. I don't have to go back to school until August 20, but there will be some non-mandatory training offered at the beginning of August, which I will probably take. I might be taking another trip in a week or so, if I got into the workshop I applied to in NYC. Otherwise, I'd be just as pleased to stay home and get things in order here.

As to the other stories, I'll have to shake my brains. Hmm...how about the time Kathy and I quaffed a few brews at the Hofbrau House in Munich and then kissed the sailors in the subway on our way back to the Youth Hostel?

Ah, youth!

 ;)

YEAH, YEAH, that's a good one. Thats probably where those spaniards heard about you.  "ALAS" -acting like a swede-  :D :D

Back in '46 or '47 (a few years before I was born) a tornado blew out of Oklahoma and stitched it's way through the corner of Kansas and then through Missouri and into Illinois.  It'd hit the ground for 50 or so miles and then skip 50.

Well,  it came through our farm about sunup.  It took the barn and all the outbuildings with it.  It also took the right half and all the top story of the log house my Dad was living in. :'(

The tornado continued on making a 100-yard path through the woods to my uncle's farm that was just to the north and east of Dad's farm.  My uncle heard it coming and had everyone under the bed as they had no basement or root cellar in their old saltbox-style frame house that set on rock posts.

My uncle witnessed the tornado hit his large barn about a 100 yards from the house as it imploded and was completely consumed.  Then the tail of the tornado made a little swerve and missed hitting the house dead center.  

As soon as the storm was over,  my uncle and family came out from under the bed to look at the destruction.  The old house had a water cistern under the back porch.  One of the girls peeked over the windowsill and gave the first account;  "Look! :o The tornado moved the well!"  She said.  

At least it looked like that to her and it was now 25 FEET from where it was before she dived under the bed!   ::)

That's great.........,reminds me of a story too.

My bowl turner buddy said that when he was a kid in Colquitt, Ga., his big brothers were at a "camp meeting" one night and while the adults were getting religion they were "messin' " around.  They noticed that on occasion an ole local reprobate would wander away from the tent, go to the well(which was just outside of the lights), drink from a bottle and then from the gourd and go back to the tent.

They picked the well housing up and move it about 10 feet.

A few minutes later the "reprobate" came back to the well, aiming for the well housing and fell into the well.

!!!HELP!!!!HELP!!!!he hollered.

They ran over there and pulled him out of the well(about 10 feet).  

Standing there dripping wet, he brushed himself off like he was covered with dust and said "Thanks boys, who do-yuh-rekun-moved-the-well?"; and returned to the tent.  :)

Oh no!!!  I've got rats in the computer room. I can hear them squeeking.  

I stopped typing and listened............squeek!

I got up and looked through all the papers I have stacked up around here....nothing.  I looked under some stuff my wife has stored in here and behind the books on the bookshelf......nothing.

Remember we were talking about loss of hearing on another thread awhile back?  Well I can lots of times hear stuff and can't tell where it's coming from.  The phone can be ringing and I can hear it fine but don't know where it is.  Usually it is within arms reach of me.(cordless) Boy, that's frustrating.

I can't find that mouse!

Then,  :-[, I stumbled upon what was making the squeek.  I had brought my thermos of hot coffee in with me when I got home and had put it on the table next to the computer. As it cooled it would suck air in around the stopper and, doggone it, it sounds just like a mouse.  

I have gotten myself so worked up that I'll have to stop and have a cup of coffee.  Luckily I had the forethought to bring the thermos in here with me. :-/ :-/ :D :D :D

Hey Bibbeyman,

I think that "lesson" falls in the catagory of "A bird in the hand.........................."

I didn't know my Dad, what with split up families being what they are, but I did initiate a few visits and spent a bit of time with him before he died.  I would make a point of stopping for a couple of hours when I was in town.

Dad was a LOUDMOUTH MARINE.   He was the center of attention, the life of the party and a marine through and through.  His biggest concern was that Charlie and I be "bad".  He was so full of bull that you didn't know if he was joking or not.

On one visit he told me this story.

There was this college professor who prided himself in knowing everything there was to know about Mathematics.  
One day he put in to build a fence out of bricks in his back yard.  He figured and figured until there were no mistakes and then he started laying the bricks.  He had each corner and broken brick figured out.  This was going to come out perfect.  Finally he laid the last brick in fence and lo and behold there was one brick left over.  He threw a fit.  Failure wasn't in his vocabulary.  He stomped and fumed and in a fit of rage threw the brick away as hard as he could....................

(?)  I was ashamed to admit I didn't understand.  I chuckled and puzzled over it for the longest time.  He just went on about his business and in the next breath was telling more jokes and war stories.  

Was this some sort of Aesop's fable?  Was I supposed to derive a lesson from  it.  It didn't seem right that a story would have all this involvment and not have a moral.  This guy must be nuts!

Several weeks later I visited again and we were sitting around telling stories.  I'd found I couldn't keep up with him.  He would tell one and laugh at the top of his lungs.  It is contagious to this day.

There was this lady got on an airplane and she had a pet monkey.  They didn't allow animals on the plane so she had put it under her coat.

A man sat beside her who noticed the monkey and showed a great dislike for the fact that he had to sit next to it.

Flying along at 10,000 feet he lit a cigar.  Smoking was allowed in those days and he was really enjoying it.  He was also taking great pleasure in the fact that she wasn't.  

"Throw that cigar out"'  she said.

"only if you throw out that monkey", he answered.

She was getting terribly sick from the cigar so in a last measure of desperation she opened the window (something you could do then too) and threw the Monkey out.

The man kept his promise and threw out the cigar.

Arriving at their destination, they were getting off of the plane when the women noticed something out of the corner of her eye.  It was her monkey.  He was hanging, panic stricken on  the tail of the airplane with his fingers and toes dug into the fabric.  His eyes were as big as saucers and guess what he had in his mouth?

"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?.......I don't know...........the cigar?"

"NO.........AH-HAAAAAAAAAAA-HHAAAAAAAAAAA..........that brick!   HA-AAA."


"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? what brick? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?".

It took me several days but finally I understood the joke.  He never let on like I shouldn't have.

Your Marine and airplane story reminded me of one of my cousin Buck.  He was a lifer Marine back in the 60's and 70's.  After he retied,  he worked in Texas on a construction job building a motel complex.  He told one day it was well over 100 in the sun. Only the sub-floor and the studwalls were up.  He was doing something on the floor while an electrician was working around the top of the stud walls,  drilling holes to run the telephone and cable lines.  It was before cordless drills so his drill was attached to a 100' extension cord.  Often,  he asked Buck to untangle the cord or pass it around something or the other.  

This went on for a couple of hours when the electrician stopped and said;

 "You know,  if I ever go up in a plane,  I'm going to take this 100' extension cord with me.  If I have to jump,  I'll grab hold one end of it because it's bound to hang on something before we hit the ground!"

 :) :) :)

For the past 20 years,  my "other job" has brought me in contact with a fine fellow in southern Virginia.  Some circumstances of our jobs gets us together every year or two for a couple of days or a week.

He's always good for a couple of good stories but he comes up with this one story every time.  After I retell it,  I'm sure you'll agree it's something that, if you had witnessed it,  it would be burned into the back of your mind forever.

He said he was in a rural greasy-spoon café along the southern border of Virginia and noticed a couple of old pulpwood cutters setting at a table enjoying their chicken fried steak dinners.  But he got to noticing that one was eating and the other was just setting there watching the other rather intensely.  After a bit,  the one eating got to a resting place in the process,  he popped his teeth out and handed them across the table to the other guy who popped them in and would get his turn eating.  :-X

It must have been something to witness because every time he tells the story,  he shutters and acts like he's got a bad taste in his mouth. :D :D

Oh, the dumb stuff we do as kids.

When I was a little fellow, I belonged to the Cub Scouts, the Boy Scouts and the R.A's.  The R.A.'s, Royal Ambassadors:, was a church organization for boys organized by churches who belonged to the Southern Baptist Convention and was similar to Boy Scouts but it had a religious tilt.
 
We used to go camping too. One of our favorite spots was the Boy Scout camp on the St. Lucie River,  The St. Lucie was a beautiful primitive river before General Development built Port St. Lucie and "beautified" it.
 
I had a dear childhood friend who was almost a year older than me that called me his "Big Brother".   He called himself "little Eddy" and I don't think ever grew to weigh over 120 lbs.  I called him "Ugly Eddy" in my mind because he was undoubtedly the one single Ugliest person I had ever met.  This could get to be a lengthy and interesting description but it's not the story.
 
We were camping one weekend on the St. Lucie River and had a campfire going in a clearing, amongst the Pine trees, on top of a "hill". (Just a high spot in the swamp Kevin.)  The ground fell to all sides and the fires' light didn't penetrate too far.
 
It was getting  to be about 2am and Ugly Eddy got tired, so he excused himself, got his sleeping bag and went "downhill" about 150 feet to get away from our commotion and the firelight.  
 
The owls were hooting and there were all manner of animal sounds so, meaning well, we pulled Ugly Eddy's sleeping bag, with him in it, closer to the fire.  Directly, he awoke and wandered up to the fire, sitting down looking a little confused.
 
"Wasn't I down by swamp when I went to sleep", he asked?
 
"No, I don't think so", somebody answered.
 
He returned to his bag and was soon asleep.  We moved him again.
 
This time when he came to the fire he was shaking a little.
 
"Those trees are moving", he said.
 
"Naw Eddy, your just dreaming", somebody answered.
 
He returned to his bag and soon was asleep.
 
We were really getting into this now. His sleeping bag was pulled to the edge of the firelight and placed between two large pine trees that were only about three feet apart.
 
After what seemed to be forever, probably because we were waiting for the reaction, Ugly Eddy let out a loud Shriek. "A-i-i-i-ii-eee-  THESE TREES ARE MOVING-G."
 
He was out of his bag in a flash, sat down next to me by the fire and was up the rest of the night.
 
Ugly Eddy died about 2 years ago.  To that day he would tell the story of the trees moving on the St. Lucie River.  He acted as if he honestly believed it... and may have.
 
 If not then the joke was on us

"Old hands holding hands" had to let you guys in on the tunes I'm listening to right now, Saturday nite, works done, Prine's on.

Tom,I grew up in the same group, you got me remembering one of our campouts,cool enough that we had a good fire going and I spent the night sleeping on elbows and knees to stay off the ground,checking the trot line every now and again. We awoke as on of our number had snuggled a little too close to the fire and ignited his bag, we rolled him out and he's probably still giving advice to the youngun's about sleeping too close to the fire. :D I remember making squire can't remember after that(could be a reason).

What really had me thinking back was the ID on dandelion (tooth of the lion). Having give ya'll a little background as to upbringing these were the real bible belters(our softball team), no drinking,dancing or anything else that might be construed as fun. A friend had given me a recipe for dandelion wine. Well, I just had to try it out. The folks never questioned experiments on my bookshelf,ran a microcosm of snails and waterplants there sealed for 5 years. I brewed up the wine in a gallon cider jug till I thought it had quit working and capped it off tight to let it age and settle out. About a week later the house had gone to bed and around midnight a low front moved in...my jug of sticky sweet forbidden fruit exploded taking out a large part of the wall and ceiling of my bedroom. The folks came running downstairs about the time I erupted from the room in a daze. Dad looked in on the damage and stepped back out, looked at me (I'd swear there was a twinkle but mom was there) "Boy, I see you're going to learn to drywall tomorrow".

That's funny.  I had an experiment with Cider in Ridgecrest N.C. at the Baptist Camp, but nothing like that.  I didn't know a jug was that powerful but I guess there is a lot of energy that gets built up in there. :D  

Is that where you learned to drywall?...The start of the Carpentry career? :D

Oh, the dumb stuff we do as kids.
 
Charlie and I had a little 8 foot sailboat when we were little.  It was called a "Dart" and was made from strips of cedar covered with glass and carried one triangular shaped sail on a mast that was stepped in the bow.  We had a great time with it until its sail fell in disrepair and the glass began to separate from the cedar.
 
Mom had an apartment on the N. Beach in Ft. Pierce for a week of one summer and we boys were having a grand old time.  Charlie, Ugly Eddy and I took the boat ,  with a couple of hand made oars, and put it in a little backwater stream in the mangrove swamps and went exploring. The further west we got the bigger the stream became until we came to an opening close to A1A.  Charlie had decided he wanted to go back but Ugly Eddy and I wanted to continue our adventure so Charlie got out and walked barefooted through the sandspurs back to the Apartment which was about a mile away,.
 
Ugly Eddy and I ventured on.  Eventually we arrived at the Indian River and exited the mangrove swamps.  There was no communication to decide where we were going, we were just going.  We foraged on and before we knew it were in the river.  The Indian River at this point is quite large.  It varies from 2 miles to 1/2 mile wide.  Where we were was North of the Ft Pierce Inlet and the tide was going out so once we entered the river there was no turning around.  Our paddles would do no more than propel us at a slow pace, less than a shuffle if you were walking.
 
Under the North Bridge we were carried and then south into the "turning basin".  The turning basin was a large opening in the river where the Ocean's Inlet and the river met.  Ships would come in and load up with oranges and grapefruit there, turn around and go back to sea.  That's why they called it the "turning basin".
 
The tide was falling and the current was roaring out the inlet.  We paddled as hard as we could to get to and stay towards the West side of the basin to keep from being swept out to sea.  On the west side the current was less and we could make a little better headway.  Realizing that we were in a fix and couldn't return from whence we came,  we passed under the South Bridge and fought the current until we came to Moore's Creek.   This creek was a small stream about 20 feet wide that naturally drained  some of the lowlands of Ft. Pierce to the Indian River.  We entered the creek and paddled west, passing beneath 2nd street(the business street) and 4th street(US-1).  To get under US-1 required that we bend over and pass through a culvert pipe that went under the 4 lane hiway.  That was scary.  Then we found ourselves in the 7th street Park.  This was not too far from my house and even though we had not discussed it, had headed there knowing that  we wanted to get as close to home as possible.
 
We pulled the boat up in the park and found that we were so sunburned that we could hardly get out of the boat.  We inched to the swings and each sat in one, leaning forward on the chains because we couldn't raise our arms.
 
Across the street was Baird's Funeral Home.  They were friends of our families and had a son about our age.  Ugly Eddy finally got up enough energy to walk across the street and call his Daddy.
 
His Daddy arrived and picked us and the boat up.  We were in such poor condition that nobody fussed at us.  I was taken to my house and treated with salves and sent to bed.  A couple of days later when the fevers receded  I was again out of the house looking for another adventure.  Ugly Eddy didn't fair as good as I.  He was in bed for over a week with High fevers and doctor's visits.  
 
It was a stupid thing to do but it sure was fun and if I had the physical ability today I would probably do it again.  We could  have died a number of different times and just didn't realize what a situation we had gotten ourselves into.
 
Children are fearless.
 

OK...there it is in black and white.  After reading Tom's boat story, you should be able to determine which one of us is the smartest ;D ;D   Excuse me while I get back to the books...... :P

"Three Little Piggies, See Spot Run, The Little Engine that Could, Peter Rabbit,  the Cat in the Hat, ........................ :D



(https://forestryforum.com/anything/peterrabbit.jpg)
cottontail

The funny things that happen when we are trying to be proper.
 
My Coast Guard buddy, Roger, and I were fishing in the St. John's River, close to the mouth, one day in my 14 foot flat bottom boat .  It was a hot day and the water was quite smooth.  Roger always brought a jug of ginger ale or 7-up and drank it hot.  I had to have water from the cooler.  
 
When you have fished together enough, conversation becomes minimized and you find that you just sit in the boat and enjoy each other's company.  Roger and I had fished together over a period of at least a year and had reached this point.
 
I was sitting in the stern of the boat, where every respectable boat owner/captain sits.  Something needed to be tended to so I stood up and turned to the transom.
 
Roger said,"Is that chewing tobacco in your back pocket"?
 
I didn't chew too often, but when I was out fishing or hunting always kept a pouch of RedMan or, my favorite, Beechnut just in case the urge overcame me and I wanted something to do.
 
"Yes it is", I said almost embarrassed.
 
"Do you mind if I have a chew" he asked?
 
Relieved at being found out and having another chewer in the boat too, I replied, "Of course not.....do you like Beechnut"?  I stretched my hand and pouch out offering it to him.
 
"Oh, yes I do", he said.  "Thankyou very much but I have my own."
 
He took his pouch out of his pocket, drew a big clutch and put it in his cheek.
 
"I've been wanting a chew all day long and thought you didn't chew", he said. " I didn't want to chew in your boat and gross you out."
 
"I've been wanting some too, and was afraid It may bother you",  I said.
 
We both laughed, settled back, put our rods down and had a good long visit.  All this time we had known each other we had not known of each other's fondness of tobacco.
 
 I quit using all forms of tobacco in January of 1980 and would not encourage anyone to start or continue its use,  but this little story just goes to show how little you may know of your best friend when you may think you know it all.
 

I grew up around sailboats and water so you tend after time to just take some things for granted. But dad being the practical joker he was always had to press the limit at times.

At the time we had a couple of sailboats one being a 17' thistle. Sort of a smaller version of a 19' lighting. A real nice handling boat but pretty jumpy as well.

Well dad used to like to take friends out sailing from work and it was a very cool spring day. Dad was keeping the boat docked right across from the Yacht Club on the Saginaw river and the wind being as it was we had to tack up the river to get to the bay.

One of the friends that day was a man who was very large in size. As we were tacking our way up the river dad had already told him not to move so quick to the low side when tacking. Well this time he jumped to the low side and water starting coming in. Would have been ok if he would have stayed on that side. But what does he do.-Jumps back to the high side.

Well the problem being that it is now the low side and the wind took hold on the sails about the same time his weight hit the side and over the boat went. This was not a boat made to be put on her side. So full of water he says I think I messed up. Dad says I thought I saw a brown spot in your pants and everyone busted out laughing. We got towed back to the dock and pumped the boat out. That was the end of that sailing day. Dad had the sails drying in the living room, mom came home and had a fit. Then she had a good laugh.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another day dad brought the accountant/bookkeeper from work. Dad had said this guy was smart as a whip when it came to numbers but had no common sense what so ever.

So were out sailing a beautiful day. He asks dad what that thing is. It was the winch to tighten up the jib, the front sail of the boat. But he told him it was to raise and lower the centerboard and if he wanted to the board could be lowered a little bit to make the boat go faster.

Shame of it was that you could look at the other one and see it holding the jib taught. This one had a slack jibsheet wrapped around it. But he started turning it with the winch handle. After about a good 10 or 20 minutes he asks dad is that good enough his arm is getting tired. I started laughing and dad gave me a hard look. One that says don't spoil my joke boy kind of look. I'm laughing just thinking about that!

So we get back to the dock and he leaves in his car and dad starts laughing. What is so funny dad? He replies that how can a man be so smart that he is dumb. I didn't get it when he said it but I do now. :) :) :)

I'll save the centerboard hole story for another day.
Gordon

And I'll be looking for it.  I love a guy  with humor.  I was talking the other day about how people take what I say so seriously.  There is hardly a serious bone in my body and I love to put on like I don't understand how the simplest of lifes tasks  function.  

There is always someone who will try to straighten me out and tell how things really work.  

I love your Dad's humor.  It sounds as if he and I would have gotten along perfectly.

I'll bet he would have enjoyed being a party in this next story.

A friend just wrote me a letter and mentioned that his son had discovered how little sense of humor most people have.  Since it reminded me of a story and I have a hard time missing an opportunity to tell a story,  I returned this in my note.  
 
I agree with Gabe.  I have always had a sense of humor.  It must be a little strange but I enjoy life and don't hurt anybody with it.  I have found that people take me seriously when I make one of my quips.  Many times they will take me so seriously that they will try to straighten me out.  The only fun I get is when I find someone else who understands my humor.
 
 I had one good friend for years in Data Processing, Remel.  One night we were at a fancy restaurant being wined and dined by Univac for buying a  new main frame.  At our plates was a little bowl/cup of water with a lemon floating in it.  Heck, we new what it was but started having a subdued conversation between us about this little glass of lemonade.  The more we talked the more people we realized were listening.  There were about  50 people at the long banquet table who were being all full of their importance.  We just kept on acting like country bumpkins that couldn't figure out why they would serve such a small glass of lemonade.  After a while one of the wives, sitting close, very carefully explained to us that the bowls were finger bowls, not lemonade.  He and I just looked at each other like we couldn't believe somebody would have taken us seriously.
 
They would do it al the time................

That's classic Tom, small lemonade. What really steams me about fancy restaurants is the butter knife. It's made for right handed people and I'm left handed. Oh well worse things could happen.

I know what you mean about having a sense of humor. It really comes into play at work. Can make a bad situation into a joking one really quick instead of the other way around. Instead of being yelled at for the outrageous things they are saying at me I joke back and they don't know how to react. Takes them by surprise, to be joked with instead of being yelled at. Really diffuses the mood of the tier.

The other day a young gentleman was yelling some not so nice words at me, just trying to get some attention. So instead of the usual reaction that he is used to. I replied, can you wait a few minutes to do that I've got a problem with water pressure down the tier. The look on his face was priceless. He didn't know what to say.

So while I'm working on the water pressure problem I needed parts from the van and walked by this gentleman again and guess what that is exactly how he acted.  I told him to please wait I'm just getting parts and will be right back. His reply, you crazy, you make me laugh. Some humor sure does make the day go better.

The other day was a classic at work, getting wanded in and a vest check. I told the man that if this place gets any worse you would think it was a prison. This guy stops dead and looks at me. What the heck do you think this place is? My helper started laughing so hard he had to sit down in the chair. Then I got to laughing and the man started laughing as well, the kicker was I don't think he knew what we were laughing at. But when we came back through the gate a couple of hours later he sure was in a better mood.

Gordon

I love one liner's. Like Tom, it amazes me when someone takes me serious. There are people that take everything serious and try to help poor simple souls like me.  I say a bunch of bad one liners but I have to keep throwing them out there and every once in a while I'll get a good one. A couple of things I always say:  1) Someone will be leaving work for the day and will tell me goodnight. My response: "Goodnight, Thanks for coming in". 2) Or I'll look up at the sky and say, "Hmmmm looks like we might get some weather."  I chuckle at the responses concerning rain and wind. If the people would think.....we always have weather.

Story time: Several years ago I was down in Austin, Texas preparing for a product transfer to Rochester. The guy with whom I was working had to take fairly frequent smoke breaks. I would walk outside with him so I could continue to extract information. Everytime we went outside or inside we had to go through a metal detector. For some reason, the belt buckle I had on kept setting it off and the security guy would make me step aside and "wand" me. Well, you'd figure that after many times of this on the same blasted day he'd just let me pass, especially since I was coming back inside about 10 minutes after being scanned. I was feeling like a criminal. So once when he asked me to..."step aside"...I ran to the wall, leaned into it spread eagle.
The guy I was with busted out laughing. The security guy was too serious and didn't see the humor. For some reason, he didn't scan me again. ;D

"Just because you're paranoid,  does not mean there is not someone out to get you."  >:(  Is a line I like to throw out in a conversation.  Most people know it sound ominous but have to think on it a while before they puzzle it out. ;)

About 20 years ago the game Trivial Pursuit was popular.  Mary and I were playing with our two boys Chris age 6 and Gabe age 8 at the time.  One question - "What is the name of Howdy Duty's sister."  was asked of  Chris.  Without a second's hesitation,  he came back with;  "Heavy Duty!"  We still laugh about that in the family.
 :D :D :D :D :D

"out of the mouths of babes"


Things were so much simpler then.

Age tends to complicate life, doesn't it? :D

Another true story. It can only happen to me.:o  About 9 or 10 years ago on a snowy winter day, as I walked into work I stopped by Joe's office (Joe and I got along real good 'cause we had pretty much the same brain pattern ::) ).
Charlie: Hey Joe, wanna go downtown for lunch today? You'll have to drive though 'cause I ain't got my car.
Joe: Yeah that'd be great. I don't have a car either but I'll borrow Gordy's.

So at lunch we're walking to the parking lot.

Charlie: Where is Gordy's car parked?
Joe: Well, I don't know. I guess that would have been a good thing to ask Gordy.  Well, (looking at the keys) they're Chrysler keys and if I remember right his car was yellow.

We began walking through the parking lot looking for a yellow Chrysler product.

Charlie: Hey Joe, there's an old beat up yellow Chrysler over there!

The doors were unlocked so we got in. Joe stuck the key in the ignition and fired up the engine and off to town we went.

Joe:  Hey Charlie, what is that golf score card doing on the dash? Gordy doesn't play golf.........
Charlie: Hell, I don't know Joe. Let me see what's in this paper sack. Hmmmm, a six pack of Schmidt Beer.
Joe: Gordy drinks Old Mil', he doesn't drink Schmidt.
Charlie: Let me look in the glove box. Hmmmm here's a registration for a Robert Newhouse. I wonder if Gordy just bought this car. Let me look in this Target Store bag on the floor. Joe......it has a return on it for Robert Newhouse and is dated yesterday. I don't think this is Gordy's car.
Joe: Oh well,  we're halfway to town now. Might as well go on to lunch.

We went on to the little cafe and our conversation was mostly about wondering if the car was going to start again since Joe had had to wiggle the key a little to get it to work the first time. We ate our lunch, went back to the car and Joe got it started just fine. We headed back to work. When we get to the frontage road, Joe puts on his right turn signal.

Charlie: Where ya going Joe? Our parking lot is to the left.
Joe: I know, but if I see someone that looks like they are looking for a car in our parking lot, we're going to park in another lot.

We didn't see anyone in our parking lot, so Joe whipped the car left and we parked in the first empty spot available, got away from the car and headed into the building. I walked over to Gordy's office.

Charlie: Hey Gordy, what color is your car?
Gordy: Brown. Why?
Charlie: I think Joe and I saved you some gas.
Joe: Hey Charlie! Come here and look out the window.

Joe and I looked out the window toward the parking lot to see "Security" come driving up slowly and stop at the end of the sidewalk. Then a young man ran from the building to the "Security" car and got in. They started driving around the parking lot and found the car parked in a different spot. They got out, walked around it, opened it up, looked inside, popped the trunk and checked it out, popped the hood. Hmmm, engine was warm and snow was melted.  We were laughing so hard we could hardly stand up. We knew what the real story was, but wondered what the story was down stairs.

Next day.

Charlie: Joe, I walked by that yellow Chrysler and he had the doors on that old beater locked!
Joe: Now why would anybody even bother to lock up an old beater like that?

A week later, I walked by that old beater and saw the doors were unlocked. So I left a note on the window that said,
"I would advise you to lock your vehicle, it might get stolen."
 
 To my knowledge, Robert never did know the real story. But the story downstairs was that Robert had walked out to the parking lot to go home for lunch and couldn't find his car. Puzzled, he went back to his work area and told some of his co-workers that he thought his car had been stolen. He then called Security.  He couldn't figure why someone would steal an old beater like that or why they returned it.;D ;D

When I was in the Boy Scouts.......around '52...that seems so long ago, one of our projects was a raft trip.
 
We were not allowed to use nails but were allowed a specified amount of 1/4 inch rope and as much twine as we wanted.  The material of choice was bamboo and we were provided with copious amounts from residents who were overrun with the Giant species.  This bamboo was 3-5 inches in diameter and made good building material.  The raft had to be made by tying the bamboo together with the rope and twine.  We were also allowed supplemental floating devices like 55 gal drums or innertubes to put beneath the raft.
 
The trips began on the North Fork of the St. Lucie River in White City,  a little development just south of Ft. Pierce, and ended in Stuart.  Stuart was about 20 miles as the crow flies but an ungodly distance by river.  If the winds and tides were against us too bad, we ended our trip at a fishing camp, Pruitts,  that existed about where Port St. Lucie is now.
 
On one of these trips we were having the regular problems of rafts coming apart and the Scout master was in an outboard motor boat "rescuing" scouts and their gear.
 
One raft became entangled in the hyacinths and the boys were unable to get it out.  One of the boys was afraid that he was going to be eaten by alligators and being stuck wasn't helping him very much.  The other boys on the raft were enjoying their plight and had taken their clothes off and were swimming in the river.  The current had carried them a bit away from the raft leaving the one frightened boy alone and hugging the steering oar.
 
Just when things couldn't get any worse for him, naturally they did.  Alongside of the raft, not 2 feet from him, rose a Sea Cow.  That is Manatee to those  who don't know it by the other name.  
 
A Sea Cow is a huge, 1000 pound or better mammal that lives in southern waters.  It is a vegetarian and a hangover from prehistoric days.  The sailors of old called it a mermaid but this boy saw a monster.
 
The Sea Cow was happily eating away at the hyacinths, snorting and munching much like a bovine at a feed trough and thoroughly enjoying itself.
 
The boy was so frightened that he was screaming.  The only one with power was the Scout Master and he was slow getting there.  After all he had to deliver other scouts to camp who had raft problems.
 
When the Scout master finally got there, this boy was in a conniption.  He was taken aboard the motorboat and delivered to his parents, who were called to the fish camp to pick him up.
 
Never ever was this fellow to be know as anything other than Sea Cow Webber from then on out.
 
I can't remember his face,  I didn't know him real good,  but he is forever imprinted in my memory to be taken to my grave.

 
  (https://forestryforum.com/images/YaBBImages/userpics/bs%20raft%20trip%202.jpg) (https://forestryforum.com/images/YaBBImages/userpics/bs%20raft%20trip.jpg)

Tom, I remember that trip. Corky, Ben and I made our raft. It was sturdy with the Chinese Bamboo running widthwise, a frame for the long tiller on the back and double thickness of innertubes underneath. As I remember, the fastest raft was one where the boys spent no time making it. They just ran some Chinese Bamboo lengthwise with a few innertubes underneath. It was fast, but those boys were also wet all the time. When we camped that night, I found a scorpian walking up my leg.:o  Couldn't sleep much that night for thinking 'bout scorpians walking around. ???  It was a memorable experienc.  8) 8)

Ugly Eddy had a paper route and we would help him roll his papers and deliver them so that he could get done and we could play.
 
The papers were delivered to the Boy Scout Cabin about a block from school.  This was a large Log cabin/meeting hall on a pole quality, pine tree covered lot covering 1/3 of a city block.
 
We were early or the papers were late and to kill time started passing a football.  One would pretend that he was hunched down behind the center in a large stadium full of spectators and the other, on the count, would run a pattern through the trees (defensive players) and catch a pass.
 
Eddy hollered hike and I took off.  While he was busy eluding an imaginary rush I was running "hell bent for leather" toward the "goal".
 
I looked over my shoulder and here came the ball.  I ran harder, looked again and it was almost perfectly thrown but long and passing a little over my head.  I jumped up, still going full tilt, and turned as I reached for the ball.  SMACK !!.
 
I straddled a fifteen inch dia.  pine tree.  My legs and arms went either side of it and my nose stopped me from going any further.  It knocked me cold as a cucumber.  Eddy and the other boys were scared to death that I had killed myself.  
 
The first thing I remember was that my glasses were askew on my face down below my nose and so twisted that I couldn't put them back on.  Then I notice the blood pouring from nose and my face and chest was scratched on most every inch.  The high points over the bony areas had the skin peeled back likened to a rubbed peach.  Was I alive?
 
Everybody ran to my aid and for 4 or 5 minutes I was the center of attention.  Then I got my senses about me again and we continued with our game.  
 
Hero of the day, I was, and Ugly Eddy never let me forget the day I was tackled by a pine tree.

Tom's story reminded me of stories often told about Bill, a neighbor of mine.    His large family can be traced back to the early settlers of the area.  Bill is about 80 now and still in good heath.  Although from the stories told of the things he did in youth and in maturity,  it's a wonder he's still alive!   :D

When Bill and his brothers attended the little one-room grade school in the area,  there came a heavy wet snow.  When school was out,  the whole student body set in to have a big snowball fight.  Sides were chosen and lines were drawn and snow forts were built.  

The next morning when Bill and brothers got to the schoolyard,  Bill though it would be great fun to knock down the opposition's fort before they got there.  >:(  Sparing no effort and with a fateful "Watch this!",  he lowered his head and ran into the fort like a charging bull.    :o :o :o

Some time later it dawned on Bill that the temperature had dropped to below 0 through the night and what had been soft snow was now hard ice.   :'(

Another time the boys were all swinging on grape vines hanging in a large oak tree.  Bill thought he could swing high enough to reach the top of a 40-foot tall cedar tree some distance away.  ;)  He swing higher and higher until he thought he could risk letting go of the vine and grab the top of the cedar tree.  Not quite! :-X

Witnesses said he fell through the cedar tree like a cannon ball - hitting the ground in a dusty heap.  They thought he was surely dead but they picked him up and walked him around a little.  He was a little worse for wear, skunt up, bruised, cloths torn,  but otherwise no permanent damage was done.  ;D ;D ;D

 :D :DHolie Schmolee! Old Bill must have a dang good Guardian Angel! :D :D :o :o Reminds me of the time Tom was teaching me to slide down a tree by jumping to it from the garage roof......but that's one for another day. ;D

Bibbyman! 3 more notes and you get another tree! 8) 8) 8)

Poor Bill,

I know how he must have felt..........reminds me of a story :D

I had a friend who lived a couple of blocks away named Freddy who had the largest comic book collection in town or so it seemed to me.  Being raised Southern Baptist I wasn't allowed the same entertainments other kids had....no comic books, cards, no work or hard play on Sunday, no dancing, and a myriad of other rules.  So, I would sneak off to Freddy's and read comic books.

One day I had done this and we tired of being inside the house so we went outside to play.  There was a tall Australian Pine tree on the corner of his property.   An Australian Pine generally has a very tall slender trunk and limbs that deminish in size to the top which gives it a cone shape not too much different from a Blue Spruce but sparcer branching.

Our game was to climb to the top, about 50 ft., grab the trunk, which was about 2-3 inches in diameter, and jump to the side as far as we could.  The tree would slowly break our fall and we would be hanging in mid space about 35 ft. off of the ground.  Great fun.

Well this one time I had reached the top but before I could jump the limb under my foot broke and I fell.  Holding onto the trunk with one hand just enough to get me started falling away from the trunk and I lost my grip.  Down I went.  

I hit every branch on the way down, I would straddle one and it would give way and farther I would go.  I would land on one side, spin as I fell, hit another, spin and fall until I finally ran out of tree and landed on the ground as flat on my back as could be.  

Whoosh! went the air from chest.  I saw little stars and flashes of light and couldn't get up.  In my mind I knew I wasn't hurt but I couldn't get up and I couldn't breathe.  Freddy and the others gathered around worried and not knowing what to do until...all of a sudden I got back the ability to breathe.  My chest worked...thank God.

I was scratched a bit and hurt some, but right back up the tree I climbed.  Reaching the top I decided that I had proved that I was brave without having to jump again so I looked at the scenary for a while and climbed back down.

If that had happened to me today I wouldn't have lived past the first breaking branch.  I would probably have died from fright right there in the top of the tree.

It makes you wonder how we made it, doesn't it. ;D

Tom, if you tried that today you wouldn't get hurt a bit. I think the tree would break before you got much more than 4 feet off the ground.....::) so you really wouldn't have that far to fall. Of course you'd have to make sure the poor tree didn't fall on top of you. ;D ;D ;D ;D

Kenny and the Campbell's Soup song.

My first ten or so years of office life were before the famed cubical.  We were housed in big open spaces with desks rowed up like cars in a parking lot.

Life was wild then.  In the early 80's we had an influx of new people.  Each would have to run the gauntlet of pranks and practical jokes.  I must say they were all good sports because they fell right in with us when the next poor victim showed up.  

One guy, (I'll call him Kenny because that was his name) never really graduated past the victim level.  You could always fool him.  Got to where the old pros would let the new guys trick Kenny because it wasn't sporting enough.  

Big Mike McNown set about the distance between horseshoe pegs from Kenny in the sea of desks.  Mike was about average at everything but B.S.  That he excelled in.  

On day Mike gets the idea to call Kenny and impersonate a radio disk jockey and get Kenny to sing the Campbell's Soup song - You remember: "Mmmm, Mmmm Good! Mmmm, Mmmm, Good!  Campbell's Chicken Soup is Mmmm, Mmmm Good!"

Well the whole area knew what was going down.  Kenny gets the call and Mike explains who he is and if he (Kenny) could sing the Campbell's Soup song,  he would win a case of soup.  Kenny was too thick headed to understand him so he just hung up.  Then he had to tell everyone about the odd phone call he got.  The news spread through the office bay like ripples from a rock thrown into a pond.  

A couple of people explained to Kenny what the jockey was offering him and what he had missed.  MAN! Kenny was disappointed!  He was getting married in a couple of months and sure could have used that case of soup.  

In the discussion,  someone mentioned that the radio station sometimes has a second chance Tuesday. (and,  by golly, it was Tuesday!) If you missed winning, then they would put your name in a hat and give you a second chance.  But Kenny didn't know the song!  He had to be coached.  

After lunch came the second call.  Explained that he had been chosen to have a second chance.  He was ready.  He sang his song.  Then Mike explained he got the song right and won but they needed to reenact the interview and have him sing the song again so they could record it to play on the radio.  So Kenny sang the song again.  Mike explains they has some recorder problem so if he could sing it just one more time.  He does.  Well,  that was good but most people sound better if they were standing up. Could he stand and sing the song?  He does.  That was much better but if he could sing it a little louder,  it would be much better.  Kenny really puts some effort into it and signs again.

Meanwhile,  everyone within 50 feet was about to bust a gut.  The Engineering Manager was in the area and not in on the prank was standing about ten feet from Kenny with a puzzled look on his face.  He just shook his head and walked back to his office.

Finally, with jubilation and pride in his work, Kenny put down the phone to share with the others his accomplishment.  We all agreed he had performed perfectly.

A few minutes later,  Mike comes over to Kenny's desk and puts down an office Dictaphone recorder and pushes the play button.  Kenny was totally confused.  How did Mike record his interview?  Mike breaks it to Kenny.

Now the Kenny doesn't really have a laugh.  He makes an "Eeeeek!" sound like a dolphin and then holds his breath until he turns blue.  He was a good sport about it.

:D

I love a good joke.  That's great.  It's a good thing kenny has a good sense of humor, you gotta be careful sometimes because more and more people don't.  

I hope he got at least one can of soup.  That would have been something to continue the joke for years.  Celebrate the anniversary. :D

 :D :D :D :D :D :D I like that story Bibbyman. :D :D :D :D :D   By the by (that's British for...by the way), the company I work for must be way ahead of it's time. I was in cubicles in 1972 and knew of people that were in cubicles in 1968 (that was before I was promoted to a cubicle).  ;D

This happend today at work. Was a busy day had to change a 4" valve out at the steam plant first thing in the morning. So the entire complex was without steam. This had to be done quickly so they could fire up the boilers. All went well and the valve was changed boilers fired up and running no alarms and no leaks. The man I was with is a real practial joker makes me look like a serious person. He had worked in the power house for two years when he first started there.

So he disappears for a few minutes, which is not uncommon for him. You just have to wonder what he is up to thats all. So I've already started working on a condensate pump that was broken and he says to move to the back of the building quietly. You can yell once all the boilers are fired up and not be heard. So I moved to the back. About that time alarms start going off. They are running around checking gauges and temps.

I walk across the building to the corner he is in and he has a light switch wired into the alarm. So he turns it off and the alarm goes dead. They all head back into the office. As soon as the door is closed he turns on the alarm again. Out a running they come. Checking gauges and temps giving each other the thumbs up all is well. Back in the office they go shaking their heads is dismay. Well  by now we are busting up laughing.

So he turns on the alarm again and out everyone comes again. Then all of the sudden the alarm turns off. He turns around and the foreman has cut his wire going to the alarm. The powerhose foreman is shaking his head and busts out laughing. You see this was a joke they always used to play on each other years ago. It had been quite some time since it had been done the foreman was caught off guard.

Gordon

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On Saturday there are only two maintenance men on duty.  Last Saturday the other man had off so it was only me.

I got a call from primary control to bring an extension ladder into Max.  Why?  Well, an inmate had climbed the inside recreation yard fence all the way up to the ceiling (two stories) and tied himself to it with a sheet made into a harness. He used his socks for loops into the fence for footholds. It was quite a sight. They had no idea how to get him down.  There are two inside rec yards right next to each other with a two foot gap between the fences so inmates can't hand anything to each other. Every thing on the teir is being video taped to protect us in court if the inmate presses any charges against us for the use of force

First, I took a razor knife and taped it to a mophandle to try and reach through the fences.

I tried to talk him down for ten to twenty minutes-no luck.  

I climbed the ladder and as soon as I tried to cut the sheet he would put his hand up to shield the harness. I couldn't cut him so I got back down the ladder and talked to the leiutenant who went up the ladder and unloaded a full can of capstun (like teargas).

I went back up to try again.  The same thing happened again. Back down the ladder I went and left the teir to get that gas mask off and talk to the Lieutenant.

The Lieutenant radioed for another can of capstun and ordered a guard to climb the fence to remove the inmate. This didn't work at all. The inmate kicked the guard square in the gasmask and just about knocked him off of the fence.

The capstun arrived and the Lieutenant unloaded another can of  on him. Remember just a short burst had knocked me for a good loop and this guy has had two full cans unloaded on him.

Before going back on the teir I told the Capt. that this was the last time up the ladder for me.

Up the ladder I went.  

Now the inmate can't see at all, so I tried again to cut the harness.  The inmates on the cellblock are yelling to him,  "he's going high, he's going low".  It made me chuckle in the mask.  I was thinking about Nascar spotters talking to their drivers.

About that time the Lieutenant  climbed the other side of the fence to really distract him. The inmate tried to kick out at him, but his harness ripped, gravity took affect and down he went to the concrete floor.

He was greeted by 6 guards in their black Ninga gear and had no fight left in him.  The nurse looked him over and he was taken to the infirmary to be checked out.

A different Saturday to say the least. But now I don't have to worry about Saturdays anymore.  They have changed my schedule to Monday thru Friday 7am to 3pm.

NICE

It seems I have lived most of my life in one swamp or the other and Florida has them in Salt as well as Fresh water.

In 1959 thru 1963 I worked for the St. Lucie County Mosquito Control District, mostly as summer work between school sessions.

One of the major projects was building Impoundments on Hutchinson Island on both the North and South Beaches.

These impoundments were made by digging a ditch, beginning at the high ground  between the  ocean and the Indian River, with the muck piled on the river side of the ditch.  This dike was built west to the river then along the river/swamp bank for 1 mile then back to the high ground again.  Water was allowed to fill this area at high tide through pipes with gates on them that held the water by water pressure when the tide dropped.  The flooding of the impoundment allowed fish to get to all the, otherwise inaccessible holes, and eat the mosquito larvae.  This was a rather ingenious form of Mosquito Control started by Mr. Carlisle and affected by Mr. Fred Harden.

We had two really good and interesting dragline operators, Ed and Tom.  Ed, 6' 4" and wiry,  was once a cowboy till he found this job.  Tom, 5' 7" and 250 lbs,  had been an equipment operator all his life.  The oilers were old, eccentric, fisherman who had retired from that craft and the four made up two expert teams.

But, I digress.

The swamp muck is pitch black and the consistency of pancake batter.  The draglines worked off of mats and seldom came back over the dikes they built because of the instability.  They just charged on through the Black Mangrove swamps, leaving a 40 or 50 foot ditch and a corresponding 40 or 50 foot dike behind them.

One day the Assistant Director,  a young college graduate with the gung-ho attitude of a Navy Ensign and no practical experience, said he was going to inspect the Dragline work.

The operators asked him to call on the radio before he came so that they could come get him.  He didn't.

He had been provided a brand new Jeep 4wd station wagon that he thought was invincible.  He got about 1/8th of a mile run down the hard road, A1A, and hit the freshly dug dike at what must have been at least 60 mph.

The operators had been digging this dike into a second  week and at 300 ft. per day had progressed well beyond hailing distance out through the swamp.  A short part of the dike at the hard road had crusted over a little but beyond that it was like stacked soup.

The Jeep flew down this dike until it's momentum was overcome by the drag on the wheels and then by the drag on the under body until it finally sloshed to a halt more than 300 feet from the hard road.

The Ass. peeled himself off of the steering wheel, escaped to safety through an open window and jumped clear of the truck onto a dike that wouldn't even hold his weight. The open window allowed the stinking black muck to fill the cab.  By the time the dragline operator and oiler could get there, the only thing showing of the truck was the radio antennae.  

They had to walk the dragline back down the dike on mats and dig the truck out.  They then had to hoist it on the dragline cables and walk it to the hard road.  

It took several days.

.

In 1973, my company built a new computer site in a new industrial park.  We were the 4th company there so many of the lots were uncleared.  This included the lots on either side of us.  They were low and covered with pine that had been thinned to about 10 per acre.  That's what we call a "residential cut" because it provides seed trees and open ground to remain classified for agricultural tax relief but  has enough trees to be attractive to developers for homes or business sites.
 
Not much went on in this park because of its newness, no traffic, not much building and few visitors.  That fall the rainy season caused the lots on one side of our building to flood.  There was about a foot and a half of water and all you could see were the trees.  All of the underbrush, most of which had been mowed, was underwater.   We were getting cabin fever and for entertainment would sit at the windows on our breaks and watch the few cars whiz past.
 
Being a bit of a practical joker, I went to my truck and got a couple of surf fishing poles (rods 10-12 feet long).  I kept them in there all the time because many times that's where I went instead of home, surf-fishing.  A couple of my buddies saw me get mine and, in the spirit of the moment, retrieved theirs.
 
We set these poles up on the side of the road, in their stands made of pvc pipe, and cast a weight back into the flooded woods.  Then we went back inside to see what would happen.
 
A car came whizzing by but slowed beside the poles.  Then another later would do the same thing.  We think they were going somewhere to tell their buddies about the scene because the traffic in front of the building increased 100 fold that afternoon.  
 
The funniest thing was that the same cars began to show up time and time again as if they were going to see what it was we were catching.  We sat behind our window, watched and laughed as we began to recognize the people in the cars.  This was more activity this road had seen since we had moved there and we were having a grand old time.
 
Eventually the traffic slowed, it got to be "after" quitting time and we dismounted the poles and went home.
 
During all that day, nobody stopped to ask what we were catching.
 
Ha, it would have be difficult to tell them, "you".

The answer, back then, to their question "whatcha catchin" would be......"Inquisitive people". :)

Nowadays though....The only reason they would stop would be to steal every one of those rod and reels. I bet they could've done it and been gone before y'all got out of the building to stop'em too. ;D ;D  

Bullseye and the cat call.

You may remember Bullseye from the turkey hunting story I posted a while back.  Well,  Bullseye didn't limit his bonehead stunts to just hunting.  He really did make coming to work on Monday mornings a little bit more interesting.  You could count on him getting into some kind of fix.  I thought of this one the other night and had to chuckle again.  Mary asked me what was so funny.  Here is the story:

Bullseye and wife Birdie lived about 40 miles out from Capitol City where they both worked.  As the State is by far the largest employer in the area,  either you worked for the State or you didn't.  Birdie did and Bullseye didn't but their hours were close enough together so they could ride together to work.  

Birdie's mom also worked for the State and carpooled with three other ladies – one also worked for the state but the other two didn't.  As the major function of the state government is to spend money (don't get me started!),  they tend to give far more paid holidays that any private business would.  As it happened,  a holiday came up and it was Birdie's mom's week to drive.  She didn't have to work but she was obligated to get the other two to work.  Since Bullseye wouldn't have Birdie,  she asked him to give the other two ladies a ride.  

The morning commute went as expected.  And in the evening Bullseye even managed to remember to pick the ladies up.   It should have been easy as when the state is shut down,  the office area of down town is practically empty.  

Anyway,  the heavy set lady got in the back seat of the Mustang and sat in the middle while the other rode "shotgun".  Bullseye made it out of downtown,  out the row of stoplights on the expressway and then onto the open freeway.  No problem.

Then the impulse.  Why?  There is no answer for why.  End of work on Friday and getting out of the traffic and heading home the exuberance must have overcome his normal imbalanced senses.  In one swift movement he extended his right arm out straight with palm turned back,  fingers spread as if cupping a basketball.  Without so much as a "May I?",  he grabbed the lady's left breast and gave a good twist as if taking the lid of'n a large mouth pickle jar.  The action was accompanied with a rousing "RrrrrEeeerrr" of a wildcat call.   :o

I couldn't guess how many milliseconds it took before his action was met by a reaction – but it couldn't have been many.  The lady's left arm came up to break Bullseye's grip and she flung herself against the passenger side door panel.   Bullseye, now coming to realize the mistake he made,  moved as far to his side as he could.  He stared straight ahead for the remaining 40-minute ride home and she just looked out her side window. :-[  Not that there was silence as the heavyset lady in the back had seen it all and couldn't stop laughing all the way home.   :D :D :D

When I was young, I, like many young men, lacked the presence of a father, but was lucky that I had a "father-figure" in my Granddad.

He was a strikingly handsome man of six feet one inch and weighed in at between 200 and 210 lbs.  There were tales of him in his youth dead lifting other young boys over his head.  He was big, strong, smart and rode the crest in the community and the church.  I couldn't have been luckier to have someone like him for a hero.

He would come get me from school to take me fishing or hunting which made me the envy of other classmates.  This story describes one of those instances.

I was removed from my 4th grade class and strolled, with Granddaddy's hand on my shoulders to a battered old pickup truck parked beneath the oaks trees that bordered the school.  I have no idea what year truck it was but it had teardrop headlights, flat windshield, a box for a bed and spoked wheels.  In the drivers seat was Granddaddy's good friend Mr. Taylor.  He was shorter than Granddaddy but a lot heavier and jolly as the proverbial "elf", ole' St. Nick.

I got in the middle and Granddaddy rode "shotgun" and off we went to Lake Okeechobee.  We were going Meat fishing.

Not a lot of people had boats then and those who did kept them at home next to the water because trailers weren't popular.  We got to Okeechobee City, went south on 441 to the lake and then around the east to a fish camp that Mr. Taylor and Granddaddy liked.    Boats were all made from boards or plywood, were flat bottomed, and came in lengths of 14 to 21 feet.  

They rented their favorite an 18 ft. flat bottomed boat and a kicker, probably about 6 horse, purchased some bait and off we went.  Our destination was a deep canal cut in the lake by the Corps of Engineers, called appropriately "Government Cut",   that had banks of hyacinths growing on either side.  The hyacinths on the shore side were a thick mat for 30 or 40 yards and then the water got shallower and they were interspersed in  tall grass for another 50 to 100 yards where they met the shore.  The other side of the canal was the side that was on the open lake and the hyacinths grew as thick for 30 or 40 yards and then there was open water as far as the eye could see with interspersed "islands" of tall grass.  Lake Okeechobee is the largest fresh water lake in the nation totally inclosed in the boundry of a single state.

Mr. Taylor ran the boat into the hyacinths so that the plants would hold us and keep us stationary in the wind.  It was almost like being anchored.  Granddaddy sat in the bow with a cane pole about  5 feet long and a small lure called a Trix-oreno on the end of the line.  Mr. Taylor was in the stern where he was responsible for the motor with two long poles with corks and baited with minnows.  I was in the middle and had two long poles as well but found that I couldn't handle two at once.  I usually used just one and left the other laying in the boat.

What we were after were Speckled Perch.  We called them "Specks" and they are the fish that are know elsewhere as  Black Crappie.

While Mr. Taylor and I fished with minnows, Granddaddy jigged his Trix-oreno and we would load the boat every time.  Fishing would be so furious that we would quit putting them on the stringer and would throw them in the bottom of the boat.  The limit, I think, was 35 per person and these fish were as big as a double hand so it didn't take long for the boat to be covered.  I was a big man on those days.  Treated as an equal,I thought,and joked with about catching the first fish and the largest fish and the smallest fish and the ugliest fish and being able to eat all the crackers and sardines I wanted without having to ask permission.  About 2 or 3 o'clock we would go back to the fish camp where we cleaned the fish, got in the truck and went home.

Grandmamma made grits and fried fish.  There were tales about how good a fisherman I was and how the men had provided the meat for the table.  Grandmamma could make you feel 10 feet tall.

When I went off to bed, my head was so big that I could hardly get through the door.  Granddaddy was my best buddy.

A man spoke frantically into the phone, "My wife is
pregnant, her contractions are only two minutes apart!"
                
"Is this her first child?" the doctor asked.

"No!" the man  shouted, "This is her husband!"

Jasper our jobsite PR manager outdid himself today. The local building supply sent out their tilesetter to do the master bath. I knew it was going to be a long morning when I walked in and he was telling Mrs. Homeowner all the reasons his job was going to be difficult, if not impossible. The sheetrockers had not thought about him, the glass door people had made his life terrible ( Got to hear how long each trade had been doing it "their way") I typically respond that the earth was known to be flat for a good millenia and that man would never fly so its entirely likely that a person could do a thing the wrong way all their life. OOH, realize I'm in mid rant.

Anyway, as this guy steps out for a morning break/smoke (break from what I don't know). He left his 9 remaining donuts and cappucino in the bath. Yup you guessedit  :D :D  

Poor little guy waddled up to us with this look on his face that said "Dog's not feeling too good". By quitting time he was back to his old self.

This is a little out of context with this thread but I found this in one of local papers. It describes how us northern boys can tell we are from Northern Ont.

You know you're from Northern Ontario when:

1)Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a log truck on the highway.

2) "Vacation means going to North Bay for the weekend.

3) You measure distance in hours

4) You know several people who have hit a moose once and some that have hit a deer several times.

5)You often switch from "heat" to "air conditioning" in the same day.

6) Your grandparents drive 65 mph in 3 feet of snow.

7)You see people wearing hunting clothes at social events.

8) You have security lights in your yard but never lock the house or garage

9)You think the major food groups are moose, deer, fish and berries

10)You carry jumper cables in the car and even your wife/girlfriend knows how to use them

11)You know all four seasons; almost winter, winter, still winter  and construction

 :D :D

If you could take a ride back a quarter century in time on Professor Peabody's Wayback machine,  you would find Mary and I living in our two bedrooms, one bath, cottage we had built with our own four hands.

We also had two fine toe-head boys,  Gabe six and Chris four, a dog named Snootz, and a 73 International Scout II.

You don't need to have a CPA conduct an audit to see that money was tight.
But we tried to do things with the boys about every week like, going to the drive-in movies, hit the circus when it came to town,  the county fair with it's carnival and the local school events, etc.

I got paid monthly and after the bills were paid,  if any money was left,  we also liked to go out to breakfast on one Sunday morning a month.  Forced to be frugal,  we had found just the right place - a truck stop out at the intersection to two major highways just north of us.  The food was plentiful, prices right and the menu to our liking.

Now,  if I would compile a list of all the bad behavior of my two sons,  it would be typical and long for sure.  But one thing I couldn't put on the list would be that they miss-behaved at the restaurant.  They were quiet,  respectful, and used reasonably good table manors.  We didn't have to bribe, threaten, or plead with them to eat.  They were growing country boys and generally did a good job of cleaning their plates.

But one time...  We had finished eating and were waiting at the cash register while Mary wrote out the check - rounding it up for money for a tip.  I gave the money to Gabe and instructed him to take it back to the table for a tip.  He really felt big getting to do this chore.  Chris would go with him for backup support on this important errand.

As we had parked at the end of the building,  Mary and I walked on out while Chris and Gabe made the tip run.  The sidewalk was tight to the building protected by the overhang.  There was a brick wall about shoulder high on the outside and glass above that making the inside of the restaurant a Sea World like aquarium.  

We got about 20 feet down the sidewalk and I noticed that two waitresses standing the main isle way had recoiled back, eyes popped out,  mouth open,  looking at something at their feet.  From their reaction,  I would have guessed someone had dropped a sack full of rattlesnakes.  

A widened view showed that the people in the booth between the glass and the isle had bolted back towards the glass and away from the isle.  A quick glance around the room showed that everyone was affixed on whatever the waitresses were looking at and also had a shocked look on their faces.  Though puzzled at what could have caused this reaction,  I just figured someone had dropped a tray full of dishes, a pot of coffee or something.  Mary and I continued on to the Scout.

Chris and Gabe came running out and caught us as we were getting in and climbed into the back seat.  We pulled out onto the highway and Gabe with his small little voice said: "Chris got sick."   "What?!"  :o  He had not been sick before or while in the restaurant and,  although  we could see he was quiet now,  he didn't appear sick.  Gabe continued: "He fru-up in the restaurant." :-X

Well,  that explained it.  As they returned from the table,  Chris had lost his breakfast, upchucked,  blown chunks,  tossed his cookies,  in the isle - en route.  Not breaking stride,  they just continued out. They were too short to see over the brick part of the wall.   Oh to think of the poor people trying to enjoy their breakfast!  :-[

I can't really say what caused Chris' sudden loss of control because it was all right afterwards.   I guess he just eat too much or the orange juice upset his stomach.  But it was a number of years before we came back to that restaurant.

(https://forestryforum.com/images/YaBBImages/userpics/boys2.JPG)

Gabe, Chris and Snootz

 :o I can relate to that story Bibbyman.....even the being dirt poor.  It reminds me of the time when my son was in 1st grade and had gotten ready to walk to school. He told me that his stomach hurt.::)  Well, this boy wasn't born yesterday. I knew all those tricks on how not to go to school. So I stood my ground and told him he'd have to go anyway and that he'd feel better once he got there.  So like a good little boy he walked out the front door and threw up all over the front steps. He got to stay home and I felt bad for not believing him.:-/  I guess he wasn't as deceitful as I was.

Once, when I was in 1st grade, I told my Grandmother that I couldn't go to school 'cause I was sick. She told me to get dressed, go to school and tell the teacher that I wouldn't be able to go to school because I was sick. She was thinking that once I was there I'd stay. So I got dressed, slowly walked to school picking some weed flowers (Lantana) on the way for the teacher. When I got to school I told the teacher that I was sick and would not be going to school that day. I then walked home. My Grandmother said she was surprised to see me come home. Another time, I complained that I was sick (musta been 2nd or 3rd grade) so my grandmother fixed me a hot water bottle and then stuck a  thermometer in my mouth. Well, to make myself look like I had a fever, I put the thermometer on the hotwater bottle. When Grandma came back she took a look at it and asked if I had stuck it on the hotwater bottle. With a straight face I told her no. I think the jig was up though. I often wonder what that thermometer registered.::)  I don't think Tom ever pretended to be sick. He was too honest ;D

Note to Bill Johnson: As Eggsander will probably agree that your list would also fit a Minnesotan pretty close. I do have a few questions about statement number 4.
4) You know several people who have hit a moose once and some that have hit a deer several times.
Is that just one moose that several people keep hitting? Are they only allowed to hit that moose once each? At any rate, he must be in pretty bad shape. Also, do they get to hit a deer multiple times?  I'm confused. Why can Canadians only get to hit a moose once but they can hit a deer multiple times. I can picture that. WHACK! They hit a deer, put the car in reverse and hit it again.     :D

Yup, that list fits pretty good. Heck my wife once hit two deer at on time with her pickup while on the way to work. I came by and there she sat in a neighbors driveway with a puddle of red under the truck ( transmission cooler got busted). Never found either one of the deer!  >:(
A burning question for Bill Johnson on Northern Ontarians then: Casserole or Hotdish?
Here's a little "mouths of babes" story:
About four or five years ago when they came out with the movie Toy Story, the stores were of course filled with the lasted merchandise related to the movie, the dolls, cars, and etc. In the odd chance you haven't seen the movie, or don't recall, the lead characters were a cowboy action figure named Woody and a spaceman action figure named Buzz Lightyear. So anyway my wife and I and our boy, who was about a three footer at the time had returned home after a Christmas party at the in-laws. We were standing in the kitchen and Sue and I were each looking holding one of the new toys that he had gotten as gifts. Suddenly he belts out "Look, Mom has a Buzz and Dad has a Woody!". He didn't know why we couldn't quit laughing.   :D :D :D :D :D

I served aboard a Destroyer, The U.S. Eaton DD-510.  Sailors are always joshing one another and sometimes, because rank gets in the way, you know better and still have to go through with the joke.
 
We were underway in the Caribbean when a storm front loomed ahead.  A 1st class Gunners Mate sent a "new" seaman apprentice to the flag locker to get a Rubber Storm Flag.  You see, we couldn't fly a cotton 'old Glory" in the weather we were getting ready to enter.
 
He went aft looking for the flag locker and was sent to most every station on the ship.  Along with not being able to find a flag, he was sent on a continuing spiral up the chain of command looking for it until finally he arrived at the Captains Quarters.  Feeling sorry for the sailor, who undoubtedly knew that he was on a wild goose chase, the captain told him that there was no such thing as a rubber storm flag and he should return to his watch with no fear of failure.
 
The Joke was not so much that he was sent for the flag but that each and every echelon of authority had perpetuated the wild goose chase.
 
To a crew of sailors whose daily entertainment consisted of pulling toy ducks and fire engines around the deck this was great fun.

Gordon just told a little story in "Woods Walking" about his kids being scared of an imaginary bear and it reminded me of an incident when my three boys were little, about 10 and twins 8.

I had taken them fishing south of Salt Springs to Rodman Pool.  It is a reservoir that the Feds created when they were going to create the "Cross Florida Barge Canal".  The water was very low and most of the camping places were taken up so we found a spot on a lonely beach where we had never been.  I unloaded the boat into water and set the tent up.  The boys took a walk up the road.  Directly here they came, running for dear life and dove into the tent.  

I looked down the road to see why they were running and saw nothing so went to the tent and asked what was going on.

Tommy, the oldest,  said that they had heard a noise in the woods.  They had asked who it was and no answer. Toby, the instigator, and Timo, the follower, had pitched rocks where they had heard the noises.  Nothing happened.  They all three threw rocks and whatever it was had thrown them back.

They ran for safety in the tent.

We don't know what it was to this day, but I suspect another camper/fisherman had a funny tale to tell his comrades when he returned to his camp.

The boys talk of this mystery animal to this day.

When Ken married and moved to the mountains his new bride's uncle owned the dairy and lived in the "new" house up by the road. Ken and wife moved into the old farmhouse. As he was getting things set up he felt a need for a fireboard under the old stove and asked the older gent about one. The dairyman replied that there was one in an old cabin back down the fenceline about a mile in the woods, and went on in for the day.
Ken started down the fenceline in the fresh snow and not knowing his surroundings walked headlong into the lagoon. Being waist deep already, rather than simply backing out he waded on across and continued with his trek through the woods and returned home with the fireboard.
His new bride met him at the back door and immediately put her foot down. He stripped on the stoop and she hosed him down before letting him in. Off to bed they went.
Along about milking time the next morning there was a frantic knock on the door, Ken went down. The dairyman is telling Ken that he needs some help, someone has fallen into the lagoon and drowned overnight. There are footprints leading in and none coming out. About then the older gent looks down at his feet, and sees the pile of wet clothes, grins, and says "never mind".

 :D That's great.  I can relate to not being let into the house.  I can also picture the concern of a farmer that someone may be lost on his place.   The farmers I saw for don't let  a wheel print go by without identifying whose it is. I've seen them go into a conniption fit when they can't find who made the track.

I'm not sure when this episode took place.  The driveway next door to Granddaddy's had not been paved and I remember the '39 Chevrolet so it must have been around '46.  I was not yet in school and Charles was still in diapers, as was I sometimes.
 
In the corner of the house formed by the dining room and living room, next to the Chimney (chimley), was a water spigot standing on about two feet of unsupported pipe which was attached to three feet of unburied pipe that ran horizontally to the corner.  The reason, I guess, was to get the spigot away from the house for easier access.
 
This particular day, Granddaddy had left a long length of hose, perhaps two twenty-five foot lengths, attached to the spigot.  Charles and I were playing and water was our favorite toy.  Nobody ever minded our playing in water so the hose was fair game.   We turned the water on and shot each other and made mud in the driveway  and were having a good time when I noticed that I could stick the hose in the ground and the water stream dug a hole that allowed me to push the hose into the ground.  What an invention !
 
We worked our way to the  NE side of the big Oak tree and were jetting the hose down close to where the new pavement would eventually be but still in the exposed roots of the tree.  The hose was jetted down  between two roots and all of a sudden an unexpected phenomenon to place.  The water from the hose disappeared and the hose started going down all by itself.  It scared me because I didn't understand what was going on.  I had Charles help me pull on the hose but it kept going down.  We didn't know what to do.  The hose went so far into the dirt that it began to tighten and lift off of the ground as tension was put on the spigot.  The pipe with the spigot attached began to lean over and I thought it was going to pull the whole house over.
 
What made me do it I don't know, but I ran to the spigot at the last minute and turned the water off.  The hose stopped.
 
Boy, was I in trouble now.
 
Charles and I got a shovel and a garden trowel and tried to dig the hose up.  We couldn't do it because of all of the roots.  What were we going to do?  Granddaddy was due home and we had lost his hose and torn up the house.  
 
Grandmamma saw our plight and suggested that we stop and wait for Granddaddy.  Oh boy,  That was the last thing I wanted, but being discovered took some of the pressure off and I just resigned myself to my punishment.  
 
Perhaps Grandmamma called Granddaddy at work and told him and perhaps not,  I'll never know.  Granddaddy drove into the driveway and parked short of the hose, which was stretched tight as a drum about a foot above the driveway and blocking his path to the back yard.  Granddaddy always acted very deliberately and was self composed.  Nothing ever disturbed his pace.  He got out of the car, walked to where the hose disappeared into the ground,  got out his Case pocket knife, which he kept razor sharp, stooped over and cut the hose close to the ground.  He then walked back to the car, got in and drove to the back yard where he parked.  He never said a word nor got onto us.  It was years later when I discovered the physics that caused us to lose the hose.
 
As long as I can remember, that spigot was bent at about a forty-five degree angle.  Uncle Pete installed a sprinkling system for Grandmamma, that was attached to the house and ran behind her Florida Cherry hedge at about two foot height, later.  I think the spigot was disconnected  or repaired at that point but it was years after.
 
One of these days,  that driveway will be torn up and the oak tree will be removed and out of the ground with the stump will come fifteen  feet or so of rubber water hose.  I wonder if they will even question its existence?
 

   OK, I'll bite on this one. I thought I knew my physics. It's got to be some form of the Venturi effect, but I can't see how it sucked the hose down. I'm familiar with it in terms of using a flowing stream of water in a hose and a small hole into it which you can use for suction- but...? :P   lw

LW, I don't know how it works but believe me....the hose just travels down into the ground.  Give it a try, but you won't ever get your hose back.  Find some black dirt ('cause that was what we did it in), turn on the water and put the end of the hose next to the ground. As the water eats the dirt away, keep pushing the hose down into the hole. After awhile, the hose will start going down all by itself and you can't get it to stop unless you turn the water off. You can't pull the hose back out either..  :o

Actually I became aware of the physics that caused the phenomenon,  I don't claim to really understand them. :)

It was explained to me that the running hose had hit a stream of water in the ground,  not difficult in florida where the water level can be within a foot of the surface.   It was the stream of water that took the hose from our hands and the flow from the hose may have helped.  All I really know is that it works.  The hose proceeded toward the center of the earth on its own and there was nothing we little boys could do about it but turn the water off.  

Being reared by  adults other than the ones who reared us would also have been hazardous to our health.  We were really lucky to have these particular folks parenting us because I know that the parents of some of our friends would not have seen any humor in our plight and would have blistered our hinnies.  It really makes me appreciate my childhood.

 
I'm sitting here in January and the weather is turning cold with frost on everything the past couple of days.  It brings to mind an incident at school when I was at GMC and probably about 15 years old.
 
I lived in Main Barracks, an old building built in the 1800's.  Its front entry was a set of 15 foot wide granite steps that reached probably 8 or 10 feet high to a set of wide  double doors.  Platforms on either side of the steps made this a very imposing and impressive scene.
 
I was going to town with some friends and stepped out into the icy air in my spit-and-polish, polished brass, starched-to-a-board's-stiffness  uniform with my shiny shoes and the popular "horse shoe taps" on the heels.
 
I made the first top step and the steel clad heels of my shoes slipped on the ice.  Somehow I managed to get both feet under me and, with only the horse shoe taps on my heels touching the steps, proceeded to ski, knees bent and arms extended, all the way to the bottom....Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat.........CLAP as I hit the bottom.
 
As if nothing were wrong and as if this were a common place stunt I performed every day, I stood up straight and proceeded down the sidewalk toward town.  I could hear the amazed comments behind me and intercepted the "you nearly busted you A_ _ "  with a little tap dance and a shuffle, never admitting my frailty.  
 
It was funny then, but funnier now that I can remember every little bump and the exhileration of the shot of adrenaline as it rushed through my body.   It's been 45 years and It's as clear in my mind as if it were happening right now.

 :D :D    
Tom, do ya reckon ya really looked as graceful as you're thinkin'?  I'm bettin' you at least had a funny look on yer face. :o

Dan,  I left them behind so quickly that I doubt they had a chance to see my face. :D

Tom's story of finding a measure of warmth at minus 35 brought back a tale of a lady I met.   Seems the lady moved to a northern city in North Dakota one year about the first of March. Lady thought she would call some of her new  neighbors and be friendly and introduce herself. So she goes down the phone book and begins to call folks, each one of which declines because of a burial service to go to. After about 20 of these turn-downs the lady says to one of them -- look what's with all these burials ??  Is their something going on around here I should know about. (something in the water or what??) That's when one of the locals spoke up and said --People die here like everywhere else and we have a funeral service, but for those that die in our winters , we put off the  burial services until after March First --and then were pretty busy for about a month or so.

Bud Man, that still happens here in Minnesota. Kind of hard to dig a hole if the ground is frozen. If it's a real cold winter, then they'll have a memorial service right after the death and then have the burial in the Spring.

Talking about burials on a thread that is suppose to be for funny stories is a bit funny - strange kind of funny..

Well, a few years back my mom lost her brother to a long fight with cancer.  Mom took it really hard and we spent a lot of time with her during and after the memorial and burial.  :'(

At home afterwards, she was complaining about who had not made the effort to show their final respects to her brother.  And followed by saying: "Probably nobody would show for my funeral."  I should have held it but I couldn't.  "Mom.  You'll be pleased to know I've heard hundreds of people say they're just waiting to come to your funeral."   :-[  

Lucky for me the little morbid joke worked and she broke out laughing over her tears.  Everyone broke up.  ;)

There's no doubt in my mind that laughter, indeed, is the best medicine.

I like the story about the young man from a large family. Every time there was a wedding, his old aunts would nudge him and tell him "You're next, heeheehee!". He finally turned the tables on them at the next funeral, with the same line. :D

I worked close to Tommy for a number of years.  He is a short but muscular man about 5'8" and is of mostly Native American ancestry - one of the eastern "Civilized Tribes", as I remember.  But he always dressed in fashion of the Southwest with his cowboy hat, shirt and boots plus the required silver and turquoise ornaments. Kind of a 7/8 scale Roy Rogers.

He also fancied himself a horseman and would amuse us with one of his "close encounters of the equestrian kind" from time to time.  

One day he limped in to work all bunged up.  The story unfolded that he was going to catch his horse and lead it into the barn for some reason. But beings he couldn't find a proper lead rope,  he'd just use the 50' rope he had hanging handy on the wall.  But ... what to do with the excess rope?  He'd tie it around his waist and wrap it around and around to use up the excess.  

He caught the horse and all went well until he stepped past the barn door and onto his sleeping hound dog.  The dog yelped and then frightened by the sight of the horse over him, went for the horse.  The horse jerked free from Tommy and headed for greener pastures with dog hot on it's heels.  Out went any slack in the rope, then the rope uncoiled spinning Tommy to the ground.  Then Tommy did a quick but close inspection of the pasture for about 50 yards - taking sample of dirt and grass and leaving samples of cloths and skin along the way.  He literally "bit the dust" and it's a good thing that god protects fools and drunks because he could have "bit the dust" figuratively as well. :-X

He had a way of breaking horses too.  One day he got his unbroken gelding up and got the saddle and bridal on it.  He led it out into the pasture and then blindfolded it with his cowboy handkerchief.  His wife held the horse by the bridal until Tommy got on.  Then by signal, she released her hold as he reached up and pulled the handkerchief loose.  Well, it almost worked.  It may have worked.  But while he was extended forward to remove the handkerchief,  the horse took its first lunge thus putting Tommy in uncertain control.  With the blindfold partially removed but partially effective,  the horse went flat out but not too far as there was this barbwire fence ahead.  The horse with Tommy ran full speed into the fence. As Tommy was also responsible for the construction of the fence,  it was none too good so down it went, down the horse went, taking Tommy with it.  They couldn't just fall over a fence, as on the other side was the road embankment.  They both landed at the bottom of the ditch tangled in barbwire.  Thus necessitating a trip to the ER for Tommy for stitches and X-rays and a visit from the Vet for the horse. :'(

Bibbyman  --That 7/8 scale comparison to Roy Rogers seems a might high !!   Think I might limit his equestrian effots to cleaning out the stalls--Just make sure the horse ain't around. :D :D

The Caption Nemo stories reminded me of what happened to Bill a couple of years back.  You may remember the stories I told about Bill when he was a kid trying to knock down the snow fort with his head and trying to swing out from the top of one tree and land in another.

Well, he's in his 80's now and still not slowed down a bit.  In fact,  he would do a back flip on his birthday until on his 78'Th birthday when he twisted an ankle on the landing.  8)

Anyway,  he was out cutting firewood in the middle of the winter.  He has stopped his truck in a pasture along a fencerow he was clearing out.  He left it running and the manual transmission out of gear for some reason.  The truck set there all right for a little while but then started to slowly roll.  Although only a few steps from it,  Bill thought it would stop.  It kept rolling but there was a terrace only a few yards away – it would stop there.  Well,  it almost stopped.  Bill watched as it teetered on the crown and then started down the slope. He could have caught it but there was yet another terrace that would stop it.  But again it topped it and rolled on over.  The pond was below but it was frozen over.  Surely the truck would get stuck on the edge of the frozen pond. But it went out on the pond – still running.  The ice held – for a moment.  One wheel broke through, then another, then the third and last.  Then the whole truck went through. :'(

Bibbyman, ya done gone and stimulated my storytellin' juices, with yer story about the "horseman", and the guy named Bill. Well, I knew a "horseman" named Bill. He really weren't a bad horseman, but had sh*t for luck, if you know what I mean. Of course, he probbly was the instigator of his own luck, but that was probbly the unluckiest thing that could've happened.

One day, Bill was asked to help round up some rather wild cows on a little ranch, near here. They was in behind a little string of heifers, pushing them right along a little hedgerow. Ol' Bill was right between the hedge and a big power pole, at a brisk lope, when this ol' dog jumped out from under the bushes. Bill's horse shied, and ran right into the pole, which caused an immediate cessation of Ol' Bill's forward progress, that is, everything stopped except Bill's glass eye, which ain't been found, yet, and his dentures, which were found. Bill's buddy came back to check on him, and, not knowing about the false teeth, and the phony eye, and Bill laid out like a corpse, and all.......well, you get the picture. It weren't a pretty sight! For some reason, Bill ain't never been invited back for a roundup.

Just to show a funny story does not have to be an old one:  

For the past couple of weeks we've seen this fat coyote mousen' down in the hay field below our house about every morning.  

Well,  son Chris was here this morning and Mary pointed the coyote out as she was making us waffles.  Chris had let it go a couple of time but I guess he figured the nasty old thing had kept him up one too many nights ??? so he slipped on his boots,  grabbed his model 700 BDL 7mm magnum out of the safe and "indianed" out the upper door.  Our earth contact house makes it easy to get on the roof and get a real advantage point on the valley below.   ;)

Mary continued making her waffles but kept a watch with me on the coyote about 150 yards below the house sniffing the grass and pouncing like a cat.  KrBoom! Went the 7mm.  The coyote kind of looked around and then went to sniffing again.  KrBoom! again and again the coyote looked around and did a little dance but went back to business.  KrBoom! once more and the dirt flew up just under or behind him.  He circled a bit and came back to where the dirt had been thrown up and sniffed at it.  KrBoom! the forth time and this time dirt exploded under the coyotes nose.  He leaped in the air and did a little circle and came back to sniff the spot.  He kind of looked around and decided "These mice must be exploding in this part of the field." and bounced his way back across the filed and into the rough.

The whole scene reminded me of the Steve Martin movie "The Jerk" where the guy was shooting at him from across the highway and Steve thought he was shooting at the oil cans.  "He hates these cans!" :D

 :o I dont't know how funny my uncle thought this was at
the time, but I had a ride of a life time.  My favorite uncle
was Uncle Auther, could roll a Prince Albert cig.
with one hand in a wind storm. The doctors told Uncle
Auther that the cig's. would kill him one day, they did
when he was 98. Uncle Auther owned a dairy farm,
not very big, but could milk 8 cows at a time. I always helped him put the feed down in front of the cows. When they
stuck their necks through the slatted boards, I would
slide another board over and latch it. Uncle Auther always
told me not to spook the cows.  One day he went up to the
house to get something, I got to thinking like a rodeo cowboy
and decided to climb up and sit on one of the cows necks.
When I got on her neck every thing was fine until I goosed
her in the side. She jerked back, the other 3 cows jerked
back and ripped the complete stall out, when they did this
the other cows on the other side spooked and ripped the
other side out. Now here I was on the cow hanging on for dear life, and 7 other cows all trying to get out of the barn with
the stalls on theie necks. Needless to say but my favorite
Uncle appears in the doorway with this funny look on his
face, he asked what happened, I was trying to come up
with some bull---t story, he said he understood, we
gathered up every thing, fixed the stalls and went back
to milking. I will never forget my favorite uncle and the
times I had riding in his old Studabaker truck!!!

Mike, are you sure we ain't kin? That story could have been about my Granddaddy, 'cept for his name weren't Arthur, and he rolled Bull Durham with his left hand while drinking a cup of Nescafe' Instant with his right.  But he did have a small dairy with an 8 slot milking parlor, complete with the board stanchions, and he did have a Studebaker truck.  Small world, ain't it?

The past 3 days I have been sawing in the country around a bunch of "good ol' boys".  I first found myself having a conversation with the log owner after I set the mill up.  After about a minute of conversation I found that I was looking at the back of his head.  Hmm.... "What's he looking at while I am talking to him", I asked myself.  

Looking out over the cow pasture where He was looking I found nothing of particular interest.  There were no cows and only an occasional bird.  The grass looked no different than most grass I've seen and nothing was beyond but a bunch of trees.

Feeling a little rejected, I stepped closer and beside him, looking his way to determine if he was really talking to me or was his attention elsewhere.  Like the old skit of the fellow standing on the street corner looking into the air it was.  I felt a little stupid.

Directly, along came one of his friends.  Introductions were performed and  I began a lively conversation with him, glad to have someone to talk to.  Then I realized that he was looking out over the field too.  Shoulder to shoulder he stood with the log owner with me a half step behind.

Along came the son of the log owner and the same thing happened. Then came another friend, the brother and yet another friend.  In each case we all wound up side by side looking out over this field.  

Seven of us were standing in a line, talking and not one was looking at the other.  I tried, honest I did,  but it seemed that there was no interest in anyone looking at the other.

Is this a Rural thing?  I've seen farmers carrying on a conversation and, as memory serves, they were side by side.

Urban folks don't do this.  Is it because they have nothing to look at?  City folks act as if they are afraid to turn their backs,  Quite to the contrary they are usually in each other's face.

Have I discovered a never-before-found rural social etiquet?

Them rural folk are mighty keen in the Field of Animal Husbandry and bashful when it hit's close to home  :-[,  Did you check your Fly ?

 :D :D

You would of thought one would say XYZPDQ!  :D

Tom, there is a book out called "How to talk Minnesotan' and Public TV also made a short film of it.  One of the subjects is how these Norsky/German descendants carry on a conversation. The proper way to carry on a conversation is to face away from each other at a minimum of a 45 degree angle. Never make eye contact.  Now, this book is a spoof on Minnesota customs, but I've seen it all in action. :o :D  So, what you experienced is commonplace up here. Was your friends name Sven, or Olie? :)

I've also found that a lot of people don't like to look someone in the eye when talking to them. Have you ever noticed when you pass someone in a hallway or on the street, they'll look anywhere but at you.....and they'll avoid saying anything. I always make it a point to look someone in the eye (even if they're looking somewhere else) and I will always greet them or ask them a question to make them respond. Then they usually loosen up a bit. I usually excell at getting people to loosen up in elevators and waiting rooms. ;)  

I've seen this kind of body language when around here but not so blatant.  The way I've encounter it was times I was in the part store and trying to get something to fix a problem.  There may be a guy setting at the counter not involved in the conversation but would interject some remedy while all the time looking straight ahead over the counter and not making any eye contact or gesture to introduce himself into the conversation.  Sometimes that was the extent of but other times the conversation pursued and then eye contact was made.

Another odd gesture around here but probably more popular out west is dropping to a squatting position to talk things over.  I remember one young man that was about 6-7 tall that would walk right up and greet you and then squat to and carry on a conversation. The cowboy way I guess.  ::)

I have not had too many experiences in the snow, or the cold for that matter, but, in Athens, Ga. in 1964, I found out what cold is.

I had a BSA 650 Golden Flash that I used for transportation.  It was a relatively heavy bike in comparison to most motorcycles of that day.  I was also racing motorcycles on a TT Scrambles circuit.  They don't do much of this today, favoring Motocross. Our tracks were in the country on private property and club maintained.  We were in a different town on most every weekend racing for trophies.  Our Club was the Cherokee Cycle Club and our track was on a farm in High Shoals, Ga. about 15 miles south of Athens.  (That was a trip to us )  

It was the dead of winter and a snow/ice storm had hit the area.  The wind was blowing, the roads were full of ice.  Slush and snow was everywhere and I was scheduled to work on the track.  A little weather wasn't going to stop me.

I left Athens with my heavy jacket, two pairs of pants work boots and a pair of fur lined gloves.  Down US 441 I went. The cars were sliding all over the place and there was so much water being thrown up that it seemed that it was raining.  My tires were kicking up ice and water from the ruts I was running in and it was freezing on my boots and back.

I arrived at the farmhouse about 8:00 am and was looking forward to a cup of hot coffee.  I stopped the bike, felt the ice break as I removed my feet from the pegs and found that I couldn't get my gloves off of the handle bars.  They were frozen tight.  I slipped my hands out of the gloves and strode up onto the porch where I removed my helmet.  It didn't want to come off because I found that there was a three inch thick sheet of ice connecting it, in the back, to my jacket.  I removed my jacket, that was a chore, and the helmet as one piece of clothing and left them on a chair on the porch.  Then I propped my boots up on the chair to take them off and found that I was encased in ice half way up my shins. The boots weren't coming off.

It was one of those "old timey", two story, farmhouses with a kitchen the size of most living rooms and a wood stove in the corner.  I was let in, given a large cup of coffee and sat down next to the wood stove with my feet underneath.  About 15 or 20 minutes later I was able to untie my boots and get them off.

Needless to say, it was too messy and too cold for us to work on the track.  The trip had made a believer out of me, and besides my clothes were wet.

I was given a ride home with another club member, who had showed up with his wife in their car, and went back a couple of days later and got my bike.

I was not the only one who rode his bike but I was the only one who had come any distance.  "That's dedication", they said.
"That's dumb", I thought.

Well boys, nobody knows me much yet cuse I'm new to the forum. Todays my first active day. Got my fall work most done, didn't have any winter to speak of right here, You boys in the UP got what we normally have, & to cold and wet to start  doing the spring stuff. I looked at the map and Jeff has my dot to far South. It needs to be about mid state.  Actually north east corner of Oneida Lake. On a map thats the big blue thing in the middle.  He's got me around Painted Post. Thats where the fellow was going to get rich growing barber poles. Crossed a Cherry and Maple tree with a corkscrew. worked out OK. Just peel the bark and cut to length. Went broke when the barbers died off and all the shops became hair saloons.  Now he's working on a replacement for the wiffletrees that all died from blight and caused such hardships among the Amish and Menonite communities.And other equine  persuits. He's going to cross ash with ironwood.Thought about the advantage of growing the parts with the hardware already on it. He's had some luck. If they grow individually, not in a grove, he can harvest singletrees. The long stems of course make a reach.

 :D Yeah, you'll be ok.

Yep, I think he will be ok too, Tom.  That is as long as a "single tree" don't "reach" out and get him. 8) :D 8) :D  Sometimes it si when you are truning and the "single tree" will not go in that Dang direction and "reach" for another.  But too it all depends on the Ge or the Ha you yelled first as well as the horsepower involved. ;)

Another post I just did got me thinking about the things I did as a child and young adult. Well you know it seems you always had one friend that was just a bit slower than everyone else. He was the one you could convince into about anything. Or that, heck yea it's safe to do that Wes. We would but were going to let you go first.

Even as kids you know that there was a fine line between having fun and getting hurt. But Wes would try anything well almost anything. This one time we were all talking about running our bikes down the hill and jumping where the backhoe had dug a ditch at the bottom. We had even went as far as shoveling the dirt for a good entry ramp. But that was as far as it ever got was talk. The hill was steep and it would be a very long jump. On the other side was grass, but man oh man what a jump.

So here we sat at the top of the hill once again talking about "the jump" and then all of the sudden out of the blue Wes started pedaling down the hill real FAST. We just looked at each other in amazement. Then we yelled to him STOP WES STOP. He never let up, ZOOM off the ramp he went and up he went WAY up. It seemed like he was airborne forever. In the air he did fine the best looking jump I'd ever seen. He was nice and level.

But then came the landing he bounced, the handlebars bent down and tumbling he went. The bike went one way and he went the other. It wasn't pretty. For a brief moment we thought he was for sure dead. But the kicker of it was after a few sprawling tumbles he got up and was at running speed. He slowed down and turned looking back up at us---I'm ok I did it first I'm ok. A few small cuts was all and a bunch of grass stains on his clothes but thats all no broken bones or anything like that. I can picture it like it was yesterday.

Needless to say he was the first to jump what we called deadmans jump and was a hero in school for it.

Of course we couldn't let Wes beat us so we all jumped it as well within the next couple of weeks. Over time we all jumped it. When I went I wiped out, held it on landing but then went topsy turvy. Didn't get hurt but scared the heck out of me. (couldn't let any of the other guys know that though) Well over time as we got older it was no big deal to make that jump.

But you know something Wes was still the first to do it. I wonder what he's up to now.

Oh to be young and dumb
Gordon

Bikes and ditches that brought back a memory.  West of mom and dad's house dad dug a drainage ditch.  This was to prevent the basement from flooding after the the new road was put in.  Anyway my cousin from Wis and his family were visiting for the day and he and I went for a bike ride.  It was just your average bike ride until we were in the yard west the house on the return trip.  I just automatically headed for the north end where it was shallow.  Cuz didn't follow me.  When I realized what he was doing it was too late.  I yelled a warning but he ran smack in to the ditch.  Over the handlebars he went and then tumbled several times.  It bent the forks and rim on the bike and he got scratched up pretty bad from the grass stubble.  After some sniffling he was fine :D

Welcome aboard Splinters, seems like you got your merit badge in BS and will fit in well. Probably give some of these Yahoos a run for their money. All my stories on the other hand are the Gospel and don't need any challenging.  As for the WES fellow Gordon mentioned, I think he changed his name to Kinevel, Think I've seem him on TV.

Remember them bikes well. single speed-balloon tires- coaster brakes-rode everywhere-was that or walk. only problems were a couple of crabby perple who didn't want us on their lawns, and the big kids with the cars who tried to make you think they would clip you as they drove by.

Well Boys. Thinking and writin bout bicycles got me to thing on my mis-spent youth didn't have a lot of adventures and such. to busy tryin to make a buck. Them days that took about an hour at prevaling wages.
 Had a job for a while for a guy sharpening postholes. Seems that his name was Bill C.  Smith. This fella had a farm on good bottom land but just got tired of  going broke farming. Thought about that bottom land, and went out and got some topsoil.  Just spread it out over that bottomland. Left about two feet between them.  After the whole thing set up for a while, went out and commenced to cutting chunks out of it. With that good bottom and nice top the space in between made a nice hole.  The first batch came out so good that he got topsoil from a hill to make holes of different depth.You know, shallow for mailboxes and bean poles, deep for the power and phone.
When I was there he had a deal with one of the farm supplies.  They gave a free hole with each post.  But the posts were pointed and wobbled in the flat bottom holes, so I had to make the hole fit the point. He got the idea to try to line the holes for swampy places but the technology of the time wasnt up to it. The  best he could do was a fur lining.  Sold them at Christmas for chimneys to make it easier for Santa. Then some big outfit bought him out. Were going to make machines to do what he did by hand.  Mostly wanted the lining research. After a long time they finally got it all together and started to market a product. Started with a steel lining and now moved into plastic. There's must be millions of feet of this stuff out mow.
They was so greatful that they named the stuff  after Bill.
 Used his middle name. Bill Culvert Smith

 :D :D :D

Goodun, Splinters. I see where you got yer nickname, now. Them posthole splinters are hard ta git outta yer fingers.  Did ya ever sharpen the wrong end? I hate that! Make's them hard to find. ::) ::) ???

Splinters, sumpthun tells me I will be needing these more often now that yer a member.

If anybody feels the need to borrow these in the future, feel free...

(https://forestryforum.com/images/YaBBImages/userpics/hipboots.jpg)

That feller has definately got a gift for gab, no doubt he can give some of you BS'ers a run for the title of Royal BS'er......ain't nothing like a good yarn !! ;)

I started life in a log house but unlike Abraham Lincoln, half of it was blown away by a tornado some three years before I was born.  About 1956 dad had bought my uncle's adjoining farm and we moved into the 1900's style salt box farmhouse "up on the county road".  It was an improvement in location and while it was complete, the old uninstalled house that set on rock pillars was bitterly cold in the winter.  Also,  dad was a surviving victim of two tornadoes and didn't want to give up the ghost by pushing his luck in a third.  (In fact this house was moved some 25' by the same tornado that took away half of the house I was born in.)

So about 1960 he started out on a plan to build an add-on onto the salt box house with a basement under it. Once the ground was broke, the plans changed to building a new house with modest four rooms and a half basement.  Note no bath as we still didn't have running water - that didn't come until about 5 years later.

Dad, like most people,  excelled at some things and was adequate at many.  Carpentry was a skill he was adequate at.  He had his own way of doing things that was fine but just not the norm.  For example,  he made the ceilings in the house 7'-4" because that was as short he could frame a doorway and still use a standard door.  No need to have all that space up there where you couldn't use it.  Didn't insulate the walls but did put 6" in the attic. Going to heat with wood,  no need to go to that expense.

I can remember helping him work on the house in the evenings until way late by the light of a trouble light.  He'd have a couple of pencils stuck under his hat brim ahead of his ear and not be able to find them.  Fatigue was taking its toll as anyone who's taken on a project like this on top of an already hard workload.  

One evening he was cutting sill plates for the window openings.  (Didn't frame them in when he set walls up as he could do that later.)  

He measured one opening and cut a sill plate, tried it and it was too short.  #@#(@#).  >:( He measured another window opening that was going to be narrower and marked and cut his board again.  #@*#@!.  >:(  Short again!   "D___it, I cut it off twice and it's STILL too short!"  came the reply.  As soon as he said it he knew how strange (but true) it sounded.  It was a good relief from the exhaustion and stress.  

We bring up his quote from time to time when the occasion fits and he always smiles when he thinks back.  :)

I had to laugh.  The tragedy was too great.  

You see one of the little pleasures in life that helps us through the cold dismal winter is the promise of spring.  Spring ain't marked by a day on a calendar but when we can set down and eat our first mess of fresh morel mushrooms.  The obsession is reminiscent of the yearning Jeeter Lester and family had for turnips in the book Tobacco Road.

Spring had been delayed in coming this year.  Two sets of two weeks of unseasonably cold dry weather delayed its coming.  Then a week of hot dry weather followed.  But finally, it rained and people started to find a few mushrooms.

I had been looking for two weeks around my own ol'-faithful spots with no results.  Then Sunday afternoon I took another walk around the farm in a different direction.  I rounded the end of a south-facing ridge and there below a clump of black oaks and under a fallen dead red cedar top was a mushroom.  Looking past,  I found another.  As I picked them,  I noticed a third and about 4 or 5 stumps where some had been picked.  A quick look around connected me to a visit I had with dad just the evening before when he told me of a place just like this where he had found some and left a couple.  No doubt it was his place I'd found.  Oh well,  they were picked and that was that.  

I continued to circle around the point and ended up with about a dozen mushrooms from pigeon to hen egg size.  Too many for my hand so I placed them in my ball cap and carried them with with my hand holding the adjustment strap in the back against the bill.  I worked my way up to my folk's house and visited with them.  I told dad of my trespass on his spot.  He really didn't mind I don't think as we normally get together to eat the bounty anyway.  

I didn't take the road back to our house but instead cut through the woods for the 1/4-mile walk home hoping to find more mushrooms.  There is a draw in the woods that's no big deal to cross but is rather rocky.  About 100 yards from the folk's house I stepped on a slick rock the wrong way and lost my footing.  To break my fall I reached out my left hand – the one carrying the hat with the mushrooms.  Smash!  :o I had to laugh.  The hours and energy I'd spent to find about a half a hat full of mushrooms and then almost home with my trophy and I smashed them. ::)

Bib, I bet everyone of us can picture ourselves in that frozen position. Somewhere between the slip and the fall, with that "O crap" look on our face. (https://forestryforum.com/smile/Flip_anim.gif)

Seems like I've been blessed with the opportunity of working with a lot of colorful people.  I've told stories about Tom, Bill, Kenny, and Bullseye and the things they've done.  But I got to thinking about another guy that was also an amateur Evil Kanvil.  His name is Leo.

Leo has an interesting collection of scars from various stunts he's pulled.  He has cut the limb off he was standing on on more than one occasion. (in his youth and as an adult) He has scars running from the corner of his mouth on each side from the time he played a Halloween prank in a small town and ran from the local deputy in the dark - smack dab into a cloths line!  He once found a stick of dynamite and set it off in the top of a tree on the backside of the farm - breaking windows for a half-mile radius from the spot.(https://forestryforum.com/smile/bomb.gif)


But this story always makes me cringe to think about it:

He and his younger brother were playing with a go-cart they had built.  They were running it around the field and through a mud hole.  Occasionally the cart would get stuck.  Leo jumped off and left his brother at the wheel while he pushed.  He said he was standing behind the cart and pushing against the roll bar behind the seat.  He would rock it forward as his brother gave it gas and when it wouldn't go,  pull it back for another try.  On the last forward shove,  the wheels caught something solid and being wound up tight shot out of the mud hole.  The go-cart immediately died and his brother looked back to see what happened.  Scene reconstructed:  As the cart leaped forward,  Leo could not let go fast enough and was pulled down.  His face hit the top of the engine and the sparkplug ran up his nose and ripped it's way out and in the process killed the motor.(https://forestryforum.com/smile/ukliam3.gif)

Can you compound the injury?  Falling face first on a hot engine.  Running a sparkplug up your nose. Having it short out the spark.  And then ripping it's way out your nose!
(https://forestryforum.com/smile/behead.gif)

Ouch !! 

I've known some Leo's too.

I wonder if they have made it this far. :D

That musta hurt really bad!! :o  I hope he can laugh about it now ;D :D :)

He can maybe laugh about it, but I bet he can't turn an ignition key without getting tears in his eyes.(https://forestryforum.com/smile/crazy_eyessmilie.gif)

Dad liked to bird hunt and had, he said, the smartest bird dog in Wabasso.

One day he was out hunting when the dog pointed over a palmetto patch.  Dad raised his gun and said "flush".  A quail flew from the palmetto and dad shot it.  

The dog was still on point though, so dad said "flush" again and another quail flew from the same palmetto.  Dad shot it too.  The dog was still on point so dad went through this procedure three more times and, finding the dog still on point, he eased over to the palmetto patch to see what was going on.  The dog had rounded up a whole covey of quail, run them down an armadillo hole and had his foot over it.   When Dad said "flush" he was letting them out, one at a time.  That dog sure liked to hunt.

Tom,
 
I wouldn't begin to believe that story if it weren't for an old pointer I used to have.  My buddy nd I were Quail hunting one fall when I lost track of the old girl.  Tried to tell my buddy she was on point somewhere and wouldn't leave.  He said she was lost or got tired and went home.  I didn't try to argue with him because he's such a doubtful hardhead.
     He didn't even believe it when I found her the next spring while I was turkey hunting.  She was still on point and in the meanwhile had a litter of 7 who were also on point.

Please refer to Reply #123 on: April 5th, 2002, 1:25pm

Well, if you guys are going to be that way about your birddog stories.  Here's an old joke I'll try to remember:

One guy was trying to sell his birddog to another.  Making claims the dog could point out a quail about anywhere.  Well, the bragging got to the point were the prospective buyer called for proof.  So the owner give the dog instructions to point out a bird.  The dog ran off into the street and pointed at a boy walking along.  The two ran following it up.  The prospective buyer was not impressed.  But the owner insisted there must be a reason for the dog's action.  He asked the boy if he had a quail in his pocket by any chance but he didn't.  Any kind of bird?  No.  Perplexed for a moment,  he thought of one other question:  "What's your name? Son."  "Bob White." Said the boy.
 :D

Jeff,

     I hope your not one of those heardheaded doubtful guys like my old hunting buddy "Peck".

     One night before the opening morning of deer season, I called him to ask if he would be ready to go quail hunting by 10 the next morning.  I explained that I had found a place just torn up with deer tracks and would no doubt have mine dressed and checked in by 9:30.  Peck said he fried up a pan of deer tracks one time and they tasted just like mud.

     I came in (without a deer) about noon the next day.  My wife said Peck had stopped by about 9:00 to see if I wanted to go quail hunting.  He was on his way home from checking his deer.   That one is factual.

You guys and your bird dog stories........
Oh well, I have one too. An elderly gentleman (now deceased) farmer/rancher/bird dog trainer told me a story one time that I have had the pleasure of repeating many times. Like I said, he raised and trained bird dogs, mostly Vizlas (sp). He had one pup that he was especially proud of. As the story goes, he said he noticed that this pup seemed special from the day he was born. Homer was the mans name by the way. Homer said this pup was the smartest dog he had ever seen. One of his training tricks was to toss his coin holder (one of those plastic things that opened when you squeezed it) and let the pups find and retreive it. One day he was walking this pup through some grass where he planned on tossing the coin holder, and before he could start the training, the pup went on point. Homer said he tried to call the pup off what he thought was a false point. The pup would not budge. Homer, starting to get a little disgusted, walked toward the pup. There in the grass was a peice of crumpled paper. Homer picked it up and when he straightened it out, discovered it was a cover from an Outoor Life magizine that had a picture of a quail on it. What a dog. :D :D :D

Boy! Its getting deep in here!  :o  Let's tone things down with a story that is actually based on fact.
I have always lived here in Plantation Country, where the rich folks have huge tracts of land reserved for quail hunting. The preferred method is to hunt on horseback. The dog handler is mounted, and will take his horse in to flush the birds. An old black gentleman had been a handler for many years, and had a beautiful buckskin gelding that he always rode. One day, a particularly obnoxious and rude guest asked him, "Boy, can you shoot off of that horse?"  "Yassuh, you kin shoot off of this horse just fine," came the proud reply.  "Well, I'm riding him tomorrow."  So, the next day, the wizened old hunter chose another mount, and let the jerk use his horse.  Pretty soon, a covey was flushed, and KAHBOOOOM the guy never saw whether he hit one, or not, 'cause the buckskin pitched him and his $5000 popgun into the bushes.  "I THOUGHT YOU SAID I COULD SHOOT OFF OF THIS HORSE" the man boiled at the quiet old gent.  "Yassuh, you can shoot off him just fine, you just can't shoot ON him, none."

   Well, I was reading over the quail stories to my husband (and we were believeing EVERY WORD..)- and he reminded me of one I hadn't heard in a couple of years. It definitely belongs in this collection.

   Seems this guy had a great bird-dog, and he never stopped boasting on him. Went hunting with another fella and told him- 'This dog is so good, he can tell you how many quail there are in the thicket'.

   Well of course his buddy was a mite skeptical. They went along to the first thicket, and the dog scratched the ground 3 times with his paw. Sure enough, he flushed 3 quail from that thicket.

   They went on to another, and another, and each time the dog's count was right on the money.

   Suddenly they came to a big thicket and the dog just went berserk. He ran up and down and around in circles. Finally he ran over to a stick lying on the ground, picked it up, and started to shake it all around.

   The hunting buddy said in a disgusted tone- 'That dog ain't no good'. He has no idea how many quail are in there!'

   'Sure he does!' was the reply. 'That dog is just telling you there's more quail in there than you can shake a stick at!'

    :D :D :D   lw

My friend Herbie is good for a good story about every day.  Here is one he told on his neighbor:

His neighbor had been brush-hogging on the backside of his farm when he ran over a stob and flattened a back tire.  He walked home - leaving the tractor where it was.  A few days passed and he looked out his back window at the machine shed.  Something was odd.  The bay where his tractor was normally parked was empty.  He looked around and couldn't find it nor the brush-hog that he remembered was mounted on it.  Concern turned to action and he called the sheriff's office.  The sheriff came out and investigated.  He thought it odd that the thief didn't take the riding lawn mower or the chain saw or the portable generator or a dozen other things.  They call the neighbors,  friends, and brother-in-laws asking if they had borrowed the tractor and not told him.  None had and none had seen anything suspicious lately.  Their search ended with no results as did the ad they placed in the local paper offering a reward for information on the tractor's whereabouts.

It was the mystery in the area for three months that summer and fall.  Then in deer season, the neighbor went hunting on the backside of his farm and sure enough behind a little clump of brush stood his tractor and mower just where he had left it with the flat tire.  

He refuses to talk about it. :-X

Just thinkin' about stuff again.

Born  Southern Baptist in a family of Southern Baptist who were reared Primitive Baptist, I've seen the Christian religion up real close.

My Grandmom beat anything I ever saw for missionary work.  We would be visited regularly by Mormons and Jehovah's witnesses and our own Southern Baptist folks, knocking on doors, asking "have you been saved?", or otherwise concerned for our after-life.  There were a myriad of other groups of missionaries that have probably also been to your door.

Grandmomma would open the door and say, "Yes I have, come right on in, have a seat.  Would you like a glass of tea?"  Then she would get out her bible and pamphlets and begin preachin' and asking and answering questions until these poor souls were clawing the paint off of the walls trying to get out of the house.

You see, Grandmom and Granddad knew the bible inside out and lived their lives with it in their hands.  Most of these folks who do the missionary work assume that they are confronting uneducated heathens.....but not at our house.

The front porch, where they were trapped, was furnished with that woven cane stuff, I can't remember the name of it.  It was painted white and there were large windows all around the porch so that they could see out.  They couldn't get out though.

Charlie and I had to use the back door when we had visitors.  We were in and out a lot as we played but knew that we didn't want to get in the middle of that.  

I guess there is more than one way to skin a cat. I usually just answer the door in my skivies with a beer in my hand. :D

Tom,

I know what you are talking about being raised in a Southern Baptist family.  That was ( and is ) my parents choice except for a while when we attended a Conservative Baptist Church.

I don't suppose you and Charlie were like me and couldn't wait to get away from home and sample some of those sinful ways that were forbidden to us.

I in fact couldn't wait on one instance.  When I reached the ripe old age of 15,  I got to thinking that it was really foolish for someone as mature as I was to go sneaking around to have a smoke.  Although I knew that it would cause a terrible fight, hard feelings, and possibly violence; I decided Mom and Dad would just have get over it.

I came into the house,  Dad was in his bedroom, I lit up a cigarette, Dad smelled the smoke and came to investigate.

In a completely normal voice and with no apparent alarm he said " don't smoke in the house"

I took my smoke and went to the back yard thinking how easy this turned out----why had I waited so long for Dad to recognize that I was an adult-----it was a small comprimize to go to the backyard to have my cigarette.

Dad followed me out and said in an uninterested tone " Don't smoke in the backyard"

I didn't have a chance from the start.  But my younger brother faired a little better (but not completely without voilence) a few years later when he refused to get his hair cut.

We evidentally are on the edge of three different Jehova Witness areas.  They came from three different neighboring towns and would hunt me down in the woods or in the hayfield.  Finally a neighbor lady took up with them.  I told her if she would keep the other groups off my neck and would just leave her literature on my porch rather than wasting both of our times talking; I in return would read her literature.

     We both kept our end of the bargin and I found that they have some very good information especially on family values and they back it up with scripture.  They have some ideas I don't go along with but I think we agree on the important things.

     I guess it's just what your raised with and are experienced at.   Still don't think shoving it down another's throat is the way.

     Now I happen to have an orange saw for example.  I don't have any experience with the other bandmills much less swing blades and mobile diminsion saws.  I probably never will because I've been told orange is the best and I believe it.  
I guess I was just lucky to start out in THE RIGHT denomination.

My toung is getting tired from sticking it in my cheek so I'll quit.

Noble

QuoteNow I happen to have an orange saw for example.  I don't have any experience with the other bandmills much less swing blades and mobile diminsion saws.  I probably never will because I've been told orange is the best and I believe it.  
I guess I was just lucky to start out in THE RIGHT denomination.

Amen!

On the subject of haircuts, this happened to my brother when I was just a young sprout. You see my brother was pretty good at getting on dads bad side. So over the years I would make mental notes not to do that and that and that and that either. You get the idea.

My brother had been at college and came to the farm for the weekend. Well his hair was long and this didn't sit well with dad. So dad said get it cut or I'll cut it. He said it in the tone of voice that ment business. Well my brother replied NO. Not a smart move.

Dad hauled my brother out to the barn and fired up the hair clippers. He was cuttin and cuttin. I was watching from the door. So finally my dad says I'm done now you look respectable again go look in the mirror. My brothers reply UGH now I look like a townie and he stormed out of the barn.

Mental note to me, don't call dads bluff on hair cuts. Some lines in the sand are better off not to cross.

Gordon

Back some 50 years ago "going to get groceries" meant getting salt, flour, ground pepper, baking soda, vanilla, Ball jar lids, clothes pins, etc.  Everything else was grown on the farm.  Chickens were always Mom's big thing.  One spring when the hens started laying,  she let many of them set their nests that were scattered around the farm buildings.  She was so pleased that many of them hatched off about the same time and she had about a hundred new baby chicks.

That is until one morning when my older sister Dorothy Lee and cousin Lois, both about 3 at the time, were out playing house in the back yard.  Mom hadn't heard from them in a while so she went to check. "What are you girls doing out there?"  "We'z cannin' chickens."  Came the replay.  She checked and sure enough,  they had five quart jars stuffed full of fluffy little chicks of all colors lined up on a fence rail - lids screwed on tight.  Mom was sick.  Only seven chicks had esceped capture.  :'(

(https://forestryforum.com/images/YaBBImages/userpics/DleeLois.jpg)
Now, does that look like the faces of two mass chick murders?  :-/

That reminds me of this. Its pretty much internet legend but in case you have never heard of it. (If very dark satire is not your thing. Forget you saw this link.)

http://www.bonsaikitten.com/

and for a disclaimer throwed in
http://www.snopes2.com/inboxer/outrage/bonsai.htm

Why did the chicken cross the road? Why, to show the `possum that it could be done!

Gordon, your story is so identical to my experience with one of my sons that you must have been looking through the window.  He was running around with a bunch that was 'No Good' in my opinion and I couldn't stop it.   Long hair was one of the symbols they used for showing their disdain for authority..........I gave him a flat top with white sidewalls. ;D

The other two boys, seeing it, got one too.  I think it was so he wouldn't feel so out of place.

Well, He felt out of place anyway.  He wore a hat and wouldn't leave his momma's house for weeks.  He also quit coming to my house. This was during the conflagration of the big "D".  It worked and he didn't fit in with the bad crowd so they dropped him. It was a shame that I had to lose him too, but I slept better knowing that he wasn't on the streets involved in drive-by shootings and robberies.

Bibbeyman, that's choice.

Kids will do the most unexpected things.  When I was in Kindergarten in 1944, I remember the teacher being all upset because someone had flushed a baby duck down the commode.  They did everything to find it but I don't remember if they ever did. :'(

Rob,
We used to have a timberfest celebration in Nassau County until the Ladies got hold of it and ruined it.  They decided that it should be a carnival rather than contests of a bunch of dirty old tree guys.  So, they didn't invite the equipment dealers, nor the Wisconsin Timber Jack show, nor the local sawmillers with their exhibits and the thing went South.

I used to like the Wisconsin Timber Jack Show.  They went to a lot of trouble to entertain and one stunt was one fellow that was going to do some chain saw carving.  A big To-Do was made about it and they drug it out as long as they could.  He was going to carve a rabbit.  Finally he cut a slice (cookie) off of a pine log and through it on the ground.  "There"  he said proudly.  "That's  a Florida Rabbit."

The lady doing the announcing argued that it wasn't.

He put his saw down, stuck his chest out and, in an authoritative tone said,  "yes it is. It is Florida A1A rabbit. We went to get supper last night and travelled A1A over to Fernandino and they were sleeping all over the road......and they looked just like that".

The kids howled and I did too.  What great innocent fun that was.

My and Tom's Uncle (our ma's brother) was a career Marine who had fought in some tough battles in the Pacific and also in Korea. He had no time for Jehova Witness type people because they wouldn't fight in the wars.  Well, he happened to be visiting one day and he was relaxing on the front porch smoking his big cigar (I was visiting with him....I can't remember if Tom was there or not) when 2  JW's women knocked on the door. He answered the door and when he found out who they were he gave them a piece of his mind. He was an expert butt chewer. He really got fired up too. After he told them to hit the road, he slammed the door, sat down and stuck the lit end of the cigar in his mouth. Well.....if you thought he was mad before, you should have heard him when he burned his tongue. Talk about a blue streak!  :o :o :o  

Charlie, Ben and I were again with Uncle Pete and Granddad, hunting on the old tomato fields around Yee Haw Junction, Holopaw and Ft. Drum.  Yep those are funny names and I've no idea where they came from, but Ft. drum was a defunct old town that at the turn of the century was a thriving metropolis.  Now there was nothing there anymore.  
 
Yee Haw and Holopaw were intersections of U.S. 441 and Fl-60 and U.S. 441 and U.S. 192 on the road to St. Cloud.  There was nothing at either of these two places but a restaurant and a bar.
 
We were quail hunting.  We boys had our 410's and were doing quite well.  The fields had been burned and the ground was still black and crunchy but the new grass was coming up.  We thought we heard something in a burned out palmetto patch about 100 ft sq., but couldn't see into it.  I went around one side and Ben went around the other.  We were curious as to what it may have been since there were Birds, rabbits, armadillos and other small game there.  
 
When we were almost opposite one another, the tension became too great and four deer jumped out of the palmettos and began to run over the fields toward the tree-line a mile away.  One was a big buck.  There was nothing we could do because all we had were our 410's loaded with #8s.  I stood it as long as I could, pointed my gun and lowered the boom on the big buck.  The range was probably seventy-five yards when I shot so no damage was done, but I'll bet he is still running.

In 1969 I was out of work, out of school, out of the service, married and awaiting a job to open in my chosen field.  To keep our  heads above water I did odd jobs, worked as a free lance photographer and a janitor in a music store.  Occasionally I was allowed to accompany the other employees to move pianos.  
 
I would go through the trash in the back of the store as I cleaned a knee deep maintenance area, and find pieces of broken instruments that I felt I could fix.  When I got through cleaning, I started shining and fixing these parts and asked the owner if I could hang them on a peg board in the sales room.  He said yes and was pleasantly surprised when it became an item that was approached by customers even before they said hello.  
 
The money wasn't good and I wasn't even making minimal subsistence, so I took our last $300 and bought a fifteen foot plywood runabout with a 25 horse Johnson outboard and a trailer.  I gutted the boat and put a solid plywood floor in it.  This became my platform for a commercial fishing effort. In those days it was a lot easier for an individual to take the reins on his life and make do.  Since then, there have been laws and licenses imposed that make it difficult for a young fellow to make a living unless he can find a job with a large company; but then I could fish and sell my fish to a fish house that, in turn, sold the fish to markets locally and out-of-state.  
 
I spent almost all my free hours in the boat and many times would go home only once in two or three days.  I threw a cast-net in the Indian River for mullet.  The fish market thought they were getting a really good deal because I would gut the fish before I sold them.  Usually they had to pay the market price of $.04 per lb for guts and all.  When they bought my fish, they were only buying "head-on" meat.  Of course I felt that I was making out better than they because I was getting the gizzard to take home and eat.  This was, and still is, a delicacy to most Southern, coastal families.  I sold most of the Roe (eggs) as a separate item at a different market and gloated over the few we ate at the house.
 
I found that the cooling water from the electric plant attracted schools of large Sand Perch at high tide in the middle of the night.  My boat could carry me and 500 lbs which I could accumulate from there in about an hour with a round trip to the fish house of two hours.  Sometimes they weren't there and I had to go elsewhere.  But, when they were, I made as many trips as possible before the sun came up and the fish dispersed. Once I flooded the market and my catch was refused. (A story I wish to tell later.)
 
During the day, or at night when the river wasn't producing, I took my little boat offshore and fished the bottom for Grouper, Grunts, Croaker, Mexican bull, Sheephead, Trout and other fare that sold in the market as "mixed bottom" for $.08 per lb.  Again, five hundred pounds being my limit, I would hustle to and fro from the reefs to the fish house.  
 
Sometimes I would find schools of Spanish Mackerel flailing the surface as they attacked pods of glass minnows and pogies.  Then I would get my casting rod out and throw a bucktail to them, filling my boat in short order for $.30 a pound.  The occasional Silver Trout would get me $.80 per pound and the rarer Speckled Trout a whopping $1.00 per pound.    It was a demanding, although enjoyable life and many times I was so tired that I must have been operating in my sleep because I would find myself at the market or back on the fishing grounds without remembering how I got there.
 
It was on one of these trips, from the reef I had been fishing ten miles off-shore to the market, that I had one of the scares of my life.  It was one of those frights that makes your heart miss a beat and you stop what you are doing as you bring yourself back from the brink of tears.
 
I had entered the Inlet in Ft. Pierce at about three in the morning running full tilt on an incoming tide.  The combined speed of my boat and the current was probably approaching forty miles per hour and I had a full load of fish.  It was going to be a good paycheck if I could beat everybody else to the fish house.  The bad part is that I couldn't see.  I was traveling the inlet by memory, something I did fairly regularly and comfortably, since I was so familiar with the waters.  There is/was a sand-coral reef crossing the inlet from the north to the south at a place called dynamite point.  The Corps of Engineers had cut a channel through it back in the late 20's or 30's to allow for larger ocean craft to reach the Port of Ft. Pierce.  Occasionally it had to be maintained with dynamite to keep the channel clear.  I knew this was where I was and the restricted water flow made the current run twice as fast as it did anywhere else in the inlet or river. My speed relative to the water was still 20 or 25 miles per hour and I had nothing else with which to compare my speed or position.  
 
 
Something in my mind told me everything wasn't ok.  I didn't know what it was but it just didn't feel right.  There I was in the dark, on a moonless night, with no references, and something told me something was wrong.  I listened.  
 
Why I did I'll never know, but I shut the throttle down.  The little boat, loaded with me and fish and an outboard came to almost an abrupt stop as the weight settled the hull.  The bow came up, the stern went down and the "after-sea" almost rolled over the stern, a thing that would have scuttled my boat in seconds had it occurred.
 
As the bow settled and the after-sea ran beneath the boat, leaving me on slick water, I began to strain my eyes to see what had caused my alarm.  There was nothing to see.  Then, as if by magic, there appeared at my side, not two feet from the starboard gunwale, a large, red, navigation can.  It was the buoy that marked the north edge of the channel and the dangerous sand coral reef ahead.  The exposed part of the "can" was as large as my boat and towered over my head. I'm sure that at least half of its length was under water and it was anchored in the rip of the tide.  My steering was on the right side of the boat and my hand was holding the gunwale.  I passed so close to the "can" that I jerked my hand back inside of the boat thinking I was about to get it crushed.  I was too far away for that but my mind didn't believe it.
 
I powered the boat just a little to obtain head-way and passed the sand-coral reef with room to spare.  What a relief it was to finally get past the narrows into water that was moving slowly enough that I could gather my wits.
 
The rest of the trip, about three and a half or four miles to the fish house was made with my boat plowing through the water.  There was no way I was going to get back up on a plane again after that close call.  The incoming tide provided me with enough speed that I was still making good head-way so it gave me a chance to gather my wits without losing too much time.
 
I thought about it seriously then, and still to this day think about it when I'm alone and my mind is allowed to wander.  What caused me to stop?  What was it that warned me of the danger?  I was certain of my path and there was no reason for me to become alarmed, but something shouted "danger" in my mind and a God almighty, powerful instinct made me shut it down.  
 
I'm not one to preach.  As a matter of fact, it irritates me when people exhibit their religious beliefs in public.  Each to his own, but I think it is an exhibitionist who makes a big to-do about praying over their hamburger in a fast food restaurant.  But, I know there is something out there bigger than the all of us and it was looking over me that night.  There is no other explanation.  People may argue that we possess extra sensory perception, or that it was just a coincidence, or that I subconsciencly knew that danger was imminent but I know differently.  I was in God's hands and he gave me the scare of my life.

Jonah, that was a mighty long fish story! (https://forestryforum.com/smile/pirate.gif)

In 1969 I found that a gold mine of Sand Perch would hang out, at night,  in the cooling water of the local power plant in Ft. Pierce.  I fished with a  six foot cast-net and would load my boat with three to five hundred pounds of fish in short order, making the trip to the fish house and back in a couple of hours.  During the winter when we had a long night and full access to a high tide, I could make several round trips and sell as much as a thousand pounds of fish at $.08 per pound. That was quite a take.
 
I had a boyhood friend by the name of Tommy who had a twelve foot cast net.  Neither of us could open it properly but even a "banana" (shape of a miss-thrown net) got more fish than my fully opened six footer.  We decided that we would take my boat and his net and make a killing on the Sand Perch at the power plant.
 
Since there were two of us, and the big net, we were filling the boat in short order.  We had made my normal take in half of the time I usually took.  The last trip to the fish house found us there at sun-up with a boat full of fish.  The lady who ran the fish house looked at us and said, "boys, I don't need anymore Perch".  We were horrified.  What were we going to do with five hundred pounds of Sand Perch.  Our only option seemed to be to throw them to the sharks when she offered to let us use her ice and her boxes and her wholesaler if we wanted to market the fish ourselves.  Well, that sounded like a good idea.  Now I know that she was feeling sorry for us and  was really doing us a big favor.  She was also teaching us a worldly lesson.
 
We boxed the fish, one hundred pounds to the box, iced them down and put them in her freezer.  Later that morning the truck from New York came and the truck driver said he would be glad to except our fish since they were vouched for by the lady.  We wheeled the boxes to the truck and started to put them on when the driver said we couldn't do that.  Apparently there was some rule that only allowed him to load his truck.  Well, ok, we will let him put them on the truck.  We were awfully tired anyway.
 
In two weeks we were both at the fish house delivering fish when the lady came out and said she had our New York fish check in the office.  We dropped what we were doing and ran to get our money.  She handed us a check in the amount of Eleven dollars and seventy-five cents.  The ice was $.05 per pound and we had used fifteen pounds per box.  That was three dollars and seventy-five cents.  The box rental was one dollar per box and was paid to the wholesaler in New York.  That was another five dollars. We were up to eight seventy-five. She didn't charge us for the use of the cooler, thank goodness, but the truck driver charged a dollar per box to put the boxes on the truck. Now we were up to thirteen seventy-five.  There were five boxes, and because we had "flooded" the market, according to the information she got from the wholesaler, we only got $.05 cents per pound instead of the expected $.08.  Our gross was $25.00.  Things didn't look so good.  The lady had subtracted our debt of thirteen seventy-five and our check was made out to the two of us in the amount of $11.25.
 
We, very dejectedly, went to the restaurant at the base of the south bridge for breakfast and discussed the check.  We figured we had burned almost two tanks of gas, probably about 10 gallons at $.35 per gallon and the oil to mix it was a quart at about another $.40.  It seemed only fair that we split this cost which amounted to $3.90,  
 
Our breakfast was $.85 each and we paid with the check.  The cashier returned $9.55. We divided it up and each received about $4.75 Tommy gave me half of the gas money, $1.95 which made his take about $2.80,  I counted my money, as we left, and I had about $7.00. I couldn't figure out how I had come out better than Tommy.  Then, later, I realized that I was out all of the gas money before we split the check.  Boy, did I feel dumb.  It's a good thing I didn't say anything until I got it figured out.  
 
My final figures are not accurate, after all, it has been over thirty years ago.  You get the gist of the story though, don't you?  Our Net for the nights work came to about $2.80 each.  I learned a good lesson in economics that day, and a lesson in Union truck drivers.  My naiveté diminished a little but not enough to keep me from getting the brunt of financial situations latter in life.  I guess it did help me from being totally "run over" by big business though.
 
The check wasn't much.  But, just to let you know where our minds were then, we weren't too unhappy because those two dollars were two dollars we didn't have before we started.

Tom,

Your story got me to thinking of some of the experiences I had as a youth trying to get a few coins.

The value of a dollar has changed as well as the attitude of young people toward money.

In the fall of 1978, our local High School was ready to start but hadn't been able to hire an agriculture teacher.  The Supt. knew that I had worked in Agricultural education at the adult level so visited me about teaching HS.  Ended up doing it and loving it.

The first day of school, I found a handful of pennies in the teacher's desk.  They weren't mine so I left them there.

The students were onery. but a very likable bunch.  I was always proud that none of them had taken the hord of pennies from my desk.

Toward the end of the year, one of the few girl ag. students was cleaning out her purse------------came up to the trashcan by the desk and dumped out about a cupfull of pennies.  Kinda burst my bubble----I still bend over and pick up a penny when I see one on the ground.

Noble

I've seen folks do that, Noble. A friend of mine threw a whole handful of change into the woods because the weight of it was bothering him.

A penny on the ground is not safe in my presence either.  :D

If I see a penny I always pick it up.  A month or so ago I rolled up $35.00 worth that had been accumulating for several years.  Money's money It all spends the same ;D

Walking over the dollars to pick up the pennies was a favorite saying of my father.  As it would have it I am one to reall fal prey to the saying.  On one of our may trips to Eastern Oregon ( East of the Cascades from Portland) and a little community area of Dayville and some friends 10,000 acre cattle ranch; I did just that.   A fella by the name of Scotty, had an old two pump filling station.   On the inside of this 1930's designed building he had a wooden fir floor with a host of big beautiful knots wearing much slower than the more clear grained areas.  I was about nine when I entered for the first time and noticed that there  were whole lots of coins just laying on the floor.  :o Most were nickles and dimes, some quaters and very few Standing Liberty half dollars.  I thought, "Gee, just laying here and Scotty did not know that someone had dropped them."  I bent over to gather up a half dollar and it was stuck to the old wooden floor.  I then proceeded to "unstick" my found treasure.   As I had a pair of "kickers" on, it was not too hard to use the heel as a hammer.  Boy, did I get "heck" from my father. :'(  But, Scotty just laughed and handed me back the half dollar. 8)  I still have it locked away.  It is a 1939 D. ::)

My brother-in-law had an unusual method of saving money.  Each evening he would empty out his pockets of change and just let it fall on the floor.  (He was a bachelor and not too neat a housekeeper.)  Then about once a year or when he need cash,  he'd clean up enough to pick up the change on the floor and roll it up and take it to the bank.  ;)

Later in life,  he did resort to a cardboard box on the TV but only because the floor got too deep to look for coins. :o

During the late 70's and early 80's I worked with a guy we just called "Opie".  He was a normal enough guy but had a somewhat sheltered rural upbringing being raised on the farm by his elderly great aunt and uncle.  When he came to work here, he was in his early 20's but hadn't used a touch-tone phone, never had a bank account and never owned his own car or truck.

While he was capable at his job,  he was naive or even backward at a lot of other things.  Everyone stumbles up and says something that comes out wrong now and again but just get to talking with Opie and he'd come out with something twisted or backwards every time.  From the start one guy got to noticing this and started writing down strange things Opie said.

Here are a few of the hundreds on the list.

Math problems:
They ought'ta make a six lane bridge; ...2 goin' this a'way & 3 goin' that a'way!
(Opie's twin bull) Q. How old is your bull??  A. Three years! Q. How old is the twin?? A. I don't know I sold him!
Bernice (his pet sow) will probably have three little pigs;  Einy,  Meany,  Miney,   and Moe.      .... er ... ah   NO!   Make that 4 pigs!
They dug the hole back small again!
I've got the small half of the bedroom and my brother's got the big half!
We got a meetin' tomorrow at "O" eleven hundred!
He had a 'Vette and two choppers, and he wrecked them both!
I want a 12 foot pole, 3 feet in the ground and 6 feet on top!
That ain't nothin.  .. The first 50% of my graduating class was married when they graduated and the other 25% either were gonna or had to!
The only funeral home we got is three that are all on the same street!
If I would have loosened it down,  I would have got 30 more bales per bale!
A rectangle is the same as a square except it's longer on one end!  
How does "Z" come before "O"?   She better go back to school and learn how to count!!
Is that a thermometer?  Let me see that.  I want to see how much I weigh!
Be sure those chicken's mittens are three legged... Three this way and one in the back!
(motorized wagon) The one I saw looked like it had eight wheels.  Two in front and two in back!
A cubic foot is six inches this way by twelve inches that way by twelve inches the other way.  A cubic yard is four inches thick by 36 inches by 36 inches.  But... That's been five years ago though.
What's the difference between a 53 high and a 63 high besides 3 inches?
(speaking of high school) I was the bottom of the top fifty.  I was fifty percent of my class.
She's the same age I am but a year younger.
Get married on Leap Year.  That way you get married every four years!

Mangled metaphors:
That's harder said than done!
The grass where cow manure grows,  the grass grows taller!
I just had a repelling urge!
What they know won't hurt them!
You know the old say'in "The green is always grasser"!
What!  Did I hear my ears??
You'll feel like a fish out of dry water!
I've got another thing up my collar!
He's big for his own size!
It's like this bottomland - flat as the eye can see!
To be continued at a later present time!
They must learn quicker back now than they do then!
You gotta' fish by the hook!
She's a disgrace to the human universe!
That's beside your point!
The wind up,  the pitch,  the grind off!
That was the rule of the code.
Give a doctor a day an apple away!
Let's give her mouth to mouth reservations.
I like to see daylight before I hop into a pit.

Life in general:
If I knew then what I know now I could of done then what I need to do now, but can't!
Q. Opie,  have you got you a girl yet?    A. For what??
You wouldn't believe the deference between guys and girls!
I lie is nothing but a stretched story!
I knew that was comin' as soon as I heard the last part!
I can kick a football either left or right handed.
If he'd offered me $2,500 and my truck,  I'd be walkin' home with a new truck!
We floundered wrong.....   We made the wrong mistake!
Stop!  ... Or I'll put a shot across your bowels!
Nothing makes me madder than somebody puttin' my head in a locker then slammin' the door!
But you know that a fence don't stop a bull and a sow from goin' to it!
You got your mess into, you get your mess out of it!
Well I'm decided.   Either this way or that way!
I don't care where they sit me as long as I set next to a girl of the opposite sex!
I keep gettin' these revisions about things I've done before!
Don't give up so hard!  Look at me!!
Every kid's born with a tail but it pops off before it's born!
I almost had a hot date with a two legged doe.  She wasn't too bad 'til she stated screaming!
That meat was so tender you could cut it with a knife!
I like those old-time Christmas carols like "mop the halls".
Too bad you can't write 'em down in pictures!
Right now I don't know anything,  and I wish the hell I didn't!
Girls are really funny.  One day they're moody one way and the next day they're moody the other way.


People:
The spirit of St. Louis was "Carl" Lindberg's plane.
She was ugly! with a capitol UG!
I accidentally had the measles with a girl!
Yvonne Goolagone?  Yea!  She's from one of those rare cities.  She plays tines with those famous people like Chrisie Evert and Nogia Sausage.
If it wasn't him, it was his "splittin'" image!
Man! .. If she weighed as much as I do,  she'd be walkin' around with broken legs!

Places:
That's right down my neck of the woods, .....but in the opposite direction!
I 'bout ran into a wreck last night!.. I 'bout ran into the car followin' in front of me!
Cole Camp is way up south of Sedallia!
That's like Cotton MO.  It's north of Clarksburg.   But I ain't figgured out where that's at yet!
I was comin' from the east and he was headin' west when I met him!
Fly off the "star board" bow!  One side is the board and the other side is the star.
I followed behind and met an oxygen truck this morning!
(Plaque) All the places I find... I ain't got none!

Sports:
They shot at the buzzer with 8 seconds to go.
I had to go to the girl's basketball game 'cause my brother had to play! (turned out his brother was in he band that played at halftime.)
California won last night by 3 points........ 63 to 64!
(78 World Series) I'd like to see the Dodgers go five in a row!

I can't vouch for the authenticity of this story but.......

This is Dave's story

This is an honest true story of what happened to me.

A Conservation Officer stopped me as I was leaving the Old Mission.  I had two buckets of walleye and I must admit I was over my limit.

The C.O. asked if I had a licence to catch all of the fish.  I told him I didn't need a licence as they were my pet fish.

I could tell that he really didn't believe me so I explained to him that I took my pet fish down to the lake and let them out to go for a swim to get their exercise. I then told him that when it was time to home all I had to do was whistle and the fish would swim back to me and get in the buckets and would take them back home.

After hearing this the game warden was very very skeptical so told him the I could prove it to him.

I returned to lake with the game warden and I poured the two buckets of walleye out into the water and they swam away.
After a few minutes the game warden asked when I was going to call them back.

I asked of him "call who back?"
He said "the fish"
I said "what fish?"

This is the God's honest truth and I just re-telling the story as it happened to Dave. :D :D  

And I know Dave would never string me a line

Bill

Hey! I know Dave! But at the time he went as Mort, and he had pet Blue Gills. I guess the guy is into everything!

Coca Cola's were a nickel. They were those little six ounce ones that tasted so good.  We could hardly wait until our 5 minute break in study hall to get one.
 
Study hall at GMC was a compulsary two hours every night except Friday and Saturday.  We ate supper, had a room inspection and began study hall at 7:30.  There was a 5 minute break at 8:00 and study hall was over at 9:30.  Free time untill 9:45 for showers and then the bugler sounded tattoo.  Back to our rooms.  Fifteen minutes later he sounded taps and lights out.  That meant that not only were you in bed at the last notes, but asleep.
 
In 1956 or 1957, someone of authority raised the price of the nickel coke to six cents.  I don't know if it was a tax or the Coke company that did it, but Coke came out with new machines that would take a nickel, dime or quarter.....and a penny.  It also led to over active young minds devising a way to steal Cokes.  It didn't dawn on us that we could be thrown out of school for the deed.
 
If you got down on your knees and reached into the delivery hole of the machine with your left hand and pushed it in to the right, then turn your body so that your elbow worked in a downward fashion, you could enter the storage compartment of the cold cokes that were to be loaded in the next servicing.  Then you turned your hand over, almost palm up, and tried to get the top of a coke bottle by the ridges in the cap and coax it forward far enough to get hold of it.
 
If you were successful, the coke was yours.  If you knocked it over then it blocked the others from being reached and you were out of business until the machine was serviced again.
 
On the weekend was usually when this would happen.  Alone in the barracks  and nothing to do.  But sometimes the older cadets would gather around the machine at Study Hall Break and one of us littler guys from Jr. Company would pull out a bunch of Cokes.  It made us important.

Idle hands are the devil's workshop.

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I remember the great "hue and cry", (whatever that is) that went up(Hues and crys always go up, never down) when Cokes went up to 6 cents. It was about the same time that postage went from 3 cents to four. Cigarettes were about 15 cents a pack, and we swore we'd never pay a quarter for them.  A loaf of bread was twenty cents, and we thought the world was coming to an end. Now, we pay two bucks for the loaf of bread, but only work half as long to earn it. "Two steps forward, and one step back" works in both directions. :)

I was in 'E' company at G.M.C. and we were located on the 1st floor of Vincent Hall. The only coke machine in the 3 floor barracks was also on the 1st floor. My senior year, my roommate and I would start quietly sneaking out of our room about 5 minutes before study hall break. We had to be careful and not get caught by the Hall Sargent for being out of our rooms during study hall. That would result in at least 2 hour walking on the bull ring. Anyway, we'd sneak down and stand just behind the side of the coke machine. When the bugle blew for the 5 minute break, we'd step around and be first in line. Once, my roommate put his 6 cents in and the cokes started coming and wouldn't quit. He took all he could hold and stepped aside and I took the rest. The machine ran out. We sold them for a dime a piece. Geez the other guys were mad....but they paid the dime.   ;D  We made quite a bit of money in that 5 minutes. :D  It's a wonder they didn't just beat the crap out of us and take the cokes. :o

I guess everyone has a Coke and inflation story.:D

US Highway 54 between Fulton and Jefferson City was really something back in the late 50's. The driving lanes were only about 8' wide and included narrow bridges over Hiller's Creek and Middle River. The real killer was the sloping curb on both sides. When it rained, the curbs helped channel the water into pools in the low places.

Dad and I took this trip up and back US 54 to Jefferson City a couple of times a week. We'd delivering white oak stave bolts to the barrel stave mill in his 53 Chevy 2-ton flatbed truck. The thuck's front track width was the same width as the back inside dual. It took utmost attention to keep from running the outside dual up on the curb and pitch the it out of control - usually in the direction of on-coming traffic. That's when I'd wake up from my nap and check to see where we were along the route. By the end of the first summer I'd memorized every curve, bump, farmhouse, and fence post. The only paved road that intersected the 25 miles stretch was at New Bloomfield, about half way. And even there, there wasn't a stop sign to break the monotony.

The only point of interest for me was Miller's 66 gas station, which set along US 54 at the crest of a slight hill, about a mile south New Bloomfield. The building was typical of those built in the early days of the "houseless carriage". It was constructed of concrete blocks was painted white and had a flat roof and a fascia that announced "Miller's 66". A couple of old gas pumps, such as sit in the lobby of trendy restaurants, were in operation out front. I can remember Mr. Miller (a.k.a. "Red" Miller by Dad and others- no doubt for his rusty red hair.), in his khaki uniform being the only attendant. He was a short and stocky man - late in years, but, as I was not yet 10, everyone seemed older then.

It was a routine stop at Miller's 66 on the return trip from the stave yard. While Dad filled up the truck and the gas cans and checked the oil, I' d make a beeline to the Coke machine that sat outside to the left of the front door. It was not like ones we see today or even 20 years ago but it was more like a refrigerator on it's back. You lifted the door, insert a dime in the coin slot and slid the bottle of your choice down a rack and into a chamber. Once there, you could lift it out past the metal gate. I'd get a 12oz Coke that tasted better than any I've had since. Then I'd go in and get a Snicker's, Baby Ruth, or a sack of Planter's peanuts from Mr. Miller to go along with it. After paying the 2 cent bottle deposit, I'd have less than a quarter invested in my personal treat.

Then one day it happened - when I plugged in a dime and pulled out my Coke, I noticed something strange and unfamiliar. The bottle was new; it wasn't all dulled up from rolling around in a floorboard or in a wooden bottle tray. But most disturbing, it was not nearly as fat. I'd been gypped! It was only a 10oz. bottle! Somehow, 10 ounces just never fit the my thirst. In retaliation, I tried a Squirt once or twice and for a while I drank Dr. Pepper with the 10,2,4 clock stenciled on the sides. They hadn't went to the 10oz size yet. I eventually came back to Coke. But I always grumbled when I got to the bottom and still had 2oz of thirst left.

Well, this went on for another year when I got my next start at the old Coke machine - the price had risen to 15 cents. I was really mad! I wasn't proficient enough in math to figure it out exactly but I figured I was paying about twice as much per ounce as I had been a year earlier. It may sound juvenile now but back then what had cost me a half a day's pay had risen to take most of a day's pay. See, my first paying job as a "gofor" for Dad. I was a human pack mule carrying the tools, gas, oil, water, etc. from tree to tree. I'd get 50 cents a day for my labors. Despite the high coust of my one indulgence I always had "jingle" in my pocket and a few folding bills in my Roy Rodgers billfold.

I guess I could lament all those silver dimes, quarters and half-dollars I let slip by my fingers and into that old Coke machine. But, you know, you just can't take it with you.

Update 2002:

The Miller's 66 building still stands on what is now called Old 54. The new, 4-lane, US 54 bypassed it about a half mill to the east about 30 years ago. Mr. Miller closed the station around 1980. Now the windows and front door sealed with plywood and painted entirly over in a faded blue color. The pumps, signs and the Coke machine are all gone. A large white farmhouse that stood across the highway is replaced by a subdivision of modular and mobile homes.

I'll occasionally make a detour down Old 54. I can't pass Miller's 66 and not wish for one of those Cokes in the heavy 12oz glass bottle.

Well, this ain't particularly funny, but this thread brings it to mind.  Remember when all the Coke bottles had the name of a town on the bottom?  We grew up kinda poor, so it was a real treat when Daddy bought us all a Coke. We would wager little make-believe bets as to whose bottle came from the farthest place. Of course, we didn't really win anything, but it was fun being the winner. 8)

That is funny too.  I was talking about that with somebody on the forum the other day.  I can't remember who it was though.  We used to do that too.  The fellow that had the bottle from the farthest away got his coke bought by the others.

There was a game played by the older guys who had  money.  They would put down a dollar each and the one that had the farthest bottle got the pot.  

We used to like to put a nickel bag of peanuts in the 6 ounce coke and time it so that we got the last peanut out with the last sip.  It was a good combination and was pretty tasty.  Must have been the salt in the peanuts. :D

Talking about stealing cokes, and here the stealing of phone time, is not an effort to lead anyone astray nor to indicate that I or we lead unscrupulous lives.  We, as children, sent far from home for years, did get involved in episodes of ill gain, just as children who lived at home would get into trouble.  For many, the consequences were disastrous.  The school had punishments ranging from compulsory marching in your free time, room arrest, campus arrest, assigned work parties, standing at attention for hours, "square meals" and public humiliation to "dishonorable" dismissal from the school.  

Dirty brass or unshined shoes could cost you the loss of your free time for a week or more.  Drinking and stealing were often rewarded with the latter, although the cadre, I think, knew that boys were mischevious and tried to correct rather assasinate.  Some things were overlooked, some commanded a slap on the wrist and there was no hope for you if you did it again.

Although we lacked the nurturing of a family life, we definitly learned right from wrong and the consequences of our actions. Even though I have these stories to tell,  don't believe that I or we, Military School Cadets,  were reared as hellions.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Telephone calls were a dime.  Long distance calls were paid for with stacks of quarters, dimes and nickels.  They got expensive.
 
I don't know what it took for a cadet to figure this out, but one did.  
 
The phone booth was not fastened down.  It was a free standing wood booth with accordian doors that had glass windows.
 
One of the Cadets figured out how to tilt the phone booth in Vinson Hall (one of two Barracks) up on one corner (precariously at a 45 degree angle) and it would accept pennies for nickels.  Many a long distance phone call was paid for with pennies and there would be lines of guys from both barracks waiting for the phone in Vinson Hall.
 
It went on for quite a long time,longer than a year, untill someone of authority caught on and had Mr. Kilgore, the maintenance man, attach the booth to the floor.

Mr. Kilgore was a busy man.

A few years back my buddy Sonny and I hitched up my boat and headed for Wixom Lake. One of all our all time favorite fishing spots. We could catch Blue Gills, Large Mouth Bass, Small Mouth, Walleyes, Channel cats and several other species. Wixom lake is an impoundment where we would put in at a public access, but instead of heading on up into the main lake we would turn and go back down the tabacco river 3 miles and anchor just up from the Dale bridge. This was our favorite spot. Thing is, it was my bruder in law Butch's favorite spot too.

This day my bruder in law and his friend were there first. As was the custom for the second one to arrive, we anchored off a little ways but still close enough for us all to visit without hollering. Usually the guys that got there first were in the best place and this day was no different in that respect. They were catching 2 or 3 fish to our one. What was different was that it was Butch's Birthday. He had held up the present my sister had bought him and bragged about how much he was going to use it today. It was a very nice tape measure. It also had a built in digital scale for weighing the fish. Fancy.

We continued to fish for a period catching panfish. Nothing really for Butch to try his new tape measure out on. Finally butch got something bigger on. As he fought it he hollered "Here is one for my nice new tape. To bad you aint catching any fish this big, and to bad you don't have a fancy tape measure". Typical bruder in law competition.

Butch did get that fish in and it was a Walleye and one he was going to have to measure to see if it was of the legal 15 inches in length. Out came the tape and the blow by blow announcement of the proceedings. DanG! That new fancy tape still could not make that 14.5 inch walleye 15 inches.  Sonny and I watched as Butch stood up with the fish in one hand the fancy new tape measure in the other and made the most infamous release that ever will occur in our family.  He hollered "HALF INCH SHORT" and with a gentle under handed motion he threw his new tape into the lake. I still remember that look of  "OH scrappola" in his eyes as the tape was still in mid air.

Sonny and I had never laughed so hard for so long, we were lucky we didn't roll out of the boat. I know my ribs were sore for days after that. When ever we are at a family function now where gifts are exchanged I always ask Butch no matter what he gets  "How long is it?" :D

Ha Ha-a-a-a-a-a !   That's rich.  Did he buy another tape on the way home?   I would have had to answer to that one.

What do you call that a "Brain Burp"? :D

Ah yes. The joys of parenting.  
 
I am so proud of my oldest, my namesake.  He is the mechanic with the gift that I searched for all my life and could never find.  I've come close a time or two and actually fixed something, though I can't remember exactly what.
 
I got a call at work one morning and my wife was concerned that Tommy, who loved wheels, was trying to get the tires off of the station wagon.  Tommy has always been infatuated with wheels and tires.  He would almost fall out of his stroller because he would lean way over to watch the wheels roll.  Many times I've reached over and grabbed his diapers to pull him back into the car because he was trying to watch the tires.(before car seats).
 
I said, "Has he got the lug nuts off"?  I was concerned.
 
"No, I don't think that he is strong enough to turn the wrench".
 
I was no longer concerned.
 
She said, " He got the jack out and has the station wagon jacked up off of the ground though."
 
I was concerned again.
 
"Go out there and let it down"
 
"I don't know how", she said.
 
"Well go out there and make sure it is in gear and put the emergency brake on good and tight,  bring him in the house".
 
Tommy had just turned 3 years old.  
 
When I got home,  I was amazed at the proper job he had accomplished.  It's a good thing he was so small or the tires would have been off.
 
A year or so later,  my neighbors and I began to have flat tires.  They had nails in them.  
 
I suspected that someone had spilled them locally and we were all getting into them.  As it turned out (I found out years later from his brothers) Tommy was propping nails against the tires so that he could watch us change them.  It's a good thing I didn't know it at the time. I may have been a little harsh with him.  

Back when I was a senior in high school in 1970 growing up
in Culver, Indiana it was a rite of passage to drive
through the local A&W root beer stand with the asphalt
driveway and smoke the tires from one end of the
drive to the other. I was with my friend and we had
my dad's 1963 Chrysler Newport with the 426 hemi engine
and a three on the floor manual transmission. The
Root beer stand was located on a bend in the street
and you would turn right to enter going southbound
and exit going west bound after the bend.
My friend was lookout and he said go ahead. Just as I let
out on the clutch he yelled No No!  As it turned out
the town cop had just turned in to the root beer stand
and was right behind me.  I pushed in on the clutch
and coasted out onto the street and the red lights
came on.   At this time my father had been in the hospital
for several weeks with bad burns from a naptha explosion
at the factory where he worked and the town cop
had just spent a few days with chest pains sharing a room
with my dad.  As the town cop walked up to the car
his first words were "Thought you could get away with it
didn't you?"  I was at a loss for words and the first thing
I said was, "Get away with what"  After I said it I couldn't
believe I had just said something so stupid.  About that
time the town cop recognized me and said.
"How's your father doing?  I said that his burns were
healing and he was going to have some skin graft surgeries
soon.  Then the cop said,  "Let's keep this between you and
me and don't do it again"   I couldn't believe it.
I guess the cop felt sorry for me cause he knew my dad
hadn't been working for several weeks and we didn't have the money to pay a fine.  As it turned out, my dad missed
a whole year of work. My dad passed away in 1998 and I
never did tell him that story.

They's a few stories my Daddy ain't never heard, too. I'm extremely fortunate to still have him, so I still ain't talkin'. :-X

We got an A&W drive-in at home as our first Big City Franchise.  :D  I don't remember it being paved, at least not at first.  

They had the best and coldest root beer.  There was a little mug for a nickel and a big mug for a dime, all served in frosted mugs.  Boy what a good place to take a date.

After playing tennis one afternoon, my cousin Ben took all of us to the A&W in his jeep.   We ordered our root beer and he asked for a bunch of glasses of water too.  When the girl arived with the water, Ben put it in the radiator of the jeep.  I was embarrassed, he though it was a funny practical joke.  :-X

We didn't have much money in those days but she was left a bi-i-i-g tip. :D

I had a girlfriend that worked at A&W as did a couple of her friends.  I got into a habit of dropping in for a "cold one" on my way home from school although it was 20 miles out of my way.  

Got there one afternoon and Nancy wasn't working the early shift but two of her friends were.  They had both been bothered by guys asking them out on dates.  They came up with the idea to borrow the two rings I was wearing so they could be "going steady" with someone.  

I went over to Nancy's house and we returned to A&W to hang out.  Didn't take her long to note the rings on the other girl's chains around their necks.  I didn't get into too much trouble.  :o

I thought I'd share this with everyone, I found it rather amusing.

Enjoy

A Charlotte, NC, lawyer purchased a box of very rare and expensive cigars, then insured them against fire among other things. Within a month having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars and without yet having made even his first premium payment on the policy, the lawyer filed claim against the insurance company. In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost "in a series of small fires." The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason: that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.

The lawyer sued......and won!
 
In delivering the ruling the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous.

The Judge stated nevertheless, that the lawyer held a policy from the company in which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable fire," and was obligated to pay the claim. Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000.00 to the lawyer for his loss of the rare cigars lost in the "fires."
 
NOW FOR THE BEST PART...
 
After the lawyer cashed the check, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of ARSON!!!! With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000.00 fine.
 
This is a true story and was the 1st place winner in the recent Criminal Lawyers Award Contest.


 :D :D

I am familiar with wholelot of those kinds of guys in this neck of the woods.  It  is called malfeasance. :'(  There ought to who whole bunches of them fellas lose their licence to practice law and spend some time in the pen. >:(

Bill,
That story made my day,he laid a trap for sombody else,and caught himself 8)

A thousand dollars,and one months jail time per cigar,they were indeed expensive. :-/

I would like to share a clip out of a journal I keep. Oaklands was a horse farm where my brothers and I worked as teenagers. It has since become an overgrown and may soon be sold off as a housing development.

August 4
 This was another HOT weekend. My brother Chris and I  went over to Oaklands to help John (resident owner) and Donnie (John's cousin) Move some antique furniture to storage. Antique means heavy. Two four poster beds from the 1700s, dressers and anything else heavy they could find. I'm allergic to cats and dust, guess what this house is full of. Martin, a friend of Chris's also helped because he want's John's old car, a 65 Valiant with a 318 engine. Now I really thought about taking the car myself but my current projects have me booked for the next couple of years. So, after moving the antiques we decided to clear the car. It had been siting for about 15 years, had a wild grape growing through the bumper and was surrounded by brush and small trees, and had a multifloral rose weaving through it all. With a 16" Stihl 031 we cleared it off in about an hour. I was drenched in sweat and only hit the car one time with the saw. Went home took a much needed shower. We all met up at Famous Dave's in Laurel and had a great dinner. I like their margarita's. We then picked up the flatbed trailer and went back to get Martin's Valiant. We hand winched it onto the trailer and I was done. I had enough for one day. I jokingly asked if there was anything else to do and Donnie said yea. Some one had dumped the string section of an old piano near the end of the road and he wanted to turn it over and get the strings off. We lifted it up and under it was a 3' black snake. There we were holding up a piano picking up our feet as if we could get them both up at the same time. It was really only 1 second of dancing around screaming like a little girl then my manliness kicked back in we gave the piano a shove and flopped it over. The snake made it's exit in the tall grass. Donnie looked at me and said, "You know for a moment it felt like I was the only one holding that piano up". We dropped the car off at Chris's house, after we shoved it off there was a mouse on the trailer we chased it around but it made a mad charge at Chris and dove off the trailer while Chris danced around screaming like a little girl. Somewhere that mouse and snake are trading stories.

I love it!   Do you reckon they keep journals and pass stuff down through the generations too?  I never thought of other animals passing life experiences on before but I'll bet they could tell some stories. :D

A friend of mine who loves to fish and hunt has one small problem. He is so scared of snakes it's not even funny. One day just joking around I threw a piece of armorflex (flexable black pipe insulation) at him and he jumped into the air and screamed like a school girl. In his deep voice he says that he isn't scared of snakes just doesn't like to be in the same room as one thats all. :D

I just couldn't believe it. He can kill and gut a large buck, but act like a school girl when anything even close to a snake is around.

But I do have to admit it's sort of fun every now and again to take a black bungie cord and remove the hooks. Wala instant snake --- well you can guess the rest. ::)

Gordon

Just the other day, Dad retold the story for um-tenth time about the time years ago when they still put up hay by raking it up with a spring-tooth rake and pitchforked it onto the wagon by hand.  He heard Mom screaming (https://forestryforum.com/smile/scream.gif) and looked around to see her beating a black snake to death with the new pitchfork he'd just bought that morning – breaking the handle and continuing to bludgeon the snake with it.  (https://forestryforum.com/smile/smash.gif)

I guess you had to have been there because Dad still laughs about it and Mom still gets mad about him thinking it's so funny.

 ;D

I have a friend, haven't seen him in 15 years or so, that is deathly afraid of fish. :-/

I took him fishing in my 14' flat bottomed boat out in the St. Mary's and gave him a cane pole.  He had never fished with a cane pole before;  might not have ever been fishing.  He caught a little redbreast bream about the size of the palm of your hand.  I said "lift the pole."  He did.   It was dangling in the air about 10' from the boat.  I said, "lift the pole on up and it'll come in the boat. He did.  

The bream came swinging into the boat toward him. He threw the cane pole at me in the back of the boat, climbed up on his feet and scrambled over everything in the boat to the bow where he ran out of boat. He then turned and, white as a sheet, watched me unhook his fish.  I thought he was going to jump out of the boat. :D

I love Grouper.  Those Nassau Groupers that I used to catch averaged around 30 lbs but sometimes I would get into a mess of 2 pounder Yellow Groupers and they were so-o--o good.   I caught one that was just shy of 300 pounds one night.  A Jewfish or Giant grouper is what they are called.  I figured I was going to get rich off of that fish.  I usually got about 40 cents a lb. for grouper and was doing some quick calculations that bottom-lined with a new fishing pole, anchor, lights for the boat, cast net and money left over.

I took him to the fish house and they offered me eight cents a pound. Boy was I disgruntled.  They got that fish but no more grouper and most of my fish went to another fish house even though it was further away.

Horned Grouper are really good and tough to catch.  They are one of the wariest of the groupers and even shy away from boats in their area.

It takes several days to catch one.  First you have to find one and then get him accustomed to the boat.  When that happens, the next trip, you get a sampling of shrimp, ballyhoo and squid for bait.  You position the boat directly over his lair and drop the shrimp in.  He will eventually come out and eat the shrimp, Then you drop the ballyhoo in.  He will eventually come out and eat the ballyhoo.  Then you drop a piece of the squid in and eventually he will come out and eat the squid.  You don't do anything else that day but allow him to think he just had a good meal. The second day, you feed him the shrimp and then the ballyhoo and then the squid again, leaving before he realizes where the food is coming from.  On the Third day, you feed him the shrimp, the ballyhoo and hold back on the squid.  When he comes up close to the boat to find out what happened to the squid, you grab him by the horns and throw him into the boat.

I like Speckled Perch too.  Some folks call'em Crappie but I call'em Speckled Perch because Crappie brings to mind a very unappetising picture.  I'll tell you how best to catch one of them later when I've got a little more time.

Tom, I am sure the sand in your hour glass will never be empty, either of sand or stories. ;D 8) 8) 8) 8) 8)  You ought to put all of these into an anthology colection.   :P

I know what you mean, Tom. Fishin' for Horned Grouper is almost as tough as Snipe huntin'.  :D :D

In 1975 I was working on a horse farm. The little tractor was about a 1960 International Cub. My good buddy John was driving and I was standing on the drawbar with bell bottom jeans on. I did not know it but one bell was over a ball hitch we had in one of the drawbar holes. I decided to mess with John while he was driving across a slightly sloped pasture so I would poke him in the ribs every now and then. Well he got tired of that, swung a hard left just about when I was going to get him again. I lost my grip and fell off. BUT the bell bottom got twisted around the ball hitch so I hit the ground and got dragged a few feet before my pants tore. I had the wind knocked out of me. John finally looked back to see why I wasn't messing with him any more and saw me lying on the ground about 20 yards away... slightly down hill. All right. John's eyes lit up, he shut off the tractor and he can't say why but he put it in neutral and jumped off to help me. Me I'm gasping for breath and I see him run twards me with the tractor backing after him. I got a little breath and was able to get out "TRACTOR". John wheeled around and got it stopped. In my mind it was much closer but John says it was about 10 feet from me.

That little tractor got us into trouble more than once. There were lots of ghost stories about the horse farm and it may be that one of em lived in the cub.

That was the first tractor I ever fell off of but not the last.

Hope youall  don't mind me bumping this one up again.
This happened about 2 years ago.

 Neal and I were doing an installation at the White Sands facility in Las Cruces New Mexico, a short drive up from the El Paso Texas airport and just over the border from Chihuahua Mexico. We went into the town of Ol Mesilla, where Billy the Kid was bad, arrested, tried, sentenced to hang and then, as the locals told me, quietly let go.
 Neal and I were walking around the town square when a pack of dogs came tearing around the corner and went Snarling, barking and bighting for him. Neal threw up his arms and shouted, "Get out of Here!!!" the dogs backed off and then charged again, this time one circled in and tried to bight his heals but couldn't quite get his mouth around it. They were a pack of Chihuahuas!! I did not even try to help, I was too busy laughing. The owner finally came out and said she was sorry, that they had gotten out of their cage. Walking around town we noticed a lot of yards had a couple of them in cages.
 If you ever go down there and rabbit is on the menu... order the beef!

I think those chihauhaus must be the most fearless dog per pound of any canine on the planet.  I've been across the screen door of a few myself. :D

                                  PANIC
      This happened yesterday morning,and every time Ithink oit I bust out laughing.We have this cat,maybe 3/4 grown that usually stays outside,wife is alergic to them,but with the cold we let her come in.We live in an older farmhouse,so mice in the winter are a fact of life.My wife had put out some of thos new sticky trapsfor them. I had just gotten up yesterda,and was having my coffeewhile kitty was playing behind my chair.All of a sudden I hear a horrified yowl,and this awful bumping and thumping ,sudenly the cat comes tearing out from under the chair with her front paw stuck in this sticky trap.She's doing about a million through the living room with the trap flappin every step,then she hits the kitchen,with vinel,more noise less control!!!!By now we'redying,and poor Stink,cats nameis doing laps around the kitchen,yowling and flapping .We finally caught her,and got the trap off,she is fine but avoids that chair like the plauge.If we look at her when she passes that chair,she glares at us as if to say it's not funny......I laugh anyway.

I can just see that, Dail! It is hilarious when a cat screws up. I guess its because they are usually so downright competent. They later give you that look that says, "I meant to do that." ::)

We have a number of barn cats, and they can be just as funny. One of the best moments was a couple of years ago, during the spring. One of  the adolescent cats was stalking a little yellow butterfly. The butterfly alit on top of a very fresh pile of horse flop, the cat pounced, the butterfly left, and the cat landed, face-first in the middle of the turd. It added new meaning to the term, "SCAT CAT!" :D

Several years ago in the fall of the year, we were sawing past dark. I headed for home to fix supper.  Al stayed to clean, load logs, and tally the lumber sawn.

The 18' w x 14' h overhead door had been open for 15-20 minutes while Al figured the bill for a customer.

All of a sudden Al heard some cackling. In struts a male Pheasant, bobbing his head and looking around. Must have been a sight.(https://forestryforum.com/smile/Wow.gif)


Al quietly slipped over to the overhead door button, closed the door and shut off the lights.

Now it's Al and the pheasant in a dark 40 x 40 room. Armed with his Mag Lite, Al shined the bird, walked right up to it, and grabbed it by the neck. Al stuffed the squawking bird into a burlap bag. 8)

I was quite suprised when Al called me on the phone asking if I was hungry for Pheasant. We decided it would be fun to show up at our pheasant hunting friend's house with a live bird.  :D

You'll have to imagine the shocked look on their faces when Al showed up with a live bird in a bag! :o

There was quite a discussion on how to finish off the bird. One suggestion was to throw it in the air while the father and two sons shot at it.
Al objected to them wrecking a nice "LEAD FREE" dinner.
Finally, the 14 year old son grabbed an ax, and the bird, and took care of business.

The next day a nice cleaned lead free frozen dinner showed up. Boy that was good eating. ;D

Linda :)

 :D That's a smart fellow you married there, Linda.  Not many folks would have thought to do what he did but would have tried to chase it down with a stick or axe. :-/

I sure would have liked to have been there and seen that.  ;D

And after you were there to see that, I'd like to have been there to EAT that! ;D

DanG smart hubby and a DanG dumb bird!  Maybe the bird was feeling extra "cocky!"  8)  He sure picked the wrong man to challenge.  Should have stuck with someone his own size!  ;D

Linda :)  

Seems like Al and the 14 year old had the best idea of how to dispatch that bird, I can just see them throwing it up in the air and either missing our hitting it square.

 I've never had pheasant that you didn't have to be careful chewing, good job Al!

That pheasant story brings back some very fond memories of  my childhood.  My folks had a very large ranch style brick home in the country (then).  
The main window facing East with a very fine view of Mt. Hood, was 6' x 10' in size.  At the other end of the room (20' x 32') was a large mirror (5' x 8')  Now, picture this, you are flying around outside and all seems well., when you decide to make a slight turn because all you see is open space.  At least it looks that way.   AYou make your turn and suddenly you are face down in a large Camelia bush.  Stunded and unable to get your berrings for a few minutes.  There are five youngen i the house and your mother yells from the kitchen,  "Who hit the window?".  One of us yells out, "A big bid just few into the picture window."   Yep, you are correct, my mother runs out and grabs him before he is totaly aware of what happened.  She does not take the time to find an ax or the block.   Right there in front of us she rings his neck.  Now you have to know that we told all our near by friends of how out mom had taken care of the bird and wouldn't you knowshe got a real good reputation for haveing kids behave while at our house.   ;D We all get to do some plucking.  and only two us at dinner got a drumstick.   Two others each grab
a part of the wishbone and the 5th, well she was toooo small to enjoy the spoils. 8)  There were several such critters that
hit that window, but the first always tasted the best.


PS  A few years later she demonstrated to her Cub Scout den of boys that she could rip an two inch phone book in half.
She always had their attention during any lesson.  I have to give her the main credit for my staying out of major trouble in my growing up years. :)

Son Chris and I drove out to Gardner, Montana in May of '98 where Chris attended a hunting guide school.  We were there a couple of days early so we had some time to tour the area.

Wednesday,  we drove through Yellowstone Park.   It started to rain and soon it was snowing in the higher elevations.   It was most pleasant.  Normally,  the park is full of tourist but this time of year is about three weeks before the start of the tourist season.  And it was the middle of the week and it was snowing.   We reached Cody,  Wyoming that afternoon and got a room and found a restaurant to eat a late lunch.  We planned to tour the Wild (Buffalo) Bill Cody museum the next day.  

About 7:00 p.m.,  we decided it would be nice to find a café and get a piece of pie and ice cream.   I had seen an advertisement for an old hotel in Cody. The hotel had been built by Wild Bill Cody in 1909 and was still in operation.  It had a restaurant so I read the information to Chris and suggested we go there for our pie.  

Chris was driving as we drove through the town.  I pointed out the hotel with restaurant but Chris drove on past it with only a nod to what I was pointing at.  O.K.  I can't always figure him out - must be some reason he didn't want to stop there.   We drove out of town to the east without finding another restaurant.  Chris turned around and drove back into town - past the hotel I pointed out again.  Still he didn't stop but turned down another highway and went out of town to the north until again we were out into the desert.   He turned around again and went back into town and headed west towards Yellowstone Park.   We drove 18 miles to a roadside restaurant/bar/motel along the highway.   Here he stopped and we got our pie and ice-cream.

Next to the restaurant was a saddle maker's shop.  Chris wanted to stop in.  Well,  it was past 8:00 p.m. by now but the saddle maker was still there working.  Chris and this old cowboy (over 50 - I would say) hit it off right away.  He had part of one finger missing from getting it stuck under the rope wrapped around the saddle horn when the cow pulled the rope tight.   His lower jaw was wired shut from an accident he had just had at the rodeo - a bull stepped on his face.  He also had a soft cast or brace on his right leg where a horse had stepped on him.

He wore an old cowboy hat,  tight blue jeans,  cowboy shirt and big silver belt buckle. He had worked as a cowboy on many of the large ranches in the area and told Chris story after story and filled him with advice.   He was the genuine article.  

We visited for a good hour even though it was late in the evening and the old cowboy had his mouth wired shut. Chris asked him to make a holster for his .44 magnum Ruger pistol.  (Chris is left-handed and it is harder to find a good left side holster.)  He said to leave the Ruger and to return the next afternoon and he would have it done.

Thursday morning Chris was looking at some information about Cody that I had picked up the day before and found a hotel that was built in 1909 by Wild Bill Cody and it had a restaurant.  "Why didn't we go there last night for the pie and ice-cream?" He asked.  "AhaaaaG!"  I told him I had suggested it the night before and I had pointed it out three times we passed it.  He argued that I hadn't.   Anyway,   we went there and had breakfast and it was great.  The hotel was built for $80,000 and then they had a bar specially built in Europe and shipped over to Cody.  The bar cost $100,000.   It was something to see.

After the museum tour,  we returned to the saddle maker to get Chris's holster.  He was not done with it but was pleased that we stay and visit with him while he worked.  This took another two hours.  Again,  he filled Chris with stories and advice.   (I later told Chris it was interesting but take note of all the injuries this old Cowboy had suffered and that he didn't look like he had two nickels to rub together. )  

One of the stories he told was when he was camp cook on one ranch.  The guys were getting tired of the limited menu so the next time he sent for provisions,  he asked for some yeast so he could make bread instead of biscuits.  He thought he remembered how but after punchin' the bread dough back down the second time,  he just placed them in his Dutch oven to bake.  

They baked all right. He said they came out like bricks - having not raised as he had expected.  He worked at trying to cut through the crust thinking maybe the inside would still be edible but couldn't even cut through.  He ended up pitching the loafs over into a gulch behind the camp.  After a bit,  he heard a commotion in the gulch.  He slipped up to the edge to see a crow on it's back with one of the loafs of bread in it's caws trying to peck something off from it.  

The story may not have been that funny but to see this old cowboy telling it with tears in his eyes laughing so hard with his jaw wired shut, face bruised and swollen,  It was quite the scene.

This was my grand fathers favorite story to tell.  Every time we had a group of the old military guys around, they would eventually get him to recite it again.  It was great because he would do the voices and you could not help but start laughing before it was through. What made it funnier was he was the new commander, so it was on himself that he was laughing.  We told it as his wake one last time for him and we still got a good laugh.
After the General showed up at his new base to take over command he took a few days to settle in.  Once that was done, he decide he should get out and explore the base, see where everything was, and get the lay of the land and become acclimated.   First thing he would need would be some transportation.   He picked up the phone, got the base operator, and asked for the motor pool.  After the phone rang a good 20 times, it was finally answered by a gruff sounding southern voice.  Whatchou want.  Yes, I would like to get a vehicle to drive around the base.  Well, whatchou need.  What have you got?   Wellllll lessee her, we got a deuce, a deuce and half, a truck, and a jeep.   Do you have anything nicer, or a car?  Well, we got a couple of them big cadillacs, but their reserved for them fat a** officers.  Excuse me, do you know who this is?  No.  Well this is you rnew base commander.   Oh, uh, do you know who dis is?  No.  ok, Bye bye fat a**!

Georgia Military College wasn't all work.  After all, we were just kids and into everything.

Out the South end door of Main Barracks the sidewalk split in a "Y".  The right split went to the North door of the Capital building where Junior Company held Reveille and mess formations.  The left split went toward the Bull Ring and Whitfield Hall.  Between these two walks was triangular shaped piece of ground surrounded by low, knee-high shrubs.  To the left of the left walk was  a  piece of grassy ground with three steep terraces built into it.  We Jr. Company cadets used to play and tussle here.  It was our playground in 1957 but has a building on most of it now.

There was  a barbed wire and field wire fence to the East of this plot that surrounded Mrs. Thorne's Rose Garden.  (She was the school President's wife.)  The east side of the rose garden was on the edge of a precipice that fell to the lower drill field.

One Sunday evening, just before sundown, some of us were playing on these terraces. I think it was  Gordon (Bubba) Cooper,Bob Amdor,  Kent Thomas, Robert Groover, Jim Mullis, Thad Oxford and me.  Tiring of playing King of Hill and wrestling, our attention  was drawn to a large concrete roller that had an iron harness for pulling behind a tractor.  In the hole of this harness was a large bolt that was used as a pin to attach it to the tractor.  Mr. Kilgore, the maintenance man, had apparently left it there to be used the next week .  

We pushed and tugged this roller just trying to move it.  There were no plans. We had  no idea what we were going to do with it, but it made a grand toy.

I suppose we decided to see what it would do if we rolled it down a terrace.   So, we inched it closer and closer to the top of the first terrace and over the edge.  The massive concrete wheel rolled uncontrolled down the terrace with us hanging on behind.  It didn't stop. Down the second it went, gaining speed and us becoming alarmed that we couldn't control it.  Down the third terrace it went and the last of us turned loose leaving a string of young boys lying sprawled in its wake.

It went through the  barbed wire fence and the bolt on the back hooked the wire. The fence began to fold up and follow the roller.  The rotten fence posts weren't enough to slow it nor were the briars, brambles and small shrubs that had grown up through the fence.  The wire was ripping the shrubs from the ground in a cloud of red clay dust and raking the garden clean as it folded in upon itself.  

Then the roller went over the large precipice onto the lower drill field. Nothing could stop it now. It tore down small trees from the top of the precipice carrying this whole mess across the drill field nearly to the other side, a good fifty yards away.

When it finally stopped, we stood in horror, looking at the devastation.  The rose garden no longer existed.  There were no shrubs, trees, grass, roses or plants of any kind left on the hill.  The garden had been plowed and there was a pile of rubbish on the lower drill field half the size of a basketball court and at least 8 feet high.

We ran.

Nothing was ever said about the incident.  We didn't talk about it.  It took Mr. Kilgore over a week to clean it up.

Years later, I told Bill (Maj.) Kemp, (Vinson Hall barracks superintendent and later Commandant) what we had done and he laughed so hard I thought he was going to split a seam.  "We wondered who had done that", he said.  "Mrs. Thorne hadn't been a favorite of Mr. Kilgore and that rose garden was just a pile of weeds so we didn't pursuit it."  He laughed and laughed and long after the story was over would chuckle.  I hope that, in his later illness (Alzheimers), he was able to remember some of our escapades and laugh again.

 :D :D :D :D
So tell us, WHEN exactly, didja have yer horns and tail surgically removed??

As late as the late 1950's,  the farms around here were connected by a network of primitive dirt roads.  

In this time before TV and the luxury of other entertainment,  the neighbors would get together about once a week and have a dance at someone's house.  They'd carry all the furniture out of the house and sprinkle corn meal on the hardwood floors.  A good time was had by all.

At the end of the evening, many would be in no condition to drive and would stay over until the next day.  Some would be in no condition to drive but would drive home anyway.   ::)

This incident happened before I was born but had been re-told to me many times.

After one of these nights of dancing and partying,  one neighbor was driving home on a dirt road that went through my dad's hay field.  Spotting a haystack, he thought it would be just the highlight of the evening to run through that haystack with his Model A Ford.  Being in an impaired state of mind,  he didn't consider that even loose hay packs tight.  Also, it had been freezing rain all day and evening.  Even if the haystack have had a forgiving middle it had bound into a monolith by a hard outer shell of ice.  

Well,  the neighbor, following his impulse, veered off the path and smacked centered into the haystack.   ;D

Sobriety must have come to him quickly as the big spring bumper on the Model A bounded the car back off the haystack. :o

Not long ago my folks, Mary and I were dinning out at the local café and happened to be seated at a table near the above mentioned neighbor and wife.  We were visiting and I brought up the haystack "runin".  He was a bit embarrassed still about the incident in his youth.  "I'd thought everyone would have forgotten about that."  He said. :-[

 In 1975 I was working on a horse farm. The owner Mrs. Pecor had a son John, about my age and he had a cousin Donnie, also about my age. We became great frends. One night at dinner Mrs. Pecor was trying to convince John to go to Coral Gables, Florida to visit his grandmother for Christmas. John said no he did not want to go. In exasperation Mrs. Pecor looked at me and asked if I would like to go? Without hesitation I said yes, I would love to go. Well her ploy worked and John decided to go and Donnie signed up also. Looking back I guess she got a little more than she bargained for with 3 boys average age 15.

 One night on the way down we stopped at a hotel and the 3 of us shared a room, I won the draw and got a bed to myself while John and Donnie bunked together. We romped, had pillow fights, John threw a smoke bomb in the bathroom (We had stopped at South of the Border) and generally had a great time. Late that night I saw the shadow of someone tilting up the ice bucket to get a drink and without thinking I threw my pillow at it. My dead aim took the bucket out of Donnie's hand and dumped it on the sleeping John. Sleeping no more, John jumped up gave us some choice words to think about and went out to sleep in the van.  

Donnie came back into town last weekend and at dinner I told this story and we laughed so hard that I saw spots.

Growing up sure can be fun, eh?

Only problem Tom, is if we do something like that, at our age, they want to put us in a home for observation. ;D

I'm tryihng not to get caught, Harold. :D

A couple of more stories from the Horse Farm.

 One very cold winter day I was driving the tractor pulling the manure wagon out to the field to spread. As I drove by John grabbed a frozen chunk of manure and meant to throw a near miss past me. Unfortunatly I looked back to see if John was coming with me and leaned right into the path of a frozen speeding poop projectile. :o  Did I mention that I was wearing braces? Pow right in the kisser. I killed the tractor and chased John all over the farm. Death was going to be too good for him. It did not help that John was on the track team and kept looking back and laughing while keeping just out of reach. In all my years on the farm I never could catch him.

 My brothers also worked on the farm. John would pick at my brother Karl until he would try and chase him down, spell that murder him, he also never caught him. Once Karl was blindly chasing him and John led him in front of the big mud hole and nimbly took a left turn. Karl danced a few steps out onto it and then did a chest slide the rest of the way across it.

A post by ohsoloco about starting a business reminded me of this story. :D :P

It's been 7 or 8 years ago now that I sawed for a family between Folkston and St. George, Ga.   They live in the edge of the Big Swamp.
 
The Grandson called me and explained that he had been given a piece of the family land by his Grandfather and wanted to build a house.  He was going to build it from the Pine that grew on the property.  His Mother and Father also lived on the property with the Grandfather.
 
I arrived with my Wood-mizer on the designated Saturday to setup and start the job.  The whole family was there. The Grandfather was pulling the logs out of the woods with the farm tractor.  The Grandmother was babysitting the great-grandchildren.  The Daughter and her husband were pulling boards and the Granddaughter and her husband were pulling boards.  The ladies helped with the babysitting as well.
 
I sawed 2x6's, 2x4's and 1x8's like there was not tomorrow.  There was of course.
 
At about 10:45 the ladies and the kids disappeared, walking the half mile or so back to the daughters house.  At noon the Granddaughter showed up on a 4 wheeler and summoned us to the house for dinner.
 
We arrived at the house and washed up, then went inside where I was greeted with a kitchen full of home cooked groceries.  There were Greens and beans and venison and pork and rice and gravy and tomatoes and potatoes and gallons of iced tea and cookie sheets full of big cat-head biscuits.  The side table had cake and pies and fruit cobbler.
 
We ate our fill and then some.  The men went out on the front porch where we sat and visited until finally the women showed up.  The kids were boisterously under foot the whole time.  
 
We sat on the porch for the better part of an hour while dinner settled and then walked back to the mill to finish the day, sawing until about 7pm.
 
When I returned on Monday morning, much to my chagrin, the son-in-law and grandson-in-law had gone to town to work.  One is a truck driver for a large Grocery store chain and the other is a welder.  I figured the day would go real slow and I didn't want to hurt anybody.
 
The Grandfather never got off of the tractor.  He was constantly pulling logs.  The Grandmother took up her place with the great-grandchildren about 50 feet away, and the daughter and granddaughter began to pull boards.
 
I started slowly.  The ladies pulled 16' 2x6's and put them on a trailer.  They were waiting for me to cut another.  I got progressively faster until I was sawing so fast that I was panting.  The iced tea was flowing and the ladies were still waiting for me to cut the next board.
 
At 10:45 the Grandmother and the children left for the house and at noon the ladies said it was time to quit and eat.  We all walked to the house where the ladies helped the Grandmother prepare the tables and the rest of the meal while the Grandfather and I sat in the living room and I listened to bear hunting stories.
 
The meal was as big as the one last Saturday.  We ate and then we men sat on the front porch while the women cleaned up.  I felt a bit guilty but the Grandfather assured me that it was woman's work.  I guess he knew what he was talking about because they were in there laughing and joking and it sounded like they were having the time of their lives.
 
We all, again, sat on the front porch for about an hour and then back to the mill.
 
At the end of the week I was almost finished with the trees that they had cut.  Saturday looked like the last day.  I showed up and there were the son-in-law and grandson-in-law who helped to finish up the last of the job.  We not only finished that morning but I had to stay for dinner and the visit on the porch and a tour of the farm.  There were goats, cows, corn, sugar cane, a well equipped tractor shed, sugar cane mill and cook house.  Fruit trees, mostly pears, and arbors of Muscatine grapes were along and beside most of the buildings.  I left that evening with several whiskey bottles full of home made cane syrup and an invitation to come back any time I wanted.
 
They had treated me like a king...and paid me too.
 
I was telling another customer about my experience and he said they certainly were a good family.  That's the way they worked in the swamp.   The Granddaughter wanted a house and they were going to build one whether the men were around or not.
 
I was impressed then and years later still am.  If I weren't married, I would have been back there looking for a woman like that for me.  Yes, I found that the ladies also had jobs in town but worked them when the family schedules allowed.  It was an entirely different society than the one I have been used to in the city.  The ladies were the care takers and the men the providers.  Contrary to city girls though, these ladies took their job literally and seriously.  It wasn't an abuse by the men that they did what they did, it was their interpretation of what they deemed their job to be.  Everybody was happy.  You could tell it by the way the children laughed and played.
 
 Yes sir, I would have been back their in a heartbeat if I hadn't already found my "catch".  She's of the same ilk and I've found that life is wonderful when your wife thinks you are the greatest thing in the world.

Mary and I got back from our vacation and had a rental car to return.  Son Chris followed me over to the almost deserted airport across the river from Jefferson City, MO.  The only activity left there is some locally owned small planes, a flying school/charter service and a Hertz car rental service.  The Hertz operation is a satellite manned with just one man only a few hours a day - Monday through Friday.  

Anyway,  I get there and go in.   The Hertz guy is on the phone with a customer working out details of a rental. They start from scratch with all the questions so it takes a while.  He turns to me when he's done and I hand him my paperwork and keys.  

After checking the paperwork all over,  he struts out to inspect the car.  Out of a total of four cars on the lot,  he chooses to walks around the gray Lincoln Continental and inspects every rock chip and bug gut on it.  Got down eyeball to paint and rubbed little spots on the back bumper.  Stood back and looked it all over with a discriminating look on his face.  He strutted over to me and said,  "Did you wreck this car?"  I says,  "I don't thinks so..  I've never driven that car..  I rented the white Mercury Grand Marquee setting over there." (two spaces over)  "Oh my god!" he said as he went into convulsions of embarrassment.  "Why didn't you stop me?"  he says. "I was having too much fun." I return.  He goes back over to the Mercury and does a little walk around it and then goes to the two guys setting in the Lincoln and apologizes and explains the mistake he made in inspecting their car.  

The two guys were not just setting in the Lincoln but one had his door open and they had a brief case open talking business.  They stopped to watch the Hertz guy's antics. I'm sure they were wondering what this nut was up to.

The other day My buddy Craig and I were driving from Annapolis to New Carrolton Md. We took Route 450 which cuts through some marsh land. We were going along slow when a red tailed hawk glided across the road in front of us with a grey squirrel in its claws, it flared and went to land on a guard rail but did not gain enough height and ran right into it, fell down and stood there on its prize looking around as if to say "Stupid Guardrail moved!"

That's funny two times.  

Nobody expects wild animals to make mistakes. They do though and are as embarassed as we are when we run into a door.  :D  It's hard to keep a straight face when you see an animal do something like that, isn't it.

This makes the thread come a full circle since it started two years ago. The first post was a Quail busting its butt on the road. I like to have died laughing. :D :D

 This must be the longest running thread on the board.
Tom I'm glad you started it, It's fun to relate these stories and fun to go back over them.

Bullseye was always shooting something - whether he intended to or not.  (https://forestryforum.com/smile/rifle.gif)

Often he would use a car or PU as a shooting platform (from inside and or out).  This accounted for a number of exploded rear view mirrors and windshield from the concussion of the magnums he tended to favor.  

One time he shot the windshield out of his mother-in-law's car by using it for a shooting rest.  Failing to note that the line of fire would also include the top of the car,  he made a nice new custom crease down the center - ending in a hole that projected through the windshield.  I'm sure that endeared him to his in-laws.

Another time he rendered his Mustang inoperable when he scored a direct hit on the transmission with an "unloaded" 6mm Remington as he exited the car.  His friend seated on the passenger side probably needed more than a wet-wipe to clean up!

Then,  for some reason,  he was in his bedroom fooling with a 22 Magnum handgun when it discharged and poking a hole in the bed.  His wife Birdy came rushing in to find him flopping around on the bed as if wounded.  He thought it was real funny - she didn't.

They say God protects fools and drunks.  The survival of Bullseye lends credence to that.  But I never felt that God did any to good of a job protecting the rest of us from fools and drunks so I felt it prudent to stay d'hell away from him. ;D

Being a city kid I had never been around farms except for the weekend  visits to my Grandpa's farm as a child. I married into a farm family and was asked if I wanted to help one of wives brothers harvest. I jumped at the chance to help on the farm.
I had many interesting adventures during that week most I would be too ashamed to tell.  I was responsible for driving a JD tractor with two wagons to town to the elevator to unload the corn. This season had a big surplus and they were using a giant auger to pile it into a mammoth  pile into the street next to the elevator. The process was simple (so it seemed) pull up to the scale  weigh then drive over to the auger with the first wagon get the signal when it was empty then pull up the second wagon empty hard right turn and then get your after weight go pickup your ticket and go back and reload.

No problem first wagon empty pull forward at the signal empty second wagon pull forward (note forgot the hard right turn) and head on down the street.
I glance to my left and it seemed like the giant auger is pointing in the wrong direction can't be must be my imagination, I look in the mirror and all these people are waving their arm and it looks like they are all yelling. What are they yelling about? Some idiot city kid is dragging this giant auger down the street I was teased ever trip in after that for a solid week.
That was the last time they have asked me to help and the brother I helped  gave up farming the next year (I am sure it wasn't because of me, well at least that is what I have always told myself)

Roger and I were fishing buddies.  I had a 14' flat-bottomed glass boat with a 9.5 horse evinrude on it.  He had an older 10 horse Johnson.  We were always looking for some excitement on the water and decided that 20 horses would get us fishing faster than 10 horses.  It took a while to figure out how to do what we wanted to do.

We went out one day in a back-water tidal creek in the marshes of the St. Johns, Clapboard Creek I think it was,  and put both motors on the 14 foot boat.  One of us faced the rear and handled the tillers on the motors and the other faced forward and said where to go   Man we were flying and the wake was as flat as a pancake.   ;D  Oh to be that age again. :D

It didn't turn out to be something that we wanted to do regularly because it felt rather dangerous.  We proved to ourselves we could run Twin Tens on that boat though and it would really fly.   8)

The other day I saw a woodpecker and squirrel going at it. They didn't seem to be fighting, just playing around. The woodpecker would chase the squirrel for awhile, then the squirrel would take out after the woodpecker. They just had a good old time, and not once did they see me watching. I guess the living is easy in the old summertime and they needed something to pass the time.

A year after we got our first Wood-Mizer and stated down this odyssey,  a neighbor got him a Wood-Mizer almost identical to our LT40.  There was plenty of business so we didn't compete but rater worked together figuring out the business.  (No Forestry Forum then).

One of the first big things we did together was put on a demo at the local county fair.  Since we didn't need two mill,   we decided to use his mill as it was brand new.  Another thing we decided was,  he'd run the mill and I'd explain to the audience who we were and what we were doing and so forth.

It turned out to be a lot of work and a lot of fun.  The experience just reaffirmed my observation that people just love to watch other people work.

Anyway,  as part of my deal being the spokesman,  I handed out business cards for both our business'.  

The morning after the last day of the fair we returned to clean up our spot.  The ground was muddy from a rain shower that had come through the evening before.  I still had a short stack of his business cards.  So I took one and put it on the ground and stepped on it.  When he came by,  I pointed it out to him and then told him I'd been seeing his business cards littered all over and had been picking up the good ones - showing him the short stack I had.   I also told him it was funny,  I hadn't seen any of our cards left around.  He looked a bit bewildered for a moment until I confessed it was staged.

The woodpecker and squirrel story reminds me of the time we had two dogs and one cat. One day I saw the head of the cat in our German Shepherd's mouth while the smaller dog was tugging on the tail end. The cat was kicking with all four at both dog's muzzles. I yelled at the dogs to drop the cat and they did. Then, ALL THREE of them stood there waiting for me to make it clear what I wanted!

   I thought of something today that happened years ago,and I've been chuckling all day .i wanted to finish planting gourds today,and its so danged hot I thought oh I'll get my Pith helmet out,you know a safari type thing .All the farmers used to wear them when I was growing up.My daughter laughs at me when I wear it but its much cooler than a cap.
   Anyway back to the story.I grew up in a rural farming community on the Vance -Franklin county line in a community called Epsom. Like most small places there was the country store and its assortment of regular characters.One of which was our neighbor Mr Roy Moss,on of the best neighbors a person could have,but he was always on edge,it didn't take anything hardly to get him going and when he got going,he'd turn the air blue a cussing sooooooo everybody was always after him.Now he wore his helmet year round,and if he was really riled up would throw it on the floor and kick or stomp it .
   On this particular day I stopped for a Cold Pepsi and Mr Roy was waxing eloquent..Following the rules of country store ediquet- eddic shoot good manners I asked everybody how they was doing,and if they would have one{Pepsi} well of course noone would cause they already had what they wanted.Since all the seats were taken I took my place on the icecream box,Mr Roy continued.
   Seems he had read in the local paper about some doctor over at Duke hospital doing face lifts.He went on and on about the article,with appropiate comments fron various members ofthe group.This went on for about ten minuets with some really profound comments and observations from the group,but finally things slowed down a little,so I asked Mr Roy if he was thinking about getting a face lift. As soon as he said he was thinking about,kinda sorta maybe,I knew I had him if I wanted him.I knew I had him ,HE knew I had him,and everybody else knew I had him.What to do what to do?There was this looooong silence,then Mr WJ Renn who ran the store nodded at me,almost imperceptibly,it would be ok ,go for it.
   So I said to him," Mr Roy,when you get your face lift,ask the doctor to lift it up high enough so your hat will cover it up,and we won't have to see it no more". The place exploded! I ain't never heard so much laughing and whohooing .Mr Roy 'bout busted .There was nothing he could do but sputter,but when he did get straight,he lit into me like who laid it,but the more he said,the worse the guys roared.
Of course the first thing that happened was the helmet got thrown in the floor and stomped several times,until it was totaly out of shape.It finally got away from him a little,over by Mr Allie Stegall, who said "Here Roy let me help you,"and he stomped it a coupla times.Ther was no stopping now,they were like sharks in a feeding frenzy.!!!!!
   Mr Curtis Stainback,who was bigger around than he was tall,and not known for being overly ambitous(seems that one of his ancestors had worked himself to death,and Mr Curtiswas going to be sure that didn't happen to him)was sitting on one of those store benches put out by tobacco warehouses and insurance cos for advertisement. He got to laughing and laughing,and not making a sound,just laughing and shaking until the bench finally couldn't take the strain,and it just gave up.." Now look what ya did Roy sombody yelled,and they were off again.
   They finally calmed down somewhat,got Mr Curtis up off the floor amidst much huffing and puffing and comments about whales,cranes,and bad backs.Mr Roy calmed down some ,but it was plain to all that he had suffered a great indignaty at the handa of a mere youth,I was probably 23 24 at the time. His hat was retrieved and sorta fixed up amid some short bursts of laughter.He huffed out with his rumpled up old hat,and lost face-oh no!!!I didn't say that did I ?
      He didn't show for several days,that was normal.A new helmet mysteriously appeared in his truck,that was normal.Noone was really mad,that was normal,and he got me back,that was normal,and expected.
    Mr Roy has been dead for several years now,but I don't ever see one of those helmets,or put one on that I don't think of Mr Roy,and smile.DANG he was a good neighbor ,come to think of it,a good sport too.

That was super. :D

Doe's kind of tricks are the best... :D  Thanks.

Great story, Dail.  Sure makes it hard to let a setback put me  in a mood with you guys around  :D :D :D :D

I just read some Opie isms before I read this post.  I am rarin' to get on with the day now  :D :D :D ;D

We're doing some custom sawing for a log broker this summer.  He called earlier in the week to say he'd have a load of logs ready for delivery Friday or possibly Saturday.  Well,  that didn't happen.  Turned out the logger blew out a tire on his skidder and a new one locally was going to cost $2500.  So he sent his two sons off to some place in Illinois to get one.  But on the trip,  the transmission went out on their PU.

All of this calamity pushed the delivery to Monday morning.  Got a call about 2:30 Monday saying they just got started loading the logs and would be over directly.  Mary held up supper because they'd be here "any minute".  

About 7:30 the phone rings and it's the broker's wife.  They've just got the truck loaded and would be over hopefully before dark.  So we eat a microwave hotdog and went out to wait.  

Time passes and it's getting dark and then real dark, as the moon wasn't coming up.  I station the PU a little over the turn of the hill so the headlights would shine on the load over one shoulder and the 3500 Dodge so the headlights would shine over the other shoulder.  We waited.  

It was well after 9:00 when the tractor-trailer came down the drive.  We jumped in and unloaded it in good time and order considering I'm about night blind.

As the log truck pulled out the broker recapped all the problems they'd had over the past couple of days trying to get the logs to us.  Then he added that they were coming out of the farm and the logger explained that at the road he only had room to turn right - he couldn't turn left as would be the direct way to the main highway.  He advised the broker to go left and wait for him there.  He'd go "around the block" and would catch up with him in five minutes.  The broker said he'd waited 30 minutes and was about to looking for him as he hadn't shown.  Turned out,  a hot air balloon had landed in the road in front of him and he had to wait for them to get loaded up and gone.  "What next?" the broker said,  "Space ships?"

I farm and ranch for a 92 yr. old widow lady and have for 15 yrs.. She gets her hair done every Friday and it is coal black............ ;).
One of my "duties" is to get the Memorial Day flowers down from the garage attic a few days before they are needed. This involves backing her car out and pulling down the attic door. I might add this wonderful lady is only about 4'6" tall and is shrinking. :' ( She sits on three pillows in her car and pickup, which she replaces when ever they run out of warranty).
And, when Memorial Day has passed, I get to put the flowers back in the attic. I must add that it is not as simple as it sounds. Like I said, this is the fifteenth year, and these flowers look like new. The reason is, I am instructed to slip a trash bag over one end of the boxes, tape it good, slip another bag over the other end overlapping the first bag, and seal it with tape. Oh, and I don't start this process till the boss lady gets situated in her pickup where she can watch.
She always apologizes that she couldn't find bigger trash bags and wonders out loud if she got the right kind of tape and if there is enough. Well, I was almost finished with the second of three boxes when she said............."Oh no, I just r ealized somthing. I think the flowers are still in the trunk".  (They don't weigh much so I didn't notice)

 ::)  ::)  ::)

Oh well, we will all get old some day.

 :D  :D  :D

I get to do the same with the Christmas decorations.

 :)

Haytrader, you are a very kind man. You make her day twice a year. I bet she looks forward to those days more than you can imagine. ;)

Patty

Patty,

TY, I know you are right and as impatient as I sometimes am, I try to play along. I have replaced so many light bulbs in her house, you wouldn't beleive it. If there are three bulbs in one fixture and one goes out, we change them all.
It will be a sad day when she passes.
 :'(

Charlie talking about heisting his brother's car reminded me of doing the same with my brother's car. I had just turned 16 and would get out of school before he got off work. I would go get his car at their shop and cruise around town till just before he got off work and then put it back and sit there acting like I was warming it up for him when he got off work. This worked out pretty well until a girl I know asked she could ride around with me. She didn't have to ask twice ;D. Being the gentleman that I am I gave her a ride home. She lived out in the country about five miles so off we went. I dropped her off and headed back to town with time to spare. Now this was a mid 50's plymouth that didn't have any brakes so to stop you held out the emergency brake release and used it as your brakes. At the end of her drive you had to cross a set of railroad tracks, it was winter and they had scrapped the snow to an ice sheen. Since it didn't have much for shocks I crept up to the tracks and the front tires dropped a few inches onto the first rail track, I goosed it to get over them only to find the rear tires would just spin on the ice. I tried rocking it and it would just sit there spinning. So here I am sitting with my brothers car that I'm not supposed to have stuck on some train tracks. As I got out to get help the wind was blowing through the telephone wires next to the tracks so as to sound like a train whistle way off in the distance. I ran the 1/4 mile back to this girls house for help down an icy road. Now I should mention her dad was known to be a real hard a** and wasn't to fond of boys as far as his daughters were concerned. He was out doing chores when I nervously walked up introduced myself and explained my predicament. He gave me a long look that said what has my daughter drug home now. He got a log chain and I hopped on the fender of an old AC and we went and pulled the car off the tracks. I got in town about 5 minutes after my brother got off work to find him walking up main street looking for me and his car. Needless to say he didn't leave the keys in his car any longer. Oh and that girl, turned out I married her and her dad is still a real hard a**.

I like that story Norm!  Tom never caught me though. However, when we were going to Military school, I borrowed his 1954 Oldsmobile to go home for a long weekend leave. He was staying at the school. It was a pretty long drive from Milledgeville, Georgia to Fort Pierce, Florida.  About 3 other cadets wanted to ride and would help with the gas. Oh, Tom's Olds had about 100,000 miles on it and the shocks were bad. I was a junior in High School and an exspurt driver.

I kept that car at about 97 mph so I could make good time. It was bouncing real good on those worn out shocks. I remember I came to a long hill and a tractor was poking it's way up the hill. I was on him before I knew it and had to pass him going up the hill or I'd have hit him. That was pretty close. Just outside of Waycross, Georgia the car threw a rod and I drove into town with it just a clacking. I left it in a parking lot and we all took off hitchhiking our way to Fort Pierce separately.

As I remember, the car was donated to a high school mechanic's class. I'm not sure if Tom got another car. I hope he doesn't read this 'cause I just told him that the engine blew. I never told him it was because I was driving it close to 100 mph. :D :-/      

Boy!  It's a good thing I didn't read that. I've always felt bad that I once let Charlie drive an old car of mine that let him down on the road.    :-[

Reading these stories reminded me of my 1 granddaughter. She is always good to have fun.She gets a sparkle in her eye and a dimple on her cheek. When she was about 5 they were in Mac Donalds she was using the slide. on her way from the bottom of the slide to the ladder she would walk past a couple from Japan or one of those countries. This couple were talking in their native toung and she did not understand there are different lanuages(sp?) After a couple of times going past the couple and hearing this couple. She walked up to the man looked him in the face and went over a row of baby jibbering (sp?).Then proceded up the ladder, at the top she just looked at them and smiled.My son said he would have liked to see the man face.
Richard

                
                           MA CAUGHT A GRINEL
                                        ;D ;D ;D ;D
   I don't know if you guys know what a grinel is or not,so let me tell ypu.They have to be the ugliest,foulest,most useless fish in the water,kinda like a water possum only worse.Buzzards won't eat them,maggots don't even like them.So why would Ma want to catch one? Ah-the story.
   Years ago when I was a teenager,mama's brother owned a lot and trailer at Coinjock N. C.,not far from where I live now.We were there for the weekend once,and Ma was fishing in the canal that was at the back of the lot.This canal went to the Intercoastal Waterway,which connects the Currituck and Albermarle sounds.These have tides that are controled more by wind than anything else,and sometimes you couldn't get a boat out of the ditch,which was why Ma was fishing in the ditch to start with.
   Now Ma was not a sport fisher in the least,she was strictly for meat.Anywaw she's sitting on a 5 gallon bucket happily catching shiners,which also are pretty useless for food,too many bones,although we ate'em,when along comes this grinel.The canal is maybe 25 -30 feet wide,so you could see what was in the water pretty good.Well,this ole grinel comes up the other side,and scares the shiners away,which ain't good,but then he lets Ma see him,which is even worse.She goes to yelling and whooping,so me and my brother go to see what the deal is
   " Ma it's a grinel leave him alone,you don't want to catch him" we told her .She wasn't satisfied,and set in to cvatch him,"HE"s as big as a hog was hercomment.He finaly went on up the canal,and Ma went back to catching shiners,but he wasn't forgotten.
   " Dail go git my bass pole" she yells to me in a few minuets,"he's coming back". Ma's bass pole was about 18 feet long,and rigged with 20 lb test line,like I said,Ma was't in it for the sport.She put one of them little shiners on for bait and got ready.
Her brother and Mr Allie Stegall(they were married to sisters) both yelled at her to leave the grinel alone,but she was on a quest.Finaly she tied into him,we not sure if he bit the shiner,or if she foul hooked him,but they had at it.
Ma's yelling and whooping at the fish,dont go round that stump,get up off the bottom,and on and on like the fish could heae her,or would mind her if he could.She's also yellimg at us to help her.We're no good cause we're laughing so hard cause we know whays going to happen if she getsvthis fish out.
   Finally she wares him out enough top drag him out,and get a good look at him.All the time she's been yelling for help,and he's as big as a hog.She's now muddy about to her knees,has lost hjer fishing hat and is generly disheveled,but happy cause she's fixing to hoist this fish onto the bank
   And then she gets a good look at it ??? ??? ??? big bulgin eyes ,a mouth full of sharp ugly teeth,stinking of bottom mud hardly no tail  Yuck!!!!!!!!  Now she's yelling again-aghhhhh!!! Oh!!!!! help  WHAT  IS THIS THING?????AGGGGGGGGHHHHHH.We're still no help cause we're still laughing so hard.
     When she finaly setteled down some,and we had let the poor fish go  she finally said" Well he pulled good anyway" . Years later Mr Allie could make her say bad words,which she rarely did just by the mention of her fish tale.

That's funny.  Is Grinnel a Bowfin or Mudfish?   We catch them in fresh water and  many eat them.  I read an article that told how to cook them.  Fillet and skin.  Cut meat into finger sized slices.  Sprinkle on Worcestershire sauce and fry.  Don't wash the meat in preparation, it will become cottony.  I don't know if this works or not

I saw a Black fellow with a 5 gallon pail full of mudfish over by the Suwannee River once.

"What are you going to do with them", I asked.

"Eat'em", he said.  "They make good Salmon Croquets".

"I think I 'd rather have salmon", I thought to myself.

   Yep that's the creatur Tom,never heard of anyone eating them but maybe you could

Here is a link of Bowfin pictures link (http://www.landbigfish.com/gallery/trophyroomresults.cfm?fish=Bowfin)

But here is a Bowfin you wouldn't want on a cane pole.
Big Bowfin (http://www.bowfin.org/website/index.cfm)   :D :P

(https://forestryforum.com/images/04_01_03/wselmeralma.JPG)
Uncle Elmer and Aunt Alma. About 1960

My Uncle Elmer was married to Aunt Alma and they had two sons.  Aunt Alma was your stereotypical housewife of the 40's and 50's - always taking care of the home and her family.  I always see her in her fancy apron working in her well-kept kitchen.  She was known for her excellent cooking ability.

But all good things can't last.  Aunt Alma passed away in her 50's.  Uncle Elmer remained a widower for another 6 to 10 years.  Then,  with both sons gone and in his retirement years,  he found a new wife.  

With the package deal came three grown daughters.  Grown and then some, they were.  I only met the daughters one time but they were all were rather big and proportionately ugly.  But the four women filled his home and his life and they tried to take care of him.

They knew Uncle Elmer liked his food and Aunt Alma had always excelled in this area so they tried to come up to her standards.  One thing he loved was chickn'-n'-dumplin's.   But their cooking style was the same as their body size - bigger is better.   The dumplings would come out as big a baseballs and,  as one would expect,  would be raw dough inside.

One evening he set down to supper and they had made yet another attempt.  This time they had way too much salt in the concoction but otherwise the dumplin's were about the size of hen eggs.  He knew they were sensitive to the whole issue so he eat on despite the shortcomings, and when done,  he thought he'd make their day with a complement.  "Best dumplin's I ever eat." He said.  But instead of them taking it as a complement,  one girl jumped up from the table and ran off crying.  The other three just gave him that scorned look all women instinctively know how to employ.  "What's the matter with her?", asked Uncle Elmer.   "Them was noodles!"  Replied another girl and they all stormed from the table.

 :D :D :D :D

Noodles, Huh?

I did that same thing once when I was about 14 years old.  I had hitchhiked to Alabama to visit a girl friend of mine who was attending a finishing school.  Not a Girlfriend just a girl I had grown up with and we liked each other.  

The school put me up in a room over night and I got dressed in my spiffy starched Military School uniform for breakfast the next morning.   They passed the food around the table and I took an egg and a strip of bacon.  Then they passed this little bowl of grits.  It was about the size of the palm of your hand.  I said thank you and placed it beside my plate.  They looked at me, not knowing what to politely say and then laughed.  I laughed too, took a spoon-full and passed it on.  

I thought for the world that I had been served one helping and was wondering how to get some more.  Had no idea it was for the whole table.  Dang finishing schools!  I wouldn't have made it there long.

Where I went to school we ate family style too.  When a platter was emptied we passed it to the head of the table to be refilled.  None of the bowls had bottoms.  If you left the table hungry, it wasn't the schools fault.  Now, that was eatin'.  Good ole' Georgia fare.

I thought about this all day.  ???

Hows come those girls were so tight with their grits?  I mean,  we're talkin' grits here – right up there with the high prices of oatmeal, rice and such.  'spose they were using it for a moisturizer?  :-*

I don't know. Never could figure it out. I think it has something to do with being proper.   They ate like a bird picking seeds from a feeder and never did eat very much.  I think they thought I was going to be proper too.   I was as proper as I could be, got my bags, hit the road and got something to eat at the first resturant I found out of eyeshot of their school. :D

Granddaddy was a self-educated man from Homerville, Georgia who had ended his formal education early, as most did in those times, and continued his education from books.  He had been the Editor and Publisher (some say owner) of "The Clinch County News" and worked there with his good life-long friend Folks Huxford, who later became know as Clinch County's historian.  Granddaddy studied law while working on the railroad and moved to Ft. Pierce, Florida where he practiced law until elected County and Juvenile Judge.

It was his tenacity for knowledge and likeable demeanor that positioned our family in the same social strata with the large landowners and politicians of the county.  Because of this, I rubbed shoulders with folks that I would not otherwise have known.  To name a few, there was Mrs. Binney of Crayola fame, Judge Alto Adams, creator of Braford cattle, Governor Dan McCarty, George Putnam (husband of Amelia Earhart) and publisher, 'Beanie' Backus (artist), among many others who were locally famous folks.  

So much for the name-dropping, though I'm proud as punch to have known them.

One of Granddads ventures was a five hundred acre cattle ranch located north-west of the village of St. Lucie at the end of Indrio Road.  There is a federal hi-way that crosses there now, I-95, very close to where the ranch was located.

On the way to the ranch, we would pass the old Indrio schoolhouse.  It had a flowing well on the southeast corner of the schoolyard with some of the best, sulpher, drinking water we had ever tasted.  No trip was complete without stopping for a drink and to fill some jugs to carry home.
 
The road turned to dirt there and we would continue west, past a canal on the north side of the road.  The canal split in fork just out of view of the road.  I painted that canal, as seen from that fork, one time in oils.

Beyond this canal, about a mile, was a graded road to the north and Granddaddy's ranch formed that corner.  Straight to the West was Mr. Carlton's ranch.  It bordered Granddaddy's.  Mr. Carlton raised Brahma cattle.

Taking that right hand turn on the northbound graded road lead to granddaddy's cow pens. It was here that his herd of registered White Face Herefords and scrub cattle would race to meet us after they recognized the sound of the car engine or saw us at the gate.

I would be so excited to be here that I could hardly sit still. You see, Granddaddy had given me a single shot Remington 410 shotgun and I was allowed to hunt while he did his work with the cattle.  I would be given one shell of number 6 or 8 and sent on a safari for birds. There were Dove and Quail and various other birds that I harvested but my main staple was Meadow Lark.  Once my shell had been expended, I would return for another. Never being turned down for another shell, I was only allowed one at a time.  I guess that kept me close-by and was his way of teaching me to not waste a shot.
 
One day, I was "stalking" a Meadow Lark just north west of the cow pens and had to walk through a freshly plowed field.  I did something I was told never to do; I cocked the hammer on the gun.  Like a great white hunter of Africa, I proceeded across this field, crouched and at-the-ready.  My toe caught on a big ball of dirt, I pitched forward, the gun barrel went into the soft mucky dirt and the hammer fell.  I was covered with rich muck.  It was in my hair, eyes and mouth.  It's a wonder I hadn't killed myself.  I dared not tell what I had done but certainly learned a lesson

Granddaddy was so proud of his Herefords.  He had scrub cattle too.  He used them to keep the hummocks cleared and the brush beaten back.  When we ate beef at the house, it was Scrub.  I never minded the taste and remember it as being real good even though it was honest to goodness range beef.  The Herefords were for sale.  He bred them and sold them at the auction in Okeechobee as well as to specific buyers from all over the country.

They were pure and he wanted them to remain so.

Mr. Carlton loved his Brahman's too, almost as much as Granddaddy loved his Herefords.  The problem was that Brahman cattle are quite nimble.  Mr. Carlton had one bull that wouldn't remain on his side of the fence.  He would jump the barbed wire fence and "tamper" with Granddaddy's Herefords.  Neither man blamed the other and both took it upon themselves to remedy the problem by adding strands of wire to the border fence.  It was added to even more later but this day it was about six strands.

I had gotten into a really venturous mood and walked to the west side of the ranch in search of more game when I came upon one of Mr. Carlton's bulls standing on his side of the fence, chewing cud and looking out over Granddaddy's pasture.  I was probably seventy-five or maybe even a hundred yards from him when he steeled his muscles and, without much effort, flat-footed over the fence.  I didn't even give it a second thought.  I raised my little 410 and lowered the boom on him. It seemed forever for the shot to reach him but I could tell that it had because he tucked his tail, lowered his haunches, did a little stutter-step and flat-footed right back over the fence.  There was more wire put up later but I don't remember Granddaddy ever saying that the bull had been back.

When I told Granddaddy what I had done, he laughed, but said, "don't ever do that again".  " That bull could have turned on you and you would have never gotten away.".  
 
I can see the bull today as if I had just pulled the trigger.  I guess I showed him.
 
Granddaddy had purchased a bull from the King ranch in Texas.  He was certainly proud of him.  His name was Bacaduke and he was huge.  Granddaddy kept Bacaduke in a pen next to the cow pens and the cows would worry him to death.  Granddaddy would turn Bacaduke out to service the cows and after a week of being loose in the pasture would find him back at the pen wanting in.  I guess those cows just wore him out and he needed a rest.  He was a pretty smart bull.

Charlie, my little brother, and I would get up on Bacaduke's pen fence and when granddaddy wasn't watching one would climb over onto Bacaduke's back.  Bacaduke would give you a ride once around the pen but wouldn't go any further.  When you got off and the other got on, he would make another trip around the pen.  It was as if he was teaching us to share.
 
Granddaddy didn't know we were doing this and I told him one day.  His face turned white as a sheet and he sternly told me that we were never to do that again. He said that bulls are notoriously unpredictable and old Bacaduke may, one day, throw us on the ground and trample us.  I stopped doing it but still would have liked to. Bacaduke was fun.
 
Granddaddy was special.

  I've traveled Indrio Rd. several times, and passed by an old School house. I suppose it is the same one.
  I could picture every scenario of your story. You are a wonderful writer. I enjoyed that immensely. Thanks

Overheard a conversation the other day about this guy's brother-in-law and taking pictures of wildlife with one of those cameras that you hide along a trail and is tripped by motion.  

He set his camera up in his bow stand on the edge of the bean field.  He activated it and stepped back and it took is picture so he knew it worked ok.  Came back after some time period to find all 24 exposure had been made.  Anxious to see what he had,  he rushed the film to Wal-Mart and got them developed.  But he was a little depressed to find he had one picture of himself and 23 of the combine that picked the filed the next day - 11 going this way and 12 going that way.

i'll bet he did'nt get as big a kick out of that as io did. :D :D :D

   Wonder was the combine a deere?

Bean picking is one time a year  :D he can get some good pictures now with the beans that got lift on the ground  8)

Once, when I was about 15, I was fishing with a long cane pole in the irrigation ditches of an old tomato field.  Some of these ditches were twenty feet wide and some were three feet wide.  They criss-crossed thousands of acres of flat land that flooded when it rained, so, fish were in all of them whether they were connected or not.
 
I was headed back to the camp with some catfish and had hopped over one of these small three foot ditches, when I noticed the tall grass, growing in it, move.  
 
I had a little popper on my pole and dropped it into a six inch square of clear water next to the grass.  The place exploded and water flew everywhere.  I lifted up on the pole and couldn't move whatever it was.  I called for help.  
 
Charlie and Ben came running but weren't getting there fast enough.  I was afraid I was going to break the pole and lose the fish so I backed up, lowered the pole and dragged the fish out of the grass.  The boys ran to it and pulled it the rest of the way out of the ditch.
 
It was the biggest Large Mouth Bass I had ever caught up until then. It weighed 8 lbs. by Granddad's and Uncle Pete's estimate.
 
Just goes to show that you don't need a big lake or river to find fish.  I'll fish in a #3 washtub now.

My Dad fished off an on up until the last 10 years or so.  First, in the depression years, his family fished the rivers and sold their catch to the markets in town.  

When I was a kid,  Dad would have a trot line set on the Missouri river for a couple of weeks in the middle of summer.  We'd have a big family fish fry about the Fourth of July.

In his sixties,  he took up fly fishing.  Quite a gentleman's spot with waders,  boxes, hat with flies,  nice fly rods, etc.  He fished the local streams for bass.  

I've never fished much but in my late teens I did a little.  

One summer day we were working in the fields down in the creek bottom.  Rather,   I was brush hogin' and Dad was fly fishing.  I'd thrown my Zebco 202 rig in the back of the PU.  I'd got done what I was going to do so I grabbed my rod and went down to the creek where Dad was fishin'.  He was standing in a long hole about 70 yards long and 30 feet wide casting out to the other side.   I noted a couple of bass about 8" long close to the bank right in front of me and pointed them out to Dad.  He said he'd seen them but they were "bait stealers" (too short to be legal) and the big ones would be over on the other side where the water was deeper and they had roots to hide under.  I told him I didn't care if they hit on my plastic worm and made a cast out among them.  

The "bait stealers" never had a chance.  A big bass,  well over a foot long,  shot past the little ones and hit my plastic worm.  The fight was on!  :o

Dad was a bit upset at my good fortune and armature luck.  I think it was the largest and only legal game fish I'd ever caught.

(https://forestryforum.com/images/04_01_03/wsdadfishing2.JPG)
Dad (standing) and uncle Coony fishing on Missouri east of Jefferson City - 1955?

That reminds me of a story my Dad loves to tell. He was fishing with my Uncle Bob, back in the late forties, on Lake Jackson, a famous bass lake North of Tallahassee. They were cane pole fishing for bream. The lake was crowded with other boats, with everybody searching for bedding Shellcrackers(Red-Eared Sunfish).  They caught a couple of nice ones and dropped anchor. In a few minutes, they were surrounded by boats, with everybody wanting to get in on the action. Not liking all the "company", they moved on a little ways, and caught a couple more. The other boats got right in the middle of their business again. >:(  About the third time this happened, Uncle Bob decided to have a little fun with the jerks. He moved the boat off a little way, and hooked on one of the fish from the live well. He slipped him into the water on the side of the boat that was away from the crowd, then made a great show of pulling him into the boat(again).  Soon as the boats gathered, they moved again, and pulled the stunt another time, with great fanfare(locally known as "whoopin' and hollerin'). :D  After a few times, the interlopers caught on and quit following them, and they went on to have a great day of fishing. ;D

ps: I have a picture, somewhere, of me holding the stringer of fish from that day. I'd post it, but my diaper was showing. :-[

Tom you and Bibbyman need to get together an write a book. I have red and reread all these stories and find them better each time .Wish I had a collection all in one place . All the stories are some of the best I have ever seen . Way to go All 8)

Thanks J T!

Even though I enjoy the sharing, the appreciation makes the telling Super worth while.  :) :)

Thank,  glad you enjoy the stories.  Tom has helped me out on a couple of them.  He's smart you know.

Shucks!
(https://forestryforum.com/smile/big-grin-3.gif)Blush!(https://forestryforum.com/smile/big-grin-3.gif)

I don't know how funny this is but , well, back years ago when the kids were a LOT smaller than they are now they took to their usual fussin and such.  Now usually I just stayed out of this unless things started getting intense, or they started wearing on my nerves.  Now I have this thing about there's a lot worse things you can do to a kid besides whupping them.  Maybe it's cause of the razor strop my dad used on my occasionally when we didn't exactly see eye to eye.  Nope, I hardly ever spanked, I'd send em to their room, make em sit under a tree, take away the bb gun for a year or so, ban em from the tv, things like that.  Well this time they wuz startin to get on my nerves while I was trying to take a nap.  I called a family meeting and lined them up so I could preach to them a bit.  Explained the razor strap, and switch method to them in detail.  Their eyes wuz gettin bigger and bigger.  Explained that I thought the fairest thing to do would be to let them get their own switches.   Told the oldest, who was about 11 or 12 that I would use the switch he got to whup his sister.  Told her, she was about 8, that I would use the switch she got to whup on little brother.  Told the little one that I would use his switch to whup on big brother.  There was absolute, total silence on their part.  Then I added that I would send them out one at a time to find a switch.  Sent the oldest first.  He went to the apple tree in the back yard, takin his time, and finally came in with a small switch.  Time to send the girl.  She stayed gone a little longer, and came back with a much bigger switch.  Now that little un, he starts hollarin that it ain't fair.  I said, well, now hush up now and go and get a switch fer me to whup your big brother.  Kept em lined up at attention the whole time.  Well this kid left, and after a little while I got to thinkin that maybe he had run away.  About that time I looked out the window.  He had went to the woods and was coming back with a dead tree limb so big he was havin to drag in.  And he was snikering.  When he started dragin that thing on the porch, you just shoulda seen the other two.  He came in the house pullin it and laughin and the oldest was really hollarin about not being fair, after all, he was the one who had picked the SMALLEST, switch. Silenced em up again and told them I had changed my mind.  I was gonna whup each one with the switch THEY had went and got.  In a minute they realized ole dad was playin a prank on them.  Sent em back to play without a whuppin, just a few friendly words of advise.  Don't know why but them kids didn't start fussin and fightin again for a LONG time!


Another time ma and me took them to the fair in memphis.  At this time maybe they was just a little older.  After a little while me and the old woman  (don't tell her I called her old, she'll whop ME), decided to turn them loose while we went and watched the country and western show.  Set up a time and a meeting place at a bench close to the roller coaster.  We went and watched the show and got out about 30 minutes before meeting time.  Got in line to ride that old wooden roller coaster.  We were in a LONG line and about that time I saw the youngest running wide open.  Told mama, "Did you see that".  They was supposed to stick together. Kept watchin and watin in line and in a minute here he come again.  I hollared him down.  He come runnin up and blamed the seperation on brother and sister.  They had got on a ride he couldn't because he was so little.  Well there was a hole in that fence we were behind waiting in line and when somebody came by I had them hand him through the hole.  We went ahead and rode the roller coaster.  Gettin close to meeting time so we went to the bench and sat down.  He saw a ride close by he wanted to get on and I told him go ahead.  Right after he got in line, where we could watch him, I saw the other two coming.  Their faces were white and they were ready to cry.  They walked up and I unconcerened, asked "Where's Jeremy?".  They in unison said "daddy, that boy, we couldn't keep up with him."  "Well all right says I, You're right, he wasn't nuthin but  a pest anyway.  Little kid like that runnin around by himself, bet the welfare's got him by now anyway.  They get tired of him maybe they'll send him home.  Yall ready to go?"  Tears started runnin down their face.  Put my arm around them, spun them around and told them to look real good at that merry-go-round over there.  They was the happiest kids you ever saw to see little brother boppin up and down on that horse.  Took off running over there.  Moral of this story is, after that day, and to this day, they stick together.  Camping, trips, woods, fishing, I promise you, you can't separate them, or pick on one without the others jumpin in.  Guess you can tell, I'm PROUD, of my children.  The oldest and his wife is fixin to make me a GRANDPA!!!!!!!!!. I can't wait til FEBRUARY!!!!!!!!!!!!

You are quite the story teller. Thanks, enjoyed it.

That's an important and difficult job, getting siblings to care for one another.   Sounds like you did a good job. :D

I sure like and appreciate the stories that get told on this forum, it reminds me of when I was a kid and my dad and grandpa would tell stories. Their gone now and I don't get to listen to any stories anymore so I'm sure glad I got you guys. :'(

Mark

The Little Farm is what we called the 18-acre farm on Jenkins Road in Ft. Pierce.  That's because Granddaddy had the 500-acre ranch on Indrio Road.

Living in the little farmhouse on Jenkins was a man by the name of Spells.  He had a speech impediment and I think he was hair lipped.  It was so long ago that I can't remember exactly.  Granddaddy let him and his large family live on the farm for free if he would take care of it.  

He took care of the livestock and planted a garden and kept vandals away but there wasn't much else for him to do.  It was a missed opportunity because he could have had a real working farm and made a living right there on the place if he had wanted too.

One day, I remember Grandmamma and Granddaddy talking about how dowdy the place looked and needed painting.  Granddaddy decided that it should be Barn Red and he would give Mr. Spells the money to go to the hardware store for the paint.  

The next time we went to the farm Granddaddy almost burst out laughing.  In the distance, shining in the light of the sunset was the gosh-awfullest sight I had ever seen.  The house was Fire Engine Red!   Apparently Mr. Spells didn't know what the color, Barn Red, was and had purchased the wrong paint.

Subject: Federal police authority
 
Almost 150 years ago, President Lincoln found it necessary to hire a private investigator, Alan Pinkerton, for protection.  That was the beginning of the Secret Service.

Since that time, federal police authority has grown to a large number of multi-letter agencies - FBI, CIA, INS, IRS, DEA, ATF, etc.

Now comes the Federal Air Transportation Airport Security Service.  Can't you see them now? These highly trained men and women in their black outfits with initials in large white letters across their backs?
F. A. T. A. S. S. - - - - - - - I feel safer already.  :D :D  8)

  :o :o   :D :D :D :D :D :D :D       :D :D

THis isnt much of a story, but for the last couple weeks, when ever someone new needs to talk to our mechanic on the phone, we quitely tell them that he is near stone deaf, but very sensitive about it. So we request that they talk VERY LOUD and VERY CLEAR when he comes to the phone. Jerry, is a bruiser. Hes 6'7" but has a heart of gold and is very mild mannered so when all these people are almost screaming at him on the phone he has just been politely dealing with it. (we told HIM that we were having line trouble) He finally had enough when a grain truck going down are road broke down. THe fellow was half froze so we gave him a warm place to stand while he waited for the garage across the street to open. After talking to him, we figured all he had wrong was a fuel jell problem and said our mechanic could probably look at it. We gave him the whole speil about our near deaf mechanic and that when he came in the break room that he really needed to almost shout at him.

We should have sent him over to the shop instead of waiting for Jerry in the break room because when this strange feller screamed at Jerry, CAN YA TAKE A GANDER AT MY TRUCK? we all just busted up and the gig was up. Ya probably had to be there. :)

I get the picture right well.  It's funny!   :D :D :D

I love a good practical joke were no one gets hurt.

I've posted some pranks we pulled at the office here before but this one my carpenter brother-in-law and his partner pulled on a brick layer.

They were working on a building along with crews from other small outfits.  One of the brick layers had just bought one of those new little foreign cars – a Zubadu or something or other.  He'd drive to work everyday and brag on the gas mileage he was getting until every one was sick of it.  

I'm not sure who came up with the idea, but when the brick layer would go back to work on the other side of the building,  one of the carpenters would sneak out and add a gallon or two to his tank.  Well the tank only held about 10 gallons anyway.  So as the days progressed,   his mileage kept increasing until he was getting over 80 miles per gallon!  He was busting with pride.  Every morning he'd brag on his gas mileages.  

This went on for a week or so and then my brother-in-law or his partner would go out and siphon a gallon or so out of the tank.  Well,  the mileage started to drop.  Not only that, but it dropped well below where it should be.  

The brick layer became really confused.  It was running just as good as ever.  What could possibly be wrong?

They let him in on the joke before he took the car back to the dealer. ;D

 :D :D   That's a goodun, Bibby. I know where they got the idea. Walter Matthau did that to a guy in one of his movies back in the 80's, before the turn of the century. I've always wanted to pull it on someone, and may get around to it yet. ;D

I had a co-worker that was the butt of a lot of jokes. Still is from what I hear.

Dick had a Chevy S10 pickup with only 3 hubcaps. One day, one of the guys was going to a car parts flea market in Wisconsin over the weekend. Dick asked him to see if he could find him a hubcap and the guy agreed to look. Well, Monday came and the guy walked into Dick's office and dropped a hubcap on his desk.  Dick was elated and took the guy down to the coffee machine and bought him a BIG cup of coffee. At lunchtime, he took the hubcap out to put it on his truck only to find that his truck only had 2 hubcaps.

So, another friend decided to help Dick.  This guy belonged to the Lions Club and they were to clean the ditches on 2 miles of road. He kept every hubcap he found. Dick would go out to his truck at lunchtime to go home only to find a hubcap duct taped to the wheel. He'd rip it off and come back into the plant and rant and rave about it. The next day there would be another hubcap duct taped to his wheel. This went on for almost two weeks. ;D  

Preacher

An old preacher was dying. He sent a message for his IRS agent and his lawyer, both church members, to come to his home.

When they arrived, they were ushered up to his bedroom. As they entered the room, the preacher held out his hands and motioned for them to sit on each side of the bed.

The preacher grasped their hands, sighed contentedly, smiled and stared at the ceiling. For a time, no one said anything. Both the IRS agent and the attorney were touched and flattered that the old preacher would ask them to be with him during his final moment. They were also puzzled because the preacher had never given any indication that he particularly liked either one of them.

Finally, the lawyer asked, "Preacher, why did you ask the two of us to come?"

The old preacher mustered up some strength, then said weakly, "Jesus died between two thieves, and that's how I want to go, too."


(https://forestryforum.com/noble/christ.jpg)

In the days of the log driver, there was this distant relative of my mother's who used to cook. He was 6'2" with a big round belly like a pork pungin. He was a decent cook, quite orderly and a formidable figure all in one package. Everything was his way or the highway around the mess hall. Well, on a shift change at the camp there was this new crew that never came up against nothing like this lad before. Turns out the cook was preparing a meal, wasn't quite all ready yet. Some lads came to the table early that night, didn't think nothing of it. Well the old gent takes the buiscuits from the oven and places them on the table for suppa that night. He turns his back on the guys at the table and has a clever in his hands preparing something on the counter. He finishes his cleve'n and turns about to see the boys dippin the buscuits into the mallasses dish. Well like a flash, the cook brings the clever down in the middle of the table and announces 'who announced suppa anyway!! And another thing, there'll be no dippin in the mallasses dish in my camp'. Silence came over the crew after there first lesson in table manners. There wasn't a challenge made to the cooks rules.  :)


Like your posts Tom  :D  :D  :D

Our high school, being as small as it was, could barely muster enough players for an A and B basket ball team.  By the time you discounted all the male students with poor grades,  jobs after school,  or just not interested,  that left about anyone who wanted to play that was otherwise qualified.  So "making the team" was about guaranteed.

Even so, Cousin Richard thought himself quite the basketball player.  He did put a lot of work and effort into it and he really wasn't all that bad.  But the main things he brought to the team were his height and stamina.  His sense of timing and coordination were,  shall we say,  not fully developed.

Cousin Richard really had two memorable moves he could be counted on to perform at least a couple of times each game. They were sure crowd pleasers.  

One.... Just in that few seconds from when the ball passes through the hoop until the time the ball is put back into play – when everyone else is in a state of shifting from defense to offence and offence to defense – here comes Richard, bounding through the mass of other players, and he makes this great leap under the net to recover the ball that is no longer in play.  His arms and legs stretched and swinging wildly like the paddles on a big Dutch windmill.  He'd often crash into other players, cheerleaders, and even the referee in this too late attempt at recovering the rebound that everyone else knew wasn't there.

Two...  If by chance he'd intercept the ball from the opposing team on their end of the court,  he'd make a colossal run for the basket on the other end.  But often as not, he'd trip over that black line down the middle of the court.  Now it wouldn't be just a trip and fall.  Nope.  It was his own personal train wreck.  It was like watching a frame buy frame review of a test car on the Bonneville Salt Flats gone horribly wrong. Frame 1 - He's all alone, about to break the record and be a hero.  Frame 2 – Something is wrong!  Frame 3 – He's going down.  Frame 4 – He struggles to remain in control.  Frame 5 – He's lost control. Frame 6 – He's airborne and tumbling.  Frame 6 – Arms and legs are flying out of control.  Frame 7 -  It's all over.  He's landed in a grotesque heap only an abstract artist could have created.

People do funny and embarrassing things by accident but poor Richard committed his acts in front of hundreds of the people in his community and additional hundreds from the rival community.   But I can say this, he never let his lack of talent keep him from playing basket ball.        

I used to work with Clarence who was a quiet sort of a joker. He'd pull a prank on someone and you'd never know it was him.  Clarence lived across the street from his brother-in-law and picked on him a lot!  One summer, his brother-in-law  would go to his lake cabin in northern Minnesota every weekend. As soon as he left, Clarence fertilized his lawn with liquid fertilizer (the kind you spray on with a garden hose).  All summer his brother was complaining about how fast his grass was growing and was having to mow about twice a week just to keep up.  I don't think Clarence ever told him why. ;D  

We were setting in the break room at the mill yesterday and the boss (Ray) says, I gotta tell ya about the dumbest guy in Harrison. Brian, the board stacker says, is he in this room? Ray says, "Yup. Its me."

Seems his dog was having trouble of some sort and he took it to the Vet. The vet diagnosed the problem and gave him some large tablets with this new fangled insertion tool. They get home and Ray has his wife hold the dog down. He gets the tool clear up the dogs butt and injects the tablet. The dog don't like it at all. Its a big golden. After almost getting bit he decides that he was calling the vet back to see if they could do something different, this was going to be almost impossible 3 times a day for a week.  He describes the problems to the Vet, and the Vet has an easy solution. He Says Ray, those were Oral tablets, NOT suppositories.

A neighbor who was a PHD (degree type) had a couple bull calves given to him so he could play farmer. The instructions were to get them both fixed before very long. This guy didn't want to spend the money to have it done, so checked and checked sources until he finally found the stainless steel pinchers for doing the castration job (they were about double the cost of having it done by a vet).
After procrastinating some period of time, and the bull calves getting pretty good size, he tied one up, hog-tied it until it stopped thrashing around, and proceeded without instructions (after all, he was a PHD - in chemical engineering!).  
Big problem was that he didn't know that he was only supposed to pinch the cords on one side at a time, not both at once!  He could never get the pinchers to close all the way, so this attempt failed. He found out how to do it right, after he had released that first calf.
Long story short, he was able to catch and tie up the second calf, but that first one would not allow him to even as much as get close.  8)   It remained a bull calf and was sold early.

We had a receptionist in our Computer company in the 1970's who was none too brilliant.. She and Ray would have gotten along pretty good.

Real pretty but dumber'n a box-a-rocks and always vying for attention, she had some medical problem and was given some pills to take.  Because the pills were so big, she figured she must've really been sick and was telling the Vice President's secretary all about having to cut them in two pieces to take them.

The VP's secretary discovered that the bottle contained suppositories and had a heart to heart with the girl.  She also told the VP who told the managers and it wasn't long till the story was all over the company  I don't think she ever knew that everybody knew.

When we first moved to Minnesota back in 1972, my wife got a job as a substitute teacher for the school district.  So, we were invited to the teacher's Christmas dinner at a local restaurant. Before dinner we were all sitting in the lounge B.S.ing.  One of the teachers had a headache so the conversation leaned toward what medications they took for headaches. I didn't really know anyone but I said, "I take Alka Seltzer for my headaches. But I wish they wouldn't make those tablets so big 'cause they hurt my throat to swallow them."  Now I thought that was pretty funny, but no one laughed.  The next week, Donna came home from school and said, "You'll never believe what is going around the school. They are talking about you swallowing Alka Seltzer tablets whole."  :o   No wonder they didn't laugh......they took me serious.      

It was one of those stinging hot summer days back in '97 or '98.  I had a 2:00pm appointment to meet a man about 20 miles north of us to look at his timber and talk about doing some sawing for him on a regular basis. (Turned out,  after I educated him on sawing,  he went out and bought a Wood-Mizer mill of his own. Anyway,  that's not even important to the story.)

I found myself near the site of our meeting but just a little lost.  At the crossroads of the white chat county road I spotted a car parked in from of a one-room Baptist church.   Setting up on rock posts,  the little white frame church couldn't have been bigger than 20'x24' with one door in front,  three windows on each side and a small steeple on top.  The lawn was freshly cut but there was no landscaping,  signs, etc. of any kind to adorn it other than a small cemetery on the right that didn't even have a fence.  Most of the markers were simple limestone.  The little church must have been a hundred years old.

I emerge from our Dakota PU and approached the church.  I'd been working all morning and none too fresh.  My T-shirt was soaked through with sweet.  The hair on my arms still had sawdust clinging to the hair and skin as it was around my face and neck.  Although my "foundation garments" were fresh that morning my bib's had been "recycled" a couple of times since last they'd seen the clothesline.  They were on their last leg (pun intended) anyway with holes in the knees,  rips from crossing barbed wire fences, etc.   I looked pretty disreputable.

But in contrast – out of the doorway of the church to greet me came this black woman.  She was at least 6' tall and over 300 lbs, I'd say.  Her outfit was like none I'd seen in real life.  Her 1890's stylish hat must have been 2' across with a tall feather sticking out of the band. It sat upon her head in a rakish fashion to best show her orange hair and big bright earrings. The bright purple color of the hat matched the major color of her nearly floor length evening dress and high-heel shoes.  The dress was trimmed in a couple of other bright colors like yellow and gold and had puffy sleeves and big shoulders.   Around her neck was a big strand of pearls.  Every finger had at least one ring.  Gold bracelets? – Yes, On her wrists and ankles.  Purple eye shadow painted her eyelids to match the rest of her attire was trimmed in silver as where her lips.  

As we closed the 20 step distance she stretched her arms out to full length and with a big, bright smile of her pearly white teeth (except for one gold one),  she yelled out, "PRAZE THE LORD! BROTHER!".  

I had to.  I stopped and looked down upon myself and then back up to her and said, "Now wouldn't we make a FINE looking couple?".  

She laughed, I laughed – just a little. Then I gave her my reason for stopping in and asked directions.  She didn't know but invited me in to talk to the minister who probably would.  My eyes adjusted from the blinding bright sunlight to the hot summer's darkness of the little church and I was greeted by the black minister that was setting within.  He answered my question and we visited a polite minute.  I thanked them both for their help and time.

But to this day I wish I had a picture of me and that lady standing arm and arm in front of that little Baptist church.

 Last Friday I Flew back from tampa in steerage with two other gents of my stature. We were pretty much stuck on each other by the end of the flight. I ordered a cranbery juce the guy next to me got one too, I told him his cell phone was poking me over the armrest, he takes it off of his belt, looses controll of it, it flips into his cranberry juce which falls out of his hand into his lap. I TRIED not to laugh.
WS

Back in college I worked in the co-op program that allowed you to take a semester off and work full-time to get valuable experience and get some credit for it.  I worked two 6 month stints as a test engineer at Norfolk Naval Shipyard working on submarines.  Every component in the sub had a tag number and my pipefitter buddies decied I should have one too - AB-1 (Apprentice Boy -1) and so that was plastered on my hard hat.

One day I was working on some test procedures in the sub and I faintly hear a guy calling me "AB-1, hey AB-1".  He wasn't anywhere close as far as I could see, it was just me, a couple pipefitters, and a painter in the compartment and it sounded like he was on the other side of the wall, inside a ballast tank.  I yell back and find out he is, indeed, inside the ballast tank and he says he needs some help.  He needed to pass some cable through a penetration just above me and asked if I could give him a hand.  I reach up for the cable but nothing passes through.  After several efforts that included yelling back and forth, reaching, looking in the penetration with a flash light we still couldn't pass the cable through so we gave up.

At this point I noticed a lot of grins on the faces of the guys in there with me and some of them turning their backs to me.  Finally, one of the pipefitters motioned me to head up topside.  Once I was up there he confessed - he tells me (while laughing hysterically) that the painter that was in the compartment with us is extremely talented at throwing his voice.  He was standing next to me the entire time, yet I coulda swore the voice was coming from inside the ballast tank.  So while I yelled and climbed, and poked, and reached, and searched with the flashlight, everyone else was quietly laughing their arses off.

Apparently I wasn't the only one to fall victim to this guy.  They told me about him riding an elevator and convincing a guy his voice was coming from on top of the elevator and he was stuck up there.  The victim made great efforts to get hoisted to the top of the elevator, lifting up the access panel and searching in vain for the stuck man.

We got a new guy in the office.  He's from Jamaica.  That's a fact not important to the story – I just wanted to add that in.   But it sure is funny hearing the "Queen's English".

Anyway,  all the old guys have been visiting with the new guy and telling stories, etc.   One day they told on me was that Mary and I have developed a custom of each birthday, anniversary,  or Christmas,  I'd pick out an appropriate card in the grocery store and show it to Mary as she pushes the cart past ... and then I put it back in the rack.  She gets the intended sentiment and don't have to throw away a dumb card away later.

Well,  the new guy says,  he was the best man at a wedding where the couple bought a big ring,  but returned it right after the ceremony.

I didn't think it was all that funny but it did bring this awful good thread up to the top again.
 ;D

Good show old chap! ;D  I'm glad ya did this. This thread hadn't been to the top in six months and many of the newer members may have never seen it. I'll bet some of them have stories to add.(hint, hint) ;D

I have sitting here for the better part of two hours laughing my butt off. These stories bring back some memories
My buddy and I, both about twelve, decided to dam a creek running through the summer resort. We had a good sized pond shaping up when one of the cottage owners came up cussin a streak. Seems he took his water from the creek and not the lake. We were nowhere to be seen but we heard him.
He was a miserable b****r so instead of facing him we broke the dam. You think he was mad the first time. We flooded his beach, washed his deck chairs into the lake, and flooded his cistern. Dad questioned us on it the following day but we had been fishing all morning. That was our story and we stuck to it.

Hi, MarkM! I saw your site, perfectly, beautifully! Website Some of My Pictures I wanted to write to you in the private(individual) order, there is no address of mail. Excuse me but I would like to ask you, it is possible to use yours to a picture in my site. Year 2005 I shall change design. " My God store(keep) a nature and people " Or to buy your some pictures ???? I know attitudes(relations) of business in America and the world if I have asked not so a little, excuse me. Sergey

A number of years back a couple from my high school class went into the small engine business.  They carried chainsaws and lawnmowers and worked on them and such.  They were the only small engine repair shop in the county so they were doing a land office business.  

Anyway,  Ted had a small collection of old chain saws he displayed here and there around the shop.  A couple of times he pointed out another he'd came across.

One summer I was at a farm auction and there was one of these big ol' monster saws up for bid but wasn't going any too far.   I had a idea..  I bid on it and got it for a couple of bucks. (Mary looked at me like I was nuts.)

Next time I was in the saw shop,  I drug in this old saw and set it by the counter.  Ted was out so I couldn't just give it to him as I'd planned.  But wife Judy was there.  So I told her that Ted told me that if I came across any of these old saws, to buy it and he'd pay me $50 for it.  Had her going for a good little bit.  But there was no way SHE was going to give me $50 for it.  If I was planning on getting the $50,  I'd have to get it out of Ted.  Then I'm sure SHE'D get $50 worth of Ted's hide for buying another hunk of junk.

Anyway,  the prank ran it's course and we had a laugh and I told her – no,  I only paid a couple of bucks for it and Ted could have it.  I don't think she was any to happy with that ending either.
 ::)

I was working in a small engine shop and a friend came to me with a Briggs 23 he wanted to sell. Had no use for it. I called another shop and sold the engine. My (so-called) buddy came to collect the money and got a a little upset.Seems I sold the engine to the guy he had stolen it from!!! I can do without guys like that.

Another story, sorta on that line that happened last Fall. Friend and forum member Harold had went to an auction that I should have went to. I was at his place the next night and noticed two engines sitting on his shop floor. One was the identical twin to the wisconson on my ottawa dragsaw. He had not noticed that, but told me he had bought it only as trade bait for the engine shows. Well, I had to have it since the mag and carb and everything would fit right on mine. I asked him what he had to have for it. He hemmed and hawed some and finally said that do to the time spent at the auction and the fact that if he sold it he would be losing some trading power at the next seasons engine shows, he would have to have twice what he paid for it.

For a moment I thought oh great, getting it put to me my a buddy. He let me stew about two seconds and said that twice what he paid came to two bucks. :D

Many years ago my brothers took up SCUBA diving. One of their favorite places was the tailrace canal below the Lake Moultrie dam in South Carolina. They had collected bags of fossilized shark teeth some of which were 5 or 6 inches on each edge. Naturally the current was swift so they had to work fast when they saw a tooth go by. The normal way was to get to the bottom and stick a divers knife into the mud. That would slow you down a little as you plowed your way backwards with your mask 6 inches off the bottom.  The water was always cold at the bottom so they wore wet suits and because of the additional weight they carried they sometimes used buoyancy compensators to get to the top again. Generally you would come up several hundred yards from the boat since the bottom current was stronger than the surface current. So on this particular day my brother Louis was on the bottom and had been down 15 or 20 minutes. He was cold and tired so he  fully inflated his BC and shot to the surface. Unbeknownst to him there were 2 elderly ladies in a wooden row boat fishing with cane poles pretty much right over his head.  He shot out of the water about 5 feet off the side of the row boat with a fishing line draped over his head. The guys in the dive boat said it looked like a Chinese fire drill there for a minute with all the whooping, hollering and the 2 old ladies both trying to get to the other end of the boat at the same time.  You can just imagine what the 2 ladies thought as this yellow and black critter came shooting out of the water!  I'm sure fishing was never the same for them after that experience.

That's choice.  A picture I would like to have seen. ;D

I would have paid to see that!! Where is the video cam when you need one :D

Thirty years or so ago some of the younger set thought it great fun to throw shelled corn at cars from the store porch in our little town around Holloween.  There were several dark places to run and hide if someone took offence, and that's what most did- except big Ed one night.  For some reason that night Ed would just stand his ground when a car came to a screaching halt, and with authority exclaim  "Halt!! Friend or foe?"  It took the irate drivers by surprise, and most just got back in their cars laughing due to the comical nature of his delivery.  Except the last one, that is.  When Big Ed delivered his challange, this motorist answered with a roundhouse right that took Ed off his feet.  Ed was just getting back up as his pals came out of hiding.  As he tried to stop his bleeding nose, Ed's deadpan comment was,  "Guess we can mark him down as "Foe!""  

Back in the days when we had fun in the office,  we had a clerk that fell victim to a lot of pranks.  She wasn't the sharpest pencil in the drawer – if you know what I mean. ::)

One day a small group gathered around her desk to introduce her to a new game.

Instructions were ...... "Lean over your desk mat and take this quarter and place it directly below your nose.  Then take a #2 lead pencil and draw a circle around the quarter.  Circle it a couple of times to make the circle REAL dark.   Then take the quarter and place it on the top center of your forehead and roll it down your forehead down to the tip of your nose and let it drop."  Object being,  to see if it would land in the circle drawn.

The quarter fell close to its mark.  Now she was instructed to draw another circle around the quarter where it had landed and repeat the roll down the forehead drop.  She did but the quarter fell in another location prompting another circle and another attempt.   Then another..

By now she was drawing quite a large crowd – AND – drawing a lot of lines down her forehead and nose from the lead deposited in the knurled edge of the quarter. Other variations were tried – off her chin, her cheekbones, temples, etc.

Unaware, and undaunted, she continued to display her skills at quarter rolling until someone suggested an even more challenge – DIME rolling.  Again,  she fell right into the prank and in short order she had her desk mat covered with circles and her face covered with lead marks.

Alas,  everyone had their fill of the fun and went back to work – or whatever they were doing.  Some time later she went to the lady's room and discovered in the mirror why every one was so amused at what she thought was such a stupid act at drawing a circle around a quarter and rolling it down her forehead.   She came back to her desk with a clean but red face. ;D

Bibbyman, that reminds me of the time when I was working in the IBM warehouse down in Boca Raton, Florida. The bosses were away for awhile, so I walked over to the Department Technician's phone (the only phone in the area) and rubbed the earpiece with red stamp pad ink. Then I went back over to my table for awhile. I then had a buddy walk over to the telephone, take it off the hook and holler to another worker, Bill, that he had a phone call.  Bill went to the phone, put it to his ear and was saying, Hello? Hello?  Everyone was howling with laughter. Bill, thinking that the joke was just a fake phone call said, "Well, it wasn't that funny."  It was over an hour later that he discovered he had a bright red ear. :D

My neighbor, a diesel mechanic for a car hauling firm, had a supervisor that nobody liked.  One of the mechanics placed some Never-Seize on the inside of the door handle on his truck.   Now a drop of that stuff is enough to cover half of a football field.

He had it all over his steering wheel, seat covers, face, trousers, hands and anything else he touched on the way home.  I don't know what one would use to get it off.

We have done the same thing, silver anti seize on the silver sweatband on the Hardhats. Almost invisible Yep, it dont take much atall to turn a board piler into an alien. SOmetimes an added touch is wiping the earmuffs on the wall behind the gangsawblade sharpener. That black dust adds a nice accent to the silver.

In my corporate days we had a boss that everyone had a love hate relationship with. We were out of town at a meeting staying in a hotel, went out after dinner for some carousing. Some of us decided to call it quits early while he and some others closed down the bars. We got back to our hotel and found that his room number was 626 held on with tiny screws to the door. Being the enterprising techs we were one of us got a screwdriver and flipped the last six around to make the number 629 and did the same to room 629 to make it into 626. Went to bed passed out and never thought more of it. When the boss and others got back at something like 3 in the morning well lit they headed to their rooms. The boss couldn't get his key to work no matter how hard he tried. My buddy said he finally gave up, went downstairs and got the night desk guy. He brought up the pass key and opened the door. Boss walked in and loudly replied "my luggage has been stolen".

In the end neither he nor the desk clerk was much amused with our shenanigans. ;D

When my great grandfather and his brother Tom were young, in the mid or late 1800's, they undertook to break a calf to the yoke.  Apparenty they only had access to a two ox yoke, and only one calf, so Tom, described as being a "hoss" volunteered to stand in as the other calf.  Of course we all know what happened next.  The calf proceeded to throw a fit and try to run off, with Tom hooked up with him.  After the dust cleared, and my great grandfather got them stopped, he began to free Tom from the yoke.  "Unhook the calf," Tom begged. "I'll stand!"

The bridge is gone now.  Where it crossed the Indian River, in Ft. Pierce, at the foot of avenue H, also known as Causeway Drive, is nothing but a pile of rocks and a fence to mark the end of the road.

There was a time when the "new" bridge stretched from there to Hutchinson Island.  It was "new" to us, having replaced a wood structure that was before my time, but now it is gone and an even newer bridge has been built just south of this site.

Facing East, and the river, there was a small building behind the sidewalk that was built especially for hanging fish and taking pictures.  Next to it was the bait store where our friend "Carolina" sold bait, tackle and cold drinks.

To the left (North) of the road was a large complex of buildings that were fruit packing houses.  They were arranged such that ships tied up in the two slips beside them could be loaded and fruit shipped all over the world.   The "turning basin" was the wide part of the river in front of the slips and the Ft. Pierce Inlet was dredged from their to the Atlantic Ocean.

I used to fish on the North side of the road at the first slip.  We caught Snook, drum, Mangrove Snapper and Jewfish. 

Fishing for Jewfish was a real sport.  It took special equipment because Jewfish (giant grouper) attain weights in access of 600 pounds.

We young boys (about 12-14) had our own "Jewfish line" and were watched by an elderly black gentleman every night. (We wouldn't have been allowed to be out at those hours un-chaperoned.)  He had a "line too" and we would fish with poles and listen to stories while we experienced this nocturnal sport.

Late one afternoon, a couple of touristers (Yankees) drove up in  an old pickup truck to watch us.  They couldn't get where we were because the loading dock of the packing house blocked the way from the parking lot to the ship slip.  They saw our Jewfish line and asked what it was.  We went into elaborate detail describing it to them.

"We take a length of stout rope and tie a chain on the end.  On this chain we affix a piece of cable and to that a large hook.  On this large hook, we thread 2 to 4 fairly large mullet or a couple or three catfish.  We throw the line into the water in the ship slip and tie off the other end of the rope to a tire that we have looped over the piling or the cleat on the dock.   Then we wait.  Sometimes it takes weeks to get a strike. But the fish are huge."

They watched interestingly and then got in their truck and drove off.  In an hour or so they were back. They had purchase the fanciest Jewfish line I had ever seen n my life.  The rope was nylon and chain was bright and shiny.  It had a new hook on the end as big as your foot and had already been baited.  They backed the truck up to the dock as close as they could get on the parking lot side and stretched the rope across the dock and the 20 feet or so to the edge of the slip and then threw their baited hook into the water.  Even though we suggested against it, they tied the rope to the bumper of the truck.

As luck would have it, they had a fish on about 9 o'clock.  Here we had been there for days with no bite and these guys, with no experience, got a run in two hours.  They both ran to the truck.  One jumped into the bed and the other behind the steering wheel. They cranked the truck, threw it into gear and floored the excelerator.  The tires began to spin on the oyster shell surface of the parking lot and smoke wafted out from under them.  The rope began to stretch and Jewfish hunkered down.  I'll bet he was wedged in a cave down there with his fins holding the sides because he wasn't moving.   It seemed like a lifetime and we were so interested in the shenanigans that didn't even consider our safety.  With a clash of wrenching metal and snapping bolts, the bumper came off of the pickup truck and came hurtling across the dock toward us.  It never touched a thing it's 50 feet of travel until it landed in the middle of the ship slip, having missed us by mere inches. 

The truck stopped and the driver opened the door and stood on the running board looking back at us with a wide eyed expression, got back into the truck and spun his tires as he crossed the parking lot with the other fellow hanging on in the bed for all of his life.  They never came back.   We laughed once we got our wits about us again and that story was told over and over for years to come.

I wonder what ever happened to that old man that used to watch-out for us?

Thanks Tom, I really enjoyed that! :)

Ol' Jonah Tom, that's one whopper of a fish tale!

I posted this one on the interim FF...wasn't thinking when I did, that it'd be gone.  Well, Jeff saved a copy, so here it is!

OK...by telling this story, I sorta feel like I'm back in jr. hi, but I'm gonna tell it anyway.     Me and another trombone buddy from work were coming back from a little fancy high-falutin' reception held in our new orchestra office.  Fancy cheese, appetizers, wine and crackers and the whole works. 

Anyway, we're walking back through some parking ramps downtown, near all the financial buildings.  I felt a serious urge to let out a big ole belchorino, and I knew that inside one of these parking ramps, it would resonate and echo like CRAZY!  So, we walked through a pedestrian door into one of the parking ramps, and I let loose a roar that'd make anybody proud.  My buddy says, "YEAH!!!!" and starts laughing histerically.  Then, around the corner, I saw this smartly dressed business woman walking to her car.  She saw us laughing like two kids, and sorta rolled her eyes, though she did have a bit of a grin starting on her face.  I muttered some sort of an apology to her, in the midst of laughing, and she said to me, "Man...you SCARED me!!!!"

:D Now THAT'S a belch to be proud of:  it causes fear in those who hear it!   

I just thought I'd share this little tidbit of jr. hi. antics...I'm sure when I'm 65 I'll derive as much pleasure in a good ole burporino as I do now!!!

(I'm just a little pig at heart, I guess...)   

Tom, you might wonder what happened to the old man but I'm wondering what happened to that Jewfish.  He had to have a sore mouth and I wonder if he got stuck somewhere pulling that bumper around with him.

charlie
They seldom leave their hole anyway, or go very far.  I'm sure he towed it around for awhile though.  I hadn't thought much about the fish but we never dredged up the bumper either.  He might have hauled it away.  If he lived through it, then the hook probably came loose eventually.  I'd like to think so anyway. :)

 My brother Henry and I took a trip down to Georga to visit a couple of cousins. Had a great trip and ate shrimp they caught earlier this year. On our way back home we stopped by that super junk shop known as South of the Border. They have the best Ginger Ale I have ever tasted. I brought home 2 cases!!. I also spent $1.50 on a whoopie cushion. When was the last time you played with one of these. The first night home I forgot about it. The second night I remembered it, got it out and waited for celest to be distracted in another part of the house and tried to quietly blow it up. Unfortunatly it wouldnt cooperate and made a kind of wet honking sound. Celest asked "What was that?"
I replied "Sorry, I belched" .
She replies "Ewww"
I gently slid it under the cushion of the couch while it let out a couple of quiet bleats, She came in the living room, sat down and "Blaaaaaaaat!!" it killed me, I had trouble taking a breath and almost fell off the couch. Celest was NOT impressed.

The next evening I again waited for her to leave the room.
Again tried to quietly inflate it
Again a  honk as it is inflated.
Celest asks "Are you playing with that thing again?"
I reply as if I am embaressed "No"
She replies "Ewwww" while I slide it under the couch cushon.
Celest comes in, sits down and "Blaaaaaaaat!!" it killed me again, things were going dark, celest is beating me with a limp whoppie cushion, I cant see straight and again, Celest is NOT impressed.
but hey, I enjoyed it enough for the both of us.

 :D :D :D :D :D
Let me assure you that Celeste enjoyed the joke.  It's our JOB to act disturbed by your humor. 8)

 after posting about roy and his sister today in another thread i was sitting here a thinking. i know i know a sign of old age  :D anywho i was thinking about the time he called me last yr to come over and gits some hickory cane corn. well now i shore like to fry that up with some cornbread and backbone so i say roy whens it gana be ready?
well now he said that he checked it this morning and it  should be ready in the morning.
For everyone that dont know about that there hickory cane corn you can start a one end of the patch when it comes in and by the time ya gets to the other end of the patch it done go by and no good. that said IMHO we started at daylight and got 40 doz ears out of a 1/4 acre patch.
Now roy is a cantanaus old cuss when he wants ta be but has a heart of gold. He has the same thing as me copd but he's on o2 24/7 but he still puts out a 2acre truck patch
with his wife and boys helping out. yup gives about all of it away.
When we was getting the corn he wound up about the deer getting in his garden
he said dem DanG deer where gonner be freezer meat if he could catch um , well we was sitting on the back porch and this big doe came rites up to the fence less the 50ft from us. well now ya could see the glem in roys eyes  ;D he turned around rel careful like and told his boy ta gets the gun cause he was going to teach that DanG deer to mess in his vegtable patch. well know i'll  tell ya that boy brought out a pld shotgun that looked like it was from the war between the states. Well now here he goes easy like where he could gets him a shot at that doe raises up to get a shot and the DanG
thing drops down behind a roll a hay  :D :D :D. Well now i'll tell ya we sit there all afternoon watching that boy trying to get a shot at that there doe . she would stick her head up see that there gun a drop rights on down again.The boy finally give up put the gun away, wal by this time old roy was a cussing,spitting, and thowing one whole big fit about that DanG deer. well to top it off that old doe comes up to fence lays her head on a post storts as if to say gots ya .
in closing i'll just say that good memorys give you a warm feeling down deep in your soul.        gene

A few years back when I worked in Prince Rupert, BC a couple of the lads that I worked with were gonna go fishing. They were going to take the video camer a because one of them had this new boat and wanted some video of the maiden voyage. They got their gear and bait and loaded up the boat video camera and all. They got offshore a bit to their fishing spot and decided the take some video. While one feller was baiting up and getting ready to toss the line over the sire the other fella was busy with the camera taking shots of the moment and the surrounding scenery. Just as he swung the camera around to take some video of his buddy fishing this big black dorsal fin emerges from the ocean water and passes by the boat, all on video.  :o The boys decided this close encounter was a little lucky for them and they wasn't sticken around for a second take. ;D :D

We were on a landing waiting in line for the truck to be loaded. The buckerman was a real piece of work and this day was at his best. The loaderman was changing a chain on his saw. He put the bar sans chain on the saw, ran up behind, stuck the bar between doofuss' legs and pulled the rope. The guy stood there frozen, white as a sheet waiting for the blood. The rest of us collapsed laughing. This is the same guy who jumped on a load with the saw to clear some branches as the loader was coming with another lift.

We'd been sawing walnut all morning and when we stopped for dinner,  Mary announced she had to go to the grocery store to "get a few things".   If I wanted to come along, she'd buy me a sandwich or I could just go back out and keep sawing.   I chose food. ;)

As it was pretty cool this morning,  Mary had been wearing outer layer of Carhartts.   She just peeled them off,  washed her face and combed her hair.  She asked me, "Do you think I can go to town dressed like this?"  I replied,  "You won't embarrass me."  So off we went.

Mary had her basket about full and stopped at the deli counter to get some cold cuts.  One of the ladies happed to come from behind the counter to the aid of a customer looking for something.  As she passed by Mary she remarked,  "Someone smells good."  On return,  she stopped and said, "It's you..  You smell good." 

The lady helping Mary behind the counter chimed in,  I could smell something good too but couldn't figure out where it was coming from."   Mary remarked, "You probably smell the walnut and cedar dust on me."  Yea,  that's what they smelled all right.  One lady asked,  "Have you been refinishing furniture?"  Mary explained we have a sawmill and we had been sawing lumber.   The lady returned, "I didn't think anyone did that any more."

Maybe Mary can start her own line of scents – The "Ode-da-woods" collection. :D

Funny,  we've sawn so much,  we can hardly smell it anymore unless we deliberately stick our nose to it and take a big sniff. (I guess it could be worse,  we could be hog farmers.)

Bibby,
Thats why I quit the pig buisness. :( Not the smell, everyone talking about the smell. ;) ;D ;D ;D ;D
Bob the ex pig farmer

Just before Thanksgiving I bought a used 1 ton Dodge.  When we test drove it, it really had a heavy dose of new truck perfume or something. Didnt smell all that bad.  Well about a week  or two later the new smell perfume was wearing off and another aroma was wafting in the air.  Couldn't quite place it, but it was rather familiar.  A few more weeks on a cold day had the heater roaring and then it hit me.  I knew I smelled money! :D :D  That day I got the title.  It was owned by a pig farm in Iowa.
Glad I grew up around lots of hogs.  My brother said it brought back the memories.

Cedarman,
In 1997 when live hogs were $.60 they smelled like money, 8) but in 1998 when they were $.08, they smell like DanG hog feces. >:(  ;D ;D
Bob

Pigman, For a little while there,($.60) ole Faron really regretted getting out of the hog business, :-[ but after that $.08 fiasco, I about crippled my shoulders patting myself on the back!  8)

I heard one pig farmer tell that his dogs thru a fit one night.  He got up and found a truck backed up to his pig lot.  Sure enough,  it was another pig farmer come over and was dumped a bunch of pigs in with his. :D :D

At the worst point of that time, a few farmers WERE told " We aren't buying hogs, but if you want to unload them, we'll take them for you." :o :-[

IMHO one of the best things to happen to a pig is McRibs. It's tough to eat one of those driving down the road.

Bibby,
Around Christmas of 1998 we had to put locks on the back of our trailers when we went to market. If we didn't we would bring back more hogs than we took. ;)
Bob
Faron,
At Monfort packing in Louisville they would not let you unload unless you were a regular seller. Saw a load of 200 head turned away, would not let him unload. The trucker had already been to three packing plants and nobody wood let him unload the free hogs.

Edit:  This thread is making my hands smell like hog feces again and I haven't  touched a  hog in 5 years. ::)
Bob the smelly one

The only surviving hog farms here are subsidized by government. Alot of them (factory farms) came in from Quebec and have been met with public confrontations and environmental assessments.

Does the pork you eat now taste like pork or more like cardboard?  I grew up with pasture raised hogs, probably too much fat, but they sure were tasty.  I heard that out east there were some farmers getting back into raising some of the more obscure breeds and getting nice prices for the meat.
A few years ago a lady came by to get some fence posts.  She gave me a chicken already for the oven.  They raised free range chickens.  That was the best chicken I have tasted in years.

I read a book several years back about Florida cowboys back in the mid-1800s. Lots of interesting stories too.  A lot of hogs were raised back then and each rancher marked his hogs by cutting the ear a certain way.  Now there was a lot of rustling going on then and it was nothing to see some cowboys herding a bunch of earless hogs into town to the butcher. 8)

Charlie,

This is off the subject kinda,  but I keep thinking of and old black cowboy that died in Florida several years ago.  Seems like he might have been the oldest living US citizen before he died.  I think he was named Charlie too and had worked in the citris groves when he was past 100.  He had told all kind of tales about being an outlaw which people laughed at.  After he died they found that he had some bullets in him.

Do you remember about this guy or am I just imagining all this?

Charlie,
When I was raising hogs I ear notched each pig when they were born to idenify them. Using a system of notches, I could number the pig up to 161 in each ear. Didn't do it to keep thieves away, just to keep track of the pigs.
People always asked me if it hurt the pig. ::) The pigs never squealed on me. ;)
Bob - the pig torturer

Another thread reminded me of something.  I figured what it reminded me of didn't belong there so I decided to post it here.

A few years ago I  hung my finger on a belt on a hay cutter and broke the very end joint of it.  I had just got through adjusting it or something :) and hadn't put the guard back on yet.

I finally went to the emergency room, and am still trying to forget the way I acted after they shot that pain medication in me.  Let's just say EVERYTHING was funny.  I even tole the doc that my finger still hurted but I DID NOT CARE.  I couldn't stop laughing. 

On the way home 'somehow' I convinced my wife I could drive, and that it was MY truck and I oughta  be driving.  Being the man and all and it late at night like this.   She pulled over and on the way around the truck I realized I'd made a mistake.  Being stubborn I decided to try to drive anyways.

Late at night in New Albany and thankfully no  traffic.  I got behind the wheel, cranked up, and my truck tried to cross the center line.  I was flying at the time, probably 3 or 4 miles per hour.

I over corrected to the right.  The truck decides to head for the ditch. I decided to stop again.  Kim is fussing pretty good by now.  Lots and lots of them "I told you so!", and things like that!  Trying her best to make me feel real foolish!

Once again at a top speed of a couple a miles per hour, (I'd done decided to slow down some) I over corrected again and the truck heads towards the center line.  I notice something odd.  Two city police cars sitting there in that parking lot my truck was trying to head for on the other side of that center line. 

I decided to go and talk to em.  Figured they was a gonna arrest me if I didn't explain my self.  I pulled up, rolled down my window,  and in trying to explain myself my wife said I showed em my finger.  I'm remembering her fussing about the way I went about it. I  remember her slinking down in the seat as I opened my door to get out and go over and talk to em and explain how I'd done figured out I weren't able to drive and it was my wifes fault anyways for even letting me drive.  Although I absolutely wouldn't recommend it now I explained how if they ever got hurt they ought to ask the doctor to give em a shot of something called 'nubain' or something like that for pain.  You don't wanna forget the whole time I'm talking to these cops I can't stop laughing. All in all, they was taking things pretty well.

I'd thinking there towards the end they walked over to my wife, who was still slinking down in the seat and kindly asked her to please do the driving until we got home. :)

Reminds me of a little situation I had about 40 years ago when I had a fibreglass shop in buildings I rented on a Southwestern Ontario tobacco farm.. Working away one day and caught sight of a skunk out by the old silo.  Thinking that if I could possibly catch the thing and get it descented that it might make a nice pet for the neighbour's kids.  Without thinking about why it might be so slow trying to get away, I was soon in hot pursuit and quickly caught him, he spun around and bit me.. Up till then, I had managed to avoid the spray but as soon as I dropped him, he let loose and I was covered.  I happen to be one of those weirdos that likes the smell so it didn't bother me at all, Dad says it has to do with a camping trip he and mum took while she was carring me and there was a lot of skunk smell in the area where they pitched the tent.

But I digress.  Thinking that I probably didn't have my tetanus shots up to date and needing a few stitches in the bite, I went to the local hospital only to be rapidly ejected and treated on the steps outside.  After buying up all the tomato juice in the town, I filled the bathtub and had a good soak, coming out just smelling like the old me.  Anone know why tomato juice removes skunk smell?

The next day was a Saturday on a Monday holiday long weekend, I got a phone call from the hospital when someone had reviewed my notes and noticed my comment about how slow and easy to catch the skunk had been.  They wanted me to find and kill the skunk, cut off its head and send it to the government lab for testing for rabies, being a long weekend, the lab was closed till Tuesday.  Shortly afterward, the provincial police arrived all in a panic at the thought of a rabies outbreak,.  Hey boy where the He-- is that skunk???  We found and dispatched it about where I had seen it originally.  After beheading it and packing it very carefully, the police  took off with it.  No one could be raised at the lab and we had to wait till the Tuesday for the results.

By Monday night, I was not at all well, A lot of saliva and stuff like that but I stubbornly refused to go to the doctor.  One of those situations where you know the news will be bad but you don't really want to know hoping that things will just get better on their own. 

Tuesday lunchtime, the police arrive again, sirens blaring and wheels skidding into the driveway.  Off to the hospital to start the course of Rabies shots panic stations, they should have been started a lot sooner.  If my memory serves me correctly, it was a two week course of intra-peritineal injections.  After a couple of days, I got them  from the local town doctor only having to go to the hospital on weekends when the doctor was away.

The funniest part of the saga was in the hospital.  I arrived with my bottle of serum and a note from the doctor explaining what it was for and the administration route, long needle in the abdomen and very slow infusion.  The poor young nurse was so nervous about catching rabies from me that  she bounced the needle up and down on my tummy poking all kinds of holes in me.  When she finally got the needle in, her hands were shaking so much that I thought that the  half inch hole that she was going to ream out with was a bit much so I hit the plunger and shoved it all in quickly.  Obviously, I survived and ended up with a great story for when I finally married and had kids.

 :D :D :D :D No wonder you left. Do they have skunks down under?

only in parliament

I posted this story in another corner of the forum a little while ago, but really, I think it really belongs in here, since it's a pretty DanG funny story about my Great Uncle Wally.  I hope you guys enjoy it!

At my great uncle's funeral this Saturday, a local acquaintance got up to tell one of the classic stories about my Great Uncle Wally.  At some point, he went down to MSU to take a class in blasting, when such things were still offered.  He became the go-to man in Menominee County after that if you ever needed something blasted.  One time, this gentleman called up Wally and had him help him with blasting out a big old boulder that he wanted to remove from a field.  Now, this boulder was very near the fence row that abutted the neighbor's woodlot.  Well, my Uncle set the charges, and like was his wont, probably added a bit more than needed for good measure.  Well, when that blast went off, it launched that boulder into the air, right over the closest trees of the neighbor's land.  The guy said that boulder just slowly tumbled through the air, along with a lot of jetsam from the blast, and it all simply disappeared into the neighbor's woodlot. 

That very same day, that neighbor was walking in his woodlot, which he did on a nearly daily basis.  He noticed the boulder instantly.  He wondered where it came from, and looking into the trees, he saw the path of destruction that the boulder cleared through the tops of the trees, along with all of the jetsam that scarred the bark of the trees.  He was convinced that he knew what he had in his woodlot, and so called the local newspaper to tell them that he had discovered a meteorite in his woodlot.   

They called the local high school science teacher to come out and take a look, since he was the most qualified expert in the area to have any sort of informed opinion on the matter.  Looking at the evidence around him, the boulder on the ground, and the clear evidence of the path of the "meteorite" through the trees, he declared that yes, this must be a meteorite.  The local paper started to refer to this as the "Menominee Meteorite."   :D

Now my great uncle Wally and the guy who hired him watched all of this in silent amusement, as all of these developments took place.  As word of the "meteorite" got around, it was suggested that someone who was really an authority be called upon to authenticate the meteorite once and for all.  They called upon a professor at Northern Michigan University to drive down to Stephenson, MI and authenticate the meteorite.

There was quite an audience there to witness the Professor's deliberation and analysis of the meteorite.  This had become quite the buzz around town, since not much excitement took place around there.  The professor examined the evidence, seeing the boulder and the trees, and unfortunately said, "well, in most meteorites, we see a large concentration of iron.  This appears to be nothing more than a terrestial boulder.  It's clear it did come from the sky, and I can't explain how this happened to appear in your woodland, but it is undoubtedly not a meteorite." 

Everyone was aghast and disappointed, and everyone wondered how this boulder had travelled the air.  It was at this point that Wally leaned over to his friend, and said, "well, do you think we should tell them where the Menominee Meteorite really came from?" 

I don't know if he ever did tell.     :D

Puddin'-Head would make a good hunting dog.  She was a stray when we adopted her and she enjoys foraging.  She especially like big grass hoppers and will chase them around the yard and field any chance she gets.  She often catches them and relishes the crunchiness of eating them.

Anyway,  she's also good at digging up moles and mice although we've never seen her eat one.  She also like to tree frogs, turtles and snakes.

Today she was barking and digging in a pile of bark and chips outside the mill.  I knew she had something – most likely a toad under there some place.   I went over after a bit and pulled up one heavy chunk of bark.  Expose was the unmistakable black paten leather look of a black snake slithering under the debris.  I let the chip back down and I went on about my business and left Puddin-Head to worry about the snake.  I'd seen her tree a snake before and knew it'd be a standoff.

About a half hour latter, son Gabe was running the AGCO and moving the slabs.   He yelled at Mary to look behind her.  She was on the tail end of the edger at the time.  The black snake and been looking for another place to hide and was heading right for Mary's feet.  Mary took an edging stick and warned the snake off.   It then turned and slithered under the stacks of lumber and headed right towards me.   I grabbed a broom that was handy and tried to push it back out into the open and turn it so it'd head off to the woods.  Each time I'd push it around,  it turn back and head towards the shed.  Mary jumped in with a spring toothed rake and was more affective at slinging him back away from the shed.  But he kept turning back and finally ended up into the weeds behind one corner of the shed.  We gave up and went back to sawing.

That was home and where his buffet was located, Bibby.    I'll bet he keeps the roachs, rats and big ants out of your saw shed.  You'll have to name him.  :)

   Snakes is generaly pretty good neighbors,although,they can be a little unsetteling at times

Most of'em won't hurt ya, but they'll sure make ya hurt yerself! :D :D

I DON'T DO SNAKES!!!!!

The only good snake is the one I never see and most importantly never FEEL! :o

Marie got a good chuckle out of watching me chasing one around the firewood lot with an excavator- you gots to be quick! She thought I was trying out for the Ballet! ;D

I won't hardly go in her greenhouse without looking all around first- she always seems to have one in there. ::)

The trouble with writing so many stories is that over the years you tend to forget what you've wrote and who you've shown them to.  I know I've written the following story but I've lost it.  I did a search here on "A Funny Story" and it's not here so ...  I'll write it again.  (Maybe this time it'll be better!) ::)

Part I: Chris and the siren. 

Son Chris had a Marine buddy named Simon whose home town was Tucson, AZ.  His enlistment ended before Chris's and he returned home and promptly went though the police academy and then got a job as a policeman on the Oro Valley Police Department  (suburb of Tucson).  After Chris's enlistment was up, Simon encouraged Chris to come out to Tucson and become a policeman too and he did.

Chris had been in Tucson most of a year when Christmas rolled around. He'd got through the academy and was working with Simon with the Oro Valley Police Department.  They also shared an apartment.  Chris invited us out to spend Christmas with him.  He also wanted us to bring out a lot of his stuff that he'd left behind.

We rented a Mercury Grand Marquee for the trip – light metallic blue.  The trunk was like a cavern so we were able to haul quite a bit of his stuff plus our stuff. (A detail of importance later in the story.)

Chris didn't spend all of his time with his police duties or hunting, etc.  He always liked to dance and he'd found a number of night spots in the Tucson area.  On one of these adventures,  he became acquainted with this very attractive young lady. smiley_gorgeous (I've forgot her name but I'll call her Sara.) 

Over the next couple of weeks Chris and Sara spent more time together.  smiley_love Then the truth begins to come out.  Sara wasn't the 20-ish young lady he thought she was but more like pushing 30.  She was divorced and had two kids.  It also became clear to Chris that she was looking for more than a dance partner,  she wanted a second income and a dad for her kids, etc.   smiley_contract

Costing a lot more than Chris was willing to pay,  he backs off.   But not before he'd made a commitment to do her a favor.  Sara had put on layaway a toy C.H.i.P.s battery powered patrol cycle for her small son for Christmas. Chris had agreed to store it Christmas Eve at his apartment and, dressed in his police uniform,  bring it over to her place Christmas morning.  There was no getting out of it.

Christmas morning comes around and it didn't take us long to exchange the couple of gifts we hade for each other and Mary to get in the kitchen to start cooking Christmas dinner. 

As Chris only had an old IH Scout and the back latch was locked and couldn't be unlocked,  he asked if he could borrow the Grand Marquee to take the cycle over to Sara's place.  We load the cycle in the trunk of the Mercury and tried shutting the lid.  As big as the trunk was, the cycle was just odd shaped enough to keep the lid from closing.  Finally we got it situated and the lid closed.  But a couple of times the lid somehow pressed the siren switch and it'd go off.  We retried a couple of times and all was quiet.

So,  off he goes to Sara's house on Christmas morning in a light blue Grand Marquee, dressed in his dark blue police uniform (sidearm, badge and all) none too happy with himself for getting into this mess.  But then... he crosses a dip in the street and the bounce causes the siren on the cycle to go off.   So now he's dressed in his uniform, driving what looks to be an unmarked patrol car with a siren whining from the trunk.  He was more than perturbed when he got back to the apartment. :-[

Part II: The Sara story.

Simon also had a guest over for Christmas.  His fiancée had come in from the west coast to visit with him.  I'll call her Fay.  At least Fay thought she was Simon's fiancée, and Simon let her believe she was when they were together but he didn't stay any to engaged when she was gone.

Anyway,  Fay was a jealous type and was already well informed about Sara. She had to know her hold on Simon was slippery at best. She didn't need that kind of egg sucking dowg hanging around her hen house!

Christmas Eve came around and found Chris, Mary and I in the apartment with Fay.  Simon was on duty at the time but would stop in on his evening supper break. 

Then Sara shows up with the C.H.i.P.s cycle that needed assembly.  She was indeed a conspicuously attractive woman and I could see how it'd be hard to guess she was pushing 30 and had two kids.  Just being in the same room with Sara turned Fay into a pot of boiling water ready to blow her lid. Fay sat on the couch with me as Chris and Sara worked on the cycle. (The couch and TV were the only two things in the living room.)

Chris and Sara commenced digging out this cycle and assembling it.  Now Chris has almost no mechanical ability and you could tell Sara was quite capable of putting it together by her self.  But she'd play the dumb girl part and make suggestions like "I don't know anything about this but it looks like..."

It was quite a show from a couple of perspectives – Fay holding back her rage  smiley_devil_trident, Sara putting on her "I don't know how to do this because I'm a girl and you're so strong." Act,  and the sight of an attractive woman crawling around on the floor (Something men in big cities pay good money to see - or so I'm told). ::)

Then Simon enters this drama – stage right.  He jumps in the cycle tag team wrestling match on the floor.  Fay's condition is going critical now.  smiley_fused_bomb

But they get it together and Simon's supper break is over and he leaves.  Then Chris and Sara get their plans set for the next morning and she leaves.

THEN!  Fay,  like a volcano, can't hold back any longer, unleashes a salvo of venomous shots at Sara and I'm the only one there to listen.  smiley_furious3 When she wound down somewhat,  she asked for my concurrence on her opinion of Sara.  I,  smiley_devil living the life on the edge that I do,   could only come back with, "I don't know.  She seemed like a pleasant young lady to me.".

WhaaaaA!  That set her off again!  smiley_furious3

It was a Christmas I'll always uniquely remember.  ;D

Well..... :-\ :-\.......    there's gotta be more... ???

Did Sara live?   Did Chris get away from Sara?   Did Simon ever come back?  ....did you have to sleep on the couch?  :D

Quote from: Tom on October 12, 2005, 09:59:57 PM
Well..... :-\ :-\.......    there's gotta be more... ???

Did Sara live?   Did Chris get away from Sara?   Did Simon ever come back?  ....did you have to sleep on the couch?  :D

I don't know what happend to Sara. We left for home the day after Christmas.  Chris moved back home the next summer.

Yea,  Simon came back to the appartment after midnight when his shift ended.  I think there was a fight going on but it was hard to tell. (Maybe they were making up.. ;) )

I'm pretty sure Fay finally caught on to Simon and ended their relationship. Last I heard he was still single.

I didn't get into trouble.  Mary knows me too well.  I'm kind of like an old dowg that chases cars - I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it. :D

Ya, but the car might. :-X :-X :-X ::) ::) ::) ???

This is a continuation of sorts of the 'Chris and the siren' and 'Sara story' posted earlier. It may not qualify as a funny story but we don't have a "Believe it or not" thread. :D

Simon was a fine figure of a man – early 20's, just out of the Marines, well over 6' tall, muscular, dark southwestern tan, black hair cut short in a crew cut, clean shaven and well spoken and polite when he tried to be.  The ladies found him attractive and he enjoyed attracting the ladies.

But Simon had one peculiarity that was unlike anything I've witnessed in another human being. 

The first time we met Simon was earlier in the summer when we went to Tucson to visit Chris and see him graduate from the police academy.  We found it odd that there was no food in the apartment they shared.  Chris explained that early on he would bring groceries back to the apartment and the next time he'd look for them,  Simon would have eaten them. ALL OF THEM.  If he'd buy a gallon of milk, the next day I'd be gone.  If it be a big sack of cookies, they'd be gone – a bucket of chicken, anything.  He told us Simon eat like a wolf and would eat everything in the apartment.  As Simon would never bring food to the apartment, Chris stopped bring food too.

I thought he was just exaggerating and they were both too stingy to share.  Then Chris invited us to supper out at a nice restaurant on the outskirts of Tucson.  It specialized in steaks grilled on mesquite.  But he messed up and Simon invited himself along.  Chris was not happy about spending the few dollars he had on an expensive meal for Simon. 

The steaks at the restaurant were large – well over 20 oz.  All the side dishes were brought in bowls family style as was a fresh baked loaf of bread.  As soon as the plates were in front of us, Simon started cubing up his steak into chunks about the size of a hen's egg and stuffing chunk by chunk into his mouth and swallowing.   I'm not kidding!  He didn't even chew.   :o In less than a minute his steak was gone.  Then he started on the side dishes.  What we didn't eat, he did.  Mary only ate about half of her steak baked potato and gave the rest to Simon who downed it like before. (She may have given it to him out of fear or maybe she'd lost her appetite – but in any case,  the big steak and all the side dishes were far more than one person needed anyway.)

I was shocked.  I was revolted.  I don't have the words to describe his actions.  Even a pride of lions feeding on a wildebeest take more time to enjoy their food.  Only a starved scavenger would eat like this.

I'm not the only witness to Simon's eating practices.  Two aunts and uncles had visited Chris while he was in Tucson and both took Chris and Simon on to supper on two separate occasions.  One was a veteran of the Pacific Theater and a long haul truck driver the rest of his life.  He found the performance somewhat amusing – kind of like a freak show.  I guess he'd seen enough carnage things like that didn't bother him.  But it left my other uncle with a different impression.   He lives just up the road and we see him from time to time.  If we visit very long,  he comes around to telling about taking Chris and Simon out to eat.  I know he knows he's told me before.  But it's something that's burned in the back of his brain and maybe by re-telling it,  it'll fade away.  Each time he tells it,  his face wrenches with the expression of shock and disgust.

Simon admitted he only ate one meal every two days.   :-X

[/size]

Families in the south have always had endearing ways.  Aunts and Uncles are everywhere and the titles have little to do with blood relations.  Granddaddy had a yardman when Charlie and I were young whom we called Uncle Wayman.  He was a black man, which pretty much dispelled any thought that there were blood relations.   

Grandmother had a domestic who helped to raise us boys and helped to manage the house as well.  She was our  "Aunt Mary".  I loved her as much as I would have someone who carried the same blood, but, alas, there was no relation.

Confusion leads to children developing titles as well.

My Grandmother and Grandfather had three children.  The eldest was Charles.  Then came Olive, and lastly my mother, Catharine.   Mom and my Aunt Olive loved Charles.  He was always looking out for them and taking care of them.  Did they call him Charles?  Maybe, sometimes.  But, more often as not, they called him "Brother".  I think it was because Granddaddy's little sister called him "Brother" and called her eldest brother, Big Brother.   Perhaps this is a Southern thing.  I've associated with and dealt with northern people all of my life, Florida has an abundance of them, and never have heard of them using endearing titles.

Because Charles was "Brother", he called Olive "Sis".  Mom came along and was told that Olive was her sister.  Well, logic only demanded that she call her "Sister".   Mom was the Baby and was always Catharine except for those few times when Olive felt maternal toward her and then she became "Little Sister".

Along came Charles and Me.  Who was that man and women that visited the house sometimes?   That's your Uncle and Aunt.  Then in the same breath, Mom would call one of them.  ....."Sister" or "Brother". 

Well, you can see where this is going.  In the mind of a toddler, my Uncle, who was Mama's brother, became my "Uncle Brother".  By the same token, my Aunt, Mama's sister, became "Aunt Sister".

That's who they've been all of my life.  Uncle Brother and Aunt Sister.  I would have to stop and think to tell you their first name.   Where most people would say Uncle Charles and Aunt Olive, that just never made much sense to me.

At the family reunion, I hear everybody directly addressing their sibling as "Brother" or "Sister", usually interchangeably with their name.  But, Charlie and I are the only ones who have an Aunt Sister and Uncle Brother.

Uncle Brother died some years ago.  Charlie was his namesake, named for both he and my Dad's brother, Marvin.  Uncle brother was a Marine, a soldier of two wars, WWII (Pacific) and Korea.  He seldom mentioned either but died a hero.

Aunt Sister just had her ninetieth birthday the other day.  She's outlived them all.

In my grandfather's neighborhood there was a fellow everyone called uncle. Even my grandfather called him uncle and they were distantly related but only by marriage, not blood. My grandfather was older than this guy. :D Then my uncles and mother would grow up and call this fellow uncle all their lives. This fellow (uncle) was the baby in the family as it turned out and he had nephews and neices as old as he was. :D In the same family the oldest daughter (still living) became a teacher at aged 15 or 16 and  she taught alot of her younger siblings and cousins. It was a small community, and everyone called her Dew (short for Dorothy). On the first day of classes she told everyone she wasn't 'Dew' in class but miss Wallace. It was funny as most of the pupils were her relatives. :D :D

I got home from Moultrie, Ga.'s Sunbelt Agricultural Exposition about 10:00 last night and my wife said that the neighbors had been trying to reach me.  It seems that on of the fellows that lives down the road couldn't remember my last name, phone number or address so he made up a sign and stuck it out on the side of the road, figuring that I'd eventually see it.  

Being out of town, I didn't, but, the rest of the neighbors have and the phone has been ringing off of the hook and one even came down the driveway to tell my wife about the "Bi-i-i-i-ig  sign".
The whole neighborhood is laughing.  ;D
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 :D :D Well, get to cutting!! Your holding the man up. :D  8)

Bibby's eating story reminds me of a fellow that I worked with during one of my first summersout of school.
He had a circle saw run off the pto of his tractor, we were cutting hardwood. I had a lot of trouble tailing his set up.
But the eating thing............ Evey day that I worked he would drive us to a little local diner for lunch. Some of you have seen me, I can eat! this guy was about 175 lbs and I was always wondering where the food went. We would both order a meatball sub (large please), fries, large soda and a piece of pie or cake for desert. Keep in mind I had 55 lbs on him at the time. I would eat about four bites of my sub and he would be done. Period. 5 minuts flat. Took me 20 if I rushed. He is seventy now, still runs his saw when he feels like it, and hasn't gained an ounce!!
mh

I worked with someone who could eat like that. It was kind of scary. At night he would go to to commesary at the forestry camp and buy a 24 flat of coke. He would then play video games all night and drink coke, one after the other. In the morning he would drink a couple of 1 litre mugs full of coffee. He would then get a paper bag and stuff it full of patries for lunch in the bush. Then back at camp for supper he would have 2 or 3 heaping platefuls of food. Then procede to the commesary to get his coke for the night and repeat that for 10 or 20 day shifts, while in camp. He also was a chain smoker, never stopped. He was about 170 lbs and I worked with him a couple years until he went into reclusive mode and headed up toward the Yukon somewhere.  ::)

Probably to die of Diabetes and cancer.

It's was too bad too. You could never quite beleive anything the guy said, he tended to exagerate or put a twist on it. I think being mauled and drug by a grizzly bear had alot to do with it. Some of the guys that used to room with him in town said he'd always have nightmares about it. I never knew the guy ever slept in camp, maybe a couple hours a night.

PTSD can kick your butt! :(

DId a google Dang.

http://www.ncptsd.va.gov/facts/general/fs_what_is_ptsd.html

 :D :D I know what you mean Tom. I had an uncle Harry who we saw occasionally. I could never figure out who this uncle was as dad had only one brother. It turned out Harry was dad's cousin and the only member of that family we knew. My 54 year old sister still refers to a couple who are longtime family friends as uncle and aunt.

Having associated with this family for many years now I enjoy the stories that emanates from each about the others. While sawing for one of the later generations, we were interrupted by a phone call from the John Deere Dealer saying that the mechanic was on the way to fix the skidder that was broken down in the woods.  Since it was just me and Curt, I quit sawing and accompanied him, in his truck, to meet the mechanic.  Our destination was about 10 miles away in a round-a-bout way and culminated in a harvest area, on his Uncle's property, where he was cutting pines. On the way we passed a jeep parked in the ditch that had mud covering it from one end to the other.  "That looks like someone's been having fun", I said. "That's Mat's', Uncle Jesse's boy, said Curt.  "Those boys don't have a lot of mechanical ability and just tear things up.  That Jeeps got the clutch out of it now, I think".

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"He had his truck stop one time and couldn't figure out why, so he called Uncle Johnny to come figure it out.  Uncle Johnny looked under the hood and saw that the hot wire from the solenoid wasn't hooked to the battery so he put it back.  Then he went inside the truck and crawled up under the dash and messed around a little bit.  He asked Mat to go get him a piece of wahr (wire).  Mat got a piece about 3 feet long out of the tool box and brought it to Uncle Johnny.  Uncle Johnny took it and stuck it through the fire wall and then up under the dash where he threaded it good and proper around some other wahrs and around the steering column and tied it off on the blinker light handle and stuck the end into a little hole that was there. Then he turned the key and the truck cranked right up.   Mat said "was that what was wrong, that wahr?"   "Uncle Johnny said, 'you see it runnin' don't you'? "

"Uncle Jesse saw the wahr about a week later and asked what it was for.  Mat told him that Uncle Johnny had fixed his truck with it.   Uncle Jesse isn't too mechanically minded either but he was curious and started studying that wahr.  He was afraid to touch it so he just looked at it real hard and followed it through the hole in the firewall.   Boy!   Was he mad when he found out it didn't go anywhere. "

 :D :D :D

Wahrs is handy when ya need ta get some juice-a-tricity from one place to another.  I got this one on the Hootiemobile that sorta got smushed and burnt up.  It was the one that went to the distributor from the key switch.  Didn't run too good without it...matter of fact, it didn't run at all. ::)  It was gonna be a big pain to run a new one, so I set down and did a little cogitatin' about it.  It occurred to me that the electric fan Mr. Hootie put on the radiator came on when ya turn on the key, so I just ran a new wahr from there to the 'stribitter.  The ol' gal fired right up and ran real purty. :) :)  What surprised me was, the thing keeps on running when ya shut off the key. ???  It'll run for the better part of a minute, then just sorta gradually die out, with a bit of spittin' and sputterin'.  I learned to put up with it, but it always sorta bugged me. >:(  Then one evenin', I was settin' and cogitatin' about nuthin in p'ticular, when it suddenly came to me. 8) 8)  The fan keeps on turnin' after ya cut off tha juice, and tha motor starts bein' a generator, givin' out enough juice ta run the engine, till it slows down a bit.  I sure feel better, now that I figgered that one out! ;D 8) ;D 8) :P

Cousin Charles had an old Dodge PU that was in awful shape.  Had a 2x8 for a front bumper, no back bumper, and not a place on it you could rest your hand that wasn't rusted out or dented.  He had a log chain that looped around the steering column to the vent window post that held the driver's side door closed and a combination of throw rugs folded just so to level out the seat cushion – or what was left of it. He had rigged an odd combination of wall switches dangling under the dash to bypass the ignition switch.  He was always in some stage of fixin' her up.  It was already made up of parts from a couple of other Dodge PUs.

That musta been your Cousin Charles I bought that truck from. ::)  We called it "The new truck." :D :D

I got stranded one night, working late in a remote telephone office.  When I started to leave, about midnight, I started the truck, and went to shift into drive, the shift lever just went limp.  Something had broke inside the steering column and I couldn't go anywhere.  I found I could get it into drive by moving the lever at the bottom of the column, but it would take off without me. :o  After miseratin' and cogitatin' for a bit about my predicament, I went back in the office and got a length of 2-wire jumper.  I put one side to the battery and the other to the solenoid, and ran it from under the hood, through the right-side vent window and onto the floorboard.  Then I got under the hood and put it in drive, got in and touched the wires together to start it.  EUREKA!  It started and I drove it on home.  I put a floor shifter in it the next day, but left the starter wire like it was.  I drove it like that for several years. :D :D

That brings me up to my current truck, another Ford.  The ignition switch crapped out about 3 years ago.  I just ran a piece of phone wire through the firewall and hooked it up the same way.  This time I got fancy, though.  I have a push-button switch hanging on the end of the wire.  It starts when I want it to, so I don't see no reason to change it. ;D :D :D

 :D :D :D :D :D :D :D Necessity is the mother of invention though I think I'll stay clear of Florida roads after that one. Shouldn't be too much of a problem.

Tom's story about Mat's Uncle Johnny running that wire in Mat's truck that went nowhere reminded me of a college story.

We were dissecting cats in my Biology class and studying all their different systems.  One cat per 2 people, so I had a partner.  For the final exam we could not B.S. our way through it because it was an Oral Exam.  That meant that when it was my turn, I'd take my cat into the back room with the teacher.  She would point at something in the cat and ask, "What is that and what does it do?" Then you would have to tell her what it was and describe what it does. Well, in our class was a guy that never studied and didn't know squat.  My partner and I didn't particularly care for him either.  My partner and I had our Oral Exams before this guy did. So we decided to play a joke on him since he was going to fail the test anyway.  We cut an artery out of our cat and put it in our classmate's cat.  Using our scalpels we inserted the artery into the heart like it belonged there, then ran it down and into the liver.  It looked just like it was really supposed to go from the heart to the liver.  The classmate took his cat and disappeared into the back room.  Later, the teacher came up to us with a big smile and said, "I know you two have been up to no good when I saw that artery in his cat.  I just asked him, What is that and what does it do?"   She then said, "And he told me! Described it in detail!";D       

Quote from: DanG on November 16, 2005, 09:45:56 PM
Wahrs is handy when ya need ta get some juice-a-tricity from one place to another.  I got this one on the Hootiemobile that sorta got smushed and burnt up. 

ahhhhh :D :D :D :D :D too funny

It's difficult, sometimes, to remember the reasons that we learned to love what we do as adults.  I'm lucky, I guess.  While I can remember fishing before these instances, they were the ones that caused me to be such a fanatic.

Grandmamma, as long as I can remember, always had a domestic, a lady who helped with the cleaning and the cooking and taking care of Charles and me.  I don't remember which one this was.  It may have been Mary Lee Redmond, but I sense that it was before she was hired. 

We lived on North 11th Street, just off of Orange Avenue.  To get to the Indian River was no great difficulty at all.  Avenue B led us east and out of the traffic of town by a couple of blocks where we zigzagged past the park to US-1.

Mrs. Norris, a family friend lived in a little house on the southeast corner of the park and the Plymouth dealership was on the corner of Ave. B and the highway.  I'll have to try to remember some experiences at Mrs. Norris' house.  I remember a small board house with a porch and a front door that led to a very small, dark living room.  A door on the far wall went into the house and there was an upright piano on the left.  I sat on a sofa to the left of the front door and minded my business.  That was one of the lessons I was taught to appreciate older folks. 
.
Walking a block South to Avenue A, we would cross the Highway at the light and continue East to the River.  The destination of our journey was the Ft. Pierce Yacht Basin at the foot of Ave. A.

On the corner of Avenue A and 2nd street was a store.  I was so young that I can't remember exactly what store.  The curbing, I remember was raised to a loading dock and you had to climb a set of concrete stairs to reach the door fronts.  History is written that Cobb's store was on this corner.  My memory recalls an A&P about mid-block and restaurant of some sort on the corner. 

We would go into the Grocery store and buy one or maybe four shrimp.  That was to be my bait.  Then we walked east, through the Yacht Basin.  Its East side was a finger that stuck out into the river and the office of the Yacht Basin was about mid point.   At the end of this finger, on the south corner, were some coconut trees and the river was held back by a sea wall.  An outfall pipe ran from the corner on out into the river.

I would unwind my cane pole, put a piece of shrimp on the hook and sit patiently waiting for a fish to bite while my escort read a book and doled out sandwiches, cookies, candy and water.

Fishing on top of that pipe was a very lucrative thing to do.  I frequently went home with sailor's choice, grunts and sheephead, enough for a grown-up meal.

When I became five years old, I was given my first bicycle.  It  was a little 16" Schwinn. 
I found, after a few trips with an escort, I could reach the Yacht Basin on my own.  By the time I was seven years old, it was not uncommon for me to go fishing "alone", and I did so at least once a week.

I distinctly remember my first trip to buy my shrimp.  I didn't know how much I could afford so I got just one.  I'm sure that I got change from a nickel because I fished with live shrimp at the age of 18 and they were four cents each.

Having one shrimp was no detriment to my fun.  I usually caught a small fish that I would designate as bait when the shrimp ran out.  Small pieces worked as good as shrimp on everything but the Sheepshead.  I found too that I could wade the river's edge South of the Yacht Basin and gather pockets-full of hermit crabs in no time at all.  Carrying these back to my fishing place, I would crush the shell with anything I could find, and remove the crab.  They were fat, long-legged animals with an abdomen that exuded green stuff when I pushed the hook through.  They actually reminded me more of a spider than a crab, but the fish loved them.

Now, if you think that it is difficult to ride a bicycle carrying a cane pole, you should see a little boy trying to get home with his pole and a stringer of fish.

Because my hands were full, I seldom took anything to eat and didn't need anything to drink because there was a spigot where I fished.

I can vaguely remember saying to Grandmamma, "I want to go fishing".   I don't remember it being any big deal or her ever acting as if she were concerned for my safety.
I know she and the neighborhood adults were always watching us, even when we thought we were alone.  She never, as far as I can remember, said I couldn't go.  I figure that, because of the size of the town, there were many more folks watching than I would ever guess.  In most every house lived a "friend".  The grocery store where I got the bait and Yacht Basin itself had plenty of windows and I'm sure had adults watching through them all day. 

As children, most of us had the run of Ft. Pierce.  There was no fear of abduction, or abuse.  We rode our bikes where we wanted as long as our families new where we were going.

This was my first remembered fishing experience and led me to a lifetime of enjoying the sport.  It's a good thing too. When I was first married and was rearing our three boys, I was able to keep food on the table from the sea.

The old South Bridge was my stomping grounds with excursions to the South Jetties and sometimes to Walton Rock.  I fed four families and kept the freezers full of snapper, snook, whiting, Spanish mackeral and Jack Crevalle. 

I had a friend who loved Jack Crevalle.  His name was "45".  He took care of Granddaddy's yard.  I loved "45" like and Uncle.  His real name was Jeff Hunter and he hailed from Bonifay. He had a flowery life. 

Jeff's family was very poor and he was taken from school and sent to work at the age of twelve.  As he approached sixteen he had gotten a job with the railroad.  They rode the Gandy cart and set rail.   

The crew was out one day and a carload of girls came riding by in a car.  They were yelling at the workers and the workers were yelling back.  Invitations were made to come visit and Jeff took them seriously.  When Saturday night came, he got all bathed up and put smell'em on and went lickety split to the house where the girls lived.   When he knocked on the door, he said a man came running down the hall of the shotgun house and he had a big ol' 45 pistol in his hand and was waving it over his head as he was yelling "you the boy that's messin' with my wife and daughters?  I knew I'd find you one day...." 

Jeff turned, jumped off of the porch and "I run as hard as my feets would go.  There was a grocery store on the corner with the door right in the corner and I ran head long into a woman carrying two bags of groceries about the time that I heard that 45 go off.  There was groceries everywhere.  We danced a second and I turned the corner as it went off again.  Mr. Tommy (?) I just thought I was a goin' fast.  My feets near about outrun me.  Yessuh!  I went straight back to the barracks and never did go out on the town there no more.  I'd go to work and go to the barracks.  Tha's all I'd do.  Well, folks began calling me 45 after that and it just stuck.  It followed me all the way to Ft. Pierce and folks still call me that.  There's folks that know'd me for years that don't know my real name."

 :D :D :D :D :D :D That is a great story. Good thing that man was not a better shot.

Years ago when I was into gunsmithing and shooting, Mary and I took a trip to Arkansas to attend our fist shooting match. It was an exciting experience for us.  The match was Practical Pistol Competition.   That is,  where the competitors have to draw on a signal and fire on tombstone shaped targets at varying ranges and conditions thus simulating a combat type situation.

There were a lot of local shooters as well as some from around the mid-west.  But then Ray Chapman showed up.  Ray has been a legend in this type of completion.  A ripple went through the crowd as each poked the other and said in a low voice "Ray Chapman" and past the word on to the next guy.  There was always a small crowd around him at this two day event.

One thing that sticks in my memory was the one event were the targets were some 50 to 100 yards away.  This is a long way for a combat style handgun.  At that time most were target model 1911 Colt automatics in 45 ACP.  Most did poorly at this event.  But then Ray Chapman stepped up to the starting box and stood with his hands above his shoulders as required and waited for the starting buzzer. All attention was on him. When the buzzer sounded,  he flopped down on the ground and rested his left elbow on the ground thus making a steady platform from to shoot.  I don't think he missed a target. A collective "Whaaa!" came over the crowd. :o

The next day was quite interesting in that there were a number of guys walking around rubbing their left elbow – some from aches and pain and others from carpet burn.  I overheard many of them telling that they went back to their motel room and practiced flopping down on the ground – or in their case, on the carpet in their rooms.  One guy told that the motel manager came and told them to knock it off as it was disturbing the guests in the room below.  Every one used the "Ray Chapman Flop" on this event on that day.  It may have helped some.  ::)

Another little side funny was at another event where the competitors had to shoot two shots into a series of targets.  They could shoot from right to left and then back or left to right and back but because of the way the official did the timing, the competitor had to tell the official the direction he was going to engage the targets.  Mary and I must have watch 50 shooter at this stage of the event and not one of them said "right to left" or "left to right".  Every one said "I'm going BANG, BANG, BANG – BANG, BANG, BANG!" pointing with their hands thrashed out as if gripping their handgun and shooting the target.  :D

Bib, I gotta ask ya, why was you "into shooting Mary"?  Seems like you can get low on wives doing that.

Quote from: Jeff B on April 22, 2006, 11:07:32 PM
Bib, I gotta ask ya, why was you "into shooting Mary"?  Seems like you can get low on wives doing that.

How about if I add a comma?

QuoteYears ago when I was into gunsmithing and shooting, Mary and I took a trip to Arkansas to attend our fist shooting match.

Looks better? ;D

Too late, We saw it. Thats cheatin puttin it back. I think you should be required to leave it out. :D

 :D :D :D :D :D Jeff, trust you to pick up on that. I'm busting a gut.

I read the bloomin sentence 3 times before I finally realized Mary was safe. :D

I saw it!!  I"m going to tell!!  :D :D

In 1961, when I was at Fort Benning, we were given a shooting performance before we took part in a platoon defensive fire drill on a 6,000 yard range.

One of the shows was a whiz-bang Sgt with hash marks that ran from his chin to his knees.  He was shooting an M1911 automatic service pistol and was good with a capital "G".   I've never seen anyone be so accurate.  He shot stationary targets, thrown plates, watermelons at varying distances, shot fast fire, slow fire, and stuff that I just thought couldn't be done with a pistol.  One his last acts was  two plates set up on either side of an Axe.  He was to shoot the axe, split the bullet and break both plates.  There were a couple of these setups down range about 50 feet.  We all quietly watched from the stands.  You would have thought we were at a Golf tournament.

The rascal shot the first setup and the two plates shattered.  He shot the second and the two plates shattered.  He was challenged by the man on the loudspeaker to do it again. ............and he did!!

We were in awe!

I have thought about this, on and off, until this very day and I have just come to the conclusion that a 45 ACP is pretty much the equivalent of a 410 shotgun shell, just shorter.   I'll bet what he did was.......

Tom, I have a cousin that builds muzzle loaders and did the split ball on the axe shot on Michigan Outdoors television show back in the early 80's.  That was when his shop class (he was industrial arts teacher in clio Michigan) could actually draw barrels and build thier own guns in shop class. They also made laminated recurve bows.  Shame those days are long gone. :-\

yeah, they won't even let them nail together a dog house now.

when I was going through machinists course at the local community college, a friend of mine happened across the bluepreints to a mini-mac.

Once all of the projects in the book were completed, the instructor let us work on projects of our own. My friend and I worked on this project for a couple of weeks before we were "discovered" and told to find another project to build. We both finished at the top of the class though ;D

Quote from: Tom on April 22, 2006, 11:31:31 PM
I have thought about this, on and off, until this very day and I have just come to the conclusion that a 45 ACP is pretty much the equivalent of a 410 shotgun shell, just shorter.   I'll bet what he did was.......

Tom,  I doubt it was any kind of shot shell. While they make shot shells for some kinds of pistols,  it's very hard to do for automatics as the shape of the cartridge the weight of the slug has to be just right to cycle through them.  The 1911 Colt requires a certain amount of recoil to slam the slide back and bring the next cartridge up into the snout.

Another funny thing to watch at this match was....  Before they could qualify they had to do a 'roll over' holster test.  That is,  they had to have their unloaded pistol in their holster and then roll over head first to see if their pistol would fall out of the holster.  A lot of the guys were in no shape for this action and needed help.  You could tell it'd been a long time since they'd did this maneuver.

Before moving to New Richmond, Wisconsin I lived in the little town of Dover, Minnesota. Dover has a population of a little over 300 I reckon.  Anyway, last Saturday Donna and I traveled to Rochester, Minnesota to attend a wedding.  At the wedding dinner there was a couple sitting at a big table by themselves.  They looked to be in their latter 60's. So they wouldn't be alone, Donna and I sat with them.  After introductions, I asked where they lived.  "Dover." They said.  "Really! I used to live in Dover." I said to them.  "I used to live on the corner of Maple and Pearl." I said.  They looked at me and said, "Oh, we don't know the names of the streets."  So I described where I used to live but they had a blank look like a cow staring at an open gate. So I figured they must've just moved there.  "When did you move to Dover?" I asked.  They replied, "1988." :D   I'm thinking....."They don't get out much."  I got them to describe where they live and it was a block and a half from my house. ;D

How could they live in a town of 300 for almost twenty years and not know the street names ??? I have to wonder how they got to Rochester and if they found their house again.

I wondered the same thing. As we talked, we discovered that they had no curiousity and did not have a clue as to what was going on in the town.  The husband did know his way to Rochester and back because he worked at the milk plant in Rochester.  Now I could understand if one of them didn't know anything but both of them? I reckon it takes every kind to make the world go around.  I wonder if they ever voted......or even knew who was running for what. :o

My sister is somewhat like that. She will not read a paper or watch the news because she gets distressed and can't sleep. She does not know who is running for what and really does not care, she lives in the town we grew up in and that is her world. Kinda difficult to have much of a conversation with her. ::)

I had an uncle that couldnt read. He could go anywhere you wanted to go, but didnt know the names of streets because he couldnt read them. He was a mechanical genius though. If he had only had an education...

perhaps these folks couldnt read?

That is very possible. Illiteracy is not uncommon, especially for folks that had to drop out of school during the Great Depression.

Quote from: CHARLIE on April 23, 2006, 11:17:59 PM
Before moving to New Richmond, Wisconsin I lived in the little town of Dover, Minnesota. Dover has a population of a little over 300 I reckon.  Anyway, last Saturday Donna and I traveled to Rochester, Minnesota to attend a wedding.  At the wedding dinner there was a couple sitting at a big table by themselves.  They looked to be in their latter 60's. So they wouldn't be alone, Donna and I sat with them.  After introductions, I asked where they lived.  "Dover." They said.  "Really! I used to live in Dover." I said to them.  "I used to live on the corner of Maple and Pearl." I said.  They looked at me and said, "Oh, we don't know the names of the streets."  So I described where I used to live but they had a blank look like a cow staring at an open gate. So I figured they must've just moved there.  "When did you move to Dover?" I asked.  They replied, "1988." :D   I'm thinking....."They don't get out much."  I got them to describe where they live and it was a block and a half from my house. ;D

I suspect they recognized you and didn't want to have a conversation with you.  :D

Shame on you,  Bibb :D :D :D

I got to thinking of what some of the newcomers in our area think about me.  All the local people hve had names for all the local roads,  usually originating from landmarks.  There's the Eaton cemetery road,  the river road,  Arlo's road etc.  About 20 years ago the county gave numbers to all the roads,  but nobody paid any attention to them (except for the newcomers), cause we already had names for them and who can remember numbers anyway.  Now about everyone is newcomers and they don't understand why I don't know the roads,  having lived forever :D :D

Well now I gotta pipe in here about roads.  ;D In 1998 we all got our new civic numbers. Before that it was rural route numbers. We never new where we lived.  ::)  ;D Now just about every old farm road has a sign posted with a new stop sign. Surprisingly, they did get the names right, except one that my uncle had to get renamed the Crawford road. ;D But, for years before 1998 we had to tell everyone we was from Centreville because there where no road signs to give directions from. That took in about 100 square miles. :D :D Now we even have our 'Royalton Road' sign, but google and yahoo don't seem to be up to date, they some how smoosh it together with Knoxford, but we are one more tier west, nearest the USA border. Oh well, some day the world will figure it out.  :D I just stumbled into the municipal web site for Centreville and they have the Knoxford road labled as Royalton on their map. Some local people still haven't figured it out. :D :) Up until someone burnt the upper Royalton school house last summer, we still had both 1 room school houses in the community. The lower school was used as a Women's Institute for years until insurances and heating became too costly. Still has the indoor hand pump for water. :)

Not exactly the same, but it is numbers.  Our first phone, party line, you only had to dial four numbers.  Had a prefix but didn't need to use it.  Before I retired from the suburbs it had reached the point where we had to dial 10 numbers, even for someone next door.  Now I'm back to seven but if you give someone local your number you just tell them the last four digits since we all have the same prefix.

I guess it confuses people because I say I live in Callahan, but my Address is in Hilliard. I have a Callahan Phone Number and my neighbor has a Hilliard Phone number. I also have a Callahan Address at the Post Office.

Needless to say that I live between 2 towns, neither of them very big and hardly anybody knows where either of them are anyway. When I was young, we also had a 4 party line, and had a special ring on our phone when it was for us. This road used to be the main north/south highway (dirt road) that led from georgia to Jacksonville. It is now a state road and paved and has a state number, but the county needed a road name when they went to the new 911 phone system, so they named it "Old Dixie Highway."  I live so far out of either town that I have a 6 digit mailbox number.

I live on the north end of the county and I have a seven didgit address.
The state will not send some of my vehicle registration forms because they say that my address might be wrong.  But they send some of them ,just not all of them.

Back in the early 80's I lived on a ranch at the edge of the Texas Hill country.  You had to drive 12 miles down a dirt road, crossing the river 5 times to reach it.  The phone company was a small, locally owned firm that had a few thousand lines.  Their equipment was purchased in 1960 when Southwestern Bell OBSOLETED IT from their system.

The phone wires were two, bare steel wires that ran down the fence posts.  It was a 9 party line with individual ring tones.  You only had to dial 4 numbers to anybody on the system.

There was not a box number, the address was simply "Eagle Nest Ranch, Hackberry Route, Barksdale, Texas".  Everybody knew where you lived.

What was really cool was that if it even looked like it was going to rain, the phone went out.  Most of the time, the hum on the line was so bad that it sounded like you were calling someone from a third world country.  Two or three times a year we'd get a flood and all of the river crossings would wash out, so we'd be stranded for a few days until the county got around to rebuilding the water crossings.

It was a very special place.

It does get entertaining. Here, all private property must have the official house number visible from the road to aid emergency response crews (and probably the tax assessor ::)) This meant all the road names had to be standardized. My folks told me when that got changed the post office refused to deliver mail marked for the old address after a grace period, even though the postmaster was a close family friend and knew where they lived. He said regulations wouldn't allow it.

I  had a young fellow call me this afternoon who is planning on sawing this weekend.  He wanted to confirm that he was going to be ready.   He works for a neighboring county's  electric company and has been cutting trees all of his life.  He's  not thirty-five yet, I'm sure.

He is a likeable blonde-headed fellow, about 5'10, and exhuberance flows out of him like a geyser.  So do the words, and when he starts, you just have to sit back and wait for an opening.

Mr. Tom?.....     I wuz pounding grounding rod today....  ?  (every sentence seems to have a question inflection)  ...and had to get in the bucket to clear some limbs...?  and just had got up to the wires...? and there was  this bear in the tree right next to me.   I come out of that bucket and down that boom like a streak of lightning and did a "Duke boys", hard as I could go, right into the cab of that truck.   That bear was trying to get out'a that tree and breaking branches and sliding down the trunk 'n I just knowed she was after me.  She must've been scared too, 'cause she left her cub up there.   She run slap over a big old bull dog and went 'cross the street and through a fence there and into the woods.  I don't know where she went.  Scared me  to death.  I left.

I guess she come back after the cub.  I don't know.  I wasn't there anymore.

Charlie
we been here 18yrs now and t'ing off from my street are three other's, and i still cant tell which order the streets go in

Linda thinks it most amusing  ::)



iain

On the news the other night some bears at the bird feeders were treed in the back yard in the town of Caribou, Me. It was a female with 3 cubs. They just let them be I guess and the left after awhile. The Maine wardens have been warning folks to remove the bird feeders during the warm seasons. Maybe the owner wanted to attract bears, who knows. ;D

In the last couple of weeks I have seen two bear stories from New Jersey.  The first one was a bear treed in a back yard by a cat.  Seems the cat is pretty picky about who gets to use his yard and bluffed the bear.  The second was a bear filmed in a back yard laying on a hammock.  He shifted a little, and the hammock flipped over and dumped him out.  :D He just got up and climbed back in.
I guess I need to revise my view of New Jersey.  :P I didn't realize New Jersey had enough wild country to support bears, though I have heard of the Jersey pine barrens.  I just figured they were about the size of our Pike State Forest.    ;)   Sounds like the bears are a little eccentric, though.

One never knows when an old bar is gonna snuggle up next to the dome tent in the bush. ;D Bad enough to get rabbits making the leap and bouncing off the tent sides. :D :D

This one is a little long, but I think you will enjoy it.

Several years ago, two of my brothers, (Steve and Gary) and a friend of ours from Louisiana (Jerry) all decided to go duck hunting in North MS. It had been unseasonably cold this particular year. A couple of days before our planned trip, the northern part of the state experienced an ice storm. After much discussion, we all decided it would be clear enough for us to continue with our plans. We got up at 2 am on the morning of the trip and headed out. Gary and Jerry rode in his truck (Ford F150 2 wheel drive) with his 12 foot Jon boat in tow on a trailer. Steve and I were in my Chevy S10 (2 wheel drive with a V8 under the hood) and my 14 foot Jon boat in the back. It took 3 hours to get to the area we wanted to launch our boats. On the way in, we had to drive down a ramp off the MS River levee. The levee was about 50 feet high and the ramp down was at about a 35-degree angle. We had no trouble getting to the boat ramp (a gravel area on the edge of an oxbow lake). The trees were drooping from the ice hanging on their branches and there was a heavy frost on the ground that resembled a light sprinkling of snow. We got the boats launched; our gear loaded, and noticed we were the only people at the launch. We figured it should be a good day of hunting since we had the place to ourselves.

As we got closer to the river channel, we split up. Steve and I set up and anchored just off the bank of an island between the river channel and the lake. Gary and Jerry puttered of in the darkness. We could hear the Go-Devil for a few minutes get further and further away. We settled in for the morning hunt. Steve and I had a pretty good morning, as we both were only one duck away from our limit. We heard our partners doing some shooting off in the distance. The ducks were starting to taper off so Steve and I started cat napping in the morning sun. All was well in the world at this point. We were both awakened by the sound of Jerry's Go-Devil (a motor designed for the Louisiana swamps) in the distance. We finally made his boat out through the mist rising from the water. They were puttering across the lake at a snails pace. As they got closer we could see both of them bailing water. Jerry had a half pound coffee can. He was filling and emptying about every 30 seconds, just as calm as he could be. Gary, on the other hand, had a coffee cup and was frantically scooping water as fast as he could. I did mention that Jerry was from Deep-South Louisiana didn't I? Well he pulls up beside our boat, comes to a stop and asked if either of use had a stick of chewing gum. Gary was still bailing water like there was no tomorrow; Jerry had quit. There was about 5 inches of water in the bottom of their boat. I gave Jerry a stick of gum; he proceeded to unwrap it and began to chew it. The whole time he is asking about how our hunt went that morning and telling us about the ducks they saw and harvested. Jerry lacked two ducks making his limit and Gary was still 4 away. (Our limit was 5 ducks that year). As the casual conversation continued, Jerry announced he needed to beach his boat to repair the hole he knocked in it that morning. He ran up on a stump under the water about 20 minutes after leaving us; that was over 3 hours ago. They had been bailing water and hunting the whole time. I felt sorry for Gary; he looked like his arms were about to fall off. Jerry beached the boat, pulled the drain plug and proceeded to cram that piece of gum in the hole from the outside of the boat. He said that should hold them for the rest of the day. But, this is not the end of the story...

Steve and I decided to start trolling and working our way back to the landing. We were about two miles away and figured we could finish off our limit on the way back. Jerry and Gary decided to move up the lake a little ways and set up so Gary could get closer to his limit. A couple of hours later, Steve and I had made our way back to the boat ramp, with our limit. We had my boat and all our gear loaded in the truck and we were having an early morning snack while waiting for the others. We heard a truck coming and looked around to see the local game warden. He did the usual, checked our license, stamps, and bag limit. After the formalities were over he made small talk. He looked at my truck and Jerry's truck and asked how we planned to get out when we left. I told him the same way we got in; the only road out was back up the levee. He shook his head and said good luck. After further discussion he told us the road was a mess with the melting ice and the deer hunters from the near by club running up and down it. He mentioned that we might need four-wheel drive. We kind of blew it off and told him we would get out just fine. He left a few minutes later. About 30 minutes later Jerry and Gary pulled up. (I'll bet you were thinking their boat had sunk...weren't you?) We got their boat loaded and everything stowed for the trip out. (Gary was the only one not to make his limit. He was two short, must have been the extra strain on his arms). We proceeded toward the levee with me in the lead.

I stopped short when we got close to the levee and noticed the road. It looked like the road was covered with a pudding like substance and ruts that weren't there when we came in that morning. This situation called for a pow-wow before we proceeded. The closest hardball road was over three miles away, the closest town was 20 miles away, and the game warden office was a couple miles away. You would have to be lucky to catch him there though. None of us had cell phones at the time. We decided to try it one at a time. Steve decided to stay at the bottom of the hill while I tried my luck. I started easing up the hill. About half way up my tires started spinning, the truck started sliding backwards, and slipped off into the ruts. I threw the truck into reverse and got back down to the bottom. We had another meeting of the minds. I kept saying I could make it and they all said I would end up stuck. Either way, we were going to have to do some walking. It was about 2 in the afternoon by this time and I was in no mood to walk. I decided to stay to the outside edge (the one with the drastic angle down the levee, about 45 to 50 degrees) on my next pass. Remember I said my S10 had a V8 in it? I got set and figured it was now or never. I backed up to get a good running start this time. As I was looking at the hill, I revved the motor a couple of times like I was sitting on the start line at the drag strip, thinking about what I had to do to get up the hill. I was thinking to myself, don't let her stop moving forward, don't let her get too far to the left, and don't let her slide back in those ruts. What I didn't think about was what to do if I made it up to the top...more about that later. I took my foot off the brake and put it in the gas. My motor sounded like a jet engine with the dual exhaust screaming. She was doing just what I wanted, pulling real well. I felt her slow and slip a little and gave her more gas to keep the forward momentum going. I could see the top getting closer. In the rearview, all I could see was mud flying. Later, my brothers told me it looked like the rooster tail from a jet ski coming from the back of the truck. As I got closer to the top, I remembered what I had forgot... The gravel road at the top was only one lane wide and I was approaching it at a 45-degree angle. I would have to cut my wheels sharp to the left to keep from going down the other side. The best of my recollection, the speedometer was reading around 45 MPH. I know the truck wasn't traveling that fast, but it felt like it jumped completely off the ground when I topped the levee. I cut the wheels, hit the brake and prayed! When the mud settled, the front of the truck was facing the way I had just come from, but I was on the levee road and the boat and all our gear was still just as we packed it. I got out yelling in triumph. I got the truck turned around and out of the way, then walked back down to the bottom to give Jerry some pointers.

After a short briefing, Jerry took his turn. He tried twice, but could not make it up the hill with his boat and trailer in tow. Steve and I decided to swallow our pride and go find the game warden. He had a winch on the front of his truck and figured he might help us out. We turned the corner to the headquarters and there he was. That's the first time we ever caught him at the station. We explained the situation to him and he proceeded to rib us to no end. We took it for a few minutes and my brother mentioned that he had only been half right...one of us made it out. He agreed to come take a look. When we got back, Jerry's truck was sitting at the top of the levee on the road, the boat was sitting beside it, and the trailer was still at the bottom. Now Jerry was not a youngster back then, he was about 58 or 59 and just a huffing and puffing. Sweat was rolling off him. The air temp was around 40 F. The game warden couldn't believe it, so we got to rib him a little. He drove down and hooked the trailer up and pulled it up for us. (He had 4-wheel drive).

We got everything put back together and finally pulled out at about 3:30 pm. About two miles down the road we had to stop to turn in our check in cards. I stepped out to Jerry's truck and grabbed their cards. They pulled ahead of us and we continued our trip, finally heading home thankful that we didn't have to do any walking. We arrived at the hardball road. While waiting for traffic, Steve noticed something that just did not look right about Jerry's boat trailer. Before we could get his attention, he had already pulled out on the road and took off. We jumped out behind him and caught up. He must have been in a hurry because he was not following the posted limit at all. I was flashing my lights at him, blowing my horn, and had just pulled out to the left to pull up next to him (on a two lane road mind you). About that time the tread came off his right trailer tire. Surprisingly, it was still holding air. The folks from the South know how narrow the shoulders of our secondary roads are. We drove 15 miles before we could pull over, at 15 MPH! What happened next takes a little imagination to picture...

We proceeded to load Jerry's Jon boat; less motor into the back of his truck, we then proceeded to load the trailer on top of the boat in the back of his truck. We put the motor in my boat. Talk about a redneck/coon--- rig, we had a dussie. I did mention Jerry was from Louisiana, right? It was after 4 pm by now and we still had a good three-hour drive. I'm glad Jerry still had a Louisiana tag on his truck, because I was a little embarrassed following him in. I saw some of the expressions on other driver's faces as they passed him. It was not pretty.

We finally arrived at Jerry's house about 7 that evening. His wife came out, took one look at our rig, shook her head, said she didn't want to know, and went back inside. We finally got everything unloaded and the rest of us went home. It was a long day. Jerry never has left home without a spare for his trailer, two packs of chewing gum, and a set of tire chains since that day.

Remind me later to tell you of another duck trip on New Years Day.........

Stew

Can someone top that one?????  ;D

Them southern boys sure know how to have fun on a hunting trip :D :D :D :D :D

I used to work allot of rodeos and hauled timed event cattle and bulls to different shows all over .
One certain weekend out of the year i was double booked.  As i always stayed with my stock. But i had a little britches rodeo and a Bull riding on same day . I  took timed event cattle to  the kids and bulls to adults and stayed with the bulls.  The deal with the kid rodeo was i haul it yall bring it back for a half price deal. I  gets a phone call  hey Dale you got trouble we lost a calf. My words were lost  how? dead no  not that easy Little feller shook  a jag out on his own. Last they saw he was heading south bound through a bean field. Ok  keep looking for em  take a horse and rope em  cause ya cant callem back in only his mama can do that.
I finished the bull riding  by the time i got home it was morning. and no word on the calf  so I grabbed young boy to drive cause my eyes was fuzzy from lack of sleep. Calf hunting we go. Do ya know how hard it is to catch what ya cant see less its a cold.
We drove  for hours looking all over   no calf. Only to get a phone call from kid rodeo  we have the calf caught and have it in our barn .  2 hours from where I'm looking.
so i goes back get the poor little fellows mother.( he was only supposed to be gone for a few short hours) she isn't in the best of moods been search en for he stolen youngster. loaded up and off we go.  hour into the trip i look back the window and see trailer door flapping in the wind. Somebody me or the kid driver didn't latch it tight. Cow is facing open door looking to make the great escape.
think fast what do ya do.................
So my clouded brain comes up with this here half cocked plan.
K here is the plan start to slow down then jamm on the brakes that should throw her off balance. When you cram the brakes I'm getting out. as soon as i do roll on by  so the trailer door  is where i get out at. got that Yup.
k ready yup do it. I sits with hand on the latch  hes slowing down. i said ok cramm on  brakes and i jumped. A might bit too soon we must have still been going 30 ish when i left the comfort of the truck. I  stuck  the jump 2 footed perfect landing cept for momentum rolled  me about 3 summer saults in the side ditch muck. Smashed a good hat. and the little turd doing the driving  well he didn't finish the job he keep rolling. past me before he could stop. ( laughing way too hard) So i scramble  and get to the trailer and shut the door. as the cow looks at me like i just  grew another head, like what are you doing.   Boy wonder  comes running back  with tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. ca bearly eek out are ya ok. few miles down the road we  get to the barn  get stuck in the corner of the drive /yard wasn't made for a  32 foot trailer.
Then I have to splain why  I look like i just climbed out of the hog pen.  Cow -calf reunited  and all was well.

Stew and Jerry wore me out reading that post.  :D :D :D

I might just as well give My Pig Story a go here.Waiting for my ride to pick me up at the bottom of the hill where I use to live.Sitting on my cooler watching cars go by at 35 MPH.I see big trucks,small trucks,nice looking cars and along cames a small truck.I watch it come and I think to myself he has a pig box in the back,must have a pig in there.I watched him go by and the pig had its head and front quarters out of the pig box.His front feet were hanging on the tailgate.I think,well one good jump and he could be out of there.Well about than he did just that.Out of the pigbox he came and landed on his back at 35 MPH and skidded down the road for maybe 30 feet on his back and went into the dirt and landed on his feet.All that I can see is a little bleed around his snoot.Shaking the cobwebs out of his head,into the road he goes.Here comes a car,he almost hits him another one behind him does the same thing.I'm thinking he survices the fall but is about to get run over.He comes another car,this one lays on the horn and startled him and he staggers onto a lawn.Than I loose sight of him as he goes into someone front yard.About than my rides shows up.I rattle the story off to him with alot of"Yea,right" and a few "Come on's"I get hot under the collar because he thinks I'm lieing to him.I tell him to turn around and I'll show you the pig.Back we go.We pull into the long driveway and he says I don't see any pig.I tell him to pull all the way up to the house.We do and there's the pig.Well I came up with this great idea that I should tell these people so they can call the police so maybe the guy will call and find it.Out of the truck I go and knock on the door,this old women answer with along,"Yessssss"There I am standing there thinking how am I going to tell her there is a pig on her front lawn.Only one way to say it,"There's a pig on your front lawn". "A what" she says,"A pig and he right there". Perfect timing he walked right by her front door just a oinking.She half turns and hollers,"Harold come see the pig on our front lawn".He shows up with glasses on top of his head and says,"What is going on".About than the pig turns and head back by the door again.Harold pulls down his glasses and hollers'"There's a pig on our front lawn"By that time I'm laughing and he repeats himself again like he never saw one.I tell them to call the police I have to go to work.

There is one dietary commodity that I manage in the house.  It usually comes in glass bottles packaged 12 to a cardboard carton.   

The other evening I had opened the end of the carton and was placing the bottles on the top shelf in the fridge when I felt a little sting or bite on my thumb.  I pulled my hand out and kind of looked down in the box but not seeing anything I just figured I bumped against a sharp edge of a cap or something.  So I stuck my hand back in again – and got bit again!  This time the sting was a little stringer and when I pulled my hand back out,  there was blood coming out of a cut on my thumb.   ::)

Well,  I wasn't dumb enough to stick my hand blindly back in a third time.  So I turned the carton up to the light and pulled out the dividers to take a better look.  I found that half of the neck section of one of the bottles had split out.  I thought it rather odd that it had not been detected somewhere at the factory, in transit or in the store.  Half of the contents of the bottle along with the broken section of glass were still in the bottle.  The box didn't show any signs of being wet.

Anyway,  the above story is not so funny.  But it reminded me of a story Dad often told about the farmer on the hill across the valley from us.

The farmer was splitting some firewood and accidentally cut one of his fingers off with an axe.  Another neighbor came over sometime after that and the farmer was explaining the loss of his finger and picked up the axe to demonstrate just how the accident occurred.  The demonstration was a little to close to the actual event as he managed to cut another finger off.   :(

The farmers comment was. "DanG!,  I cut another one off!".  :'(

splitwood_smiley

Now wouldn't that just make your day.  :)

DanG lucky more neighbours didn't happen along  smiley_dizzy

  :D :D :D :D
Paul .. you owe me a keyboard cleaning .

Along the same line, an elderly friend of ours told this on himself.  He had a tractor that wasn't charging, and he was trying to fix it.  Tractor was running, and he wondered if the belt was loose.  He reached out and tapped the belt, and it grabbed his finger and yanked it around the pulley, cutting the finger off about the fingernail.  After stitches and a few weeks of healing, he resumed troubleshooting the tractor.  The tractor was again running, and he realized  he still didn't know if the belt was loose.  Reached out with the same finger, belt caught finger-again- and cut it off at the nuckle. :o  He labled himself a slow learner.  :D

Tokyo Humor
   I will tell a story on myself, so no one else has to.  One of the humorous  experiences international travelers have is "toilet adventures".  Talk to anyone  who has traveled internationally and if they are honest they will have some sort  of humorous tale to tell related to the toilet facilities in other countries.
   One thing Japan is famous for is having some of the most sophisticated  toilets in the world.  I have often encountered toilets in Tokyo that have a control  panel reminiscent of an armrest in the Space Shuttle.  The control panel has a  million buttons labeled with Chinese characters.  During such encounters, I avoid  touching anything except the flush handle.
   Well a couple of years ago, I was on an errand to an unfamiliar building  in Tokyo when I heard the call of mother nature.  I decided to use the  handicapped toilet stall for no particular reason.  Just as I was finishing my  paperwork, I began to notice all of the buttons to my right.  I could not figure out  what all of them were for, so I was a bit hesitant.  At first, I could not find a  handle or button anywhere to flush the toilet.  I was afraid to push any of the  buttons on the control panel.  I saw a large green button on the wall, so I pushed  that.  That did not flush the toilet.  Finally, after standing up and looking behind  the toilet, I found a button on the wall that flushed the toilet.
   Having succeeded at flushing the toilet, my curiosity overcame me and I  sat back down intent to try out these various buttons on the control panel.  Do  you know how to spell  B-I-D-E-T?   Webster defines bidet as follows:  "A  fixture similar in design to a toilet that is straddled for bathing the genitals and  the posterior parts".
   I pushed one button and found out very quickly that it turned on an  interesting water spray nozzle.  Just as I was becoming accustomed to the water  spray, I discovered there were various buttons for adjusting the water pressure.  I  found out that the maximum water pressure was a bit too forceful for my liking.   Then I had to figure out what button to push to shut off the water.  I found that  button with no problem.  I even discovered the button to turn on the blow dryer.   Just as I was becoming rather confident about this toilet experience, there was a  knock on my toilet stall door.  I said, "Just a moment please", in my best  Japanese.  As I left my toilet stall, there was a security guard waiting for me.
   I went looking for a Japanese acquaintance who could translate for me for  you see my Japanese is very limited to nonexistent.  With a bit of translation, I  soon found out that the large green button on the wall that I had pushed earlier  was a PANIC button intended for handicapped persons to be able to summon  assistance!!
   The moral of the story is whenever in a foreign country don't get so  distracted with bidet enjoyments that you push the PANIC button.

I'm still having trouble finding anything "funny" about this, and the outcome could have been serious, but I can't find an IDIOT topic to post this in.  Yesterday my elderly neighbors were having plumbing problems.  My brother figured out it was a vent pipe in the attic that was collecting water, and needed to be changed so it would drain.  And so it became my job to crawl back in the attic , 4 1/2 foot headroom at the tallest, back in the corner and correct the problem.  I realized the first trip in I was going to have to be real careful getting my feet on the ceiling joists, or I would run my foot through the ceiling.  As usual, it took a number of trips in to get the job done.  Last trip in, I bumped my shoulder on a rafter, and it turned me enough my foot slipped on the joist, and, well, you know  >:(  Stuck my foot through these wonderful old folks kitchen ceiling, and put a pretty goood bruise on my leg.  I continued on, and got back in the corner on my belly, reaching back as far as I could to fit and glue the vent.  Knowing the risks of glueing in confined spaces, I got through the operation as fast as possible, and started back out with my tools.  When I got back about to where I fell though, suddenly my balance started to go, and my feet wouldn't go where I wanted them. I fell against a brace in the attic, taking it out.  I managed to fall across the joists, at least, but it was an iffy deal.  Had I fallen through this time, it would have been on the heads of my neighbors and my dad, who were cleaning up my first mess.  By now my hands and legs were shaky, and my heart was racing.  I yanked my paper mask off, and yelled for help getting down the ladder.  I got out with help, and after getting some air, started to get  better. I suspect glueing in the confined space, I might have gotten some glue directy on my paper mask.  None of that is very funny, but after I had recovered some, the kindly neighbor asked us who she should get to fix the hole. I said, "Helen, I made that hole, I will fix it."  She said, "Oh no, you've done enough already!" :D :D :D  Of course, she meant she couldn't impose on me any more, but with that hole in the ceiling....... ;)

Faron, I'm quite sure she meant that in a totally sympathetic spirit. ::) :D :D ;D

Jim, not all foreign relief facilities are hi-tech.  Back in the last century, I won a drawing and the prize was an extended vacation in Southeast Asia, courtesy of the US Army.  Now, the place where I was usually quartered was blessed with good ol' American facilities, but not all the places I went were so lucky.  Occasionally, I had to tend to my business in a portable latrine, which was much like an old fashioned outhouse.  These structures consisted of a building about 6 feet by 16 feet or so, built on a wood platform.  It had a tin roof and "wainscoting" that extended up 3 feet or so from the floor for "privacy." ::)  The rest was just screen wire.  Along the back wall was a "bench" running the length of the structure, with several toilet seats mounted over holes in the bench.  Below and behind the bench was a series of trap doors.  The floor beneath the bench was lined with newspaper, and any soiled papers were removed, via the trap doors, and burned by an "Indigenous Personell."  As you can imagine, this wasn't a pleasant place to be anywhere near. ::)  I remember once, I was forced by circumstances to visit one of these facilities.  I felt fortunate that nobody was around except me and the "Indigenous Personell".  Just as I sat down and got on with the business at hand, I felt a shift in the breeze below my bare hindquarters. :o  I ventured a quick look down there, and saw that the "Indigenous Personell" was holding a shovel under my backside to avoid spoiling his newspaper! ::) :D :D

There is nothing worse than an ex-warrant officer bragging about the fancy facilities they had while on vacation. :( The personnel that took care of our facilities were not indigenous to the region, but good ol American GIs. In the facilities at the rear area ( no pun intended  ::)) , the area below the seats was a 1/2 barrel partly filled with J P 4. These cans were removed every morning by non- indigenous personnel and burned. On more than one occasion,  without thinking,  someone would throw a lit cigarette butt down in the barrel. Sometimes the cigarette would go out and sometimes the whole facilities had to be replaced.
(https://forestryforum.com/gallery/albums/userpics/10432/latrine_fire.jpg)
Bob

 Boy does THAT look familiar.  ::) ::) ::)  Now, I can STILL smell that burning.  :o :o

  OUR Facilities were not THAT far from the mess hall. (Approprietly named) by the way.

Now this thread's gone right into the ......  :D :-\

Go on Bib, the what? :D :D :D

Shovel?

;D

 :D :D  We're gonna hafta separate Pigman and DanG. 

I hadn't thought of this in several years, but for some reason, it just came into my head today. ::)

When we first moved here, our next-door neighbors were an old, country couple.  I mean really old, and really country!  They mostly kept to themselves, tending their livestock and garden, and somehow knowing everything that was going on in the neighborhood.  Well, I bought myself a few rabbits for the meat, a buck and 3 does, and they immediately knew about it, somehow.  They came over one day and asked if my buck would mind breeding a couple of rabbits for them.  "Well, I guess he wouldn't mind too much" I said, so they went back to get the little darlings.  They returned in a few minutes with two rabbits in a box.  We tossed one of them in with the buck, and he did what rabbits are known for.  We pulled that one out and tossed the other one in, and the same thing happened.  They took their rabbits home, after expressing their gratitude, and nothing more was said about it for a while.  Six or eight weeks later, as I was passing by, I saw the old lady out in the yard, so I stopped to pay my respects and see what the latest neighborhood scuttlebutt was about.  I asked her how the results of the rabbit breeding had come out.  She says, "Well, that black and white one had six babies."  She seemed pleased about that, so I said, "Well, what about the other one?"  She looked down as if she was a bit embarrassed about it, and said, "That one turned out to be a boy."

That's funny Dan, we had the same thing happen to us. We bought a california buck and named him Harry, not to long after we got a lop eared buck and put them in the same cage. Few weeks later we had to rename Harry Henrietta. :D

 :D  Norm, not quite the same. :D

My Mom loves all kinds of animals.  She had a big array of ornamental chickens, ducks, doves, etc.  It got too much for her to care for and she had to get rid of most and then all of them.  So one birthday we bought her a hamster cage and a couple of match pair of hamsters.  At least we thought they were matched - both female or both male. But it turned out they were male AND female.  Mom was very excited about all the little hamsters that had multiplied.  Dad was pretty much against having rodents in the house to begin with.

In some way she gave away the first batch.  But one day she came back from town and caught Dad pitching a new batch out the back door to the kittens.  Apparently he'd been taking care of the excess population as quick as he could find them.  Mom was a little upset.  I think she ended up giving away the pair and the cage.

I had my wife and girls take our cat to get fixed a while back. I called and set up the appointment with the local vet, telling him that Rev was a male cat. When I came home that day, my wife was not at all happy...seems the cat was female and the vet (along with his staff) ribbed her and the girls a little. She said they wanted to know if I had even taken biology in school.  :D :D

Stew

Stew,  I think that they will be keeping you out of the milkhouse too. :D :D  I can just see it now,"Man injured trying to milk a Bull.  Still in critical condition in the hospital.  Details at 11." ::) :o


Farmerdoug

 :D :D :D Now I KNOW the difference twixt a bull and a cow.  ;) Cats, they be a different class all together.  ;D

Stew

   Up here in the great north we have more moose than people. We also have alot of wolves. About 4 years ago a cow moose was taken down by wolves but the calve somehow managed to escape. She found her way to a friend of mines cabin along the Klondike Hwy south of Dawson City. Well he watched her for a couple of days and relized it was an orfpan. So, being a bushman and a lover of moose he started to feed it.
   Betsy (name he gave her) started to become very popular with the locals. She would come directly up to you and insist you scratch her nose. Two years ago a German tourist got a flat tire in front of the cabin, while he was changing the tire on his RV Betsy came up to say hello in her own way.
   When I came down the road I saw this man standing on top of his RV waving his hands franticly. So I stopped thinking he might be in some real trouble with a Grizzly or something. In his best english he could come up with at the time he started yelling "MAD MOOSE,MAD MOOSE". I turned my head in time to get a big old sloppy kiss from Betsy.  The poor fellow fainted right there on the top of his RV.
   It took some doing but he finally came down and met her. Even had his picture taken with her. This past summer I've had 4 seperate German tourist come looking for me to introduce them to Betsy.
   Saddly the circle of life cought up with Betsy this past fall when she fell to the wolves like her mother. She was definatly one of the colorful 5% of the Yukon.
   In this magical land up north there are more stories about animals than there are about people. We still live on their land, not them on ours.

Well welcome to the forum fuzzybear! I know that I am not the only one looking forward to more of those stories! :)

A while back, I was sent to a state govenment office to work on some computer stuff. Turned out, my contact there was paralyzed from the neck down, confined to an automated wheel chair. He was a graduate engineer, using some computer terminals with a piece of wooden dowel clamped between his teeth, quite good at what he did. We got to talking, and he asked if I could help him find a source for a special kind of electrical relay. When he described what he needed, I realized that he had been looking for an electronic item, when what he wanted was a stock automotive part, a headlight dimmer relay. MY wife is physically handicapped, so I am acutely aware that such people sometimes have needs that can't be bought "over the counter". So I asked if I might help him with this special project. He laughed and proceed to tell this story...
Seems that before an accident put him in a wheel chair, he had been an AVID turkey hunter. Still a turkey hunter at heart, he and a couple of his buddies tore into the control unit on his chair and found it had several control combinations that were unused. (The controller worked by blowing pulses of air into a plastic tube located where he could get his lips around it---2 short puffs=go right,one long puff=stop, etc) They then clamped a scoped autoloading 30.06 rifle to the chair where he could peep through the scope, and rigged a small servo motor to raise and lower the rifle. Swinging the chair left or right provide the windage. A 12 volt solenoid duct-taped to the stock with a length of baling wire run up to the trigger, all this controlled by the extra circuits on the chair controller.
Opening day of turkey season before daylight, buddies set him out and left him on the edge of a pasture where turkeys had been seen coming out of the woods. Illegal???? yeah, but the wildlife people were in on the deal and found urgent business on the other side of the county..  He's sitting there peering through the scope whe suddenly KABOOM, the 30.06 lets go.  Seems a slight breeze had come up, and blew across the open puff tube with just the right combination to pull the trigger. "I need that relay to rig up a safety, I almost hit my neighbors prize bull."

Radar67, this guy was from your neck of the woods, somewhere around Magee or Collins, so if you see a wheelchair guy totin a 30.06 don't be surprised. He's probably still at it..

Pineywoods, I'll make sure I keep my eye out for him...wouldn't want to be mistaken for a bull, especially with the wind we been having.  :D

Stew

Three years ago I was out about 75 miles in the bush building a cabin for a friend. We had a crew of about 8 people working on this. I was cutting saddle notches all day and really was focused on what I was doing. About midnight (the sun never sets here in June) I noticed everyone was "hiding" and staring at me with a look of horror on their faces. Well this concerned me greatly. My best friend was videotaping me but I saw that he was shaking alot.
   That's when I felt the fur rub against my arm. I hadn't shut the saw off yet so I knew I had at least that to defend myself. (shotgun was sitting about 5' away)  I turned to see a gizzly standing next to me watching what I was doing. My first responce was OH @#$!  But I have been around bears for along time and realized that if I was going to be lunch for him I would be dead by now. So I calmed down and simply asked him if I was doing a good job or not. He in return let out a little grunt and walked away.
   He hung around for about 2 days watching us work but never bothered us again. When we got back to town nobody believed the story until they saw It on video. Granted it was EXTREMLY blurry and shakey but it was all there.

Do you have regular laundry up there in that cold?  I would have needed a change of clothes. :D

It freeze-dries Tom  8)

Not in June. With 24 hour sunlight in summer, the Yukon gets quite warm with horseflies that take on two gallons of fuel. :D A little chillier this time of year.

They get alot of weather like we're having right now. Blizzard, cold, snowy and WIND CHILL

Coon, if it's any consolation to ya, it's +50F here, and I'm about to freeze.

Well Dang, there ain't no snow plug'n your door, so go fetch a stick and toss'r in the stove. ;D :D

  Swamp ..
     He needs to go outside and toss it in a rim ...
Those Floridian fellows have not yet figured out the stove part of stove wood .

Hey, I heard that they get frost in Florida.

I remember a few(ok quite a few) years ago that the freeze killed the citrus trees in parts of Florida.  Sure put a hurt of the orange crop and the Florindians ;D even suffered froze bite.  It still shows in their pictures. :D :D :D :D

Farmerdoug

Sure we get frost. Had some this morning, matter of fact.  What you saw in the pics weren't from frostbite, though.  Some of us is just naturally homely. :D :D

Now DanG,  We do not associate frost bite with bad looks.  It just shows that people who are not use to our cold gets its quite quick as a badge of honor they show as an initiation to our way of life. ;D :D :D :D

Farmerdoug

A local farmer and historian was in yesterday telling stories on some of the old timers.  Seems a drummer (salesman) was in the local store selling his wares.  A young lass was in the store.  She had a toothache, with noticeable swelling of her cheek.  During his speil, the drummer leaned over and kissed her on the swelled cheek.  " Now that tooth will be perfectly well in the morning!"  he promised.  As he left, one of the old timers cornered him.  "Say," he questioned, "Can you cure piles, too?"  :D   ;D

Back when I was about 15 we moved into a new neighborhood. I quickly made friends with the closet neighbor about a 3/4 mile down the road. Didn't take me long to figure out Mike wasn't too bright. But Daddy had money so he had all the latest toys. We moved in there in the early part of winter. Second or third time I was down there he drags me out to the shed to a brand new pair of Skidoo snowmobiles. Didn't take much arm twisting to get me on board.  ;D

We went every where on those things. We where riding through the fields on the property that Dad had rented just having a a grand old time playing follow the leader. Being as I had little invested I tended to be just a tad bit braver than Mike. Hey it wasn't my snowmobile  :D I had a place scouted out I was sure I could lose him. Through the woods was a creek and I had a place laid out where the bank on one side was about 3 feet higher then the opposite side Off we went I took him down through the woods hammer down.  I never let off the throttle across the crick I went, Mike hot on my heals. Out into the field and stopped. Mike whips around Big grin on his face. Thats was GREAT he shouts, I just shook my head and grinned. Next thing I know he is headed back for the crick, going the wrong way  ::) I caught up in time to see him go airborne out through the woods, The Skidoo? it didn't fair to well it stopped dead in its tracks when it hit the bank. Mike, he was lucky, banged bruised and scratched up but no broken bones. His Dad wasn't none to happy either  :D  :D

In the engineering department of a large manufacturing facility where I worked for half my life there was a lab technician.  In the early years he wore his hair long and had bell bottom pants.  I always picture him in his lab coat and a pocket protector full of pins.  He was the closest thing we had to a clown.

He would make the rounds inside the 17 acre facility on a tricycle.  Not your normal children's type of tricycle but one made basically of a standard bicycle but with two back wheels.  It also had a basket and one bent wheel.  So he made an odd sight peddling his tricycle around the factory.  He was married but fancied himself a lady's man.  He'd often have reason to stop in the components assembly area where most of the workers were women. They all knew his was a real goof and harmless.  He'd make them laugh and break up their day.

He had a co-worker in the development lab.  He was a machinist that made prototype parts and fixtures, etc. The two where always playing pranks on one another and anyone else that would get within range.  But the machinist was able to best the lab technician far more than he got back. 

In the early days the engineering lab was inside the manufacturing area just outside as you pass from the office area.  The wall made of cinder blocks was only about 4' high.  Every noon break found the lab technician standing at the wall greeting and smiling at the ladies as they passed by go to and from the lunchroom.  It was kind of like a dog that liked to chase cars but was locked behind a fence. 

The machinist capitalized one major flaw of the technician.  That was that he was real goosy.  If prodded from behind he'd jump 3' high and yell.  He also found out to his advantage that if he said something to him as he was prodded, he'd repeat it real loud.  So the machinist would wait until the technician was at the wall making contact with a group of ladies and sneak up behind him and give him a good goose and then say something profoundly tasteless.  Every time the technician would jump and yell out the profanity.

These kinds of pranks went on all the time in the early years.  But later they would have gotten them some kind of disciplinary action or maybe fired. In later years they built the walls to the lab all the way to the ceiling. They said it was to secure the area.

Sounds like the Offices of Amiga:

"The way the Amiga team came to a consensus was with foam rubber baseball bats.

It isn't known who first came up with the idea, but the foam bats became an essential part of all design meetings. A person would pitch an idea, and if other engineers felt they were stupid or unnecessary, they would hit the person over the head with a bat. As Jay said, 'it didn't hurt, but the humiliation of being beaten with the bat was unbearable.'"

"We worked with a great passion... my most cherished memory is how much we cared about what we were doing. We had something to prove... a real love for it. We created our own sense of family out there."

"Like the early days at Atari, people were judged not on their appearance or their unusual behavior but merely on how well they did their jobs. Dale Luck, one of the core OS engineers, looked a bit like a stereotypical hippie, and there were even male employees who would come to work in purple tights and pink fuzzy slippers. "As long as the work got done, I didn't mind what people looked like," was Jay Miner's philosophy. Not only was it a family, but it was a happy one: everyone was united by their desire to build the best machine possible."

;D

For a while there was a "Nerf" rubber brick in one of the meeting rooms.  It got tossed at people from time to time. :-[

John Deere Tractor – A Miracle Maker

Been using my buddies 4520 John Deere all week end to do work around the hose in Madison and late Sunday afternoon it was time to put it away for the week.  Now I have seen tractor make a lot of things happen and gotten a lot of work out of them.  But, I have never had one perform a miracle.  It made it rain – squirrels.  :D :D :D

I was driving up the road to put the tractor away when all of a sudden something flashed down in front of the tractor  :o :o :o and took off running up the road.  It was a big old fox squirrel.  Just about the time I recognized it, here came 2 more, one right after the other.  Landing on the road with a big wop, wop and off to the races they went.  The whole thing was so funny, I had to stop and reflect on what had just happened and got a good laugh at the whole situation. 

The only thing I can think of is that they ran out of trees and jumped to get away from this big old mean tractor. ;D ;D ;D

Bruce

Maybe they had been blasted by overhead exhaust before. :D :D

There has to be some relation between wheeled vehicles and squirrels.  It seems to me that a squirrel won't cross the road unless it is immediately in front of, or under, a wheeled vehicle.  Usually they turn around and cross two or three times  before deciding to stay on one side or the other.   Is it a game of Chicken squirrel?

There were squirrels flying from the corn stalks one morning when I drove around a section of field bordering the woods. I musta seen 12 in 300 yards of travel. Almost needed the wipers on.  ;D

We've been contemplating something the past week or two. Howcum it is that the free range chicken folks are always the ones right on a blacktop road  ???. We have one group right at the top of the knob. Last week I came to a hard stop twice. First time I rounded the corner and there was mama standing in the middle trying to fake me out, dodging one way then the other as my nose was diving hard. She finally threw up her arms and just squawked for the impact. I got it stopped and she tried to hide her embarrasment as she stepped back into view and strutted off to the shoulder. A day or two later I was coming home and the whole family was crossing the road, she goes back, the poults go forward and she was giving them what for the whole time  :D. I noticed fresh meat on the way home today  ::). They must be lucky to get one or two to the freezer every year.

Are ya talkin about the chicken folks, or the chickens?? ::) ??? :)

I don't brake, swerve, or even slow down fer chickens...but chicken folks would be different.. ;D ;D

It used to be that you had to pay for  chicken if you hit on the road.  I don't know if that has changed or not.

One of my buddy's went duck hunting last year with a bow and arrow.  He flushed out a couple and took a shot at this really large one.  Grazed it's head with the arrow.  He carried it back to his truck by it's neck, in a hurry as he was late for meeting some friends at a restaurant for dinner.  He tossed the bird in the floorboard, drove to dinner, and told them the story of his awesome bow and arrow head shot on this duck, and how big a bird it was.  So they got done eating and then went outside to check out this bird.

My buddy opened the door to his truck and there was the duck, standing in the seat.  *quack quack* it says.  He'd only knocked it out.  Someone noted that they thought the bird might actually be a domestic duck, not a wild one.

So he takes the thing back to the dorm apartments on campus and it follows he and his room mate everywhere, pooping all over the porch.  Someone calls it in and then it turned into a huge deal.  Fish & Wildlife got involved, the duck ended up being euthanized, he got a spendy ticket, and it was a big 'ol mess.

Sure is funny to laugh about now, tho.

I never heard of that law in Maine.All animals belong in a pen,fenced in or trained to keep out of the road.Seems like chickens like to be where the action is.We have a 500 foot driveway,so my ckickens have a long ways to go to the road.My dog,Boo-Boo,got run over by a truck.Not the guys fault,but the wife was right there and saw it happened.He claimed he didn't know he did.You can feel a chipmuck under your tire.Boo-Boo is fine,but he acts alot differant now.This happened a couple years ago.We live on a deadend dirt road and Boo-Boo thinks he owns the whole hill.I will try to avoid things in the road,but won't put myself or anyone else lifes in danger because of it.The other night I slowed down for a deer and the mother walked in front of me and than her 2 youngins had to fellow.By the time I got my truck stopped all I could see was thier head going by the hood of my truck.

Another one from last week. I rounded the corner and a party was going on. A deer did a fancy double axle spin before sidestepping to the woods, the two squirrels did a jump to the side and several crows took flight. It took a moment to figure out what had caused such a gathering. The walnuts are dropping into the road and get run over and smashed. Kinda neat.

When we worked west of the river in SD it was free range, you hit it, you own it. It was late one night, I came around a corner and am sure glad one of those black angus was bright eyed and smiling  :D.
My aunt has some social security cows, the remnants of my late uncles herd. In NC if they hit your animal, you pay. One of those old girls bought herself a cadilac as a final act.

It's always fascinating to see how different states handle similar issues.  In Pennsylvania, if you were to run into livestock on the road, the farmer has to pay for damages, and can be sued.  Our way gives a real incentive to farmers to keep their fences in good order. 

I can imagine in Don's area the farmers herding their stock onto the road when times are hard!!!

asy :D

Don't laugh, that has been known to happen here.

Quote from: asy on October 23, 2007, 11:52:44 AM
I can imagine in Don's area the farmers herding their stock onto the road when times are hard!!!

asy :D

It's kind of like about 10 years ago when the big pork producers flooded the market with pork to run the family farmer out of the pork business. There was a story going around where a farmer heard a disturbance during the night.  He got up to check. Sure enough one of his neighbors was unloading pigs into his hog lot.  :D

Mom had all manner of fowl.  For some reason the guinea were the only ones smart enough to stay out of the road. Or get out of the road.  I don't remember her ever loosing one to traffic. 

I was born in 1950.  My earliest memories of the area we now live in are much different.  Farm houses were about a mile apart were now the homes are next to one another on the main roads.   Subdivisions have eaten up whole farms.

Back then there were a few poorly maintained county gravel roads and steams were forded.  Many farms were reached or connected by "unimproved" dirt roads going through fields and forest.  Now many roads are paved and bridges cross the streams.  All of the dirt roads connecting farms have been improved or,  more likely abandoned.  Our farm was one of these that was a full mile from a gravel road in any direction.  There were three dirt roads,  one heading south, one west and one north.  The north route remains.  There is but little trace of the other two routes.

There was no electricity.  And needless to say but I'll say it anyway,  no other modern necessities.

The social fabric was much different too.  Most everyone was related somehow or at least close friends.  There were no strangers.  Today,  I know very few people that live within a couple of miles from our home.

Entertainment was generally a party with live music and dancing at someone's house on a Saturday night.  Each would take turns hosting the party. 

It was after one such party at our house one cold winter night that this story took place.

Uncle Norman (an honorary title as he's not really my uncle but my cousins are cousins to his kids so by extension,  he's my uncle too.) gets embarrassed any  time this story is brought up.  He, like many others of this time has mended their rowdy ways.  But back then they must have been pretty wild.

Seems this cold winter Saturday they were at the party at my folk's house along with probably a house full of other assorted neighbors and relatives.  Uncle Norman got into a spat with a brother-in-law.  The brother-in-law decided he'd just walk home. So in the middle of the night he headed out through the wood to his house about a mile away.  Uncle Norman got to feeling bad about the argument and went looking for him to bring him back.  It was a good thing because the brother-in-law had stumbled off a bluff and in him impaired state couldn't figure out how to climb back up or continue down.

They regrouped at our house and loaded up their families in a Model A Ford and headed for home.  They were taking the west route out of the valley.  Soon they came to a gap in the fence where they had to cross Dad's hay field.  The brother-in-law got out and opened the gap.  He yelled for Uncle Norman to pull though.  Uncle Norman made the observation that a hay stack stood in the way.  The brother-in-law made suggestion to knock the S.O.B. down.  Uncle Norman admitted he felt it would be a fine trick to play on dad to knock down his hay stack.  So he rammed into the stack but with unexpected results.  The spring mounted bumper on the Model A collapsed and then sprang back – jolting the car backwards and giving the passengers a good "shaken, not sutured" motion.  The car, still trying to go forward regained it's traction and hit the stack again.  Uncle Norman said they bounded off the haystack several times before he could push the clutch in.

One thing in their combined impaired state they hadn't calculated was that it had been raining and snowing for days and the haystack was frozen solid.

Would like to have seen that, from a good distance. :D :D


Dave

We got a couple of big loads of logs in this morning.  The first was a load of walnut from down south.  The second was our local logger with oak.  The first guy had a big tandem axel truck with pup and had a picker mounted on the back of the truck.  The local guy had a tandem axle truck with pup but on picker.

The first guy was "Bad Luck John", as we call him.  Every time he shows up he has another bad luck story to tell.  But it doesn't seem to bother him.  He's always got a big smile on his face and is always happy.  All these little adversities just make life interesting for him. Mary says you could hit him with a stick and it wouldn't make him mad.

Bad Luck John just had time to get gone when the second truck showed up.  Mary visited with Charlie while I unloaded the truck and pup.  After that was done,  I joined the conversation.

Mary was telling Charlie about Bad Luck John and some of the things that have happened to him.  Charlie got to telling stories about his driver, Pete.  Pete is a character too.  It may take 30 minutes to unload him but it'll take another hour to get rid of him.  Usually he won't leave until it's the end of the day or he gets a call from the crew wanting to know where he is.  We've taken to calling him Re-Pete as he's ran out of all the stories where he has been the one to save the day and is now recycling.

Anyway,  Charlie was relating Pete to Bad Luck John.  He said one time they were working on a truck.  Pete was under it holding a chisel against a bearing on a pinion gear while Charlie took a 6 lb hammer and was trying to drive it off.  He said one blow went a little wild and hit Pete right in the upper lip.  Charlie said, "Oh my GOD!  I thought I'd killed him or something."  But Pete didn't even put down the chisel.  He just spit out a tooth and some blood and said, "I'm all right.  Hit it again."

Then later Pete was dragging some logs and Charlie could see that a limb on a sycamore tree was caught in front of the exhaust pipe and was bending back going to knock the pee-waddle out off Pete.  But he was too far away for him to hear him yell.  Pete was looking back at the logs. About that time the limb came around and hit Pete in the mouth.   yikes_smiley  Pete pulled the logs on up to the landing, got off and came over to Charlie.  He opened his hand and had two teeth in it.  Said Pete, "Saved myself $160.00."  smiley_ignore

Seems he didn't have many teeth left and was paying $80 to get each pulled.

Just spent a couple of pleasant evenings reading through this thread beginning to end. (And a lot of a rainy Saturday morning  ::)  )

Thought I'd bump it to the top and let all the newer folks have a go at it.

Greg

thanks Greg..this is a hoot

We seem to have quite a lot of untapped story-telling talent here on the Forum.  Now if Tom could figure out a way to ILLUSTRATE  his stories using those oil paintings....

Who needs television?

Greg

Many years ago my Sister had divorced, and moved into a home into a new with her 3 children and their Dog. The Dog was a big full blooded registered male Collie. In order to register an animal, you have to have a unique name. Different from any other registered animals name. My sister and the kids came up with "Dominick Snuffalufagus Owens"  Known as Dominick for short.

They lived at this house with Dominick for aseveral years. Dominick was allowed to run loose in the big back yard. One day a couple years after living there, new neighbors moved into the house next door. Lynda heard that the last name was "Evangilista" and thats all she really new those first couple weeks that they lived there. One evening it was getting late and Lynda went out back and Hollered, DOMINICK! I"M READY FOR BED! GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW!  Dominick came in as he always did.

The next morning there was a knock on the door. Lynda recognized the new neighbor lady from seeing her a couple times as they were moving in. She opened the door and the new neighbor lady was none to happy. She started in on Lynda asking her all kinds of things that were way out of line regarding her relationship with this woman's husband who Lynda had never even met.  Her husbands name?   Dominick Evangilista. :D

They became friends and good neighbors after everything was cleared up. :)

That kinda happened to my grandmother once when there was a loose black dog in the neighborhood and a neighbor was walking down the road. She told the dog to get back home, but in more colorful language and the neighbor thought she was talking to her.  ;D

At bible study last night, one of the guys told this story about his daughter:

A few nights ago, he gets a call on his cell phone from his daughter.  She says, "Dad, you and mom come outside!".  He says okay and they walk outside.  Their new dog runs out and proceeds to be all happy the daughter is home, trying to jump up on her and get some attention.  His daughter freaks out, is holding her hands behind her back, saying, "don't let the dog jump on me!!".

My buddy says, "Oooookay....  why?", to which his daughter replies, "Because I'm holding this!", as she brings the item forward she was holding behind her back.  She was holding a live, unexploded 40mm grenade.  So my buddy says, "Hooookay!  I agree with that we shouldn't be dropping that!"

Turns out she was at some bluffs where some kids hang out and she'd found it laying on the ground.  She didn't want anyone to get hurt if it exploded, so she picked it up and carried it in her lap on the drive home!  He ended up turning it in.  We got a chuckle out of his telling the story last night but were sure thankful no one got hurt.

That could have been disastrous.  I wonder what the grenade was doing at the "bluff"?

What a story to tell when get old.  :D

Heard a good story about my brother at his funeral. He was driving the delivery semi for a farm implement dealer. On one day trip he got back as the shop was closing. The boss (he was telling me the story) asked Robert, "How did the trip go today?" Robert replies, "Did you happen to get a phone call from Taco Bell?" Les replies, "Taco Bell? Nope, didn't hear from any Taco Bell today." Robert answers,  "Yup, well the trip went just fine!"

Les said he never did hear from any Taco Bells, nor did my brother tell him what happened. He could only guess that he bumped a light pole, or bumped a sign post, or something minor. My brother's reply was just perfect. :)

Quote from: Tom on May 06, 2008, 03:59:58 PM
That could have been disastrous.  I wonder what the grenade was doing at the "bluff"?

What a story to tell when get old.  :D

The bluff is near or on post, so it could have been there legitimately.  I didn't wanna tell my buddy but I think that teenagers go there to makeout and drink beer.  Turns out he knew, as one of the other guys was joking with him about it.  Apparently she had been seen in their car kissing her new boyfriend at a stoplight.  He was none too pleased and apparently told her she was no longer allowed to "suck face".  :D

This is sort of embarrassing, but I'm laughing about it now, so I'll rat myself out.

Last Saturday I came in from the heat and went for a glass of sweet tea. I opened the refrigerator to find my tea jug empty. I saw another pitcher of juice and poured a quarter of a glass since I was thirsty. As I closed the door, I began to rant and rave about there being no tea and being reduced to kool-aid... as I took a drink.

Well, my wife and both daughters just busted out laughing, somewhere in between the fits they were having, my wife asked, "Now how long has it been since I made kool-aid?" (She quit making it over five years ago to cut the girl's sugar intake down). I just stood there with a stupid look on my face. My oldest daughter yelled out,

"THAT'S HUMMINGBIRD FOOD!"

I spit and rinsed for a few minutes, then thought it didn't taste that bad. I figured if the birds could drink it and survive, that I would be okay too.  :D

However, I patiently waited for my tea to brew. ;)

Radar67
I'd be wondering why bird food is kept in a frig...??

(for sure if it was my house.. ;D ;D )

 :D  So what does that stuff taste like anyway??

Sugar and water is how my wife makes it.She keeps it in the fridge to keep it from spoiling.But she has a pitcher that says humming bird food on it.

Well, he does have his wings. Just not humming bird wings.  ;D

Beenthere, it is sugar water with something else added. Once mixed, it has to stay refridgerated.

Warbird, it has the taste very similar to fruit punch kool-aid.

SD, if you only knew.... :D :D

Ok...but ours doesn't stay refrigerated when it is in the feeder...hadn't noticed it going sour or anything...maybe I'm not attentive enough... ;D ;D

Several years after being married.The wife used the expression " hows it hangin " which is fairly common around these parts for the younger generation. I figured she knew the hidden meaning. Well ...... one day at church we were leaving and being greeted by the preacher and she walked up and asked him "hows it hangin" . Needless to say we proceded to parking lot where I educated her on different meaning. :D :D :D I still laugh about that one. She doesn't use that phrase anymore either. ;) ;)

Back a hundred years ago when Mary and I got married, me and my best man and the preacher was in a side room at the church waiting for our cue to come out. 

I guess he was trying to keep us from getting nervous or something by telling an off color joke about a newlywed couple.  But he substituted such vague expressions to clean it up that it lost its meaning.   ::)

Ironically I was thinking of phrases that mean different things to different generations, or localities just this morning. "I'll get with so and so", meaning I'll contact them and get to the bottom of the problem, doesn't always mean the same thing to everyone. ;)


Dave

Several years ago, a good friend's daughter was getting married in a Church. The groom was a member of a motorcycle 'gang' and half the Church was filled with bikers.
They were quite well-mannered during the ceremony.
After the vows and the kiss, the Pastor turned to the audience, and announced "Now the bride and groom are going to do on the grand piano what normally is done in private after the ceremony.........".  The bikers came unglued...  8) 8) 8)
The Pastor then finished his sentence with ".... and sign the official wedding papers."

Not sure if he caught the reason for the outburst. The father of the bride was a bit red at that moment though.  :D :D :D

This one was posted during the crash. I remembered it when the broken spring thread came up today.

Okay Asy, here it is.

One New Years Day, two of my brothers (Steve and Gary) and I decided to take another trip up to North MS to go duck hunting. We had been watchig the MS River stages and the levels were right to get through a slip from Lake Chotard (pronounced show-tard) to a "honey hole".

We borrowed our Step-dad's fiberglass bass boat for the trip since it had a 50 horse Mercury. Our Jon boat only had an electric trolling motor, so this would make the trip faster. Everything was loaded the day before and we left out at 2 am. Chotard is above Eagle Lake and it seemed like it took forever to get there. We arrived at the boat landing around 5 am. We all got out, stretched and walked around before we backed down to the ramp. I pluged the drain in the boat, got the straps un-hooked and generally got everything ready to launch. We loaded everything into the boat.

I proceeded to pull the boat around to back into the ramp. The left trailer tire dropped into a three inch deep pothole/drain ditch. (washed out area in the gravel road). When the tire dropped, all I heard was "ching", the leaf spring broke right where the axle tub joined. We spent about forty minutes trying to decide what to do. I got the boat out of the way very carefully. We figured some other hunters might come in to lend a hand, but no luck. It was New Years Day and they were either recovering from a night of merriment of preparing to watch a ballgame. We lolly-gagged around for a little while using expletitives and getting disgusted.

We finally decide that we need to take the spring and axle apart. Steve got the boat jacked up while I was getting tools out. An hour later, after fighting with rusty bolts, the parts were finally off the boat trailer. As we were finishing up, someone finally showed up. The problem was discussed for a few minutes and the stranger told us he knew a guy not far from there who could weld the spring up for us.

We unhooked the boat from the truck and two of us went to seek out the welder, while the third stayed with the boat. We found him, sitting in front of his TV set getting ready to watch the game. He kind of chuckled when we told him the story and agreed to weld it up for us. After the job was complete, we managed to scrape together the $75 bucks he charged us. The bad part is, we knew it was coming and couldn't do anything about it.....

Once we got back to the boat, we got started putting the spring back on. Wouldn't you know it, both of the u-bolts wrung the threads off when we tried to put them back together. The closest place we figured would be open on New Years Day was an Auto-Zone...in Vicksburg, MS. I had to drive a hundred miles one way to pick up four dollars worth of bolts, then drive back and put them on. Both Steve and Gary stayed with the boat.

I made it back to the boat around 2 in the afternoon. We got everything put back together and began to lower the jack. And what do you think happened next? The day definitely was not over. While I was gone for parts, my brothers though they would go ahead and do a little hunting right there at the landing. Both of them got their limit...without decoys, without calls, just pass shooting. I was not a happy camper.

Oh, back to the boat, as the jack came down, so did the spring.....craaaack!! The weld did not hold. I'm standing there scratching my head, getting steamed over the 75 bucks and just about lost it. Jacked the boat back up, got a piece of 2x4 out of my truck, placed it between the trailer frame and the broke spring, and strapped it down with bunggie cords, rachet straps, and 550 cord (army parachute cord). I let the jack back down. The boat was sitting all cock-eyed and leaning on the trailer. I told my brothers to load up, we were going home. They gave me a look like, are you crazy? I told them again, unless you are walking or unhooking the boat and staying with it until we could get a new spring (our step-dad would have skint us alive if we left his boat there) that they had better get in the truck.

It took us six hours to limp home with the broke trailer. I never got to fire a shot and have no desire to go back to Lake Chotard to duck hunt with a borrowed boat. As a matter of fact, I don't think we have borrowed his boat since. We did, however, replace both springs for him.

My mom gets things mixed up some days.  Some days worse than others. 

Mary just got off the phone with her.  She told about a cousin's wife that went in for an MRI but someone gave her a drink of water so they couldn't do that.  So they gave her a colonoscopy instead.  They found something on her esophagus and were going to burn it off. 

Man!  That's some in-depth colonoscopy!   :'(

I'm no doctor but I think it would have been far less intrusive to start from the other end! ::)

 :D :D :D  Ya gotta love them oldsters!  I know it is sad to see them losing their faculties, but some of the stuff they come up with is downright humorous.  Linda, my Darlin' Bride, works with them at the retirement home, and she brings me some really light moments with some of the tales she tells.  Once she told me of a ninety-something year old retired General they had up there.  He came out of his room about 1am one morning, all suited up to go to breakfast.  She told him it was one o'clock in the morning, and he said, "Well!  What time is it supposed to be?!"

Then there was the old lady who thought the picnic table out on the lawn was the dock where the sailboat brought their toilet paper. ::)  There ain't no figgerin' them out, ya just gotta laugh and love'em!

Just discovered this thread and spent the last two days catching up. What a hoot, a great selection of stories. Here's my contribution.
Late fall a few years ago a friend and I stopped at a local cafe for coffee on our way to go bird hunting.  The regular group of ranchers was having their morning coffee, and when we sat down one of the ranchers reaches over and rubs my bald head, stating " Dang, smooth as my wife's butt."  I reached up, rubbed my head and with a look of sudden revelation exclaimed " By golly I think you're right Bill".  Poor Bill could only sit there getting more and more red faced as each of the other ranchers came over and rubbed my head and "verified" that my head was indeed as smooth as his wife's butt.

Ain't jokes great?  he's probably still trying to figure a way to get back at you.  :D

Tom,

I believe it was in this thread that you mentioned your Navy experience. I was surprised to see another Fletcher Class veteran from the same Desron and time frame (USS Bache DD470 - 1965-68). Reminded me of how we used to tell unsuspecting souls that asked about weapon Alpha that that was our 13.75" gun.

I was convinced that it was more dangerous sitting on the magazine for the Weapon Alpha than having it aimed at you.  :D 

That was probably an accurate assumption, though it probably was a marginally better ASW weapon than the Hedgehog.

I liked the hedgehog because it was a SONAR crew tended weapon and the Weapon Alpha was a Gunners mate tended weapon.  Many a time we had to clean up gallon upon gallon of oil from the Alpha mount that fell into the SONAR spaces.  :D

I think we were the ship who was, alone, responsible for the elemination of SCAT from hedgehog training attacks.  It was a funny experience.

We had good looking hedgehog mounts.  we had painted them and the hedgehogs black and had painted the top 3" of each of the hedgehogs white.  they looked really good. :D

This is a bit gross but is quite funny, looking back.  This happened to my wife and I this morning...

It wasn't even 7am yet, I'm stumbling around, having just filled up my coffee cup, and the Mrs says to one of the cats, "Ewww, don't play with that worm!"

She was about to kill it with a tissue but her words penetrated the morning fog in my brain and I said, "Stop!  What does it look like?"  I stumbled over, bent down, and noted it was a maggot.  I said, "Hey!  That's a maggot.  And look, there's another one.  And another...  and another..."

There was a swath of maybe 15 maggots leading in a path back to one of the new cabinets I installed about 4 weeks or so ago.  We are still living in a construction zone and none of the house lights are installed.  For light, we have a halogen construction light with two 1000 watt lights on it.

Only a few seconds have gone by but I'm now fully awake.  Everything I have ever known about maggots popped up in my mind.  It occurred to me that these ones on the floor were crawling toward the light.  Picture these little maggots, squirming furiously toward the warm light...  "I see 'da light!  I see 'da light!"

I steeled myself and went to the cabinet, opening it.  Inside was a squirming pile of maybe 100 maggots.  I turned around and my wife was right behind me with an absolutely horrified look on her face.  I told her, "Babe, this is man stuff.  Just go do something else and I'll take care of it."  (She didn't even say a word.  Simply turned around and left).

Now I am in problem solving mode.  I start flashing through scenarios on where these things came from.  New cabinet?  No, they were done a month ago.  New counter tops?  No, those are Corian.  Sealed plastic and aluminum.  No way.  Hmmm...  What's on top of this particular cabinet?  Our Jenn Air stove top....  which, as it happens, sat out on the porch for 2 weeks waiting for the counters to get installed!  I hadn't even hooked it back up to electricity or the exhaust vent (it is a down draft).

*ding ding*  I think I've located the source of the problem.  Now to pinpoint it.  I grabbed a flashlight and shined it up on the bottom of the stove top, inside the cabinet (avoiding the squirming mass of maggots).  I see a maggot fall from the vent opening that normally is connected to the ducting for exhaust.  No way in God's good creation am I sticking my head under that thing to look up inside.

I start pulling burners off, looking for the source.  Nothing.  I pull the grill for the air intake for the exhaust fan and shine the light down in there.  I see 2 dead maggots.  Getting closer.  I shine the light into the sideways mounted fan, peering in as far as I can and I see...  feathers.

That's right.  A bird of some sort found it's way into the vent opening while the stove top was out on the porch.  It made it to the fan, where it could see daylight through the fins but it couldn't get out.  It never thought about heading back the way it came.  It must have simply beat itself up trying to get out through the fan.

I tell the Mrs, "I found it!"  She said, "What is it?"  I said, "You don't need to know.  Just go open the door for me."  I proceeded to yank the entire stove top out of the counter and while trying to hold it so no more maggots spilled out, I put it out on the deck.  That is where it is still sitting.

I'm currently debating whether I want to go buy a new stove top (they ain't cheap) or grit my teeth and take this one completely apart and clean it.  There is no easy way to make sure it gets cleaned properly and this is where we prepare our food.  We'll see how I'm feeling in the morning.

I didn't eat much breakfast.  For some reason, I didn't have much of an appetite!  :D 

Looks easy to me.  Just turn on the fan!   :D

Warbird, don't sweat it. They are little, they can't eat much anyway. ;) :D

Warbird, you have made me hungry for some rice. ;D

Quote from: pigman on August 30, 2008, 11:53:38 AM
Warbird, you have made me hungry for some rice. ;D

I can't help it...  now every time I see a small white something on the floor or the counter, I freak out and think, "IS IT A MAGGOT?!  KIIIIIIIILL IIIIIIIIT!!"  Then it turns out to be a small fragment of sheetrock or something.  :D

The characters:
Kristen - my daughter in law
Nathan - 4 year old grandson
Sarah - 2 year old grandaughter

The scene:
Nathan's bedroom as Kristen prepares and gets organized for Nathan to start Pre-K.

Kristen is helping Nathan sort through the toy box when she notices that Nathan has several toys that belong to Sarah.  She places those toys into a separate pile.  When they have finished with the room, Kristen points to the pile that belongs to Sarah, and says to Nathan, "These toys belong to Sarah, how did they get in your room?"  Nathan explained, "Sarah had a yard sale." 

 :D :D :D  That boy is quick on his feet, ain't he? 8) 8)

Or that little girl has the makings of a jamb up saleswoman. ;D

I guess many families have a running joke that pops up in a conversation once in a while and people wonder what in the world you're talking about.  Then you have to explain.

Well, maybe you'd have to have been there and known the "players" to get the humor in the following story.  But here goes.

When our first born was about one year old, Mary's Grandma Garrett came for a long visit at Mary's mother's home.  Of course, we visited often.  Mary's grandmother was from an older time.  She had been a kindergarten and lower grade school teacher all her adult life until forced retirement and then she tutored kids in her home.  A dear and gracious lady she was.

We were visiting around the big dining room table and Grandma Garrett was holding son Gabe and interacting with him as you would a baby his age.  He was an alert child with big, bright blue eyes.  Grandma Garrett makes the assessment, "Why! He's surprisingly bright." 

I was on the other end of the table and I guess made some kind of gesture that I took some offence to her comment – as in,  why wouldn't you expect him to be bright?  Mary and her mother (a very witty woman) picked up on it and everyone had a good laugh. 

So now, almost 40 years later,  circumstances in a conversation will come up that requires an interjection of "Surprisingly bright."  Then we'll get a chuckle out of it one more time.

An old friend of mine told me this story back in the early 90s.

Jake and his brothers used to trap for extra money. One day while running the trap line, they found a live bobcat in one of their foot hold traps. One of the brothers decided to put the cat in a sack and take it home. Once they got it home, Jake asked his brother what he planned to do with it. His brother put the cat in a suitcase for a day or so, occassionally kicking it as he walked by. Once he got the cat riled up enough, they loaded the suitcase up and drove it downtown, Jackson, MS.

They placed the suitcase on the corner and drove down the street a block, pulled over and watched. It didn't take very long for a car to stop and grab the bag. Jake said the car took off, went about a hundred yards, and came to a screeching halt. All four doors opened and all the occupants bailed out toot sweet. Jake was laughing so hard at this point that he couldn't say anymore about what happened next, but you can imagine what took place when that suitcase got opened up.  :D :D

 :D :D :D

Reminds me of riding in the middle of the front seat of a '46 Ford Coupe (2-door) ~ 1955. The guy in the passenger seat thought lighting a package of 2" firecrackers and tossing it out the window going ~ 50 mph down the road was a good idea. But the package blew back into the rear seat and all started going off. I'd guess between the hollering and the laughing and the commotion, it was lucky the driver managed to get stopped, and everyone bailed out. A few burnt holes in clothes and the rear car seat  were about the extent of the injuries and damage.    ;D ;D

I heard the same bobcat/suitcase story.  But the version I heard was a couple of guys in Mid-Missouri took it to down town St. Louis.  Maybe it was a fad back then? 

It sound like a good story, but I wonder just how they got that bobcat in the sack and transfered to the suitcase.

Must a been more than "here kitty."   :D :D

i will tell this one on myself. years ago i was working in a body shop and i found some of those little bitty firecrackers under the seat of a vehicle i was working on. i put then in my shirt pocket and was welding a patch over some rust when a spark from my torch set them off. i could not get out of that shirt fast enough. ;D

Years ago a neighbor did that same thing- except he forgot he had blasting caps in his pocket.  It wasn't fatal, but he ended up in the hospital.  I think it messed up his heart rhythm.

I don't know about Bobcats but when I was in school we had a lunch theif well I caught a hognose snake about 2 ft long wound it up put it in the lunch box . I don't know who stole it but we heard a scream a bang and a yell in Ag and there were no more lunches stolen that yr  ;D
Chico

LOL Chico.  That is awesome.

    Note to self  :   Chico's lunch box ........  stay clear .  :o

At last I have found an upside to my onset of Altzheimers.  I just spent the last while rereading all these funny stories and wonder of wonders, they were all new to me again.  It's good to know that the Good Lord blesses me in such mysterious ways 8) 8). 

Jan does not agree :( :(

Quote from: Ernie on May 21, 2009, 10:18:51 PM
At last I have found an upside to my onset of Altzheimers.  I just spent the last while rereading all these funny stories and wonder of wonders, they were all new to me again.  It's good to know that the Good Lord blesses me in such mysterious ways 8) 8). 

Jan does not agree :( :(

Me too!  I even read my own stories and they're new to me.  ;D

Our local Fox station's early morning news has a segment called "Fox Topics" where they ask viewers a question, then take email submissions to read on the air.  This morning they asked for "camping stories".  That reminded me instantly of this one. I went out to the computer and emailed it to them, and they ended up reading it on the air within 5 minutes of me sending it. The news gal said "And here is the one I like the best"  and commenced to reading my little story. I called my sister and she was tickled. She still thinks about this, and still laughs. She still reminds my brother-in-law, and he still can't find the humor. :D :D

Years ago my Sister, brother-in-law and I went on a spur of the moment camping trip to Drummond Island. We threw everything in the truck and took off on a Friday after work. When we got to the resort, it turned out they only had one camping site left. We took the site, but discovered that the resort owner's large dog had been using the area as a restroom. After several minutes of rolling the large dried up doggie offerings out of the area with a stick, we spread the tent out on the newly sanitized area.  It was then, after all of that doggie-do rolling, we discovered we had forgot the tent poles and couldn't set our tent up anyways.   My Sister and I found it hilarious. My brother-in-law, Not so much.  :o)

Jeff Brokaw from Harrison

DanG...  when I read that the first time, "camping stories" came across as "campaign stories"!  Either way, pretty funny, Jeff.  ;D

I bet the dowg didn't find it so funny.  Someone using his rest area.. ;D

Camping stories?  ;D I've slept on logging camp tables, pickup truck beds and river rock where ever a mattress could be dropped.  That's what ya call rough'n it. I think the old bed roll grandfather used seen Prince Rupert itself. :D

You're not rough'n it if you're using a matress of any kind.   ;)  :D  Rough'n it is gettin some pine boughs and layin' em down and sleepin on em.  :o

It is when your open to the sky and the flies are hungry. :D One place I stayed it was near freezing at night and in the 90's during the day. ::)

Quote from: SwampDonkey on June 23, 2009, 05:27:56 PM
One place I stayed it was near freezing at night and in the 90's during the day. ::)

Ah, Michigan...

Ya mean Kewbec  ;D :D 

Ah yes, roughing it.  You whippersnappers aren't roughing it sleeping on a rock.  Why, when I was younger, we would carry a keg of nails to drive into a log to use for bed if we couldn't find something hard enough.
A little honey will draw the ants and if you get too comfortable you can always take your shirt off so that the mosquitos can get to you better.  It keeps you tough so that you don't sleep in, in the morning.  Yessir, early to bed, early to rise, ya know.  There's nothing like a good breakfast of black coffee with 6 ounces of moonshine stirred in, to get you going.  It sure makes that squirrel supper taste good.  ;D

Note to self :  Do not , I mean do not ever go camping with Tom . ever .  :-X :o

Yup and don't ever want to go campin with my cousins either......  A few years back we decided to go out camping at a backwoods lake that had absolutely no one around and do some fishing for the weekend.   We set the canoe in the lake and loaded our gear and were off for parts unknown.  Found a nice camping spot and set up camp and cooked a nice supper of fried fish on the campfire.  By the time we were all finished up puttin on a feed bag we were feelin pretty good as we had polished off a good portion of a bottle of shine with our iced tea and it was time for bed so we could get up early to do some fishing. About 4:30 am the two of us in our tent were awakened  by POP BANG!!! BANG POP SNAP!!  Yup wake up call...  :o  :D My other two cousins that were in the other tent had got up and thought they would give us wake up call by lighting a series of fire crackers they had set up all around our tent.   :D  :D   Not wanting to get up yet we laughed it off and went back to sleep only to be woken up again by one big loud BANG!!  You see they had jumped into the canoe and went out on the lake  before we could catch them and tune them in for waking us.  Needless to say we did not know the two of them had a couple sticks of dynamite along.  They had decided it would be much easier to blow a beaver dam than to portage.  :o :D  When they saw that the dynamite had knocked out a bunch of fish they had taken the dipnet and filled the bottom of the canoe with these fish.  We never did much fishing after that we were too busy cleaning fish for the rest of the weekend. :D  :D  Our parents were happy we filled the freezer with enough fish to last a year with just one fishing trip but boy if they only knew how it was done. ::)  ::)  I was not pleased at all they had done this and to this day I no longer like to clean fish.  I wonder why.  :D 

Maybe not really funny – but just odd.  Something you don't expect to see every day.

Mary was returning from making a delivery when she spotted under an overpass in a rural area a full grown young man in a Super Man costume playing an electric guitar and singing.  The electric guitar was not connected to anything. 

Was the man connected to anything?

Quote from: beenthere on September 21, 2009, 09:04:44 PM
Was the man connected to anything?

Not connected but definitely on something ::)

Some days you need a good laugh.

Coming back from a delivery run I got to thinking about my ol' buddy Opie that I worked with some 25 years ago.  He was so funny. 

One day he was setting in his office chair and was playing with a heavy paper tube about 3' long that once had plotter rolled on it.  For some reason he threaded the tube under the arms of the chair and across his lap and stood up.   The base of the chair fell off the bottom and there he was with this seat stuck to his butt and couldn't do anything about it.  He couldn't see the base behind him to hit the hole again.  He couldn't get the paper roll out.  He couldn't stand up straight.  He was in a fix.  'Corse, someone eventually helped him out but not before we all got a good laugh. 

I posted a list of odd things he said earlier in this topic.  If you need a laugh,  I invite you to go back and read a few.

https://forestryforum.com/board/index.php/topic,27755.msg17452.html#msg17452

I'll tell one on myself,

With all the snow we have had and using my skidsteer to push and scoop it out of the way I created an icy slope on the north side of my house. My brother and I use this part of the driveway to walk between our houses and I was walking through there the other day and slipped and busted my butt. I had to load the woodcart and noticed alot of chaff on it so I gathered up a big double handfull of it to throw on the ice and as I was walking twards the icy spot slipped on more ice and threw the chaff in my own face. For a good 30 seconds I was madder than a wet hen, then I got the humor of it and had a pretty good laugh... and a nice purple bruse (you know where)to show for it.

Jon

It does make one mad to be the" butt of the joke." :D

Well, I'm a little sore about it  ::)

Quote from: isawlogs on June 24, 2009, 11:01:03 PM

Note to self :  Do not , I mean do not ever go camping with Tom . ever .  :-X :o

you got something against moonshine???

she says to the guy she's with...
do these make my butt look big...
I but in and say....
YUP!!!! and then some...
she detonates....
he says...
some day you'll learn to not ask that question....
she ramps it up even further...
I leave the store...

Jon, your story reminds me of......

The first year at our new property I had to use the roof/rake to clean the snow off the roof. The rake is four six foot aluminum poles and a 24" wide plastic "shovel" that you use to pull snow off the roof without getting up on the roof. The snow removal job went fine but as I was walking back to the shed I hit a patch of ice. I saw the ice and took the apropriate precautions (except to stay off it!)  by walking very slowly and carefully. Didn't work. Both my feet went straight out in front of me, the poles and shovel went flying straight up and landed on top of me like pick-up sticks. At the time I didn't think it was funny, I let out a string of swear words that I didn't even know that I knew!
Looking back it must have been a pretty funny sight.

A slipped once on a side walk at a place I was renting during school. I came down hard on the back of the noggin. I don't think I been the same since. :D

This evening I was reading about some of the History of the little town in which I grew u (http://www.fpua.com/about/morehistory.php)p, Ft. Pierce, Florida.   I found an article on the first power plant, actually, the one I knew.  Here is a pretty funny little story associated with it. Yes, I remember the whistle blowing.

Did you know?
   The Power Plant used to blink the street lights as an emergency signal to police to report to the station.

Power Plant employees used to blow a whistle at Noon each day so people would have accurate time. It has been said that a Power Plant employee checked a clock outside a jewelers on Second Street each day to assure the correct time. It was also said that the same jewelry store owner set his clock by the Power Plant whistle!

A town of whistle blowers. ;D

Around here it was mills, but the hydro dam at Tobique Narrows always whistled when the gates were to be open and I believe it is done at the other plants as well because I used to here it at Mactaquac hydro dam in the morning where we fished for salmon. I've also heard it on the Aroostook dam.

We've had some real excitement in our area for the past week or so.  Seems there was a goat on the loose in Mexico, Missouri.  The local radio station kept the up with the stories and where-abouts of the goat.   Some 8,000 people followed it on Facebook.  Finally someone called in a professional "goat roper" on horseback.  He got a lasso around the free roaming beast and brought the story to a close. 

I don't know if anyone admitted owning the goat. 

I wonder how much the goat roper's reputation would have been damaged if he'd failed?  smiley_horserider

some folks i know about live close to a microwave tower that relays telephone calls. the phone company put in a diesel generator for a backup in case of power falier.
the folks complained that every time they heard that generator start up thier electricity went off.  ;D

Bibby, A few years ago a friend asked me to bring my horse and catch a 500 lb calf that was running loose and getting a little mean.  I flushed him out of the brush, and he headed for the highway. ::)  It was what passes for the rush hour there, when everyone who works in Jasper is heading home- most of them as fast as they can get by with.  I can't rope worth a hoot, but the critter was determined to get on the road.  So I tossed my rope at him, and by some miracle, got him on the first try. ;D  I was only about 100' from the road, and everyone passing saw the "cowboy" with a really mad calf on the end of the rope. Apparently someone has roped with my horse at some time, because he seemed to know more about what to do than I did.   My reputation in town was made!  By the time I got my horse back in the trailer and stopped in town for a soft drink, word had beat me back.  I'll be in trouble if I'm ever called on to repeat the feat.

They say you only get one shot at making a good first impression.  I've seen a number of times when an otherwise average Joe hits a homerun the first time and then he's golden for life.  But the next average guy strikes out at bat the first time up, he's branded as a looser for life.

The generator story reminds me of the lady that called in to the highway department to inform them that they need to take down the deer crossing signs on her road.  Why?  Because it was an unsafe place for deer to cross – they just keep getting hit and killed!

One of my all-time favorite places is Scotty's Castle in northern Death Valley. On one of my visits to the Castle our tour leader told a funny story.

The story goes that once, when it was being built, a female tourist asked Scotty why they had such a large herd of mules at the job site. Scotty, always a quick wit answered "We need them to haul all the fuel for our large fleet of trucks." The lady thought a moment and then asked him why they needed all the trucks, to which Scotty replied, "Well, we need those trucks to haul the feed hay for the mules" After that the lady didn't ask anymore questions.

For some reason I always remembered that story.

Joe

Well, it's Getting around to the End of the Year and Time for Some Fun or Yarn's (I think).

I think of my Dad (died Dec. 09) and he was a great story teller. Some of his story's were true and some parts (not so true) were added in for the heck of it.

Anyway, if you have some story's about working in the woods or funny, just crazy things that happened... please share them.  I'm in the mood for light hearted chat and shared experiences from others that bring on a chuckle or two to the FF folks.

My one story is about cutting saw timber alone and getting pinned against our dozer by a tree. I was cutting a nice oak that was straight and looked 100% to me. The oak split back in a heart beat and pushed me against the tracks of our dozer. I was held there with just enough pressure to hold me fast against the dozer. The pressure on my chest was not enough to keep me from breathing.  Lucky for me, a state worker came along the road and saw me there and cut me free. I was held there for about an hour or so.

I told my Dad what happened, he told me that I was not careful enough. He said, " I told you not to cut anything that would get you in trouble, " and You need to Listen to Me ! "  Anyway, this happened in the 60's and I never got cut or busted up (except that one time). I must have listened most of the time (small joke  :) ). I'd like to have him here right now... to tell me some of his old story's, we'd laugh :D, perhaps a big belly laugh... if it was a real good one. My Dad was a Man's Man and dearly missed. I feel... that other's here may have similar thought's (fond memories) of their Loved Ones.

Share a funny story or spin a truth based yarn.

Happy Holiday's & Be Safe Out There !

Avery
 

My brother and I were raised by my aunt and uncle.  When we were about 9 or 10, they were going to cut a few dead elms in our small woods.  We were told to stay far away because if that tree hit us, we would be nothing but grease spots.  We were told about being grease spots anytime something big could fall or crossing railroad tracks or getting hit by a semi.  We have always been careful not to become grease spots.

If you're looking for a funny story, we have quite a collection here and you can still add your own.

A Funny Story Thread (https://forestryforum.com/board/index.php/topic,27755.0.html)

Well, one piece of sage advice I received as a boy was "Never pee on an electric fence."  I took that to heart and never did.  However, others did not in some form or other.  We had coons raiding the garden once, so we decided to put up an electric fence around it.   We put it about 6" above the ground for best effect.  All the time we were erecting it, our old yellow tomcat  lazily observed the procedings.  Now you almost had to drive a stake next to him to see if he moved and if he did, it was slow and deliberate.  After turning the fence on and checking it, we decided to wait for the coons.  Well, old Mr. Tom decided to check it out.  He ambled slowly over, stopped, stuck his nose out toward the fence, and as he was within about 3/4" away, it arced with a loud snap.  Nothing.  Almost in slow motion, his fur stood up, and he seemed to double in size.  With a full head of steam, legs churning, snorting, he headed for the barn sounding like old No. 9 pulling out of the station.  At dusk, we could hear the young coons playing.  Suddenly, it sounding like a pack of wildcats.  Cat and coons never bother the fence after that.   :D

JV

I got a Big Chuckle from your Electric Fence Story and thought of my Dad's Electric Fence Story.

We had a dairy farm and had  80 or so milking cows. However, in every herd of cows, a bad apple or two will come about. This one cow was named  Road Runner.  She was a real nut case and in her former life... she may have been a race horse or race car driver or escape artist or worst  :D .  She'd run ahead of the herd with her tail up and was always up to new trick's. She'd open the siding barn door with her head and get into the chop storage area and make a big mess. Her worst trick was >> walking through the electric fence and getting the whole herd into the corn field.

My Dad worked at the State Prison Farm during the day and my Mother and I were left with the day to day farm chores. It was pure madness and just short of total exhaustion to get these cows out of the corn. It was important to get them out in short order due to them eating too much of the corn and bloating (as I recall ?).  I'd chase 10 to 15 out and about the same number would run back in during my next attempt. Exhausted, I finally used a our farm tractor with the bucket pointing down & blowing the horn. I'd nearly hit them but stopped short of this to advoid injury to our cows. Anyway, after about four or five of these deals and a lot of ruined corn... my Dad had enough.

He declared war on Road Runner and had plan that would teach her a lesson. She be stopped or end up as dog food.  It was on a Saturday and my Dad was off that day. We milked the herd and were going to put them in the pasture next to the corn. Before we left them out of the barn, my Dad went to the old milk house where the electric fencer was and disconnected it. The old milk house still had 220 Volts in it for the milk cooler that had been there before.  He Y Y'd  a two prong connection from the old 220 V. line that was disconnected from the old cooler.

We waited to see what Road Runner would do and we did not wait too long. She walked straight toward the corn field with all the other cows right behind her.  Dad waited with the power 220 YY'd lead in his hand and as soon as Road Runner touched the fence... he laid the 220 on the fence line. Road Runner went down and he left it on her for about 5 seconds. The pasture grass was wet with dew and she got a full load of 220 volts and 60 amps or so. He disconnected the 220 line and we jumped in the pick up and went down to her. We repaired the mashed down fence line and she had got up and moved to the middle of the field. Road Runner looked Ok, but was Not her normal self and had mixed into the middle of the herd and not show boating now. I guess, one would say that... Road Runner had her Mind Right... Boss and she wouldn't Run No More (line taken from Cool Hand Luke Movie).  

Later that day, when we brought the herd in, Road Runner did not want to walk through the gated areas where the fence gates were. She never went through the fence lines again. I guess this was a total learning experience for her. This shocking expereince was much better than ending up in packing house as >> Dad's brand dog food  :D (little joke here).

 

 

One summer long ago, when I was a runner, I was making my way back up a long hill to my house.  With about 1/2 mile to go, I came upon a Camero parked on the soft shoulder of the road.  Both doors were wide open, a girl was seated in the passenger seat, and the male driver was laying down on the driver side floormats working up under the dash.  At the moment I arrived he pulled out some wires, sat up and yanked the stereo out of the dash.   All the while, he was cussin' a blue streak.  I could hear him long before I reached the car.  I mean non-stop f-this and m-f that.  His was livid.  He got out of the car, took the stereo and heaved it into my neighbor's cow pasture, on the other side of the little country road.

I stopped and asked him as nicely as possible, as I could see that he was boiling over, that, despite his current rage, could he not throw away his junk into my neighbors field?   He verbally lit into me big time, but his girlfriend told him he was acting like a jerk, and told him to retrieve it.  Reluctantly he stepped over the electric fence wire and picked up his stereo.  When he stepped back over the electric wire to exit the field, the wire touched the back of his exposed thigh (had shorts on) and he got shocked.  I didn't think his language could get worse, but it did.  He screamed at the girl for making him pickup the radio, threw it past her into the back seat, and started the engine.  With that, she got out of the passenger door, slammed it shut and walked away.  He drove off sending gravel everywhere.  Turns out that the girl and I had mutual friends.  We walked home and I gave her a lift to her house.  No, no romance there, but we still exchange Christmas cards and laugh about the incident each year.  Doctorb

Oh yeah, cows, pure cussedness, and greed seem to go together.  Back when we still picked corn rather than shell it, we of course stored the ears in cribs.  During an exceptional fall with good yields, the excess that wouldn't fit in the cribs had to be stored elsewhere.  Dad's solution was to lay saplings in a row as floor joists.  Then we nailed native lumber on top for a floor.  Once the floor was made, a roll of picket fence was laid out in a circle about 15' diameter.  It was filled about 3/4 full an another ring of fence was installed inside the first.  About 3 or 4 layers made a good temporary silo.  An electric fence was placed around about 3' from the picket.  We had this old white Holstein cow that must have been part deer.  She could get in more trouble than the rest of the herd put together.  She continually tested the fence and finally found a weakness.  I spotted her one day kneeling down on her front legs, head and neck twisted sideways under the fence pulling ears of corn out between the slats.  Once she had her fill it was time to retreat.  One problem, she forgot the electric fence above her neck.  Whe she tried to stand, the fence caught her squarely across the neck just ahead of her shoulders.  All four legs appeared to splay outward horizontally.  She bounced up and down several times emitting a deep "baaawwwwl" each time.  Finally, she managed to clear the fence.  No more robbing corn for her.  

Tom's funny story thread has been an institution here on the Forestry Forum for almost a decade. It's the perfect place to add your story and continue a Forestry Forum tradition.

Quote from: Cedarman on December 01, 2010, 07:27:12 AM
My brother and I were raised by my aunt and uncle.  When we were about 9 or 10, they were going to cut a few dead elms in our small woods.  We were told to stay far away because if that tree hit us, we would be nothing but grease spots.  We were told about being grease spots anytime something big could fall or crossing railroad tracks or getting hit by a semi.  We have always been careful not to become grease spots.

:D :D I've been a grease spot a few times when the wood fire gets a little toasty. Have to open a window to solidify and regain shape. :D

Quote from: JV on December 01, 2010, 12:01:29 PM
Well, one piece of sage advice I received as a boy was "Never pee on an electric fence."  I took that to heart and never did.  .........

Dat's good advice.

Workin on the farm, and the hired hand had the idea that a very fine copper wire run out through the grove to the pasture fence was needed to keep the cows and the big herford bull in the pasture. Had a high voltage weed cutter feeding it. The hired combine operator stopped behind the grove, thinking he was going to get a "pee" in before driving through the farm yard. Well, when he came in he was pretty red in the face. Seems he discovered the "hidden" wire going out through that grove.  :D   (glad it was him, not me).

Mine was holding a Playboy Mag. in my hand outside a Elephant's cage and getting (nearly) pulled inside the cage by Mr. Elephant. I dropped the Playboy and he ate it, I was shaking.. thought my arm was going to get puled off as we went through the bars od his cage. This event happen in the Siagon Zoo in 1971.

Reminds me of the time I was riding a Belgian bare back, no saddle was gonna fit that monster, through a snowy field. The trail led under a spruce tree so I leaned over as far as I could... and fell off. That cussed horse made me walk all the way back to the barn looking over her shoulder to make sure I was still there. >:( I never did get along with those miserable beggars.

For some reason, a lot of my memories about livestock involve electricity in some form.  We raised cattle, hogs, sheep and chickens at one time or another.  Sending them to market sometimes wasn't the easiest chore.  Dad had several friends who hauled livestock, one who did most of our hauling was Bunk.  Short, bow-legged, and usually laughing, he was a typical stocker.  Among his arsenal was a short whip, a cane, and a "hotshot".  The hotshot was an electric stock prod that took 9 or more D cell batteries and stepped up the voltage to encourage a reluctant critter to go up the loading chute. 

Well, one day we were loading old sows we had culled from the breeding stock.  It went fairly well until one decided she was not going up the chute.  I decided to "tail" her up so we could finish.  "Tailing" involved grabbing the tail and twisting it up over her back and pulling on it while you put your shoulder against her rump and pushed.  Well, I got her halfway up the narrow chute and she dug in her heels.  She's locked in position and I'm at about a 30 degree angle to the chute with my legs tucked up under me pushing as hard as I can.  Bunk says "I'll git her up there."  He grabbed the hotshot and applied it to her rump and pushed the button.  By this time I had established a really good contact with this critter.  As the current was surging through us, my legs involuntarily straighten.  She catapulted up the chute to the front of the truck in mere seconds.  As Bunk was laughing, I was envisioning applying that hotshot giving him another reason to walk stiffly.  :D

JV That's a Good One

I remember when the Hotshot's came out but we never moved enough livestock to buy one.

My Dad had a man (Charlie Fisher) wire up our new barn.  Charlie was ruuning 220 V. to the stable cleaner motor on the other side of the barn.  I was 15 or 16 YO and his helper & did whatever Charlie asked me to do. He sent me to the main electrial box to wire up some 110 outlets and it was hot & on other side of barn. I was feeding the wire in and the ends were strriped back and the panel face was off and on the ground. Anyway, when I was about to tighten some f the lugs.. I got my screw driver in the wrong place and got a real shock. I was just able to break free from the shock. I learned that day... that working a elect. box hot is just stupid and can kill you. This shock was from 110 volts, 15 amp elec. power. Forgot to mention that I was standing in a calf pen and it was wet in there and I was well grounded too.

Working in the Woods and Farming is Listed in the Top Ten of the Most Dangerous Professions.... No Doubt About It !

When I was about 10 years old Larry and I decided we needed to practice our roping. We had already been warned to leave the calves alone and the sheep were to lazy to move so we headed for the pig barn.

I made a few tosses without catching anything; them Dang pigs are quick so Larry got a bright idea. I would climb on the shed roof, a low shed, only 7 feet to the peak, and dangle the lasso in front of the door. Larry would chase a pig out and I would catch it - easy as pie.

Getting up there was easy and dangling the loop was easy and catching the pig was easy and he jerked me off that roof like it was easy....hitting the ground was hard! even with the 4 inches of mud to break my fall. Pig pen mud is a very special kind of mud  :(

Big Smile's for Sprucegum...you and I were great roper's (well sort of) & we had similiar & brilliant ideas... here's mine.

We had river bottom ground and big hay fields that were flat and smooth to run on. I got two old Harley's, one running & one for parts, they were 1947 (61 C.I.) knuckle heads.

My buddy Roy drove and I was behind him on the big buddy seat. We made about four try's until I lasso'd a big doe.  I had the rope tied off to the front end of the bike. I had a folding knife in my pocket for... just in case I needed it (glad I did).

Man what a mistake to rope that deer, she went crazy and jumped around like a kanger-roo. In the course of  3 or 4 minutes... ahe beat us up pretty good with >> rope burns, bruises and those hard feet of her's but a real hurten on us. Finally she ran out of rope and wound around the motorcycle (laid on it's side) with the rope on her.  I was able to cut the rope off her neck and she was free of us and we were double DanG glad to be free of her.

Roy & me Laughed & Laughed.... even though that deer but some good lick's on us.  We still laugh when we talk about the old times and how kids had great fun in the old days.

If you ya want to hear it, I'll share my story about the Air Bike I made and pulling the big old Bob Sled with chain's on the Harley ?

Avery, you got a death wish.  No wonder you took up helicopters.

Old aint dead

I get into some strange situations at work I always snicker about this.

We were transporting this elderly lady somewhere for tests. She was about 90, tiny, demure, classy and in full possession of her faculties.
I told her that I could adjust the temperature in the ambulance to what ever would make her comfortable. Smiling up at me she said that she was a bit cold "but I don't know that there is enough room for the both of us on this bed"
I'm not speechless often.
DC

I bet you blushed, didn't you!  :-[

You probably made her day, just being polite and so kind.

sawdust, that brought a big smile to me this morning. :)

I Have a Speechless Experience to Share.

I was working in Mojave, CA at the time as a H-60 maint. test pilot and part timing as a diesel mechainc on GSA vehicles at Edward's Airforce Base. I worked for a friend of mine that had a contract with Edward's. I had just left his shop  on a Saturday and was going to stop at a little bar in Lancaster that had live music in the late afternoon. Going to the bar... I saw a little car do something that I thought was impossible and it was... it crashed big time. The car was a litttle TR-6, a two seater convertible. The car was coming toward me on the two lane rural road. This happened in the high desert near Lancaster, the car turned about 60 degrees and shot across my lane about 100 yards in front of me. My brain said, ain't No car made that can do that and keep from rolling over but it did not roll. The TR6 nosed (road was 4 or 5 ft. higher) into the desert and flipped end over end.  I saw a big clould of dust and thought I saw something fly out of the car but was not sure.  I pulled over to the side of the road and dust was just settling and I saw something (a human form) sticking up and ran over.  It was a women and she was just sitting there and not a sound from here. She looked like she had been covered with about a 50 lb. sack of fine talumun powder. She was batting her eyes and trying to focus her eyes. I asked if she was Ok, finally, she said, I'm Ok I think.  She asked about her friend -- Steve.  I saw him a few feet away and he was just starting to move. Steve was laying flat on the ground and covered with dust too but had jeans on.

They both got up (slowly) and then I noticed the women was completely naked... just finely dusted. She was about a 8.8 with lot's of dust and most likely a 10 without dust (little joke  :D.  I asked them... what happened and they said, it happened so quick, the car just shot across the road.  I went over to the car and it had beer cans in it and smelled that way too. I asked them about going to the hospital and they said they were Ok.  She asked for a ride to her mom's house that was close by.  I went to my 1 ton service truck and got a spare uniform shirt out of the cab and gave it to her (Ya, I'm a Officer & Gentleman type, most of the time).

We were going down the road and my little mind was smiling & trying to figure out what really happened. I thought that some type of >> in the car antic's were in play << for the car to dart across the road like that; and Lucky for them they did not get hurt.  I was Speechless when I saw this accident happen and then... a very pretty nude (a dusty 8.8) gal to boot. Also, I forgot to get my shirt back but that was no big deal, it was worth this crazy experience.  I continued on to the little bar and had a good meal. I had a couple beer's too and set back and had some smile's come to mind (what had happened that afternoon). I remember that the band played good oldies, the lead singer did the song " La Bama "... and he did it really well. It was a great afternoon, I was glad to be alive and ain't life something ! ? !

Yep.. Fond Memories and Speechless to-This- Day About that One !

Avery

My daughter Jodi called a couple days ago and told me about the Christmas Eve dinner our family had.(we couldn't attend)

She sat across the table from my Dad and my Uncle Thor after dinner.Thor's batteries in his hearing aid died and he coouldn't hear.My Dad took the batteries out of his and gave them to Thor who is far more deaf.

Thor said "thats way better" and my Dad said "hey?"

That's great!!  You have a daughter with a good sense of humor.    :)

That would have gone right over the head of most folks.  :D :D

Not me, I know some old farts take the batteries or aides out all together.  Much quieter. ;D :D :D

Do they turn their backs toward you too,Bill?  ;)

No, they just read lips and say Ha?!? to annoy ya. ;D Put my hand up to my mouth while talking to return the gesture. :D  Sometimes it's more peaceful for the old fart to not be annoyed by family members nagging about batteries and turning the darn aid up. Can get on a man's nerves. :D

Back in spring of 07 I rented a dozer to start the tenn project from scratch. I had to put in a 1/2 mile driveway and dig out the basement. I rented a dresser 15 because that was the biggest they had available at that time. I had never even sat on a dozer prior to this. I was alone with no idea what I was doing. The company had dropped it off before I got there so I never got the this lever does this and this knob does that talk. It was all OJT.

So in the first few days I got my driveway in but blew a hydraulic hose so they had to come out and replace it. The mechanic wasn't all that thrilled he had to do this in the middle of the woods and took a couple short cuts like not cleaning the belly pan of the oil and not putting the side panels back on the engine area.

The following day I got bored digging out the basement so I started putting in some trails to see what I had actually bought land wise.

Bull Dozers are powerful things! I found I really enjoyed smashing down large trees [should have been a Army tanker. Would probably have preferred to be a USMC tanker as their dress blues are way better looking but my parents were married and they weren't Brother and Sister so I wouldn't have qualified to be a Marine Grin]

Heck I even put a couple dents in my truck refueling the thing.

So there I am happily dozing away down in the bottom of the property when I notice smoke coming from the belly pan. Not a lot of smoke but still somethings burning. This can't be good....

I look down and sure enough there's a bunch of leaves and twigs [remember there are no side panels to stop this crap like pine needles from falling into the belly pan full of hydraulic fluid] burning but I can't reach that far down. I have nothing to pour on it as I had drank all the water and beer I had brought a while ago. Couldn't even get a drop of pee having sweated all liquids away. I had a fire extinguisher in my truck but that was a mile away and all up hill, steep hill too I might add.

Now I'm sitting in a pine forest, my pine forest that I just bought and didn't really  want to start off with a forest fire so I decided to drive it out of the woods. Away I go, full speed ahead can't see anything due to smoke and trees, have no idea really where I am because I was just ambling around making random trails so I pretty much just went up hill hoping to get to my truck before this thing blew up.
WHD and Custom Sawyer have seen the terrain, it's very steep in some places one of which is dead ahead of me unbeknownst. At times it was so steep I thought the thing was going to tip over backwards. Looking back I should have found a better place to drive but [1,] I really didn't know the land well at all.[ 2,] smoke was getting pretty bad and now the fires crackling away and flames are starting to shoot up. [3,] It's starting to get a bit "sporty"

I get about half way up this hill and find a fresh trail I had put in so knowing if I follow that against the flow of debris I should end up where I started and safety.

I get within sight of the paved road but still a long ways from my truck and kaboom the thing explodes! I do my very best leap, tuck, roll and run. Shocked, The dozer continues on unmanned for 25-50 feet then quits. [ it actually was a radiator hose let loose but scared the crap out of me!] It's in a open area near the paved road at least so I figure I'm ok.

Now I need to call 911 but no signal so I dial 911 hit send and start throwing the cell phone into the air hoping to catch a signal while I walk uphill towards my truck.

About half way up I get a signal and it's ringing!

911 what's your emergency?

I have a bull dozer on fire,

Why don't you put the fire out?

ah because I don't have anything to put it out with.

You should have a fire extinguisher on the machine at all times Sir.

ah well I don't so could you send a fire truck?

Where are you located?

Co RD ###

Sir there is no CO RD ###

It's also called Liberty hill Rd

Sir there are no roads by that name

sigh
Ma'am I'm  sure that's the road I just bought this property and that's what it says on the deed.  Co Rd ###

Sir, Where are you from?

Florida

oh that explains it

Explains what?

Well you called the wrong 911 center this is Monroe CO fire you need Mcminn County

Ma'am I called 911 you answered,

Sir I answered because you called us instead of McMinn where you should have called.

Ma'am I dialed 911 and need a fire truck can you help with that or should this dozer just burn?

Sir, don't get snippy with me.

Can you transfer me to the proper place?

I can try, click......

Silence,

Silence,

silence,

911 what's your emergency?

I have a bull dozer on fire, requesting a fire truck

Sir I just spoke with you this is Monroe 911 you need Mc Minn 911

Ma'am you were supposed to transfer me, can you just call them and relay the call for service?

click

click,

silence

silence,

911 what's your emergency?

I have a bull dozer fire.

Now I have 2 call centers on the line the first Ladies telling the other that there is a "Person" from Florida on the line with a problem but he doesn't know where he is.

New Dispatcher
what is the address of the fire Sir?

Co Rd ###

What is the exact address Sir?

There isn't one ma'am I just bought this land.

What does it say on the mail box?

There is no mail box

Why not you can't get mail without one out there.

I don't want mail I want a fire truck.

I need to know the address sir!

Well Ma'am here's the deal....... send a fire truck to CO RD ###. Tell them to stop at the first burning bull dozer they see.

How will they know they are at the right address sir?

You got to be kidding me Lady, the roads only about 3 miles long how many burning dozers do you think there are going to be?

Don't be short with me Sir we get you Floridians all the time thinking they know everything!

Ma'am all I know is that I have a bull dozer on fire and am requesting a fire truck to put it out. I'm not trying to be a *#$@  here but this is getting ridiculous. I'm just glad this isn't a life or death situation or someone would have been dead already.

Watch your mouth Sir this line is recorded.

Really then hopefully someone listens to it and see's how hard it is to get a fire truck.

Sir why don't you use a fire extinguisher?

I don't have one.

You should always have one.

Well I don't

hold on.....

click

click

click

silence........

Sir where did you say you were again.......

Well to make a long story short the fire trucks and I mean trucks showed up. I forgot this was a volunteer fire dept area so they get excited and send everything when all we needed was 1 small brush truck but at least they finally got there and got the fire out. Later they told me that this was the first time they got to use the brand new truck as all the others had burned when the fire house caught fire a few months ago. Except for the new one the other 4 were loaners.

Fire Chief comes up to me and says' I understand you gave linda a hard time on the phone?

Who's Linda?

My sister in law that works at 911 we don't take kindly to Northerners  coming down here being rude.

Well Chief for the record I'm from Florida so to be precise you are the Northerner here. Grin

Fire Chief,  Shocked Shocked Angry Angry Angry Angry I thought the top of his head was going to blow off Grin Grin

So now a Deputy Sheriff waddles over. His nickname turns out to be Bubba Roll Eyes what's the chance of that?

He starts in on my Yankee attitude and how people like me do not have any idea what EMS and the Police go through on a daily basis.

OH really...... Well Deputy, having worked years on a  Police Dept with the last 5 of them being a crime control team car that only responded to in-progress calls   AND when I can pretty much say that my squad was probably  bigger than your whole dept I understand what the deal is but if you had any idea what it just took to get a fire truck out here I believe you would understand my attitude on the phone.

Bubba  OH.

They call us those Dang Florida Boys now. :D :D :D


 (https://forestryforum.com/gallery/albums/userpics/14445/0429072019a.jpg) 

 (https://forestryforum.com/gallery/albums/userpics/14445/0429072019.jpg)

A classic for sure. :D
The last I heard they call us Floridiots in Tenneessee.
And Halfbacks.  I'm sure a few other not so nice words.

Sounds about like the exchange with the 911 service we had when Dad was having a major health episode.   My sister kept saying "Are you sending an ambulance? " only to be ignored and followed with more useless questions.  Finally a volunteer first responder showed up and ordered an ambulance.   The EMTs quickly diagnosed the problem and administered aid.  It took about a hour from the time we first call to 911 until the ambulance arrived. 

It wasn't a funny story.

Another run in with 911.  We had a street marker on the end of our road. Someone pulled up the post and broke off the sign and absconded with it. We called the country road maintenance department but were told we had to talk with 911.  Mary went to their office and was treated like we had destroyed the sign and then there was a question as to if we qualified for a sign on our road in the first place.

Long story long, it took four months and several conversations get the sign replaced.   I had put the post back in the ground. They had to drive out and measure the road to see if it qualified for a name despite the fact it had been named and marked with a sign for some 10 years!

Time for a 912 service!

Awesome story, Raider.  LOL  Many years ago, I was a 911 dispatcher.  If anyone in our dispatch center at that time had ever treated a caller that way, they would've been fired.  Uh, no pun intended.  ;D

I've got a couple of 911 stories but they're not appropriate for a family board.

GREAT story, Raider Bill! :D That sounds a lot like the property we bought, where the cabin is in Highland County, VA. My only saving grace is that I'm from up there, but it takes some getting used to (their local mind-set) after being gone for the last 25+ years.

Did the rental place come out and fix the dozer or ?

That's classic, I guess that might be the best thing about living in a small town, if you don't know the address you just tell them who lives closest and to look for the smoke  :D.  We have 3 volunteer fire departments within 15 miles of us and there most generally will be somebody in each one who can drive straight to whatever location you come up with just by calling it a name.

Raider Bill, I really enjoyed that story!   :D :D

Thanks for the story Raider Bill, and I also noticed that this is the thread that Bibbyman made his first post in.   :)

Raider Bill,that is funny.And than some.
We had a forest fire here. The guy above calls it in. I was not living here,but was here cutting wood. The land and the fire is on the town line,Fayette and Chesterville. This was before 911 too. He calls up Chesterville,because that is the phone number he has,he lives in Chesterville. He tells them where the fire is and they say,oh,you need to call Fayette,that is not our area. The neighbor says,well by the time I get off the phone it will be in your area.  :D    All was good,both towns showed up.

Bill that was a classic, spurs me on to put my fire extinguisher back in the work vehicle, I don't want to risk what you went through. :)

On our dirt road a couple of months back, I came across a car on fire with the drivers door open, I had my young son on board so parked a good distance from it. I called 000 (911) while walking towards the car to determine if there was any one in it. The fire was building and was getting hot and I had the phone to my ear, just as the 000 call lady said "The fire brigade is on the way" the car exploded, I yelled out #$@#*
As I was apologising and retreating approx 5 more smaller explosions went off. Appears the torching was  a domestic argument and accelerants were used.

The 911 experience is a little troubling, one can laugh at it now I suppose. But I got a kick out of the yankie driving the 'dozer all over creation making trails. :D Some woodlot roads round here, I think are the results of some fellow playing on a 'dozer making paths. No planning involved, just get out of the way. ;)

Quote from: Magicman on June 21, 2013, 09:54:24 PM
Thanks for the story Raider Bill, and I also noticed that this is the thread that Bibbyman made his first post in.   :)

I'll have to go look.  Maybe so maybe not. Maybe first on the new Forum.

It was, and it was about food. ;) :)

Quote from: Jeff on June 22, 2013, 06:34:04 AM
It was, and it was about food. ;) :)

Yep, 

https://forestryforum.com/board/index.php/topic,27755.msg1808.html#msg1808

Good ol' Tom invited me over to visit a bit.

What a thread!!! I had to bookmark it. I only got to page 3. If I don't stop reading,I won't get outside until noon. That Tom can tell a story. And he has many.

Quote from: clww on June 21, 2013, 05:51:50 PM
GREAT story, Raider Bill! :D That sounds a lot like the property we bought, where the cabin is in Highland County, VA. My only saving grace is that I'm from up there, but it takes some getting used to (their local mind-set) after being gone for the last 25+ years.


Did the rental place come out and fix the dozer or ?

I had bought the liability waiver but they still tried tell me fire wasn't included. In the end we got it worked out but that I couldn't rent from them any more.

Quote from: SwampDonkey on June 22, 2013, 04:52:45 AM
The 911 experience is a little troubling, one can laugh at it now I suppose. But I got a kick out of the yankie driving the 'dozer all over creation making trails. :D Some woodlot roads round here, I think are the results of some fellow playing on a 'dozer making paths. No planning involved, just get out of the way. ;)

Is there any other way to put in trails? ;D I have perfected trail making now that I don't have a dozer and have to dodge the big trees with my Kubota FEL. ;D

Not to step on Bill's story:

Bill, you sure you weren't in Texas?  We were driving north on US59, going to Nachodoches to see my daughter in college.  Ran into a Texas gully washer, slow down, outside lane, and see head lights shining up from the woods off down the fill.  Obviously the car had hydroplaned and hit the woods, backwards.  Called 911 (here the story goes a little like yours)

911, what is your emergency

Me, we are on US 59 about 3 miles south of Nachodoches, about a quarter of a mile south of Grimes hardwood mill, there is a car hydroplaned off the road and in the trees.

911-Where?

I repeat

911 - what highway?

I repeat

911 - sir, there is no US59 in Louisiana

Me - Miss, I am in Texas, how did I get Louisiana 911?  Mean while, I am still driving north.

911 - sir, I dont know dial 911 again. Hang up

Me - dial 911

911 - what is your emergency

Me - story again

911 - sir, you just called me and I told you to call 911

Me - I did, could you find it in your heart to transfer me to a Texas 911?

911 - sir, you can just dial 911

me - I did, I get  you, call Texas.

911 - I will try, sir.

911 - what is  your emergency

Me - story

911 - where?

Me - south of Nachodoches

911 - sir, this is Houston 911.

Me - crap, lady, I have been on this phone for 10 minutes trying to get help for a wreck south of Nachodoches, Texas.  Please transfer me to some one in Lufkin or Nachodoches.

911 - Yes, sir

911 - what is your emergency

Me - story

911 - we have a wrecker on the way, and emt's

me- Thank you

911 - and your telephone number is (she gives me a Louisiana number)

me - yes, thank you

As we pull into Nachodoches fire rescue and ambulance going south.

A month later, on the same road, same place, a memorial is set up at the site.  One can only wonder, if the calls had worked, would the memorial not been there?

'Nether 911 story. 

Mary just got back from making her Sunday morning milk and eggs run.  The big story was that his sons had been combinding barely in the field just south of us when their combine cought on fire.   They only had a water jug and was a 100 yards from the creek.  They called 911 and the volunteer fire department was dispatched.   Only problem was,  they kept missing the turnoff to the field.  The farmers could hear the trucks going up and down the road passing the turnoff.  It took them an hour to get there. 

One of my removed cousins was a volunteer firefighter.   He was on his way some place and got a call.  He ran all over the west side of the county looking for the fire. When he finally got turned around and found the fire on the east side of the country,  the residence looked familiar.   It waw his house!   A fire had started right after he left home.

I was on a Volunteer Fire Department for 10 years. We covered 100 sq miles, 2 towns, plus all the farms.
Had 32 Fire Fighters, and 7 trucks for 2 stations.
Ran close to 200 calls a year.

During this time the Sherriff's Department had a male dispatcher that did not conduct him self in a acceptable manner while dispatching.
The Deputies put up with him, but it really upset the area Fire Services.

So our Department hatched a plan to get him removed.

Whenever the Dispatcher had his attitude going, we'd call the Sherriff on his private line and complain.
It took a couple weeks to get him off the radio, but we got our point across with around 40 phone calls.

All 911 calls are recorded. You can request a copy of your call.  When you make the request the department head will know about it and hopefully will investigate. 

This is the funniest, most ironic thread ever. The 911 stories are funny but sad, though.

I'll add a story to resurrect this thread: I am the youngest of five kids, and one of my sisters is fairly gullible. My older sibs would sometimes take advantage of this, but never to harm and never premeditated. One day, (I was pretty young), my brother and a friend were fixing a piece of wood furniture that my sister (she's older like by 20 years, and off to work) needed fixed. Seems the problem was that the wood had dried and shrunk just enough so that one of the boards kept falling out, rendering the whole piece unusable (I don't remember what it actually was...I was really young).

Back in those days, we lived in a small town of like 450 people. Everyone, knew everyone... And no one could get away with nothing... Lol. There was one old time hardware store that carried lots of misc. supplies.

The boys measured the length needed, and took the board down to the hardware store. Where Mr. Xyz, the owner, helped them find a new board and stained it to match. They spent most of the day down there, having fun. Came back home, popped the new board in place, glued and screwed...and done.

My sister gets home from work. She says, "Wow! You fixed it that's terrific! How did you did you get that board to fit back in there and stay?"....

And without missing a beat, my brother tells her how easy it was, 'cause they just took the board down to "So-In-So's" (hardware store) and put it on the BOARD STRETCHER. All the rest of us instantly recognized that my brother was hatching a story and pulling her leg. So we backed him up by nodding 'yes', sho nuf that what we did, and all of added to the story with more crazy ad libs.

My sis is like, no way, no such thing! My brother keeps it up..inventing this long, technical process by which this special machine, the BOARD STRETCHER, can stretch a board 2" or even 3" longer! And eventually the conversation dies out with some laughter and how good the furniture looked...

But man, did we catch holy heck later. We all thought she realized we were kidding. She didn't.

About a couple months later when she was doing some other project, and needed about an inch more wood... She stopped by that hardware store and told them she wanted to use the BOARD STRETCHER.

Blank looks..."Honey, we never heard of a BOARD STRETCHER."

She insists that of course there is, that her brother was just down here getting a board stretched not that long ago and she explains the entire "board stretching process', the special BOARD STRETCHER machine, clamps, tension, wet the board, etc..... By now, there's a small crowd of townfolk all listening in. Finally Mr. Xyz explains to her there ain't no such thing... 

Well, the story was all over town in short order. My sis was some ticked at us....lol, but we truly didn't realize she actually believed it. Unfortunately, my grandparents (lived in same town)... Also heard the story as it made its rounds...  :'(

kwendt's story reminded me of something I hadn't thought of in years.  We grew up as poor farmers in the mid-South and ate a LOT of wild game.....rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, quail, etc.  One of our favorite (breakfast) meals was fried frog legs.  From the time I was about 6-7, I went 'frog-gigging' with my dad once or twice a week for about 3 months each Spring.  When I got old enough to drive (13 or 14 years old), I'd collect a couple of my friends and we'd go........without my dad.  In '63, I started dating the girl I eventually married.....almost 49 years ago.  I was 19 and she was 16;  there wasn't a lot to do in our small town and I got the bright idea of carrying her frog-gigging;  talk about a cheap date.  Her dad was also a farmer, but he didn't hunt or fish or do any of those type things I'd grown up doing.  So.......we went frog-gigging;  we'd typically gig 20 or so.........enough for breakfast.  Came back to our house and cleaned them at the shop.  We always just cut their legs off and put the body........still alive........in a 5-gallon bucket and would throw them away the next morning.  She was CONCERNED that we didn't kill the frogs;  I explained that........just like tadpoles would grow new tails............the frogs would grow new legs.  She was somewhat skeptical, but bought it.  She asked her dad about it the next morning and he........thinking she was pulling his leg.........agreed that they would grow new legs;  it was a long time before she found out different;  she wasn't  particularly happy about it, but married me anyway.

Thurlow! Eek! Lol.  ::) what a gal... You know, I look at my nieces and nephews and think they are just too citified , prissy, and lack common sense and/or manners. But then I read something like that... And Bill, and the Texas Ranger (and the really awesome guy who started the thread who is gone)... And I start to think... Golly! IM THE ONE WHO IS CITIFIED,  :D I love reading all these stories, I really do... 🍻🍻 I'm pullin up a chair.... More stories please!

Kwendt, you need to visit Tom's web site. Click on Tom's user name anywhere on the forum. that will take you to his profile. In there is a link to Tom's web site. As you have already discovered, Tom was a masterful story teller. think he called them allegories or something like that. My favorite is the story of the possum sandwich..Most of the older ff members are quite fond of the "can o Peas"...

www.Tomssaw.com

I've been re-reading Tom's allegories. Very nice stuff.

Gosh, this stuff should be a book... seriously.

I spent 24 years in the military, the last 14 in HHD of a TN Army National Guard MP Battalion (we were kinda military).  One year we were at summer camp at Camp Shelby, MS and spent a few days 'in the field';  normally, this would be at Camp Shelby, but this year, we were sent to Desoto National Forest. Being a national forest, there were all kinds of restrictions;  no open fires, no cutting vegetation, no 'dug' latrines, etc.  Since we couldn't dig latrines, we were provided 'porta potties';  you know, plastic portable ones, about 3 or 4 ft. square and about 8 ft. tall.  The doors opened to the OUTSIDE.  The roads thru the forest were sand with a little red gravel and there were 3 or 4 potties at a road junction several hundred yards from where we were bivouacked.  One day, I was going down the road by my lonesome and heard a vehicle coming;  for some reason and without really thinking about it, I stepped over into the brush at the side of the road and was hidden from the traffic.  Happens, I was right across from the potties. A jeep came FLYING up and a lieutenant from the battalion was driving;  he slid right up in front of one of the potties; jerked the emergency brake on, leaving the jeep running.  He was in some kind of gastric distress and barely made it into the potty.  For some reason, he closed the door, which was kinda unusual, given the conditions...........South Mississippi in mid-summer.  The lieutenant was a good guy and I had nothing against him, but I couldn't let a situation like that pass.  I eased across the road, got into the jeep, let the brake off and eased up to the potty.  It was sitting on short wooden skids and I gunned the jeep as the front bumper touched the door.  Talk about SCREAMING!!!  I pushed it backwards a few ft., left the bumper against the door, pulled the brake on and left to go about my business.  I made sure no one saw me and could hear him screaming 'til I was out of earshot;  most of what he was screaming was threats.  Don't know who found him and let him out or how long it was, but he must have threatened their life if they told.  There was never a whisper of the event and I couldn't tell it myself;  no way would my name  have been kept from him, 'though I sure wanted to tell my buddies. 

 :D :D :D :D :D You sumbee.

So you are the one that I have been looking for??   ??? ??? ??? ???   taz-smiley

You better dial 911 now 'cause I am on my way.   move_it   :D  :D

MM your a funny guy.!  !

I can't see you hurting a Fly

Let alone Easter Sunday

🏆🏆🏆!!!!! ROTF

Tom's stories are great! But I have a question for the old timers on here... What's a "cat head biscuit"? Lol

Always home made (not canned) and could be hand patted instead of rolled out.  That makes them larger and mostly irregularly shaped.  To me, "Cathead Biscuit" is a slang term that describes a good belly-filling biscuit.   food6

Google is your friend.   ;)

That's true, but I for one prefer to learn from people here that although I've never met also consider my friends  :).  I've asked a lot of questions here and always enjoy the first hand knowledge from other members so I don't google much  :D.  BTW I had no idea what a Cathead Biscuit was until today  :D.

Well I spent way more time trying to find out about these biscuits than I needed to spend. Some say southern, some say Appalacian, some say hog's lard, some say pinched some say pinched and rolled in the palm. Sigh. Some say big as a cats head, some say it's a nautical term, etc... Gravy? Jam? Every meal? It's quite the slang term apparently. Lol.

I just call em biscuits... And my biscuits are not from a can or a box..... And no more will I say, lest I get bumped to the Food thread!

I bet Shotgun didn't know either....  :) 'fess up!

Quote from: Magicman on April 06, 2015, 08:28:16 AM
Always home made (not canned) and could be hand patted instead of rolled out.  That makes them larger and mostly irregularly shaped.  To me, "Cathead Biscuit" is a slang term that describes a good belly-filling biscuit.   food6

nice....  I bet I can make some in big black cast iron pan... 

Hand patted?  I thought I heard those Navy cooks just smacked the pinch of dough up under the armpit to flatten and pitched them out into the pan...all in one smooth motion. 
Maybe I heard that wrong, or it was just a joke...  ;D

What about different sizes cat heads? In Saudi we had what we called "Big head" cats. Was usually a skinny bodied, notched eared, scarred, with very large headed tom cat who had a trash dumpster staked out. You better be careful when you got to close to it as when startled they just jumped out without regard to who was between them and the ground.

When we first got married I was in USMC. The first time we visited the commissary and my wife slowed down in front of the TV dinners and canned biscuits I told her not to even think about it. To her credit in nearly 38 years of marriage she has not fed me either.

Beenthere,

    I think you are talking about USN hamburger patties. I mentioned on another thread my dad, who was a cook in the Army, said best way to get Catalpa worm juice off your hands was to make a batch of biscuits.

Yep, I heard that was how the burgers were flattened .

About 35 years ago, I was a free range kid in Winslow ME (against the law today according to the news).  I would rubber band my fishing pole to back of my bike like a CB wip, and bungee my tackle box between the handle bars; and off I go.  Ken was my fishing buddy and lived across town, next to big hydro dam at the end of the Sebasticook river where it dumped into the mighty Kennebec.

Small-mouth fishing the tail waters of this dam was exciting, but only when the dam was generating power which was only for few hours per summer day.  We had this place all figured out, and only needed yellow beetle spin for lure.  When the dam was closed (most of the time) we would climb around the rocks, and retrieve any lures we lost by snagging the bottom, plus gain few 'freebies' from others.  When the dam closed, fish would never bite so we needed other fishing holes. 

Our favorite alternative was up river by bike on Garland road, about a 1/2 mile there is small stream named Miles brook impounded by the Sebasticook dam.   Garland road crosses Miles brook with high highway bridge, and in shadow of this bridge, is what remains of much older bridge.  All that was left of this bridge was the cut granite pylons on each side of the brook, which you could crab across logs, sometimes getting quite wet; and climb up for a great casting platform about 10' above the water.  From here, with our zebco 202's we seemed to catch endless white & yellow perch, using only crawler worms and split shots, with the white perch being preferred due to being far better fighters. 

We spend many fine summer days there, with rods wedged butt first into cracks between granite blocks, and on occasion having rod pulled into water by feisty perch, resulting in swim if the pole could not be snagged with the other rod.  Here we eventually retired the zebco's for longer ranged open face reels.

Winter is long in Maine, and the open water fishing season starts appropriately on April Fools Day.  Some years, ice breakup is well after April 1, other years well before; but this particular year the breakup was on the fools day.  I attach my spinning rod (still new to me) to my bike, mount tackle box on the handle bar perch, and head to the dam.  The amount water coming over the dam from spring melt made the tail waters impossible to fish, so we head up river to Miles brook.  Getting onto the pylon was easy; walk across ice left over between the shore and the pylon.  The brook was open, but weed beds holding perch had yet to grow back; so fishing was good, but catching was slow (as they say). 

After a while of not catching; we look for other distractions.  Fetched up on shore of the brook was large (~12'x12') chunk of ice.  The 2 of us climbing out on this chunk found it quite solid being about 10" thick, so we decide to Tom Sawer & Huck Finn this raft.   Finding few long polls in woods, we shove off, and begin fishing in places which were normally out of casting range of the pylons.  In the distance, we started to hear sirens and we stop to watch the Garland road bridge with hopes of seeing Ambulance or Police car scream across.  Sure enough, there they were: Police, Ambulance, and Fire truck pulls onto bridge; but stops!   :o
Uh-Oh Dang, lets get out of here; we shove the ice raft to other shore hop into woods to hide.  The police and firemen hollering for us "We saw you"; "Come out"; "Stop Hiding"; "We have your bikes!"...  When they holler "The wardens are on way with the boat, to drag the river for you" we finally give it up;  :embarassed: and come out.   Because of the 2 bikes and fishing gear, we ride by ambulance to police station, for dad's to pick us up.

Dad, hearing the story as told by police: " a table top sized, of rapidly melting ice; causing a concerned citizen to call 911 to rescue stranded boys in middle of a rapid river"  :-X resulted in me loosing my fishing pole and bike until May 1  >:( .   This fishing ban included spring vacation when my family traveled to visit grandmother in Sebring FL, who lived right on a canal into Lake Istokpoga; and great place for catching large-mouth. :(

Anyway in school yard, we had short spell of celebrity status from having our pictures both on front page of Kennebec Journal, and on TV during the evening news.  ;)

Today the Sebasticook dam is gone as was removed to restore the river for anadromous fish and eels, and sea run striped bass can be caught where the Sebasticook dumps into the Kennebec.  As a result, Miles brook is restored to its original state of being a tiny stream, and our fishing platform (pylons) are no longer in the water; but are still visible by google map (see white arrow):



 (https://forestryforum.com/gallery/albums/userpics/18492/Miles_Brook.jpg)

My memories still have it as a place teaming with perch, which you can just almost cast to other bridge pylon; catching fish after fish on the slow reel back.

         JJ

Good story JJ. And nowdays kids don't get such opportunities to just go out and "have fun". Almost all activity is regimented by parents and play clubs, be it soccer, football, or other supervised activity.

Being of the same age group as JJ, I was never in the house much neither. Dad's famous words to mother were: "where are those spoiled rotten kids" ?  ;D :D

Salmon and trout fishing all summer.  Tree houses, at our own makeshift camps and biking besides. Some of that biking was by moonlight. That's when we witnessed our first sight of foxfire glowing on rotten alder stems, was a bike by moonlight. 8)

Wow, JJ.... I lived your story as I was reading it. I grew up fishing out of an old 18' all wood Old Town Sponson canoe out on Pleasant Pond Maine. Used to take her up brooks, over old logging roads, into scary overgrown back forest waterways searching for trout. I never figured I'd get lost or stuck.... And I was like 12 or so.

I don't even remember when I first learned how to start a fire, or stuff like that. But in my husbands family, the 'kids' aren't even allowed to light candles with a safety clicker at age 16.

Loved your story.... Especially the part about a concerned person calling the police to rescue you...lol.

SwampDonk, I don't recall ever seeing foxfire.... Very neat... I'll have to keep watch....

I've related this story privately, but never on the open forum. (names altered just in case) ;)

Dr. K and Katie have always had Dobermans.  One day, when their son David was little, he yelled for his mother saying Mummy Mummy! (Katie is very British). Sally has something sticking out of her behind! She can't get it out!

For the rest of the Story...

Doc tells about his mother being a miserable woman. His Father was a very good and kind man but his mother was "not that" and the two had separated years before. No one liked her and she was always miserable to be around. For Daughter-in-law Katie that was especially true.  The Mother in law had a habit of always wearing this same dainty pair of dress gloves. When she arrived to where she was going, (this time Doc and Katie's). She would take the gloves off and roll them into a small tube, and lay them near where ever she might be sitting until she was ready to go, then, she would retrieve the gloves and put them back on before she would leave.  When this particular visit came to an end, she could not find her gloves and it being her way, accused young David of taking them, even calling him a little liar when he said that he had not touched them. She eventually left without them and the young family in a dismay.

Fast forward to the next day and David calling for Mummy to come help Sally.  Katie reached down and slowly withdrew this object from the dogs behind. It turned out of course, to be the little dainty dress gloves. The dog had swallowed the little roll whole and that's just the way they came out too.

Katie, after the first initial shock, realized what they were and took a plan of action. She meticulously cleaned and then pressed the gloves. She got them to the point where they looked no different then they did before they went into Sally. Katie and Doc made a special trip to present the gloves back to Doc's mother. They never did tell her where they had been, but Katie said, from that time on, until the woman finally died, that she found pure pleasure and gave a big smile when ever her mother in law sat down and removed that dainty pair of gloves  :)

I had to stop laughing before I could type, that is hilarious. :D :D :D

Oh no.  I have edited and deleted the rest of this reply....twice.  :o  :D

Poetic justice.

Hi Jeff and TFF,

The cool cocker who is pictured below; was once an adolescent scoundrel who liked to chew up my daughters barbies.
(https://forestryforum.com/gallery/albums/userpics/18492/IMG_0685.JPG?easyrotate_cache=1524151040)
I once had to help him with a rubber head with blue eyes and prefect California smile, looking out from Mount Butmore, but having golden hair tangled somehow inside.  :-\

            JJ

One of my first cousins (we'll call him Ralph) is 3 months younger than me;  his mom was my dad's sister.  Ralph's dad was 'slooooooooooooooooooowwww';  not retarded, not stupid, just slow.  Ralph takes after his dad (he once put his height on some form as "5 ft, 12 inches".  His folks moved around a lot when Ralph was young, living in Coos Bay, OR, Chicago and other places.  They came back 'home' when Ralph was about 10 and lived in this county for the rest of their lives.  There were about 12 grammar schools in the county back then, but only 2 high schools.  Ralph and I only went to school together for one year; the year I was a senior in HS;  Ralph was in the 9th grade.  Ralph has spent his whole adult life in law enforcement; for about 40 years, he's been on the po-leece force of a small town (about 2,000 population) in the north end of our county.  The town has a force of 7 officers, chief, ass't chief, K-9 officer, investigator, patrol captain and 2 officers.  After 40 years, Ralph has worked up to the position of ass't chief.  They have 3 or 4 'marked' cars and one un-marked.  Lots of people in the town have police scanners and that's where this story comes from......multiple people heard  and shared it.  One day a few years ago, there were 2 officers on duty;  Ralph was driving the marked car and another officer was driving the unmarked one.  Something happened requiring the police.........a shoplifting or burglary or something;  the perpetrator was driving a black, late-model Ford car.  Ralph raced over to investigate and before he got there, he met a black, late-model Ford car.  He made a U-turn and followed it, but decided not to pull it over;  just follow it and see where it went/what happened.  He CONSTANTLY kept the dispatcher (and everyone with a scanner) updated.  "I'm following the suspect north on College, proceeding about 30 mph.  He's turning on North Main;  we're passing the city park;  suspect is obeying all traffic laws,  don't think he's aware that I'm following him."  This went on for 8 or 10 minutes and both cars had covered most of the streets in town.  Ralph finally decided that he wasn't accomplishing anything and informed the dispatcher that, "I'm gonna light him up", i.e., pull him over.  For all this time, Ralph's had been the only voice on the radio, but when Ralph decided to pull the suspect over, the other officer came on the radio, saying in an almost inaudible voice, "Ralph, Ralph, it's me".  This confused Ralph and he responded, "Do what"?  The other officer responded again, "It's me".  About this time the suspect car stopped in front of Ralph, the door opened and....................the other on-duty officer got out of the car.  Ralph had been following the town's un-marked police car for almost 10 minutes;  Ralph takes after his "slow" dad................

Quote from: thurlow on April 19, 2015, 11:25:34 AM
...  Ralph takes after his "slow" dad................

but can't ever catch him...  :D :D :D :D :D :D

Herb

Oh my gosh, so funny, thurlow!

Now that was funny, at least to everyone except Ralph.   :D

Hand patted?  I thought I heard those Navy cooks just smacked the pinch of dough up under the armpit to flatten and pitched them out into the pan...all in one smooth motion. 
Maybe I heard that wrong, or it was just a joke...  ;D


When I was eighteen I was working as a forest tech and staying in a lumber camp in Odenback in Algonquin Park.  One day i walked in and the big cook was wearing a muscle shirt and was making hamburger patties using the armpit method.  I ran out and told one of my new coworkers.  He told me "You should see how he puts the holes in the dougnuts !!!!"

I stopped at the pub after work, the bartender and a few other guys were asking me how my day went. I started shaking my head and said that it wasn't a good day. They asked what happened, [ i said ], i ran over my partner two times today [ they said ] my god didn't he learn the first time [ I said ] NO, NO guys, i'm taking about my chainsaw.

Another "Ralph" TRUE story:  Ralph was born in November, 1944. His parents lived in a 3-room 'shotgun' house on a dirt road, across the road from his mother's parents. It was about 2 miles to a graveled road and another mile or so to the country store and the grammar school around which the community was based;  it was about 4 or 5 miles from the community  to 'town'.  Their road was dirt, but the road to the store (and maybe beyond) was graveled. Ralph's mother went into labor and her dad (my granddad) walked up to the store, where there was a telephone. He called her doctor, but when the doctor asked about the condition of their road (it was extremely muddy), he said he wouldn't come. Grand-dad then called another doctor, who said he would come to the store if someone would pick him up in a wagon. My granddad walked back home, hitched a team of mules to the wagon and went back to the store; the doctor showed up, put on a HEAVY coat and got into the wagon. He had a bottle in a pocket of the coat and took numerous pulls on it on the way to the house. The doctor ran the men out of the house, had the kitchen table moved into the bedroom (for a delivery table) and told the women to start boiling water. The unmarried, teenaged sister of the woman in labor carried me (I was about 3 months old) across the road to my grandparents house. The other women (my grandmother, my mother......and maybe another woman) stayed in the house to 'help' as needed. The men all camped out on the front porch, except the soon-to-be father..............who was out in the front yard doing some serious throwing up............probably out of fear and from hearing the sounds from inside (they didn't do epidurals when making house calls.......or maybe in the horspitals, either).  The baby was soon delivered, the doctor was carried back to his car at the store and we all lived happily ever after.

It took me a few days at work to read through this whole thing from page 1 there are some really funny stories. I figure its my turn to share one. Ill try and keep it short but get all the details in. This happened while I was at work as a diesel locomotive mechanic we had a locomotive come in with a blown turbo, detonated is a better word something locked up shattered the housing took all the teeth off the cam gear it was a mess. It was me and another mechanic started taking it apart when this electrician walked up he was not mechanically knowledgeable at all surveyed the damage and asked how could that of happened. Well somebody may have jokingly made a comment that it blew apart at 18k rpm after being filled with gasoline instead of diesel by these non union guys that run around with tanker trucks filling out locomotives. Well after some convincing he walked off and for the rest of the night we were visited by everyone in the shop around 100+ guys that wanted to see the locomotive that was filled with gasoline. We thought it was funny how the rumor spread and how everyone believed it that is until the floor supervisors showed up. They didnt hear about it going around the shop they were asked about it by the top shop manager who somehow heard about it mind you this was late at night and im sure he was home tucked in bed. So me and the other mechanic just looked at each other and silently got our story straight with a nod and said I dont know but thats the rumor we heard were just pulling the turbo. Well the manager needed proof so he asked us to pull a fuel filter and see if it smelled like gas so we pulled it and he smelled it we thought the joke was all over then until he took a second whiff and said that absolutely smells like gas I need a sample right now to send to the lab. That was the talk of the shop for a few weeks everyone had to see it haha

Time to revive this tread again after nearly 3 years!  It was referenced in a recent post.  I had not seen this before and I spent probably 6 or 8 hours reading it through!  What great stories.  At first, I thought I had nothing to add.  This tread started off on one track but later split many way and jogged quite a few memories, so here goes:

I'm the youngest of 7 kids, 9 year span between me and my oldest sister. :o  Money was tight but I was oblivious during my childhood.  One of my earliest memories is getting a tool kit when I was probably 6 or 7.  One of those wooden boxes that had blue painted tool that included a hammer, a flat screwdriver (I don't think Philips-head screws had been invented yet...), a coping saw, a tiny cross cut saw, a little pressed metal square, a ruler and I think some pliers.  There were more tools but I just don't remember.  They all had a spot in the box.  I had a red wagon that I like to haul things with.  I would stand up my open tool box in the wagon but it would rattle around and fall over as I hauled it around the yard looking for things to "fix". :)

I was allowed to use my dad's hand tools but not the power ones without his explicit permission - but that didn't slow down my construction.  Since I was little, I couldn't use the big cross cut saw - not enough strength to cut.  So I would use the hacksaw - took a while but I would get there.

So, the task at hand - make a rack to fit my wagon to hang all my tools on so I could travel and work!  I found some boards stashed in the corner of the garage and set to work cutting them to length - not easy measuring with a 8 or 10" ruler!  I got a couple boards cross cut but it wasn't easy with a hacksaw on a 12" wide board - the frame would get in the way - so I would have to cut at an odd angle from both edges.  I was about eye level with my dad's big red Craftsman metal vise.  I was persistent and got a couple cut.  Not the straightest cut in the world, either.

My brother (2½ years older) had a slightly older and much bigger friend (Jim, IIRC).  They came by and saw what I was doing.  Jim got my dad's big cross cut saw and proceeded to make the remaining 3 or 4 cuts for me in less time then it took me to make one.

I found some nails and proceeded to make a open-ended 4-sided box the length of my wagon that would fit down inside.  I do recall that the bottom board fit the length but the side and top were a bit shorter - either by mistake or the length of the boards available.  I pounded nails (a lot) all over it to hang my tool collection.  I may have even hung my dad's big saw on one side.  I had another tool box and it slid inside - pretty cool I thought.  I could run around the yard making sharp turns and everything stayed in place.

I vaguely remember my dad seeing my construction and commenting that it was nice.  It wasn't until MANY years later I learned how mad he was.  I had cut up some clear pine 1x12 that he spent some good money on to make some book shelves!  I don't ever remember the shelves being built :-X

Maybe this will start a new sub-thread/topic inside this one.  I don't remember reading anything about stupid new driver things.

I was in my senior year of high school before I was driving.  I had taken the Driver's Ed class in school in the fall.  We were out driving in the winter weather, snow had been on the ground for a while.  Out early one morning, I was driving (teacher next to me, two or three other students in the back seat) down a slight hill toward a traffic light that was red.  There was snow on the road.  Since it was an early storm, the snow had melted and refroze overnight.  As I neared the light, we immediately went into a skid and started to fishtail.  I just counter steered and stopped at the light.  I looked at the teacher who was grabbing the dash, pale and wide-eyed.  He recovered his composure and said "good job".  I thought that was fun, sliding on the ice.

The next year I started at a Junior College, I got an old 1967 Oldsmobile Delmont 88 with a 425 cu-in engine (but only a 2 barrel carb).  What a tank.  There was a huge landfill (dump) out on a peninsula in the Hudson River (NY).  They took sand from one area and used it for cover on the dump.  They had excavated probably 100' down (was a huge plateau) so that it was a couple feet lower then the access road.  In the early fall, I would go out and go crazy doing donuts in the sand.  Lucky I suppose I never rolled it.  We had a phenomenal winter.  Lots of snow and cold.  This winter, the snow had melted and refroze into a 10+ acre ice sheet.  I went out a couple times on it with my car and had a blast slipping and sliding all around.

Since I was older and driving, I would ferry my friends around.  During Easter break, I took 4 or 5 friends (huge back seat) out to a local big, shallow, lake for ice skating several times.  We had a cold spell before the break (-10 high for a couple weeks) so it was fantastic.  Some guys were ice fishing and the ice was close to 2 feet thick.  During the week, it was warm so ice skating was pleasant.  At the end of the week on the way home I suggested we have some fun on the ice by the dump with my car.

So we drive over and I go down a slight incline to the ice with my car.  Since it had been warm, the ice was rotten.  My front tires punctured the ice into a foot of water and the bumper crashed down on the ice.  I had visions of my car sinking!  Since it was all sand there, I had no traction to back out, no matter how I piled the other kids on the trunk lid or had them try to lift the front.  It was getting late and cell phones had not been invented yet.  I ran down about a 1/2 mile or so to a pay phone.  I called a garage for a tow truck.  They came and pulled me out.  I didn't have any money on me (no debit cards either - weren't invented yet) so he took my license as collateral. 

I do remember one parent showing up and taking a couple kids home.  I drove the rest of my friends home and no one said a thing.  My parents never new what had happened.  I just parked my car in the carport (slight up grade).

The next morning, I go to start my car and I just hear a clunk from the starter.  Not the click-click-click of a dead battery.  The sound of something stopping the starter from turning over.  I reached under with a hammer and hit it a few times.  It must have gotten some water in it that was trapped because of the angle and froze up a little.  It started right up after the percussive maintenance. ;)

I drove down to the bank to get some cash and then to the gas station to retrieve my license.

OK one more but a short one. 

Since I was the youngest, I was at home last and by myself with my parents.  I remember we would have a BBQ on our front deck all the time in the summer.  I think we were having hot dogs (I would eat 6 in a sitting at that time).  Anyhow, the three of us are chowing down and my dad gets some ketchup or something smeared on his lips.  He looks around and says darn, I need a napkin.  I grab mine and hold it out to him and say "I only used it once", half joking.  He goes to reach for it and stops and laughs.

From that point on, it was sort of an inside joke that fit many situations - "I only used it once!".

   I don't know about the rest of you but I figured I'd pass along a typical family phone call:

My Dysfunctional Family

               Not sure if the rest of you have families like mine but I often claim I am adopted because I know I don't fit in with many of the others.

               Since the passing of my older brother a couple of years ago I try to be a little more diligent about keeping up with the rest of the family, especially Mom who is in her late 80's. Lest anyone pass it to her and somehow hurt her feelings I will not record a typical conversation with her although they can be very interesting at times. She keeps me up to date on how she is doing and about local events and many people I never knew about but she sometimes forgets to mention things I might really be interested in hearing about.

I still find it is sometimes a couple of months between conversations with my younger brother. They can also be challenging. A typical recent conversation went something like this.

I called and we talked about the kids and grandkids a few minutes then one of us mentioned Cousin Edward. Here is the gist of the results.

Me: "How is Cousin Edward anyway? I haven't thought about him for a long time and I don't think I have seen him in 3-4 years."

Brother: "He seems to be doing okay. He looked good at Uncle Joe's funeral last month."

Me: "When was Uncle Joe's funeral?"

Brother: "It was either 3 or 4 days after he died. No, it was 3 days because the 4^th day was when they had the big Coon-On-The –Log down at the big gravel lake and everybody wanted to be free to go to it so they rushed up the funeral and didn't even wait on Aunt Edna to get back from her cruise."

Me: "I didn't hear anything about Uncle Joe dying and did not know they still allowed Coon-On-The –Log trials."

Brother: "We were wondering why you didn't show up. They wanted you to be a pall bearer as you were one of the few we still figured who was healthy enough to carry him all the way to the back side of the cemetery. Several people asked about you at the Gravel Lakes too"

Me: "Were there a lot of people there?"

Brother: "Oh yeah. The place was packed. You could hardly find a place to park. One guy from Arkansas even came with a big old Redbone hound that looked a lot like Old Red that Grandpa used to deer hunt with. There were several people from Tennessee and Mississippi who brought their hounds down. You could see they were real proud of their dogs and took them everywhere with them."

Me: "I was talking about at the funeral."

Brother: "No, you know the funeral home over at Jay won't allow dogs in the building. They said they think it disrupts the service and they are they are afraid they will get fleas in the carpet and you know how hard they are to get rid of. Aunt Eva sneaked her Schnauzer in to Aunt Betty's funeral and he got loose and hiked his leg on the urns for the remains of the guy whose family was waiting in the other chamber. You know, if they did allow pets Uncle Joe's old bluetick hound, Gypsy, would have been right up on the front seat for the service and would have been riding with him in the hearse. "

Me (Getting frustrated): "No, I meant at Uncle Joe's funeral."

Brother (Unconcerned):  "Oh yeah. There were quite a few at the service and several went to the graveside. Cousin Ruth (Uncle Joe's oldest daughter) gave the eulogy but she was late getting there because they did not have the paperwork ready at the U-Haul place and she was afraid Ed Earl and Buford (her brothers) would get to Uncle Joe's house first and get any of the good stuff before she got there. Now if you wanted to see a crowd you should have seen them at the reception center of the Baptist Church for the meal after the service. You know how big a crowd that always draws."

Me (Resignedly): "Okay. How is Aunt Edna?"

Brother: "She's doing pretty well considering everything. She was upset when Uncle Joe didn't meet her at the port when her cruise was done. If he hadn't died I think she'd have divorced him and she is not talking to Ruth ever since she got home and found the furniture was gone. If you ask me, I think Ed Earl and Buford probably got more than Ruth did but you know Aunt Edna was always more partial to the boys than her daughter."

Me: "Okay. I give up. I have to go. I'll call you later." Click.

My wife has been listening to the one-sided conversation and when I hang up she asks me "Bad news?"

Me: "Yeah, they had a Coon-On-The –Log back in March and nobody called me to let me know."

WV, I'm dying with laughter!  

This thread has been going on for 18 years. What happened to Tom?

He passed away.

Go to the top of the page and click on "Extras", then click on "In Remembrance", and you can read about him.