BATTER BATTER BATTER!!

I love the sound of that droning chant, a chant that doesn't have to be taught. The chant is somehow instantaneously programmed into the mind of a 4 year old the second he scuffles his cleats through the crushed red brick and slips into position on the freshly mowed grass in left field. I love the smell of the popcorn wafting from the concession stand and the unforgettable aroma of grape BubbleYum.

Yesterday was the day!

Carson's first practice. He has been anticipating the day for weeks. We have been having batting practice in the yard and he has been keeping the old man hopping. I had to change the direction of his hitting as he is capable of hitting it just far enough to go down the hill, driveway, across the road and almost dropping 50 feet into the creek. He now drives the ball up the hill toward the woods, where it conveniently dribbles back down the hill toward my feet.

His excitement was not in control. He practically ran from us as soon as he saw the familiar faces of his teammates. The coach placed him in left field with strict instructions to stay put. We all know how that goes. At the crack( or in the case now days..the "ping") of the bat, the ball rolls through several legs and ends up against the right field fence. Who was there first? Yep, all the way from left field. Every batted ball sent him into motion, diving, rolling, bumping.

Then came time to step up to the plate. He picked up his bat, headgear and took his stance staring down the pitcher. He looked exactly like "Chicken Little" trying to balance that over-sized red batting helmet. He connected with his second pitch and I don't know who's smile was the greatest, his or mine or Sharla's. He rounded the bases, leaving a trail of dust!

The most memorable part of the day happened a few minutes before we left the house. He looked up at Sharla and told her " I don't want to sit in that dumpster!" We fought to keep straight faces and it was hard. Sharla kindly corrected him with" no honey, it's not a
dumpster, it's called a dugout".

Swing batter!

1st QUARTER REPORT BANNER YEAR 2008

Well, well, well.
Hopefully the next three quarters will be better than average and bring the prospectus back into the black.

There has been an extraordinary amount of sickness that just seems to get passed back and forth between the three of us. Many trips to the doctor's office( not me of course!) rounds of antibiotics, cough suppressants, decongestants and chicken soup.

The job situation could be better. Many of us are being sent home early due to lack of work. Hopefully this won't last long.

On the bright side, Sharla is finishing up her Spring semester of student teaching and only has one more class this Fall to graduate, and of course...Catlettsburg Little League opening day is April 12. Carson is gearing up for T-Ball and is looking forward to playing for the Cub's. He said he is going to hit the ball over the fence and hit the CSX train! That is gonna be some kinda homer!

He got to meet Brandon Webb; his baseball idol last month.( yes..we do have some pics of him with his eyes open...just happened to find this one first) He is also ready to play soccer but we haven't been contacted about which team he is going to be on. He has also starred in a couple of YouTube videos demonstrating his athletic and comedic abilities.

The fish are biting, the Trillium and Bloodroot are poking through the leaf litter, grass is greening up and turkey's are strutting and with some warm days and a little rain in April, the morel's will be ripe for the pickin'.....it's definitely Springtime in Kentucky!

MIDDLE BASS ISLAND CIRCA 1975

The decade of the 70's was the decade of catching White Bass in Lake Erie. The Walleye weren't the featured fish and we didn't have the means to reach them on the offshore reefs anyway, seeing that we fished around Middle Bass in a small green boat with a 7.5 Sears Ted Williams motor.
Pop Pop and I, sometimes Dad and Herman always stayed at Beer's Cottages right on the shore on the island's east end. We usually stayed in the first cottage beside the road. It was probably 30 feet from the waters edge and 20 from the fish cleaning table. The aroma was something you got used to very quick. The cottages were sparse, concrete floor, drapes for doors on the bedrooms, a table, four chairs, penciled tallies of daily catches on the door frame beside the fridge, a screen door complete with holes and a layer of dead flying bugs at least an inch thick in every window sill. Just perfect for guys that only came there to fish.

The days were spent following the flocks of gulls that fed on the baitfish chased to the surface by the great schools of White Bass. Find the birds find the fish. We would cast white Shyster spinners and double rigged white doll flies on a three-way swivel into the schools. The action was fast and furious, we shook the fish loose and let them flop in the floor of the boat. We often stood ankle deep in fish, waiting to put them into a bucket when the school disappeared.

Evenings were filled with camaraderie around the fish-cleaning table. Rapala fillet knives gleamed beneath the glaring light of the street lamp. We all were coated in a glistening layer of OFF as the swarms of bugs hovered between us and the light. The water streamed constantly across the table cascading onto the granite rocks and back into the lake. My job was to cut out the belly bones and occasionally swipe the knives across the old concave Arkansas oilstone to keep the work going smoothly. The fillet's were bagged and wrapped in paper and deposited into the freezer at the office.

This was the routine. Day in day out, but that was why we were there. Having fun and anticipating the great meals of fried fish to come later in the year.

Sometimes in the late evenings, we would drive to the other end of the island to the abandoned Lonz Winery dock. A massive concrete structure, broken down and kinda spooky. We would set up at the end of the dock and put nightcrawlers on the bottom and catch Channel Catfish. I remember nights of 30 to 40 fish, all around two pounds each.

One particular night at the dock was very memorable...and still haunts me to this day.

I was around twelve years old and I had a brand new EverReady flashlight. It was at least a foot long and shiny. That night the fishing was slow and we sat there listening to the Red's on the radio. The lights of Put-In-Bay were visible several miles across the lake and the towering Perry's Monument was ablaze with white light. My new flashlight had a button that let me flash signals much like 'Morse code.' Probably a mile away I saw the running lights of a boat heading toward South Bass. I pointed my light and began blinking some kind of unknown message. To my surprise which soon turned to outright fear; the boat started turning and headed straight for us. It was running full speed and kept getting larger and larger, and I kept getting smaller and smaller. A giant searchlight came on and blinded us just as the first big wave washed over the dock sending our gear and my tackle box over the other side.(luckily it floated and I retrieved it later) As the boat turned sideways, it was then we saw the markings...Coast Guard! Must have been a fifty footer! The loudspeaker boomed with the voice of the Captain asking if we needed help? Pop Pop yelled back "NO! we're just fishing". The Captain said he saw a flashing light and thought we were in trouble. "We didn't flash any lights" was the reply.

I tried to hide!

The boat left and we gathered our wet belongings. Pop Pop said "someone probably walked in front of the Coleman lantern."


I never fessed-up. Until now.

There were other trips back to Middle Bass, but none ever topped the night I signaled the Coast Guard Cutter.

WALKING THE WALL

Sunday afternoon at Nanny and PawPaw's house was always eventful. After the football game was over and before the Lawrence Welk show started, Ellis and Myrtle headed back to Huntington and PawPaw was ready to take a walk.

He always walked the three blocks down Carter Avenue from Ringo Street to the Mussetter Super Value. He counted out his change in anticipation of a new can of Skoal. On days such as these, us kids got to walk with him. However, we wouldn't let him take the straight shot down Carter, we wanted to take a slight detour and 'walk the wall'.

Now, the 'wall', was not some dangerous precipice that could endanger the life of a child if they fell from it's great height; it was only a little over 3 feet high and you could only fall onto the brick paved alley as the wall butted up against a house and your shoulder kept in constant contact as you inched along.

The wall was easily accessible as it inclined up from the curb and descended 40 feet later likewise. PawPaw would hold our hand as we walked, only turning us free about midway where the telephone pole forced us to break our grasp and squeeze between it and the house. At the end of the wall there was a vociferous barking dog behind a wire fence. It would have eaten us alive it if could have reached us. PawPaw always ended our 'wall walk' with a taunt to the barking dog. He would near the fence and with a pointed finger he always said the same line...."I'm gonna tie your tail in a knot!"

The mission continued onward to the store and always ended in a piece of candy or as PawPaw always called it 'blowgum'. On the return trip, we often would come back by the Hobby Shop, where he would usually buy us a Smoking Monkey or Balsa Glider. 10 cents worth of great fun.

Found these on Ebay...around $8 plus shipping

PEANUT PEPPERONI PIZZA PLEASE!

This morning during breakfast at McDonald's in Catlettsburg, Carson suddenly said," I have an idea! I want to open a pizza store and sell pizza that has pepperoni and peanuts, the customers will love it!

Dad and I looked quizzically at each other and Dad asked him where his store would be? he said "in my house."then he added he would also like to have a pizza 'mascot'...go figure!

OK ....pizza with only pepperoni and peanuts. That is some combination, but I wouldn't be surprised if that has not already been done somewhere. What about a sauerkraut pizza? Yep...I know where you can get one of those, and they are delicious. It's not the kind of sauerkraut you are used to. It is a homemade slightly sweet version at Dick's Pizza, located in a house on the river in Sciotoville, Ohio.
Stranger things have happened in the culinary world!

Any silent partners wanna invest in an oven and some boxes?

WEDDING INVITATION

There is gonna be a wedding and everyone is invited. All we know is that it will be sometime in the summer of 2010 in the morning not too long after sunrise.

Sharla and I are planning on renewing our vows for our 20th year of wedded bliss in a little over 2 more years. Our 18th anniversary is coming up on April 7. We were married by Harold Cathey at Unity Baptist, Ashland, Kentucky 1990.
We have been planning this for a couple of years and with God's will, hopefully it will come to fruition.
I have had the spot picked out for some time and Sharla loves it! It sits on a hill overlooking the town with one fantastic vista.Carson say's he wants to carry the rings. Sharla already has an idea of the rings and the place she wants to buy them, so all I have to do is show up and try to find a baptist minister. ( we don't necessarly want a high Maya priest offering up burnt maize, copal incense, red coral beans and reciting from the Popol Vuh.)
We have the place to hold the reception, even if it will only be the three of us, but all are welcome. Come hungry as there will be blue corn tortillas and pepian`for everyone.

Here is a picture of the wedding site........................


..

Just happens to be in Antigua Guatemala, and yes that is a volcano in the distance. Reception will be at the Hotel Casa Santo Domingo.

We'll let you know a more specific date later so you can book airfare and a room...lol
Hope to see ya there.

NIGHTS ON THE GROUND

I love to camp.

By camping, I mean real camping, not ‘camping in a can’, sleeping in an aluminum box surrounded with the comforts of home and smothered by the hundreds of others ‘roughing it’ just a few scant steps in every direction.
My idea of camping is in a tent or sleeping on the ground under the stars.
My first memory of camping is one of spending a spring weekend on the shores of Lake Cumberland’s Lilly Creek with Dad, PopPop, Uncle Herman and Teddy.
They camped there many years in tents, cooking on open fires and eating their meals while perched atop stumps and red Coleman coolers. I can still hear the looping trill of the whippoorwill and the hooting of the barred owl as if I was still curled up in my sleeping bag in the big musty canvas tent.
Years ago I was a backpacker. I traveled many miles and spent countless nights in my old Eureka tent and cooked many a one-pot gourmet meal on my Svea brass stove.
Some of my most memorable trips were a few that I soloed. My excursions all alone to Dolly Sods, Cranberry Glades and the Red River Gorge allowed me to experience nature without any interruptions from the outside. I could sit for hours and just observe the clouds, rushing streams, squirrels, rocks, wildflowers and the subtle beauty of a laurel thicket.
I can still taste the tartness of the rusty apples I gathered from an ancient homestead on a West Virginia mountain side and feel the frost on the bandana over my mouth and nose as I slumber beneath a Swift Camp Creek rock shelter in mid January when the mercury dipped to 14 degrees.
I loved to be out there, on the ground! I can only recall one time, where I sought refuge from the comfort of my tent. I was at 10, 000 feet in the Bridger Wilderness of the Wyoming Rockies peacefully asleep in base camp on Gypsum Creek. I was camping with my relatives that were hunting elk and anything “what mashes the earth”. I awoke, remembering that I was sleeping about 15’ from the ‘meat pole’ which was adorned with elk and antelope dripping blood onto the dusty ground. One thought shot through my mind…Grizzly!!!

It was then that I gathered up my belongings and crept into the confines of an old Airstream and locked the door.

Sharla and I did the ‘pop-up’ thing years ago, and enjoyed many nights away from home. We often spent nights in empty campgrounds as we traveled off the beaten path and it felt good to get away and enjoy the silence.

My gear still hangs in the utility room. Twenty plus years of hibernation, but it is all readily accessible and able to be called to active duty at a moments notice.
Hopefully it is ready to be called up soon as I have a camping companion now in Carson.
I got to relive that old passion last Friday night as he held me to an earlier promise to ‘camp’ with him. We got out the sleeping bags and mats, stretched a blanket across the back of the wingback chair and secured the other end to an antique travel trunk and stretched out beneath the ‘tent’. We camped in the living room floor with our heads beneath the picture window. We peered at stars through the naked branches of the big poplar just across the driveway and watched the room glow bright as the headlights of the few passing cars snaked around the curve across the creek.
He drifted off to sleep and awoke about 5am with a “Daddy?’ Thank you for taking me camping.
I know…5am. Then he went back to sleep.
He told everyone last weekend that he went camping and slept till the sun came up!
I thoroughly enjoyed that night as much as any night ever spent outside, even if my 45 year old bones creaked and my neck was stiff for 2 days.
I’m looking forward to our first trip this year as a family, curled up in our sleeping bags in the big tent. It can’t come soon enough.

GRITS AND HAGGIS

A few years back Sharla and I spent a few days in a B&B in Sevierville, Tennessee. The place was occupied only by us and another couple. The breakfast table was set and the four of sat down. Introductions were at hand and we couldn't help but notice the accent. John and Ann were from Glasgow, Scotland. They flew to Baltimore, rented a car and were driving the length of the Blue Ridge Parkway. They were taking little side trips off the road to experience more of America than just the scenery.

The conversation was intriguing and sparked interest every time a new course was set before us.

Grapefruit with cinnamon sugar; a first for both of us guys, homemade biscuits and strawberry preserves, gravy, salt cured ham, eggs,fresh churned butter, pancakes and then the host sat before us a rather large bowl of southern comfort....Grits!

The Scotsman's eyes turned to his wife and see likewise. Then they both looked at us.

Fear not! I said, that is only a bowl of grits. I went on to say that at least the hostess served them in a bowl and not already on your plate as a lot of restaurants in the south do. With a little trepidation they both spooned a portion onto their plates and our eyes locked on Ann as she cautiously lifted a petite spoonful and deposited it onto the tip of her tongue. "Feels like frog spawn" she said and her husband quipped; "when have you ever eaten frog spawn?"

All in all they chalked it up as a new element of their trip.

Our conversations naturally centered around food and I had to bring up a question about that delectable Scottish dish..haggis. Now the fun began. While grits are kind of benign and somewhat one dimensional a haggis is quite complex.

Grits are just corn.

Haggis is oats, onions, salt, pepper, herbs, a liberal shot of whiskey,the heart, liver and lungs of a sheep all cooked and bound tightly in the stomach of the said sheep.

The haggis is traditionally served at a Robert Burns Dinner in celebration of the favorite son of Scotland.Which is coming up this January 25th.

If anyone has a place open at their table for the celebration....call me!

Otherwise..I'll probably celebrate with a meatloaf and taters instead of haggis, neeps and tatties.

e Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o' fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking wareThat jaups in luggies;

But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer

Gie her a haggis!

A BANNER YEAR IS COMIN'

One last post for 2007.
Looking forward to 2008.
As Woodsy would say..”2008 is the year, its gonna be a banner year!”
I’ve got a lot of plans for the upcoming year. Plans, no resolutions.
January is gonna be filled with a lot of work, and extra on-call time. A weekend trip to Georgetown/Lexington.Then I’m off to a Men’s Conference at First Baptist Woodstock, Georgia on Feb 1&2. Triple Play
Hope to do a little more fishing and catch my first ever Kentucky Brook Trout.
Plan to take in another Mother’s Day with the Columbus Crew, maybe a trip to the beach in the Summer, Camden Park, pontooning on Grayson Lake, hiking and caving with Carson and being a dad and husband.
I’m open for anything that comes my way!
Bring it on 2008!!!!

I LOVE YOU MORE

Our little running banter around the house is the answer to the " I love you" statement. We all three laugh and return with"I love you more."

Bedtime tonight was a little late due to a full day of music practice/pizza party/rehearsal and live performance of the Christmas musical at church. Only two more to go!, tomorrow morning and evening.

Carson was pretty much worn out today, but performed his first show with the choir like a trooper.

While drifting off to sleep tonight, he was a little restless. Thrashing about, tossing and turning. We had said our prayers, sang a few songs, Mommy read a book and then I laid down beside his bed while he drifted off to sleep.

He had been still about ten minutes and I thought he was sound asleep when he rolled over and said,"I love you Daddy"

"I love you too" I answered.

"I love Mommy too"

"She loves you too, Carson"

"Daddy, I love Jesus"

"Jesus loves you too, Carson"

"Daddy, what would Jesus say?'

"What would Jesus say if you told Him you loved him?

"uh huh"

"He would say, I love you more!"

All I heard was a sleepy drawn out..yeah.

LIVE NATIVITY....KENTUCKY STYLE

We put on our coats this evening and put a few baby carrots in our pockets and drove over to the live Nativity. The Nazarene church at the corner of 29th and Blackburn set up a live display and has for the past few years.
This was our third annual trip and Carson has anticipated it for months, commenting on it every time we pass.
This year was better than last year. It seemed more peaceful and serene; as a Nativity scene ought to be. There was the usual host of participants, all warm and toasty beneath their oversized robes that did a pretty good job of concealing their choice of insulation. However I did detect some Carrhart overalls peeking from underneath one of the shepherd’s cloaks. The donkey was silent as were the sheep and goats.

Last year was a different story….
They have a donkey that is a very fine specimen; his coat is as soft as cashmere and his ears long and fluffy. Carson loves the donkey. Last year we stepped up to the fence and pulled the carrots from our pockets and offered them to the donkey. Just as he started to nibble it from Carson’s fingers, we hear a voice! “I’ll show ya what he really likes” We turn to see one of Catlettsburg’s more colorful characters, in a dirty denim jacket with a Marlboro dangling from his lip. He tells Carson to "put that carrot away and watch this!"
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offers one to the donkey, complete with filter. A few in the crowd look on in amazement at this. He proceeds to feed it about three more as we try to politely sneak away. Carson tells Mommy what just happened and we don’t stick around much longer. Kinda hard to explain to a then three year old what just unfolded without having to further explain the word “STUPIDITY”
So we just left it at that.
Carson still remembered throughout the year ‘that man that gave the donkey a cigarette’

This year we did didn’t have to relive that episode. (But we did find out that the donkey belonged to him) Maybe next year the donkey will be sporting a Nicoderm patch on his inner front leg.
Merry Christmas

MIRACLE ON 34th STREET...well actually the Town Center Mall

He did it!

I got home from work last night and the first thing Carson said was "I wanna go see Santa". We kinda blew him off as we have heard all this before. This time he was persistent and was not backing off. he kept up the begging for almost an hour and we finally gave in when he kept saying" I'm so excited".

So....off to the mall. I parked at the closest entrance to Santa so we wouldn't have to walk very far back to to car when he did his 'about face' and said "I wanna get outta here". To our surprise he was all smiles and held our hands as we exited the car and headed into the mall. As he walked, his cowboy boots kept a cadence, shuffling toward Santa. (he wanted to wear them because Daddy wore them when he had his picture made)

But, Santa had moved and was located all the way down the mall. When we got there the jolly fat man was no where to be seen!, Carson seemed so dejected! The lady photographer said he was on a restroom break and would return shortly.

Long story short, he appeared and Carson immediately stepped up to his knee and the words just flowed. He sat on his lap and talked for at least 15 minutes as no one else was in line. He told him what he wanted and asked about the reindeer and what they liked to eat, what Santa wanted to eat, told about Daddy's little accident when he sat on Santa's lap and even reminisced about Easter. The conversation would have gone on all evening but we had to get back home for bedtime.

If you would have asked me yesterday morning about him sitting on Santa's lap, I would have said"never in a million years", but what do I know?

This has made our Holiday!

Now...for his next trick....'getting within 50' of a Mascot!!'

Merry Christmas

THEODORE GRANT STORIE Sr.

I wrote this about Pop Pop and read it as a euology just over ten years ago.


Your life was so filled with the memories of yesterday that rarely a day went by that you didn’t recall someone or some event in your life that always painted a vivid and colorful picture in my mind. It was as if I was reliving it with you.
From the tales of working the timber and sawmill, from catching a freight train at the age of sixteen; riding it to Kentucky to find work. The stories of toiling long hard days, loading coal deep in the mountainside. To tales of Panama and the Philippines, meeting Granny and the births of Mom, Teddy and Gay, of moving to Catlettsburg to work at the refinery. The story of pulling the turquoise and white ’57 Chevy into the parking lot at work and moments later laughing as the police car with siren screaming disappeared down the road.
The stories of the countless stringers of fish you caught through the years (and they never grew an inch every time you told it). The hunting trips to the places where the rabbits were so plentiful that a Beagle just got in the way. To the woods where the squirrels would make the mistake of riding out the limb of a big white oak, only to hear the roar of your Remington 48 Sportsman.
These were your memories, and I got to relive them and many others with you.
But I also have memories of the days you spent with me, teaching, molding and protecting me.
My memories were filled with the instructions of life. The memories of fishing long hours, of eating a lunch that Granny had packed and then taking a nap in the reclining seats of the Rambler before going back and fishing until dark.
I remember the chilly Spring moonless nights, sitting in the boat behind the hissing Coleman lanterns, waiting for the white bass to take the minnows we offered. (I knew the fish would come as I had seen the pictures of great catches in the past) To walking through the color-splashed woods of Fall, trying to step in your exact footprints so as not to make any sound in the dry leaves.
Memories of cleaning fish into the wee hours of the night on the shores of Lake Erie. (I don’t remember every fish I caught with you but I sure remember every one I cleaned)
To taking you to my secret trout stream in the Red River Gorge where we donned our waders and whipped the fly rods beneath the redbuds and dogwoods, landing the brown trout, which you said weren’t fit to eat, but you never complained about catching.
Every moment spent with you enlightened me in some special way. I came out of every situation a little wiser.
These memories are only mine. I will cherish them always, but I hold only a small piece of the memories of you. Everyone in the family can share what I share, your great grandchildren, grandchildren, children, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and your countless friends.
While all the memories I have are special, there is one I will place above all others. It is the most recent and will forever be the dearest and most precious memory of all. The memory of sharing a pew with you in church where we sat and listened to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Our bibles open, reading the truth, drinking in His Word.
You are not gone, for by your repentance, faith and surrender, you have that everlasting eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Memories are fond, but memories are also the past. You have, through your faith, set an example for each of us here to follow. I now look forward to the future, to a time of rejoicing with you and Granny and family before you in God’s Heaven.
Thanks for the love….Grant

MASCOT'S, CHICKEN'S AND CLOWN'S..OH MY!

Tuesday evening we traipsed off to downtown Ashland for the annual Christmas parade.
This had been the topic of conversation for several weeks; I want to go, I don’t want to go, was about as far as Carson went.
He still has a lot of trouble being in close proximity with any mascots, clowns or ‘big headed’ things. Are we bad, mean parents for prodding him along the sidewalk toward the festivities? He didn’t want to stand on the curb, so we secured a spot about 15’ from the street (well out of range of the constant rain of candy!) and he was semi-satisfied with this. It didn’t keep him from the intermittent “I’m ready to go home, let’s get outta here and I wanna NOW!” He spent a lot of time standing behind us, peering through the crowd and occasionally cracking a smile. Other times he actually let me put him on my shoulders so he could see (and he would invariably spot a giant head, clown, wildcat or chicken from a block away) and immediately demand to get down. The object of his fear would approach and as soon as it passed the 90 degree plane and started moving away he was fine, even laughed. Just as long as it was going away and not toward him. We did notice that he showed little fear of a giant teddy bear and Barney; I guess they posed no threat. The worst was a clown with green hair and a KFC chicken (Cris P. Chicken).

He lasted for an hour and we headed home, well before Santa appeared. We praised him for being so brave and going to the parade and he would have something to share with his classmates tomorrow. He was just a little outside his comfort zone but we were right beside him all the way just to support and calm his apprehensions. We all need that when we even as adults step outside our comfort zones.
I guess I had the same fears as a child also. I did sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas then left with a noticeable wet spot adorning the front of my jeans. I told that little story to Carson last week and friends pull into the drive while we are raking leaves and what do you think was the first thing he said to them? “Daddy peed on Santa’s lap and saw the Batmobile” (another story)
And I do admit that the ‘flying monkeys’ from the Wizard of Oz still creep me out today just as they did 40 years ago.
Overcoming our fears is a huge part of growing up and I guess some of us will forever be child-like in that aspect, we just gotta realize that the Encourager is forever with us.

November Leaves

The leaves are still hanging on for their lives, but the majority gave up the ghost and fluttered to the ground. This year it seems as if gravity was kicked up a notch and they all came 'straight' down without following the breeze to the neighbors yard.

So, Carson and I spent a few quality hours together this afternoon, blowing and raking the leaves into piles and then mulching them up.

I was blowing, and Carson was raking. I had to redirect him several times as he began to rake the leaves back UP the hill in the opposite direction the other brown critters were headed.

He is a good little helper none the less.

The most precious moment was when I see him picking up leaves and hanging them back on the tree. It didn't matter that it was a naked dogwood now adorned with sycamore, beech, poplar, maple and oak, he said it needed its leaves back.

Its moments like these we treasure!

A CHRISTMAS STORY...2007

“I think I want Santa Claus to come to my house this year”, quipped Carson yesterday. I said “that is a good idea! he can land his sleigh on the other end of the house and drop off the toys in front of the fireplace and you will never know he was even here.”
Nah! Maybe you can just go meet him again at the Huntington Mall
Carson still is very apprehensive about Santa. He loves the thought, but still wants him to keep his distance. The Huntington Mall thing came about last Christmas Eve after the family departed and he was getting ready for bed. It was just then that he realized a jolly fat man in a red suit was going to enter his house while he was asleep just down the hall, He wasn’t just gonna drop off a few gifts, he was gonna sit in the big wingback chair, eat some cookies and down a glass of milk before hopping in the sleigh and flying off with the reindeer.
As the wheels in his head turned at breakneck speed, he devised a plan. “Daddy, I don’t want Santa to come here, I want you to meet him at the Huntington Mall” I told him the Mall was closed and he then told me just to meet him on the parking lot. I offered to meet him at the Cedar Knoll Mall and he rejected that idea, insisting I go all the way to Huntington. Cedar Knoll was 6 miles away instead of 20 and that was still a little too close for comfort. Sharla and I agreed and she put the cookies in a Ziploc bag for me to give to Santa. My pretend trip satisfied his anxiety and Carson was all smiles as he drifted off the sleep with visions of “sugarplums” dancing in his head. (Well actually knowing Carson it was probably visions of Skittles”.
Maybe I won’t have to venture out in the cold this Christmas to meet Santa, or maybe it can be Sharla’s turn this year.

HOG HEAVEN

Frosty November morning’s make my memories swirl. I hearken back some 20 plus years ago to my times spent in my mother’s ancestral birthplace of Left Beaver in Floyd Co. Ky. I wiled away a lot of hours there with my second cousin Chris, running the creeks and mountains, huntin’ possums with an old mongrel named “Beardog” and catching chubs and horny heads with worms we dug from behind the hog pen.
However the frosty morn memory that is still vivid is the rousing of the troops to kill a hog at daylight. My uncle Edgel always rose early. He had the fire built and the water boiling in an old Valvoline barrel set near the creek bank. I think he always planned this when he had a lot of family visiting as “many hands make light work”. We would all shuffle sleepy eyed toward the fire. As we passed the pen, the hogs were noticeably restless, maybe because they hadn’t been fed, or they smelled the smoke of the fire only a few scant steps away.
My cousin Pogo arrives with an old J.C. Higgins .22. He drops to one knee and rests the barrel on the middle slat of the fence and waits for the big white hog to turn and look him in the eye. He waits and waits for a perfect shot, just as he did the week before in Wyoming when he brought down a giant elk. Now the elk was bagged with a 7mm Wetherby at 300 yards and this shot was merely 6 feet but we all knew that it had to be precise. The two made eye contact and the crack of the rifle sent the hog to his knees and the other four scattered to the corners.

Pogo stood with his chest puffed out and just smiled. Then he took a drink of liquid breakfast from the Mason jar.
The hog was then dragged out and laid beside the fire. The scalding water was poured onto its side and we all commenced to scraping the hair off. The steam and smell that emanated from this, turned the stomachs of the "furrner's" from Ohio and Michigan but we all stayed and finished. We hung the old hog by the hind legs with a Red Devil from the big locust tree, and with one swift slice the innards spilled forth and were delivered into the rushing water to feed the crawdads. The meat was quartered and we hauled the pieces in a wheelbarrow to the shed where Edgel worked his magic with an Old Hickory knife.
The tenderloin was cut out and went immediately into the house where Aunt Mae fried it up to serve the crew along with biscuits, gravy, potatoes and eggs.

Nothing better than a good country breakfast after a morning of hard work.

THE DUMPLIN' EATER

Dumplings, or just plain "dumplin's" as we call 'em in Kentucky, are little more than flour, milk, a pinch of salt and occasionally an egg, cooked in a hot chicken broth.

My dumplin' eatin' days are long gone. A period of my life that was filled with the countless bowls of wholesome goodness.

I had the unique situation as a young boy of being caught in the middle of a "dumplin" Battle Royal. I, along with my sister's and brother had the best of both worlds on Sunday afternoon. we got to eat dinner at both Grandparents houses.

My maternal Granny was of the "big, light, fluffy, pinched-off and dropped into the pot" school of dumplin' making.

My paternal Nanny was of the 'rolled out flat, cut with a knife, kinda-chewy, noodle-like dumplin'.

Both were delicious and I ate them with gusto. (and it shows to this day)

I was thrown into the mix"pun intended", of being an expert judge as to which dumplin' was the best. I was coerced by each to choose sides and say that hers were the best. It was a jovial, yet somewhat prideful competition that we laughed about for many years.

I still can close my eyes and remember the taste and textures of those afternoons, gorging myself on the savory dishes. The dumplins' swimming in the thickened mix as yellow-gold beads of the rendered chicken fat floated above, coating the spoon with every bite.

I haven't tasted anything remotely similar since their passing away over ten years ago and I'm sure I never will.

My forays into the restaurant variety dumplin' has left me empty and wanting. My desire has faded and all I'm left with are the memories but what memories they are.

I'm sure the competition is still raging up in heaven, and I'll just wait till I'm called to that banquet table someday and eat my fill from both pots, as I'm sure they're cooking together.

Nanny & Granny the "dynamic dumplin duo"

TO THE BATCAVE!!

One of favorite family things to do is to take a short trip to an unknown destination ( well, unknown only to Carson). A recent adventure took us a few short miles away to one of my favorite areas of Kentucky, Carter Caves State Park.
The drive there was filled with questions from the backseat, as to where we were headed., The guesses flowed and varied from Chuck E. Cheese, Central Park, the mall, Lexington, Disney World, Gatlinburg, PawPaw’s, Mcdonald’s, Thomas the Train, Bardstown and way too many to list.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Trading Post and started walking down the path toward the natural bridge. He still didn’t know where we were. All he knew was that he was hiking and there was a creek. We approached the entrance to the natural bridge and his eyes opened as wide as his mouth and out came “a cave!”
We had read one of my childhood books a few nights ago at bedtime. Caves and Their Mysteries, I spent countless hours pouring over those pages as a kid, dreaming of exploring the caves, dangling from ropes, wading through crystal pools of cool water, and shielding my face from the giant hoards of bats buzzing past me to escape to the outside world. This was my dream as a boy and I have always had a fascination with caves and have fulfilled many of those childhood dreams in my countless journeys.

Back to Carson…We strolled through the bridge and walked the dirt path to the entrance of the Bat Cave. There is a small cave at the mouth just about 4 feet high and proportioned perfectly for a four year old. I pulled a Spiderman flashlight from my pocket and handed it to him. Off he went! That little cave only sunk into the side of that cliff about 60’, but he forged headlong into the darkness and disappeared without a second thought or fear.

We went there with the intent to just let him explore at his own pace and not push or entice him to go someplace that he didn’t want to go, and we were sure we weren’t going to pay to take a tour, only to have to leave in the middle if he “freaked out in the darkness.

He emerged from that cave and said “I love caves daddy”, that was a joy to hear.

He never ceases to amaze me with his enthusiasm for adventure, and like me, always asks what is around the next bend or over the next hill.
We had a picnic, played miniature golf and then he wanted to go to another cave.
As we exited the park, we stopped and walked to the entrance of Laurel Cave. Sharla waited on the bridge. Carson now had my headlamp on and was scrambling across the boulders into the darkness, I was trying to keep up and telling him to wait for me. The darkness enveloped us and he I could see a great smile on his face in the glow of his light, he stood motionless as he let large drops of water cascade down onto his head. His pants were muddy, his hands were dirty, he was tired but he was having a memorable day with mom and dad.

He already is planning a trip back and wants to go through the cave and out the other side!
For now, he is simply enjoying the wonders of nature, with not a inkling about karst topography, hydrodynamics and oolitic limestone….but I’m sure he will have questions soon.

COME HERE!!!!!!!

Come Here!!! Come Here!!!

The word “here” is usually drawn out to a resounding Bill Cosby”ish” “HHHeeeeerrrrrreeeee!”
A phrase uttered countless times throughout a typical day in the ol’ Johnson household.
It is a command directed at our son that often times seems to go in one ear and out the other. Other times the words just seem to hover around the room until they finally dissipate into thin air without ever causing the slightest tympanic vibration. My wife and I agree that life would be so much simpler and less stressful if he would just do as we say on the first command, without the repetitious droning of our will against his.
But that seems to be the way of most four year olds, and we realize as parents that we are not alone in all this. The times he follows the instructions on the first prompt are rewarded with praise and thanks.
During these episodes of disobedience and indifference I often find myself reaching a level of frustration, that causes me to step back and take a deep breath and cool my head.
I had an instance of this yesterday that completely turned my head around to see myself in the mirror and realize that my disobedience grieves the One that cares about me the most, in the exact same way.
When I don’t obey the will of the Father, I know that He must feel the same hurt that I feel when my son rejects the direction I offer him. I know that I have rejected direction from God in the past, to follow my own path and now wonder what I could have done differently and where I would possibly be at this point in my Christian life.
I am so thankful we serve a Savior that loves us for what we are and where grace abounds.
So now, every time I have to repeat the phrase” Come Here” , I’ll stop and look at myself and remember the forgiveness in my heart that is there from the One that forgave me.

There is too much love to be shared and too little time to dwell on the negative words that just want to keep us from His joy.