Pretty scenic ride in the country...

Part of our Sunday ritual on our way home from church is a trip across the old Eldean wooden bridge in Troy.  Going slowly across the old wooden roadbed, you hear the "clackity clack" of the tires shaking the huge wooden planks.  We do this almost without fail, sunshine, rain or snow.  Not many people have the opportunity to experience this, and we feel it is our duty to take advantage of it for them.  If you want to see the bridge, I posted an article about it in 2010 ("A Norman Rockwell kinda scene" in the "General Musings" section.)

Well, Pam and I were coming home from church last week and saw something we had seen just about as many times as we had crossed that bridge.  And every time we passed this scene, we were either in a hurry to get somewhere, or just didn't take the time to stop and get a picture to share with you. So here it is.

I think this is one of those country scenes that the camera can't capture.  Maybe if I had taken these with the real camera and not my phone camera (which I an still learning how to use) they would have been better. But -- if I had planned out far enough to bring the real camera, I would have taken lots more pictures and might have done justice to these beautiful creatures and this gentleman's outstanding horse farm.

 There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.  (Winston Churchill)

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The last round this year ?????

Just about a week ago, the weather man promised us a good day (at least for this time of the year) with sunshine, no wind and temps in the low 50s.  Absolutely nothing wrong with that in November, so four of us decided to give it one last shot.  Although -- I plan to play at least one or two more times as long as there isn't any snow on the ground.  Kinda makes it hard to find the ball, let alone play well.

So we got the round in, and it was pretty nice.  We started the year in North Carolina in the lower 50s and upper 40s, and ended it in Ohio in the same kind of conditions.

Dave (l) just hit a good drive on this hole which is why he is all puffed out. Chuck (r) is just about to remember why he doesn't bend over that far very often -- he has to straighten back up.

At least the grass was green and the fairways and greens were in good shape.  I don't like playing when I have to bundle up, but I hate even more the thought of having to put the clubs away for the winter.  Not that my game is that good, but I know I will miss walking around the courses and being out in nature. I will miss the banter of my golfing buddies when one of us misses a shot or a putt, the story telling and the get-togethers at the 19th hole.  Most golf courses are really scenic and success or failure of a day is almost always up to the skill (or lack thereof) of my swing and my ability to putt. So I enjoying challenging myself to play well and then, sometimes, doing it.

Got a shot this week to get in maybe one or two more rounds.  These would be bonuses.  No expectations, but it would be fun because when one finally has to give up the sticks for the winter, it's a sad time ... especially as you get older.  When nature goes to drab and gray, when her colors fade, and her cold winds chill your bones, you wonder if there will be another spring ... another round.  A golf season is something special, and the game itself is the measure of your mettle. Things are thrown at you, and sometimes it isn't fair, but it's how you come back, and how often you come back that counts.  And you hate to see the season end because it's like someone took something from you before you were ready to hang it up.

They say golf is like life, but don't believe them.  Golf is more complicated than that.  (Gardner Dickinson)

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Kinda reminds me of my days with our Civil War color guard...

When I joined the Sidney Ohio Post 4239 of the VFW (www.sidneyohiovfw.com,) I wanted to get involved and not just be another old guy who stopped by every once in a while to buy a drink, and listen to war stories.  So I volunteered to be a member of the color guard.  I had heard that most of these units had a lot of older guys in the color guards and that they were losing a lot of them, and not being able to meet the demands of ceremonies, funerals, and such.  So anyway, I joined up.

Since I am one of the newest ones on our team, I carry a flag.  I guess I could brush up on my manual of arms commands and procedures and move up to a rifle, but for now, the flag is pretty good.  The other day during come ceremonies at the Sidney court house for Veteran's Day, I had the flag and there was a pretty good breeze going.  I had always believed it looked pretty good seeing the flags blowing in the breezes, but I later found out that the color guard commander wasn't too thrilled about being hit in the face with my flag. He gave me the rookie comments and a good razzing, but he'll get over it.

Following the ceremonies at the courthouse, we were involved with a ceremony at Wal-Mart.  They were honoring the veterans who work there and had us, the mayor, some other dignitaries and cake! 

Once, when we were doing our Civil War color guard, back in the old 342d days, we flew up to Toronto to participate in a really big event put on by the Canadians.  They had color guards from every part of the British empire and we were special guests.  We marched in the Toronto Blue Jays stadium, and it was a really big deal.  At Wal-Mart, we marched from the overhead TV to the pie display (about 20 feet), but it was still a pretty big deal for the honored employees and a chance for Wal-Mart to show its support for our Veterans.

Anyway, it is a good deal, being part of this color guard.  I got to get out my boots again, use some of my  old army stuff and actually do some soldier stuff again.  But one thing I did learn -- or remembered -- or was reminded of -- I cannot leave my boots out in the bedroom.  Pam says it reminds her of my real army days when I would leave stuff out all the time, when I would come back from somewhere and leave a bag and or boots out for days at a time and then repack to go off again.  Can't say either of us miss those days. But it was a different army back then.

So ...... I put my "stuff" away until the next time, just like all the old guys do.  I have to admit that at stores and when I am out, I still look for old guys wearing their mementos and signs of their service, and I am happy for what they did, happy that they feel good enough about their service to wear their service ball caps, pins, or vests.  The only bad part of all of this is that I'm now getting to be one of those "old guys."  Oh well...

When an American says that he loves his country, he means not only that he loves the New England hills, the prairies glistening in the sun, the wide and rising plains, the great mountains, and the sea.  He means that he loves an inner air, an inner light in which freedom lives and in which a man can draw the breath of self-respect.  (Adlai Stevenson)

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Even late in the fall it's pretty nice...

Pam and I have fallen behind in attending to the items on our "day trip" list this year and we decided that if we didn't get on the stick, the year would be gone before we knew it.  So, after looking at both the list and the weather, we decided to go to the Columbus Zoo.

It has been several years since I have been there, but she has been there with the nieces and nephews this summer.  Now I don't mind being there, but I'm not real keen on wall-to-wall people (big or little), so going this late in the year seemed like a unique  opportunity to address the list and still have a good visit at the zoo.

I must say -- the Zoo has changed since my last visit...or at least I think it has.  It was brisk out, but there were still lots of things to see and, it wasn't crowded at all.  Surprisingly, I could wait for good shots with the camera which is something that is normally hard to come by as there are so many other people wanting that same shot of a particular animal.  Happily, that wasn't the case this time and I think I got some really nice shots (see the slide show at the right, down the column a ways). 

Anyway, here are some I really liked.

But I think the best animal picture I took was this one:

Notice it's stare -- rather intense isn't it.  He was probably wondering what was for dinner.  Well, this animal was in the area just on the other side of the sidewalk.

I noticed that it didn't take its eye off me  the whole time I was taking its picture (of course, maybe it was just keeping an eye out for the big cat).

The Zoo is getting ready for its winter light show.  The staff was really getting the place ready for a festival of lights which, I'm sure will be worth going to see (even if it is a bit more crowded).

 I think the older we get, the more we need what the zoo has to offer and so I think we will have to make sure this "day trip" adventure is on the list again next year.  Yes...we'll have to go back.

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.  (e.e. cummings)


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Maggie's drawers...

Just when you think you've seen everything, up pops a surprise that takes you back to an earlier time in your life and brings back a whole flood of memories.  Such was the case when Pam and I were walking thru the Tawawa Park here in Sidney a couple of weeks ago.  Aside from the beautiful trees and scenery, we came across an old firing range right in the middle of the park.

It is really amazing to have found this old range right in our back yard.  It is also special that the city has preserved it and provided documentation to let people know what something like this is and what it had to do with the war effort back in the 1940s.

I recalled a time in my early military career when I was assigned to the 342d MP Co. and we would go to the rafle range at the Blue Rock State Park, just below a little town called Duncan Falls in southern Ohio.  It was carved out of the forest and was a no-frills range used by the Army and the Ohio National Guard.  We would go there for the weekend and would fire our rifles (M-14s at that time) and our pistols (.45 cal.).  Everyone had their own assigned rifle, but we were not allocated enough pistols so we would all use the same dozen that we had in the company.  By the end of the day, they were caked with gun powder residue and it seemed like the barrels were wobbling around and ready to fall out at the next firing order.  But that was the way it was after Vietnam -- the Army was being drawn down and absolutely no money was being spent on weapons, ammo, updating equipment or maintenance.  It was not a very happy time to be in the military and those who stuck it out were generally treated with scorn and disdain.

But anyway, back to the range.  Part of the duties we all had at that time were range guards (the two guys who were assigned to sit out at the entrance to the range and make sure no unauthorized personnel came into the area), ammo detail guys (filling the magazines and delivering them to the firers on the firing line), range safety NCOs (those NCOs who would stand behind the firers observing their rounds, hits, misses, and coaching the firer), range safety officer (he didn't do much, but his butt was on the line if anything went wrong or anyone got hurt), the tower crew (called out the firing commands and firing orders),  and the real grunts of the weekend -- the pit crew.  In these old days of ranges, there were no computerized firing lanes, pop-up plastic targets, and computer generated score cards.  Everything was done by hand, and scores were kept with pencil by the firers coach on a paper score sheet.  This led to a lot of jawing about hits and misses and even something known as "pencil whipping" the course.  In fact, it was well-known that a pencil was about the same diameter as a .45 cal. round so if someone needed a few more hits to qualify, it was not uncommon for a coach to "pencil fire" a few holes into the silhouette and help his buddy.

It was also the responsibility of the pit crew to indicate the number of hits and misses after each event.  Since the lanes were so long and it would eat up too much time to walk from the firing point to the targets in order to count scores, the pit crew member would hold up a long red paddle and raise and lower it each time for the hit total.  After all the hits were recorded, he would waive the paddle right and left to indicate that there were no more hits.  This was called the "Maggie's drawers" part of the firing order.  There were many rude and crude legends as to how this term came about, but the most common was that at this point, "the firer couldn't hit a bull in the ass with a bass fiddle." 

Most soldiers hated their assignment in the pit crew.  Even though you were safe behind the firing berm, you were always getting dirt and rocks over the top from rounds that came up short.  There were always splinters from the wooden frame that held the targets as real the good firers would simultaneously try to score enough points to qualify all the while trying to shoot out the sides of the frame and watch it fall down into the pit. This was a great source of laughter and humor for the firers, but invoked the wrath of the First Sergeant and the range safety officer, and there was usually hell to pay for that.  And then there was always the heavy, thick grease that continually had to be applied to the target apparatus to get them to go up and down.

This was the view toward the targets from the firer's perspective.  Obviously there were no trees in the way back then.

This shows where the pit crew would sit while the firers had at it.  The dirt mound in front and the cement wall were there to keep them safe, but not necessarily clean.

This was the view from the pit crew out toward the firers.

Even though these were long, dirty weekends, they were some of my fondest memories.  I was really a pretty good shot and really enjoyed outshooting most of the others in our company.  I have to admit I couldn't outshoot our OPNS SGT (Barney) with the pistol, but I got even when it came to the rifle.  I also liked being in the field, and this was pretty much the start of my passion for always taking my troops to the field when I was a company and battalion commander. 

I know this method of firing was not very efficient, but it really taught a number of troops how to fire their assigned weapons. It taught us how to make each round count, and not to just "spray" rounds downrange hoping to hit something. 

But even more than that, it built unit cohesion and team work.  In those days, after a weekend at the range or in the field, you felt like you had accomplished something, you felt more like a unit, more like a team.  You got to know each other better and knew each others strengths and weaknesses and knew how to get things done --  both by the book and by the common sense method.  This was where many a soldier came to know his craft.

George Patton once said “...It is a proud privilege to be a soldier – a good soldier … [with] discipline, self-respect, pride in his unit and his country, a high sense of duty and obligation to comrades and to his superiors, and a self confidence born of demonstrated ability.”

If you've been there, you kinda know what this means.

Hooah

Charleston, #1...

One of the main reasons why I think people go to Charleston is to look at the gardens, the homes, the old churches and the cemeteries, and to take in the charm and "sense of the South" about all of it.  Sure, there are beaches and golf courses, and all sorts of displays and museums, but I'm of the opinion that without all the Southern Charm of it all, the rest could just as well be in Iowa somewhere.

We began our exploration of tghe area in probably the most typical way -- the narrated carriage ride.  This way, we get an overall feel of the area and get a feeling for where the best gardens, churches and other such places are.  We also picked out a couple of eating places we would visit and made note of the Market and added it to the list of intended stops.  So off we went.

OK.  So now that we have taken the carriage ride, which, by the way, was very informative, we know where we want to go to see the things on our list.

First, let's look at the churches and graveyards.  There were several really old churches in Charleston (by the way, it was originally called Charlestown but that was changed after the Revolution because the residents didn't want to have anything else to do with the crown) and it was really neat to go inside them.  The one in particular had individually owned pews which were sectioned off with wooden sides and fronts.  They were purchased when the church was built and passed down through the families for centuries. I think they said any new families or guests to the church would sit in the balcony area until one became available to purchase or they stopped coming to the church.  All the little pews had brass plates on them with the family name on it and some had several generations of family names listed.  I'm not sure how I felt about this, but it sure gave me the sense of history and sure would have been of benefit to anyone doing a family genealogy.

Of course all these churches had grand old cemeteries  on the grounds.
One church said they didn't discriminate against new and "old" Charlestonians when it came to burials.  However, they did point out that all the "old family" Charlestonians were buried in the grave yard by the church, and anyone new to town (I assume any family who came since the Civil War) was buried on the other side of the street in the "new" cemetery.

In any event, on both sides of the street there were headstones dating back to the late 1600s and a whole bunch (obviously) dated around the time of the Civil War.  It was really interesting seeing tombstones of  signers of the Declaration of Independence, and the articles of cessation from the US.  What a trip back thru history.  We were there somewhat toward the end of the day and at 5:00 the bells would ring in the church towers -- what a sombre sound.  We also were in the area after dark as we took one of the local "ghost tours" which had to include a walk-thru of a cemetery.  After all, where else would the ghosts of Old Charleston hang out.


The second big thing on our list was the canvasing of the city's houses and gardens.  This was not only very educational, but also informative of the style of life some in this town lived in the late 1800s before the War.  Many of these houses are for sale today because, I imagine, they are so expensive to maintain and there are so many regulations ranging from how to cut the grass, trim the bushes, and what colors and type of paint can be used, inside or out.  But one of the things we learned on the carriage ride was that the homes of the VERY wealthy (or wanna-be wealthy) all had a big granite slab in front of the house which would allow the ladies to get out of the carriage without getting their nice shoes in the clay of the road or the horse poop which was such a problem back then.  After all, as was pointed out by the tour guide, no self-respecting lady of wealth in the south would be able to attract a gentleman suitor with horse poop on her shoes and the bottom of her dress!

Here are some of the nicer gardens.  The pictures don't do them justice and you don't get a real good look because of the gates, but these will give you the idea.

One other area I really enjoyed was the Battery Park area.  Unfortunately I do not have a picture of this huge Southern Oak which took up most of the whole end of the park.  I had to borrow this from the internet so you would have an idea of the size of these trees and how they spread out a canopy over this whole park area.  This really looked like "Old South."

So those were the main things on our tour of Charleston.  There were the multicolored houses and some of the historical buildings of the Old Charleston area (dating back to the times after the Revolution), but I will have to put them in another entry as this one is getting to the limit of my fingers to type and your seat to sit and read.

Being Southern isn't talking with an accent...or rocking on a porch while drinking sweet tea, or knowing how to tell a good story. It's how you're brought up -- with Southerners, family (blood kin or not) is sacred; you respect others and are polite nearly to a fault; you always know your place but are fierce about your beliefs. And food along with college football -- is darn near a religion. (Jan Norris)

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Charleston, #2...

Our motel while at Charleston was the Marriott Courtyard Charleston Waterfront located on the river.  It was your typical Courtyard, but the location was pretty nice.

One other convenience about this place was its proximity to the Historic Center area.  We were only about 5 min. driving to get down to the center of the town and it was basically only one street to get there.

If looking at expensive boats is your thing, then this place was a must stay on your list.  The marina which can be seen in the pictures above was quite nice.  I think I have only seen one such place before that would top this and that was the Washington boat yard (not sure that is the name of it).  But then again, as I have said many times before, nothing in Washington is real and certainly the size and cost of some of those boats is totally unreal.  I bet they don't get as good of gas mileage as Miss Pam, my little fishing boat we "cruise" around in on Lake Loramie.

Of course, Lake Loramie isn't as big as these waters.  While we were out on the beach, the tide was coming in.  We were standing out on a sand bar and very shortly after getting out there and staying pretty dry, I mentioned to Pam that we should begin to work our way back to the beach or we would soon be surrounded by water and probably real wet.

We made it back and took the time to send Quinn a happy birthday sand card as well as greetings to the whole family.

We also found a little path that led from the beach over the dunes to some "cottages."  It is hard to call a 4-bedroom, two story house a cottage, but that is what they called them.  A couple of the locals were also walking by and we talked to them for a while.  They were the ones who took this picture.

So that was our afternoon at the beach -- very relaxing, very scenic. 

While I was standing out there on the sand bar, one thing I couldn't help but wonder was what the kids who were here around the 1600s did and thought of when they were standing out here.  I suppose they were too busy to so this, and maybe they were just too wary of pirates or Indians, but I wondered if they scratched names in the sand, or just relaxed and walked around, looking out over the ocean toward their former home country. 

And maybe more interesting is the idea that whatever it was that they were thinking is probably the same thing others over the centuries have thought, maybe the same as what I think today.  When we go to the beach with Quinn, I wonder if he too thinks the same things and is beginning to marvel at the vastness of it all, and begins to understand his place in it.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea.( e.e. cummings)

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