Redway Fire Department Barbecue Sat. May 25, 2013

Wow, that time again! Fun and food will be had by all at the barbecue. This is a fundraiser for the fire department. Few organizations give so much to their community as a volunteer fire department, now is your time to give back! Please join the firefighters for a good meal at a good low price. You cannot even make the the meal that the firefighter provide at home for the price that it is provided. Plus, there will be a dessert available at the dessert bar, and beverages available at the beer bar.

The barbecue is deep pit cooked pork and beef, cooked for 10 hours. Guaranteed to be the best, the most juicy, the most flavorful food that you have ever eaten or you will be given another helping of food.

There will be music provided by the Twango Macallum band. They will be outside this year, so it will be quiet in the dining hall, plus they will be able to crank up the volume outside for a greater music experience.

See all of your friends that you may not have seen in years, and make new friends. The barbecue is a great community melting pot. Many old friends come to the barbecue, and bring their friends with them. See you there!

Serving Noon 'til 7:00 PM. Saturday 25th. Memorial Dy weekend.

You know you're a gypo logger when....

Ross Sherburn asked me to make a link to an old logging story that I told a few years ago. I looked it up and read it. It's anazing to me that I can even talk about logging without all the bad (Good) languge coming back. Who says "you can never go home?" First read the link then come back and read the rest of this post. Maybe some of you old gypos can add to the list.

Click on link: >  Lloyd Padon, CATskinner

1- You know that you are a gypo when you can cuss-out sombody across the canyon with sign language.

2- You know that you are a gypo when you take a link out of the CAT track rails to keep the tracks on the idlers to get through the season.

3- You know that you are a gypo when you weld the corner bits on the blade because you can afford the bolts.

4- You know that you are a gypo when you can tie a figure-eight knot in an 1 1/8" winch line cable in less than five minutes.

5- You know that you are a gypo when you can hear a limb falling like it was the loudest noise in the woods.

6- You know that you are a gypo when a water bag with no diesel on it is the most valuable tool you own.

7- You know that you are a gypo when You know how to make a three choker bridle to pull a big log.

8- You know that you are a gypo when you've had to use a CAT to pull a truck out of a landing.

9- You know that you are a Gypo when you have to race your fellow loggers to the bank on payday because only the first two thirds of the checks were good.

10- You know that you are a gypo when you rub mud on the rot in the end of the log and hope the scaler won't notice it at the mill.

11- The scaler at the mill knows that you are a gypo and will cull ANY log when mud on the end, whether it's rotten or not.

12- You know that you are a gypo when the rest of the crew makes you the butt of their jokes and you know thats a sign that they like you.

13- You know that you are a gypo when you go the work and talk about women all day, then go home and talk about logging.

14- You know that you are a gypo when you know that your not making any money but you don't quit because that would be admiting defete.

15- You know that you are a gypo when you go to Reno and win Two million dollars and you are happy because that means that you can log another year.

Your turn!

New Motor in old truck

So.... here's what I've been doing lately. What you are looking at in the pictures that I've posted is a new engine, new radiator, new heater core, new starter (NOT rebuilt), new water pump (NOT rebuilt), new intake manifold, new distributor, new plugs and wires, and new hoses. It probably would have been easier to have said that everything motor related under the hood is new but the throttle-body injectors and the computer controls.

My current service truck is one that I bought in 1990, but it's a good truck, so when it developed engine problems I decided to fix it rather than buy a new one. ( Much to my wife's chagrin.) She has been trying to talk me into buying a new truck for the past four years. I wish that I would have listened to her, it would be paid for by now, but, I would also be seventy thousand dollars poorer. (You didn't think that I was going to buy any cheap-assed truck did you?)

I live in Benbow at the bottom of Benbow hill. When I get up in the morning I go out, get in the truck on a cold morning, then go full throttle up Benbow hill on a cold engine. My wife does the same thing. Needless to say I have to change head gaskets on everything that I own every 60 to 80 thousand miles. You have no idea how many head gaskets that I have changed. I would list them but I almost lost you in the first paragraph with my list. I dare not chance a list that long again. It was rainy and wet this winter when the gaskets on my truck went out again, so I just kept adding water until the weather dried up a little.  The last time that I changed the gaskets was at eighty thousand miles. The truck now has one hundred and eighty thousand miles. I seem to get way more mileage out of my repairs than the factory engines gets. I credit "Copper Coat" head-gasket compound. They seem to go about one hundred thousand miles.

You guessed it, one morning I forgot to add water. I was going up Benbow Hill, the temperature started getting into the red, then as I crested the hill it when from hot to... bam... cold. NOT GOOD. I changed the head gaskets but exhaust was still blowing into the water jacket. Cracked heads. New heads are expensive. used heads and rebuilt heads are risky. New heads on and old engine is a foolish waste of time. My wife started to gloat. "I told You so". So I decided that before I bought a new truck that I would shop a little for a new motor. I found out that the Mexicans down south of the boarder build a darn fine GM engine in the factory that NAFTA gave us. I shopped around a little and found that I could buy a new engine shipped from the GM factory back by the Great Lakes.... and a new engine plucker-lift for @ two thousand dollars. Any thoughts of rebuilding my own engine, like I've always done in the past, went out the window like the little birdies in the cartoons.

So, I ordered a new motor and bought the rest of the stuff at the local Napa store. The engine arrived in about a week and a half, Three days later I gave birth to a brand new engine in my truck. I started it and it purred like a kitten. I ran the RPM up to 1800 RPMs like everybody does when they start a new motor. I ran it for about 15 minutes. It had a small exhaust leak on the manifold doughnut. I though that it had started running a little funny, and it was lunch time. So I shut it off to cool. When I came back I fixed the exhaust leak and started it again. It ran real good at first then slowly started running real rough, like it was getting way too much fuel. I let it idle down to check things, but when I got out of the truck it chugged to a stop. I tried to start it again, but it wouldn't turn over. My first thought was the starter, but I put a wrench on the front engine pulley. It's really called a vibration dampener, but I'm trying not to lose you here. The motor was way stiffer to turn over than it should have been. My elation turned to a very sick stomach. So, I did what I always do when I don't know what's wrong. I took the motor apart, clear down to the short block. On my way there I found that the vacuum tube that senses the intake manifold pressure had burned in two. That is why it was running way to rich with fuel. I took the heads and the timing chain off to check the bearings on the camshaft. It was fine.

The reason that the motor was hard to turn over is because the wet fuel mixture going into the cylinders had washed the oil off the cylinder walls. One squirt of oil on each piston and the motor was loose as a goose. That means that it turned over real easy. I'm trying really hard to not lose you here... After oiling the pistons, I slowly turned the motor over, imagine my joy when I found absolutely no scoring on the pistons or cylinders. I did a little victory dance over my great good fortune. Then I remembered that it was really not that great good and fortunate to have my fuel mixture control tube burn in two.... As most mechanics know, working on a motor is a combination of extremes, good luck, bad luck, and bad language. I had a friend that claimed that no one that didn't know how to cuss could ever be a good mechanic. I know that statement is probably not true, but I take great comfort in the knowledge that I can cuss with the best of them.

So, I put the motor all back together. I was extra careful to route the vacuum line to the mixture control away from anything hot, I fixed the loose connection on the starter. HEY... the starter is in a really bad place! I couldn't see the loose connection!

I checked everything multiple times, then I started the the engine. It runs very, very smooth. I took it on a forty mile trip, going through all the break-in procedures. You all know what they are. They go from never over rev it, don't ever go past half throttle, only drive it downhill for the first fifty miles... to... drive it like you stole it. I tried to come up with my own compromise. It must have worked, the engine runs perfectly. The truck will go up Benbow Hill at half throttle, and do 65 MPH. What? You didn't expect me to admit speeding did you.

One more thing. When I was kid, my dad was a good mechanic, and I had the opportunity to work on many things. I was lucky enough to have known Pete Star, a mechanic in Briceland who owned the Briceland Garage and Shell gas station. he had the reputation of being the best mechanic far and wide. He was adamant about doing clean work. If your work wasn't clean enough to eat your lunch off of he didn't even want to see you in his shop, and he meant it. By the time that I got through working on my motor I could have worn white clothes and kept them clean. I always seem to get some strange joy out of clean work, that, and I always think of Pete Star and my dad.

Now the test: Did you read this whole thing? Give yourself 10 points if you did. If you understood it give yourself 5 more points. If you are female give yourself 10 bonus points. What is your score?

SURPRISE!!! I'm back. At least for a few minutes.

Well, it's been a long time since I've been able to blog here, It's been so long that I even miss myself. It's heartwarming to see that some of the old faithful commenters still drop a note to say "Hi" and keep in touch.

I would tell you about my schedule but it would make you cry. I may be busy, but my life is going well, (With the exception of a few minor bumps), I've been having fun and I am happy, thank-you for being concerned. I've also have a few problems with carry-on sentences. I hope that all is well with you all-too-faithful-readers. Wow, are you patient!

I started blogging for quite a few reasons, I got sick to death of trying to watch television. Just when you get really interested in something they would pause for a few "Important Messages". I usually flipped through the channels while I was waiting for the "important message" to be over, but, by the time they were through with their message I would have forgotten what I was watching and be onto another program, only to be interrupted by another I. M. (Important Message) Dang, those messages are just too distracting, no more continuity in watching a program. But, I did get so good at channel-surfing that I could follow at least three programs at a time. The frustrating thing about that is, that ALL of them take a I.M. break at the same time, at the final less-than-dramatic-conclusion. Then it occurs to me that I missed out on all three stories by being distracted. The next morning I would ask someone how the stories ended. None of them knew, they all started switching channels just like me. It must be universal to do that. My wife tells me that it's only men that channel surf. But, what does she know, she actually watches a program all the way through with the sound on and everything.

The ads on TV can be very annoying also. I don't know Corky Cornwell that well but what I do know about him is good. Personally he's a good guy to be around. But dang, his commercials send me diving for the mute button. For some reason a guy dressed up in a clown suit yelling at me to buy something is not my idea of a pleasent TV viewing experience. I guess you would have to have seen one of his commercials. My wife can just sit there and watch one of his commercials all the way through without any squirms of anguish. I think that she must be deaf.

I watch "Storage Wars", or what ever it's called. I know that it's phony, but I get a kick of watching Brandy give Jerrod a bad time. Plus... Brandy is kinda fun to look at. (don't tell my wife, I have her convinced that she is the only person in the whole world that I recognize as being a female) They find things in these old storage lockers that any clear-thinking person would know that there is no way in heck would ever be found in a storage locker. Boy, they must think that I'm dumb to believe all of that stuff, but I love it when Jerrod opens a box and tells Brandy, "wow guess what this is". Ha, I know what he found... the same dang thing that he always finds... a commercial. Then I start channel-surfing and never get to find out what Jerrod found. My friends don't know either, because they started switching channels also. Sometimes I go back just to see Brandy give Jerrod a bad time, but then they open that suit case and find another commercial lurking inside. Back to surfing.

Well, most people would guess, by now, why I don't watch much TV anymore. Remember "Have Gun, Will Travel", "Maverick", Gunsmoke", "Ed Sullivan" or "The Johnny Carson Show"? You could watch the whole show with only one mid-program commercial. We ate dinner on TV trays at the living room couch. We would all pee before the programs started, because the bathroom would be to crowded at the mid-program commercial. Boy, Those were the good old days!

So... I started blogging to keep up with local community affairs. The blogs started out to be just news and conversation. They were not stuffed with commercials and other annoying interruptions. Boy, those were, also, the good old days! I always wanted to write book about "The Lost Years", back when loggers were heroes helping to build America by providing lumber and jobs. Not much is really known about the time between the early settlers and the Marijuana boom that infiltrated the South Fork canyon. So, I thought that I might try to learn to write... I'm not any better now than when I started. It's true... old dogs don't learn new tricks. I'm just as bad now as I was I high school when I failed English Composition. The only difference is, now, I just don't care. So, I write from the heart and the way I would normally speak, most people get it. I always get a kick out of people that point out how I should have said it... Obviously they know what I said or they wouldn't know what they thought that I meant to say. Dang, now even I'm confused.

I started reading other blogs, some anonymous, It was very entertaining at first. NO commercials! I soon noticed that, even though there were no commercials, the anon ones were overtly for, or against, something without saying who they were. I was always struck by the cowardly approach that they took. They would bitch endlessly about what was happening in their world that they didn't like. They were either for or against something like the commercialization of the "Balloon Tract", the bums in the wetlands, or the pros and cons on making a railroad into a playground for the yuppie set. I always thought that there should be a yuppie tax to pay for all of the supposed entitlements. But, that just comes from working my ass off my whole life instead of trying to find a place to ride my bike. I usually laugh out loud when they refer to themselves as "Thomas Jefferson", or some other famous person that once wrote anonymously... More often than not out of a fear for their lives. I keep recalling the time that Dan Quail compared himself to John Kennedy. Lloyd Bentson easily put Quail in his place by saying:  "Senator, I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy." I think of that everytime that the anonabloggers refer to themselves as some great figure in history. We all know who the great figures in history were. "Anonymous" is just "Anonymous". Believe me, they are no Thomas Jeffersons.

I have a tendency to mostly read the blogs by people that sign their name. Eric Kirk, Kym Kemp, Fred, Rose, Hank Sims come to mind, among many others. I don't always agree with them, but I always admire that they sign their names to what they say. But, how do we keep honest people on the blogs? They need an income somehow, so they sell out to advertisers. Sadly, the advertisers are clumsy. They place their adds across your field of vision so you have to read it to get rid of it, or you have to move it all over to see past it. I really don't know how they expect this to gain any customers. Myself, I make a mental note to NEVER buy anything from an advertiser that is so pushy as to interrupt a good blog read, then I do my best to avoid their product. Maybe I'm alone in this way of thinking, but I keep remembering all of my fellow channel surfers that leave the advertisers behind, most often to not return. If I had a blog I would not allow any advertising on my blogsite. Oh, Hey, I do... Do you see any advertising on this page? You are very, very welcome.

The other thing that bothers me is all of the new technophiles that think that they can produce a blogsite. They use some neo-whatever for a program that won't operate in any kind of existing equipment. Then They have the audacity to blame your tools. "What??? You don't have Google Chrome or Fire Fox? Boy are you dark-ages". The latest was to criticize my Android system phone. "What???, you don't have Android Four-Bazillion? how archaic". (It's a poor workman that blames my tools)

Maybe I did this post just to bitch, I don't really know, but I'd bet a lot of people "Get It".
 P.S I still have a great post in the wings... I promise. You will be amazed. Back when I was a kid they called that line a "Cliff-Hanger".

I been workin' on the Railroad.

I had Lunch with our new 2nd District Supervisor, Estelle Fennell, the other day, and I was somewhat excited to find the she had been appointed by the Humboldt Co. Board of Supervisors of be our representative on matters of railroads into Humboldt County. As many of you already know, there has been some talk about building an entire new rail-bed, on an entirely new route, East and West, from Eureka to the Sacramento valley, while abandoning the existing Eel Canyon, flat ground, rail-bed that is already an established right-of-way. I’ve probably already tipped my hand of the route that I prefer, more information on that later.


I am a big fan of large machines and technology, like trains. I am also a big fan of fishes, critters, and the environment. In the interest of full disclosure, I include my good friends the human beings as part of the environment. I feel that the world is way over-populated at this point already, and we need to start addressing what we need to do about world population. Are you ready to get of the world? Neither am I. That leaves us with convincing the young breeders of the world to try to limit themselves. Good luck with that. I can be rather pious, in that I only produced one offspring. However, that offspring produced two children and one of them produced one more. You see the dilemma. I am now responsible for three replacements for myself in this world. As you might guess, I am very happy with my offspring replacements, so you began to see the population dilemma.

Back to the subject of railroads. I told Estelle that I was a big proponent of rebuilding the Eel River Canyon railway. First, it is an established right-of-way, there will be no land acquisitions, no major excavations, and most of the historic problems of building the original rail-bed have stabilized. Some people reel in horror at the thought of a railway down the Eel canyon. Their first thought is the environment… mine too! But, give it some thought. Many will point out all of the problems that have been related to the Eel canyon rail. Some will point out all of the debris that has been caused and left by from the rail. Old rail cars can be seen dumped in the river and abandoned. Many old bridges have been pushed aside and abandoned, not to mention all the old coal loading stations, water tanks and equipment from the steam locomotive days. Some trash was hauled off, but a lot was simply abandoned.

My thoughts are that the trash left behind will never be cleaned without a railway to haul it off. We no longer live in the early twentieth century. The new rail will not be constructed in the manner of the early rail. The rail-bed that is left is stable, with a few remarkable exceptions. A new rail should be constructed with concrete rail-ties similar to what the rest of the world uses. Creosote rail-ties are no longer allowed to pollute the river. The trash left from the old railroad could be cleaned as the new rail is completed. The slides that are in the canyon now are historic slides that were there as far back as history itself. They may have been aggravated by the railroad, but they were there first, and, indeed, they are still there, some many years after the trains have been gone. They will be there thousands of years from now. Truth! The good news is that we have had much more soil added to the north coast hills than we have lost. The soil in Petrolia is four feet higher, and Kings Peak is 16 inches higher after the great earthquake in the early 90’s. We are NOT going to run out of dirt folks. Erosion on the North Coast is as natural as, well, erosion on the North Coast.

As I said earlier, this is no longer the early twentieth century. We no longer kill the Indigenous People, and we have made several improvements in technology also. We have technology to avoid land-slides. Viaducts, similar to the one in front Native Lady Rock in Sonoma County, and closer still, the Eagle point Viaduct south of Myers flat are used to get past slides. The Twintrees bridge, south of Benbow, has an active slide that goes under it moving into the river. We can leave the historic slides alone and go past or over them. We now have the technology.


So, now that we have come up with a plan to clean up the trash, leave the slides alone, and get rid of all the creosote rail ties, you are now probably thinking that it will never work because it will never make any money. Europe is probably a poor example to use right now, because there economy is in the pits, but most travel in Europe is by rail. Their rails don’t make money, they are built by the governments, similar to our highways. The only place that highways are owned by big business is in major cities like Los Angeles. We will need a Government subsidy. Maybe Obama will give us some economic recovery money. Think of how nice it would be to have some legitimate jobs and good wages in Humboldt County again, just one more reason to go down the Humboldt Eel river Canyon. If you still doubt the rail will bring us prosperity, just remember how prosperous Humboldt was when we had a rail.

I’ve heard much ballyhoo about Short Sea Shipping. If S.S.S. is so viable, why aren’t they doing it? There is already an ocean route and many, many ships. The short answer is handling, time and poor economics. There are already well established routes along the coast of California. The big need is a method to move freight inland without reloading it off Short Sea Ships. Plus docks are already too crowded. S.S.S. would only add to the dock congestion. We will never see a viable Short Sea Shipping without dock space in the southern harbors. If you think that it is possible, think it all the way through, and give me a plan. I don’t see it happening.

Humboldt Bay has been a historic shipping point up until very recently. The bay has not, nor will it ever be crowded by ships. The bay is a large place. Dock space will always be the limiting factor. There will be plenty of room for cruise ships and tourism. The further dredging of the harbor will be paid for by the increased shipping.

The economics of a passenger railroad will probably be prohibitive, but my fondest hope would be to have a passenger quality railway through the north coast. We have such wonderful trees and such a beautiful country. Wouldn’t be great to connect the world to Humboldt County? Can you imagine a slow speed rail tour through the redwoods? Say, about forty MPH. We don’t need a high speed passenger rail, we need a view. Glass top rail cars up the Eel canyon. Those of you that get fogged out of the Arcata Airport can catch a train up the canyon from San francisco.

Container ships are designed to offload onto rails. A ship could offload a container that could go pretty much through to Salt Lake City with no more handling. Small rock mining operations along the Eel canyon could be done with limited environmental impact. We have hard rock in the main Eel that makes premium concrete. A passenger rail would be the Crème de la crème. So give me a railroad, or birth control. As a good friend of mine once said: “Poverty is the number one pollution”. Humboldt deserves a railroad and the prosperity that it can provide.

If you still love me...

I have had a particularly GOOD day today, I found the keys that I had lost, I found the ticket to a party that I had lost, and several other really good things happened. Some days are just like that, you can fall face-first into a cow-pie and come up smelling like a rose. Today was one of those days, so, I feel inspired to write a paragraph or two. Then, I got to thinking, it’s been so long since I wrote anything, maybe nobody wants to read anything anymore.

 In the Wild West, back when there weren’t too many rules of etiquette, there was a test to test how welcome you were in the bunk house or the saloon. You would throw your hat in through the doorway. The condition the hat came back out the doorway told you how welcome that you were inside. If they threw your hat back out clean it meant that you were welcome inside. If your hat came back out stomped on it meant that you were probably going to be frowned upon. If the hat came back out torn up it meant that you would be stepping into a fight inside. If your hat came back out with a bullet hole through it, it meant that you might be better-off to get back on your horse and keep riding.

I got to thinking about how information was passed back in history, back before text messages, back to when the pace was slower. Back when you weren’t given the gratification of instant information, like we have nowadays. Sometimes it would take a pony express rider a day, or even two, to deliver a letter. So, information moved slower back then. The old-timers would leave messages, like a stick leaning against a tree might mean “we’re not home right now, so don’t spend all day riding out to the ranch house”. Information was crude but functional. I got to thinking about the old song, “Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘round the Old Oak Tree”. I started wondering where that expression came from. I’m sure that you’ve heard the song, made famous mostly by Tony Orlando and Dawn;

 I'm comin' home, I've done my time
 Now I've got to know what is and isn't mine
 If you received my letter tellin' you I'd soon be free 
Then you'll know just what to do if you still want me
 If you still want me 

CHORUS: 
Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree 
It's been three long years Do you still want me?
 If I don't see a ribbon round the old oak tree 
I'll stay on the bus Forget about us Put the blame on me 
If I don't see a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree 
 Bus driver, please look for me 'Cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see 
I'm really still in prison, and my love she holds the key
 A simple yellow ribbon's what I need to set me free
 I wrote and told her this: 

 REPEAT CHORUS 
 Now the whole damn bus is cheering
 And I can't believe I see 
A hundred yellow ribbons 'round the old oak tree
 I'm comin' home I'm comin' home, I've done my time
Now I've got to know what is and isn't mine
If you received my letter tellin' you I'd soon be free 
Then you'll know just what to do if you still want me 

CHORUS:
Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree
 It's been three long years
 Do you still want me?
 If I don't see a ribbon round the old oak tree
 I'll stay on the bus Forget about us 
Put the blame on me
If I don't see a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree 
 Bus driver, please look for me 
'Cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see
 I'm really still in prison, and my love she holds the key
 A simple yellow ribbon's what I need to set me free
 I wrote and told her this: 

 REPEAT CHORUS 
 Now the whole damn bus is cheering
 And I can't believe I see 
A hundred yellow ribbons 'round the old oak tree 
I'm comin' home 

So, I thought that I would tell you where the expression might have come from, who really knows, history has many tales, some even true.

The story of yellow ribbons goes back centuries. The Puritans wore yellow ribbon and yellow sashes onto the battlefield in the English Civil War. It is thought that the yellow ribbon tradition came to America with the Puritans. During the American Civil War women would wear yellow ribbons as a sign of faithfulness to their beloved that had gone off to fight in the war.

 There is another story that I remember reading a long time ago about a white ribbon of forgiveness. I looked it up. ( I told you that this was my lucky day ) As luck would have it, I found the complete story on Wikipedia, so I copied and pasted it here. (Get out your hankies, this will make even to toughest person moisten up)

. …"A friend of his happened to be sitting in a railroad coach next to a young man who was obviously depressed. Finally the young man revealed that he was a paroled convict returning from a distant prison. His imprisonment had brought shame to his family, and they had neither visited him nor written often. He hoped, however, that this was only because they were too poor to travel and too uneducated to write. He hoped, despite the evidence that they had forgiven him. To make it easy for them, however, he had written to them asking that they put up a signal for him when the train passed their little farm on the outskirts of town. If his family had forgiven him, they were to put up a white ribbon in the big apple tree which stood near the tracks. If they didn't want him to return, they were to do nothing, and he would remain on the train as it traveled onward. As the train neared his hometown, the suspense became so great that he couldn’t bear to look out of his window. He exclaimed, “In just five minutes the engineer will sound the whistle indicating our approach to the long bend which opens into the valley I know as home. Will you watch for the apple tree at the side of the track?” His companion said he would; they exchanged places. The minutes seemed like hours, but then there came the shrill sound of the train whistle. The young man asked, “Can you see the tree? Is there a white ribbon?” Came the reply, “I see the tree. I see not one white ribbon, but many. There is a white ribbon on every branch. Son, someone surely does love you.”

So, just for old time sake, I tied a yellow ribbon on the top of this blog. I surely do miss the good times that we have had on this blog.
ERNIE

38 elementary school children and 6 adults killed in Bath Michigan school.

I was looking to verify that the number one murder weapon in the United States is the common baseball bat, number two is a knife. I was not able to verify those two items as fact. I'm also not sure where bombs fit in as a murder weapon. As you probably know, I get easily distracted, so that is probably why I got hung-up on the following article.

Article from Wikipedia:
The Bath School disaster is the historical name of the violent attacks perpetrated by Andrew Kehoe on May 18, 1927 in Bath Township, Michigan that killed 38 elementary school children and six adults, and injured at least 58 other people. Kehoe first killed his wife, fire-bombed his farm and set off a major explosion in the Bath Consolidated School, before committing suicide by detonating a final explosion in his truck. It is the deadliest mass murder in a school in United States history.


Andrew Kehoe, the 55 year old school board treasurer, was angry after his defeat in the Spring 1926 election for township clerk. He was thought to have planned his "murderous revenge" after that public defeat and he had a reputation for difficulty on the school board and in personal dealings. In addition, in June 1926 he was notified that his mortgage was going to be foreclosed. For much of the next year, a neighbor noticed Kehoe had stopped working on his farm and thought he might be planning suicide. During that period, Kehoe purchased explosives and discreetly planted them on his property and under the school.

Kehoe's wife was ill with tuberculosis, and he had stopped making mortgage payments; he was under pressure for foreclosure. Some time between May 16 and the morning of May 18, 1927, Kehoe murdered his wife by hitting her on the head with a blunt object. On the morning of May 18 at about 8:45 a.m., he set off various incendiary devices on his homestead that caused the house and other farm buildings to be destroyed by the explosives' blast and subsequent fires.

Almost simultaneously, an explosion devastated the north wing of the school building, killing many schoolchildren. Kehoe had used a timed detonator to ignite dynamite and hundreds of pounds of incendiary pyrotol, which he had secretly planted inside the school over the course of many months. As rescuers gathered at the school, Kehoe drove up, stopped, and used a rifle to detonate dynamite inside his shrapnel-filled truck, killing himself, the school superintendent, and several others nearby, as well as injuring more bystanders. During rescue efforts at the school, searchers discovered an additional 500 pounds (230 kg) of unexploded dynamite and pyrotol connected to a timing device set for the same time as the first explosions; the material was hidden throughout the basement of the south wing. Kehoe had apparently intended to blow up and destroy the entire school. 

 Well... A gun was used in this story, but only to set off another bomb. The common denominator of all the violence and murder is the perpetrators mental condition. We need to spend more time ferreting out and dealing with mental instability.   There was also a school attack in China where a man used a knife. He killed or injured 22 kids.

For what it's worth....

Gun control?

    All people of any compassion what-so-ever are suffering over the latest insane shooting of innocent people and especially innocent children, infants really, at Sandy Hook School. What possible motive could there be to kill an innocent child? As we anguish, we look for solutions and ways to prevent these kinds of tragedies in the future. It occurs to us that the massacres were committed with guns. The simple solution to the problem is to ban guns right? What a wonderful world it would be if there were no guns. Students of history know that there was no violence back before there were guns. Nobody had a gun, so there was no such thing as murder or mayhem. No killing, no murder, no rape, and especially no massacres. You would need an automatic weapon to commit a massacre, right? Of course I'm being facetious. I'm trying to be a bit ridiculous to get you to see my point with an open mind.

    To me, any attempt at gun control is a bit ridiculous. I have really done a lot of thinking about this so don't stop reading now, you might like my conclusion.

    I believe that we all know the the problem is insane people, people that act out their insane philosophies. They somehow think that what they are doing will make themselves important in history, or in someway teach someone an important lesson. There is no rational thought in their heads. They develop a plan and implement that plan with a fierce sense of purpose. Their weapon of choice has little to do with their fuzzy thinking.
 
    The Unibomber used bombs to deliver his message. Osama Bin Laden used large passenger jets. Timmy Mcvey used a truck load of fertilizer. Jim Jones used poisoned cool-aide to commit his massacre; that and a heavy dose of religion. Religion is a whole different category of weapon, untold rape and murder have been implemented by religion. I'm not saying ALL religion is bad, but I'm sure you get my point. If guns were banned the insane would find a way. Think of all the murders that happen in prisons. The murders that happen in prison are made from the simplest of hand made weapons. The insane really don't need guns.

    I was raised with guns, so I have no reasonable fear of them. I have always thought of a gun as a tool. I enjoy games of shooting skill like target shooting. We had many guns on the ranch that I was raised on as a child. I was raised on all of the gun safety rules and how to handle them. We were taught that "a gun is always loaded". We knew that was not literally the case, but a good practice. If you always thought of a gun as being loaded you would not be tempted to point it at anyone or pull the trigger. You could never be sure whether someone else had used the gun and left in loaded. "Gunpowder and alcohol don't mix", basically means that if you've been drinking, you should not use a gun. You never chamber a round of ammunition while heading to your hunting ground. After you are on the hunting ground, you chamber a round then leave your safety on, and your finger off the trigger. You only took the safety off when you had a target, you only placed your finger on the trigger when you wanted to shoot. You never handed anyone a loaded gun, you always cleared it first. When somebody handed you a gun you always made sure that it was clear of ammunition. I could go on about gun safety lore that all of us kids were raised with.

 A gun was simply another tool that you had to handle safely. There were safety rules for axes, buzz-saws, slopping the hogs, being around dangerous cattle. I could go on but I hope that you get my point.

Now for the reason that I made this post. Somehow there are people out there that think that this would be a safer world with gun laws. I can think of many circumstances that I would need a gun to protect myself, my property or my family. If our government should become corrupt, I think that owning a fully automatic weapon would be a good idea. If the Jews that were massacred in Germany had weapons they might have been harder to round up and haul off. Remember ,Hitler was an elected official. Elected in much the same fashion that we elect our leaders. I know, again that is far fetched reasoning, until you remember that Hitler's party killed five million plus innocent men women and children. Do you think that they could have succeeded against a well armed militia? We never know what tomorrow might bring us.

Or, what would happen if we have complete economic collapse. I won't outline any scenarios for you, I might scare myself along with you.

So, I want reasonable, sane, people to have guns and be well armed. I DON"T want insane people, nor criminals to have any kind of weapon. Not even a spit-wad. That has not been working out well for me. The government that we depend on to take care of us seems to be failing to take care of the insane and keep them safe and away from the rest of society's innocent people. We see far too many insane massacres. Most of them were by well know mental cases with documented mental problems and drug use, both prescription and illegal drugs.

The thing that I fear most, is that the domino theory will apply and they will ban assault weapons, then all semi-automatic weapons, then hand guns, then rifles and shotguns. Soon we will be a gun less society, where criminals will have guns, because, remember, they are criminals. We will be defenceless, they will walk into our houses with impunity. Don't say that won't happen, because just down the street from me a house was robbed at gunpoint. The man was shot in the head, but survived. So, home invasions are already happening. I know of at least two families where the thugs broke into the wrong house. I also know that most everyone in Humboldt County knows someone whose house has been invaded.

So, my final thought is about gun laws. If the people think that passing laws against guns will solve a problem they are sorely mistaken. No cop wants to be in charge of taking weapons away from people. There are far too many weapons out there, and far too few jails to fill with gun law violators. It won't work. But... go ahead, put your foolish laws on the books, and see what good it does. I won't even say I told you so.... I promise. I might even vote for it, just to hide and watch what happens.

Laytonville sawmills of the '50s

We have had a small discussion about a sawmill located north-west of the new Laytonville high school. Ross Sherburn identified it as the Sulphur Creek Lumber Company. I remember the mill operating before the '55 flood, but I believe that the '55 flood either took it out or damaged it heavily. According to Ross' mill history book, the mill closed in '56. Maybe they rebuilt and struggled to survive after the flood but failed. The times were tough for sawmills back then, especially mills that had problems, and there is no problem like a flood. Most of the sawmills were built near creeks or water because they needed water for their log ponds. A lot of sawmills were lost in the floods because of that fact.

 Trying to find the name of this mill caused me to wonder about other mills that were scattered about the valley. There were three other mills around the lake. There was the Jack Crawford mill, the Sherburn-Ford mill owned by Ross' dad, Shine Sherburn, and Frank ford. There was the Lakeside Lumber Company, that was built right on the lake. They even used the natural lake as a log pond. I'm not sure how they handled all the flooding. I think that they were high enough that the mills weren't bothered that much, but I really don't know.

 On out the Branscomb road, four or five miles, was the Ben Mast Lumber Company. The mill got it's water from huge artesian springs on the property. The Mast mill was larger than most mills around the valley. They cut a lot of redwood lumber. He was able to make his fortune by building the only plainer mill in the valley. Not only did he plain his own lumber, most of the mills in the valley would send their lumber through his mill to have it surfaced. The Mast plainer mill also produced redwood siding lumber. It was a very modern  mill by 1950's standards. Ben Mast owned everything in his lumber operation from the saws that cut the timber to the logging equipment, the trucks that took the logs to the mill, the mill, the plainer, to the trucks that hauled most of the lumber to San Francisco.

South of Laytonville, on Davidson Lane(?), was the PH&E lumber company. I don't remember much about it, but I do remember the trucks that they used. The trucks were GMCs with Detroit Diesel engines in them. They sounded different than any other trucks that I had heard. I remember the lope of the idling engines. They would rev up, then fall back against the engine speed governor. Then they would rev up again. They would idle like someone was goosing the throttle every few seconds. They said that you didn't dare let them run out of fuel, because it you did, the speed governor would lock wide open and the engine would blow-up. Wow, pretty dramatic!

At the north end of the valley, about three miles south of Black Oak Ranch was the Ben L. Branscomb Lumber company. The mill was owned by my uncle Ben. I remember a lot about that mill. The mill was powered by Caterpiller engines. The head-rig engine was the largest V-8 engine that I ever saw. Ben had a log pond. He fed the pond off the log deck with a Skagit triple drum cable loader. The head rig was two large over and under circular saws with insert saw bits. He had an adjustable gang saw edger, a trim saw and a burner for the trimmings. He had his lumber surfaced at the Mast mill.

I can't remember the name of the mill across the street, east of Ben's mill, I believe that there was two of them. I know that they had a pond, because my cousin Roy and I used to catch bull frogs out of the pond after the mills closed.

The mill that I would particularly like the name of was a mill at the very south end of Long Valley on the west side of the highway. It was in a small canyon right beside the 101 highway. I used to know the name of it, but it slipped my mind. I didn't worry about it too much because I thought that someday it would jog back into my head.... But alas and alack... it didn't.

Maybe Ross knows, he has that book. It was before Robin's time, so she probably didn't know about it. It was about a half mile past Red Buck. I had a friend who's father, Cotton Stein, was the bookkeeper there. My friend's name was Royce Stein.

Anybody know of other mills?

How high's the water Mama

Well... I don't want make fun of people. Especially people that have never seen the water this high before, because it has been awhile since it has been this high. The river was clear over the road at Kimtu. Apparently that's a big deal nowadays. It used to be pretty routine to see water that high. The people that live in kimtu are pretty used to driving through some water up over the road, but not so much anymore. The water being over the road at Kimtu made photos in all of the important blogs and most of the local papers. It came as a little surprise to me that it was "news". Hmmmm....

The river has been moderately high, but not close to flood stage for a few years now. The river used to reach flood stage at least once or twice every year. I figur' it's global warming, that's what causes everything now. Global warming has been going on for close to 200,000 years, so you should expect to see things getting be really bad, shouldn't you?

Last year, or maybe sooner, I was musing about the moderate rainfall that we have been having and how clean the river was getting. All of the old traditional fish resting holes were clearing out, the gravel was moving out to sea, and the light rain was not causing too many great slides like we used to have every winter. I boldly stated the river was looking good and we could expect some pretty fabulous fish runs. (you could look it up)

The river was full of fish this year, but we had some pretty late rains and the run was delayed a little. When the fish finally got enough rain to head upstream, the water was not high enough to make it up some tributaries, so most of the fish spawned in the mainstream. I'm not sure how the spawn will fair in the high water we are having now, but it must be very destructive to the fish roe. The good thing is that there were thousands of fish spawned in the Eel river this years. (yes thousands!)

It is strange what mother nature will do. The old tradition fish resting hole under the bridge below Garberville, on the way to the airport, was full of salmon. Some reports said up to 200 fish at one time. The resting hole is not nearly as good as it was when the local folks saw it before 1964, but the salmon still choose to rest there. It must be genetic.

This year, environmental groups were having their praises sung for their great work in restoring the fish runs. Again, don't get me wrong, we need people to be concerned about the river and the fish, and we especially need people with the autority to stop fish habitat destruction. However, having seen the whole cycle, it was Mother Nature that caused the two major, and several minor floods that destroyed the quailty of the river fish habitat. It was also Mother Nature that brought the resting holes back.

I wish that I knew how this year's spawn is doing.

e e

Historic remains of sawmills from the 1860s

I had a fellow email me the other day and ask the question about what would he look for to find the remains on an 1850s era sawmill located in the Sacramento valley This man is a serious historian with genuine credentials, so the mere fact that he is asking ME anything is quite a boost to my pride. As many of you know this blog is mostly about historical stories. A lot of the stories told here are shared as tidbits of information that could possibly lead to the true stories that seem to come out after some great discussion. But sailing ships, sawmills, and big machines has been one of my life long passions, so here's what I came up with.

As honored as I am that he asked me, I'm not sure how much help that I could be. I have spent quite a bit of time thinking about it. He told me that he thought that he had found the flume that lead to mill, and he has a board known to be from the mill. He said that the board was made from a circular saw. He knows that the saw was a 48" diameter blade because he measured the saw-kerf.

I started thinking about what I would do if I were looking for 1850s sawmills. The only conclusion that I came to is that I would give up. However, I'm not sure that would be the answer that he was looking for. Many people succeed because they don't realize that their attempts are futile. I thought about what artifacts might be left behind. Hardly anything back in the 1850 had any iron in them. I assume that iron was rare and expensive in California back then. All the Iron had to be shipped into San Francisco, then blacksmithed into whatever parts that were needed. I assumed the sawmill of the 1850s were mostly made of wood. Wood was free and plentiful. The Drive belts would have been made from leather bands. The pulleys were most likely made out of wood. Any iron shafting would have been more valuable than gold, so any remains would have certainly have been salvaged, The saw blade would have also been expensive and highly salvageable.

The only possibility of remains, that I could think of, would have been iron nails. If the mill had burned there would have been some nails left in the ashes. Even then I can remember my grandfather sifting through the ashes of a house that had burned to collect the nails, so I'm sure that any remains of an 1850s era structure would have been picked through very thoroughly for Iron, no matter how the mill ended.

Then as a "Bullshistorian" I put myself back in the 1850s and became a sawmill. I am a fine sawmill. Back in the 1950s (when I was a kid) you were considered to be a darn smart man if you could make a success out of running a sawmill. So if I were a sawmill with a darn smart man running me, where would I be found in 2012? I have the brilliant advantage of being able to see what I'm headed into, because if I can be a sawmill, then I can also have the power to ask the people of the future where I'm going to end up. Okay, Enough silliness, but we do know what the mill had to go through getting to 2012.

The first thing that the mill would have to go through would have been salvagers. There would be no metal at all. I thought of the shafting, saw blades, nails, I even thought about the old poured babbit bearing caps that the must have used. they would all had been salvaged. So, I was left with rock structures, ditches and excavations. The mill would have been built on a flat large enough to hold logs and the lumber production, there would have been a road away from it. There would have been a need for power. Back then everything would have been mule power or water-wheel driven. The flume that this historian talked about was maybe for power or maybe ti transport logs too the mill. Some plumes were used for both power and log transport. The historian says that he can possibly identify the plume. The mill would have definitely been located near the river... no doubt in my mind.

If I were a mill by the river, I would have certainly been washed completely away by the huge flood of 1862, called the "Noachian Deluge" . It was by far the greatest flood that the western United States has ever known. I really don't think that any viable remains of sawmill could possibly be left. We have also had numerous floods since then that would have further cleared out any remains.

If I were a mill on high ground (I doubt that to be the case) I would leave rust, ashes, excavations, rock structures and absolutely nothing of any intrinsic value.

I'm kinda looking for comment about what I might have forgotten. Most of the early mills that I know of from the early days of California were frame saws, with a man on top and a man on the bottom The saw was lifted by the man on top, then when the saw was pulled down it made the cut.

I'm kinda also hoping that "Oregon" might know how saws were made back then. Insert bits?

Anybody have any ideas how we might help a REAL historian find his mill???

New Folks, the 70's and today

Comment script is OFF. I sure miss the days when we didn't have to use squiggly words to make a comment.

It is good to see that you folks still check in. I keep jotting down ideas for posts... then misplace them. I do remember one though that I have spent a quite a bit of time ruminating over.

An old acquaintance who came to Garberville with the back-to-the-landers asked me if they were as unwelcome when they came to town as the people that are filling our streets now. I found this to be a really tough question. I keep coming back to my old mantra that you can't judge back then by who we are now. I think that this is a great opportunity to point out what I mean by that. Most of us remember the 70s when the back-to-the-landers showed up. It was best described as culture shock more than anything. The back to the landers had to adjust to us a little, and we had to adjust to them a little.

One of the biggest things that I noticed back in the 70's is the thought that if someone found something on the street they would take it, because if they didn't take it someone else would. Up until that point it was pretty much understood that, all you needed to know is that; If it wasn't yours you didn't touch it. We started having to lock doors and take the keys out of our cars. The culture that the back-to-the landers came from, it was understood that things had to be kept locked, so they saw us as foolish for not knowing that.

I think that it is important to point out, as I always do, that all people are different, and not all people took things that didn't belong to them. But they all looked alike to us, and some were thieves. I'm not saying that we were perfect, but at least we knew who our thieves were. If something came up missing, we knew who took it and went to get it back.

One of the other differences that I noticed was the grinding filth on the new people. We never came to town without taking a bath and putting clean clothes on. The only exception would be the people coming home from work that stopped at one of the honky-tonk bars, or to pick up some food at the grocery store on their way home. I once asked one of the new people how they could stand being so filthy all the time. He replied in a voice of incredulity... "How can you think that this is dirt? The land around here is so clean. The air is clean and everything is so clean. Filth is only in the cities". So, that was their answer to why they didn't think of themselves as dirty.

An old friend of mine, by the name of Fred Wolf, once said to me. "You'd better make friends with these people, no matter what you think of them, they're buying land and they are here to stay. Someday they might be running you off." Fred was a remarkably perceptive fellow. I always thought hard about what he said. I did try to meet the new people half-way and accept at least some of their cultural differences. Some I probably will never accept, and I'm sure that some have some problems with me. But, for the most part, I think that the old-timers and the new people have formed a new society that that works quite well. I know that some of them that showed up looking like dirt-balls look pretty spiffy now. I'm not sure why they cleaned up but I sure appreciate it.

But, the question was how do the new people of today compare to the new people that came in the 70s. They don't... there is absolutely no comparison. The new people of today are just as filthy as the new people of the 70's, some of them are thieves. Shoplifting is rampant. Our store has security systems that record their crimes, we usually find them down at the park at the North end of town. They always justify the reason that they stole stuff by saying that they weren't hurting anyone personally, they were just taking from the greedy corporations. I can tell you that it feels pretty personal when we have to pay for it. Believe me when I say that the that corporations are glad to sell us more. So the thieves are doing more to help the greedy corporations than hurt them.

The people that came in the 70's would seem to start a complete new life. They dressed up in country clothes, bought themselves "mountain boots". They would walk in mud all day long and then they would walk right into a store with them. I once did an informal survey back then. When someone would walk in a store and track mud everywhere, I would ask them where they were from, most of them were from a city and didn't know that they should clean their feet before coming inside. The country folk are getting worse about that, and the city folk are getting better. Believe me you notice when you have to clean up after them to keep your store clean. We want the business, and we pretty much accept the mud. But really folks......

Some of the 70's folks were kind of comical, they were obviously from the city but they would play country dress-up; boots, 14 inch hunting knife on hip, jeans and a holey shirt, a beard was mandatory. We used to call them "Later-day Daniel Boones." They adopted new names, which was also curiosity to us. The local people honored their names and their families, to change your name would be an insult to your family.

Today's new people are today's carpetbaggers. Most are blatantly here to trim marijuana. They are not buying land. They have no interest in being part of the community. They will be gone as soon as people stop handing them money and bags of weed. Sheriff Downey asked me the other day if I thought that the people hanging of all over town were hurting my business. I replied "Yes, Definitely. I can give you a list of people that have told me that they won't come to Garberville anymore, specifically because of the pan-handlers and bums that litter our sidewalks". He then went on to ask me, "Well how bad is business off?" I had to tell him that we are doing better than ever, the same industry that brings the bums to our streets is the same industry that brings Garberville prosperity.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but some of my best friends are now among the new people that moved here in the 70's. The biggest similarity between today's new people and the new people of the 70s is that they are new, and culturally different from what we are used to. We adjust, we have no choice.

Some More

Hi, It's me again...
I have been through so many computers lately that I can hardly remember how to find my blog on the Internet. I have one AT tablet at home that runs Windows Seven, and one at work that is just like it, only it is set up differently. It gets confusing. Then I have a Samsung smart phone that runs Android. The smart phone is where I go to check on the blogs. As you might guess, the phone is not really a great forum to use in publishing on a blog. The Android system is not compatible with the programs the Generation "Y" uses now. They seem to like any system that is different from that status-quo. It somehow makes them feel smarter if they can leave others behind... that would be me. But I never give up, no whippersnapper is going to leave me in a snowbank for long. I also still have my old Dell that is quite comfortable for me to use, but, alas... it is being abused as a store cash register. My revenge is that if they ever turn it off they have to unplug it, disconnect all of the wires and peripherals, remove the memory batteries, then wait 5 minutes. Then they have to put the batteries back in, plug it back in, push the start button and reconnect all the wires and peripherals, then set all the dates and times so it knows what day it is. I get some joy out of knowing that there is thirteen computers on the system, and mine is number thirteen. I bet that they worry about the bad luck thing.

We have discussed what is wrong with my computer a thousand times, but we never seem to get around to fixing it. Being from the old school, I had assumed that it was a weak power supply. My theory was that the computer has a lot of bells and whistles built in to it, so is uses a lot of power. It keeps my office quite toasty in the winter time. My office is an old produce walk-in refrigerator, which seems somehow fitting for a refrigeration contractor. It's easy to heat, so the computer is all that I need for heat.

The monitor that I use was a 32 inch High-Definition 1080i television. It was a television that was returned to the store as "defective". In actuality it was hit by lightning. The verdict was to send it to the dump. Being an old school repairman, I assumed that it was just a bad power supply. I took it apart and tested the power supply with a tester. Sure enough, it had power into the supply but none out. After discussing it with the crew a thousand times they said that the TV would be no good that it was not worth fixing. Being one to not take the word of a whippersnapper, I found a power supply on the Internet and paid @200 dollars for it. I installed it, and the TV worked perfectly. I put the TV back on the floor and told the crew to sell it as used, get what ever they could, but not to lie to anybody, to tell them it was repaired, and give a 1-year money-back guarantee. The crew said that they would not sell it under any circumstance because they didn't want to risk THEIR reputations on a repaired TV.  So, I took it into my office, secretly being somewhat insulted, but strangly proud of our crew, even if they were wrong, and I have been using it as my computer monitor ever since. I get a lot of complements on my fine monitor. It sits about four feet away and I don't even need my glasses to see it quite sharply.

Anyway, I discoverd a long time ago that the problem with most failed electronics is... DUH... a bad power supply. Around 90% of all failures is a bad power supply, so if all you did was change power supplies you could fix 90% of the things that you work on. My computer use a lot of power, so by unpluging everything then turning it on, only the computer starts on low power. After it is running the rest can be added without tripping out the power supply. The whippersnappers save time thinking about the "whys" and just say "Yep, a bad power supply". I know the theory is all wrong, but hell, 90% of the time I am right by accident.

So much for my computer. My blog works best in Internet Explorer, so I switch to IE ( I hate abreviations because I think that it is just plain lazy to do all that writing, then leave your readers behind, stuned and confused by using abreviations that they might not pick up on. So, when I say IE I mean Iternet Explorer. Now you know why I just spell everything out... it's easier) The problem that I'm starting to experience is that hackers and spammers have found all the chinks in IE's armor. To much span gets through and some of my most beloved commenters don't. Dang!

I'm Hoping that Santa Claus will bring the store some new computers and I can have my old stand-by Dell back. Then maybe I can do some Blogging. If you have problems my email is
ernie @ branscombcenter.com. Tighten up around the "@" to email me. I had to leave the space so that the dang spammers don't pick up on it as a link.

Veteran's Day

Today is the day that has been set aside to honor the men and women who protect our great country. Actually we all know that Veteran's Day officially happens on the 11th of November, but when it falls on a Sunday it is moved to the following Monday, which is today. Veteran's Day is one of our most solemn holidays. It's not really a celebration as much as it is an observance of the value of our soldiers, and a remembrance of their dedication.

I hardly ever vote for a tax increase, but I can honestly say that I have always voted for any measure on the ballot that would help our soldiers. I can only hope that some of the money that we have voted for them actually helps them. Sadly, I suspect that some of the money that was supposed to be set aside for them has disappeared through some political wrangling. Only the lowest of the low would do such a thing, but it does happen. We need to pay more attention.

I have a veteran friend that I have breakfast with every Friday, last Friday I insisted that it was my turn to buy, I know that it is not much, but it makes me feel just a little bit better to thank a Vet. If you know a Vet, be sure to thank them.

I've been very lax about blogging lately, but the Veteran's Day observance has sprung me loose from my dry spell. Many good stories have stacked up and I would like to put them out there. I would like to thank all of my gentle readers that have expressed their desire to read more... so brace yourselves. I feel a new wave of "Bullshistory" coming on.

Be there or be square

Fire Department retirement party. As you know, I am retiring from the Redway Fire Department. 


Really? A quarter page ad???

  I stopped at the Redway fire hall the other day, just to say hello, and find out if they wanted anything from me for my fire-retirement party, the crew was on an emergency medical run. When they came back to the hall I got a chance to talk to Richard Rotbergs and Brian Harper. Brian said that if I wanted someone special to be there that I should invite them. I told Brian that the whole community was special to me and that I wasn't sure that they could feed them all. I also said that I thought that everybody was supposed to call Pat Dowd to R.S.V.P. (923-2579.) He said that there will be PLENTY of food... tri-tip steak, with fixin's. So they should just come, everybody will get fed, it would just be nice to call Pat. I also know that there will be plenty of beer. I'm bringing my Guinness tapper and the fire department tapper will have Sierra Nevada and a sissy beer for the lightweights. They will even have bottled water.

The party will be from 4:00 P.M. to 9:00 P.M. The 9:00 P.M. thing will be pretty firm, after all they crew will have to clean up and make it back into a fire hall when we are through partying.

The band "Twango Macallan", who has become the official "Redway Fire Department Band", will be there. I can't say enough good things about this band. They not only play for us at the Barbecues, but they entertain the patients at the hospital, the people at the farmers market, and other worthy community happenings. I understand that they even like getting a paid gig periodically.

So, it sounds like a fun time and EVERYBODY is welcome. Now you've been told. So, be there!
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 4:00-9:00 P.M. At The Redway fire hall, 155 Empire Avenue. Behind Shop Smart, in Redway.
 R.S.V.P Pat Dowd at 923-2579 or just show up, I would.

Is that a rock on your desk or a dead potato?

Click on rock for a close-up.

Anonymous said...
So, is that a rock next to the keyboard or a really old potato?

In the previous post, about pie, I took a photo of the pie and in the left-hand side was a rock that I use as a paperweight, or a Pet Rock as the case may be. It's funny that anyone would ask about the rock. It is also characteristic of a natural born seeker. Did anybody else notice the rock on my desk?

My whole life I have spent noticing the things around me, I have an insatiable curiosity. I can't walk down a river bar without trying to find the prettiest rock. I start off by limiting myself to collecting three rocks. After I have collected three rocks I have to throw one away to collect another prettier one. Usually I find more than three pretty rocks and I can't stand having to throw away a pretty rock to save another. So.... I revert to "Ernie's Rules". When I don't like a rule, or I resent that a rule would apply to me, I change it. Simple huh? Wouldn't it be nice if all of life's rules could be so simple. So my silly rule changes from three pretty rocks to four... or five... or six. Soon the whole rule seems to be silly, so I change the rule to all that I can pack. As it turns out the all that I can pack rule has it's own built-in limits.

At some point, I have to impose limits on myself, or I try to make bargains with my wife to help pack some rocks for me, but she by then, has her own pretty rock collections... that she would like me to help her pack. I would be wise to not ask her for help, because then she feels free to ask me for help. She has far better bargaining abilities than I have. She is usually able to convince me that HER collection is far prettier, and therefore far more valuable than my rocks. My rocks usually end up back on the river bar to await the next seeker of pretty rocks. Sometimes I stash them with a plan to return for them later.

Now, back to the rock on my desk. I found it on the main Eel River. It is six inches tall, eight inches wide, and three inches front to back. That, of course depends on which side is chosen as the bottom. It has two fairly flat sides, and it will stand on the narrow end as it is shown, or lay flat. Both positions are stable, no wobble. I like stability in my life, so the rock is somewhat symbolic of me in that respect. 

The rock first attracted me because of it's pretty, and varied coloration. I used the pretty rock test that every pretty rock collector uses, I dipped it in water. The colors popped out. The colors vary from rose to deep red, yellow to gold, with many spots of blue black and green. The white streaks and spots are quartz. I was drawn to polish it for a desk decoration and paperweight. As I tried to polish it, it soon became apparent that there was a significant amount of quartz in it. The quartz is grainy, and it simply won't take a polish. I thought about coating it with a shiny epoxy polish but decided that was just plain unnatural. So I left it as you see it. To me, I know that it is beautiful just the way that it is. I still see it as I did when I dipped it in the cool clear waters of the Eel River.

I found the rock more than twenty years ago while on an outing with my wife. We were walking on the river bar at Fort Seward, down by the railroad tracks. The rocks that she found were by far prettier than mine (She reasoned) so I packed her rocks back to the truck. But, something forced me to keep this rock. It's been on my desk since then.

I have grown quite fond of the rock and I even find the thought of parting with it as unreasonable. The rock is a lot like me. Varied, but refuses to take polish.

Huckleberry/Apple Pie

Huckleberry/apple pie is my favorite pie in the whole world. Here's a picture picture of what is left of two pies that I made last night. With two slices cut for Gabby Haze and Olmanriver. They usually eat off the same plate, it's like they're joint at the hip or sompthin'.

Then... after the giant sucking sound!

Volkswagens, the worlds most economical car, or the bane of the highway!


 






This is the model that broke the old hippies heart,
 it was the last V.W. bug to roll off the assembly line forever.
The 2003 Volkswagen Beetle 

 The Volkswagen Beetle, or “Bug” as it was affectionately known.

You either loved them or you hated them, there was no in-between. The Volkswagen Bug was manufactured from 1938 to 2003. There were 21,529,464 (twenty one million, five hundred twenty-nine thousand, four hundred sixty four) Volkswagen Beetles manufactured in all. It was the most manufactured and produced car in history. No other car maker sold as many of a single model than the Volkswagen Beetle.

…and, back before freeways, in the early ‘60s, it seemed like they were the single most impediment to traveling down the highway. I can still hear the whistley little four-banger air cooled engines in my ears. It seemed like no matter what hill that you were on, there was a Beetle up there in front, bugging you, leading the parade. Even though they were getting great mileage, they were holding up everybody behind them, causing trucks busses and passenger cars to use their very lowest gears. The wear and tear, plus the wasted fuel caused by slowing down to follow the whistley little annoying Beetle more than sapped any fuel savings that the Beetle could have saved the world. Not to mention all of the labor of the people that were providing time for the freight industry. Sales people, and people headed toward their jobs were held up. You could be late to work and you could tell your boss that you got caught behind a Volkswagen on Benbow hill. It was an acceptable excuse.

I have always over-thought everything, so being trapped behind a V.W. pulling a hill allowed me way to much time to think. I have never taken a psychology class, because I’m afraid of what I might find out about myself, but that doesn’t stop me from delving into the psychology of those around me. It always seemed to me that the people that drove V.W. Bugs were doing it with some kind of a smugness about them. Their philosophy seems to be: “If everybody drove bugs, the world would be a better place, we would be using less fuel, and we would be moving at a slower and more relaxed pace”. So, they feel obliged to hold you up, because they are better and smarter than you. No way would they ever pull over on a hill, they couldn’t afford to loose what little teeny-weeny bit of momentum that they had wound up in their little itty-bitty motors. If they pulled off, nobody would EVER let them back in in front of them. NO WAY! It was like a V.W. driver could die on a turn-out before anybody would let them back in. I think that people that drove real cars would be secretly happy to see a V.W stranded in a turn out forever. Plus, if the V.W. drivers were really that concerned about the environment, why weren’t they driving bicycles, hand-carved out of driftwood? They are all pretentious phonies. There, I said it, I feel better.

The early sixties were a time when more powerful and economical engines were being developed. Trucks were being produced with large diesel V-8 engines with magnesium frames and wheels that could move freight up hills and 55 miles per hour, only to be held up by a whistley little V.W. Bug. State and federal officials recognized the problems of the highway system. They realized that there was no sense in building faster, more powerful trucks and delivery systems if they were only to have the pace set on the highways by a V.W Bug. So, the Interstate Highway System was upgraded so that every state was to have a major freeway. After the freeways were built, the popularity of the V.W. dropped off, which proves something to me. Bugs are just no fun unless you are holding something up.

As you might have guessed, most of this was written a little tongue-in cheek. And, maybe some lingering annoyance at having had to follow way too many Volkswagens...  Deal with it.

My wife’s second car, way back before we were married, was a Volkswagen. She loved it because she liked to shift all those gears, I can understand that. It gave her great gas milage, and it was a time in her life that she was not in any big hurry to be anywhere. Ah... the freedom of youth.


Volkswagens awaiting restoration. Photo by Kim Sallaway.
kimbacam.com

VW Transporter

The den of the hippie bird, used to lure young chicks with
the promise of a whole wheat alfalpha sandwich.


 

Lost Seagull

Young seagull

At about 10:30 this morning, I went out to my truck in the parking lot across from our store in Garberville, I looked up into the sky, as I often do, day or night, and I saw a seagull flying over. As I watched it curiously it circled around to look at me curiously. It occurred to me that it might be hungry. I had just bought bag of corn chips, so I reached in the truck, grabbed the bag and opened it. I threw a few chips on the ground. Sure enough the gull swooped down. He landed on the parapet wall of the adjoining building. He eyed me curiously like he wasn't quite sure of my intentions. Smart bird! I walked over to the store and went inside. As soon as I stepped inside several crows, ravens and blackbirds swooped in to gobble up the corn chips. Soon the gull got brave enough to fly down and grab a few for himself,

Quite often I see seagulls in Garberville, but not often in the summertime. Usually there is a strong wind blowing or a storm out to sea, or maybe the gull came inland to get out of that darn fog that they have along the coast this time of the year. I can certainly understand that.

Anyway it was cool. The dishwasher next door said that there was another young gull joined the first one to help finish of the corn chips. Call me a romantic fool, but I concluded from that that they were probably a young couple eloping. Why else would they be in Garberville this time of the year.

Huckleberries

Ross Sherburn said...
What about Huckle Berries?



You can even buy huckleberies at the above website.



Wow, Ross doesn't realize how cruel some questions can be... Reminding me about huckleberries is like reminding a person about their true love that slipped away and married someone else. Huckleberries just happens to be my most favorite berry in the whole world. The long sad story is that huckleberries are too hard to come by anymore. Now that you are hooked, I'll back up and tell you the long sad story of one of my true heartbreaks.


Years ago, back when logging was a highly a highly revered profession, great orchards of huckleberries grew at the feet of the giant redwoods. When the Redwoods were selectively logged, it would let in just enough sun to cause the huckleberries to bear large quantities of big, fat, juicy and tender fruit. Being a logger allowed a person access to all of the huckleberries that you could pick. Many times when my family went huckleberry picking we would come home with four or five gallons of huckleberries. Those were the good old days before modern logging and rogue corporations bought up logging companies and started clear-cutting and spraying the forests for “conifer release”. I tell you, some times it almost makes a person be ashamed of being a logger. Many loggers didn’t approve of the corporations over-cutting, clear-cutting, and spraying of the forests. I was one.

Tip: To clean picked huckleberries, take a clean piece of synthetic fly screen, tack it to a frame four feet wide by eight feet long. Make the frame four feet wide at one end and two feet wide at the other end. Stretch the screen tight across the one end and let it sag down loose to the other. Sprinkle the berries across the top end then lightly tap the screen from underneath. The berries will slowly flow toward the sagging end. By the time that they get there they will have left all the leaves, stems, and twigs behind. Place a bucket under the sagging end to catch the berries. When the screen gets too many leaves on it, simply brush it off and start over. It makes picking berries much faster and easier, because you can simply strip the branches loosely with your hand. The few leaves that you get doing that can be sifted out using the separator screen.

Before modern forest practices, huckleberries were easy to get. Kids would pick various wild berries throughout the summer, they used the summer work to buy school clothes, or the boys were usually working to buy a bicycle or a new 22-caliber rifle. The berries were sometimes sold to the local restaurants to make their “homemade pies”. Most of the restaurants took great pride in their pie making. Many people frequented the coffee shops back in the ‘50s and ‘60s just for a cup of coffee and a nice slice of “homemade pie a la mode”. (pie, with a scoop of ice cream)

In the '70s, two things happened to ruin huckleberry picking, the timber companies started spraying herbicides for conifer release, and the newcomers started showing up. The newcomers were strangers to the local folks and there was no trust between them. The new people that were buying property were quick to put up "no trespassing" signs, so the berry patches that were available for generations to the local folks all but disappeared. Woe is us.

If you never saw the massive huckleberry patches that were in our hills before the '70s, you are a newcomer to this canyon. Huckleberry brush was so plentiful that we had a huckleberry brush picking industry. It was mostly a side industry of logging. If a logger lost his job, because of seasonal lay-offs or any other reason, they simply picked huckleberry brush or made redwood split stuff. The ones that picked huckleberry brush did quite well as a side job. The brush picking did not deplete the huckleberries, but encouraged new growth that delivered better berries. Yum!

The spays of brush were used in the florist industry for making floral displays. The brush pickers also picked fresh sword fern and sold them to the same processing facility. The large metal building behind the Lutheran Church in Redway was a huckleberry brush processing factory. (Now Johns auto repair?) It was run by the Hunt brothers. Not the famous ones, but the infamous ones. The thing that I liked about the factory is that they refrigerated the sprays of brush before shipping them. I used to get paid to maintain the refrigeration.

The brush was picked as flat sprays, as they were called. The flatter and the more foliated among them were the most premium. The sprays were delivered the processing plant in the metal building where they were graded and bunched for sale. The people that worked in the factory were SoHum’s first "trimmers". The brush was immediately placed in bins with a water spray over them to keep them from wilting, the dead leaves and braches were trimmed out, then they were placed into graded and counted bundles for sale. Once they were graded and bundled, they were wetted again and placed into the large cargo container sized walk-in refrigerator. The entire walk-in full was shipped out to a floral supply house in one big pay-day, then they would start all over again.

But, we were talking about huckleberries themselves, weren't we? As I was saying, huckleberries are my favorite berry. The huckleberries have a very strong sweet flavor, similar to a blueberry, but much more intense. I like to mix huckleberries about one third berry and two thirds apples for my pies. The huckleberry flavor completely dominates the flavor of the apple pie, yet the apple moderates the flavor of the berries for a super delicious pie. You could eat two or three pieces without going catatonic. Home-churned ice-cream goes well with it also.

You can still find huckleberries in the remote locations in the backs of state parks, but nothing like the "good old days". One of my favorite huckleberry picking stories takes place about thirty years ago when my wife, Janis, and I were picking berries in the back of a state park when we came across some bear "sign", that's a polite way of saying "crap". Bears like huckleberries as much as I do. In fact, they will even eat them before they are totally ripe, which seems kinda' like cheating. My wife said, "shouldn't we be worried?" I said "not really, black bears are really fairly timid and they try to get away from you if they can". I saw the look of doubt on her face. I just could not resist going on to say: "They don't usually bother you unless they have a cub. Or, maybe you surprise them or something". I told her, "Just look big if you can, and yell and scream a lot". Then I got to really enjoying her uncomfortable feeling and just could not resist saying: "For some reason, black bears will usually attack women first". Before she could ask why they would do that, we came across more sign... And it was still steaming. Being the gentleman that I am, I quickly escorted her out of there. My plan was that if the bear started following us, I would sprinkle my bucket of Huckleberries behind me. I know full well that if the bear truly liked huckleberries as much as I do, that it would stop to eat the berries instead of me or my wife.

Tip two: Huckleberry pie should ALWAYS be served with barbecued wild salmon.

An interesting side note:

"Huckleberry" was commonly used in the 1800's in conjunction with "persimmon" as a small unit of measure. "I'm a huckleberry over your persimmon" meant "I'm just a bit better than you." As a result, "huckleberry" came to denote idiomatically two things. First, it denoted a small unit of measure, a "tad," as it were, and a person who was a huckleberry could be a small, unimportant person--usually expressed ironically in mock self-depreciation. The second and more common usage came to mean, in the words of the "Dictionary of American Slang: Second Supplemented Edition" (Crowell, 1975):