Vented frustrations and needed information.

Spam and spammers:
 Lately, I have been getting a lot of junk-type email, and comments on my blog. I know, I set myself up for it. Having a blog-site opens doors for many spammers. I do what I can to eliminate Spam. I have all comments forwarded to my email account, so I can see what has been placed in the back pages. When I find them, and I have the time, I delete them. But, some get through anyway, so hopefully you can just ignore them.

The spammers have a bunch of “pat” comments that will readily fit any blog. They will say something like, “Very thoughtful post, thank-you!” then they sign it something like, “Ralph’s Tea Cup Shop”, which is a link to an online tea cup sales site. Most people don’t bother to click the link, but there are other people that just have to click that darn link, like the people that can’t stand to ignore a phone call. If the phone rings, they have to answer. When somebody clicks that link a computer records that a successful forward came from “Ernie’s Place”. That read-out encourages the spammers to put more ads in my blog. So, don’t click on obvious spam, unless you just can’t resist.

Joining face-book was a big, big mistake for me. Yes, I enjoy getting back in touch with some of my long lost friends, but I get emails from people like “Lady Madonna” who wants to be my “friend.” Lady encloses a very provocative photo of herself. She doesn’t look like anybody that I know, and she probably wouldn’t like to know me either unless I paid her well to know me…. Oh!, That’s it… She’s in some kind of business….

Then I get notes from face-book that all my friends have some game going with farm animals and I should join them in the fun. I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound like more fun than I’m all ready having. My friends must have pretty boring lives. Sometimes I wish that I could just go back to not being a face-bookie.

Post office closing:
All this brings me up to the post office. The post office claims that they are losing big-time money, because everybody started using email. That’s probably true. I never send letters to my friends, but I do email them because it works so well. So, maybe it’s just a sign of the times, and we need to get over it.

I know that it is not true of everybody, but my life would be better-off if the post office would disappear from the face of the earth. They send me more junk-mail than you can ever believe. All of the junk is cleverly disguised as “IMPORTANT MAIL” or “check enclosed”, or something else that you know full well is nothing but advertising B.S. But, some of us have to open it anyway, and be mad that we were so stupid, and that we were duped again.

At least when I open a letter, I know that it isn’t that dang tricky Nigerian that emailed me and almost talked me into sending him money to ship me his poor dead fathers gold, the gold that the government won’t let him keep unless he shares it with me. I had the shipping money in an envelope, ready to send, then I found another person in the post office had gotten the same email from Mr. Tricky. I was so mad that he was trying to share his money with everybody that I figured out that he didn’t have enough money to share with me. So, I didn’t send him the shipping money. What a dummy he was, to tell EVERYBODY… Duhhh.

The dratted homeless:
But of course, I have to start out a post like this with a few disclaimers. I probably have more experience with the homeless than most of you, after all they live on my business doorstep. Now, I’m not without compassion, I’ve also probably helped more of the homeless than most of you, so I don’t owe anybody an apology. I call them “homeless” because that is a term that everybody understands. Recently, I’ve heard some very nice names that seem to sooth peoples sensibilities. “Houseless”, “Pre-employed”, and other confusing labels. The one I like best was “alter-sheltered” Whatever anyone calls them, it will eventually become derogatory, so we might as well stick with “homeless” because it sounds better than “bum”.
Lately, I saw a very indignant post about how it would be if I were put on the street, The poster called herself “Den Mom”, which bothers me right off. It seems to me that if you have something to say, you should sign it, especially if you are suggesting that you can solve the homeless problem. You remove half of your credentials with most people when you don’t sign something.

Anyway, Den Moms advice is as follows:
“I think we should do a study. Why don’t we pick 5 people from all walks of “SHELTER”, and place them on the streets of So.hum. with no money, We will give you a very nice sleeping bag, and a back pack if you really want one (which is a sign you are homeless).No contact with any of your love ones, u are on your own and at the mercy of your community. We will keep a journal on how each day went and how easy it was to do the basic human rights, sleep, eat, and we already know we have no public bathroom, so write about how it went for you when your body wants to function. Write about how you feel alone and how you are looked at and judged by the way you look. how many times you were told to move on by our local sheriff. How hungry you got? How you survived….how it feels to live every emotion in front of your community. I think we would learn so much about this topic and what So.hum is lacking. Just skip the thought of a shower, not going to happen. I know this experience will be life changing, and some of us on here need our thoughts about this topic adjusted…
Any takers?”

I did take the liberty of correcting a few typos above, but I assure you, I never changed anything besides changing a few forgotten spaces and the like.

Den Mom's suggestion looses some of it's brilliance when you stop to figure that most of us live our lives in panic, and work very hard NOT to become that person on the street… But, thank you for the clean sleeping bag, and the back pack, I will need them. The thought of no shower wouldn’t be possible for me. I wouldn’t get dirty in the first place, but if I do get dirty, I will swim in the river and scrub myself with sand before I stay dirty. The same goes for my clothes.
I don’t know of one single homeless person that doesn’t know about welfare or homeless shelters, I would access both of those sources right off. I would not starve, I would follow all of their rules about no drugs or alcohol. Any money that I got would go to making myself clean and presentable. I would shave, and be clean, and stay sober, and seek work. Most homeless understand that people don’t like filth. Filth spreads disease and illness, so it is human instinct to drive away pestilence. Folks don’t want to bring any disease home to their families.
By far, the most of the people out there work hard to be part of society and help each other. The people on the streets choose that life, or they let the drugs they use choose for them. Most people were warned to stay away from drugs, so it isn’t like they didn’t make the choice themselves. But as Dave Kirby says:

“Having worked some 30 years in G,ville I have come to the conclusion that there is no set “type” of street person . I don’t think anything is gained by supporting or condemning them as a group. You have a diverse group here. Many are impaired. And some of these folks are heart breaking. They are not getting away with anything, they are barely holding on. Separating the truly needy from the Jr. dead heads and various scammers is difficult at best. I don’t have any easy answers other than to try and treat each other as individuals.

I see people who genuinely want to get homelessness behind them, they generally do so. Oh… the other thing that I would do is, get the heck away from Garberville. The only opportunity here is to become more deeply ingrained in becoming a loser. Garberville is the worst enabling town that I’ve ever seem. Just watch any homeless group on the sidewalk and you will see people give them all sorts of marijuana, cash and other goodies that make their live better in Garberville. What people are doing is helping them stay in their drug addled hand-out dependant life style.

The Dirtiest Man In The World
Oh, I'm Dirty Dan, the world's dirtiest man,
I never have taken a shower.
I can't see my shirt--it's so covered with dirt,
And my ears have enough to grow flowers.

But the water is either a little too hot,
Or else it's a little too cold.
I'm musty and dusty and patchy and scratchy
And mangy and covered with mold.
But the water is always a little too hot,
Or else it's a little too cold.

I live in a pen with five hogs and a hen
And three squizzly lizards who creep in
My bed, and they itch as I squirm, and I twitch
In the cruddy old sheets that I sleep in.

In you looked down my throat with a flashlight, you'd note
That my insides are coated with rust.
I creak when I walk and I squeak when I talk,
And each time I sneeze I blow dust.

The thought of a towel and soap makes me howl,
And when people have something to tell me
They don't come and tell it--they stand back and yell it.
I think they're afraid they might smell me.

The bedbugs that leap on me sing me to sleep,
And the garbage flies buzz me awake.
They're the best friends I've found and I fear they might drown
So I never go too near a lake.

Each evening at nine I sit down to dine
With the termites who live in my chair,
And I joke with the bats and have intimate chats
With the cooties who crawl in my hair.

I'd brighten my life if I just found a wife,
But I fear that will never be
Until I can find a girl, gentle and kind,
With a beautiful face and a sensitive mind,
Who sparkles and twinkles and glistens and shines--

And who's almost as dirty as me.
-Shel Silverstein

Newsy Notes about Humboldt

News in Southern Humboldt is a little sketchy lately. But thanks to Skippy, I have a new link to news about Humboldt County, The Humboldt Sentinel. I'm not familiar with it, so hopefully Skippy will fill in the Blanks. He sent me this link: Humboldt Sentinel. Thank-you Skippy! You can even make comments back to the news articles. I put a link over there on your left, ( my right, stage left, if you know what that is).

As many of us, that have been around here for awhile know, news sources have gradually dwindled through the years. Not so many years ago, we had drop dead great news. Channel 3and Channel 6 both had superior news. They had such good news stories that it was hard to decide what to watch. Usually I would watch the evening news on one channel then watch the nightly news on the other. Cable news sources took the local markets away. We used to get great U.S. and world news on Cable, but to anybody paying attention, the cable channels lately are nothing but partisan politics anymore. Changing the channel from Fox News to CNBC is like stripping major gears, I keep expecting the television to explode every time I change Channels.

Now, the latest, The Times-Standard doesn't even want to deliver the news to us in SoHum. The only thing that they will deliver in SoHum is the Sunday paper,with a little bit of yesterdays news, and a horse choking supplement of advertisements. I'd give you a link to the T-S but you can only read a few articles, then you have to pay, so if they offer to pay me,I'll put a link up for you. So far this blogsite is purely amature, and I would hate to give up that status.

Most of us down here in SoHum land depend on Kym Kemp and The Redhead Blackbelt to supply us with "What's Happenin' Now". She has great news, but between news stories she talks a lot about Marijuana. Some of us prefer beer, maybe she could do a few great beer stories?

To be honest, my amature status is in jeopardy, I inadvertently accepted a bribe from Skippy. I came back to my office one of those 102 deg days,that we had a while back,and there was a quart of cold Pepsi sitting on my desk. I drank most of it before I discovered that it was from Skippy. Now I owe him. So don't forget to stop at The Corn Crib in Pepperwood, the home of the worlds most famous corn and fine produce.

Dang! I almost forgot the news about The Rotary District Conference! Click on the YouTube below.
All of the cast is in the bleachers at the end. If you look in some of the background, you will see people running like crazy to be in the next scene. The funny thing is, all of the animals hammed it up. The goat was dancing with the tune. If you watch the ladies horse about halfway through it is singing along with everybody else. I'm the guy at the end of the river-side scene holding up one end of the blue Rotary banner. Then I point to cue Suzy. Fun was had by all! The most fun part was, my wife and I tricked Erin Dunn and Ross Rowley into buying us breakfast! I hate to think what that bribe is going to cost Me!


Second video: Fortuna River Lodge ad

Random thoughts about marriage.

A couple of friends of mine asked the rhetorical question: "Should we get married?" Question like that really concern me because the answers have the potential implications of phrases like "until death do us part". Anything with a death vow should be taken seriously! Before I was married, I had a lot of trouble deciding how to make a proposition not sound like a proposal. Apparently they sound very much alike.

I was 25 when my second wife and I started dating. Now, 25 is relatively young, in the scale of marriage and stuff like that. Big things are being considered, like children, education, business careers, where to build a house, and other major considerations. Being partners in ALL things is a big step. Older people don't have to consider building a life together, because for the most part, they will both have their own separate lives, already be educated, and already having satisfying careers. There is not much that will change with marriage. Maybe I'm being to pragmatic about "love" issues. I understand that is one of my "faults".

When Janis "and I" decided it was time to meet her folks, who lived in San Jose, we drove down for the weekend. Janis warned me on the way down that her family was a very traditional Mormon family. I started wondering, what is a "traditional Mormon?" We got to her folks place in the afternoon, so the evening meal was already being prepared. When it came time to sit at the table to eat, I was wise enough to know that there would probably be a "Blessing". I was right, we all bowed our heads and heard her fathers very fervent blessing. I have no problem with that. Even though I'm not religious, I honor other peoples beliefs, and indeed, I enjoy the tradition, and it gives me time to consider all the things in my "real" life that I'm grateful for.

After the blessing I noticed that all of the food on the table was placed in front of her father. He served each person in his own order. I was honored to be the first person served. It was because I was the guest in his house. The next was Janis's mother. Then Janis, who was older than her sister, then her sister, then her brother. And, of course, her dad served himself last. I wisely watched Janis to see what she did, then I watched the men to see what they did. After everybody started eating, and it looked like the blessing had chased away any pestilence from the food, I started to eat. It seemed to go pretty well, but it was obvious to me, that the man of the house was providing the food for the family table. I left the table a little hungry, because I was a young, working, country boy at the time, with a big appetite. I was proud of myself for just getting through dinner without calling down the wrath of God upon myself for some unnamed and unforgivable food sin.

Separate bedrooms that night, of course, I was also thankful for that.

The next morning, I was silently congratulating myself for staying quite and not doing anything wrong. We were called to the breakfast table where her dad had already put cornflakes in our bowls. They looked delicious, I was still hungry from the night before. Blessing? Yep! We had the breakfast prayers and started to eat. Her dad noticed that there was no milk, he said "Oh milk!" He jumped up and went to the kitchen and poured a big glass of milk. He sat the milk in front of me and sat back down. I thought that Janis must have told her father about my love for a large glass of cold milk with my meals. Being very honored, I lifted the milk to my lips and took a nice deep drink. The milk was very tasty, and very welcome, especially if all that I was getting for breakfast was a small bowl of cereal. I sat the milk back down appreciatively. As I looked around the table, every eye was on me. Her father said "the milk was for our cereal..."

It gets worse... That was the last of the milk. Everybody agonized as to "what to do.. oh, woe is us". I said, rather quietly, that when I ran out of milk at home, I would open a can of canned milk, then mix it half and half with water, it makes a reasonable substitute for milk. They had a can of milk, and I was semi-redeemed. Janis raved about how much she liked canned milk... that's when I knew that I loved her.

The only advice that I have for my friends is, don't marry anybody with parents!

Plane crash at the Reno air show

(sorry, for a short time I had a video here of the crash, but youtube removed it) Many of us have attended this air show, it's always a risk that someone may crash. Those of us that have been in the crowd knows the gut wrenching fear when something goes wrong. The last time that I attended the Air show, a stunt pilot by the name of Jimmy Franklin was flying a bi-wing Waco with a Pratt and Whitney 450 engine. He was in an inverted spin when his engine failed. He got it started and pulled out of the spin at a very low altitude. Everybody thought that it was just part of the show, but nobody with any common sense whatsoever shuts their engine off while being upside down and near the ground. I remember the feeling of nausea that I experienced, seeing someone come that close to dying. To just go on performing for the crowd must take nerves of steel.

The plane was a modified P-51 Mustang. A World War Two fighter plane. The name of the plane was the Galloping Ghost. The pilot was 80 years old.

Who came first...God or Man?

This is a tale for the smartest of my friends, people who have led simple lives, but are the smartest people that I know. It often amazes me the things that simple people can figure out, or just seem to know, that some very educated people never seem to get.

Did you hear the one about the dyslexic, agnostic, insomniac? He laid awake all night wondering if there really was a Dog… I know, most of you have heard the joke before, some of you don’t get it, some of you think that it’s funny. Some of you worry that it’s sacrilegious and worry that God might be offended.

Myself? I’m the one that the joke was written about. My life has been completely filled with worry and wonder. I know that my brain doesn’t work like most people’s brain. I worry that something might be wrong with me, and I wonder if it might be okay to not be like everybody else. I’ve always had a deep desire to fit in. But, strangely, I’ve always wanted people to accept who I am rather that try to be what they want me to be, so sometimes I fit, and sometimes I don’t. I had a friend that once said “ The tail follows the hide”, so I am what I am. Shakespeare said: “First, to thine ownself be true”. Shakespeare is as close to being a God in my life as anybody, so I try to adhere to his wise philosophy on life.

As a very young person, I started questioning everything. I had an uncle that called me “Yabbut the rabbit” because whenever somebody tried to tell me something, I would almost always come back with questions. I would start with “Yeah, but…” so I was called “Yabbut the Rabbit. I never really believed in Santa Claus, because I had a lot of cousins around that were both younger and older than me. They were anxious to trick me, so I was always suspicious of everything that they said. It was easy to ferret out of them that, yes indeed, Santa was really mom and dad, and not a “real person” at all.

Smug that I couldn’t be tricked, it never really occurred to me to wonder if Mickey Mouse was real. Imagine my surprise when I found out that Mickey wasn’t real. Everybody laughed at me that I was dumb enough to think that Mickey Mouse was real. Can you imagine the feelings of a small child that believed fervently in Mickey Mouse to find out that he was not real? I was filled with grief, like I had a best friend that had just died. My grief alone was bad enough, but on top of that, I had to put up with being ridiculed by my cousins and school friends. I vowed that I would never be fooled again. I started to be suspicious of everything.

You know where this is heading, we’ve been there before. At a certain point in my life, I started to question God, and double-especially religion. People that walked on water, turned water to wine, lived a thousand years, hung out in the sky with their winged angels and stuff like that. And, other wildly far-fetched things, that looked like another trick to me. Just like always, I only accept things that are tangible. My euphemistic phrase is, “things that can be hit with a hammer”. If it doesn’t pass my “Hammer Test”, it isn’t real.

Now, this is my same old-saw that you have heard way too many times, but I have a new twist… They are doing a scientific study about belief in God. I turns out that it is a “what came first, the chicken or the egg” story. The new theory is that God did not invent man, but conversely, man invented God. That has always been my conclusion. I often wondered why man would make up such far fetched stories as a person hears about religion and Faith. I was at a funeral one time where the young mother of a young child had died. The minister was telling the child that her mother was in the arms of God, and that someday, years from now, the child would be reunited with her mother. I was watching what I would call a deliberate lie, it occurred to me that maybe the myth about God was invented to give us assurance where there really was none to be given.

I have often admired Godly spiritual people, people with a strong faith, and a deep belief that God’s will was the best option. What ever happens, it is Gods will, and God works in mysterious ways. Too many times though, I find myself wishing that there was a God up there in that cloud that really does listen, because a have a few real bones to pick with him. I don’t care how mysterious his ways are, he is simply not fair to the children that he supposedly loves.

The scientists think that man is basically benevolent to their fellow humans. Man’s instinct is to aid mankind. I have a firefighter friend that describes being a first responder as “The dues you pay for the life you get”. I think that mankind makes up “God” as the mythological father that is always there to take care of the things that we can’t.

Here is some pretty interesting reading on the subject of “Who came first, God or Man”
 
 

Arthur H. "Bud" Harwood, 9-8-1926 9-1-2011

When I was a young boy in the town of Laytonville back in the 1950's, there were two main proffesions. Most people either made logs or they made lumber. My dad always prefered to be a logger for some reason. My uncle Ben Branscomb always liked being in a sawmill. My dad always smelled like pitch, fir needles and dust. My uncle Ben always smelled like pitch, bearing grease, sawdust, with a slight metalic smell, like fresh filed sawblades. So, of course, my heroes were people that made lumber from the forests. There were no greater people to me than men like Ben Mast, Shine Sherburn, Frank Ford, Jack Crawford, my dad Everett, my uncle Ben Branscomb, or anybody connected to the timber industry, top among them was always Bud Harwood. Although he knew who I was, he always knew me as Everett and Elsie's boy. My mother and dad, and my aunts and uncles, went to school with Bud Harwood. Bud's mother, Belva Harwood, was one of their teachers at the Laytonville school.

I remember many stories from the Harwood mill, about good times and bad. My uncle Ben told me that Bud always tried to keep his mill going, even when the mill was loosing money. Bud always felt responsible for the workers and their families, many times Bud keep the mill going when he would have been far better off to have closed it. My unlce told me about at least one time that Bud couldn't even make payroll, he called the crew together and asked them if they wanted to stick through the rough time together and hope to come out when lumber prices went back up. The crew stuck with him, and true to his word, everybody got paid and they had saved the mill and their jobs together like a family might do. Bud has always been one of my most admired of men. He was a captain of his industry, and he did better at it than most.

I have copied his Obituary from the Press Democrat below:

Arthur H. 'Bud' Harwood
By GLENDA ANDERSON












Arthur H. “Bud” Harwood
PressDemocrat.comSeptember 6, 2011 6:17 PM
Arthur H. “Bud” Harwood, a key figure in the Mendocino County timber industry, died at his Branscomb home Sept. 1.
“He and the Harwood family have been important players in the timber industry for many years,” said Chris Rowney, unit chief for CalFire in Mendocino County.
His death came just five days after another iconic timber industry figure, Jere Melo, was gunned down in the forest near Fort Bragg.
“It's been a tough month,” said Rowney, who recalled being in awe of both men when he was starting out in the timber industry in the 1970s.
Bud Harwood's father, “Big Bud,” established a planer and grader operation in Branscomb in 1940. Bud Harwood assumed management of Branscomb Enterprises in 1949. He was later joined by brother Jack and sister Suzanne, and then his children: Liz, Art, Jack and Calvin.
The company was renamed Harwood Products in 1972. In its heyday, the company employed nearly 500 people.
It survived the industry peaks and troughs that grew the number of mills in the county to about 600, then cut it to fewer than six.
But in 2008, the Harwood mill fell victim to the housing collapse. It was dismantled and sold in pieces.
Even as the business declined, Harwood stuck with his ethical and moral beliefs, which meant trying to keep his community employed, even to his financial detriment, Rowney said.
“He fought to keep that mill running and to provide employment in the Branscomb area. From a straight economic point of view, it didn't necessarily make sense,” he said.
“You don't find many people like that today,” said Mendocino County Supervisor Carre Brown. “The loss to the town of Laytonville is very big.”
Harwood also showed he cared for his community by serving on numerous boards and donating generously to causes, including $60,000 to help launch the Long Valley Health Center and to the renovation of Harwood Park, family members said.
Bud Harwood was born Sept. 8, 1926 to Arthur Harwood and Belva York Harwood at their Ukiah homestead and in the same room as his grandmother, Mary Gibson York.
The Gibson's were pioneers who settled in the Ukiah Valley in the late 1850s. They migrated from Canada to Oakland, where Bud Harwood's grandfather served as assessor, according to an obituary written by family members.
Harwood's father moved to Laytonville in the 1920s, met and married Belva York, and raised a family.
Bud Harwood graduated from Laytonville High School in 1944, then joined the U.S. Navy. He trained to fly airplanes from aircraft carriers but. World War II ended before he saw combat.
When he returned from military service, he attended Santa Rosa Junior College, then U.C. Berkeley where he majored in business, played baseball and met his future wife, Virginia Zinn. They married in 1951 and together raised four children. They have nine grandchildren and six great-grandchildren.
The couple enjoyed traveling, dancing and entertainment. They continually looked for ways to improve sawmill and forestry operations, according to the family's account.
“He never quit thinking about tomorrow,” the family's statement said, adding that he cherished his community, baseball and a good political argument.
For years, he held an annual fish fry in Branscomb that drew political leaders. He formed the Branscomb Blues baseball club and would bring in “ringers” from his old college team to play with local players. He also played for the Laytonville Loggers, which competed with teams from Oakland to Eureka.
A believer in public service, Harwood served on the boards of the Redwood Regional Logging Conference, Mendocino County Democratic Central Committee, Willits Unified School District, Laytonville Lions club, Howard Memorial Hospital foundation, Bank of Willits and the Laytonville Little League.
Harwood is survived by his wife, children, brother and sister. A memorial service will be held at 2 p.m. Thursday at the Harwood Memorial Park in Laytonville.
The family suggests that, in lieu of flowers, contributions be made to the Harwood Park Association in Laytonville or Phoenix Hospice in Willits.

Gold! Crystals?

Gold Crystal

Hmmm... What's wrong with this picture?

I've never really thought of Gold as being crystalline, but if it is vaporized and allowed to re-coalesce, it forms as a crystal. In a process, that I won’t even pretend to understand, heat, vacuum, and other chemicals leaches gold from other substances, then allows it form back into 99.99% pure gold. The picture is what the gold looks like when it joins back together. The process is called “The Van Arkle de Boer process”.



The following photo is Platinum formed with a similar process. Iron crystals called "hematite" form at the mouths of volcanoes from a natural occuring chemical/heat process.

Platinum Crystal



Iron Hematite



Touchstone for determining gold purity.

 I actually found all this information while I was looking for the word "Touchstone". I knew that a "touchstone" was used as a test for quality, but I didn't know why until I looked it up.

By using a two pieces of gold, of a known quality, to make marks on a touchstone. Then one gold mark of an unknown quality, the grade of the unknown gold can be determined by using mixtures of nitric acid and watching to see which mark disoves first. The term "Acid Test" also comes from determining the quality of Gold. Not being from gold county, I probably seem a little niave to the Mother Lode people.

This blog used to have a commenter by the name of "Gemboy" that knew all of this stuff. I havent heard from him since the post that I did on the Island Mountain Copper mine.

Washington D.C. Earthquake.

Back in 1981, I was waiting for a building permit for our house to be approved by Humboldt County that dragged on for months, but that’s a whole different story. While I was waiting for the permit, my wife and I decided to visit Washington D.C. We stayed with my wife’s brother, who was a lawyer with the Federal Trade Commission, back when there was “Trade”, but that’s a whole different story.

Anyway, we visited as many museums and monuments as we could. We were at the doors in the morning when they opened, and they had to kick us out at night. Most all the houses back there were very old brick houses, that go back to the 1800’s. I always felt uncomfortable around them. I asked many times, “What holds these houses together? They don’t have bolts or any kind of steel reinforcement.” I remember almost universally being laughed at. People seemed to know instantly that I was from California. They patiently explained that they had no need for reinforcement, because they “don’t have Earthquakes“. Many went on to state that they would never live in California because they were afraid of all the Earthquakes, and they felt that someday the whole west coast of California was going to shake-rattle-and-roll and slip into the Pacific Ocean. Then, it was my turn to laugh at them. I explained that most of our buildings stood-up real well in an earthquake, and most of the quakes that we have are nothing more than a fun ride.

I drew the line at the Washington Monument. My wife wanted to take the elevator to the top. I explained that it was too big of a risk to take an elevator ride to the top of a stack of rocks that was not designed to handle an earthquake. She chided me, and reminded me that one of my mottos is that “You only die once” and dirty-double-dog-dared me to take the elevator ride. So, foolishly, I agreed. A man just can’t allow his wife to think that he is a sissy, no matter what the risk!

When we arrived at the monument, there was some kind of a problem with the elevator and the rides were closed for the day. I was secretly overjoyed, the stack of rocks looks even more unstable standing on the ground looking up at it. As the clouds blow by, it looks just like it’s falling over. I was ready to grab my wife and run just looking at it.

Well, you know where I’m headed with this. Washington D.C. just had a 5.8 Earthquake, a crack opened up in the Washington Monument, and it is closed for safety reasons. Now, one of my other mottos is, “Ha, ha, ha, I told you so!!!”
 
Link to Wikipedia Washington Monument



e

This establishment is an excellent place to teach your child manners.

Robin started this, because she mentioned that the newspaper that she used to work for wrote a piece about “No room at the Inn”. A pun on the fact that the Benbow Inn didn’t allow children under twelve in the dinning room back in the 70's. This is not criticism of the Benbow Inn, but a reminder about manners, and why they are important.
I intend to start on a high note, then descend into the abyss. It isn’t me, because I actually love children. So, what is it about so many children today that can be so darned annoying? Again, I know that it is not me. My child was a perfect child, always was, still is. She is… wow, I was going to tell you her age, I guess not even a father can get away with that. I’ll just say that she is past 30... I’m hoping that her perfection is not just the vision through a father’s eyes. Also, I would like to think that I had a little to do with the fact that she was delightful to be around when she was growing up, but I know full well that she was a good kid because it was her intent to be that way. She always seemed to want to be “good”. So, I know that I was not the great stern father that some like to be, but the father that allowed a naturally good kid to grow up to be the polite well liked person that she is. I only helped her to find the way.
We never tried to eat out when my daughter was an infant. It was just to uncomfortable for us, to know that a child that young can’t be well behaved. When she was about 2 ½ we started taking her out to dinner with us. When my wife and I went out to dinner and took her with us, she tried to be a brat. After just one annoying incident, my wife or I would head to the car with her and we would take turns baby sitting while the other gulped their dinner. She got one firm warning way up front, then, no second chances. After one obnoxious behavior, it was out to the car. After several times of this, she discovered that it was much more fun to be good. If you are wondering what obnoxious behavior is, stop reading now, a parent just knows. It doesn’t even have to extend beyond the table that you are seated. Even if your child’s bad behavior stays within the confines of your table, it ruins the thought of a nice evening out. We always included our daughter in our conversations and made her feel that she was a part of the festive occasion of an evening out. Of course you know that it wasn’t perfect, but it soon became a nice occasion for all of us.

One time we had a family reunion dinner at the Benbow Inn, when the Benbow Inn was owned by Chuck and Patsy Watts, they had a firm rule of “no children under the age of 12 allowed in the dining room”. We had the choice of not going, or taking our daughter with us. She was 8 years old at the time. I went down and talked Chuck about his concerns and told him that we were probably even more concerned about bad dining room manners than he was. He tentatively consented to allow her in the dining room. That evening she was part of the conversation and she was a delightful part of the evening, she kept her voice down she was polite, did not interrupt and she was as good as she always wanted to be, she achieved her own goals. After dinner Chuck wheeled out the desert cart and treated my daughter to anything that she wanted. He said that she was perfectly delightful, and was welcome at the Benbow Inn anytime that she liked. She probably doesn't even remember it, but it was a very proud moment for me to be the father of an eight year old that was allowed in the Benbow Inn.
Just so you don’t think that she was always “perfect”, her teen-age years erased many brownie points.

The Benbow Inn, under the current owners, had a “Lady” that decided to nurse her baby in the dining room. I was not a witness, nor do I even have much knowledge of what happened, but I think that it was politely suggested to her that she should use a blanket or a towel to cover her breast. The lady took great offense, and decided to make a great scene and took issue of the fact that she had a right, by law, to nurse her child anywhere, anytime, and in any manner. She told her friends how insulted that she was. She and her friends staged a “nurse in” where they all nursed their babies in the dinning room. Like I say, I’m not sure what really happened, I always miss the good stuff.

I don’t know about other men, but the sight of a female breast stops my heart for a few beats, then I put it all together that it is just a woman nursing her baby, and I can live through it. It’s cool with me, but I kinda’ prefer that they cover up. It doesn’t take much to be discrete. Then I don’t have to rearrange my mind and put it back into polite conversation mode
.
Whenever I go out to dinner I am cursed with, almost invariably, being seated next to a child. My wife laughs at me, that it just seems to be my luck. Almost always, right after we order, a family will come in at sit next to us. Sometimes it is nice, when the parents have the children under control. Well behaved children are a delight to be around, and they seem to sense that. But, other parents don’t have a clue. The kid will start off with a loud scream, and the parents just ignore it. Then it only gets worse from there. I usually just ask the waiter to doggie box my meal and leave. My sister in law has a theory that some people Inflict their children on you in hopes that you will feel sorry for them, because they have to put up with the bad behavior all the time.

I was on an airplane coming back from Dallas Texas a few years ago, and was I seated right across the isle from a three year old child. A child that got to ride free, because she was seated on her mothers lap. The child started with the loud screams, then she would look around and laugh at all the people staring at her. Then she would scream again. The female flight attendant told the mother, in no uncertain terms, to comfort the child and stop her screaming. She told the mother several more times. The woman explained to the attendant that she could do nothing about it. That that is just the way the child was, and she always did that on airplanes. To my delight the attendant told her that it was very unfortunate that she could do nothing about the child, because she was going to have the pilot land the plane in Denver, and remove them from the plane, and she would never be allowed to fly on Delta again. The woman seemed to understand, the child stopped screaming immediately and only whimpered for a few moments after that. Most of the passengers near me thanked the attendant. It was apparent that the attendant knew more about dealing with bad behavior than the passenger.

I saw a near riot in a Garberville café when a child started screaming and a few diners told the mother to control her kid. It turned into a turf battle, of who had the most rights to be there. The mother lost, but wrote mean letters to the editor for awhile.

I think my favorite place to dine out was the Benbow Barbeque House. They had a very neatly printed sign, in the finest calligraphy. It said: “This establishment is an excellent place to teach your child manners”, then they insisted upon it. Most of the kids that ate there were well behaved.

A good decision on Bear Lady!

A good decision on Bear Lady!

When I was growing up, I had a lot of pet wild animals. I had ground squirrels, grey squirrels, flying squirrels, I had a few snakes for a day or two, and let them go. I just couldn’t warm up to the idea of having a snake as a pet. Frogs were much cooler. Somehow I liked the idea of raising frogs. We would gather tadpoles and put them in the stock trough. The mosquitoes, that were already in the trough, provided plenty of food. They would grow legs and become frogs. As soon as they were big enough to make it on there own we would take them down to Ten Mile Creek, that drains the south end of Laytonville, and turn them loose like proud parents pushing their children out into the great big world.


My sister and I would gather milkweed and Monarch Butterfly caterpillars. We would raise them in a shoe box. Soon they would hang from a leaf, shed their skin and become a chrysalis. The chrysalis would shed it’s akin after a while and become a Monarch Butterfly, a most beautiful creature, and still my favorite bug.

One time I brought home a baby coon, it was the cutest thing that you ever saw. I imagined the he was going to become my closest friend. My dad, who was much smarter than me, told me to put it back where I found it, instantly. He said that coons would always become mean. That they are too smart and can never really be trained. They almost always become biters and they can never be trusted. The best pet is a neutered male. But, the females always get mean. That was back before I understood all the wild animal mating rituals. Now, I understand that Mommas, as a rule, don’t put up with much of anything, but getting their own way.


Most of my family had wild animal pets through the years. All of my uncles had pet deer at one time. The deer were released and allowed to be on the ranch, but it was well understood that they were not to be trusted in any way. Just the other day I read that somebody had been killed by his own pet deer. Two bucks got in a fight and gored him to death.


It’s alright to love wild animals, but they don’t make good pets. There are exceptions, that I won’t tell you about, because I don’t want you out gathering up my wild friends just to make yourself happy. Most of the pets that my family and I had were orphans of some kind. So, it was a choice to raise them and turn them loose or let them die. One of the cutest, but least likely to be a good pet, is a river otter. I’ve handled one as a baby, but never raised one. My cousin Oregon even had a pet 'Possum. It's teeth looked like little needles and it had two or three different sets of canine teeth on the way to the back of it's mouth. You didn't want to hurt its feelings, or it would play dead. All those teeth and it's defence mechinism is to "Play Possum".


So, I guess what I trying to say is that I understand The Laytonville Bear Lady. But alas, I also understand that a person really can’t tame a bunch of wild bears. The have a tendency to become overBEARing.

The Following is from the A.P.
UKIAH, Calif. — A woman who turned her rural Northern California home into a spa for wild bears won't go to jail after pleading guilty to a misdemeanor charge of feeding big game.

After Lynne Gravier entered her plea in Mendocino County Superior Court on Monday, Judge Richard Henderson set her sentencing date for three years from now, on Aug. 8, 2014, the San Francisco Chronicle reported. If Gravier stays out of trouble and stops feeding bears, prosecutors agreed to drop the charge then.

Gravier, 77, known as the "Bear Woman," set up a plush hangout for her furry friends at her 40-acre Laytonville property, complete with a kiddie pool and a buffet of cornmeal and peanut butter sandwiches, sometimes laced with glucosamine to ease the arthritis pain in older bears.

Authorities who raided the property in response to neighbor complaints last August found a total of 15 black bears who regularly relaxed inside Gravier's house and on her deck. She also fed 18 cats, three dogs, 40 peacocks and other wildlife out of her home, which was covered in filth.

California Department of Fish and Game wardens called it the worst example of bear feeding they had ever encountered.
Gravier's supporters protested her prosecution, defending her as an animal lover. But neighbors complained that she drew in bears that terrorized the community by breaking into homes, ransacking feed sheds and chasing livestock.

"This lady may have thought she was doing a good thing," Mendocino County District Attorney David Eyster told the Chronicle. "We don't want to bash her, but we have to get her attention and get her to recognize that her feeding the bears was causing a problem for the neighbors and, frankly, is dangerous."

Under the terms set by prosecutors, Gravier may not return to her Laytonville property. The house was condemned last year.

"The end result to me was very positive," Gravier said. "I'm glad that it is over and I can go on."




E

Petite-Three Ernie Sandwiches and Beer.

Well.... Recipe to go with beer :

Sandwich depicted NOT Ernie sandwich.

When eating Ernie sandwiches with beer, it’s best to try to appear like it is elegant…

Sprinkle a little powdered chicken stock on the sliced ham and let it marinate in the refrig overnight, or longer, no biggie. Or you can do like I do. I usually don't think about it in time to marinate, so I rub the dry chicken stock into the ham vigorously. Then pretend that it has been elegantly marinated. I know, I should be calling it maranaDe, because it's more elegant.

Fry the ham in hot oil to seal in the juices. Caramelize the surface slightly.

Use Raisin Bread. Toast the raisin bread slightly. To what I call soft wiggle.

Spread one piece of toast with Nuefachatel cheese. You can use regular old cream cheese, but lie and say that it is Nuefachatel, because that is more elegant.

Then spread some very thinly sliced Walla Walla onions on top the cream cheese. Regular onions are okay as long as they are mild enough to pretend that they are the very elegant Walla Wallas.

Then, fit a slice of the chicken stock ham over the top of the onions.

Spread the other piece of toast with peanut butter, then spread the jelly on that. The kind of jelly is optional. Apple is always a good choice. Quince is best, and also most elegant. Grape gives a good flavor, but if you want to try something wildly different use Jalapeño jelly, or mint.

Place the jelly side down on top of the slice of ham, I know that you would have done that anyway, but it's an important step. Some people might have made it jelly side out and been disappointed.... Push toothpicks through the sandwich, cut the edges off and set aside to be used later.Then cut the sandwich into 1 inch square pieces. You can be creative and cut them into small triangles and call the “petite-threes” it’s a real conversation starter.

Now place a very large stack of these on a serving tray and place them on a table. Then tell everybody not to touch them that it’s for the PTA fair. (I learned that from my wife)

Grab a frosty mug out of the freezer, and pour a mug of Guiness Beer from the tapper. Hold the Mug by the handle with your little finger extended to the side. That’s the most elegant way to hold it.

The smart people in the crowd will already be stealing the Petite-Three Ernie sandwiches. Then just join the rest of the people eating them. It’s fun to see how long it takes for the dumb people to figure out that they are not going to make it to the PTA fair.

When all of the Petite-threes are gone, put the bowl of edge cuttings on the table because after a few Guiness', any semblance of elegance is gone and people will be glad to have them.

I dirty double dog dare you to try them!

The Humbodt County Fair

My favorite part of the fair is the ladies that are proud of their jams and jellies and pies, and peanut butter tuna casseroles.




Also, the kids with their lips quivering, because they are just about to sell their animal that they have raised from a baby, and the animal that has become their very best friend in the whole world, who has patiently listened to all their problems.



And, the dads that are proud of their kids, because the have raised them to be tough and face the reality of the world that we live in, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and go forward with their chins up.



I just love people… even the ones that sometimes make me mad. What better place than the Fair to soak in the real world.
 
Humboldt County Fair Home Page

What time in history would you want to live?

As many of you know, I spend a lot of time thinking about the good old days, but would I choose to live back then? Think of any time in history that would you go back to, and live there, if you were stuck there and could never return. This is a difficult question for me, because without modern medicine I probably would have been dead about three times now. Once when I was eight years old I was hospitalized with pneumonia, modern medicine saved my life. Actually I might have lived, but it was a lot more fun to just get well. I had pneumonia another time about 15 years ago. When I get sick, I'm too stupid to slow down and take care of myself, so I end up turning a simple cold into something much more serious like pneumonia. Chances are real good that I might have lived both times.

Eight years ago, I had prostate Cancer. The Big "C". I had brachytherapy, that's where they fill your prostate with radioactive "seeds". I have about 120 of them. It felt like I was shot in the rear end with a shotgun. Which, I guess that, literally.. I was. I didn't miss a days work. Something is just wrong about having the big "C" one day, and be cured the next. I spend a lot of time feeling guilty that it was such a small thing for me. I spend a lot of time thinking about what the Indian people would have done with prostate cancer. A lot of their "cures" was done with tobacco smoke.

I have heard stories that the American Indian had a cure for all of the diseases that they got, up until the white man showed up. The diseases that the white man had killed them readily, with no defense.

The Indians had a dance called "The Ghost Dance" which was really a prayer dance for the white man to go away, and they could return to better times. I've often wondered, how many Indians would return to the times before white man today? My good friend, relative, and Humboldt county supervisor, Harry Pritchard said that when the Indians were given hunting and fishing rights, they were standing naked in the riffles netting and stabbing fish with pointy sticks. A far cry from today, where that they have every technology known to man. But, I read in The Two River tribune that they Indian People on the Klameth have a better chance of saving the salmon than the rest of America, and they have a few good ideas as to how to achieve that goal. I would like to see a few of their pratices brought to the South Fork Of the Eel. Like the deep water holes that they are digging in the river gravel to provide real fish habitat.

But, I digress, but you knew that. I was talking to a fellow today about what time in history that he would chose to live, or would he stay right here, today, with all of our problems. He said that he wanted a big-screen TV the size of his whole living room wall, A leather Lazy-Boy and a remote control that would take him to look at anytime in history, any place in the world. He could go view the Han Dynasty in China and watch Gengus Khan awhile, then he could watch Atilla The Hun, on to Julius Ceasar. Then maybe watch King Henry the Eighth, maybe skip back to watch the Crusades. Or, the "taming" of Amerca. All from his overstuffed Lazy-Boy recliner. He could even go to Disneyland.

Sadly, I think that I would chose "here and now". One, it's better than dead, which I would be by now any other time in history. If I could visit anywhere or time, then come back. I would probably choose The British Isles. Go to a real Elizibetian theater. Go to Ireland and have an original Guiness beer. Or follow my great grandfather Cull on his trip across the great plains, to find out what really happened to him. Was he killed by Indians as we have all been told, or was he bushwacked by white scoundrels?

Where would you go, and would you chose to stay if you could never come home again?

OMG!!! The reel Suzy Blah Blah dropds a nodte!!

A while back, missing what I thought was the real Suzy Blah Blah, while dealing with what I perceived to be an interloper Suzy, I did a blog post about “The Legend of Suzy Blah Blah”.

Being a person that only deals with tangibles, and reality, I picked up that the recent commenter claiming to be Suzy couldn’t possibly be the real Suzy Blah Blah. She just couldn’t pass the hammer test.  The interloper Suzy is also very intelligent and witty, and her comments are welcomed by us all… But she just ain’t  “the real Suzy”.

So, at a time in my life, when I seriously need some reality, like only the real Suzy Blah Blah can bring me. She shows up like an answer to my thoughts in the wind. It was like she knew that I needed a little of those two “same things,” Love and Understanding. It’s enough to make a person believe in that spirit stuff.

Now, and I hope that the real Suzy is still reading, because Most of us on this blog find that our concerns are with you. Please tell us that you are okay and doing well. My heart wrenched and I felt the lonely anguish of a Humboldt Co. country girl hitchhiking in the L.A. rain. We all hope that you and your child are happy and well.

Reading the “Real Suzy Blah Blah” is like ready poetry. You have to look past the words on the page, to the feelings and “spirit” within them.

I moved her comments to the front page here, for the few of us who love the real Suzy.

suzy blah blah has left a new comment on your post "The legend of Suzy Blah Blah":

really?!! omgosh, that's embarrassing, LOL! but i love you fro making time to read it all. whew, i don't even have time to shit these days, not to mention burning sage, theres so little time, I put my kid to bed and i'm exhausted. but i relax somethimes typing and it looks like i have a few minutes to thank youuu Charlie, that's so sweet to hear. Theres been a lot of raven activity around here, very noisy. Maybe its your prayers coming through. I havto listen harder, or maybe not try to listen, . . . CAW! CAW!

thats so cewl that you made your fortune the white mans stock market LOL. it makes me smile. And i'm praying for your continuing health and that there are no relapses. Smoke that medicine. It must be awesome where you are in neveada. I love the desert, sooooo quiet and with a such a big night amazing sky. And cowboyss wearing guns to Wallmart LOL. It sounds good.

You know, I had my friend write the Suzy comments fair a spell, so it looks like everyone seems to think it wasn't me, suzy, but they don't get it. this one and the other one are both Suzy ie Suzy is one ,, LOL That's the REAL legend. Peolpe get legend confused with history. but in legend there is no linear time * line ... one doesn't come before or after the other because the other isn't in linear time ... another words you could read the old suzy comments in any order you want, you could ever read them upside down and you'd still get the same "message?", or maybe i should say "mess". LOL///

-And so that's it.
When i fierst met Ernie i parked in a position which he called "behind his truck" (but what's behind to some is in front of to another) and to his way of thinking, i blocked him in, theat was a red flag. I thought he was one of his employees when he asked me to move out of the way, and then later he said on the bolg all apalogetic, that it was him, doing business LOL@ ... I was totally surprized. I'd pictured him really really differantly. That's how visionary i am LOL

so maybe you read about hhat in the archives, i think he tried to give me a special free downtown parking spot ..LOL@ you know parking is a major problem, specially when ppl park behind you hmph. but if it's suzy that's differant cuz i'm a "legend" and everybody love Suzy (in that chapter), well, I wrot e to Ernie, " use your imagination" LOL. I wasn't really surprixed hwen he didn't get it. He always presents himself real nice though, in his misinterpretings of hte legend. Thing is, if Thay aren't "behind" you, and if theyre not next to you, they must be in front of you. right? LOL Thats what a history minded person will never understand. Because they can only understand things in order. I knew a watch repairman once who was an example of some one like that, everything needed to be in a strict order for him to have understanding of it. And it was him i was thinking of when i said, " And sometime i think love and understanding are close to hte same thing" LOL!!!!!!!
and Ernie loved that line enough to hang it on his wall LOL, thats what is cwel about misunderstanding legends. Its a whole different understanding when it comes to bullshitstory. Ha, Love and understanding? Is that from the old temstament? or was it otis redding? Whatever. 


But a historian trying to historify a legend by misunderstanding the basic mystery of communication from the heart, er i mean from the start, ie REAL communication, because there IS no start, or end, to a legend except in peoples minds ... and chief seattle said the longest journey youll ever take is from the mind to the heart. But he never had to hitchhike through LA in the rain, LOL, but anyway, Charlie, thats what i mean by suzy being one. The changeless one.

but it laate now and i haveto say a bloggy goodnight to yuo. bye bye from ms american pie.
love yu charlie two crows' straight from my heart to your heart from the true, froom the legendary,\
from the one and only,
suzy blah blah

huggles,
s

Suzy
In My "Real World" watch makers don't know diddley, you have to know how to build refrigerators to be "really" wise. In My real world Ottis Redding is the old testament.
Wishing you well,
Ernie and the rest of us

Guns, Or more acurately, Firearms.

Since I was a small child, guns were a part of my life. Guns were a very normall part of my life, and I grew up with no fear of guns, but a great respect for them. I know that I feel quite differently about guns than some people. There is such a wide variety of opinions when it comes to guns. So, I want to warn people not to make comments on this blog that might create problems for you, for instance, do not brag that you might have the first 44 Colt that was ever made, and it is still in the original carton, and it has never been fired, and it is worth four million dollars. Somebody might decide that they want it more than you, and you might have to shoot the guy with the first bullet out of your 44 Colt and ruin it's value.

Try to talk about guns in generic terms, and not brag about your 1000 firearm collection. Unless of course that you want to. I will say that I'm a gun owner, I won't say where, or what state of readiness that I keep them. Well okay, one of the lever action guns that I own, won't action smoothly because I haven't cleaned it in thirty years, but it's a gun to fondle, hold, and talk about anyway. But, I might have a sweet little, well oiled and polished,  pearl handled, nickle, 32 cal auto. I'd have to show it to you before you could see it. So, think about what you say and whether you really want my millions of readers to know about your guns.

When a person is raised with guns on a ranch, or farm, like I was, there is always talk about gun safety. I remember one phrase, "gunpowder and alcohol don't mix". I would imagine My dad hand loading ammunition and try to mix some alcohol in the gunpowder. Finally I just had to say, "that doesn't make any sense, why would anybody say that, I don't understand." My grandmother told me "when you get old enough to drink, you will understand". Sure enough she was right, I now understand that drinking and mixing firearms are not a good idea.

When I was a kid my dad had a Winchester bolt action 22 cal. rifle with a five shot clip that I thought of as mine. It had a four power scope that I had sighted in at 100 feet, which is where I did most of my shooting. the gun was completely accurate. I remember that I would take it most places that I went. I took it to my dads logging show when I was about ten years old. The Guys on the landing were taking turns shooting it. We  had set up a "Lucky Lager" beer carton about 80 feet away. They make a perfect target. I was lucky enough to find a Lucky Lager beer can on the net to show you why they made such great targets. The "T" in "dated" was the target sweet spot. I was 16 years old before I saw a round target with the "X" ring in the middle. Anyway, when it was my turn, I took the "T" out and put four more bullets in the same whole. I was so proud of myself that I almost smiled.....  but, nobody on the crew would believe that I did put all five bullets in the "T". But... But... Reallllllyyyyy! I was crestfallen that nobody believed that I had done that. My dad told me later that they were just being asshole loggers. I still don't know if he was just being nice, or if they really knew that I had "Teed" the target.

When Kids grew up in the South Fork Eel Canyon, they got to start shooting when they were about 8 years old. I remember killing squirrels and jack rabbits, with my dads supervision, at about eight years old. Kids usually got their first 22 caliber rifle at about twelve years old. They got their first "Real gun" when they were about 16. Most of the people that I know that got their very first "real gun" at sixteen, treasured the rifle the rest of their life, and they would not part with it for love nor money. Literally! Most of you that got their first real gun will bear me out. It is their one priceless treasure.

My dad when he was about sixteen went to a turkey shoot in Laytonville with his dad Grampa Roy. There was a guy at the turkey shoot that had a gun like dad wanted. It was a 250-3000 Savage lever action. They had just produced the gun, and one of it's big features was that it would shoot a bullet over 3000 feet per second. He thought that was about the finest gun he had ever seen. The man with the gun could not hit the target. My grandfather said "why don't you let my kid sight it in for you?" "No", the man said that, "it wouldn't do no damn good to sight it in". He went on to cuss the gun some more, and he made the statement: "if the kid can even hit the target with it, I'll give the God-damn thing to him."



So, there were two rites of passage for a Eel canyon kid, his first 22 cal and his first real gun. My dad went on to win many turkey shoots with the 250. All of my family were very good shots. My Dad Everett, my uncle Ben, and my uncle Edwin were a good shots. back in the '50s there was a turkey shoot somewhere just about every weekend. So, when my dad and uncles could squeeze in a turkey shoot, they would. It got real humorous, because when my dad and uncles would show up, nobody would shoot against them. The turkey shoot directors would offer them a turkey to leave. They did that for a while, but they decided that was no fun, so they started a "Branscomb shoot". Where the Branscomb were not allowed into the regular shoot, but they made them shoot against each other.  People would come for miles around to watch them shoot. So the turkey shoots got popular again. I would be remiss if I didn't add that a fellow by the name of Shine Sherburn was a famous gun affectionado that did quite well with the turkeys himself. It seems like some of us were raised on deer meat, salmon, and turkeys.

Never draw down on somebody unless you intend to shoot them.

Never fire a warning shot

Every gun is loaded

Never point a gun, not even a toy gun at anybody.

Stagecoach?

Charlie Two Crows Wrote: "Did the stage follow the coast to mattole then come inland? Or did it follow the EEl river. Jack told me the stage from eureka went to center ville after stopping in fern dale. Jack said the stage went down the beach and came to a stage stop at there mazeppa ranch then on the wild cat route to mattole then inland. Does any one have info. On this stage line."

Charlie... Back in "The Horse and Buggy Days" all inland transportation was by saddle horse, mule train, team wagons, ox trains, or horse and buggy. Stage coaches went everywhere that they could go. The only thing that I can tell you for certain is that the the roads went down the ridges. Nobody was dumb enough to try to build a road down by the river, too many bridges, too many slides, too many river and creek crossings. Newcomers brought us the riverside technology. They reckoned that they would be below the snow level. If they had built the train higher up on the ridge, we would still have one.

Having said my piece, I'll try harder to answer your quetions. The main stage from San Francisco to Eureka, came through Ukiah, Willits, Sherwood, (up on the ridge) Strong Mountain Road into Cahto, Lick Skillet and Spat out, (Laytonville) south through Long Valley, up the Bell Springs Ridge, to Bell Springs, where they had a way-station. They changed horses and lodged there for the night. From there they went to Harris, Alderpoint, Blocksburg, Bridgeville, Carlotta, and then into Springville, near Fortuna. There was a stage that went to ferndale and points west, and another stage that went to Eureka and points north. There were numerous "Feeder" stage routes. Like the "Mud-dobber"  that ran from Mina and Covello over the Dos Rios road into Laytonville. A man by the mane of John Snider drove it. John Snider also drove a 6 horse team wagon hauling dynamite from Sherwood to Island Mountain when they were builting the Island Mountain tunnel.

Now for the "bullshistory" part, because I don't really know for sure. But, when I was a wee lad I heard that there was a coach that went from Fort Bragg, Westport, Rockport, Usal, Four Corners, Thorn, Briceland, Garberville, Spuce Grove and Harris. There is still a building that they call "The Stage Stop" on a flat north of Whitethorn. I do know that there was sporadic stage coach operations on the north coast. They were about as consistant as todays coffee shops.

Humboldt Feast, Garberville Rotary Club

Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their service club. At least, so say the other Garberville Rotary Club members. So they are holding my fingers to the keyboard.

We are in the midst of the final stages of having an environmentally correct fund raiser for the many great pursuits of our small Rotary Club, September 17th 2011. We are calling the event “Humboldt Feast”, where everything served is organic and from the local area, within a hundred miles, or with good justification for coming from further away, like organic pineapples will have to come from somewhere more tropical. We will have numerous booths from which artisans will serve samples of their ware.

The tickets will be $50.00 each. Ticket buyers will be presented with an etched wine tasting glass to taste the various wines that will be presented. The glass will be your souvenir, to keep with your collection of event wine glasses. Various cheeses will be there. Some of the world’s finest cheeses come from right here in Humboldt County. Did you know that? This will be your chance to taste some. Local produce will be presented, maybe some local mustards, or sauces. Who knows? Many people are just beginning to sign up for booths. There will be acoustic bands playing, and some organizations will be passing out brochures on what they are doing to improve the environment.

The event is what, nowadays, is called "a green event", where everything is environmentally correct. The foods served will be grown and presented in an earth responsible manner. Whether the foods are oysters, beef, barley, or mayonnaise it will be earth friendly, or at least the earth friendliest product available. Each item served will be able to justify it’s “Green-ness” The event will be held in the Garberville Community Park, in the back south-east corner, what is popularly known as, “The wedding Grove”. You will be able to stroll through the widely spaced booths on the mowed grass. You will have the opportunity to observe the many wild birds of the park, and listen to their songs. The area is tucked away from outside noise. It will be like you are attending a private party, which, indeed, you will be. It will be for ticket holders only

Rotarians by their nature have a tendency to be too modest. For instance, not many people know that in 1985 the Rotary International took on the project of curing polio in the world. We knew that it would be the largest project that we had ever taken on. We estimated (hoped) that it would take us five years to immunize everybody in the world. As you know we are far beyond that five years, but we have effectively cured polio, you probably don’t know any recent polio victims. But, we still have to immunize everybody until the disease is dead like smallpox.

The Bill and Melinda Gates foundation gave the Rotary Club 355 million dollars to finish curing polio in the world, with the stipulation that the Rotary International would match 200 million of that amount. I have no idea how much that I have contributed to cure polio but I have given a significant amount. (To me, it’s significant) Altogether we will be spending 555 million dollars more to finish curing polio.

Curing polio is something that is near and dear to my heart. When I was a child growing up in Laytonville, I went to school with a kid that got polio. He was a great athlete, he loved to play baseball, he was vigorous and active in every way. One day I went to school and he was gone. The teacher, in tears, explained to us that he had gotten polio, and that “we should pray for him because polio was a very serious disease“.  It was about a year before he came back to school, he was puffy from lack of exercise, and he had braces on both legs. He could barely get around on crutches. You have no idea what an impact that had on my young mind. Since then Polio has been a bitter enemy.

Wherever you see a child being immunized for polio in the world, you will see a Rotarian. They are down in the trenches doing the work. Rotarians are the heads of airlines, trucking companies, pharmaceutical companies, and every other walk of life. They make it happen. Whenever that I get discouraged about some small thing that someone in the local club is doing wrong, I think of my childhood friend, and know that I can put up with just about anything to cure Polio. We as Rotarians are curing polio.

The Humboldt Feast is only one of the things that we do to raise funds for the many, not just polio, but many worthwhile projects that we do. We will all be there.

Ask Dennis what the Garberville Rotary club has done for the schools. Ask Karen about, personally, planting trees in a South American rainforest to offset the carbon usage of the Garberville Rotary Club. Ask Brian Walker about traveling all over the world to cure Cleft Pallets. Ask about the orphanage in Mexico, or the one in Kenya. Ask about earthquake relief. Ask Seth about what it’s like to host a foreign exchange student. Ask Nancy about all the things that we do for the hospital and the projects that we do in the local community. Ask me about the local Culinary Arts project, or Nicks Interns that are working to revitalize the local forests and streams, or ask me what we are doing to help local workers and businesses. Ask any Rotarian what they are doing. You will be amazed at how involved that they are in the world around them.

Please link to Humboldt Feast for more information here: Humboldt Feast.



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Hartsook Inn

The Hartsook Inn

We have such incredibly wonderful history along the South Fork of the Eel canyon. Some places more than others. It is especially sad for me to drive through Richardson Grove and realize that I'm one of the few people left around here that had seen it in it's heyday.

I’ve often said that “I’m not really a historian, but I do know where most of the bodies are buried”. So, as one might guess, I know quite bit about the fabled Hartsook Inn. The Hartsook Inn was built by Fred Hartsook, (1876-1930) a man who was mostly known as a famous photographer. Fred Hartsook operated about twenty photography studios. He owned what was reputed to be “The largest photography business in the world”. He took the official photographs of most all of the famous people of the day, and all the great movie stars. He made the official Presidential photograph of Woodrow Wilson.

In 1919 Hartsook married Bess Hesby who was “Miss Liberty in the 1915 San Francisco “Pan-Pacific Exposition“. Fred took his honeymoon at a cabin in the redwoods, at the present location of the Hartsook Inn. I’m not sure how he got there, but it was about the time that Highway 101 was opened through Richardson Grove. According to Nona James, she drove up highway 101 before it was opened to the public. She said that it was in 1917 or 1918.

Bess Hartsook

Fred and Bess Hartsook had three children: Helen, Frederick, and Delyte. Fred Hartsook also had a daughter, Francis, from a previous marriage.

In the early 1920s Fred and Bess purchased 37 acres of pristine redwood forest and built the Hartsook Inn. By 1926 the resort was given it’s own township status, and was granted a United States Post Office. It even had a gas station! That makes it a bona fide town! The town was called “Hartsook” California. In August of 1927 the Hartsook Inn burned to the ground in a large forest fire. Uncontrolled forest fires were very common back then. They had no real way to fight them. Fortunately the redwoods were not permanently damaged and they grew back better than ever. The Inn was rapidly rebuilt and reopened. Fred had a good rapport with the Hollywood crowd, having taken most of their photographs. The Hartsook became the Hollywood group’s playground. Many would take extended vacations up here in the redwoods. The more notable among them were Mary Pickford and Bing Crosby.

As a side note, my grandfather Bill Rathjens, who owned a service station in Laytonville, was also a Kohler Light Plant dealer. He provided the Hartsook Inn with their first electricity.

On 30 September 1930, Fred Hartsook died of a heart attack at the age of 53. That often happens to old men that marry beautiful young women. Bess Hartsook outlived her husband by forty-six years and operated the Hartsook Inn until 1938. In 1938 the Hartsook went into receivership, strangely, the place burned down again… ( due to a fire in the kitchen… WINK) The Inn was rebuilt and reopened in 1941, just in time for world war II.

The Lingenfelters, Darrell and Dorothy, took over the management and ownership of the Hartsook Inn. They did quite well with it through the years. A fellow by the name of Chet Willows managed the place with his wife, Julie, who retired to Phillipsville and just recently died. I’m not sure of the ownership of the Inn during that tenure. Maybe the Willows owned it. I remember the Harsook kitchen back in the 60's. They had an executive Chef. (I'm sorry, but I forgot his name) The chef was the typical Chef, he ran things like an orchestra conductor. He was very firm, and he checked every plate that left the kitchen. If it wasn't perfect, there was hell to pay. Everything in the kitchen would stop, on the spot, there would be a lecture as to what went wrong and why it would never happen again. The kitchen had a "pantry chef" that did all the salads, pates, and cold appetizers. There was a souse chef, a pastry chef, and various cooks and helpers, plus a bus staff that cleaned and reset all the tables. They had a dishwashing staff that kept all the plates and silverware cleaned and polished.

 The female summer help, mostly high-school and college students from Eureka, lived over the kitchen. It was hot up there, in every way. I remember coming down to the dances next door at French's campground. The girls from Hartsook would come over to dance, but they had a 10:00 PM curfew, so they had to leave early. They had a house mother that lived up there with them and she did periodic nose counts, much needed nose counts, because the girls all imagined themselves to be in love with one of the local "country boys".

While under the propriety of the Lingenfelters, there was no alcohol served at the Hartsook. No way. Absolutly not. Don't even bring your own Bottle! If God had intended for you to get drunk he would have given you alcohol! Alcohol is the root of all evil. I have heard many lectures about alcohol from the Lingenfelters. Back in 1983 I was the president of the Garberville Rotary club. Any thought of alcohol was sternly disaproved of by Darrell, who was also a member of the club. I was a juror on a drunk driving trial with Dorothy. The judge asked her if she had ever taken a drink of alchohol. She firmly stated that she had not! Taken aback, he went on to ask her, "Not even a sip? Do you know what it tastes like?" That is the first and last time that I ever heard a judge get a lecture and give an oppology. He then thanked her and excused her. It was hilarious.

My mother Elsie Branscomb and my aunt Vivian Newland owned an ice cream parlor, soda fountain, and sandwich shop in Garberville. They made premium, high butterfat content ice cream, 14% butterfat. A few people even rave about it today. (me) They made Creme-de-menthe ice-cream for the Harsook Inn. I often chuckle about knowing that mom made it with creame-de-menthe Liquor. 20% ALCOHOL.
The Inn burned down again in 1973. I was a firefighter at that fire. C.D.F Battalion Chief Harry Pritchard was the Incident Commander on the fire. Harry went on to become Humboldt county 2nd District Supervisor. I also might add that Harry and I were relatives. Both from old local families that go back to the 1800’s. I was assigned the north end of the building. AHEM… the part of the building that was saved! Never mind that it was also the only part of the building that was not on fire yet when the firefighters got there. We sent a pumper truck to the river to provide the water to fight the fire. We didn’t save much, but once again it was rapidly rebuilt. What you see today when you drive past the rapidly deteriorating building is the 4th Hartsook Inn to be built on the same basic foundation.

The most recent history of the Hartsook is, that it was bought by Richard Head, who also owned the Phillipsville Trailer Park and the Deerhorn Lodge. Head added a liqour license and bar, he also upgraded the kitchen. He had a very popular local Chef in the kitchen by the name of  Kieth Tommson (sp?) Tommson operated the Trees Restaurant in Garberville, until it burned down. Homeless people had moved into the basement. Nobody asked them to leave because they felt sorry for them. It is unknown whether the fire was caused by the homeless, or if somebody burned them out. Sadly, any building the the homeless occupy, unsupervised, burns down. Fact of life #23. I've seen far too much of it.

Richard Head didn't do as well as he hoped that he would, he consequently took out a timber harvest plan to log the redwoods on the property. He cut a few, but the save the redwoods league asked him to stop. He did, and they purchased the Hartsook property. They in turn sold it to the same people that bought Heartwood College at Island Mountain, Bennett and Delphina Dorrance. I've heard numerous rumors that it may become a branch campus of Heartwood.

It's sad the way things go with some of our local history. Maybe the Dorrences will revive some of The Harsook Inn's former glory.


http://www.groupsrv.com/movie/about75181.html Click on link, then scroll down a bit for the story.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Hartsook
http://savetheredwoods.org/newsroom/pr/pr_hartsook.pdf
http://rosieradiator.com/id3.html



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