Dirt Clod Combat
Nothing like growing up as a young boy in the mid 1950’. What a great time to be free and roaming among the 50’s gods. Now the gods were Elvis, Jerry Lee and various girl groups. Who could care about school, politics, work and any house hold duties? It was summer and all were free.
Nothing captivates a boy’s imagination more than a good war game. After all, we won the war, beat the japs and krauts and the Lone Ranger controlled the west. Three months of summer was a lifetime for the gang and we intended to enjoy each day.
Now of course, dirt clods were the closest relative to a hand grenade that god ever invented. Combat the TV. Show always showed the heroes throwing grenades to the krauts and the large explosion and smoke would cover the enemy.
Well, we had our own enemies. Dirt clods for those uneducated, were mud which dried due to various reasons creating hard, dust covered clods which were the weapon of choice for the die hard combat fans of the Oakdale Gang. Life would not have been complete without an arsenal of the clod weapons. Of course, we never lack enemies, or targets of the clod attack.
The summer of about 1958 included three full months of vacation from the daily grind of school. Oakdale Park was a fair quality, trailer park including our motel and large Oakdale Pool. The heat of summer was something like the Mohave Desert due to lack of air conditioning and invention of the window fan. Our summer oasis was the oscillating fan cooling my sister and I in our pool of sweat in our shared bedroom. But that is another story.
Back of the dirt clods. That eventful summer, a mysterious fire occurred among fallen trees in the Park. As luck would have it, the aftermath of the fire was large amount of roots with hardening clods. This was manna to the boys of the park. War began early that summer. The enemy varied between enemy trucks, cars, kids on bikes, stray dogs, cats and even some of the older neighbors. Remember, nothing was more exciting that the explosion of the clods against the side of a house, truck or car and the eventual escape of the army of boys. We were inventive and placed a firecracker inside the moist clod to create larger explosion of a German grenade.
During one of the wars, we cornered our enemy against the small house of Ms. Carpenter. Now Ms. Carpenter was 103 and the image of the wicked witch of the west in OZ. Now the poor woman must have been frail and ill., but to the wild bunch the enemy was cornered on her porch and could not be allowed to escape. The free world depended upon our success.
Fortunately, the large hole of the fallen tree offered an unending supply of the great dirt clod weapons. We managed to surround the enemy and open our barrage of the house. Little did we know that Ms. Carpenter was in the small house and under the same siege?
Even Sir Winston Churchill could not have withstood such an emotional attach. The tin roof of the house warped and rolled with every volley of the clod attaches. The enemy was cowered on the porch and could offer only token resistance. They made a futile attempt to entice Heir Carpenter to admit them, but the broom swatted the vermin back to the porch. Our barrage continued.
I suppose the breaking of glass finally slowed the attack. The slain enemy offered a white flag and marched to our line of battle in complete and utter surrender. However, Ms. Carpenter mounted the broom and beat the hell out of us for what seemed an eternity.
Somehow the Young parents did not gain sight of the embarrassing defeat. Unusual, in that the war occurred within feet of our back door in mid day. I have always assumed Mom did not have the guts to wade into such a clod attack. She was always shrewd in the ways of war.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Goats of Plaza de Toro
Now goats are often mistaken as the dragons of the neighborhood. Especially after watching Saturday morning TV and the attack of the Apache. Now, since we did not have a horse or pony, the Billy goat had to be the steed to be broken and ridden. Of course the goat was not consulted in the matter and typically ignored us while munching on the limited grass in the corral. However, the goat includes convenient "reins" in the form of horns. The stature of the goat is portioned to that of boys; however, the heart of the Billy goat was underestimated.
The Matadors of the Mash includes Harry the Waddington, Hollie the lesser Waddington, Billy Basham, Ray the snake, Nora the abnormal and Geraldine. A few stragglers would join the Matadors similar to the groupies of today just for the chance to be included in this right of summer. Of course, your truly was subjected to the demands of the summer gang and required to participate. I am certain I participated only due to not to be rejected by the gang. Hey, it was my idea anyway.
One must approach the goat pen with respect and certain ceremony. The Matadors of the Mash arrayed in respective uniform accompanied by the Madams of the trailer park, Harry being the largest of the attackers was resplendent in frayed shorts, t-shirt stretched to limits, similar to Under Armor of today was a force to be reconded with.
Ray the Snake was not to be seen without the tight jeans, just like Jerry Lee, Billy had a physique similar to mine, relegated to the chubby section of the jeans and shorts. Most of the Matadors were proud of the sponsor patches displayed in various portions of our jeans. Of course, our sponsor patches were nameless and succeeded in covering our knees, butts and other portions. Our Moms were adapt at the iron on patches which soon curled at the corners and made the Matadors display the aire of worldly experienced fighters.
Nora the Abnormal always arrived in a flimsy summer dress. Nora was very quiet, you know the cerebral type. While she displayed the famine qualities desired by 10 year olds, we were not impressed. The Goats received much more respect. Geraldine was the opposite of Nora. Geraldine was well respected for her ability to kick, pull, pinch and generally kick ass of the Boys. She has been known to stare a goat to death under the right circumstance. No feminine qualities here.
The correct ethic of the Goat Fights required the leadership of Harry the Waddington. Besides, Harry was the largest and meanest of the Gang. Harry’s challenge to all was to first run across the corral in temptation of the majestic goat. A quick touch of the tail or horns was similar to the strike of the Picador in ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Spain.
Now Harry was not a quick fellow, but very brave. The wide image of Harry was charging across the wasted earth in challenge of the Goat was impressive. We can only assume the Goat was shocked by the audacity of Harry to trespass on his territory. However, the Goat was slow to react to the first Matador and Harry typically succeeded in reaching the opposite side of the fence. Little did we know, we were forever marked by the Goat now alert to our folly.
Geraldine was the kick butt kind of girl. Geraldine vaulted the fence, slapped the goat, pulled the tail and dared it to ever look at the face of Death. Geraldine slowly walked to the safe area and if the lower morals of today were in fashion, the finger of disdain would be flashed to all of the timid.
Now alerted, the Goat of the Plaza de Toro was like Dick Butkas of the Chicago Bears, ready to stuff it to us upon our entry into the forsaken ground. Harry the Waddington continued to taunt the less ones, supported by the female counterpart.
Ray the Snake vaulted the fence with the grace of a wounded wildebeest. The speed possessed by Snake and the skinny legs propelled him past the goat leaving only a streak of dust and undoubtedly some stains in his shorts. Snake was a dominating kind of guy, known to smoke, cuss and general kick ass of the fuller figured of the gang. He made the trek to the safe side of the corral without slightest poke of the Goat. Really boring if you were to ask us.
Nora the Abnormal and Billy showed the least guts. Nora swished around the corral in her little summer dress like she really had something to show us. Billy remained quite smitten by Nora but we all know he was not destined for greatness. After all, great men do not chase a wee skirt when a great Goat is the challenge of the day.
No story is complete without the final challenge of the evil spirit. Namely the Goat. The remaining matador, I, must challenge the beast. After all, it was somewhat my idea.
Not possessing great speed, it was my idea to surprise the vaunted beast. The attack from the rear with surprise seemed the conservative approach. Much like President Eisenhower, as my Dad described him. After many hours watching the Lone Ranger vault over the hindquarters of Silver, I knew this was my surprise mount of the great Beast. After all, no one had dared ride this "bull" and my Hemingway genes were called to action.
While the Beast munched on his cud, eyed Norma the Abnormal and envied Harry the Waddington his rolls of fat, I began my attack through the boards of the fence. Stealth is one of my best qualities. Some would call it sneaky. No class. I did complete Grapevine School.
Rolled under the fence board, my timing was perfect. The Goat was enthralled with the great Gang of Oakdale, not having put a horn in the backside of this worldly gang. Running like those sprinters seen in Roller Derby, I closed the distance between this matador and the Beast. I could not permit goat droppings to distract my charge to the rear of this challenge to my manhood.
Dust, sweat, droppings, and fear must be the scents of the Matadors of Spain. I know I share their courage and joy of the drama. Fortunately, the Goat was enjoying the sight of the Gang, his cud and bowel movement as I approach. Like the Lone Ranger I vaulted the ass of the devil goat, landing on what must be similar to a wooden camel saddle. Having surprised the beast, I grabbed the horns like Silver’s reins, dug in my Space Ball Jets in the flanks, and was determined to ride the bull till the whistle.
My plan of attached was perfect up to this point. However, I must have underestimated the cat like reflexes of the great Goat. He moved both up and laterals, out of the Shute like the bull of Hemingway, bucked, spit, shit and stopped like a BMW. I was launched over the horns, gracefully of course, landing like the kid in chubby jeans, on my back amid the dust and goat shit.
The dust cleared, somewhat amazed I survived the fall, and I looked up into the yellow eyes of the demon of Oakdale. I think I saw the slightest grin around its yellow eyes. As the drool spilled from its wide gaping mouth, I rolled through the dust, collected by wits and ran for hell to the fence, rolling under the last rail. To hell with courage when you have been bucked off a Billy goat. The Lone Ranger was never so humiliated.
Over 40 years have passed since the challenge of the Goat of De Plaza de Toro. Our Gang of Oakdale has gone on to many lesser exploits since, but none of greater imagination. The imagination of a 10 year old is grander than Dr. Seuss. After all the trails, wounds and embarrassment of the Goat, we all can rejoice in the knowledge, that the Great Goat was enjoyed on the plates of the Waddington Restaurant as the best Mutton in Hopkins County. Harry, Hollie and I had the greatest satisfaction in delivering the slop from the restaurant to the pigs of Waddington, in the best recycling program ever in Madisonville. Pigs of Waddington, another story.
LET ME TELL YOU A STORY!
Now goats are often mistaken as the dragons of the neighborhood. Especially after watching Saturday morning TV and the attack of the Apache. Now, since we did not have a horse or pony, the Billy goat had to be the steed to be broken and ridden. Of course the goat was not consulted in the matter and typically ignored us while munching on the limited grass in the corral. However, the goat includes convenient "reins" in the form of horns. The stature of the goat is portioned to that of boys; however, the heart of the Billy goat was underestimated.
The Matadors of the Mash includes Harry the Waddington, Hollie the lesser Waddington, Billy Basham, Ray the snake, Nora the abnormal and Geraldine. A few stragglers would join the Matadors similar to the groupies of today just for the chance to be included in this right of summer. Of course, your truly was subjected to the demands of the summer gang and required to participate. I am certain I participated only due to not to be rejected by the gang. Hey, it was my idea anyway.
One must approach the goat pen with respect and certain ceremony. The Matadors of the Mash arrayed in respective uniform accompanied by the Madams of the trailer park, Harry being the largest of the attackers was resplendent in frayed shorts, t-shirt stretched to limits, similar to Under Armor of today was a force to be reconded with.
Ray the Snake was not to be seen without the tight jeans, just like Jerry Lee, Billy had a physique similar to mine, relegated to the chubby section of the jeans and shorts. Most of the Matadors were proud of the sponsor patches displayed in various portions of our jeans. Of course, our sponsor patches were nameless and succeeded in covering our knees, butts and other portions. Our Moms were adapt at the iron on patches which soon curled at the corners and made the Matadors display the aire of worldly experienced fighters.
Nora the Abnormal always arrived in a flimsy summer dress. Nora was very quiet, you know the cerebral type. While she displayed the famine qualities desired by 10 year olds, we were not impressed. The Goats received much more respect. Geraldine was the opposite of Nora. Geraldine was well respected for her ability to kick, pull, pinch and generally kick ass of the Boys. She has been known to stare a goat to death under the right circumstance. No feminine qualities here.
The correct ethic of the Goat Fights required the leadership of Harry the Waddington. Besides, Harry was the largest and meanest of the Gang. Harry’s challenge to all was to first run across the corral in temptation of the majestic goat. A quick touch of the tail or horns was similar to the strike of the Picador in ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Spain.
Now Harry was not a quick fellow, but very brave. The wide image of Harry was charging across the wasted earth in challenge of the Goat was impressive. We can only assume the Goat was shocked by the audacity of Harry to trespass on his territory. However, the Goat was slow to react to the first Matador and Harry typically succeeded in reaching the opposite side of the fence. Little did we know, we were forever marked by the Goat now alert to our folly.
Geraldine was the kick butt kind of girl. Geraldine vaulted the fence, slapped the goat, pulled the tail and dared it to ever look at the face of Death. Geraldine slowly walked to the safe area and if the lower morals of today were in fashion, the finger of disdain would be flashed to all of the timid.
Now alerted, the Goat of the Plaza de Toro was like Dick Butkas of the Chicago Bears, ready to stuff it to us upon our entry into the forsaken ground. Harry the Waddington continued to taunt the less ones, supported by the female counterpart.
Ray the Snake vaulted the fence with the grace of a wounded wildebeest. The speed possessed by Snake and the skinny legs propelled him past the goat leaving only a streak of dust and undoubtedly some stains in his shorts. Snake was a dominating kind of guy, known to smoke, cuss and general kick ass of the fuller figured of the gang. He made the trek to the safe side of the corral without slightest poke of the Goat. Really boring if you were to ask us.
Nora the Abnormal and Billy showed the least guts. Nora swished around the corral in her little summer dress like she really had something to show us. Billy remained quite smitten by Nora but we all know he was not destined for greatness. After all, great men do not chase a wee skirt when a great Goat is the challenge of the day.
No story is complete without the final challenge of the evil spirit. Namely the Goat. The remaining matador, I, must challenge the beast. After all, it was somewhat my idea.
Not possessing great speed, it was my idea to surprise the vaunted beast. The attack from the rear with surprise seemed the conservative approach. Much like President Eisenhower, as my Dad described him. After many hours watching the Lone Ranger vault over the hindquarters of Silver, I knew this was my surprise mount of the great Beast. After all, no one had dared ride this "bull" and my Hemingway genes were called to action.
While the Beast munched on his cud, eyed Norma the Abnormal and envied Harry the Waddington his rolls of fat, I began my attack through the boards of the fence. Stealth is one of my best qualities. Some would call it sneaky. No class. I did complete Grapevine School.
Rolled under the fence board, my timing was perfect. The Goat was enthralled with the great Gang of Oakdale, not having put a horn in the backside of this worldly gang. Running like those sprinters seen in Roller Derby, I closed the distance between this matador and the Beast. I could not permit goat droppings to distract my charge to the rear of this challenge to my manhood.
Dust, sweat, droppings, and fear must be the scents of the Matadors of Spain. I know I share their courage and joy of the drama. Fortunately, the Goat was enjoying the sight of the Gang, his cud and bowel movement as I approach. Like the Lone Ranger I vaulted the ass of the devil goat, landing on what must be similar to a wooden camel saddle. Having surprised the beast, I grabbed the horns like Silver’s reins, dug in my Space Ball Jets in the flanks, and was determined to ride the bull till the whistle.
My plan of attached was perfect up to this point. However, I must have underestimated the cat like reflexes of the great Goat. He moved both up and laterals, out of the Shute like the bull of Hemingway, bucked, spit, shit and stopped like a BMW. I was launched over the horns, gracefully of course, landing like the kid in chubby jeans, on my back amid the dust and goat shit.
The dust cleared, somewhat amazed I survived the fall, and I looked up into the yellow eyes of the demon of Oakdale. I think I saw the slightest grin around its yellow eyes. As the drool spilled from its wide gaping mouth, I rolled through the dust, collected by wits and ran for hell to the fence, rolling under the last rail. To hell with courage when you have been bucked off a Billy goat. The Lone Ranger was never so humiliated.
Over 40 years have passed since the challenge of the Goat of De Plaza de Toro. Our Gang of Oakdale has gone on to many lesser exploits since, but none of greater imagination. The imagination of a 10 year old is grander than Dr. Seuss. After all the trails, wounds and embarrassment of the Goat, we all can rejoice in the knowledge, that the Great Goat was enjoyed on the plates of the Waddington Restaurant as the best Mutton in Hopkins County. Harry, Hollie and I had the greatest satisfaction in delivering the slop from the restaurant to the pigs of Waddington, in the best recycling program ever in Madisonville. Pigs of Waddington, another story.
LET ME TELL YOU A STORY!
Sleeping single in a Double Drawer
Sleeping Single in a Double Drawer.
Twins, no one closer than two from the same fold, same bolt of cloth, knitted together, woven in time.
We lived each day together, curled up. Stretching along the covers on Sunday morning. Sharing the cold, wood floors, keeping each other warm as a pair, or twins should. Weeks spent together bonds twins as no other pair. We shared the dark days, and nights. Hot summers covering untold miles along our daily journeys.
As our days, weeks, months passed, we took all our time together for granted. We really never knew any pain, only closeness, even in our darkest time. The wear of every day life, sometimes grounded together, other times lying side by side across the floor.
Unlike others who are close, we were really inseparable. We learned to enjoy our quite time, folded together; our existence together was all we truly needed. We never dared to envision our separation.
It happened so quietly, seems like a fog overtook our time together. Only to lift, revealing our loss. Where o where did you go? We have known such happy times together, working, playing and quiet. We shared our warm baths, knowing that feeling being dry, clean, folded together, resting until our next day of adventure.
I am pained to remember that moment of loss. We enjoyed an active day together, always partners, work and play. Looking forward to our baths and warmth while being fluffed.
I dare not try to explain the moment when I realized I was alone. I do remember being entwined in a large, warm towel, enjoying the fragrance of Downey. Taking for granted that we would soon be reunited.
Lost is the only word that describes the realization of our separation. Laying alone on the bed we usually share, being gathered up, like a single sock, bundled up with strangers. Tied together as odd socks. I lay here still, lonely, wondering what became of my twin.
Every so often we are released and the effort is made to match our lonely soles. Alas, I remain unmatched, toe and heel, but sleeping single in the dark, double drawer.
WINE BEFORE DINNER
WINE BEFORE DINNER
THE TRADITION AT OUR HOUSE IS WINE BEFORE DINNER. ONLY TO THANK THE FRENCH FOR THEIR TRADITION ALONG WITH THE ITALIANS. REDNECK KENTUCKIANS DO NOT HAVE THE CLASS TO ESTABLISH THIS IN THE HILLS.
NOW THIS IS THE TIME OF DAY MY BEAUTIFUL AND PATIENT WIFE SHARES TIME WITH ME. THIS TIME BEFORE THE BREAKING OF BREAD IS A GREAT RELEASE AND RESPITE FROM THE GRUELING DAYS. NOW, I MUST BANISH MY TRUSTWORTHY COMPANION, BAILEY, TO THE KENNEL OR BACK YARD AND TURN OFF THE FACEBOOK CONNECTION. THIS IS OUR TIME.
ONE MUST CONSIDER THAT WHILE WIFE HAS BEEN HIDING BEHIND A COMFORTABLE DESK WITH CALLER ID, I HAVE BEEN IN THE PITS, SLAYING DRAGONS, FIELDING CALLS FROM POWER OF FINANCE, (BERNE MADOFF JUST CALLED COLLECT) AND CHALLENGING THE FED. TO PROVIDE SOME STIMULUS TO MY ACCOUNT. HOWEVER, CONSIDERING WIFE’S TRIALS I AM FORTUNATE TO HAVE SUCH COMPANY FOR THE WINE BEFORE DINNER.
THE MEDICINAL POWERS OF WINE CONTINUE TO INTRIGUE ME. I HAVE WORKED MY WAY THROUGH ONLY ABOUT 5 SPECIES OF GRAPES, BUT THE CHALLENGE CONTINUES. I MUST WRITE THESE SPECIES DOWN FOR I HAVE A TENDENCY TO “FORGET” SOME OF THE GRAPES TESTED. OH WELL. ONE MUST PRESS ON TO GREATER VINES AND VINEYARDS.
THE TRADITION AT OUR HOUSE IS WINE BEFORE DINNER. ONLY TO THANK THE FRENCH FOR THEIR TRADITION ALONG WITH THE ITALIANS. REDNECK KENTUCKIANS DO NOT HAVE THE CLASS TO ESTABLISH THIS IN THE HILLS.
NOW THIS IS THE TIME OF DAY MY BEAUTIFUL AND PATIENT WIFE SHARES TIME WITH ME. THIS TIME BEFORE THE BREAKING OF BREAD IS A GREAT RELEASE AND RESPITE FROM THE GRUELING DAYS. NOW, I MUST BANISH MY TRUSTWORTHY COMPANION, BAILEY, TO THE KENNEL OR BACK YARD AND TURN OFF THE FACEBOOK CONNECTION. THIS IS OUR TIME.
ONE MUST CONSIDER THAT WHILE WIFE HAS BEEN HIDING BEHIND A COMFORTABLE DESK WITH CALLER ID, I HAVE BEEN IN THE PITS, SLAYING DRAGONS, FIELDING CALLS FROM POWER OF FINANCE, (BERNE MADOFF JUST CALLED COLLECT) AND CHALLENGING THE FED. TO PROVIDE SOME STIMULUS TO MY ACCOUNT. HOWEVER, CONSIDERING WIFE’S TRIALS I AM FORTUNATE TO HAVE SUCH COMPANY FOR THE WINE BEFORE DINNER.
THE MEDICINAL POWERS OF WINE CONTINUE TO INTRIGUE ME. I HAVE WORKED MY WAY THROUGH ONLY ABOUT 5 SPECIES OF GRAPES, BUT THE CHALLENGE CONTINUES. I MUST WRITE THESE SPECIES DOWN FOR I HAVE A TENDENCY TO “FORGET” SOME OF THE GRAPES TESTED. OH WELL. ONE MUST PRESS ON TO GREATER VINES AND VINEYARDS.
HAPPY TOASTS.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Command Sergant Major Hodge
CHANCE MEETING
You just never know who you will meet on any given day. This note is not about motorhome travel but about one of the most interesting people I have met this year.
I am a real estate appraiser and on an assignment today, I met a true, military warrior.
Command Sergant Major H. D. Hodge, Retired.
Command Sergant Major H. D. Hodge, Retired.
Now my four year experience in the U. S. Navy included many Navy Seals, Green Berets, Marines, Army and Vietnam warriors. However, Sgt. Maj. Hodge took my attention from the first moment. This man served his country for 40 years including Korea, and 3 tours in Vietnam.
He is quite unassuming, gentle spirit but command your attention. His experience includes 10,000 plus free fall jumps, special forces, recon and rangers. Do not, I repeat, Do not challenge this man. At age 80 he is an imposing figure and would not quarter any lack of respect. It takes two men to wear the medals on his dress uniform.
I have two step sons. One in the National Guard and the youngest entering the Regular Army in February 2010. I hope to have them meet Sgt. Maj. Hodge for the wisdom only he can impart. A funny story here. Sgt. Maj. Hodge was sent my family to an assisted living facility in another state for this care. However, Sgt. Maj. Hodge had other ideas. He escaped the facility, drove himself home and has remained independent. Alas, the Dr.'s have removed his driver's license and he must leave his home. Now, if you have any young men who need leadership, just move this guy into your home and I can guarantee a well run unit.
I have worked for Admiral Elmo Zumwalt, Admiral King (6Th fleet) and numerous Navy Captains. However, except for Admiral Sumwalt, none have presented the command ethic as well as Sgt. Maj. Hodge. It only took a short visit with him to prompt this writing. I can only hope he will be happy in his new lodgings. Otherwise, I will probably meet him once again after another escape.
Admiration cannot be to easily achieved. We must not over look these remarkable men and women who serve our country in many conflicts and do not ask why, when or how come. They just do as ordered and protect our country. Hero is not a label they enjoy. They will tell you they just followed orders, did their job and took part in the American Dream. I ask that you all take a tour or visit to a VA center, hospital, nursing home or graveyard and touch your heart in respect for these veterans. They are part of the sinew that holds our country together and set an example for all of us to follow.
Admiration cannot be to easily achieved. We must not over look these remarkable men and women who serve our country in many conflicts and do not ask why, when or how come. They just do as ordered and protect our country. Hero is not a label they enjoy. They will tell you they just followed orders, did their job and took part in the American Dream. I ask that you all take a tour or visit to a VA center, hospital, nursing home or graveyard and touch your heart in respect for these veterans. They are part of the sinew that holds our country together and set an example for all of us to follow.
My last meeting with Sgt. Maj. Hodge was this afternoon. We ended our meeting on a sound footing. I reminded his that Sgt. Young ( my dad) told me not to be late for the Sgt. Major. would kick my ass. Sgt. Maj. Hodge laughed and told me his did not kick ass any longer. He had nothing but praise for the combat medics of WWII for my Dad. I continue to be humbled by men of this caliber. I left the meeting with a tear and I truly do not know why. Except the admiration for these men and knowing we may have so few of men of this caliber today.
Thanks you Sgt. Major for you contribution to our country and I can only hope your rank is recorded in the clouds for life eternal. A salute to you Sgt. Major.
Happy Soaring.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Lighthouse Landing, Grand Rivers, KY
While looking for an overnight stop, my familiarity with the area brought me to Lighthouse Landing. The Landing is well know for sailing of Kentucky Lake and part of the Grand Rivers development.
The boat pictured is part of the Christmas decorations with a contest for best decorated boat. Alas, at time of this writing, the contest had only begun. This view was at sunset and struck me as typical of the view along Kentucky Lake.
My original thought was to dry camp in the parking lot at Lighthouse for the view and only for one evening. However, true to good business sense, the desk indicated they had one site available and the cost would be $22/day. Not a bad deal and being self employed, I could only accept the site. However, the view from their parking lot was superior.
Within the development, the walk to the lake along the paved trail is wonderful. You have a full view of Kentucky Dam, locks and wonderful sunets and sunrise. No wonder the sailors prefer this marina. Within walking distance is the downtown area of Grand Rivers, KY. The Patties 1800 development is the center piece of the town. Patties restaurant offers exceptional dining in a very small town. Bring you own wine for none is served, however, they will provide glasses. Not kidding here, your own wine, corkscrew, plain brown bag and keep is under the table after opening. Welcome to a "dry" county in Kentucky. We only make 90 % of the world's bourbon but cannot drink wine served at dinner. Go figure.
You will be located within 1/2 mile of the entrance to Land Between the Lakes (LBL) a wonderful, one million acre preserve. Do not miss the hiking trails, bike trails and just the scenic drives. If the rangers would permit, the pull off site along the scenic overlook to Kentucky Lake would be a great dry camp site. Did not try this but may in the future. I might give them a little challenge.
Happy Trails!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Montgomery Bell State Park
Just returned from a 2 day, impromptu trip to a beautiful little park in central Tennessee. Montgomery Bell State Park needs to be on your short list. The odd part of this blog is that we did not travel in our beloved Admiral (motorhome) but dared to venture out in a vehicle. You know a car!
The Admiral is in for minor repairs and alas we made the trip without the motorhome. However, part of the trip was to discover a new park and campground. We are forced to search south for camping in the winter months due to the Commonwealth of Kentucky closing almost all state parks for winter months. How stupid. Every hear of global warming? Fortunately Tennessee needs the money and keep most parks open year round.
Please venture to central Tennessee to this park. Named after Montgomery Bell, an entrepreneur in the ore or iron business in early 1800's, the park is located approximately 40 minutes drive due south of Clarksville, TN. Roads are good and the park is also located about 45 minutes west of Nashville. This makes for a busy park during spring through fall, but wonderfully slow in winter.
The Campground offers full hook up on many sites with various discounts. None of which we qualify for. I remain too young for most of these. Located along a wide creek fed by a nearby lake, the campground is near hiking trails and offers access to all parts of the park.
Now for those who need accommodations, the lodge is quite good with lake views from all rooms and the park includes several new cabins along the lake. Do not feed the geese. This may result in expulsion from the lodge to the nearest tavern for drinks for all. Also, please ask for "Darlin" at the front desk. She is quite friendly and usually does not beg for a biscuit. A word of warning here. BRING UNMARKED PAPER OR PLASTIC CUPS FOR YOU ADULT BEVERAGE, WINE ETC. IN FRONT OF THE LOBBY FIREPLACE. This lodge is DRY! I have always wondered when Tennessee and KY. will wake up to the fact that people drink, smoke and spit. While they tolerate smokers outside the facility, you can spit most places except in the floor, they will not permit adults to sip adult beverages of their own without hiding same in paper cups. Just remember, the slight of hand does work and just sit by the fire and enjoy!
Now that I have vented! Let us continue.
Please take the opportunity to visit the 1810 Presbyterian Church and minister's cabin. This is a glimpse of the early 1800's and well preserved. Two trail heads start here and surround the campground. We just entered the church and a young man was playing guitar and prayer was easy and soothing.
We will return to Montgomery Bell State Park in December for a 3 night stay. They do not accept reservations, but is you will call on the way, they will save you a site. Ask for the camp host and be prepared for a long conversation. They are great hosts and spend most of the year in the park. Do not forget "Darlin" at the front desk of the lodge.
Happy Trails!
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