My intellectual mentors were two of the most unlikely characters you can imagine. They were both immigrants to Peace River Country from Europe. They were both well read and primarily self-taught learned men, who knew the classics; were prepared to argue politics, religion, or literature with any man walking the earth at that time.
Todd or Tadeusz Podbereski, a huge Pole who stood six foot six and weighed well over 300 pounds, was a devout Catholic who brooded over Homer’s Illiad could recite several of Shakespeare’s plays and most of the bible from memory. He could never resist the opportunity to assume the role of Falstaff, Shakespeare’s irreverent, glutton, bawdy, profane, drunken, mooching, liar monk: he would abandon his thick Polish accent and employ the overly theatrical method of a Shakespearian actor, while quoting passages that pertained to the daily discourse found in grocery stores, hardware stores, and barn yards. Even the most stoic and unromantic watched in silent awe as Todd applied his thespian skills to illustrate an obscure point of conversation.
His protagonist was a former steeple chase jockey from Ireland, Paul Larkin: who had become embittered with the Catholic Church and considered himself a Protestant. He read Melville’s Moby Dick every year at Christmas: a novel he argued, that explains all of man’s weaknesses and his desires. He considered Twain and Hemingway great authors who summed up man’s feeble yet noble existence with Huckleberry Finn and For Whom The Bell Tolls. He recited the poetry of Robert Service and often told the stories of Jack London to family groups around the wood stove on cold winter evenings. In those days, a good story teller held an audience like today’s kids watching Star Wars.
Neither man was married and they were both horsemen. Todd drove a vegetable and supply wagon through the back country. If you didn’t have money, Todd would trade for different goods and he had a keen eye for a profit. Nearly everyone conducted business with him, for the entertainment was worth the extra price that you paid. If you needed nails or a special tool, the moccasin telegraph usually made it through to Todd and the item would mysteriously be on the wagon the next time he came through.
Paul was a horse trader and specialized in taking spirited horses that had been spoiled and turning them into good using horses. He made an excellent living and had the best eye for a horse in the whole Peace River Country.
Paul was also known for having the most picturesque and inspiring outhouse on the Peace River. Paul’s homestead was on hill, a couple hundred feet above the river. The outhouse was in the shade of a few Poplars and was a three sided building that faced the river, built of rough cut lumber over a trench made with a backhoe it was about twelve feet long and four feet wide. It was an unusual shape for an out house, but the view made it a topic of conversation and nearly everyone who came to visit made an effort to use the famous out house with the spectacular view. Paul kept the outhouse neat and tidy, the structure included a supply of well worn classics for reading on a small bookshelf along the West wall. A Lodge Pole pine rail served as the seat, it was the only seat I had ever seen constructed out of a single rail, at least in a permanent outhouse, the was six inches at one end and four and a half at the other end. Lodge pole has a fine scale bark that had worn smooth with use over the years. There was also a bucket of ash with a small scoop: it was sprinkled lightly over every latest deposit, and for some reason, a chemical reaction reduced the odiferous fumes that normally arise from these humble buildings of necessity.
These two men of literature would get together at least once a month at Paul’s place when Todd came by with his team and freighting wagon. I started attending these literary meetings when I was 13: my father had decided it was time for me to be exposed to men of letters. Paul and I both wore moccasins with rubber overshoes. This was standard footwear for horsemen who rode in our area. It was always easier to slip off the overshoes and walk through the house in moccasins than to wear boots and strip them off to walk around in your stretched out socks. Paul always made a fuss over Todd’s size 13 gumboots, he called them Ukrainian Marxist Cowboy Boots. Of course Todd would emphasize that his name was that of an aristocratic Pole and not Ukrainian. Of course, the boundaries of the Ukraine had been a political football for centuries and this was merely an opening gambit of a battle of wits that found me in awe at these two intellectual giants.
My muddled concepts of punctuation developed from these conversations and one of the most memorable discussions were of Jesus and some of his final words on the cross: “Verily, I say unto thee, This day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.” This is the Protestant version, it denies the concept of Perdition and whisks the crucified thief straight to Glory with Jesus.
The Catholic Church opted for a different punctuation that indirectly alluded to Purgatory: “Verily, I say unto thee this day, Thou shalt be with me in Paradise.”
It is true, the difference is slight: however, wars have been fought over such doctrinal differences, wars that included the slaughter of innocents. If a reader is objective and takes into consideration the fact that the Ancient Hebrew Language, the Aramaic Language, and Early Greek Language (the most likely languages that Jesus spoke) all lacked punctuation; it might not have been advantageous to wage war over such insignificant facts that have no basis, except for opinion.
Actually, not until the 15th Century and the advent of printing, did Aldus Manutius the Elder (1450- 1515) and his grandson Aldus Manutius the Younger come up with the unique idea of the modern comma, the full stop or period, italics, and the semi colon. Aldus the Younger declared in 1566 that the function of punctuation was to define syntax.
Thus the stage was set for Shakespeare a couple of decades later. Todd did a recitation from memory with appropriate gestures while striking poses in front of the wood stove, from the first act of Macbeth that has a wounded soldier recounting the details of the battle to Duncan who listens with empathy and concern for the man and his pain. Upon hearing the man’s account Todd now playing Duncan with enthusiasm calls out, “Go get him, surgeons!” Paul and I would nearly fall out of our chairs with laughter. He then would do the scene correctly with the correct syntax, “Go, get him surgeons!”
Thus Shakespeare was able to write his work with accurate syntax or expression. Shakespeare is said to have invented close to 10,000 words, maintained a vocabulary of 40,000 words; yet the average college graduate only has a vocabulary of 5,000 words: Shakespeare did not need to invent punctuation, thanks to Aldus the Younger .
Now, most of the arguments were in good spirits; but Todd was a committed Communist and Paul hated Communists. I had no doubts as to the extent of Todd’s Leftist leanings because of seeing several copies of The Daily Worker beneath the seat of his wagon.
During one of our sessions, Todd excused himself to visit his immediate family at the outhouse: in hushed tones, Paul told me that Todd was a Marxist; and that he had left a copy of The Communist Manifesto in the outhouse to pollute the minds of everyone who stopped in. He looked me in the eye and alluded to the fact that it made excellent fuel for the woodstove.
I was a teenager, the prospect of a Communist in a Socialist Province like British Columbia wasn’t a great shock; although, to my knowledge I had never met a devout Communist or at least someone who professed to being a Communist. Now Todd didn’t admit to being a Communist, but he didn’t deny it either. This fact wore on Paul, he disapproved of Todd’s willingness to extract a sharp profit while being a dedicated Marxist, he felt it was taking advantage of entrepreneurial spirit and free enterprise. A fact Paul explained, that was inconsistent with Marxist values.
All of this was confusing to a lad trying to learn literature and the fundamentals of religion and politics. Yet there were certain issues that were obvious, even in The Peace River Valley: Most Socialists were either extremely wealthy or they were such committed Marxists that nothing else in life could hold their attention. These two groups operated in tandem as allies to accomplish their agendas. I thought it ironic how the idle rich seemed to resent the fact that a previous relative had made a fortune by using the free market to provide a service or goods and these latest children or grandchildren were more than willing to correct any perceived wrongs their relatives had committed accumulating their wealth: although, they drew the line at contributing their wealth to the betterment of society, their main goal was to prevent others from amassing great quantities of wealth. Yet in a way, this was strictly a selfish maneuver, since they considered themselves to be old money and heavily invested in the social structure of wealth: new money people lack the social graces and Marxist leanings; therefore, they were hardly equipped to contend with the responsibilities of wealth.
In time I could see the enmity building between Paul and Todd, over the single issue of politics. Paul confided to me that Todd was using his outhouse in an unorthodox manner: apparently, he was standing on the Lodge Pole rail, in his Ukrainian Marxist Cowboy Boots, and leaving large deposits of mud on the rail, he explained that family type people were complaining about the unsightly appearance of mud on the rail. He asked me my opinion of the situation. I told him I thought it was a rude type of behavior and that perhaps he didn’t know that you were supposed to sit on the rail, not stand on it. Paul looked at me as if I were simple minded and in his thick Irish accent told me that he had explained the proper outhouse etiquette several times to Todd; but he considered his fat ass too good to sit where normal people sit, because of being a Communist; he’d rather stand where normal people sit and enjoy the scenery in his size 13 Communist Gum Boots. I’m not exactly sure if Todd said this in specific detail and I wasn’t going to ask Paul to verify these sentiments, because tensions were heating up.
This seemed like a subject that was too deep for a teenager, so I let the pot boil rather than say more to either one of my elders.
On the next occasion of our intellectual discussion, I arrived as Todd was sauntering over to the Peace River Outhouse; Paul was agitated and nervous. He held my jacket with both hands. “Skookum, there is going to be trouble.”
I looked at him as if to ask what the Hell was going on, when we heard a loud crack like a 30-06 rifle going off followed by a loud scream. At first I thought Paul had arranged a gun trap in the outhouse to shoot poor Todd when he stood on the rail.
Paul looked at me and said with a somber expression, “You had better go help Todd, laddie; I think he will be needing help.” He turned and walked slowly into the house: I ran over to see what had happened to Todd, fearing the worst.
At first I didn’t see him, but after walking closer I saw that the rail and Todd were in the eight foot deep trench and Todd was standing there with the muck about halfway up his thighs. He was using curse words I’d never heard of, in several different foreign languages; at first I thought the rail had broken; but Todd explained that the rail had been sawed halfway through.
I tried to help him out by hand but the suction of the ooze combined with Todd’s weight was too much; I told him to stay put and I would get a ladder. He replied, “And where the Hell do you think I might be wandering off to?”
I brought the ladder over from the barn and stuck it down into the trench and Paul walked up to the trench, with an old shot gun, and said, “I’ve had enough of you Pollock Communists standing on my out house rail in your muddy Ukrainian Marxist Cowboy Boots, when you come up out of there, hitch up your team and drive away and don’t ever think of coming back to use my outhouse.”
Todd was more concerned with extricating himself from Paul’s outhouse than he was concerned with repeating the incident. With a mighty pull, Todd brought one leg out of the mire and unto a rung of the ladder and then brought the other leg up to the same level. Soon it was obvious that his Marxist Cowboy Boots were at the bottom, for Todd’s once white socks were without his muddy Marxist Cowboy Boots.
Todd climbed out of the out house hole with as much dignity as he could muster, with a dramatic flourish, he stepped on the toe of one soiled and outstretched sock and pulled it off and then repeated the process with the other sock. With disdain he used his foot to brush them into the trench. He stood to his full height and walked barefoot with pomp and circumstance to his wagon, he then drove his team away from Paul’s for the last time.
Unfortunately, this sad episode ended my formal study of classical literature.
It was a tragic event, one that I think is playing out once again on the American Political Stage. Barrack Obama has hidden his Marxist history quite well; however, his muddy Marxist Cowboy boots are leaving their mud and filth in a bizarre manner in places that have never been exposed to the Marxist Creed. Despite the fact that Obama is a bit of a light weight, he is standing on the rail of public scrutiny in his Marxist Cowboy boots with his arse exposed to the world. The rail is about to break, the only reason it hasn’t is his lack of substance and his lighter than air persona: the baggage is accumulating and the time is near, soon the crack will be heard and Obama will be standing knee deep in the filth.
Obama’s oily charm is similar in essence to that of Shakespeare’s Richard III: he may have had a hump for a back, a ‘withered stub’ for an arm, ‘a foul lump of deformity for a body’, a misshapen male member, and one testicle; but Shakespeare’s Machiavellian scoundrel has such an undeniable charm that an audience can’t help but come under his fascinating spell; even thought they know him to be a murderer and an unscrupulous rogue; who will stop at nothing as he leaves a bloody trail of intrigue on the way to the throne.
Here in the opening lines of Richard III, an evil Richard or perhaps Obama draws us into a guilt by association complicity as reveals his evil plans and evokes feelings of sympathy from the audience by laying out everything that is repulsive about his nature. Thus Richard like Obama addresses the audience directly and recites one of the most famous of Shakespeare’s soliloquies.
Richard: But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks…
I that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph,
I that am curtailed of this fair proportion…
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world scarce made up-
And that so lamely and unfashionable
Of course, Obama used race and his pathetic childhood as his physical deformity; and thus employed these characteristics to gather sympathy from his audience. He then used his charm to tell the American people how he was going to lead them into a Socialist Perdition and that they could be complicit in the demise of the United States as we know it and they followed this modern day Richard III willingly through the doors of Hell.
Now that Americans have glimpsed into this Marxist Hell of Obama’s, that he is so anxious to create: are they willing to watch him fall by sawing the rail even more or are they content to watch him soil the rail of freedom with his muddy Marxist Cowboy Boots.
The year 2010 will give us the opportunity to leave the Marxist on the rail with his trousers around his knees. If we hold the course, Obama like Todd will fall into the trench of obscurity in 2012. I like the American people was swayed by the charm and sweet speeches of a Marxist: but in the end, a Marxist only wants your freedom and your money, despite his charming manner and winning ways.
A professional horseman for over 50 years, Skook continues to work with horses. Skook has finished an historical novel, Fifty Thousand Years, that traces a mitochondrial line of DNA from 50,000 years ago to the present. The story follows a line of courageous women, from the Ice Ages to the present, as they meet the challenges of survival with grit and creativity. These are not women who whimper of being victims, they meet the challenges of survival as women who use their abilities without excuses or remorse, these women are winners, they are our ancestors.
Fifty Thousand Years is available in paperback and e-book, it is getting great reviews. You can purchase a copy here; Visit me on Facebook.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Dylantheauthor
Never once did this marxist snake sway me. I pray that he fails.
Kansas Girl, spoken like a true patriot of the heartland. Before I knew of teleprompters and the lack of details concerning his personal history; I thought he might be an intelligent man like Todd, instead of a complete fraud. Todd was a very intelligent Communist: Obama is a manufactured persona a complete and utter nitwit.
Skookum, if he had been as intelligent as his minions portrayed, they would still be showing us his college credentials. The man is a shadow, a very evil and dangerous shadow. I pray daily for his failure.
Kansas Girl He has already failed because you know him for what he is.
I want to know who he is fronting for. Who set him up? Who or what is behind him?
Skookum Great allegory.
Red 73, look east my friend.
Yes Red 73, I think this situation has been under construction for years. He is definitely a front man or puppet for someone else; all that untraceable (probably Saudi)i money came into his coffers for a reason.
He was played as the White Man’s Burden by the Progressive Socialists and the bleeding heart do-gooders fell for it hook line and sinker. Now we have perverts and admitted Marxists who are in Cabinet-like positions. I hope the country can withstand three more years of the Marxist Fraud.
Thanks for the kind words, by the way.
Skookum, do you think we can withstand three more years? Just sayin.
@ Skookum,
Compelling writing – enjoyable read. Well done.
And as for the President, the signs were there right from the early stages of the election campaign that he was not what he seemed to so many.
Unfortunately Obama has shown the gap in his understanding of critical elements at the core of what drives America.
http://pacificgatepost.com/2009/03/obama-third-tell.html
He is a front, but it’s almost as if he doesn’t even see THAT, . . . very strange.
Kansas Girl, if we don’t carry the day in 2010, I would get a passport if I were you: this once great country will be nothing more that a backwater of failed European Socialism. We need to not only sweep the elections to make this Marxist in the White House an impotent lame duck; but we need to rebuild our education system, without a reformation of public education and a purge of our university system, we will only be allowing for this tragedy to repeat itself in twenty years. On January 1, 2010 we all need to concentrate on the midterm elections. Rebuilding our country will be the next step. All is not lost, but we need commitment from all patriotic Americans. I have worked all over the word, this is the best place in the world and without us the rest of the world will be a lot worse off. Canada and Ireland are nice, but they wont last but a period of months without a strong United States! Obama and his Marxist thugs want us weak so that the International Marxist thugs can have complete control. Do we want to give it to them? Not me, I will never yield to the Communist yoke and the chains of Socialism, I’ll die on my feet thank you! And I don’t die easy!
Thanks James, I need to attend to business. I will check out the link later on!
I’ve got a passport and am more than willing to live on a kibbutz. I’ll say Shalom to the good old USA and it’s pseudo- president Obamamodo
Skookum,
Wow! I really enjoyed this one. It occurred to me that I’ve never stopped to express my delight and appreciation for your offerings over the past few months. Let me correct that here and now: thanks for all the posts you’ve written here. They’re like a breath of fresh air – well, maybe THIS particular story lacks fresh air at a certain key point!
I had to dig a trench for a foundation for my uncle in Maine once. It turned out that the trench was on the line of a multi-seat outhouse from the turn of the 20th century! Your story brought back wonderful memories of that event. We as a nation have unexpectedly dug up, under the new soil of “Hope and Change”, the very old rotten excretions of discredited Marxism and socialism.
Friend you know your s…s…your STUFF!
mlajoie2
Davey, I haven’t been to Israel; but I respect their attitude and the fact that they consider every citizen a front line soldier in their on going war against terrorism. They realize many of the people of the world want to kill them.
We are at war with many of those same people; yet we are led by people who seem to think that we can make concessions and capitulate to our enemies and these homicidal maniacs will love us. Although I doubt that Fearless Reader exists under any such delusions: he and our Democrat government are driven to impoverish us and weaken our moral integrity in a dubious dream of International Socialism and make us weak and supine for our enemies. How utterly nonsensical this idea is, we are like sheep herding ourselves into the abattoir.
The US is the most powerful and the richest country in the world for a variety of reasons: our government, economy, free market capitalism, people and natural resources are all foremost on the list and yet the Democrats’ goal is to neutralize all of these areas to accomplish their goal of World Socialism. It is imperative that we turn the tide on these enemies of Freedom and expose their evil or I may be in Israel with you. Only instead of kibbutzing, I think we will be on a perimeter with a rifle, my friend.
Gung Ho is a Chinese word that was adopted by the Horse Marines a long time back, it means working together to accomplish a common goal: right now our goal is to defeat our enemies to preserve Freedom and the enemy has infiltrated our perimeter!
mlajoie 2, the humble outhouse is largely forgotten by most of our population. Like your analogy they have been filled in and and ignored like the threat of Progressive Socialism. We have come to rely on our sewers to dispose of our waste, unfortunately our complacency has left us unprepared for the massive back up of filth and corruption that we are experiencing.
We must sharpen our shovels and pull on our gum boots, 2010 is a few days away and our assault on Socialism will begin. Good Luck my patriot friend!
This is the first time we have ‘met’ and I hope not the last! Thoroughly enjoy your writing style and more than that, your ideals. Who is the puppetier? George Soros of course! Obama is merely a poor ‘Pinnochio’. Poor meaning pitiful, not the opposite of wealthy.
Margery, thanks for the kind words. I hope that my ideals are similar to those of millions of others who are freedom lovers around the world. If some of them, like you, enjoy my stories; then life is a little sweeter. However there is a purpose and that is to expose the corruption of Progressive Socialism.
Please feel free to drift back into the archives, most people enjoyed Obama’s Frozen Moose Carcase.
I usually write one or two articles a week: however, I was working out of the country for the last two weeks and was out of contact. There will be a new one up in a day or three. Welcome aboard!
Yes, that Soros B@stard and his self deification have annoyed me for a long time. He did declare his G-d like qualities, now there is an arrogant b@stard to rival Fearless Reader’s narcissism.
Another great one, Skookum. One day these will all be collected and published – if not by you, then by someone who recognizes their worthiness for publication and has the means to do so – mark my words.
Regarding the “puppeteer”, I would call your attention to Ephesians 6:12, from the KJV:
“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
Soros and the rulers of Islam and of Communism worldwide only appear to be puppeteers. They can’t all be. They’re all puppets, as well, to “the rulers of darkness in this world.”
There is a malevolently grinning engineer behind the controls of the great, gleaming, speeding train that is bearing down on us. To expend effort reverse-engineering the details and minutae of the engine itself is a waste of energy. Soros, Obama, the Ayatollahs, the S.A. royals, the international communists and Marxists – these are all parts of that train engine. Some of these parts are bigger than others, some parts control the operation of others, some seem to be disconnected from the others and not related to their operation, and we can and do, with careful study, figure all this out. It’s all just details. A helpless maiden tied to the tracks NORMALLY isn’t all that concerned with what brand of spark plugs are in the engine, or the exact radius of the wheels, or how the doohickey connects to and operates the thingamajig.
Satan is, as we are being shown more and more each day (and as if we need more proof, more evidence, after the last century…and apparantly we do, on the whole, moreso now than ever…) is real, and is currently the one pulling all the strings. Unfortunately, even among conservatives, the prevailing view is that Man is penultimate, that the Devil is a little red guy that stands on the shoulders of cartoon characters and who is as real a person as Santa Claus, and that folks who recognize his existance and current reign are either high or crazy.
The crazier thought: God is the ultimate “puppetmaster” in all this – that our nation is being punished for the disobedience of His people therein, as was done to Israel (and for Israel, given that Divine punishment is, and should be, for teaching.)
The Bible is clear on a few matters regarding God and the actions of Nations. Babylon, pagan and evil as it was, was led by God to take Israel, though they knew it not. The Pharoah of Egypt, whose heart was hardened by a spirit sent from God himself – was he working for the Devil? God can and does use nations, nations that are not even his, nor whose occupants even acknowledge his sovereignty or existance, to bring about the doing of his will on earth. Historically this has usually been to punish nations which ARE his, whose occupants, formerly enamored of God’s laws, turn away and build up the high places, the Old Gods, and return to their worship over the worship of the Creator. God’s people in our nation have done this, tenfold.
Many points in this rant, but mainly, that concentrating on the minutae of detail might be a pointless endeavor at this point in time. Sometimes a train cannot be made to stop, nor derailed.
Especially if God, the Creator, the LORD, the G-d of Israel, is the one who sent that train.
Better to pray that more of God’s people turn back to him and away from their sin.
postscriptage: God sent the storm because of Jonah, who was God’s, and who had turned and tried to flee from God and his responsibilities to God. Not because of the presumably pagan crew of the boat.
Skook, I always have to take a breath and some time to disassociate myself from the politics of the day to savor your stuff. As usual, you don’t disappoint. But then, as the granddaughter of Ukrainian immigrants on the fraternal side (Hungarian on the maternal side…), I was somewhat taken aback at your symbolism of “Ukrainian” Marxist Cowboy Boots worn by the anti-hero, Todd, in this tale. Hang… the guy was a Pole to “boot”!
But then, I have a sense of humor, and certainly absorbed the moral of your Aesop… er… Skookum fable. That being: all men dangle precariously on the precipice of a chasm filled with manure out of necessity. But only those with the lack of moral balance end up in da shit. LOL
As usual, I thank you for an evening smile.
T-Man it is time to take your writing up a notch or two and wade into the deeper waters, either here or elsewhere on the web. Your commentary can obviously take several different tangents with confidence. Eventually every fledgling is kicked out of the nest to test those wings. I am waiting!…
Mata, Mata (done like Marlon, in A Streetcar Named Desire) calling gumboots by the nickname Ukrainian Cowboy Boots started in the Peace River Valley before I was born. There were several immigrant groups who chose the Peace (people are attracted to the name), but the Ukrainians stood out for dressing in just a little different manner: it might have been perceived rather than real since the area is not known for being particularly fashion conscious, unless the western look is considered as high fashion.
I loved the different immigrant groups and their cultures: although, I still boil at the thought of a former member of the Hitler Youth, who carries a National Socialist chip on his shoulder to this day. He had a natural hatred for me and I wondered whether it might be expedient to dispose of him one day. He collected weapons and made allusions to doing away with me; I didn’t kill him, but I wont say I didn’t consider the possibility. A major difference between he and I, other than philosophical, is that I wouldn’t threaten nor warn my adversary.
The truth is real cowboy boots are only worn to church or gatherings of social importance like meetings with your banker, weddings, and funerals. Cowboy boots are expensive and they don’t hold up well to the extreme cold and wet conditions that prevail for nine or ten months a year.
Your writing has exposed a Twain-type quality with complex humor and double entendres, if you could combine that with your analytical abilities, you could scare Methusula out of his bomb carrying underwear. (That’s a serious complement, by the way.)
Love your style, your story telling ability…however sometimes your grammar stinks! It is a ‘difference betweem HIM AND ME’ for God’s sake! To me this is likefingernails on a blackboard!
@Margery
A few years back I was visiting my “church”. Otherwise known as Yosemite National Park. I consider it one of the most beautiful places on earth, and by far the prettiest in California.
When I leave the valley floor, and wind my way back up and out, I always stop at a popular pull-out that lets one look out over the entire valley…stunning, to say the least.
On this particular occasion, an over-dressed and over-opinionated tourist from New York, loudly expresses her disappointment in the view, exclaiming:
“Well it’s OK, but with all the money we throw at the park-system you would think they could send somebody to cut down those dead trees! They totally f**k-up the view!”
Out of the dozens of waterfalls, rock formations, cliffs, and the millions of trees within that view, there might have been 12 hard-to-notice dead trees.
Margery, you remind me of that New Yorker.
@Skookum, fear not. I was not all that “offended” by the “Ukranian” Marxist Cowboy boots. Sure would have been happier if the guy-in-the-white-hat was shod with my heritage fashion, tho. LOL You have to know how I love your stuff. It’s like a vacation from politics, but with a twinge of policy morality subtly intertwined.
@Patvann, I run into alot of these under educated urban attitudes here in Oregon. Why is it that those who live in concrete feel they know the most about living with Mother Nature and rural country?
There is always a delicate balance after natural catastrophes when determining whether there should be replanting and and man should take defined actions to speed up the natural recovery. Like our Biscuit Fire here in Oregon a few years back, it was a subject of controversy. Certainly clearing out potential fuel for additional fires was necessary. But did they want to wait the 50-80 years for Mother Nature to again make the landscape lush?
For Yosemite, they seemed to have done it just right by allowing Mother Nature to take her own course of healing. I ran thru there during the Sturgis 50th Anniversary m’cycle rally in the Black Hills. That was just a few years after the fire. It’a actually amazing how even a burned out forest has it’s own stunning beauty with striking silhouettes… as well as all the restoration stages inbetween.
It’s like so many that come thru Oregon, whining about an area of commercial forest land that has been clear cut. The disgust on their faces generally makes me laugh, considering that all of them live in homes or have decks built with such timber. It’s a crop harvest, for heavens sake. They plant reprods, and harvest them, just as you do any crop.
They then speak of reverently building a home in the middle of the natural beauty, never once connecting with the obvious…. what materials do you use but indigenous trees for that home? I guess, to them, cutting “a few” trees is acceptable… as long as it benefits only them and no one else.
But what amazes me most is that they fail to see all the sides of beauty. When the forest is mature, you can’t really “see the forest for the trees”, so to speak. Pretty running thru the dense foliage for sure. But it is only during the clear cut early years that you see the breathtaking distant views of the coastal ranges and stunning landscape beyond the forest. ‘Tis a sin against nature not to appreciate both.
Simple fact is, when you cut trees for views then replant to reforest (or keep your forest tax deferral benefits… big here in Oregon), the evergreens get a few stories tall in under 10 years… the view is then gone. But most concrete cowpokes are not patient, and cannot stop to smell the new foliage, nor embrace the beauty of all growth stages.
Margery, I think my grammar errors are partially due to home schooling and being so disturbed by all the pretty girls, by the time I attended University, that I couldn’t concentrate when sitting in formal classrooms for the first time.
My grandmother was a librarian and lived in town, she tried to impose grammar on my humble soul, but the distances were too great and the exposure to unique forms of speaking were often too intriguing and delightful.
The native tongue with French incursions from hundreds of years past to the present was always fun to listen to: hearing a native explain that his last name, ‘Napoleon’ or ‘Bonaparte’ were authentic native names was a blast.
The different cultures from Europe provided unique syntax and expression to the area and amazed me with the intelligence of these humble immigrants seeking a new life or a fresh chance. It’s true they couldn’t have passed a grade school grammar class; but they could build structures that defied the imagination, they could create an highly efficient farm from the wilderness in a few years, and they could repair intricate machinery without a shop manual. These were energetic and intelligent people who were escaping war, poverty, and persecution; although they suffered ridicule for their speech and writing skills from insensitive people, they struggled and they excelled. These are the immigrants who encouraged me and corrupted my humble efforts at improving my grammar skills. All in all, I would never trade the experience for the best prep school education with the prettiest girls in the world. These natives and immigrants have given me a wealth of educational benefits that can’t be measured in conventional terms and they have given North America a strength and vitality that can’t be measured.
Yet I have no such recent immigrant status, my first white relatives came over on the Mayflower, an indisputable fact, since my uncle’s family has the family bible that logs everything back to that time. The earliest ancestors came much earlier, since my mother was a native beauty who passed away early in life. You would think by now, my family and me in particular could have mastered the nuances of Shakespeare’s English; however I still struggle. fart, stumble, and fall with the language.
I will make an effort to review the simple grammar rules once more, to see what sticks: I’m afraid at this stage of my life it is more like throwing manure against the barn door to see how much sticks before falling to the ground.
Actually Margery, poetry is my forte, like Beethoven who could see his music: I must struggle to keep from thinking and speaking in poetic lines. This is more of a mental condition than an asset and it can be a real problem if you let it consume your life, as Beethoven did. Poetry has an artistic license with grammar and punctuation that is enabling and corrupting at the same time. Thus grammar and syntax become instruments of entitlement rather than restrictive forces that enforce conformity. People will look into your verse and say, “oh my, look at the unusual expression and the hidden meaning” while I am thinking “good grief, I did better stuff than that when I was ten years old.” That is life and it’s a big grand party, at least until you die.
@Mata
…nor appreciate a well written post.
Mata, I wrote a message earlier, but the cyber cougar seems to have devoured it. Can you tell me what kind of Harley you ride, I have a Sportster and a Road King. When I ride the Road King on long trips and I put my left foot down for a stop at night on a rain soaked painted line or a wet leaf and it is hell and high water to hold that monster upright. I liked the extremely fast motorcycles, racing types, until a few years ago, but when I am tired the King seems almost too much for me. I never put both feet down at a stop, the pride of a horseman. I am considered to be a strong man. I have raced motorcycles over road courses and have ridden motorcycles for nearly fifty years. If you are riding a dresser, maybe I should hang it up and get a sidecar.
Thanks for the heads up, Skookum. Bailed out four of you from that wily cyber trash bin…. LOL
Road King… the proverbial (and coveted) rocking chair of road trips. Yup… you can do 600-800 miles on those and not feel beat up!
I started out with an 1100cc (one of the two years they made them…) Sportster in the late 80s. One trip to Sturgis and I realized it’s much better as a local hop. Sold that to some ambitious racers who liked the big bore potential with the jugs, and set to having a custom built. After market swing arm frame with 70s “in the bike” style design. You know, the slope from the front to the seat like the EZ rider look. Slight rake to the wide glide front end. Makuni slide carb (love that one, especially after years of a Super B) that I haven’t had a lick of trouble with. Shovel lower machined for an Evo top, Spoof five speed tranny and floor boards for comfort. Love the 19″ front wheel look, but stay with the 16″ for stability. Just mounted my first windshield on the bike about a year ago. Now I can “smile”, and lose most of the 80 mph “face flap”. LOL
Simple paint job that I designed. Metallic “OMG we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” green with black lightning strikes on the front of the twin gas tanks that blend to solid black at at the rear. The sunlight makes the rich emerald green dance. 1950’s Harley emblems emblazon the side. Sort of a compliation of my favorite parts from my favorite years. Same colors on the fenders, but with a marblized look. Would love a tall sissy bar, but only have a shorter 13″ or so one… simple lines. Just a slight arch with two rails.
Love the ride and sometimes rue not getting a rubber mount frame. Not fond of the SoftTail ride. Really love the old pans and knuckles, but refuse to have a kick start and not that good a mechanic. Having a saddle bag filled with parts just ain’t my gig, ya know. Also love springer front ends, but still enjoy the stability of the wide glides.
Weighs in lighter than a dresser. My worry was if I dropped it, I wouldn’t be able to pick up a loaded dresser by myself. Not that this one is easy. Yeah… I know… girls rarely have to pick up their own bikes. But you can’t always count on a knight on white iron horse to be around at the right time.
Ain’t two wheels grand?? But always been a street rider/trip cruiser. Don’t want to do the dirt bike thing… ground hurts too much!
Oh yeah… should mention I powder coated both my frame and oil bag. Love “low maintenance”. Almost wish I’d powder coated the entire bike! LOL
Hello Skook… again! Since I can’t spel wurf shit I should probably just keep my critiques to myself. I had grammar stuffed into my brain for years, though would have trouble diagramming a sentence today, a useless procedure at best. I am really offended by that one so simple gramatical error so often heard: the misuse of I-me, he-him etc. It is the easiest of thing to self check…would you give the ball to I? I doubt it! It especially bothers me when people in the media misuse this…of all people, you’d think proper usage would be imperative! Anyway, I like to write too, but you far outrate me! Keep on entertaining me! Marge
What is this thread about Skookum? I guess it’s about you.
Kansas Girl, a sharp point, well taken.
My articles tend to be of a rustic personal nature, mainly because I lack the analytical abilities of the other sharks who write in this tidal pool. I try to make political analogies and points concerning morality: however, unless I engage my readers, my commentary sections are dismal. We hammer the opposition fairly well and we keep the kettle boiling as a group; however, I want to contribute and this is my best medium, but I try stir the embers as much as possible.
I have tried the straight political commentary method and my results have been less then exemplary; I will keep your point in mind and bounce back with something unique and different, I promise.
Now it is off to see a few horses.
Mata, my favorite bike was a 67 Bonneville, I didn’t think they could make a better motorcyce than that one. You couldn’t stop, it sat way too high, the headlight went off on the highway at night, the points were a continuous nuisance, you had to tighten all the nuts and bolts every hundred miles, riding in the rain was sure to cause an electrical failure; but what a machine, beautiful lines and the fastest thing on rubber. Riding on gravel was suicide, but oh I loved that machine, especially when I could find a paved road.
Skookum, point well taken. I do enjoy the banter though.