A Giant Tale

 

A Giant’s Tale, the Fortune of Abbeyoyo

This is a tale of what happened in the small country of Bazoga many years ago. The Kowabasinga of Bazoga, the keeper of all things historical, left us this record of trying time in his country due to the presence of a hateful old puke of a giant named Abbeyoyo.

Abbeyoyo was shunned by all his relatives as being rude, crude and plain socially unattractive. If his family couldn’t stand him, no other giants wanted anything to do with him.

Abbeyoyo was 30 feet tall, had long greasy hair infested with all manner of varmints because he never washed or combed it. Buzzards circled his ugly head like flies. He had bad breath and green teeth because he never brushed them. His nose dripped because he never blew it. His hands and fingernails were dirty cause he never washed them…same with his huge nasty feet. So, as you see, Abbeyoyo had no regard for anything except himself…and no regard for physical hygiene.

The giant daily roamed the countryside creating chaos and mayhem as he went. Abbeyoyo stomped on farmer crops and tore down fences out of sheer meanness. He ate cows and sheep as he pleased. He kicked barns and houses over for fun.

Years of dealing with the uncontrollable giant afflicted people with a syndrome called “giant shakes.” Any mention of the name Abbeyoyo caused uncontrollable shaking, sobbing, and wailing.

Just Plain Bill lived and cared for his parents, both terribly afflicted with giant shakes. Bill cared for his Uncle Wally, a Wizard, who lived in a small house next door; an absent-minded scholar very distracted in academic pursuit. He was, however, a jovial character, telling wonderful stories, and Just Plain Bill spent many happy hours with Uncle Wally.

Uncle Wally translated ancient written languages, becoming expert in deciphering runes carved on the tombs of the long dead Wizards of Bazoga. He discovered the magical powers hidden in them.

The Order of Wizards bestowed Wally with Order of the Blue Robe for his work.   

Uncle Wally had an enterprising spirit. To fund his research, he used his knowledge of runes to create Uncle Wally’s Wonder Stick. He found that by carving runic figures on an ordinary stick that stick or wand, could alleviate the owner of a mundane task…washing dishes, doing laundry, answering only to the password of its owner.

Wally charged 10.95 + shipping, no COD’s please, for Wally’s Wonder Sticks. A handsome sum in that time.

You simply told Wally the task was desired, within reason, and received a stick. There was a warranty guaranteeing your Wally Stick’s spell would hold for one thousand years for an extra 2 bucks. Business was brisk.

Just Plain Bill asked, begged and cajoled Uncle Wally for a disappearing stick to hunt down Abbeyoyo and make the menace disappear and cure the giant shakes that afflicted so many citizens in Bazoga. Uncle Wally refused his nephew’s request, because Wally took the stance that stick it could be used to do harm if used improperly.

Uncle Wally watched helplessly as his family became unable to function because of their affliction. Wally, after long deliberation, presented his nephew Just Plain Bill with the disappearing stick.

Just Plain Bill loved to take long hikes in the hills around the village. One day, he left home in the cool dawn and hiked up the steepest hill to see what was on the other side. As the sun rose, he saw, lying in a field below, Abbeyoyo, fast asleep.

Just Plain Bill pulled out his Wally Stick, carved for the occasion, and crept as close to the sleeping giant as he dared and whispered his password, Abracadabra Shazam.

The results were instantaneous!

 A violent whirlwind sprang up, followed by a dense cloud of smelly orange smoke that rose high in the air and drifted away. Abbeyoyo had gone up in smoke!

News spread that the wretched giant had vanished. There were no reports of Abbeyoyo sighting for a week. His countrymen began to breath a giant sigh of relief.

His parents lost the Giant Shakes in a couple of weeks

 Just Plain Bill was happy, but happiness comes with unintended consequences; he had become a hero. He disliked the fuss and acolades. The Kowabazinga of Bazoga wrote in a book in the Great Library of Bazoga that a simple lad, Just Plain Bill had vanquished the evil hateful puke of a giant, Abbeyoyo, for a thousand years.

A story, or saga was composed to commemorate Just Plain Bill’s heroic deed. (to be sung in any minor key to any melody that fits the meter.)

There was a man called Just Plain Bill. Who walked one morn to the top of a hill.

 Bill looked down in the valley below and saw the sleeping giant Abbeyoyo.

 With his Wally Stick no giant Bill feared, with a mighty flash Abbeyoyo disappeared.

The people danced, feasted, and sang, Abbeyoyo was gone and never seen again.

Over centuries a Cautionary Tale survived the Abbeyoyo story. The threat of Giant Shakes and Abbeyoyo were duly administered by parents and grandparents to disobedient children. Most children rolled their eyes laughed saying, “Yeah, right. Abbeyoyo who?”

Here’s the Rest of the Story…remember the stick had a thousand-year guarantee. Hmmm!

Although Bazoga is no longer a named country, its territory made up a small portion of the present country in which lived two pre teenaged boys with dreams.

The first dreamed of playing mandolin just like Bill Monroe. His parents bought him a secondhand beginners instrument. That mandolin had trouble teaching its pupil from the beginning.

 Mando Boy couldn’t make sense of the 8 strings and 12 frets. But as a luddite, he picked, plucked, plinked, and played on his mandolin every spare moment. He was determined to pry something intelligible out of the sound hole. His parents offered lessons. Even his instructor gave up on him.

Our Mando Boy was a junk store junkie looking for old comic books. He found an old mandolin instruction book rummaging through a pile of magazines. It showed him where to put his finger on the fret with black dots. The book came with a cassette tape with some simple play-a-long tunes.

Mando boy learned three chords in the Key of G in one afternoon! His head swelled in size! Now he could play chords.

Using these simple chords he hummed a little la de da da tune. He enthusiastically took the mandolin all over town and serenaded everyone, invited or not, with three chords and La De Da, La De Da Da, La De Da Da, LA De DA Da.

Our next young man strived to be a World Class Magician. He had only mastered a now you see, it now you don’t trick with a quarter. He loved to have things disappear! His friend, Mando Boy mastered the quarter trick in 10 minutes. Bummer.

 Magic Boy tried to find a teacher but found no magician wants to share the tricks of his trade with others. Magic Boy was on his own to pursue his dream best he could. All he could practice was what he found in books. Boring.

Magic Boy went to his grandfather’s house after school each day until his parents got off work. Grandpa napped every afternoon, leaving the boy in his own custody.

Bored, he began poking around in the old stuff in the grandpa’s attic. Under a pile of ole curtains, he came on a little trunk carved with strange characters. Magic Boy examined the small trunk each day looking for a way to open it.

 

 After weeks of feeling, rubbing and looking, he found that there were two small blanks in the carvings that just fit his first and second fingers of each hand. He placed his fingers in the four blank spots, and CLICK, the top sprang open.

 Once opened, he found a threadbare, moth-eaten blue robe, a small book with funny signs written in it and a small wooden tube holding a plain ole wooden stick. What was that about, he wondered?

He slid the stick out of its tube and felt an immediate buzzing sensation; startled, he dropped it, only to have the stick bounce right back into his hand. He felt it was it was trying to tell him something. He closed the box, taking the stick home with him. He marveled at the carvings and wondered what they were. He felt the stick was talking to him. The stick had a gentle vibration like a cat purring when he held it. His world seemed better with his new stick friend.

Magic Boy and Mando Boy were classmates. Both had comic book collections and loved sharing/trading comic books. Magic boy traded Mando boy a comic book about a kid from outer space, who by saying the word SHAZAM, would turn into a superhero named Captain Marvel.

That word hit Magic boy like a thunderbolt. After school he took the stick to the park, and whispered SHAZAM. A stream of red smoke dribbled out of the end of the stick. He repeated SHAZAM, a puff of smoke. Nothing else did the stick say.

The English teacher gave a class assignment for a book report on Tales of the Arabian Nights. Magic boy found it a fun read. A magician in one of the stories shouted Abracadabra! to create a spell.

Magic boy tried it next day, ABRACADABRA, and to his surprise, yellow smoke came from the tip of the wand.

He told Mando boy the news. Mando boy immediately said, “DUH” bro, try em both at the same time, and see what happens.” 

Back in the park after school, Magic Boy whispered ABRACADABRA SHAZAM and lo and behold, best beloved, streak of orange fire came out of the stick and an old tree just up and disappeared! Everybody knows that red and yellow make orange! The secret of the stick was revealed.

Unfortunately, it was the beginning of trouble and the end of the fun for both boys. Magic Boy became a nuisance making things disappear, practicing on parking meters, park benches and once, by mistake a statue of some old man that was a landmark in the town square. Mando boy was frequently ticketed for busking without a license. The mayor and council banished the boys from town. School and home, that was it. They had done it to themselves was their consensus of the local Board of Commissioners

 Remember Plain Old Bill? Magic Boy’s grandfather was a direct descendant of Plain Old Bill and Uncle Wally. That’s where the little chest came from, passed down through generations until no one in the family could recall its history; it just was passed on to the next generation. Who knows if anyone other than Magic Boy had tried to open it.

 Uncle Wally’s warranty had held Abbeyoyo prisoner for one thousand years. The Abbeyoyo sentence would expire on this coming Sunday morning.

 

Friday, Day 363

Magic Boy’s grandfather had a fishing cabin on a lake a few miles out of town. He gave them permission to use it. On that Friday after school, the two took their bikes and headed for the cabin for the weekend. They grilled and devoured 3 hamburgers as proper for growing boys, and a quart of Mountain Dew washed down half gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream.

Saturday, Day 364

The boys fished from the dock, swam, and rode to the old mill, hoping to catch a water snake. More burgers and bed!

Sunday, Day 365

Screaming. Honking, and Holy Pandemonium, Bat Man!

 Mando Boy awoke to sirens. He ran to the porch hearing faint cries of Giant, it’s a Giant! Run for your lives. Cars were bumper to bumper leaving town.

 Mando boy headed for the porch to see the largest, smelliest Big TOE he’d ever seen. Looking up and an even uglier site… ABBEYOYO!

 “Woo Wee, now that give ugly a bad name, shore enough” thought Mando Boy.

 Mando Boy could never explain why. He ran for his Mandolin, confronted the giant and yelled “HEY! Hey, YOU WANNA HEAR MY SONG”?

Abbeyoyo stopped his roaring and stomping and looked down at the boy.

 “SONG? WHAT BE SONG”? He picked Mando boy up by his shirt collar and peered at boy with his big blood shot giant eye. “SONG. NOW” said Abbeyoyo.

In a brilliant moment Mando boy added words to his three chords. He began singing ABBEYOYO instead of LA DE DA DA as loudly as he could.

Abbeyoyo had never heard a mandolin or a song…especially one about himself. After a minute, he put Mando Boy on the ground and the ferocious giant Abbeyoyo began singing and dancing.

 Mando boy did fancy footwork to stay alive. Abbeyoyo sang and danced till he became so out of breath he lay down to catch his breath. He was soon snoring.

Magic Boy was watching from the porch. The Uncle Wally Wonder Stick buzzed and bucked and sparked so that Magic boy had to use both hands to hold it. He wasted no time! SHAZAM ABRACADABRA. Abbeyoyo was still there! Worse, ragged pants disappeared. Not a pretty sight.

“Other way around!” shouted Mando boy.

“Abracadabra SHAZAM!” shouted Magic boy. An orange streak of fire shot toward Abbeyoyo. BOOM! a tornado appeared, pulling a smelly plume of orange smoke up and away. Abbeyoyo was not more.  Just Plain Bill’s Wally Wonder Stick had done its work again!

 Mando Boy and Magic Boy were unlikely heroes. The only reward they wanted was to be able to come to town and hang at the Mall.  No more monkey business, they promised the Commissioners.

The Abbeyoyo Song, previously the La De DA DA song topped the charts and became the official town song, sung at all civic events, rodeos, hog callings, goat roping’s and ball games.

Mando boy eventually became the mandolinist of his dreams, not a Bill Monroe clone, but adequate in his own mind. After two years of college, he was asked to manage the Music, Visual Arts, and Thespian facility in town. The Commission voted to rename it “Abbeyoyo Hall, Less We Forget”.  

 Just Plain Bill’s Wally Wonder Stick went back into the little chest, which is in the possession of its master, Magic Boy. It just followed him home from Grandpa’s house one day, chest and all. They still practice making things disappear, mostly soda cans and obnoxious roadside billboards.  

As Magic Boy puts it, “Who knows, Abbeyoyo may come back, He did it once.”

Magic Boy teaches Giant Studies, Runic languages at State College. Married with twin boys, who are as mischievous as their Daddy.

An old Bazoga Proverb discovered by Magic Boy in his studies of the little book in the chest reads

“Abbeyoyo has decreed little boys and girls be in bed by 8:00 on weeknights and 9:00 on weekends”. No argument from children OR their parents in THAT town. Abbeyoyo’s one good deed!

  

The Boy, A Bear and The School Master

 “John Lee Ransom, approach the desk this instant, barked school master Collins. John got out of his desk, walked to the front of the room, and assumed the “bend over,” position at the desk. The class laughed. They knew what was coming. The School Master held up his hand. The laughter stopped.

Simply put, John was a common source of entertainment for his classmates, and a constant distraction to the class of 15 students.

They were in grades first through sixth, or wherever they walked away from their schooling. Mr. Collins was satisfied if a student passed the 6th grade competence test.

“I am assuming you put the frog in the water bucket?” spoke Mr. Collins.

“Yes Sir, “answered the boy.

“Please explain your action, IF there is such an explanation!” demanded Mr. Collins.

  “Well, the frog looked pretty thirsty,” John replied, still in his bent over position, eyes on the floor. The class laughed again.

Mr. Collins and John Lee Ransome had hooked horns from the beginning of John’s school career. This was Master Collins’ tenth year and John Lee Ransom’s fourth. The whole community knew their adversarial relationship.

“Young man,” began Master Collins, “you have pulled your last bit of monkey business in this school term. You are suspended from school for the rest of the term. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!” The Master barked.

“Yes, SIR”! answered John. He was out the door and gone.

John Lee Ransom felt relief. He took his usual creek trail home. Most kids, including his siblings, took the dirt road.

In his young mind the three R’s Master Collins seemed so intent on teaching were unnecessary to John Lee Ransom’s young life.

John studied nature. He had learned the ways of the animals in the fields and woods. The knew from experimentation a hellgrammite would give you a bite worse that a crawdad’s pinch. To his Ma’s dismay, John kept Praying Mantis egg cases in his room, and thousands of small mantises hatched. It took forever to rid the house of them. He knew bird calls, rabbit trails. He had raised a young coon until his parents made him release it.

He arrived home. The house was a typical with two story farmhouse on 60 acres in the Blue Ridge. Pa’s father had built it. He took a long breath and walked inside.

“What are you doing home,” his Ma questioned.

So, “You put a frog in the drinking water bucket,” John Ransom, WHAT in the devil possessed you to do such a thing?”

“Ma, the frog looked thirsty, and ole Mr. Fancy Pants Collins said not to never come back to school again, and I ain’t never going back.”

“Don’t get smart with me, young man, and we’ll see what your Pa has to say about that,” she answered, tight lipped.

Pa had plenty to say, and was about to give John Lee a good whipping, when Ma intervened. “Let the boy be, we’ll figure this out. You need help this fall, put him to work on the farm, and let’s give it some time.”  That was fine with John Lee Ransom. Trading a small room with four walls for a big world with four seasons was a win!

John took his work on the farm seriously. He pulled corn fodder for the milk cow until his hands bled. He split stove wood for Ma’s cookstove, and winter wood for the fireplaces after he and Pa cut the trees with the crosscut saw.

 His farm chores included carrying water up from the spring to the house. He helped his Ma with the clothes washing, filling the black wash pots with water and keeping the fire under the wash and rinse pots going. There was hay to put up, stock to feed and a cow to milk twice a day. John dug and stored potatoes and went to the neighborhood hog butchering. Despite the hard persistent of work on the farm from “can see to can’t see,” it was the better option than Mr. Collin’s education in John’s mind. He was happy with Mr. Collin’s decision, and began to wonder how his Pa had managed to do all this work by himself.

Going to the grist mill was a pleasant day off. John had shelled corn with an ancient hand cranked corn sheller and filled sacks from the bins of black buckwheat grain that Pa traded for. The grain was ground into flour at the grist mill. Cornbread and buckwheat cakes were mountain folk staples.

His older brother and sister had their chores, but John Lee accepted the brunt of the everyday tasks.

November came bringing the cold west wind and shorter days.

The Oak tree acorn mast drew all kinds of critter to gather and store nuts for the cold mountain winter. John found time to sneak to the woods and sit by the creek to watch the critters get ready for winter. Change of seasonal habits in the animal world was fascinating. How did they know what to do? John began to realize that all living things were bound to seasonal cycles.

 It dawned on John Lee Ransome that he was no different than the squirrels storing nuts for winter. All life was a journey through seasons, even his own. Something in him changed that day. He was on a journey! He had decisions to make. Ma and Pa couldn’t make them for him. He had learned much in his 3 months of work on the farm.

 Harvesting Chestnuts was an age-old mountain tradition. The nuts of the American Chestnuts in a prickly mass of husks that the cool fall weather would dry, and the prickly balls would fall from the branches releasing the large brown sweet chestnuts.

The ground under the massive trees was littered with these husks and their fruit. The sharp spines were impossible to escape and contained something chemical which caused painful red festers on tender fingers, gloved or not.

One evening, light fading fast and his hands aching from the spiney husks, he hurried his haul of nuts down a mountain trail blurred with leaves, picking his was around roots and rocks, eyes on the ground. He heard something coming toward him. He looked up to see a black bear with two cubs following! The bear slowed, rose up sniffing the air. She grunted, turned, and ambled back the way she came, the cubs galloping behind. John was stunned. Never had he seen a bear on the mountain. He waited until he could no longer hear the bears as they shuffled away and made his way home. He said nothing about the encounter, knowing his Ma might forbid his ramblings.

 School Master Collins was a bachelor and lived in a small house some three miles from the school halfway up a holler road. No one lived above or below on the steep, rutted half-mile road. Master Collins liked it that way.

A couple of days before the school break, Mr. Collins began to sniffle. He thought nothing of it, but a sore throat the next day gave evidence he was catching something, suspecting it was the illness half his students had contracted.

It was well known that School Master Collins had family in Roanoke and went home a few days after the Christmas break started. He stabled his mare and buggy and the livery in town as there was no one to care for her up the holler.

 School out, Mr. Collins went home, built a good fire in the coal stove, and began packing and putting the house in order. He fed the coal stove and read in his chair awhile before going to bed. Later that evening he awoke with chills and decided it best to delay his trip to see how this played out.

The first big snow came blowing in the the next afternoon late. John was up with the first light and made his rounds to feed the stock. Snow was two rails high on the sheep lot fence.

 His Ma gave John permission to go sledding with the neighbor kids on the Big Hill on the Justice farm just past Mr. Collin’s road. His siblings were still not well, and Ma said they must stay inside. They complained bitterly.

 John and the neighbor kids had an exhausting day of fun. The sun’s red glow on the new snow said it was time to head home. Sleigh and wagon tracks had packed the snow on the road, making it a bit easier to walk. John Lee was last in line, tired and cold to the bone.

 As he came to Mr. Collin’s road, he saw bear tracks going up the hollow. He stopped, examining them. Sure enough, big tracks and 2 sets of smaller tracks heading right up the middle of the road. He smiled and continued walking, stopped, he turned and walked back to the holler road. There, going up the holler were bear tracks, but absent were buggy tracks coming out of the mountain holler road.

“That’s odd,” John Lee thought “ole fancy pants usually take his buggy to town to catch the train morning after school closes.”

John ate supper, and went to bed, exhausted. He kept waking up with a premonition something was wrong up the holler. Bear tracks going up, no buggy track coming out. Finally, he slipped out of bed, no longer able to sleep. He quietly dressed, quietly slipped down the stairs, fetched a couple of biscuits and a piece of ham from the warmer oven on the wood cook stove, and quietly let himself out the back door.

The half-moon was low on the horizon when John made it to Mr. Collin’s holler road. The cold on the new snow made the surface crisp. Luckily, John was light enough not to fall through the crust, which would have made the uphill trek much harder. The bears’ tracks were clearly visible, but no buggy tracks at all.

 The boy was breathing heavily when he reached the small barn below the house. The horse was in the stall with no hay and only half barrel of water. She nickered softly as John entered the barn. He quickly threw hay at the manger and went to the house. No one had been to the barn in a day!

The door to the house was bolted, and windows pinned shut. John saw there was a small scuttle window above the porch. He found a ladder in the shed behind the barn and got to the roof. It took some work to negotiate the snow-covered roof. A bit of jiggling and the window fell on to the ceiling floor breaking a pane. John heard no noise from below. The house was as cold as the outdoor temperature; well below freezing. John removed the small access door in the ceiling, calling Mr. Collins name a couple times before dropping heavily to the floor. He walked to the bedroom and caught his breath.

 Mr. Collins looked pale as death. John called his name again, “Mr. Collins, can you hear me, it’s John Lee Ransome.” There was a slight moan. He went to Mr. Collin’s bed and felt the man’s hands. They were cold as ice.

John rushed to the coal stove and shook the grate. There were still live clinkers enough to start a fire with the help of a couple pieces of pine lighter wood. Next, John scooped up a large pot of snow from the porch and put it on the stove.

Going back to Mr. Collins, John began rubbing his hands and arms and talking to him. He had watched his Pa do this with newborn calves and lambs born in the cold mid-winter. “Wake up Mr. Collins. wake up!” After a few minutes, Mr. Collins coughed softly. John beathed a sigh of relief. At least he was alive.

The small house warmed quickly, and John found towels, and hung them near the stove to warm and placed them on Mr. Collin’s chest, neck, and head and arms. Mr. Collins opened his eyes briefly and coughed. “It’s me,” he stated, “John Ransom!”

The sun was just over the trees and John knew Ma and Pa would be frantic when they found him missing. John’s mind raced. Mr. Collins was much too weak to move under his own power and too heavy for John to carry. He decided it was best he walk back home to get help. He knew it would take at least an hour to make the trip.

First things first. Stabilize Mr. Collins. He wet a cloth in warm water from the stove and swabbed his face. The warm moisture brought on a coughing fit. Mr. Collins eyes opened briefly. The sick man was becoming more responsive to John’s efforts to revive him.

John found coffee and made it on the small kerosene kitchen stove. John stirred honey in the black coffee and carefully spooned the liquid into Mr. Collins’ mouth. He coughed, opened his eyes, and smiled slightly. Half an hour later Mr. Collins sat up weakly in bed with John’s help.

The house was warm, and John remembered the biscuits in his coat pocket. He placed them and the piece of ham in a small pan on the coal stove to warm. John drug Mr. Collins chair to the bed, and with effort got him in it, pulling it closer to the stove. The effort produced a coughing fit and a nasty yellow green sputum.

Mr. Collins was in a bad way.

John explained to Mr. Collins what he must do. Mr. Collins nodded and, in a whisper, said, “Take the horse, she’s broke to ride.”

John went to the barn, bridled the horse, and led her out into the brilliant sunlight. She was a tall horse, and it took several tries to get on her back. He headed for his house, thought again, and headed to Dr. Bentley’s house a mile further down the road

 He reached the main road and tried to put the mare in a trot, but the frozen solid road was slippery and rough. Ten minutes later he met Leonard Smith and his wife in their buggy. He stopped them, explained Mr. Collins’ situation, and asked if they would see after Mr. Collins. They obliged, and John went on to town to find Dr. Bentley.

John hitched up the Doctor’s buggy as the Doctor stocked his bag saying to John, “sounds like pneumonia to me.” They arrived to find Mr. Collins awake, coughing but not as spasmodically. Mrs. Smith doctored Mr. Collins with what she could to make him comfortable, and Leonard had tended to the gathering in coal and cleaning the stall and filling the water barrel from the creek.

Doc Bentley examined Mr. Collins and announced he did, indeed, have pneumonia and would not have survived the day were it not for John and the Smith’s intervention.

Dr. Bentley asked how John came to be there, as everyone in town knew he had been suspended for the semester. John told of his observation and premonition. Dr. chuckled, “Well, I never heard a story quite like that, and you just saved you School Master’s life, I think.”  

The Doctor headed back to town saying he would stop by his Ma and Pa’s and tell them he was safe and was staying with Mr. Collins. The Smith’s went on their way.

John administered the medicine Doc left per instructions, and fed Mr. Collins the soup Mrs. Smith had put together. Color was returning, but his coughing was deep, but not persistent as it had been earlier.

John sat in a chair next to Mr. Collins and dozed off by the stove. He woke with a start with the late afternoon sun coming in the window on his face. He got up and quietly stepped out on the porch into the chilly air. It felt good. The house was stuffy warm.

He leaned on the rail of the porch thinking about the day’s events. Hearing something, John looked to see the big bear ambling slowly up the holler road with two cubs cavorting in the snow behind her. John crouched watching as she passed behind the horse barn. Neither she nor the mare paid any attention to each other. The bear took her time, slowly waddling up the hill. John knew there must be a den cave further up the mountain. Life was, indeed, an adventure.

It was dark when he heard the wagon coming up the holler, lantern swinging from the brake arm. Ma and Pa would be here moments later. Sun sets fast up the hollers. He checked on Mr. Collins and stepped out on the porch as the wagon pulled up.

Ma, in her usual manner, said “You little rascal, you scared us to death.” Pa just shook his head, smiling, “glad your safe, son, we were worried, but I knew you were up to something,” pausing, he continued, “Good job son,” and went out to deal with the horses.

 Dr. Bentley returned and administered to Mr. Collins. The Dr. and Ma made the decision Mr. Collins should come to recover at Ransoms’ house when School Master Collings was able to travel.

Ma stayed the night with Mr. Collins, and Pa took John home for some much-needed rest. Doc brought them home the next day, feeling Mr. Collin’s was able to travel three miles to the Ransoms.’

Ma’s cooking would make a yard stick fat. Her nursing skills were natural, and Dr. Bentley’s medicines were effective. Although weak, Mr. Collins was up and moving a few days before Christmas. Mr. Ransom telegraphed Mr. Collins’ relatives of the situation and said that he was recovering from pneumonia thanks to John.

On Christmas Eve the Ransom family went to the small Presbyterian Church for the “singing.” John elected to stay with Mr. Collins. It was the first time they had been together without interruption since the late great unpleasantness.

Sitting by the fire, Mr. Collins went straight to the point.

“John, what really made you come to my house that night”? John told him he just put two and two together. He knew Mr. Collins needed help, as he always went to Roanoke on holidays. That evening, coming home from sledding, John noticed bear tracks going up the holler but no buggy tracks coming out of the holler. That told John Mr. Collins had not gone to Roanoke. He finished with “I knew something wasn’t right and came looking.”

They sat quietly watching the fire as it crackled and sparked.

John, I know we have had disagreements. You were like no other student I’ve experienced. You are a conundrum; intelligent, clever, curious, observant, and exasperating disruptive. I found it impossible to challenge your intellect as your head was somewhere else. Your antics were clever and disruptive.

I was very frustrated to watch you waste your time, that of your classmates and my efforts to teach. I did not know what to do with you. I let you go, however; I knew something in you would click one day and you wouldn’t be prepared for it. Native intelligence and education go hand in hand. You have a God given sense of curiosity far superior to any pupil in my teaching career of 20 years. Formal education is another tool, John, why not embrace it, it’s not that painful. It can be an adventure!

“I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. I’m offering you the gift of knowledge for Christmas. School starts back in a week or two, and I hope to be there, and hope you will be there, also

Thanks to you and your family’s kindness, I’m alive. I survived what could have been my final life’s adventure. Not all adventures are pleasant, but that’s life.

 John did not commit that Christmas Eve, but he knew Mr. “fancy pants, School Master” was right. Life is indeed an adventure. It’s not every day one sees a bear or saves someone’s life. A big Mama bear and a School Master changed John Lee Ransom’s life adventure.

Well, not really. John “done it to his self.”

He slept better that night than he had for months.

 

 

 

 

That's That and That's Where It's At...

 As John Dickerson so aptly put it after the election: "Buckle up"! 

I rooting for us We The People. We have just punted and we'll see if the defense can hold.

I'll paraphrase something Wendell Berry wrote in his "Doing's and Sayings" collection of homespun idioms. 

"He a nice man"

"Lie's a bit, I reckon"

How you know that"

"Ain't that much Truth..."

Enemy Within? That's BS, and "everyone knows this"?

 Tractor Thinking...again

I did not vote for someone who:

Has been tried and convicted 34 felony counts by a jury of his peers.

Been accused and found guilty of assaulting at least 2 women without consent and disrespects a woman's right to do with her body as she sees necessary.

Accused of taking secret and top secret documents from the federal government claiming they belong to him...and defying authorities saying they are his, and his alone...and evidence that they were shared by people with no security clearance.

Made phone calls imploring Ga. Sec. of State to find enough votes for him to win.

Accused, and indited of inciting a riotous crowd to descend on the Capitol of the United State of America to stop his own Vice President from certifying the official vote tally of each State of the Union, as required by law, in order to keep himself in office as President of the United States of America. Further, watching the proceedings on television and refusing to interfere, although implored by those in his family and staff to do so. 

Making false claims of voter fraud in many States, all of which were debunked by US Courts of Law, some by judges appointed by the President himself. Yet he still insists it is true.

Has promised retribution against anyone, past and future, whom he feels has "mistreated him".

Admires and hobnobs with dictatorial leaders of countries not friendly to our country or way of life.

Consistently lies,  and creates misinformation to confuse, and infuse distrust in the processes of our government agencies.

A man who would "abolish the Constitution" in his own words.

Someone who said, "Hitler did some good things".

Used political campaign donations to play legal fees in fighting legal woes.

Used every mean possible to delay, put off, blame and muddy the waters to save his own skin at the expense of others. He has thrown many who have done his bidding under the bus, including his own Vice President... 

Someone who would replace civil servants with persons who swear allegiance. The Pendleton Act of 1883 established a merit-based system for hiring federal government employees, rather than using political affiliation and including nepotism.

Lastly, I do not accept that I am "the enemy within" in United States of America. I am an American citizen with all rights and privileges granted by the Constitution.

 

It Ain’t About Red or Blue, but We, the People.

Remember this quote: "There are no winners or losers in war...only who's left". A truly sobering thought.

I became a Dove long before the Dove/Hawk days of Vietnam. I was scratching my head over man's insistence on destroying each other. I listened to the news during the Korean "conflict". I became convinced that avoiding wars would be a good thing. 

Talk is cheaper than bullets. I know it's hard to listen when people you have issue with talk. Walk a mile in their shoes and then listen. It's easier to be objective, and have productive dialog when you understand the issues from both sides. 

I'm an early baby boomer, 1941 model. I was born six months before WWII started. We came together "in our finest hour" some say. 

The world remained in a state of war until July of 1953. Does war really qualify as our finest hour? I have a few  friends who never knew there father because of WWII, Korea etc. We are only who's left.  

Our country is barely a teenager compared to the age of many of the world's civilizations, Rome, China, India all have fallen to rise again from the ashes. There are lessons to be learned from history that led to the fall of centuries’ old civilizations.

Another quote, if you please.

“Old men start wars that young men fight”.  

 The United States of America is a resourceful country now being tended by old men whose time in the political arena should 'a, would 'a been over years ago.

My pre baby boomer generations “political” life was the mid 60's and 70's, ie Nixon/Clinton administrations, yet there are senators, congressmen, etc. from those times still stumbling around in the halls of Congress. 

I have nothing against old age and functionality. At 82 I do pretty well. 

Tractor Thinking #1

Garden plowing, road work, bush hogging and hay making are also tractor thinking time. Things just pop into my head and I follow down the rabbit hole. I thought about all the goings on just in my family and realize I can't keep up with the world anymore. It changes so fast I'm left in the dust of my own generation. I came to the conclusion I like it that way. I could care less about smart watches, 80" TV, the latest "athletic" shoe or "smart" phones self driving cars or the #1 movies, the next best chef, concert or dance move.

Tractor thinking #2

We cannot afford another worldwide conflict started by old men sending young men to war.  The stakes are too high. Some say the population demands wars to push down population. That's BS.

There are to many unhappy souls with too many red buttons to push, drones to fly and triggers to pull. Why are the most popular games on X Box or whatever medium "war games". It's hard enough to tell friend from foe in this country just walking down a city street. We wring our hands and our hearts go out to families of senseless mass shootings, suicides, and senseless acts of violence.

There is enough chaos out there in the universe. Let it stay there. Have we forgotten about random acts of kindness, paying things forward, the notion of all good things come with patience? Instant gratification is the rule of the day, it seems.

Tractor Thinking #3

Why do we no longer teach civics in schools. I enjoyed my 9th grade Civics class.

Tractor Thinking #4 

When did politics become a Bonafide occupation? Eating at the government trough for a lifetime ain't how Legislator and Senators were created. It was designed as a civic calling. 

Why were Term Limits drawn into the Constitution if you just get a job as a congress person and stay for 30 years? Just heed the calling, do your civic duty at the local, state or federal level and go back home to your family and personal life.

Tractor Thinking #5

The formative days of our Republic were tumultuous from everything I've learned. My Uncle Red was a Lawyer and professor of Jurisprudence. He said there was always lots of cussing and discussing, sad talking and slow walking, but Compromise won the day and our way of life. We have had our dark days, yet we still are the UNITED STATES of America. Don't give up on it now.

Compromise means eating some crow. Compromise is not an easy walk in the park. Compromise sure ain't what we see in our country today. Compromise means no one gets exactly what they want, but accept the decision made and move on to tackle other issues. 

Tractor Thinking #6

One particularly unsettling rabbit hole the tractor   introduced me to be the concept of politician's unwillingness to deal with issues. It is apparently less painful to fence sit and play the blame game card than not being re-elected to the gravy train our present political system offers our politicians. One for all has become all for me and mine. 

Maybe Tractor is right

HEY, YOU GUYS, PAY ATTENTION, YOU MAY GET WHAT YOU WISH FOR and or WORSE.

WE the People are the UNITED STATES. WE NEED TO STAY THAT WAY!

Let's not forget that.

1

We The People should not stand by and watch the baby be thrown out with the bathwater!

Be a critical thinker. Get information for trusted sources and make decision on valid data. It's the best we can do, I think.

Of Immigration and De=mocratization

I will agree that things have gotten out of hand on the Southern Border with Mexico. Policies change with administrations, as if there was ever a working one for long. 

Are we back to the building of walls to keep people in or out? They didn't work for Hadrian in England, nor  the Chineses Dynasties. 

Razor wire, border guards, busing to "sanctuary" cities, calling in State Militias from states not our own, and many other desperate policies haven't worked...at all. Desperate people driven by hope aren't easily discouraged.  

We have an antiquated way to seek legal entry into this country. Chaos loves confusion. It's been chaotic for so long we can't remember when it wasn't. Duh!

It's unlikely anyone in the US Congress will do more than "fling the language around with some wherefore and whereases. Mitch McConnell once remarked he had pile of bills on his desk and hadn't looked at a one of them. He ain't the first or the last to be privy to such piles of We, the People's elected officials conduct. 

Immigration reforms must be simpler, nimbler and less time consuming. It will save money, time, and lives. Things in our world change rapidly. It will take a fluid compromises that can adapt quickly to situations that cause the situations we see today. All America's problems are just situations. We need to assess them as not insurmountable, but as a challenge.

I agree it is not our job alone. Countries in crisis need to work out the problems in their own backyards. Governments should be for the people. Too often they are not...leading to the world at war, a changing climate, starving people. These are things that all countries can work on. We're not in this alone.  Happier people make more stable countries. Governments should help in making the health and happiness of it's citizens their first priority.

There are 70 something dictatorships in the world we live in, and the number is increasing. hope it ain't our out of lack of attention, lack of participation, lack of education as to how our Democracy works. A 9th grade Civics book would work.

Another question. Do you have a clue where your family immigrated from? If not, someone in your family might. Ask around to relatives, or join Ancestry or some other genealogical site  and do the work. Who first came across the big pond as an immigrant in your family? What were the circumstance that caused them to leave their homeland, friends and relatives for the unknown facing them.

In the this 48 states, we can express an opinion, carry a banner, vote for elected officials to legislate for the good of all citizens. There are rising threats to that right to vote, based on illegitimate claims that some people are more equal than others.

Masses of people in the world do not enjoy such privileges of free choice. Erosion of those privileges, and the guardrails that protect our Constitution are being undermined by AI, fake news, political paralysis, fear mongering, conspiracy theories and self interest groups. We are inundated with data and make decisions on the  insufficient data and a lack of critical thinking on our part in a rapidly changing world. 

This noble experiment called Democracy ain't gonna end well if we hold to this path of mistrust, divisiveness and social tensions.

 Maybe Congress should call the Midwives! We need Congress Reborn! We is met the enemy and it are us'uns. 

Wise up people.  Stop, Look, and Listen. Thinking critically about things doesn't cause pain, I promise.

 

The Small Blue Ball: A New Year Greeting/Warning

 New Year's Eve...

So, the past year was tumultuous to put mildly.

Political dialog: Non Existent/Divisive 

War: Seeming around the globe 

Weather: Destructive and unpredictable

 Water: Scarce and getting scarcer

 Stewardship of our ecosystems, flora and fauna: Lacking/Dwindling 

Human condition: Dire 

Well, ain't that a bummer of 2023!

The above observations are one Octogenarian's view from my 15 acres of paradise on a The Small Blue Ball.

 We, the People of this fragile Small Blue Ball must not and cannot forget it's is our home, our only home.  The moon ain't our home, nor is Mars. Put the money wasted on narcissistic fantasies of  living "somewhere else" to good use on the Small Blue Ball and leave fantasy to Walt Disney and Science Fiction writers. It's gonna' take a monumental amount of imagination and cash to fix what we've already messed up in the last 50 years to begin to put right the Small Blue Ball. It's our nest.

Keeping the Small Blue Ball happy, the water flowing, trees producing oxygen, coral reefs filtering, glaciers moving, oceans working, flora and fauna, including our animal selves is tantamount to our survival as large brained pedal, intelligent homo sapiens. Are we a noble experiment gone awry?

The Small Blue Ball  isn't a oyster or a cherry to be plucked bare. When that happens, and it is happening with amazing frequency, there ain't no more. Forever is a long time.

Government that should administer to the people who elect and trust them to do right by trust placed in those officials. More often nowadays, they tend to abuse those who empower them.

War seems to be in style again. Mostly against the innocent populations that inhabit the unjustly invaded countries. I've never seen it written that War is Necessary on the Tombs of the Ancient Pharaohs, or anywhere else, for that matter. I don't believe war is a necessary human condition. It proves nothing except who is left at it end.

The Small Blue Ball Weather has taken a toll in 2023. Hot/ Dry/ Wet/ Cold/ Cyclonic/ Fiery/ Quakey, and generally traumatic for many in the world this year.

We have nomenclature:  climate change, global warming/ natural cycles of nature. Our planet is under siege. As I have stated many times. Pogo Possum had it right on the first Earth Day..."We have met the enemy, and he are us". The Small Blue Ball is losing the ability to reliably deliver climate zone heat and air at the moment. Why is under investigation, but I suspect the answer was succinctly put by a small cartoon Possum. 

So we should try to reverse some of the known causes, and see if that helps. If it doesn't, and it will take time, blame it on the Stones.

Our very food source is under siege.We have lost so many species of plants, animals and insects to our lack proper protection of our nest...more are never seen on earth again everyday. Lost to Greed?  Lack of Stewardship? Education? Again, Possums can talk.

Harmony People...Harmony and Understanding, Hard Work, Attention to the Blue Ball that feeds us will give us the Peace on Earth we wish for. Find your courage of pursue the salvation of the Small Blue Ball

Jan 1 is only a date...everyday counts,

Happy New Year...

Patrick