DINOSAUR LOVERS

This post was prompted by a comment I made on Quin Browne’s blog today, and is about the love of dinosaurs.

Why is it that so many youngsters love dinosaurs?

I didn’t, when I was a kid.

I didn’t even know about dinosaurs when I was a kid.

Sheltered childhood, huh? Perhaps that’s what you can get from attending a one-room elementary school in the early-to-mid 1950s in rural Wisconsin, with one teacher to teach 17 students total in all eight grades. Days long gone? Not really. There are still one room schools today out in some of the wide open spaces of states like Wyoming and Montana.

Not even when I attended high school (which had more than one room) did I become aware of dinosaurs.

It wasn’t until I was in college in the early ’60s and took a freshman science course entitled: Physical Geology 101, that I finally became aware of and acquainted with dinosaurs. Better late than never!

God! How I loved that course! Only a few weeks into it, I decided to change my major from Business Administration to Geology, so taken I was with it!

During that semester of study, our professor, Dr. Peterson, took us on a day-long field trip to nearby Chicago and the Museum of Natural History next to Soldiers Field. What an exciting day of exploring and discovery that was for me, especially!

Doc Peterson was a pretty neat guy, coming from the U. of Michigan, to teach in Wisconsin. He was a well published paleontologist with a rather unique sense of humor. One day he was describing the various stages of the recent Ice Ages, and was gesturing on a large wall map of North America how this one huge glacier “…went whipping down past Chicago,…” and as he said it, he laughed his little laugh to let us know that he was making a joke here about glaciers traveling at breakneck speeds, to which the class let out a rather large, collective groan…

At the end of several hours of running around the museum, I was probably the only person, except for Doc Peterson, who didn’t want to leave yet, to head back to campus. The last thing I did though, was make a visit to the Museum Gift Shop and ended up buying a couple of dozen dinosaur miniatures, made out of copper. I had them spread out all in a line on my desk shelf in my dorm room for the rest of that semester. Eventually, when I went home that summer (1964), they ended up in a shoe box under my bed in my parents home, and were forgotten.

During the summer of ‘64, my parents decided to take the family in an extended summer vacation out west, ending up in Wyoming and Montana, where my father had hunted elk and mule deer in years prior to that. The first part of the trip was pretty neat, you know, seeing The Corn Palace in Mitchell, then stopping into Wall Drugs, then on to the Black hills for two days of sightseeing there.

Then it was over the Big Horns and on to Yellowstone, and the long lines of cars stopped to look at and feed the bears along side the roads. Yellowstone was neat, but still not our ultimate goal, as that was next, when we exited the Park through West Yellowstone and headed into southwestern Montana and the Ennis area. We were actually nearby when the earthquake struck that occurred that summer, and created Quake Lake.

Finally though, we reached the Canyon Creek Ranch, our final destination, where my father and our family doctor, his hunting buddy, had hunted elk for several years. It was while talking with the rancher, Ted, that my level of excitement really kicked into high gear, when I learned that there were fossils all around the ranch, and that, if I wanted, I could go and look for some! SHAZZAM! You didn’t have to ask me twice! Ted soon had a young mare saddled for me to ride, assuring me that she was a very gentle horse, and I was on my way out into the ‘breaks’ country, along the dry creek beds, and soon was probably a mile from the buildings, where my family stayed to visit, sleep and take a nap, if needed.

After quite a bit of diggin’ and pickin’ with my rock hammer, I soon had uncovered several great little specimens of snails, fish and other petrified items, which I packed away in my backpack, with my rock hammer. Having run slightly over the time I had been alloted by my parents for my afternoon of fossil hunting, I swung back up into the saddle and turned back towards the ranch.

As I started my long journey back, my horse walking through a large, dry stony creek bed, I decided to transfer my back pack from my back, onto the saddle horn, for a more comfortable ride back to the ranch. Bad Choice! And one of the most innocent and life-altering of bad choices I have ever made in my life.

About the time I was transferring my back pack from my back to the saddle horn, my horse happened to turn her head and see what I was up to. Well, she instantly decided that what I was doing wasn’t to her liking, and she exploded into a series of bucks, jumps and twists that soon had me airborne and headed for a hard landing!

The end result was that I very quickly finished my short flight by landing hard on my tail bone on the rocks of the stream bed, painly suffering compression fractures of two of my lower lumbar vertebrae. Ouch! OMG, OUCHIE!!

So, there I lay, in severe pain on the rocks of the stream bed, about a mile from the ranch buildings, with my faithful horse, ‘She-Bitch’, heading hell bent for election back to the corral and her oat bucket! “DAMN,” as George Clooney says in ‘OH BROTHER, Where Art Thou’, “We’re in a tight spot!”

When She-Bitch came running back into the ranch yard, minus one male fossil hunter, Rancher Ted and my folks figured somethin’ was definite up, and probably gone awry. The hopped into Ted’s pickup and started the search, trying to track me down and see what the deal was. Eventually, they did come upon my broken and pain-filled, near-corpse body, loaded me up, and carted me back to the buildings, where I was transferred into the family station wagon, and then up the highway many miles to the hospital in Butte, Montana.

Well, my dance card was filled for the next two weeks as an out-of-state temporary resident in the Butte hospital, until the doctors figured it was OK for me to be transported back home to Wisconsin for further care. Oh, how I came to love those hypos the nurses gave me so I could sleep through the pain at night while laying there in my bed, in that non-air conditioned room. At the end of the two weeks, my father ended up coming back out to pick me up and take me back home, a very long drive, believe me.

At the time, I was pretty sure God was pissed at me or somethin’, for allowing this tragedy to occur. And perhaps I might have figured at the time that having a broken, weakened body, which meant no more waterskiiing or playing baseball, ever, was a bad omen as to where my life might be headed.

However, some four years later, during the height of the Viet Nam War, when many of my guy friends were heading across the seas for that big Asian vacation, I was drafted, and figured I would be boarding that plane very soon to join them. And then, the She-Bitch struck again! This time, though, she gave me a blessing when the final doctor down in Milwaukee at the Military Pre-Induction Center, slapped a big ‘NO’ stamp on my pre-induction papers, and sent me back home on the bus, saying, “We’ll call you, Son, if we get invaded by ‘Charlie’.”

Just a few months before that, I was privileged to marry the girl of my dreams, and start the first year of what has become our 40 years total (next month), of life together. About five years after we hitched up, we decided to have kids, and oldest son came along in 1974, born out west, in Belle Fourch, South Dakota, which was about 55 miles east of the cattle ranch we were living on at the time in northeast Wyoming.

As he grew from infancy into and through toddler-hood, we read dozens and dozens of children’s books to him, and wouldn’t-you-know, among his very favorite books came to be those about…. dinosaurs.

One day during that time, as he was sitting on my lap in our rocking chair, and I was reading to him from one of his favorite dinosaur books, I stopped, put the book down, and he and I walked down into the basement to a set of our storage shelves. Retrieving an old shoe box from an upper shelf, we sat down on the floor and proceeded to open it.

As Lucas took out the first object wrapped in newspaper, and opened it, he literally shrieked with delight when he found that it was a miniature copper dinosaur! After excitedly telling me all about this particular dinosaur, he set it down on the floor, and reached for the next one, and very soon had all of them out and unwrapped. I told him that they were his now, to play with and to have, and hopefully take care of, and some day, share with his son(s).

During my recent visit to Lucas and his family in North Carolina over the easter weekend, I had plenty of time to play with my two grandsons, especially, the oldest, Noah. The first time Noah asked me to come and play with him, he got out a bunch of his toys, from his special toy box, and low-and-behold, they were dinosaurs! He said to me, “Come one, grampa, lets play with my dinosaurs,” and we did, as he told me all about each one, in order. I couldn’t have been more pleased, and proud.

Three generations of dinosaur lovers, and counting…

RENDEZVOUS AT HENRY’S FORK - 1825

Mountain Man Will Rolfe:

Chapter One:

I wuz ridin long that afta noon on ma hoss Buck, with ma young squaw wife, Long Hair in the Wind, ridin’ on Donell bahine me, and wuz leadin ma mules, Old Nell and Ship Rock, along the slickkery, slate trail that led down off a Sleepin’ Injun Mountain, up in the Hole. I couldn’t hep but peek on down the long, steep slope we wuz crossin’, some 1,000 feet or so, all the way ta the bottom. It wuz a fur piece fo one to fall down offa there, that no man no beast would liv ta tell ’bout it.

Sleeping Indian Mountain, Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Woof! One slip and down we’d all would roll, lock, stock and tea kattle, and we would be all dun just like one big pile o’ buffla guts.

Twasn’t too long, tho, an we made it ‘cross that tight piece, and followin’ an ole’ elk trail, we slowly moved inta a mess a tangled timber on the fur side o the slope. Thankful wuz I, that I had ma sure-footed critturs to haul me, Long Hair in the Wind, and ma load a’ furs ‘cross that fool place.

Hoback Canyon, south of Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Wen wez jus comin’ outa the timber inta a small park, Buck pulled up an’ raised hiz head asudden, an stopped dead in hiz tracks. In hiz own way, Buck wuz tellin’ me that somethin’ wuz off up ahead.

Az I squinted hard lookin’ yonder ‘cross the park, I seen a lurge brown crittur muv from behine a big ole bunch o’ bushes. It wuz a big ole mama grizz! Then there wuz two smaller brown spots what muvd out baside her, hur two youngin’ cubs. The mama grizz stood up high, muvd her head ’round and sniffed the air. Then she dropped down on hur paws again and they muvd on ‘cross the fur edge of the park and headed inta the heavy timber.

Woof! I couldn’t hep runnin’ ma fingarz over them grizz claw scars on ma face from so long ago, an membrin’ how I come ta gettum. Itza good thang wez wusn’t no closa ta that mama grzz an hur youngin’s than we wuz, or we’da hada hot time fur certain.

This wuz a warm, early July day, in the year 1825, that seen me an Buck, Long Hair in the Wind and Danoll and ma mules makin’ our way south outa the Gro Vants, on down thru the Hole, down ta the Green, where, rumur in thez parts had it, they wuz fixin’ to have a big meetin’, ina coupla days. I hearrd tell they wuz a bunch a other mountain folks who wuz a comin’ there, and also som fur buyin’ fellas from the Merican’ Fur Company, maybe soma them Astor fellas, that wuz afixin’ ta pay good money for ma furs I got up lass fall an thiz spring.

Site of 1825 Rendezvous, Henry’s Fork of Green River, western Wyoming.

Don’t know who else mighta bein’ show up there, but I reckon I’ll fine out juss purty quick like.

I had me a good ’nuff spring runnin’ traps on the cricks an streams here ’bouts, and I got me a bunch a prime pelts tied on Old Nell and Ship Rock that I’d shur like ta make me a good trade on, if I can. ‘Bout three or four more days traveling ‘long the Snake and then the Hoback, shuud get us down there ta the Green, and that there meetin’ place. Gotta keep me a sharp eye out tho, so I can keep ma hair up on top o’ ma head where it blongs. Lotz a sign around…”

Site of 1825 Rendezvous, Henry’s Fork of Green River, western Wyoming.

Wen we stopt ta make a camp fur the night, baside the swift wattars of the Hoback Rivr, I set the hobbles on Old Buck, Danoll and the mules, an Long Hair in the Wind went an brung in sum mahag brush an had a good fire goin’ in no time. She went ’bout cookin’ sum elk meat, beans an coffee vittles fur supper. Long Hair in the Wind had been ma squaw wife fur ’bout two monts, and wuz juss all a man could wont fur a squaw. She wuz 18 an frum the Shoshone tribe, frum east a the Hole a fur piece.

She wuz named fo hur long, wavy black hair, that stretched down hur sleek, yung body purtnear on down ta hur waist. Frum the furst time I laid eyes on hur, I knowd I had ta have hur as ma squaw wife. Hur purty face an big, soft brown eyes jus set me off, an rite away I went an made a trade ta hur brother an made hur ma squaw. Shez good at cookin’, too, can work a nife ok, and always seems ta have a smile fur me.

Along the banks of the Hoback River, south of Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Afta we had et the elk steaks, an things wuz put away, Long Hair in the Wind laid out the blankets near ta the night fire, put moor wood on the blaze, an crawld inta the blankets, ta wait fur me ta join hur. Layin’ ma rifle closs up, I went ta lay down in the warm nest Long Hair in the Wind had made up fur us.

Az I lay down in the blankets, a soff breez wuz wisperin thru the tops o’ the nearby trees, an the stars up in the sky twinkled ther lites, it seemed jus fur us. The rushin’ the nearby rivr made as it run down past us, juss a few feet away, covered up the small sounds that Long Hair in the Wind made as she muved hur soft, yung body up agin mine, hur fingurs slowly movin’ over me as hur breethun’ got faster. The rivr an the breeze covered up our sounds, an later, sleep finnly took us in.

Tamorra’ wuz on its way. Rendezvous wuz one day closr.”

*********************************************************************************************

In the early 19^th Century, the western United States was inhabited mainly by Native American tribes, with very few “foreigners” living among them.

Those who were among the Native Americans there, were primarily a rugged, self-sufficient, independent breed of men, men like Will Rolfe, called “Mountain Men.”

Most Native Americans in that region tolerated the Mountain Men, because they did not feel threatened by them, as they understood that the Mountain Men were interested in trapping furs, not in taking their lands.

The Mountain Men mainly trapped for beaver and muskrat, in the early spring and fall, when the furs were in their prime. During the summer and winter, this rugged men didn’t do much of anything, except eat, sleep, hunt, and if they had an Indian squaw or two, spend time with her or them.

The challenge they had after accumulating large numbers of prime pelts, was to get them to a market place, which could be hundreds of miles away, and hopefully, sell them for a decent price, which could be anywhere from $3.00 to $10.00 per pelt, in a good year.

There were businessmen in the central United States who decided to take the market place closer to the Mountain Men, to try to get a jump on purchasing and trading for the best furs available, and, in the process, make a tidy, if not large profit.

In early July, 1825, fur buyers and traders traveled to extreme southwestern Wyoming, on the Green River system, to a place along a river bank called Henry’s Fork, a branch of the Green, south of what is today known as Pinedale, Wyoming, and just north of the Uinta Mountains.

According to Gary Spina, in his rich, revealing volume concerning mountain men, entitled: Mountain Man’s Field Guide to Grammar, 2006, Sourcebooks, Inc., “The Henry’s Fork Rendezvous came about because General William Ashley saw a backdoor war to profit from the fur trade. Summertime offered wide, dry prairies across which an enterprising man could roll a packtrain of supplies to the trappers who stayed year-round in the mountains. Ashley was one of the first to realize that the supply-and-buy side of the fur business could be as profitable as trapping itself. Ashley’s wagons rolled in loaded with rifles, rifle ball, powder, traps, knives, coffee, sugar, tobacco, whiskey, and mirrors, combs, and trinkets for white man and Indian alike. The wagons rolled out on the return trip loaded with furs that would bring a handsome profit in St. Louis.”

“The first rendezvous lasted only one day, but it proved a profitable day, indeed, for Ashley. The general paid the trappers an average of three dollars a pound for their furs and carted out almost four and a half tons of beaver pelts worth nearly fifty thousand dollars in St. Louis.”

“The 1825 rendezvous was a church luncheon compared to subsequent rendezvous. In some ways it was the end of innocence for the mountain man. Future rendezvous were pure diversion, a celebration of camaraderie and ribald decadence. It brought together mountain men and company agents, trappers and supply wagons, scouts, Indians, Indian squaws, tobacco, whiskey, games, riotous singing and dancing, and things better left to the imagination, as well as drinking, gambling, storytelling, news-gathering and rumor-spreading, and trading and selling – knives and rifles.”

“Rendezvous separated men from their senses, their money, and sometimes from a season’s worth of plews, their best horse, and their best wife.” No self-respecting mountain man would miss a rendezvous.”

Several years ago, during a brief visit to western Wyoming, I was privileged to visit the location on the Green River where the first western Rendezvous was held in early July 1825, and to take the images above.

In a later installment, what was it like to be at a Rendezvous?

And, more adventures of Mountain Man Will Rolfe and Long Hair in the Wind.

WEEK #10 - MISSISSIPPI GULF COAST BLUE BIRD UPDATE

It’s Week #10 Mississippi Blue Bird Update time, folks! So, here is what Naturalist buddy John and I found today, May 9, 2008, in our Friday morning Blue Bird nesting survey:

Image: Nesting Box #11 - 6 growing Chickadee babies

Box #1- 4 & possibly 5 Blue Bird babies. - Last week: 5 Blue Bird eggs.

Box #2- Blue Bird nest still under construction. - Last week: Second Blue Bird nest under construction.

Box #4- 5 new Blue Bird eggs. - Last week: Blue Bird nest built - 2 Blue Bird eggs.

Box #6- 4 new Blue Bird eggs. - Last week: 5 Blue Bird eggs missing; preditor problem.

Box #8- 4 Blue Bird babies flew from nest; 1 sterile egg. - Last week: 5 Blue Bird babies almost ready to fly.

Box #10- 2 Blue Bird babies flew from nest; 3 sterile eggs. - Last week: 2 Blue Bird babies almost ready to fly.

Box #11- 6 large Chickadee babies. - Last week: 6 new Chickadee babies.

Box #13- 3 new Blue Bird eggs. - Last week: New Blue Bird nest under construction.

Totals This Week (May 9, 2008): 12 Blue Bird eggs, 1 sterile Blue Bird egg, 5 Blue Bird babies, 6 Chickadee babies.

Totals Last Week (May 2, 2008): 7 Blue Bird eggs, 5 missing eggs, 7 Blue Bird babies, 6 Chickadee babies.

Another update will be along next weekend.

Happy Birding!

WEEK #9 - MISSISSIPPI GULF COAST BLUE BIRD UPDATE

Well, it’s Friday again, and another Field Survey is in on the SMRC Blue Bird Nesting Project, in Long Beach, Mississippi.

Field Survey Weather: Heavy overcast, windy, temperature about 79 degrees.

Following is this week’s Survey: May 2, 2008

Box #1- 5 Blue Bird eggs. - Last week: 5 Blue Bird eggs.

Box #2- Second Blue Bird nest under construction. - Last week: 3 Blue Bird babies flew the nest; 2 eggs sterile.

Box #4- Blue Bird nest built - 2 Blue Bird eggs. - Last week: a few pieces of straw in nesting box.

Image: Nesting Box #11 - 6 Chickadee babies

Box #6- 5 Blue Bird eggs missing; preditor problem. - Last week: 5 Blue Bird eggs.

Box #8- 5 Blue Bird babies almost ready to fly. - Last week: 5 Blue Bird babies.

Box #10- 2 Blue Bird babies almost ready to fly. - Last week: 2 Blue Bird babies; 3 sterile eggs.

Box #11- 6 Chickadee babies. - Last week: 6 Chickadee eggs.

Box #13- New Blue Bird nest under construction. - Last week: Empty nesting box.

Totals This Week (May 2, 2008): 7 Blue Bird eggs, 5 missing eggs, 7 Blue Bird babies, 6 Chickadee babies.

Totals Last Week (Apr. 24, 2008): 15 Blue Bird eggs - 5 probably sterile, 10 Blue Bird babies, 6 Chickadee eggs.

Another update will be along next weekend.

Happy Birding!

Dammit! (Not you, Maggie)

It has been a very busy and trying week at work at my weekday job here on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. And then with volunteer time added, I needed a break.

So, I decided that I would ‘treat’ myself and go have supper at a nice Chinese Buffet in west Biloxi, just north of the Crossroads Shopping Mall.

The place has a great and reasonably priced seafood buffet, specializing in shrimp prepared several different ways. I love shrimp, and so, I really enjoy going there on occasion when my budget will allow.

On the way over there driving on Hwy 90 along the beach, there was a very strong southeast wind, which resulted in pretty good-sized ‘breakers’ coming in off the gulf, and lots of white sand blowing across the highway.

After arriving at the restaurant, and getting a table, I went through the buffet, picking out my favorites and then sitting down to enjoy my dinner.

While eating here in Mississippi, being along 99% of the time for meals, I usually have a book or magazine of some kind, and read through perhaps part of a favorite Larry McMurtry book or one of the civil war magazines I read from time to time. Being a veteran civil war reenactor, I am hooked on reading the latest goings on about reenactments, civil war characters, and efforts by people to preserve historic civil war battlefields.

I couldn’t help but notice an interesting family of three at the table right in front of mine. The wife sat with her back to me, and had to be at least 30″ across and 500 lbs! Her husband, on the other side of the table, if he was naked and soaking wet, was thin as a rail and couldn’t have gone over 135 lbs! And he ate like he hadn’t eaten in two weeks! Their little boy, probably in the 9-10 year old range, tended towards the slender side. Such a contrast in spousal physiques.

As I was casually enjoying eating some very tasty morsels of seafood, and perusing a book on Grammar (of all things), a group of four women were seated at a table right next to mine.

Within two minutes, one of their cell phones rang, several times, rather loudly, to the tune of “The Entertainer.” The lady finally answered it and began a conversation, which lasted about 5 minutes. Towards the end of her conversation, one of the other women’s cell phones also rang, several times while she was digging it out of her purse. After about 4 minutes, she hung up.

About ten minutes later, the first women’s phone rang again, and rang several times before she thought it important enough to answer it. Dammit, I was beginning to hate that sound! Within 30 seconds, another of their phones rang, now two of them were talking away, not being very quiet about it, either.

Holy Hell! Would you believe, within a minute or so later, a third phone rang, and this time the owner grabbed it right away, acting pretty amused that three of them now were talking on their cells all at the same time!

Yah, right! With the three of them yakking happily away only a few feet from me, there was no way I could concentrate on my reading. And my appetite was fading fast into the evening.

And then, about a minute later, son-of-a-b–ch, the stupid fourth cell phone joined in the big party, ringing merrily away, as its owner unfolded it and started her conversation. Incredible!

From that point, things went downhill pretty quickly, as the volume of each talker edged upwards as each of them had trouble hearing their respective conversations, because their neighbors were talking louder trying to hear their callers. And louder. And louder the clamor became!!

At that point, all of us dining near to them were glaring at the foresome with visions of machine guns and tomahawks being put into action, and I found myself muttering, “Dammit! What the hell! You have got to be kidding me!” Talk about four, inconsiderate clucks at a hen party with tunnel vision!

Finally, one of my neighbors, a guy who was about 6′ 4″, built like a oil field roustabout, who probably weighed about 320lbs, got up, leaned over their table, and said, “Ladies, you are being extremely rude and you are interrupting my Anniversary dinner. If you want to talk on your cell phones, then OUTSIDE!! As he said outside in a very irritated manner, he thrust his thumb quickly up over his shoulder, indicating outside. He then quietly sat back down with his wife, who, believe it or not, looked slightly embarrassed at what her spouse had just done. The rest of us around there were silently thinking “ALL RIGHT, BIG GUY!!”

The four women, all stopped talking at once; no, ‘froze’ was more like it, when he addressed them, and within 10 seconds all had put down their phones. For a few seconds they all just looked at each other, saying nothing. Then, one of them turned around to the man and his wife, and apologized for their behavior. Two of their cell phones rang again while they were eating, and the two owners quickly turned them off, I guess. Then the other two must have finally caught on, and they fumbled with their phones to apparently turn them off, too.

If they had served booze there, I would have bought the guy a drink, hell, a bottle of champaign! As I was leaving, though, I stopped by his table and told him Thanks for saying something, and wished them a Happy Anniversary, then I left.

How in the hell did it became OK for people at a restaurant to be so incredibly rude and inconsiderate of others?

Dammit!

Nutmeg’s Joe Died

A couple of days ago, I was reading a beautiful little post by Simplynutmeg.com entitled, ‘I Will Not Tally’, where she was sharing that someone she cared deeply about, Joe, had died.

As I read her post, my mind immediately flashed back to the deaths of my two parents. And I left her this comment:

“When my father passed in 2000, at age 80, peacefully in his sleep, the morning after we all had such a great goodbye session with him, with him laughing and all, and very calm, my niece was asleep on on a waiting room bench outside of his room. After she woke up, she told us all that she had the strangest dream just then. She dreamed that a beautiful woman, dressed in a flowing, wispy white gown, had come in through the door of my father’s hospital room, walked over to his bed, reached out and took his hand, and then they both got up and walked easily out through the door and were gone.
Before he passed, my father could hardly walk. My mother passed in 1984, at age 62. My brother and sisters figure that my mother came to get him, and now they are together again, like they were some 45 years before she passed. She passed easily in her sleep, after suffering so for almost 3 years on a slow, downhill, roller-coaster slide. So sorry you lost Joe for now. He’s OK. You’ll see, some day. Peace to you…”

I feel kind of bad for leaving Nutmeg such a long comment, but those thoughts that flooded into my mind then, were so strong. I thought perhaps they might help provide a small measure of peace to help with her grief and pain.

During the family celebration the afternoon before my father died, he was remarkably candid, calm and composed, as well as still has his great sense of humor.

He went around the room and talked about each one of us, and told us how much he loved us and that we should not grieve for him, but be happy for him, for he knew he was shortly leaving this world and leaving his pain and suffering behind, and would soon be reunited with those who crossed over before him.

I know that sounds corny, but that’s what he said, as he sat on the side of his bed, saying to us all what he wanted to say. I think my brother and sisters, my wife, and those grandkids who were also there, were so glad that this final ‘get-together’ was taking place, as everyone got to say goodbye, and I love you.

That evening, Myself and one or two others, sat with him all night, staying awake as best we could. In the morning, our other siblings came to stay with Dad, so we could get some sleep. I wasn’t there with him when he died, but, that was OK. He knew that I loved him, and would take care of things for him afterwards. And, I knew that he loved me.

Shortly after he had passed during mid morning, we siblings all arrived back at the hospitol room, and were sitting in the waiting room, next to my father’s room where his body still was, just talking about what to do next.

That’s when my niece spoke up and told us about the dream she had outside of her grandpa’s room, as he slipped silently away into the afterlife.

After she finished telling her dream, we all looked at each other, silently, until one of us spoke up and said, “Are you kidding me?”

As bad as we all felt about his passing, even when we got to prepare for it, and knew it was imminent, her story was like a gift from above.

It was as if we all instantly, silently accepted her dream as, “Yah, that’s what happened all right. Mom came and got him, and now, they are together again.” It was like a heavy weight was lifted off from our shoulders. And now we could go about the process of preparing for his funeral, with our hearts and our grief, much lighter than before.

What a final, beautiful gift that was to all of us!

Thanks again, Dad.

HOLIDAYS AND AFFECTIONATE, CASUAL NAMES

On most other Mondays of the year, I would be working at my weekday job, which I do to pay my living expenses here on the Gulf Coast during my two-year personal mission as a hurricane relief volunteer.

Not today, though.

Today is a Holiday for me.

And for other Mississippi State employees, as well.

You see, almost 150 years ago, Mississippi was neck deep in a little thing called the American Civil War. And even though the side (Confederate) they were on, lost, some folks still have a difficult time letting it go all the way.

Above right: My ‘Home-Away-From Home’.

On Monday, May 26, 2008, the last Monday of May, most Americans will observe ‘Memorial Day’ in the United States.

Today, however, the State of Mississippi and six other, former members of the Confederate States of America, are observing ‘Confederate Memorial Day!‘

So, most State facilities are officially closed today, except those being manned by ’skeleton’ crews, such as the state facility I work at weekdays.

OK. That works for me. In a month, we can do it again…

‘THANK YOU’ - PET NAMES:

As I was checking out with my groceries last evening at the WalMart in Waveland, the Register Clerk, said: “Thanks, hon, have a good evening.” (I know you Wallie World haters, ‘what the hell are you doing shopping there, anyway!? - it was the only grocery store open there at that time of the evening - sorry).

Above right: Spiderwort plant in front of my trailer.

I responded, “You, too.” and walked to my car. pushing the cart ahead of me.

Upon leaving the WalMart parking lot, and turning left onto Hwy 90, then heading east towards the Bay St. Louis bridge, I checked my gas gauge and decided that I better top off the half-full tank, while I was over here. So I pulled into an Exxon quick stop, gassed up and went inside to get a bottle of water and my receipt.

As the clerk inside handed me my receipt, she said, “Thanks, love, have a good one.”

To which I said, “You, too.”

Just in the last week, I can think of at least three other times I have been leaving places of business in Pass Christian, Long Beach and Gulfport, and the Register clerk said: “Thank you, darlin!” “Thanks, sweetie.” and “Thanks, babe.”

And, at work, last week, in the cafeteria at noon, picking up my food tray and moving to have my meal ticket punched, one day, one of the ladies says, “Thanks, babe.” And another day, another lady says, “Thanks, baby.”

After the Exxon Station clerk last evening, I thought to myself: ‘Good grief! What the heck is going on here…?”

How come so many people are addressing me (and others they come into daily contact), with these ‘affectionate pet names’???

Why is that?

I didn’t spend a whole lot of time wondering about it, I was just glad that the same clerks and people weren’t saying such things as: “Thanks, jerkface!” Or, “Thank you, dirt bag.” Or, worst of all, saying NOTHING! Not thanking me at all for my patronage of their store.

As I’ve often heard, ‘It could always be worse.”

Amen, to that, Brother (and Sister)!

So, today, I will take some time for myself. Do some image editing, answer some emails, eat a little Wisconsin cheadder cheese, go take a few images of flowers, shrimp and oyster boats, and perhaps, the gulf waters (only two blocks to the south). And maybe another thing or two…

Back to work tomorrow morning; back to volunteering tomorrow evening.

Thanks to those of you who have been stopping by to check in on the ‘Coast Rat’!

You are all welcome here anytime!

THE CRAZYLEGS CLASSIC - A ‘FAMILY’ AFFAIR

Since April 1982, the last Saturday morning in April every year is a special day on the campus of the University of Wisconsin, in Madison, when the Annual Crazylegs Classic, takes place.

The Crazylegs Classic is an 8K Run, Wheelchair Race, and 2K Walk, starting on the State Capitol Square, and ending in Camp Randall Stadium, on the UW-Campus. As of this evening, Crazylegs officials have said that as of Friday evening, approximately 16,000+ people have registered for the event, a new participation record.

What kind of a race is it? According to the 2008 Crazylegs Classic web site, “No less of an authority than Runner’s World magazine has rated the Crazylegs Classic as one of America’s Best 100 Events.”

The Crazylegs Classic is named after and was started in 1982, to honor former University of Wisconsin and Los Angeles Rams football star, and former UW Athletic Director, the late Elroy “Crazylegs” Hirsch.

The first race had 1525 runners, and raised $9,500 to benefit the UW Athletic depart programs. The 2007 Crazylegs saw 14,966 runner & walkers, and raised approximately $300,000 for UW-Madison athletic programs.

So what.

For your blogger, his personal connection with the Crazylegs Classic goes back 20 years, serving as a Registration Volunteer, and more specifically for the last 15 years or so, as Race T-Shirt ‘Captain’, overseeing distribution of what was last year, approximately 15,000 Race t-shirts to runners and walkers when they came to the UW-Madison campus to pickup their race numbers and commemorative t-shirts.

During the first 17 years of that relationship, I was a friend of Elroy’s. My family relationship with Elroy, though, goes back over 60 years, as my father and Elroy played basketball together in a post- WWII basketball league in Madison. My father and Elroy were friends for 55 years, and that friendship and my race volunteer involvement led to my friendship with him.

During the two days of the Crazylegs in April 2007, my youngest son, Andy, came on board as a Crazylegs Classic volunteer, when he served as the Co-Captain with me of T-Shirt distribution area and volunteer crew, at the Johnson Pavilion at the Kohl Center on the UW-Madison campus.

2008 Crazylegs Classic T-Shirt Distribution Captain Andy, far right, with three University of Wisconsin-Madison Cheerleaders, at 2007 Crazylegs Classic race number/t-shirt pickup.

Today, as I continue my two-year personal mission to the Mississippi Gulf Coast to help families here rebuild their homes and lives, son Andy, in my absence, is now carrying the torch, and is serving at this year’s Crazylegs as the T-Shirt Distribution Captain .

When I talked with him this evening, at about 9:30pm, as I pretty much expected, Andy was ‘bushed’ from the long day of, first, setup - from 8:00am until 12:00pm, and then the race number and t-shirt pickup for the 15,000+ pre-registered runners and walkers, which ran from 12:00pm until 8:oopm this evening.

Tomorrow morning, beginning at 7:00am, until 9:30am, Andy and his large crew of fellow volunteers, will be handing out thousands more of the shirts which didn’t get picked up during today’s session. At about 8:15am is ‘wacko-time’ at shirt pickup, when most of the rest of those who did not get there this afternoon standing in long lines to get their shirts, and beat it up to the Square in Madison, in time for the staggard starts of the race.

Andy has always been a very sociable person, and I have no doubt he is doing a great job of overseeing t-shirt distribution this weekend at the 2008 Crazylegs Classic, and his father, for one, is tremendously proud of his volunteer efforts to help out!

Like father, like son?

You bet!

Post Note: The actual number of people registered for the 2008 Crazylegs Classic, was a new record 17,296 runners, walkers and wheel chair racers, breaking the 2007 record of 14,966! GO BUCKY!

MISSISSIPPI GULF COAST BLUE BIRD UPDATE - WEEK 8

On February 29, 2008, the SMRC, in Long Beach, Mississippi, started a Blue Bird Trail program on its 45-acre campus, guided by Naturalist John, and his faithful, tree-climbing wonder dog, Emily

Today, April 24, 2008, is Blue Bird weekly survey day at the Long Beach campus of SMRC, bright and partly cloudy, temperature about 70 degrees.

Nesting box #10 - 2 growing Blue Bird babies, and probably 3 sterile eggs.

Here is what we found this morning among the 13 nesting boxes:

Box #1- 5 eggs. Last week: 1 egg (only box out before this year)

Box #2- 3 babies flew the nest, two sterile eggs. Last week: 5 babies

Box #4- Few pieces of new straw. Last week: 5 babies, flew the nest

Box #6- 5 eggs. Last week: nest built, 2 eggs. This box was empty the week before..

Box #7- few pieces of new straw. Last week: empty box

Box #8- 5 babies. Last week: 5 eggs

Nesting Box #8- 5 Blue Bird babies growing fast.

Box #9- No action since last week. Last week: nest fully built

Box #10- 2 babies, 3 eggs- probably sterile. Last week: 1 baby hatched, 4 eggs

Box #11- 6 Chickadee eggs. Last week: 5 Chickadee eggs

Nesting box #11- 6 Chickadee eggs in natural incubation.

Totals this week: 15 Blue Bird eggs- 5 probably sterile, 10 Blue Bird babies, and 6 Chickadee eggs.

Totals last week: 23 Blue Bird eggs or babies, and 5 Chickadee eggs!

Another update will be along next weekend.

Happy Birding!

GLIMMERING WATERS HIDE MONSTER THAT WAS THERE - HELP NEEDED!

The waters were like a beautiful, glimmering mirror, driving westerly along the beach on Highway 90 in Pass Christian Saturday morning.

Just a hint of a breeze, but not enough to really cause a ripple in the calm, Mississippi Gulf Coast waters.

How quietly deceiving.

As I drove along, witnessing such calm beauty, I couldn’t help thinking about if I was on this very spot, at this very time, on August 29, 2005, just 32 months ago, this same beautiful, calm water, would be 27 feet over my head, and I would be dead, like 32 others were in Pass Christian that day, 3 of whom, still have yet to be found.

The beaches have been cleaned up, and look really nice again.

Highway 90 is in the process of being re-paved, to erase scarred, ugly reminder of what Katrina did to it.

And almost all of the lots in The Pass have had the storm debris removed from them.

There remains thousands of dead Southern Pine trees, though, killed by the salt water of Katrina’s 31-foot surge.

Of the homes which were spared by Katrina in The Pass, were damaged in some manner, but were left on their foundations, many have been repaired, many not yet back to where they were on Aug. 28, 2005.

Many of the empty lots there, most still having the empty foundation slabs, have had new ‘tree houses’ of some nature, built upon them, much higher in elevation than their predecessors.

And, multitudes of the lots and slabs remain empty. Waiting.

Except for those still hosting one of the many FEMA trailers still around this town of formerly 7,000 residents.

There has been progress, yes, but so much remains to be done.

Volunteers from out-of-state and the area, are still coming to help, but in much smaller numbers than in the past. It shows that there are people from outside who still are aware and understand and care that much remains to be done all along the Mississippi and Louisiana Gulf Coast and in New Orleans, to help families recover from Katrina.

I received an email yesterday from my friend, Pastor Dennis Perger, of Jordan Lutheran Church, in rural Argyle, Wisconsin, inquiring about bringing another youth group down to Pass Christian this summer, like he has the past two years, for a week of volunteer work.

This evening, on my way back ‘home’ to my trailer in Long beach, I stopped in The Pass at The Tent Village, where Pastor Dennis and his group stayed last summer, to see if the Village could still host them.

A delightful, dedicated fellow, Wesley Beaver, is in charge of the Tent Village now, and advised that, yes, indeed, they are still operating and accepting volunteers there to come and help recover in The Pass.

However, Wesley shares my estimate of the great deal of work yet to be done, and asked me to try to inform anyone I could that many more volunteers were still needed here, and to ask that interested volunteers, school and church groups, whoever, call him to make arrangements to stay in the Tent Village, and help in the rebuilding and recovery of Pass Christian. Wesley can be reached at: 228-216-5189.

The situation is similar all along the gulf coast.

For the past 15 months, your bloger has lived, worked and volunteered on the Mississippi Gulf Coast on a two-year personal mission, in an attempt to help in a small way with that enormous rebuilding process. It has been an amazing experience and privilege for me. Like many down here, though, I want to do still more, and I would like you to join with me in that effort.

Scene in Pass Christian, Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina; one of several thousand homes destroyed there.

~~~~~And, here is where Your Help Is Needed!

To further that goal of further assisting families on the Gulf Coast recover from Katrina, as well as also attempt to respond to the needs of other Americans experiencing future castatrophic loss, from whatever cause, as their needs may be, and our abilities, resources and available personnel permit, I am founding a new, 501(c)(3) charitable organization, called SAMARITAN DEEDS MISSIONS (SDM), and am seeking similar feeling people who wish to join with myself and others with the mission to help our fellow Americans in that rebuilding process, growing in effectiveness and scope, in ways that aren’t possible with a personal mission, and ultimately, to complete as much of the recovery process as is practicable. The main point of this new mission is to be devoted to helping Americans in their time of need, first!

Madison, WI Katrina worker Jordan Peterson, top image, and his father, Baraboo, WI electrician Neal Peterson, work on wiring a home in Pass Christian, Mississippi, helping families there recover from Hurricane Katrina, which had a 31′ storm surge in Pass Christian.

I have spent much of my life trying to respond to the needs of other Americans in their time of pain, and bring long years of experience to this new caring organization, to help in guiding its charitable mission efforts. Several of my long-time, fellow charitable workers in other missions , are joining in this new important effort. But many more are needed to make a real difference to suffering families. YOU are needed!

Realistically, that recovery process along the Gulf Coast from the effects of Katrina, will continue for several years to come, until our work here is no longer needed. There is a lot more that we can do now to help our fellow Americans in their time of need, as well as help with other disasters occurring in the United States.

Some might say, “That’s our government’s job to help in a disaster.” Well, if Katrina is any indication, FEMA’s historic, miserable, slow (non) response to Katrina’s aftermath doesn’t provide too much self-assurance in that department. FEMA was required to make public on June 1, 2007, their new plan for responding to future disasters, like Katrina. They missed that deadline, and more since then, and still do not have a new plan in place as of this date, with the start of the 2008 Hurricane season starting on June 1, 2008, ready or not!

Losing your home, having it just dissappear - never to be found, during Katrina’s 31′ storm surge, created incredible stress for survivor Evie Worland, of Henderson Point, at Pass Christian.

What HAS made such a critical difference in helping families on the Gulf Coast and in New Orleans recover after suffering such serious losses in Katrina and Rita, has been the work of faith-based organizations and other private groups who have organized and stepped up to lend a meaningful and timely hand. That’s us, folks!

A windshield eye view of all that is left of Second Street in Pass Christian, MS four weeks after Katrina virtually destroyed 60% of the small city of 7000+ people.

And, as you would expect, there are start-up costs in creating and getting a new charitable organization off the ground and up and running , as well as other organizational needs, and I would take this opportunity to ask you who read this, to please consider helping in making the organization a reality, by contributing financially, and/or contributing your time and/or other resources, as you may be able to, and by helping publicize the need to others for support of this new organization of veteran charitable workers and their strong desire to help others. Those who contribute, will receive receipts for their contributions. Contributions can be made to: SAMARITANS DEEDS MISSIONS, and sent to: SAMARITANS DEEDS MISSIONS, P. O. Box 531, Long Beach, MS 39560. To Volunteer, contact: SDMissions@cableone.net

Work on a website for SDM is under way, but additional help and suggestions are welcome. I know many of you have some incredible skills in that technical area. Fund-raising is a whole other challenge, and a strong effort in that area is definitely needed, to help make SDM efforts successful.

Please be aware that this (now) very small, fledgling, charitable organization is not to be confused or thought to be affiliated with the huge, $300+ million dollar Samaritans Purse organization. We could sure put some of their funds to good and meaningful use, though…

SINCERE THANKS to you all for any and all assistance you may be able to lend to help SAMARITANS DEEDS MISSIONS in fulfilling its mission to help fellow Americans in need!

Can you help?

Will you help?