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Post by Caretaker on Dec 21, 2007 16:22:59 GMT -6
God bless you; On a couple other forums I have a thread where we kind of set-out on my east front porch, in the old rockin' chairs with a glass of cold lemonade or sweet tea, and visit for a spell. It can get kind of exciting when one of the hound dogs leaves his tail under the rocker. My name is Drew and I am out in the Flinthills of Kansas, and have been caretaking at a residential Lake and Park for 19 years now. I was 54 years old, September 12, stand 6'3'' and weigh 215-225 lbs,(less in the summer doing groundkseeping).. I am groundskeeper, security, volunteer fire fighter for 18 years, reserve sheriff's officer, wildlife manager, and the first emergency response for 20 minutes. Have assisted on four heart-attacks,(one fatal, 3 successfully transported and recovered), a suicide, car and boating accidents, curbing unlawful activity, boating safety, and both structure and wildfire control and suppression. We have 2 fire-trucks stationed here at the house, and 5 more trucks in a small town 5 miles away. Jan, my precious one and I met in senior English, in high school, and were married a year after graduation. We have been married 35 years in May and we have three children and six grandchildren. To hear the patter of running little feet and the joy-filled cries of, "Pawpa" is God's greatest blessing in my life. There is just a big ol' gray-haired country-boy, using two fingers to type, on this end of the internet. It was 30 years ago, (April 10, 1977), that I gave my heart to my Lord Jesus, and I just seek to serve Him, in whatever capacity He might choose for me. Just a simple old blood- bought, born again, Lake Baptized, crusty 'OL codger, that honors the Word of God, and scans a few BBs in the evenings, and early mornings, and figures that whatever we do unto the least of these we do unto our Lord Jesus. The lake position was a direct answer to prayer. After almost 12 years in a meat-packing plant, I spent 4 years grounds-keeping, and shopping center/condominium maintenance. I was praying for a position which would provide room for my family,(we were in a 3-bedroom mobile home), and allow me to provide a higher standard of living for my family, as well as to serve others. I did not take the local paper, but I got off early, and stopped-in at the bowling alley, where Jan was working part-time. Someone had left the paper on the counter, so I scanned the paper over a cup of coffee. I saw an advertisement for the position of caretaker. I went home and typed a resume and cover letter, and mailed it in. I found out later that it was a one-day ad, only in that particular paper. There were 150 applicants, and they chose 20 of us by our resumes. I had a sense of peace about me, during the initial interview with 4 Lake Board members, and 5 of the 20 were called back for the second interview, with our wives, where we were interviewed by a 9 member panel, of cabin-owners who also happened to be bankers, lawyers, and business professionals. All through the process I had a sense of peace, which caused the interviews to flow. I was chosen as the new caretaker, and began work March 10, 1988. We moved from a 3-bedroom mobile home into a two-story, 5-bedroom farmhouse at the lake, with rent, and all utilities provided. In the last 16 years I have graduated from Butler County Community College, Liberty Home Bible Institute, taken external classes through Liberty, completed an 80 Hour Part-time Officers Class through the local SO and the Kansas Law Enforcement Training Center, certified as a Level 2 Wastewater Operator, tested and received a certification as a Licensed Class B Fireworks Operator, a state pesticide license, and have a couple hundred hours training as a fire captain with the Dunlap Dist. 9 volunteers. I also have my ordination, and have officiated 4 weddings here at the lake, and when the Lord leads have conducted services here, and filled-in for the Methodist pastor at Wilsey. (It was right at Christmas when the pastor had to have emergency surgery, so I filled-in. I had to conduct a candlelight service, and I had not even been to one for 20 years.. But all went well, and it was interesting because I went early for the service, turned the lights on, and waited for the congregation to arrive from caroling. A husband, wife, and young boys came in and asked if they could look around, because he was from there originally. They sat down on a front pew, and in a bit they asked if I could lead them in the Lord's prayer. I said sure, so I led them in the Lord's prayer. They could not stay for the service, had been having a few problems at home, (the husband had liquor on his breath), and had decided to visit home while driving around. I asked if I could pray for them before they left, so I prayed with them and they left with tears in the husbands eyes and warm handshakes. I never did find out who they were, and muddled through the candle-light service.(I have never been much on ritual, and the Methodist are big on it.. ) The job is a tremendous blessing when I am in a position to help an elderly couple change a flat tire on a 90+ degree day. The job is a blessing when I roll the truck and stand between a mobile home and a 10’ wall of brushfire sweeping-in from the SW at 25 mph. The job is a blessing when I see 4-year-old Jack, in his big yellow life jacket, with his little blue Disney fishing pole, pull-in an 18" Walleye on Memorial Weekend, 2002. As caretaker for our Lake and Park I am a volunteer fire fighter for the last 18 years, a reserve SO for the last 10 years I believe,(time seems to slip away so quickly). Our lake has 180 cabin/lake-homes, 21 year-round residences, and on the 4th of July we experience a population of 2000 people, alot of alcohol, fast boats, big fireworks, and often dry wildland conditions. Can get to be "fun". I am the first emergency response for a minimum of 20 minutes, so I "get" to deal with a truly interesting microcosim of the human condition…… Basicly to live is Christ, and to die is gain for to be absent from the body is to be in the glorious presence of my Lord, so whether I be a mowing, skimming Blue-green Algae off the top of our wastewater pond, taking a high-powered boatload of drunken 20-year-olds off the lake, or picking-up broken bodies from a dune-buggy rollover at 2:00AM, it makes me no difference, for whatever it takes to serve my Lord, provide for my family, and to get the job done. I will sanitize the human waste off the privie seats, and I will dispatch trucks, manpower, put-on my airpack and attack that structure fire. It is all the same to me. It serves my Lord until He calls me elsewhere. My apologies for rambling, and may God so bless each of you precious extraordinary children of the Living God. This is our lake: www.geospectra.net/kite/kahola/kahola.htmterraserver.microsoft.com/image.aspx?t=1&s=13&x=453&y=2666&z=14&w=1
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 21, 2007 16:24:41 GMT -6
God bless you;
Pull up a chair and sit a spell. I was just a sittin' here on the front porch in my old Grandfather's rocker. Just a taking a walk backwards in my mind and reflecting on bygone days and past events. Help yourself to the lemonade.
It was the winter of 1891 and the influenza epidemic was raging in the homes in Emporia, KS. Young Ina was just 3 years old, but for many nights she sat dilligently by her mothers bedside, mopping a fevered brow, fetching a drink of water. Alas it was not to be, and they buried her mother in Maplewood cemetary.
My Grandmother Ina was a small woman barely 5' and my Grandpa was 6'4", but my Grandmother was steadfast a pillar of strength and faith. Too many of her family would succomb to the ravages of diseases which are today treated by antibiotics, and penicillian,(which was discovered in 1928, more than thirty years after my great-grandmother's passing from influenza). Her grandfather was one of the first Methodist ministers in the area, and it was to Jessie Head's household that Ina would live with her Brothers and Sisters while her father Nemuel taught school out of town.
I was just reflecting on a wee-little three-year-old lass who had to shoulder such a burden. I had this story in my notes and thought I might share:
Does This Railroad Lead To Heaven? As told by Pastor F. M. Dosh
This is a true story taken from the 1894 edition of "Touching Incidents And Remarkable Answers To Prayer." As you'll see, this wonderful story seems to speak to adults as well as to children. It's easy to see why Jesus urged the disciples to "Permit the little children to come to Me, for to such as these belongs the kingdom of heaven." (Luke 18:16)
In traveling we often meet with people of different nationalities and languages. We also come across various incidents, some sorrowful, and others joyful. I recently witnessed one of the most joyful incidents while traveling on the railroad.
The train was going west, and it was evening. At a station a little girl about eight years old came aboard, carrying a little purse under her arm. She came into my car and quickly took a seat. She then began to study each face, but all were strange to her. She appeared weary, and using her purse for a pillow, she laid down on the seat to try to get a little sleep.
Soon the conductor came along collecting tickets and fare. Observing him, she asked him if she could lie there. The gentlemanly conductor replied that she could, and then kindly asked for her ticket. She informed him that she didn't have one, and then I overheard the following conversation. Said the conductor:
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to heaven," she answered.
"Who's paying your fare?" he asked.
She said, "Mister, does this railroad lead to heaven, and does Jesus travel on it?"
"I don't think so," he answered. "Why did you think that?"
"Why, sir, before my mommy died she used to sing to me about a heavenly railroad, and you looked so nice and kind that I thought this was that railroad. My mommy used to sing about Jesus on the heavenly railroad, and that He paid the fare for everybody, and that the train stopped at every station to take people on board. My mom don't sing to me anymore. Nobody sings to me now, and I thought I'd take the train and go see my mommy. Mister, do you sing to your little girl about the railroad that goes to heaven? You have a little girl, don't you?"
With tears in his eyes, he replied, "No, my little dear, I have no little girl now. I had one once, but she died some time ago and went to heaven."
"Did she go over this railroad, and are you going to see her now?" she asked.
By this time every person in the coach was upon their feet, and most of them were weeping. An attempt to describe what I witnessed is almost impossible. Some said, "God bless this little girl." Overhearing someone say that she was an angel, the little girl earnestly replied, "Yes, my mommy used to say that I would be an angel some day."
Addressing herself once more to the conductor, she asked him, "Do you love Jesus? I do, and if you love Him, He will let you ride to heaven on His railroad. I'm going there, and I wish you would go with me. I know Jesus will let me into heaven when I get there, and He will let you in too and everybody that will ride on His railroad - yes, all these people. Wouldn't you like to see heaven, and Jesus, and your little girl?"
These words, so pathetically and innocently uttered, brought a great gush of tears from all eyes, but most profusely from those of the conductor. Some who were already traveling on the heavenly railroad shouted aloud for joy.
She now asked the conductor, "Mister, may I lie here until we get to heaven?"
"Yes, dear, yes," he answered.
"Will you wake me up when we get there so that I can see my mommy, and your little girl, and Jesus?" she asked. "I so much want to see them all."
His answer came in broken phrases, but in words very tenderly spoken, "Yes, dear angel, yes. God bless you." "Amen!" was sobbed by more than a score of voices.
Turning her eyes once more upon the conductor, she questioned him again, "What should I tell your little girl when I see her? Should I tell her that I saw her daddy on Jesus' railroad? Should I?"
This brought a fresh flood of tears from all present, and the conductor knelt by her side and, embracing her, wept the reply he could not utter. At this point the brakeman called out the name of another station.
The conductor got up and asked the brakeman to take care of his duty for him at that station, for he was busy. That was a precious place. I Thank God that I was a witness to this scene, and I was sorry that at that point I was obliged to leave the train.
The Sequel
A letter from the conductor to Pastor Dosh
Dear Pastor Dosh,
I wish to unburden my heart by writing to you and saying that that angel visit on the train was a blessing to me, although I didn't realize it in its fullness until some hours later. But blessed be the Redeemer, I know now that I am His and He is mine. I no longer wonder why Christians are happy. Oh, my joy, my joy!
The instrument of my salvation has gone to be with God. I wanted to adopt her in the place of my little daughter, who is now in heaven, and with this intention I took her back to her hometown, where she left the train.
When I talked with my wife about adopting her, she replied, "Yes, certainly, and immediately too, for there is a Divine providence in this. Oh," she said, "I could never refuse to take under my charge the instrument of my husband's salvation."
When I returned to the town where I had left the little girl, I asked about her and learned that in just three days after her return she died suddenly, without any apparent disease, and her happy soul had gone to dwell with her mother, my little girl, and the angels in heaven.
I was sorry to hear of her death, but my sorrow is turned to joy when I think that my daughter in heaven received word from earth concerning her daddy, and that he is on the heavenly railway. Oh! sir, I think I see my little girl near the Redeemer. I think I hear her sing, "I'm safe at home, and daddy and mommy are coming." I find myself sending back the reply, "Yes, my darling, we are coming and will soon be there." Oh, my dear sir, I am so glad that I know you! May the blessing of the great God rest upon you. Please write to me, and be assured I would be most happy to meet you again.
We learn many things from this incident. From the mouths of infants and nursing babes Thou hast established strength? (Psalm 8:2) Not only should we never be afraid to speak out for Jesus, no matter where we are, but we should never give UP praying for the salvation of those we love. The conductor's wife was obviously a godly woman who must have been praying for her husband's salvation. It looks like God honored her prayers with a visit from this "little angel" who came in love, boldness, and with a word from the Lord about the conductor's daughter. The right word at the right time is a mighty tool in the hand of God.
Author Unknown
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Life's Railway To Heaven
Life is like a mountain railroad, with an engineer that?s brave; We must make the run successful, from the cradle to the grave; Watch the curves, the fills, the tunnels; never falter, never quail; Keep your hand upon the throttle, and your eye upon the rail.
Refrain
Bless?d Savior, Thou wilt guide us, Till we reach that blissful shore; Where the angels wait to join us In Thy praise forevermore.
You will roll up grades of trial; you will cross the bridge of strife; See that Christ is your Conductor on this lightning train of life; Always mindful of obstruction, do your duty, never fail; Keep your hand upon the throttle, and your eye upon the rail.
Refrain
You will often find obstructions; look for storms of wind and rain; On a fill, or curve, or trestle, they will almost ditch your train; Put your trust alone in Jesus; never falter, never fail; Keep your hand upon the throttle, and your eye upon the rail.
Refrain
As you roll across the trestle, spanning Jordan?s swelling tide, You behold the Union Depot into which your train will glide; There you?ll meet the Superintendent, God the Father, God the Son, With the hearty, joyous, plaudit, ?Weary pilgrim, welcome home!?
Refrain
Happy trails to you and yourn until we meet again.
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 21, 2007 16:26:25 GMT -6
God bless you;
My Grandpa once told me that life was just putting one foot in front of the other, and eventually one looks around and discovers that you've covered quite a distance.
When one is walking with the Master, when His Holy Spirt indwells the heart then one can savor the walk itself and not have to worry about the ultimate destination.
The greatest blessing that this old feller has ever experienced besides the love and peace of Christ, is to gaze into the face of my precious one, and to look upon the faces of my children and grandbabies and to tell them how much I cherish them. The privalege of laying a hand on their shoulder, or giving them a big ol bear-hug, and praying over them is an honor that causes the tears to well up, for to think that my Father has endowed this old sinner saved by grace, with the love and care of such precious souls is so overwhelming.
Every precious soul has a sunrise to experience, a day to be savored, and a dusk to reflect upon. May we take the time to allow our hearts to savor a moment for it is unique in all the earth, is fleeting at best, and the pathway goes on and it is left behind.
Memory is the treasurehouse of the soul, wherein are stored the sights, sounds, feelings, perceptions of life. The painful are stored with the joyous. The sands of time wear down the sharp edges of pain, and though a sadness remains, through experience we are able to understand the Words of God when He declares, "and this too shall pass". The sands of time polish the gems of joy into shining jewels, which can be taken out, held, and savored again with a smile, and the joy once felt resurrected.
When one shares the attribute of love, with others, the legacy which is passed-on is rich and everlasting in the hearts of those we touch. May the pathway we walk enable us to bestow a bountiful harvest of spiritual fruit in the hearts and lives of those around.
Happy trails to you and yourn.
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 21, 2007 16:38:52 GMT -6
God bless you; I got this from Karen and thought I might share: Once there was a little boy who lived in the country. For bathroom facilities, they had to use an outhouse. The little boy hated it because it was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, and it stank all the time. The outhouse was sitting on the bank of a creek, and the boy determined that one day he would push that outhouse into the water. One day after a spring rain, the creek was swollen so the little boy decided that today was the day to push the outhouse into the creek. So he got a large stick and pushed. Finally, the outhouse toppled into the creek and floated away. That evening his dad sternly told him to sit down. Knowing he was in trouble, the little boy asked why. The dad replied, "Someone pushed the outhouse into the creek today. It was you, wasn't it, son?" The boy nodded meekly. Then he thought a moment and said, "Dad, I read in school today that George Washington chopped down a cherry tree and didn't get into trouble because he told the truth." The dad replied, "Well, son, George Washington's father wasn't in that cherry tree!" +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Jan and I was both raised poor and out in the country. Neither one of us had indoor plumbing till we got married and bought a mobile home in town. Its quite a deal to turn-on the fawcet rather than dip out of a bucket. If the power goes-out, as in an ice storm we just have our 30-gallon waste basket, 10 gallon cooler filled with drinking water, and our kerosene lanterns and camp stove ready. When I was born we did not yet have rural electricity, out at the farm. My grandpa used to rock me in his old rocker by kerosene lantern. That old rocker sits next to my propane stove and the last ice storm I sat in it and rocked with a cup of hot Earl Grey. My Mom moved around a great deal when she was just a wee-one, and about the time she started to school her family was living down in Saffordville. They moved-out on a farm out in the flinthills, and her Dad was feeding cattle. She would walk the mile to the Caanan School. It was a small one-room school out in the hills. She was Baptized in the biggest body of water that she had ever seen, which they called Lake Kahola. Her Dad died from a heart attack when she was twelve, and they moved into Saffordville. When she was sixteen her and Dad got married and I came along three years later. It was in 1956 that I was riding on the front of my Mom's saddle as she and Dad were herding some old cows across the Kahola Dam, and onto some catch pens. One old cow ran into the lake bed and Dad had to drive it out of the corn field which was planted on the lakebed. The lake had gone dry with the drought of the 50's and it was not until '57-'58 that the rains started up again and the lake filled back up. I never got too far away as I am sitting at Kahola typing this. My hero of the faith was my praying Grandmother Lillis. For a lifetime which spanned 94 years she would arise early each morning, read His Word and pray for each of her beloved family. When anyone needed prayer it was Grandma who was called on, for it was certain that she would pray, and no one more fervently or with deeper faith. Frail in body, her heart and faith was that of a mighty warrior. When Grandma went home, I was asked by two Aunt's to conduct the memorial service, for in her latter years Grandma was unable to get out and attend church, and there had been three pastors since last she was in the pew. This is a picture of five generations. My Grandmother Lillis, my mother, my daughter holding my grand-daughter, with myself, big-ugly in the back: There is not much but a few rock where the Caanan School once set. The old place where Mom once lived still has an old box-car that was used to fill the feed wagon. Many things change, the buildings crumble, the people move-on and are lost in memory but the hills remain rocky with flint but somehow soft in the heart. Happy trails to you and yourn.
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 21, 2007 16:46:45 GMT -6
God bless you;
Heroic hearts, stoic determination, deep and abiding faith, old before their time, as much at one with the land as that big old Oak Tree down by the creek that the youngins have the rope swing tied to.
It is interesting as the years have gone by, that those men on the fire trucks who I first started with back in '89, are now old men. I had no idea that Dale who was driving my truck for 8 hours last spring, as we stopped a firestorm rolling north to '56 Highway, just turned 80. The median age of our department must be close to 50, a foolish bunch of old grandpas that like to go out and play with the "dragon".
It is interesting to sit-in my rocker and reflect. Junior has retired from District #9 Dunlap as his knees have gotten so bad he could no longer drive the trucks. Francis passed away from a cancer, but I will always remember his little thin cigars and though he was too frail to take-out a truck, he would sweep-out the station when the trucks were out. He always had a ready smile, and asked me how the fishin was. We gathered in our award jackets with our caps over our hearts, at attention, a set of bunker gear hanging on the truck with lights activated as Francis' hearse passed by. The other 40-year veterns in the front of the group.
Melvin, Kenny, Dale, are our other 40 year veterns, who have forgotten more about fire-fighting then I will ever know. They have the trucks ready for us when we hit the station, and often when short-handed will actually drive and man the controls. They started with buckets and gunny sacks, and graduated through wildfire, tankers, pumpers, and rescue trucks. Melvin stands about 5'4" and weighs-in at 140 pounds sopping wet, but this man is a purple heart vetern of WWII, and he was driving the first truck that I ever climbed-on and opened a nozzle. If I could be half the man that Melvin is then I would be quite a man.
These are men who for over 40 years have sacrificed their time, energy, put their very lives on the line year-in and year-out to protect their neighbors and their families. There was a need for someone to be out there, and these men have been.
Chief Allen is working on 22 years with the department. His mechanical expertisse allows us to tear the pumps, engines apart, and to make them as efficent as possible. He has converted Forrest Sevice 6x6 trucks into wildfire trucks the envy of other departments. We have had many mutual aid calls to pasture fires as we have the high ground clearance and can roll up and over rock ledges where 4x4's cannot go. Because of Richard's vision, labor, and dedication our volunteer department is on a par with many of the paid departments in the larger cities. We have 7 trucks at two stations and can roll 6000 gallons to the scene. With two floating pumps we can deliver 840 gallons per minute to a structure fire. With a 2500 gallon tanker and a 2500 pumper tanker, and my engine #3 with 1000 gallons, we can initially respond our 6000 to any structure fire in 3 counties.
After 18 years with Dunlap District #9, when the call comes in, and I hit the door a flying, I am voicing a prayer for all involved. As the adrenalin surges, as I rush through the night to an unknown involvement with the "dragon", with lights flashing and siren wailing, there is a real and present fear each time. The overwhelming fear is that I might fail, I might not react properly, I might let these men down, I might let the "dragon" escape destruction, I might not perform professionally. There is always room for improvement, always a better way to have deployed, to have atacked, to have performed better. I always go over the response in my mind and try to improve for the next time.
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 27, 2007 22:57:11 GMT -6
od bless you;
I call this my prayer for a gimpy owl:
I am the caretaker for a lake and park. Going into the Labor Day weekend, (3 years ago) we had been drouth-stricken. The lake was 2' below full, and we were on high wildfire alert. I had closed open fires in our campgrounds. A fellow about 10 miles east had been burning his trash, and the fire ran across his mowed yard and caught his shed on fire,(we mutual aided their local department with a truck). Our sunday worship service had been praying for rain for a couple of weeks.
The drouth broke on Thurs. with 4" of rain by Friday morning, 4" of rain by Saturday night, and another 21/2" by Sunday morning with drizzle and mist into Monday. The lake went from 2' under full to 1' over full, and the grasslands are greening up, the earth is replenished. An answer to direct prayer.
Usually I am about worn down by Labor Day weekend,(70-80 hours a week), and dealing with the lake over the last blast of the season usually wrings me out. With the rain and cool north wind, we only had 60% occupancy instead of 90%, and folks were packing-up and leaving on Sunday. I almost felt like I had a weekend off. I had been praying for the strength to make it through the weekend.
On Friday evening some ladies came and got me, because they had seen an owl with a broken wing in the grove of trees north of the lake. It turned out to be a Great Horned owl, about 2' in heigth with his left wing extended out straight, and as folks got close he would jump up a couple of feet, but the left wing never moved.
I called the Wildlife and Parks officer, but he was unable to respond until Saturday morning. Saturday morning the officer and I beat the bushes looking for the owl, but he was well hidden in the dense brush, as there was no evidence that he had been attacked. The officer told me to call him if the owl showed up. The trouble is the officer is 20 miles away, and on strictly limited hours.
Rain all day Sat., no sign of the owl. My prayers were that we might be able to help the owl, and for the safety of the cabin owners and their little dogs from the owl. A mature Great Horned owl cannot be caged with a Bald Eagle, because they will kill and eat the eagle. At the zoo in Emporia, a new worker was handling a Great Horned, using linemens gloves, and he slipped and the owl sank his talons through the glove and into the hand. It took three other workers to pry the talons out from the hand. I was fearful of trying to handle the owl myself.
Sunday night the owl was spotted in an open hay meadow. I froze him for an hour, in my headlights, but was unable to get ahold of the gamewarden, so I gave up and went to bed. I did notice that the wing was folded along the body, which ment that the joints were functioning, so the wing could be repaired.
The game warden shows up Monday, but the owl is hidden in the brush. In visiting with Randy I learned that a broom in the chest causes the owl to lay on its back with talons up, in defensive mode, and he can be caught and stowed in a cage.
Monday night we look for the owl without success, but I now have the game warden's cell phone and home phone numbers.
Tues. was my day off. About 5:00 that evening a cabin-owner calls with an owl sitting in his front yard. I shoot over there with my cage in the back, weilding gloves on my hands, and a great deal of fear, for if I fumble I could further hurt the owl, if I fail the owl poses a threat to domestic pets in the area, and if I slip, the talons would rip through my gloves,(plus I an't never done this before). I was intensely praying as I responded.
Well I grabbed my floor broom out of the back of the truck, and as I approached the owl he tried to run, I cornered him against some weeds, laid that broom on his chest, and pushed him over on his back. As his talons became exposed,(clawing at the broom), I reached in and caught his legs in my right hand above the talons, just like we used to catch chickens. I kept the broom in his chest, picked him up, carried him to the cage and laid him inside. A huge thank you Jesus on my lips, and alot of sweat on my brow.
About midday Wed. the game warden picked up the owl, to haul him down to the main center to have the vets work on him. This was an answer to direct prayer, for we got help for the owl, and we eliminated the threat to the cabin owners.
Our God reigns, and he looks after His children.
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 27, 2007 22:58:10 GMT -6
Kahola Klassics 1998
As caretaker of Lake Kahola, (a small residential lake of some 180 cabins and 410acres of water), for the last ten years I have seen a few oddities. Humor is rather a state of perception one might have to have been there to see the humor. Often the humor may be on the part of the observer, and not appreciated by the active participant, but the situation can still be rather humorous.
In 1988 I was a brand new caretaker on Kahola with one of my duties being the enforcement of boating regulations. All boaters are required to purchase and affix a permit sticker for their vessel to operate on the water at Kahola. My first weekend of lake patrol, and the first time out on the water in the patrol boat, I noticed a boat without a permit. I proceed to throw out my chest, fire up the patrol boat, and run across the water to the violator's dock. I issue him a warning and tell him to have a good day, and prepare to depart. My boat won't start. Dead in the water, with only a paddle for power, I have to have the gentleman tow me across the lake in his unpermitted vessel.
Rendering assistance can provide some ironic humor. I was having problems with a Yellow Sea Doo, this past season, and the teenagers that insisted on continually pushing the envelope with wild operation of the vessel. I was forced to suspend the vessel for two weeks with the vessel being allowed back on the lake for the Labor Day weekend. The young man and his mother were very upset, but there was nothing they could do about it. Labor Day weekend arrived, and the vessel was back on the water. I observed the young man's pickup towing the family ski boat over to the boatramp. The pickup was on the ramp for an extended period of time, and other vehicles were waiting to use the ramp. I noticed that one vehicle had unhooked from the boat trailer, backed down the ramp in front of the boy's truck, and that the boy's truck was a little lopsided on the ramp. I left my vantage point and drove over to the ramp. The boy had backed off the side of the ramp and was stuck tight. The other vehicle had tried to pull them out using a rope, which promptly broke. I calmly backed down the ramp, hooked up my tow strap and pulled them right out. It is tough to thank someone for bailing you out of an embarrassing situation, who had thrown you off the lake two weeks earlier.
Charles is a retired banker who owns a cabin on the gently sloping north shore. He ran out one afternoon to do a bit of matinance on his cabin. After parking behind the cabin he went in for a sandwich. Sitting at the kitchen table, eating his sandwich and listening to the radio he looked out the window and watched his little blue Subaru wagon roll sedately past his window headed for the lake. He ran to the lakeside door as the car's nose dropped over the lakewall and stuck under the neighbor's dock. I used my tractor to pick up the dock while a wrecker lifted the car off of the lakewall and towed it up a ramp. The top of the car was scuffed but he was able to drive it back to town.
One year later the neighbor's 8 year old grandson decided to take his Father's car for a spin. He started the little red Honda, put it in gear and drove it down Charle's ramp and out into the lake. One scared little boy was sitting shoulder deep in water behind the wheel of a Honda submarine. The car was hauled to town, the fluids flushed twice, and is now back at the lake on weekends.
A teenage boy is learning to ski for the first time. Time after time he almost gets up only to fall, and then success. He is up and running but he is wearing a pair of soggy baggy shorts. As he is pulled past my position I watch him make frantic attempts to tug at his shorts but can't let go of the rope long enough to render the necessary tug. The moon steadily rises as they disappear into the west. The shorts hit the ankles just as the boy hits the water.
My first month as caretaker is very busy as I try to get some brush cut prior to the mowing season. A freak March snowstorm hits, with heavy snow coming down like a curtain. I load the brush that I have cut and head for the burnsite. As I round the corner I look into the neighbor's pasture and behold four adult buffalo just across the fence. I thought for a minute that I had entered a time warp. But it turns out that Bacons had just turned them out on pasture. Later that summer one of them got out and was running down around the cabins. The cabinowners had a little trouble convincing people that they had to dodge a buffalo stampede.
The great Kahola goose roundup started do to over- population of Canadian geese. During the molt season, ( from May to July), they are flightless. The juveniles gain their wingfeathers at the same time as the adults, so they are all able to fly at the same time.
As they enter a herded grazing situation they tend to be a nasty nuisance. In conjunction with the Wildlife and Parks we rounded them up like cattle, clipped their wings, and shipped them off to a containment area. The adults would return but the juveniles would stay near the place where they learned to fly. Two months later I was sitting in my truck watching the boat traffic, when here came the adults flying in low over the dam. As they approached my position I could hear them honking their return. As they passed over my position one of them dropped a nice juicy deposit on the hood of my truck. We're back, they were saying.
Welcome to Kahola.
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 27, 2007 23:00:24 GMT -6
God bless you;
It is interesting the folks you meet along life's pathway. It is such a blessing to have met Y'all here on this forum, and to gather with you in fellowship.
As a youngin' growing-up on a farm outside Emporia, Kansas, it was always such a thrill to meet my Aunt as she came in on the train, the Super Chief.
In those days there were the west-bound trains coming in from Chicago, from points east, and the eastbounds coming in from Amarillo and points west to LA. The terminal had the clerk's counter and a wide expanse of booth type seating lining the walls. The train schedules were posted-up across from the clerk, and there would be a whole list, something like the plane departure/arrivals in an airport.
What excitement as the time arrived, and we would go outside on the concourse next to the tracks, and look far west to see if the lights were coming. Soon here in the distance we could see the headlight, hear the whistle at each crossing and then rolling into the station would be the giant silver Super Chief, with steam shooting out the sides and glistening cars stretched out behind. The conducters would be standing in the open doorways, and as the train came to a stop at the station they would swing down and place the stool/steps for folks to disembark.
We would see my Aunt stepping down from the train, and greet her with open arms and big hugs.
As I grew into my teen years, I and my younger brother got to ride the Super Chief from Emporia to Amarillo, TX., and it was a good 8-10 hours. We always packed a lunch as the dining car with its real linen, chrystal, china and silver was way too expensive for a couple country boys.
We would pass through the small towns of west Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, just as they were waking up. I often wanted to step-off the train and to see how the folks lived, what they did, where they went, and just who might be going into the cafe for breakfast, who might be sitting down with old friends over coffee. It was always so interesting to wonder about the folks in each little hamlet and village.
The only Super Chief around today is a credit union. The old train station burned a few years back and is relegated to the annals of history and greyheaded old codgers with too much time on their hands.
The old Blaylock's Cafe, next to the train depot, where we would stop-in for pie and a glass of milk, only a memory, but the tall lemon marange pies and cold glasses of frothy milk, historic ambrosia.
The little towns and hamlets still dot the plains. Folks still arise in their homes, start their day, go hither and yon, and I still often wonder who dwells just over the next hill, who once lived in that empty old house on the corner, what were the folks like who first built that house. History is fleeting and the events of today soon relegated to ones personal dusty-bin, history to the youngins coming along.
I am reminded of Jim H., who recently passed on. I serve on the Fire Department with his son Ralph, who is a grandpa, a farmer like his dad, and a pillar in our community. I met Jim as I was invited to join the Dunlap Brotherhood, a group of volunteers who owned the old gymnasium, which was all that was left of the old high school/grade school. The big event was the annual Groundhog dinner where we served pancakes and homegrown sausage patties, as a fundraiser to support the upkeep on the gym, and local needs.
Jim was crippled up with arthritis, he would walk hunched a bit and his hand were a bit gnarled, but he always had a big smile and he sure enjoyed the get-togethers. Jim would always ask for the styrefoam cups, as he used them as pots for his tomato plants. He always had a big garden, and it kept him close to the land. Like my own father and grandfather, Jim had moved by wagon from their previous home, just ahead of spring planting. My Dad was eight years old when they made their last move and he drove the team while Grandpa rode horseback to help break through the snowdrifts.
Jim became at one with the rolling hills and rich bottom land and he raised a tall son who would take his place, and the legacy would be founded with each turn of the wagon wheel, each methodical clip-clop of the horses hooves.
There are stories untold, whispered tales of forgotten lore wafting across the rocky hills on eternal breezes. One listens to the old men as they gather for morning coffee at the Saddlerock Cafe. The boistrous banter from the central Bullshooter's Table, reveals the hint of stories left untold, a legacy well carried by the next youngins with hair turned grey, lines of ever deepening living endellibly etching the faces with priceless badges of humanity.
It is a privalege to sit among these men and behold the living legacy of those who have trod these hills before us, who have given us life and who will be memorilized in the hearts and lives of the youngins yet to come.
Happy trails to you and yourn.
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 27, 2007 23:09:38 GMT -6
God bless you; Been through a few of those twisty little tornado fellows. Jan and I had just left the shopping center in Emporia about 5:30 PM, June 8, 1974, and gone home to supper. We were in our mobile home on the west side of town. About 6:30, the old clouds turned a dark purple, and out of the west window they were headed south, and out of the east window they were headed north. The rain came in sheets, and the crank-out windows started flapping in and out like a bird trying to take off. The whole place was shimmy and shaking like an elvis impersonator. After it passed we could hear sirens, and found out after a bit that the feller had passed right over the top of us, and came down onto the shopping center we had left, tracked northeast through apartments, houses, and a mobile home park. The shopping center was a shattered hulk, the two story apartments were taken away with just the concrete pads left, and 90% of the mobile homes were turned into debris balls. There were 6 killed, but it could have had a larger fatality rate. This is a picture of the shopping center where we had been an hour before: www.crh.noaa.gov/Image/top/events/june081974/emptor2.jpgl We were in a duplex 3 miles west of Emporia in the summer of '85. The old clouds started rolling, the walls started shaking, the roof started moving up and down, and I had Jan and the kids in the bathtub, and I was leaning against the front door to hold it closed. A couple of big trees,(18"+ in diameter), were uprooted one on each side of the duplex, and when we went out, a third of a roof of a mobile home was wrapped around the back of Jan's car. It was off of a trailer on the east side, and the man inside was killed. In the last 19 years I have had 4 take-cover calls from the SO, and each time the little fellers either tracked past, or passed overhead within 15 minutes. I keep a mental talley of whos out here and where, and I head Jan and the kids to cover and I hit the phone to a few key residents. A couple were classic skinny ropes that kind of skipped around and passed on the horizon just over the north hilltops. This is an example of what a skinny rope looks like: www.tornadochaser.com/photo/genewacondalake19922.jpgThe big feller was a wall cloud that tracked north 10 miles from Saffordville, and kind of hung low over the lake, with big ol black swirling clouds just a turning around in a circle. It was about a half mile across, and left a 6" pile of hail in the bed of my truck. I have a key to a garage with a basement shelter and I had a pretty good group gathered downstairs. It would have been quite a dance if he had decided to set a spell. I was standing outside watching till the hail hit, and the nasty feller was about as big across as the lake. This is an example of a wall cloud: www.horsburgh.com/images/wallcloud.jpgI keep track of the radar on the net, and there was one storm that was tracking-in from Marion county. We had a group of scouts camped, and I drove over and gave them a take cover. They had her packed up and were ten miles south,(bout half way back to town when the rain swept in with 50+ mph winds. It might have been a bit squirrly for them otherwise. We have campers and I kind of keep track and give them a heads-up. We have concrete privys at the campsite and they are like concrete bunkers with room for 10 in a side dreesing portion. The campers have ducked in and rode it out. I get a call from the national weather service in Topeka, because I am in their computer as a spotter, and they have me located specific on the maps. It can be a bit lively at the dance, but my Lord has His hand upon us and whatever comes if there is something I can do I will do, but if its out of my hands then I will be there to pick up the pieces. This is over the course of the last 34 years. We get a tornado or severe storm here and there but we can watch for them and be ready to dance. Its not like the earthquakes which sneak up on you unexpected and knock the legs out from under you. Its not like the hurricanes who just smother the whole area and spawn tornados all over the place. I remember the one that hit Andover, a suberb of Wichita a few years back. It tracked on up the turnpike. I found a few pictures later while I was out mowing, and we are about 80 miles north. I can't remember if it was the same one that hit the west side of Emporia, but a friend of mine was hunkered down in the concrete men's room, along with his buddy and Norm the owner. The only thing left was the concrete bathroom, as the rest of the service station had been shelled-off and away. Across the street was a car lot, and there was a circular hole in the windsheild and a roll of toilet paper laying on the front seat. These are some shots of the 1991 Wichita/Andover: www.tornadochaser.com/photo/wichita1991_by_keith_lathrum.jpgwww.tornadochaser.com/photo/andoverter.gifWe just have to remember that though the storm clouds billow and roll, and the world is a dark and stormy place, we are safe in the arms of Jesus, and His Light pierces through the darkness and sets the captives free. This hymn was written after two major traumas in Spafford’s life. The first was the great Chicago Fire of October 1871, which ruined him financially (he had been a wealthy businessman). Shortly after, while crossing the Atlantic, all four of Spafford’s daughters died in a collision with another ship. Spafford’s wife Anna survived and sent him the now famous telegram, “Saved alone.” Several weeks later, as Spafford’s own ship passed near the spot where his daughters died, the Holy Spirit inspired these words. They speak to the eternal hope that all believers have, no matter what pain and grief befall them on earth. When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul. Refrain It is well, with my soul, It is well, with my soul, It is well, it is well, with my soul. Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, Let this blest assurance control, That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, And hath shed His own blood for my soul. Refrain My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part but the whole, Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more, Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul! Refrain For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live: If Jordan above me shall roll, No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul. Refrain But, Lord, ‘tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait, The sky, not the grave, is our goal; Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord! Blessèd hope, blessèd rest of my soul! Refrain And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, The clouds be rolled back as a scroll; The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend, Even so, it is well with my soul. Refrain
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Post by Caretaker on Dec 31, 2007 16:39:13 GMT -6
God bless you; I had gotten sound asleep on Friday, Nov. 25th, 2005, when at 11:30 PM, the multiple tones blasted-out of my radio, and one of our fire fighters on the phone called-out a house fire, SE od Dunlap. Trying to grab my pants, key the mike, run for the door, all at the same time. Jump into my gear, roll out the truck, close the door to hold-in the heat, and go roaring off into the darkness with flashing lights and siren. The adrenelin rush is amazing as the heart beats faster, and the unknown dragon awaits. House fire, no idea whether there are people inside, how bad it is, exact location, how to deploy. As I top the last hill overlooking the valley, a torch is blasting-up into the night sky, and I have no problem locating the 10-20 for our response. Tanker 966 radios in that they are just leaving the station, and I can see their lights as they traverse the 1/2 mile to the scene. Knowing the roads, I downshift as I approach the corner, and romp-it out of the turn, as I key the mike, "Engine #3, ETA 1 minute", as the Chief responds, 10-4 Engine #3, stage East side", responded "10-4". This is similar to the amount of involvement which we were greeted with: The structure was fully involved, with the fire through the roof, before the call had even come in. The house was two story over a celler, and even the wood deck on the east side was burning through. The outside walls were ablaze, but some of the windows were in still intact, with a propane tank on the west side about 15 feet from the wall. The large elms on the east were on fire and periodicly burning 4-6' section of limbs would drop to the ground. The other two man crews were trying to knock-down from the south and west sides, and so I charged my line and tried to swat the east side and on through. The problem was it was an old house with cobbled-up construction, and with the floor afire and unstable we could not make entry, and too many nooks and crannys kept our streams from swatting the blaze. We went through our primary water and had a couple of tankers coming from ten miles away. I still had about a couple hundred gallons, and so the cheif directed me to protect the propane tank with bursts, until water arrived. This is similar to the west face of the house: All I could do was stream the tank, sweep the roof and wall, shut down. Repeating the sweep every minute. I was back about 20' but the heat through my face plate was pretty uncomfortable. For about 10 minutes I was doing a holding pattern, and it seemed like 3 hours as I did not know if my next blast was my last, and the water on the tank was steaming. It was such a relief when water arrived, and as soon as other lines were charged I could walk-in and knock-down the west wall, fog pattern through the doors and windows, and empty my tank. With the extra water, and much of the roof opened-up we could finally stream from front to back, and knock down the "dragon". The last of the trucks went 10-8 back at the station about 6:30AM. We got together at 10:00AM and washed and re-racked hoses. Everything was secure and ready to roll again by 2:00PM, as I had washed my lake pumper hoses and gear, and had to re-rack my own lines after I returned from Station #1. It was quite a day for a bunch of old grandpas...
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Murph
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Post by Murph on Dec 31, 2007 18:59:07 GMT -6
It was quite a day indeed! I have read your "Refections" with much interest. Some like the last one, on the edge of the rocker, on your back porch. Glad no one was in the house. Just gonna sit and rock a spell and catch my breath from that last story.
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Post by Keith on Jan 1, 2008 9:49:37 GMT -6
What is it about the thrill of the chase? The sirens, the lights, the high speed squeel of tires around a corner you know you can take only so fast, but if you don't, the tail lights of the one being pursued could vanish into the distance...
Ahhh, the good old days. I miss'm. Now stop goin' into all the detail Drew, yer' gettin' me all excited! ;D
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Post by Caretaker on Jan 10, 2008 5:25:52 GMT -6
What is it about the thrill of the chase? The sirens, the lights, the high speed squeel of tires around a corner you know you can take only so fast, but if you don't, the tail lights of the one being pursued could vanish into the distance... Ahhh, the good old days. I miss'm. Now stop goin' into all the detail Drew, yer' gettin' me all excited! ;D God bless you Bro; Will break open a new bottle of Geritol, and we can get our rockers going a bit faster..... ;D Lights and siren piercing the darkness, driving just under control, but its 5 miles yet to go over bad roads. The most fervent of prayers going up from the driver's seat for all involved and all responding. Just dispatches' statement of "structure fire", and no idea what size of enemy awaits. No clue as to hazards on the scene, power lines, propane tanks, fuel tanks. One old house had oil-soaked floor and exploding gas cans. We had to bulldoze through brush to get close and then boom from the inside. One mobile home had a room full of fireworks and ammunition. The adrenalin pumps me up to a college linebacker, and when I get done I pour a wrung-out dishrag out of my bunker gear... An Old Farmer's Advice: * Your fences need to be horse-high, pig-tight and bull-strong. * Keep skunks and bankers and lawyers at a distance. * Life is simpler when you plow around the stump. * A bumble bee is considerably faster than a John Deere tractor. * Words that soak into your ears are whispered...not yelled. * Meanness don't jes' happen overnight. * Forgive your enemies. It messes up their heads. * Do not corner something that you know is meaner than you. * It don't take a very big person to carry a grudge. * You cannot unsay a cruel word. * Every path has a few puddles. * When you wallow with pigs, expect to get dirty. * The best sermons are lived, not preached. * Most of the stuff people worry about ain't never gonna happen anyway. * Don't judge folks by their relatives. * Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer. * Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you'll enjoy it a second time. * Don't interfere with somethin' that ain't botherin' you none. * Timing has a lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance. * If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'. * Sometimes you get, and sometimes you get got. * The biggest troublemaker you'll probably ever have to deal with, watches you from the mirror every mornin'. * Always drink upstream from the herd. * Good judgment comes from experience, and a lotta that comes from bad judgment. * Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin' it back in. * If you get to thinkin' you're a person of some influence, try orderin' somebody else's dog around. * Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God. Happy trials to you and yourn'.
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Post by Keith on Jan 10, 2008 11:11:39 GMT -6
;D ;D ;D
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Murph
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Post by Murph on Jan 10, 2008 20:22:38 GMT -6
Geritol...euuuuuuk. Never touch the stuff. Will take another cup of coffee...but put a top on it and stick a straw in...
get ta rocking too fast and the stuff sloshes.
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Murph
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Post by Murph on Jan 10, 2008 20:24:38 GMT -6
Ya know Brother Drew, what we really need out here on your porch is a good ole porch swing, or is that just a Southern thing?
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Post by Caretaker on Jan 10, 2008 22:27:58 GMT -6
Ya know Brother Drew, what we really need out here on your porch is a good ole porch swing, or is that just a Southern thing? God bless you Sis; We do have a glider/swing that sits on the north end just off the railing. It fits in just between the railing and the living room wall. It has a metal framework but length-ways wooden slats and arms. It kind of neat to sit in of an evening, rock and watch the stars come out. There is also a yard swing, like a porch swing but hooked by chains to a metal swing set with four legs. It sits just off the porch facing east, and our picnic table sits just to its south across the sidewalk. This is a pic of our house, and I have a ladder on the porch painting the ceiling, and letting my yard go to seed. Thats the glider over on the right with the redwood seat. The little dog is our Angel who is a boxer. She hops around like a bunny rabbit when we get home, with that little stubby tail going "90 to nothing". Just this side of the big elm tree is one of my two horseshoe pits, well over-grown and needing trimmed. I dig out the shoes for get-togethers and we place a half-dozen picnic tables between the sidewalk and the big tree. Folks can sit and watch the horseshoes. Here is a picture in the wintertime taken from the sidewalk looking southeast across the other horseshoe pit. There is snow on the ground, ice on the lake, and a few thousand Canadian Geese spending the winter. This year I saw 6 Bald Eagles at the same time as they were on the ice watching for weakened Mallards. Just today we had a few hundred snow geese glide in and settle at the west end. img512.imageshack.us/img512/8150/geese20mb.jpgIce Storm: img53.imageshack.us/img53/8012/icesun15ap.jpgSW corner of our little porch, my office, and our fire station #2, after an ice storm: img51.imageshack.us/img51/7692/iceoffice8ps.jpgPlowing our driveway: img366.imageshack.us/my.php?image=tractor13zj.jpg
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Post by Caretaker on Jan 10, 2008 23:48:07 GMT -6
God bless you; My son Drew R., got interested in bowling when he was going to Emporia State. When I was hired as Caretaker in '88 I stuck my ball and shoes in the closet and did not figure to take them out again. They needed another bowler and Rob asked me if I would like to bowl with them. I took out the ball and shoes after 13 years, and we started bowling. It was interesting because my shoes were 30 years old and older than some that I was bowling with. I went by my middle name Doug as Rob was already registered as Drew. It was fun to bowl with him. This is a picture of us with our plaques when we won the doubles in the men's city tournament. Rob is 6' and weighs-in at about 195. In the summertime I wear a hat and tinted safety glasses, and tend to look like a reverse raccoon : Rob carries a 195-200 average, I carry 205-210 for the last 4-5 years. Twenty years ago I had a high game of 278. Rob had shot 279. I kept telling him I was going to catch him. A few weeks ago I threw seven in a row, a 9 spare and then struck out for a 279. Two weeks later Rob bowls 12 in a row for his 300. Now the old feller has to catch-up again... It is alot of fun, and I am bowling with guys I bowled against 30 years ago, and now their sons and grandsons are also bowling with us.
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Murph
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Post by Murph on Jan 11, 2008 16:21:16 GMT -6
Enjoyed the pictures and glad to know I can come sit in the glider and glide. Can ya get up the speed you can in a rocker.
Looked at the pictures at work...high speed connection there.
Is the view of the lake with the geese from your porch?
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Post by Caretaker on Jan 11, 2008 16:50:41 GMT -6
Enjoyed the pictures and glad to know I can come sit in the glider and glide. Can ya get up the speed you can in a rocker. Looked at the pictures at work...high speed connection there. Is the view of the lake with the geese from your porch? The ice storm view is from the porch, while the geese view is about 30' out towards the south east I believe. Here is a sunrise from the same angle from the porch, with the geese and ducks on the water: img366.imageshack.us/img366/5885/sunrise12230528ru.jpg
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