Big Trees

A few days ago the post was about the tuliptree.  So is this one.  This tree is about four blocks from our house.  It may be the largest tuliptree I have seen.  Note red arrow indicating the first branch above the street lamp.  What a piece of timber!

The white line through the top roughly indicates a "normal" growth pattern.  This giant was adversely affected in a storm a few years ago, and thus a branch has grown somewhat askew.

The tree to the right is directly across the avenue from the giant above.  Its shape is more the norm for the yellow poplar.  This is quite a large example in its own right.

Captain George

Did I ever tell you about your fambly's military hero?  Captain George, that would be.  Amazin' how a man rises in rank after the service is over, idn't it?  Waal, a course you don't have any idee whut I'ma talkin' about.

George was your Aunt Grace's grandfather.  Oh, yes; that would mean he was your grandma's grandfather, too, so he is your great-great grandfather, if I count aright. At any rate, George was born around 1825, so by the time hostilities were a wamin' up atween us and Mexico, this strappin' young fella decide he is fit to fight, so he join th' army, an' the army in its wisdom ship him aroun' here 'n there, have him clerkin' mos'ly.  Now I check this out with the archives, on account I had been tol' so many stories about the glory of "Cap'n George" when he serve in th' army.  His record clearly show that he rise all the way to "Private" in the service, 'n that he had a spotless record, so far as performin' his duties.

So he get out the army 'n go on back home to Hawkins County, 'n I reckon on account he served the country honorably, folk begin to call him "Cap'n."  An' it stick, twel his chilren and gran'chilren actual come to believe he was a officer in th' US Army.  People begin to tell tales of his military exploits, 'n by the time Mary an' Grace are young women, ever'one know that ol' George was a mighty hero, a fightin' man, successfully engage th' enemy and live to tell about it.

Waal, sir, you know me.  Ol' Jep Miller allus believe in honor to him to who it is due.  But th' tales was jes' a gettin' too powerful to believe, 'n thet is why I research ol' George's military history.  Now I want to take nothin' away fum th' man.  Un'erstan' that he perform his duties as they was give to him, and thet he was a honorable man.  But he never get farther fum home 'n Richmon', 'n he never engage anyone in combat, lessen he hafta protec' his personal gear in his quarters.  I dunno about thet.

So Private George in the US Army get a mighty promotion to Captain George in private life.

© 2014 David W. Lacy  32

Liriodendron tulipifera

 During my bicycle ride this morning I noticed that the tuliptrees are in bloom.

The tuliptree, or sometimes tulip tree, also known as yellow poplar, or even canoe poplar, though it is not a poplar, is the state tree of Indiana.  They are truly lovely trees, often growing to great height, sometimes more than 30 meters, and always with a symmetrical silhouette.

I have always believed, as many say, that the tree is called "tulip tree" because the leaves resemble the shape of a tulip blossom.  Recently, though, I note that some writers are stating that

the name derives from the shape of the flower.

It is a beautiful tree, and the flowers are stunning, though they are usually above eye level, and thus go unnoticed by many people.  I snapped these two pictures of the lowest-hanging flower on a nearby tree.  The green petals with orange and yellow accents combine to make a perfect flower.  But they must be enjoyed in the now, for they do not last long.

(This particular flower is about eight feet above the ground.  I had to pull the branch down to get the interior shot.)

Memorial Day 2014

In honor of those who served, and in memory of those who made the ultimate sacrifice.  

Photo, Memorial Day, 1938

The Rocking Chair

 We dragged the disassembled parts of the old Kroehler rocking chair from its long storage place.  Cleaned wood, ripped fabric, purchased new hardware.

Two days the kitchen, the sewing room, heck the whole house, all in a shambles as we fussed with the project.  BBBH is the skilled seamstress and upholsterer.  I am a gofer, holder, puller, tugger, and betimes, aggravator, for the suggestions I offered were not always kindly received.
But we persevered!  The project is complete, the furniture piece may now occupy a special place in our home.

We're tired, but pleased.

God's Rubble #T

Did I tell you about our trip to the mountains?  Oh, yeah, I recollect I was tellin’ you we were at th' Royal Gorge.  Well, sir, that same afternoon we drive on up to Cotopaxi, find a spot by the river ‘n pitch our tent.  Got the tackle out and flung our lines in th’ river.  We catch three nice rainbows, oh, ten, eleven inches. ‘Course I caught one an 'em, ‘n Grace, she caught two.  Always have to best me, thet woman.  Waal, they was mighty fine eatin’, cook as they were in the arn skillet we bring along.  Your Aunt Grace, she make some fry-bread to go along with, an’ a han’ful a coffee in th’ ol’ tin pot asittin’ on the farr.  Moughty fine.  Mought near as good a meal I ever eat.

Son, I tell ya, sleepin’ on the ground, nothin’ but a ol’ comforter underbeneath me is no way for a feller to treat his ol’ body.  Thet will not happen again, no matter what a hotel mought cost.  So I finely get upright in the mornin’ and got the ol’ bones to move on thoo the aches ‘n pains.  We get a good start, anyway, drive on up to Salida.  Pretty little town, tho’ I can’t fer the life a me see whut for people live up there.  Nice scenery, can’t eat it.

So we drive on up to Buena Vista, lovely scenery along the way, your Aunt Grace say.  Now we are up by the headwaters our Arkansas River, it come a bubblin’ down out the mountains.  We drive on up to Leadville, that little V-8 85 workin’ it’s heart out, but she don’t falter, no sir.  Now we drive thoo the barennest places I ever see, higher, higher, climb right to the top a th’ world.  Nothin’ness ever’where ya look.  Even Grace, who see beauty in ever’thing, say, “What do you suppose the Good Lord want with so much rocks and bare lan'?”

Waal, I fancy I know th' answer to thet.  I tell her, “Hon,” I say, “the Bible say God create ever’thin' in six days, an’ He rest on the seventh.  Now he mought nigh get done with his work, ‘n he see thet th’ sun have gone down, night acomin’ on.  So he have all this leftover scrap, ‘n he gotta dis-pose of it afore dark, so He tuk and dump it all out here in the middle a Colorado!”

“You ol’ fool,” say Grace.  “Well, no; maybe  you are right this time.  I sure see no use for all these rocks."

Waal, t’make a long story short, we go on into Leadville, try to visit one a them there mines, jes’ ta see what the fuss is all about.  Prollem is, catchin’ one’s breath up there is not all thet easy.  Like ta starve for air.  Grace, she suggest we stay in thet ol’ hotel over yonder, ‘n I say I druther die on the road then to hafta stay in this place another hour.  I’ma wantin’ home really bad.  So we get in the truck an’ head on out.  Darkness catch us just past Salida, but I’ma goin’ home.  Did her, too.  Find a station in Canon, fill ‘er up, ‘n drive on thoo the night.  We get home two o’clock in th’ mornin’ and if’n I never get out the county again in my lifetime, hit will be plenty soon enough.

© 2014 David W. Lacy  31

Snark

Yep, cruised around the lake in a Snark.  The guys with their cats might laugh, but I wasn't the one out there trying to right a capsized boat in a windstorm.

Just far enough into Spring to recall the joys of Summer.

The '41 Chrysler #T

Shelly suggested that I might present a story about the Chrysler I mentioned a week ago.

My father made his 1936 Ford tudor last throughout the war years.  But he very nearly ran the wheels off it, and thus by 1946 he was feeling the need for a better vehicle.  I am sure he would have liked a new car, but since Detroit had made no cars since early 1942, now that production was beginning again, everybody wanted a new car.  There were waiting lists at all dealerships which had the names of those who thought they could afford to buy new.

Someone of his acquaintance had a 1941 Chrysler Royal Club Coupe. It carried six passengers comfortably.  Father bought the car.  I think I am correct in recalling that he paid $1500 for it, or it may have been that he paid $1300, then had to spend another $200 for repairs.  According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, that is equivalent to $18,176 in today's money.  Dad's salary that year was one hundred dollars per month, and thus he spent his income for a year and a quarter on this set of wheels.

The car was a beauty.  The picture shows the correct color, although it was not two-tone, but rather all green as the lower body.  This was the first car I ever drove.  I still remember cutting a corner too short on a right turn, running over the curb with the rear wheel.  Dad, in his calm voice, observed, "You cut the hind leg off on that one."  Good times.  My father was an excellent teacher, economy of words his style.  And that is a good thing, for I do not remember ever being "yelled at" while behind the wheel and he beside me.  He taught me how to parallel park in one lesson on a street in downtown Boulder, Colorado.  By following his instructions, which I still follow to this day, I parked it correctly on the first pass.  Still can do.

This was to be the story of the '41 Chrysler, and look.  I have already made it about me.

It was, I think, in summer 1949 and Mother and Father were on their way to Pueblo for a church meeting.  I was working, so my knowledge of the incident is second-hand, as I got it from Dad.  They were almost to their destination when they came to the intersection of highway 85, on which they were traveling, with highway 50.  The stop sign made it clear that it was Dad's responsibility to allow right-of-way to the cross traffic.  He started to slow, gauging his speed and the distance, applied the brake to stop, but instead of stopping, the car skidded right in front of the car coming from his left.  This event is referred to as a collision.

According to the parent, the newly-laid pea gravel on the surface of the tarmac served the function of marbles beneath his tires, and the rest was his responsibility for failure to yield.  The car was in the shop for quite some time, and hence the borrowed '39 Nash became a part of our daily routines.

Finally, though, the Chrysler returned home, and Dad was never happy with it from that day on.  First of all, though it had a new paint job, the color was not quite right.  It was green, yes, but it seemed to have a sort of aqua tint.  But that was not the prime reason for discontent.  No.  The problem was, that in spite of all the subsequent efforts by the mechanics, the car ran down the road crooked.  Oh, it stayed in its lane, but its rear wheels ever after tracked to the right of the front wheels.  It looked, how can I put it?  It looked like a cattywampus old hound running down the road.

It was not long before the car was traded away.  Dad got his first-ever new car, a 1950 Ford Custom fordor.  This car became my first car in 1955.  I traded it in 1958 after it had traversed more than 123,000 miles.