Happy Groundhog Day!

Shadow my butt! 

I'm barely a shadow of my former self!

I'll show you fluffy!

Wise guy!

Rows of tents glow pleasantly, flickering with myriad lamps. OBIE’S QUEST

You’d barely recognize ol’ Hangtown. One by one the old hitching posts are vanishing along Main Street, and just the other day I drove from upper town through lower town and never once saw hide nor hair of a horse! Placerville’s old landmarks are fast disappearing, and palatial cinderblock atrocities rise up like the phoenix from their ash.  Progress beckons like a siren in the night, and ol’ Hangtown answers spellbound to the call.  The boon of electricity has illuminated our little metropolis, and steeds & buggies are fast replaced by Fords. Despite the growth and conveniences, I prefer to recall her as she appeared in the undignified days of her misspent youth, back in ’49.  In my mind’s eye, she still exudes the uncivil scent of sawdust floors and canvas; the rustic, rough sawn facades glow hospitably in the crimson shades of long spent sunsets, and rows of tents glow pleasantly, flickering with myriad lamps. OBIE’S QUEST

And die with the wild Sierras in my eyes

HERITAGE

Asa Camp was long and lean.

He knew ambitions’ burn.

My granddad said he wasn’t mean,

But his countenance was severe, his manner stern.  

He headed west in ’49,

His goal, the mother lode,

And though great fortune wouldn’t shine,

He bowed his neck and held fast to his road.

The trail to Hangtown took a toll,

Leaving many defeated and numb,

But Asa’s shoulders let it roll.

Old Asa would prevail and not succumb.

He panned along the south fork,

On the American’s rugged banks,

Till his bones grew stiff from overwork,

But he finished each day with thanks.

Despite long hours and frugal means,

He sought success in vain.

Surviving on sourdough and beans,

And whistling as he smiled through the pain.

Undeterred, he took up freighting,

And hauled among the camps,

Through summers’ devastating heat,

And winters’ dews and damps.

Freighting through the choking dust,

And through the deepest mud,

Till Asa won the mountain’s trust,

And the High Sierras coursed within his blood.

The mountains were his challenge.

The mountains were his prize.

The mountains were his confidant,

And the wild Sierras shone from Asa’s eyes.

At last old Asa took a wife,

And settled on Reservoir Hill,

Where he raised a family free from strife,

And ruled by an iron will.

His daughters wed, and birthed a brood,

To populate the West,

But Asa cherished solitude,

And spent his days in the mountains he loved best.

Asa was Granddad’s granddad,

And my hope, as you may surmise,

Is to live my life as Asa lived,

And die with the wild Sierras in my eyes.

January 28, 2013

STC

RELEASE

Gone the days when summer sun

Seemed golden benediction,

Those glorious rays had best been shunned;

Their benefits, but fiction.

The blissful burns received with joy,

Brushed off as merely blisters,

Thought empty threats as girls and boys,

Today breed moles and fissures.

Gone the carefree summer days,

When youth would find a way,

Spent surely as the summer haze,

And where is hope today?

Bright futures sought with confidence,

Bold dreams that we’d fulfill,

Once boasted of in innocence,

Now mute and deathly still.

Reflect we now in solitude,

Where once in crowds we’d tarry,

Repentant now in somber mood,

Where once our days were merry.

Grant now these hours not linger long,

Our goal today, sweet peace.

And mercy all we count upon,

Our hope today, release.

STC

GRANDDAD’S TENT

We did lots of camping when I was a kid.

We camped in an old canvas tent.

I remember the sound as it flapped in the wind.

I remember its feel and its scent.

I remember the sound of warm rain on its roof,

And the comfort it offered each night.

I recall how I felt looking out at the stars

By the campfires flickering light;

The feel of my pillow at the end of the day,

When my shoulders were pink from the sun,

My grandmothers’ kiss as she tucked us in bed,

After our prayers were done.

First thing in the morning the fire was lit.

Great Grandma brought graniteware dishes.

Golden brown hotcakes for breakfast of course,

And for super fried tatters and fishes.

Each day we’d go swimming and play in the sand.

My granddad would take us out hiking.

Sis and I watched as he whittled a cane.

And Stick horses were just to our liking.

We’d sit by the fire in the late afternoon.

I’d sit in my grandmothers’ lap.

Dad would go fishing, my momma would read,

And Granddad enjoyed a good nap.

Later on in the evening, when dinner was done,

There was coffee from a graniteware pot,

Delicious marshmallows we roasted on sticks,

And dried figs that my great grandma brought.

I remember the feel of hot sand on bare feet,

And melon seeds stuck to my chin,

The stories of camping trips long, long ago,

And the way that my granddad would grin.

How the decades fast have flown.

How quickly reached, September.

How sweet to share the joys we’ve known.

How precious to remember.

How bright the wide and starry skies;

How fleeting, lives long spent.

The stars, how like my granddad’s eyes,

And memories, Granddad’s tent.

STC

A long and wondrous adventure

I remember sitting by a crackling fire, high in the Sierra Nevada’s, and listening to the ill-tempered Jerseys filing past, with their cowbells clanking and their babies bawling, and the old bull curling his lip and looking for work. I remember standing on the rough plank sidewalk, outside the Ivy House, inhaling the aroma of grilled ribs sizzling, over Manzanita coals, and watching the massive freight wagons lumber by, with their oxen lowing, their hames bells jingling, and the iron-clad rims of hickory spoked wheels smashing the gravel to dust, beneath their cumbersome tonnage of crocks of butter and barrels of fragrant cheese. I remember believing that my whole life would be a long and wondrous adventure.  And it was.  OBIE”S QUEST

QUOTATIONS (THE LEVER) Thomas Paine 1737-1809 “The rights of Man” 1792,

Quote: What Archimedes said of the mechanical powers, may be applied to Reason and Liberty: “Had we” said he, “a place to stand upon, we might raise the world.”  The revolution of America presented in politics what was only theory in mechanics. End quote.

Unenlightened people blame government, but Mr. Paine’s observation is as true today as ever, possibly more so.  Our electorate is our lever, and our elected officials our fulcrum, were we, as a people, able to apply our pressure simultaneously, from a position of solidarity and with a common goal and purpose, there is no force on earth that could stand against us.  SC