Join the adventure in progress. New episodes posted to my group every day. Well, almost. https://www.facebook.com/groups/238126488223115
Monday, June 30, 2025
Friday, June 27, 2025
FYI
To those of you who have been reporting to my family that you're offended by some of my posts, I want you to know I understand completely. Please consider yourself excused. You are no longer under any obligation to read my posts. Have a great life. SC
THE HANGTOWN TRILOGY, OBIE -Episode Thirty, GOD BLESS AMERICA!
The dictionary defines the term tack, as: the direction of a vessel in regard to the trim of her sails; as the starboard tack, when she has the wind on her starboard, or the port tack, when she has the wind to her port; hence, the run of a vessel on one tack. In other words, tacking is the act of using the attitude of the sails and rudder, to zigzag in a direction other than that of the wind.
Well, suffice it to say, the north Pacific afforded the crew endless opportunity to practice their tacking technique! There were those splendid days when the trade winds would swell the ample canvas of that ol’ clipper, until she fairly flew, bounding, leaping, and cavorting northward across the Pacific, sometimes over three hundred miles in a day.
On other occasions, we languished in stifling calms for countless days on end. The unrelenting heat would blister the decks with temperatures in the nineties; the humidity was upwards of ninety percent, and the sails hung limp as laundry from the masts. Not even the colors could catch a breath of breeze. On days when we had the slightest breeze, the crew would man the rigging, and we’d tack laboriously back and forth up the coast.
The crew, to my amazement, often took advantage of these occasions of calm, to mend, repair, and even create their uniforms. Some of these old salts were seamstresses par excel lance. Many of the necessities of a life at sea, sails, ropes, and etcetera were made right on board. So, when these craftsmen weren’t busy applying their trades to their work, they used their time and talents to meet their own needs. They made tarpaulin hats, and woolen caps, and trousers, coats, and jackets, and then applied several coats of linseed oil for water repellence, and flannel linings for warmth. Many would be headed back around the horn the way we’d come, and they’d be warm and dry next time, or know the reason why. I was continually amazed at the talents and skills of these time-tested sailors.
On the 27th of August, we were one hundred sixty-four days out from Philadelphia. Early in the morning, a little squall line blew in from the northwest and we received several brief, but pleasant showers. We’d had no rain for several days and the showers disappeared quickly into the hot, dry decks, and left a pleasant smell aboard the ship. It reminded me surprisingly, of the laundry days back home, when Mom did our wash on our ol’ back porch and hung the clothes to dry.
Following the showers, the ship fell back into calm, and fog moved in dropping visibility to less than half a league. Temperatures began to moderate and around five o’clock that afternoon the colors rustled briefly, snapped briskly, and then waved and stood out proudly, stiff as starch! A strapping westerly wind appeared suddenly, and built into a good, strong, blustery current of warm air. The sails swelled to capacity, the rigging strained and groaned, and we headed east for the California coast.
The strong favorable westerly continued for four days and nights, and on the fifth day, as the fog began to dissipate, the west coast of North America appeared as a pencil thin line, extending north to south as far as the eye could see. All at once tall ships appeared at several points, gulls called raucously from the skies, and the captain brought out his glass and serenely scanned the shore.
Recognizing an area off our starboard bow as Point Conception, the captain called for a course which would take us further northward up the coast. On the first day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand, eight hundred, and forty-nine, at around half past two in the afternoon, after what seemed like a lifetime at sea, we thanked the Lord almighty from our deepest, purest hearts, and sailed at last into San Francisco Bay.
Now, you and I both know that even as the crow flies, my home and family on the east coast were thousands of miles and an eternity away. But somehow, just knowing that at long last we were all in America again was a feeling of homecoming I couldn’t with a thousand words describe. I just wanted to run and hug the shore.
To be continued?
By Shannon Thomas Casebeer
Copyright © FEBRUARY 14th, 2009
He calls those of us who love Him to do likewise. SC
This should go without saying but based on current events, I feel compelled to say it anyway. The Bible does not call us to show compassion to the less fortunate among us if and only if they have their green card. Christ did not turn to the sinner beside him on the cross and ask to see his paperwork. Christ reaches out to sinners unconditionally, and He calls those of us who love Him to do likewise. SC
If you can drown out your conscience and simply ignore this, shame on you. SC
At 2:45 this morning, I was awakened by my conscience. My family says, turn off my media. Just don't watch. Unplug your TV and remove your antenna, but I can't unplug my conscience. If you have the stomach for it, go to YouTube and watch the hours of videos of ICE raids. The fabric of America is being ruthlessly shredded. Innocent families are being ripped apart. People who have been productive, law-abiding members of our communities for years are being savagely beaten and deprived of their god given rights to be treated as human beings. To be silent is to be complicit, and God in heaven hears your silence. Just as surely as God is in heaven, there will be consequences for these crimes against humanity, truth, justice, mercy and common decency. If you can drown out your conscience and simply ignore this, shame on you. SC
Thursday, June 26, 2025
God's love beamed brightly from his face
OL’ CALVIN
Ol’ Calvin was a preacher, though he never had a church, and he seldom ever faced a crowd to preach. Great-Grandpa combed the Ozarks on a big old, dappled horse, in search of every soul that he could reach. Calvin kept a Bible, and he read it every day. He searched for words of comfort he could give. He seldom spoke of judgment, and he seldom spoke of death. He preached that folks might know the Lord and live. The folks could hear him coming when he traveled down their lane. Great-Grandpa always whistled as he rode. Folks always came out smiling, and that made him mighty proud. They were always glad to see him, and it showed. He’d share his tales of Grandma, all the kids and folks back home, and what he’d done that week to serve the Lord; but mostly Calvin listened, because Calvin really cared. He would listen by the hour and not be bored. Sometimes they’d kill a chicken when they heard ol’ Calvin come. He shared a bunch of suppers on the road. He carried little with him but his Bible and the Lord. He reaped the seeds of kindness that he sewed. Ol’ Calvin raised a big, ol’ beard to shade him from the sun. As he grew old, his beard grew long and gray. He’d part it in the middle when he sat down to a meal, and it framed his weathered face when he would pray: “Thank you, Lord, for these good folks and for each gift we share. Thank you for your Son and for His touch. Thank you for your promise and for your tender care. Thank you that you love us each so much.” Calvin loved the Ozarks, all God’s people, and his Lord. He never looked for faults; he looked for grace. His sermon was the life he lived, his message “God is love,” and God's love beamed brightly from his face.
Shannon Thomas Casebeer
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)