The Hired Man Says

A Hankering For Snow

2012-01-12T12:26:00.011-06:00

There is a certain aura that descends deliciously on you when you awake to the land covered in whiteness. It came this morning for the first time this season. Snow.

The valley below is spread with snow, the darker river snaking a course through the land with the white skeletons of the sycamore trees lining the edges where snow meets water. It is a treat. So we move more wood into the stove and feel especially comforted this morning as the flame spreads heat into our bluffhouse home.

We have no guests today. Were there a way to predict the date of snowfall, I am certain we would be besieged with requests for our cabins. But, not so, those folks are busying themselves in offices, cubicles, store counters and other employments. I truly wish they were able to participate in this luxury. I'll admit to my own gratitude for this.

Here is a snatch of poetry that my mother -- long gone -- would quote on mornings suchs at this.

"The snow began in the gloaming,
And busily through the night,
Heaping field and highway
With silence deep and white."

The wind swirls fluffiness around the corners of the house. The birds attack the feast we have prepared for them: Suet, niger seed, sunflower seeds (oh, and we must'nt forget water). We've even laid out some ear corn in hopes the squirrels will stay clear the the feathered creatures flitting about.

I am certain that Aunt Phoebe is enjoying the snowfall at her cabin overlooking the valley. And at spare Line Camp Cabin buried in the trees, remnants of past occupants who have loved this place are murmuring contentment.

We will hope for more such snows this winter. But, until then, this one will satisfy for a time.

Westward, across the valley we can see another snow shower rolling toward us. We will let this one pass, then be off to track the critters in the snow on a brief foray into the woods. We'll collect an armful of wood from the pile on our return.

The Italian cyclist in Alaska

2011-09-22T08:47:00.005-05:00

Encounters while traveling are most interesting and invigorating when they occur without plan. Random, haphazard, chance meetings of people always flavor our wanderings.

Here is an example from our recent trip to the far north: It was in Seward, Alaska. She sat alone in the coffee shop, studying a laptop computer intently. He was slightly disheveled, wearing pieces of bike riding togs. I gently inquired, "have you come here by bicycle?"

She regarded me quizzically, studying my face and uncertain of how to respond. Finally she answered, each word coming slowing, as if she were leafing through her mental dictionary. It was then that we began a halting conversation which left me scratching my head and wondering again about the human spirit.

Her name was Micky and she was Italian. She spoke very little English, but, she was somewhat fluent in Spanish, so we proceeded as best we could.

"Where did you begin?"
"Patagonia," was her astonishing reply.
"How long has it been?" I asked
"A year and a month," she replied.

Enter now another woman who had recently discovered her on an Alaskan byway and invited her to stay in her home. She had discovered Micky on a camping trip one morning, seeing her struggle out of the trees and onto the road. They connected, and Micky stayed with her some few weeks, taking a job washing dishes in a local restaurant to save money for a ticket back to Italy.

"Este Viaje, escribe?" I asked Micki, wanting to know if she would write about her experiences.
"No, pero esta en mi corazon, she replied. (It lives in my heart.)

Between the two women we pieced together the story. She made the complete trip alone. She bicycled from the tip of South America to the northern most road-linked point in Alaska, Prudo Bay. She did it for someone she loved and who is now gone. She did it in memory of them.

She was a remarkable woman, unpretentious, forthright, yet proud of what she had done. She and people like her are why I feel energized after traveling.

From her email after arriving home in Italy: "......thank you all if I spent an unforgettable year thank you for all the emotions that I experienced, and fortunately very beautiful thank you thank you heart micky"

China Comes to Rock Eddy Bluff Farm

2011-06-26T10:14:00.003-05:00

A wonderful couple departed today. We were entranced by them. We could not talk to her as her English is quite rudimentary. However she had a pocket translator and she and Kathy held a prolonged conversation by passing the translator back and forth. She wrote a comment in our guest book in Chinese characters, then used the translator to convert into English. Here is the translation:

"I arrive at here with my husband today. When me go under sedan. Look around all around. Very surprised very beautiful. That feeling. It is a besides lifetime peach garden. In a fairy tale to say. Melt at one body with nature. At last enthusiasm. I and husband appreciated woman host very much receive." Wei Wei

Her husband, an American, told us that she has been in the USA only 30 days. But, he says, "By tomorrow evening Rock Eddy Will be known in the whole southern part of China.

Our guests keep us interested in the world. Thanks Steve and Wei Wei!

Blackberry Winter

2011-05-17T12:10:00.004-05:00

The temperature was forty one last night and is predicted for the high thirties tonight. According to Ozark natives, this cold snap is to be expected. "It almost always gets cold when the blackberries are blooming," they say . That is what's called "Blackberry Winter".

The problem, of course, is that in some years the cool "winter" weather dips below freezing and spells doom for many of the blackberry blooms. Then too, if the blooms make it through the Blackberry Winter, the weather can turn dry and the berry crop will suffer from lack of moisture. Big blackberry crops are quite dependent on the vagaries of weather.

The other major problem is human: folks cleaning up their pastures will "bushog" everything down, including the patches of blackberries.

Here at the Bluff, conditions are good so far. We have a great start with lots of blooms. If the temps stay in the upper thirties at night, we will have passed that hurdle. The neighbor has not mowed his pasture this spring and there are huge patches of berry canes. The weather could cooperate as the canes mature into mid summer. That would mean a huge crop of berries.

Should conditions converge for a good crop, the only remaining detriments to great berry pies and cobblers are ticks and chiggers. They love blackberry patches. You can scratch while you are eating.

If you go berry picking spray yourself well. But if, while speaking to a friend, they comment about how cold it is tonight, just tell them, "It is supposed to be cold; its blackberry winter!"

Still much like it was

2011-04-23T21:31:00.021-05:00

It was a wild place when I was a boy. Folks said an old hermit had lived up there in a cave. I never saw him but I thought about the man they called 'Old Red' and how it would be to live up that long, deep hollow where there was no evidence of civilization. No farming, no timber cutting, no cattle, just pristine Clifty Creek running cool under limestone bluffs , rippling and glinting over the rocky Ozark stream bottom.

It is still wild up there. Oh, there is a little more evidence of human activities - an occasional hiker, a lone person lugging a camera. But, the place still retains its essential character. It is a special setting. Looking westward from our lofty perch atop the bluff, your gaze follows the course of Clifty Creek up the hollow until it divides at the location of the natural bridge. Often we watch storms moving toward us down the length of Clifty hollow, anticipating the minutes remaining until the deluge breaks over us at the Bluffhouse.

Two things have happened which may keep Clifty Creek wild for years to come. First, the L-A-D Foundation (that is Leo A. Drey) acquired a section of the hollow that includes the natural bridge (often called the Natural Arch). Later the Department of Conservation acquired an adjacent piece of land. Together, these public use properties total 486 acres.

Guests at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm often enjoy hiking the 2.5 mile hiking loop that will bring them to Natural Bridge. They can also choose to go and come via the same trail portion. The shorter section (one mile) perhaps covers more diverse terrain and lends itself to some ad lib hiking as you can drop down into the creek bed and follow it downstream to the natural bridge. The longer section (1.4 miles) maintains the ridge top for much of its length and traverses interesting Ozark woodlands before dropping into the hollow and crossing the creek well upstream of the natural bridge.(click on the map to enlarge)

A small parking lot is nestled in a cedar grove at the trail head on Maries Country Road 511 (Yes, that also brings you by our mailbox.)

Clifty hollow has been a constant feature in our lives here in the hills, so we can direct you to the clear pools, the big curving line of bluffs where ferns cling to the rocks. And, if you are interested, we can put you on to where you will find the cave where Old Red once lived.

The Ol' Hired Man at Rock Eddy

p.s. Thank you guests for these photographs

Guest Blog: Line Camp vs. Chicago Hotel

2011-04-14T08:34:00.005-05:00

Contrasts in Luxury

Posted on 01/04/2011 by Observational Equivalents

I am logging in from Chicago, where I am comfortably ensconced in the Sofitel on E. Chestnut. I recommend it highly. It is a stark contrast to last weekend in the amenities offered but not in the luxury it offers the mind and body. Last weekend, we spent several nights in the Line Camp cabin on Rock Eddy Farm. Not only does it not have room service, a flat screen television, and turn down service, it does not have running water, electricity, or centralized heat. There is an outhouse, a hand pump outside for water, and a wood stove for heat, though. So where is the contrasting luxury you may wonder.

Let us compare.

First, the Sofitel is some 32 floors tall and made of much glass and steel.

It has a number of excellent restaurants and bars to accompany its very modern appearance

Line Camp cabin, by contrast, is one floor and one room only. Though to be fair, our room in the Sofitel is one room only, too, but with an additional bathroom.

In the foreground, just to the left of the window is a wooden box with an upside down bucket “suspended” over it. The bucket covers the hand-pump, which is the water source. And off to the left, half out of the photograph is the outhouse.

The views are not comparable from the two, either.

The Hancock Tower in morning light from our room:

Late evening snow from the front porch of Line Camp cabin:

And a short walk from the porch is the Gasconnade River. After the previous evening’s snow it made for a nice bit of quiet solitude:

And what of the amenities they each offer? A very wonderful shower with limitless hot water in the Sofitel and a bucket bath in Line Camp. Hmm. Again, each has much to offer. The first is a great refuge from the mind cluttering assault of city and people (especially when you are locked into a conference). But the latter is wonderful in its own right, to be cleaned of the grime from basic living and then to wrap yourself in fresh clean clothes is a great pleasure in itself. They are both rejuvenating. No need for graphic evidence.

The food prospects are an interesting contrast, too.

Breakfast in the Sofitel: fresh papaya and coffee:

Breakfast in Line Camp: home fries and coffee (there were eggs, too, just not at this moment):

I can’t decide. Maybe a closer comparison?

They are both excellent, like each of the accommodations. They offer their own forms of comfort, which are very nice so long as you are in a state of mind that is ready to appreciate the strengths of each: urban splender and business in the former and calm, uncluttered quiet in the latter.

One Response to Contrasts in Luxury

Peg says:

13/04/2011 at 13:24

Line Camp Cabin will always be my favorite spot to getaway. I hope you get to go again sometimes in late spring or fall. Each season offers so much change that it’s like an entirely new place. I’m very jealous of your trip.

Reply

It's one of those special days in the Ozarks

2011-04-09T12:05:00.007-05:00

As they would say in the hills, "I think we have it whupped now!" They would be talking about spring and the shedding of winter. They would be taking to the woods carrying a poke (that's a sack) for the mushrooms that are akin to ghosts on the floor of the forest. (And ever so yummy.)

These photos from our morning walk are fresh. They depict a spring of 2011 that is still in its infancy, but coming on like gang busters.We were able, this morning, to catch dogwood blooms in stages of development. Soon those trees will appear like white smoke drifting through the pale green woodlands.

Guests in the cabins this morning are trying their hand at fishing in the river. We will await a report later today.

It is a rare day at Rock Eddy Bluff.

On our next foray we will be looking for mushrooms. We will let you know how that turns out.

The Hired Man and Missus

Check availability for spring. We have several openings for you..

A Spring Surprise

2011-03-28T09:55:00.008-05:00

The weather report says to expect warm, sunny weather for the coming weekend. But Monday morning we awoke to a wondrous early spring snow that clings to every limb and twig in the woods. It is a lacework of snow covering the hills beyond the bluff.

In the cabins, guest are snug and warm and being treated to a memorable scene outside their door. There are pets in both cabins that no doubt enjoy scampering and dancing in the fluffy whiteness. Kathy and I and our pups actually envy them.

Our friends in Aunt Phoebe's Cabin tell us that the Farmer's Almanac has predicted every snow storm that has occurred in this snow-filled winter. They say it has been a perfect record for the Almanac for the Columbia, Missouri location. I suppress my natural cynicism and say, "That so?"

Well, we are past the vernal equinox, so this must be spring. Once this snow melts, I say "Let's get on with it." Under todays snow the daffodils along our lane are wildly in bloom. Service berry and redbud have begun blooming in the woods. On milder days the spring peepers grow hoarse from calling.

Warmer and bright on the weekend is the prediction. . That will mean a healthy dose of both winter and spring in the span of a few days. Typical Missouri weather!

A recent guest at Aunt Phoebe's log cabin sent these photos. There are clues to spring in each photo.

Right now I have to put another log on the fire.

The Hired Man

Check available spring days here

Spring comfort

2011-03-16T10:53:00.006-05:00

It is the time of year that the weather does not quite know what it is up to. It is erratic. It is like a teenager entering puberty. Things change day to day, hour by hour. It seems there is no reasoning with March weather.

Still, as the brown hills begin to awaken and dream of the coming green, there is comfort to be obtained during the lengthening days. Here is one: Fire. A gentle blaze is always a comfort here at Rock Eddy Bluff, but when cool March winds envelope the hills, a fire in the stove or fireplace is certain to provide a special comfort.

Here is a prescription for relaxation at The Bluff: A long walk in the woods and then a fire. Outside, the buds are swelling, daffodils are poking their shoots upward, while inside the cabin there is the crackle and the flicker of fire.

There is also comfort food. We now propose to add to your recipe collection for Pie. Coming through New Mexico recently, we stopped at Pie Town, a small, mostly abandoned village on the historic cattle drive route. There, the drovers could always depend upon pie for all the hands. “Get into Pie Town and bring us some Pie”, the foremen would command. So, we stopped there at the Daily Pie Café. A scrumptious breakfast was followed by a piece of New Mexican Apple Pie. It was top notch and slightly modified from ordinary apple pie. And, they were willing to divulge the recipe.

_________________________________________

New Mexican Apple Pie (From Daily Pie Café, Pie Town, NM)

Ingredients

4 large granny smith apples, peeled, cored and sliced
1 c. sugar
4 T. flour
2 t. cinnamon
¾ t. nutmeg
2 ounces of New Mexican (Hatch) green chili, hot or mild or more! to taste
2 ounces of pinon nuts
1 T lemon juice

Peel, core and put apple slices into large mixing bowl. Add all other ingredients mix well.
Set aside to blend flavors while the crust is being prepared.

Pastry crust (makes four crusts)
This recipe will use two crusts.
The other two can be frozen for future use always handy and makes for a speedy pie.

3 cups of flour
¼ t. baking powder
1 t. salt
½ c. salted butter
½ c. shortening
1 egg
1 T. white vinegar
1/2 c. ice cold water

Combine flour, baking powder and salt. Cut in butter and shortening to pea sized pieces with pastry knife or fork and knife(do not use your hands yet). In separate bowl, mix egg, vinegar and water. Add wet mix to flour mixture small amounts at a time and blend with spoon or pastry cutter until dry ingredients are moist and form a ball (more or less water may have to be added depending on moisture content of flour).

Roll into a ball wrap with plastic wrap and refrigerate 1 hour. Divide dough into four sections. Roll out one section on a floured board to fit 9” pie pan. Put crust into pan. Place apple mix , mounded in the center. Top with one rolled section of crust. Flute edges, cut vent holes into top crust. Brush with egg wash and sprinkle natural sugar on top (optional). Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes, turn, then 400 degrees for 45 minutes to an one hour. Pie is done when golden brown and juices bubble thickly around the outer edge. Serve with vanilla ice cream (highly suggested).

They say it is the little things in life...... The Hired Man

En Todos las playas en todo el mundo

2011-01-29T11:08:00.005-06:00

This always happens when I come to a beach. I consider a number so large that I cannot conceive of it. Yup, it is the sand that does it.

No wait! Stay with me. It is a little exercise for the mind. Move your mind from the beach to the universe. Still with me? Now, scientists have estimated -- postulated, roughed out, even SWAGed (that is a scientific wild-assed guess) -- that the number of stars in the universe is roughly equal to all the grains of sand in all the beaches in all the world.

I can't count the number of grains in my hand. I can't conceive of the numberof grains on this beach within my view. My mind hiccups when I try to think about all the beaches in all the world.

Carl Sagan called this number a googleplex (I think) and it was a number so large that it confound any attempt to consider it.

Well that is the universe we live in. And we think we are so smart.

Please think of this when you go to the beach.

Los Tres Vagabundos in Mexico, Tom, Kathy & PeeVee

Pollo Muerto

2011-01-26T17:17:00.007-06:00

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos

En la playa

2011-01-26T11:40:00.003-06:00

"El Peccecillo" esta en la playa del Mar de Cortez, Sonora, Mexico. Hey boy, this is the life. We have "The Minnow" nestled into a lovely spot right on the beach. The surf lulls us to sleep at night and awakens us in the morning. I have a picture for you but forgot to bring the photo card with me to the wifi spot.

Aqui quiremos muchos mariscos. Already this morning, without leaving the Minnow, we have purchased a pound of the largest scrimp you ever saw. Camarones mas grande. (Ok, so I can't spell in spanish either.) Our mouths are watering.

We plan to reopen Rock Eddy Bluff Farm on March 1 in time to enjoy a wonderful Ozark spring. But right now we are beach bums in Mexico. The pervasive fear of Mexico by Americanos has hit this place hard. We were here a year ago and find, this year, that the number of turistas is down be more than half.

I must tell you this: The temperatures are in the 70's --maybe low 80's in the day and then cool off with the sinking of the sun to perhaps the mid-to-high 40's. We have our nests made in The Minnow and snuggle down into our sleeping bags.

We have come back here for the beach, the seafood, the scenery and also for pollo al carbon (wood fire cooked chicken) It is nothing like pollo asada. This is stuff your mouth will remember. It is found in a little cabana somewhere in town, if we can find it again.

Hope we have made you snowbound folks sufficiently envious. Rest assured that some serious relaxing will occur here in Puerto Penasco. If I can shake myself loose I will send photos next.

We will see many of you in the spring at the Bluff.

Los Vagabundos del Mar, Tom, Kathy, and PeeVee

A Fall Day Afield

2010-10-25T09:34:00.007-05:00

Seems like my recent postings here could be called, "Reflections of a mature gentleman", subtitled, "musings of an old guy". Well, let's suffer through this one more time.

Yesterday I climbed on my four-wheeler and went for foray out over the countryside hereabouts. Now, to do this you must be familiar with the land, where the old logging roads wind through the timber, where the wire gaps are in the fences, and where the old home places are hidden in overgrown pastures.

I had my camera with me and decided to take some photos of the old wrecks of houses and barns, the collapsed cabins that have settled to earth in a grove of trees, the faint marks of humanity on the land. Then it hit me: All these structures were standing when I was young.

The old relic of a house was inhabited then, a family tending the fields in the creek bottom. This pile of boards and logs was a place, though abandoned then, had the traces of children in the upstairs bedroom where I sifted among their scant leavings. I realized out there yesterday that I have experienced a broad span of years in the surrounding land. Let's just say that yesterday I felt experienced.

Twas a beautiful fall day and I gloried in it, accepting my continually broadening span of years as something more than simply a relentless aging. History resides in me. I know these things personally. They don't come from old books. In fact, in a certain way I wish I was older.

I wish I was personally acquainted with the folks that lived in that sunken house. I would like to see their faces in my mind, perhaps have attended a spare one-room school with their rambunctious offspring.

Then, I would have even more to muse about on a clear fall day in the Ozarks.

The Hired Man at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm www.rockeddy.com

Electronic connections between people

2010-09-22T11:00:00.004-05:00

Every once in a while the depth of changes that have occurred in recent years really smacks me along the side of the head. The internet and electronic instruments have certainly changed the world -- even how we think. Further, they have drastically changed relationships between members of our species (humans).

I was reminded of this only this morning after receiving an email from our friend, Marta Fuster Roca. Marta lives in the southern Mexico town of Oaxaca. But, we did not meet her there. We met her while strolling around Pompeii (the ancient Roman town that was covered by the volcano, Vesuvius). During our afternoon together we found we had much in common. Later, we exchanged addresses and went our separate ways; we back to Rome and she continued on to Florence.

With my trusty pocket camera I took a photo of Marta. With the help of my computer I later sent the picture to her in Mexico. But astoundingly, I could also send that photo anywhere in the world instantly.

I will admit that perhaps I am so astonished by all this because The Hired Man has become a little 'long of tooth', meaning I am now an older fellow. Heck, I can remember the use of old crank telephones. There, instead of a phone number or an email address, folks were identified as "two longs and a short."

These days, folks who want to know about Rock Eddy Bluff Farm, simply go to www.rockeddy.com If they would like to book a vacation or getaway here, they can check availability and reserve right on line. The system then sends them a confirmation with lots of information, including driving directions. Then, it also informs us so we can prepare for their visit. All of this takes place in the cloud; we can access any of it from any computer anywhere.

Well, Marta's missive this morning was to show us a Chinese version of Swan Lake. http://www.nzwide.com/swanlake.htm It is beautiful and quite different from what you might expect. (Oh yes, it is a video. It shows people moving!)

Thanks Marta!

Toad Stranglers

2010-07-25T07:46:00.004-05:00

I don't want to start an argument, but is sure does seem to me that the weather is changing. Toad stranglers present an excellent example. For the uninitiated, a toad strangler is a very heavy rain. That is a rain that could drown little garden toads and make most amphibians fear for their lives. We are having lots of them now. We're talking a pouring rain. Or, in the words of hill folk hereabouts, "It rained like a cow pissin' on a flat rock."

Road are washed out, swollen creeks tumble across low water bridges. "Thunder Storms" the weatherman calls them, but thunder seems to be the least of it. Deluges of water and heavy winds cause the damage. One of those lil thunderstorms visited us a couple of weeks ago. So far we have spent one day with the chain saw cutting out the road to the river. Trees were twisted down in several spots. Then there was at least two days of work clearing a tangled mess of trees that partially rested on the garage. There will be no shortage of firewood this fall from trees knocked over out in the timber. But, cleaning those up will have to wait....wait until we have the time and the temperature cools a little.

Now, consider what all this rain has done to farmers (mostly cattle farms in our area). Here it is late July and the folks in the valley across the river from Rock Eddy Bluff are just now getting their hay baled. That is at least a month later than usual and a month and a half later than needed for good quality hay. The problem, of course, is that farmers won't cut the hay if it looks like it could rain on it. Our next job will be hooking the blade to the tractor and working on the roads here. Water has put some ditches where they shouldn't be in our lane and up the track to the bluff house. Oh, I have tried to divert the storm water with those little "hoopdedoos" or "dead men" as they are often called. You know, those things that give you a jostle when you drive over them. But, these toad stranglers often overwhelm them.

All this sounds like a lot of whining and complaining, I know. But, just a few years ago we didn't have anything like this weather. On the news last night we heard that Chicago got a deluge of seven or eight inches that is causing all kinds of grief. The weatherman says that the weather here is sorta indefinite in the next few days but has advised all toads to seek higher ground.

Now it seems to me that folks who hold with the global climate change scenario have warned of this kind of stuff for some time. I know there are lots of folks sniping and arguing with one another about that. But, I suspect that down here in hill country you'll find most folks believing that "things is different now."

Pursuing Prairie

2010-05-10T11:13:00.006-05:00

It is cold, raw outside and the wind is coming off the prairie at 20 - 30 knots, whistling into the small town where we are parked with our camper. It is a dark, raw day, so we keep mostly inside except to walk our dog PeeVee. For the last few days we have been in pursuit of prairie.

I don't understand it myself, but there is something about prairie the seems to draw me, to stir my imagination. I suspect it has something to do with orderliness; coming away from the country of precise rows of crops and the almost manicured appearance of improved, permanent pastures. Here in the prairie there is none of that, just miles of rolling green grass stretching to the horizon. There are trees, yes, but they are mostly confined to the draws where small creeks and rivers support massive cottonwoods.

We started in Missouri a few days ago and made a brisk march to one of our favorite spots in the state, Prairie State Park, located nearly astride the Kansas line. There, a herd of some 150 buffalo roam a space of roughly 4,000 acres. There is a space for dry camping in a grove of tree surrounding a small creek. There are few people, little regimentation as is normal in state parks. I am free to be in the prairie -- to imagine I am on the way west in the sea of prairie. Or, perhaps I might just want to find a spot on a knoll and become "Pa", resting from building a soddy for Ma, Mary and Laura.

Presently we reside smack in the middle of the Kansas Flint Hills, a geological formation that runs the north/south length of the state. Prairie exists here because of the thin soils that reject plowing. The result is a carpet of native blue stem prairie grass sweeping over the rolling countryside, that provides perhaps the best cattle grazing in the nation.

We have days ahead for prairie, so to spend today in what the missus calls a "jammy day" is not an extravagance. And, I have time today to muse about prairie. Friends will likely find us here in the next day or two and we'll add some "catching up" to our prairie experience.

Tomorrow's to be a bright day and we intend to use it.

From Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, the Hired Man and Missus
www.rockeddy.com

Blues Men at Line Camp Cabin in the woods

2010-05-05T08:45:00.003-05:00

It was kinda odd. In our Line Camp Cabin last week there were two parties, both with fellas who play in Blues bands. Now, you have to know that the cabin is "off the grid", meaning that when you stay there you give up at least eighty years, and you are secluded in the trees on the slope of a ridge not far from the river. You pump your water, you light the lamps at night, and there is a worn pathway to the little house in back. In modern terms, the place is "green."

Now, I am not saying that playing the blues might bring one to a need to retire to the woods and shed the skin of city life for a while. But, it could be! What might also be the case, is that those intercity folks may be more receptive to going green-- to returning to the old ways -- just for a time to see how it might be. Perhaps they are a little more adventurous.

Whatever the case, both of these guys and their women have been to Line Camp Cabin repeatedly. And, in one case they reserved a year from now. We can hardly hope that we will hear those blues riffs coming from around the campfire at the cabin then. I suspect during their time here they would much rather hear the birds outside in the day and the coyotes and owls at night.

The Afterglow

2010-04-25T13:59:00.006-05:00

Recently I wrote using the metaphor of estrus for the world of springtime flora here in the Ozark hills. (OK, estrus is commonly referred to as "heat" in animals, as in "my dog is in heat.") I thought the metaphor was apt, so I will continue it. Children cover your ears.

The stage we are now in I could describe as post-coital. Pollen has covered roofs, cars, decks and the interior of lungs for a couple of weeks now. The oak trees are spent. Catkins (see photo) litter the ground and clog gutters. They are everywhere, but then we are in the woods and have been surrounded by this sexual frenzy.

For the oak trees - the most dominant species here - I suspect the fun is complete and they are now to get down to the business of growing and photosynthesis. Perhaps it is the afterglow and time for a cigarette.

The transformation of the hills is nearly complete. Dull brown is changed to a brilliant green. This never fails to impresses me. Each year the surroundings here overlooking the valley and the hills are altered so dramatically. Our world is new.

An in hills turkey gobblers are strutting for the hens. Birds are nesting. Turtles are on the move. Maybe the fish are biting. It is a regular circus. Come see it. www.rockeddy.com

Spring souvenirs

2010-04-04T10:05:00.006-05:00

Back home in Missouri now, I was inspired this morning to photograph a few of the flowering trees and plants surrounding our home. And, as I was doing this, two thoughts occurred to me.

First, it occurs to me that many of these plants are souvenirs, reminders of pleasant places we have visited, or pieces of flora taken from treasured local spots that seem to inspire us each time we visit.

For example: the golden daffodils are certain to have come from one of two abandoned farms we have visited each spring for years. It may have been the old "Doyel Place" that sits high on a timbered hill overlooking a cedar-strewn creek bottom. Or, those particular flowers could have been removed from clumps growing at the old "Algerine Place" that sits behind the decaying school house up on what was known as "Clifty Dale Road."

The Japanese Quince almost certainly came from a broad thicket of it on the hill where is has become nearly out of control since folks last lived in the cabin, now a pile of rubble. And most assuredly, those folks got their start of that plant from another site, perhaps a neighbor's garden. No one paid money to Walmart or Lowes for those daffodil bulbs that now stream in clumps down the hill and into the timber. Dug-up starts of quince were once carried in pails to a new home site where they now flourish, abandoned.

And the tulips that are just too red - they are remnants of a wonderful European trip years ago. These are products of Keukenhof Gardens in the Netherlands. Our visit to the gardens was wonderful, but the sight of these tulips brings memories of the complete trip - Amsterdam, Edam, the North Sea, and England, Scotland, and Wales. I guess that is what souvenirs should do, bring back vivid memories of travel.

My second thought this morning is sexual, I'm afraid (well sorta). Notice the red bud and service berry blooms above. Spring is much like estrus in the world of flora. The world is flowering, open, receptive, primal. In the world of animals, especially domestic animals, estrus occurs many times in a year. In the world of plants, it happens generally only once per year, spring. At any rate, perhaps while in the outdoors in spring, aside from the feeling of newness and awe, we should perhaps also turn our heads and blush.

Even Cowboys Get the Blues

2010-02-15T16:07:00.003-06:00

It is a little-known fact, but even innkeepers need to go on vacation. (And, as with other things, more is better). We missed the Missouri Innkeeper's Conference because we were intent on beating the rotten weather. We are now in the California desert enjoying the fruits of our endeavor: temperatures in the 80's during the day, falling to the 50's at night. Of course we beat the chill at night by cliimbing into the hot mineral pools. Life is so hard here...

This winter we are traveling in the RV mode. The photo shows how our camper is set up at our present location near the Salton Sea. We have most of our solar panels tilted, giving us plenty of electricity during the day and quite a bit after dark. Note the TV satillite stuck on the side. This gives us TV when we want. Through the use of an AT&T aircard we are hooked to the internet. We have our cell phone for communication. (All calls come to our cell phone as we no longer have a land line, even at home.)

Our first guests of the spring come on March 24, so we will be back in the Ozark hills at least a few days ahead of that. Meanwhile, enjoy your weather.

The Hired Man and Missus

The Slabs: A Mecca for RV boondockers

2010-02-11T09:43:00.005-06:00

The saga continues.

We had to come here, the Hired Man, Missus, and our pal, Cathie. We've heard so much about it. It is known as "The Slabs" or "Slab City". It is an abandoned military facility that his called by some down-and-out residents as "the last free place." And, there are at least two types of residents here: the full time residents who look like they are too far into drugs, and the transient RVers who simply want a free stop in the desert.

Directions to The Slabs: at Niland, California turn east on Main Street and go about 3 miles until you see "Salvation Mountain" and you are there. Well Jeez, you can't miss Salvation Mountain (see photo) It is an experience in folk art.

Progress on into the Slabs and your first encounter will be with Poverty Flats. It is a desert mess with old and young hippies in every kind of hovel. Not having our bearings, we stayed here the first night. Our neighbor, Vince, who was under the influence of some sort of substance explained that over the hill was the hot springs. "You need to go in buck necked," says he. "Occasionally you'll find folks floating belly up who have failed to get out of the hot water soon enough."

The next day we moved to the more gentile section of The Slabs. We abandoned any plan to bathe in the springs. We unhooked and ventured north in the truck to discover the Salton Sea and environs. So here is our new plan, as current as this morning: We will park (dry camp) at an RV park between the Salton Sea and the Chocolate Mountains. There we will bathe in their more refined hot springs and schmooze with other RVers of a somewhat higher station in life. We'll be there perhaps a week to remove some kinks to our old bones.

Enough for now. Wish you could see all of my Slabs pictures.

Soldier's Joy

2010-01-22T07:42:00.005-06:00

Approximately 25 miles southwest of Rock Eddy Bluff lies the Army Fort Leonard Wood, near the town of St. Robert, Missouri. While we reside outside the fort's zone of influence, it is apparent to a traveler that a certain "seediness" increases in direct proportion to one's proximity to the fort.

We were close by the fort yesterday to visit the dentist and drove by some of the many "clubs" that cater to soldiers. Big Louie's is the most apparent of these businesses as it sits alongside the interstate highway. Actually it appears to be a small shopping mall as several other businesses cluster around Big Louie's club.
Young soldiers can quite simply change their lives while visiting this little Mecca of "things of the flesh". Often the signage carries notices of special deals on lap dances (as low as $1 each, I recall). I thought of trying out a few of them myself until I remembered what a poor dancer I am.

One such club featured what appeared to be a small motel behind the club. I assume this was used for those who had finished their dancing and wished to move on with the experience.

Peep shows and sex toy exist in abundance in this the little settlements. And, should that not be enough, you can be tattooed before leaving, preferably while still drunk. (Can you guess the amount of buyer's remorse the morning after?)

The Army appears to tolerate these businesses outside the gates of the post. Intestingly, the name "hooker" actually comes from the Civil War when Federal General Joseph Hooker recruited prostitutes to accompany his troops. And, nearly the same situation exists today as thousands of young boys leave hearth and home, girlfriends, and parental control to join the military.

Viewed thus, perhaps Big Louie's Club actually performs a valuable social funtion. Still, I think it best to just wave as you go by. But then, I am older now.

Firewood, a primal commodity

2010-01-08T11:05:00.004-06:00

These days we still love a fire blazing in the house, especially on the coldest days. It is those sticks of firewood that we have felled, sawed, split and hauled that stand between us an the frigid cold that surrounds the house. Oh sure, we still have an electric furnace but we all know what could happen if that were our only source of heat out here at the end of the electrical power line.

I was about 10 years old when my father died suddenly and my mother moved her four boys to the Ozark hills. It was during our first winter that we discovered the supreme importance of those sticks of firewood that could keep some degree of comfort in our small cabin. In the first years we had only a fireplace. We would "bank the fire" at night (cover the coals with ashes) and then the first hardy soul in the morning would uncover the coals and lay more dry wood on top. If you were lucky, the temperature inside would become tolerable in an hour or two.

The most pressing problem was that we boys had no knowledge of wood cutting and splitting and had no older male in the family to instruct us. Somehow we made it through those first winters with only a crosscut saw. Wood was brought into the house in quite meager amounts, and as I recall we almost never had enough wood to create a stack outside the door of the cabin.

We boys struggled with the saw. We pushed and pulled and cursed and spent way too much time gaining just a few sticks of wood. We learned later from a helpful neighbor that the saw had lost it's "set", causing it to bind in the wood on every stroke. Later we purchased a David Bradley chainsaw from Sears and Roebuck. Of course that began a whole new learning curve for we boys, as we then needed knowledge of small engines, the art of sharpening the chain, safety, etc.

There is another, somewhat guilty memory. It is the recollection of how little wood my mother would burn during the day when her sons were away in a warm schoolhouse. She was just plain stingy with firewood, causing the inside temperature to be quite cold. I suspect she spent much of the day in a chair directly in front of the fireplace. When we returned home she would often cajole and beg us to fill the wood box on the back porch.

Well, we have just returned from outside where we dug those precious sticks of firewood out of the snow and brought them to the house. Hands, feet, and faces were painfully cold by the time we finished. It is 7 degrees outside and the wind is swirling. Inside, the fire blazes in the stove, bringing back memories of winters gone by and emphasizing once more the importance, each year, of building large stacks of firewood against the coming winter.

Winter slothfulness

2009-12-30T11:50:00.004-06:00

Snow falling on cedars. Birds scampering across our outside deck, vying for seeds we scattered. For some reason, two victims this morning, birds trying to enter our sun room and smashing into the glass window. One dead, one apparently survived. There is no grief among the survivors, only continuing competition for free food.
Our cedar Christmas tree is stripped of it's lights and decorations and now sits outside where birds use it's limbs for brief respites. When cardinals come, drab cedars turn back into gaudy Christmas trees. Red, white and green are today's colors. White swirls across the deck. Finches, juncos in numbers; woodpeckers at the beef fat hanging.
Inside, warm, and reflective, I am two weeks past knee surgery. Two weeks of forced reticence and, yes, pain. But I have given myself over to modern chemistry and little white pills. They have helped stay the gremlin while I've watched Kathy carry in firewood, stoke the fire, feed the birds, and absorb other tasks that are normally mine. But, I progress, if slowly.
Rock Eddy Bluff Farm is closed and will be for several weeks. I have fallen backward into sloth and indolence, while outside the birds struggle and flit in the cold whiteness. Nearby, green cedars frame a snow covered landscape running onward to a grey horizon.
There is a certain zen today, one of simple awareness.

The Hired Man goes to the big city

2009-12-13T19:18:00.004-06:00

It was kinda like "Goober Goes to Chicago." Every once in a while we have to load up and head into a metropolis just to see how the other 90% lives. Well, we just got home from one such foray. (I drug along the Missus, the daughter and son-in-law, and two grand kids -- 1 and 3 years of age.)

Transportation was provided by Amtrak and then Megabus on the return (look it up - http://www.megabus.com/ ) Our hotel was of a class that was clearly above our station in life, but it had excellent views of the Chicago River and the skyline of Chi town.

Well, we just had an excellent time and nearly froze our collective hineys off. Boy Howdy, was it cold. (When was the last time you heard Boy Howdy'?) We had two and a half days in town, but ran out of time quickly. Here is what we saw:

Millennium Park
Macy's Christmas windows and Santa
The Science and Industry Museum (5 stars)
The Shedd Aquarium
The German Christmas Market
"Precious" at the Movie Theatre
Quite a lot of town thru the taxi window.

Here is what we learned:

Those city fellers sure know how to charge a lot. (Or, as they say in the country, "They's real proud of their stuff.")
No matter where you are you can get a taxi quick.
There is a real good reason that they call it "The Windy City."
Big Cities are really kinda neat -- enough to spend up to two and a half days.
There sure are lots of things to see and we'd like to go back again once we save up some cash.
It is so much fun to have a Christmas break with family.
Little grand kids are wonderful but very tiring.

The trip got us in the Christmas mood, so we are sending along a heartfelt "Happy Christmas" to everyone.

From down on the Bluff, The Hired Man

A cartoonist comes to Line Camp Cabin

2009-11-27T10:51:00.004-06:00

Some folks who come to Rock Eddy Bluff do us a special honor when they leave something of themselves here. That was true a few days ago when Robert Quick and Hillary settled into Line Camp Cabin. Robert, it turns out, is an artist and cartoonist who left some of his talent in our little "Guest to Guest" book in the cabin.

Of course, we have to share the cartoons he left with us. It seems Bob was quite taken with Line Camp and our place on the river. "You have what I dream about. Can you adopt me?"

Thanks Bob and Hillary.

What the heck is that next to the door?

2009-11-10T11:18:00.006-06:00

I will check to see if you remember this next summer when you need it!

I am gonna tell it to you now since, truth is, I probably won't remember to tell you next summer when the weather is warm. And, the other reason is that our guests have asked us about this so many times that we were thinking about writing a little blurb in the welcome folder that they see when they arrive. Doing that would keep us from explaining it over and over.

We discovered this on a jaunt somewhere,and, like many things, once you have seen it, then you notice it everywhere after that. A clear water-filled plastic bag was hanging up over the door. Yep, just water in perhaps a quart-size clear plastic bag that was tied with a string or wire and hung near the outside doorway. So we asked about it. The reply went something like this, "Well, it keeps flies from going inside the house. Don't ask me how it works; I don't know. I am tired of telling people about it."

So we tried it ourselves at our house, at the cottage and the cabins. We got the same response from many people; "what the heck it that?" Others told us, "We have known about that since we were kids." One of our friends who lives in Ireland said that her parents had always filled bags with water to keep out flies.

What do we think after trying it for a summer? We think it works. We had very few flies inside this year. How does it work then? We don't know, but the most consistent explanation offered when we asked was something about the light refraction in the clear plastic bag somehow confuses the multi-faceted eye of the flies. After that, your guess is as good as ours.

We even checked it our on Snopes.com. They don't say it is true or false. They say "Undetermined."

So, try it for yourselves next summer (or even now, as there are some flies still hankering to be indoors). And remember to tell us how it works. You have nothing to lose but your flies. The only downside is having to repeatedly answer the question, "What the heck is that thing?"

Making Molasses (Them shore is good)

2009-10-26T08:34:00.008-05:00

I haven't seen Declan have more fun than he did on Saturday when he "helped" make molasses. His sister, Lily Grace, sat on the wagon and helped by sucking the sweetness from a short piece of cane. It was one of those rare brisk and sunny fall days that have become even rarer this autumn. Our three-year-old grandson was having the time of his life feeding cane into the mule-powered press.

The molasses making has become an annual October ritual at the farm of one of our neighbors. They both are getting well on in years, but with the help of their offspring, each year they plant a patch of cane in the spring. Then, on one weekend in the fall the hard work begins. They cut the cane with a knife, strip the leaves from the canes, and load it onto a wagon to be taken to the press and kiln.

Neighbors arrive mid-morning on Saturday with covered dishes for the noon meal. The mule is hitched to a long pole that powers the press as the mule circles. A hot fire is built under the long cooking pan that will reduce the thin cane juice to a thick golden molasses. There is dinner on the grounds, lots of visiting between neighbors, and the aromatic steam from the cooker scenting the fall air. The older kids sometimes get to ride the mule.

Sadly, last Saturday may have been the last time we will make molasses in our neighborhood. The hosts are getting older and even with lots of help, the responsiblity of the event tires them considerably. It will be a loss for all of us. Likely, this old-fashioned process will only seen only as an attraction at country fairs and festivals.

From the Hills, The Hired Man, Missus, and young folk

In An Autumn Rain

2009-10-22T17:18:00.009-05:00

This happens every fall, the rains come amid the time of ripest color in the hills and pummels the leaves from the trees. Most years the autumn rain signals the end of the riot of pigment that spreads across the ridges. A breeze comes and pushes the sodden leaves from their branches. This fall I have hopes that the rains have come just a smidgen too early.

I am sitting here on our sun porch above the valley as evening light weakens in a drizzling rain that has lasted all day. Oh, the rain has taken its share of the golden leaves. This morning they swirled and eddied around the house as we, inside, begrudged each one making its way earfthward. But, this evening we still have color in the timber, leaves hanging on waiting for some more October sunshine and painted blue sky. Yes, the woods are less dense now; you can see further into the trees. But, without a strong wind tonight we will have more golden autumn days ahead.

Already we have marked off a few of our alloted golden fall days. Together with our daughter and grandchildren we have loaded a couple of ATVs with a picnic and headed into the countryside. We careened up dry creek beds, meandered down country roads known to only a few, and visited old house places back in the timber that are no longer connected to roads. It was truly wonderful, and left us wanting more.

But even rainy fall days have their compensations. With guests enscounsed in their cabins, I suspect they are on the porches listening to the patter of the rain on tin roofs. And, often this time of year sleep comes early, peaceful and long.

Home again, home again, jiggidy jig

2009-10-03T12:20:00.004-05:00

We are home a week now and have almost caught up with our work getting ready for guests. (the place is full this weekend). After being gone for such a long time in a different environment it takes a little while get get back into the old system.

Kathy's favorite holiday (except it is not a holiday) is Halloween. She can't control herself. Right now there are skeletons hanging from the trees near the house. Bats also. She even wears a little hat that says, "Happy Holloween." I point out to her that folks are not supposed to be happy on Holloween. They are supposed to be scared s--tless.

The pumkins are set out, except these that we grew out in the pasture (see photo). I looks like the deer got into these excellent specimens and ruined them. K is heartbroken.

I sense a wonderful fall coming. Right now, twinges of color are seen on the hillsides. Cattle are in the pastures across the river. The walnuts have already lost their leaves, leaving the green balls hung among the limbs like ornaments. This is the time of year for hikes and long walks in the woods.

We think that we will concentrate on enjoying every single moment of lovely fall weather. Each year this magical part of the year seems too soon gone. We look back and shake our heads, wondering how we missed so much of it.

That's why I must get away from this computer. It's a beatiful, crisp day.

From the hills, Tom & Kathy http://www.rockeddy.com/

To paraphrase past wisdom, "You can measure how rich a person is by how little he needs" — i.e. the richest person isn't the person who has everything; it's the person who needs nothing.

Old houses out in the hills

2009-08-06T19:52:00.014-05:00

While going through some files today, I happened upon these photos I am including. They show a two old houses, which, if they were currently occupied, would be some of our closest neighbors at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm.

As you can see from the photos, the first house is in bad condition and may not stand many more years. I can hardly believe that I remember the people who lived here. One of the girls who grew up in this house was a contemporary of my brothers and me. The family farmed the upper end of this creek bottom. Some years later, after I left for college to make my own way in the big world, the family dispersed leaving the house abandoned.

Over the years hunters and others have gone into the house and ransacked it. But even now there is strong evidence of the family that once lived there. The oddest thing is that it appears that the family just walked out of the house and took almost nothing with them. Clothes are still on hooks. The battered furniture in still in the house. There is perhaps more to that story.

Now, at my age I have a memory of other such house places not far from here. Most were not occupied when I was a child but they were then standing, along with a few outbuildings and hand-dug wells. Cabins (not houses as we think of them) were scattered along dirt roads and deep in the woods where the tracks leading to them are no longer even faint. You have to know where the remains of these places are located to find them. Some are now gone to rot with only a few foundation stones remaining to mark their location.

I have always been intrigued by these old house places. They each have a story. I know only a few of those stories. The last photo showing the old house that now has collapsed into the ground was called the Algerine Place. In that log cabin a son accidentally shot and killed his mother. He was preparing to shoot a hawk that was perhaps threatening their chickens. The shotgun somehow discharged in the house, killing his mother instantly.

Nearby is a house (not shown) where a wayward daughter killed several of her family members by poisoning the water pail. And, there are more such places where families once somehow scratched out an existence. Many are now only traces in the ground.

Well, I like these old pictures. I like to look at them even though they make me feel old. And somewhere among boxes of old photos that were taken on some medium they long ago called "film", I may even have photos of some of these old places when they were younger and in a better state of repair.

From the Hills, The Old Hired Man

Kids and the creek

2009-08-05T12:06:00.009-05:00

Recent experience at Rock Eddy Bluff shows that there are two options for handling grandkids who claim to be bored: (1) Set them in front of a TV with an antimated movie, or (2) take them to the creek or river. Get them wet!

We prefer option two for a variety of reasons. The kids actually get excercise, they connect with nature, and when we bring them home they are tired and ready to rest. Splashing around in the water seems to have a wearying effect on kids. Can I get a halleluya?

The photo shows our grandkids: Declan, Lily, and David.

Chances are you will have to deal with assorted fauna that the children love to collect. Crawdads are a favorite, along with tadpoles and minnows. Here is where we need to be sneaky. Of course kids want to bring home the critters. They have named them and are envisioning a long relationship extending into their teen years. Older folks, if they plan well are able to somehow allow a merciful escape back into the wild before the party returns.

We have two wonderful places for kid splashing here: The excellent gravel bar at Rock Eddy below the bluff, and Clifty Creek, about a mile down the road. At either location the Hired Man and Missus plan ahead and take folking chairs. We are comfy while kids splash. An excellent refinement for hot days is to move the chairs into the water where you can recline partially submerged. On certain occassions it has been known that there was beer involved.

I am quite certain that kids will remember their river and creek time long after the images of the animated characters in movies have faded. Who could forget the first encounter with a Jesus bug? (They walk on water). And how about tadpoles changing into frogs, legs sprouting from their sides. Snake are alway facinating, and when encountered, are an excellent opportunitiy for teaching.

Then there are rocks! Many a throwing arm has seen early developement at the creek. With no shortage of rocks of all sizes, the act of heaving them into the creek may proceed for hours. At a certain stage of youthful maturation the refinement of skipping rocks can be added.

We have had quite a bit of kid time in the water this summer. We hope for more.

The Hired Man

Cadet Baloney arrives at the Bluff

2009-07-16T08:59:00.007-05:00

It was 1964, I was fresh out of college and loaded for bear. President Kennedy had convinced me to sign up with the Peace Corps. I was accepted and headed for a two-year stint in Colombia .

Problem was, Kennedy (before he was killed), had warmed up a little war in far off Viet Nam that now looked like it would only get bigger. "Rats," I thought.

At my local Selective Service Office (the draft board) I was assured that I would be drafted into the Army the moment my commitment with the Peace Corps ended. That would extend my service to the country by at least two years. And I thought, "How could they take someone with my sensibilities into the infantry (known as 'Grunts')?"

So, I joined the Navy Flight program and was whisked off to Pensacola, Florida. Along with several other guys, I was slammed into a program called "Preflight". The Idea was to convert college kids, over a period of months, into Officers ready to become Naval Aviators. It was intense. It was memorable.

I am remembering all of this because my old roomie in Preflight, Denny Bolena (Cadet Boloney) has just visited us on the bluff. Hey, in case you are not counting, we last saw each other a mere 45 years ago. Denny was a kid from Queens, out of ethnic Albanian extraction. I was a kid from the Missouri hills. We hit it off wonderfully.

So, it was a blast to see him and his wife, Jan, when they drove in a couple of days ago. We caught up with each other. We discussed Navy friends and their adventures. We commented how we could still see some of those fresh-faced kids in the images of the older gentlemen we have become.

We remembered the time during a RLP (room, locker and personnel inspection) when he gave the one-finger salute to the Marine Drill Sargent while standing behing him. My eyes fickered and then I broke. So, I was the one with a substancial number of demerits added to my total.

There were many nearly forgotten recollections. Our memories complimented each other, so that in the end we both relived much of the decades-old experience.

Thanks Denny for coming. Here are some photos of us as we now appear. And just for practice, Cadet Bolena, I would like you to put yourself on report for flipping that bird.

Cadet Corey

Things turned old fashion this morning

2009-06-15T11:06:00.009-05:00

We lost one hundred years in an instant this morning. Yes, we had another bit of bad weather and it changed things instantly.

It all started with another of our signature toad stranglers. That is one hell of a hard rain, for those who ain’t from the hills. That storm caused an unexplained loss of power. (We don’t know where the problem is but this happens with some frequency here.) So all morning things were dark and wet, and the rain came in buckets full.

Right now I have the generator running. We need that to provide power for our well pump so that we can get water. Otherwise we are pretty well prepared for power losses, but we can’t do without water for very long. So, while I have the generator on I flipped on another circuit and I have line power to this computer. We are sitting pretty except that there is another problem.

We are surrounded here by creeks with low water crossings and simple concrete fords. When the creeks are up we are stranded, and that is our condition this morning. We can stand a pretty fair rain before our final avenue of escape becomes closed to us. That is the low water bridge on highway E about two miles from the house. Here is a picture taken this morning.

Things have changed here in the country. We used to have hard rains but there was nothing like the frequency that now exists. These rains come so hard that they wash out roads, spill over ditches and play havoc with things in general.
What is the reason for the change in the weather. Perhaps it is a shift in weather patterns in general. I hesitate to mention global warming because that brings the ire of locals who hold that the whole thing is just another liberal plot to take over more of the world.

The theory held by weather scientists is that along with warmer average global temperatures events in local regions will become more erratic. They say that almost any weather event will be more dramatic. Erratic, emphatic and dramatic. Apparently there is good evidence for that since the vast majority of scientists hold this view.

You all have a good day, and think of us hillbillies living like we did before we got electric down here in the woods.

The Hired Man and Missus stuck at home in the dark.

Garden Food

2009-06-11T08:48:00.006-05:00

Yesterday Kathy canned some food from the garden and I figured that this photo of a few jars of canned beets would make folks jealous. Well maybe! She has given away one jar to a guest who fancied it. I told her that I thought I fancied it more than they did, but that did not save it.

We have gotten back into canning this year and hope to have enough garden veggies to supply some of our winter needs. We have even taken a friend's advice and canned pinto beans. For that we simply put dry beans in the jar along with some ham or bacon and some salt. Fill the jar nearly full with water and process it in the canner. You can then have a ham and bean dinner at a moment's notice. Just open the jar and heat.

We have been overrun with strawberries this year and Kathy has made some wonderful freezer jam. Wish I had a picture.

The garden has been quite productive despite the wet spring. A chief factor, we think, is that most of it is planted in raised beds, which drain well. You can see what we have done with spare watering troughs. They make great raised beds. We are even considering converting an old leaky aluminum boat to a raised bed in our garden.

It just keeps raining here. The poor guests want to get out on the river but it seems to rain every afternoon and night. We had a toad strangler again last night and it washed out our road in several places. So fixing the road is back on the hired man's list of things to do.

From the Hills, The Hired Man & Missus

Guns and Whiskey

2009-06-05T08:04:00.006-05:00

Remember the old wild west cowboy movies and how the saloons made folks check their guns at the door. Maybe it was in old Dodge City where the proprietors felt the need to do this. Perhaps it was just common sense. Maybe they found that cleaning up the place after a wild Saturday night just went smoother when the cowboys hadn't had access to their sidearms.

Probably there was a body of evidence showing that whiskey and guns don't mix, or when they do, the results are rather messy. Hey, I've been in enough redneck roadhouses myself to entertain that same notion.

Turns out that those saloons back in Dodge during the wild west were probably run by a bunch of limp-wristed liberals. The legislature of the State of Tennessee has corrected that idea.

Acording to the news, the Tennessee legislature passed a law allowing guns to be carried in drinking establishments. So, whem the bill comes to the governor he vetos it, saying that people get silly when they drink and perhaps silly people should not be armed in bars. That idea so upset the legislature that they overrode the veto with more votes than the original bill received.

A Tennessee political spokesmen of some persuasion made a statement afterward. This isn't an exact quote but catches the meaning: "Things will be a lot safer when everyone who is not a convicted felon inside the bar is packing heat somewhere on his person."

Now I don't want to pass judgment on this situation or differ with the collective wisdom of the Tennessee legislature. But I do plan to remain cold sober when in Tennessee. And I think I will steer clear of bars, roadhouses, and whiskey palaces.

Its probably because I am not as fast on the draw as I used to be.

The Hired Man

The Hired Man Says: Farm Friends

2009-06-04T12:31:00.000-05:00

The Hired Man Says: Farm Friends

Farm Friends

2009-06-02T08:41:00.010-05:00

They are the last of only a few, the tail end of a generation of country folk from hereabouts. They are the keepers of some important things that will soon be lost. In them resides old ideas about hay fields, about where to look for goldenseal near the spring branch, about how to think about things on the porch in the evening when you are tired. So many things.

These are our friends, the last two of a family. They never left home. They never married. They know everything about the farm that they have never left; about a clapboard farm house they have returned to from the fields for all of their lives. There they cared for beloved parents until time took them. Then there were three siblings, two brothers and a sister.

Now there are only two. They are now in their eighties and time is gnawing on them. The years are reducing them, pulling away competences and possibilities with increasing swiftness. They seem to accept this. They have seen it before.

They have animals still: cattle, chickens, guineas, dogs, cats. And they have lambs, and it is well known that grandchildren need to see lambs. So off we went on a Sunday afternoon, kids, parents, and grandparents, to see the pretty lambs and see the farm and visit with our friends.

Oh, the kids had a great time, and our friends got to be near some children, something that has become less frequent for them. And it was a sunny day and we all got along wonderfully and spoke repeatedly about how we don’t see each other often enough and how we are going to start doing thing differently. And the billy goat climbed up high and inspected the children and the lambs scurried about in the barn lot. And there were eggs gathered from the chicken house.

And then we left. We drove down the lane, across the ford of the small creek bed below the farmhouse. And off we went back into a reality that was more contemporary. I think they enjoyed our visit. I know we did. And, looking back on that day at their farm, the thought strikes me that it will not be long until we could be the end of a generation of folks from hereabouts. And how will people think about us.

From the hills, The Hired Man & Missus

All the pretty horses.........gone!

2009-05-26T08:54:00.009-05:00

They were beautiful horses that lived here. And it has been pointed out to me that they were somewhat cultured, as they listened to the National Public Radio station that played constantly in the barn. I believe the proper term for NPR listeners is "elitist", which around here means anyone who doesn't listen to country music.

And is is true that those horses have been exposed to classical music for several hours a day and it only stands to reason that it somehow affected their manner and appreciation for art and culture. I wonder if the new owner of the horses has noticed that.

At any rate they are gone. We are horseless. That condition has not existed for the eighteen years we have lived here on a bluff above the Gasconade River. It will take a little getting used to. We have our reasons for going horseless, but sometimes they don't seem quite good enough.

If you have been around horses you can guess the things we will miss most. What about the smell? (OK, odor for you elitists.) I have loved the smell of horses since I was a child. That odor will gradually diminish now. And we will miss the sight of them in the pasture. Often their mutual exuberance had them running with the wind or kicking and twisting with the joy of movement.

We grow older and priorities change. Seeing that the horses were cared for became a problem for the times we were away and traveling. And, there are other reasons: Aches and pains (some of which were given to me by horses) have kept us from using the horses as much as we should. They need more attention than we were giving them.

But they were beautiful. And we had a good run with equines here for many years. Delivering new colts was always a favorite thing. Then watching them develop.

Our last two horses have gone to live with a couple who operate a riding school and boarding stable near Cole Camp, Missouri. We hope to go visit them sometime. Mister Big, our Percheron cross will be groomed to carry the heftier students of the riding school and perhaps will also get some harness time. And, truth is, even as beautiful as he is, Woodrow will have to find his own niche at his new home. He was part of the deal. "You take both of them or none," we said.

Well, here's to a good rest of your life guys. We will miss you.

Your Pals, The Hired Man and Missus.

We danced at the Fox in St. Louis

2009-05-22T09:33:00.007-05:00

It wasn't much, not much more than a wiggle, and it was dark up there and,of course, the audience had left, but I can still say that I danced on stage at the Fox Theatre.

And so can Kathy. She did a couple of steps and didn't even hurt herself.

It was Wednesday night and we were on the town, together with Paul and Heather (daughter & son-in-law) as well as sis-in-law Cathy. A Chorus Line was playing at the Fox and we were gussied up to go see it.

The real draw was that niece, Hollie Howard, and her boyfriend, Colt Prattes, were in the cast. So we all had dinner at an overpriced restaurant near Union Station, then it was off to the show. It was wonderful, lots of dancing and singing. It made me recall a time when I just might have been able to to that. Or, something like it. But mostly it made me kinda sore just watching it.

Afterward we all trouped backstage where Hollie and Colt showed us the ropes and led us out on the darkened stage. Hollie explained how they use seams in the stage and bold white numbers under the lights at the front of the stage (that's upstage) to keep their places during the routines.

That's when we did our little wiggles.

For those who have not been to the Fox Theatre, I can tell you that it produces almost a sensory overload. It is truly an amazing venue. And, as a sometime performer, I can say that it ain't so bad to be onstage either.

The Hired Man www.rockeddy.com back from the big city into the green hills.

My Favorite Magazine

2009-05-16T17:15:00.006-05:00

I owe it to our pal and long time guest, Amy Gutowski. One day it arrived in the mail with a little notice that Amy and Tom had sent a subscription.

There is was, a slender little rag, printed in one-color. Nothin fancy but wonderfully, no advertisements at all. I spent the first night with my new copy of The Sun in my ritual nighttime read-myself-to-sleep session. That did it. I was hooked.

I'm not gonna try to explain the magazine, except to say that I think.....I hope...it will touch you. It is quite varied in content. Let me go find a quote -- what they say about themselves. I'll be right back.
"The Sun is an independent, ad-free monthly magazine that
for more than thirty years has used words and photographs to invoke the splendor
and heartache of being human. The Sun celebrates life, but not in a way that
ignores its complexity. The personal essays, short stories, interviews, poetry,
and photographs that appear in its pages explore the challenges we face and the
moments when we rise to meet those challenges.
The Sun publishes the work of
emerging and established artists who are striving to be thoughtful and
authentic. Writing from The Sun has won the Pushcart Prize, been published in
Best American Short Stories and Best American Essays, and been broadcast on
National Public Radio.
The Sun invites readers to consider an array of
political, social, and philosophical ideas and then to join the conversation.
Each issue includes a section devoted entirely to writing by readers, who
address topics as varied as Telling the Truth, Neighbors, Hiding Places, Second
Chances, and Gambling."
OK, that's a start. Want more? Go to this website http://www.thesunmagazine.org/ There you can look over the past issue and see if it suits you. (Don't know how they make any money that way.) If y0u like it, it is worth your support as it struggles financially sometimes.
I'm keeping my subscription paid up.

Thank you Amy, The Hired Man and Missus

p.s. I ain't making no money in case yer wondering! But sometime I want to tell you how doing what we do allows us to meet some pretty wonderful people at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm.

International Innkeeper Exchange

2009-05-15T08:34:00.007-05:00

A few years ago a fellow from France introduced us to international exchanges between innkeepers. Since then he has become our friend and in many ways, our soul mate.

The idea was totally Philippe's and he has exchanged with perhaps twenty or more inns on four continents. By contrast, we have exchanged with only two international inns: one in France and one in Scotland. Click here to see a list of the inns Philippe has visited.

The photo shows the Hired Man and Missus with Philippe and his mother on a beautiful French day.

After returning from France a few years ago, I wrote a web page about our experience and visit with Philippe at his Gite in La Bastide in the south of France. Poking around the Internet this morning, I found that page translated into four languages on Philippe's website.

The page has lots of photos and links to interesting French things. So, for today's reading material, I thought I could just send you to that web page. http://www.etoile.fr/fr/sejour6.htm (If you want to read it in English, just click on the British flag.)

Philippe is a wizard with web pages, so if you want to follow any of his many links from the page you will find loads of interesting stuff. And, if you ever want to his gite, L 'Etoile http://www.etoile.fr/, in the Cevennes region of France, let us know and we will help you plan your adventure.

The H.M.

What is wrong with the French?

2009-05-13T09:24:00.009-05:00

Boy, do I flop around into different topics.

But if you know me you know that I have spent my whole life -- now 67 years-- flopping around.

Well, maybe I can get some sedate controversy going here. Here goes:

Why are Americans always complaining about the French? In my view they do a whole lot of things better than we do. A whole lot! I think they live better. Consider this from a recent survey reported by Arthur Frommer the travel guru. "According to a study published in Gadling.com "The French enjoy an average of 35 days a year of paid vacation. They sleep an average of nine hours a night, an hour longer than us, and also spend two hours a day on eating -- twice the time Americans spend eating. Read more: http://www.frommers.com/blog/? "

I suspect, when totalled, this likely indicates that the French enjoy life more than do Americans with no vacation but lots of toys and little time. We live pell mell. They live leisurely.

And, they have one of the best free health care systems in the world. On the other hand, we have....... Oh, surely you know what a perfect mess we have.

I know, they don't support us in every military incursion we decide on. Are they smart or just lucky in this?

I must be feeling like I want to stir the water a little this morning. If you agree or disagree let me know in a genteel manner.

The Hired Man needs now to earn his breakfast. Vive la France!

www.rockeddy.com

The wanderer awoke this morning

2009-05-10T08:05:00.008-05:00

I am still afflicted. I want to wander the countryside. Heck, I am only one week back and I catch myself thinking about how things might be in some of my more popular places.

I believe there is new grass carpeting the Flint Hills of Kansas. It is a deluge of green with praire flowers and small tidy towns tucked down in the cottonwood draws. I would like to see it again....right now.

Another vision that surfaces is of the Sand Hills of Nebraska. The rolling hills, as if huge waves stretched onward on a sea of grass. Ranch houses and barns lost in the swells of green, down little track of roads, miles and miles from little "necessary" towns.

These are just my spring visions; they will change as the year progresses. I will think of other favorites in the summer. And in the fall I will move to the mountains, New England, the lake country.

In Maine, where a little me still lives, the winter is being forced out grudgingly by the gentle persistance of spring. And I can remember enough that I think I could still avoid the tourists running up highway 1 and locate some of the pictures that still swim in my mind.

And there are so many more that I will not discuss this morning. It is just that the wanderer in me just schook in his traces enough that I had to acknowlege him this morning. Ain't that typical! I should be discussing Mother's Day. Kathy is getting Mom's Day calls this morning while serving breakfast to the guests and I am back in this messy little room with the computer. I am sure it ain't right. I am certain that a more refined fella would do things differently.

Happy Mother's Day, The Hired Man http://www.rockeddy.com/

Back from the south now and meeting new people

2009-05-08T11:24:00.010-05:00

We are back from our vacation in the south with our camper. We are now back in harness and have a complete complement of guests this weekend. Computer problems while we were away stopped this blog in its tracks.

We had a wonderful time while we were away. Here are a few of the things we did:

We slowed down. For most of the trip we did not get over 50 mph. That is the speed limit on the Natchez Trace and we maintained the same speed up thru the small ramshackle towns of the Mississippi and Arkansas Delta.

We resolved to get some exercise. Before we left we purchased a Wii Fit game. Yes, you actually do get exercise. And it is fun!

We immersed ourselves in the western theatre of the Civil War. Kathy was really excited because she is such a CW buff. In her words she "had a rosy glow" as we visited CW sites. I will include some photos taken at the battle site at Shiloh.

The siege of Vicksburg was quite interesting also.

We met some interesting characters. I think I have already written about one of them. One lady at a small Civil War center was starved to talk. She is 88 years and talked about her early life. While we were their her son, who is my age or older brought her lunch. he said, "Here is you lunch Mama!" She was married at 15. "We didn't have ANYTHING when we got married. Well, we had a little bit of food." Her husband has been gone for 22 years.

Spent family time with daughter and family. That is another topic.

We riffled a few antique stores and flea markets. We found that there are an inferior species of fleas at those places in the south. Found a few things that are truly unique.

I'll try to do a better job now. The Hired Man http://www.rockeddy.com/

Shiloh

2009-04-17T07:51:00.005-05:00

They were all Americans. They met by the Tennessee River in early spring and butchered each other. The two-day killing was so intense that it is remembered in history as one of the greatest battles fought on the soil of the United States.

Yesterday we were touring the battleground called Shiloh . We find it interesting how the battle related to the topography, the ground, how the army was pushed up against the river and were only saved by reinforcements by water during the night.

So, during the day we spent tracing the history upon the land, we met another fellow doing the same in company with his daughter. You could tell that he was almost agitated with the excitement of day. We talked for a while. He was a southerner and traced his lineage to participants in the battle. He hailed originally from the Cumberland region of eastern Tennessee. He was a retired college professor and a wholly likable gentleman.

Our conversation touched on a subject that has stayed with me... that started me considering. The question we both wondered was this: How could men who were neighbors be pushed to the passionate savagery needed for this kind of killing. Official numbers put the total casualties --killed, wounded and missing -- at nearly 25,OOO.

Here are my reflections later in the evening, after we had retired to the woodland where our camper is now stationed: Throughout history, wars are fought between groups of people who differ in race/color, language, or religion. Both sides realize that "they are not like us" so savagery is made easier by some degree. For confirmation, simply consider our relatively recent wars: Korea, Viet Nam, and those bloody incursions into the middle east.

But, here at Shiloh there were none of those differences. Both sides were Americans; both were the same color, the same religion and spoke the same language. Perhaps this conundrum is a key reason why we Americans have been so obsessed with the civil war since the 186O's. How could neighbors, brothers and aquaintances do this to each other?

It was an invigorating day with spring in full force. Dogwood and redbud were in amazing flower. The sun shone yesterday upon the killing fields where almost at this same time of year soldiers drank from "bloody Pond" were dead men and horses had turned with water red. That happened on April 6 and 7, 1862.

I wish now that we had our southern acqaintance from yesterday for some more "considering".

Bonus question: Guess which key on my computer keyboard has stopped working? I was gonna put some neat photos with today's blog. But technology is failing us on this trip. One laptop has gone belly up and the ancient backup computer we keep as backup can't read the camera card. So, use your imagination!!

Going footloose for a while

2009-04-10T07:35:00.008-05:00

It has been this way for many years. Since I was a kid I have appreciated the feeling one gets just before setting out on an extended journey. It is that way now. We leave today.

And, like many other trips, this time we are also a little weak on planning. We like it that way. We happen upon things and experiences without anticipating them. No schedule!

Here's how we plan: We mark off days on our calendar for travel days a full year ahead. We say, "We're gonna be gone here, on those days that have X's on them." Quite often don't know our destination until shortly before leaving. This time we knew only that we were going to take the RV (5th wheel trailer).

Then someone said, "how about we head down to the Natchez Trace?" We agreed that the direction was right, as we would be heading into the northward march of spring. We could piddle around on the Trace we figured, which is something like 440 miles long, take in some neat civil war battlefields while we were about it, and do some serious relaxing. And, since we have been on portions of the trace before, we know there are some interesting experiences to be had under spanish moss-laden trees. Oh yes, and then there are the birds, and flowers and flowering trees and gentle southern breezes.

We were arranging to meet our Canadian pal, Cathy Collins, on the Trace as she returned home from her usual winter in Mexico with her tiny Scamp trailer . But she learned at the last minute that her brother in Scotland had died and she had to beat a direct path home. We will miss her this year.

So, PeeVee (our dog) has had a bath, we are mostly packed, and before long I will hook the whole rig together and get it in traveling mode. Cell phones are wonderful as they allow us to transfer our land line to the cell and get all calls we normally woujld. A laptop with an "air card" usually gets us internet access as we move about. And with a solar (photovoltaic) system on the roof of the camper, we can stop and be quite comfortable virtually anywhere.

Gotta get going now. I'm gonna slap in a photo of some camping spot we have had in the past. We'll see!

The Hired Man, Missus, and dogpal PeeVee www.rockeddy.com

What happened to that big mushroom?

2009-04-07T19:18:00.005-05:00

We ate it! We sliced it up, dipped it in an egg mixture then rolled it in flour. The frying pan did the rest. Now remember, the mushroom in question is a false morel, a fungus that the books say can cause some problems when eaten.

Didn't happen! The hired man and the missus at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm http://www.rockeddy.com/ ate their share. We were followed by our daughter, who was here at the time, and her two children (Ages 1 yr. and nearly 3 yrs.). There was no effect from the mushrooms.

That mushroom was delicious! As you can see from the picture, the mushroom fried up well. We actually ate it for breakfast, and, as I remember, we had little else until noon. The picture shows what was left.

We have found nine small common morels in our drive and will escort them to our digestive tracts soon. It occurs to me that with mushroom season coming on strong, you may like some reliable information. Here are a couple of websites: Mid-Missouri M0rels and Mushrooms and see what the Missouri Department of Conservation has to say.

We will be hunting the little morsels this spring. But we are headed to the Natchez trace in a couple of days. We'll send reports from there and also picts of any "scrooms" that we might happen upon.

Think Spring, The Hired Man and Missus

I can't help myself

2009-04-02T10:59:00.008-05:00

Perhaps I can be forgiven for staying with a subject. It is just that the first rumblings of the new growing season seem so powerful to me. I will spare you all the talk about renewal and the flowery metaphors for spring. Better, I want to show what things look like this morning here in the Ozarks. The photos are only minutes old.

We discovered this mushroom yesterday and waited to harvest it. In the Ozark parlance, this is known as a "red one". The reason is that most native folk around here recognize only the two most common edible mushrooms. The call them red ones and white ones. The white ones are actually common morels. This "red one" is a false morel. They are larger than the white ones. Now, the experts say to be careful with eating the false morels. They say that sometimes eating them can cause serious illness in some people. However, everyone I know eats them without affect, and so do we (and so will be have this one for breakfast tomorrow).

Knowing that there was a remarkable glade of bluebell flowers under the bluffs at Clifty Creek, we ventured there to see. What we found was a treat; bluebells covering the ground beside the babbling creek, under the giant white skeletons of sycamore trees. There we also found our first view of Dutchman's Britches"

And looking up the creek we see the first hints of color arriving. Leaves the size of your pinkie fingernails are appearing, particularly in elm trees. Red bud trees are just beginning to bloom. So are dogwoods. For those who pay attention to the usual sequence of such things, this year has been odd. Every woodland early blooming tree appears to be in about the same stage: red bud, dogwood, service berry, and wild plump.

And perhaps March 31 is a little early for "red ones", but there it is. We are pumped up for spring. Hope you are too.

From the hills, The Hired Man and The Missus

Winter vs. Spring (March Madness)

2009-03-28T10:22:00.008-05:00

The evil forces of winter are locked in battle with the gentle forces of spring. Or, at least that is the look of things at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm http://www.rockeddy.com/ right now. Actually, we love winter. It is just that, right now we are sick of it. Its kinda like a well-loved relative whose only fault is that he has overstayed his welcome. The same thing happens every March. We've come to expect it.

But, Geez, here it is the last of March and we are expecting snow this afternoon. Temps in the low thirties. We'll be covering up plants for the night.

We will sit by the fire this afternoon and reflect on the coming of spring. And, I'll consider a couple of snatches of poetry that always come to mind this time of year. I'll recall them from memory, so apologies in advance to Edna St. Vincent Millay and John Niehardt for the mistakes.

"Spring rides no horses down the hill/ But comes on foot, a goosegirl still./ And all the loveliest things there be/ Come simply, or so it seems to me" Edna St. Vincent Millay

The other slice of a long work comes from an epic poem , titled "The Upstream Men", about Ashley's Hundred, a group of explorers that went up the Missouri River in the early 1800's. They departed just as spring was moving into the countryside. (I have to admit that I went back to the book; my memory of this passage butchered it badly.)

"And so they say/ Went forth a hundred singing men that day;/ And girlish April went ahead of them. The music of her trailing garment hem/ Seemed scarce a league ahead. A little speed/ might yet almost surprise her in the deed/ Of sorcery; for, ever as they strove,/ A gray-green smudge in every poplar grove/ Proclaimed the recent kindling. Aye, it seemed/ That bird and bush and tree had only dreamed/ Of song and leaf and blossom, till they heard/ The young men's feet; when tree and bush and bird/ Unleased the whole conspiracy of awe!/ Pale green was every slough about the Kaw;/ About the Platte pale green was every slough;/ And still the pale green lingered at the Sioux,/ So close they trailed the marching of the South./ But when they reached the Niobrara's mouth/ The witchery of spring had taken flight/ And like a girl grown woman overnight,/ Young summer glowed." John G. Niehardt

So, this afternoon we will watch the fire and the snowflakes. We'll probably even watch some March Madness on the Telly.

'Til next time, The Hired Man

Hired man to sell horses - two for one.

2009-03-24T15:12:00.006-05:00

I bought "Mr. Big" at an Amish horse sale about 10 years ago. We have used him for pulling the spring wagon and taking guests for tours on country roads hereabouts. Gradually, we have used him less and less while we have been traveling more and more. Thus, the decision: sell him to someone who will use him and appreciate him.

"Mr B" is a beautiful horse that moves with wonderful grace, especially when trotting. The Hired Man and the Missus will hate to see him go, as he has been a fixture on this place. His best pal, "Woodrow" will also go with him we hope. I have included a photo taken only today of the two horses together.

So, if you know of a good home waiting for this pair, let us know 573-759-6081 or corey@rockeddy.com

Here is a description that we put in an on-line classified:

"This is a top quality animal that was bred and trained by Amish. He is gelded and is half Percheron and half Standardbred. He is what they call a general purpose animal because he can be used in a work team or as a buggy horse. We have had him several years and love him.
We now travel frequently and find keeping the horses complicates our lives considerably. This is the reason we have decided to sell. This horse does not have the same level of training that he had a few years ago, due to our lack of using him. However, he can be brought back quickly with a little effort. He loads and trailers well and will stand easily for shoeing. We have used him in Shafts (single horse) to pull a spring wagon, but the Amish also used him as a part of a team.
He moves beautifully as his Percheron/standardbred breeding makes him a large trotter which can cover some ground. I also ride him and he does well. He has a good disposition and is not prone to flight. He stands about 16.2 and I estimate he will weigh around 1500. Age is 13 years.
As we are getting rid of horses here, we offer him with a beautiful (unregistered) bay quarter horse (about 11 years old). This is a "Two for One" deal -- one price takes both horses. The quarter horse stands probably 14.2 and is quite gentle. Age, 11 years. He was broke to ride as a young horse but then never ridden. He has been a companion to the buggy horse.
Both horses and completely sound and in good flesh and we hate to part with them. We would be happy to answer any questions or have you come look at the horses. 573-759-6081." Oh yes, and a heck of a deal: $1,000 for both horses.

So, it will be a little different around here without our horse pals. But change is the only constant, as they say.

Best regards, H.M.

Words you need to know at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm

2009-03-22T08:58:00.003-05:00

Today's topic: words you need to know. This word and a few others are not familiar to many of our guests.

Slough - this is a backwater part of the river. Connected to the river, but without the swifter current. In some cases the slough becomes a part of the river when water levels are high, allowing the current to overflow into the slough.

The slough at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm runs beneath limestone outcroppings and joins the Gasconade River just below our Bluffhouse which sits 200 feet above. It is home to beaver, otter, wood ducks, herons and assorted other critters. The banks of the slough are lined with sycamore, ash, soft maple and smaller trees such as Paw Paws. (Perhaps we should make that a "need-to-know" word for a later time.)

When my brothers and I were small, we spent a lot of time on the slough and the river. We fished at the mouth of the slough, camped on the long island between the slough and the river. We also skated on the slough every winter. (Recent winters have not been cold enough for that.)

From our home on the bluff a rugged little track snakes down, arriving at the bottom on the banks of the slough. There, our canoes are located. Guests can take a canoe out at any time. They can explore the upper reaches of the slough or paddle a short distance into the river proper. Across the river they will find an excellent gravel bar.

If you are willing to paddle down to the lower (downstream) end of Rock Eddy, you will find the home of our resident bald eagles. Currently, the female eagle is sitting on eggs in the huge nest. These same eagles have been in this location for roughly thirty years. Yes, the same breeding pair! And, these were one of only three nesting pairs in Missouri at the low point of eagle populations.

Our next need-to-know word: Privy. You'd be surprised.

You may have missed the photo of the yellow dog. Check the previous blog for a picture of this loveable guy.

The Yellow Dog

2009-03-20T12:22:00.002-05:00

A yellow dog wandered in a couple of days ago. He is a stranger. We don’t know anything about him except that he is friendly and wants a home. He is a good dog.

In this country we get dogs like this one on a regular basis. We suspect that previous owners just bring them out in the country and let them out. What they think will happen to them I can’t fathom. I guess out of sight is out of mind. If I allow myself to think about someone who would do that I have to admit that I harbor some very uncharitable thoughts.

This dog appears to be a purebred yellow lab. He would be a good family dog, well mannered and loves affection. He is a male. So, the question is: what to do with him?

Some friends were here a couple of days ago. They said that they would take the dog back with them to Kansas City. Said they would either keep him or find a home for him. But they had to leave in the morning and the stray dog and our dog Ike (who wandered in a few years ago) were off on a foray out in the woods. So, the friends left and, of course, the dogs returned about an hour later.

So here the dog has been for the past couple of days, doing his best to ingratiate himself with Kathy and me. We have one more idea about how to get him to Kansas City. Hope it works out.
Meanwhile, we have treated him for ticks and for worms. And, you can rest assured that he will be taken care of. Somehow.

What is the deal with blogging?

2009-03-16T09:37:00.002-05:00

I am not sure I get blogging. I mean, we have talk radio, talking heads, NPR, CNN and lotsa jive magazines. Why do we need more of this?

My best guess is that a blog allows us to look at someone's unique slant on life; something authentic about a fellow human being. I am really turned off by blogs that just give opinion about things (politics, morality, religion, etc) We have far too much of that crap already.

A couple of blogs that I was exposed to rather accidently started me thinking that this wasn't such a self-indulgent thing to do afterall. One is a website that my daughter regularly visits. http://thepioneerwoman.com/ Her blog is integrated into a really interesting website. If you take some time to delve into here site it will become apparent that this gal is superwoman. She is a city gal turned ranch wife who photographs, writes, cooks, homeschools and does a fab job.

Then there was a blog from a gal who lives in her van and makes a living as a stripper. And, maybe she turns a trick or two. Sounds kinda trashy, right? Actually it is interesting because this gal is so articulate and so honest. http://www.hobostripper.com/ Again it is a priviledged look into someone's uniqueness.

Ok, I just connected to the hobo stripper to check the link. Well, there are a couple of photos on there that border on smut. Use your own jugdment. She is a stripper, whadaya expect!

These are only a couple of examples from a guy that does not look for blogs to follow. Bet you have others. Let me (us) here about them.

I want have a photo today, so here is one that has nothing to do with ranching, stripping, or blogging.

The Hired Man

Mister Big and Me (Our pre-spring ride)

2009-03-15T09:35:00.006-05:00

We heard spring scratchin around the hills yesterday and decided to take a ride. This was the first time all winter that old "Mister Big" has been under saddle. We had a good ride over local countryside but it was obvious that "big" had done a little back sliding since we did this last fall.

I am including a couple of photos from the ride. (It is a little difficult to photograph while the horse is moving)

One photo shows a neighbor farm (he is gone for the winter) It is an interesting old place because it was one of the first farms in this county (Maries County). The original owner had slaves back in the early 1800's. The original part of this barn (which you can't see) was built by slaves. It is made of massive logs that are pegged together. Many of the slaves are buried in unmarked graves up on the hill from the house.

We rode on. Saw deer and other wildlife and saw no one one a bout a 5 mile ride. One little fellow was this possum that seemed to think he was watching a parade and just looked at us wide-eyed.

Yesterday we heard spring stomping on the other side of the hill, wanting to get underway. It will happen soon. Then, she will sweep down the hill toward us, "babbling and strewing flowers."

My first post.

2009-03-14T10:05:00.002-05:00

Just finished my first post. It electronically evaporated, the same way lots of things do that I try.
It was great stuff too - so good that I can't recreate it. Those words are simply lost forever. I don't even know what happened to them. If I had a clue what happened, then there would be the luxury of someone to blame. Instead, nothing!

I'll try again later.