WHITE OAK SINKS HIKE

Saturday’s forecast was for snow, so we decided to hike along the School House Gap Trail in the Smoky Mountains and then veer left off onto the lesser traveled, and unmarked, White Oak Sinks Trail. We had been on this trail before, but because we had already done a six-mile run, we turned around and headed back without tackling the steep climb into and out of the “Sinks” valley. However, Saturday, a visit to the valley floor was our express goal.

School House Gap is a steady climb of between 20 and 30-degree grades in its self, but its nothing compared to what is to come. Once you leave the wide trail and start out along the footpath trail of White Oak Sinks, you soon come to where the path splits and both take you to the top of a mountain rim that rings a small valley below.

The left fork of the footpath takes you to steep decent of between 30 and 50-degree grades, and the path meanders for nearly a mile to the valley floor. The right fork takes you to the top of a mountain backdrop for the falls and ends at a steep drop off of between 60 and 70-degrees.

We decided the steep climb out near the falls would be brutalizing, but the quickest way out of the valley. As you ascend the dirt, rocks, and roots to the top, you are literally moving on your hands and feet – it is that steep! My chest heaved as I grasped for saplings, clinging while I recovered. I moved up the hill at a snails pace, but once I was on top, drank some water, and hacked my lungs free of mucus, I recovered and moved on, rewarding myself with the thought that I had avoided the mile longer agony of the other trail.

Years ago, several families lived in the valley and the story goes that the children walked up out of the valley each day to walk on to the school in Cades Cove. Once you have climbed out of the valley once, you have a great respect for these children.

The valley now is beautiful, with rocky outcrops at two ends, a cave where bats are protected by a steel grid guarding their home, boar traps can be seen in different locations, and a spectacular falls that disappear into the mouth of a cave. The icicles that decorate the falls this time of year make it worth the hike effort.

Check out how we recovered at Mushy's Cookings!

See you on the trail!

NOW THAT’S BLOGGING!

I spent Friday evening with my friend Don, who is also the last boss I had before retiring, at Bailey’s Sports Grille. Don has taken on helping his son’s Rugby team at Bearden High School in Knoxville, Tennessee. Don asked me to set up a quick and easily updated website for the team. I suggested they use a blog – cheaper than a domain and host!

So, we spent the evening tweaking the blog template and going over how Don should administratively manage the blog. The wireless LAN in Bailey's worked like a charm!

Luckily, we finished our business before having our third draft and chicken wings!

What do you think of our collaboration? Go to the Bearden Bulldog Rugby page.

SMILING OAK

Did you ever walk through the woods, especially near where there was once an old homestead and see a smile on an old oak tree?

A tree, especially an oak (any variety), has a strong will to live. It can it smile in the face of pain and live to be over 200 years old. It will always have that scar, but it remembers the pain no more.

Many years ago, some farmer decided he would clear-cut an area for planting. So, he notched the trees intending to come back later to fell them with another deep cut in the opposite direction. For some reason, the farmer decided not to cut, or over looked, this particular tree and let it stand. Over time the mighty oak grew and put bark further and further out into the cut. Until all that was left is this smile to remain us that we too can overcome great adversity.

I found this one on the UT Arboretum property during a walk this week. It is a nice place for a quiet walk, and if you forget the name of a tree (like the Chinese Fir pictured), no problem – they are labeled.

Regretfully, the great American Chestnuts were not as robust – only their stumps remain. The Chestnut blight wiped them all away by 1950.

Stand strong, face what live sends your way, and strive to live on like the mighty oak. Show the world your smile!

I'LL BE COMFORTABLY NUMB!

GUESS WHO IS GETTIN' TICKETS?



Ol' Mushy is going to do something else he has wanted to do for years - SEE ROGER WATERS IN CONCERT! (fingers crossed) It is just another thing off my "Things to do before I die list!"

The video clip above features Doyle Bramhall II and Snowy White. However, Bramhall will not be with Roger on this tour. It is a shame because he was brilliant with the licks during the “In the Flesh” tour. Doyle, with his casual gum chewing while dueling with Snowy during the Comfortably Numb and Mother numbers, made it look so easy to play!

You may remember Bramhall from his time with band The Arc Angels, another little blues band from Texas.

While David Gilmour is a great guitarist, his licks are by the book, as written, and do not show any fresh spark of creativity. Bramhall’s time with the blues inspires his licks that lose none of the original intent.

Most recently, Doyle played with Eric Clapton on the Sessions with Robert Johnson CD/DVD.

Keep your fingers crossed that the ticket situation ROCKS out for Mushy – sales begin March 3rd! With or without Bramhall, it will be a wonderful music experience.

MARK REMEMBERS THE FEAR

As a follow-up to “Just This Side of Total Fear” (posted on October 3, 2006), my cousin Mark sent me this email. He and I just met again after 20 or 30 years (see post below) and I asked him to read this post and verify the details. Turns out, my memory was “spot on” except that I originally, thought it was another cousin. Mark is the gentleman in the beige sport coat, back row, with my hand around his neck. He writes:

Mushy (not my real name),
You are right-I think we both grew up some that night. I have seen some foggy nights since then but that was a surreal experience for us. I remember we met an ambulance coming out from Lawrenceburg. That must have been around 1963 or 64. Hardly a foggy night passes that I do not recall that night.

I remember the Mockingbird Trailer Park and visiting yall there.

Now, I’m going to test your memory. Do you recall letting me try your new bow and arrow. That must have been one of the craziest, most dangerous, stunts I ever pulled (on purpose that is). Talk about not thinking something through. Do you remember me shooting that arrow straight up? We would run as fast as we could to avoid the risk of being hit when it landed! How did we ever survive? I’m laughing now but it sure wasn’t funny then as I recall.

By the way - I never did know - did you ever find that arrow? (BTW, I did not.)

On a more positive side-what fun we had when we were at Grandmother’s for holiday meals (usually Thanksgiving or Christmas with a rare Easter or 4th of July).

You can probably remember chipping the ice, mixing it with the salt and turning one of those old White Mountain ice cream makers. I don’t know if I’ve ever had ice cream since those days that tasted as good as it did back then. What do you think?

Some of my fondest memories of Grandmother was when I mowed her yard. I was 10-11 years old. That yard looks small today but back then it seemed as big as a football field. And mowing with a 20 or 22” push mower meant several hours since I mowed the side yard too
(another lot just south of the lot her house was on) just to keep the critters (snakes and field mice) at bay. The good thing about mowing that side lot was it wasn’t landscaped with a prodigious amount
of petunias as the house lot-so I didn’t have to take care to move those creeping petunias.

I doubt I ever truly appreciated petunias until after Grandmother passed on.

The rewards were always there though. After cleaning up after the hot and dusty chore, I’d drink what seemed like a quart of ice water. That water didn’t have any added fluoride or chloride - it came from a hand dug well-that was some great tasting water. I imagine that well is condemned now as most others are.

Usually, there was time for a nap. Most of July and August it was in the 90’sF but with an old oscillating floor fan creating a steady breeze - I could “sleep like a log.” In the late 50’s, central air conditioning just hadn’t made it all the way to Lexington, AL yet. Of course, we didn’t miss what we didn’t know about though. As I recall, it was 1961 when our family first had a central unit.

Typically, after a refreshing nap, I would awake to a real treat! Sometimes it was coconut or chocolate cake sometimes it as caramel, sometimes lemon, but most often it was my favorite, homemade chocolate pie and a tall glass of sweet milk! Mmmmmm!

I could go on for a while about that pie but I don’t think there are words in the dictionary to adequately describe how good it was. I always made sure to tell Grandmother I thought it was the BEST!

I don’t expect I’ll ever find a better treat - but I’ll always have these memories!

What an age of innocence compared to the way some children are raised today.

Talk with you later.
Mark

YOU JUST CAN'T BEAT FAMILY!

My cousins and I (on my mother’s side) helped celebrate my Uncle Tom’s 70th birthday this weekend at Elk’s Club in Florence, Alabama.

I have not seen most of these cousins in more than 20 years, but we had not missed a step and had a great time reminiscing together. As you look at the photo, you may only see maturing faces, but to us we were all still playing in yard at Grandmother Williams’ house. I did not see the age in our eyes, but young faces running, screaming, and teasing each other as we always did. The youth will never fade from our memories, nor will our love for each other.

We only have my Mom, my Aunt Nell, and my Uncle Tom left out of the original elder family, and we cherish every moment we have with them. Also, we still have Aunt Audene and Uncle Lee who married into our family, and they make gatherings special as well.

Several cousins were missing, a couple sick, a few had to work, and some lived too far away. However, next time, we hope to see everyone together again.

There is nothing better than family!

THE MOCKINGBIRD

Does anyone out there remember the Mockingbird Trailer Park (Court), in Florence, Alabama, that was a thriving community in the late 50s and early 60s? I think Fred Bevis owned the court and all the surrounding land.

I doubt anyone comes forward; it has been too long ago, and I was by the area not too long ago and it is not there – just some condos.

My family moved there when I was in the sixth grade, probably 1958 or so, and back again in 1961, when I was a sophomore. My dad and most of the families that lived there worked at either Wilson or Wheeler Dams, or the Colbert Fossil Plant for TVA.

The first time, the trailer park was brand-new and a very exciting place to live. The park had its own grocery store and gas station, barber and beauty shops, a laundry mat, a park with picnic tables, swings and slides, and a swimming pool.

The trailer spaces we evenly spaced and had concrete runways with high-wind tie down anchors for each house trailer. There was a little grassy yard in front, convenient water, sewer, and power hookups.

This was the best trailer park that we ever lived in and it holds fond memories for my entire family.

I learned to swim in the pool, play Marco Polo, do fancy dives, and bond with several kids my age.

I remember that once a pipeline installing crew moved temporarily into the park, only staying a few weeks, and my dad caught one of the dirty crewmembers bathing in the pool. My dad chewed on the guy pretty good, telling him that “my kid swims in that water” and that it was not for bathing! It never happened again.

I remember that a Mockingbird lived in a cedar tree near the pump and filter that would swoop down and pull your hair if you got too close to its nest in the spring. I hated that bird and tried unsuccessfully several times to kill it.

The owner’s son was the unofficial lifeguard and in charge of the pool. He organized a spring clean-up crew every year to bleach and paint the pool and get it ready for summer. I enjoyed this work and learned a lot about organization and delegation of duties from this Florence State student.

I also remember they used to put a railroad tie in the water to keep it from freezing during the winter. I once found something else floating in that water…a baseball glove my maternal grandfather gave me for my twelfth birthday. I still have the glove, but it was never quite the same after the thief tossed it.

It snowed that first winter, yes, even in Alabama, and I loved it! I did not want anyone walking through my yard and making it melt. I attributed footprints to aiding the snow to melt, and protected it from the other kids. They saw that I had a sore spot and picked at me, threatened to run through the yard, and when I made a snowball, they ganged up on me and began pelting me some of their own.

Not to be out done, I loaded my next round with a core of rocks. As soon as they started across the yard I threw as hard as I could – and missed!

“Crack!” The snowball hit our living room window and the rock continued inside.

My dad was immediately out the door and into the yard. “Who threw that,” he demanded. “Tell me!”

I looked around, but everyone else had long since disappeared. “I did sir,” I said, my lips already beginning to quiver.

There was the familiar sound of leather slithering from grey khaki work pant loops, and me already whimpering “No daddy! I didn’t mean to! They were in the yard, daddy, messing up the snow! Please daddy! Momma!”

That night I learned that I did not own the yard or the snow in it – daddy did! However, I became the proud new owner of a large living room window.

MY SINS COME BACK TO HAUNT ME

The sin of pride has separated me, to a degree, from my son and my granddaughter. His mother and I divorced when he was only four years old and his loss still cuts me to the core.

My son’s mother and I have long since forgiven each other for the mutual pain we inflected, and we have moved on with our lives and found wonderful people with which to share our lives. However, my pain remains.

I missed so much in his early life, and just in the last few years regained some since of a relationship with him. Oh, I hung on the fence and watched him play, made pinewood derby cars with him, picked him up each Friday afternoon, and watched him graduate numerous times, but the little things is what I missed. I missed birthday parties, watching him mature, watching him interact with his friends, and things he did vocally and with the youth at his church. I missed his friends and girlfriends seeing me as “his dad.”

Oh, people know I am his father, but they do not know me and accept me as part of his life. I am an outsider, whether I have caused it or not, I am still not comfortable in certain aspects of his life. His world is a separate world from mine. It is probably just me. I have never wanted to horn in where I am not invited. I cannot change what is in me – it would take years on a “leather tufted couch” to overcome the personally held mores I have built up over the years.

I ache to see him sometimes, or to hear from him, yet, because it is in me to be this way, I cannot, at times, force myself into his life. I have no clue why not…it is just the way I am.

I ache to see my granddaughter too, but I really do not know my son or my daughter-in-law well enough to just drop in, or invite myself over as often as I would like. Instead, I make appointments to see her, and yes, to see him.

I sat yesterday trying to drink in as much of their faces, their smell, their movements as possible, but as soon as I left the memory began to fade. I know I take too many photos when I am there, but it is an attempt not to forget and to hold part of them close to me longer.

I will always pay the price for letting my failure take them away.

What Mushy gives back to you today is – work at it! You lose a whole lot more than a woman, your things, and your money – you lose the closeness of children and grandchildren and involvement in their lives for a lifetime.

One thing has gotten me through the tough times - I thank God for Tracy and Katie Bug (my stepdaughter and older granddaughter). They have been God’s blessing on me and they have filled a void in my soul. They make it possible for me to bide my time between visits.

Smoke, Smoke, Smoke That Cigarette

Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette
Puff, puff, puff until you smoke yourself to death.
Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate
That you hate to make him wait,
But you just gotta have another cigarette.
Written by Merle Travis for Tex Williams and released in 1947

It was in the trailer park on Dickerson Road near the Shwab Elementary School in Nashville, Tennessee, where I first succumbed to peer-pressure and puffed my first cigarette.

Naturally, at age eleven I was too young to buy my own cigarettes, and so was everyone else. However, we were not above pilfering them from ashtrays and unattended packs as they were discovered around the trailer.

Several of us guys (do not remember any girls tagging along) came up with a brilliant plan to get as many cigarettes as we could from our homes and meet down in the wooded area behind the trailer park.

I was able to get two whole Kools and one Camel (both unfiltered) from my mom’s open pack, and several smokable ducks from the two ashtrays in the living room. Both my mom and dad smoked, and by age fifteen I was smoking regularly at school.

My first preference in the early years was Old Gold Spin Filters, but by the time I entered the Air Force I was hooked on Winston and Kools. I remember getting $25 every 15 days and the first two things I bought was a carton of each. Mom started buying cigarettes for me when I was a junior, in fear I would get hold of some "Waccius Baccius!"

Thank God, other than puffing (not inhaling like Clinton) a great cigar occasionally, I have not smoked a cigarette in almost twenty-five years!

Meanwhile, back at the hideout, we all gathered and piled our contraband on a big rock and gathered around. Someone had the good sense to steal some matches, several books as I remember, and it was a good thing. None of us knew anything about lighting one cigarette from another. It was one match, light as many as you could until your fingers got singed, yell “OUCH,” and strike another!

Pretty soon the five or six of us were puffing away. It probably looked as if Indians were preparing to attack the trailer park!

Someone had the bright idea of inhaling like his dad, and we each in turn gave it a try. After the coughing and sputtering, the experienced dude would challenge the next person.

It was not long before we were all turning green, and I think one poor guy puked his guts right there.

I made it home just about suppertime and my whole world was revolving much too fast and it was all I could do to not throw up as I stepped inside. I walked by the table mom was preparing and almost lost it.

I staggered unnoticed to the couch, laid down, and held on for dear life!

“Wash up son, it’s time to eat,” mom said.

“I’m feeling kinda sick mom, can I just lay here? Please?”

She felt of my forehead and figured I was coming down with something and did not make me get up. I also remember dad coming in and asking, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Probably a bug or something, let’em rest,” she told him.

God works in strange ways.

I soon fell asleep and the world slowed down again. It was a long time before I ever wanted to “puff, puff, puff” another cigarette.

GALLAHER BEND GREENWAY HIKE

This week’s hike was about 5 miles (round trip) of the Gallaher Bend Greenway near the Oak Ridge National Laboratory property. The trail begins on the southern side of Clark Center Park (formerly Carbide Park) and runs through woods and fields near the Clinch River that eventually fills the Melton Hill Dam Reservoir.

My hiking partner (Ron) and I found this huge old hackberry tree in one of the fields in the area. An old ERDA (Energy Research and Development Administration – 1974) sign (formerly the AEC – Atomic Energy Commission – 1946) marks, explains, and protects this particular tree. The AEC/ERDA functions were transferred to the Department of Energy (DOE) in 1977. I write all this to give some sense of the age of the sign!

The common hackberry tree has been included in windbreak plantings by farmers to control wind erosion. Additionally, its deep root system makes common hackberry useful for preventing soil erosion on disturbed sites.

Native Americans valued common hackberry for medicinal, food, and ceremonial purposes. Medicinally, the bark was decocted to serve as a gynecological aid that could induce abortion, regulate menstrual cycles, and treat venereal diseases. Bark decoctions were also taken for sore throats.

Historically, southern church pews were made of hackberry wood.

Again, I am blessed to live in an area full of hiking trails that run straight through history.

WINTER STORM – HA!

This is what the local news is calling a “WINTER STORM,” can you believe it? There is maybe an inch, possibly two, but even last night before anything happened, all the area school systems closed for today. You can put good money on the fact that school will be closed tomorrow as well. They always say, “There are shaded areas on country roads that will remain slick,” so another “Snow Day” for all the kids!

It was evident something was going to happen, because there was a “ring around the moon” night before last. I tried to capture it, but my “point and shoot” camera’s lens was just not wide angle enough. I only caught one edge.

Hope you got out of school or work today and are lounging around the house in your PJs. Me, well, I got to take my wife to the doctor, but the roads look as good as my driving, so we will not have any trouble.

See ya.

THE CROSSING GUARD

As I said before, Dickerson Road and Shwab Elementary School (which is now PK-4 only) in Nashville, Tennessee hold a lot of memories for me. I was eleven years old, getting kisses under my belt (not literally, that came later), smoking my first cigarettes (more on that later), and working hard in school for the first time. Before the fifth grade, I do not remember working as hard as did for that teacher (cannot remember her name), and probably never worked as hard for another until Ms. Bunch for senior English in Harriman, Tennessee.

Kissing and smoking aside, I have always wanted to stand out as someone who worked hard and could be trusted. One of the few things I remember getting from my dad is his work ethic, “If a man pays you a dollar to work for him then give him a dollar’s worth of work.” I have always tried to uphold that philosophy in the workplace. I did not give the same effort in all my school studies, being able to make decent grades without hard study. I often wonder what else I could have become if I had applied myself, although, my career path turned out well.

The chance to be noticed in the fifth grade came during recruitment by the school for “Safety Patrol” members to assist the “Traffic Guard Officer” with traffic control before and after school.

Wow, those guys got to wear neat looking bright red-orange and reflective vest with white crisscrossed belts that met and fastened in the front with a shinny gold plated buckle! Plus, they carried long poles with a big red and white canvas STOP sign on the end. What color, what power, and who could miss me!

I went to a meeting where the Traffic Guard, a rather large black lady that talked very loud, gave her spiel and psyched several of us into volunteering for duty. She only had to hold up the uniform, as it were, neither my eyes nor ears ever saw or heard anything else.

After going through the routine several times in the gym, we were graduated “Safety Patrol” dudes and ready to protect our fellow classmates as the crossed the dangerous four lane Dickerson Road.

Along with another new recruit, I spent the first morning observing how the older guards performed their duties, before taking our turns when school let out in the evening. All I could think of was how proudly my girlfriend looked at me that morning as I passed her trailer on the way to “work.” The uniform had done its thing!

The Traffic Guard blew her whistle and shocked me back to life. This was going to be a cinch!

That afternoon, I got up in class before the bell sounded, another perk, and donned my “uniform.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could not help but see my girlfriend and others checking me out. My chest swelled as I strode to door and ran into the hall.

Out front, near the crosswalks, the others were gathering. I was handed one of the long poles, maybe ten feet in length, and I walked to my position while an experienced patroller stood nearby. “When she blows her whistle, just look back down the road and put your sign out in front of the next oncoming car,” he directed, “Nothing to it.”

In the distance I heard the bell sound and watched as kids poured out the front doors, headed for buses and waiting cars, and on toward the crosswalks. My stomach tightened a little and I looked back over my shoulder at the cars whizzing by the school. “What would it be like,” I thought.

Suddenly the Traffic Guard Officer raised her white gloves in both directions at the side of the curb and blew loudly twice!

Instead of looking around and stopping the next car with enough time to slow down, I immediately dropped the pole right in front of the next car. The poor drive had no recourse but to lock the brakes and slide in under and bumping my pole!

The sound of screeching tires and the smell of rubber was not easily missed and the Traffic Guard glared at me and pointed at my tutor, who simply shrugged his shoulders to say, “Ain’t my fault!”

I looked over at the driver, and he was yelling something in a foreign language I did not understand until the sixth grade!

I then looked around to see if anyone else important had seen me screw up – all was clear, and eventually I became an accomplished “safety patroller”, that even I was proud of.

JACKSON, WYOMING WATERING HOLES

Once the Knights & Dragons (-2) unpacked in the Parkway Inn, we hurried off to the Town Square area of Jackson Hole to quench our thirsts. However, we first did the YMCA song moves for the web-cam, which no one was lucky enough to capture – and, there was a prize (oh yeah), but no one has claimed it!

The first watering hole was the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar, where you can sit a stride a saddle as you soothe a parched throat with Snake River Pale Ale. I loved sittin’ in the saddle, drinking, and shouting out “get along little dogie”, but the bartender did not seem to get the humor. What did he know…he wore a do-rag instead of a Stetson anyway!

There is a cover charge beginning somewhere between 7:30 and 8PM, depending on when the door dude made it to work! When we got there late, we went across the street to The Rancher and drank $5 pitchers of the same medicine. There’s also a might pretty cowgirl on the wall as you go!

As luck would have it, we missed the “wet T-shirt” night, but we did catch “retarded night” ("Lord forgive me, and I apologize to all the starving pygmies in New Guinea.")! It was entertaining, especially watching one of the helmeted fellows that kept sneaking off to the bar, and trying to get a drink, but some pretty girl kept finding him and leading him back to the "Group R" table. He knew what he was doing! They actually danced better than their chaperons did.

I was quite impressed with them and raised a drink in their honor. God bless’em!

Think I should try that shot on 25peeps? My “Doodad” Jarvis hat might work for me!

THE DRAGONS VISIT JACKSON, WYOMING

It is good to back in East Tennessee, but I loved the Jackson, Wyoming area immensely!

Since snow in our area has declined over the past 20 years, I was needing a snow fix and we got it in Jackson Hole, Teton Village, the Teton National Forest, and Yellowstone National Park - plenty of snow and cold temperatures. However, we missed out on the sub-zero temps of a week ago, when it dipped to -22. We had a couple of nights down to -1 or -2, but the days warmed up to the mid-twenties. That is not too bad if you wear your long-handle bottoms and have plenty of layers on top, and most importantly, a hat or toboggan.

The Dragons had a ball – everything from shopping, sight seeing, snowmobiling, sleigh riding, and good food! We Knights just tagged along and did all that plus some late nights at the local watering holes (Million Dollar Cowboy and The Rancher).

Little did the Dragons (-1) know that they would be visiting the site of their spawn – Dragon’s Mouth Spring in Yellowstone!

They quickly caught on to handling the snowmobiles, governed to 45 MPH, and we were hard pressed to keep up. Even at 22 degrees, the heated seats and handlebars of the “snow machines” (as they are called there) kept everyone toasty. I actually got too warm a few times, turned everything off, and stood up in the cold air. My face paid the price the next day – that, mixed with a few Snake River Pale Ales, made my face a healthy rosy color!

If you ever want to do Yellowstone by “snow machine,” you had better do it fast. The Yellowstone board is fighting hard to outlaw them. Currently, there are only 720 machines allowed in Yellowstone daily, while the Teton Forest only allow 12 daily! President Bush pushed this into existence, but the Demos will kill all traffic soon! What kills me is they do nothing to stem the effects of 3 million yearly visitors in RVs, SUVs, and rattletraps! Government and environmentalists are so smart!

Well, now I got political…so I will end this here.

There are more photos at Flickr. Click here!

THE FIRST KISS

For me, my first real memorable lip-pressing kiss with a girl came in the fifth grade (Remember I had a history of experience, but not yet called "Mushy!"). I had probably just turned eleven years old and was in “puppy love” with the prettiest girl in my class. I cannot say I remember her face, but I do remember her dark hair and eyes and her olive skin. That is all there is except that when I think of her I see a stripped pullover shirt and she is leaned up against the back of her parent’s red and black trailer on a warm and fall evening – mouth pressed against mine and trying to learn to breathe while kissing a boy!

This 1957 photo is of my one-year-old brother and me in front of our trailer, which was parked right next to hers.

I have a lot of memories from this trailer park on Dickerson Road near the Shwab Elementary School (which is now PK-4 only) in Nashville, Tennessee. I remember the trailer park property adjoined the school property. Kids could walk right through a fence onto the school playground, and I often flew my kites there. I once let out a kite on 5 or 6 balls of twine, and fought the heavy tug of the wind for almost an hour before it broke loose and floated out of sight toward the city.

The other thing I remember about the trailer park was that there were wrestlers and musicians (show people) that I often saw on our little black and white television who lived there. It was nothing in those early days, as they fought their way to the top, to see big-bellied golden haired wrestlers, or cowboy booted musicians doing their laundry in the bathhouse!

One of my best buds in the fifth grade was the son of country music notable Uncle Josh Graves. Uncle Josh made the Dobro® famous with many bluegrass groups, but especially with Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs when they were on TV in Nashville in those days. A DVD is available about “The King of the Dobro” that you might enjoy.

Anyway, Josh Jr. and I have not talked since*, but he did live in a trailer near my girlfriend and we may have been rivals – too far back to remember. It would be something if he ended up married to her! Maybe they will read this and invite me over.

The kiss? Well, I only remember I liked it and I continue to perform the risky act to this day. I do remember the awkwardness of it, and that only got worse as the high school years came along. I guess what I miss about those first few kisses was the anticipation of it, the sweaty anxiousness of it, and the almost climactic release the warm wetness of it surrounded in young innocent breath brings.

It is memories like this that will sustain me when I am locked inside a body that can no longer communicate with the outside world. It will be that little hint of a satisfied smile at the corners of my drooling mouth.

*UPDATE: Today I got a reply to an email I sent to Josh Jr, or Sonny Graves, as he's known by some. He vaguely remembers some of the events of this post, but neither of us can say for sure. I only remember him because of his dad's fame. However, he does remember there being several girls in the park!

He said in part:

Hey Mushy,
Thanks very much for the memories, I do remember some of the people at the trailer park. Looking at your pictures I think remember you. I do remember all of the wrestlers and musicians there also. I remember several guys there but mostly the girls. I remember Jimmy Cooper,Jimmy Self, and I guy who worked at the store his name was Tommy and I think his last name was Smith.
I do remember several girls there, two Sisters who lived on the row next to the School, Shelia and Robin Norris, and Jimmy's Sister Betty Self, I think I was after Betty one time and Robin and I thought we were going together, heck I think I even liked Robin's sister...........................LOL
I have seen one or two people since those great days, Lynn Rossie the wrestler he has a Nature Food store or something like that, Also his son who used to wrestle, Also years ago the Fargo Brothers.
I like yourself think about those days how things were compared to today. I also remember playing ball one day behind the school and I was pitching and the guy batting hit a foul and went back over the back stop and broke a window out of a trailer. We all ran different directions except the batter. We all did come back and I think we all chipped in and help pay for the window..............lol
I thank you for remembering me. I also have two web sites if you would like to view them.......
http://www.joshgravesjr.com and my music web site on Myspace http://www.myspace.com/joshgravesjr.

Your Friend
Josh Graves Jr. AKA Sonny Graves

TRULY BLESSED

Ms. Mushy and I retired about 2 months apart last year (has it been over a year – wow) and have longed for the companionship of her sisters and brother-in-laws. Finally 2 of the sisters and their husbands retired, and another set is not too far behind. We are really enjoying running around with them during the day and thinking of all those hard working people we used to know.

Today we met, had breakfast in Wartburg, Tennessee, drove by Potter’s Falls, and then decided to head to Knoxville and Gander Mountain! It is wonderful to know you have no set times to be places and no set time to be back home. You just think of something you would like to do and you go. It is the most free I have ever felt in my life.

When you work, you are tied to work regardless if you are at work or not…you still have to go to bed at a certain time or be back home on Sunday nights in time to go to sleep so you can work Monday. In a way, part of your time is still their time! Now the time is all ours!

After touching everything in Gander Mountain (we are gathering cold winter gear for Jackson Hole) we decided that hot wings and beer would be a good lunch! We ended up at our favorite watering hole (Bailey’s) where we relaxed the afternoon away.

We are truly blessed and we thank Him every day.

IT’S THE GRAND OLE OPRY

The Grand Ole Opry began as the WSM Barn Dance in 1925 coming from the Life and Casualty Insurance Company building in Nashville. The show was actually rooted in the WLS Barn Dance started by George Hay who brought the idea to Nashville. The program became The Grand Ole Opry about 1927 after a humorous comment made by Hay, and soon became too large for its original location. It was all instrumental until about 1934 and as the crowds grew to watch the performers they moved a couple of times. The program finally ended up in the Ryman Auditorium in 1943. The Ryman was first opened as the Union Gospel Tabernacle in 1892 and had just over 2600 seats.

I first remember hearing the “Opry” as I lay in the backseat of my dad’s ’52 Ford. The only light, as we headed “home” to see my grandparents, was from the dashboard and an occasional car’s headlights that twirled around above me as it passed. The radio was always tuned to “clear channel” 650 AM and there was T. Tommy Cutrer, pumping out commercials and announcing the acts at 50,000 watts. You could almost see the stage and the performers on the back of your eyelids.

These memories come from about the time Kitty Wells released “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels.” She, along with sounds of Hank Snow, Little Jimmy Dickens, Eddy Arnold, Roy Acuff, Ernest Tubb, Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs (before they parted ways), Bill Monroe, the Carter Family, Hawkshaw Hawkins, Red Foley, and Minnie Pearl and others still echo in a darkening hall of my mind.

I suppose you could say these songs shaped the way I would think about relationships with women. The lyrics about what men and women needed from each other made me think about how easily each could hurt the other. However, I cannot say it help in the long run. I still found plenty of hurt and let pride push me away from a lot, but inside I knew what I was looking for – just took a little time to find it – but thank God I finally did.

Had it not been for those songs I probably would not have recognized the right thing when she came along.

BALD RIVER GORGE WILDERNESS TRAIL

It felt good to get my ten-pound lighter butt back on the trails today!

Two of my brother-in-laws and I hiked the Bald River Gorge Trail that runs right along next to the river, although at times it was several hundred feet below us. There were icicles and a little bit of snow left over from yesterday’s mini-blizzard! Yeah, it snowed and the wind howled for about fifteen minutes and then in ten more minutes it was gone. It was just another East-Tennessee front passing through.

The Bald River Gorge Wilderness Area is located inside the Cherokee National Forest. We entered the area from the Madisonville, Tennessee side. On the North Carolina side this area becomes the Nantahala National Forest. Nantahala is an Indian name meaning "Land of the Noonday Sun," because of the area’s deep gorges that block the sun light until mid-day.

There was plenty of water rushing down the river and over the big falls just before merging into the Tellico River about another hundred yards further down. There are several nice falls along the length of the trail.

There is a steep grade right at the beginning and I was told that after I made that it would be smooth sailing – yeah right! I have found that you cannot trust Ron’s twenty-year old memory! He was either two tokes or two quarts into a good high when he hiked most of the trails back then. He will say, “It’s just right around the next bend,” or “This is the last hill we’ll have.” Right again!

Anything you find about this area says it is an easy hike, but it was written before the trail washed out about mile into the trip. You now have to climb almost straight up and over this area and then back down into the gorge. Which means, you will have to climb back up and over on the way out! Besides this, the trail is rocky and full of root tops, but overall, it is worth the effort.

Anyway, we found three or four nice campsites (As if I am going to port my fifty-pound backcountry pack that far – up hill!) except that the main trail runs right through them. Finally, we found a nice campsite about 2 miles in that is off the beaten track, but I will have to lose twenty more pounds before I tackle that overnighter!

“What did the “caveman” eat?” you are asking yourself. Well, nuts, a banana, and smoked goose jerky! It held me quite well.

DOWN IN THE BASEMENT

Down in the basement are twelve or thirteen years of memories, of projects completed and hanging proudly around the backyard or sitting in the kitchen. I am really not that handy. I could never make a fine piece of furniture with dovetail joints and a fine finish, but I have done my share of birdhouses, step stools, shelves, and racks.

I am quite accomplished at installing complete door assemblies (including one French door to the deck), baseboards, and toilets!

One of my fondest creations is probably the oldest and is currently beginning to deteriorate down by the lake. It is a sixteen room, two-story, Martin house, and is the only thing I’ve ever made from a blueprint. It took several weeks of tedious labor to finish, and raising it high atop of a 4X4X16 almost took my shoulder off (hey, maybe that’s the reason for my problems now…mmmm).

My most accomplished piece is a solid oak step stool I made for my wife. I used biscuit joints, routed the edges, and rubbed it to a shinny finish. The stool is not a masterpiece. However, it was made with love and will out last us both by a hundred years or so.

When I look at these photos, or rummage around the basement I remember the times Katie and I spent there. I would cut out the birdhouse parts on the table-saw and my granddaughter (Katie Bug) would help me assemble and paint them. Once I was stapling an aluminum roof on one and I buried a staple in the palm of my hand. I took a deep breath, pointed to the stairs, Katie ran up the stairs and closed the door so I could finally scream out and cuss myself! She knew her Papaw well!

Believe me; it took some restraint because that hurts like crap!

Each rough little piece means a lot to me and I hope to Katie Bug. It was quality time spent with someone I love with all my heart.

Thanks for the help Katie Bug.

CHEERS!

My brothers-in-law, my son, and I frequent Bailey’s Sports Grille in Knoxville at least once a month. It would be more often if we did not live so far away, but when our wives, who are sisters, meet for a day of girly shopping, we meet for a day of manly man shopping!

About half the time we meet early and have breakfast, either at a little “Handee Burger” in Kingston, or at a Cracker Barrel on the way. This leaves us time to first stop at Gander Mountain, then buzz over to Best Buy, Pep Boys, the Disc Exchange, the Leaf & Ale, and some times Dick’s Sporting Goods. The latter is always the butt of the “Yawl like Dick’s?” joke which no one dares fall for anymore.

Finally, with all your manly man purchases – latest war game, cammo-insulated gloves, box of some type of shells, maybe a new bag of lint-free rags and patches, latest PlayStation Halo game, latest concert DVD or CD by some old rock band, a couple of new fancy looking cigars, and set of new wiper blades – we’re ready for lunch.

As we walk into Bailey’s, everyone raises their “mug club” mugs and shouts, “NORM!”, or Steve, Ron, Mushy, Corey, and the bartender starts sitting our usual drafts on the bar. Well…not really, but we are working on it! Give us time…the way we tip, I mean we make young girl’s car payments; they will soon remember us. They already would if they didn’t have such turnover there! Maybe we need to tip more…hummm?

Another thing we have noticed is that it is a requirement that the girls hired have a tattoo right above the crack of their butts! They remind me of that old SNL skit on tat removal!

Anyway, we know then, as we take our usual table for six in the back near the waitress’ order station, that we can relax, have a round of “bottomless chips & salsa,” (obviously written prior to becoming a caveman) a cold draft or tea (for my son), and pick out which of the 35 or more TVs we are going to watch. Checking the menu comes later, but until the chips are gone we will just quench our thirst – thank you.

It feels like home as we sit back, rub our bellies, and fire up our cigar choice of the month. As the smoke twirls its way up to the electrostatic filters and makes a little popping sound, we think to ourselves that next time we come they will know our names!

Before parting again, we stop in at Frontier Firearms to refresh our memories on what gun oil, leather, black powder, and bluing smells like! If one of us has stashed away enough, we all get to share the thrill of buying a new firearm. “Smells so good!” we say in unison as it gets passed around!

“Where Everybody Knows Your Name”
by Gary Portnoy and Judy Hart Angelo - Cheers Lyrics

Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same

You wanna be where everybody knows Your name.

DUCK HUNTING IN WEST TENNESSEE

My son Corey went duck hunting over the holiday with some old college buddies (Doug & Justin) and had a nice time. Day one, they filled their limit, but on day two things slowed down and there was nothing left to do but eat, doze, pull birds out of mice traps, and dart spiders on the ceiling of the blind. A man will always find something to do or kill when bored - a good thing to remember ladies!

In the fall they had a sweaty ol’ time building their “condo” blind in Crockett County Tennessee. A couple of water moccasins came to welcome them to the area, but met quite a resistance to their presence.

I gave my son my .357 prior to the trip and it came in handy while wading in the waters of West Tennessee. (Doug with snake at right.)

The dog is Whisper – a hard working lab that earns her keep.

THE INSIDE JOKE

My dad normally had a great sense of humor and was often the life of any party. He was quick witted with a pun or an old joke that fit most situations. He also liked to flirt and show off in front of any lady. However this often caused him great pain. Once he jumped upon a 55-gallon drum and began to circus walk it across the backyard where our family was being entertained at a neighbor’s outdoor cookout. When the drum got away from him and started down a steep incline, he fell back across the barrel and obviously, to everyone, hurt himself. However, like Pee Wee Herman, he hopped up and pretended that he had meant to do that!

Dad was also a strict disciplinarian, especially when he was enjoying himself and did not want to be interrupted. Once he was playing cards with some friends and my brother and I were playing with a cork gun in the kitchen floor near the table where they were playing.

Dad was joking, teasing the other team members, and showing off a paddle he had fashioned at work from a heavy-duty piece of flexible rubber baseboard. He had even cut crisscrossed tire tread like groves in it for “blistering power”! Just to illustrate the point, he slapped it against his palm a time or two and passed it around for the others to see.

Naturally, Wade and I wanted to feel it too, but we told to “go ahead and play or I’ll give you a taste of it right now” and winked at the others.

Wade and I forgot about the paddle and continued to pop the cork around the kitchen at each other when a ricochet got away from us and whizzed across the table nearly hitting one of the visiting players. Dad barked at us to “put that gun down and don’t shoot the thing again!”

We were naturally pissed at that order and sulked up in opposite corners of the kitchen floor with our lower lips hanging out as a sign of our disapproval. We soon began to toss the cork at each other and then the idea hit me. I would through the cork against dad’s leg and Wade would pop the empty gun as if he had actually shot it. Wow, what a brilliant idea – dad could not whip us because we did not actually shoot it, and we got to hit him back free! Right?

I whispered the plan to my brother and crawled back to my corner. Wade cocked the popgun and pointed at dad’s leg and I took careful aim. I mouthed 1, 2, 3, and threw the cork just as Wade popped the gun!

We did not understand why dad did not get the joke! He jumped up and broke in the new paddle with two licks on both our butts, and MAN did that thing hurt. Just the lightest touch actually stung for minutes. We ran sniffling to our room and rubbed our sore spots until the pain was gone.

That was the first time I ever remember thinking the phrase “he just can’t take a joke!” I looked at my brother and we suddenly broke out in laughter. We quickly covered our mouths, in fear dad would think we did not get enough of the paddle or that we were mocking him. We lay there for a long time smothering our laughter and grinning out each other for the joke we just played on dad. Hey, it was not our fault he did not get it!

It was not the first time dad did not get one of our “inside” jokes and it would not be the last.