When Fire Engines were OMG

Fire engines were not always today's high tech wonders. This one looks as if it was once a 1890s horse drawn and then converted to horsepower drawn. Diesel or gasoline? Who knows. I'd guess the conversion, if it was converted, took place in the 1920s.

Looks like it was a bear to steer, and God knows how you pumped water from the tank. Guess they used that old fashioned kind of power once termed elbow grease, or man power.

Of course, the pump may've been driven by the engine hidden from sight under the Snoopy nose dangling four feet over open space.

I do not know who is standing proudly in front of the behemoth, but I suspect he didn't drive it. At least not dressed in a suit right out of the 1950s.

All I know about the photo is that it was taken in Westville, New Jersey, by someone who was, yup, from Jersey.

A Common Tree Dwelling Marsupial Mammal AKA Opossum or How to Trap an Opossum

The first time it happened, Scooter the cat missed all the action. When I discovered the results, Scooter's food dish stood empty, and his water was dirty. To me, it was the markings of home invasion, particularly of the raccoon kind.

The second time it happened, Scooter chased after the invader driving him into the woods behind the house. Scooter returned tail high, a sure sign of victory and a good time had by him.

The third time it happened, the trash was spread across the garage floor, and Scooter missed it all.

The fifth time it happened, I set the trap with a pig's knuckle treat inside. The invader got in and out with the treat without setting off the trap, therefore foiling my plan for his removal.

The sixth time it happened, the invader was leaving the basement as I entered. The near miss was the last straw.

The seventh time it happened, I baited the trap with a slice of medium rare roast beef (thinly sliced mind you).

The following morning proved that the roast beef foiled the invader's plans. Score one for Scooter and his human!

Random selection challenge

The 4th of the 4th challenge was fun, but how does one take the next step? What is the next step? Random selection. Open any photo folder and without using thumbnails, without reading titles, randomly select a picture and write about it.

Okay, here goes. Hm, more of a challenge than I anticipated. The first selection was data (can't imagine how it got there). The second was a picture sent to me that I cannot use here (no, it's not one of those). The one on the right is the third attempt and may prove more of a challenge than I wanted.

Ruth and I bought a house in Mount Holly, New Jersey in the 1990s. It had a small backyard, no front yard and one ten foot wide side yard. The house was post Victorian and had, during the mid-20th century, been used as a general store, toy store and candy store. Not necessarily in that order.

I grew up in a New York suburb with more lawn than any preteen or teenage boy might want to tend from spring to autumn. Some years I felt certain that I spent more time mowing, raking, edging and clipping tall grass around trees and garden borders (we didn't have power tools for these chores) than I spent enjoying summer vacation in ways I thought were fun.

When we moved into our Mount Holly home, I told Ruth that although we had a patch of lawn about fifty by fifty, that was fifty by fifty too much for me. Thankfully, she agreed, and we removed every useless blade of grass out there and replace the lawn with a garden.

The garden would've been difficult to tend without some kind of walkway, so we purchased the stones you see in the picture and divided the yard into quarters. In the top right hand corner you can see the fish pond we dug and installed for a finishing touch, stocked with Koa and some plants and one other species of fish, the name of which, I don't recall (truth be told, I hate using Latin designations for anything. A rose is a rose by any other name unless it's in Latin, and then who know what it is).

Perhaps the gardens required more effort than mowing a lawn weekly, but once planted with roses and other flowering plants, it looked and smelled great. The fish thrived and had young several times.

I do have one warning to share. Never never plant Oregano without borders and I mean the type of borders that will block roots from spreading outside the designated area. The second year after I planted a small herb garden, with a tiny patch of Oregano, it invaded and took over the entire yard. I was pulling it up for months and found out that no one wanted fresh Oregano. Guess they had herb gardens of their own.

The 4th of the 4th Challenge

The challenge is to open your fourth picture folder and write something about the fourth photograph in that folder. I did part one and here is the photo ---->

As you can see, the Blue Ridge Mountains are the photo's theme. Herein lies the problem. Everybody, their mothers, fathers, sisters. brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and all of their friends who have ever visited the Blue Ridge Mountains in Western North Carolina, have written pages and pages of drooling or ogling prose in an attempt to describe the experience of seeing firsthand what you see in the photo on the right.

Despite the remote temptation to be the one billionth person to conceive of yet another boring travelogue saga regarding these fabulous mountains, I say no, not today, not ever!

Instead, let me tell you about why my wife and I stood in a location where the view is enough to give any person a reason to pause and contemplate their existence.

We decided to visit Little Switzerland. The name sounded romantic in an 18th century European way. Okay, to me it did, I'm not sure about Ruth. I pictured chalets, steep A-frame homes clinging to the sides of the mountains where January snow piled high against their red tiled roofs. Yodeling would echo from peak to peak, and the people would speak with a distinct accent (they did, NC southern). Skis would be propped alongside huge stone fireplaces like rifles around fire pits from the days of gentleman warfare.

Kind of like that--------------------->

Sorry, I didn't take a photo of a fireplace, but we found one that was quite satisfactory at the Switzerland Inn (no this is not a commercial plug for a truly cool hotel in the Blue Ridge Mountains). We couldn't find stacked skis or rifles either, but you get the idea. And anyway, it wasn't winter.

Once we'd reached the highest summit, we both felt awed by what the Grand Designer, the Ultimate Creator crafted at that location (okay, I did for sure, but I can't swear to how Ruth felt. She did seem somewhat taken by it all).

Unfortunately, we did not hear any yodeling. I'm afraid it was replaced by the sounds of a G--D---! leaf blower!!!

Sigh, we got back in the car and drove down the mountain, filled with memories and a buzz in my ears.

Would I do it again? Absolutely! In a heartbeat! Would I live there if given the opportunity? How could you ask such a question? Look again at the photo at the top of the page and you'll see the answer.

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Appalachian Java Coffee Shoppe

It was a cool rainy morning and we planned to leave the wonderful town of Burnsville, North Carolina that day so the weather felt right. We'd spent the better part of an October week there enjoying the wonderful countryside and the people we met.

Occasionally, departures are loaded with emotions difficult to define. This was one of those. Ruth and I had not taken a vacation for more than two years due to many of those challenges that life throws in one path quite unexpectedly. However, the fact didn't explain the way I felt, and when I glanced over at my wife, knew she felt too.

This was something more, but to this day I cannot find words to describe what that something more might've been. We both loved the area and are determined to return as soon as possible and as often as possible until we might finally put down roots there. And maybe that explains of best of all.

Western North Carolina is the best of several worlds from my past. The environment reminded me of summers I spent in Vermont with and Aunt and Uncle still dear to me today. The town of Burnsville and the people who live and work there reminded me of the town I lived in as a small boy, Patchogue, New York.

I posted a photo of the Appalachian Java Coffee Shoppe as what in my mind best represented Burnsville. Ruth and I went there each morning for tea-- no we don't drink coffee-- and a buttered bagel. Despite the hour or the weather, we were greeted and served by some truly fine people. They represented their town as well as their place of employment. And they shared their humor and warmth with unabashed pleasure.

So, again to all of you whom we met during one week in October, Thank you, and we'll see you again!