While on my way to meet my “biking buddy” for a ride into the woods, I had a little time to kill and decided to take a short hike into the Nechacium River estuary. As the sun was just rising, the colors were incredible! The hike was short but the sights and sounds were priceless!
While watching the Ken Burns documentary, The Civil War, I was reminded of two things governments do exceedingly well. They collect nearly endless amounts of information and generate statistics. During the program, the following statistics were put forth: for both the north and the south, the average height of a solider was five feet eight inches and they weighed one-hundred and forty-three pounds. Their odds of dying in combat were 1 in 65, they stood a 1 in 10 chance of being wounded, and a 1 in 13 chance of dying from disease. The minimum enlistment age was eighteen; the average age of a solider was twenty-five.
The recruitment officers were extremely flexible and allowed drummer boys as young as nine to serve. By the war’s end, 100,000 soldiers, not yet fifteen years of age served in the Union army. It is believed that private William Black of the Union army was the youngest solider wounded; he was not ever twelve years of age. Astounding!
As a former government employee, one of my most dreaded duties was to compile several separate annual accomplishment reports. I learned at a very early age that governmental agencies lived and died by their annual accomplishments! Seldom did anyone question the outcome of a task; most of the questions centered on the amount accomplished.
My least favorite report was titled “the pesticide clearinghouse report”; a lengthy document sent to the department of agriculture which summarized our plans for the application of pesticides to the forest. This one report took the better part of a day to compile and in the early days was typed prior to submission. In the twenty plus years we prepared the document, only twice did someone from the department of agriculture ever call with a question about our report. That fact alone always left me wondering!
The answer to me wondering came one morning in the early 2000s when I received a call from a sectary from the department of agriculture. She explained that she was new to the job and having recently received our report she was uncertain what to do with it! After getting over my initial shock, I asked her if someone actually reviewed the document to which she responded no. Apparently the person who did that job had retired several years ago and no one else assumed that task. As far as she could tell, our report was the only one that had been received annually for the past several years! I quickly told her that I would make her life my pleasant in the coming years by never submitting the report again. Government statistics, you have to love them!!
Anyone who has ever owned a home knows there are few task more daunting than painting the exterior of a big old house. At the onset the project seems so simple, choose appropriate paint colors, purchase the paint, power wash the structure, than spread the paint. If the project was only that simple!
Although our house is not the city’s oldest, it’s birth dates back to the late 1800’s. It therefore comes as no surprise that before the painting can begin several sections of siding will need repair or replacement. Over the past one hundred years of its life, the house has also developed more than a few cracks cracks. If previously caulked, all cracks must be inspected and recaulked as necessary.
When I began the project on July 1st, I estimated that the job would be completed in less than four weeks. Even though the two sides to be painted were the highest, what could possible keep me from accomplishing my goal? Apparently the weather failed to understand my plan as much of July and August we were shrouded in constant fog and drizzle both of which make painting a challenge.
Painting a tall house requires several ladders of various lengths. If you ever need a ladder, give me a call because I have four and they range in length between eight and thirty-two feet. My assistance is however not included in this offer!
This is the view of Astoria I enjoyed while painting the peak of our house.
A view of the nearly completed job taken between rain showers the last week of August.
At times it seems as if the work of a home owner never ends!
There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all
John Lennon
During my trip to the east coast last month, I took the opportunity to visit one of those places I remember from childhood, the cemetery. I remember it fondly because it was where I made my entry into the working world. In the spring of 1966, I obtained a work permit promptly after turning thirteen, and hired on as a seasonal grounds keeper. Our work force was composed of three middle school boys and as I recall, the job paid one dollar per hour!
In those days, the working world was all about the cycle of the seasons. In late March would find us clearing the countless tree limbs that had fallen during the winter storms. We didn’t have a chain saw so an especially large limb would be hefted to the burn pile by two of three of us. Yes, we worked harder, not smarter! Next we would spend about two weeks raking all of the turf grass. Talk about a boring task! Finally by late April it was time to begin the turf mowing. To a middle school boy, there is nothing like the sound and smell of a gasoline powered engine! We loved our mowing machines but hated using the hand clippers to trim the grass that grew next to the head stones.
The fall of the year was a magical time as the maple trees began to shed their colorful leaves. We would spend our after school hours raking the leaves into huge piles, the bigger the better. Next with the strike of one match, we set the piles ablaze sending flames soaring ten or more into the afternoon skies. Nothing beats the smell of burning maple leaves!
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I worked seasonally at the cemetery until the fall I left for college. I never noticed until this visit how often the obelisk style monument was used in early 1900s. The monument in the foreground is nearly sixteen feet in height, constructed of solid granite, and likely cost a king’s ransom when purchased.
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The Burton family marker is without question my most favorite headstone. The central portion is a solid chunk of polished granite that is three feet wide and nearly four feet in height. The ball that balances on the top is just over twelve inches in diameter; I always wondered how in the heck the stone masons moved it. Legend also has it that if you walked by this stone at night, a hand would reach out and attempt to grab you. I can’t testify one way or the other regarding the legend because I always made it a practice to be safely home before sunset.
Pictured above is the Astoria column as it appeared on a soggy morning in May. The “column” as it’s commonly known stands proudly atop Coxcomb Hill, the highest point within the city of Astoria. From its base, the column soars 125 feet into the sky and its observation deck is reached by climbing 164 steps. So what does all of this have to do with flying a plane you may ask?
I recently learned from a group of fifth grade students that the column’s observation deck is the ideal place from which to launch a wooden glider. After living in Astoria for thirty plus years, the thought never occurred to me that such an activity was possible not to mention legal. As it turns out, the visitor’s center offers the gliders to future pilots for a small fee. So in the interest of “lets see what this is all about”, I set out one morning at 6:30 AM to fly a glider.
So in no particular order, I offer my observations on my latest experience.
3. Read all the instructions before hand! Assembling a toy plane in the fog and drizzle is not as easy as one might think! A far better plan might be to have a competent assistant do all necessary assembly for you.
4. Always bring along a pair of gloves when venturing to great heights on a cold and foggy morning.
5. Once your plane is assembled, there is little more to do than launching it and hope you will not lose sight of it as it slowly descends.
6. That which is great fun for a 5th grader may not be so for someone over the age of fifty. Maybe I should have brought along some 5th graders to cheer me on.
In case you are wondering, I launched two planes. One slowly spiraled to the ground and landed safely atop of the bushes. The other quickly entered into a steep nose dive and crashed into the base of the column. All was not lost however because I took time to savor the view and believe me, that alone was well worth the climb!
Looking to the northwest is the city of Astoria and the Columbia River
Looking to the southwest, one will see Young's River and Saddle Mountain
If you ever want to fly a plane from atop of the column, let me know because I still have one unopened glider and will gladly part with it!! I may ever come along and help pack your camera equipment.
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This Memorial Day, let us take time to ponder the sacrifices made by those who have served our country throughout the ages.
I spent much of the past week visiting my native soil in the commonwealth of Massachusetts. The reason for the impromptu trip was to celebrate my mother’s 86th birthday. Yep, it seems like only yesterday that the lovely wife and I were there for Christmas, but that’s another story for another day.
It’s a sad fact of life that as the annual milestones of life increase, the size and intensity of the celebration decrease. My mother was lamenting about how few friends she has left; in an attempt to counter, I mentioned that the same applies to her enemies. Needless to say, this line of reasoning was not well received! We did however commemorate mom’s big day with a delicious lunch which included a cake without candles. I recall my sister commenting that 86 candles might set off the smoke detector!
During visits east it’s always my goal to visit with many friends from high school, but on a five day trip, time passes very quickly. I did however get the opportunity to have lunch with my high school French teacher with whom I recently reconnected via the miracle of Facebook. To be honest I was absolutely amazed that he ever remembered me as it’s been some forty years since I sat in his classroom. I never realized that I was so memorable!
We had agreed to meet in front of a restaurant as a practical matter as it was likely that both of us had changed a bit over the past four decades. As is my custom, I arrived early at the appointed meeting spot. With time to kill, I found a place to sit in the sun and enjoy the beautiful New England spring weather. Suddenly from behind I heard a familiar voice asking if I had my homework. I turned and respond with a greeting in broken French; fortunately Mr. Smith responded in English. I guess my French was so bad that he figured anything other than English would be lost on me. We then proceeded to spend the better part of three hours sharing life life stories. Needless to say, it was as the French might say, “une vraie explosion”.
