True stories from my past experiences.
(NEW) The Showdown
This is a little short story I always enjoyed hearing from my sister and nephew.
Back before that fateful September 11th day, when terrorists brought down the World Trade Center Towers, my nephew was a “Poster Child” for the Miami Dade County Sheriff’s Department Calendar. Soon after9/11 a number of uniformed officers were pulling duty at the International Airport, watching the gates where flights from foreign countries were landing.
As the story goes, he was standing guard at a gate where a flight from Barcelona Spain had just landed, and the passengers began to disembark. As the passengers walked down the narrow corridor towards the spot, where my nephew was standing, one smartly dressed gentleman was looking directly at him. As the man walked towards him, his stare seemed to become more intense. My nephew stared back with the same intensity. The man began to reach inside his sport coat, as if to draw a pistol from a shoulder holster. My Nephew was reaching for his sidearm at the same time. This sounded like a scene from an old Western Movie, like High Noon, with Gary Cooper or something, to me.
As the situation became even more intense, the man called out , ”Wait..wait…wait, I think I know you !” I have your picture on a calendar on the back of my office door.
It turned out this gentleman from Spain was the Chief of Police in Barcelona. He somehow got a copy of the calendar my nephew's picture was on and when he closed his office door, there was the image of him staring back at this Chief of Police. The gentleman produced a notepad and asked for my nephew’s autograph to attach to the calendar when he returned to Spain.
They laughed and chatted a bit afterwards and stayed in touch with each other for a number of years afterwards.
Told by my nephew & sister. Written by J.Scott Keniston
Back before that fateful September 11th day, when terrorists brought down the World Trade Center Towers, my nephew was a “Poster Child” for the Miami Dade County Sheriff’s Department Calendar. Soon after9/11 a number of uniformed officers were pulling duty at the International Airport, watching the gates where flights from foreign countries were landing.
As the story goes, he was standing guard at a gate where a flight from Barcelona Spain had just landed, and the passengers began to disembark. As the passengers walked down the narrow corridor towards the spot, where my nephew was standing, one smartly dressed gentleman was looking directly at him. As the man walked towards him, his stare seemed to become more intense. My nephew stared back with the same intensity. The man began to reach inside his sport coat, as if to draw a pistol from a shoulder holster. My Nephew was reaching for his sidearm at the same time. This sounded like a scene from an old Western Movie, like High Noon, with Gary Cooper or something, to me.
As the situation became even more intense, the man called out , ”Wait..wait…wait, I think I know you !” I have your picture on a calendar on the back of my office door.
It turned out this gentleman from Spain was the Chief of Police in Barcelona. He somehow got a copy of the calendar my nephew's picture was on and when he closed his office door, there was the image of him staring back at this Chief of Police. The gentleman produced a notepad and asked for my nephew’s autograph to attach to the calendar when he returned to Spain.
They laughed and chatted a bit afterwards and stayed in touch with each other for a number of years afterwards.
Told by my nephew & sister. Written by J.Scott Keniston
First time for everything
Pop-up Camper in a nicely wooded site
I was seven years old the first time I went camping. Mom worked with a man named Dale, who had a farm in Indiana. His property had a stocked fishing pond with a dock, complete with diving board, plenty of fields of grasses for hay and a large woods that he transformed into a little family camping area. He told Mom about his place and invited her and our family to use his little camping trailer for the weekend. Camp, fish and swim as much as we would like. After a family discussion it was decided that we, Mom, Dad, my Sister and I would go camping the next weekend.
Friday afternoon finally arrived. We packed the car with groceries and clothes and set off for Indiana. To me this was like going to a foreign country....INDIANA! Dale had given Mom perfect instructions on how to find his place in the country. We arrived at his house about an hour and a half later. Dale drove up the road with us and gave us the tour of his property. Looking back, I realize this was a sweet little setup. He dropped us off at the trailer and we unpacked the car and put everything in the trailer. I was glad to see there was a stove and oven in the small trailer. I was a little concerned about eating food cooked over a fire. I didn't like anything that had been burned and it didn't matter if you scraped off the charred area or not, I still wasn't going to eat it.
It was a family project to gather wood of all sizes so we could build a fire. Once gathered Mom and Dad assembled the wood by size and Dad rolled up a piece of newspaper and lit it with his cigarette lighter. The small sticks caught fire quickly and soon the pile of wood was ablaze. Soon after, we were eating hotdogs, chips and having a cold drink by the fireside. This was great! What was I worried about?
The sun set and I felt comfortable sitting around the fire with my family. Mom got out her guitar and we sang songs until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. It was cool watching the shadows from the flickering flames on the underside of the canopy of leaves that surrounded our little campsite. Crickets and tree frogs sang loud songs but I still fell asleep.
The next morning I woke up before anyone else. I slipped out of my bunk and onto the floor, pulled on my shorts, shirt and my Red-Ball Jet, sneakers as quietly as I could and opened the door to the trailer. Just as I was about to take my first step out the door, Mom said, "Where you going son?" She scared me half to death as I jumped in surprise. "Just out looking around." I replied. "Okay, stay close, we'll have breakfast soon." She said. I agreed and out the door I went.
It was very early and there was a light mist or fog in the woods. It was kind of spooky and a little bit cold and damp to just be wearing shorts and a tee shirt. I could see a little wisp of smoke coming up from the fire we had the night before. I guess I was no different than any other kid my age. I was drawn to the wisp of smoke and began playing in the coals. I took a dried oak leaf and laid it over the coals and it caught fire almost immediately. Wow, that was cool! I did it again and again. Leaf after leaf burst into flames. Then I started gathering small sticks and twigs and laying them over the coals and then added dried leaves. Soon I had a small fire going. Man, this was fun! I gathered larger sticks and branches. Now the fire was blazing and I just watched and tended my fire.
Mom opened the door of the camper, Dad was right behind her. "Who built the fire?" She asked. "I did!" I exclaimed. I told them how I didn't need a lighter, how I used dried leaves to get it going. They explained the dangers of fire to me and how I should be careful but they also appreciated it since it was cooler than they had expected, that morning. Dad made coffee and Mom was cooking scrambled eggs and sausage in the trailer after my sister finally got up, dressed and out of the way. I swear, it was the best breakfast I had ever eaten. Add a glass of orange juice, some milk and a little bit of applesauce and it was perfect.
With breakfast over, we all pitched in and cleaned the dishes and gathered more firewood. Then we took a long walk in the woods and just checked everything out. Mom and Dad pointed out things like different birds and the calls or songs they sang. We listened to squirrels call out barks of alarm from their lofty, tree top branches. Dad pointed out some raccoon tracks in some dried mud from and old puddle. We saw stuff like a skin, shed from a snake, found acorns on the ground and even saw some deer tracks down by another smaller pond on Dales’ property. This was so neat! I was an explorer now!
While we walked the fog burned off and the sun came out bright and hot. It was suggested that we put our suits on and walked over to the pond for a swim.
I have to tell you this first. I was born in water. Mom was a lifeguard in her teens During World War II. Both my sister and I learned to swim before we could walk. I was a little apprehensive about swimming in the green water at first but I soon over came that feeling. I guess summer heat and a bit of pear pressure cured me of that pretty quickly. My family were all in the water with Dale's family, coaxing me to come in. I finally jumped off the dock and into the water. Hmmmm, this wasn't too bad! Not bad at all!
The afternoon wore on and Dad got out of the water and borrowed a fishing pole and some of Dale's fishing tackle. He then walked down to a quieter side of the pond and tried his luck at fishing. Pretty soon I was along side watching him. He told me to go up in the barn and get another pole and he'd get me fixed up and we could fish together. I tore off to the barn and came back with a five foot long, pole with a Zebco, spincast, rod and reel combination. Dad tied on a hook and pinched on a couple sinkers. Then he showed me how to thread a nightcrawler on the hook. He added a bobber and casted the line out in deeper water and we sat and waited.
I sat in the heat and watched my bobber sit on the surface of the water. Man, it was hot! I asked Dad if he'd watch my pole while I dipped back in the water. He agreed and I was off for another cool dip in the pond. An hour had probably pasted and we heard Dad yell out that he had one. We all got out of the water and ran down to his side and watched as he brought the mighty fish in. It was about a two pound catfish. A Channel Cat, to be exact. The camera was gotten out and a snapshot was taken of the great fish and fisherman. I reeled my line in and saw the worm was gone. Dad made me put my own worm on and casted my line out for me again. Again the summer heat took its’ toll on me and I ended up back in the water. Dad ended up catching two more catfish, all about the same size.
Evening closed in and we went back to the trailer. We changed back into our shorts and shirts and set about our tasks. Mom and Dad started getting supper together and my sister and I gathered more firewood. Steaks and corn on the cob was our dinner that night and marshmallows roasted over the fire was our dessert. Dale's family came over after dinner and joined us around the campfire. Mom got out her guitar and we sang songs and listened to stories being told. It was a fantastic night!
The next morning started like the morning before with me getting up first and getting the fire rekindled. We had another great breakfast of pancakes, syrup, sausage, juice and milk. After the dishes were cleaned we slowly began packing things up and putting them in the car. We went over to the pond and went swimming one more time and then it was time to go home. Mom and Dad had to work on Monday.
We used Dale's trailer a few more times that summer and enjoyed camping so much Mom and Dad bought their own camper and used it for years to come.
There was one particular time, the camper was packed and the car was ready. The phone rang and it was Mom, calling from work and said she had to work late but Dad and I should go on without her. She’d be out later that evening. Dad agreed, he’d make sure I was fed, we’d setup the camper and get everything ready for her when she got there.
Dad and I got into the car and started off to Dale’s place, now called Lazy Acres. As we drove, I asked Dad where we were going to eat and began making suggestions. Dad finally told me that we wouldn’t be stopping anywhere to buy supper, he was going to fix supper for us.
I was overcome with fear. No one had ever seen or heard of my Father cooking before. The belief was that he couldn’t cook. Anything he touched would probably be burned ... and you know how I feel about burned food? Oh, this can’t be happening, I thought to myself. I’d rather skip supper and just wait for Mom and have breakfast in the morning. I tried to entice my Father with better suggestions for our evening meal. Finally he had heard enough and told me that he was cooking supper and I was going to eat it. Dread came over me as we drove on.
We pulled in and setup camp. I busied myself gathering wood and making the fire. Once the fire was going, I kept gathering wood and tried to stay away from Dad and his cooking. I thought maybe I could get far enough away, that I couldn’t hear him call me and I’d miss supper. It worked at home. Why not here? Unfortunately, I didn’t think this plan through well enough. I was gathering firewood, that meant I would have to drop off a load when I got so much before I could go out and get more. As luck would have it, I dropped off a load just as Dad had supper ready.
Com’on boy, get to the table, it's time to eat. “What are we having?” , I asked sheepishly. Cottage ham, he cooked over the fire and sweet, sticky baked beans was the reply . This was a real treat at home if Mom was cooking. I sat to the table and he served up a few slices of cottage ham and spooned some sweet, sticky baked beans over the ham. Well, it looked good. Dad fixed us a couple drinks and we sat down together and I began to cut the slice of ham. I cautiously put the first bite in my mouth. Fully expecting to gag and have to spit it right back out. Hey, this is good! This is great! I told my Dad that it really tasted good. Better than Mom’s ! (well maybe). That sweet bean juice slathered all over those little, salty, slices of ham. Mmmm, mmmm, that was good. We ate and then ate some more. Man, this was living. We were living high on the hog, as Dad would say. We saved some for Mom and cleaned our dishes. We went out and gathered more wood for the fire and pretty soon Mom arrived. When she got out of the car I ran over to her and threw my arms around her and told her that we had the best supper and Dad cooked it! I asked her if she knew Dad could cook? They both laughed and we sat down as Dad served supper to Mom. Mom admitted it tasted very good. Maybe it was the outdoor cooking. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t have to cook it herself but whatever the reason, it was mighty fine eating that evening.
After that night, I never worried about Dad cooking or going hungry. We had a special bond that night. A trust was formed. I learned a lot from my Mother and Father. Independence and responsibility, probably being the two biggest lessons. Sometimes Mom thinks I became too independent I think I turned out alright ! And I still love nature and all it has to offer.
Thanks, Mom & Dad.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Friday afternoon finally arrived. We packed the car with groceries and clothes and set off for Indiana. To me this was like going to a foreign country....INDIANA! Dale had given Mom perfect instructions on how to find his place in the country. We arrived at his house about an hour and a half later. Dale drove up the road with us and gave us the tour of his property. Looking back, I realize this was a sweet little setup. He dropped us off at the trailer and we unpacked the car and put everything in the trailer. I was glad to see there was a stove and oven in the small trailer. I was a little concerned about eating food cooked over a fire. I didn't like anything that had been burned and it didn't matter if you scraped off the charred area or not, I still wasn't going to eat it.
It was a family project to gather wood of all sizes so we could build a fire. Once gathered Mom and Dad assembled the wood by size and Dad rolled up a piece of newspaper and lit it with his cigarette lighter. The small sticks caught fire quickly and soon the pile of wood was ablaze. Soon after, we were eating hotdogs, chips and having a cold drink by the fireside. This was great! What was I worried about?
The sun set and I felt comfortable sitting around the fire with my family. Mom got out her guitar and we sang songs until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. It was cool watching the shadows from the flickering flames on the underside of the canopy of leaves that surrounded our little campsite. Crickets and tree frogs sang loud songs but I still fell asleep.
The next morning I woke up before anyone else. I slipped out of my bunk and onto the floor, pulled on my shorts, shirt and my Red-Ball Jet, sneakers as quietly as I could and opened the door to the trailer. Just as I was about to take my first step out the door, Mom said, "Where you going son?" She scared me half to death as I jumped in surprise. "Just out looking around." I replied. "Okay, stay close, we'll have breakfast soon." She said. I agreed and out the door I went.
It was very early and there was a light mist or fog in the woods. It was kind of spooky and a little bit cold and damp to just be wearing shorts and a tee shirt. I could see a little wisp of smoke coming up from the fire we had the night before. I guess I was no different than any other kid my age. I was drawn to the wisp of smoke and began playing in the coals. I took a dried oak leaf and laid it over the coals and it caught fire almost immediately. Wow, that was cool! I did it again and again. Leaf after leaf burst into flames. Then I started gathering small sticks and twigs and laying them over the coals and then added dried leaves. Soon I had a small fire going. Man, this was fun! I gathered larger sticks and branches. Now the fire was blazing and I just watched and tended my fire.
Mom opened the door of the camper, Dad was right behind her. "Who built the fire?" She asked. "I did!" I exclaimed. I told them how I didn't need a lighter, how I used dried leaves to get it going. They explained the dangers of fire to me and how I should be careful but they also appreciated it since it was cooler than they had expected, that morning. Dad made coffee and Mom was cooking scrambled eggs and sausage in the trailer after my sister finally got up, dressed and out of the way. I swear, it was the best breakfast I had ever eaten. Add a glass of orange juice, some milk and a little bit of applesauce and it was perfect.
With breakfast over, we all pitched in and cleaned the dishes and gathered more firewood. Then we took a long walk in the woods and just checked everything out. Mom and Dad pointed out things like different birds and the calls or songs they sang. We listened to squirrels call out barks of alarm from their lofty, tree top branches. Dad pointed out some raccoon tracks in some dried mud from and old puddle. We saw stuff like a skin, shed from a snake, found acorns on the ground and even saw some deer tracks down by another smaller pond on Dales’ property. This was so neat! I was an explorer now!
While we walked the fog burned off and the sun came out bright and hot. It was suggested that we put our suits on and walked over to the pond for a swim.
I have to tell you this first. I was born in water. Mom was a lifeguard in her teens During World War II. Both my sister and I learned to swim before we could walk. I was a little apprehensive about swimming in the green water at first but I soon over came that feeling. I guess summer heat and a bit of pear pressure cured me of that pretty quickly. My family were all in the water with Dale's family, coaxing me to come in. I finally jumped off the dock and into the water. Hmmmm, this wasn't too bad! Not bad at all!
The afternoon wore on and Dad got out of the water and borrowed a fishing pole and some of Dale's fishing tackle. He then walked down to a quieter side of the pond and tried his luck at fishing. Pretty soon I was along side watching him. He told me to go up in the barn and get another pole and he'd get me fixed up and we could fish together. I tore off to the barn and came back with a five foot long, pole with a Zebco, spincast, rod and reel combination. Dad tied on a hook and pinched on a couple sinkers. Then he showed me how to thread a nightcrawler on the hook. He added a bobber and casted the line out in deeper water and we sat and waited.
I sat in the heat and watched my bobber sit on the surface of the water. Man, it was hot! I asked Dad if he'd watch my pole while I dipped back in the water. He agreed and I was off for another cool dip in the pond. An hour had probably pasted and we heard Dad yell out that he had one. We all got out of the water and ran down to his side and watched as he brought the mighty fish in. It was about a two pound catfish. A Channel Cat, to be exact. The camera was gotten out and a snapshot was taken of the great fish and fisherman. I reeled my line in and saw the worm was gone. Dad made me put my own worm on and casted my line out for me again. Again the summer heat took its’ toll on me and I ended up back in the water. Dad ended up catching two more catfish, all about the same size.
Evening closed in and we went back to the trailer. We changed back into our shorts and shirts and set about our tasks. Mom and Dad started getting supper together and my sister and I gathered more firewood. Steaks and corn on the cob was our dinner that night and marshmallows roasted over the fire was our dessert. Dale's family came over after dinner and joined us around the campfire. Mom got out her guitar and we sang songs and listened to stories being told. It was a fantastic night!
The next morning started like the morning before with me getting up first and getting the fire rekindled. We had another great breakfast of pancakes, syrup, sausage, juice and milk. After the dishes were cleaned we slowly began packing things up and putting them in the car. We went over to the pond and went swimming one more time and then it was time to go home. Mom and Dad had to work on Monday.
We used Dale's trailer a few more times that summer and enjoyed camping so much Mom and Dad bought their own camper and used it for years to come.
There was one particular time, the camper was packed and the car was ready. The phone rang and it was Mom, calling from work and said she had to work late but Dad and I should go on without her. She’d be out later that evening. Dad agreed, he’d make sure I was fed, we’d setup the camper and get everything ready for her when she got there.
Dad and I got into the car and started off to Dale’s place, now called Lazy Acres. As we drove, I asked Dad where we were going to eat and began making suggestions. Dad finally told me that we wouldn’t be stopping anywhere to buy supper, he was going to fix supper for us.
I was overcome with fear. No one had ever seen or heard of my Father cooking before. The belief was that he couldn’t cook. Anything he touched would probably be burned ... and you know how I feel about burned food? Oh, this can’t be happening, I thought to myself. I’d rather skip supper and just wait for Mom and have breakfast in the morning. I tried to entice my Father with better suggestions for our evening meal. Finally he had heard enough and told me that he was cooking supper and I was going to eat it. Dread came over me as we drove on.
We pulled in and setup camp. I busied myself gathering wood and making the fire. Once the fire was going, I kept gathering wood and tried to stay away from Dad and his cooking. I thought maybe I could get far enough away, that I couldn’t hear him call me and I’d miss supper. It worked at home. Why not here? Unfortunately, I didn’t think this plan through well enough. I was gathering firewood, that meant I would have to drop off a load when I got so much before I could go out and get more. As luck would have it, I dropped off a load just as Dad had supper ready.
Com’on boy, get to the table, it's time to eat. “What are we having?” , I asked sheepishly. Cottage ham, he cooked over the fire and sweet, sticky baked beans was the reply . This was a real treat at home if Mom was cooking. I sat to the table and he served up a few slices of cottage ham and spooned some sweet, sticky baked beans over the ham. Well, it looked good. Dad fixed us a couple drinks and we sat down together and I began to cut the slice of ham. I cautiously put the first bite in my mouth. Fully expecting to gag and have to spit it right back out. Hey, this is good! This is great! I told my Dad that it really tasted good. Better than Mom’s ! (well maybe). That sweet bean juice slathered all over those little, salty, slices of ham. Mmmm, mmmm, that was good. We ate and then ate some more. Man, this was living. We were living high on the hog, as Dad would say. We saved some for Mom and cleaned our dishes. We went out and gathered more wood for the fire and pretty soon Mom arrived. When she got out of the car I ran over to her and threw my arms around her and told her that we had the best supper and Dad cooked it! I asked her if she knew Dad could cook? They both laughed and we sat down as Dad served supper to Mom. Mom admitted it tasted very good. Maybe it was the outdoor cooking. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t have to cook it herself but whatever the reason, it was mighty fine eating that evening.
After that night, I never worried about Dad cooking or going hungry. We had a special bond that night. A trust was formed. I learned a lot from my Mother and Father. Independence and responsibility, probably being the two biggest lessons. Sometimes Mom thinks I became too independent I think I turned out alright ! And I still love nature and all it has to offer.
Thanks, Mom & Dad.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
The Need for Speed
My 57 Ford Sport Coupe
I was perusing facebook one day when somebody posted a question, asking something like, at what age did you go 120 mph or maybe it was what vehicle did you go 120 mph in ? Whichever it was, made me think back to my younger days and going fast.. or as I referred to it…”The need for speed”!
I was seventeen years old when my friend Dave and I were out on a newly constructed stretch of highway on our motorcycles. I had a Honda 350cc Scrambler and he had the 450cc version. Dressed in gym shoes, cutoff shorts, T shirt, sunglasses and cheap helmets, we pegged our speedometers to 120 mph as we headed towards the Indiana border. Laying out across the gas tanks to reduce wind resistance, we took those bikes as fast as they would go. This was a new section of highway and not many people were using it yet. I don’t think we even saw or passed anyone as we hit top speed.
Later in life, after getting out of the NAVY I bought a 1978 Ford F-150 Pickup Truck and drove it around to the different odd jobs I had at the time. I had recently met a girl and was casually dating her. She asked me if I would take her to her friend’s wedding at the Pleasant Run Country Club. I agreed to take her. I was washing the truck in preparation for the wedding day when my Dad told me I shouldn't pick this girl up in that old truck ! I should take his 1979 Ford Country Squire Station Wagon with leather seats, 4 wheel disc brakes, a 460 cu.in engine with a four barrel carburetor. I finally agreed to take the “Station Wagon”. I picked her up and did the whole wedding and reception thing and finally it was time to leave. As I pulled onto the ramp to the highway I could see a Camaro full of guys coming up behind me. They pulled up on her side of the car and began teasing her about being with a loser in a station wagon and how she should jump in their car…something cooler and faster than some old Station Wagon! I stepped down on the long, skinny pedal on the floor and heard the four barrel open up. The needle on the speedometer kept going up, leaving the Camaro behind. Every now and then I would take my foot off the gas and let them catch up but as they got closer I’d open it up again. My date was screaming to let her out of the car. “We’re going to be killed, she yelled. Take me home !” We flew down the highway, pegging the needle at 150mph. I wasn’t scared but I did finally let off the gas after the Camaro gave up the chase and then I took my date home. Afterwards I took the car home and parked it in the garage, no worse for wear. I never saw that girl after that night. She never wanted to get in another car with me again !
Once I obtained a regular paying job and had my first paycheck, cashed and in my pocket I decided to stop in at the local SOHIO Gas Station, at the corner of Race and Harrison to fill up the tank with premium gas. Now, out on the highway, I opened that baby up. My F-150 had a 351cu.in hi-output engine, American Racing Mag wheels and Good Year AT Tracker tires. It looked good but the speedometer only went to 90. I eased out onto the highway and slowly opened it up. The ever increasing speed felt great ! The speedometer was pegged at 90mph. As I approached Miamitown, and took my foot off the gas as I went into the curve and stepped back down on it as I climbed the hill and headed toward Harrison. Once I reached my exit I was held up in traffic with lots of people at the light waiting to make a left hand turn and this had me jammed up. I was still waiting to make my turn when a Sheriff’s Cruiser pulled in behind me. I could see him clearly in my driver-side rear view mirror. He indicated he wanted me to come back to his car. Once in the passenger side of his car he asked me if I knew why he was pulling me over ? “No clue”, I replied. He said he clocked me going 75mph in a 55mph zone. I explained how maybe I got a little excited getting my first real paycheck, filling up the gas tank and wanting to blow the carbon off the valves. He laughed and could certainly relate to my excitement but none the less he continued filling out the ticket. Once he handed me the ticket I asked him where he had been sitting when I was only going 75mph, cause I pretty much had this thing pegged at 90 the whole way down to Harrison ? He said he was sitting in the curve in Miamitown where I had briefly slowed down. Oh well, at least I didn't have to appear in court and only had to pay a fine.
Back in the day...most of my friends in high school had muscle cars. Mustang, RoadRunner, Chargers, GTO, Challengers, Camaro, Nova’s and such and all of our original gang had motorcycles. Now out of school and getting on with life, most got married and the muscle cars gave way to something more family oriented. I never had a hot car back then but I did have my motorcycle. It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties when I purchased a 1957 Ford Fairlane Sport Coupe with a 428cu.in Cobra-Jet engine and four on the floor ! This thing was fast ! I was still single and put a set of Ansen style slotted American Mag wheels on it and Good Year tires with raised white lettering. It looked good to me ! I was working in Dayton by now and had traded in my F-150 for a POS Chevy Astro van with a four cylinder engine. Every day I went home from work I’d see BMW’s, Porsche’s Nissan 300ZX’s and such flying down the highway as I putted along in my Chevy Astro van. I kept telling myself that one of these days I was going to take the Ford into work and look for these speed freaks on the way home and race them ! Finally the day came and I took the Ford to work. Upon leaving work and getting on the highway I looked for the afore mentioned speed freaks but didn’t see any of them. Wait, what’s that up ahead ? A Nissan 300 ZX ! I stepped into the gas pedal and soon caught up with him. It was summertime and my car didn’t have air conditioning but his did and his windows were rolled up. I pulled a long side and motioned for him to roll his window down. Once he had, I asked how fast he was going (since my speedometer didn’t work) ? He said he was going 90. I thanked him for the information and put my foot to the floor. That old Fairlane took off like I had just left him sitting at a red light. Faster and faster it went. my foot was all the way to the floor. I thought to myself the words from a Beach Boys song. If she had a set of wings I know she could fly ! I also remembered a line from Dirty Mary and Crazy Larry when one of the cops going to chase them, asked the mechanic what its top end was? The mechanic answered UNLIMITED ! Funny, the things that popped into my mind as I sped down the highway I began to climb a slight grade. The car just kept going faster. It was then I got scared of its speed. It seemed UNLIMITED and this car had wings...or at least tail-fins ! I could feel the car feeling like it was lifting off the ground like the old Dodge Charger the Dukes of Hazzard drove. I took my foot off the gas pedal and the car settled down but still coasting at a high rate of speed. I was still passing other cars on the highway. If I was going 150 in my Dad's station wagon and not scared, I wonder how fast I was going in the 57 Ford ? I guess we'll never know, will we ?
Most of my remaining friends have motorcycles. They have gotten rid of their Honda's, Suszuki's and Yamaha's and graduated up to Harleys and Goldwings. I'm asked periodically why I don't have a motorcycle and I always answer...If I had one I'd probably be dead by now. The need for speed would be rekindled. I'm better off without one.
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
I was seventeen years old when my friend Dave and I were out on a newly constructed stretch of highway on our motorcycles. I had a Honda 350cc Scrambler and he had the 450cc version. Dressed in gym shoes, cutoff shorts, T shirt, sunglasses and cheap helmets, we pegged our speedometers to 120 mph as we headed towards the Indiana border. Laying out across the gas tanks to reduce wind resistance, we took those bikes as fast as they would go. This was a new section of highway and not many people were using it yet. I don’t think we even saw or passed anyone as we hit top speed.
Later in life, after getting out of the NAVY I bought a 1978 Ford F-150 Pickup Truck and drove it around to the different odd jobs I had at the time. I had recently met a girl and was casually dating her. She asked me if I would take her to her friend’s wedding at the Pleasant Run Country Club. I agreed to take her. I was washing the truck in preparation for the wedding day when my Dad told me I shouldn't pick this girl up in that old truck ! I should take his 1979 Ford Country Squire Station Wagon with leather seats, 4 wheel disc brakes, a 460 cu.in engine with a four barrel carburetor. I finally agreed to take the “Station Wagon”. I picked her up and did the whole wedding and reception thing and finally it was time to leave. As I pulled onto the ramp to the highway I could see a Camaro full of guys coming up behind me. They pulled up on her side of the car and began teasing her about being with a loser in a station wagon and how she should jump in their car…something cooler and faster than some old Station Wagon! I stepped down on the long, skinny pedal on the floor and heard the four barrel open up. The needle on the speedometer kept going up, leaving the Camaro behind. Every now and then I would take my foot off the gas and let them catch up but as they got closer I’d open it up again. My date was screaming to let her out of the car. “We’re going to be killed, she yelled. Take me home !” We flew down the highway, pegging the needle at 150mph. I wasn’t scared but I did finally let off the gas after the Camaro gave up the chase and then I took my date home. Afterwards I took the car home and parked it in the garage, no worse for wear. I never saw that girl after that night. She never wanted to get in another car with me again !
Once I obtained a regular paying job and had my first paycheck, cashed and in my pocket I decided to stop in at the local SOHIO Gas Station, at the corner of Race and Harrison to fill up the tank with premium gas. Now, out on the highway, I opened that baby up. My F-150 had a 351cu.in hi-output engine, American Racing Mag wheels and Good Year AT Tracker tires. It looked good but the speedometer only went to 90. I eased out onto the highway and slowly opened it up. The ever increasing speed felt great ! The speedometer was pegged at 90mph. As I approached Miamitown, and took my foot off the gas as I went into the curve and stepped back down on it as I climbed the hill and headed toward Harrison. Once I reached my exit I was held up in traffic with lots of people at the light waiting to make a left hand turn and this had me jammed up. I was still waiting to make my turn when a Sheriff’s Cruiser pulled in behind me. I could see him clearly in my driver-side rear view mirror. He indicated he wanted me to come back to his car. Once in the passenger side of his car he asked me if I knew why he was pulling me over ? “No clue”, I replied. He said he clocked me going 75mph in a 55mph zone. I explained how maybe I got a little excited getting my first real paycheck, filling up the gas tank and wanting to blow the carbon off the valves. He laughed and could certainly relate to my excitement but none the less he continued filling out the ticket. Once he handed me the ticket I asked him where he had been sitting when I was only going 75mph, cause I pretty much had this thing pegged at 90 the whole way down to Harrison ? He said he was sitting in the curve in Miamitown where I had briefly slowed down. Oh well, at least I didn't have to appear in court and only had to pay a fine.
Back in the day...most of my friends in high school had muscle cars. Mustang, RoadRunner, Chargers, GTO, Challengers, Camaro, Nova’s and such and all of our original gang had motorcycles. Now out of school and getting on with life, most got married and the muscle cars gave way to something more family oriented. I never had a hot car back then but I did have my motorcycle. It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties when I purchased a 1957 Ford Fairlane Sport Coupe with a 428cu.in Cobra-Jet engine and four on the floor ! This thing was fast ! I was still single and put a set of Ansen style slotted American Mag wheels on it and Good Year tires with raised white lettering. It looked good to me ! I was working in Dayton by now and had traded in my F-150 for a POS Chevy Astro van with a four cylinder engine. Every day I went home from work I’d see BMW’s, Porsche’s Nissan 300ZX’s and such flying down the highway as I putted along in my Chevy Astro van. I kept telling myself that one of these days I was going to take the Ford into work and look for these speed freaks on the way home and race them ! Finally the day came and I took the Ford to work. Upon leaving work and getting on the highway I looked for the afore mentioned speed freaks but didn’t see any of them. Wait, what’s that up ahead ? A Nissan 300 ZX ! I stepped into the gas pedal and soon caught up with him. It was summertime and my car didn’t have air conditioning but his did and his windows were rolled up. I pulled a long side and motioned for him to roll his window down. Once he had, I asked how fast he was going (since my speedometer didn’t work) ? He said he was going 90. I thanked him for the information and put my foot to the floor. That old Fairlane took off like I had just left him sitting at a red light. Faster and faster it went. my foot was all the way to the floor. I thought to myself the words from a Beach Boys song. If she had a set of wings I know she could fly ! I also remembered a line from Dirty Mary and Crazy Larry when one of the cops going to chase them, asked the mechanic what its top end was? The mechanic answered UNLIMITED ! Funny, the things that popped into my mind as I sped down the highway I began to climb a slight grade. The car just kept going faster. It was then I got scared of its speed. It seemed UNLIMITED and this car had wings...or at least tail-fins ! I could feel the car feeling like it was lifting off the ground like the old Dodge Charger the Dukes of Hazzard drove. I took my foot off the gas pedal and the car settled down but still coasting at a high rate of speed. I was still passing other cars on the highway. If I was going 150 in my Dad's station wagon and not scared, I wonder how fast I was going in the 57 Ford ? I guess we'll never know, will we ?
Most of my remaining friends have motorcycles. They have gotten rid of their Honda's, Suszuki's and Yamaha's and graduated up to Harleys and Goldwings. I'm asked periodically why I don't have a motorcycle and I always answer...If I had one I'd probably be dead by now. The need for speed would be rekindled. I'm better off without one.
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
Fishing with Whitey ! (12/11/21 Tornadoes wiped Dawson Springs off the map)
When I reached my early teens, my parents were vacationing with a group of people that liked playing golf during the day and played bridge in the evening. Some of the couples had kids, some didn't. One couple was a little older than the others and the older man, didn't like golf...he fished !
They called him Whitey !
We were vacationing for the week at Pennyryle State Park in Western Kentucky, near Dawson Springs. Complete with lodge, dining room, camp grounds, hiking trails, fishing lake, boat rentals, 18 hole golf course, pool and tennis courts. The park was like a little paradise ! At this time in my life, I liked being in and around water but I had given up on fishing. (All I ever caught were little bluegills and most of them ate my worm before the bigger ones could get to it) This is why I laid my pole down and eventually sold it in a garage sale and didn't buy a new one until after I got out of the Navy.
Anyway, after meeting Whitey, he asked me if I would be interested in rowing him around the lake while he fished and as payment for my time and labor, he would buy my breakfast, after his mornings of fishing concluded. The Dining Room in the Lodge had what was called the Daniel Boone Breakfast. It included 2 eggs anyway you wanted, 3 strips of bacon or 2 sausage links, 3 buttermilk pancakes plus 2 slices of toast with butter and jelly. Juice and or milk was extra. This was an offer I couldn't refuse. I was ready to get up at the crack of dawn and row Whitey anywhere around the lake, he wanted to go !
The first morning came and Whitey had rented a row boat for the week. We got in the boat with me in the center at the oars and Whitey situated his tackle in the boat before taking his seat in the bow of the boat. We pushed off from the dock. We were the only ones on the lake. Whitey spoke very softly and asked me to row him around the shoreline of the lake, very slowly while he casted. I thought this was odd. I always thought the "BIG ONES" would be out in the middle of the lake. (Remember, I was a kid and hadn't learned about bass fishing from Kenny yet).
I gently pulled the oars thru the water as smoothly and quietly as I could. Whitey tied on a pre-rigged, soft plastic night crawler, with a couple of hooks already linked together within the plastic body and casted it to shore. lifting and reeling it back in very slowly. I kept rowing and allowing the boat to glide quietly along the shoreline as he kept casting. Finally he had a fish on ! A nice chunky largemouth bass. Whitey took it off the hook put the bass in a cooler and continued casting. Whitey said he loved eating bass and the one he caught was a perfect size for fileting. (I can eat fish but I'm a meat eater and beef is what I gravitate to) So this talk about bass filets didn't really interest me. Whitey kept casting and catching more bass and adding them to the cooler. When the sun started coming over the hills, he decided it was time to quit. I rowed back to the dock and helped carry the cooler of bass up to his room at the lodge before the two of us headed for the dining room for breakfast. As we ate our breakfast Whitey told me how much he enjoyed fishing and thanked me for handling the boat so well and keeping him in the right spot to catch bass. I told him he was the first person I ever saw catch anything on an artificial lure, much less a fake worm ! We laughed and talked as we ate and when we were all done, he asked me if I would row him around the lake again the next morning and the rest of the week...weather permitting ? Oh yeah, I'm ready to go, I said.
The next morning was the same as the day before. Whitey had me row him around the shoreline of the lake while he casted his plastic worm. He did this every morning for the entire week, catching his limit of bass every day. Afterwards we both enjoyed our Daniel Boone Breakfast and the conversation between the old man and the kid.
Even though I was impressed with the catches Whitey made on Pennyryle Lake and using the soft plastic worm, casting it to the bank and using his slow retrieve, It never inspired me to pick up a pole and try the method myself...until I met Kenny and he was the one that got me hooked on fishing again ... but that's another story ! Thanks for the memories Whitey.
Experienced and Written by J.Scott Keniston
They called him Whitey !
We were vacationing for the week at Pennyryle State Park in Western Kentucky, near Dawson Springs. Complete with lodge, dining room, camp grounds, hiking trails, fishing lake, boat rentals, 18 hole golf course, pool and tennis courts. The park was like a little paradise ! At this time in my life, I liked being in and around water but I had given up on fishing. (All I ever caught were little bluegills and most of them ate my worm before the bigger ones could get to it) This is why I laid my pole down and eventually sold it in a garage sale and didn't buy a new one until after I got out of the Navy.
Anyway, after meeting Whitey, he asked me if I would be interested in rowing him around the lake while he fished and as payment for my time and labor, he would buy my breakfast, after his mornings of fishing concluded. The Dining Room in the Lodge had what was called the Daniel Boone Breakfast. It included 2 eggs anyway you wanted, 3 strips of bacon or 2 sausage links, 3 buttermilk pancakes plus 2 slices of toast with butter and jelly. Juice and or milk was extra. This was an offer I couldn't refuse. I was ready to get up at the crack of dawn and row Whitey anywhere around the lake, he wanted to go !
The first morning came and Whitey had rented a row boat for the week. We got in the boat with me in the center at the oars and Whitey situated his tackle in the boat before taking his seat in the bow of the boat. We pushed off from the dock. We were the only ones on the lake. Whitey spoke very softly and asked me to row him around the shoreline of the lake, very slowly while he casted. I thought this was odd. I always thought the "BIG ONES" would be out in the middle of the lake. (Remember, I was a kid and hadn't learned about bass fishing from Kenny yet).
I gently pulled the oars thru the water as smoothly and quietly as I could. Whitey tied on a pre-rigged, soft plastic night crawler, with a couple of hooks already linked together within the plastic body and casted it to shore. lifting and reeling it back in very slowly. I kept rowing and allowing the boat to glide quietly along the shoreline as he kept casting. Finally he had a fish on ! A nice chunky largemouth bass. Whitey took it off the hook put the bass in a cooler and continued casting. Whitey said he loved eating bass and the one he caught was a perfect size for fileting. (I can eat fish but I'm a meat eater and beef is what I gravitate to) So this talk about bass filets didn't really interest me. Whitey kept casting and catching more bass and adding them to the cooler. When the sun started coming over the hills, he decided it was time to quit. I rowed back to the dock and helped carry the cooler of bass up to his room at the lodge before the two of us headed for the dining room for breakfast. As we ate our breakfast Whitey told me how much he enjoyed fishing and thanked me for handling the boat so well and keeping him in the right spot to catch bass. I told him he was the first person I ever saw catch anything on an artificial lure, much less a fake worm ! We laughed and talked as we ate and when we were all done, he asked me if I would row him around the lake again the next morning and the rest of the week...weather permitting ? Oh yeah, I'm ready to go, I said.
The next morning was the same as the day before. Whitey had me row him around the shoreline of the lake while he casted his plastic worm. He did this every morning for the entire week, catching his limit of bass every day. Afterwards we both enjoyed our Daniel Boone Breakfast and the conversation between the old man and the kid.
Even though I was impressed with the catches Whitey made on Pennyryle Lake and using the soft plastic worm, casting it to the bank and using his slow retrieve, It never inspired me to pick up a pole and try the method myself...until I met Kenny and he was the one that got me hooked on fishing again ... but that's another story ! Thanks for the memories Whitey.
Experienced and Written by J.Scott Keniston
My Friend Kenny
Ken Watson
Back in September of 1981, I was hired at a past place of employment. I reported to work that first morning, there was another guy sitting in the lobby, also waiting for the manager to show us around the work place and introduce us to our new co-workers. While we waited for the tour, we introduced ourselves to each other. His name was Kenny. We began to talk about our backgrounds, school, military, and past places of employment. It was surprising how much our lives and interests paralleled each other. As it turned out, we were going to be working together full time.
As fall progressed, we both talked about hunting strategies for the upcoming deer season and the type of sign each of us had been seeing. By seasons end, neither of us had been successful with our hunting and we just hoped for better luck the next year.
The official end of winter was within sight and the idea of spring was a very pleasant thought. One day Kenny went way off the deep end about fishing. With a glazed look in his eyes, a smile on his face, and pen in hand, he poured over volumes of mail order catalogs filled with nothing but fishing equipment, during our lunch hour. Finally I had heard just about all I could take and asked him, “what the big fascination was with fishing”? He raised his head from the catalog to look at me over the top of his glasses, in disbelief and leaned back in his chair and said," haven't you ever fished before?" I told him I had fished before but had never really had any luck and lost interest. "Oh really", he said," what kind of fishing did you do?" "You know, rod, reel, hook, line, sinker, and a bobber on a shady bank, hoping that a fish will come by and take the worm that was threaded on the hook." I replied. "Oh yeah, I remember those days," he said. " I don't fish like that", he said, "I use artificial lures and spend my time searching for the fish by casting to areas that they prefer, not sitting in a place that I might prefer, waiting for the fish to come to me."
I didn't realize it then, but I was getting interested in this new method of fishing and listened very intently to all his stories and teachings the rest of the afternoon. By the end of the day, I would have to say that I was hooked. As we were walking out to our cars he stopped and asked if I had any fishing tackle, "Yes," I replied. "I have a rod and reel and a small tackle box." "If you think about it tomorrow morning, bring it in, I'd like to take a look at it," he said. I nodded my head in agreement and said" O.K., I'll try to remember."
That morning before starting out to work, I gathered up my fishing tackle and put it in the car. When we met at work he asked if I had remembered to bring it in. I told him "yes," and that I would go out to the car at lunch and bring it in for his inspection and approval.
Lunchtime came, the tackle was gathered and he began the inspection. "Seven foot medium action spinning rod, Mitchell Garcia reel and probably ten pound test line," he said. He looked into my tackle box and didn't say much about my selection of snelled hooks, swivels, sinkers, and bobbers. “Well, he said, you’ve got enough to get yourself started.” He went on to say that after work we would go out to his van and he would show me some of the tackle that he uses for fishing.
As the afternoon went on he continued to tell me stories of past fishing trips to exotic lands like Kentucky, Tennessee, Florida, and Alabama. He told about the weather conditions, lure selection, presentations and the successes he had.
The work day ended and we walked out to his van. He slid open the side door and there before us were two huge tackle boxes and an assortment of rods and reels. As he pulled the two large tackle boxes toward the opening of the door, his face lit up with excitement. He opened the boxes to display the multi-colored, plastic worms, grubs, crawdads, lizards, crankbaits, jigs and spinnerbaits. He reminded me of a pirate running his fingers through the pieces of gold, silver, and jewels in his treasure chest.
He told me to hold out my hands and he started to take out different colored worms and grubs and put them in my hands. As he took each one out of the box and handed them to me, he explained why I would use certain colors and what kind of water clarity to look for and weather conditions.
I just stood there, listening to him and absorbing all the information. With that he snapped his head around and asked me if he had given me any crankbaits or surface baits. "What ? You mean you're giving me this stuff"? "I can't take this," I replied. "Let me pay you for it." "Don't be silly", he laughed. " I have six more boxes at home just like these, full of lures, worms, hooks, and weights." "This is nothing !" I was dumbfounded. He produced some crankbaits and showed me the difference between shallow diving and deep divers. Then he gave me a couple of surface baits and told me how exciting they were to use in the low light hours of morning and evening.
When the tackle bonanza give away ended, he suggested that I buy a worm proof tackle box to put all this stuff in." He went on to say that I shouldn't just buy a box big enough to hold the tackle he had just given me but to buy one that would hold more because if I started fishing the way he did and liked it as much as he did, I would be adding to the collection very soon and would need the additional space.
Still stunned by the amount of tackle he had just given me, I asked him again if he would let me pay him for it. "No," he said, "instead, in the future when you run into some one that shows an interest in this sport of fishing and they want to get started, you set them up with tackle the way I have just set you up, and that's all the payment I need." "After all, when I was starting out there was someone that set me up like this and they told me the very same thing".
The years went on and we spent a lot of time fishing both together and apart but always sharing the knowledge and stories of the good times together. Over the years I have met a number of people that wanted to learn how to fish and I have always done exactly what Kenny told me. I helped these newcomers to the sport of fishing with stories, tactics, tackle ,knowledge, and this story.
Kenny died suddenly, some years ago but his teachings, generosity, and stories are still told and practiced everyday that I draw a breath.
I miss you Kenny. We all do.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
As fall progressed, we both talked about hunting strategies for the upcoming deer season and the type of sign each of us had been seeing. By seasons end, neither of us had been successful with our hunting and we just hoped for better luck the next year.
The official end of winter was within sight and the idea of spring was a very pleasant thought. One day Kenny went way off the deep end about fishing. With a glazed look in his eyes, a smile on his face, and pen in hand, he poured over volumes of mail order catalogs filled with nothing but fishing equipment, during our lunch hour. Finally I had heard just about all I could take and asked him, “what the big fascination was with fishing”? He raised his head from the catalog to look at me over the top of his glasses, in disbelief and leaned back in his chair and said," haven't you ever fished before?" I told him I had fished before but had never really had any luck and lost interest. "Oh really", he said," what kind of fishing did you do?" "You know, rod, reel, hook, line, sinker, and a bobber on a shady bank, hoping that a fish will come by and take the worm that was threaded on the hook." I replied. "Oh yeah, I remember those days," he said. " I don't fish like that", he said, "I use artificial lures and spend my time searching for the fish by casting to areas that they prefer, not sitting in a place that I might prefer, waiting for the fish to come to me."
I didn't realize it then, but I was getting interested in this new method of fishing and listened very intently to all his stories and teachings the rest of the afternoon. By the end of the day, I would have to say that I was hooked. As we were walking out to our cars he stopped and asked if I had any fishing tackle, "Yes," I replied. "I have a rod and reel and a small tackle box." "If you think about it tomorrow morning, bring it in, I'd like to take a look at it," he said. I nodded my head in agreement and said" O.K., I'll try to remember."
That morning before starting out to work, I gathered up my fishing tackle and put it in the car. When we met at work he asked if I had remembered to bring it in. I told him "yes," and that I would go out to the car at lunch and bring it in for his inspection and approval.
Lunchtime came, the tackle was gathered and he began the inspection. "Seven foot medium action spinning rod, Mitchell Garcia reel and probably ten pound test line," he said. He looked into my tackle box and didn't say much about my selection of snelled hooks, swivels, sinkers, and bobbers. “Well, he said, you’ve got enough to get yourself started.” He went on to say that after work we would go out to his van and he would show me some of the tackle that he uses for fishing.
As the afternoon went on he continued to tell me stories of past fishing trips to exotic lands like Kentucky, Tennessee, Florida, and Alabama. He told about the weather conditions, lure selection, presentations and the successes he had.
The work day ended and we walked out to his van. He slid open the side door and there before us were two huge tackle boxes and an assortment of rods and reels. As he pulled the two large tackle boxes toward the opening of the door, his face lit up with excitement. He opened the boxes to display the multi-colored, plastic worms, grubs, crawdads, lizards, crankbaits, jigs and spinnerbaits. He reminded me of a pirate running his fingers through the pieces of gold, silver, and jewels in his treasure chest.
He told me to hold out my hands and he started to take out different colored worms and grubs and put them in my hands. As he took each one out of the box and handed them to me, he explained why I would use certain colors and what kind of water clarity to look for and weather conditions.
I just stood there, listening to him and absorbing all the information. With that he snapped his head around and asked me if he had given me any crankbaits or surface baits. "What ? You mean you're giving me this stuff"? "I can't take this," I replied. "Let me pay you for it." "Don't be silly", he laughed. " I have six more boxes at home just like these, full of lures, worms, hooks, and weights." "This is nothing !" I was dumbfounded. He produced some crankbaits and showed me the difference between shallow diving and deep divers. Then he gave me a couple of surface baits and told me how exciting they were to use in the low light hours of morning and evening.
When the tackle bonanza give away ended, he suggested that I buy a worm proof tackle box to put all this stuff in." He went on to say that I shouldn't just buy a box big enough to hold the tackle he had just given me but to buy one that would hold more because if I started fishing the way he did and liked it as much as he did, I would be adding to the collection very soon and would need the additional space.
Still stunned by the amount of tackle he had just given me, I asked him again if he would let me pay him for it. "No," he said, "instead, in the future when you run into some one that shows an interest in this sport of fishing and they want to get started, you set them up with tackle the way I have just set you up, and that's all the payment I need." "After all, when I was starting out there was someone that set me up like this and they told me the very same thing".
The years went on and we spent a lot of time fishing both together and apart but always sharing the knowledge and stories of the good times together. Over the years I have met a number of people that wanted to learn how to fish and I have always done exactly what Kenny told me. I helped these newcomers to the sport of fishing with stories, tactics, tackle ,knowledge, and this story.
Kenny died suddenly, some years ago but his teachings, generosity, and stories are still told and practiced everyday that I draw a breath.
I miss you Kenny. We all do.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Lil Panhandler
Mm, French Bread the way I remember it
Growing up, I liked that we had the Western Hills Plaza or Shopping Center within bicycling distance from our house. This was the One Stop Shopping place of its day ! Mabley & Carew and McAlpin's anchored the plaza at either end while Kroger’s, Walgreens, Marmer’s Shoes, Grater’s Ice Cream (I think one of if not the original ice cream parlor) and Woolworth’s (complete with lunch counter, the best toy selection , a pet department that sold baby alligators and baby Red Eared Slider Turtles and the only place you could find Italian Nativity Figures at Christmas time). Many other merchants had store fronts, like jewelers, record shop, little bar and grill, barber shop and beauty salons etc. but one of my fondest memories were the bakeries.
I’m thinking it was Kester’s Bakery that was down on Glenway Ave, across from Our Lady of Lordes. Best known for their Butter, Cinnamon Bits…but that’s another story ! I think it was either Klosterman’s or Grote Bakery that was just up the plaza from Walgreens.
My parents never knew where I was from the minute I left the house in the morning until it was time for supper in the evening. This one afternoon I was window shopping, for the lack of a better term for not having any money but wishing I could buy some new toy. As I was making my way down the plaza I could smell fresh baked bread, just coming out of the ovens. Mmm, Mm, what a pleasant aroma! Not having any money in my pockets, I’m not really sure if this was a premeditated plan er what ? I walked into the bakery to see how much a loaf of the baguette bread was, that had just come out of the oven and was cooling before sales? $.39 cents for a loaf, they told me. I went back out on the sidewalk in front of the bakery and with my hands cupped in front of me and maybe my most sorrowful look on my face I began asking strangers for any spare change they might be willing to part with. Pennies, nickles or dimes was all I was asking for. Soon I had the price for a loaf of baguette bread and I hurried back inside to make my purchase and back outside to devour it while it was still warm. Once Outside I pulled the bread apart and began eating it when all of a sudden my Mother appeared and asked, "What are you doing here Son ?" I explained that I was just looking around at the different stores. Then she asked where I had gotten the bread? I motioned with my thumb to the bakery just over my shoulder. Then she asked me where I had gotten the money…knowing I was never given an allowance and didn't have money to buy such things? I told her I was getting it from people on the plaza. Just holding my hands out and asking for spare change. OH MY GOD ! Did any of our neighbor’s see you doing this ? Was her first concern. No, I replied. She was relieved to hear that bit of good news and then asked if she could have a bite of my bread ? She couldn’t believe her son was Panhandling at the shopping center to buy fresh baked bread ! But then she went in and bought a couple loaves to take home and maybe we had spaghetti that night with the bread on the side ? I still like fresh baked bread but the baguettes I find in the bakeries at the local stores, these days aren’t the same crunch, texture or taste of my memories from so long ago. Recently I have discovered that Pilsbury has a French Bread in a tube to take home and bake for $3.29 now. It bakes up in 30 minutes and is exactly the taste and smell I remember as a kid. It really tastes GREAT !!!!
There was one other time, later in life, when I Panhandled. It was back when I was being discharged from the NAVY and they stuck me in with a few other guys in the same boat (sort of speak) in the Nimetz Hall Barracks at the Naval Station in Norfolk Virginia. No money or transportation, we were all just stuck there waiting for the Chow Hall to open, so we could get out and go eat but that food wasn't worth the wait ! Putting my past experience to work for me, I dressed in my old, green fatigues, complete with my Marine style 8 point cap and looking as disheveled as I could, I walked down to the lobby of the barracks and with hat in hand I asked if anyone had any spare change for a poor, old, drunken Seabee ? In no time at all I had enough money to buy snacks, candy and soda pop for myself and the other guys there that were in the same boat as me ! Once again my panhandling skills paid off and also helped while away the time I had to spend there.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
I’m thinking it was Kester’s Bakery that was down on Glenway Ave, across from Our Lady of Lordes. Best known for their Butter, Cinnamon Bits…but that’s another story ! I think it was either Klosterman’s or Grote Bakery that was just up the plaza from Walgreens.
My parents never knew where I was from the minute I left the house in the morning until it was time for supper in the evening. This one afternoon I was window shopping, for the lack of a better term for not having any money but wishing I could buy some new toy. As I was making my way down the plaza I could smell fresh baked bread, just coming out of the ovens. Mmm, Mm, what a pleasant aroma! Not having any money in my pockets, I’m not really sure if this was a premeditated plan er what ? I walked into the bakery to see how much a loaf of the baguette bread was, that had just come out of the oven and was cooling before sales? $.39 cents for a loaf, they told me. I went back out on the sidewalk in front of the bakery and with my hands cupped in front of me and maybe my most sorrowful look on my face I began asking strangers for any spare change they might be willing to part with. Pennies, nickles or dimes was all I was asking for. Soon I had the price for a loaf of baguette bread and I hurried back inside to make my purchase and back outside to devour it while it was still warm. Once Outside I pulled the bread apart and began eating it when all of a sudden my Mother appeared and asked, "What are you doing here Son ?" I explained that I was just looking around at the different stores. Then she asked where I had gotten the bread? I motioned with my thumb to the bakery just over my shoulder. Then she asked me where I had gotten the money…knowing I was never given an allowance and didn't have money to buy such things? I told her I was getting it from people on the plaza. Just holding my hands out and asking for spare change. OH MY GOD ! Did any of our neighbor’s see you doing this ? Was her first concern. No, I replied. She was relieved to hear that bit of good news and then asked if she could have a bite of my bread ? She couldn’t believe her son was Panhandling at the shopping center to buy fresh baked bread ! But then she went in and bought a couple loaves to take home and maybe we had spaghetti that night with the bread on the side ? I still like fresh baked bread but the baguettes I find in the bakeries at the local stores, these days aren’t the same crunch, texture or taste of my memories from so long ago. Recently I have discovered that Pilsbury has a French Bread in a tube to take home and bake for $3.29 now. It bakes up in 30 minutes and is exactly the taste and smell I remember as a kid. It really tastes GREAT !!!!
There was one other time, later in life, when I Panhandled. It was back when I was being discharged from the NAVY and they stuck me in with a few other guys in the same boat (sort of speak) in the Nimetz Hall Barracks at the Naval Station in Norfolk Virginia. No money or transportation, we were all just stuck there waiting for the Chow Hall to open, so we could get out and go eat but that food wasn't worth the wait ! Putting my past experience to work for me, I dressed in my old, green fatigues, complete with my Marine style 8 point cap and looking as disheveled as I could, I walked down to the lobby of the barracks and with hat in hand I asked if anyone had any spare change for a poor, old, drunken Seabee ? In no time at all I had enough money to buy snacks, candy and soda pop for myself and the other guys there that were in the same boat as me ! Once again my panhandling skills paid off and also helped while away the time I had to spend there.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
Under the Sea
The Great Barracuda
Soon after arriving at Leward Pointe in Guantanamo Bay Cuba, I began to pal around with Tim. We became fast friends and decided to try snorkeling off one of the beach areas on the point. The Caribbean was our front door and provided us with spectacular sunrises and sunsets. It was beautiful !
We had a sort of Convenient Store that sold some food supplies, sody pop, wine, beer and hard liquor. On top of these essentials they also had snorkeling gear. We bought U.S. Divers mask, snorkel and fins and that next, sunny, Saturday afternoon, we walked to the beach to try out our new gear. We fixed the snorkel keeper to the mask strap, put on the fins and duck walked into the surf. Once we were waist deep we put on the mask and bent over to look around at this little bit of the underwater world. Sand and shells occupied by Hermit Crabs were all was saw at first but we decided to go check out an area around a mushroom shaped rock that was protruding maybe twenty feet above the water's surface. We watched as the waves wore away at it's base and created the mushroom head over the millions of years or more..
Mask on, snorkel in place, arms to our sides we eased forward towards the mushroom head. The water was deeper and the sea-life was abundant and extremely colorful. My eyes were dazzled at the array of yellows, red, orange, blue, purple and white. I'm colorblind but Tim was telling me what colors I was seeing. We could actually talk thru the snorkels as we swam out further. As we passed a submerged rock a couple of chrome plated torpedoes darted out in front of us and paid us no mind. It turned out to be a pair of Blue Sharks, maybe six feet long. We watched as they disappeared into the oceanic horizon. As we neared the mushroom head we saw huge schools of Parrot Fish, Yellow Tangs, Trigger Fish and more. They parted around us as we swam and reformed as we passed. We were having a blast ! We made several passes around the mushroom head and started to head back to the beach where we entered. The mask I was wearing had angled side windows to allow a little bit of a peripheral view. As we swam I caught a glimpse of something off my port side. I turned my head and there was a giant barracuda, cruising along side me at an arms length away. Tim was off my starboard side. I turned my head away from the barracuda and talking through the snorkel I asked Tim if he saw this on my left side ? JESUS he exclaimed ! We better get back to shore ! Now I'm six foot four inches tall, standing up. Snorkeling, I had my toes pointed back and swim fins on, making me over seven feet long. I checked out this toothy critter and could plainly see he had at least an eighteen inch long mouth full of teeth and it's body was longer than I was.
Once back on land we made our way across the bay on the ferry and visited the Navy Exchange (department store) and found a waterproof guide to fishes of the Caribbean. We looked up all the fishes we had seen including the sharks and the barracuda. It said the Great Barracuda could reach lengths of four to five feet. I guess like Texas, everything is bigger in the Caribbean !
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
We had a sort of Convenient Store that sold some food supplies, sody pop, wine, beer and hard liquor. On top of these essentials they also had snorkeling gear. We bought U.S. Divers mask, snorkel and fins and that next, sunny, Saturday afternoon, we walked to the beach to try out our new gear. We fixed the snorkel keeper to the mask strap, put on the fins and duck walked into the surf. Once we were waist deep we put on the mask and bent over to look around at this little bit of the underwater world. Sand and shells occupied by Hermit Crabs were all was saw at first but we decided to go check out an area around a mushroom shaped rock that was protruding maybe twenty feet above the water's surface. We watched as the waves wore away at it's base and created the mushroom head over the millions of years or more..
Mask on, snorkel in place, arms to our sides we eased forward towards the mushroom head. The water was deeper and the sea-life was abundant and extremely colorful. My eyes were dazzled at the array of yellows, red, orange, blue, purple and white. I'm colorblind but Tim was telling me what colors I was seeing. We could actually talk thru the snorkels as we swam out further. As we passed a submerged rock a couple of chrome plated torpedoes darted out in front of us and paid us no mind. It turned out to be a pair of Blue Sharks, maybe six feet long. We watched as they disappeared into the oceanic horizon. As we neared the mushroom head we saw huge schools of Parrot Fish, Yellow Tangs, Trigger Fish and more. They parted around us as we swam and reformed as we passed. We were having a blast ! We made several passes around the mushroom head and started to head back to the beach where we entered. The mask I was wearing had angled side windows to allow a little bit of a peripheral view. As we swam I caught a glimpse of something off my port side. I turned my head and there was a giant barracuda, cruising along side me at an arms length away. Tim was off my starboard side. I turned my head away from the barracuda and talking through the snorkel I asked Tim if he saw this on my left side ? JESUS he exclaimed ! We better get back to shore ! Now I'm six foot four inches tall, standing up. Snorkeling, I had my toes pointed back and swim fins on, making me over seven feet long. I checked out this toothy critter and could plainly see he had at least an eighteen inch long mouth full of teeth and it's body was longer than I was.
Once back on land we made our way across the bay on the ferry and visited the Navy Exchange (department store) and found a waterproof guide to fishes of the Caribbean. We looked up all the fishes we had seen including the sharks and the barracuda. It said the Great Barracuda could reach lengths of four to five feet. I guess like Texas, everything is bigger in the Caribbean !
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
Mark's Shark
A Nurse Shark
After high school I enlisted in the U.S. Navy and became part of the Navy Construction Battalions affectionately called Seabees. I was a Heavy Equipment Operator. My favorite station was in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. To me, Cuba was paradise on earth. Even though it was hot, dry and desert-like, it had a charm all it's own and the Caribbean was our front window. The ocean was beautiful.
I had snorkeled around some of the reefs several times and wished I could live under water. The fish, and their colors, the plant life and corals were just fantastic to me. While there, I met a Seabee Mechanic named Mark. Mark knew I was interested in learning how to scuba dive. He was already a certified diver and had all his own equipment. He offered to let me barrow his equipment to take the scuba diving course. If I passed the course, I would have to buy my own equipment. The equipment in question was the tank that holds the air you breathe, a buoyancy compensator, to keep you from sinking, and the regulator that you breathe the air through. All three pieces were expensive. I already had my goggles, snorkle and dive fins. After my second class I knew this was for me and knew I would pass the course and bought my own gear immediately.
I grew up with Jacques Cousteau and his underwater exploration. I was very excited to be buying U.S.Diver (Aqua-Lung) diving gear. This was the company he founded after World War II. Now I was buying my own piece of history.
The day after I passed the course, Mark had a dive planned for us. Seems he had been hearing stories told about a Nurse Shark that hung around a favorite reef on our side of the base. We were stationed on the Leeward side of the Naval Station. Many divers reported finding the shark and hanging on to it's dorsal fin and being taken for rides on her back. Mark wanted to find the shark.... This kind of adventure didn't appeal to me. I had heard that even a Nurse Shark could be provoked to attack but I had to do this. It must be a guy thing. Mark told me we were going to inspect every dark hole and ledge in and on the reef to find this shark. Oh yippeee! I could hardly wait.
Another diver named Bob, joined us. We went out to about forty feet of water and dessended on the fringe of the reef. We began our hunt. Mark pointed to me to inspect a rather large hole in the coral head. I slid up along the edge of the coral and poked my head into the opening. In a flash a gigantic Jew Fish (largest in the Grouper family) flew out of the hole. It was at least five feet long, solid black in color and looked to weigh several hundred pounds. It scared the life out of me. I sucked air rapidly from my air bottle as I watched the fish move away from us. Mark and Bob laughed into their regulators at me. Ha, ha, fun-ny, laugh it up guys….. We scoured the reef and couldn’t find the shark.
We had formed kind of a vertical V formation as we dove. Mark was below us about six feet, Bob was above his back and to the left and I was to his right. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a four foot, barracuda, slid up behind Mark and swam just above his air tank. Bob and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. I propelled myself forward, fast enough to get in front of Mark. Once in front of him, I settled on the sandy bottom and signaled him that I saw a barracuda. This is a hand signal that looks like you’re making shadow puppets on the wall of a duck quacking, like when you were a kid. Mark’s eyes got wide. He shrugged his shoulders as to ask where I saw the barracuda. I motioned to him, that it was right behind him, on his tank. Mark slowly turned around and came face to face with the barracuda.
I guess with the angle of the sun and the position of Mark’s face and goggles, it created a mirrored image to the barracuda. The barracuda came forward and tapped Mark’s goggles several times. No bubbles came from Mark’s regulator while the cuda inspected its reflection in Mark’s mask. We guess the barracuda didn’t seem threatened and just swam off and left us alone. The look of shock and surprise was still on Mark’s face, after the fish had gone. Payback. Now Bob and I were laughing. What a great dive, even though we couldn’t find the shark.
Mark shipped out to another duty station, soon after that dive. Never getting to hang on fin of the shark and take a ride on it’s back.
Bob met another diver named Drew, and asked me if I would lead them on a dive to the coral beds of Stag-horn Coral. I agreed and we made plans to make the dive at 8:00 am that Saturday morning.
The sun came up and it was another typical, beautiful morning in Cuba. We drove down to a protected swimming area off Leeward Point, waded out into the clear Caribbean waters and snorkeled out to deeper waters before descending to the ocean floor. We glided over and around different coral heads. Then we rounded a point and were smack dab in front of a huge grove of Stag-horn Coral. I said I’d stay there by the point and wait for them as they explored the grove and the different forms of life around it.
I kept a watchful eye out as they explored. I watched the waves on the surface catch and reflect sun all over the ocean floor. I looked back over my left shoulder and noticed this point we had swam past actually had a small over hanging ledge at the very end of it.
For some strange reason I was attracted to this over hanging ledge. I moved closer and looked into the shadows. I saw nothing but again, for some strange reason, I moved closer. I had gotten down so low, my stomach was almost touching the ocean floor. I kept gazing into the shadows as the sun lit up the backdrop. Suddenly, I could see something. I moved even closer. What is this, I wondered ? I moved closer. I could make out a shape of something.
The next thing I know, I’m face to face with a Nurse Shark. I’ll be….. Marks' shark. I was nearly eyeball to eyeball with this shark. I was surprised I didn’t panic. I had always wondered what I’d do if I got close to a shark ? I slowly backed away. The shark never moved. It just lay there in the shadows.
Bob and Drew were coming back to the point. I had gotten back to my original position, off the point of the coral head. I made the hand signal to Bob, indicating a shark sighting. This is another hand signal placing your hand vertical in front of your face and touching your index finger to your nose.
Bob looked excited and gestured where, where did I see the shark ? I motioned towards the point. He looked at me strangely. Again he gestured, where? I pointed to the overhang on the point.
He slowly moved towards the point. Looking back, he shrugged his shoulders. I kept motioning to him to keep going and get low to the bottom. He followed my directions. He was only about twenty feet away from me. He moved slowly. He kept gesturing that he couldn’t see anything. I kept motioning for him to get lower and move closer. I moved closer to him as he neared the ledge.
All of a sudden I could see his body go stiff. I began to laugh. Bob backed up and glared at me through his goggles. Shaking his head in disbelief. We put our heads together and talked through our regulators. My God, I can’t believe I was that close to that shark and couldn’t see it ! Bob said. I know, I said, I think that’s the shark Mark was looking for. Bob agreed. All of a sudden, there was a new problem. Evidently, the two suckers (large species of remoras) were bored with the inactive nurse shark and decided to try and attach themselves to our bodies. since we were moving around and the shark was just laying on the ocean floor, motionless. They tried sliding up between our buoyancy compensators and our chests to latch on. We didn't know if they used suction to or some sort of grippers to hold on to their hosts but we did not want to find out. We kept swinging our arms and trying to scare them away but they kept getting up next to our bodies. This freaked us out more than the shark. As we swung at the suckers, we kept moving to shallower water and trying to get out of the ocean. The suckers kept trying to latch on to us until we were in ankle deep water before they retreated to depths again. Safe on shore and glad to be rid of the suckers, we laughed about finding Marks' Shark and wishing he was here, with us, for the experience.
Written & Experienced by J.Scott Keniston
I had snorkeled around some of the reefs several times and wished I could live under water. The fish, and their colors, the plant life and corals were just fantastic to me. While there, I met a Seabee Mechanic named Mark. Mark knew I was interested in learning how to scuba dive. He was already a certified diver and had all his own equipment. He offered to let me barrow his equipment to take the scuba diving course. If I passed the course, I would have to buy my own equipment. The equipment in question was the tank that holds the air you breathe, a buoyancy compensator, to keep you from sinking, and the regulator that you breathe the air through. All three pieces were expensive. I already had my goggles, snorkle and dive fins. After my second class I knew this was for me and knew I would pass the course and bought my own gear immediately.
I grew up with Jacques Cousteau and his underwater exploration. I was very excited to be buying U.S.Diver (Aqua-Lung) diving gear. This was the company he founded after World War II. Now I was buying my own piece of history.
The day after I passed the course, Mark had a dive planned for us. Seems he had been hearing stories told about a Nurse Shark that hung around a favorite reef on our side of the base. We were stationed on the Leeward side of the Naval Station. Many divers reported finding the shark and hanging on to it's dorsal fin and being taken for rides on her back. Mark wanted to find the shark.... This kind of adventure didn't appeal to me. I had heard that even a Nurse Shark could be provoked to attack but I had to do this. It must be a guy thing. Mark told me we were going to inspect every dark hole and ledge in and on the reef to find this shark. Oh yippeee! I could hardly wait.
Another diver named Bob, joined us. We went out to about forty feet of water and dessended on the fringe of the reef. We began our hunt. Mark pointed to me to inspect a rather large hole in the coral head. I slid up along the edge of the coral and poked my head into the opening. In a flash a gigantic Jew Fish (largest in the Grouper family) flew out of the hole. It was at least five feet long, solid black in color and looked to weigh several hundred pounds. It scared the life out of me. I sucked air rapidly from my air bottle as I watched the fish move away from us. Mark and Bob laughed into their regulators at me. Ha, ha, fun-ny, laugh it up guys….. We scoured the reef and couldn’t find the shark.
We had formed kind of a vertical V formation as we dove. Mark was below us about six feet, Bob was above his back and to the left and I was to his right. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a four foot, barracuda, slid up behind Mark and swam just above his air tank. Bob and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. I propelled myself forward, fast enough to get in front of Mark. Once in front of him, I settled on the sandy bottom and signaled him that I saw a barracuda. This is a hand signal that looks like you’re making shadow puppets on the wall of a duck quacking, like when you were a kid. Mark’s eyes got wide. He shrugged his shoulders as to ask where I saw the barracuda. I motioned to him, that it was right behind him, on his tank. Mark slowly turned around and came face to face with the barracuda.
I guess with the angle of the sun and the position of Mark’s face and goggles, it created a mirrored image to the barracuda. The barracuda came forward and tapped Mark’s goggles several times. No bubbles came from Mark’s regulator while the cuda inspected its reflection in Mark’s mask. We guess the barracuda didn’t seem threatened and just swam off and left us alone. The look of shock and surprise was still on Mark’s face, after the fish had gone. Payback. Now Bob and I were laughing. What a great dive, even though we couldn’t find the shark.
Mark shipped out to another duty station, soon after that dive. Never getting to hang on fin of the shark and take a ride on it’s back.
Bob met another diver named Drew, and asked me if I would lead them on a dive to the coral beds of Stag-horn Coral. I agreed and we made plans to make the dive at 8:00 am that Saturday morning.
The sun came up and it was another typical, beautiful morning in Cuba. We drove down to a protected swimming area off Leeward Point, waded out into the clear Caribbean waters and snorkeled out to deeper waters before descending to the ocean floor. We glided over and around different coral heads. Then we rounded a point and were smack dab in front of a huge grove of Stag-horn Coral. I said I’d stay there by the point and wait for them as they explored the grove and the different forms of life around it.
I kept a watchful eye out as they explored. I watched the waves on the surface catch and reflect sun all over the ocean floor. I looked back over my left shoulder and noticed this point we had swam past actually had a small over hanging ledge at the very end of it.
For some strange reason I was attracted to this over hanging ledge. I moved closer and looked into the shadows. I saw nothing but again, for some strange reason, I moved closer. I had gotten down so low, my stomach was almost touching the ocean floor. I kept gazing into the shadows as the sun lit up the backdrop. Suddenly, I could see something. I moved even closer. What is this, I wondered ? I moved closer. I could make out a shape of something.
The next thing I know, I’m face to face with a Nurse Shark. I’ll be….. Marks' shark. I was nearly eyeball to eyeball with this shark. I was surprised I didn’t panic. I had always wondered what I’d do if I got close to a shark ? I slowly backed away. The shark never moved. It just lay there in the shadows.
Bob and Drew were coming back to the point. I had gotten back to my original position, off the point of the coral head. I made the hand signal to Bob, indicating a shark sighting. This is another hand signal placing your hand vertical in front of your face and touching your index finger to your nose.
Bob looked excited and gestured where, where did I see the shark ? I motioned towards the point. He looked at me strangely. Again he gestured, where? I pointed to the overhang on the point.
He slowly moved towards the point. Looking back, he shrugged his shoulders. I kept motioning to him to keep going and get low to the bottom. He followed my directions. He was only about twenty feet away from me. He moved slowly. He kept gesturing that he couldn’t see anything. I kept motioning for him to get lower and move closer. I moved closer to him as he neared the ledge.
All of a sudden I could see his body go stiff. I began to laugh. Bob backed up and glared at me through his goggles. Shaking his head in disbelief. We put our heads together and talked through our regulators. My God, I can’t believe I was that close to that shark and couldn’t see it ! Bob said. I know, I said, I think that’s the shark Mark was looking for. Bob agreed. All of a sudden, there was a new problem. Evidently, the two suckers (large species of remoras) were bored with the inactive nurse shark and decided to try and attach themselves to our bodies. since we were moving around and the shark was just laying on the ocean floor, motionless. They tried sliding up between our buoyancy compensators and our chests to latch on. We didn't know if they used suction to or some sort of grippers to hold on to their hosts but we did not want to find out. We kept swinging our arms and trying to scare them away but they kept getting up next to our bodies. This freaked us out more than the shark. As we swung at the suckers, we kept moving to shallower water and trying to get out of the ocean. The suckers kept trying to latch on to us until we were in ankle deep water before they retreated to depths again. Safe on shore and glad to be rid of the suckers, we laughed about finding Marks' Shark and wishing he was here, with us, for the experience.
Written & Experienced by J.Scott Keniston
He Saved my Life ! (A follow up to Mark's Shark)
A Giant Stingray
I guess it was after Bob left Guantanamo Bay that Drew asked me if I would lead him and a couple of his Dive Buddies on a dive to the Staghorn Coral Reefs, like I had done before with him and Bob.
It was February by now and none of us were even thinking about the changing currents that come under water, with winter. Anyway, I agreed to take the guys out that following weekend.
Drew had something like a 1969 Chevy, C-10 pickup truck in mint condition that we all loaded our gear in and headed down to the beach area. Once there we dawned our gear and began slowly walking out into the water and finally snorkeling out to deeper water before replacing the snorkel with our regulators and breathing the bottled air from our tanks.
We looked around and couldn't help but notice how milky the water looked. Normally we would have had unlimited visibility but today you could barely see ten or fifteen feet in front of you. We decided to keep going but sticking very close together and staying just over the surface of the different coral heads for better visibility.
Things were going pretty well, there was plenty of life in and around each of these coral heads. We were getting closer to Staghorn Coral beds. Maybe just a couple more humps to cross and we'd be there. We were going up and over each of the coral heads and then swimming low over the sand bottom to the next and then up and over again.
Just as I was going over the last coral head, the water seemed milkier. I couldn't see much in front of me at all. I was aimed head down towards the sandy bottom when all of a sudden I felt something grab my leg at the ankle and calf area and began pulling me back and up, over the coral. JAWS had come out right before we all were shipped to Cuba. All I could think was that I was being attacked by a Great White Shark ! I was sucking air from my tank rapidly ! My eyes were wide as I turned to see what had me... only to find out it was Drew, pulling me back up as he pointed down to the sandy bottom. Now safe I looked at what Drew was pointing out. It was a giant stingray, coming up out of the sandy bottom and billowing the white sand in front of me. This thing had to have been fourteen feet across, wing-tip to wing-tip ! It was the biggest stingray we had ever seen there before.
As I remember, we didn't make it to the Staghorn Coral that morning. I think we turned around and went back to the beach where I thanked Drew for saving my life. It was so big and the way I was coming down over it, it's tail and barb would have hit me in the chest or neck, much like the way Steve Erwin (of the Crocodile Hunter fame) was killed many years later.
Thanks again Drew.
Written & Experienced by J.Scott Keniston
It was February by now and none of us were even thinking about the changing currents that come under water, with winter. Anyway, I agreed to take the guys out that following weekend.
Drew had something like a 1969 Chevy, C-10 pickup truck in mint condition that we all loaded our gear in and headed down to the beach area. Once there we dawned our gear and began slowly walking out into the water and finally snorkeling out to deeper water before replacing the snorkel with our regulators and breathing the bottled air from our tanks.
We looked around and couldn't help but notice how milky the water looked. Normally we would have had unlimited visibility but today you could barely see ten or fifteen feet in front of you. We decided to keep going but sticking very close together and staying just over the surface of the different coral heads for better visibility.
Things were going pretty well, there was plenty of life in and around each of these coral heads. We were getting closer to Staghorn Coral beds. Maybe just a couple more humps to cross and we'd be there. We were going up and over each of the coral heads and then swimming low over the sand bottom to the next and then up and over again.
Just as I was going over the last coral head, the water seemed milkier. I couldn't see much in front of me at all. I was aimed head down towards the sandy bottom when all of a sudden I felt something grab my leg at the ankle and calf area and began pulling me back and up, over the coral. JAWS had come out right before we all were shipped to Cuba. All I could think was that I was being attacked by a Great White Shark ! I was sucking air from my tank rapidly ! My eyes were wide as I turned to see what had me... only to find out it was Drew, pulling me back up as he pointed down to the sandy bottom. Now safe I looked at what Drew was pointing out. It was a giant stingray, coming up out of the sandy bottom and billowing the white sand in front of me. This thing had to have been fourteen feet across, wing-tip to wing-tip ! It was the biggest stingray we had ever seen there before.
As I remember, we didn't make it to the Staghorn Coral that morning. I think we turned around and went back to the beach where I thanked Drew for saving my life. It was so big and the way I was coming down over it, it's tail and barb would have hit me in the chest or neck, much like the way Steve Erwin (of the Crocodile Hunter fame) was killed many years later.
Thanks again Drew.
Written & Experienced by J.Scott Keniston
I'm No Angel !
At my old place of employment, we use to get our birthdays off. I would always go down to the Spring Grove Cemetery and fantasize about fishing in the ponds on the grounds there. The water in the thirteen ponds is very clear and with the aid of polarized sun glasses, I could see bass, bluegill and carp, swimming everywhere. But Spring Grove is a Nature Preserve and fishing isn't allowed ! Year after year, I'd go down for my annual visit, drive around the grounds, visit the graves of my grandparents on my mother's side of the family and just look out over the different ponds and dream.
I think it was in 89, I had all I could stand, I had to try to catch a bass in one of these ponds. The grounds keepers were out and close by the pond I wanted to fish...so using a rod and reel wasn't going to work. If I was spotted, they'd probably throw me out ! I had to do something covertly !
I took my keys off my key ring and slid the ring over the middle finger of my right hand. I tied a good size length of fishing line to the ring at one end and to a tiny lead headed jig, on the other end. Then I slipped a one inch curly-tailed, white plastic, grub over the hook of the jig. My plan was to use this jig to catch a bluegill and then use the bluegill as bait to catch a BIG BASS !!!
There is a little stone bridge that crosses over one end of the pond at Spring Grove. As I walked over the bridge, I allowed the line with the jig, to slip from my grasp and into the water below. I lifted the line several times to make the curly tail of the grub react and lure bluegills in for the bite. Finally, a bluegill took the bait and the plan started to come together. I glanced over my shoulder to see if any of the groundskeepers were paying attention to what I was doing ? The grass cutting and grave manicuring continued as I played the bluegill underwater, like a kite in the air.
Bluegills have slab-sides that they use to fight against you but if you pump them like you would a kite, you can make them go places, they wouldn't want to go. In this case, a panic strickened bluegill, doesn't want to be out in deeper water, where larger predatory fish will find it !
Soon, my little bluegill found itself, surrounded by big, largemouth bass. The bluegill tried to run into the shallows for protection against the larger bass but I kept pumping it out into the deeper waters, one by one, the bass would take turns rushing the bluegill with open mouths and silvery gills flashing, but the bluegill continued to elude them.
All of a sudden, all the bass disappeared. They just sort of sank out of sight and moved away. I thought to myself, why wouldn't they keep trying for the bluegill ? I noticed the bluegill was still panicked and up in the shallows again. I pumped it to move it back out to the deeper water...then I saw it... a HUGE bass had moved in, all alone and unopposed. She should be called the Grandmother of all bass in this pond. I guess there must be some sort of hierarchy, in the world of bass ? It's not like she could have eaten these four and five pound bass that were taking turns at the bluegill, but maybe respect for size and age, as they parted to allow her a turn. She moved closer to the bluegill as it tried to run towards the shallows. I pumped the line more to move it out. All of a sudden, in a blur od speed and a flash of silver against the afternoon sun, the bass had taken the bluegill, head first into its mouth, swallowing the bluegill and turning slowly, heading back to the main body of the pond.
I walked slowly, along the shoreline of the pond...almost, as if walking a dog. My line was totally out, as I nonchalantly, kept pace with the big bass. I had allowed enough time for the bass to totally swallow the bluegill and I figured it was time to let her know, she had been caught. I gently pulled back on the line and she instinctively turned her head in the opposite direction and headed for deeper waters. I pulled back to try and bring her up but she was so big, her weight stretched my line, almost to the point of breaking. I had to do something to give her a little more slack, or risk breaking my line and losing this HUGE bass !
I glanced over my shoulder quickly, to see if anyone was watching me. No one was paying attention to me. I then laid down on the grass and out stretched my arm to give her maybe a couple feet more slack as she dove deeper and pulled harder. I could feel her head shaking from side to side, I'd pull back more in my effort to bring her closer to the surface and tire her out. She continued to resist, shaking her head and pulling for the depths of safety.
I'm not sure how much time I spent, on my stomach, fighting the fish but my persistence was starting to pay off...she was coming up ! I got to my knees and blocked the view from the groundkeepers as she made one exhausted jump, upon surfacing and shook her head again in defiance. I took in more line and leaned over the waters' edge as I pulled her closer. Finally, I was able to reach her big, lower lip, and grab it. She flopped around on the surface and made a lot of noise, splashing water everywhere. Afraid, this would alert the groundskeepers, I glanced over my shoulder once again. No one noticed. I guess the sound of the lawnmowers drowned out her splashing. I lifted her out of the water and took notice of her size and weight. I guessed she was somewhere between nine or ten pounds. Just then, she coughed up the bluegill, still alive, maybe a little traumatized and missing a couple scales, but still alive. I thanked the bass for a memorable catch and making my day and gently released her and then thanked the bluegill for helping me to catch this MONSTER of Spring Grove Cemetery, took the hook out of it's mouth and let it go, just as gently. No pictures were taken, just my memory and the smile on my face when I think back on that day. You may think this is just another fisherman's lie,.. but I know better.
Experienced and written by J.Scott Keniston
I think it was in 89, I had all I could stand, I had to try to catch a bass in one of these ponds. The grounds keepers were out and close by the pond I wanted to fish...so using a rod and reel wasn't going to work. If I was spotted, they'd probably throw me out ! I had to do something covertly !
I took my keys off my key ring and slid the ring over the middle finger of my right hand. I tied a good size length of fishing line to the ring at one end and to a tiny lead headed jig, on the other end. Then I slipped a one inch curly-tailed, white plastic, grub over the hook of the jig. My plan was to use this jig to catch a bluegill and then use the bluegill as bait to catch a BIG BASS !!!
There is a little stone bridge that crosses over one end of the pond at Spring Grove. As I walked over the bridge, I allowed the line with the jig, to slip from my grasp and into the water below. I lifted the line several times to make the curly tail of the grub react and lure bluegills in for the bite. Finally, a bluegill took the bait and the plan started to come together. I glanced over my shoulder to see if any of the groundskeepers were paying attention to what I was doing ? The grass cutting and grave manicuring continued as I played the bluegill underwater, like a kite in the air.
Bluegills have slab-sides that they use to fight against you but if you pump them like you would a kite, you can make them go places, they wouldn't want to go. In this case, a panic strickened bluegill, doesn't want to be out in deeper water, where larger predatory fish will find it !
Soon, my little bluegill found itself, surrounded by big, largemouth bass. The bluegill tried to run into the shallows for protection against the larger bass but I kept pumping it out into the deeper waters, one by one, the bass would take turns rushing the bluegill with open mouths and silvery gills flashing, but the bluegill continued to elude them.
All of a sudden, all the bass disappeared. They just sort of sank out of sight and moved away. I thought to myself, why wouldn't they keep trying for the bluegill ? I noticed the bluegill was still panicked and up in the shallows again. I pumped it to move it back out to the deeper water...then I saw it... a HUGE bass had moved in, all alone and unopposed. She should be called the Grandmother of all bass in this pond. I guess there must be some sort of hierarchy, in the world of bass ? It's not like she could have eaten these four and five pound bass that were taking turns at the bluegill, but maybe respect for size and age, as they parted to allow her a turn. She moved closer to the bluegill as it tried to run towards the shallows. I pumped the line more to move it out. All of a sudden, in a blur od speed and a flash of silver against the afternoon sun, the bass had taken the bluegill, head first into its mouth, swallowing the bluegill and turning slowly, heading back to the main body of the pond.
I walked slowly, along the shoreline of the pond...almost, as if walking a dog. My line was totally out, as I nonchalantly, kept pace with the big bass. I had allowed enough time for the bass to totally swallow the bluegill and I figured it was time to let her know, she had been caught. I gently pulled back on the line and she instinctively turned her head in the opposite direction and headed for deeper waters. I pulled back to try and bring her up but she was so big, her weight stretched my line, almost to the point of breaking. I had to do something to give her a little more slack, or risk breaking my line and losing this HUGE bass !
I glanced over my shoulder quickly, to see if anyone was watching me. No one was paying attention to me. I then laid down on the grass and out stretched my arm to give her maybe a couple feet more slack as she dove deeper and pulled harder. I could feel her head shaking from side to side, I'd pull back more in my effort to bring her closer to the surface and tire her out. She continued to resist, shaking her head and pulling for the depths of safety.
I'm not sure how much time I spent, on my stomach, fighting the fish but my persistence was starting to pay off...she was coming up ! I got to my knees and blocked the view from the groundkeepers as she made one exhausted jump, upon surfacing and shook her head again in defiance. I took in more line and leaned over the waters' edge as I pulled her closer. Finally, I was able to reach her big, lower lip, and grab it. She flopped around on the surface and made a lot of noise, splashing water everywhere. Afraid, this would alert the groundskeepers, I glanced over my shoulder once again. No one noticed. I guess the sound of the lawnmowers drowned out her splashing. I lifted her out of the water and took notice of her size and weight. I guessed she was somewhere between nine or ten pounds. Just then, she coughed up the bluegill, still alive, maybe a little traumatized and missing a couple scales, but still alive. I thanked the bass for a memorable catch and making my day and gently released her and then thanked the bluegill for helping me to catch this MONSTER of Spring Grove Cemetery, took the hook out of it's mouth and let it go, just as gently. No pictures were taken, just my memory and the smile on my face when I think back on that day. You may think this is just another fisherman's lie,.. but I know better.
Experienced and written by J.Scott Keniston
A Poultice ???
I am alergic to bee stings...to the point where they would kill me if not treated in time. I swell up and maybe the airways are constricted and I would die. With that said, I'll tell you a little story.
It was back in the 1980's and I had driven out to Indiana and decided to stop in and see if some friends of mine were home ? They had built a house and barn on top of a huge hill near Saint Leon, Indiana. Once I got to the top of the hill I discovered my friends weren't home but he had pulled his 1969 Dodge Charger with a 426cu.in engine out of the barn. I just had to pop the hood... I wanted to see that Elephant Motor one more time.
As I reached under the hood to pop the latch, I was stung by a mud-dauber wasp. I didn't have any Hydrosol with me. The doctor said if I could apply Hydrosol within 30 minutes of being stung, I'd be okay. Franticly I drove to Harrison, Ohio and pulled in to an Urgent Care type of facility. I walked in and told the girl at the desk what had happened, a the doctor on duty sat in a chair with his feet up, reading the Wall Street Journal. The nurse asked me to fill out some forms before treatment could be given.
I told them what I needed and could I get some NOW !, since my time was running short ? The nurse explained that the paperwork had to be filled out before they could do anything for me. After filling out the third form, concerning who would be responcible for payment, in the event that I died, I started to get mad. I asked again if I could get some Hydrosol. The nurse said no, they didn't use that, they used medicine. I got madder. I crumbled up the papers and threw them at the nurse and doctor and stormed out of the facility. My old girlfriend's house was a few miles away. I decided to go there, lay down and die.
When I arrived I found no one was home except her 90 year old grandmother. She told me to laydown on the couch and she was going to fix a poultice for me. A poultice ??? I knew what they were, I just didn't know they were still used. The old woman took a damp cloth and placed baking soda over the moist material and then added a slice of onion and a slice of apple and placed this on the finger, where I was stung. Within minutes the swelling was gone and I'm still here to tell the story.
It was back in the 1980's and I had driven out to Indiana and decided to stop in and see if some friends of mine were home ? They had built a house and barn on top of a huge hill near Saint Leon, Indiana. Once I got to the top of the hill I discovered my friends weren't home but he had pulled his 1969 Dodge Charger with a 426cu.in engine out of the barn. I just had to pop the hood... I wanted to see that Elephant Motor one more time.
As I reached under the hood to pop the latch, I was stung by a mud-dauber wasp. I didn't have any Hydrosol with me. The doctor said if I could apply Hydrosol within 30 minutes of being stung, I'd be okay. Franticly I drove to Harrison, Ohio and pulled in to an Urgent Care type of facility. I walked in and told the girl at the desk what had happened, a the doctor on duty sat in a chair with his feet up, reading the Wall Street Journal. The nurse asked me to fill out some forms before treatment could be given.
I told them what I needed and could I get some NOW !, since my time was running short ? The nurse explained that the paperwork had to be filled out before they could do anything for me. After filling out the third form, concerning who would be responcible for payment, in the event that I died, I started to get mad. I asked again if I could get some Hydrosol. The nurse said no, they didn't use that, they used medicine. I got madder. I crumbled up the papers and threw them at the nurse and doctor and stormed out of the facility. My old girlfriend's house was a few miles away. I decided to go there, lay down and die.
When I arrived I found no one was home except her 90 year old grandmother. She told me to laydown on the couch and she was going to fix a poultice for me. A poultice ??? I knew what they were, I just didn't know they were still used. The old woman took a damp cloth and placed baking soda over the moist material and then added a slice of onion and a slice of apple and placed this on the finger, where I was stung. Within minutes the swelling was gone and I'm still here to tell the story.
Wild ! life.
I guess this goes back to the story my Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill told me from back in the 1940's, while they lived on the second floor of a duplex type house. It seems Uncle Bill would fix himself eggs for breakfast and during the warmer months would have the kitchen window open. Their kitchen table sat right next to the window and right outside that window was a big maple tree. Turns out that a Blue Jay would sit right on the branch near the window and watch as Uncle Bill ate. One morning Uncle Bill got up from the table to get something he had forgotten and when he turned around the Blue Jay had jumped in the window and stood on the table, eating some of Bill's eggs. Soon after that, Bill started cutting a small portion of his eggs and pushing them to the side of his plate and the bird would come in and eat breakfast with him almost every morning.
I always thought this was a great story but could never get a bird to come near me, or any animal for that fact.
When I was in my 20's, un-married and living in an apartment with a balcony, I hung a bird feeder up so I could watch the birds feed thru the huge sliding glass doors. Not only did the feeder attract Cardinals, Blue Jays, Goldfinches and Chickadees, but squirrels and chipmunks climbed the brick walls and stuffed themselves with seeds that were knocked out of the feeder too. Then one day I put out a dried ear of corn for the squirrels and chipmunks and found that the birds were pulling as much corn off the cob as the squirrels were. Sometime later I had gotten a bag of peanuts, in the shell and put them out for my "balcony wildlife". As time went on and Spring turned to summer, I decided to see if these critters would come into my apartment to get peanuts? I'd open the door and put some peanuts a couple feet inside the door. Then I would lay on the couch and watch them as they came in to get a peanut.
Not only did they come in and grab a nut and run but some would sit on my living room floor and shell the nuts right there and leave the mess for me to clean up.
One afternoon, I was getting ready to go to a wedding. I had already showered and shaved and was partially dressed when I figured I better brush my teeth before I got totally dressed. As I was brushing my teeth, I could hear crunching in the living room. Remembering that I had forgotten to close the sliding glass door or screen, while I showered, I turned around and looked out to the living room. There was a little chipmunk, shelling a peanut. I called out to him to take the nut and quit making a mess in the living room ! Instead of turning and running out the door...he came across the living room, ran right over the top of my foot and into the bedroom and hid behind my big wicker wash basket. I cursed the chipmunk and told him I didn't have time for this...I had some place to be. He ran under my bed. Once on the other side of the bed he began climbing the curtains. I could see his shadow and placed my hand above him to stop his upward progress. He dropped to the floor and ran out of the bedroom. I looked in the bathroom and kitchen before getting down on my hands and knees, looking under the couch and chair in the living room. All the while cursing him for causing this delay. All of a sudden, I had this feeling that I was being watched. I turned around slowly and there, on top of my stack of records, under my entertainment unit, sat the chipmunk...just looking at me...like he was looking over my shoulder and wondering what I was looking for ? I know how Elmer Fudd felt with Bugs Bunny now. The chipmunk and I stared at each other for a moment and then I said, "You better get out of here, I have to go." and with that he flew out the door.
These days I get close to a lot of different wildlife but they don't come in the house anymore. As much as I think about taming wildlife and keeping it for a pet, wildlife needs to be wild.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
I always thought this was a great story but could never get a bird to come near me, or any animal for that fact.
When I was in my 20's, un-married and living in an apartment with a balcony, I hung a bird feeder up so I could watch the birds feed thru the huge sliding glass doors. Not only did the feeder attract Cardinals, Blue Jays, Goldfinches and Chickadees, but squirrels and chipmunks climbed the brick walls and stuffed themselves with seeds that were knocked out of the feeder too. Then one day I put out a dried ear of corn for the squirrels and chipmunks and found that the birds were pulling as much corn off the cob as the squirrels were. Sometime later I had gotten a bag of peanuts, in the shell and put them out for my "balcony wildlife". As time went on and Spring turned to summer, I decided to see if these critters would come into my apartment to get peanuts? I'd open the door and put some peanuts a couple feet inside the door. Then I would lay on the couch and watch them as they came in to get a peanut.
Not only did they come in and grab a nut and run but some would sit on my living room floor and shell the nuts right there and leave the mess for me to clean up.
One afternoon, I was getting ready to go to a wedding. I had already showered and shaved and was partially dressed when I figured I better brush my teeth before I got totally dressed. As I was brushing my teeth, I could hear crunching in the living room. Remembering that I had forgotten to close the sliding glass door or screen, while I showered, I turned around and looked out to the living room. There was a little chipmunk, shelling a peanut. I called out to him to take the nut and quit making a mess in the living room ! Instead of turning and running out the door...he came across the living room, ran right over the top of my foot and into the bedroom and hid behind my big wicker wash basket. I cursed the chipmunk and told him I didn't have time for this...I had some place to be. He ran under my bed. Once on the other side of the bed he began climbing the curtains. I could see his shadow and placed my hand above him to stop his upward progress. He dropped to the floor and ran out of the bedroom. I looked in the bathroom and kitchen before getting down on my hands and knees, looking under the couch and chair in the living room. All the while cursing him for causing this delay. All of a sudden, I had this feeling that I was being watched. I turned around slowly and there, on top of my stack of records, under my entertainment unit, sat the chipmunk...just looking at me...like he was looking over my shoulder and wondering what I was looking for ? I know how Elmer Fudd felt with Bugs Bunny now. The chipmunk and I stared at each other for a moment and then I said, "You better get out of here, I have to go." and with that he flew out the door.
These days I get close to a lot of different wildlife but they don't come in the house anymore. As much as I think about taming wildlife and keeping it for a pet, wildlife needs to be wild.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
A Little Tip of Something Sweet
A Hum0-Dinger Banana Split
I must have been about nine or ten when this event occurred. It was a warm summer morning and my parents and I were doing our yardwork together. Dad was on the lawn mower, Mom was doing the weeding and I had the task of doing the edging. This was long before the days of Chem-Lawn. Mom and I were both down on our hands and knees as she used an old fashioned weeding tool and I had the spring loaded, hand held edging shears. It was hot work but when we finished and put our tools away, Dad sort of stretched and straightened his back and announced that he was in the mood for "a little tip of something sweet". Mom asked what he had in mind ? Dad replied I was thinking about getting in the car and going down to Putz’s. Mom and I thought this sounded like a great idea and we all got in the car and headed down to Northside to Putz’s.
Putz’s is an old family run, soft serve ice cream shop. They’re only open from Spring to Fall and close up for the Winter. Mom and Dad went to school with Putz and remembered how his father started the business with their very own street car, selling hand dipped ice cream street to street all around Northside. Now they had a tiny little shop at the foot of My Airy Forest that is visited by tens of thousands during a regular season.
Dad always liked getting a butterscotch sundae and Mom was fond of a chocolate malt with a spoonful of extra malt. Me…I was happy with a twenty five cent jumbo cone. Back in the day this was the biggest cone you could get and they swirled the ice cream eight or nine inches over the top of the cone itself. Putz’s was always busy from the time they opened till close of each day and today was no exception. As we stood in line a teenage couple waited for their order, just ahead of us. Finally Putz brought a giant banana split to the window for them. My eyes widened and followed the image of the banana split as the couple walked away. Putz noticed the look on my face. Oh my God, my Mom exclaimed ! I’ve never seen anything that big ! This ice cream marvel was served in what was called a Hum-Dinger Cup. It could hold at least a quart of soft sever ice cream with three bananas split and lining the wall of the cup. You could get three toppings of your choice… hot fudge, strawberry, pineapple, butterscotch….caramel or whatever else they had on hand, topped off with a healthy amount of whipped cream, chopped nuts and two cherries on top and two spoons for the dating couple to share. Putz said it was designed for couples to eat. All this for a buck twenty five. This was a lot of money back in the 1960’s, especially for ice cream.
Putz asked me if I thought I could eat one by myself ? "God Damn-it Putz, don’t get him started", my Dad said ! Putz continued. If your Dad will buy one for you and you eat it all yourself, I’ll give you another one for free. I could hardly contain myself at the thought of all that ice cream for me ! "God damn-it Putz, now you’ve done it !" Go ahead son, tell him what toppings you want on yours, I’ll buy it for you. Putz laughed and said, now listen Al, you and June can’t help him eat it and you have to eat it here. (they had picnic tables under shade trees around the property) "Don’t worry, he won’t need any help but you better get busy making that second one because he’ll finish it and the second by himself," Dad said. We placed our orders and waited for them to be made and brought to the window. I must be in heaven. Could it be better than this ?
Just as Dad said, I had no problem finishing the first one and went back to the window to order my second one. Putz said he’d never seen anyone eat so much ice cream before ! He fixed my second banana split and I rejoined Mom and Dad at the picnic table and finished that one too, without any help from them. That was the only time I ever did that and I bet that was the only time Putz ever offered that BOGO Free Deal ! All I can say is, they were delicious !
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
Putz’s is an old family run, soft serve ice cream shop. They’re only open from Spring to Fall and close up for the Winter. Mom and Dad went to school with Putz and remembered how his father started the business with their very own street car, selling hand dipped ice cream street to street all around Northside. Now they had a tiny little shop at the foot of My Airy Forest that is visited by tens of thousands during a regular season.
Dad always liked getting a butterscotch sundae and Mom was fond of a chocolate malt with a spoonful of extra malt. Me…I was happy with a twenty five cent jumbo cone. Back in the day this was the biggest cone you could get and they swirled the ice cream eight or nine inches over the top of the cone itself. Putz’s was always busy from the time they opened till close of each day and today was no exception. As we stood in line a teenage couple waited for their order, just ahead of us. Finally Putz brought a giant banana split to the window for them. My eyes widened and followed the image of the banana split as the couple walked away. Putz noticed the look on my face. Oh my God, my Mom exclaimed ! I’ve never seen anything that big ! This ice cream marvel was served in what was called a Hum-Dinger Cup. It could hold at least a quart of soft sever ice cream with three bananas split and lining the wall of the cup. You could get three toppings of your choice… hot fudge, strawberry, pineapple, butterscotch….caramel or whatever else they had on hand, topped off with a healthy amount of whipped cream, chopped nuts and two cherries on top and two spoons for the dating couple to share. Putz said it was designed for couples to eat. All this for a buck twenty five. This was a lot of money back in the 1960’s, especially for ice cream.
Putz asked me if I thought I could eat one by myself ? "God Damn-it Putz, don’t get him started", my Dad said ! Putz continued. If your Dad will buy one for you and you eat it all yourself, I’ll give you another one for free. I could hardly contain myself at the thought of all that ice cream for me ! "God damn-it Putz, now you’ve done it !" Go ahead son, tell him what toppings you want on yours, I’ll buy it for you. Putz laughed and said, now listen Al, you and June can’t help him eat it and you have to eat it here. (they had picnic tables under shade trees around the property) "Don’t worry, he won’t need any help but you better get busy making that second one because he’ll finish it and the second by himself," Dad said. We placed our orders and waited for them to be made and brought to the window. I must be in heaven. Could it be better than this ?
Just as Dad said, I had no problem finishing the first one and went back to the window to order my second one. Putz said he’d never seen anyone eat so much ice cream before ! He fixed my second banana split and I rejoined Mom and Dad at the picnic table and finished that one too, without any help from them. That was the only time I ever did that and I bet that was the only time Putz ever offered that BOGO Free Deal ! All I can say is, they were delicious !
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
Scouting...For Girls & Boys !
When I look back on the olden days, I remember a time when seven and eight year old boys joined the Cub Scouts and usually went straight into the Boy Scouts after that. These were different times I guess and maybe we didn't know how good we actually had it.
You see, when I was this age, our Fathers were all back from serving in the military during WWII. They knew a lot of life skills and practiced safety with all of us.
I grew up on the west side of Cincinnati, in Bridgetown, Ohio and McFarland Park, Airy View Park and Mt Airy Forrest weren't too far away. It wasn't a big deal to organize a day long hike from one of the parks and thru Mt. Airy Forrest.
At the early age of seven, most of the boys at our school joined the Cub Scouts. Upon joining we had all gotten our first Cub Scout knife and were taught how to use them and do stuff like whittle and carve. We would cut down River Willows and strip the bark off the shaft to make our own hiking sticks. We also studied Native American Indian Crafts & Lore and our hiking sticks were often times decorated with their designs and maybe even feathers we had found in the woods.
All that aside, in Cub Scouts, even though our Father's played a big part of our experience, it was the Den Mother that held the meetings and organized our activities. When the weather was bad, I remember having a meeting where we learned to bake, following directions and cleaning up after ourselves when we were finished. We baked cookies ! Not the kind you cut off , out of a tube and place on a cookie sheet and bake. We actually had to measure the ingredients, crack eggs, sift floor and mix all the ingredients together. We learned how to use the oven and take care with hot cookie sheets but this was a great life lesson. Our Den Mother made sure there was plenty of milk on hand, once the cookies came out and cooled. They sure tasted great !
As time went on we all became Webelos and eventually full fledged Boy Scouts. Now Fathers played the role of Scout Masters and helped young Scouts with their studies and merit badges. Among other things, there was Summer Camp, but I can't remember if it was a week long or two ? We were paired up and given tents and had to setup our tents, using all we had learned about the ground cover, roots, rocks, drainage and knot tying. We had a central fire pit for all the Scouts in our Troop to rally around at meal times and we cooked our own meals over the open fire. We had to continue to gather wood to keep the fire going. It forged great comradery. We worked on Merit Badges for swimming, cooking, archery, first-aid, marksmanship (with 22cal. rifles) and earned a Hunter Safety Certificate. We learned watercraft safety and control with row boats and canoes. We learned about wildlife, their tracks, their calls and identification. Who knew learning could be so much fun ?
In the fall of the year, there was a vacant lot on Glenway Avenue, (eventually bought and paved for Tom Keneer Dodge) but while it was vacant, once a year the Bridgetown Troops would gather for a weekend campout. There, the Scouts and Scout Masters would pitch their tents, fashion a latrine area (toilet area) and construct two signal towers that were approximately twenty feet tall and made from trees that had been felled and seasoned. The poles were lashed together (using our knot tying skills) and supported and a log deck adorned the top level for Scouts to use to Signal each other with flags. Sure there was the working part of the signal towers but most of all there was the building of them and the climbing around on them to get to the top. There were no ladders, you just climbed up the cross members from one level to another. What a blast that was !!!
My Sister is almost ten years older than I am but I had heard stories about when she was a Girl Scout and the things they did. They may have done a lot of stuff similar to what we did in the Boy Scouts but it didn't sound to me like they had anything as cool as the signal towers !!!
My Nephew is twelve years younger than me and was also a Scout. I think he ran out of time of becoming an Eagle Scout, but he too enjoyed the teachings of the Boy Scouts but I think what he liked most of all was repelling (jumping off cliffs with ropes and rigs and lightly touching down on the ground). Between the excursions they took as a troop, he would practice repelling off the movie screen at the old Dent Drive-In Theater on the west side of Cincinnati. He loved going to places like Philmont, NM. with his Troop, hiking, camping and repelling off the cliffs there.
To this day I still think Scouting is and can be a great way to shape the young and Be Better Prepared for what life throws at them.
Maybe it's because I'm older and have no children to be involved in Scouting but the only times I see the kids involved in Scouting out around here is it it's Girl Scout Cookie time or Boy Scouts selling Pop Corn. I do know there is Camp Butterworth for Girl Scouts Summer Camp and I have seen a Den of Cub Scouts using the amphitheater at Landen Deerfield Park for a meeting but that is all I see.
In October of 2017 the Boy Scouts of America said they will accept girls into the Boy Scouts. In my opinion, if this is the direction Scouting is going, they should re-write the Handbook and call themselves "Scouts", period.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
You see, when I was this age, our Fathers were all back from serving in the military during WWII. They knew a lot of life skills and practiced safety with all of us.
I grew up on the west side of Cincinnati, in Bridgetown, Ohio and McFarland Park, Airy View Park and Mt Airy Forrest weren't too far away. It wasn't a big deal to organize a day long hike from one of the parks and thru Mt. Airy Forrest.
At the early age of seven, most of the boys at our school joined the Cub Scouts. Upon joining we had all gotten our first Cub Scout knife and were taught how to use them and do stuff like whittle and carve. We would cut down River Willows and strip the bark off the shaft to make our own hiking sticks. We also studied Native American Indian Crafts & Lore and our hiking sticks were often times decorated with their designs and maybe even feathers we had found in the woods.
All that aside, in Cub Scouts, even though our Father's played a big part of our experience, it was the Den Mother that held the meetings and organized our activities. When the weather was bad, I remember having a meeting where we learned to bake, following directions and cleaning up after ourselves when we were finished. We baked cookies ! Not the kind you cut off , out of a tube and place on a cookie sheet and bake. We actually had to measure the ingredients, crack eggs, sift floor and mix all the ingredients together. We learned how to use the oven and take care with hot cookie sheets but this was a great life lesson. Our Den Mother made sure there was plenty of milk on hand, once the cookies came out and cooled. They sure tasted great !
As time went on we all became Webelos and eventually full fledged Boy Scouts. Now Fathers played the role of Scout Masters and helped young Scouts with their studies and merit badges. Among other things, there was Summer Camp, but I can't remember if it was a week long or two ? We were paired up and given tents and had to setup our tents, using all we had learned about the ground cover, roots, rocks, drainage and knot tying. We had a central fire pit for all the Scouts in our Troop to rally around at meal times and we cooked our own meals over the open fire. We had to continue to gather wood to keep the fire going. It forged great comradery. We worked on Merit Badges for swimming, cooking, archery, first-aid, marksmanship (with 22cal. rifles) and earned a Hunter Safety Certificate. We learned watercraft safety and control with row boats and canoes. We learned about wildlife, their tracks, their calls and identification. Who knew learning could be so much fun ?
In the fall of the year, there was a vacant lot on Glenway Avenue, (eventually bought and paved for Tom Keneer Dodge) but while it was vacant, once a year the Bridgetown Troops would gather for a weekend campout. There, the Scouts and Scout Masters would pitch their tents, fashion a latrine area (toilet area) and construct two signal towers that were approximately twenty feet tall and made from trees that had been felled and seasoned. The poles were lashed together (using our knot tying skills) and supported and a log deck adorned the top level for Scouts to use to Signal each other with flags. Sure there was the working part of the signal towers but most of all there was the building of them and the climbing around on them to get to the top. There were no ladders, you just climbed up the cross members from one level to another. What a blast that was !!!
My Sister is almost ten years older than I am but I had heard stories about when she was a Girl Scout and the things they did. They may have done a lot of stuff similar to what we did in the Boy Scouts but it didn't sound to me like they had anything as cool as the signal towers !!!
My Nephew is twelve years younger than me and was also a Scout. I think he ran out of time of becoming an Eagle Scout, but he too enjoyed the teachings of the Boy Scouts but I think what he liked most of all was repelling (jumping off cliffs with ropes and rigs and lightly touching down on the ground). Between the excursions they took as a troop, he would practice repelling off the movie screen at the old Dent Drive-In Theater on the west side of Cincinnati. He loved going to places like Philmont, NM. with his Troop, hiking, camping and repelling off the cliffs there.
To this day I still think Scouting is and can be a great way to shape the young and Be Better Prepared for what life throws at them.
Maybe it's because I'm older and have no children to be involved in Scouting but the only times I see the kids involved in Scouting out around here is it it's Girl Scout Cookie time or Boy Scouts selling Pop Corn. I do know there is Camp Butterworth for Girl Scouts Summer Camp and I have seen a Den of Cub Scouts using the amphitheater at Landen Deerfield Park for a meeting but that is all I see.
In October of 2017 the Boy Scouts of America said they will accept girls into the Boy Scouts. In my opinion, if this is the direction Scouting is going, they should re-write the Handbook and call themselves "Scouts", period.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
The Challenge
Hand dipped Strawberry Ice Cream
My Father was a Free Mason and a member of the Masonic Lodge. Our neighbor joined the lodge and everything was pretty chummy in the neighborhood and between our two families. Our neighbor was a Methodist and attended the church out on Westfork Rd. The Church was hosting an Ice Cream Social this one summer evening and our neighbor invited the brothers from the lodge to join them. I don’t think at this age I had ever had homemade, hand churned ice cream before.
Once we arrived at the church a few of the fellow Masons joined us at our table. One of them asked me if I liked ice cream. I answered Yes ! He announced that he too liked ice cream and bet me he could eat more than me. I don’t remember how I felt about that challenge. I guess I thought grownups could always eat more than kids and I think I sort of let it go.
When they announced we could start getting the ice cream, I went right up and got a bowl. Homemade Strawberry Ice Cream !!! Mm, Mm ! I ate the bowl of ice cream and they told everyone to not be shy, they had plenty more. I went back for more. Again and again I went back. At some point the friend admitted I could eat more than he could and I kept going back until they said it was all gone.
I have found that ice cream alone doesn’t fill me up. I haven’t found a limit yet. At some point I may just get tired of eating but I’m not FULL !
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
Once we arrived at the church a few of the fellow Masons joined us at our table. One of them asked me if I liked ice cream. I answered Yes ! He announced that he too liked ice cream and bet me he could eat more than me. I don’t remember how I felt about that challenge. I guess I thought grownups could always eat more than kids and I think I sort of let it go.
When they announced we could start getting the ice cream, I went right up and got a bowl. Homemade Strawberry Ice Cream !!! Mm, Mm ! I ate the bowl of ice cream and they told everyone to not be shy, they had plenty more. I went back for more. Again and again I went back. At some point the friend admitted I could eat more than he could and I kept going back until they said it was all gone.
I have found that ice cream alone doesn’t fill me up. I haven’t found a limit yet. At some point I may just get tired of eating but I’m not FULL !
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
I'm not a Storm Chaser ( they just keep following me around)
Bridgetown Tornado in April 1974
I think it was the Spring or Summer of 1973 and my friends and I were down at our friend Tom's family farm in Harrison, Ohio. It was a warm evening and we could hear the sounds of the drag racers from Edgewater Drag Strip in the distance. Tom's Dad came out to look at the sky as the sun was setting and had us all gather round. He pointed out that the sky was green and there were squall-lines forming and that usually meant Tornadoes. He said we had better come in their old stone house to weather out the storm that was brewing. This was the first time I had even heard anything about tornadoes.
The storm came the winds and rains were torrential. The rushing water from a small creek that came down the hill and drained into the Whitewater River had pushed a load of stones, sand and gravel into the road and began peeling up the asphalt paving. Tom's Dad grabbed some railroad flares and put them out to warn motorists to slow down and go around the huge pile of debris. Just then a Hamilton County Sheriff's Cruser came racing down the road, probably responding to an emergency call and hit the pile of debris. The car went airborne like the Charger from the Dukes of Hazzard. That was my first experience with a possible tornado.
Then, back in April of 1974 when the first known tornado, known to me, struck the Cincinnati area when it ravaged the backside of Bridgetown, Ohio. The story had it as starting in Kentucky and crossing the Ohio River and then coming up the hill and following South Road. I was out delivering Door Store Ads on my motorcycle in Cheviot, when a huge hail storm hit. I sacrificed my body as I lay over the gas tank so the hail wouldn't damage it. I made it all the way home but had to get off the bike in order to open the old fashioned garage door (no automatic opener). Just as I was about to pull the bike in, one hail stone hit right in the middle of the tank and left a big dimple in my paint.
My Dad came out to survey the damage done to his car, sitting in the driveway and the aluminum siding on the house. As we stood in the driveway together, the tornado appeared on the not to distant horizon. We could see roof tops, above ground pools, patio roofs and a whole array of other types of debris being swirled around like so many little particles of dust.
Mom ran out on to the porch and screamed at us to get in the basement and seek shelter! Dad and I continued to watch the funnel cloud and the destruction it left in it's path. Mom came out a second time demanding we come inside. Dad told her to save herself, we were watching the tornado.
Mom had the right idea, to seek shelter and she had gathered a few hasty supplies like Dad's portable radio, a flashlight and a couple candles. You would have thought she had been through this kind of thing before but according to the local weather service of the day, we had just entered the Tornado Belt, for the first time. Maybe Mom got her reference from the tornado in The Wizard of Oz from 1939? We'll never know now.
Now this tornado of 1974 was too far away for us to actually hear it and Mom spent most of that time running in and out of the house and yelling at us but to her dying day, she insisted the tornado sounded like a freight train, as it went past our house. The fact is, it was maybe two miles away from our house.
In May of that year, my best friend Ron and I went to the Indy 500 race. We parked my Dad's 1971 Dodge Colt in an open field across from the track and had our five dollar in-field tickets, already for the next day's race. That evening tornadoes set down and around the entire Indianapolis area. Squall-lines filled the sky and some said the sky was a green-ish color. The high winds shook and rocked the compact station wagon, we sat in. A truck driver, parked next to us, that just happened to be in the area and decided to take in the race, told us that if the winds got too bad we could sit in the cab of his truck. He went on to say the tornadoes would have a harder time picking up his truck then they would our little car. We ended up spending a portion of that evening in the cab of his truck. The car never moved but we felt safer in the truck.
Sometime in the 1990's my bestest friends, Dave, Tom and his brother Bob and I went fishing up in central Michigan. Again, plagued by tornadoes during the evening hours, over night and into the next morning. Early that next morning as we huddled inside two tents, the wind defining and flattening the tent over our faces. As we were riding out this particular storm, we where gently lifted off the ground for a short period and just as gently put back down. My friend Dave and I are both big guys and combined probably weighed somewhere around six hundred pounds...and these winds picked us up! Like I said, the wind had flattened the tent over our faces and I could not see Dave. Tom and Bob were in their tent right next to us. I yelled at the top of lungs over the sound of the wind and told Dave to get the keys to his van in hand and the next time the wind lets up, head for it and get the doors open, we're getting out of here! Bob yelled out...leave the door open for us, we're right behind you! The camp was trashed and everything we owned was soaked but I think we still put in and fished Lake Michigan that next day.
In 1999 when the tornado came thru the Old Montgomery, near Sycamore High School and damaged a lot of homes, apartments and condo's. I was driving south on RT 22/3 (Montgomery Rd.) when I drove into a hail storm in the darkest part of the morning hours. No sirens sounded but the tornado was there, cloaked in the cover of the darkness.
That weekend Joyce and I went down and viewed the devastation from the tornado and she went on and on about how awful it was. My expressionless look on my face angered her as she thought I had no sympathy for the victims. In my opinion, the wreckage wasn't that bad. I had seen much worse. She thought I was exaggerating about what I had seen and experienced in the past, especially the part where the guys and I had been picked up by a tornado. This was just too much for her to believe.
As it turned out, after viewing the devastation of Old Montgomery, we were going down to my friend's farms for a family get together and Bob, Tom and Dave would be there, to collaborate my story. When we pulled into the lower field and got out of the van, we were greeted by Bob and his Wife Linda. I asked Bob how close did he think we were to the tornadoes that night in central Michigan. "Close enough it picked us up off the ground and that was too damn close for me! He exclaimed. Joyce didn't know what to think. I don't need to make this stuff up, life just happens and you live to tell the story.
And let me just say one more thing about this topic. I have stood right next to speeding freight trains as they passed thru the westside of Dayton, Ohio and I can say for a fact, the sound the winds make from a tornado, are nothing like the noise of a speeding freight train. The tornado is much worse.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
The storm came the winds and rains were torrential. The rushing water from a small creek that came down the hill and drained into the Whitewater River had pushed a load of stones, sand and gravel into the road and began peeling up the asphalt paving. Tom's Dad grabbed some railroad flares and put them out to warn motorists to slow down and go around the huge pile of debris. Just then a Hamilton County Sheriff's Cruser came racing down the road, probably responding to an emergency call and hit the pile of debris. The car went airborne like the Charger from the Dukes of Hazzard. That was my first experience with a possible tornado.
Then, back in April of 1974 when the first known tornado, known to me, struck the Cincinnati area when it ravaged the backside of Bridgetown, Ohio. The story had it as starting in Kentucky and crossing the Ohio River and then coming up the hill and following South Road. I was out delivering Door Store Ads on my motorcycle in Cheviot, when a huge hail storm hit. I sacrificed my body as I lay over the gas tank so the hail wouldn't damage it. I made it all the way home but had to get off the bike in order to open the old fashioned garage door (no automatic opener). Just as I was about to pull the bike in, one hail stone hit right in the middle of the tank and left a big dimple in my paint.
My Dad came out to survey the damage done to his car, sitting in the driveway and the aluminum siding on the house. As we stood in the driveway together, the tornado appeared on the not to distant horizon. We could see roof tops, above ground pools, patio roofs and a whole array of other types of debris being swirled around like so many little particles of dust.
Mom ran out on to the porch and screamed at us to get in the basement and seek shelter! Dad and I continued to watch the funnel cloud and the destruction it left in it's path. Mom came out a second time demanding we come inside. Dad told her to save herself, we were watching the tornado.
Mom had the right idea, to seek shelter and she had gathered a few hasty supplies like Dad's portable radio, a flashlight and a couple candles. You would have thought she had been through this kind of thing before but according to the local weather service of the day, we had just entered the Tornado Belt, for the first time. Maybe Mom got her reference from the tornado in The Wizard of Oz from 1939? We'll never know now.
Now this tornado of 1974 was too far away for us to actually hear it and Mom spent most of that time running in and out of the house and yelling at us but to her dying day, she insisted the tornado sounded like a freight train, as it went past our house. The fact is, it was maybe two miles away from our house.
In May of that year, my best friend Ron and I went to the Indy 500 race. We parked my Dad's 1971 Dodge Colt in an open field across from the track and had our five dollar in-field tickets, already for the next day's race. That evening tornadoes set down and around the entire Indianapolis area. Squall-lines filled the sky and some said the sky was a green-ish color. The high winds shook and rocked the compact station wagon, we sat in. A truck driver, parked next to us, that just happened to be in the area and decided to take in the race, told us that if the winds got too bad we could sit in the cab of his truck. He went on to say the tornadoes would have a harder time picking up his truck then they would our little car. We ended up spending a portion of that evening in the cab of his truck. The car never moved but we felt safer in the truck.
Sometime in the 1990's my bestest friends, Dave, Tom and his brother Bob and I went fishing up in central Michigan. Again, plagued by tornadoes during the evening hours, over night and into the next morning. Early that next morning as we huddled inside two tents, the wind defining and flattening the tent over our faces. As we were riding out this particular storm, we where gently lifted off the ground for a short period and just as gently put back down. My friend Dave and I are both big guys and combined probably weighed somewhere around six hundred pounds...and these winds picked us up! Like I said, the wind had flattened the tent over our faces and I could not see Dave. Tom and Bob were in their tent right next to us. I yelled at the top of lungs over the sound of the wind and told Dave to get the keys to his van in hand and the next time the wind lets up, head for it and get the doors open, we're getting out of here! Bob yelled out...leave the door open for us, we're right behind you! The camp was trashed and everything we owned was soaked but I think we still put in and fished Lake Michigan that next day.
In 1999 when the tornado came thru the Old Montgomery, near Sycamore High School and damaged a lot of homes, apartments and condo's. I was driving south on RT 22/3 (Montgomery Rd.) when I drove into a hail storm in the darkest part of the morning hours. No sirens sounded but the tornado was there, cloaked in the cover of the darkness.
That weekend Joyce and I went down and viewed the devastation from the tornado and she went on and on about how awful it was. My expressionless look on my face angered her as she thought I had no sympathy for the victims. In my opinion, the wreckage wasn't that bad. I had seen much worse. She thought I was exaggerating about what I had seen and experienced in the past, especially the part where the guys and I had been picked up by a tornado. This was just too much for her to believe.
As it turned out, after viewing the devastation of Old Montgomery, we were going down to my friend's farms for a family get together and Bob, Tom and Dave would be there, to collaborate my story. When we pulled into the lower field and got out of the van, we were greeted by Bob and his Wife Linda. I asked Bob how close did he think we were to the tornadoes that night in central Michigan. "Close enough it picked us up off the ground and that was too damn close for me! He exclaimed. Joyce didn't know what to think. I don't need to make this stuff up, life just happens and you live to tell the story.
And let me just say one more thing about this topic. I have stood right next to speeding freight trains as they passed thru the westside of Dayton, Ohio and I can say for a fact, the sound the winds make from a tornado, are nothing like the noise of a speeding freight train. The tornado is much worse.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
He Remembers !
Cliffs at Dale Hollow
My friend Tom and his wife Pauline have a son named Craig. At two years old he was talking in complete, intelligent sentences, mostly to adults. They lived in a rural area of southeastern Indiana. Craig grew up talking with his parents and their adult friends. One other thing about Craig, is that he dearly loved his father and being with his father, doing whatever he did. Except going on fishing trips with us.
Tom, Dave and I had planned our first summer fishing/scuba diving trip of the season at Dale Hollow Lake, in Tennessee. On the day we were to leave, Pauline and Craig brought Tom and his gear to Dave’s house to drop him off. With his equipment stowed in the boat and van, we began to say our final goodbyes before rolling out of the driveway.
Craig threw himself around the legs of his father and begged to be taken. Tom tried to calm him down, as tears streamed down his little face. Nothing Tom said would change how Craig felt about being left behind. Pauline tried to pry Craig off Tom’s legs and comfort him but that didn’t work either. Finally I knelt down and took hold of the boy and told him to come with me, I needed to talk to him. Craig released his grip from his father’s legs and I picked him up and held him in my arms so I could talk to him face to face.
“The simple truth is that you’re too young to go on this trip with us.” I told him. Sobbing, he asked how old he had to be before he could go with us? “Three years old.” I replied. He wiped the tears from his face and I put him down. He kissed his father goodbye and got in the car with his mother and drove off.
One year later. The plans were being finalized for our first summer trip to Dale Hollow again. The guys and I had been talking on the phone in the evenings to confirm who was bringing what and so forth. This particular evening the phone rang and the woman's voice on the other end of the line said in a stern voice, ”He remembers what you told him last year.” It was Pauline.
My mind quickly changed gears and I knew exactly what she was talking about. “Okay, we’ll take Craig along with us, as promised.” I said. Pauline laughed into the phone receiver. “Do you think I’d let you guys just take my baby and do God knows what, while WHO watches him?” “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry about a thing.” I said. “Or, you can come with us. (Pauline was very pregnant with their second child at the time) “Oh yeah, that’ll go over well!” She chuckled. I turned around and asked my new bride, Joyce, if she’d like to go on this trip to Dale Hollow. “Pauline is coming.” Excitedly, she accepted the invitation and Pauline agreed that if Joyce was going, then she would go.
Once we got to the State Dock on Dale Hollow Lake, Dave ferried us all over to a nice point where two submerged river channels converged. There was a perfect little shelf of shale where Pauline could sit in about a foot of water and cool off while Craig played safely, nearby. There were plenty of trees to provide shade for the campsite and an underwater drop off that went down seventy feet or so for swimming and diving. The boat was unloaded and the camp was setup pretty quickly.
The first thing Pauline said to Craig as we got off the boat was not to get dirty. Here we are in the wilderness of Tennessee, surrounded by trees, water and dirt, with a three year old boy and she wants him to stay clean! I put my arm around her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “You’ve got to lighten up a little. If he gets dirty, we’ll throw him in the lake to clean off.” She rolled her eyes at me and we went about setting up the campsite.
As we pitched tents, rolled out sleeping bags and setup folding chairs, we established an area for the campfire., We put Craig on a mission to gather all the firewood he could find. Sticks, logs, whatever he could carry or drag. With everybody pitching in, the camp was setup in no time and Craig had a healthy pile of wood already started for us.
Tom crouched down and began assembling the sticks of different sizes in the campfire ring. Craig helped break the sticks into more manageable lengths for his father. A little dried grass was lit under the stack of wood and the fire was soon ablaze. As the fire burned we stuck more and more wood on it. Craig had to go out and find more wood to keep the fire going all day so we had good coals to cook our evening meal over. He was as happy as a Lark, running though the woods, gathering every size stick he could find. While he gathered, we all put on our swimming suits.
“Gathering wood is hot work, huh son?” Tom asked him as he brought back another armload of wood. Craig agreed. He put his suit on and we all jumped in the water and cooled off for the entire afternoon. Of course, periodically, we’d have to send Craig up to tend the fire. He was given the title of "Official Fire Tender".
During the course of the afternoon, we naturally had some snacks and drinks, perhaps a couple deli type sandwiches were thrown together but the main focus was on the evening when the sun was getting low on the horizon. Pauline had baking potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil, down in the coals. We laid a large piece of expanded iron over the fire to serve as our grill top. Thick, custom cut sirloin steaks were laid on the grill and the meat sizzled when it hit the hot steel. We sat back and told stories of past trips while the steaks cooked. Craig sat and listened to every word.
Finally, dinner was ready. The butter and sour cream oozed over the baked potatoes. The steaks were done to perfection. A perfect medium rare and salted to taste. Mmmm, mmmmm, we where living high on the hog. Tom sat back after finishing his meal and stared into the fire. “I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight?” He said. Craig asked him what he meant by that ? Tom replied, “I just wonder what the rest of the world is doing right now, cause we are living like Kings at this moment.” We sat around and told more stories around the campfire . Dave got out a folding camp saw and began to cut larger pieces of wood, that Craig gathered, into logs. Craig watched as Dave cut the logs. When Dave put the saw down, Craig picked it up and began cutting more wood. Pauline was a little nervous with her three year old using a saw but she went with it. Craig did an outstanding job cutting firewood. So good in fact, none of us ever had to pickup the saw for wood again. Not as long as Craig was there.
Craig was on his stomach with his head propped up in his hands, starring into the fire when he fell asleep. Tom gathered him up and put him in the tent for the night. Totally exhausted from the days activities. We talked a little more, put a few more logs on the fire and turned in for the night. Craig wasn’t the only one exhausted from the days activities.
That next morning, Craig was the first one out of the tent and was already tending the fire. Dave had loaded enough wood on the fire from the night before that their were plenty of hot coals to start a new day with. Soon we were all up and out of the tents. A couple skillets were laid on the grill, over the fire. Tom had bacon sizzling in one while Dave scrambled eggs in the other. Joyce had Coffee brewing and I tended the toast on the outer edge of the grill. Pauline poured the juice and Craig…. Well Craig gathered more wood. That was his job, after all.
After breakfast, the paper plates were burned and the skillets taken down to the water’s edge and rinsed out and wiped dry. Dave and Tom inflated an inner tube for tubing while Pauline sat in knee high water sunning herself and Joyce and I swam and treaded water over the seventy foot deep river channel. Craig sat on the edge of the shelf and talked to Joyce and I while we treaded water. I asked him if he wanted to come out with us? I told him I could hold him and tread at the same time. For some reason this kid trusted me. I swam over and got him in my arms and we floated out by Joyce. “Look Mom, I’m with Scott and Joyce!” He shouted. “I see, I see! She replied nervously. Neither she or Craig knew how to swim. Pauline could save her own life in a swimming pool where she could see the bottom but something like a lake was a different story.
Joyce had gone over to the rocky shoreline and used a large piece of shale, that jutted out over the water as a diving platform. She dove in and came up next to Craig. He just had a look on his face. I asked him if he wanted to try jumping off the ledge? At first he shook his head no. I told him that I would catch him and he had nothing to worry about. Again this little kid trusted me. I put him over on the rocky bank and he climbed up on the rock that Joyce had previously dove off of. Looking down, he had reservations. I kept talking to him. Reassuring him that I would catch him. Finally he jumped off. I let him go under water before grabbing him. He came up spitting and sputtering. I made sure he was alright and held him for a while until he relaxed again. I told him how if he kept his mouth closed and hummed through his nose, he wouldn’t swallow any water. I put him back on the rock and he started humming. He jumped off and I got him underwater again. “Did you see that Mom? I’m jumping off the rocks into the water. Did you see, Mom?” He exclaimed. Pauline nodded her head. Again and again and again Craig jumped off the rock to me. I even got him to open his eyes under water so we could see each other. The rest of the weekend went by way too fast. Swimming, fishing, eating and tending the fire filled our days and good stories told around the campfire filled our heads at night before sleep over took us.
Craig came on many trips with us during the summer months. When he was five years old, I bought him his own folding camp saw. When he was about eight years old, we were on a trip together. We were both up and out of the tents early and walked along the shoreline, talking. He told me he had a better time camping in Dale Hollow then he ever had at an amusement park. I really thought this was saying something, coming from an eight year old.
Craig is in his thirties now, graduated from college, recently married and looks me straight in the eyes now. His voice is deeper but he is still a smart young man, still has the saw and still tends the fires.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Tom, Dave and I had planned our first summer fishing/scuba diving trip of the season at Dale Hollow Lake, in Tennessee. On the day we were to leave, Pauline and Craig brought Tom and his gear to Dave’s house to drop him off. With his equipment stowed in the boat and van, we began to say our final goodbyes before rolling out of the driveway.
Craig threw himself around the legs of his father and begged to be taken. Tom tried to calm him down, as tears streamed down his little face. Nothing Tom said would change how Craig felt about being left behind. Pauline tried to pry Craig off Tom’s legs and comfort him but that didn’t work either. Finally I knelt down and took hold of the boy and told him to come with me, I needed to talk to him. Craig released his grip from his father’s legs and I picked him up and held him in my arms so I could talk to him face to face.
“The simple truth is that you’re too young to go on this trip with us.” I told him. Sobbing, he asked how old he had to be before he could go with us? “Three years old.” I replied. He wiped the tears from his face and I put him down. He kissed his father goodbye and got in the car with his mother and drove off.
One year later. The plans were being finalized for our first summer trip to Dale Hollow again. The guys and I had been talking on the phone in the evenings to confirm who was bringing what and so forth. This particular evening the phone rang and the woman's voice on the other end of the line said in a stern voice, ”He remembers what you told him last year.” It was Pauline.
My mind quickly changed gears and I knew exactly what she was talking about. “Okay, we’ll take Craig along with us, as promised.” I said. Pauline laughed into the phone receiver. “Do you think I’d let you guys just take my baby and do God knows what, while WHO watches him?” “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry about a thing.” I said. “Or, you can come with us. (Pauline was very pregnant with their second child at the time) “Oh yeah, that’ll go over well!” She chuckled. I turned around and asked my new bride, Joyce, if she’d like to go on this trip to Dale Hollow. “Pauline is coming.” Excitedly, she accepted the invitation and Pauline agreed that if Joyce was going, then she would go.
Once we got to the State Dock on Dale Hollow Lake, Dave ferried us all over to a nice point where two submerged river channels converged. There was a perfect little shelf of shale where Pauline could sit in about a foot of water and cool off while Craig played safely, nearby. There were plenty of trees to provide shade for the campsite and an underwater drop off that went down seventy feet or so for swimming and diving. The boat was unloaded and the camp was setup pretty quickly.
The first thing Pauline said to Craig as we got off the boat was not to get dirty. Here we are in the wilderness of Tennessee, surrounded by trees, water and dirt, with a three year old boy and she wants him to stay clean! I put my arm around her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “You’ve got to lighten up a little. If he gets dirty, we’ll throw him in the lake to clean off.” She rolled her eyes at me and we went about setting up the campsite.
As we pitched tents, rolled out sleeping bags and setup folding chairs, we established an area for the campfire., We put Craig on a mission to gather all the firewood he could find. Sticks, logs, whatever he could carry or drag. With everybody pitching in, the camp was setup in no time and Craig had a healthy pile of wood already started for us.
Tom crouched down and began assembling the sticks of different sizes in the campfire ring. Craig helped break the sticks into more manageable lengths for his father. A little dried grass was lit under the stack of wood and the fire was soon ablaze. As the fire burned we stuck more and more wood on it. Craig had to go out and find more wood to keep the fire going all day so we had good coals to cook our evening meal over. He was as happy as a Lark, running though the woods, gathering every size stick he could find. While he gathered, we all put on our swimming suits.
“Gathering wood is hot work, huh son?” Tom asked him as he brought back another armload of wood. Craig agreed. He put his suit on and we all jumped in the water and cooled off for the entire afternoon. Of course, periodically, we’d have to send Craig up to tend the fire. He was given the title of "Official Fire Tender".
During the course of the afternoon, we naturally had some snacks and drinks, perhaps a couple deli type sandwiches were thrown together but the main focus was on the evening when the sun was getting low on the horizon. Pauline had baking potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil, down in the coals. We laid a large piece of expanded iron over the fire to serve as our grill top. Thick, custom cut sirloin steaks were laid on the grill and the meat sizzled when it hit the hot steel. We sat back and told stories of past trips while the steaks cooked. Craig sat and listened to every word.
Finally, dinner was ready. The butter and sour cream oozed over the baked potatoes. The steaks were done to perfection. A perfect medium rare and salted to taste. Mmmm, mmmmm, we where living high on the hog. Tom sat back after finishing his meal and stared into the fire. “I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight?” He said. Craig asked him what he meant by that ? Tom replied, “I just wonder what the rest of the world is doing right now, cause we are living like Kings at this moment.” We sat around and told more stories around the campfire . Dave got out a folding camp saw and began to cut larger pieces of wood, that Craig gathered, into logs. Craig watched as Dave cut the logs. When Dave put the saw down, Craig picked it up and began cutting more wood. Pauline was a little nervous with her three year old using a saw but she went with it. Craig did an outstanding job cutting firewood. So good in fact, none of us ever had to pickup the saw for wood again. Not as long as Craig was there.
Craig was on his stomach with his head propped up in his hands, starring into the fire when he fell asleep. Tom gathered him up and put him in the tent for the night. Totally exhausted from the days activities. We talked a little more, put a few more logs on the fire and turned in for the night. Craig wasn’t the only one exhausted from the days activities.
That next morning, Craig was the first one out of the tent and was already tending the fire. Dave had loaded enough wood on the fire from the night before that their were plenty of hot coals to start a new day with. Soon we were all up and out of the tents. A couple skillets were laid on the grill, over the fire. Tom had bacon sizzling in one while Dave scrambled eggs in the other. Joyce had Coffee brewing and I tended the toast on the outer edge of the grill. Pauline poured the juice and Craig…. Well Craig gathered more wood. That was his job, after all.
After breakfast, the paper plates were burned and the skillets taken down to the water’s edge and rinsed out and wiped dry. Dave and Tom inflated an inner tube for tubing while Pauline sat in knee high water sunning herself and Joyce and I swam and treaded water over the seventy foot deep river channel. Craig sat on the edge of the shelf and talked to Joyce and I while we treaded water. I asked him if he wanted to come out with us? I told him I could hold him and tread at the same time. For some reason this kid trusted me. I swam over and got him in my arms and we floated out by Joyce. “Look Mom, I’m with Scott and Joyce!” He shouted. “I see, I see! She replied nervously. Neither she or Craig knew how to swim. Pauline could save her own life in a swimming pool where she could see the bottom but something like a lake was a different story.
Joyce had gone over to the rocky shoreline and used a large piece of shale, that jutted out over the water as a diving platform. She dove in and came up next to Craig. He just had a look on his face. I asked him if he wanted to try jumping off the ledge? At first he shook his head no. I told him that I would catch him and he had nothing to worry about. Again this little kid trusted me. I put him over on the rocky bank and he climbed up on the rock that Joyce had previously dove off of. Looking down, he had reservations. I kept talking to him. Reassuring him that I would catch him. Finally he jumped off. I let him go under water before grabbing him. He came up spitting and sputtering. I made sure he was alright and held him for a while until he relaxed again. I told him how if he kept his mouth closed and hummed through his nose, he wouldn’t swallow any water. I put him back on the rock and he started humming. He jumped off and I got him underwater again. “Did you see that Mom? I’m jumping off the rocks into the water. Did you see, Mom?” He exclaimed. Pauline nodded her head. Again and again and again Craig jumped off the rock to me. I even got him to open his eyes under water so we could see each other. The rest of the weekend went by way too fast. Swimming, fishing, eating and tending the fire filled our days and good stories told around the campfire filled our heads at night before sleep over took us.
Craig came on many trips with us during the summer months. When he was five years old, I bought him his own folding camp saw. When he was about eight years old, we were on a trip together. We were both up and out of the tents early and walked along the shoreline, talking. He told me he had a better time camping in Dale Hollow then he ever had at an amusement park. I really thought this was saying something, coming from an eight year old.
Craig is in his thirties now, graduated from college, recently married and looks me straight in the eyes now. His voice is deeper but he is still a smart young man, still has the saw and still tends the fires.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Christmas Cookies & Me !
Aunt Grace's Christmas Cookie Platter
A short Christmas-ish Storytime.... Once upon a time..... when I was maybe six or seven years old, my Mother and her sister decided to get together and make huge amounts of Christmas Cookies and make up platters of little Christmas delights to give to their siblings and their families at our big Christmas get together. The plans were made and tons of supplies gathered and loaded into the car for the night of Christmas Cookie baking. So Mom, my older sister and I all got in the car and drove over to my aunt's house.
As we walked in the front door, something metallic snapped and flew into my sister's eye. Mom dropped off all the baking stuff and me with Aunt Grace and she and my sister went to the Emergency Room to have whatever it was, taken out of my sister's eye.
Aunt Grace and I started making the cookie dough, rolling it out and cutting out all the different shaped cookies to be baked. Tray after tray of cookies went in and came out to be decorated.
Several hours later Mom and my sister, now with a gauze patch over her eye, rejoined us. Mom looked around the kitchen expecting to see dozens upon dozens of cookies already baked but instead only saw a small amount on one platter. What's going on here, Mom asked ? I thought you'd be further along than this ! Aunt Grace looked at Mom and pointed to me and said, He's eating them as fast as I take them out of the oven !
Did you ever think to tell him to STOP or to say NO MORE, Mom exclaimed ? Well, Aunt Grace was my favorite Aunt and she just couldn't say No to me. I guess she thought I'd fill up soon and quit on my own...but that didn't happen. Well, that was the end of my Christmas Cookies for that night. Now I'd have to wait till Christmas Eve with family and have to "share" the cookies with the rest of them. Poor, little me !
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
As we walked in the front door, something metallic snapped and flew into my sister's eye. Mom dropped off all the baking stuff and me with Aunt Grace and she and my sister went to the Emergency Room to have whatever it was, taken out of my sister's eye.
Aunt Grace and I started making the cookie dough, rolling it out and cutting out all the different shaped cookies to be baked. Tray after tray of cookies went in and came out to be decorated.
Several hours later Mom and my sister, now with a gauze patch over her eye, rejoined us. Mom looked around the kitchen expecting to see dozens upon dozens of cookies already baked but instead only saw a small amount on one platter. What's going on here, Mom asked ? I thought you'd be further along than this ! Aunt Grace looked at Mom and pointed to me and said, He's eating them as fast as I take them out of the oven !
Did you ever think to tell him to STOP or to say NO MORE, Mom exclaimed ? Well, Aunt Grace was my favorite Aunt and she just couldn't say No to me. I guess she thought I'd fill up soon and quit on my own...but that didn't happen. Well, that was the end of my Christmas Cookies for that night. Now I'd have to wait till Christmas Eve with family and have to "share" the cookies with the rest of them. Poor, little me !
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
Burning Water !!!
I grew up in a different time. Mom and Dad both worked...sometimes different shifts, just to make ends meet. At a very early age I was taught responsibility...for myself and the family. I woke up to an alarm clock and was responsible to get myself up, clothed and to school on time. My first year at school I rode the bus, the second year I walked or rode my bicycle a few miles to school. When I came home from school, I was allowed to go out and play but couldn't have anyone in the house without a parent at home. Sometimes my older, Sister might be there...other times I was on my own. These days I would be called a, "Latch Key", child. I didn't mind, it was what the family needed and expected...and I did my part.
Part of my training was to be able to feed myself. Not just cold cereal or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches but to learn how to cook hot meals. Mom was there to show me the easy ways to cook. Remember, back in the late 50's and early 60's we didn't have microwave ovens and everything in ready to heat n eat packages !
We had an electric stove and oven with a broiler. I could scramble eggs, broil bacon or sausage and make what we called "Eye Poppers" which are a Bisquik mix, type of biscuit. I could make waffles and pancakes too. Not the kind you stick in the toaster ! I would make Old Fashioned Oatmeal and Cream of Wheat...and again, not the instant type. Non of that kind of stuff had been invented yet. We never fried any of our food in our house. We used the broiler (that simulates grilling) or the oven to roast or bake. I could take a frozen ground beef patty, ribeye steak or pork chop out of the freezer and put it in the broiler to cook and while that was cooking, I could mix up some instant mashed potatoes and open a can of vegetables or get some out of the freezer and put them in a pan of water on the stove and make myself a meal...if needed. All this at the age of 5-6 years old. As time went on I learned more and more from Mom and Dad.
My sister married and had a son and six months after his birth, divorced. My sister is a good person and provider but not so much for cooking. At the age of 3, my nephew was being taught how to cook for himself. Grandma didn't want her only grandchild to starve to death... As the story goes, one night, after work, after picking my nephew up at the sitter's house and finally getting home...she plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV and just wanted to relax. Meanwhile, her son could be heard in the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets for pots and pans. She called out to him, "What are you doing Son?" He answered, "making supper!" "What are you making?" she asked...and he told her that he was broiling a ground beef patty, making some instant mashed potatoes and opening a can of peas and putting them in a pan to warm up. He was also going to have a glass of milk with his dinner. She asked if there was enough for her ? He replied that there was...and so the story goes...he fixed dinner for the two of them that night, at the age of 3, and poured the glasses of milk, while she relaxed on the couch. When Grandma heard this story, she went ballistic ! She informed her daughter, in no uncertain terms, that "she" was the "mother" and "he" was the "child" and that "she" better make sure "she" took care of that baby and not the other way around !
As I have grown up, I have encountered many guys (some, my own friends) that say they don't know how to cook or they say, "I can burn water". If their mothers, girlfriends or wives didn't fix them their meals or if they couldn't stop at a fast-food joint... they'd starve !
This is really a pet-peeve of mine. This is just lazy ! Some of these guys say they only know how to grill. Well...that's cooking ! It has never been explained to them that broiling is indoor grilling ! If you can grill, you can broil. Steaks, chops, burgers etc ! Burning water ???? Please !!!!
Is there a man out there that doesn't boast that they know how to make chili ? If they're honest, they'll admit they're just lazy and would rather someone else do it for them. My mother use to say..."I don't care if it's a peanut butter & jelly sandwich...if someone else makes it for you, it just tastes better !" She's right ! But that doesn't mean you can't take care of yourself.
Why don't we teach our children some basic cooking skills.. without making a huge mess in the kitchen ? And if there is a mess, show them the proper way to clean it up. Teach responsibility... show a child how to make their bed and clean their rooms. Show an 8 year old how to mow grass, take out the trash and bring the cans in afterwards. Trust me...they can do it ! We did and we turned out pretty good, huh ? It's never too late. If a child shows an interest in something around the house, like cooking or yard work, show them how to do it properly. Don't tell them they're to young.
Just my opinion and experience.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Part of my training was to be able to feed myself. Not just cold cereal or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches but to learn how to cook hot meals. Mom was there to show me the easy ways to cook. Remember, back in the late 50's and early 60's we didn't have microwave ovens and everything in ready to heat n eat packages !
We had an electric stove and oven with a broiler. I could scramble eggs, broil bacon or sausage and make what we called "Eye Poppers" which are a Bisquik mix, type of biscuit. I could make waffles and pancakes too. Not the kind you stick in the toaster ! I would make Old Fashioned Oatmeal and Cream of Wheat...and again, not the instant type. Non of that kind of stuff had been invented yet. We never fried any of our food in our house. We used the broiler (that simulates grilling) or the oven to roast or bake. I could take a frozen ground beef patty, ribeye steak or pork chop out of the freezer and put it in the broiler to cook and while that was cooking, I could mix up some instant mashed potatoes and open a can of vegetables or get some out of the freezer and put them in a pan of water on the stove and make myself a meal...if needed. All this at the age of 5-6 years old. As time went on I learned more and more from Mom and Dad.
My sister married and had a son and six months after his birth, divorced. My sister is a good person and provider but not so much for cooking. At the age of 3, my nephew was being taught how to cook for himself. Grandma didn't want her only grandchild to starve to death... As the story goes, one night, after work, after picking my nephew up at the sitter's house and finally getting home...she plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV and just wanted to relax. Meanwhile, her son could be heard in the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets for pots and pans. She called out to him, "What are you doing Son?" He answered, "making supper!" "What are you making?" she asked...and he told her that he was broiling a ground beef patty, making some instant mashed potatoes and opening a can of peas and putting them in a pan to warm up. He was also going to have a glass of milk with his dinner. She asked if there was enough for her ? He replied that there was...and so the story goes...he fixed dinner for the two of them that night, at the age of 3, and poured the glasses of milk, while she relaxed on the couch. When Grandma heard this story, she went ballistic ! She informed her daughter, in no uncertain terms, that "she" was the "mother" and "he" was the "child" and that "she" better make sure "she" took care of that baby and not the other way around !
As I have grown up, I have encountered many guys (some, my own friends) that say they don't know how to cook or they say, "I can burn water". If their mothers, girlfriends or wives didn't fix them their meals or if they couldn't stop at a fast-food joint... they'd starve !
This is really a pet-peeve of mine. This is just lazy ! Some of these guys say they only know how to grill. Well...that's cooking ! It has never been explained to them that broiling is indoor grilling ! If you can grill, you can broil. Steaks, chops, burgers etc ! Burning water ???? Please !!!!
Is there a man out there that doesn't boast that they know how to make chili ? If they're honest, they'll admit they're just lazy and would rather someone else do it for them. My mother use to say..."I don't care if it's a peanut butter & jelly sandwich...if someone else makes it for you, it just tastes better !" She's right ! But that doesn't mean you can't take care of yourself.
Why don't we teach our children some basic cooking skills.. without making a huge mess in the kitchen ? And if there is a mess, show them the proper way to clean it up. Teach responsibility... show a child how to make their bed and clean their rooms. Show an 8 year old how to mow grass, take out the trash and bring the cans in afterwards. Trust me...they can do it ! We did and we turned out pretty good, huh ? It's never too late. If a child shows an interest in something around the house, like cooking or yard work, show them how to do it properly. Don't tell them they're to young.
Just my opinion and experience.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Being a Kid These Days vs In My Day !
This really isn't a complete story, but a collection of little life experiences and observations between growing up in the 1960's and today. This collection of stories should be RATED PG LV.
When I was growing up, we didn't have all these safety precautions to consider or the overly protective parents, watching our every move. Does this mean our parents didn't love us as much as parents do today ? I don't think so! We were taught at a very early age, responsibility to the family and self reliance. We played hard and rough. Our parents didn't buy us everything under the sun, so we had to improvise and adapt. But what we did have, we took care of. We didn't break or lose our "Stuff". We grew up in a suburban neighborhood that butted up against a one hundred acre cattle farm with a creek and in the earliest of times, there was a pond ! The creek and farm were our playground. When the sun came up, we usually fixed ourselves something for breakfast and were out the door as soon as we put our dishes in the dishwasher (yes, we had a dishwasher). leaving the kitchen as clean as we found it.
The area surrounding the creek housed several camps for us and all the other kids that lived on the other streets in the neighborhood. I remember being in kindergarten at age five or six and getting together with all the other kids in one of our creek-side camps and wanting to learn how to cuss as well as our parents ! In those days, our parents used cuss words that can be heard on regular, prime time television, these days ! Nothing like I hear parents using these days ! We wanted to sound more grown up ! We sat around and used all the words they used, in sentences, until they flowed off our tongues naturally and fluidly. I remember going over to my cousins house and calling her to come out. We didn't use doorbells or knock. Her mother came to a window and told me she wasn't at home. I asked, "Where the HELL is she ?" Her mother nearly flew out the window and told me, if I ever cussed again, she'd be sure my father knew about it and then I'd be in some real trouble. She was right...that was trouble I didn't need ! Lesson learned...never cuss around grownups again !
The creek was a fantastic place to play and learn. We'd catch minnows, crawdads, tadpoles, frogs and snakes. We'd see footprints in the sand where a raccoon or possum probably fished and cleaned it's food and sometimes we might find skeletal remains of either that raccoon or possum but we never saw any real wildlife around our house, with the exception of birds. Not even a squirrel ! We never saw stuff like geese, ducks or deer. We'd build dams and bridges over the creek and find all kinds of fossils ! Not only does Landen have a good creek flowing thru it but this great lake was created from it. If we had, had something like this when we were growing up...our parents would have seen even less of us !
In winter we had serious snowball fights, even iceballs at times and any part of the body was fair game...it all depended on how accurate your throw was or how unlucky the intended victim was ! The farm had a huge hill and hundreds of kids would drag their sleds to the farm and spend the day, sled riding ! Before the pond was filled in, the older kids would build a fire next to the pond and ice skate. After the pond was filled in, some would try to skate on the creek, if it froze over but it was never as popular. Good sled riding hills are the one thing Landen lacks. I feel sorry for the kids today, around here but maybe it's for the best. I don't think they even make a decent sled for riding anymore ! Maybe our sleds were too dangerous and went by the way of Rosebud....ROSEBUD!!!
Winter turned to Spring and snowballs turned to mudballs and mudball fighting was even more serious than snowballs. Street to street rivalries, almost like gangs ! Then someone put stones in their mudball and somebody would get really hurt and this usually brought and end to the fights. During the Spring, Summer and Fall, we used our knowledge of Indian crafts and lore to manufacture our own weapons. Bows, arrows, spears and tomahawks were crafted and accessorized with ornate artwork, with the use of our father's wood burning set, and feathers. Yes, we played hard but no one was ever scalped or seriously hurt ! We didn't mess around with store bought bows and arrows with little suction cups on the ends. We went for the real thing and even tried to make our own arrowhead and spearheads. If we had to include the girls in our play, they were usually captured and restrained while we continued playing. They never seemed discouraged by this and always wanted to come back and play with us, so we continued to oblige them ! We didn't always play Cowboys and Indians, we played ARMY a lot and with the creation of "007" James Bond, we played Spy stuff too ! Running, hiding, climbing and generally sneaking around was natural to us. You'd have a hard time keeping us in the house. We loved playing games like baseball, basketball, football during the day and capture the flag, kick the can and flashlight catchers to name a few, in the late evening and nights. Now days, kids sit inside playing computer games and telling their parents they're bored ! I think I told my Mom I was bored once ! She said, "Clean your room and the bathroom !" I did clean my room and the bathroom but the whole time I was doing it, I was thinking of all the things I'd rather be doing !! I never told my parents I was bored again !
Most of us carried pocket knives by the time we entered the second grade. I know all my friends carried knives everywhere. We didn't pull them out and flash them around or threaten anyone...we were taught better. We knew they were a tool but could be used to defend ourselves if need be. We never worried about being abducted or molested, maybe it was because we were armed ! LOL !!! Maybe anyone in their right mind, wouldn't want to mess with a bunch of armed children ! I think it's so sad that parents have to watch their children, wherever they go and always kept insight. Our parents had no idea where we were, most of the time. We just showed up for dinner and bath and bed time.
In the first grade, I rode the bus to school. It was maybe three miles from home. The bus brought me nothing but trouble. Schools back then did Kindergarten thru Eighth grade and all the kids started school at the same time and rode the same bus. I was bullied by a couple of Eighth Graders and the victim of extortion. I had to pay one kid and his brother my lunch money, so they wouldn't beat me up, while riding the bus ! Once Mom, Dad and my older Sister found out about this...my older Sister beat up both the boys and I had no problems but to be on the safe side, from the second grade to ninth grade, I either walked to school or rode my bike. These days, kids are bussed to school, even if the school is literally in their own backyard ! I've heard on the News, of the new idea called, a Walking Bus ! This is where a parent walks a group of children to and from school. Hmmmmm, what a novel idea !!! Walking to school !!! This is sarcasm ! When we were growing up, we didn't want our parents around us...it would be embarrassing !! Much less walk us to school, or wait for the bus to pick us up in the morning and drop us off in the afternoon. Oh, the humiliation !!!! We would have definitely been on a shrink's couch if we had to endure this kind of treatment and over protectiveness ! LOL !!!!
Our neighborhood did have a pool and we spent tons of time there. If you could pass a basic swimming test, you not only could swim in the deep end, but you didn't have to have a parent to watch over you ! Not only did we swim and dive but there was also an area where competitive wiffleball was played. We were a generation of strong swimmers and played BASS & MINNOW with very strict rules. This game was played by all ages and was taken very seriously ! My Grandmother sat on the front porch of our house one particular day and counted seventy kids, walking to the pool ! That was just off our street ! Times that by twelve or fourteen other streets and you had a pretty popular pool. I see kids standing at the bus stop, during the school year and know I haven't seen this many kids at our pool, during the summer months !
It wasn't long before we all started getting BB guns and recurved fiberglass bows with target shooting arrows. This shed a whole new light on our competitiveness. Target shooting became something to really brag about. Who was the best shot ? I don't ever remember any of our fathers showing us how to hold a rifle or pistol, it just came to us naturally or instinctively . They didn't show us how to use a bow and arrow either. All of our fathers severed in World War II and had been around guns, during their time in service, but only one father that lived on our street was known to have a Colt Buntline pistol. (this is the type pistol Wyatt Erp carried in the old west), but none of us ever saw it, we just heard about from our fathers talking about it. So it wasn't like we were all raised around guns and stuff...it was just part of growing up as a boy !! In the late 80's, my stepdaughter tried raising her sons in a non-violent manner. They didn't watch violent stuff on TV or movies and didn't have store bought guns or knives to play with, but somehow, they knew ! They would take cardboard and cutout swords and guns and play. So the whole non-violent thing didn't workout very well. In the twenty nine years we have lived here, I have only seen a hand full of boys playing ARMY ! It was fun to watch them. They have better weapons than we ever did !
I know for a fact, that I'm not the only kid in our neighborhood that took on the family responsibility to get myself up, fed, clothed and out the door to school and to be on time...never tardy ! These days my parents would probably be arrested for child neglect and I would be a ward of social services. We just called it, doing what needed to be done because both parents worked, and sometimes this meant different shifts ! I've told you in other stories that I learned how to cook at an early age ! This was part of my responsibility or obligation to the family ! I know this may sound Godfather-ish but it's not intended to be. But I did learn how to cook at the age of five, without the aid of micro-wave ovens and all the convienences kids have today. I didn't make or leave a mess in the kitchen, never burned down the house and above all, didn't starve ! I cooked on an electric stove and oven and used the broiler. I think these were great life lessons and should be taught to all kids at home and in schools these days !
I remember the first time a friend of mine and I were going to see a movie, "by ourselves" ! We were going to ride our bikes to the theater and see John Wayne, in "The Cowboys" ! (Spoiler Alert ! this is the movie where John takes a bunch of kids and turns them into cowhands to help him drive the cattle to market) We were eleven years old. Mom probably expressed her concern of our safety to Dad and Dad approached us before leaving and asked us if we knew how to take care of ourselves, should any older boys pick on us ? Without blinking an eye, my friend said to Dad, "Sure, we'll just kickem in the NUTS, grab their hair and slam their face down on our knee and probably break their nose ! " Satisfied with the answer, Dad went back to explain to Mom, how we were going to be just fine, on our own ! Oh by the way, despite John Wayne being killed by Bruce Durn, early in the film, the movie was very inspiring !
Skateboards were invented during my time of growing up ! We took old metal street skates and flattened the sides down that use to hold your shoes in place and then screwed them to a piece of sturdy plywood. It was called Sidewalk Surfing ! Speed was the main objective. We lived on a pretty good hill and had to take hammers and beat down the tar that was used in the expansion joints, so we could get up as much speed as possible, before taking Dead Mans Curve ! Our street made a dog-leg turn to the right and the sidewalk banked away from the curve...thus, the name, "Dead Mans Curve." We would ride as fast as we could and go as far into the cul-de-sac as we could. Personally, I broke one arm and wrist when a bit of hammered down tar, began rising again and blocked my wheels, thus throwing me off the board. Instinctively, I put my arm out to break my fall...not to break my arm ! Dad said I had to throw the skateboard away and put it out for Rumpke. When I came home from school, the trash hadn't been picked up yet and my beloved skateboard was laying there, on the top of the can, waiting to be hauled away. It called to me to save it !! Play another day with me ! I rescued it from the dump and hid it from Dad. Months later a similar accident happened and I ended up breaking my other arm and wrist. When Dad found out I had kept the skateboard, he grabbed the board and broke it over his knee ! "Take that out of the trash, he scolded !" Well, in hind-sight, I could have rescued the skates and just made a new board ! LOL !!!! But, that was the end of my skateboarding days !
Don't get me wrong ! We didn't just live to play...we had chores to do around the house and we didn't get paid for doing them. It was all part of the responsibility to the family. The whole burden of keeping the household running wasn't left up to Mom ! At our house, we would all help out, cleaning the house. We'd each take a section, plus our own rooms. Dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing toilets, sinks, tubs and showers, even cleaning windows, taking out trash and cutting grass. Everything goes a lot faster when you work as a team and you've been shown how to do it the right way and nobody has to come in behind you and do it again ! I think this whole over protectiveness thing has gone too far ! By the time we think our kids are old enough to do something like clean their room or cut the grass, they're not interested and say you're mean for making them do it! All they want to do now is hang out with their friends. I think they need to be taught how to do it at an early age and learn how to do it right ! I mentioned we didn't get paid for doing these chores around the house. We didn't get allowances. We got our parents love and trust, a roof over our head, clothes on our back, shoes on our feet and meals, anytime we bothered to show up...cause you know... we were probably out playing and forgot to come home to eat !
How did we survive ? No one watching our every move, carrying deadly weaponry, no helmets, knee or elbow pads when riding skateboards or bicycles, we played football and baseball in a cow pasture filled with groundhog holes and uneven ground, without any protective gear or in the street when our mothers didn't want us getting dirty ! My best plays in football were when my arms were in casts from the skateboard incidents. As a would be tackler approached I would lift my casted arm, under their jaw, as I ran for the touchdown ! They might have seen stars for a while but nobody ever went home crying ! Baseball was played in the same field as football. Many a sprained ankles and tons of mud and grass stains came out of that field but we played on ! Now days you see advertisements on TV and hear them on radio about getting kids outside for sixty minutes of play a day! How sad is that ? We have forgotten how to play !!!
Experienced and Written by J.Scott Keniston
When I was growing up, we didn't have all these safety precautions to consider or the overly protective parents, watching our every move. Does this mean our parents didn't love us as much as parents do today ? I don't think so! We were taught at a very early age, responsibility to the family and self reliance. We played hard and rough. Our parents didn't buy us everything under the sun, so we had to improvise and adapt. But what we did have, we took care of. We didn't break or lose our "Stuff". We grew up in a suburban neighborhood that butted up against a one hundred acre cattle farm with a creek and in the earliest of times, there was a pond ! The creek and farm were our playground. When the sun came up, we usually fixed ourselves something for breakfast and were out the door as soon as we put our dishes in the dishwasher (yes, we had a dishwasher). leaving the kitchen as clean as we found it.
The area surrounding the creek housed several camps for us and all the other kids that lived on the other streets in the neighborhood. I remember being in kindergarten at age five or six and getting together with all the other kids in one of our creek-side camps and wanting to learn how to cuss as well as our parents ! In those days, our parents used cuss words that can be heard on regular, prime time television, these days ! Nothing like I hear parents using these days ! We wanted to sound more grown up ! We sat around and used all the words they used, in sentences, until they flowed off our tongues naturally and fluidly. I remember going over to my cousins house and calling her to come out. We didn't use doorbells or knock. Her mother came to a window and told me she wasn't at home. I asked, "Where the HELL is she ?" Her mother nearly flew out the window and told me, if I ever cussed again, she'd be sure my father knew about it and then I'd be in some real trouble. She was right...that was trouble I didn't need ! Lesson learned...never cuss around grownups again !
The creek was a fantastic place to play and learn. We'd catch minnows, crawdads, tadpoles, frogs and snakes. We'd see footprints in the sand where a raccoon or possum probably fished and cleaned it's food and sometimes we might find skeletal remains of either that raccoon or possum but we never saw any real wildlife around our house, with the exception of birds. Not even a squirrel ! We never saw stuff like geese, ducks or deer. We'd build dams and bridges over the creek and find all kinds of fossils ! Not only does Landen have a good creek flowing thru it but this great lake was created from it. If we had, had something like this when we were growing up...our parents would have seen even less of us !
In winter we had serious snowball fights, even iceballs at times and any part of the body was fair game...it all depended on how accurate your throw was or how unlucky the intended victim was ! The farm had a huge hill and hundreds of kids would drag their sleds to the farm and spend the day, sled riding ! Before the pond was filled in, the older kids would build a fire next to the pond and ice skate. After the pond was filled in, some would try to skate on the creek, if it froze over but it was never as popular. Good sled riding hills are the one thing Landen lacks. I feel sorry for the kids today, around here but maybe it's for the best. I don't think they even make a decent sled for riding anymore ! Maybe our sleds were too dangerous and went by the way of Rosebud....ROSEBUD!!!
Winter turned to Spring and snowballs turned to mudballs and mudball fighting was even more serious than snowballs. Street to street rivalries, almost like gangs ! Then someone put stones in their mudball and somebody would get really hurt and this usually brought and end to the fights. During the Spring, Summer and Fall, we used our knowledge of Indian crafts and lore to manufacture our own weapons. Bows, arrows, spears and tomahawks were crafted and accessorized with ornate artwork, with the use of our father's wood burning set, and feathers. Yes, we played hard but no one was ever scalped or seriously hurt ! We didn't mess around with store bought bows and arrows with little suction cups on the ends. We went for the real thing and even tried to make our own arrowhead and spearheads. If we had to include the girls in our play, they were usually captured and restrained while we continued playing. They never seemed discouraged by this and always wanted to come back and play with us, so we continued to oblige them ! We didn't always play Cowboys and Indians, we played ARMY a lot and with the creation of "007" James Bond, we played Spy stuff too ! Running, hiding, climbing and generally sneaking around was natural to us. You'd have a hard time keeping us in the house. We loved playing games like baseball, basketball, football during the day and capture the flag, kick the can and flashlight catchers to name a few, in the late evening and nights. Now days, kids sit inside playing computer games and telling their parents they're bored ! I think I told my Mom I was bored once ! She said, "Clean your room and the bathroom !" I did clean my room and the bathroom but the whole time I was doing it, I was thinking of all the things I'd rather be doing !! I never told my parents I was bored again !
Most of us carried pocket knives by the time we entered the second grade. I know all my friends carried knives everywhere. We didn't pull them out and flash them around or threaten anyone...we were taught better. We knew they were a tool but could be used to defend ourselves if need be. We never worried about being abducted or molested, maybe it was because we were armed ! LOL !!! Maybe anyone in their right mind, wouldn't want to mess with a bunch of armed children ! I think it's so sad that parents have to watch their children, wherever they go and always kept insight. Our parents had no idea where we were, most of the time. We just showed up for dinner and bath and bed time.
In the first grade, I rode the bus to school. It was maybe three miles from home. The bus brought me nothing but trouble. Schools back then did Kindergarten thru Eighth grade and all the kids started school at the same time and rode the same bus. I was bullied by a couple of Eighth Graders and the victim of extortion. I had to pay one kid and his brother my lunch money, so they wouldn't beat me up, while riding the bus ! Once Mom, Dad and my older Sister found out about this...my older Sister beat up both the boys and I had no problems but to be on the safe side, from the second grade to ninth grade, I either walked to school or rode my bike. These days, kids are bussed to school, even if the school is literally in their own backyard ! I've heard on the News, of the new idea called, a Walking Bus ! This is where a parent walks a group of children to and from school. Hmmmmm, what a novel idea !!! Walking to school !!! This is sarcasm ! When we were growing up, we didn't want our parents around us...it would be embarrassing !! Much less walk us to school, or wait for the bus to pick us up in the morning and drop us off in the afternoon. Oh, the humiliation !!!! We would have definitely been on a shrink's couch if we had to endure this kind of treatment and over protectiveness ! LOL !!!!
Our neighborhood did have a pool and we spent tons of time there. If you could pass a basic swimming test, you not only could swim in the deep end, but you didn't have to have a parent to watch over you ! Not only did we swim and dive but there was also an area where competitive wiffleball was played. We were a generation of strong swimmers and played BASS & MINNOW with very strict rules. This game was played by all ages and was taken very seriously ! My Grandmother sat on the front porch of our house one particular day and counted seventy kids, walking to the pool ! That was just off our street ! Times that by twelve or fourteen other streets and you had a pretty popular pool. I see kids standing at the bus stop, during the school year and know I haven't seen this many kids at our pool, during the summer months !
It wasn't long before we all started getting BB guns and recurved fiberglass bows with target shooting arrows. This shed a whole new light on our competitiveness. Target shooting became something to really brag about. Who was the best shot ? I don't ever remember any of our fathers showing us how to hold a rifle or pistol, it just came to us naturally or instinctively . They didn't show us how to use a bow and arrow either. All of our fathers severed in World War II and had been around guns, during their time in service, but only one father that lived on our street was known to have a Colt Buntline pistol. (this is the type pistol Wyatt Erp carried in the old west), but none of us ever saw it, we just heard about from our fathers talking about it. So it wasn't like we were all raised around guns and stuff...it was just part of growing up as a boy !! In the late 80's, my stepdaughter tried raising her sons in a non-violent manner. They didn't watch violent stuff on TV or movies and didn't have store bought guns or knives to play with, but somehow, they knew ! They would take cardboard and cutout swords and guns and play. So the whole non-violent thing didn't workout very well. In the twenty nine years we have lived here, I have only seen a hand full of boys playing ARMY ! It was fun to watch them. They have better weapons than we ever did !
I know for a fact, that I'm not the only kid in our neighborhood that took on the family responsibility to get myself up, fed, clothed and out the door to school and to be on time...never tardy ! These days my parents would probably be arrested for child neglect and I would be a ward of social services. We just called it, doing what needed to be done because both parents worked, and sometimes this meant different shifts ! I've told you in other stories that I learned how to cook at an early age ! This was part of my responsibility or obligation to the family ! I know this may sound Godfather-ish but it's not intended to be. But I did learn how to cook at the age of five, without the aid of micro-wave ovens and all the convienences kids have today. I didn't make or leave a mess in the kitchen, never burned down the house and above all, didn't starve ! I cooked on an electric stove and oven and used the broiler. I think these were great life lessons and should be taught to all kids at home and in schools these days !
I remember the first time a friend of mine and I were going to see a movie, "by ourselves" ! We were going to ride our bikes to the theater and see John Wayne, in "The Cowboys" ! (Spoiler Alert ! this is the movie where John takes a bunch of kids and turns them into cowhands to help him drive the cattle to market) We were eleven years old. Mom probably expressed her concern of our safety to Dad and Dad approached us before leaving and asked us if we knew how to take care of ourselves, should any older boys pick on us ? Without blinking an eye, my friend said to Dad, "Sure, we'll just kickem in the NUTS, grab their hair and slam their face down on our knee and probably break their nose ! " Satisfied with the answer, Dad went back to explain to Mom, how we were going to be just fine, on our own ! Oh by the way, despite John Wayne being killed by Bruce Durn, early in the film, the movie was very inspiring !
Skateboards were invented during my time of growing up ! We took old metal street skates and flattened the sides down that use to hold your shoes in place and then screwed them to a piece of sturdy plywood. It was called Sidewalk Surfing ! Speed was the main objective. We lived on a pretty good hill and had to take hammers and beat down the tar that was used in the expansion joints, so we could get up as much speed as possible, before taking Dead Mans Curve ! Our street made a dog-leg turn to the right and the sidewalk banked away from the curve...thus, the name, "Dead Mans Curve." We would ride as fast as we could and go as far into the cul-de-sac as we could. Personally, I broke one arm and wrist when a bit of hammered down tar, began rising again and blocked my wheels, thus throwing me off the board. Instinctively, I put my arm out to break my fall...not to break my arm ! Dad said I had to throw the skateboard away and put it out for Rumpke. When I came home from school, the trash hadn't been picked up yet and my beloved skateboard was laying there, on the top of the can, waiting to be hauled away. It called to me to save it !! Play another day with me ! I rescued it from the dump and hid it from Dad. Months later a similar accident happened and I ended up breaking my other arm and wrist. When Dad found out I had kept the skateboard, he grabbed the board and broke it over his knee ! "Take that out of the trash, he scolded !" Well, in hind-sight, I could have rescued the skates and just made a new board ! LOL !!!! But, that was the end of my skateboarding days !
Don't get me wrong ! We didn't just live to play...we had chores to do around the house and we didn't get paid for doing them. It was all part of the responsibility to the family. The whole burden of keeping the household running wasn't left up to Mom ! At our house, we would all help out, cleaning the house. We'd each take a section, plus our own rooms. Dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing toilets, sinks, tubs and showers, even cleaning windows, taking out trash and cutting grass. Everything goes a lot faster when you work as a team and you've been shown how to do it the right way and nobody has to come in behind you and do it again ! I think this whole over protectiveness thing has gone too far ! By the time we think our kids are old enough to do something like clean their room or cut the grass, they're not interested and say you're mean for making them do it! All they want to do now is hang out with their friends. I think they need to be taught how to do it at an early age and learn how to do it right ! I mentioned we didn't get paid for doing these chores around the house. We didn't get allowances. We got our parents love and trust, a roof over our head, clothes on our back, shoes on our feet and meals, anytime we bothered to show up...cause you know... we were probably out playing and forgot to come home to eat !
How did we survive ? No one watching our every move, carrying deadly weaponry, no helmets, knee or elbow pads when riding skateboards or bicycles, we played football and baseball in a cow pasture filled with groundhog holes and uneven ground, without any protective gear or in the street when our mothers didn't want us getting dirty ! My best plays in football were when my arms were in casts from the skateboard incidents. As a would be tackler approached I would lift my casted arm, under their jaw, as I ran for the touchdown ! They might have seen stars for a while but nobody ever went home crying ! Baseball was played in the same field as football. Many a sprained ankles and tons of mud and grass stains came out of that field but we played on ! Now days you see advertisements on TV and hear them on radio about getting kids outside for sixty minutes of play a day! How sad is that ? We have forgotten how to play !!!
Experienced and Written by J.Scott Keniston
Mister Softee !
Mister Softee Truck
Growing up we had a Mister Softee Ice Cream Truck that would come around most summer evenings after supper. You could get it all off this truck and I sampled it all. Sundaes, shakes, jumbo cones, ice cream sandwiches and banana splits.
We never got an allowance, we got money by finding and picking up glass pop bottles and cashing them in for two cents each. So figure out how many bottles I had to cash in to get the money to buy ice cream. A jumbo cone was twenty five cents. A banana split was fifty five cents and an ice cream sandwich or regular cone were a dime. These were my three favorite selections…depending on how many bottles I found and cashed in.
I remember one night I had saved a dollar ten cents. We lived on a cul de sac and I waited on the curb for the truck to pull over and take my order. I ordered a banana split. One banana split down the middle and placed on either side of the banana boat, three mounds of soft serve ice cream, three toppings of my choice, butterscotch, hot fudge and strawberry were my choices, topped off with whipped cream, chopped nuts and a cherry on top. I got my order and sat down and began eating it. By the time the truck made it’s rounds at the end of the street and started back up the other side...there I was, waiting patiently. Once he pulled over for me, I ordered a second banana split, sat back down and ate that one too. I only did that once. I don't remember when Mister Softee stopped running around our neighborhood but I sure do miss it.
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
We never got an allowance, we got money by finding and picking up glass pop bottles and cashing them in for two cents each. So figure out how many bottles I had to cash in to get the money to buy ice cream. A jumbo cone was twenty five cents. A banana split was fifty five cents and an ice cream sandwich or regular cone were a dime. These were my three favorite selections…depending on how many bottles I found and cashed in.
I remember one night I had saved a dollar ten cents. We lived on a cul de sac and I waited on the curb for the truck to pull over and take my order. I ordered a banana split. One banana split down the middle and placed on either side of the banana boat, three mounds of soft serve ice cream, three toppings of my choice, butterscotch, hot fudge and strawberry were my choices, topped off with whipped cream, chopped nuts and a cherry on top. I got my order and sat down and began eating it. By the time the truck made it’s rounds at the end of the street and started back up the other side...there I was, waiting patiently. Once he pulled over for me, I ordered a second banana split, sat back down and ate that one too. I only did that once. I don't remember when Mister Softee stopped running around our neighborhood but I sure do miss it.
Written and experienced by J.Scott Keniston
Talking with the animals
Over the years I have truly appreciated my time outdoors with nature. Growing up the way I did and having parents that introduced me to camping and other outdoor adventures...I learned a lot.
Those that have been around me might think I may seem a bit crazy when I talk to animals but sometimes I think they do understand me. I've had a few experiences that just seemed like little miracles. Take the time I talked a newly hatched Mallard Duckling into my kayak and took it to another pair of Mallards to care for. My Mother loved hearing these stories.
Mom lived in Fort Myers, Florida and I didn't get down there to visit her too often but the last time I did go down for a visit, we ended up working on some flower planters she had on her front porch. Digging in the dirt and adding a splash of color to the otherwise, white and turquoise neighborhood. Once the planting was complete we sat back and admired the job we had done and Mom watered the newly planted flowers. The sun was setting and a nice breeze made the evening outside very comfortable.
She sort of introduced me to backyard bird watching when I was growing up at home and like I said, she liked hearing my stories about the wildlife around Landen. As we sat in the front yard talking, I was listening to the different birds around her neighborhood.
There really aren't a lot of birds that you actually see flying, singing or chirping around the neighborhoods in Florida and their HOA didn't allow feeders and such, so I was basically listening to the occasional Cardinal, a few Crows and Seagulls. Then I heard a Mockingbird.
I listened intently to its song, over and over and sort of pin pointed its location. Then I saw it move and fly to a tree, down the street. It flew to another tree and I said in a normal tone of voice, "I see you...come here and visit me.
I startled my Mom and she turned and asked with surprise, Who are you talking to ? I told her I was talking to the Mockingbird, down the street. She strained her eyes to see if she could see it. She couldn't but it was singing its song and I pointed it out to her and she heard it.
I called out to it again. Come here and visit me. With that said, the Mockingbird flew to a tree in Mom's yard. I asked Mom if she could see it now? She could. She marveled at the white patches she saw in its wings as it flew.
The Mockingbird began singing its song over and over again. Then it would mock some other bird and sounds and go back to its own tune.
We sat quietly and listened to him and watched and I would ask him to come to me and let us see him. He hopped out of the tree and onto the ground and looked at us curiously. In a very calm voice I asked him again to come up and see us. He hopped a little closer to the house. I held out my left arm with the index finger extended and offered him a place to perch if he'd come up and visit us.
Mom's attention was now on me and looking at me like I was some kind of a nut, thinking this bird was going to come up and sit on my finger. With that, the Mockingbird took flight and was coming straight for me. Just then Mom must have seen the bird coming out of the corner of her eye and turned to see it almost on top of us and....she screamed and waved her arms around wildly and scared the Mockingbird away! Did you see that crazy thing coming right at us, she asked ? Yeah, I did...it was coming to sit on my finger so you could look at it more closely, I said. Oh noooo, do you really think that, she went on? Well, I said, I don't think it was coming up to attack us! I was talking it in for you. She just couldn't believe the idea that this bird was coming to sit on my hand or arm. I don't know how she thought I did stuff like this in the stories I had told her?
So blew the opportunity for my Mom to witness my possible bond with nature. Some people's kids, huh ? You can dress them up but you can't take them out around nature.
Experienced and written by J.Scott Keniston
Those that have been around me might think I may seem a bit crazy when I talk to animals but sometimes I think they do understand me. I've had a few experiences that just seemed like little miracles. Take the time I talked a newly hatched Mallard Duckling into my kayak and took it to another pair of Mallards to care for. My Mother loved hearing these stories.
Mom lived in Fort Myers, Florida and I didn't get down there to visit her too often but the last time I did go down for a visit, we ended up working on some flower planters she had on her front porch. Digging in the dirt and adding a splash of color to the otherwise, white and turquoise neighborhood. Once the planting was complete we sat back and admired the job we had done and Mom watered the newly planted flowers. The sun was setting and a nice breeze made the evening outside very comfortable.
She sort of introduced me to backyard bird watching when I was growing up at home and like I said, she liked hearing my stories about the wildlife around Landen. As we sat in the front yard talking, I was listening to the different birds around her neighborhood.
There really aren't a lot of birds that you actually see flying, singing or chirping around the neighborhoods in Florida and their HOA didn't allow feeders and such, so I was basically listening to the occasional Cardinal, a few Crows and Seagulls. Then I heard a Mockingbird.
I listened intently to its song, over and over and sort of pin pointed its location. Then I saw it move and fly to a tree, down the street. It flew to another tree and I said in a normal tone of voice, "I see you...come here and visit me.
I startled my Mom and she turned and asked with surprise, Who are you talking to ? I told her I was talking to the Mockingbird, down the street. She strained her eyes to see if she could see it. She couldn't but it was singing its song and I pointed it out to her and she heard it.
I called out to it again. Come here and visit me. With that said, the Mockingbird flew to a tree in Mom's yard. I asked Mom if she could see it now? She could. She marveled at the white patches she saw in its wings as it flew.
The Mockingbird began singing its song over and over again. Then it would mock some other bird and sounds and go back to its own tune.
We sat quietly and listened to him and watched and I would ask him to come to me and let us see him. He hopped out of the tree and onto the ground and looked at us curiously. In a very calm voice I asked him again to come up and see us. He hopped a little closer to the house. I held out my left arm with the index finger extended and offered him a place to perch if he'd come up and visit us.
Mom's attention was now on me and looking at me like I was some kind of a nut, thinking this bird was going to come up and sit on my finger. With that, the Mockingbird took flight and was coming straight for me. Just then Mom must have seen the bird coming out of the corner of her eye and turned to see it almost on top of us and....she screamed and waved her arms around wildly and scared the Mockingbird away! Did you see that crazy thing coming right at us, she asked ? Yeah, I did...it was coming to sit on my finger so you could look at it more closely, I said. Oh noooo, do you really think that, she went on? Well, I said, I don't think it was coming up to attack us! I was talking it in for you. She just couldn't believe the idea that this bird was coming to sit on my hand or arm. I don't know how she thought I did stuff like this in the stories I had told her?
So blew the opportunity for my Mom to witness my possible bond with nature. Some people's kids, huh ? You can dress them up but you can't take them out around nature.
Experienced and written by J.Scott Keniston
My Dog Frank
Frank
While in the Navy, I was stationed at a Naval Air Station on the west bank of New Orleans, Louisiana. We had a small crew of Seabees (which is the Naval Construction Battalions) that consisted of a bunch of guys just back from tours in South Vietnam.
My direct supervisor was in a local bar one evening when somebody brought in a box of puppies. The pups were a mix between a Beagle and a German Shepard. Lenny said he’d take one. The next morning he woke up to the sounds of a crying puppy and remembered he brought one home. Being a bachelor and having no desire to have something other than himself to take care of, he brought the puppy into work to see if any of us would give it a good home. Nobody wanted Frank. Seems that was the only thing Lenny had done for the dog. He named it. Upon closer inspection, one of the other guys discovered that Frank was a girl. Well, it didn’t matter, the name stuck and the puppy responded to it. Frank it would be. I felt sorry for the pup so I took it. This wasn’t such a good idea because I lived in the barracks on base. My roommate and I had converted a storage closet into a two man billet. Luckily the storage closet was in the back stairwell on the third floor of the barracks. It was the furthest place you could get, away from everyone else. As long as she didn't bark or cause trouble, it might just workout.
I had an old Honda 450cc motorcycle then and Frank was a tiny puppy. She fit in a saddle bag and rode everywhere with me. As she grew, the saddle bag didn’t fit her anymore and she started laying across the gas tank with her head between the mirrors. Still going everywhere I went. People loved seeing the dog that rode the motorcycle. Children would point and say hi to Frank and me when we'd pull up to a red light or stop sign.
Every morning Frank went to work with me. She became sort of the Seabee’s mascot but I had the responsibility for her. The guys just got to play with her and do all the fun stuff. There was a woman that operated a catering truck that stopped by our Quonset hut every morning would give Frank a cheeseburger. Frank would take it out back and bury it, still in its wrapper. Then she’d come inside where everybody was opening up packages of donuts, fried eggs, sausage and biscuit sandwiches and other such things. Frank would methodically work the room and go around to each and every Seabee that had a snack off the truck. She’d sit in front of them and turn her head to one side and stare at them with those big brown, sad, eyes until they gave her a bite. The act didn’t usually last too long. Everybody liked Frank and liked giving her snacks. When she had finished her rounds, she’d go out back and dig up her own cheeseburger. She’d rip open the cellophane wrapper and chow down. I’d just have to go pick up her wrapper and throw it away when she finished.
I bought her a collar and had a Marine buddy of mine make up special dog-tag, just for her, with her name and unit stamped into the tag.
During the summer months, we’d go swimming at the base pool. The lifeguard was the daughter of a Lieutenant Commander on base and a cute one at that. She loved Frank and had no problems letting her swim in the pool.
One day there was a base inspection and Patti had Frank at the pool while I was working. The inspection team was due to arrive and Patti had to get Frank out of the water. Frank wouldn’t come when called so Patti jumped in after her. When she grabbed Frank, Frank nipped her and broke the skin. This began Frank’s life of crime.
Patti called me up at work to come get Frank and told me what had happened. I took Patti and Frank to the Infirmary so the Corpsmen could dress Patti’s wound and check Frank for rabies. I had never taken Frank to get her shots. The Corpsmen insisted that Frank be restrained or contained for the next week.
Back at work, I told all the guys what Frank had done and what the Corpsmen ordered. I took Frank out back and chained her to a CONEX box, which is a portable storage container that resembles a large dumpster with a door in it.
All afternoon, Frank lunged against the chain. Never barking but constantly pulling on the chain holding her to the box. By the next day she had broken the chain. No one had any idea how she did it, but the link was pulled apart and she ran with a partial length of chain attached to her collar. She finally came back and we got a new length of chain. Finally, her week of confinement had ended and she was allowed to resume life as she knew it.
The base golf course ran behind our barracks. Frank would often times sit at the back door of the barracks and watch officers tee off. Their balls would bounce in the fairway, close to where she sat. When the mood struck her, she’d run out on the course and grab one of their balls. The officers would chase her around in their electric golf carts. If they got to close, she’d jump in the water hazard pond, just off the green. She’d swim around in circles until the guy decided to replace the ball and maybe take a stroke before continuing the game. I’d watch all this from our window and laugh at these guys. It lwas like watching a comedy on TV.
We had a little park on base with picnic shelters, horse shoe pits and a softball field. This was just across the street from the Quonset hut, where I worked. There was a brief time when Frank would yelp when her hips were touched or petted, We never knew what had happened to her. Then one day we had a unit party and some of the guys started throwing horse shoes. The first time one of the shoes hit the stake with a clang, Frank jumped in fear and ran in the opposite direction from where the sound came from. We figured she must have walked in front of a horse shoe as it was being thrown and gotten hit by the horse shoe. Ever since then she ran away from the sound of horse shoes clanging.
Sadly, one day Frank was missing. One of the guys in my unit said he saw Frank in an Air Force van. I was upset that someone would take my dog. She had a collar and dog tags that said who she was and where she belonged. Our Chief went over to the Air Force hanger and had a talk with the guy that had Frank. This guy lived off base with his wife and two kids and thought Frank would have a better life with them. When the Chief returned, he explained what was happening and that I was better off not to make a big deal out of it or the Navy would just make me get rid of Frank anyway. The story didn’t make me feel any better but it did turn out to be the best thing for Frank. Within days I had gotten orders to report to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba and Frank couldn’t have gone with me.
I still think about her often and the funny stuff she’d do and the fun we had.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
My direct supervisor was in a local bar one evening when somebody brought in a box of puppies. The pups were a mix between a Beagle and a German Shepard. Lenny said he’d take one. The next morning he woke up to the sounds of a crying puppy and remembered he brought one home. Being a bachelor and having no desire to have something other than himself to take care of, he brought the puppy into work to see if any of us would give it a good home. Nobody wanted Frank. Seems that was the only thing Lenny had done for the dog. He named it. Upon closer inspection, one of the other guys discovered that Frank was a girl. Well, it didn’t matter, the name stuck and the puppy responded to it. Frank it would be. I felt sorry for the pup so I took it. This wasn’t such a good idea because I lived in the barracks on base. My roommate and I had converted a storage closet into a two man billet. Luckily the storage closet was in the back stairwell on the third floor of the barracks. It was the furthest place you could get, away from everyone else. As long as she didn't bark or cause trouble, it might just workout.
I had an old Honda 450cc motorcycle then and Frank was a tiny puppy. She fit in a saddle bag and rode everywhere with me. As she grew, the saddle bag didn’t fit her anymore and she started laying across the gas tank with her head between the mirrors. Still going everywhere I went. People loved seeing the dog that rode the motorcycle. Children would point and say hi to Frank and me when we'd pull up to a red light or stop sign.
Every morning Frank went to work with me. She became sort of the Seabee’s mascot but I had the responsibility for her. The guys just got to play with her and do all the fun stuff. There was a woman that operated a catering truck that stopped by our Quonset hut every morning would give Frank a cheeseburger. Frank would take it out back and bury it, still in its wrapper. Then she’d come inside where everybody was opening up packages of donuts, fried eggs, sausage and biscuit sandwiches and other such things. Frank would methodically work the room and go around to each and every Seabee that had a snack off the truck. She’d sit in front of them and turn her head to one side and stare at them with those big brown, sad, eyes until they gave her a bite. The act didn’t usually last too long. Everybody liked Frank and liked giving her snacks. When she had finished her rounds, she’d go out back and dig up her own cheeseburger. She’d rip open the cellophane wrapper and chow down. I’d just have to go pick up her wrapper and throw it away when she finished.
I bought her a collar and had a Marine buddy of mine make up special dog-tag, just for her, with her name and unit stamped into the tag.
During the summer months, we’d go swimming at the base pool. The lifeguard was the daughter of a Lieutenant Commander on base and a cute one at that. She loved Frank and had no problems letting her swim in the pool.
One day there was a base inspection and Patti had Frank at the pool while I was working. The inspection team was due to arrive and Patti had to get Frank out of the water. Frank wouldn’t come when called so Patti jumped in after her. When she grabbed Frank, Frank nipped her and broke the skin. This began Frank’s life of crime.
Patti called me up at work to come get Frank and told me what had happened. I took Patti and Frank to the Infirmary so the Corpsmen could dress Patti’s wound and check Frank for rabies. I had never taken Frank to get her shots. The Corpsmen insisted that Frank be restrained or contained for the next week.
Back at work, I told all the guys what Frank had done and what the Corpsmen ordered. I took Frank out back and chained her to a CONEX box, which is a portable storage container that resembles a large dumpster with a door in it.
All afternoon, Frank lunged against the chain. Never barking but constantly pulling on the chain holding her to the box. By the next day she had broken the chain. No one had any idea how she did it, but the link was pulled apart and she ran with a partial length of chain attached to her collar. She finally came back and we got a new length of chain. Finally, her week of confinement had ended and she was allowed to resume life as she knew it.
The base golf course ran behind our barracks. Frank would often times sit at the back door of the barracks and watch officers tee off. Their balls would bounce in the fairway, close to where she sat. When the mood struck her, she’d run out on the course and grab one of their balls. The officers would chase her around in their electric golf carts. If they got to close, she’d jump in the water hazard pond, just off the green. She’d swim around in circles until the guy decided to replace the ball and maybe take a stroke before continuing the game. I’d watch all this from our window and laugh at these guys. It lwas like watching a comedy on TV.
We had a little park on base with picnic shelters, horse shoe pits and a softball field. This was just across the street from the Quonset hut, where I worked. There was a brief time when Frank would yelp when her hips were touched or petted, We never knew what had happened to her. Then one day we had a unit party and some of the guys started throwing horse shoes. The first time one of the shoes hit the stake with a clang, Frank jumped in fear and ran in the opposite direction from where the sound came from. We figured she must have walked in front of a horse shoe as it was being thrown and gotten hit by the horse shoe. Ever since then she ran away from the sound of horse shoes clanging.
Sadly, one day Frank was missing. One of the guys in my unit said he saw Frank in an Air Force van. I was upset that someone would take my dog. She had a collar and dog tags that said who she was and where she belonged. Our Chief went over to the Air Force hanger and had a talk with the guy that had Frank. This guy lived off base with his wife and two kids and thought Frank would have a better life with them. When the Chief returned, he explained what was happening and that I was better off not to make a big deal out of it or the Navy would just make me get rid of Frank anyway. The story didn’t make me feel any better but it did turn out to be the best thing for Frank. Within days I had gotten orders to report to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba and Frank couldn’t have gone with me.
I still think about her often and the funny stuff she’d do and the fun we had.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Kirbys' Catch
When I married Joyce, she had a two year old, yellow tabby (tom cat), named Kirby, that she brought into the marriage. He was a neat cat and I’m not the kind of guy that particularly cares for the company of cats. He was mostly an outdoor cat but came home for love’n (as Joyce would put it), food and water, every day.
Joyce could pull into the parking area of the condo’s we lived in, at the time, get out of her car and give a little whistle and Kirby would come out of no where and jump straight up into her arms for love’n.
If he was in the house when she got the vacuum cleaner out, he would lay down in front of her and insist on being vacuumed before the carpets were done. He was really a character. If we would take a walk of an evening, Kirby would sometimes accompany us. No leash was required. He’d just walk right along with us. Joyce would ask him questions as we walked and he’d meow back, like he understood every word she said.
There was a time when Kirby had his eye scratched by another cat. The vet tended to the eye and said he needed to stay inside for a week and not let him expose the eye to bright light. After that he should be fine. Well, that first night was a night to remember. We had just gotten into bed when he started with loud meowing in the hallway outside our bedroom. Joyce scolded him and told him to stop. A little while passed and he started meowing again. Joyce shouted at him to stop. Next thing we heard was Kirby jumping up onto Joyce’s dresser. He meowed, she told him to stop but he batted a bottle of her perfume onto the floor, she told him to stop again and he casually batted a second bottle onto the floor. Somehow she got him to shut up so we could sleep but the temper tantrum that cat threw was one I’d never forget.
Now Joyce and I both enjoy the outdoors. Camping, boating, fishing, swimming and all the nature that surrounds us where ever we are. I really like fishing and during the winter months, I would spend time re-organizing my tackle boxes. I have fifteen tackle boxes. All loaded with lures of every size and color imaginable. I’d occupy my time getting ready for the upcoming fishing season and dream of where and how I wanted to use each lure.
One particular evening Joyce had gone out and I brought all the tackles boxes down to the livingroom, so I could turn on the TV while I sorted through the tackle. It was the middle of winter and Kirby was inside more often. Just as I had everything spread out on the floor, Kirby walked through the middle of everything and sniffed at each box. Although he was neutered, he still went through the act of spraying to mark his territory. This time, as he backed up to one of my tackle boxes, he actually produced a little spray.
Well, that did it ! I kind of thought he never approved of my being part of their family and this was a definite sign. Without saying a word I reached across the floor and swatted him across the flanks, causing him to jump in surprise. Then I scolded him telling him he was no longer the cock of the rock (top rooster in the barnyard). From that time on Kirby and I had a better relationship.
I know you probably think I’m just rambling along about this cat but there is story here. I just thought you should know something about the personality of Kirby before I told you the story.
Kirby, like other outdoor cats, would hunt... and he was pretty successful, bringing his trophies to the front door to show them off. His prey was never dead or really hurt. Knocked senseless, but never hurt. Rabbits, chipmunks, snakes and birds rounded out most of his prize catches.
One particular summer day, I was washing my van in the front yard and had my shirt off. Kirby came around the corner and plopped down in the grass with something between his crossed front paws. I watched him a bit as I rinsed the soap off the van. I couldn’t tell what he had but I could see that whenever it made a move, he’d bop it on the head, knocking it senseless again. I laid the hose down and walked over to him and asked to see what he had.
He stood up and backed away from his prize, exposing a young chipmunk. I took the chipmunk and covered it over with my tee shirt. I figured if the animal couldn’t see danger, it wouldn’t panic and die of a heart attack or something. Kirby began to pace back and forth, wanting his catch back. Joyce had been out and when she came home, naturally, Kirby jumped into her arms. I showed her the chipmunk he had gotten and had her contain Kirby while I took it out back to be released. Kirby was put in the house and I took the chipmunk down to a little grove of trees behind our condo. I put it on a fallen log and watched it regain its senses. In a short while it looked around and scurried off into the trees.
Maybe an hour later Kirby was let outside again. We just went about our business of daily life. Joyce walked outside to get something from her car, only to find Kirby….with something else between his paws. She called to me to come out and see what he had. I walked out and asked him to show me what he had. He seemed a bit reluctant to let me see it this time, since the last time, I took his catch away from him. I had to put the back of my hand to his face to get him to backup but he finally did. Upon him backing up, this reviled a baby House Wren, which had probably just been kicked out of the nest to learn to fly when Kirby snatched it. It was the neatest little thing. Since there were no trees to speak of in the front yard, we figured the wren must have come from the woods behind the condo. Joyce threw Kirby in the house again and we took the baby to the grassy backyard, just about twenty feet away from the tree line.
This little wren sat in the grass and as we moved back, it let out a loud CHIRP. Immediately it was answered and Momma showed up at its side. She gave the little offspring exact directions to the tree line. She then flew over to a low hanging branch on a nearby honeysuckle bush to watch the baby come towards her. The baby made several hops in the tall grass and slowly but surely began to get off course. Momma came back to its side and repeated the coordinates to the tree line. Again, the baby hopped along the tops of the tall grasses as she watched from her perch. Again the baby got off course. Momma flew back down to her baby’s side and repeated the instructions and flew back to the branch. Finally the baby made it to the bottom of the bush where she had been sitting and directing him to. She called out instructions for the baby to follow and to jump up to higher branches in the bush. He followed her instructions to the letter. Reunited at last, mother and baby were safe from Kirby now.
Satisfied that the little wren had made it to safety, we turned our backs and went back into the house where Kirby was waiting to get back to the hunt. Joyce grabbed him and kept him inside the rest of the evening. We thought this display put on by the House Wrens was just amazing. A little bit of natures way, at its' finest.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Joyce could pull into the parking area of the condo’s we lived in, at the time, get out of her car and give a little whistle and Kirby would come out of no where and jump straight up into her arms for love’n.
If he was in the house when she got the vacuum cleaner out, he would lay down in front of her and insist on being vacuumed before the carpets were done. He was really a character. If we would take a walk of an evening, Kirby would sometimes accompany us. No leash was required. He’d just walk right along with us. Joyce would ask him questions as we walked and he’d meow back, like he understood every word she said.
There was a time when Kirby had his eye scratched by another cat. The vet tended to the eye and said he needed to stay inside for a week and not let him expose the eye to bright light. After that he should be fine. Well, that first night was a night to remember. We had just gotten into bed when he started with loud meowing in the hallway outside our bedroom. Joyce scolded him and told him to stop. A little while passed and he started meowing again. Joyce shouted at him to stop. Next thing we heard was Kirby jumping up onto Joyce’s dresser. He meowed, she told him to stop but he batted a bottle of her perfume onto the floor, she told him to stop again and he casually batted a second bottle onto the floor. Somehow she got him to shut up so we could sleep but the temper tantrum that cat threw was one I’d never forget.
Now Joyce and I both enjoy the outdoors. Camping, boating, fishing, swimming and all the nature that surrounds us where ever we are. I really like fishing and during the winter months, I would spend time re-organizing my tackle boxes. I have fifteen tackle boxes. All loaded with lures of every size and color imaginable. I’d occupy my time getting ready for the upcoming fishing season and dream of where and how I wanted to use each lure.
One particular evening Joyce had gone out and I brought all the tackles boxes down to the livingroom, so I could turn on the TV while I sorted through the tackle. It was the middle of winter and Kirby was inside more often. Just as I had everything spread out on the floor, Kirby walked through the middle of everything and sniffed at each box. Although he was neutered, he still went through the act of spraying to mark his territory. This time, as he backed up to one of my tackle boxes, he actually produced a little spray.
Well, that did it ! I kind of thought he never approved of my being part of their family and this was a definite sign. Without saying a word I reached across the floor and swatted him across the flanks, causing him to jump in surprise. Then I scolded him telling him he was no longer the cock of the rock (top rooster in the barnyard). From that time on Kirby and I had a better relationship.
I know you probably think I’m just rambling along about this cat but there is story here. I just thought you should know something about the personality of Kirby before I told you the story.
Kirby, like other outdoor cats, would hunt... and he was pretty successful, bringing his trophies to the front door to show them off. His prey was never dead or really hurt. Knocked senseless, but never hurt. Rabbits, chipmunks, snakes and birds rounded out most of his prize catches.
One particular summer day, I was washing my van in the front yard and had my shirt off. Kirby came around the corner and plopped down in the grass with something between his crossed front paws. I watched him a bit as I rinsed the soap off the van. I couldn’t tell what he had but I could see that whenever it made a move, he’d bop it on the head, knocking it senseless again. I laid the hose down and walked over to him and asked to see what he had.
He stood up and backed away from his prize, exposing a young chipmunk. I took the chipmunk and covered it over with my tee shirt. I figured if the animal couldn’t see danger, it wouldn’t panic and die of a heart attack or something. Kirby began to pace back and forth, wanting his catch back. Joyce had been out and when she came home, naturally, Kirby jumped into her arms. I showed her the chipmunk he had gotten and had her contain Kirby while I took it out back to be released. Kirby was put in the house and I took the chipmunk down to a little grove of trees behind our condo. I put it on a fallen log and watched it regain its senses. In a short while it looked around and scurried off into the trees.
Maybe an hour later Kirby was let outside again. We just went about our business of daily life. Joyce walked outside to get something from her car, only to find Kirby….with something else between his paws. She called to me to come out and see what he had. I walked out and asked him to show me what he had. He seemed a bit reluctant to let me see it this time, since the last time, I took his catch away from him. I had to put the back of my hand to his face to get him to backup but he finally did. Upon him backing up, this reviled a baby House Wren, which had probably just been kicked out of the nest to learn to fly when Kirby snatched it. It was the neatest little thing. Since there were no trees to speak of in the front yard, we figured the wren must have come from the woods behind the condo. Joyce threw Kirby in the house again and we took the baby to the grassy backyard, just about twenty feet away from the tree line.
This little wren sat in the grass and as we moved back, it let out a loud CHIRP. Immediately it was answered and Momma showed up at its side. She gave the little offspring exact directions to the tree line. She then flew over to a low hanging branch on a nearby honeysuckle bush to watch the baby come towards her. The baby made several hops in the tall grass and slowly but surely began to get off course. Momma came back to its side and repeated the coordinates to the tree line. Again, the baby hopped along the tops of the tall grasses as she watched from her perch. Again the baby got off course. Momma flew back down to her baby’s side and repeated the instructions and flew back to the branch. Finally the baby made it to the bottom of the bush where she had been sitting and directing him to. She called out instructions for the baby to follow and to jump up to higher branches in the bush. He followed her instructions to the letter. Reunited at last, mother and baby were safe from Kirby now.
Satisfied that the little wren had made it to safety, we turned our backs and went back into the house where Kirby was waiting to get back to the hunt. Joyce grabbed him and kept him inside the rest of the evening. We thought this display put on by the House Wrens was just amazing. A little bit of natures way, at its' finest.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Our Gang (my bestest friends)
Our Gang at the wedding of Mark Barlege
It's kind of strange, how we all came together. If my friend Ron wasn't held back a year in school we may never have become best friends while attending confirmation classes at our church in the 7th grade.
Ron would often remark that his friend Dave was waiting for him,on a bench, in the graveyard, behind the church, while we were doing the comfirmation class, every Saturday morning.
Ron and I liked slot car racing, setting up cool tracks and customizing our race cars and roller skating. Meanwhile, he and Dave rode mini bikes and go carts. Our interests were very different at that time. Finally, in the 9th grade, Dave and I were in some classes together and hit it off, right off the bat and also became best friends. Now we were like the three musketeers. If you saw one of us, you knew the other two were close by. Ron was the oldest and the first to get his driver's license and I was the youngest and we went and did everything together.
Dave's older brother had his own gang and they were into cars. They had cars like the Dodge Charger, Plymouth Roadrunner, Pontiac GTO and a Chevy Nova. Dave's brother Rich was also building a T" Bucket" street rod and this interested me greatly. Tom was one of Rich's friends' and Toms' family had a farm and the guys would go down on the weekend and use the barn to work on their cars and then go cruse around town when all their customizing and tune ups were done.
One Saturday night they were going to pull the engine out of the Charger and they didn't have a hoist to pull the engine with. Tom suggested that Rich bring his brother Dave and me down to help them lift the engine out of the car. It turned out that Dave and I lifted the engine out ourselves and we were immediately accepted into their gang of friends. We all enjoyed hot muscle cars and hot rods.
As the friendships grew, we were invited to come down to the farm to camp out, down by the river that ran thru their property. The guys all had 22 caliber rifles and brought them to the campouts to compete in some serious target shooting. Not having a gun myself, Dave loaned me his old rifle and I joined the guys in the shooting of old glass bottles and tin cans.
Then one day my Dad asked me if I'd like to have my own gun. I quickly answered "Yes!" Ron and Dave were called to join us and we all went to the local gun retailer to buy me my first 22caliber, lever-action Marlin, Golden 39-A, Lever-action rifle.
Now I had my own gun and it was just like the guns Ron and Dave already had. We were invited to more campouts on the river and had fun telling stories around the campfire and stuff but the best time was the next morning. Dave and I would get up before the other guys and walk thru the woods, exploring. When we got back to camp, Tom would always ask us what we saw in the woods ? Tom is the oldest in the gang and to us, the wisest of outdoorsmen. One morning we told him we saw a brightly colored duck sitting in a tree. He said it couldn't have been a duck, their feet don't fit on tree limbs. That made sense then but now we had no idea what we had seen in the woods. Another time Dave told Tom he saw a groundhog up in a tree. Again, wise old Tom told him, groundhogs don't climb trees...they're "ground" hogs.
As we got older and wiser, we discovered that groundhogs do climb trees and that Wood Ducks can sit on tree limbs. Despite these two occasions, Tom taught us a lot about the outdoors, observing sign left by animals, like tracks in the mud, sand and snow or belly hair from a deer as it jumped over a fence, to spotting different species of hawks soaring overhead or sitting in trees.
When I got out of the Navy, it was Dave that told me that I had to buy a fishing pole and tackle box. While I was away they had seen some other friends catch and cook fish while out camping. They were thrilled with this new aspect of the camping adventure, but we never had any luck catching fish. Thankfully we always brought steaks to eat in case we didn't catch any fish.
Then I met Kenny and everything Kenny taught me about fishing I passed on Ron, Dave and Tom. We started catching fish and now our camping and scuba diving trips had turned into fishing trips. The years have passed by and our hairs are thinning and turning gray and white as families were raised but we are all still the bestest of friends and enjoy our time together.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Ron would often remark that his friend Dave was waiting for him,on a bench, in the graveyard, behind the church, while we were doing the comfirmation class, every Saturday morning.
Ron and I liked slot car racing, setting up cool tracks and customizing our race cars and roller skating. Meanwhile, he and Dave rode mini bikes and go carts. Our interests were very different at that time. Finally, in the 9th grade, Dave and I were in some classes together and hit it off, right off the bat and also became best friends. Now we were like the three musketeers. If you saw one of us, you knew the other two were close by. Ron was the oldest and the first to get his driver's license and I was the youngest and we went and did everything together.
Dave's older brother had his own gang and they were into cars. They had cars like the Dodge Charger, Plymouth Roadrunner, Pontiac GTO and a Chevy Nova. Dave's brother Rich was also building a T" Bucket" street rod and this interested me greatly. Tom was one of Rich's friends' and Toms' family had a farm and the guys would go down on the weekend and use the barn to work on their cars and then go cruse around town when all their customizing and tune ups were done.
One Saturday night they were going to pull the engine out of the Charger and they didn't have a hoist to pull the engine with. Tom suggested that Rich bring his brother Dave and me down to help them lift the engine out of the car. It turned out that Dave and I lifted the engine out ourselves and we were immediately accepted into their gang of friends. We all enjoyed hot muscle cars and hot rods.
As the friendships grew, we were invited to come down to the farm to camp out, down by the river that ran thru their property. The guys all had 22 caliber rifles and brought them to the campouts to compete in some serious target shooting. Not having a gun myself, Dave loaned me his old rifle and I joined the guys in the shooting of old glass bottles and tin cans.
Then one day my Dad asked me if I'd like to have my own gun. I quickly answered "Yes!" Ron and Dave were called to join us and we all went to the local gun retailer to buy me my first 22caliber, lever-action Marlin, Golden 39-A, Lever-action rifle.
Now I had my own gun and it was just like the guns Ron and Dave already had. We were invited to more campouts on the river and had fun telling stories around the campfire and stuff but the best time was the next morning. Dave and I would get up before the other guys and walk thru the woods, exploring. When we got back to camp, Tom would always ask us what we saw in the woods ? Tom is the oldest in the gang and to us, the wisest of outdoorsmen. One morning we told him we saw a brightly colored duck sitting in a tree. He said it couldn't have been a duck, their feet don't fit on tree limbs. That made sense then but now we had no idea what we had seen in the woods. Another time Dave told Tom he saw a groundhog up in a tree. Again, wise old Tom told him, groundhogs don't climb trees...they're "ground" hogs.
As we got older and wiser, we discovered that groundhogs do climb trees and that Wood Ducks can sit on tree limbs. Despite these two occasions, Tom taught us a lot about the outdoors, observing sign left by animals, like tracks in the mud, sand and snow or belly hair from a deer as it jumped over a fence, to spotting different species of hawks soaring overhead or sitting in trees.
When I got out of the Navy, it was Dave that told me that I had to buy a fishing pole and tackle box. While I was away they had seen some other friends catch and cook fish while out camping. They were thrilled with this new aspect of the camping adventure, but we never had any luck catching fish. Thankfully we always brought steaks to eat in case we didn't catch any fish.
Then I met Kenny and everything Kenny taught me about fishing I passed on Ron, Dave and Tom. We started catching fish and now our camping and scuba diving trips had turned into fishing trips. The years have passed by and our hairs are thinning and turning gray and white as families were raised but we are all still the bestest of friends and enjoy our time together.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Time for you to go !
I think I was still in the Navy when I heard about this story. It was our old pal Paul, who at the time was living down at the farm, with Tom and a couple other members of our old gang, after Tom's Mom moved the rest of the family up, into town and closer to schools and church.
This particular summer morning, Paul found himself alone at the farm when a car full of guys pulled into the driveway. Paul walked out and met them as they got out of the car and walked up the drive. They asked if they could fish the bend in the river that runs thru the farm property ?
Paul told the guys they could fish but that he had a wedding to go to later that afternoon and he would come down to the river and let them know when they had to leave. The guys agreed and drove their car down to the lower field, unloaded their fishing gear, traversed the steep bank into the river and began fishing. Paul went back to the house.
Time passed and Paul need to start getting ready for the wedding. He walked down to the field and called out to the guys and told them to gather up their stuff and head out...it was time for them to go. They nodded and gave a thumbs up signal and Paul began walking back to the house. When he got to the house he turned around, looked down towards the river, and noticed the guys hadn't moved yet. Paul thought he'd take his shower and by then they would probably be gone.
Finished with his shower and shaving, Paul looked out the window again and saw the guys still fishing in the river. He walked back down to the field and told them they had to leave NOW !!! The guys nodded and half heartedly looked like they were going to start gathering their stuff and leave. Paul headed to the house again.
Once at the house he looked back over his shoulder and saw they were still there and not heading for the car. Paul walked inside the house and up to Tom's room where he sellected a high powered rifle, with scope and ammo from Tom's closet and headed back to the field. over looking the river, where the guys were still fishing.
He picked an old tree trunk that had been swept down stream in a past flood, to steady the rifle as he took careful aim at one of their bobbers, floating on the water. Then, with a smooth squeeze of the trigger, the rifle errupted with a resounding ROAR !!! and the bobber flew twenty or more feet in the air on a geyser of water, from the perfectly placed shot.
The guys screamed in fear and alarm as the roar of the rifle echoed down the river valley. They grabbed all their gear in a hurry now and scrambled up the river bank, trying to get to their car as fast as they could. Paul met them at the top of the river bank, rifle in his arms, and in no uncertain terms told them they had worn out their welcome and to never come back again !
Told by Tom or Mark or Paul
Written by J.Scott Keniston
This particular summer morning, Paul found himself alone at the farm when a car full of guys pulled into the driveway. Paul walked out and met them as they got out of the car and walked up the drive. They asked if they could fish the bend in the river that runs thru the farm property ?
Paul told the guys they could fish but that he had a wedding to go to later that afternoon and he would come down to the river and let them know when they had to leave. The guys agreed and drove their car down to the lower field, unloaded their fishing gear, traversed the steep bank into the river and began fishing. Paul went back to the house.
Time passed and Paul need to start getting ready for the wedding. He walked down to the field and called out to the guys and told them to gather up their stuff and head out...it was time for them to go. They nodded and gave a thumbs up signal and Paul began walking back to the house. When he got to the house he turned around, looked down towards the river, and noticed the guys hadn't moved yet. Paul thought he'd take his shower and by then they would probably be gone.
Finished with his shower and shaving, Paul looked out the window again and saw the guys still fishing in the river. He walked back down to the field and told them they had to leave NOW !!! The guys nodded and half heartedly looked like they were going to start gathering their stuff and leave. Paul headed to the house again.
Once at the house he looked back over his shoulder and saw they were still there and not heading for the car. Paul walked inside the house and up to Tom's room where he sellected a high powered rifle, with scope and ammo from Tom's closet and headed back to the field. over looking the river, where the guys were still fishing.
He picked an old tree trunk that had been swept down stream in a past flood, to steady the rifle as he took careful aim at one of their bobbers, floating on the water. Then, with a smooth squeeze of the trigger, the rifle errupted with a resounding ROAR !!! and the bobber flew twenty or more feet in the air on a geyser of water, from the perfectly placed shot.
The guys screamed in fear and alarm as the roar of the rifle echoed down the river valley. They grabbed all their gear in a hurry now and scrambled up the river bank, trying to get to their car as fast as they could. Paul met them at the top of the river bank, rifle in his arms, and in no uncertain terms told them they had worn out their welcome and to never come back again !
Told by Tom or Mark or Paul
Written by J.Scott Keniston
The Great Port Clinton Disaster !!!
Back in 1987, my bestest friend, Davey, bought a totaled Chris-Craft boat and decided between he, the body shop owner and his brother the mechanic, they could fix this wreck and have it for fishing and water skiing on family vacations. I was working in Dayton, Ohio at the time and had only heard about this boat in phone conversations. It was late September and the boat was fixed and ready for it's second-life, maiden voyage.
By early October the guys had been talking to me about going up to Lake Michigan to do a little salmon fishing. I didn't exactly have the type of fishing tackle required for this but they assured me that whatever I brought would workout just fine ! It was decided that on the second Friday of October, they would load up in Cincinnati and drive up to Middletown (where I lived) and pick me up, after I got off work around 7:00 PM. From there we would drive into the night and be fishing on Lake Michigan by morning.
Everything seemed to be going according to plan and we were driving on back roads as we drove northward in Ron's club-cab, pickup truck. Ron was driving, Davey had shotgun, Tom and I were crammed into the back seats and my knees felt like they were under my chin. We talked and laughed as we drove into the darkness. All of a sudden there were bright lights from signage on a highway. "What highway is that, I asked ?" Someone answered, I don't know but if it's I-75, we're lost !" We drove a bit father and saw another sign that indicated this was indeed I-75. I started to complain but the guys said, at the last minute, they decided not to go to Lake Michigan but to try fishing Lake Erie for Smallmouth Bass and Walleyes, and just didn't tell me ! Okay, I was fine with that ! If we were going to Lake Erie, we weren't too far away and could be off the road much sooner than previously expected !
Maybe an hour later, we rolled up into the little town of Port Clinton, Ohio...right on the shoreline of Lake Erie. We saw the lake in darkness and drove down the main drag of the town, looking for a hotel or motel to sleep in for the night. It turns out, the businesses of Port Clinton, close and lock their doors at 9:00 PM. It was now about 10:30 and even though we could see clerks behind the desks at the motels, but they would not let us in. The night air was cold and we didn't have camping gear with us, so we had to get a motel room to crash in for the night. We ended up driving about an hour south before we found a motel we could stay in.
Once we got into the room and started to get ready for bed, I had taken off my brand new Rocky Boots with Thinsulate insulation and Gortex, to make them warm and water-proof. My feet were always hot anyways and smelled when they got sweaty and as I pulled my new boots off, the guys all began complaining of the odor and insisted I put the boots out in the bed of the pickup truck to air out ! I hated to do this but I did what they wanted, and then came back into the room and fell asleep on the floor.
The next morning I went out to the truck to get my boots, only to find out it had snowed sometime in the early hours of the morning and my sweaty boots were frozen solid... to the point that I couldn't get my feet into them and had to bring them inside to thaw out. "SNOW" The other guys exclaimed ! We had no idea what lake effect snow was but evidently it was quite common in these parts. Slowly but surely, we checked out of the motel and drove another hour north to get back to Port Clinton.
When we finally got back to town, we could see the lake and the waves crashing along the breakers. Water was shooting up maybe 50 feet into the air and started forming ice along the walls of the breakers. We parked the truck and boat in a roadside parking area and walked to a nearby tackle shop. The shop was open for business but when we walked inside the proprietors looked at us with a nasty scowl...as if we were interrupting their morning coffee or something ? They did have a radio on that was blaring out the lake report and small craft warnings with wave conditions 6-10 feet. By afternoon the sun was suppose to come out and melt the snow and be a nicer day, except for the prevailing winds. There was no way we were launching a boat in these conditions ! Then one of the guys in the shop told us about a secluded cove and a boat ramp that wouldn't be affected by the winds. We agreed to check this out and after purchasing nine dozen minnows and a net to boat the really BIG FISH we planned to catch, we headed up to the aforet mentioned boat ramp.
When we got to the ramp we noticed it was short and steep. Davey got in the boat with the cooler full of minnows and Ron backed the truck and trailer down the ramp. Meanwhile Tom and I stood on the sidelines, watching what was about to unfold. What wasn't realized at this time was that the boat was sitting on a tilt-top, trailer and as Ron backed the trailer towards the ramp, the trailer broke over the edge of the steep ramp and started to tilt and the boat was going to slide off the trailer and be dumped onto the concrete ramp ! Ron saw the trailer start to tilt and the boat begin to slide off the trailer before reaching the water and gunned the truck in reverse to sort of catch the boat before falling on the pavement of the ramp. Davey was thrown off balance and the cooler of minnows dumped out on the newly carpeted deck. As the stern of the boat hit the water, the boat bobbed back up and splashed down with a crash before righting itself. Davey, with his size 15 shoes managed to stomp almost all of the 108 minnows to death, trying to regain his balance and stand up as the boat settled, in the back waters of beautiful Lake Erie.
Ron jumped out of the truck as Tom and I ran over to the boat to make sure Davey and the boat were okay ! After a quick assessment of situation, the dead minnows were gathered up and tossed overboard for their burial at sea while the survivors were put back into the cooler. Ron parked the truck and we finally got underway and putted out a safe distance from shore, where the waters were calmer and began getting our fishing tackle out and rigged up for fishing. We decide to try artificial lures and let Tom use the surviving minnows. Tom wanted to catch Perch. He choose to use an ultra-lite rod with maybe 4-6 pound test line on the reel. As the rest of us casted and jigged for whatever we might catch, Tom was the first to hook up with a fish. You could hear the fish taking line off the reel as the drag screamed ! "GET THE NET" Tom cried out ! I grabbed the net and waited for him to land this MONSTER ! Tom was making no headway in getting this fish in to the boat. I suggested tightening his drag a little. He reached up and twisted the drag setting slightly and with that...began to recover some line and bring this WHALE in ! I noticed Toms' rod was hardly bent from the weight of this fish and finally we could see what was on the other end of his line. It was the biggest, 10 inch long, Lake Perch, you've ever seen ! We all broke out laughing. "GET THE NET, we screamed and laughed, GET THE NET !!!"
Shortly after Tom's big catch, we decide to fire up to boat and move to another area. That's when we discovered the throttle linkage to the motor was somehow damaged and not working. The motor cover was removed, tools gotten out and repairs were thought to be easily fixed. This was not to be the case in this scenario. We ended up having to manually throttle back into the dock and boat ramp and winch the boat back onto the trailer. This Lake Erie trip was over ! We were all very disappointed and after trailering the boat we began our trip, back to the sunny southern part of Ohio, we called home.
I suggested we try fishing at Cesar's Creek Lake, 15 minutes from my apartment. They could all spend the night, we could watch HBO on cable and order out for pizza ! I thought this might be one way of saving a little bit of our weekend fishing trip.
We got to my apartment, ordered out for pizza, watched movies on cable till we fell asleep and woke up the next morning, ready to go fishing at Cesar's Creek. We figured we could idle the boat around the lake and feeder creek and still salvage some of this trip.
The boat was put in at the north shore ramp without any troubles, we then decide to try fishing around the lily pads and feeder creek of the lake. There were signs warning that the feeder creek was a Stump Zone and we could see many tree tops cut off, just above the water's surface but had no clue there were other stumps cut off below the surface. As we fished we bumped several stumps below the water, but kept going. Then it happened...we got stuck on a submerged stump and could hardly get it off. We had to use the emergency paddle and tried gunning the motor, manually to try getting it off the stump. We tried shifting all our weight to one side or one end of the boat, except for the guy that had to manually control the throttle, to see if that would help free us from the stump. Nothing seemed to be working. Then, somehow, someway, the boat slid off the stump. It was then discovered that the steering cable was messed up and that had to be fixed, before we could turn around and head back to the ramp. Clearly, this was not our best moment ! Once we got back in to the ramp and loaded the boat onto the trailer, we named the boat, "BUBBA'S BARGE". I was taken back to the apartment and the guys drove home. It had been a long, stressful weekend and we vowed to never go back to Port Clinton or Lake Erie, ever again ! Davey's boat was finally made sea-worthy and we never had any more problems with it, like we had that weekend, ever again ! We enjoyed many years of fishing, camping, water skiing and scuba diving with this old wreck of a boat, we affectionately called BUBBA'S BARGE now ! And to this day, whenever Tom catches a fish, we all yell out, "GET THE NET !" For such a lousy weekend, we sure had a lot of laughs and memories from this one. It's good to have friends like these to share these times with.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
By early October the guys had been talking to me about going up to Lake Michigan to do a little salmon fishing. I didn't exactly have the type of fishing tackle required for this but they assured me that whatever I brought would workout just fine ! It was decided that on the second Friday of October, they would load up in Cincinnati and drive up to Middletown (where I lived) and pick me up, after I got off work around 7:00 PM. From there we would drive into the night and be fishing on Lake Michigan by morning.
Everything seemed to be going according to plan and we were driving on back roads as we drove northward in Ron's club-cab, pickup truck. Ron was driving, Davey had shotgun, Tom and I were crammed into the back seats and my knees felt like they were under my chin. We talked and laughed as we drove into the darkness. All of a sudden there were bright lights from signage on a highway. "What highway is that, I asked ?" Someone answered, I don't know but if it's I-75, we're lost !" We drove a bit father and saw another sign that indicated this was indeed I-75. I started to complain but the guys said, at the last minute, they decided not to go to Lake Michigan but to try fishing Lake Erie for Smallmouth Bass and Walleyes, and just didn't tell me ! Okay, I was fine with that ! If we were going to Lake Erie, we weren't too far away and could be off the road much sooner than previously expected !
Maybe an hour later, we rolled up into the little town of Port Clinton, Ohio...right on the shoreline of Lake Erie. We saw the lake in darkness and drove down the main drag of the town, looking for a hotel or motel to sleep in for the night. It turns out, the businesses of Port Clinton, close and lock their doors at 9:00 PM. It was now about 10:30 and even though we could see clerks behind the desks at the motels, but they would not let us in. The night air was cold and we didn't have camping gear with us, so we had to get a motel room to crash in for the night. We ended up driving about an hour south before we found a motel we could stay in.
Once we got into the room and started to get ready for bed, I had taken off my brand new Rocky Boots with Thinsulate insulation and Gortex, to make them warm and water-proof. My feet were always hot anyways and smelled when they got sweaty and as I pulled my new boots off, the guys all began complaining of the odor and insisted I put the boots out in the bed of the pickup truck to air out ! I hated to do this but I did what they wanted, and then came back into the room and fell asleep on the floor.
The next morning I went out to the truck to get my boots, only to find out it had snowed sometime in the early hours of the morning and my sweaty boots were frozen solid... to the point that I couldn't get my feet into them and had to bring them inside to thaw out. "SNOW" The other guys exclaimed ! We had no idea what lake effect snow was but evidently it was quite common in these parts. Slowly but surely, we checked out of the motel and drove another hour north to get back to Port Clinton.
When we finally got back to town, we could see the lake and the waves crashing along the breakers. Water was shooting up maybe 50 feet into the air and started forming ice along the walls of the breakers. We parked the truck and boat in a roadside parking area and walked to a nearby tackle shop. The shop was open for business but when we walked inside the proprietors looked at us with a nasty scowl...as if we were interrupting their morning coffee or something ? They did have a radio on that was blaring out the lake report and small craft warnings with wave conditions 6-10 feet. By afternoon the sun was suppose to come out and melt the snow and be a nicer day, except for the prevailing winds. There was no way we were launching a boat in these conditions ! Then one of the guys in the shop told us about a secluded cove and a boat ramp that wouldn't be affected by the winds. We agreed to check this out and after purchasing nine dozen minnows and a net to boat the really BIG FISH we planned to catch, we headed up to the aforet mentioned boat ramp.
When we got to the ramp we noticed it was short and steep. Davey got in the boat with the cooler full of minnows and Ron backed the truck and trailer down the ramp. Meanwhile Tom and I stood on the sidelines, watching what was about to unfold. What wasn't realized at this time was that the boat was sitting on a tilt-top, trailer and as Ron backed the trailer towards the ramp, the trailer broke over the edge of the steep ramp and started to tilt and the boat was going to slide off the trailer and be dumped onto the concrete ramp ! Ron saw the trailer start to tilt and the boat begin to slide off the trailer before reaching the water and gunned the truck in reverse to sort of catch the boat before falling on the pavement of the ramp. Davey was thrown off balance and the cooler of minnows dumped out on the newly carpeted deck. As the stern of the boat hit the water, the boat bobbed back up and splashed down with a crash before righting itself. Davey, with his size 15 shoes managed to stomp almost all of the 108 minnows to death, trying to regain his balance and stand up as the boat settled, in the back waters of beautiful Lake Erie.
Ron jumped out of the truck as Tom and I ran over to the boat to make sure Davey and the boat were okay ! After a quick assessment of situation, the dead minnows were gathered up and tossed overboard for their burial at sea while the survivors were put back into the cooler. Ron parked the truck and we finally got underway and putted out a safe distance from shore, where the waters were calmer and began getting our fishing tackle out and rigged up for fishing. We decide to try artificial lures and let Tom use the surviving minnows. Tom wanted to catch Perch. He choose to use an ultra-lite rod with maybe 4-6 pound test line on the reel. As the rest of us casted and jigged for whatever we might catch, Tom was the first to hook up with a fish. You could hear the fish taking line off the reel as the drag screamed ! "GET THE NET" Tom cried out ! I grabbed the net and waited for him to land this MONSTER ! Tom was making no headway in getting this fish in to the boat. I suggested tightening his drag a little. He reached up and twisted the drag setting slightly and with that...began to recover some line and bring this WHALE in ! I noticed Toms' rod was hardly bent from the weight of this fish and finally we could see what was on the other end of his line. It was the biggest, 10 inch long, Lake Perch, you've ever seen ! We all broke out laughing. "GET THE NET, we screamed and laughed, GET THE NET !!!"
Shortly after Tom's big catch, we decide to fire up to boat and move to another area. That's when we discovered the throttle linkage to the motor was somehow damaged and not working. The motor cover was removed, tools gotten out and repairs were thought to be easily fixed. This was not to be the case in this scenario. We ended up having to manually throttle back into the dock and boat ramp and winch the boat back onto the trailer. This Lake Erie trip was over ! We were all very disappointed and after trailering the boat we began our trip, back to the sunny southern part of Ohio, we called home.
I suggested we try fishing at Cesar's Creek Lake, 15 minutes from my apartment. They could all spend the night, we could watch HBO on cable and order out for pizza ! I thought this might be one way of saving a little bit of our weekend fishing trip.
We got to my apartment, ordered out for pizza, watched movies on cable till we fell asleep and woke up the next morning, ready to go fishing at Cesar's Creek. We figured we could idle the boat around the lake and feeder creek and still salvage some of this trip.
The boat was put in at the north shore ramp without any troubles, we then decide to try fishing around the lily pads and feeder creek of the lake. There were signs warning that the feeder creek was a Stump Zone and we could see many tree tops cut off, just above the water's surface but had no clue there were other stumps cut off below the surface. As we fished we bumped several stumps below the water, but kept going. Then it happened...we got stuck on a submerged stump and could hardly get it off. We had to use the emergency paddle and tried gunning the motor, manually to try getting it off the stump. We tried shifting all our weight to one side or one end of the boat, except for the guy that had to manually control the throttle, to see if that would help free us from the stump. Nothing seemed to be working. Then, somehow, someway, the boat slid off the stump. It was then discovered that the steering cable was messed up and that had to be fixed, before we could turn around and head back to the ramp. Clearly, this was not our best moment ! Once we got back in to the ramp and loaded the boat onto the trailer, we named the boat, "BUBBA'S BARGE". I was taken back to the apartment and the guys drove home. It had been a long, stressful weekend and we vowed to never go back to Port Clinton or Lake Erie, ever again ! Davey's boat was finally made sea-worthy and we never had any more problems with it, like we had that weekend, ever again ! We enjoyed many years of fishing, camping, water skiing and scuba diving with this old wreck of a boat, we affectionately called BUBBA'S BARGE now ! And to this day, whenever Tom catches a fish, we all yell out, "GET THE NET !" For such a lousy weekend, we sure had a lot of laughs and memories from this one. It's good to have friends like these to share these times with.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
My Gambling Days
Back in the olden days, my friends and I would get
together on Friday nights and play some friendly poker. We were fans of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and all the other Cowboy Hero's from the
40's, 50's 60's and 70's. Pickup trucks and Country Music were popular, even with us Rock "n" Rollers. We wore jeans with flannel shirts, cowboy hats, boots and leather vests, our leather holsters were slung low and had our six guns and Bowie Knives, right on our hips. Again, this was back in the days when we use to get paid every Friday !
Our regular gang included, Pa, Opie. Ootly, Bozo, Juan, Bubba and Me (Silvertips... my hair use to be almost black with silver wisps at the temples) We were
always there in full regalia ! The beer was cold and tapped and cigar smoke filled the air as everyone ambled over to the playing table and took their
seats.
We always played Dealer's Choice. One particular
night Bozo, dealt out a hand of Seven Card Stud and said deuces, trays, one-eyed Jacks and the King with the axe were wild ! This would make eleven wild cards in the game ! We laughed at him but he insisted, this was the game we were to play and we all anted up and the cards were dealt.
After examining the hands dealt, opening bets were placed and raised, a couple folded but the others kept raising the bets. The pot was getting huge ! More folded until there were only two, glassy-eyed, stone-faced gamblers, left holding their cards. Bubba called, Ootly fanned out seven 10's and circled his hands and arms around the pot of money and began to rake in his would be winnings. Bubba was fast on the draw and pulled his Bowie Knife from it's sheath and plunged it into the pile of money, between Ootly's hands and face, and fanned out his cards and said calmly...."seven Queen's ! Ootly nearly soiled himself ! We all just broke out laughing. Bubba pulled his knife out of the pile of money and table top and slid it smoothly back into it's sheath and collected his winnings. We nearly died laughing at the whole turn of events but Ootly had to calm down a little before resuming any further play that evening. We continued our Friday night games until one fateful night. This was to be my last night of gambling, but I didn't know that yet ! We had all gathered at another buddies house for our usual Friday night game. Chumley had just heard about a game called Low Hole Guts ! (if memory serves me correctly) The object was to get the lowest two card hand. The lowest hand won. Another rule in the game was that even if you beat the other players at the table, you still had to beat the blind. The game wasn't over till someone beat everybody and the blind. If you didn't beat the blind, you had to match the pot. This game went around several times and the pot grew....I mean... it...really... grew ! More hands were dealt and I finally had a pretty hot hand and everyone else folded. I was jumping out of my skin, prepared to rake in all this money... Then it happened, the two cards in the blind were turned over and beat my hand. I felt the color leave my face... I was emotionally drained...I had to match the pot and with that, I lost my entire paycheck plus whatever I had already won from previous hands, in a matter of minutes. I was dumbfounded and stunned. I had no one to blame but myself. I decided that night, if you don't have it to lose, don't sit down at the table...and I never did after that ! I never wanted to squander my money like that again !
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
together on Friday nights and play some friendly poker. We were fans of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and all the other Cowboy Hero's from the
40's, 50's 60's and 70's. Pickup trucks and Country Music were popular, even with us Rock "n" Rollers. We wore jeans with flannel shirts, cowboy hats, boots and leather vests, our leather holsters were slung low and had our six guns and Bowie Knives, right on our hips. Again, this was back in the days when we use to get paid every Friday !
Our regular gang included, Pa, Opie. Ootly, Bozo, Juan, Bubba and Me (Silvertips... my hair use to be almost black with silver wisps at the temples) We were
always there in full regalia ! The beer was cold and tapped and cigar smoke filled the air as everyone ambled over to the playing table and took their
seats.
We always played Dealer's Choice. One particular
night Bozo, dealt out a hand of Seven Card Stud and said deuces, trays, one-eyed Jacks and the King with the axe were wild ! This would make eleven wild cards in the game ! We laughed at him but he insisted, this was the game we were to play and we all anted up and the cards were dealt.
After examining the hands dealt, opening bets were placed and raised, a couple folded but the others kept raising the bets. The pot was getting huge ! More folded until there were only two, glassy-eyed, stone-faced gamblers, left holding their cards. Bubba called, Ootly fanned out seven 10's and circled his hands and arms around the pot of money and began to rake in his would be winnings. Bubba was fast on the draw and pulled his Bowie Knife from it's sheath and plunged it into the pile of money, between Ootly's hands and face, and fanned out his cards and said calmly...."seven Queen's ! Ootly nearly soiled himself ! We all just broke out laughing. Bubba pulled his knife out of the pile of money and table top and slid it smoothly back into it's sheath and collected his winnings. We nearly died laughing at the whole turn of events but Ootly had to calm down a little before resuming any further play that evening. We continued our Friday night games until one fateful night. This was to be my last night of gambling, but I didn't know that yet ! We had all gathered at another buddies house for our usual Friday night game. Chumley had just heard about a game called Low Hole Guts ! (if memory serves me correctly) The object was to get the lowest two card hand. The lowest hand won. Another rule in the game was that even if you beat the other players at the table, you still had to beat the blind. The game wasn't over till someone beat everybody and the blind. If you didn't beat the blind, you had to match the pot. This game went around several times and the pot grew....I mean... it...really... grew ! More hands were dealt and I finally had a pretty hot hand and everyone else folded. I was jumping out of my skin, prepared to rake in all this money... Then it happened, the two cards in the blind were turned over and beat my hand. I felt the color leave my face... I was emotionally drained...I had to match the pot and with that, I lost my entire paycheck plus whatever I had already won from previous hands, in a matter of minutes. I was dumbfounded and stunned. I had no one to blame but myself. I decided that night, if you don't have it to lose, don't sit down at the table...and I never did after that ! I never wanted to squander my money like that again !
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
The Cincinnati Club Wild Game Feast
Back in the early 1980's, my Dad had a friend that belonged to the Cincinnati Club Sportsman Society and once a year they would put on a Wild Game Feast. This particular year Dad's friend Ted, invited Dad and me to be his guest at the event.
I had never heard of the Cincinnati Club much less seen or been inside it before. The night of the feast had come and we drove downtown and walked into this building that was probably built some where maybe around the late 1800's or very early 1900's. Upon walking inside I couldn't help but notice the lavish but old décor, complete with walnut paneling, doors and banisters.
Once we reached the main dinning hall, complete with fifty foot long bar and more mounted fish and animals hung on the walls encompassing the entire room, than I had ever seen before. We met up with Ted, shook his hand and thanked him for inviting us to the feast and Ted and Dad immediately began talking about golf. Not being interested in golf myself, I occupied my time, walking around the room and checking out all the different mounts, on the walls and reading the name of the person who donated it to the club's décor and where the fish or animal was taken from.
As time went on, I had seen all there was to see in the room. The crowd was getting larger and my Dad was standing around a large group of men, still talking about golf. I walked over to where he was standing and he introduced me to the group of men and after shaking their hands, I politely bowed out and retired to a chair, placed around one of the many tables set up for dining this evening. I sat in the chair with my hands folded in my lap and gazed around the room. Another man with his younger son walked in, made the rounds around the room and then joined me at the table.
The father and son sat down with me and the exclaimed, that all these guys talked about was golf ! I agreed and introduced myself and stated that I didn't care for golf. Looking around the room, I said, back in the day, these sportsmen were hunters and fishermen ! The man said he and his son both liked to fish. I said I too liked fishing.
The father began to tell me how he and his son were trying to use artificial lures instead of live bait to catch fish but weren't having any luck. I listened intently as he told me what they had bought and how they tried using it at local parks, rivers and ponds but never having any luck.
At this time, I was also new to this new fangled type of fishing. It was called Bass Fishing and I had been trained by the MASTER...Kenny Watson. Under Kenny's guidance, I had learned enough about Bass Fishing to be not only dangerous but to also be able to speak intelligently about what to use and how.
I asked the father and son team how they used a particular lure and after listening to their explanation of the technique they used, I proceeded to explain how it should have been presented and retrieved. The pair listened intently. Soon others began to sit down at our table and listen to me explain how to use lures properly and maybe even tell a story or two about the bass I had caught since Kenny taught me how, maybe a year or so ago. The crowd grew larger around our table and it became standing room only. Then my Dad joined in to see what the new interest was around this table ? As he moved forward, he could see that it was me, leading a fishing seminar and telling stories. As I paused for a breath of air or to take a drink of water, men around the table were asking about how to present other types of lures and I proceeded to explain, if I knew and if I wasn't familiar with the lure, I told them I was relatively new to this Bass Fishing Sport as well ! Before the dinner was served, I think I had almost the whole room gathered around our table, listening to tactics and stories. When they said the feast was going to begin, there were lots of pats on the back and hand shaking and thanks for explaining how something was suppose to work and how they couldn't wait to try out their new found knowledge.
The dinner was glorious ! It was all setup buffet style. They served Buffalo, Trout, Venison, Oysters on the half shell, Quail, Pheasant, Elk, Salmon, Catfish, Rabbit, Squirrel, Walleye and much more that I can't remember. If it could be caught and hunted in North American and edible, it was probably on the buffet tables. Everything was fixed in gourmet fashion. I ate things I had never eaten before but stayed away from the Oysters (not a fan of that shell fish). Everything else was delicious ! As Dad and I sat together eating, he said he was really surprised to see me at the center of the conversation, conducting the Fishing Seminar, but that I had handled it very well. And even though I still didn't golf with him, we bonded more again that night, and enjoyed all the Cincinnati Sportsmen's Society had to offer with their Wild Game Feast. It was truly a fantastic night filled with new experiences I'll never forget.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
I had never heard of the Cincinnati Club much less seen or been inside it before. The night of the feast had come and we drove downtown and walked into this building that was probably built some where maybe around the late 1800's or very early 1900's. Upon walking inside I couldn't help but notice the lavish but old décor, complete with walnut paneling, doors and banisters.
Once we reached the main dinning hall, complete with fifty foot long bar and more mounted fish and animals hung on the walls encompassing the entire room, than I had ever seen before. We met up with Ted, shook his hand and thanked him for inviting us to the feast and Ted and Dad immediately began talking about golf. Not being interested in golf myself, I occupied my time, walking around the room and checking out all the different mounts, on the walls and reading the name of the person who donated it to the club's décor and where the fish or animal was taken from.
As time went on, I had seen all there was to see in the room. The crowd was getting larger and my Dad was standing around a large group of men, still talking about golf. I walked over to where he was standing and he introduced me to the group of men and after shaking their hands, I politely bowed out and retired to a chair, placed around one of the many tables set up for dining this evening. I sat in the chair with my hands folded in my lap and gazed around the room. Another man with his younger son walked in, made the rounds around the room and then joined me at the table.
The father and son sat down with me and the exclaimed, that all these guys talked about was golf ! I agreed and introduced myself and stated that I didn't care for golf. Looking around the room, I said, back in the day, these sportsmen were hunters and fishermen ! The man said he and his son both liked to fish. I said I too liked fishing.
The father began to tell me how he and his son were trying to use artificial lures instead of live bait to catch fish but weren't having any luck. I listened intently as he told me what they had bought and how they tried using it at local parks, rivers and ponds but never having any luck.
At this time, I was also new to this new fangled type of fishing. It was called Bass Fishing and I had been trained by the MASTER...Kenny Watson. Under Kenny's guidance, I had learned enough about Bass Fishing to be not only dangerous but to also be able to speak intelligently about what to use and how.
I asked the father and son team how they used a particular lure and after listening to their explanation of the technique they used, I proceeded to explain how it should have been presented and retrieved. The pair listened intently. Soon others began to sit down at our table and listen to me explain how to use lures properly and maybe even tell a story or two about the bass I had caught since Kenny taught me how, maybe a year or so ago. The crowd grew larger around our table and it became standing room only. Then my Dad joined in to see what the new interest was around this table ? As he moved forward, he could see that it was me, leading a fishing seminar and telling stories. As I paused for a breath of air or to take a drink of water, men around the table were asking about how to present other types of lures and I proceeded to explain, if I knew and if I wasn't familiar with the lure, I told them I was relatively new to this Bass Fishing Sport as well ! Before the dinner was served, I think I had almost the whole room gathered around our table, listening to tactics and stories. When they said the feast was going to begin, there were lots of pats on the back and hand shaking and thanks for explaining how something was suppose to work and how they couldn't wait to try out their new found knowledge.
The dinner was glorious ! It was all setup buffet style. They served Buffalo, Trout, Venison, Oysters on the half shell, Quail, Pheasant, Elk, Salmon, Catfish, Rabbit, Squirrel, Walleye and much more that I can't remember. If it could be caught and hunted in North American and edible, it was probably on the buffet tables. Everything was fixed in gourmet fashion. I ate things I had never eaten before but stayed away from the Oysters (not a fan of that shell fish). Everything else was delicious ! As Dad and I sat together eating, he said he was really surprised to see me at the center of the conversation, conducting the Fishing Seminar, but that I had handled it very well. And even though I still didn't golf with him, we bonded more again that night, and enjoyed all the Cincinnati Sportsmen's Society had to offer with their Wild Game Feast. It was truly a fantastic night filled with new experiences I'll never forget.
Experienced & Written by J.Scott Keniston
Things that go "BUMP" in the Night
When the Navy discovered I wasn't going to reenlist for another four years, rather than deploy me to Guam, they asked me if I'd like to get out early ? I jumped at the opportunity and without telling Mom or Dad, I just showed up at the airport and called them to come get me. Luckily, I got home when I did, it turned out they were going on a two week vacation, the next day. We got home and I stowed my gear and they showed me all the home improvements they had done while I was gone and then they set about the task of loading their luggage and golf clubs into the car, in preparation of leaving the next morning.
I called my friends to announce that I was home and we were getting together every night after they got off work, but because they had work the next day, we weren't staying out too late...until the weekend. Friday night rolled around and we were out carrying on, shooting pool and listening to music until about 1:30 AM, That's when I rode my motorcycle home and headed for my room, to go to bed. It was just about 2:00 AM.
As I undressed, I sat on the edge of my bed and started pulling my socks off. That's when I heard what sounded like foot steps, in the house. I had a Ruger, 357mag Single-Action, Six Gun, holstered and hanging off the post of the headboard of my bed. I called out, "Is someone there"? No answer. The house was dark, only a small light on in my bedroom. I'm not paranoid, just cautious...I pulled my jeans back on and reached for the revolver and began my systematic search of the entire house. Bathrooms, bedrooms, closets, under beds, in the shower, in the tub, behind curtains, making sure windows hadn't been broken and were locked. Moving downstairs, checking all the doors and windows, making sure they were also locked as I moved thru the living room, kitchen and dining room. The whole time I'm searching and checking, there have been no sounds of foot steps. The house is what we called a split-level home and there were two more levels to be searched. I went down another flight of steps to the family room and checked the sliding glass doors that had been removed, while I was in the Navy and the house was burglarized. Everything looked normal and was locked up tight. Every light in the house was on by now, as I moved thru every room. I went out into the garage...nothing ! Now down into the finished basement. Dad had created a nice large room for entertaining and had bi-fold doors around the edges to access his workshop, the furnace, water heater, washer, dryer, stationary tub and powder room. Everything seemed fine and I hadn't heard anymore foot steps.
I started going back upstairs and turning off all the lights in the house and double checking the locks on all the windows and doors as I headed back to bed. I holstered the pistol, sat on the bed and took my jeans and socks off and had just laid down...when I heard the footsteps again ! I laid there listening...a couple more footsteps. Grabbing the pistol and pulling my jeans back on, I went thru the entire house again and again, finding nothing.
As I was walking back upstairs for the second time, I heard the footsteps and they definitely sounded like they were downstairs...maybe in the basement. Cautiously, and rounded the corner of each room, with my pistol at the ready, as I made my way, back downstairs ! I opened every bi-fold door in the basement and had all the lights on in all the different work areas, as I started to open the door, where the furnace and water heater were. As I slowly opened the door, I reached in to flip on the light switch. All of a sudden, a burst of water gushed out into the stationary tub behind me ! I whirled around and leveled the revolver at the running water, into the tub, careful not to shoot until I made sure of my target ! My eyes shifted from side to side, looking for someone that would have turned this water on ! No one was there. Puzzled and perplexed, I went back upstairs and finally went to bed.
A few days later, Mom called to see if everything was alright ? I asked her about the running water in the stationary tub ? She said they forgot to tell me...they had gotten a water softener, while I was gone and it sets itself up to rejuvenate its system around 2:00AM ! I told her what had been going on and that I was about ready to kill it !! She laughed and told Dad what had happened. He got a kick out of my little adventure but was glad I didn't shoot up the house ! Apparently, when the system starts setting itself up, it was making the sound like footsteps. Now I knew and I was fine with that...really...I'm okay now ! Really, really !
Story experienced and written by J.Scott Keniston
I called my friends to announce that I was home and we were getting together every night after they got off work, but because they had work the next day, we weren't staying out too late...until the weekend. Friday night rolled around and we were out carrying on, shooting pool and listening to music until about 1:30 AM, That's when I rode my motorcycle home and headed for my room, to go to bed. It was just about 2:00 AM.
As I undressed, I sat on the edge of my bed and started pulling my socks off. That's when I heard what sounded like foot steps, in the house. I had a Ruger, 357mag Single-Action, Six Gun, holstered and hanging off the post of the headboard of my bed. I called out, "Is someone there"? No answer. The house was dark, only a small light on in my bedroom. I'm not paranoid, just cautious...I pulled my jeans back on and reached for the revolver and began my systematic search of the entire house. Bathrooms, bedrooms, closets, under beds, in the shower, in the tub, behind curtains, making sure windows hadn't been broken and were locked. Moving downstairs, checking all the doors and windows, making sure they were also locked as I moved thru the living room, kitchen and dining room. The whole time I'm searching and checking, there have been no sounds of foot steps. The house is what we called a split-level home and there were two more levels to be searched. I went down another flight of steps to the family room and checked the sliding glass doors that had been removed, while I was in the Navy and the house was burglarized. Everything looked normal and was locked up tight. Every light in the house was on by now, as I moved thru every room. I went out into the garage...nothing ! Now down into the finished basement. Dad had created a nice large room for entertaining and had bi-fold doors around the edges to access his workshop, the furnace, water heater, washer, dryer, stationary tub and powder room. Everything seemed fine and I hadn't heard anymore foot steps.
I started going back upstairs and turning off all the lights in the house and double checking the locks on all the windows and doors as I headed back to bed. I holstered the pistol, sat on the bed and took my jeans and socks off and had just laid down...when I heard the footsteps again ! I laid there listening...a couple more footsteps. Grabbing the pistol and pulling my jeans back on, I went thru the entire house again and again, finding nothing.
As I was walking back upstairs for the second time, I heard the footsteps and they definitely sounded like they were downstairs...maybe in the basement. Cautiously, and rounded the corner of each room, with my pistol at the ready, as I made my way, back downstairs ! I opened every bi-fold door in the basement and had all the lights on in all the different work areas, as I started to open the door, where the furnace and water heater were. As I slowly opened the door, I reached in to flip on the light switch. All of a sudden, a burst of water gushed out into the stationary tub behind me ! I whirled around and leveled the revolver at the running water, into the tub, careful not to shoot until I made sure of my target ! My eyes shifted from side to side, looking for someone that would have turned this water on ! No one was there. Puzzled and perplexed, I went back upstairs and finally went to bed.
A few days later, Mom called to see if everything was alright ? I asked her about the running water in the stationary tub ? She said they forgot to tell me...they had gotten a water softener, while I was gone and it sets itself up to rejuvenate its system around 2:00AM ! I told her what had been going on and that I was about ready to kill it !! She laughed and told Dad what had happened. He got a kick out of my little adventure but was glad I didn't shoot up the house ! Apparently, when the system starts setting itself up, it was making the sound like footsteps. Now I knew and I was fine with that...really...I'm okay now ! Really, really !
Story experienced and written by J.Scott Keniston
Old Chum !
Over the years, my friends and I have taken many fishing trips to popular destinations in the spring and fall of the year. Without fail, Mother Nature always seems to want to add a little extra excitement to all our adventures. It doesn't matter if we were in Tennessee, Kentucky, Florida, North or South Carolina, Ohio or Michigan...we always got dumped on, somehow ! Hurricanes, tornadoes, flat-line winds and micro-bursts, just to name a few, then there have been late and early season snows and lets not forget, regular old rain !
This particular adventure found us returning to Lake Michigan, where we had been successful, catching salmon in years past...not to say we didn't have to put up with bad weather to get them but... we had been successful before. Stories had been shared around many campfires of our adventures and the catches we would sometimes get and some listeners even wanted to join us, to experience the good fishing and ignoring the chance of getting caught in some type of sever weather, that seemed to follow us around.
This particular three day trip found us (Davey, Tom, Ron and myself) joined by Tom's brother-in-law, Mark. Once the boat and van were packed with all our gear, we headed for Michigan...about half way up the Lake Michigan shoreline. As we drove there, we played cards on the table in the back of the van, took turns driving, laughed and carried on and in general and just had a great trip up to the lake and campgrounds. We set up camp, launched the boat and headed to the local tackle shop to see what lures were being used this season for salmon and add some to our growing collections.
Once all this was out of the way, we headed back to the boat and set out for an afternoon and early evening of fishing. It was a perfect day ! Clear, blue skies and not a hint of wind. The lake's surface was truly like a piece of glass, it was so smooth. We motored out a few miles off shore and lowered the 5 hp kicker motor into the water to be used as a Great Lake Trolling Motor and began setting up the down riggers and planner boards with our rods and recent purchases as offerings to the salmon. The boat bristled with fishing rods and looked like a floating porcupine !
We had just gotten everything rigged, in the water and lowered to the desired depths and then it happened... on this totally calm lake, Mark began turning green and was soon vomiting over the side of the boat (thankfully). We all looked at each other in disbelief. How could he be sea-sick on this calm water ? But, none the less, he was. Davey, told Mark, "We don't usually CHUM the water for salmon"! The rest of us just cracked up with laughter. Mark didn't think it was so funny and started heaving his guts out again, at the mere suggestion of chumming ! We couldn't help ourselves, we just continued laughing at him. Finally, the vomiting stopped and Mark took a pill to help with sea-sickness. He said he had brought them just in case but never thought he'd need them on such a calm day ! Mark had now earned the nickname, "Old Chum".
We trolled the waters relentlessly, marking fish on the fish finder and noticing that all the other charter boats were in the same area as we were. Tom was using a brass telescope, I had brought, to watch the charter boaters more closely, to see if they were catching anything or maybe see what type of lures they were using ? He saw nothing to improve our chances of catching that day. We spent the entire day, changing lures and adjusting the depths of the down-riggers, trying to increase our chances of catching something...but nothing ! We ended up going back to camp, fixing our evening meal, sitting around the campfire, telling our stories of past adventures.
The next morning was glorious ! A beautiful sunrise and calm waters ahead. We were up and out, having a good breakfast, then a stop at the tackle shop to see if we could get any intel on who was catching and what they were using ? We picked up a few more lures and headed to the boat. Mark took his pills early this time... before getting on the boat and ,we headed out. Cruising about eight miles off shore, the water was totally flat. We had all our gear rigged up an, in the water, had settled back in the seats and just waited for the action to begin. We talked and laughed and watched the charter boats. The morning came and went and slowly but surely, as the afternoon wore on, the skies became a little overcast but the water stayed flat and the air temperature was very comfortable so we just kept trolling for salmon. As the clouds thickened, a very slight breeze picked up and caused the surface of the lake to ripple. "Hey guys " I said, "did you notice that breeze ? They all acknowledged the breeze and fearlessly, said they'd fish a little longer, until the wind picked up a little bit more...then we would start heading in.
I looked around us. Magically, without any of us noticing, all the charter boats had gone. I made sure the guys were aware of this. With that, the wind picked up again...in a big way ! We rushed to get our gear up and stowed and put the top up on Davey's Chris-Craft. By the time we had everything secured, the waves were probably 4-6 feet and this 20 foot boat was being tossed around badly. We all huddled under the top in the jump seats as Davey piloted the boat back to the marina. The wave conditions were getting worse, Davey couldn't see a thing and had to rely on his compass headings to pilot the boat back in the direction of land ! At one point, Davey told Ron to unzip the hatch in the top and look out to see if any other boats were around us. Like a good shipmate, Ron did as he was told and as he popped his head up for a look...a huge wave crashed over the bow and totally drenched Ron, taking his ball cap off his head and leaving it in Lake Michigan, somewhere. "Did you see anything" Dave asked ? "HELL NO, Ron shouted back...nothing but water !!!" We laughed and I looked around at the other guys. Mark's eyes were wide with panic, behind his dripping wet glasses. "We're having fun now, huh, I shouted to him "? He shook his head nervously. I know at some point, the waves had to at least have gotten to be 8-10 feet high and it looked like our little boat was going to be engulfed by the lake but somehow...Davey brought us in safely. Soaked to the skin but safe on land and sloshing our way back to the campsite.
It turned out, the storm had flattened out tents and everything we brought with us was soaked. Sleeping bags, clothes...everything ! We spent the rest of the evening in a laundry-mat, feeding quarters to the dryers to get our sleeping bags dry and maybe a change of clothes ! We were starving by now, we really hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast and it was 8:00 PM now. We changed clothes and started out looking for a place to eat. We were thinking pizza or something but this town didn't seem to have a pizza parlor so we settled for an old Hardee's. They were advertising their "Whaler" sandwich, a flakey white fish fillet with a crunchy, golden brown, breading, served on a bun with their own special sauce. We figured it was the only fish we were going to get this day, so we all ordered "Whalers" and settled down in a booth to eat.
Mark sat across the booth from me. We unwrapped our sandwiches and took a first bite, all I had on my first bite was a mouth full of bun and a huge, glob of special sauce. There must have been a lot of horse-radish in that sauce because it took my breath away and made me cough violently. When I did, the mixture of special sauce and bun was sprayed across the table and all over Mark, from the waist up. His glasses, face and upper body were spattered with the sauce. Mark was shocked and angery ! He accused me of doing it on purpose ! I tried to assure him I hadn't, it was totally involuntary, just a reaction to the sauce ! He got up from the booth and walked to the restroom to wipe off all the sauce and as he got up from the booth, the wall that was behind him, showed his silhouette, outlined in sauce. It was like in a cartoon ! We laughed uncontrollably, this made Mark madder. I felt terrible but couldn't help but laugh. Once everything was cleaned up and I had scrapped most of the special sauce off my sandwiches, we finished our meals and just wanted to try to get a decent night's sleep, after setting our camp back up in darkness.
A new day dawned and we were back on the water but it would turn out that no fish were to be caught during this trip. So with nothing but the stories from this adventure, we headed back to Ohio. Mark never really got over that trip and still thinks I sprayed him on purpose. We still call him
'Old Chum", to this day !
Written by J.Scott Keniston
This particular adventure found us returning to Lake Michigan, where we had been successful, catching salmon in years past...not to say we didn't have to put up with bad weather to get them but... we had been successful before. Stories had been shared around many campfires of our adventures and the catches we would sometimes get and some listeners even wanted to join us, to experience the good fishing and ignoring the chance of getting caught in some type of sever weather, that seemed to follow us around.
This particular three day trip found us (Davey, Tom, Ron and myself) joined by Tom's brother-in-law, Mark. Once the boat and van were packed with all our gear, we headed for Michigan...about half way up the Lake Michigan shoreline. As we drove there, we played cards on the table in the back of the van, took turns driving, laughed and carried on and in general and just had a great trip up to the lake and campgrounds. We set up camp, launched the boat and headed to the local tackle shop to see what lures were being used this season for salmon and add some to our growing collections.
Once all this was out of the way, we headed back to the boat and set out for an afternoon and early evening of fishing. It was a perfect day ! Clear, blue skies and not a hint of wind. The lake's surface was truly like a piece of glass, it was so smooth. We motored out a few miles off shore and lowered the 5 hp kicker motor into the water to be used as a Great Lake Trolling Motor and began setting up the down riggers and planner boards with our rods and recent purchases as offerings to the salmon. The boat bristled with fishing rods and looked like a floating porcupine !
We had just gotten everything rigged, in the water and lowered to the desired depths and then it happened... on this totally calm lake, Mark began turning green and was soon vomiting over the side of the boat (thankfully). We all looked at each other in disbelief. How could he be sea-sick on this calm water ? But, none the less, he was. Davey, told Mark, "We don't usually CHUM the water for salmon"! The rest of us just cracked up with laughter. Mark didn't think it was so funny and started heaving his guts out again, at the mere suggestion of chumming ! We couldn't help ourselves, we just continued laughing at him. Finally, the vomiting stopped and Mark took a pill to help with sea-sickness. He said he had brought them just in case but never thought he'd need them on such a calm day ! Mark had now earned the nickname, "Old Chum".
We trolled the waters relentlessly, marking fish on the fish finder and noticing that all the other charter boats were in the same area as we were. Tom was using a brass telescope, I had brought, to watch the charter boaters more closely, to see if they were catching anything or maybe see what type of lures they were using ? He saw nothing to improve our chances of catching that day. We spent the entire day, changing lures and adjusting the depths of the down-riggers, trying to increase our chances of catching something...but nothing ! We ended up going back to camp, fixing our evening meal, sitting around the campfire, telling our stories of past adventures.
The next morning was glorious ! A beautiful sunrise and calm waters ahead. We were up and out, having a good breakfast, then a stop at the tackle shop to see if we could get any intel on who was catching and what they were using ? We picked up a few more lures and headed to the boat. Mark took his pills early this time... before getting on the boat and ,we headed out. Cruising about eight miles off shore, the water was totally flat. We had all our gear rigged up an, in the water, had settled back in the seats and just waited for the action to begin. We talked and laughed and watched the charter boats. The morning came and went and slowly but surely, as the afternoon wore on, the skies became a little overcast but the water stayed flat and the air temperature was very comfortable so we just kept trolling for salmon. As the clouds thickened, a very slight breeze picked up and caused the surface of the lake to ripple. "Hey guys " I said, "did you notice that breeze ? They all acknowledged the breeze and fearlessly, said they'd fish a little longer, until the wind picked up a little bit more...then we would start heading in.
I looked around us. Magically, without any of us noticing, all the charter boats had gone. I made sure the guys were aware of this. With that, the wind picked up again...in a big way ! We rushed to get our gear up and stowed and put the top up on Davey's Chris-Craft. By the time we had everything secured, the waves were probably 4-6 feet and this 20 foot boat was being tossed around badly. We all huddled under the top in the jump seats as Davey piloted the boat back to the marina. The wave conditions were getting worse, Davey couldn't see a thing and had to rely on his compass headings to pilot the boat back in the direction of land ! At one point, Davey told Ron to unzip the hatch in the top and look out to see if any other boats were around us. Like a good shipmate, Ron did as he was told and as he popped his head up for a look...a huge wave crashed over the bow and totally drenched Ron, taking his ball cap off his head and leaving it in Lake Michigan, somewhere. "Did you see anything" Dave asked ? "HELL NO, Ron shouted back...nothing but water !!!" We laughed and I looked around at the other guys. Mark's eyes were wide with panic, behind his dripping wet glasses. "We're having fun now, huh, I shouted to him "? He shook his head nervously. I know at some point, the waves had to at least have gotten to be 8-10 feet high and it looked like our little boat was going to be engulfed by the lake but somehow...Davey brought us in safely. Soaked to the skin but safe on land and sloshing our way back to the campsite.
It turned out, the storm had flattened out tents and everything we brought with us was soaked. Sleeping bags, clothes...everything ! We spent the rest of the evening in a laundry-mat, feeding quarters to the dryers to get our sleeping bags dry and maybe a change of clothes ! We were starving by now, we really hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast and it was 8:00 PM now. We changed clothes and started out looking for a place to eat. We were thinking pizza or something but this town didn't seem to have a pizza parlor so we settled for an old Hardee's. They were advertising their "Whaler" sandwich, a flakey white fish fillet with a crunchy, golden brown, breading, served on a bun with their own special sauce. We figured it was the only fish we were going to get this day, so we all ordered "Whalers" and settled down in a booth to eat.
Mark sat across the booth from me. We unwrapped our sandwiches and took a first bite, all I had on my first bite was a mouth full of bun and a huge, glob of special sauce. There must have been a lot of horse-radish in that sauce because it took my breath away and made me cough violently. When I did, the mixture of special sauce and bun was sprayed across the table and all over Mark, from the waist up. His glasses, face and upper body were spattered with the sauce. Mark was shocked and angery ! He accused me of doing it on purpose ! I tried to assure him I hadn't, it was totally involuntary, just a reaction to the sauce ! He got up from the booth and walked to the restroom to wipe off all the sauce and as he got up from the booth, the wall that was behind him, showed his silhouette, outlined in sauce. It was like in a cartoon ! We laughed uncontrollably, this made Mark madder. I felt terrible but couldn't help but laugh. Once everything was cleaned up and I had scrapped most of the special sauce off my sandwiches, we finished our meals and just wanted to try to get a decent night's sleep, after setting our camp back up in darkness.
A new day dawned and we were back on the water but it would turn out that no fish were to be caught during this trip. So with nothing but the stories from this adventure, we headed back to Ohio. Mark never really got over that trip and still thinks I sprayed him on purpose. We still call him
'Old Chum", to this day !
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Ever Hear of Hurricane Gilbert ???
It was September of 1988 when Davey, Joyce and I went on a little camping trip to Dale Hollow Lake, on the Kentucky/Tennessee State Line. We left after work on Friday Night and drove all night to get there. It takes about 5 hours to drive but by the time we left Ohio, that put us on the boat ramp around 1:00 AM Saturday morning ! It was a beautiful clear night and the Milky Way was in it's full glory. Joyce had never seen the Milky Way before and was totally blown away by it !
With the van and boat trailer parked, we all got into the boat and began making our way down the lake, under the starlight. We were tired and it was a fantastic looking night, so we decided to stop at Diver's Island and sleep there this first night. We tied the boat up and tossed our sleeping bags and pillows out onto the island and rolled them out on the flat, shale rock. It was glorious to lay there and fall asleep, under that mass of stars !
The next morning we got up and had a little something for breakfast and headed to a local marina to buy fishing licenses and minnows ! Once that was done we headed out to find a proper island to camp on. We motored around the lake and I think we ended up on Goat Island. We pitched our tents and started a fire. Thick stratus clouds blanketed the sky and Davey thought maybe we should put up a huge tarp he had brought, just incase it rained. So the tarp was gotten out of the boat and stretched out over our tents and folding camp chairs and secured to whatever was handy. We kept the fire on the outside edge of the tarp, so we didn't burn the camp down ! More dry wood was gathered, just in case, and stacked under the tarp. Satisfied with the camp and the preparations we had taken for bad weather, we headed out to fish.
Davey had now equipped his Chris-Craft with pedestal seats, a trolling motor and fish finder. We drifted over some good channels and humps, marking fish on the finder but couldn't get a bite ! Pretty soon, it started drizzling and we put on ponchos to keep us dry. The rain statred coming down harder and the fish still wouldn't bite, so we head back to the island to make sure everything was alright in camp. We'd just wait out this rain and continue fishing later.
We stoked the fire and pulled deli out of our coolers and made sandwiches for lunch and relaxed as we sat around in our folding chairs. The rain kept coming down and got harder and we had to put up more poles in certain areas so the tarp wouldn't sag under the weight of all the rain water. The boat had been moored to a large chunk of shale and we checked on it periodically as the winds intensified. Other than that, it seemed like a good time to take a nap and hopefully, we could go out and fish this evening and into the night ! Well... that was our plan !!!
The sky got darker and the rains and winds just got worse. It didn't look like we were going to do any fishing this evening. Davey put his poncho on and went down to the boat to make sure the bilge pump was working properly. We had put the top up on the boat earlier but with all this wind, it seemed like a better idea to take it down. While Davey was messing around in the boat, the wind had blown pretty hard and a corner of the tarp came lose, so I re-secure it and made sure the other points were equally secured.
Night fell and we tried to at least keep the fire going and took turns standing watch over the camp. We had to fold up our chairs, so they didn't blow away and literally batten down everything else in camp ! We lifted the tarp up to drain rain water that was gathering at an alarming rate and Davey called out for me to check the boat...he was inside his tent at the time. I grabbed a big flashlight and shinned the beam of light, down on the boat. The wind was beating us up, here on the Island but the boat looked as if it was floating in calm waters. We figured it would be dashed into the sharp shale.
Davey was about to relieve me and take over the camp watch and I still had the big flashlight in my hand and decided to take one more look at the boat. I turned on the light and shined it down by the big chunk of shale, it had been moored to, but now it was gone ! I yelled out that the boat was lose ! Davey stumbled out of his tent and tried to put on his shoes as quickly as he could. Meanwhile, I ran down the shoreline and spotlighted the boat. I got a hold of the rope that had been tied around the rock and noticed it was still tied. I thought for sure the knot must have come untied ! Davey got there and jumped into the boat and motored it back to the chunk of shale. We noticed the rope had been pulled through the layers of rock. The rope was retied around a lower point on the rock and we went back up to see how Joyce was doing, as she watched over the camp while we recovered the boat.
The rain and wind were relentless, all through the night. Despite our best efforts to keep everything dry, Mother Nature had other plans in store for us. By sunrise the next morning, the rains had finally subsided and the skies were clearing My Granma Stienbeck always had a saying..."that if there was a patch of blue in the sky, big enough to mend a pair of jeans, it was going to be a nice day !" It looked like it was going to be a great day, except, everything we owned, was soaked. We packed up our camp and headed back to the dock. Once we docked at the boat ramp, we took all our sleeping bags, unzipped them and laid them out in the sun to dry, along with setting our tents up in the parking lot and hanging some clothing on a make shift clothes line to dry. The State Dock had a little Diner and restrooms, so we cleaned ourselves up and went in to have a warm breakfast.
Once breakfast was over the sun was high and hot, so we put on bathing suits and went out to find a secluded cove for swimming and maybe a little fishing ! We didn't go far from the boat dock and ramp area, we wanted to be able to go back periodically and check our sleeping bags and maybe flip them over but between those times, we had a blast, swimming in this cove, Davey found.
Dale Hollow Lake has a number of islands on it and many that we have seen have steep, shale sides. Joyce began climbing up the shale walls and finding places to stand and dive from. She loved this ! Each time she climbed a little higher, a little higher and a little higher to make perfect dives into the waters below. The shale walls are not sheer, straight up and down walls, they angle back a few degrees so the higher Joyce climbed, the more she had to jump out to clear the rocks below. At her highest height of diving, I had to tell her not to go any higher, as she entered the water, her feet were just barely missing the rocks and I didn't want to have her injured ! She thought I was being overly protective but I told her, she was climbimg, probably twenty feet up the side to make her dives and she wasn't getting enough of a push off to propel herself far enough away from the rocks in the water ! Amazed that she was diving from a twenty foot high, shale platform and having such a good time, after experiencing such a terrible night before, she took it all in stride and just enjoyed the rest of the afternoon.
We went back to the boat dock to check on our sleeping bags and over heard a guy talking about Hurricane Gilbert. I asked the guy, what it was he was talking about...this Hurricane Gilbert ? "Yeah, he said, all this rain we had last night was from the hurricane ! We had six inches of rain dumped on us last night...it's official !" We had never realized that the hurricane in Texas was going to affect us, this way, in Tennessee.
We enjoyed the rest of our weekend and when we got home, we told all our friends how we survived Hurricane Gilbert ! They haven't heard the end of it yet !
Experienced by Dave Clifton, Joyce & J.Scott Keniston Written by J.Scott Keniston
With the van and boat trailer parked, we all got into the boat and began making our way down the lake, under the starlight. We were tired and it was a fantastic looking night, so we decided to stop at Diver's Island and sleep there this first night. We tied the boat up and tossed our sleeping bags and pillows out onto the island and rolled them out on the flat, shale rock. It was glorious to lay there and fall asleep, under that mass of stars !
The next morning we got up and had a little something for breakfast and headed to a local marina to buy fishing licenses and minnows ! Once that was done we headed out to find a proper island to camp on. We motored around the lake and I think we ended up on Goat Island. We pitched our tents and started a fire. Thick stratus clouds blanketed the sky and Davey thought maybe we should put up a huge tarp he had brought, just incase it rained. So the tarp was gotten out of the boat and stretched out over our tents and folding camp chairs and secured to whatever was handy. We kept the fire on the outside edge of the tarp, so we didn't burn the camp down ! More dry wood was gathered, just in case, and stacked under the tarp. Satisfied with the camp and the preparations we had taken for bad weather, we headed out to fish.
Davey had now equipped his Chris-Craft with pedestal seats, a trolling motor and fish finder. We drifted over some good channels and humps, marking fish on the finder but couldn't get a bite ! Pretty soon, it started drizzling and we put on ponchos to keep us dry. The rain statred coming down harder and the fish still wouldn't bite, so we head back to the island to make sure everything was alright in camp. We'd just wait out this rain and continue fishing later.
We stoked the fire and pulled deli out of our coolers and made sandwiches for lunch and relaxed as we sat around in our folding chairs. The rain kept coming down and got harder and we had to put up more poles in certain areas so the tarp wouldn't sag under the weight of all the rain water. The boat had been moored to a large chunk of shale and we checked on it periodically as the winds intensified. Other than that, it seemed like a good time to take a nap and hopefully, we could go out and fish this evening and into the night ! Well... that was our plan !!!
The sky got darker and the rains and winds just got worse. It didn't look like we were going to do any fishing this evening. Davey put his poncho on and went down to the boat to make sure the bilge pump was working properly. We had put the top up on the boat earlier but with all this wind, it seemed like a better idea to take it down. While Davey was messing around in the boat, the wind had blown pretty hard and a corner of the tarp came lose, so I re-secure it and made sure the other points were equally secured.
Night fell and we tried to at least keep the fire going and took turns standing watch over the camp. We had to fold up our chairs, so they didn't blow away and literally batten down everything else in camp ! We lifted the tarp up to drain rain water that was gathering at an alarming rate and Davey called out for me to check the boat...he was inside his tent at the time. I grabbed a big flashlight and shinned the beam of light, down on the boat. The wind was beating us up, here on the Island but the boat looked as if it was floating in calm waters. We figured it would be dashed into the sharp shale.
Davey was about to relieve me and take over the camp watch and I still had the big flashlight in my hand and decided to take one more look at the boat. I turned on the light and shined it down by the big chunk of shale, it had been moored to, but now it was gone ! I yelled out that the boat was lose ! Davey stumbled out of his tent and tried to put on his shoes as quickly as he could. Meanwhile, I ran down the shoreline and spotlighted the boat. I got a hold of the rope that had been tied around the rock and noticed it was still tied. I thought for sure the knot must have come untied ! Davey got there and jumped into the boat and motored it back to the chunk of shale. We noticed the rope had been pulled through the layers of rock. The rope was retied around a lower point on the rock and we went back up to see how Joyce was doing, as she watched over the camp while we recovered the boat.
The rain and wind were relentless, all through the night. Despite our best efforts to keep everything dry, Mother Nature had other plans in store for us. By sunrise the next morning, the rains had finally subsided and the skies were clearing My Granma Stienbeck always had a saying..."that if there was a patch of blue in the sky, big enough to mend a pair of jeans, it was going to be a nice day !" It looked like it was going to be a great day, except, everything we owned, was soaked. We packed up our camp and headed back to the dock. Once we docked at the boat ramp, we took all our sleeping bags, unzipped them and laid them out in the sun to dry, along with setting our tents up in the parking lot and hanging some clothing on a make shift clothes line to dry. The State Dock had a little Diner and restrooms, so we cleaned ourselves up and went in to have a warm breakfast.
Once breakfast was over the sun was high and hot, so we put on bathing suits and went out to find a secluded cove for swimming and maybe a little fishing ! We didn't go far from the boat dock and ramp area, we wanted to be able to go back periodically and check our sleeping bags and maybe flip them over but between those times, we had a blast, swimming in this cove, Davey found.
Dale Hollow Lake has a number of islands on it and many that we have seen have steep, shale sides. Joyce began climbing up the shale walls and finding places to stand and dive from. She loved this ! Each time she climbed a little higher, a little higher and a little higher to make perfect dives into the waters below. The shale walls are not sheer, straight up and down walls, they angle back a few degrees so the higher Joyce climbed, the more she had to jump out to clear the rocks below. At her highest height of diving, I had to tell her not to go any higher, as she entered the water, her feet were just barely missing the rocks and I didn't want to have her injured ! She thought I was being overly protective but I told her, she was climbimg, probably twenty feet up the side to make her dives and she wasn't getting enough of a push off to propel herself far enough away from the rocks in the water ! Amazed that she was diving from a twenty foot high, shale platform and having such a good time, after experiencing such a terrible night before, she took it all in stride and just enjoyed the rest of the afternoon.
We went back to the boat dock to check on our sleeping bags and over heard a guy talking about Hurricane Gilbert. I asked the guy, what it was he was talking about...this Hurricane Gilbert ? "Yeah, he said, all this rain we had last night was from the hurricane ! We had six inches of rain dumped on us last night...it's official !" We had never realized that the hurricane in Texas was going to affect us, this way, in Tennessee.
We enjoyed the rest of our weekend and when we got home, we told all our friends how we survived Hurricane Gilbert ! They haven't heard the end of it yet !
Experienced by Dave Clifton, Joyce & J.Scott Keniston Written by J.Scott Keniston
Wet Bread
When I was a kid, growing up, I remember how great my Mothers' cooking was. You wanted to lick every drop off the plate but that wasn't proper table manners. My Father insisted on cleaning our plate. He loved it when we ate everything on the plate but always encouraged me to use my bread to sop up the juices from whatever we had eaten that evening.
Now I love bread but I'm not the type that liked to get it soggy or wet...or dirty it up with other foods. One night we all bragged on how good dinner was and Dad, told me to use my bread and get it all...not to waste a drop. Yes, dinner was really good but the thought of getting my bread dirty...made me ill. I asked Dad if I could use his bread and I'd sop up the sauce and then he could eat it. That way nothing would go to waste. The whole family broke out laughing at me. They now understood why I didn't want to use my bread. This became a running joke at our house from that day on.
It was because of this phobia of wet bread that I would never eat things like bread pudding, corn pudding or stuffing. I would never dip my bread into egg yokes from eggs done over easy, sunny side up or poached. The only time I ever had anything where my bread would get wet was when we made French Toast, and even then mine had to be cooked longer.
After I had moved out of my parents house, I was doing all my own cooking. I had made a batch of my Sisters' spaghetti sauce and was finishing up my dinner which included a couple pieces of buttered Italian bread. When I finished my meal, I noticed the perfectly seasoned remnants of the sauce on my plate...and not wanting to waste it, I absentmindedly took my bread and wiped the plate clean with it and then ate the bread. Man, that was delicious !!! Once I realized what I had just done, I immediately got on the phone and dialed my parents number.
Mom answered the phone and after saying hello, I asked for Dad. Dad got on the line and I told him that used my bread to clean my plate ! He laughed and said, "see, what you've been missing all these years, Son ?"
Now, every time I make something, I usually have a piece of bread to clean my plate or bowl with.
I've recently told this story to a co-worker of mine of this phobia, after he asked me if I liked bread pudding ? I then went on to tell him that I had only recently tried Corn Pudding and liked it a lot. I'm more open minded now, these days ! I told him that if he made some Bread Pudding, I would try it...the problem would be that if I liked it...he may not get any.
Thanks for opening my eyes Dad.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Now I love bread but I'm not the type that liked to get it soggy or wet...or dirty it up with other foods. One night we all bragged on how good dinner was and Dad, told me to use my bread and get it all...not to waste a drop. Yes, dinner was really good but the thought of getting my bread dirty...made me ill. I asked Dad if I could use his bread and I'd sop up the sauce and then he could eat it. That way nothing would go to waste. The whole family broke out laughing at me. They now understood why I didn't want to use my bread. This became a running joke at our house from that day on.
It was because of this phobia of wet bread that I would never eat things like bread pudding, corn pudding or stuffing. I would never dip my bread into egg yokes from eggs done over easy, sunny side up or poached. The only time I ever had anything where my bread would get wet was when we made French Toast, and even then mine had to be cooked longer.
After I had moved out of my parents house, I was doing all my own cooking. I had made a batch of my Sisters' spaghetti sauce and was finishing up my dinner which included a couple pieces of buttered Italian bread. When I finished my meal, I noticed the perfectly seasoned remnants of the sauce on my plate...and not wanting to waste it, I absentmindedly took my bread and wiped the plate clean with it and then ate the bread. Man, that was delicious !!! Once I realized what I had just done, I immediately got on the phone and dialed my parents number.
Mom answered the phone and after saying hello, I asked for Dad. Dad got on the line and I told him that used my bread to clean my plate ! He laughed and said, "see, what you've been missing all these years, Son ?"
Now, every time I make something, I usually have a piece of bread to clean my plate or bowl with.
I've recently told this story to a co-worker of mine of this phobia, after he asked me if I liked bread pudding ? I then went on to tell him that I had only recently tried Corn Pudding and liked it a lot. I'm more open minded now, these days ! I told him that if he made some Bread Pudding, I would try it...the problem would be that if I liked it...he may not get any.
Thanks for opening my eyes Dad.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Air to Air Combat
Osprey
As I was leaving work one summer evening, I had to wait for a long traffic light before turning onto the ramp of the highway to head home. I was near the Great Miami River and as I sat there I watched as an Osprey was being attacked by a bunch of Boat-tailed Grackles.
The smaller Grackles could out maneuver the larger Osprey and would swoop down and strike the Osprey as it glided along the air currents. Each strike from the Grackles raised tufts of feathers from the Osprey’s back, wings and head, yet the Osprey would just continued to fly.
Just as another Grackle was about to strike, the Osprey tucked it’s wings along side it’s body and went into a roll. Turning its body upside down in flight. The Osprey outstretched it’s legs and talons, and snatched one of the aggressing Grackles from out of the air. Just as quickly, the Osprey then rolled back over, outstretched its wings again and continued to soar in a wide circle. Meanwhile the other Grackles scattered as the Osprey made a wide turn and glided to a nearby parking lot with its catch.
I looked at the clock on my dashboard. 6:00 PM. Dinner time. This was like a carry out order...natures way.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
The smaller Grackles could out maneuver the larger Osprey and would swoop down and strike the Osprey as it glided along the air currents. Each strike from the Grackles raised tufts of feathers from the Osprey’s back, wings and head, yet the Osprey would just continued to fly.
Just as another Grackle was about to strike, the Osprey tucked it’s wings along side it’s body and went into a roll. Turning its body upside down in flight. The Osprey outstretched it’s legs and talons, and snatched one of the aggressing Grackles from out of the air. Just as quickly, the Osprey then rolled back over, outstretched its wings again and continued to soar in a wide circle. Meanwhile the other Grackles scattered as the Osprey made a wide turn and glided to a nearby parking lot with its catch.
I looked at the clock on my dashboard. 6:00 PM. Dinner time. This was like a carry out order...natures way.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
A Boy and His Dog
Kody
Dave is one of my bestest friends in the whole world. Bosom buddies, life long friends, to quote Fred and Barney.
Dave is a gentle giant. At six foot, five inches tall with a sixty inch chest, a twenty two inch neck and size fifteen shoe. He tells people he owns a body shop. They think he means a fitness center when they see his size and build. He’s a bachelor and wanted to get a dog for the longest time. There were times we would talk on the phone and he would tell me of his search for just the right dog.
Finally the day came and he found an ad in the local paper. A women with an extremely intelligent Black Lab had a litter of pups for sale. I think he was allowed the pick of the litter. Once the pups were eight weeks old, he was allowed to come over and get his puppy.
He named her Cody. A little, black, ball of fur. In no time the puppy was house broken and learning tricks. Joyce and I went over for a visit one afternoon, when she was only a couple months older. We sat in the kitchen and played with the puppy. Dave would ask her if she wanted to go for a walk. She’d jump around and danced as he spoke the words. Then he’d tell her to get her leash. She ran to the kitchen door, pulled the leash off the door knob and drug it over to him. “Aw, look Cody, I don’t have any shoes on. Get my shoes.” He’d tell her. She bounded down the hall with excitement. She was gone a long while. We just sat there and talked. Pretty soon Cody emerged with one, size fifteen shoe. Dragging it all the way up the hall and into the kitchen. “Go get the other one Cody.” He said. Again she took off down the hall. In a while she returned with the other size fifteen shoe. This was hysterical to see the way these two interacted and this tiny puppy dragging these shoes that were larger than she was. He cradled her tiny head in his enormous hands and told her what a good girl she was as he flipped her ears around her face. She danced around the floor as he put his shoes on. Finally the leash was attached and we went out for the promised walk.
Returning to the house, he prepared her a nice bowl of cool water. We sat and talked about the puppy and just carried on about different events in general. Dave brought up a beer commercial he had seen on TV, where a dog brought his master a can of beer. He wondered out loud if Cody could bring him a beer? He took a can of beer out of the refrigerator and set it on the floor. Then he called Cody over to him, at the other end of the kitchen. They sat together on the floor. He told her what the can was. Then he told her to get him the can of beer. She pranced over to the can of beer, turning her head sideways, she tried to pick it up. Between her size, the size and weight of the can and it’s cold, slippery, round surface, she couldn’t pick it up and bring it to him. It kept sliding out of her mouth and falling on the floor. Each time she would try again to pick it up and carry it over to Dave. The can hit the floor many times. She began to lunge at the can. All of a sudden, her sharp, little, puppy teeth punctured the beer can. Beer started spraying all over the kitchen. As the beer sprayed around the room, the puppy barked at the can and began lapping up puddles of beer. Dave threw a towel over the punctured can and tossed it in the sink. “Well maybe I’ll try that again when she’s a little bigger.” He said.
Cody would get into everything. Once on a fishing trip to Kentucky, she found a pack of my cigarettes and tore it open. When I looked around she had a cigarette in her lips and looked like she was ready to ask me for a light and smoke it. If we only had a camera! It was truly a Kodak moment.
Then there was the time Dave took her fishing for the evening in his Chris-Craft boat. He had stopped off and picked up a bag of Coney’s from a local Cincinnati Chili Parlor. For those of you that aren’t familiar with Cincinnati and our famous 3-Way Chili and Coneys, a Coney is a hotdog on a bun with chili, mustard, cheese and onions.
With the boat in the water, they were soon on their way to find a good spot for fishing. Dave had taken a beer out of the cooler and opened it. A little bit later he heard crunching and looked around to see Cody finishing the last of his Coneys. He turned to grab the bag and when he did he knocked over the can of beer. Cody jumped up and started lapping the beer up off the deck of the boat. Cody has been fed well but Dave was still a little hungry at this point. He just laughed at her as they went on to find a good place to fish.
Every night Dave would take Cody out for a walk. They’d walk around the town where we grew up. He’d carry tennis balls and would toss them for her to chase and retreive. When they would arrive at a particular cemetery, Dave liked to sit and rest and let Cody run around. One night he tossed a tennis ball out for her. Cody ran after it. Dave heard her yelp after a little while, He called her. No Cody. He called again and again as he walked through the graveyard. Calling her, he finally heard her whimpering. He kept calling so he could tune in to her and find her. All of a sudden, Dave fell into a freshly dug grave. Huh, I’ll be darned, there was Cody too. He gathered his wits about him and looked around at grave and realized just what had happened. He picked Cody up and put her up on the grass surrounding the grave and then had the chore of getting himself out of the hole. “Man, it’s not easy getting out of a grave, you know?” He said, when relating the story to me. We’d just laugh until neither of us could catch our breath.
Cody does know how to fish. Dave built a pond on some property he owns in Indiana. It is well stocked with bass, bluegill, crappie and catfish. After she would dive into the water, off the dock. After which she’d settle down in the shallows and let bluegills swim around her legs and body. She’d snap at them, as they got closer. Every now and then she’d get one. She’d never eat them. She practiced catch and release. Once in a while she’d get a little too rambunctious with her fishing from the bank. Dave would yell at her. “Cody, go lay down, you’re scaring the fish.” She’d put her tail between her legs and go lay down on the dock. Occasionally, Dave would look over at her. Her tail would thump the deck of the wooden dock as she watched his every move. If he wasn’t having any luck fishing, he’d tell her it was okay, she could come back in. she’d take a huge running jump off the dock and do the biggest belly flop on the water, you’ve ever seen a dog do and the two would spend the day just swimming around the pond together.
The most amazing thing I witnessed between Dave and Cody was another time out on his Indiana property. It was typically a quiet country setting. A paved, one lane, road with a neighbors’ house just across the way.
We had been fishing this particular, Sunday afternoon. The sun was getting low and we had to work on Monday. We walked up to where our vans were parked and talked as we loaded our fishing tackle into the back of them. Cody must have kicked up a rabbit and went running across the road and onto the neighbors’ property. Dave let her run as he put his belly boat and assorted fishing tackle in his van. We stood there and talked for a few more minutes. Then Dave called for Cody to come. She turned around and began to come back across the field and yard, to the road at the same speed she had been chasing the rabbit at.
All of a sudden, some kid in a hot rod car came barreling around the curve in the road. In an instant, Dave commanded her to STOP, SIT, STAY ! She stopped immediately and sat within inches of the roadside as the car sped past. A few gestures where exchanged between Dave and the driver of the car but when it was all over, there was Cody, sitting on the side of the rode, just as she was told to. He called for her to come. She got up and trotted across the road. He’d held her face and tossed her ears around and told her what a good girl she was. “Mmmm, yes you are a good girl.” We stood there after the fact and talked about the dog and how good she was to understand all the commands from him and so quickly as it was only seconds from the time he said COME, before the second, third and forth command of STOP,SIT, STAY where issued. This truly is a great dog and they are lucky to have found each other.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Dave is a gentle giant. At six foot, five inches tall with a sixty inch chest, a twenty two inch neck and size fifteen shoe. He tells people he owns a body shop. They think he means a fitness center when they see his size and build. He’s a bachelor and wanted to get a dog for the longest time. There were times we would talk on the phone and he would tell me of his search for just the right dog.
Finally the day came and he found an ad in the local paper. A women with an extremely intelligent Black Lab had a litter of pups for sale. I think he was allowed the pick of the litter. Once the pups were eight weeks old, he was allowed to come over and get his puppy.
He named her Cody. A little, black, ball of fur. In no time the puppy was house broken and learning tricks. Joyce and I went over for a visit one afternoon, when she was only a couple months older. We sat in the kitchen and played with the puppy. Dave would ask her if she wanted to go for a walk. She’d jump around and danced as he spoke the words. Then he’d tell her to get her leash. She ran to the kitchen door, pulled the leash off the door knob and drug it over to him. “Aw, look Cody, I don’t have any shoes on. Get my shoes.” He’d tell her. She bounded down the hall with excitement. She was gone a long while. We just sat there and talked. Pretty soon Cody emerged with one, size fifteen shoe. Dragging it all the way up the hall and into the kitchen. “Go get the other one Cody.” He said. Again she took off down the hall. In a while she returned with the other size fifteen shoe. This was hysterical to see the way these two interacted and this tiny puppy dragging these shoes that were larger than she was. He cradled her tiny head in his enormous hands and told her what a good girl she was as he flipped her ears around her face. She danced around the floor as he put his shoes on. Finally the leash was attached and we went out for the promised walk.
Returning to the house, he prepared her a nice bowl of cool water. We sat and talked about the puppy and just carried on about different events in general. Dave brought up a beer commercial he had seen on TV, where a dog brought his master a can of beer. He wondered out loud if Cody could bring him a beer? He took a can of beer out of the refrigerator and set it on the floor. Then he called Cody over to him, at the other end of the kitchen. They sat together on the floor. He told her what the can was. Then he told her to get him the can of beer. She pranced over to the can of beer, turning her head sideways, she tried to pick it up. Between her size, the size and weight of the can and it’s cold, slippery, round surface, she couldn’t pick it up and bring it to him. It kept sliding out of her mouth and falling on the floor. Each time she would try again to pick it up and carry it over to Dave. The can hit the floor many times. She began to lunge at the can. All of a sudden, her sharp, little, puppy teeth punctured the beer can. Beer started spraying all over the kitchen. As the beer sprayed around the room, the puppy barked at the can and began lapping up puddles of beer. Dave threw a towel over the punctured can and tossed it in the sink. “Well maybe I’ll try that again when she’s a little bigger.” He said.
Cody would get into everything. Once on a fishing trip to Kentucky, she found a pack of my cigarettes and tore it open. When I looked around she had a cigarette in her lips and looked like she was ready to ask me for a light and smoke it. If we only had a camera! It was truly a Kodak moment.
Then there was the time Dave took her fishing for the evening in his Chris-Craft boat. He had stopped off and picked up a bag of Coney’s from a local Cincinnati Chili Parlor. For those of you that aren’t familiar with Cincinnati and our famous 3-Way Chili and Coneys, a Coney is a hotdog on a bun with chili, mustard, cheese and onions.
With the boat in the water, they were soon on their way to find a good spot for fishing. Dave had taken a beer out of the cooler and opened it. A little bit later he heard crunching and looked around to see Cody finishing the last of his Coneys. He turned to grab the bag and when he did he knocked over the can of beer. Cody jumped up and started lapping the beer up off the deck of the boat. Cody has been fed well but Dave was still a little hungry at this point. He just laughed at her as they went on to find a good place to fish.
Every night Dave would take Cody out for a walk. They’d walk around the town where we grew up. He’d carry tennis balls and would toss them for her to chase and retreive. When they would arrive at a particular cemetery, Dave liked to sit and rest and let Cody run around. One night he tossed a tennis ball out for her. Cody ran after it. Dave heard her yelp after a little while, He called her. No Cody. He called again and again as he walked through the graveyard. Calling her, he finally heard her whimpering. He kept calling so he could tune in to her and find her. All of a sudden, Dave fell into a freshly dug grave. Huh, I’ll be darned, there was Cody too. He gathered his wits about him and looked around at grave and realized just what had happened. He picked Cody up and put her up on the grass surrounding the grave and then had the chore of getting himself out of the hole. “Man, it’s not easy getting out of a grave, you know?” He said, when relating the story to me. We’d just laugh until neither of us could catch our breath.
Cody does know how to fish. Dave built a pond on some property he owns in Indiana. It is well stocked with bass, bluegill, crappie and catfish. After she would dive into the water, off the dock. After which she’d settle down in the shallows and let bluegills swim around her legs and body. She’d snap at them, as they got closer. Every now and then she’d get one. She’d never eat them. She practiced catch and release. Once in a while she’d get a little too rambunctious with her fishing from the bank. Dave would yell at her. “Cody, go lay down, you’re scaring the fish.” She’d put her tail between her legs and go lay down on the dock. Occasionally, Dave would look over at her. Her tail would thump the deck of the wooden dock as she watched his every move. If he wasn’t having any luck fishing, he’d tell her it was okay, she could come back in. she’d take a huge running jump off the dock and do the biggest belly flop on the water, you’ve ever seen a dog do and the two would spend the day just swimming around the pond together.
The most amazing thing I witnessed between Dave and Cody was another time out on his Indiana property. It was typically a quiet country setting. A paved, one lane, road with a neighbors’ house just across the way.
We had been fishing this particular, Sunday afternoon. The sun was getting low and we had to work on Monday. We walked up to where our vans were parked and talked as we loaded our fishing tackle into the back of them. Cody must have kicked up a rabbit and went running across the road and onto the neighbors’ property. Dave let her run as he put his belly boat and assorted fishing tackle in his van. We stood there and talked for a few more minutes. Then Dave called for Cody to come. She turned around and began to come back across the field and yard, to the road at the same speed she had been chasing the rabbit at.
All of a sudden, some kid in a hot rod car came barreling around the curve in the road. In an instant, Dave commanded her to STOP, SIT, STAY ! She stopped immediately and sat within inches of the roadside as the car sped past. A few gestures where exchanged between Dave and the driver of the car but when it was all over, there was Cody, sitting on the side of the rode, just as she was told to. He called for her to come. She got up and trotted across the road. He’d held her face and tossed her ears around and told her what a good girl she was. “Mmmm, yes you are a good girl.” We stood there after the fact and talked about the dog and how good she was to understand all the commands from him and so quickly as it was only seconds from the time he said COME, before the second, third and forth command of STOP,SIT, STAY where issued. This truly is a great dog and they are lucky to have found each other.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
New Tricks for an Old Dog
I've told you how my friend Kenny got me back into fishing and turned me on to bass fishing. Everything he did, I did. If he had a particular rod, reel or lure, I got one too. As I became more experienced, Kenny would take me fishing with him to flooded gravel pits he had access to and knew that bass were stocked in these waters. Several times he wouldn't be catching fish, using his tried and ture methods and maybe I might have caught a couple 12 inch bass. I think he would get jealous of the little bass I caught and would then ask me what lure I was using and how I was using it ? Back in those days I never bought more than one of any particular lure, so I didn't have one to share, if he didn't have something like it in his tackle box.
Kenny got me into using baitcasting rods and reels and then even more specialized, he had me flipp'n and pitch'n with heavier rods and using 20 pound test line, so I could wrench these fish out of the water. I never got as good at flipp'n or pitch'n as Kenny was but I came close. Most of the time, I was still catching the 12 inch bass, even while using these heavier rods, lines, jigs and worms that were intended to catch "MONSTER BASS". The tackle was so stiff that I was literally jerking the fish out of the water, with just my hookset.
One day, while fishing by myself, I decided to use a light action spinning rod and reel and some smaller lures that I had aquired and fished a small farm pond. I had a good day, catching several bass that were in the 2-3 pound range and a few more of the 12-13 inch bass but this was different. By using this light spinning tackle, these fish put up a heck of a good fight and I wasn't sure who was going to win. I saw Kenny that Monday at work and told him of my success. His fishing hadn't been as productive. Weekend after weekend I was reporting catching more and larger fish than he was. When I shopped for fishing tackle, I was looking for lures in the 1/8 & 1/16 oz range and 4 inch worms with number 2 hooks. Soon I had almost every lure made in that size range and lots of different colors and patterns. Some worked, some didn't.
Pretty soon, Kenny was carrying a couple spinning rods with him, on his boat, when he went fishing. Now he was using my methods and I supplied him with some lures in the lighter size. We fished together more and more, watching what the other was doing and to see how successful the results were.
There was a new craze in bass fishing when Tom Mann developed the RAT for skimming over the tops of weedbeds and enticing bass to bust up on the surface and take the soft plastic offering. You had to use heavy rods and line to wrench the fish and the weight of the weeds back to the boat. Most times the fish were only 12 inches long but the weeds weighed 10 pounds and you had to strip the weeds away to get to the fish and unhook it.
While this craze was going on, I bought my first kayak. The Flipp'n rods we were using to fish the RAT were to big to handle while sitting in a kayak. I decide to break from the "norm" and buy a shorter, stiffer, baitcasting rod and use a left-handed reel on it so it was like casting a spinning rod and you didn't have to change hands, before engauging the reel and retrieving the lure. Everything could be done as quickly and smoothly as using the spinning rod.
I told Kenny of my purchase and reason for buying the left-handed reel. He skoffed at the idea. I don't think he thought much of my kayak either. I was paddling around on smaller bodies of water and he had the Bass Tournement frame of mind to have a fast boat and get to a good place to fish before the others found it and then get back in time for the weigh in. I was fishing for fun and Kenny had hopes of winning money on the tournement trail.
One day he came to me and said, you'll never guess what I bought this weekend ? I couldn't guess. He had purchased a left-handed reel for one of his exsisting rods and was quite taken with idea of using it as you would a spinning rod. I laughed at him. "Hmmmmm, seems I've heard this idea somewhere before". I said. He laughed with me. "You were right", "he said, it is more natural to cast with the right hand and reel with your left".
Time went on and Kenny and I fished a lot. This one hot, summer day, we weren't catching anything. It was so hot the carpet on the deck of his boat was burning my feet. I decided to jump in the water and swim. I don't think Kenny believed that I would jump in. With a huge splash and nearly capsizing the boat, I dove in the water and cooled off. When I surfaced, Kenny yelled, "you'll scare all the fish !" I just laughed at him. "What fish ?" He caught himself and began to laugh with me. Pretty soon he kicked off his shoes and took his shirt off and jumped in the water too. We laughed as hundreds of bluegills surrounded us as we treaded water in the gravel pit. We hadn't scared any fish, we were attracting them !
Pretty soon I was discovering the feeding patterns of the fish and only fishing during the low-light hours of the morning and evening and having great success during the hours I fished. No more of this unproductive time spent during the heat of the afternoon for me. I was really getting set in my ways. One day Kenny asked me if I'd be his partner in an upcoming bass tournement. It was going to be in August and the weather was terribly hot. I agreed and said, "if it gets too hot and the fish don't bite, I'll just jump in the river and cool off !" "Oh, you can't do that in a tournement, you'll get us disqualified", Kenny said. "Then I guess I better not fish the tournement." I replied. We just looked at each other and agreed that that would probably be best for both. We knew each other pretty well. We had learned a lot from each other and respected that.
Tight lines Old Friend ! ---------<*)))))))))))><
Written by J.Scott Keniston
Kenny got me into using baitcasting rods and reels and then even more specialized, he had me flipp'n and pitch'n with heavier rods and using 20 pound test line, so I could wrench these fish out of the water. I never got as good at flipp'n or pitch'n as Kenny was but I came close. Most of the time, I was still catching the 12 inch bass, even while using these heavier rods, lines, jigs and worms that were intended to catch "MONSTER BASS". The tackle was so stiff that I was literally jerking the fish out of the water, with just my hookset.
One day, while fishing by myself, I decided to use a light action spinning rod and reel and some smaller lures that I had aquired and fished a small farm pond. I had a good day, catching several bass that were in the 2-3 pound range and a few more of the 12-13 inch bass but this was different. By using this light spinning tackle, these fish put up a heck of a good fight and I wasn't sure who was going to win. I saw Kenny that Monday at work and told him of my success. His fishing hadn't been as productive. Weekend after weekend I was reporting catching more and larger fish than he was. When I shopped for fishing tackle, I was looking for lures in the 1/8 & 1/16 oz range and 4 inch worms with number 2 hooks. Soon I had almost every lure made in that size range and lots of different colors and patterns. Some worked, some didn't.
Pretty soon, Kenny was carrying a couple spinning rods with him, on his boat, when he went fishing. Now he was using my methods and I supplied him with some lures in the lighter size. We fished together more and more, watching what the other was doing and to see how successful the results were.
There was a new craze in bass fishing when Tom Mann developed the RAT for skimming over the tops of weedbeds and enticing bass to bust up on the surface and take the soft plastic offering. You had to use heavy rods and line to wrench the fish and the weight of the weeds back to the boat. Most times the fish were only 12 inches long but the weeds weighed 10 pounds and you had to strip the weeds away to get to the fish and unhook it.
While this craze was going on, I bought my first kayak. The Flipp'n rods we were using to fish the RAT were to big to handle while sitting in a kayak. I decide to break from the "norm" and buy a shorter, stiffer, baitcasting rod and use a left-handed reel on it so it was like casting a spinning rod and you didn't have to change hands, before engauging the reel and retrieving the lure. Everything could be done as quickly and smoothly as using the spinning rod.
I told Kenny of my purchase and reason for buying the left-handed reel. He skoffed at the idea. I don't think he thought much of my kayak either. I was paddling around on smaller bodies of water and he had the Bass Tournement frame of mind to have a fast boat and get to a good place to fish before the others found it and then get back in time for the weigh in. I was fishing for fun and Kenny had hopes of winning money on the tournement trail.
One day he came to me and said, you'll never guess what I bought this weekend ? I couldn't guess. He had purchased a left-handed reel for one of his exsisting rods and was quite taken with idea of using it as you would a spinning rod. I laughed at him. "Hmmmmm, seems I've heard this idea somewhere before". I said. He laughed with me. "You were right", "he said, it is more natural to cast with the right hand and reel with your left".
Time went on and Kenny and I fished a lot. This one hot, summer day, we weren't catching anything. It was so hot the carpet on the deck of his boat was burning my feet. I decided to jump in the water and swim. I don't think Kenny believed that I would jump in. With a huge splash and nearly capsizing the boat, I dove in the water and cooled off. When I surfaced, Kenny yelled, "you'll scare all the fish !" I just laughed at him. "What fish ?" He caught himself and began to laugh with me. Pretty soon he kicked off his shoes and took his shirt off and jumped in the water too. We laughed as hundreds of bluegills surrounded us as we treaded water in the gravel pit. We hadn't scared any fish, we were attracting them !
Pretty soon I was discovering the feeding patterns of the fish and only fishing during the low-light hours of the morning and evening and having great success during the hours I fished. No more of this unproductive time spent during the heat of the afternoon for me. I was really getting set in my ways. One day Kenny asked me if I'd be his partner in an upcoming bass tournement. It was going to be in August and the weather was terribly hot. I agreed and said, "if it gets too hot and the fish don't bite, I'll just jump in the river and cool off !" "Oh, you can't do that in a tournement, you'll get us disqualified", Kenny said. "Then I guess I better not fish the tournement." I replied. We just looked at each other and agreed that that would probably be best for both. We knew each other pretty well. We had learned a lot from each other and respected that.
Tight lines Old Friend ! ---------<*)))))))))))><
Written by J.Scott Keniston
My Cuban Owl
While I was stationed in Guantanamo Bay Cuba, I knew a Marine that found a young owl near his post, on the fence line. He kept the owl for a few days but then realized with an upcoming inspection, the owl would have to go.
If I had to describe it, I would say it looked like a miniature Snowy Owl of the Arctic. All white with little black tips on its feathers. I had seen adult owls in Cuba before as they flew across the road in front of me as I drove a duty tow-truck after sunset, around the base.
I agreed to take the owl. It sat on my shoulder as we walked from the Marine barracks to our barracks. The Marine told me he was getting raw hamburger from the galley to feed the baby. I followed his lead and continued his feeding practices.
During the day the young owl would sit on a perch I made and kept in the barracks. In the evenings I would take it outside to see what it would do. It just sat there. I wasn’t very educated about owls. I just knew they were birds of the night. After a couple of evenings of watching the owl just sit on the perch, I decided to work its wings like I had seen once on TV.
I’d sit the owl on my arm. I wore a welders glove to protect me from its talons. I began moving my arm up and down wildly. In an attempt to balance itself, the owl would flap its wings. After
just a couple of hours one night and maybe an hour the next night, the owl flew off my arm and sat on top of a telephone pole outside the barracks. We did this for a couple more nights. It was neat to see him fly around. It was cooler to have it come back to me and sit on my gloved arm. It was Saturday and for some reason I brought the owl out during the day. Maybe it was to show it off in front of the guys. I don’t know what processed me to do this. But I brought the owl out and waved my arm and it flew up to the top of the telephone pole. Once it perched on the pole, it immediately began to be attacked by a group of native, Sparrow Hawks. I think there were four hawks in the attack. They strafed the young owl and struck it in the back and head. I felt awful, seeing this attack unfold. I shouted to the owl and held my arm up as I watched tiny feathers flutter down to the ground after each strike on its body. Some strikes caused the young owl to wobble on the top of the pole. It just sat there and looked around peaceably, with those all-knowing eyes of theirs. Finally, it swooped down and landed on my arm and the hawks flew off to the top of the barracks and screeched their disapproval of the owls’ presents. I took the battered owl back in the barracks and let it rest for the remainder of the day. That night I took it out again for our flight
training class. I moved my arm up and down and the owl flew up to the top of the phone pole again. Then it lunged forward and spread its wings and flew over to the top of another barracks. It circled over me once and disappeared into the darkness. The rest of the time I spent in Cuba, I never saw another owl but I relished the time we spent together. It was a very neat experience that I’ll never forget.
Written by J.Scott Keniston
If I had to describe it, I would say it looked like a miniature Snowy Owl of the Arctic. All white with little black tips on its feathers. I had seen adult owls in Cuba before as they flew across the road in front of me as I drove a duty tow-truck after sunset, around the base.
I agreed to take the owl. It sat on my shoulder as we walked from the Marine barracks to our barracks. The Marine told me he was getting raw hamburger from the galley to feed the baby. I followed his lead and continued his feeding practices.
During the day the young owl would sit on a perch I made and kept in the barracks. In the evenings I would take it outside to see what it would do. It just sat there. I wasn’t very educated about owls. I just knew they were birds of the night. After a couple of evenings of watching the owl just sit on the perch, I decided to work its wings like I had seen once on TV.
I’d sit the owl on my arm. I wore a welders glove to protect me from its talons. I began moving my arm up and down wildly. In an attempt to balance itself, the owl would flap its wings. After
just a couple of hours one night and maybe an hour the next night, the owl flew off my arm and sat on top of a telephone pole outside the barracks. We did this for a couple more nights. It was neat to see him fly around. It was cooler to have it come back to me and sit on my gloved arm. It was Saturday and for some reason I brought the owl out during the day. Maybe it was to show it off in front of the guys. I don’t know what processed me to do this. But I brought the owl out and waved my arm and it flew up to the top of the telephone pole. Once it perched on the pole, it immediately began to be attacked by a group of native, Sparrow Hawks. I think there were four hawks in the attack. They strafed the young owl and struck it in the back and head. I felt awful, seeing this attack unfold. I shouted to the owl and held my arm up as I watched tiny feathers flutter down to the ground after each strike on its body. Some strikes caused the young owl to wobble on the top of the pole. It just sat there and looked around peaceably, with those all-knowing eyes of theirs. Finally, it swooped down and landed on my arm and the hawks flew off to the top of the barracks and screeched their disapproval of the owls’ presents. I took the battered owl back in the barracks and let it rest for the remainder of the day. That night I took it out again for our flight
training class. I moved my arm up and down and the owl flew up to the top of the phone pole again. Then it lunged forward and spread its wings and flew over to the top of another barracks. It circled over me once and disappeared into the darkness. The rest of the time I spent in Cuba, I never saw another owl but I relished the time we spent together. It was a very neat experience that I’ll never forget.
Written by J.Scott Keniston