Cody, WY 9/26/2011
I saw him at the small Meteetse museum, an old man just passing his days. He asked where I was from and proceeded to tell me that his uncle had worked at a cotton mill in Atlanta, and that his mother had once flown there, and she had told him that she could hardly see the tips of the wings on the plane, they were so long, and that he didn't see any reason to fly, except for emergencies. He wanted to be on the ground.
Several days later, we again stopped at Meteese, having braved a rugged road to nearby Kirwin, an abandoned mining town. We went into the only bar/cafe in the tiny town to get a bite to eat.
The old fellow was sitting at the bar, alone, nursing a beer. While we were waiting for a table he asked where I was from. I reminded him of our previous meeting, and the uncle he had mentioned. He said he had worked on many of the surrounding ranches over the years, including the Legendary Pitchfork Ranch. He began to talk of his family. He and his sister had lived in the house where they had been born and raised. She had passed several years ago. All of his family are now dead. He is the last of that line.
Just think of the history he has witnessed. I wonder how many stories he has to tell.
Monday, September 26, 2011
The Quiet Rebel
Cody, WY, 9/26/2011
Mike drove down from Big Sky to explore the Cody area with us. We all had some time to talk and catch up. He and I had worked together last year and had become friends. A bit unusual since Mike is 25 and I am 63, his father's age. But Mike doesn't accept limits without thought.
As a student in high school and college, Mike was gregarious. He is till ready for a party or a concert, but his several months working in Yellowstone and Big Sky, and exploring other places in the west taught him to value solitude.He has borrowed from a friend the idea that loneliness is the sorry state of being alone, while solitude is the glory of being alone. He is a very skilled night photographer and goes on lone hikes high into the Tetons, or far into the Utah desert to capture incredible images. This choice of lifestyle is not a temporary stopping place for him, it is his life.
His computer gave up the ghost so Mike is using the opportunity to research for a novel he is working on. No easy task since the subject will be alternate realities and perceptions. So his journey continues. It seems to me that his is the type of journey that requires quite a bit of courage.
Mike drove down from Big Sky to explore the Cody area with us. We all had some time to talk and catch up. He and I had worked together last year and had become friends. A bit unusual since Mike is 25 and I am 63, his father's age. But Mike doesn't accept limits without thought.
As a student in high school and college, Mike was gregarious. He is till ready for a party or a concert, but his several months working in Yellowstone and Big Sky, and exploring other places in the west taught him to value solitude.He has borrowed from a friend the idea that loneliness is the sorry state of being alone, while solitude is the glory of being alone. He is a very skilled night photographer and goes on lone hikes high into the Tetons, or far into the Utah desert to capture incredible images. This choice of lifestyle is not a temporary stopping place for him, it is his life.
His computer gave up the ghost so Mike is using the opportunity to research for a novel he is working on. No easy task since the subject will be alternate realities and perceptions. So his journey continues. It seems to me that his is the type of journey that requires quite a bit of courage.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Top Secret
Cody, WY, 9/21/2011
During the Vietnam War, I was a part of a secret communications operation based on the legendary Indian Code Talkers of World War II. The idea was to use soldiers from north Georgia, east Tennessee, and western Carolinas as radio operators. North Vietnamese intelligence operatives, many speaking excellent English, would not be able to understand a dialect that had never been adequately archived and recorded.
I wrote down one exchange that occurred in January, 1969. The following is an edited transcript and interpretation:
Orange 1, Orange 1, Howz yo momma?
Gud, gud, an yers?
(Security verification)
Hole bunch them lil sumbitches in the war. Yall come on ova chere.
(We are under attack.)
Git som dem gud ole boyz. Wil opin can of whup ass.
(Request reinforcements and artillery support.)
The operation failed due to a lack of communication between the radio operators and the officers they reported to, usually 2nd lieutenants, and recent college graduates. These young men usually spoke only fraternity, so if the first sentence of a conversation did not include the words "naked" and "beer", they lost interest.
So, to all veterans of the aforementioned code talkers, "I slute chall!"
During the Vietnam War, I was a part of a secret communications operation based on the legendary Indian Code Talkers of World War II. The idea was to use soldiers from north Georgia, east Tennessee, and western Carolinas as radio operators. North Vietnamese intelligence operatives, many speaking excellent English, would not be able to understand a dialect that had never been adequately archived and recorded.
I wrote down one exchange that occurred in January, 1969. The following is an edited transcript and interpretation:
Orange 1, Orange 1, Howz yo momma?
Gud, gud, an yers?
(Security verification)
Hole bunch them lil sumbitches in the war. Yall come on ova chere.
(We are under attack.)
Git som dem gud ole boyz. Wil opin can of whup ass.
(Request reinforcements and artillery support.)
The operation failed due to a lack of communication between the radio operators and the officers they reported to, usually 2nd lieutenants, and recent college graduates. These young men usually spoke only fraternity, so if the first sentence of a conversation did not include the words "naked" and "beer", they lost interest.
So, to all veterans of the aforementioned code talkers, "I slute chall!"
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Maria
Cody, WY 9/20/2011
Near Old Faithful in a cold dismal rain, a woman asked if we were going to Mammoth. Gale told her we could give her a ride to Old Faithful and that a shuttle might be available. The shuttles had shut down for the season the week before so Maria said she would just catch a ride on the loop road. Against her protestations we took her to Mammoth and made a new friend on the way.
Maria is 60+ years old, from Madrid, Spain and has been traveling around North America. She has been through Alaska, the Canadian Rockies, Grand Canyon, and after Yellowstone, she will catch a plane out of Jackson Hole on her way home. She travels by bus when she can and where there are no buses, she asks for rides. She spoke of 9 mile glacier hikes and constantly mentioned the kindness of people she had met.
So, we met a very brave lady, very optimistic, and we have an invitation to visit Madrid.
Near Old Faithful in a cold dismal rain, a woman asked if we were going to Mammoth. Gale told her we could give her a ride to Old Faithful and that a shuttle might be available. The shuttles had shut down for the season the week before so Maria said she would just catch a ride on the loop road. Against her protestations we took her to Mammoth and made a new friend on the way.
Maria is 60+ years old, from Madrid, Spain and has been traveling around North America. She has been through Alaska, the Canadian Rockies, Grand Canyon, and after Yellowstone, she will catch a plane out of Jackson Hole on her way home. She travels by bus when she can and where there are no buses, she asks for rides. She spoke of 9 mile glacier hikes and constantly mentioned the kindness of people she had met.
So, we met a very brave lady, very optimistic, and we have an invitation to visit Madrid.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
What I Learned at Baptist Church Camp
Cody, WY, 9/18/2011
I learned that a metal trashcan full of wire coat hangers, flung down a narrow hall at midnight made a terrible din, and that such an act would have repercussions other than obnoxious sounds.
I learned that prayer and meditation hour was, for a twelve year old boy, something like the eternity they often mentioned in nightly lessons. It was also a perfect time to take a canoe out on the lake, filled with all the other paddles of the other boats, so no one could come and force us to pray and meditate.
I learned that boys and girls were to be separated into two large groups, so that a girl named Carol would only be seen from afar. There would be no long anticipated walks, hand in hand, on sylvan paths, so the only reason I went to church camp was moot.
I learned that a metal trashcan full of wire coat hangers, flung down a narrow hall at midnight made a terrible din, and that such an act would have repercussions other than obnoxious sounds.
I learned that prayer and meditation hour was, for a twelve year old boy, something like the eternity they often mentioned in nightly lessons. It was also a perfect time to take a canoe out on the lake, filled with all the other paddles of the other boats, so no one could come and force us to pray and meditate.
I learned that boys and girls were to be separated into two large groups, so that a girl named Carol would only be seen from afar. There would be no long anticipated walks, hand in hand, on sylvan paths, so the only reason I went to church camp was moot.
Friday, September 16, 2011
I Don't Know, What Do You Want to Do?
Cody, WY, 9/16/2011
Picture it. Night. Summer, 1964. A '62 Ford Falcon station wagon, lights off, creeps up a small rise. Two shadowy figures lie prone in the luggage rack on the roof. When the vehicle reaches the top of the rise, high beams illuminate the garbage dump and thousands of large rats run in all directions. Simultaneously, the marksmen begin shooting their semi automatic .22 rifles. One, two,....maybe a dozen rodents bite the....garbage.
The wagon slowly backs down the rise and the snipers reload. Quiet descends over the Cartersville garbage dump. They wait. Not too long. Rats don't wear watches. The process is repeated.
Small town Saturday night. No dates.
Picture it. Night. Summer, 1964. A '62 Ford Falcon station wagon, lights off, creeps up a small rise. Two shadowy figures lie prone in the luggage rack on the roof. When the vehicle reaches the top of the rise, high beams illuminate the garbage dump and thousands of large rats run in all directions. Simultaneously, the marksmen begin shooting their semi automatic .22 rifles. One, two,....maybe a dozen rodents bite the....garbage.
The wagon slowly backs down the rise and the snipers reload. Quiet descends over the Cartersville garbage dump. They wait. Not too long. Rats don't wear watches. The process is repeated.
Small town Saturday night. No dates.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Characters
Cody. WY, 9/13/2011
We had breakfast at a small coffee shop on Sheridan Ave. The young lady who waited on us is a college student who participates in barrel racing and goat roping. We got this information from an old guy, about my age, who then began to tell us about his wife's rock garden. Apparently she loves shapes and colors of unusual rocks. Each story led to another, sometimes by mysterious paths. He also makes jigsaw puzzles. One of his latest creations is made from a rodeo poster featuring some of the kids who work at the coffee house.
Later, at an outfitter store, we met a man whose last name is White Bird. He rebuilds Airstreams and has owned eight of them. He has walked across the US twice.
The owner of a clothing and tack shop makes custom saddles. His wife sews wall tents for hunters. The young man that waited on us also participates in the rodeo, as a bull rider. He said that he has had two concussions from football but has never been injured riding bulls.
Everyone has stories. God grant me the patience and wisdom to listen.
We had breakfast at a small coffee shop on Sheridan Ave. The young lady who waited on us is a college student who participates in barrel racing and goat roping. We got this information from an old guy, about my age, who then began to tell us about his wife's rock garden. Apparently she loves shapes and colors of unusual rocks. Each story led to another, sometimes by mysterious paths. He also makes jigsaw puzzles. One of his latest creations is made from a rodeo poster featuring some of the kids who work at the coffee house.
Later, at an outfitter store, we met a man whose last name is White Bird. He rebuilds Airstreams and has owned eight of them. He has walked across the US twice.
The owner of a clothing and tack shop makes custom saddles. His wife sews wall tents for hunters. The young man that waited on us also participates in the rodeo, as a bull rider. He said that he has had two concussions from football but has never been injured riding bulls.
Everyone has stories. God grant me the patience and wisdom to listen.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Tapestry
9/11/2011 Cody, WY
Today is such a sad day of remembrance and it is difficult to tie this anniversary to what I am writing.
We went to a rodeo last night where the competitors were college students from some of these western states. I really enjoyed the pageantry, the swagger, skills and tradition. There are some things about the rodeo that I don't like, but then again, I don't make the rules.
There are a lot of things that should be changed, but some would have us all living in a homogenized society of their rules.What a monochrome society we would live in if there were no rodeos, no NASCAR, no old guys driving their Harleys across the country.
Today is such a sad day of remembrance and it is difficult to tie this anniversary to what I am writing.
We went to a rodeo last night where the competitors were college students from some of these western states. I really enjoyed the pageantry, the swagger, skills and tradition. There are some things about the rodeo that I don't like, but then again, I don't make the rules.
There are a lot of things that should be changed, but some would have us all living in a homogenized society of their rules.What a monochrome society we would live in if there were no rodeos, no NASCAR, no old guys driving their Harleys across the country.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
An Injustice
We visited the site of the Japanese American Internment camp at Heart Mountain yesterday. Today, some houses and ranches can be seen from the site, but it is easy to imagine the barren desolation that must have greeted the internees as they got off a train, in the middle of nowhere, so far from their homes.
The barracks hosed several families, each with a small area to live in, with little privacy. These barracks were each built in about an hour, of # 3 green wood, that shrank, leaving spaces between the outer boards, letting in the Wyoming winters. Tar paper was nailed over the outside to help keep the wind out.
There were schools, movie theaters, a hospital, library and other amenities. One particularly poignant story tells of the first student body president of the high school, later to join the army and die in France for his country, that was treating his family as the enemy.
The internees worked on irrigation projects and farmed near the camp. Several young men served in the US military.
The government spent millions on these camps at a time when every resource was needed for the war effort.
I don't believe in collective guilt and I don't buy into the current movement in the US of my country, always wrong, but I do believe in the study of history and learning from history. The most important lesson should not be self righteous judgement so common in hind sight. We are all prisoners of our times. The most important lesson, in my opinion, is to know that most of us would have approved of the camps at that time, and that makes me question my own integrity.
The barracks hosed several families, each with a small area to live in, with little privacy. These barracks were each built in about an hour, of # 3 green wood, that shrank, leaving spaces between the outer boards, letting in the Wyoming winters. Tar paper was nailed over the outside to help keep the wind out.
There were schools, movie theaters, a hospital, library and other amenities. One particularly poignant story tells of the first student body president of the high school, later to join the army and die in France for his country, that was treating his family as the enemy.
The internees worked on irrigation projects and farmed near the camp. Several young men served in the US military.
The government spent millions on these camps at a time when every resource was needed for the war effort.
I don't believe in collective guilt and I don't buy into the current movement in the US of my country, always wrong, but I do believe in the study of history and learning from history. The most important lesson should not be self righteous judgement so common in hind sight. We are all prisoners of our times. The most important lesson, in my opinion, is to know that most of us would have approved of the camps at that time, and that makes me question my own integrity.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Town Sounds
Cody, WY 9/5/2011
I grew up in a small town, one block from a textile mill where many of our neighbors worked. Some of my earliest memories are the sounds of the neighborhood; the light early morning traffic,(especially the swish swish sound of tires on wet pavement), the opening, lunch and closing whistles at the mill. Later on I became aware of the sounds of a wider world; the cheers from the high school football games on fall Friday nights and the constant train whistles, the tracks a block away.
We are visiting a western town, population 8000+, where the sounds have become an important part of our visit. The courthouse clock strikes the hours and half hours, concerts in the park can be heard, and Friday nights, we hear the cheers from the high school. Some mornings I hear the hooves of mule deer as they move through the lawns of this town.
The distinctive sound of Cody occurs late in the evening as some of the locals reenact a gunfight on a blocked off street at the Irma Hotel. We look forward to it every day.
I grew up in a small town, one block from a textile mill where many of our neighbors worked. Some of my earliest memories are the sounds of the neighborhood; the light early morning traffic,(especially the swish swish sound of tires on wet pavement), the opening, lunch and closing whistles at the mill. Later on I became aware of the sounds of a wider world; the cheers from the high school football games on fall Friday nights and the constant train whistles, the tracks a block away.
We are visiting a western town, population 8000+, where the sounds have become an important part of our visit. The courthouse clock strikes the hours and half hours, concerts in the park can be heard, and Friday nights, we hear the cheers from the high school. Some mornings I hear the hooves of mule deer as they move through the lawns of this town.
The distinctive sound of Cody occurs late in the evening as some of the locals reenact a gunfight on a blocked off street at the Irma Hotel. We look forward to it every day.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Endless Road
Cody, WY, 9/4/2011
Our first night in Cody, we stayed in a small 1960's era downtown hotel much favored by bikers, usually of the Gold Wing/Harley set.
At breakfast we had a conversation with two couples, my age or a bit older, who had ridden their bikes from Maine. They had gone through part of Canada and the only complaint was the hot weather in North Dakota. When asked if they pulled a trailer, one of the ladies told me that they only had saddle bags, and once you had some warm weather gear and a rain suit, the rest was just gravy.
Old age rapidly approaches and by some measurements, it has arrived, but some choose, and are lucky enough to be able to choose to be "willin' to be movin'." Those folks continue to have new stories to tell.
Our first night in Cody, we stayed in a small 1960's era downtown hotel much favored by bikers, usually of the Gold Wing/Harley set.
At breakfast we had a conversation with two couples, my age or a bit older, who had ridden their bikes from Maine. They had gone through part of Canada and the only complaint was the hot weather in North Dakota. When asked if they pulled a trailer, one of the ladies told me that they only had saddle bags, and once you had some warm weather gear and a rain suit, the rest was just gravy.
Old age rapidly approaches and by some measurements, it has arrived, but some choose, and are lucky enough to be able to choose to be "willin' to be movin'." Those folks continue to have new stories to tell.
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