Existing In BFE

This old picture which has been posted a couple times in the past is presented today for another reason.  First the picture.  Yeah, that's me in the middle.  I'm chewing on a hot dog during orientation week my freshman year at Iowa Wesleyan College.  I guess denim jackets were big back in those days.  For some reason the school used this photo in their Financial Aid brochure.  The big guy on the right is Mark N., who would become a fraternity brother, high school coach and administrator and now lives in Arizona. The fellow on the left is Ivan E.  He was a fellow Seatonite, from a farming family and still lives there south of town.  He was a GDI and one of the smartest people I know.  I ran into Ivan while I was back in Northlandia last month.  The Wombie and I had just done the daily number taking at the pump house in Seaton and he decided to drive back to Emerald City via a country road north out of town.   There on the right side of the road about a little out of town

A couple days ago we visited a cemetery near Andalusia.  Today we see other pictures from that trip.  None are worth much, except to me.  You can feel free to skip today's post - only I find this meaningful.   None of you live in Kitschland so you have a tough time knowing why I provide a picture of cows in a field and why that brings such pleasure.  It is because there are no cows where I am in the state.  What I have is never-ending traffic (OK, it is pretty reasonable in the hours past 3:00 am to about 5:00 am).  I have strip malls, major malls, ma-and-pa malls.  Everyone wants your money - sale ends today!  Insurance offices, restaurants, Walgreens and CVS on every corner.  Turn on the next right and its the same thing for miles.  Turn right and its never ending.   That's why cows resting in a field is so neat. Old worn out farm buildings, silos, and empty lots.  Back when farming was a family business and more than just tractor jockeys.  Those barn

Veteran readers know that when you see the lime green hood we are on our way looking for adventure.  Veterans will also remember we love cemeteries.  For a couple years now we have tried to find the time to go to one up by Andalusia.  Well, we finally found the time. Most cemeteries are on the edge of town, in it, or on a bluff not far from it.  Some are down lanes off a main road.  This one is far from anything and the lane is easy to miss as it is in between two houses, then down a long lane in bean fields. Once you reach the end you find a perfectly manicured old place in the center of a forested area. Many old stones have been placed in cement.  Final resting place of James McNutt, of Buffalo Prairie.  he mustered in the Union forces on September 4th, 1862 and died a year later on August 21st, 1863 in Helena, Arkansas.  If there was a battle nearby, I have no idea, but Helena is right next to Mississippi state line.  regiment history sta

It is Tuesday after the Storm as I write this.  I just returned from my 3 am round-the-block walk. The whir of generators was unmistakable through out the walk. Kenzie and Drew just had their power turned on as I was over letting the dog out.  They stayed at our place at Waterboard.  The blocks before and after theirs are still without power.  I had to go around fallen limbs a few times as much of the debris is yet to be cleared.   Some blocks are still without power. This is an area of one of the main arteries around here. Still dark. Still no gas. Evacuees have left the Largo High School. A bottle outside the high school.  Liquid courage, hope or simply a sedative.    Still some lines down. When does Denny's ever close? ++++++++++ No, thank God, this isn't one of my old school papers. ++++++++++ While in Northlandia I had the opportunity and good fortune to be away fr

Politics is discussed below.  Read at your Own Risk Like pornography, I don't know what America is but I know it when I see it. Whites hate blacks, blacks hate whites and everyone hates Hispanics. Democrats and Republicans are at each other's throats. Gays are kind of like our gall bladders - we don't know what it is but its part of us so we better take care of it.  Anger, distrust, fake everything, and lies.  Our national landscape is adrift in a hollow, roiling turbulence.  America isn't the lying, conniving, ignorant, pussy-grabbing, self-centered, fire-those-athletes, constitutionally-deprived presidency.  Eventually even the disaffected, disenfranchised, true-blue party followers will come to their senses and help the majority of Americans flush the stench and bile of this acrimonious period down the toilet of other crackpot episodes we have successfully gone through.  Charlatans can't pull it off forever before their act wears thin.  Americans tire o

For a few years the current Mrs. Blythe and I made our own root beer schnapps. After curing for a couple months we would then have some in the bar in the garage and the rest we would distribute to friends in the neighborhood.   These were the front and rear labels we used.  The front label used a picture our mother took of us three boys waiting for our bath.   The recipe was simple but potent.  After its curing the stuff really was deceptive - it had a great smooth taste but it would knock you on your butt if you had too much.  We still have the recipe and someday, if a car heads up that direction we might just make a limited batch to distribute.  

Some of the local sights when the sun came up after Irma. The winds forced the top caps, or end caps to come off, but left the rest of the fence OK. This limb in Kenzie's back yard was driven so hard into the ground it was too difficult to pull out.