The rain we have received in recent days is probably equal to what Hurricane Irene brought, but it just hasn't come in two days...instead it's been 7 days of hazy, lazy drizzle, which as many of you know is terrible for the hairdo. Not that it matters to me, but the ladies in the office have doubled the hairspray.
The past couple of weeks have been busy, with NC L.I.N.C., Haw Branch Soul Sister Retreat, Ongoing Tyrrell Middle School, and Wilson Chamber of Commerce Dynamic Leadership. None of which were spared by the rain.
The Wilson Retreat, which features about 12 hours of teambuilding was mostly done indoors, until we ventured out in the inch deep standing water to do some elements on the Challenge Course...the brave souls enjoyed All Aboard and the Whale Watch, despite the thick drizzle and even thicker mosquitoes. Do mosquitoes ever disappear? Mosquitoes generally make their first appearance in April and subside the following March. There is no respite. Either way, High Ropes with Wilson was pretty spectacular, and the mosquitoes don't fly 35 feet into the air where the participants spent the morning. Mosquitoes also can't follow anyone down the zipline, where participants can reach 40 miles per hour...
The Haw Branch Soul Sisters visited over the weekend...we led them through teambuilding, archery, and rock climbing while it rained non-stop. We had to make some programmatic adjustments to accommodate on account of the weather, but it was still fun. We even got to use the "indoor" climbing wall, which is under the roof of the climbing wall, on the interior grotto. I can't explain it much better than that, but it's worth a look if you're interested.
In general life and football news, Auburn pulled out a victory this weekend, while East Carolina defeated UAB. Alabama also beat Arkansas, while the LSU Tigers became the # 1 team in the Associated Press Poll. I'm headed to Columbia, South Carolina this weekend to see Auburn and the University of South Carolina play. It should be fun!
Early Teal and Resident Goose hunting seasons expire this week. I haven't pursued much fowl, but did get into the geese and saw only a few teal. North Carolina's early duck season comes in on October 5, and the Gun Deer comes in on October 15. With the opening of these seasons, Tyrrell County will begin to fill with non-resident hunters who come to experience the remoteness and abundance of this county's wild game.
Enjoy the day...
September 26, 2011
September 15, 2011
Teal Season
According to the weathermen and weatherwomen of Eastern North Carolina's newscasts, today should be out last day of 90 degree weather...and we all know, that those folks only report the most accurate facts. Either way, the month of September ushers in early hunting seasons for North Carolina's sportsmen. The weather is perfect for doves and teal, both of which are migratory game birds that pass right through our coastal communities and sounds.
Teal are a type of duck...they are also America's smallest dabbling ducks....dabbling ducks, unlike diving ducks, feed in foot deep water on plants and seeds. Teal are divided into three differens species...there's the Green-winged teal (a hardy little puddle duck that can withstand the late winter temperatures and is a late migrator), the Cinnamon teal (probably the most beautiful duck in all the world, but an early migrant), and the Blue-winged teal (America's second most abundant duck, behind the mallard, and the earliest of all migrators).
Scientists and researchers eventually discovered that not all species of ducks migrate at the same time. Some, like the Blue-winged teal (BWT hereafter) migrate from their nesting grounds in Canada and the Dakotas as soon as August. For hunters to have a chance at these speedy, tasty, and very abundant ducks, state game commissions created the early teal season, which generally falls in early-September. No other ducks may be harvested, either. It's a great chance to practice shooting and identification skills. But, it's not always that easy. BWT's are tiny for ducks...about the size of a fat cardinal. They also fly at about 40 miles per hour and in the most zig-zaggery of fashions. They commit easily to meager decoy spreads of 10-20 fakes. But they also leave them as quick as they arrive. What complicates teal hunting even more, is that they are "first flight" birds. They fly right at legal shooting light, then no more. Additionally, they are literally here one day, and gone the next. yo uhave to get lucky just to spy them in flight anywhere.
With a continental population of approximately 6 million BWT, many northern hunters will still never see them. I have never bagged one, but I've seen a friend bag one. I've seen less than a thousand in my illustrious career as a waterfowler. Either way, I still try to go and catch teal several times each September...I have harvested early green-winged teal, but not many. Still, I'll have lots of fun swatting the copious amounts of mosquitoes. The pint of blood I'll need after the mosquitoes have fed on me will be tucked gently into the corner of my ammunition bag. Ditto for the spf 50. I don't have alligator repellent, so I'll have the space. Still, it's worth every waterfowler and birder's effort to go out in September, along the coastal marshes to see these tiny, beautiful ducks, that most will never see...for those wanting to pursue these ducks...scout shallow marshes with lots of food. The daily bag limit is 4...
Here are some pictures of the 3 different types of teal...
Green-Winged Teal
Blue-Winged Teal
Cinnamon Teal
Enjoy the day...
Teal are a type of duck...they are also America's smallest dabbling ducks....dabbling ducks, unlike diving ducks, feed in foot deep water on plants and seeds. Teal are divided into three differens species...there's the Green-winged teal (a hardy little puddle duck that can withstand the late winter temperatures and is a late migrator), the Cinnamon teal (probably the most beautiful duck in all the world, but an early migrant), and the Blue-winged teal (America's second most abundant duck, behind the mallard, and the earliest of all migrators).
Scientists and researchers eventually discovered that not all species of ducks migrate at the same time. Some, like the Blue-winged teal (BWT hereafter) migrate from their nesting grounds in Canada and the Dakotas as soon as August. For hunters to have a chance at these speedy, tasty, and very abundant ducks, state game commissions created the early teal season, which generally falls in early-September. No other ducks may be harvested, either. It's a great chance to practice shooting and identification skills. But, it's not always that easy. BWT's are tiny for ducks...about the size of a fat cardinal. They also fly at about 40 miles per hour and in the most zig-zaggery of fashions. They commit easily to meager decoy spreads of 10-20 fakes. But they also leave them as quick as they arrive. What complicates teal hunting even more, is that they are "first flight" birds. They fly right at legal shooting light, then no more. Additionally, they are literally here one day, and gone the next. yo uhave to get lucky just to spy them in flight anywhere.
With a continental population of approximately 6 million BWT, many northern hunters will still never see them. I have never bagged one, but I've seen a friend bag one. I've seen less than a thousand in my illustrious career as a waterfowler. Either way, I still try to go and catch teal several times each September...I have harvested early green-winged teal, but not many. Still, I'll have lots of fun swatting the copious amounts of mosquitoes. The pint of blood I'll need after the mosquitoes have fed on me will be tucked gently into the corner of my ammunition bag. Ditto for the spf 50. I don't have alligator repellent, so I'll have the space. Still, it's worth every waterfowler and birder's effort to go out in September, along the coastal marshes to see these tiny, beautiful ducks, that most will never see...for those wanting to pursue these ducks...scout shallow marshes with lots of food. The daily bag limit is 4...
Here are some pictures of the 3 different types of teal...
Green-Winged Teal
Blue-Winged Teal
Cinnamon Teal
Enjoy the day...
September 14, 2011
A Columbia Icon
Let's face it, Columbia, North Carolina is about as famous as, well, Creswell, North Carolina. Famous, to many of us has a positive connotation that means likable, good, and happy. Columbia is all of the above, but it's still not famous. Within Columbia, there are likable landmarks, people, and places...all things that make the town so favored by it's residents and so intriguing to the literal millions that strafe through on the major highway. Columbia and it's waterways have long been known as a fisherman's paradise. Some people believe it's a great place to come and see sunsets. And some people like the downtown galleries that are only discovered with a little vacationing gumption. But to me, there is one true symbol that epitomizes the town and it's people.
Mr. Bobby, as he is commonly called, is one of a couple of town barbers. Mr. Bobby is older than most of us will ever live to enjoy. Either way, he's still hard at it, in his shop downtown. It's where I get my hair cuts. For the longest time, I avoided getting my hair cut at a traditional barber shop. I guess I thought the treatment of a salon was what I merited most. Either way, becoming a Columbian rubbed of on me. Sensible, practical, and comfortable is how most people would describe me, and it's how I often describe the good people of this area. They do what it takes to get it done, and they do it at their pace, which is somewhere around a speed of "just right"...not too fast or too slow. And that's why Mr. Bobby is as much a part of this community as he is a representative of it.
Main Street in downtown Columbia is marked by tiny concrete buildings. There's an art gallery, a couple of restaurants, a drug store, a non-profit, and a few skeletons of commerce's past. It's an easy place to navigate. There's always someone walking in downtown, and they are headed somewhere. Mr. Bobby's shop is on the west end of Main Street, just outside of casting distance to the Scuppernong River...the same river that only weeks ago shoved two feet of water through his door and up his wall. So what...he cut my hair two days later. His shop is incredibly non-descript, but everyone knows where it is...parking near the barber shop is tough, though. Still, the other slots up and down Main Street can serve you, if you can serve yourself to walk. Rarely have I gone in for a cut, when Idid not have to wait a bit. But part of that is due to Mr. Bobby's deliberate nature. It's also a place for other men to congregate and carry on, whether or not they will be getting a haircut. More times than not, it's only familiar faces within the walls of the shop. I've been here 5 years, and that's only a minute to a lot of these people. Still, I listen contently to the stories and gossip. Or Rush Limbaugh. While I'm sitting on the red wooden bench that holds the graying customers, I usually occupy myself with a day-old copy of the Raleigh paper. I'm glad that some people still keep quarters and know how to use them!
Nevertheless, while I read the paper, I'll find myself surrounded by relics of yesteryear. Mind you, this place has no decorum. It's a building whose purpose is one. Either way, I'll admire the bottles of hair tonic, which are for sale. There's also a strop hanging on the wall and it hordes dust. Nobody ever asks for a straight blade shave, anymore. I'd like to have just one in my life. There a pictures on the wall of Mr. Bobby's friends and family. Most of which live nearby. There's even a poster which showcases the bust of all of our American Presidents, the newest being Ronald Reagan. It's not a timeless place, but it is a place to pass the time. It's a building built for utility.
After waiting for a bit, I usually just step up, then plop down into the barber's chair. Oddly enough, hair cut recipients don't face the wall-sized mirror. In fact, you face the patient waiters. You can enjoy the conversation without having to stare at yourself. When he asks how I'd like my haircut, I tell him simply. The first time, I tried to raise my voice, because I thought he might not hear me. He whispered back and said "I can do that." My first few cuts were the traditional crew cuts that he doled out while in the military. Each one was perfect and precise. Since then, he has offered to me that women like hair on the "full" side. Now he just trims it.
There's a tremendous gap between Bobby and I. Obviously, our age difference is grand. He's a member of America's Greatest Generation. I know hard work, but all he knows is hard work. He's polite and sincere as if it is the only option, and sometimes, I can be either or neither. Either way, after I pay the grand total sum of $5 for my haircut, I feel a little closer to him and Columbia. And as Bobby would say, I feel "a little lighter", too.
Enjoy the day...
Mr. Bobby, as he is commonly called, is one of a couple of town barbers. Mr. Bobby is older than most of us will ever live to enjoy. Either way, he's still hard at it, in his shop downtown. It's where I get my hair cuts. For the longest time, I avoided getting my hair cut at a traditional barber shop. I guess I thought the treatment of a salon was what I merited most. Either way, becoming a Columbian rubbed of on me. Sensible, practical, and comfortable is how most people would describe me, and it's how I often describe the good people of this area. They do what it takes to get it done, and they do it at their pace, which is somewhere around a speed of "just right"...not too fast or too slow. And that's why Mr. Bobby is as much a part of this community as he is a representative of it.
Main Street in downtown Columbia is marked by tiny concrete buildings. There's an art gallery, a couple of restaurants, a drug store, a non-profit, and a few skeletons of commerce's past. It's an easy place to navigate. There's always someone walking in downtown, and they are headed somewhere. Mr. Bobby's shop is on the west end of Main Street, just outside of casting distance to the Scuppernong River...the same river that only weeks ago shoved two feet of water through his door and up his wall. So what...he cut my hair two days later. His shop is incredibly non-descript, but everyone knows where it is...parking near the barber shop is tough, though. Still, the other slots up and down Main Street can serve you, if you can serve yourself to walk. Rarely have I gone in for a cut, when Idid not have to wait a bit. But part of that is due to Mr. Bobby's deliberate nature. It's also a place for other men to congregate and carry on, whether or not they will be getting a haircut. More times than not, it's only familiar faces within the walls of the shop. I've been here 5 years, and that's only a minute to a lot of these people. Still, I listen contently to the stories and gossip. Or Rush Limbaugh. While I'm sitting on the red wooden bench that holds the graying customers, I usually occupy myself with a day-old copy of the Raleigh paper. I'm glad that some people still keep quarters and know how to use them!
Nevertheless, while I read the paper, I'll find myself surrounded by relics of yesteryear. Mind you, this place has no decorum. It's a building whose purpose is one. Either way, I'll admire the bottles of hair tonic, which are for sale. There's also a strop hanging on the wall and it hordes dust. Nobody ever asks for a straight blade shave, anymore. I'd like to have just one in my life. There a pictures on the wall of Mr. Bobby's friends and family. Most of which live nearby. There's even a poster which showcases the bust of all of our American Presidents, the newest being Ronald Reagan. It's not a timeless place, but it is a place to pass the time. It's a building built for utility.
After waiting for a bit, I usually just step up, then plop down into the barber's chair. Oddly enough, hair cut recipients don't face the wall-sized mirror. In fact, you face the patient waiters. You can enjoy the conversation without having to stare at yourself. When he asks how I'd like my haircut, I tell him simply. The first time, I tried to raise my voice, because I thought he might not hear me. He whispered back and said "I can do that." My first few cuts were the traditional crew cuts that he doled out while in the military. Each one was perfect and precise. Since then, he has offered to me that women like hair on the "full" side. Now he just trims it.
There's a tremendous gap between Bobby and I. Obviously, our age difference is grand. He's a member of America's Greatest Generation. I know hard work, but all he knows is hard work. He's polite and sincere as if it is the only option, and sometimes, I can be either or neither. Either way, after I pay the grand total sum of $5 for my haircut, I feel a little closer to him and Columbia. And as Bobby would say, I feel "a little lighter", too.
Enjoy the day...
September 13, 2011
Pocosin Grapes
This blog is well overdue. Rarely do I write about anything that I don't value. I'm not the great writer that can pick a social topic, hash it out, and walk away. Life's to long to do that, even once. Still, when I go to that Giant Rock Wall in the sky, I hope to find many of the things I love in this galaxy. One of my favorite things is the humble scuppernong grape. It's the perfect snack for those of us who prefer mosquitoes to malls.
Growing up in Alabama, my parents had a few muscadine vines. They were not cultivated by them, and for all I know, they might have just been wild and matured. A muscadine is similar to a scuppernong...it's a wild grape that has a leathery shell. They're purple, though, unlike the greenish-bronze scuppernong. Sometimes, though, Deep Southerner's called muscadines "scuplins" or "scuflins"...I was always confused and cravenous. I even had friends whose parents made muscadine wine. Personally, though, there is no better way to enjoy a wild grape, than to plop the fruit into your mouth, straight up.
Upon my arrival in pocosin country, I quickly got my bearings by cruising the front and back roads of the area. I got lots of tips from new friends on great places to go. Upon crossing the Scuppernong River, I recognized the name from childhood. And so began my quest for the wild grape vine. They were literally everywhere, but finding one that produces sweet fruit was the challenge. I found lots that offered smaller, tarter grapes. I had to learn to like them, and did. On occasion, someone would bring a carton of them by the office - the good kind. I ate more than my fair share, but I had to make up for years lost.
Eventually, I hit the motherload. And apparently, this motherload was from the mothervine, which added additional mystique to this abundant, but almost unknown grape.
Quick Interjection Here: My computer mysteriously shut-off without saving the last 25 lines of this blog, so I'll attempt to finish...again.
Anyway, the grapevines, yeah...so now I don't pick any grapes...I buy them from a local grower, Scuppernong Produce. Gosh Almighty are they perfect. Giant grapes, with minimal seeds. If you want some from Scuppernong Produce, you'll have to let me know, or you can find Scuppernong Produce on Facebook. They'll let you know how you can get them, but I have a connection. They are worth every 250 pennies per quart. But remember the law of supply and demand when purchasing!
Once you pick or buy your grapes, you need to enjoy them the purist's way...that means (1)putting the entire grape in your mouth, (2)squeezing with your teeth until the pulp erupts, (3)sorting (by tooth) the seeds from the pulp, (4)spitting the seeds back to the earth (or into a cup if enjoying indoors), (5) swallowing the pulp, (6) chewing the skin, (7) swallowing, and finally, (8)smiling. If you are going to spit out the skin, just don't bother with the grapes. The skin is where the protein and fiber are...either way, scuppernongs are healthier, tastier, and even less expensive than an equal amount of chocolate.
Most of my favorite snacks are broken up by seasons....here's a calendar year rundown:
January through mid-February: Conversation Hearts
Mid-February through mid-April: Cadburry and Robin Eggs
Mid-April through August: Granola
August through mid-October: Scuppernong Grapes
Mid-October through mid-November: Candy Corn
Mid-November through late December: Haystacks and fudge
Remember, eat all sweets in moderation! Your waistline and teeth will thank you. And it's all just to good to over-do, except for scuppernongs!
Enjoy the day...
Growing up in Alabama, my parents had a few muscadine vines. They were not cultivated by them, and for all I know, they might have just been wild and matured. A muscadine is similar to a scuppernong...it's a wild grape that has a leathery shell. They're purple, though, unlike the greenish-bronze scuppernong. Sometimes, though, Deep Southerner's called muscadines "scuplins" or "scuflins"...I was always confused and cravenous. I even had friends whose parents made muscadine wine. Personally, though, there is no better way to enjoy a wild grape, than to plop the fruit into your mouth, straight up.
Upon my arrival in pocosin country, I quickly got my bearings by cruising the front and back roads of the area. I got lots of tips from new friends on great places to go. Upon crossing the Scuppernong River, I recognized the name from childhood. And so began my quest for the wild grape vine. They were literally everywhere, but finding one that produces sweet fruit was the challenge. I found lots that offered smaller, tarter grapes. I had to learn to like them, and did. On occasion, someone would bring a carton of them by the office - the good kind. I ate more than my fair share, but I had to make up for years lost.
Eventually, I hit the motherload. And apparently, this motherload was from the mothervine, which added additional mystique to this abundant, but almost unknown grape.
Quick Interjection Here: My computer mysteriously shut-off without saving the last 25 lines of this blog, so I'll attempt to finish...again.
Anyway, the grapevines, yeah...so now I don't pick any grapes...I buy them from a local grower, Scuppernong Produce. Gosh Almighty are they perfect. Giant grapes, with minimal seeds. If you want some from Scuppernong Produce, you'll have to let me know, or you can find Scuppernong Produce on Facebook. They'll let you know how you can get them, but I have a connection. They are worth every 250 pennies per quart. But remember the law of supply and demand when purchasing!
Once you pick or buy your grapes, you need to enjoy them the purist's way...that means (1)putting the entire grape in your mouth, (2)squeezing with your teeth until the pulp erupts, (3)sorting (by tooth) the seeds from the pulp, (4)spitting the seeds back to the earth (or into a cup if enjoying indoors), (5) swallowing the pulp, (6) chewing the skin, (7) swallowing, and finally, (8)smiling. If you are going to spit out the skin, just don't bother with the grapes. The skin is where the protein and fiber are...either way, scuppernongs are healthier, tastier, and even less expensive than an equal amount of chocolate.
Most of my favorite snacks are broken up by seasons....here's a calendar year rundown:
January through mid-February: Conversation Hearts
Mid-February through mid-April: Cadburry and Robin Eggs
Mid-April through August: Granola
August through mid-October: Scuppernong Grapes
Mid-October through mid-November: Candy Corn
Mid-November through late December: Haystacks and fudge
Remember, eat all sweets in moderation! Your waistline and teeth will thank you. And it's all just to good to over-do, except for scuppernongs!
Enjoy the day...
September 12, 2011
The Day the World Changed
Over the weekend, the somber celebration of 9/11 transpired across America and it's foreign bases. Virtually everyone on Facebook took the opportunity to use the words "we will never forget" in their statuses. Not me. September 11, 2001 was not the day that the world changed. It was the day that changed the world. And there's a difference.
Where were you on 9/11/01? Odds are you know exactly where you were, and research has proven that dramatic events generally mark our minds in a way other than how the trivial things may be memorized. I don't have the slightest idea of what I did on September 10, 2011. I imagine I was preparing for my college-girlfriend-at-the-time's impending birthday, which was on September 13. I think we went to a restaurant. I 'm sure I did as I was asked. Nevertheless, I know exactly what I did on September 11, 2001.
I woke up around 7:30 am Central Time in the morning...I ate a Toaster Strudel, blueberry I'm sure. I cut on the TV, hoping to see good weather for the day. I was planning to go to the marina I worked at after class and wash some boats. The day would be easy, I was sure. Except for Dr. Pulliam's philosophy class. As soon as I cut on the television, I walked to the bathroom for a shower. This shower was just like all the others. I walked out, dressed, and met my dad in the den, where he wasn't supposed to be. He told me that a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center. I thought "what a terrible accident." Then, I watched live at about 8:05 am Central Time as another plane smashed into a skyscraper I had only seen in pictures. I was captivated and confused. Terrorism was something that I never could digest, but my dad mentioned the possibility immediately, and as non-nonchalantly as anyone who would have lived through the Cuban Missile Crisis. Other planes fell that day. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, and neighbors died that day. I didn't know anyone in that building that day. I doubt I know anyone that works near that place, either. I was naive enough to think that it didn't matter to me. It was just one terrible incident that I was not affected by...at 18 years old, most young men are fairly dumb. And I had bleach blonde hair at the time.
The rest of the day was a blurry catastrophe. Planes were grounded. Enemies were named. Threats were realized. In the days since then, flags were hoisted on anything with a high point. Even the remnants of the brave skyscrapers held a flag. I had a flag, too. All of a sudden, I was American and very proud of it.
Since that day, it seems as if every day brings a mention to 9/11/01. Our current financial crisis is linked. The long lines at airports, football games, and military recruitment centers are all linked to 9/11/01, too. Everyone became patriotic, and some still are, thankfully.
Unfortunately, the patriotism eroded and was replaced with stoic, ridiculous cautiousness. Many of us have become frustrated with security at large public gatherings, the never-ending forms that must be completed to bear arms, and the continuing war in Asia. But why be mad at American's for doing what American's do best? We are cautious, much more cautious than we used to be. Americans are no longer the braggart-over-the-top-rebellions that forged this country's eastern border. For the past 10 years, we have become nostalgic and careful. I hope that American's can be brave enough to stop looking inside the purses and pockets of it's own country folk, and begin to look inside the countries who harbor and hide terrorists.
9/12/2001 was the day the world changed. It woke up and had to change. On 9/11/2001, we leaned on shoulders. The next day we looked over our shoulders...and haven't stopped since.
Enjoy the day...
Where were you on 9/11/01? Odds are you know exactly where you were, and research has proven that dramatic events generally mark our minds in a way other than how the trivial things may be memorized. I don't have the slightest idea of what I did on September 10, 2011. I imagine I was preparing for my college-girlfriend-at-the-time's impending birthday, which was on September 13. I think we went to a restaurant. I 'm sure I did as I was asked. Nevertheless, I know exactly what I did on September 11, 2001.
I woke up around 7:30 am Central Time in the morning...I ate a Toaster Strudel, blueberry I'm sure. I cut on the TV, hoping to see good weather for the day. I was planning to go to the marina I worked at after class and wash some boats. The day would be easy, I was sure. Except for Dr. Pulliam's philosophy class. As soon as I cut on the television, I walked to the bathroom for a shower. This shower was just like all the others. I walked out, dressed, and met my dad in the den, where he wasn't supposed to be. He told me that a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center. I thought "what a terrible accident." Then, I watched live at about 8:05 am Central Time as another plane smashed into a skyscraper I had only seen in pictures. I was captivated and confused. Terrorism was something that I never could digest, but my dad mentioned the possibility immediately, and as non-nonchalantly as anyone who would have lived through the Cuban Missile Crisis. Other planes fell that day. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, and neighbors died that day. I didn't know anyone in that building that day. I doubt I know anyone that works near that place, either. I was naive enough to think that it didn't matter to me. It was just one terrible incident that I was not affected by...at 18 years old, most young men are fairly dumb. And I had bleach blonde hair at the time.
The rest of the day was a blurry catastrophe. Planes were grounded. Enemies were named. Threats were realized. In the days since then, flags were hoisted on anything with a high point. Even the remnants of the brave skyscrapers held a flag. I had a flag, too. All of a sudden, I was American and very proud of it.
Since that day, it seems as if every day brings a mention to 9/11/01. Our current financial crisis is linked. The long lines at airports, football games, and military recruitment centers are all linked to 9/11/01, too. Everyone became patriotic, and some still are, thankfully.
Unfortunately, the patriotism eroded and was replaced with stoic, ridiculous cautiousness. Many of us have become frustrated with security at large public gatherings, the never-ending forms that must be completed to bear arms, and the continuing war in Asia. But why be mad at American's for doing what American's do best? We are cautious, much more cautious than we used to be. Americans are no longer the braggart-over-the-top-rebellions that forged this country's eastern border. For the past 10 years, we have become nostalgic and careful. I hope that American's can be brave enough to stop looking inside the purses and pockets of it's own country folk, and begin to look inside the countries who harbor and hide terrorists.
9/12/2001 was the day the world changed. It woke up and had to change. On 9/11/2001, we leaned on shoulders. The next day we looked over our shoulders...and haven't stopped since.
Enjoy the day...
September 7, 2011
Columbia Middle School
The Eastern 4-H Center is now the temporary home of Columbia Middle School. As much of an inconvenience it is for the students, teachers, and parents to have their school flooded, we hope to provide an easy transition for all of them. I'm glad we can do it...not many places in the county can offer such relief! Extension agents and facilities have really come through for the people of Tyrrell County in the aftermath of Irene...some of them while their own personal lives were turned bottom up. But that happened to lots of folks. They're not feeling sorry for themselves around here. They're feeling helpful.
Either way, the middle school will be here for an undetermined amount of time...but they hope to be out by the 23rd of September.
East Carolina has a big game against Virginia Tech this weekend...here's hoping they can pull of the upset...Auburn is a touchdown dog to Mississippi State AT HOME! But I don't gamble, so I don't care...but never bet against Auburn. Never bet on them, either...
Enjoy the day...
Either way, the middle school will be here for an undetermined amount of time...but they hope to be out by the 23rd of September.
East Carolina has a big game against Virginia Tech this weekend...here's hoping they can pull of the upset...Auburn is a touchdown dog to Mississippi State AT HOME! But I don't gamble, so I don't care...but never bet against Auburn. Never bet on them, either...
Enjoy the day...
September 6, 2011
Labor Day Weakened
The hurricane clean-up at the Center is virtually complete. I imagine we picked up a couple of tons of former flotsam from our beach and yard...the timber that was felled is to numerous to weigh, though. Either way, lots of people in Tyrrell and surrounding counties are putting the left-behind pieces back together...and Katia appears to be steaming away from our coast...thank goodness.
Other notes of interest since my last blog:
The September Resident Canada Goose season came in on September 1st. This is a great way to control the burgeoning population or resident geese. I have blogged several times on the destruction these geese can cause to neighborhoods, fish communities in local ponds, and even destroy themselves through overpopulation and overgrazing. Either way, I was lucky enough to bag some geese with a good friend. My first ever goose was in that mix...additionally, may I please add how delicious a grilled goose is...especially one that has fattened itself on the struggling farmers corn crops. Wild Game is a great way for picky eaters to know where there food came from and to know how it was handled. Yet, grilled a perfect medium rare on Saturday, these geese tasted BETTER than the steaks prepared alongside them...simple preparation is easiest and delivers, to me, the very best results.
The college football weekend has also come and gone, with some surprises. East Carolina was thrashed by South Carolina...very disappointing, but the Pirates still hold lots of promise. UNC-CH won with ease, as did NC State. My beloved Auburn struggled quite a bit with a team that shall remain nameless...Auburn needed two touchdowns with 2:00 minutes remaining...it pulled of the impossible, while making a below .500 season very possible. Auburn will turn many fans into insomniacs this year, and the road only gets tougher with Mississippi State this upcoming weekend.
The 4-H Center is expecting guests now...we even have a big wedding this weekend on our newly-restored waterfront. Speaking of weddings, Charles Midgette, our Maintenance Supervisor was wed this weekend. Congrats to him and his bride!
Ms. Mittie, our glowing receptionist had another birthday...this morning, in fact. Somehow, though, it was she who gifted me with the Krispy Kreme doughnut. Anyway, Ms. Mittie is timeless and ageless, but she does have an age, and she's not telling. I surmise that despite her age, she looks at least 15 years younger...
But with all of this news, work, and play, I was a bit drained for the Labor Day Weekend...I guess I'll have to wait another year for Labor Day.
Enjoy the day...
Other notes of interest since my last blog:
The September Resident Canada Goose season came in on September 1st. This is a great way to control the burgeoning population or resident geese. I have blogged several times on the destruction these geese can cause to neighborhoods, fish communities in local ponds, and even destroy themselves through overpopulation and overgrazing. Either way, I was lucky enough to bag some geese with a good friend. My first ever goose was in that mix...additionally, may I please add how delicious a grilled goose is...especially one that has fattened itself on the struggling farmers corn crops. Wild Game is a great way for picky eaters to know where there food came from and to know how it was handled. Yet, grilled a perfect medium rare on Saturday, these geese tasted BETTER than the steaks prepared alongside them...simple preparation is easiest and delivers, to me, the very best results.
The college football weekend has also come and gone, with some surprises. East Carolina was thrashed by South Carolina...very disappointing, but the Pirates still hold lots of promise. UNC-CH won with ease, as did NC State. My beloved Auburn struggled quite a bit with a team that shall remain nameless...Auburn needed two touchdowns with 2:00 minutes remaining...it pulled of the impossible, while making a below .500 season very possible. Auburn will turn many fans into insomniacs this year, and the road only gets tougher with Mississippi State this upcoming weekend.
The 4-H Center is expecting guests now...we even have a big wedding this weekend on our newly-restored waterfront. Speaking of weddings, Charles Midgette, our Maintenance Supervisor was wed this weekend. Congrats to him and his bride!
Ms. Mittie, our glowing receptionist had another birthday...this morning, in fact. Somehow, though, it was she who gifted me with the Krispy Kreme doughnut. Anyway, Ms. Mittie is timeless and ageless, but she does have an age, and she's not telling. I surmise that despite her age, she looks at least 15 years younger...
But with all of this news, work, and play, I was a bit drained for the Labor Day Weekend...I guess I'll have to wait another year for Labor Day.
Enjoy the day...
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