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Shakesthegrounds Rumblings
ifyoucantfixit:
Those are some amazing pics, Truman. The three mousekiteers, and silly chuckie.
i love those.
CellarDweller:
--- Quote from: ifyoucantfixit on January 30, 2008, 12:23:42 pm ---The three mousekiteers, and silly chuckie. i love those.
--- End quote ---
;) ;D :laugh:
loneleeb3:
I was there!
If you heard the faint laughter of a child and heard the splashing in the small pond at the foot of the mill, that was me.
Well, the ghost of the boy I once was. He stil llives there ya know even if that reality only exists in my mind. It's always summer and he is with his Nannie at the church picnic circa 1970.
I was there as my name was on your lips and my memory was in your heart.
You called me and gave me greetings from atop Buffalo Mountain.
I was there!
I love you all for bringing me along!!
:-*
--- Quote from: Shakestheground on January 29, 2008, 09:41:25 pm ---I had found a figurine, a hand holding the wrapping for some flowers in miniature, made in Japan, someone had painted its fingernails and perhaps someone remembered the photos of the first part of the Statue of Liberty the French had sent over in the 19th century. Granny wrapped it in newspaper and the grandson ran back and forth betwixt the heater and the cash till, calling out the change as he counted it.
Packed back in the car, we headed back to the parkway, and headed north. Stopping at Mabry's Mill, one of the most photographed places in the world for sure. I reveled in showing Paul a display where Connecticut had claimed it for its own.
Chuck also got an opportunity to confront his fear of bees, when I pointed out his performance had taken place under a dormant Hornet nest. It was quite and still and ice clung to the mill race and wheel. No one but the four of us there. And the ducks, who were so hopeful for a hand out their muttering could talk one another into believing it was to be.
And then it was time to climb the mountain. But to do so we had to find it first and that is always a challenge for me somehow. I always turn off too soon or try to remember the way with me haid in sted of me heart and it took a while to find Moles Road, but eventually we did, and passed the two 1960s motor boat hulls that mush have been deposited there by tornado. On to the parking area, but it didn;t look right.
I had last been there the first weekend in August, me and my friend Carol had followed the old road bed cut for the old radio tower now long gone. Now there was a new trail, and the old road bed looked as if it had been abandoned for decades. Okay then, this is the way, me in my genuine animal hide boots from the LaHonda rodeo, a virginal experience for all of us.
Chuck's grandmother, transplanted to Pennsylvania, had been able to charm snakes. She was apparently sought out for her talent. Still, I was glad it was January when we crossed the designated Rattlesnake Area. And when the top was within sight, limits were being reached.
I don;t remember if I told my friend I was not going to quit him, I should have if I didn;t. It was too near to quit, and it was not a race. We'd just take it slow. Cuss our couch potato selves. In no time at all we were there, the top of Buffalo Mountain. The top of the visible world, suspended above every day concerns. My mind still, wants to be there. With Chuck, writing spontaneous poem into the book hikers book recently installed at the summit, Paul, camera in hand and Wulf, surveying the world below. Not as much Brokeback as Priscilla, the air clean, and our wits all about us. A signal on the cell phone, connecting us with the world out there.
But the world right there, was pretty nice.
I showed the the rock where a hundred years ago men in ties and jackets and women in long white dress had gathered on an Easter Sunday to be photographed, before drunkeness and fighting broke out. I helped Chuck refashion a piece of Jewelry to include a stone from the summit. We saw Pilot Mountain and somewhere betwixt there and it our home, unseen to our eyes. I wished Jack and Rich and nameless others could have been there. Never enough time, to even stop and appreciate. We were being called by food and time.
--- End quote ---
Jeff Wrangler:
--- Quote from: loneleeb3 on January 30, 2008, 03:15:37 pm ---It's always summer and he is with his Nannie at the church picnic circa 1970.
--- End quote ---
Church picnic? Did ya'll sing? ;)
loneleeb3:
--- Quote from: Jeff Wrangler on January 30, 2008, 03:44:27 pm ---Church picnic? Did ya'll sing? ;)
--- End quote ---
Oh yeah
We sang on the bus all up through the mountains.
then we sang when we got there.
I remember singing Father Abraham
Buh Buh Bub Bubblin
and every old hymn known to Chirsendom
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