Stories of the Macey Family

skitching down whiteface mountain

done

during my off seasons when i had no steady job i found myself

working a couple of seasons on whiteface mountain as a cleanup
specialist, which was just a fancy name for a janitor, i would
arrive around 4:00 pm and quickly touch up the locker room areas,
then i would draw my supplies from old Joe the man in charge and
head out to the ski lifts to catch a ride up to mid station, where
it would be my job to wash down all the toilets and clean the
lower level before returning to the base lodge and continue with
my other chores. the problem was the ski lifts shut down around
4:30 to 5:00 pm each night. this meant i would either have to walk
back down the mountain in the dark following the ski line or call
over to the shack and request a cat or groomer to give me a lift
back down, this would almost always have old Joe screaming at the
shack to hurry up and get me back down cause i was just sitting up
there getting paid to do nothing , i remember the head groomer was
a man named Ronnie who loved to take it easy and sit in the shack
playing poker, making chili and pissing old Joe off, some nights i
would walk over to the shack and sit there for several hours
before one of the groomers lost enough money in the card game to
take a break and run me down. our head cleaner was a man maned
Albert peck , a gentle and kind heart-ed man who would give you
the shirt off his back. he had the distinctive nickname of Papa
Smurf, probably due to the cute little beard he wore and the way
he always played the peace maker among his fellow workers, i
remember the first time i gazed up the slopes late at night and
saw these lights zigzagging from side to side on the slope, before
you could make out what it was approaching you a semi-frozen snow
groomer would come whipping around the end of the lodge and slide
right into the rear entry way laughing like hell, thus i was
introduced to the art of skitching as it was called, nobody seemed
to recall who started it or when, but what was known was that the
management had said that anyone caught doing it would be fired on
the spot as it was too dangerous , speeds of up to 60 miles per
hour could be obtained by the time one hit the bottom, and hitting
the bottom was quiet possible if you didn't know what you were
doing. the procedure was very simple. all the snow groomers and
makers carried a large over-sized plastic shovel that they used to
shift the snow away from the snow guns and distribute it so the
cats could spread it easier, at the end of their shifts they would
turn the shovel around and with the handle stuck out between their
legs would drop their ass on to the shovels blade section, now by
grabbing the handle and pulling back on it , one would turn the
shovel into a mini toboggan with handle to hold onto as the rider
shifted his weight to the right or left and dropped a boot to
create drag to whip into a more severe turn. skitching was an art
i found out after trying it a couple of times, you had to lean way
back or the snow would build up in front of you and you could bog
out and come to a stop, one also had to take care not to drop your
leg to quickly or you could end up in what was known as a spin
out, which usually left you in one place and your shovel somewhere
god only knew, and never try to come to a stop by just dropping
your feet down in front of the shovel, this was often the
beginning of the famous catapult stopping maneuver, a heart
defying moment when your two front feet dug deep into the snow
your body would be snapped forward by momentium and continue as if
launched from some giants slingshot, it was not uncomman to
occasionally see a snowmaker limping into the lodge wearing only
one boot, the other lost til spring on a mountain of snow. but
then the time arrived when you finally got it , your body settled
into the shovel like a glove , aslight twist and lean and you were
gracefully swooping side to side down the mountain side the wind
cutting into you, taking your very breathe away,the speed was
intoxicating, as you went faster and faster down the mountian
side, no great wonder that even though you might get fired if
caught that skitching continues on whiteface mountain even today,
after a good ride or two it gets in the blood, its like flying ,
you feel so alive,and yes the fact that it can be dangerous seems
to add a thrill to it, i know i will always remember the times i
tried and finally succeeded in the art of skitching.

Tales of the family

my uncle the rabbit man

done

it was called the harkness road in those days before the new 911
addresses came into being, his name was Richard macey,he was my
uncle, but to the children of the area he was simply called the
rabbit man, i am assuming because i never asked him about his
title, that he acquired it because in order to supplement his
income uncle used to raise rabbit's for sale as children s pets
and when they got large enough as food for his own larder. my dad
would visit him fairly often and one of my great joys was to be
allowed to go along too see the bunnies and if any were old enough
uncle would let me pick them up and hold them and pet them. he had
a large operation for what started out as a simple hobby, in the
back were his breeding pens, there were eight of them. here was
where the best of his doe's and buck's were introduced to each
other in the hopes of producing offspring in the long run. inside
the back storage shed which ran along the house some 10 feet wide
by 24 feet long, were the nesting beds, there were six of them,
along the far wall two play areas were located for the young
rabbits that had grown old enough to be taken from their mother,
often fifty or more bunnies would be running back and forth in
these enclosed areas, uncle always spent some time each day in
each of these play areas in order to give the young rabbits
attention and allow them to grow used to being picked up and
petted so a child could handle them without fear, most of these
rabbits were the common large black or white albino, or cross
breeds of the two, however uncle also raised two other types of
special rabbits more for his own enjoyment than for resale value,
the first was the Netherlands dwarf this stunted breed was so
small that a full grown rabbit looked like a normal baby rabbit
and could sit in the palm of your hand with no problems, his other
breed was the exact opposite in almost every way, the french flop-
eared rabbits were enormous to say the least, they tended to look
like a large child's stuffed toy bunny, he was always combing them
out and complaining about the amount of time it took to care for
them yet i knew he was attached to them and never would sell one,
i remember he was offered a hundred dollars once by some city
fella for one of the flop-ears for the guys six year old little
girl, who was afraid to even get near the bunny, when uncle asked
who would be taking care of the rabbit the man said who cares ,
I'm buying your selling that's all that matters, i recall the look
of confusion on the mans face as uncle told him it matters , now
get off my property,

it seemed strange to some people that my uncle always wanted to

make sure the animals had a good home that they were going to, in
some cases i know he talked the people out of a sale, when i asked
him why he ran his business like that, he told me the following,
nephew your young and it probably wont sink in but trust me on
this, someday when you grow up if your lucky, you will find out
that money is not the greatest thing in the world, it sure comes
in handy at times and can be a trial at other times, but as long
as you have enough to get by with, enough to live on, it doesn't
matter if your house is old or your car is rusted out, it matters
more whats inside you than what your worth, a man can always find
a way to help his fellow man that doesn't even require money if he
puts his mind to it, kind deeds, putting a smile on someones face,
lending a helping hand, or just being there to listen, these are
some of the most important things in life that one can do. to give
of one's self freely and not to keep a tab, or to expect something
in return, to give for the simple joy of giving.

it took me thirty years to fully understand the great gift my

uncle had given me that day, the advice freely given that was
worth more than any amount of money, for it was a way of life the
old man had passed on that day, a more settled back existence that
allowed uncle to have a soul that blazed forth like a fire in the
darkest night. by action and word he helped and affected others
during his life as do we all, let us each strive to excel in
ourselves and be beacons to light the pathways of others so that
in their moments they to may shine out to lighten still other
pathways
Tales of the family

bee hunting

done

it all started off with a discussion about the cost of honey and
how much it was going up, dad was sitting down in Alfred laws
basement having a clod one, bitching about the cost of life and
how he would probably have to even give up putting honey on his
toast each morning as it was getting so expensive, it was at this
time i recall Alfred saying hell Lawrence you don't have to buy
honey i can show you how to get all the free honey you can ever
eat , with these faithful words so began the great bee hunting
adventures , the first thing you had to do Alfred said was to
caught a bee, not just any bee ,but a honey bee, once you caught
the bee you could follow it back to its tree and get all its
honey, he made it sound so easy, i should have known that nothing
was that easy. first of all one didn't just catch the bee one had
to hold it in a small wooden box scented with anise oil to entice
the bee to return once he was let loose we fed him a solution of
sugar water, it was poured over a piece of honeycomb and the bee
would sip the sugar water down until he was filled, then with a
gentle buzz he would arise from the box and circle the meadow
several times before flying off in a gentle arc, we always kept
track of the direction he was going in to try and get a hint of
the trees location, after several return trips if he was close to
the tree he would return with several others from the tree, soon
the box would be buzzing with several dozen bees coming and going
as fast as they could, at this point the bees did not bother to
circle , rather they arose from their feast and made a bee line
straight towards the tree, after marking the direction down on his
map dad would wait for several bees to return and then would cover
the box and move it to another place, maybe a mile or so away in
another direction,when released the bees would start their
circling motion and take off to their tree, somehow knowing
exactly where it was located. after several moves it was possible
to pin point the rough location of the tree and to zero in on it.
after the tree was found the act of cutting it down was no easy
matter, ass Alfred had told me , when your feeding them a bee
thinks your a best friend for life, and having watched the old man
pouring sugar water onto the comb his hands barely visible due to
the bee's covering them . i believed him, but when you go to take
something away from them you wont find a more fierce foe in all
the world. i watched dad and alfred dress for the occasson two
pairs of pants were put on followed by a carhart denim
worksuit,double socks with the pants cuffs inside them and taped
all around, cotton gloves covered by leather ones. the wrists well
taped so no stinger could get through. a thick towel was wrapped
around the neck and pinned in place, over the head a special hat
was placed called a bee bonnett by some it fit over a hard hat and
drapped down over the face and around the head coming to a stop at
a bottom ring sewn into the hat, it was then pulled tight and tied
under the neck , alfred would take a can of smoke, yes they do
make smoke in a can, and if the opening on the tree was low enough
he would douse the hive with several shots of smoke too quiet the
bees down, most times however the hole was far up the tree with
little or no way to get to it. this was the time i was sent waay
back and had to view the action going on through a set of dads
binoculars, it was a terrifying sight, the moment dad started the
chainsaw and started cutting into the tree it looked like an
explosion of a black cloud out of the entrance hole into the tree,
they were on him in a second , literally covering his body and
trying to sting him away from thier hive, now i could appericate
the care dad and alfred had put into dressing themselves so
carefully, with a crash the tree struck the ground and lay there
shaking from the impact, dad carefully cut into the tree removeing
a chunk of wood so he and alfred could get to the honey, if they
were lucky sometimes they would end up with several pails of fine
honeycomb as well as a large amount of liquid honey waiting to be
strained and bottled for home use. in later years when my dad was
still alive i often went with him on his bee hunts and yes we did
find several trees, my dad is gone now and i no longer hunt the
wild bee, but i still sit back and recall the memories as a sinles
honey bee flies by.

Tales of the family

moose and the pig

done

my brother Larry was also known by the nickname of Moose, how he

ended up with this is not exactly clear,some say because he was a
member of the moose head bowling league down in troy n.y. others
because he always was so moose-headed about things or otherwise
that he had to do things his way or no way. having lived in the
same house as we were growing up together i tend to believe the
latter, it was inOctoberr, dad had just finished cleaning up the
family garden and had harvested the remaining pumpkin and squash
and now turned his mind to filling the freezer with meat for the
upcoming winter, during the year we had been raising several pigs
and now was the time to butcher them and pack the meat away for
the year to follow, the pigs were not the giant hog style that
many farmers tended to favor, but each of the three little porkers
would weigh in about 75 to 100 pounds, dad started to heat several
large kettles of water on top of the old wood stove that heated
both the garage and was also piped into the house by a fan unit.

the pigs were knocked in the head with a small sledge hammer,
strapped to the pulley unit and raised up to be dunked into a 55
gallon barrel of ex termly hot water, this was to make taking the
hair and bristles off easier, or so i was told, next the pig would
be raised up to dangle from one of the cross beams in the garage ,
mom would place a large blue enamel roaster pan under the pigs
head and dad would slice its throat from side to side, mister pig
would hang there for awhile as the thick rich red blood would drip
from his neck into the pan below, mom and gran ma would use the
blood in sausage making, blood pudding,and a small amount would
find its way into the head cheese that gran ma made so well.

dad would slowly carve the pig to git the choicest cuts out of it,
hams, and pork shoulders , good slab style bacon a 1/4 inch thick
or more, pork chops and short ribs, and a thousand little pieces
to go to mom as she patiently stuffed them through the old hand
cranked meat grinder clamped on to the counter top next to the
kitchen sink, sage and pepper, salt and fennel, and other various
spices were mixed in with the fresh sausage, gran ma was so used
to home made sausage that all she had to do was lean over the bowl
, breathe in and say, needs more thyme daughter.

gran ma never was one to really write down a recipe, she always
just grabbed some of this and a pinch of that, a dusting of this
and mustn't forget to add a smidgeon of that. she knew what she
was doing , i cant remember ever having anything but a great meal
at gram's house,

the first two pigs quickly went into the freezer cut up into the
best they had to offer, the third pig was a hog of a different
color, as his siblings had met their grisly ends he had been
chewing at the bottom of the bag and had formed a fairly good
sized hole in it, moose reached into the trunk of his car and
lifted the sacked pig out, it was at this moment that all hell
broke loose in the garage, the pig giving a squeal managed to work
its head and part of one shoulder free from the bag, before moose
could react the agile porcine twisted his head and firmly gave
moose a painful nip on the inside of his right leg, from the
screaming he did you would have thought the pig had amputated the
whole lower part of his leg. he hastily dropped the bag which gave
our little porker the opportunity he had been waiting for, with
several short lunges the other shoulder popped out of the bag and
the rest of the hog followed, grab him dad yelled at moose , what
followed could only be described fully if you have ever seen one
of those old black and white movies where the keystone cops are
chasing a bad man around and around the block, thank god the
garage doors were all shut or he certainley would have made his
escape in short order, as it was the following ensued, moose
chased the pig around and around his car trying to caught it,
after this didn't work moose slowly tried to slip up on the pig by
quietly walking around the car , trying to get close enough to
gran him, as moose turned the corner of the back bumper he never
noticed the pig walking up behind him. the animal let out a squeal
right behind Larry and if he didn't clear the floor by two feet
then it was damn close. now moose was really pissed off, with a
roar of anger Larry lunged across the car and managed to grab the
pig by its back legs,heaving himself on top of the pig he wrapped
both his arms around the young porker an with a heave lunged to
his feet,it was at this point that the pig release his bowels and
promptly shit all over Larry,choking and gagging Larry dropped the
pig only to be yelled at b y dad, what did you drop it for, it's
only a little shit, now get that hog, Larry finally did catch the
pig and as soon as he did dad ordered him out of the garage , the
reason being was quiet clear, Larry my brother , you really stank,
i mean i think a skunk might have gone the other way

Tales of the family

Arrows from cedar roofing shingles holes to make noise

Done

it was long ago at least it seems so those thirty odd years past .
dad was partners with Charlie Cobb and the two of them would build
houses together, the firm was called Macey and Cobb contracting,
it was located on front street in the town of keeseville, right
across from the old torrington cement plant. it was at the end of
one of the work days and dad had us boys clearing off the back of
the truck and stacking leftover materials to possibly use in other
projects to cut down on overhead costs. i had just brought a
armfull of cedar shake shingles into the garage when charlie said
"you know these arnt much use except to patch a leak and we almost
always buy a new square when we need them. why dont you give them
to the boys and they can make some whistling throw arrows out of
them, what are they we asked never having heardof such a thing
before, "simplicity its self my boy, you know what an arrow looks
like dont you, well all we are going to do is to lay out an arrow
pattern on this wooden shingle, now make sure you draw the rounded
feather area on the thin side of the shingle and draw the shaft
down the thick portion of it, we will round the end off to a blunt
point and make a little notch about an inch back from the tip. "
why do we need a notch i asked charlie", its for the whip he
replied, the arrrow needs alot of force to really go straight up
into the sky, and a man just cant throw it fast enough to make it
go up any distance, however if we take a piece oe 1/2 inch dowel
around a fot or a foot an a half long and tie about 16 inches or
so of cord to it we have made a whip. inorder to use it we need to
make a knot on the loose end that can caught in the notch in the
arrow so it doesnt slide out to fast, now watrch this my boy
charlie said, taking the arrow in his left hand charlie laid the
cord acrosss the notch and gave it a little pull so as to snug it.
now taking the dowel in his right hand and holding the arrow by
its tail he swung his arms down in a gaentle arc torwards the
ground, a second latter he whipped his right arm up as fast as
he , the arrow leaped out of his left hand and sped torwards the
sky almost faster than the eye could see, it went up at least if
not more than a hundred feet and genltle arced over and fell back
to the earth, the bright colors we had painted on the arrow
flashed in the sunlight and later as charlie drilled a small 1/8
inch hole through the shaft of the arrow we heard the weird
strange whilstling warble odf the arrow as it flew across the sky,
its caused by the air rushing over the hole we drilled, sounds
strange doesnt it.

as with all toys one had to respect them for what they were, as
charlie told us , you can have a lot of fun with these just
remember that's and arrow falling down at you, and after seeing
have the shafts would often imbed themselves into the earth
several inches one could easily imagine what it would do to
someones head.

we made many of our own amusements back then, from coffee can
stilts we used to stomp around on to the old bicycle card motor
made with a playing card and a clothes pin and attached to ones
wheels so that the card just touched the spoke, as we rode a
wonderful bap .bap. baping sound like an old time engine would
occur, the faster you rode the louder it would get, i remember at
one time almost everyone was doing it. and then like most fads it
wore away and was forgotten

Tales of the family

potato cannons at Dan's watching cop

done

it was during the

Keeseville, i had been bragging to Dan how far my gun could shoot
and how much fun it was to fool around with. now i intended to
show him and to get him hooked on the potato gun craze that was
sweeping the north country at that time, what's a potato gun?,
hell it can be made in about an hour with parts out of your local
hardware store, mostly PVC pipes and a Bar-B-Que ignition they
pack an explosive punch that can send a potato hurling hundreds of
feet through the air without any problem what so ever,i remember
the man that got me hooked on this explosive toy, he was a
gentleman from Ausable by the name of John Ryan, i was working
with him at the time at the holy name school in ausable forks, he
used to carry a small version of one in his truck and i seeing it
asked him what it was,after work that nightjohn gave me a
demonstration of his mini tat gun as he called it, and i was
hooked on the spot. johns gun was only about two foot long, and
finicky to work, he had to clean the firing points inside the gun
every once and awhile becuase he fire it so often. the one in the
back of my truck was a full sized model topping off at just under
ssix feet, i had a drain plug set into the end of the gun to load
the chamber easyier and also to allow access to the points if i
needed to clean or adjust them, we were sitting out on dans back
porch with a cxouple of cups of coffee debatinng the finer things
in life and generally shooting the bull. i had set up an old
garbage can down by the junk yard fence close to the stream that
ran behind my brothers doublewide, dan had just told me for the
tenth time that no way in hell was that contraption going to throw
a potato that far but that in his opinion if i had made it it
would be lucky to fire at all. oh yah i said watch this, i loaded
my cannon with a couple of squiarts of auqa net hair spray, a
really good famible aerosol, and pressed the ignitor plunger,they
was a click and nothing happened, dan started chuckling and was
saying i told you so as i pressed the ignitor again, a loud
banging roar cut off my brothers words and a white streak lanced
across the dooryard missed the garabe pail by ten feet and snapped
off a piece of the top of the junhyard fence. hot damn, lets try
that againg danny yelled ,now fully into the spirit of the moment,
we loaded up the gun with another potato, recharged the gas
chamber, and dan moved the gun to what he considered a better
aiming position, boom went the cannon and another white streak
lanced across the driveway, splatt went the tater off the fence
wall, he had missed the garbage can by less then a foot, we had
just loaded up for a third shot when danny notice a new york state
police car slowly going down the road, the car had both its
windows down and one could see theofficer looking around, damn ,i
bet somone on top of the hill called the cops about the noise,
probley think its a real gun or something, man can't even have any
fun any more, ok let me know when he goes around the corner,dan
tells me. no way bro, i'm not losing my toy to some cop cause you
want to hit a target, hell you'll never hit it anyway. danny
glanced down the road ,nothing was in sight, he moved the gun an
inch or so to the right and pushed the plunger, boom and the white
streak lifted the garbage can up and backwards into the woods,
quicjk put it inside dan said tossing me the gun, i placed the gun
inside the door and barely sat down before the police car came
barrelling around the corner, he slowed down and made his way up
the hill, about ten minutes later he again went by slowly in the
other direction, that was the end of the shooting for that day,
but not the last time my brother and i would get togethor and play
with potato cannons
Tales of the family

bullhead fishing with moose for last time

done

my brother Larry also known as moose was a great influence in my

life , and it was hard for me to understand the frailty of
humanity at the time, my brother was dieing,or so he said, he
could feel his life dripping away day by day, the doctors had
scheduled him for open heart surgery in a month over in Burlington
had told him to take it easy until after the surgery was done, if
you would have had the pleasure of knowing him you too would have
shaken your head knowing that Larry was not going to do anything
that Larry did not want to do, i remember that he did get his last
two wishes in life and so i thank god for that mercy, wish number
one was to go bullhead fishing for one last time, and we did,
LLarryand i,and dad loaded the car with lanterns, coolers, fish
rods, worms, ccollapsible chairs and several other campingg items
and set off for a place called union falls, parking the car
besides the road we slowly made our way down over a small bank and
set upcamp rightht next to the water ,. it waobviousus that many
people had used this spot in the past as there were several rings
of stone set up icircularr shaped pits along the waters ledge
every so often, one of them even had a grill made from the rack of
an oldrefrigerator sitting over it with scraps of tinfoil and
pieces of old corncobs still wrapped by foil on one end, someone
had some roasted corn dad replied to my question, just the way i
like it, take an ear of corn and stripthe husk back, clean it and
put some butter on it salt and pepper, roll the husk back up wrap
some tin ffoilound it and throw it on the grill after soaking it
in water for a minute, the corn will slowly stem cook its self to
utter perfection, that and a couple of burgers and you have a meal
fit for a king. seeing as we had not brought any corn with us we
settled down to the business at hand the caughting of the
bullhead. Larry baited his lines with several large
nignightcrawlersd cast them far out over the water to land with a
gentle plopping sound, twilight was almost upon us so dad lit the
lanterns we had brought with us and placed them close to the
waters edge, the light on the water attracted the fish to come in
closer ,or so it was believed by many fisherman.

the night was muggy and it seemed that instead of attracting fish
the lanterns had attracted every mosquito and flying bug in the
area, one couldn't even open your mouth to complain least several
fly in and take up residence there like a person moving into their
new house for the first time. we tried everything we could think
of to drive these pesky winged blood suckers away, spraying
ourselves with off repellent didn't seem to work, in fact I'm sure
it acted like a fine perfume to the mosquito's.

dad decided to build a smudge fire, telling us boys that the smoke
would soon drive the bugs off, in a short time he had a small but
robust campfire going and carefully threw several green pine tree
branches on top of it, the fire snapped and popped like something
alive, and great thick puffs of smoke billowed out of it, yes dad
was right, wherever the smoke floated no bug stayed in that
area,the only problem being the smoke was so acidic in smell that
we neither could stand it. the merest whiff would make our eyes
burn and we would cough and choke till we had to leave the general
area of the floating smog bank. we were not alone for long ,for as
soon as one of us stepped out of the smoke squadrons of killer
mosquito dived down from above hot for the blood that ran within
us.

my brother Larry had just pulled in two small bullhead and was
telling the world in general about the lousy flavor combination
that mosquito and Budweiser beer made when dad spoke up and
suggested that we get the hell out of there before he either
choked or was sucked dry. the choice was not difficult to make, we
had been there from early afternoon till almost two in the morning
and we all were fed up with the place.

it didn't take long to pull in the lines and tidy up the camp,
then dad sent we down by the shore of the lake to bring back a
bucket of water which he used to dowse out the fire stirring
several times with an old tree branch and adding more water till
he was satisfied that the fire was truly out and would not smolder
and start again once we had left .

thinking back it was probably one of the worst fishing trips i had
ever gone on, yet it was the last one i would ever get to take
with my brother Larry as he died shortly after wards, the victim
of a broken heart that never made it to his medical repair date.

and so i often ask myself,what price shall we place upon a memory,

we always cherish the good ones, yet sometimes the best are filled
with pain and a message,sometimes it hurts to remember what we
have lost, but better to have lived and loved and cherished those
moments than never to leave ones home, afraid of the world around
one's self.

we are the sum of our memories, both good and bad, we must embrace
them all and live the journey that is called life.

Tales of the family

Dan wayne fishing auger pond freezing,

done

it was late in December, winter had come with all its glory early
that year along with cold temperatures well below freezing. it was
on a Saturday morning feeling the effects of cabin fever having
spent most of the last week inside the house that my brother Danny
decided to go ice fishing for northern pike out of auger pond.
being the typical snot nosed little brother i whined and cried to
be allowed to go with him, you couldn't tell me that i was going
to be cold, that i wouldn't like it, that it was too far for a
small boy to walk the mile or so down from the last camps to the
frozen lakes surface.

yes i was small then barely weighing in at 100 lbs, later in life
i would go over 500 pounds , but that's another story.

mom had dressed me up in her opinion of what it meant to be warm,

two pairs of socks with a bread bag placed over them before being
inserted into these rubber boots with thick felt liners, the bread
bag was supposed to help trap the heat of your heat and keep your
toes nice and warm. thermal underwear that we called long johns
under our clothes and a sweater and coat on the outside kept us
warm if not hot in the coldest weather,a thick hand knitted
scarves wrapped around the neck several times and a funny little
hat called a chuke with a little tassel at the top finished our
wardrobe for the great outdoors.

don't get me wrong, i loved my mom but one could hardly move once
she had dressed you up, i felt like one of those penguin birds
with their arms at their sides waddling along fearful of falling
down because i knew there was no way i was going to be able to
move in that git up i was wearing.

when we left the house that morning the thermometer read 20

degrees below zero. the air seemed to snatch at ones breath and
the tip of your nose tended to tingle every now and then, we enter
onto the lake past the camp of one of my fathers friends, a mister
Malony, a very nice man that delivered our mail each and every
day.

Danny set out several tip-ups by chopping a hole in the ice and
placing a baited line on which a small minnow had been placed , he
then bent the bright red flag unit on the tip-up and hooked it
gently on the reel. when a fish grabbed the minnow and started off
with it the reel would turn and the flag would leap into the air
singling that a fish had taken the bait.

Dan set a line of six tip-ups and we retired to the shelter of a

nearby ledge overhang, the wind started to pick up speed and the
loose powdery snow was blowing everywhere making it hard to see
anything much less the tip-ups, Dan went out to check the baits
and came back swearing at the weather, it seems the blowing snow
was building up and freezing the flags right to the reels so we
didn't know when a fish had hit the line.
the wind seemed to cut right through the clothes we were wearing
and although i didn't complain Danny could see that i was cold.
lets build a fire he said at least we can get some warmth out of
it .

but mother nature was not with us that day, try as we would we
could not get a fire started, the wind whipped out any spark
before we could coach it into a flame.

Danny probably would have stayed longer if by himself but took

pity on me and called it a day, the tip-ups took forever to get
out of the ice several frozen in so solid that Dan had to re cut
the holes around them and carry home pieces of ice to slowly melt
in the warmth of the garage to be used again another day.

it had been a cold day to say the least and i ended up with a
really bad cold that stuck with me most of the winter. i can truly
say i did learn one important lesson from my frigid foray, and
that was if the temperature was below zero the best place to be
was curled up in a recliner watch television. they have some
really good movies you know, and one doesn't have to freeze ones
balls off at the same time.

Tales of the family

playing checkers with uncle Richard on the porch

done

one of the fond memories i recall was the several times weekly
stops i made at my uncle Richards to play a round or two of
checkers with him.

sometimes i would take him to the store to pick up his groceries

for the week, and we would talk about the old days and uncle would
tell me how life had been during the depression, the wars, and the
CCC camps that helped the country get back on its feet.

whats a ccc camp i asked him interrupting his flow of almost

endless conversation.

whats a ccc camp, don't you know/ whats that school teaching you
kids these days , why the ccc camps are part of our history, it
was when our president Roosevelt started the civilian conservation
corps, to replant the country sides and help people get money
working at fixing our country after the war. my god i must have
planted several thousand tree seedlings by myself alone, but it
wasn't just trees, it was fixing the roads back up, we built dams,
repaired buildings, helped people out, you got to understand boy,
it was a bad time in our country's history, people were
desperate ,they didn't know where to turn, our president took a
country that was falling apart and pulled us back together he gave
us a purpose and a hope for the future. he was one hell of a man
no matter what anyone says.

it became part of a daily thing this checker game and over the
small table on my uncles porch many the discussions of life in
general took place, it was here the younger learned the lessons of
life from the elder, how many would have paid to hear the simple
wisdom handed down form teacher to student, the lessons learned
the mistakes made, the love and laughter of a lifetime floated
back and forth over a simple game of checkers,

looking back upon my life, on the schooling i received, the

collage education, the programs of advancement, i realized the
life lessons this man had lived overshadowed it all.

how often do we tend to ignore our elders,to let the wisdom of

time earned through the life of that individual to merely slip in
one ear and out the other,and why we do it is perhaps the saddest
reason of all, we do it because they are old, we say they just
don't understand, that they are out of touch with today's world,
careful we should be for the lesson they teach are timeless and
one day we to shall be old and shall also try to impart to our
children and the younger generation the lessons we have learned in
life.

we do this out of love , because we don't want them getting hurt

making the same mistakes we did, we pray that they understand and
are listening to us.

but in the end it is free choice that rules, we as elders can but
guide the next generation along, their future is indeed up to
them.

Tales of the family

first gun dad bought me, but i was not a hunter

done

i had just turned 14 years old and noticed dad seemed to be paying
more attention to me lately, don't get me wrong dad always took
time out for the kids when he had a chance, but running a
contracting business took up a lot of time and effort, at the end
of the day most times he would retire to sit under his little tree
in the backyard with a cold beer and try to relax knowing that
tomorrow would bring much of the same.

often these jobs he took on were on time limits, meaning that the
work had to be finished in a certain time or he would pay a
penalty of cash back to the landowner, this often meant working on
weekends and longer hours if need be.

the day of my 14th birthday came and dad seemed real jumpy like a
man with a secret or someone with ants in their pants. mom had
baked a cake and we would be having ice cream,that was about the
extent of a normal birthday party at our house, no big fuss,just
another day.

this time however it was different, dad drew me to one side and
asked me to follow him. he lead me to his bedroom where on the bed
was a long brown cardboard box with a tag on it.

the tag read happy birthday, to my son who is now old enough to
take his place in providing for the family. within the cardboard
box nestled in white wrapping paper lay a marlin tubular feed 22
long rifle, just below the gun was a yellow colored plastic case
with a sliding top that held 100 rounds of ammunition for the
rifle.

well what are you waiting for,dad asked me . pick it up and we'll
go sight it in at the sandpits, i remember tagging along as frank
had sighted in his 30-30, and Danny with his double barreled
shotgun, the sighting in was fun, and i found out that i was a
fairly decent shot. the only problem was one i had tried to
explain to dad many times but he just wouldn't hear it.

i was raised mostly by my mother, a kind gentle woman who

installed within me a respect for all living things and the fact
that all things had a right to live their life's as god had
intended them to do.

mom didn't care a lot about hunting, she said it wasn't really
necessary anymore, that man raised enough cattle and grain that
their was no real need to go into the woods and kill the wild
creatures that still lived there.

that most people didn't even need the meat these days and only did
it for sport, just to have a reason to kill, and brag about how
big their deer was, and come home and hang it in the tree so the
neighborhood could see it as they drove by.

i remember my first kill, a tiny little chipmunk that scurried by

our campsite at meadow brook farms, go on boy shoot it, get your
taste going for something bigger, i was a good shot and proved it
a second later as the little fellow rolled up into a ball near the
edge of the meadow.

as i looked down on this life i had taken many emotions ran

through me, what had this little forest fellow ever done to me
except bring a smile to my face as i watched him and his kind,yet
behind me stood my dad with a smile on his face and puffed up with
pride for what i had done. i believe that was one of the great
turning points in my life, for i realized that day that you can
never please everyone in life , as hard as you may wish to you
have to make your own choices in life, i was never to be a hunter
like my dad wanted, i loved life in all its forms and did not wish
to harm them.

in later years the skills my dad taught me came in handy indeed as

i took up hunting with a camera and obtained the best of both
worlds, i can brag about how big my prey was, how it ran so
gracefully, and unlike most hunters tall tales, i have the
pictures to prove it.

Tales of the family

the fire balloons

done

it was back in the 70's, my brother Danny and i had gone camping
on a friends property down by lake Champlain and were relaxing
beside a small fire trying to caught a few fish and taking the
time to roast several hot dogs and marshmallows over our fire.

Danny always liked his marshmallows golden brown and would take
several minutes slowly rotating it till it was utter perfection
before popping it into his mouth.

i on the other hand could never seem to wait that long and would
always move my marshmallow to close to the fire where it would
suddenly caught on fire and be engulfed with flames, quickly
pulled back, the fire blown out ,left one with a carbonized treat
fit for the gods, the slightly burned ash flavored the gooey
melted interior to create a flavor that can't be truly described
but has to be experienced.

as we sat there i was telling Danny about an article i had

recently read about several boyscout who had made their own hot
air balloons using the most conman of materials, candles , plastic
straws, tape, and an thin weight laundry bag, the kind you can get
out of a laundry mat for a quarter or fifty cents.

how high do they go Dan asked me, well according to what i read if
constructed right they can go up several hundred feet and travel
for miles, most of the ones the boy scouts made went up to around
a hundred and fifty feet and floated well over a mile.

wait here my brother told me and headed back up the bank to where
his car was parked on top, i heard a lot of rummaging going on and
looked up to see Dan coming down the bank his hands full of an
assortment of trash he had just cleaned out of the car. among this
mess were several straws, the forgotten remains of many a
milkshake or coke that accompanied each happy meal, some old
tinfoil from sandwiches became our fire basket, a roll of scotch
tape found inside the glove box yellowed by age but still sticky
would serve us well, a piece of a scented candle could be melted
over some fluff tinder in our makeshift tinfoil; fire basket to
provide the fire for lift once we set it off, the only thing
missing was our bag for the balloon its self, never fear Dan is
here exclaimed my brother as he tossed me a small cardboard box,
if one looked closely you could barely make out the laundry bag
logo on its faded cardboard face, turning the box over i noticed
the stock date on the box was over four years old, are you telling
me this thing has been bouncing around in your car for the last
four years i asked Danny, hell probably longer then that,i moved
that stuff from my old car, i only bought this one a round three
years ago.

as we assembled our makeshift balloon i looked at my brother and

realized how lucky i was, Danny was 11 years older than me and
didn't really have to spend his time with his little brother
tagging along after him, and yet he always seemed to find some
time to spend with me, the balloon was ready, the wax was lit and
slowly the bag floated out over the water,it glistened and
flickered in the evening twilight bobbing up and down like some
spectral entity dancing across the waves.

i recalled that several times in the next days we heard people

talking about the strange lights that were floating over lake
Champlain that evening so many years ago, nobody ever knew what
they were until now that is.

Tales of the family

gran ma an gran pas garden, coal shed gramps workshop blind (done)

two houses down from ours lived my gran parents, gran ma Mary, and
gran pa Henry Lamountain, they lived in an old two story saltbox
styled farmhouse with withered gray clapboards, gran pa Henry was
blind but the average person would not know it, he knew were every
object of his was located to the inch, if one were to observe my
gran pa during his daily routine it would have went something like
this,

he arose each morning and cleaned himself and then would proceed
to apply lather to his face out of an old chipped stoneware cup
using the small round bristle brush to apply a heavy layer of
lather to his face, he then would lovingly draw forth his pearl
handled straight razor and strop it once or twice on the short
piece of leather belt hanging by the sink. with deft movements
gran pa would whip the gleaming steel razor from throat to chin
and down the sides of his face with no hesitation what so ever, in
a minute or less he would pas his hand over his face lightly to
feel if he had missed anything before wiping down the razor prior
to putting it away till another day. he would dress in the clothes
that gran ma had laid out for him the night before and make his
way to the downstairs breakfast table.

his normal morning breakfast never seemed to vary, it was almost

always two toast two eggs and a cup of coffee, after breakfast he
would sit in his easy chair and listen to the morning news on the
radio. later depending on the season you might find him outside
planting in the small garden they had, or working on some small
craft thing in his barn workshop.

the garden had a series of cords strung this way and that , often
looking like some bizarre spiders web floating several feet above
the soil, it was by means of this lattice of cords that gran pa
knew where everything was, a small piece of stick would tell him
how far apart to plant the seeds and the string beside him allowed
him not to wander as he planted row after row in a goodly straight
line,

once the plants were up several inches he would also take on the
task of weeding the garden just by touch alone, he did an
excellent job except for the carrots which he left to gran ma
because he said they felt just like weeds anyhow.

in his barn workshop i marveled at the beautiful little bird

houses he would cut out by hand , sand and paint, and add little
details to without the aide of his sight, his paints were lined up
in order of color as he wanted it, as soon as he used one he re
covered it and placed it back in its spot, he had made little tool
jigs which kept his handsaw straight as hie cut the pine boards
for roof and sides prior to gluing them together,

it always struck me as some kind of miracle watching him do what

he could do, i know because i often tried ti imitate my
grandfather by closing my eyes and seeing how far i could walk
with out straying from where i wanted to go, his barn was only
around fifty or so feet from the back of his house and yet in that
short distance with eyes shut and thinking i was going in a
straight line i managed to miss the house and continue across the
yard into the field beyond, one can not but respect the man who
would not give up, his favorite saying seemed to be " a man must
work, if not at one thing then at another"

and work he did until god called him one day at the age of ninety-
nine years and six months, he left a legacy of memories and
teachings to pass on to the next generation.
Tales of the family

Linda and the bike, Wayne ankle

done

i was a young boy of about six or seven and recall riding with my
sister Linda on her bike one fine sunny afternoon in early July,my
birthday was coming up and i was hoping for a full sized bike of
my own having out grown the last one.

one of dads many rules was not to ride two people on the bike at
one time, if you put someone on the handlebars then you cant see
where you are going he said, and if you sit behind the person
peddling the bike you have to take great care not to get your feet
to close to the tires as they revolve almost next too your toe
tips.

and it was so easy to get ones feet or clothes caught up in the

stokes of the bike as they whirled around on their endless journey
to wherever the driver would take them.

its so easy to ignore the advice of our elders when we want to do

something and the day is bright and sunny and the road seems to
call to you, and so it was that fine afternoon that found me
balanced behind my sister as she rode her bike up the dougway
road, Linda liked to go fast and the road just seemed to vanish
beneath her tires as her legs tirelessly pumped the peddles at a
faster and faster rate. all was going well and it looked like dads
worry about two people on a bike wasn't that important as he
thought.

it was at this time that fate reared its ugly head in the form of
peg Murphy dog a beast of cranky disposition to say the least, peg
owned a local cab and lived by herself in a little white house
just before the bridge in the dougway, her only companion in the
world was this old brown flea bitten grizzled looking thing she
called a dog, I'm glad she loved the beast, because no one else in
the local area did.

the creature would lay in wait in the shallow ditch that lined the
road and spring out at any passer by barking and snapping as he
would chase them down the road up to a half mile or more.

never one of us saw ole brownie as the dog was called that fateful
day until it was too late, as my sister screamed with fright she
did what anyone would have done, mainly she peddled faster,
brownie running along side snapping at her feet , now was the
moment that fate chose to pick for as my sister swerved the bike
to get away from brownie that the tip of my left sneaker swung
into the rapidly revolving spokes of the bicycle, the result was
instant chaos to say the least, my foot twisted sideways ,i was
yanked from the bike almost landing on top of ole brownie who
decide enough was enough and took off for greener pastures where
people didn't throw themselves at him, at the same time Linda had
been flipped to the opposite side and sat there laughing her head
off, no doubt seeing something about the situation that was
humerus to her alone. her humor quickly turned to panic as i sat
there crying my ankle had been skinned by the spokes of the bike,
as well as being bent badly and i could hardly put it on the
ground much less walk on it. it was now that my sister showed her
concern for me with the following kind words, "but you gotta get
up, if dad finds out he will kill me" i finally did manage to
stand and to walk ,even thou it hurt like hell, to top matters of
we didn't even get to ride back home as the chain had broken one
of its links and until fixed the bike could only be pushed by hand
and it was a long walk back the our home on front street.

get home we did, and someone fixed the chain for sis, i wore tall
socks for a couple of days till the purple color left my ankle,
and dad never said anything about the incident, i think he knew
anyway, ones things for sure , we never did ride double a gain
after that, trust me once was enough.

Tales of the family

our pet ferrets

done

did you ever have things just seem to fall into your hands,
objects that other wise you would probably never have acquired or
even wanted until the fickle hand of fate set itself in your path
and slapped you across the face, so it was when i acquired a set
of ferrets that became a large part of our life's over the next
five years, i t all started one day when an old school friend Dale
Doner asked me in for a cup of coffee, he wanted to talk to me
about something but for the life of me i cant seem to recall what
it was, something to do with his wife's computer i believe, it was
over this coffee that i started to hear about his real reason for
inviting me in. it turned out that he had to get rid of his pets
because his wife had an allergy to them that had just mysteriously
developed and he was sick of hearing her bitch about them. at
first i thought he was talking about a set of dogs and was just
about to tell him no way as we walked into the back yard and
approached a large pen, inside were two of the most beautiful
little bundles of fur that i had ever seen.

so it was that i met the duot of barnabas and salty a pair of

ferretts that were destined to take over my heart anf to teach me
several vauluble lesssons in the game of life along rhe way.

it wasn't long until i had the two installed in my back yard and
within a short while they had the run of the house rarely spending
any time in their outside pen .

Barnabas was more forward than the little female aptly named salty
as her main joy was to lick ones skin to taste the salt in ones
sweat,

their bodies were so soft, silky to the touch and they loved to
cuddle up in your lap just like a cat,

barney enjoyed draping himself around my neck like some living

stole await the unwary walker by who approached for a closer
look , then he would quickly raise his head and make a little
chattering noise as if to say , hey' not too close buddy, this is
my spot

salty the little daredevil had a habit of running up peoples pants

legs much to their surprise, i can only thank god above that none
of my friends had weak hearts, i know from personal experience
that it can be quiet a shock when one does not expect it.

living in the old farm House AT THE TIME WE surrounded ourselves

with animals , having no children of our own our animals became
our children,

and to you who smile at the last statement ,i assure you it is

very true, all the love we possessed was transferred onto these
suffragette children of ours, we raised them with all the worry of
any parent, doctors appointments when they were sick, laughing and
playing with them as they grew, and devastated when the time came
for them to leave us.

barmy and salty were old when they came to us, but we were still
happy to have known them in the two years they stayed with us,
their passing came within a week of each other and almost broke
our hearts in the way it occurred, barmy passed quietly in his
sleep one night, he had lived to be a very old, old, ferret

salty his companion was brought at a different time and was

several years younger than him according to our vet, in the days
following barns passing we tried to spend even more time with
salty so she wouldn't feel so lonely, alas it was to little
effect, she just lay in their little bed refusing to eat, crying a
sad little sound,

a trip to the vet reveled nothing wrong physically, and some

vitamin drops were added to her water supply'

we went out of our minds trying to get her to eat anything but it
wasn't meant to be, and a week to the day of barneys passing his
mate joined him in the sleep everlasting

our vet told us she had seen it time an again, animals so

connected that when one died the other would stop eating and just
lay there waiting for death to rejoin them once more.

i have to wonder if animals do or don't have a soul? to feel the

loss of a mate so intense as to become depressed and await ones
own passing seems almost a human emotion to say the least.

and i wonder how i would be if something took my wife from me, the
very thought of it causes a moment of terror to leap into my
chest, how could i go on without her, and if i did would i be me,
or rather just some shadow walking through this world existing
alive yet not really, just abiding my time until we are finally
together again, yes thank you Barnabas and salty for t he lesson
of life you have passed on to me. the lesson final that all must
face in one form or another .

Tales of the family

ball in the road book in pants Danny in culvert

done

the following story was told to me by my mother as a warning to

stay away from the road which ran by our house a short distance
away.

we had a nice lawn on the side of our home and it was here that
the children gathered to pass t he time of day playing Frisbee or
kick ball or some other lawn based sport,

as mom recalled dad had warned the boys and my sister several
times that week not to play around the road or near it, having
seen them chase the ball into the road without even slowing down
or looking to see if a car was coming, they were told to stay
toward the back of the house so they would be safe.

apparently warnings were like the wind to my younger siblings and

before long frank,Danny,and Linda were slowly working their way
from the back yard to the side yard and finally to the front
yard , right next to t he road,

no one knows who kicked the ball that bounced over the small ditch
t hat ran in front of our house and rolled out into the road
causing a passing car to lock up its brakes with a squealing of
tires that was heard by dad inside the house,

no child was in sight when he made his way outside,they had

seemingly vanished into thin air, however it dad little time to
find them and to administer a punishment that they would remember
a little longer then the warning he had t old them which they had
so promptley forgotten,

as mom said dad believed in the old phrase spare the rod and spoil
the child ,and none of his kids were going t o grow up spoiled.

and so to one passing by the sounds of a firm hand and a young

girl crying and her older brother yelling out painfully as dad
tenderized their backsides with a lesson they would remember each
time they sat down.

but the story doesn't end there, rather now it gets interesting,
for the younger brother Danny was now where to be found, mom said
dad looked from one end of the property to the other, he checked
inside the dogs houses, he looked inside his fish shanty's and
checked the small camper he had out back to no avail, all this
time he had been yelling Danny name and demanding the child come
forth.

by this time mom was in a panic and dad ready to get into his
truck and start checking up and down the roads believing that
Danny might have run away.

it was only luck that allowed him to hear what sounded like faint
laughter after he had called danny's name for the god knows how
many times, listening he yelled the name again and yes he could
certainley hear someone laughing. following the sound as best he
could and still yelling out his sons name dad tracked down his
lost lamb who had ducked into the ditch and then proceeded to
crawl into a rather small culvert where he had listened to his
siblings getting their spankings and relizeing that dad couldnt
find him just found the whole thing so funny he started to laugh.

as he told me later i didn't laugh when i felt the old mans hands
clamp on my ankles and drag me out of that damn pipe, i looked up
at his face and thought i was dead on t he spot, instead dad told
me to go upstairs and wait for him, the longer i waited the worst
it was cause i knew i was getting a spanking just not how bad,

it was at this point that my brother decided he might as well try

to even t he odds as he had nothing to lose so taking two small
paperback books he slipped them into the back of his pants one for
each cheek so to speak.

when dad finally made his way upstairs Danny was ready, dad told
him i don't want to do this but you have to learn to behave, and
so he placed Danny over his knee and started giving him a good
spanking

everything was going fine my brother told me i could barely feel

the blows, the books were working great it was at that moment that
i started to laugh, so help me i didn't want to, it just struck me
as finally putting one over on dad i couldn't help myself, he
would give me a wholly and I'd laugh, which made him mad so he
spanked me harder and i laughed harder.

he finally realized what i had done and then i got a spanking i

never forgot minus the books of course and feeling very tender by
t he time he got done i had trouble sitting for the next couple of
days

Tales of the family

sturgeon larger than 14 ft boat,

done

there have been many stories of the strange creatures which exist
in lake Champlain, her for the record is one more,

it was a cloudy day slightly overcast with a possibility of rain

later in the afternoon, dad and uncle Richard Larry and Danny had
decided to cruise over to four brothers islands and try their luck
trolling for walleye , luck seemed to be with them and as the day
passed they managed to hook and land several nice fish in the ten
pound range as well as releasing several smaller sized ones,

the predicted rain was starting to fall gently and a small wind
starting to form chopping waves and medium sized swells on the
face of the water,

bout time we head in boys uncle Richard said, after all the boat
they were in was a mere fourteen footer, and although it was a
good boat it wouldn't take much to swamp it loaded down as it was
with four men in it,

they were half way back to the shore at port Douglas when the
storm broke in all its fury, one moment a gentle mist and several
rain drops, the next as if a deluge fell from the skies, we
couldn't even see the shore Danny told me if it wasn't for the
compass we wouldn't have known what direction we were going in,the
wind rose and the lake started to almost boil, waves slapped at
the hull of our boat and we were tossed to and through ,clutching
the boat for dear life , it was at that moment we saw it break
water off to the left of the boat, a strange head followed by a
massive blackish colored back, the creature appeared to be three
or four feet across its back and a tail broke the surface just as
the head cleared our prow, Larry wanted to try and gaff it i
recalled by dad said are you crazy the damn things as big as the
boat and we're taking on water now, and so it sunk back into the
depths from which it came, we made it back to port Douglas just in
time for the thunderstorm to end, and the surface of the lake
looking like a mirror, not a ripple on it, we told several people
only to be laughed at , there are no fish that big in lake
Champlain we were told.

the following year two sturgeon were found off of kings bay,
someone had shot them with a rifle the smaller one went almost
seven feet, the larger one a hair under nine feet and almost eight
hundred pounds

is there giant sturgeon in lake Champlain, i don't know, what i do

kn ow is that the lake holds many secrets. and there are more
things in heaven and earth than mortal man can comprehend

Tales of the family

moose & the deer

done

it was cold and rainy that foggy November morning ,and we were on
our way to Plattsburgh to do the monthly groceries as was moms
habit the first part of each month todo a large shopping at its
beginning then pick up the few small things she might need as the
month rolleedd on. the cars back seat was filled with assorted
goods and one small boy and was heading up the chasm hill road
when i felt the car swerve violently to one side and heard my
brother larry whos nickname was moose exclaim damn he almost got
me,i think that truck ran into him.

turning the car around we proceeded to go back down the hill

toward a red truck sitting off to one side of the road its four
way flashers blinking a message of warning to all who would see
them.

but the road seemed strangely empty that night, all the way home
from plattsburgh the old red truck was the first vecihle we had
seen this evening as moose pulled up in back of it and stepped out
of the car and walked torwards it, there in the headlights of the
truck ,laying on its side was a young deer, one of its legs was
twisted bakwards at a strange angle as if it was trying to walk
backwards with it.

the poor man was quiet beside himself,repeating over and over
again , oh god i didnt see it , i didnt see it, it just jumped in
front of my truck, what am i going to do, ive never been in an
accident before

moose calmed the guy down and sent him down the road to a gas
station several miles away to make a call to the game warden to
inform him that a deer andd car colideed and see what he wanted
the guy to do.

this poor chap was barely out of sight when moose grabed the jack
hadle out of the trunk of his car and with a sharp snapping of his
wrrist lay ed a solid blow right between the deers eyes, ( maaa)
the young deer bleeted and thrashed its legs around , but the next
blow caused a quiver to run through its frame and its legs seemed
to stiffen for a moment then slowley relax, the legs had not even
straighten out before moose seized them and with a grunt heaved
the body of the young deer into his trunk and slammed it shut, get
in the cr he said and away we went torwards keeseville and home.
it was as we were pulling inti the town of keseville that a
strange thump came from the back of the car and my brother yelled
at me to knock it off thinking i has caused the noise, a few
seconds later another thump rocked the car and a bleeting maaa
could be heard, damn its still alive moose yelled and stepped on
the gas peddle to get us home as soon as poissible,

we quickly shot by the pepsi plant, and whizzed by the frienly

tavern to pull into our driveway a moment later, moose pulled into
the garage and heaed to the trunk of his car.

i think i shall always remember the following events as long as i

shall live, as my brother yanked open the trunk of his car to put
an end to this beast who would not die a cloven hoof shot out of
the trunk with a spastic motion and caught the great white hunter
about half an inch above his testicles,

maa cried the deer, oooh cried my brother,the deer thrashed in the
trunk of his car, my brother lay rocking back and forth on the
garage flooor, the poor deer bleated in terror ,racked with pain,

my brother moaned and made poppping noises like a gold fish

opening and closing his mouth rapidly, at this point it was hard
to tell which one should be put out of its misery,

the deer lost the draw and i must say im sure it was much tenderer
than my brother probley ever would have been.

Tales of the family

a visit to granmas house

just down the road from our house a mere two houses over gran ma
and granpa lamountain lived, they were my mothers mom and step
dad, granma having remarried after she wore her first husband out,
ther was and old split rail fence in front of the prooperty and a
great big oak tree that had a branch twisted out to one side that
was great to climb on and rest your back against the trunk of the
tree, just sitting trher and letting the world go by, many the
days and happy hours i just let time slip by cuddled in natures
strong embrace, the wind gently blowing thrugh the branches of the
old tree, its leaves seemed to wisper to me of days long gone by
and of days to come,

gram had a full porch off the front of her house thou i cant
recall ever spending much time on it, rather the busyest room of
the house was granmas kitchen, and it was also the best smelling
to a young and growing boy, gram always seemed to have something
good cooking or baking ,