tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35305438441625847972024-03-12T16:49:33.922-07:00Forever A HillbillyPat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.comBlogger1037125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-33806095696694409942018-09-14T19:56:00.001-07:002018-09-14T19:56:03.278-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: Learning While Teaching<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/09/learning-while-teaching.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: Learning While Teaching</a>: THE JOB STARTED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SCHOOL YEAR . I had just graduated from college in January, and I felt very lucky to find a teac...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-61626152135602278872018-09-12T16:39:00.001-07:002018-09-12T16:39:02.660-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: Forever A Hillbilly:<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/09/forever-hillbilly-announcing-winners.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: Forever A Hillbilly:</a>: Learning While Teaching The job started in the middle of the year. I had just graduated from college in January, and I felt ver...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-75741191156754072552018-09-12T16:31:00.001-07:002018-09-12T16:31:06.486-07:00Learning While Teaching<br />
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<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><o:p> THE JOB STARTED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SCHOOL YEAR</o:p></span><span style="font-size: 20pt;">.
I had just graduated from college in January, and I felt very lucky to find a
teaching job at that time of year. It was at Saint Paul, Arkansas, deep in the
Ozark Mountains near Fayetteville. </span><span style="font-size: 20pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 20pt;">It
wasn't until later that I realized it was because they had already lost so many
teachers that year.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It paid two thousand dollars for the
semester, big money to me. It was sort of a bits and pieces job, just fill in
where a teacher had been destroyed and quit, where a senior sponsor had been
run off, where another just couldn't take it anymore and walked. It didn't seem
to matter that the subject didn't match my degree, my area of expertise. But
really, at that point I had no area of expertise, although I was pretty well
convienced I knew it all. I did get one physical education class, in my field,
and that actually turned out to be my salvation at St. Paul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew the coach, Billy Max, an old
Arkansas A&M grad like me. He invited me to share his trailer. I went along
with him to lots of his games. His senior boys basketball team was very short,
no good, and would pass up a layup any day for the glory of gunning a thirty
foot shot. Just quite naturally, they won no games that year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Teaching went pretty well, everything
considered. I had a hard core group of senior hillbilly boys in my PE class,
but I was a hard core hillbilly too. These guys, I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>knew, were at the forefront in running off
teachers, so I put in a little segment on distance running right off. Since I
had just came from being a college distance runner, I led them out on a 3 mile
route. They were determined to not let a teacher outdo them in anything
physical, and they kept up until they just, one by one, collapsed. They
respected physical things much more than teaching ability, fortunately, and we
got along pretty good. One of my boys collapsed to the point that I had to load
him up in my car and take him to the doctor in Huntsville, twenty miles away.
We were late getting back, he was still pretty much out of it, so I drove him
home and milked his goats for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time
for the senior play was coming up, and, as the senior sponsor had already been
run off, I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the man</i>. When we
started having practice at night, I soon realized I had my hands full.
Sometimes, some of them would just not show up. Those that did had not been
studying their lines. I knew a disaster was in the works, and I was right. When
the big night came, I posted lots of prompters around behind the curtains. It
really was not a matter of prompting, often they just had to read the whole
line. And sometimes, the wrong actor grabbed onto a line and just ran with it.
Halfway through, a very loud alarm clock that some junior had hidden in the
couch on stage went off. I still have that clock. You just can't believe how
loud that clock was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well, all's well that ends well. When
it was over, they called me out on the stage, told me how much they appreciated
my hard work, and presented me with a brand new fly rod.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;">I was returning from seeing my
girl one Sunday night, well after dark. I cut through the mountains. When I
passed a new Ozark National Forest sign, I saw it was on fire. I grabbed an old
rag and was trying to put the fire out, when an old, beat up station wagon
drove slowly by. I got the fire out and went on to St. Paul. The next day, a
kid brought me a message from his grandpa. Grandpa said, “Don’t be messing in
my business again.” This was along about when the Forest Service stopped
allowing locals to run their cows up in the mountains. I guess grandpa had a
grudge about that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The end of the school year rolled around.
Time for the senior trip. I was again <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the
man,</i> with a lady out of the community agreeing to go along to watch after
the girls. She really didn't do much of anything, I think she was just on
vacation. I drove the bus to Little Rock and booked us into a big hotel. These
mountain kids were totally awestruck. I began to realize most of them had never
been to a city before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of them just
wanted to ride the elevator, up and down, as long as I would let them. Some of
them were older than me, and a few of the girls were pretty and flirty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A twenty-one year old guy just really should
not be responsible for them, that long. But my<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> do</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">right mechanism</i> was
turned on and kept me in good stead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went on to Hot Springs. We went for a
ride on a party barge. I had never driven one before, but I was again <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the man</i>. As I came into a dock, I tried
gracefully to shift into reverse. It would not go. I tried again, desperate
this time. No luck. I yelled to the kid up front. “Hold it off, Max! Don't let
it hit!” Well, I was giving an impossible assignment to that little boy on that
great big barge. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">BOOM</i>! Everyone came
running out of cabins, and from everywhere. I had to cough up several bucks to
get out of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had made another big mistake. I passed
out everyone's meal money for the whole trip the first day. Max, and some
others, were big spenders – for about a day. Then they begged and starved the
rest of the trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coach Billy Max resigned, and they offered
me the coaching job for the next year. I took it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;">The most noteworthy thing
about my coaching time at Saint Paul was getting a personalized insult from
Frank Broyles himself. After a particularly bad practice by the Arkansas
Razorbacks he told newsmen, “We looked like Saint Paul out there today.” Well,
I was the only coach Saint Paul had, and as I looked around to see if maybe he
aimed that insult at somebody else, I didn’t see anyone but me. Ironically, a
couple of years later, I was coaching at Fayetteville, and two of his sons were
on my football team. What goes around comes around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was good at not wasting money when I started to college. Can't waste what you
don't have. College had honed that ability even more. I had three hundred ten
dollars monthly take-home during that teaching semester, lived, made new car
payments, and still saved eight hundred dollars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon after, I brought my new bride to St.
Paul. It had taken me a year, almost to the day, to persuade her I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the man</i>, even though I had known it the
first time I saw her. I took her around, showing her the housing possibilities
up there. The first was a small box, right in the middle of town. She said that
just would<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> NOT</i> do. So, I took her way
up in the mountains, five miles off the blacktop, to show her the second
possibility, up close to the Orval Faubus birthplace. The only neighbors were
in the graveyard next door. She quickly decided that box in<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>town was not SO<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>bad,
after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I first arrived at Saint Paul it was
midwinter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;">Those hardwood forests were
drab and dreary. Now, spring had brought to me bright green leaves and a brand
new bride, completely changing my world. We found a new, beautiful spot in
those mountains to picnic almost every day. A wonderful start to our fifty
years together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-80519755490201675672018-09-01T04:59:00.001-07:002018-09-12T16:33:18.119-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: <div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> Learning While Teaching<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> The job started in the middle of the year.
I had just graduated from college in January, and I felt very lucky to find a
teaching job at that time of year. It was at Saint Paul, Arkansas, deep in the
Ozark Mountains near Fayetteville. It
wasn't until later that I realized it was because they had already lost so many
teachers that year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> It paid two thousand dollars for the
semester, big money to me. It was sort of a bits and pieces job, just fill in
where a teacher had been destroyed and quit, where a senior sponsor had been
run off, where another just couldn't take it anymore and walked. It didn't seem
to matter that the subject didn't match my degree, my area of expertise. But
really, at that point I had no area of expertise, although I was pretty well
convienced I knew it all. I did get one physical education class, in my field,
and that actually turned out to be my salvation at St. Paul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> I knew the coach, Billy Max, an old
Arkansas A&M grad like me. He invited me to share his trailer. I went along
with him to lots of his games. His senior boys basketball team was very short,
no good, and would pass up a layup any day for the glory of gunning a thirty
foot shot. Just quite naturally, they won no games that year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> Teaching went pretty well, everything
considered. I had a hard core group of senior hillbilly boys in my PE class,
but I was a hard core hillbilly too. These guys, I knew, were at the forefront in running off
teachers, so I put in a little segment on distance running right off. Since I
had just came from being a college distance runner, I led them out on a 3 mile
route. They were determined to not let a teacher outdo them in anything
physical, and they kept up until they just, one by one, collapsed. They
respected physical things much more than teaching ability, fortunately, and we
got along pretty good. One of my boys collapsed to the point that I had to load
him up in my car and take him to the doctor in Huntsville, twenty miles away.
We were late getting back, he was still pretty much out of it, so I drove him
home and milked his goats for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> Time
for the senior play was coming up, and, as the senior sponsor had already been
run off, I was <i>the man</i>. When we
started having practice at night, I soon realized I had my hands full.
Sometimes, some of them would just not show up. Those that did had not been
studying their lines. I knew a disaster was in the works, and I was right. When
the big night came, I posted lots of prompters around behind the curtains. It
really was not a matter of prompting, often they just had to read the whole
line. And sometimes, the wrong actor grabbed onto a line and just ran with it.
Halfway through, a very loud alarm clock that some junior had hidden in the
couch on stage went off. I still have that clock. You just can't believe how
loud that clock was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> Oh well, all's well that ends well. When
it was over, they called me out on the stage, told me how much they appreciated
my hard work, and presented me with a brand new fly rod.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;">I was returning from seeing my
girl one Sunday night, well after dark. I cut through the mountains. When I
passed a new Ozark National Forest sign, I saw it was on fire. I grabbed an old
rag and was trying to put the fire out, when an old, beat up station wagon
drove slowly by. I got the fire out and went on to St. Paul. The next day, a
kid brought me a message from his grandpa. Grandpa said, “Don’t be messing in
my business again.” This was along about when the Forest Service stopped
allowing locals to run their cows up in the mountains. I guess grandpa had a
grudge about that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> The end of the school year rolled around.
Time for the senior trip. I was again <i>the
man,</i> with a lady out of the community agreeing to go along to watch after
the girls. She really didn't do much of anything, I think she was just on
vacation. I drove the bus to Little Rock and booked us into a big hotel. These
mountain kids were totally awestruck. I began to realize most of them had never
been to a city before. Many of them just
wanted to ride the elevator, up and down, as long as I would let them. Some of
them were older than me, and a few of the girls were pretty and flirty. A twenty-one year old guy just really should
not be responsible for them, that long. But my<i> do</i> <i>right mechanism</i> was
turned on and kept me in good stead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> We went on to Hot Springs. We went for a
ride on a party barge. I had never driven one before, but I was again <i>the man</i>. As I came into a dock, I tried
gracefully to shift into reverse. It would not go. I tried again, desperate
this time. No luck. I yelled to the kid up front. “Hold it off, Max! Don't let
it hit!” Well, I was giving an impossible assignment to that little boy on that
great big barge. <i>BOOM</i>! Everyone came
running out of cabins, and from everywhere. I had to cough up several bucks to
get out of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> I had made another big mistake. I passed
out everyone's meal money for the whole trip the first day. Max, and some
others, were big spenders – for about a day. Then they begged and starved the
rest of the trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> Coach Billy Max resigned, and they offered
me the coaching job for the next year. I took it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;">The most noteworthy thing
about my coaching time at Saint Paul was getting a personalized insult from
Frank Broyles himself. After a particularly bad practice by the Arkansas
Razorbacks he told newsmen, “We looked like Saint Paul out there today.” Well,
I was the only coach Saint Paul had, and as I looked around to see if maybe he
aimed that insult at somebody else, I didn’t see anyone but me. Ironically, a
couple of years later, I was coaching at Fayetteville, and two of his sons were
on my football team. What goes around comes around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> I
was good at not wasting money when I started to college. Can't waste what you
don't have. College had honed that ability even more. I had three hundred ten
dollars monthly take-home during that teaching semester, lived, made new car
payments, and still saved eight hundred dollars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> Soon after, I brought my new bride to St.
Paul. It had taken me a year, almost to the day, to persuade her I was <i>the man</i>, even though I had known it the
first time I saw her. I took her around, showing her the housing possibilities
up there. The first was a small box, right in the middle of town. She said that
just would<i> NOT</i> do. So, I took her way
up in the mountains, five miles off the blacktop, to show her the second
possibility, up close to the Orval Faubus birthplace. The only neighbors were
in the graveyard next door. She quickly decided that box in<i> </i>town was not SO<i> </i>bad,
after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 20.0pt;"> When I first arrived at Saint Paul it was
midwinter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 20pt;">Those hardwood forests were
drab and dreary. Now, spring had brought to me bright green leaves and a brand
new bride, completely changing my world. We found a new, beautiful spot in
those mountains to picnic almost every day. A wonderful start to our fifty
years together.</span>.Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-85677615316160098982018-09-01T04:57:00.000-07:002018-09-01T04:57:33.026-07:00Announcing The Winners!<h4>
THE WINNERS OF THE SIXTY YEAR PROMISE BEST FAMILY STORIES CONTEST ARE - </h4>
<h2>
First Place - Linda Hatcher - The Dog Days of Summer</h2>
<h2>
<br />Second Place - Jonnie Sue Willis - Polio Hits</h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h2>
Third Place - Cindy Buford - My Story</h2>
<h2>
<br />Fourth Place - Jackie Leffingwell - A Love Story</h2>
<h2>
<br />Fifth Place - Dorothy Starnes - Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell</h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h2>
</h2>
<h2>
<br /></h2>
The winners were determined by the number of reads each had in three days on Foreverahillbilly.<br />All were well written and very interesting. Thank you for entering! You guys are just really good!<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-46182110413806789662018-08-28T05:20:00.001-07:002018-08-28T05:20:46.303-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: Moving on South<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/08/moving-on-south.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: Moving on South</a>: At Andersonville, we spent some time at the Civil War POW Camp. That was a nightmare place. Not enough food, bad water, little cover...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-68910137003622638012018-08-28T05:18:00.004-07:002018-08-28T05:19:36.725-07:00Moving on South<br />
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Andersonville, we spent some time at
the Civil War POW Camp. That was a nightmare place. Not enough food, bad water,
little cover from the elements. Actually, It was just a big field with a
palisade wall around it, teen age guards all around, trained to shoot to kill
if anyone got within 10 feet of the wall. A creek running through it was the
only source of water, and It was quickly contaminated with human waste.
Thousands from the north died there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our next stop was one of our inexpensive-type
stops. My nephew Stan and Missy Arrington's<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>driveway. Stan had always been an outdoor, woodsy type guy. He was now a
forester, and a dutch oven cooking expert. They had a fenced back yard, except
at the back, which was bordering a bayou. They had a big, pretty white rabbit
that had the run of the place. One day, Missy was at the kitchen window, and a large
gator came up out of the bayou and gobbled the pretty white rabbit up. They
have two children, Mandy and Thomas. Mandy was always all about horses, growing
up, and she is now about to get a Masters degree in horse knowledge. I'm just
not sure what that degree would be called. When we woke up the next morning, at
daylight, Thomas, a small boy then, walked by our RV and disappeared from our
vision. When we came out of the RV, later, he was just sitting up in top of a
tall tree, just looking. Thomas went on to achieve, in college, membership in
that group of nearly naked, painted young men that you might see at Mississippi
State football games. He now seems to have matured, however, because he's about
to travel to the Philippines and spend a good bit of time traveling up remote
rivers, seeking unreached people for Christ. I would say he's being promoted,
how about you? Missy is a big wig at Mississippi State.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We toured Savanna, with its Forest Gump
bench, where he sat with his box of chocolates on Chippewa<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Square. But we forgot to bring our
chocolates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our next stop was at Mark Twain State
Park, well out into the Okefenokee Swamp. The swamp was formed when the Swanee
River spread out over a wide area, 50 miles across. It is a wild area that man
was unable to successfully cross until well up into the 1900's. I had been here
before, on one of my Pork and Beans Trips. Barbara had not. I wanted to give
Barbara a real taste of the swamp, but before heading out in a small boat, I
gave her the gator lecture. I told her it was wintertime here, the gators were
cold, and would not try to come in our boat. But, we will be very close to
many. If you come close to one, and jump up and run, you will swamp the boat,
then we'll be right down in amongst' um'. Stay still. A ranger told of getting
a report of a boat being swamped, people in the water. When they got there,
they were still hanging onto the boat, surrounded by 40 gators. Just looking. I
called up several foxes to a photo session with my predator call. Then it was
time to head on down the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went down the west coast of Florida,
and saw so many different birds and other animals at reserves along the way, I
wouldn't even try to tell you about all of them. Sea Cows stood out. Very large
swimming mammals, about the size of a walrus, but they had a habit of swimming
just under the surface, and many got cut up by outboards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We left our RV at Miami, then drove on
down to the south most point of the USA at Key West. The sunset was one of a
kind, and everyone turned out for a big party at sunset. We spent the night in
a B&B, then back to Miami.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We toured the Everglades. A foreign guy
was taking a little trail ahead of us, and he ran back, pointing, saying,
“chicken! Chicken!” It turned out to be one of those big footed little birds,
that walks around on lily pads. I didn't know the name of it either, so I
really don't know what the purpose of that little story was. Certainly not
educational.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barbara and a large gator were looking at
each other. Barbara asked a ranger what was keeping him from just coming and
getting her. He said, “He's sizing you up. If<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>he decides he's bigger than you, he will.” Well, they were a pretty good
match, and she didn't give him time to make his decision. She broke for the
car. Barbara just has something that makes big animals make a run at her, tame
or wild. Not the least of which was a small grizzly bear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have heard that a Gator can outrun a horse
for 20 feet, and I never believed those slow-seeming animals could really do
that, until I saw one make a run for a bird once. They can come up on their
toes and just fly for a short distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
had seen both of Florida's coasts before, so we decided to head back up the
middle. We drove through endless acres of Sugar Cane to Lake Okeechobee. We
camped very near the lake on the south end. It is Florida's largest lake,
though shallow. I have heard of fishermen out in the middle of the lake, seeing
almost no land, swamping the boat, then going into a panic, until they realize
they can stand up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That south end must sorta be like an
elementary school for small gators, since they abound, and will crawl right up
to the RV at night. One woman wanted to show Barbara how a gator would go right
for her fishing lure. It did, she jerked it hard, and the lure flew back and
slapped Barbara smack in the face. Barbara got away from that woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-7057647871296104472018-08-22T17:44:00.001-07:002018-08-22T17:44:39.225-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: The Sixty Year Promise Best Family story contest<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-sixty-year-promise-best-family.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: The Sixty Year Promise Best Family story contest</a>: The deadline is approaching! the Best family story contest ends Sept. 1. The leader, based on the most reads in three days, along with t...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-74356427974353809542018-08-22T17:42:00.001-07:002018-08-22T17:42:52.302-07:00The Sixty Year Promise Best Family story contest<br />
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The deadline is approaching! the Best family story contest ends Sept. 1. The leader, based on the most reads in three days, along with the honerable mention stories are listed below. If you still wish to enter, I must recieve it at least three days before the deadline.</h3>
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The leader - The Dog Days of Summer by Linda hatcher, 334 reads. Honorable mention - Polio, by Jonnie Willis - 236; My Story, by Cindy Buford - 184; A Love Story, by Jackie Leffingwell, 149; Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell, 143. All of these stories were wonderful! You guys are so good!</h2>
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Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-70769097495302266492018-08-15T12:43:00.001-07:002018-08-15T12:43:36.693-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: Multiple Troubles<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/08/multiple-troubles.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: Multiple Troubles</a>: We drove through Maryland. The leaves were not quite at their peak yet, but we saw it a couple of years later, backtracking I must ...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-52873899739739557852018-08-15T12:39:00.002-07:002018-08-30T11:38:17.097-07:00Multiple Troubles<br />
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove through Maryland. The leaves were
not quite at their peak yet, but we saw it a couple of years later,
backtracking I must admit, which we try to avoid. The second time around,
Maryland was as glorious as New England was now. Moving into West Virginia, it
was a hard trip. Even on this great interstate now through these mountains. Its
hard to imagine the hardships of the pioneers, traveling here. We camped at
Broken Wheel Campground, and the name seemed appropriate. West Virginia is a
poor state, very rich in natural beauty – and coal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old grist mill on a rushing brook at
Babcock State Park, which of course we pictured, is a great photo attraction.
We have seen photos of it, all over the country. The New River Gorge is
actually very old, and the world's longest single arch steel bridge spans it,
867 feet above the river below. The coal seam is about three quarters of the
way to the top, and it's easy to mine. Just drop the coal to the valley below,
haul it off. Many sky divers gather at the New River Gorge bridge one day each
year, to risk killing themselves. I just don't have that urge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a backward, isolated area for so
long, before this high tech corridor we came down. Travel was hard for these
friendly people, who speak so much like the Arkansas hill people of my youth.
The slang is so similar, it is amazing. I know they never visited back and forth
much, over these mountains. The New River is also a top white water river.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kentucky Troubles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The RV would not start after a stop at
Hawk‘s Nest, the first of a string of automobile troubles. It had to be towed
40 miles to have a new ignition switch put in. Thanks for the tow, Good Sam!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arriving at Beaver Dam, Kentucky, we were
having battery problems. We spent the night. A large party seemed to be
scheduled for tonight, so we went downtown. We were walking down the street,
surrounded by hundreds of people. The music started to kick in. Every single
person there, and I mean every one, stopped and started tapping a foot.
Everybody except us. Now if that's not a bit weird. Then, the music really
kicked in, and again, every single person, except us, just literally danced
onto the street! Not together, really, just dancing. We looked around for the
movie cameras. Surely we were on a movie set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got back to the RV park, a track
with small race cars roared to life. Naturally, we had to go look. These were
kids driving these cars. But they were very loud and very fast! I knew these
kids didn't even have a driver's license yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On down the road a ways the next day, what
we thought was battery problems turned bad. Alternator problems. It was
Saturday, and new one was hard to find, but we did, and I was determined to do
it myself. We pulled into a truck stop, and I got my tools out. I discovered a
guy in the truck stop that used to be a mechanic, but now he was just working
there at odd jobs. He started supervising me, and kept coming out at intervals
to keep me on the right track, for a good part of the afternoon. He would not
take pay, but we left some for him anyway, when we pulled out the next day. We
have stayed in touch with him over the years. A good man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-71352650672173850312018-08-08T19:02:00.001-07:002018-08-08T19:02:51.240-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: The Tall Ship Cory<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-tall-ship-cory.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: The Tall Ship Cory</a>: At St. Andrews, close to the Maine border, we booked a whale watching trip on the tall sailing ship Cory. We only saw two whales. Jus...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-53649169555779253382018-08-08T19:00:00.003-07:002018-08-08T19:00:43.145-07:00The Tall Ship Cory<br />
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At St. Andrews, close to the Maine border,
we booked a whale watching trip on the tall sailing ship Cory. We only saw two
whales. Just as it happened, son Corey was in Seattle at the time, to speak at
a Photographer's Convention, and looked out to sea and saw a whale. Now, how
would I say this: We saw a whale on the east coast from the Cory, while Corey
saw a whale on the west coast. Did you follow me on that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it turned out, the crew of the Cory was
as interesting as the whales. The deck hand was a tall, slim woman. Barefooted,
she climbed like a cat to the top of the mast and handled those sails and ropes
like the professional she is. She climbed all the way to the top, carrying our
camera, just to take our picture. Her face was very weather beaten, the effects
of hundreds of voyages. She is an illustrator in the winter, and in summer, she
makes three trips a day, seven days a week, May-September. The Captain built
the ship himself in New Zealand, and sailed it around the world in six years. But
those two don't even come close to being the most interesting of the crew.
“Bear” Ledger is an Acadian folklorist, a story teller, and a musician. He
tells his folklore in poem and in song. He plays the accordion, bagpipes, and
fiddle on ship, and plays eight other instruments. He just starts doing his
thing, on deck, whether anyone is around or not. But we are all soon there,
listening. His dream is to travel to Louisiana, to visit his cousins, the
Cajuns, and compare his folklore to theirs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;">We went through
Passamaguoddy Bay, through the Bay of Fundy. We passed Rosevelt's cottage,
where he used to take his mistress, or so we were told.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A small rocky island appeared to have a snow
covering. But it was bird waste, from the thousands of birds who made it home.
The Bay of Fundy is a major natural reserve of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barbara was recruited as Captain, for a
time, and got to sail the ship. She asked about the life jackets. The captain
told her, “This is the North Sea. If you fall overboard, you'll be dead in three
minutes. You don't need a life jacket.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was recruited to haul in the jib sails at the end of the trip. Now,
where's the fairness in that? Barbara's steering the ship, I'm wadding up
sails. But, the Captain seemed to enjoy her company more that mine. Can't say I
blame him. Barbara's a fun girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A friend of mine from McCrory, where we
lived for a time, was a saturation diver in the North Sea for an oil company. A
French company nearby averaged losing a diver a day, for a time. A dangerous
job, but it pays well. He was all about danger. He came to McCrory and began
piloting a helicopter spraying crops. He clipped the tail rotor off once on a
power line. Without a tail rotor, a helicopter just goes round and round in the
direction the blade is turning until it crashes. He broke his leg. The upside
was, I could always beat him at tennis while he wore a boot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Bay of Fundy was one of the great
natural wonders we experienced. If you ever go to Maine, go up just a little
farther and book a trip on the tall sailing ship Cory. It's a great experience.
We explored New York for a few days, but you have all done that, so I’ll just
jump on past to the Amish Country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Starlight camp, we were on top of a
mountain overlooking the Amish country. Farms seem to have 20 or 30 acres.
Dozens of giant hot air balloons were taking off at daylight. They make good
use of their land. We went to an Amish Farmer's Market the next day. Shoofly
Pie, fresh squeezed apple juice. Barbara was about to take a picture of two
Amish men, playing checkers. They waved it off, no pictures. They were making a
living off the tourists, and I thought that was a little odd. We overate
chocolate at Hershey. Horse and buggy rigs were just everywhere. The simple
life has it's attraction, taking life directly from the land. Many of their
harvesting devices were familiar, from Wing, many years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved to Gettysburg, and toured the
battle site. So much pain and death on these fields. The last man to fall on
Pickett's charge fell right here, by these bushes. We left out on a dreary
morning, somehow appropriate. Past a statue of an officer on his horse at the
crest of a hill, past thousands of crosses standing in straight rows. We don't
want to glorify war, but we must pay tribute to these brave men. We were glad
we saw it, even more glad when we left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-70550360447124596742018-08-04T23:32:00.001-07:002018-08-04T23:32:20.643-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: The Tidal Bore<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-tidal-bore.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: The Tidal Bore</a>: THE TIDAL BORE WAS A REALLY NEAT THING. The Bay of Fundy lies between Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and has a funnel shape. We were near ...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-69314203922413774502018-08-04T23:31:00.001-07:002018-08-04T23:31:08.986-07:00The Tidal Bore<br />
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;">THE TIDAL BORE WAS A REALLY NEAT THING. The Bay of Fundy lies between Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and has a funnel
shape. We were near the apex of the funnel. Partially because of the shape of
the bay, and partially because of the timing of the tides, the difference
between high tide and low tide is the greatest in the world. Up the two rivers
that run in at the apex of the bay, the effect is magnified even more. We were
on one of those rivers. When the tide came in, it was so fast a wall of water two
feet high was out in front. Many people paddled canoes far down the river, and
rode the tidal bore back up. That was really something special to see. At
harbors along the bay, fishing boats had to go and come at high tide, or they
would find themselves on the sea floor. They had to change the departure and
return time each day, with the changing of the tides. It was not unusual to see
a wharf, 50 feet<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>above a boat lying on
the bare sea floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaving Nova Scotia behind, we traveled
along the bay to St. Johns, New Brunswick. We went to a mall that had lifelike
sculptures of ordinary people, clustered about in different positions. Barbara
just loved to station herself in a position among them, then move and speak
when somebody came by. It sometimes scared the wits out of folks. But that's
just Barbara. Get her out where she will never see anybody she knows, and she
can be a totally different woman. St. Johns was where many Tories moved to
after the Revolutionary war. It has a reversing waterfall, where the rising
tide quickly overcomes a tall waterfall when it rolls in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved to walk out on the sea floor at
low tide, with scattered pools around, just full of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sea life. Any rock turned over hides
starfish, urchins, and numerous other sea animals I didn't recognize. One has
to pay close attention to the tide, however. If one gets far out and the tide
comes in, it can quickly surround you and cut off escape. Once, I walked a
quarter of a mile or so out. When I started back, the tide was starting to come
in. It chased me all the way back, full speed, which, I must admit, was not all
that fast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-57399149391282543822018-08-02T05:05:00.001-07:002018-08-02T05:05:36.109-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: Prince Edward Island<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/08/prince-edward-island.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: Prince Edward Island</a>: The Confederation Bridge into Prince Edward Island was the longest marine bridge in the world at that time. It was very ...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-13983085148082926292018-08-02T05:03:00.001-07:002018-08-02T05:03:10.769-07:00Prince Edward Island<br />
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Confederation Bridge into Prince Edward
Island was the longest marine bridge in the world at that time. It was very
high, also, and you already know how that affects me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We camped near the middle area of the
island. The full-time RV'ers there called us “babes” in full timer lingo. When
I started to whine and tell one of them about our motor problems, he waved it
off. “Just fix it, and move on down the road. Don't worry about it, it will
mess up your trip.” I told that to myself many times, later, going on down the
road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We unloaded the car, and set in to see the
north half of the island. We soon passed something like a Forestry Festival,
although I couldn't figure out how their very short gnarled trees up on that
end of the island could be a big thing to them. I guess, If that's just all
you've got, you learn to appreciate them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Climbers with spikes on were running up very tall poles to the top, to
try to ring their bell first. I don't know where they could have found poles
that tall, amid their short, stumpy, forests of trees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped at an Irish Moss Interpretive
Center. Irish Moss is used as a thickening agent in many foods. When a Nor'
Wester‘ blows that moss in toward shore, they hitch their horses to a rake, and
horse and man wade that freezing surf, raking<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>that moss ashore, carrying it off by the truckloads. Tough horses, tough
men. They also trap lobsters, and grow potatoes. Their specialty, Seaweed Pie,
is not real good, not real bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traveling along the very windy north
coast, Elephant Rock was advertised ahead. A man and two women manned the tiny
booth where they charged a small fee for the attraction. The man was taking my
money, and I could tell he was very embarrassed. He told me, ”I want to
apologize for my appearance. I broke my dentures.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just took mine out, handed them out the
window, and told him, “Here, use mine until I get back.” The women died with
laughter, and he loosened up some. He didn't take my dentures, thank goodness.
Elephant rock was out in the sea, and it looked the part, somewhat. The trees
were down to about head high on this coast, and it was extremely windy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the far north east corner of the
island, something very neat was happening. Two seas met, rolling in to meet
each other along a tiny strip of land, that extended far out. That little strip
was just filled with hundreds of strange little birds. Occasionally, they flew,
but always returned to that narrow strip. I guess they were feeding there. Many
different kinds of wind driven devices were being tested there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These were hardy, hard working people
along this north coast. Beautiful in summer, but we could just imagine what a
horrible place it must be in the winter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved down to Charlottetown, in the
middle of the southern half of the island. We saw a high wire act with a man
juggling running chain saws. I told you they were tough. I didn’t get a chance
to see if there was really a chain on that saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If so, that would have really gotten my respect. I cut my leg once with
one, and I’ve never felt anything quite like it, except later when a pit bull
grabbed my leg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The southern part was more touristy, very
beautiful. Taller but still short trees allowed one to see vast areas. Every
view was like a post card. We saw Ann's house, of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ann of Green Gables.” Along the coast, lots
of lobster traps, light houses. Many, many potato farms. Summertime in the
south of Prince Edward Island was literally like living in a post card. As I
said that day,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If farmers have a
special Farmer's Heaven, This is what it would look like. Maybe more like
Farmer's Hell in a few months.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;">Goodbye, Prince Edward
Island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prince Edward Island didn't go quietly, or
easily. We got lost on the way to the ferry, got on a bad, tiny road, meeting
one large load of dirt after another in dense fog. We entered the belly of the
huge ferry with minutes to spare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our last glimpse of Prince Edward Island
came as the ferry pulled out and the fog rolled in. Prince Edward Island, I
want to see you again. But I probably won't. There's far too much world ahead
yet to see to ever backtrack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-64882448291561394092018-07-29T11:46:00.001-07:002018-07-29T11:46:40.994-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: Quebec City<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/07/quebec-city.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: Quebec City</a>: Quebec City is a walled city, from times past. The people seem to look different from others we have seen, but a lot like each ot...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-48909142114978465992018-07-29T11:45:00.001-07:002018-07-29T11:45:22.764-07:00Quebec City<br />
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quebec City is a walled city, from times
past. The people seem to look different from others we have seen, but a lot
like each other. I've noticed this before in isolated places. Those French
speakers would not speak English to another Canadian, and were very standoffish
until we told them we were Americans, then they warmed up and spoke English
well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barbara started reading the Bible through
that day, and finished it on the trip. Gives you some idea how long that trip
was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We discovered Expo Quebec was going on,
something like our Arkansas State Fair, but very different. I found a parking
spot in a man's yard nearby for a small fee. Then, the man said we had to leave
our car keys with him, in case he had to move cars around. Now, that was not something
I was accustomed to doing at our state fair, so finally, I just took everything
of value out of the car, put it in a big backpack, and carried it around all
day. When we got back at the end of the day, he was still standing right beside
our car, guarding it. I felt bad, and I could tell his feelings were hurt, but
he was nice about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw a lot of new stuff at that Expo.
Cheese sculptures, sand sculpture, all very intricate, chickens with feathers
down to the end of their toes, milk cows with giant udders, and a woman diving
from a 40 foot tower into a play pool of water six feet deep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got back to the RV park, and were
loading up, Barbara drove the car up the ramps onto the car dolly. Those french
women screamed with amazement, then they all came over and hugged her! You
would have thought she had just dived off a 40 foot tower or something! Trying
to drive out of the park backwards, because I couldn't read the sign, I got
hung up between two trees. All those people turned out and started directing
me, in French.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving on out the St. Lawrence Seaway, we
blew a tire on our car dolly at Bic. The man at the only station had only one
tire that would fit, and there were no other possibilities anywhere around. But
he still gave me a cut-rate deal. I'm not really sure if he just liked me, or
he was helping me to get on out of there, but we always got very fair treatment
at the hands of French-Canadians. Little did we know, they were about to save
our necks in a major way, a little bit farther down the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Farther along, we left the Seaway and
headed inland, across the mountains to the Acadian Coast of New Brunswick. The
Acadians were kinfolks of the Louisiana Cajuns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;">Big Trouble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traveling across the mountains, I started
hearing a strange noise in my RV motor. It got worse. As we moved out of the
mountains, it would barely run. Finally, it shut down, but we were still
rolling down an incline out of the mountains. We were out on a peninsula, and
it appeared to me we were about as far from help as we could get in North
America, without going polar. We entered Caroquet, a very isolated little town
out on the far end of that peninsula. We rolled to a stop, literally, right in
front of the only truck repair place we had seen in many days. I went in to
talk, and they could barely speak a little English. Finally, they figured out I
was having motor troubles. They came out. The motor access was right beside the
driver's seat. They took their shoes off, spread out a cloth around the whole
area so as not to make a mess, and opened it up. The diagnosis was a thrown
rod, and I knew that would cost a couple of thousand at home. He suggested they
could tie that rod up, and we could limp on home one cylinder short. “Can you
fix it?” I asked. Yes, they could. It would take all day tomorrow, and they
would have to bring in extra help. I didn't want to face all those hills ahead
short one cylinder, so we went for it. They brought out an extension cord, said
we could live there for the duration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barbara<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>and I went to an Acadian Village the next day, set up like their
pioneers lived, and the people dressed the part. Their pioneer life on this
cold coast made our pioneers look like a cakewalk. The English had pushed the
Acadians up to this lonely, cold coast many years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back at the RV, they had finished up. The
total bill, when changed into dollars, was about $700. They had been extremely
nice and helpful throughout, and after paying the bill, I wrote a very nice
letter of recommendation, so that other travelers would know they were really
good people. We said goodbye, and headed on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-21738298039666292752018-07-24T10:40:00.001-07:002018-07-24T10:40:35.461-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: A Year On The Road<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/07/a-year-on-road.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: A Year On The Road</a>: I WAS KIDDING WITH BARBARA ONE DAY. “When we get out of our photography studio, let's buy an RV, rent out our house, and travel for a...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-51164268888793486552018-07-24T10:32:00.000-07:002018-07-24T10:39:30.159-07:00A Year On The Road<span style="font-size: 18pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;">I WAS KIDDING WITH BARBARA ONE DAY. “When we get out of our photography studio,
let's buy an RV, rent out our house, and travel for a year.”</span><br />
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To
my great surprise, she didn't even need to discuss it. She just said, “okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We put our house up for lease. Luckily,
Rhower BF Goodrich was just about to open up in Arkadelphia. We leased it to
them for a year, to be used by their executives coming into town to train new
employees, as a sort of hotel. We bought an older model RV, 32 feet long. We
also got a dolly to pull our car on. Barbara began to pay our major bills off,
a year in advance. Everything else was on automatic withdrawal. Our house rent
would pay for our lodging. We sold the business to our daughter Kinley and Mickey.
We would be free as a couple of birds!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first day out, I began to learn how to
drive that big rig. I saw right off that, in making a left hand turn, the
trailing car would be thrown out into the far right lane. I had to learn to
take over both lanes when about to make a turn on a four lane road. Many months
into the trip, I would pay the price for that little problem. The big rig
caught a lot of wind. On the interstate to Memphis, seemed like every big truck
that passed us was blowing us into the ditch. And, I could not back that long
rig very far, with the car on. I had to have half a football field to turn
around in. Our plan was to travel a couple of hundred miles to a destination,
hang around until we had seen it, then move on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We only traveled to West Memphis that
first day. I had enough of that new stress by then. The second day out, Barbara
made one of our best moves of the trip. She bought roadside service Insurance. It
was on special for $69.95. It would quickly pay for itself, as it turned out.
We camped near St. Louis that second night, and I ran into a lady I knew from
Arkadelphia in the park. That never happened again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided that tomorrow, Sunday, would be
a good day to see St. Louis. That proved to be true, and we toured many large
cities on a Sunday after that. The St. Louis Arch proved to be one visit
Barbara regretted. The trip up and down proved to be very crowded,
claustrophobic, and the arch swayed. Although we did have a magnificent view
from the top, she was so sick by then, she didn't care. I had trouble getting
her in that tiny car for the ride back down. We learned another lesson that
day. Mark where we park the car well. We almost never found it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our next stop was in the driveway of our
friends, Cheryl and Wes McGowan, in Hannibal. One of our less expensive stops.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving on to Chicago, we camped a few
miles outside. We toured the Field Museum. We saw the two lions who killed
scores of railway workers in Africa, and actually shut down the project until a
great white hunter brought them down. At the Museum of Science and Industry, we
saw many more amazing sights. Then we spent lots of time just driving around
seeing the sights of Chicago. Lost, most of the time. But who cares? What’s time
to a hog with a year to kill?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day, driving through Indiana
headed for Michigan, our RV just shut down on us. The RV, fortunately, was old
enough that a semi-shade tree mechanic could work on some things. I made a
lucky guess, pulled the car off and bought a new fuel filter, and it worked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived in Holland, Michigan just in
time for the Blueberry Festival, just the first of many special events we would
run onto, by accident, that year. Holland is all about wooden shoes, tulips,
and people who came from the real Holland. We also got to watch diving pigs at
the Michigan State Fair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After detouring inland from Lake Michigan
to see the Gerald Ford Library, we drove on up through Michigan along the lake
on a cold day, for us. We realized northern people are just different. They
swam in Lake Michigan on that cold day, in droves, while we stood shivering in
our coats watching them. Those pore' people just have no summer, and they just
work with what they have. They even acted like they enjoyed it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took a ferry over to Mackinac Island
and spent a fun day in a society with no motor vehicles. Even the UPS man drove
a horse and buggy. Someone clued us in on a neat little trick. Go into the
Library, pick up a newspaper which keeps you from loitering, walk out back, and
you will see the very best view of the island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;">Ontario’s One Damn
Road<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;">The bridge into Canada
was very tall, and driving over it in that tall RV was scary. Trying to get
directions from a native, he told us, “That won't be hard to find. Hell,
Ontario don't have but one damn road.” That proved to be almost true. Roads are
very hard to maintain in the winter, and road crews work hard on their One damn
road all summer. People seen to get impatient with the many long traffic delays
on that road. Once, we were stopped in a long line of backed up cars. A
northern redneck (yes, the South does not have the market cornered on rednecks)
got out of his car and yelled, “Hey! What's the trouble up there?” Someone
yelled back, “They're moving the bodies out of the road.” The redneck shut up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sudbury is a city with no living trees within miles, except for tiny
replants. A giant Nickel mine is located there, and the fumes from the plant
just killed everything except the people. (Maybe I should say, everthing but
the remaining people?) But, they had the most fantastic hands-on science center
I have ever seen. I wondered if that giant company had built that as somewhat
of an apology? I could have stayed in there for days. I even got to give a
colonoscopy to a dummy. Not a live one. Before we went the way of the trees, we
headed out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Ottowa, we toured the Parliament
Building, and Barbara got recruited to participate in some sort of play about
their government. Outside, a Mountie sat at attention on his horse, full
uniform, and Barbara tried to get him to get down and get his picture made with
her. He didn't even blink at her, so she just hung onto his leg while I took
the picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving on into Algonquin National Park, we
had just sat up camp when a French speaking family walked by. The kids started
chasing a chipmunk which ran right up into our camp and into a hole by Barbara.
She started talking to them, the parents yelled, “Americans!” and the kids fled
in terror. </span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"> You would have thought they had yelled “Rattlesnake!” but then, they
don't have any rattlesnakes up there. I guess they just had to have something
to fear, and we Americans were handy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got up really early to drive around to
look for wildlife, while Barbara slept in. I got a good look at, and several
good pictures of, a moose in all it's glory. Barbara was jealous. It would be
many weeks before she saw one. But then, what's time to a coupla' hogs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;">CONTINUED</span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-75825719116161580302018-07-21T06:09:00.001-07:002018-07-21T06:09:32.759-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: Memory Pearls - and a Regret<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/07/memory-pearls-and-regret.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: Memory Pearls - and a Regret</a>: SIXTY SOME ODD YEARS AGO, on a cold, rainy day, I found a tiny sparrow that seems to have fallen out of its nest. It had few feathers, see...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-46533176759808533032018-07-21T06:02:00.001-07:002018-07-21T06:02:17.429-07:00Memory Pearls - and a Regret<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">SIXTY SOME
ODD YEARS AGO, on a cold, rainy day, I found a tiny sparrow that seems to have
fallen out of its nest. It had few feathers, seemed to just barely be clinging
to life. I picked it up, carried it to the kitchen, wrapped it up in a warm cloth,
and placed it in the slightly-warm oven of our wood cook stove. Then I placed
it in a cardboard box in my room for the night. By morning, more feathers were
showing up, and it seemed to feel better. I fed it. After lunch, I took it
outside. It stood on my finger, and began its maiden flight. It aimed for a
fence post, missed it, turned around, flew back, and stood on it. It looked at
me, waved its wings at me, and left me forever as it flew off into its new
life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twenty or so years ago, I drove to school
one morning at Arkadelphia high. As I exited the interstate bridge, I saw what
appeared to be the crushed body of a small kitten in the middle of the highway.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I passed it, a tiny neck and head
peeked up. A string of half a dozen busses were approaching it. I pulled off,
jumped out of my car, ran to the front of the first bus, and threw up my left
hand, traffic cop like, and stopped the string of busses. I picked it up, took
it with me. By nightfall, it was feeling better. The next day, I gave it to a
sweet little girl who wanted it badly. She smiled and hugged it as she carried
it off to a much better future than it could have ever guessed, even a day
before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> These sweet moments always seem to stick in my mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you look at my wall page, you will see
hundreds of chickens out in front of my house. To the left of the picture, but
not is sight, sat our new chicken house, with 600 laying hens producing eggs
for the Hatchery at Plainview, Ar. But those chickens, in that house, were getting
tired of producing an egg a day. Those in front of our house were the next
generation of layers, destined to soon replace them. They were too young to
produce eggs large enough to market. But they were still producing hundreds of
small eggs each day in the huge barn that was on the right of the picture. Thus
during that short time in 1949, we all ate many, many very small, but very
good, eggs each day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the 1960’s, Barbara and I had just
married. She still liked to camp in the wilds with me, but that was not to last
long. We wanted a tent. I found a nice one at Walmart, right behind our house,
for $36. But we lived in a house trailer, and a small one at that, and we were
dirt poor. We were still debating spending that much money, when my friend who
I often fished with, came over. He was just a kid, as we were, and was a
college student studying finance. Years later, he turned out to be a financial
genus, managing money for many large companies. He told me,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pat, you need to rake together every penny
you can. A company up the road is about to have its initial stock offering.
That company is really going to go places. Buy all the stock you can!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tommy,” I said, “look at us. Look where
we live. We don’t have money.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tommy walked off, shaking his head. We
bought that $36 dollar tent that night. I still have it, somewhere, I think, up
in my attic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today my grandson Christian, who is 21 and
is, also, on his way to becoming a financial whiz, called me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Papaw, I hope you really enjoyed that
$36 tent. That $36, had it been invested in that first stock offering of that
company, would convert into $335 million today.” The company?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walmart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had
I decided differently, that fateful day, I would gladly give each of you who
read this a million or so. But, born a poor boy, destined to die a poor boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we did really enjoy that tent, right
up until the next Fourth of July, when some other camper burned a big hole in
it with his fireworks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-37003124343332969212018-07-18T12:32:00.001-07:002018-07-18T12:32:38.939-07:00Forever A Hillbilly: Goodbye Africa<a href="http://foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com/2018/07/goodbye-africa_18.html?spref=bl">Forever A Hillbilly: Goodbye Africa</a>: HEADING BACK HOME TO KENYA from Tanzania, a large truck had wrecked, totally blocking the road. A large crowd of very scary people, Masai,...Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530543844162584797.post-33430006075474391782018-07-18T12:23:00.001-07:002018-07-20T08:37:47.174-07:00Goodbye Africa<br />
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;">HEADING BACK HOME TO
KENYA from Tanzania, a large truck had wrecked, totally blocking the road. A
large crowd of very scary people, Masai, had gathered. They looked more
dangerous and wild than the others we had seen. The bus driver just hit the
ditch, spun, backed up, over and over again, before getting around this. It
looked like an impossible thing to do, but even I knew this would not be a good
place to stop. When we hit the pavement, I yelled, "Let's hear it for THE
MAN!" He got a big hand. He liked that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An older man and woman were on that bus.
They looked like they had been out in the bush for a very long time. I sat down
beside them, and started a conversation. I just had to know their story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were missionaries from Oregon. They
came to Moshe regularly, and stay a few months at a time. They daily travel in
a 4 wheel drive jeep to remote Masai villages, and minister to them. Their last
trip to Africa, they went to a village where the children of the chief were
sick. The witch doctor was not able to help them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chief called on the missionaries to
heal the children. They doctored them, to the best of their ability, and
prayed. When they returned to that village on this trip, the children were
well. The chief gave them, and God, all the credit. Along with that, he gave
them a large plot of land. They were returning to America to start raising
funds to build a hospital and a church on that land.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said they had gotten malaria often, but
they take a shot and go on. Their African guide and interpreter is also their
African connection, and travels with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have all heard stories of brave and
dedicated<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>African missionaries. The
African bush is full of many more we have not heard of. Many self sacrificing
men and women, from many countries, are fulfilling the Great Commission. These
people, and the seven missionaries at Rafiki, and Deb, are just a few. They are
bypassing the comforts of home, family, and security, and giving their lives to
this work. It is an honor for a pretend missionary, such as myself, to be able
to know and work alongside these people, if only for a short time. We knew Yeen
Lan was grooming us, hoping we would become full time missionaries. But no, we
had family at home, and were not ready for that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we got to the border, things were just as conjested as before.
Barbara picked the visa line she wanted, because it was manned by a guy who
seemed relatively friendly,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and
occasionally smiled. When we got up to his desk, Barbara poured it on. Smiling,
laughing, telling all about us being missionaries, and on and on. She passed
the old visa over to him. He was totally won over, and stamped our old visa,
not valid now, and smiling, said, "You have a great day." We thanked
him, and got gone quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was time to go home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We came to Nairobi just after the
President agreed to sign a power sharing agreement with the opposition. It
appeared the intertribal killing was over. It was not, but it has lessened. While
we were preparing to leave, the opposition seemed to be beginning to think he
didn't really mean it. (Whites were not yet being killed, but then, it would be very hard to find a white person in Kenya during this time.) Thus the killing was about to return with a vengence.
Perhaps we chose a wise time to come, and perhaps we are choosing an even wiser
time to go home. Africa has a way of getting into one's heart, making one
always want to return. Most likely, we will never see our wonderful kids again.
They are near college age now. Then again, maybe we<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> will</i> see them again. Either way, they will be in our hearts
forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-size: 20.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My new book, the story of Tooter, is still
available at The Yell County Record office at Danville, Emerson’s County Store
in Rover, Gypsy Junktion in Plainview, Hardman Interiors in Arkadelphia, or
at amazon.com. My other books, Spreading Wing and Forever Cry are available
also. Thanks for reading!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pat Gillumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16578776011589156763noreply@blogger.com0