Bush League

My aunt Violet Miner Bottomley and Uncle Charles had a large garden and several fruit trees on their property in Mill Run, Pennsylvania The garden had raised beds and when my family visited there were certain rules for us kids. We couldn’t go into the garden and could only eat apples that had fallen to the ground. My favorite tasting was the sweet and juicy Grimes Golden apples. We weren’t allowed to “encourage” an apple to fall.

Aunt Violet had several golden currant bushes at the perimeter of her yard. They were also off limits, but often the allure of their tangy flavor often me to err. I’d eat only a handful of two as I hunkered down concealed among the leaves as we played “Hide & Seek” with the other cousins. Violet wanted a good harvest when she made currant jelly.

Uncle Charles also had a Concord grape arbor. The rules about eating the grapes were less stringent than with the apples or the currants. We could eat the grapes as long as we didn’t waste them.

The other story about bushes that comes to mind happened at Granddad and Grandma Miner’s house. Grandma Rebecca Miner had a large lilac bush at one side of her house. The bush had a few trunks that were about 4 inches in diameter and rose nearly 12 feet high. They were surrounded by a multitude of slender shoots. When cousins congregated for holidays It made the perfect place of concealment as we played “Hide & Seek.”

Gram loved her lilacs and we knew it was off limits, but that didn’t stop me. I entered the maze of saplings. I knew if someone parted the leaves, I’d be discovered easily, so I climbed the thick trunk and edged out on a nearly horizontal branch where I wouldn’t be seen. It was a great place to hide…until my foot slipped and I fell. I didn’t fall too far, my heel caught in the crotch of a branch and like a bat, I hung upside down unable to free myself.

I yelled for someone to get help. My granddad Ray responded. Pushing his way into the maze of the lilac bush, he stopped when he came face to face to face with me, although mine was upside down. In his usual quiet manner, he said, “You know you shouldn’t be in Grandma’s lilac bush. I have half a notion to leave you there.”

Being Young Again Isn’t Something to Be Wished For

Tuesday morning at 12.45 AM, I was awakened by my cell phone’s distinctive ring. My ring tone is Popeye the Sailor Man. Hearing that sound so early in the morning is quite disturbing. My thoughts were, “Who’s calling me at this time of night?” I didn’t look at the caller’s identification, but quickly answered, thinking it could be one of my kids who was calling in an emergency.

It wasn’t any of my family, but a friend who was stranded in the local emergency department and needed a ride to get home. I’ve been her chauffeur many times in the past. I said, “I’ll be down as soon as I can climb into clothes.” Besides getting dressed, it took me a few minutes to screw my head on straight and adjust my eyes, getting the sandman’s recent deposit removed.

My car was covered in dew. The wipers swept off the dew, but I had to wait until the heater cleared the inside of my windshield before I could see to drive. The brightness of approaching car lights and the reflection from the huge yellow traffic signs pierced the fog in my head, but I was able to navigate the familiar route to my old employer, H. C. Frick Hospital. I worked there for 34 years. Since Excela took over there have been many changes in architecture, but it still felt like home to me.

I parked my car at the entrance and strode inside. I forgot that hospitals are still requiring masks and I didn’t have one on. I didn’t think about it as I gained access to the inner sanctum of the emergency rooms. I thought, “As long as I’m not confronted about it, I’m not going to worry.” And I didn’t.

I gathered my friend and walked her out to my waiting car and helped her in. I had a surprise for her. I told her, “I didn’t wear a mask AND I was carrying my pistol in my pocket.” Weapons are banned from hospitals.

She surprised me by saying, “I couldn’t think of anyone else to call. You’re the only one I know that can still drive at night.” Wonderful! I guess I don’t need to drink Pepsi to feel young.

I got her to her home saying, “Good night and sleep well.”

Heading home, the car lights and sign reflections seemed a little less bright. I was glad to be home to pen my experience before I convinced myself it was just a dream. 

 

Roe Roe Roe the Vote

No matter which side of the recent monumental decision of the Supreme Court a person stands, it stirs up emotions in everyone’s life. Whether you stand on the side to continue abortions and considering it a right or whether you agree with the court’s decision and oppose the act of abortion. It’s created quite a fervor. For nearly 50 years the decision of Roe Versus Wade has allowed abortions to be legal. Many people were opposed to that judgment, but because it was deemed “legal” they kept the peace. Even though they felt it was wrong. They would protest at Planned Parenthood Clinics across America even though a few radicals took it upon themselves to commit acts of arson or kill doctors. Peaceful protesters marched in front of these clinics on public walkways in an attempt to sway pregnant females into keeping their pregnancy viable until they could decide to raise or adopt the infant once born.

I’ve been seeing posts since the reversal of Roe V Wade, “By banning abortion, you say love children and yet refuse to ban guns.” They ignore the reasons that weapons were created. Since the beginnings of mankind he’s used weapons to hunt and keep his family fed, healthy, and alive. He’s also used weapons to protect his home from invasion and to keep his family safe and protected. A gun is a tool. Good or evil? It’s in the thoughts of the owner. The crux of the matter is why, what is their intent?

A rope is a tool, an axe is a tool, a knife is a tool, and even a plastic bag is a tool but if it’s perverted from its original purpose? A scalpel is a tool as is a suction curette or a pair of forceps designed to help doctors in saving lives, but they can be used to destroy the lives of unborn infants safely cocooned in their mother’s womb. Abortionists have only one goal and that is death. God’s laws forbid murder. No matter the reasoning for man’s laws, they do not supersede God’s laws, the Creator of all life. Blood from millions of aborted children has stained the hands of Americans. Supporting Planned Parenthood under the guise of a woman’s health makes us more culpable.

We will have to wait to see if those who support abortions will accept the court’s decision or respond with mayhem that we’ve seen in the past when things don’t go their way. They’ve already made attempts to sway Supreme Court judges threatening violence. Politicians have entered the fray by asking crowds to “roar” with episodes of anarchy.

 

Rooster Tales and Other Roadway Hazards

Over my lifetime I’ve had several unusual occurrences while driving between Mill Run and Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania. The last one happened over a year ago, not that a flat tire is an unusual event, but let me explain. I’d spent the day frying sausage at the Buckwheat and Sausage Festival for the Ohiopyle Volunteer Fire Department. All I wanted was to get off my feet and relax. Not long after I left the parking lot, I began to feel the beginning of a flat. I was praying that I could make it through the less populated areas to Mill Run. It wasn’t to be. As I crossed the bridge below Falling Waters, I felt it go completely flat. Bear Run Church and school house was next with a parking lot and a light to see what I was doing. I pulled in so the light was on the flat. I managed to get the car jacked up, but due to a shoulder injury, I wasn’t able to loosen the wheel nuts. Just about then a man in uniform (I assume he was a guard for the Conservancy) pulled in to see what I was doing. When I explained that I had a flat, he generously offered his assistance. I was so tired and so thankful.

Another incident happened as I was driving to the Buckwheat Festival years before. Crossing the crest of a hill there was a fawn standing in the middle of the highway. My eyes were focused on it. I missed seeing another fawn’s corpse on the road and ran over it with a thump.

Another time I was driving to the Buckwheat festival, a rusted muffler had fallen from another car. It was in my lane. I was too close and instead of swerving to miss it and possibly lose control of my car, I straddled it. Of course it hung up on the underside of my car. The loud grating sparked brightly in the predawn darkness. I slowed planning to stop and it rolled loose after I’d driven several yards.

I wasn’t heading to Ohiopyle, but I was visiting my brother-in-law David Morrison. As we were leaving his driveway that sloped upward to put us at eyelevel with the roadway, we heard a grating sound and waited to see what was coming. A car whizzed past with its “muffler” dragging. A huge rooster tail of sparks shot out the back. As it passed, gasoline fumes filled our car. It was the guy’s gas tank. David said, “Do you think we should follow him and let him know.”

I said, “He knows something is dragging and I don’t want anywhere near him if it blows.”

Is the Grass Greener

Is it just me or does the grass seem to grow faster this year?  Could it be that we’ve seemingly had more rain falling this spring? Or is it that I am beginning to suffer from the “Old-man-with-a-riding lawn mower” syndrome. Everyone knows an old man somewhere with his riding lawn mower who started out mowing his lawn once a week to keep his lawn tidy that has evolved into the person who mows twice a week because some of his grass grows faster and the lawn has become untidy. I’m beginning to feel those “untidy urges” but so far they are being held at bay by the higher cost of gasoline.

It may also be a feeling that I don’t have enough time sitting in the seat of my lawn mower. I used to mow my old neighbor’s lawn while I had my mower out. They were an older couple and it only took a little more time and fuel to mow there grass as well. That way both of our lawns looked well kept.

Since they have passed away a new much younger couple has bought the yellow brick ranch house. As a courtesy while they were moving in and were getting settled, I continued to mow their lawn too because they were busy and it only took a bit more of my time. I mowed their lawn maybe three times before the husband told me that I didn’t need to mow any more. He had his lawn mower now and could do it. I’d already cut a swath across his front lawn and I said “Let me finish the front of the house. I won’t do the back.” He consented.

I can’t figure out whether I’m missing the saddle time on my mower or whether that old man syndrome arises when I see the sunny faces of dandelion bloom appearing in my yard that causes me to watch the weather channel prophets to make decisions about my battle plan to determine the day of the assault on my lawn. Sometimes I withhold the itching of my trigger finger until it coincides with a dry day when I drive my John Deere “tank” over the grassy terrain to cut down the tall green enemy.

 I wish I had the same overwhelming desire to break out my weed whacker and tackle the high grass and weeds at the edges of my property where I can’t cut with my lawn mower. I think to myself, “Do I want to dig the weed whacker out of storage and pack it around?” Riding my mower is one thing, but I don’t believe I was cut out for the infantry.