Wildlife O' Plenty

News Brief: We thought we were on our way to town to choir practice yesterday (Sunday afternoon) but instead we took one of our Caravans out deer hunting. And guess what? We got one. When I called my son to make an appointment in the body shop I explained that it wasn't my fault, she ran into me. I didn't run into her. He said I should then check her for an insurance card. Also, since it was daytime and whereas Dan is always pretty sympathetic he asked, "So, now your peripheral vision is going?"

The following pictures are pretty typical early spring sights along I-80, as you cross Nebraska. (The Great Platte River Road)
When we went west last week, Marilyn shot these out of the car window.
The first three pics are of Sandhills Cranes. They fairly saturate the mid portion of the 300+ mile trip across the state.
The last picture is of geese which also cover the same area. These are a combination of Snows, Blues, and Canada's.
Even though it stretches for over a hundred miles this is not a sanctuary. It is a good example of what leaving well enough alone can do for nature. For this you can thank Nebraska Farmers not the Government. The migration has continued for thousands of years with this stop along the Platte River to feed and gain strength and weight before they continue the flight. The geese darkened the sky at times because of their great numbers.

On Our Trip Described Below...

We passed several big feedlots in Colorado. It made me wonder why large groups of cattle don't smell like leather? Instead of...well you know?
As you were.

Visiting the VIP'S

We got back yesterday (Monday PM) from the Loveland and Denver areas of Colorado. Marilyn's Dad had a medical procedure that went as well as could be expected. We also had a great visit with Char and Ralph. Ralph set the cooking standard pretty high while we were there. He cooked pot roast one evening for Char and I and then Marilyn joined us on Sunday and he fired up the smoker for salmon, ribs, and chicken. He's a busy man...by choice.
They have a large, lovely and nicely appointed home.
An added treat was meeting up with a nephew and his family from Ft Collins. They have a 3 week old baby boy. Add to all of this the fact that my Brother and his wife from New Mexico were there to meet this new grandson and it was quite a reunion weekend.
The trip home was like floating as we ran the weekend thru our minds.
I must say, I haven't laughed that much in a long while.

Right Wing Extremeist

Right Wing Extremist
By Cliff Morrow
Midwest Producer
3-13-2009 Edition

When my forefathers started their long trek to Eastern Nebraska from Virginia in the early 1800’s they moved first to Ohio and then Iowa and finally to the Missouri river which they crossed and then likely fell in a heap on this the Nebraska side. Morrows aren’t great swimmers (and few or none of us would know what to do with a bong for that matter) so we were afraid to go further west until they came up with the idea of bridges. I’m still here on the western bank of the river. Yes I have heard about the bridge thing.
These relatives of mine were almost all God fearing members of Baptist Churches along the way. My Mom and Dad believed basically the same thing that their parents believed. And they in turn were influenced by their parents and so on. Actually when I was young, you would have been hard pressed to find anyone with opposing points of view on almost any subject from those held by my parents.
I recall as a lad the discussions and lessons learned while gathered around the dinner table about religion, capitalism, socialism, freedom, free enterprise, abortion, ethics, those who cheat, why it was important to keep the government out of agriculture and business, and why we need to pay our fair share of taxes and countless other subjects.
I as a result, have ended up believing almost exactly what my Great-Great Grand Mothers and Fathers believed. And now, even though I haven’t changed positions on any of these topics, I have become the target, the bad guy. (In your mind now insert those musical notes from the movie, The Good , The Bad and The Ugly.) Yes, I’m the bad.
The national media would now refer to me as an extremist, a religious zealot if you will, and because of my refusal to change my beliefs I am also intolerant of others. Hey, nothing has changed for centuries and besides, I’m just trying to farm here.
In contemplating this, I’m not sure I should change my views so others can feel better about themselves. Wouldn’t that be a nifty and subversive way to destroy a country or a society or a church or almost anything that requires a bit of fortitude?
Remember, when this is all over, they won’t need to answer to me, or I to them.
Let me put this another way, If everyone in a Ford car club decides that to belong to the club you MUST drive a Ford in the parades, then I would suggest that you don’t join the club and show up at a parade driving your Rambler and then accuse everyone else of trying to make you feel bad because you drove a Rambler. You’ll likely respond with something like, “I’m going to take those intolerant Ford folks to court and force them to allow Ramblers into the Ford Club parades.” “They’re stepping on my rights as a Rambler owner.” The good news for you is that the Supreme Court would likely back you on this one. Why you ask, because it makes no sense.
Yes my friends, I began life standing directly in the middle of the road. And without moving so much as an inch, I’ve ended up in the ditch on the right.
I fear someone is intentionally moving the middle of the road.
I'll be in touch next Monday or so. I have to visit some VIP's.

Don't Yell At The Dog Over Spilled Milk

To fully appreciate what I'm going to tell you, you need to know that from our front door, it is 16 feet straight across the living room to the doorway into the kitchen. From that doorway it's another 12 feet to the front of the kitchen sink.
Now I shall begin: Church eating events seem to get the best of me. The most recent escapade was last friday night. Our mens group was going to meet at church to assemble breakfast casseroles for a Saturday morning breakfast. We were hosting the Omahaland Association.
I reached home with only 5 minutes to load up the supplies I was going to take to church with me.
I had some groceries in my van when I arrived home that I needed to put in the house before I started bringing my supplies out. I had all of the groceries in my hands, (don't you love the plastic sacks, you can load soooo many groceries in each hand.)
As I reached the front door I had one empty finger left to trip the storm door. As it opened, the dog tried to get in and at the same time the wind caught the door and ripped it out of my fingers grasp. I tried to stop the dog from entering the house and save the door and it's closing cylinder, by trying to use another finger to catch the door. So I missed the door and dropped the gallon of milk I was holding in my right hand.
The milk landed on it's top on our concrete porch. As it lit it apparently built up a lot of pressure which it released through a small slit that developed.
I was standing squarely in the middle of the door and it soaked my jeans from the knees down. I had so much milk on me that one wouldn't have thought much could have gotten past me.
Wrong.
The storm door, the inside door, the door to the closet which is on your immediate left and the entry floor were all white washed.. That wouldn't have been bad but the milk squirted all over the living room carpet and walls, and ceiling, plus the doorway into the kitchen (remember a distance of 16 feet) and on into the kitchen where it painted all of the appliances, floor and kitchen sink.
It would have taken me 5 minutes with a Hudson sprayer to duplicate this.
I immediately said something. I don't remember what however. I know it was very brief. Maybe just a word..or two. But whatever it was that I said, made the dog leave. Or maybe she left because of the way I said it.
But that's okay, I'm pretty sure it was the dogs fault anyway.
Addendum: This reminded me of a story we used to tell back when I was a kid. Seems that during world war II, pilots trained over the homeland by dropping 'dummy' bombs. They didn't blow up but it was good practice. On one occasion they accidentally dropped a live round into a pasture. It lit next to, and blew up a cow that was being milked at the time of the explosion. The cow was blown to smitherings. (here you quit telling the joke and wait for the listener to ask) Well, what happen to the farmer?
A: He was left holding the bag.
Yes I'll stop.

Grandaughter Georgia With Dad: In Good Hands I'd Say

Other arms reach out to me

Other eyes smile tenderly

Still in peaceful dreams I see

The road leads back to you

I said Georgia,Ooh Georgia,

no peace I find

Just an old sweet song

Keeps Georgia on my mind

Washington Irving Wrote...

~There is sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable Love. ~ Washington Irving (1783-1859)