A look back at 2015

Baby New Year 1905 chases old 1904 into the history books…”

 

The image above shows Baby New Year 1905 as “personification of the start of the New Year.”

(Personification is giving “human form and characteristics to abstract concepts such as nations and natural forces likes seasons and the weather.”  Or of a whole new blank slate.)

So this personification of New-Year-as-baby symbolizes a rebirth.  (Spiritual or otherwise.)  In turn the birth of that New Year can only come with the passing – the “dying” – of the Old Year.

But before thinking too much on the possibilities presented by “Baby 2016” – like the personified Baby 1908 at right – it helps to look back at the year just past.  (I.e., 2015.)

That is, the end of an old year – and birth of a new year – is a time to “take stock and review the outgoing year.”  It’s a time to look back at the “wins, the challenges, the mistakes” of the old year.  And it’s a time to identify areas for improvement.

So for starters, I did my first post here last March 12.

On “Birdman,” the movie reviewed the “2014 American black comedydrama film” starring Michael Keaton.  (An actor playing a “faded Hollywood actor.”)

And just as an aside, I started this blog as a spin-off of my first blog, DOR Scribe.  (This one let me work on more “secular” issues, like weird movies with “farce and morbid humor … on subject matter usually considered taboo.”)   But unfortunately, it took awhile to translate the lessons learned from that other blog.  As a result, Birdman looks a bit “blog-primitive…”

At least to me and in hindsight.

But Birdman also reminded me why I started this blog.  In large part it was and is an homage to Harry Golden and his style of writing.  For years he published and wrote the Israelite, “a pre-Internet blog of sorts.”  And eventually – in 1958 – his book Only in America came out.  A collection of what today would be called his “blog posts.”

Harry’s book Only in America has been “an inspiration [to me] ever since…”

Birdman also explained the blog’s nom de plume, “Georgia Wasp.”  Then there was this:

Apparently there’s a website, “dating psychos…”  One of the bulletins tells of a crazy guy – “Alias ‘Georgia Wasp’” – who is said to be a “pathological liar” who’s been “married many times and has cheated on each wife with multiple partners!”

So here’s a heads up:  I’m not that guy!!!

Exodus: Of Gods and Kings, out on December 12 in U.S. theaters tells the story of Moses (played by Christian Bale, left) rising up against the Egyptian pharaoh Rhamses (played by Joel Edgerton, right)So anyway, on March 28 I moved on to review “Exodus: Gods and Kings.”  (Complete with images of Moses – Christian Bale, at left – and Ramses – Joel Edgerton, at right.)  

One thing I liked about the movie was how it showed Moses growing ever more senescent.  (Thanks largely to his having to metaphorically herd cats or “shovel fleas.”)  I noted that something like that happened to Abraham Lincoln, after four years as president:

He arrived at the White House as a sinewy 6-foot-4, 180-pound strongman.  In the course of four years, he dropped 30 pounds.  “He was sunken-eyed and grizzled, nothing like that bright-eyed lawyer of Springfield [and] looks 75 years old, but he’s 56.”

That led to some lessons including this:  To “the icons that we choose to throw our cares and responsibilities on – like Moses – we followers are pretty much a pain in the neck.”

Which seems especially apropos as the 2016 election season heats up.

SwampWaterPoster.jpgOther post-highlights from 2015 included Operation Pogo – “Into the Okefenokee,” and The mysterious death of Ashley Wilkes.

Pogo” – told in three parts – was about fulfilling a life-long dream. The dream involved and led to an overnight camping trip deep into the sinister and mysterious “Swamp Water” locale.  (The Okefenokee Swamp, as illustrated by the 1941 movie poster at left.)

Ashley Wilkes detailed the circumstances surrounding the mysterious death of Leslie Howard.  (Best known for playing Wilkes in 1939’s Gone with the Wind.)  

Briefly, the commercial airliner in which he was flying got shot down by eight German fighter-bombers in 1943.  It happened over the Bay of Biscay – west of France – on a flight from ostensibly-neutral Lisbon and London.

The shoot-down spawned a number of conspiracy theories.  One said German spies mistook Howard’s friend and bodyguard for Winston Churchill.  Another noted Nazi propaganda chief Joseph Goebbels calling Howard “Britain’s most dangerous propagandist.”  A third said Howard really was a British spy, on a secret mission with the help of the beautiful Conchita Montenegro.  (One of many women with whom he’d ostensibly had a “torrid love affair.”)

That post ended:  “And some people think those were better and simpler times…”

And speaking of politics…  On April 2, I posted On Blue Dogs and the “Via Media.”  It addressed the dearth of moderate Republicans and conservative Democrats.  One point the post made was that the Political Middle [Seems To Have] Disappeared.  But the good news seems to that our political system was “specifically designed to keep moving back to the middle, even though it’s clumsy at times.”

In other words, “Don’t Forget That Politics is Cyclical.”  That – I wrote – could be “the best political news ‘we’ve’ heard in a long time…”

http://inapcache.boston.com/universal/site_graphics/blogs/bigpicture/kennedy_08_31/k15_20120853.jpgThen came “Great politicians sell hope” on June 12.  (Featuring the shot at right, of Ronald Reagan and Ted Kennedy “supping” with a political enemy.)  That post led off with the Peanuts cartoon below.  That in turn was a kind of spin-off from a quote from Chris Matthew’s 2007 book, Life’s a Campaign.  I then wrote:  “When I [first] heard that a few days ago I thought, ‘What rock have you  been living under?‘”

But then I noted that Matthews’ book – after actually reading it – gave me a sense that our presidents have been mostly “decent, honorable and capable.”  And it gave me a sense “that the same applies to politicians in general.  (Gasp!)”  Then a third thought: Maybe politicians today are especially nasty because too many voters they’re trying to woo are just plain nasty.

But the 1950s and ’60s – when Harry Golden did most of his writing – weren’t any bed of roses either.  (They featured McCarthyism Vietnam War protests, and the Civil Rights Movement.)   Yet through all those dark years, Harry Golden exuded hope.

All of which brings us back to the old saying noted in the Peanuts cartoon [below], that in “bad times or hopelessness, it is more worthwhile to do some good, however small … than to [just] complain about the situation.”  See also Better to light a single candle.  And that great bloggers – like great politicians – should work harder on “selling hope.”

Which is exactly what this blog will try to do.  In 2016 … and Beyond!

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The upper image is courtesy of New Year – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.  The full caption:  “Baby New Year 1905 chases old 1904 into the history books in this cartoon by John T. McCutcheon.”  See also ‘Ringing’ Or ‘Bringing In The New Year:’ A History.

 The full “take stock” quote is courtesy of The Year in Review (Huffington Post):

Before we start to talk about the plans, goals and resolutions for the new year.  It is important to take stock and review the outgoing year.  This includes looking at the wins, the challenges, the mistakes, the areas for improvement and just appreciate how are you feeling at this time of the year.  When you take the time to take stock of the past year’s experiences you will achieve 2 things[:]   1) Ability to count your blessings[; and]  2) Identify the areas for improvement.

Re:  “Life’s a Campaign.”  (“What Politics Has Taught Me about Friendship, Rivalry, Reputation, and Success.”)  My first exposure to the book was listening to the six hour book-on-CD version.  

The Reagan-Kennedy image is courtesy of www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/08/senator_ted_kennedy.

The lower “stupid darkness” cartoon is courtesy of You Stupid Darkness! | Kurtis Scaletta’s Site, which in turn links to comics.com/peanuts, “one of the most amazing but little-known Internet resources.”  See also lightasinglecandle.wordpress, and The 5 Greatest (newspaper) Comic Strips Of All Time.

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Other notable 2015 posts included On American History, “patched and piebald,” the Mid-summer Travelog series, and On RABBIT – and “60 is the new 30,” Parts I and Part II.

“Piebald” talked about history as it actually happens – and is lived through – compared to how we learned in schools.  In “school-taught” history, the Founding Fathers – for example – knew exactly what they were doing.  They were “carried [on] by a sure and steady tide.”  But the more-real version – history actually lived through – was “improvised, patched together, made up from one moment to the next.”  That thought was exemplified by John Adams, a Founding Father himself:

I’ll not be in the history books.  Only Franklin.  Franklin did this, and Franklin did that, and Franklin did some other damn thing.  Franklin smote the ground, and out sprang General Washington, fully grown and on his horse…

The Mid-summer Travelogs were on a two-week early-July road trip to Atlantic City and New York City. Modeled on Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, they spoke of pilgrimages in general, driving pilgrimages especially, and had a nod to a canoe trip 12 miles offshore.  Part II added this:

Maybe understanding is only possible after.  Years ago when I used to work in the woods it was said of lumber men that they did their logging in the whorehouse and their sex in the woods.  (E.A.)

Which was another way of saying it seems we can’t truly enjoy our “road trips” until they’re over; “Now that my trip is over … I can look back and relish the memories just lived through.”

And finally, RABBIT [and] “the new 30” talked about the series of books by John Updike centered on Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom.  They started with Rabbit as a new father in 1960.  Then:

Updike revisited his hero toward the end of each of the following decades in the second half of this American century; and in each of the subsequent novels … Updike has chronicled the frustrations and ambiguous triumphs … the loves and frenzies, the betrayals and reconciliations of our era.

Part II led off remembering when you could buy a beer at a bar for 40 cents and leave a dime tip.  But at the same time, turning 65 back then meant you looked and felt old, with “liverish scoops” below your eyes and broken veins on the sides of your nose.  But these days a 60-year-old looks like this: 

http://img2-2.timeinc.net/people/i/2014/news/140210/christie-brinkley-300.jpg

“Here’s to Plough Monday!”

January 6 – last of the 12 Days of Christmas – leads to “Plough Monday…”

 

Christmas Day has come and gone.  But that doesn’t mean the Christmas season is over.  As noted last year here, the Twelve Days of Christmas are “both a festive Christmas season” and the title of a “host of songs and spin-offs (including one on a Mustang GT):”

The Twelve Days of Christmas [begin] on Christmas Day (25 December)[, they celebrate] the birth of Jesus [and are] also known as Christmastide…   The Feast of the Epiphany is on 6 January [and] celebrates the visit of the Wise Men (Magi) and their bringing of gifts to the child Jesus.  In some traditions, the feast of Epiphany and Twelfth Day overlap.

The post also said that technically this holiday season really started back on Halloween.

The thing is, winters back in the really old days – when life was nasty, brutish and short – were really long and really boring.  So folks back then looked for any good reason to throw a party and get sloshed.  (Which explains why the “party season” started on Halloween.)

So in one sense you could say the end of that extended holiday season comes on January 6.

But in another sense you could say the season extends to the Monday following January.  That’s the Monday known as Plough Monday.  (Which is another way of saying some of the post-Christmas holidays and/or Feast Days can be extremely confusing.)  So the end of that extended holiday season – this year, on January 11 – was also known as Plough Monday.

Getting back to January 6, another name for it was Twelfth Night.  That in turn was the name of famous play by William Shakespeare.  The play “expanded on the musical interludes and riotous disorder expected of the occasion,” to wit: the “occasion of the ‘drunken revelry’ of 12th Night.”

And finally, January 6th has yet another name.  It is perhaps best known as the Epiphany.

But getting back to Plough Monday:  In England it marks the start of the new Agricultural Year.  The Church of England had a long church service to mark the occasion, with prayers for a bountiful harvest.  And that service included both a blessing of the seed to be planted and a “blessing of the plough” – as illustrated at right:

Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation:  for in your abundant care you have given us fertile land, rich soil, the seasons in their courses…  By your blessing, let this plough be a sign of all that you promise to us.  Prosper the work of our hands, and provide abundant crops for your people to share.

In turn, Plough Monday was preceded by Plough Sunday.  Plough Sunday was seen as a way of celebrating farming and the work of farmers, in church.  But since you weren’t supposed to work on Sundays – back in the good old days – the new agricultural year didn’t really start until the next work day:  “work in the fields did not begin until the day after Plough Sunday.”

Put another way:  Since Epiphany always came on January 6, Plough Sunday came on the Sunday after the Epiphany.  (The Sunday between January 7 and January 13.)  Thus Plough Monday is usually the first Monday after Twelfth Day (Epiphany), 6 January.

The point of all this – January 6, Plough Monday, etc. – was to have one more big blast before getting back to work.  (Resuming farm-work after the extended Christmas holiday season.)  As such it was one more occasion for general tomfoolery, as shown in the top picture:

In some areas, particularly in northern England and East England, a plough was hauled from house to house in a procession, collecting money.  They were often accompanied by musicians, an old woman or a boy dressed as an old woman, called the “Bessy,” and a man in the role of the “fool.”

In turn it may  help to remember that one big reason for all this general tomfoolery was that – otherwise – life back then was indeed “nasty, brutish and short.”

And finally, people usually celebrated Plough Monday by eating Plough Pudding, as seen at left:  A “boiled suet pudding, containing meat and onions.  It is from Norfolk and is eaten on Plough Monday.”

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All of which brings up the topic of Ringing In The New YearThat web article noted that bells – as in the ringing of bells – are “a deeply spiritual part of ushering in both life and death for ancient cultures.  (In a practice that serves as an “apt metaphor for the changing of the New Year.”

Or see New Year – Wikipedia, which noted that New Year’s Day wasn’t always January 1:

During the Middle Ages in western Europe … authorities moved New Year’s Day variously, depending upon locale, to one of several other days, among them: March 1, March 25, Easter, September 1, and December 25.  These New Year’s Day changes generally reverted to using January 1 [with] local adoptions of the Gregorian calendar, beginning in 1582…

Note also that the ancient Hebrews celebrated a type of New Year with Rosh Hashanah.  (Hebrew for “head of the year.”)  Rosh Hashanah is a two day holiday “commemorating the culmination of the seven days of Creation, and marking God’s yearly renewal of His world.”

As for January 1, that started in Rome:  “During the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire years began on the date on which each consul first entered office.”  But then in 45 BC – and the new “Julian calendar” – the Roman Senate fixed January 1 as the first day of the year.

At that time, this was the date on which those who were to hold civil office assumed their official position, and it was also the traditional annual date for the convening of the Roman Senate. This civil new year remained in effect throughout the Roman Empire, east and west, during its lifetime and well after, wherever the Julian calendar continued in use.

So here’s wishing you a happy, healthy and prosperous 2016 in advance!

 

Baby New Year 1905 chases old 1904 into the history books…”

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Note that this post was modeled on a similar one at DOR Scribe, my other blog.

Re: Mustang GT.  See also Jeff Foxworthy – Redneck 12 Days Of Christmas lyrics.

Re: “Nasty, brutish and short.”  That’s a quote from the book Leviathan, written by Thomas Hobbes and published in 1651.  Hobbes described the natural state of mankind as a “warre of every man against every man,” a life which was in turn “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. See Wikipedia, and also Nasty, brutish and short – meaning and origin.

The lower image is courtesy of New Year – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.  The full caption:  “Baby New Year 1905 chases old 1904 into the history books in this cartoon by John T. McCutcheon.”  See also ‘Ringing’ Or ‘Bringing In The New Year:’ A History.

 

“In the Heart of the Sea”

image: Sperm Whaling:  The Chase

“Sperm Whales – The Chase…”

 

 I first read about the Essex 54 years ago.  (I was 10 or so.)

My aunt gave me a set of American Heritage Junior Books.  The one I liked best was The Story of Yankee Whaling.  (Published in 1959.)

But that book didn’t just include the story of the Wreck of the Essex. (With a POW – loosely translated as “angry whale” – ramming and sinking a ship, as shown in Ron Howard’s new In the Heart of the Sea.)

 Yankee Whaling also included the gory tale of Samuel Comstock, star of the “bloodiest mutiny in the history of American whaling,” on the whale-ship Globe:

The mutineers [in 1815] killed Captain Worth and three other officers.  Soon after William Humphries, one of the mutineers, was accused of plotting to take the ship; a kangaroo court of the mutineers tried him and, finding him guilty, hanged him.

Yankee Whaling had vivid descriptions of the mutineers hacking up some victims – mostly officers – and throwing others to the sharks.  (Just the stuff 10-year-old boys love to read.)

Which could mean the Globe mutiny will soon be “coming to a theater near you.”  In the meantime we have Heart of the Sea.  That movie shows a whale sinking a ship, then “stalking” the survivors 2,000 miles across the vast Pacific.  (In a bit of Hollywood hyperbole.)

In the Heart of the Sea poster.jpgOn the other hand – in 90 days at sea, in small leaky boats and without enough food or water – the eight survivors of the Essex did things that the Globe mutineers would likely have found revolting.  (See the classic joke, re:  “the peasants are revolting.”)

There’s more on that later, but first note Garry Wills‘ version of the Lord’s prayer.  His version reads, “and bring us not to the Breaking Point.”  (Instead of the usual “lead us not into temptation.”)

Briefly, Heart of the Sea tells the story of eight men – survivors of the original crew of 21 – who got forcibly taken to their breaking point, then well beyond that.

Which is another way of saying the original – true – story was bad enough.

The problem?  The true story of eight men surviving 90 days of living hell – on the vast Pacific – is both incredibly long and incredibly boring.  (On film anyway.)  Which is another way of saying that amount of living hell doesn’t translate well to film.  So in making the movie, Howard had to take liberties with some facts and make up others out of whole cloth.

Despite all that, the film earned my highest compliment.  I paid three times more than usual – to see the IMAX version – and still felt like I got my money’s worth.

Getting back to the Essex:  I read the American Heritage version 50 years ago.  Then five or six years ago I came across the book version of Heart of the Sea, by Daniel Philbrick.

The heart of the story – what made Philbrick’s book different – was that tale of eight men in small boats, undergoing 90 days of heat, hunger and thirst.  And the book version gave that long, boring ordeal its full scope.  But a film is like a shark.  It has to move – visibly – or it will “die.”  (Lose its audience.  Or to paraphrase McLuhan, “the format shapes the message.”)

Accordingly, in making a film of Heart of the Sea, Ron Howard came up with a workable yet eminently appealing mix of fact and fiction.  For starters, he used the classic seafaring style, focusing on “two quarrelling men in charge of a big ship, like Mutiny on the Bounty” – as shown at left – “or Jaws.”  (See “scurvy and beards.”)

Another twist was the flashback:  One remaining survivor – Thomas Nickerson – interviewed by Herman Melville (“Moby Dick“) some 30 years after Nickerson served as cabin boy on the Essex.

And “young cabin boys” raise an historical anomaly:

In 1822 … New England mothers sent their sons to kill whales in the Pacific Ocean at an age when modern parents would think twice about letting them have the car for a weekend.

Which brings up an early departure of fact in the film.  Melville actually interviewed Pollard, long after he’d lost his “captaincy.”  Some three years after the Essex sank, Pollard commanded the whale-ship Two Brothers when it sank.  (Off the Frigate Shoals.)  So by the time he got interviewed by Melville, Pollard had been demoted to “night-watchman” on Nantucket Island.  (And as such considered a “nobody” to the islanders.)

And speaking of anomalies:  The film showed First Mate Owen Chase as the real hero.  It also showed Pollard as both a man who owed his captaincy to nepotism – connections – and a lesser sailor than Chase.  But once the ramming happened, Pollard recommended a shorter course to a closer set of islands.  (A course that would take advantage of prevailing “tail winds.”)

But unlike the cliche “Captain Bligh,” Pollard let himself be persuaded by Chase.  So the three small boats set sail for South America – 2,000 miles away – against the prevailing winds.  But as Wikipedia noted:  “Herman Melville later speculated that all would have survived had they followed Captain Pollard’s recommendation and sailed west.”

(It seems Chase and the crew feared the closer islands – the Marquesas – were inhabited by cannibals.  Which seems highly ironic, given what actually happened later...)

In yet another departure from fact, the real whale didn’t stalk the boats 2,000 miles across the Pacific.  Nor did the whale “have a moment” with Chase, near the end of 90 days adrift.  (When Chase refused to harpoon the whale-stalker, despite Pollard’s goading to do so.)

The film did feature an accurate translation of a “Nantucket sleighride“,” as seen at right.   It also showed a “flurry:”  The dying whale spraying his tormentors with a mixture of blood from his pierced lungs, along with mucus and seawater.  (In some manner of Freudian anointing.)

Then there were the “chockpins” worn by experienced whalers.  What the film didn’t show: They were apparently worn to “get babes.”

Then there was the matter of the boats landing on Henderson Island.  (Not Ducie Island, as in the film.)  Years after the wreck three skeletons were found on Ducie Island.  They were believed to be from the lost third-of-three boats “never to be seen again,” but that was never confirmed.

And finally, the film ended with two popular tropes.   One was that of corrupt businessmen, in the form of a “board of inquiry.”  The money-grubbing businessmen on the Nantucket board were shown arm-twisting Chase and Pollard to say the Essex ran aground, and that the missing crew-members drowned.  (They were afraid of higher insurance rates.)

A “board of inquiry” that apparently never took place, or at least not in that way.

The other was the look into the future trope.  The film ended with Nickerson and Melville parting ways after the all-night session of drinking, recalling and writing.  Nickerson told Melville – with faint disbelief – of a “new” discovery of oil, in the ground, somewhere in Pennsylvania…

Which led to the cartoon “whale celebration” below..

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All in all, Heart of the Sea is a film well worth seeing.  For those who’d love to get a feel for the pure adventure, “such as befell early and heroic voyagers…”  And especially for those who’d love to get a feel for being “alone, alone, all all alone, alone on the wide, wide sea…”

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Whales “celebrating the discovery” of oil in Pennsylvania…

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The upper image is courtesy of Artifact Article: Sperm Whaling: The Chase:

Three whale ships can be seen in the background, while two whaleboats are in the foreground.  In the whaleboats, boatsteerers are seen with their harpoons raised.  As they chase the whale, one can image that the call “thar She blows!” was sounded, as several whales can be seen spouting as they surface.

The illustration was by Benjamin Russell, born into a family of whaling merchants.  He started work in the office of a whaling agent in New Bedford, MA, but “showed more aptitude for drawing than business, often to the displeasure of his superiors.”  He later spent four years on the whale ship Kutusoff.  There his “acute observational sensitivity” resulted in sketches with “impeccable detail…  Russell’s images were rendered with mastered accuracy rather than artistic intention.” 

See also Benjamin Russell: Whaleman-Artist, Entrepreneur | New Bedford.

For more on the sources used in this post, see the notes below.

The “Story of Yankee Whaling” image is courtesy of American Heritage Junior Library | Series | LibraryThing.  See also American Heritage Junior Library | eBaywhere the book is available individually for $1.95, or as part of a set of seven, for $21.00.  For more on the author, see below.

Re: Samuel Comstock.  See also Globe (1815 whaleship) – Wikipedia, and Helter-Skelter on the High Seas – NYTimes.com.  The latter was a review of two books said to “unravel the saga of the bloodiest mutiny in the history of American whaling.”  Comstock was said to be “a keen ladies’ man,” to wit:  He possessed a “superabundance of something which the fair sex seemed to consider a very agreeable substitute.”  (For affection.)  Also this note, as previously noted:

In 1822 … New England mothers sent their sons to kill whales in the Pacific Ocean at an age when modern parents would think twice about letting them have the car for a weekend.

Re: “coming to a theater near you.”  See also In a World – TV Tropes.

Re: “Your majesty, the peasants are revolting!”  “They certainly are!”  See also Count de Money / “The People Are Revolting” – YouTube, and/or Ambiguity – Simple English Wikipedia, which noted the “British comedian Ronnie Barker said that he loved the English language because there are so many jokes you can make using ambiguity.”

Re: “breaking point.”  See Garry Wills’  What the Gospels Meant, Viking Press (2008), at page 87; found in Part II, “Matthew,” Chapter 5, “Sermon on the Mount:”

Our Father of the heavens, your title be honored … and bring us not to the Breaking Point, but wrest us from the Evil One.    

The usual translation in the Lord’s Prayer is – as noted – “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”  See Wikipedia.  My life experience tells me the term “breaking point” is more accurate and appropriate.  See also The True Test of Faith, in my other blog.

The “whale’s eye” image is courtesy of In the Heart of the Sea (film) – Wikipedia.  See also In the Heart of the Sea (book) – Wikipedia, which included this on the author’s sources:

Philbrick utilizes an account written by Thomas Nickerson, who was a teenage cabin boy on board the Essex and wrote about the experience in his old age;  his account was lost until 1960 but was not authenticated until 1980 before being published, abridged, in 1984.  The book also utilizes the better known account of Owen Chase, the ship’s first mate, which was published soon after the ordeal.

Re: Marshall McLuhan andthe format shapes the message.”  The Rotten Tomatoes review said the “admirably old-fashioned” film-story boasted “thoughtful storytelling to match its visual panache, even if it can’t claim the depth or epic sweep to which it so clearly aspires.”  My theory is that neither the depth nor epic sweep of the true story could have been adequately translated to film. 

The “Bounty” image is courtesy of Mutiny on the Bounty – Wikipedia.  The caption: “Fletcher Christian and the mutineers seize HMS Bounty on 28 April 1789. Engraving by Hablot Knight Browne, 1841.”

Re: The “whale-stalking.”  Wikipedia said that after ramming the Essex – twice – the whale “finally disengaged its head from the shattered timbers and swam off, never to be seen again.”  

Re: “have a moment.”  An allusion to the 1984 film, Moscow on the Hudson (1984)

Vladimir Ivanoff: [confronting a stranger following him down the street]  FBI?   Gay Man on Street:  FBI?  No.   Vladimir Ivanoff:  KGB?   Gay Man on Street:  No.  G-A-Y.   Vladimir Ivanoff: Gay?  Oh, no, no.   Gay Man on Street:  Sorry.  You have a nice face.  I thought we had a “moment” back there.

The “Nantucket sleigh ride” image is courtesy of jrusselljinishiangallery.com/pages/sticker-pages.

Re: the number of survivors and their length of time at sea.  It took 90 days for the Owen Chase boat to be rescued, with three survivors.  It took 95 days for the Pollard boat to be rescued, at a different location, with two survivors.  The three original boats were separated in a storm, and the boat headed by Obed Hendricks – “boatsteerer” – was never seen again.  Wikipedia: “A whaleboat was later found washed up on Ducie Island, just east of Henderson Island, with the skeletons of three people inside…  [S]uspected to be Obed Hendricks’ missing boat, the remains were never positively identified.”  Thus the eight survivors, including the three who stayed on Henderson Island.

Re:  “Look into the future” trope.  It’s actually known as Externally Validated Prophecy:  “When a character makes a prediction about the future which is not fulfilled in the work, yet an audience aware of history knows will be fulfilled.”

Re: “pure dispassionate adventure.”   The quote is from Robert Louis Stevenson’s Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes.  See also Donkey travel – and sluts and “Pity the fool” from my other blog.

The lower image is courtesy of Sperm whaling – Wikipedia, including the caption: “An 1861 cartoon showing sperm whales celebrating the discovery of new petroleum wells in Pennsylvania.  The proliferation of mineral oils reduced demand for their species’ oil.”   The caption in the cartoon itself:  “Grand ball given by the whales in honor of the discovery of the oil wells in Pennsylvania.”

*   *   *   *

Sources used for this post – or worth more reading:  Heart of the Sea (film) – WikipediaEssex (whaleship) – WikipediaHistory of whaling – WikipediaGirl on a Whaleship – ImagesEssex explainedand a review:  “Heart of the Sea” – Apollo 13 with scurvy and beards:

There was rumored to exist a secret society of young women on the island whose members vowed to wed only men who had already killed a whale.  To help these young women identify them as hunters, boatsteerers wore chockpins (small oak pins used to secure the harpoon line in the bow groove of a whaleboat) on their lapels.

See The Real Story Behind “In the Heart of the Sea,” which also included this:

The harpoon did not kill the whale. It was the equivalent of a fishhook.  After letting the whale exhaust itself, the men began to haul themselves, inch by inch, to within stabbing distance of the whale.  Taking up the 12-foot-long killing lance, the man at the bow probed for a group of coiled arteries near the whale’s lungs with a violent churning motion.  When the lance finally plunged into its target, the whale would begin to choke on its own blood, its spout transformed into a 15-foot geyser of gore that prompted the men to shout, “Chimney’s afire!” As the blood rained down on them, they took up the oars and backed furiously away, then paused to observe as the whale went into what was known as its “flurry.”

The site also noted that Melville interviewed Captain Pollard for his later book, Moby Dick, not Nickerson.  After a second failed whaling voyage, Pollard became the town’s night watchman; “To the islanders he was a nobody…”  For a lengthy account and history see the New York Times review.

A final note:  The American Heritage Yankee Whaling was written by Irwin Shapiro (1911–1981), an “American writer and translator of over 40 books, mostly for children and about Americana:”

After an initial foray into writing radical literature that encompassed his last year as a communist, Shapiro turned to children’s books…  He published many titles for Golden Books[, including one thought to be] a coded message about the imprisonment of American spy Isaiah Oggins in the GULAG…  The Library of Congress holds 44 titles in his name.

See Wikipedia, and also Irony … Literary Devices.

A late-fall mountain trek…

Wayah Bald Lookout Tower

The Wayah Bald Tower, a highlight from my recent trek on the Appalachian Trail

 

I’ve now officially hung it up for the winter.  “Which is being interpreted:”

“No more outdoor adventures … at least not ’til next spring.”  Which means the two adventures I had this (late) fall pretty does it for this year.

SwampWaterPoster.jpgTo explain:  Last October I fulfilled a life-long dream.  A two-day overnight kayak into the Okefenokee.  (As told in Operation Pogo.)

Then last November – 20 and 21 – I fulfilled another life-long dream: At least one overnight trek on the Appalachian Trail.

I touched on this dream in “A Walk in the Woods.”  (Parts I and II.)

Back in 1967 – when I was 16 – my next-older brother and I hatched the idea of hiking the Trail from Springer Mountain to Gettysburg, where our aunt and uncle lived.  (Some 623 miles…)  But for some reason my parents didn’t bust out laughing [or] slap their knees while wiping away tears of laughter…

Needless to say we didn’t make it.  Ever since then it’s bugged me that we didn’t make it.  And that’s why hiking the A.T. has been on my bucket list.  (Long before the term was coined.)

Among the highlights:  The temp dropped to 31 degrees that Friday night. (11/20.)  Another thing:  Hiking in the late fall – when the leaves have fallen – means the Trail is really slippery.

A related note:  Even now – three weeks later – my left big toenail is still purple-bruised.  (From the Saturday-afternoon slip-and-slide down toward Tellico Gap.)

I’ll get to the details later, but first a word about those “balds.”  There’s a lot of ’em on the A.T., but they’re not meant as an insult to the “follicly challenged.”

The term Bald in the Appalachians means a summit or crest, covered mostly by thick vegetation; “native grasses or shrubs occurring in areas where heavy forest growth would be expected.”

Grassy-bald-roan-mountain.jpgThus the towers at Wayah Bald and Wesser Bald.  (Of which more below.)  Then of course there’s Roan Mountain, seen from Grassy Ridge Bald, at right.

Getting back to the hike itself:  I originally planned to go from Winding Stair Gap to the Nantahala Outdoor Center, near Bryson City.

That’s a hike of about 27 miles.

Fortunately, I found an old high-school friend who lives in Franklin, North Carolina. (Right on the Trail.)  So in September I arranged to drive up to his place on Thursday afternoon, the 24th. From there he agreed to drop me off Friday morning, the 25th.  (And hopefully pick me up on Saturday afternoon, the 26th.)

Under that original plan I might have made 27 miles.  (If I’d been able to hike before the time change.  See Spring Forward – Fall Back.)  Unfortunately, that September try got rained out. Which meant by late November, I had an hour or two less hiking time per day.

Be that as it may…  I made new arrangements.  (Before the weather got too cold.)  My friend dropped me off at 8:35, Friday morning, November 20.  (At the parking lot at Winding Stair Gap, where the Trail crosses U.S. 64, known locally as Murphy Road.)

And now a word about hiking speed.  A good ambling-speed on level ground is a mile every 20 minutes.  (Three miles an hour.)  But a friend at church hikes the Trail regularly, and she says on a good day she and her husband can cover eight miles.  Other sources indicate a good speed – with full pack and up and down mountain trails – is about two miles an hour.

AT 022That’s what threw me off.  Like my paddling in the Okefenokee, I overestimated my ability to trek. (With less daylight, and slipping and sliding on fallen leaves.  Not to mention the recent rains that put much of the Trail under water, as seen at left…)

So anyway, that Friday afternoon I reached Wayah Bald about 4:40.  See also Wayah Bald Tower.

My slightly used handbook – published in 1994 – said there was a camping area a mile and a half further on.  But the sun was setting, it was getting cold and the ground was flat and grassy there.  So I pitched my tent.  (Expecting a ranger to come by and say “You can’t camp there!”) 

But then three young folk came by.  (A young man and two young ladies, all college age.)  We’d been passing each other all afternoon, and after stopping for a bit, they started to head off to the farther-up camping place.  But then they came back and camped on the other side of the tower.  (Which was some comfort.  You never know about those “Dueling banjos…”)

So anyway, I pitched my “Eureka” one-person tent just to the left of where the stone wall at the bottom of the picture turns down.  (As seen in the photo below right.)

Wayah Bald Lookout TowerI’d packed five layers of sweaters and down vests, plus Gore-tex gloves.  (Not to mention a small mouthwash bottle filled with rum.)  And like I said, that night it got down to 31 degrees or so.

I shivered some during the night, and could have used some extra padding for my side hip-bones.  Still, I got a fairly good night’s sleep.  (And there was a nice view of the lights of Franklin, shimmering in the distance, when I got up to answer nature’s call.)

Next morning it took a while to pack up.  It was so cold I had to keep warming my fingers to untie things, then tie them in or to the pack, etc.  But I eventually hit the trail at 8:21.

Like I said, my original plan was to reach the “NOC,” some 27 miles away.  But as I hiked along Saturday afternoon, I formulated a secondary objective: The Wesser Bald Lookout Tower.

But finally – as the sun got lower and lower on Saturday afternoon – I found a rare place with cell-phone reception.  (And they are pretty rare.)  I called my buddy and negotiated a pick-up at Tellico Gap.  (See Wayah Bald to Tellico Gap.)

Over the phone I read the directions – from the 1994 guidebook – to my friend.  They told of an 8-mile drive (for him), west from Highway 28.  Then a 4-mile gravel road up to Tellico Gap.

By some miracle he actually found the place, on the Trail, and with a place to park.  And he got there about 10 minutes before I did.  (Slipping and sliding downhill.)

Boy was I glad to finally sit down in his pickup truck!  

One lesson I learned was that hiking in the Trail in late fall means most of the leaves have fallen. That means much of the Trail is  covered by leaves.  The leaves in turn cover up many if not most of the rocks and tree roots that can trip you up.  (As shown below left.)

AT 037Then there’d been the recent rains, making parts of the trail more like streams than trail, as noted above.

Aside from all that, I deliberately chose to go slow, knowing one wrong move could mean a twisted knee or ankle.  (Which speaks to the wisdom of not traveling alone.)  And finally, my main objective was to see how fast I could travel comfortably.

As I alluded in “Okefenokee – Part II:”  Not only did my Utah brother propose a 16-day, 500-mile, “primitive-camping canoe trip down the Yukon River.”  Also for the Summer of 2016, he’s proposed a four-day hike along the Chilkoot Trail.  (In Alaska.)  So this overnight A.T. hike served as a kind of “shakedown cruise.”

Which leads to the specifics:  It was 5.9 miles from Winding Stair Gap to Wayah Gap.  (Before Wayah Bald.)  It was another 13.5 miles from Wayah Gap to Tellico Gap.  That made a grand total of 19.4 miles.  I covered that 19.4 miles in some 11 hours, 29 minutes of actual hiking.

That averaged out to 9.7 miles a day.  (Or 1.68 miles per hour, over rough ground.  It was actually 1.689895 miles per hour, but who’s counting?)  Still, despite my doing better than the eight-mile-a-day average noted above, it was a learning experience…

And a pretty humbling one at that.  But I’m glad I did it.  For one thing, that first beer and that nice soft bed Saturday night felt really, really good!

And incidentally, the word “trek” – as used in the headline and text – comes from Trekboer.  (A term later shortened to just “Boer.”  See also “kommando,” from Afrikaans as well.)

The point being:  The image below gives an accurate feel for some of the conditions on the A.T. – in late fall, this past November 2015.  (Though without the oxen, whips and wagons.)

 

The original Trekboers, “Passing Cradock Pass…”

 

Re: The Appalachian “balds.”  See Bald Mountains – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

The Bald Mountains are a mountain range [bordering] Tennessee and North Carolina in the southeastern United States.  They are part of the Blue Ridge Mountain Province of the Southern Appalachian Mountains.  The range gets its name from the relatively frequent occurrence of grassy balds atop the more prominent summits.

See also Appalachian balds – Wikipedia.

Re: Hiking the whole Trail.  At 64, I realize I’ll probably never do that.  (Or want to, for that matter.) But my bucket list does include hiking at least one portion of the Trail in every state that it passes through.  (So far I’ve done Georgia and North Carolina.)

Re: “Dueling banjos.”  As the link noted, “If you ever see the film [Deliverance,]  you will never be able to enjoy banjos again.  Or go canoeing.  Or visit rural Georgia.  Or, you know, sleep.”  And I must admit to a certain trepidation even kayaking in the remote Okefenokee. Still, there is a certain dark humor in the trope illustrated at right…

The lower image is courtesy of the Boer link in the article, Trekboer – Wikipedia. The caption:  “Passing Cradock Pass, Outeniqua Mountains, by Charles Collier Michell.”  Note that “Boer is a Dutch and Afrikaans word for ‘farmer.'”

Re: “Kommando.”  Another word of Dutch/Afrikaans origin, later spelling-changed to Commando: “The word stems from the Afrikaans word kommando, which translates roughly to ‘mobile infantry regiment.’  This term originally referred to mounted infantry regiments, who fought against the British Army in the first and second Boer Wars.”

 

“If you’re here from the art show…”


“If you’re from the art show,” you’ll probably want to find out if Ashley Wilkes was really a British spy, working with the likes of Conchita Montenegro? (She’s the one at left…) 

*   *  *

Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

If you’re from the art show, you’ll probably want to check out The mysterious death of Ashley Wilkes.

There’s more on that post below, but first note that I modeled this blog on the Carolina Israelite.

That was a personal newspaper, done up by Harry Golden back in the 1940s and ’50s.  Harry was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (That’s another way of saying he told good stories.)

Which means if Harry was around today, “the Carolina Israelite would be done as a blog.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  He got older but didn’t turn sour, as so many seem to do these days.  He still got a kick out of life.

For that and more, he was considered a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals…”

Which is now my goal as well.

In the meantime:

Like I said, “if you’re here from the art show,” you’ll probably want to check out The mysterious death of Ashley Wilkes.  Which is being interpreted:

I just published a collection of posts from this blog.  The title comes from the [post] I did on September 1, The mysterious death of Ashley Wilkes … but first an explanation.  I’m an artist as well as a blogger, and there’s a big art show coming up in December.  But aside from showing off my works of art – mostly oil paintings – the show also presents a chance for me to get the word out on my two blogs, including this one.

See Introduction to “Ashley Wilkes.”  That’s another way of saying December 5 has come and gone.  (Or will have come and gone by the time most readers see this.)  That means my church’s December 5 Combination Art Show and Christmas Bazaar has come and gone as well.

art show 110This annual “Christmasy” event gave me a chance strut my stuff.  (In more than one sense of the word.)  Not only did it let me show some progress in my oil paintings – like the one at right – it also gave me the chance to “let the public know” about my blogs.

But getting back to Leslie Howard.  He played Ashley Wilkes in 1939’s Gone with the Wind.  Less than four years later his commercial airliner got shot down by eight Luftwaffe Junkers Ju 88C6 fighters.

Under suspicious circumstances.  And 500 miles west of Bordeaux, over the Bay of Biscay, on a flight over supposedly-neutral waters from Lisbon to London.

Some said it was an accident of war.  Others said it was deliberate.  That German spies in Lisbon mistook Howard’s companion for Winston Churchill.  Or that Nazi propaganda chief Joseph Goebbels personally ordered the shoot-down.  (He called Howard “Britain’s most dangerous propagandist.”)  Yet another theory was that Howard was a British spy.

I wrote over 3,000 words on the mysterious death, many of them in footnotes and/or end-notes.  So for the full set of answers your best bet is to check the post yourself.

But note also that that post is just one of the “collection of posts from this blog.”

Others include “Johnny YUMA was a rebel,” and “When adultery was proof of loyalty.”  The first was about Nick Adams – who played Johhny Yuma – and how he too died mysteriously.  (At age 36, a mere seven years after the show ended.)  The other one led off with a painting of “Nell Gwynn, ‘the Protestant Whore,’ a favorite mistress of Charles II…”

art show 112So anyway, the main text of mysterious death ended with this:  “And some people think those were better and simpler times…”

That was pretty much the theme of Alice’s Restaurant – Revisited.  (That people “who ‘wax poetic’ on the Good Old Days usually forget what it was like actually living then.”)  But that post too ended on a positive note, “in the spirit of Harry Golden.”

The positive note was that: “Maybe these days today aren’t so bad after all…” 

So in that spirit of “accentuating the positive,” I’ll close this post by noting the oil painting above left, showing my “favorite grand-niece.”  (Or one of them anyway.)

And of course Ashley Wilkes, as shown below:

 

Leslie Howard as Ashley Wilkes in Gone With the Wind trailer cropped.jpg

(“Ashley Wilkes,” anti-Nazi agitator?)

The upper image is courtesy of www.flickriver.com/photos.  Wikipedia added this:

Following a rare interview with [Conchita] Montenegro shortly before her death, Spanish author José Rey-Ximena claims that British actor Leslie Howard used her to get close to Spanish dictator Franco after being given the special mission by Winston Churchill.  She claimed that she used her husband’s influence to secure [the meeting with Franco]. “Thanks to him … Spain was persuaded to stay out of the war.”  (E.A.)

Re: “two blogs.”  My other blog is DOR Scribe – Expand your horizons – Read the Bible with an open mind.  Among other things, that blog explores the “mystical side of Bible reading.”

Re: positive outlook on life and/or “accentuating the positive.”  Referring to “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive,” the 1944 song written by Harold Arlen with lyrics by Johnny Mercer.

See also curveball, defined in part as a “particularly difficult issue, obstacle, or problem.”  The point being that life seems to have a habit of “throwing us curveballs.”  See also the alternate definition of dinosaur, assomeone who resists change or is old-fashioned.”

Re: “favorite great-niece.”  As with my seven grandchildren, the usual phrase in such circumstances would be “my favorite grandson named Joe,” to fully cover my bases and avoid showing partiality. Most of those grandchildren heard only the “favorite” part, and didn’t catch on to the “Joe” part until their teens.  (And keeping in mind of course that the “names were changed to protect the innocent.”) Accordingly, the “other favorite great-niece” shouldn’t take offense… 

The lower image is courtesy of sites including but not limited to cornel1801.com/1/g/GONE_WITH_THE_WIND/4_online_pictures.

Alice’s Restaurant – Revisited

 *   *   *   *

December 2, 2015 – Every year around this time I do my best to listen to Alice’s Restaurant. (The “musical monologue by singer-songwriter Arlo Guthrie,” released in 1967.)  When it first came out – in 1967 – the war in Vietnam was at its height. Then there was The Draft

There’s more on all that later, but first a lighter note.

In 1993 I started a tradition of listening to Alice’s Restaurant every Thanksgiving.  It has nothing to do with eating turkey or getting together with family.  Instead it has everything to do with my favorite college football team playing its hated arch-rival. Back in 1993 that favorite college football team won its first national title. And it just so happened that for that Thanksgiving weekend I had to drive up to Jacksonville. (My late wife Karen was working as a traveling sales lady for a church directory company.)  It also just so happened that was when my team played the hated arch-rival that stood as a final obstacle to the title game.

And that’s when I heard the full rendition – on the radio, of Alice’s Restaurant – for the first time in years.  And as it happened, 1988 was also when I met the woman who became my first wife.  It also turned out that 1988 was when I started getting serious on making a ritual sacrifice for my team.  (Doing things to help them win.  See also sublimation – referring to my former hobby.)

So anyway, at the end of 1988 I drove home from a Christmas vacation in Yankee-land.  Coming through Gainesville, I heard the full rendition of Alice’s Restaurant for the first time since the 1960s.  (When I also saw the singularly-depressing movie of the same name.)

There followed five years of close, but no cigar for my favorite team, from 1988 to 1992.

But it was different in 1993.  For Thanksgiving that year I drove north – not south – when I heard the song.  For another thing, in 1993 my radio played the song not once, but twice.  The result was that my team won its first national title.  And the last big test before the title game itself was playing and beating my team’s hated arch-rival, on that Thanksgiving weekend of 1993.

So again – ever since then, since 1993 – I’ve done my best to listen to Alice’s Restaurant every Thanksgiving weekend.  And if that all seems weird, see Was Moses the first to say “it’s only weird if it doesn’t work?  But getting back to those “Good Old Days of Yesteryear.” For one thing, Alice’s Restaurant reminds us that – for many folks – those good old days weren’t so good. As in the song itself was “notable as a satirical, first-person account of 1960s counterculture.” I’m not sure if we have that kind of counterculture today.  (Unless you count “liberals,” as Fox News does.)  But back in 1967 we sure had one. In Arlo’s case – and to many young men of the time – the “opposition” was to the Vietnam war.  And as Wikipedia also noted:

The ironic punch line of the story is that, in the words of Guthrie, “I’m sittin’ here on the Group W bench ’cause you want to know if I’m moral enough to join the Army – burn women, kids, houses and villages – after bein’ a litterbug.”  The final part of the song is an encouragement for the listeners to sing along, to resist the draft, and to end war.

Unfortunately we haven’t ended war yet.  (We still have plenty of those to go around.) On the plus side, today’s young men no longer have to worry about the Draft. (Which may or may not be a good thing, depending on your viewpoint.)  All of which reminds me of a conversation I overheard on a flight out to Salt Lake City a summer or two ago.

Bigmouth.jpgThere was an old bigmouth – about my age actually – sitting in the seat behind me.  He proceeded to “pontificate” to the young man next to him about the 1960s, and how much better they were than today.

I forgot exactly how he put it – and there’s more in the notes below – but his words literally blew my mind(To borrow an old idiom from the 1960s.)

Or to put it in the words of Alice’s Restaurant, his recollection of the ’60s fit in precisely with the definition of massacree.   (The term Arlo used in the full, original title of the song.)  The term itself -as used in the song and/or title – refers to “an event so wildly and improbably and baroquely messed up that the results are almost impossible to believe.”)

Which is how I reacted to this particular bigmouth.  It was only later – after the drive home from the airport, and while enjoying one of Utah’s famed 3.2 beers – that I started to remember some of the things that were going on back in the ’60’s.  Race riots.  Assassinations.  The war in Vietnam.  Draft dodging.  Draft resistance. The upshot being that while some great music came from the era – including Alice’s Restaurant – the decade itself was not fun to live through.

And in a big way, the 1960’s are still with us. Then there’s the old saying:  “If you stand on the bank of the river long enough, you’ll see the bodies of your enemies floating by.” Which could be another way of saying Arlo did a reprise? (See Arlo Guthrie Returns to ‘Alice’s Restaurant’ 50 Years Later.) In it, Arlo’s voice was deeper and more mellow.  On the other hand, at times he seemed to “overplay his hand.” (To add some drama that seemed a bit forced, which sometimes afflicts us older folk.  On the other hand, the original had the spontaneity of youth.)

But the big news was his account of visiting the Jimmy Carter White House.

In 1977, Guthrie got invited to the Carter Inauguration. (Which he figured would be pretty much the only time he’d get such an invitation.) Here’s what happened next.

Chip Carter (the president’s son) advised Guthrie that they had found a copy of the ALICE’S RESTAURANT album in Richard Nixon’s record library.  Guthrie … found that interesting [but] didn’t think much about it until years later, when Nixon died and there was all this talk about the 18.5-minute gap in the former president’s tape collection.  At which point, it occurred to Arlo that “Alice’s Restaurant” also clocked in at 18.5 minutes!

See “Alice’s Restaurant” and Watergate.  (See also the note below on Carter pardoning the Vietnam era “draft dodgers.”)  So one point of all this rambling is that Arlo Guthrie turned a patently absurd situation into a timeless classic.  (And a Thanksgiving tradition to many.) But there’s another point.  People who “wax poetic” on the Good Old Days usually forget what it was like actually living then.  See for example On American History, “patched and piebald.”

Nothing was clear, inevitable, or even comprehensible…   The real drama of the American Revolution … was its inherent messiness.

And that’s not to mention the “fractious disputes and hysterical rhetoric of [those] contentious nation-builders.” The upshot? Fractious disputes and hysterical rhetoric seem to have been with us in the past, and remain with us “even to this day.” Or as John Adams put it, “as it is now, ever was, and ever will be, world without end.”

 *   *   *   *

New York’s Lower East Side “in the early 20th Century…”

 *   *   *   *

For details about what happened to the original “Alice’s Restaurant,” see Wikipedia, and/or The original Alice’s Restaurant – Review of Theresa’s Stockbridge Cafe.

The original original post had photo – seen at left – courtesy of Draft evasion – Wikipedia. My lead caption: “Potential “draft dodgers” – before the Draft lottery of 1969.”  The full Wikipedia caption, “U.S. anti-Vietnam War protesters at the University of Wisconsin–Madison.  A placard to the right reads ‘Use your head – not your draft card.'”

Re: church directories. Aside from the link given, other directory companies today include Church Directories & Family Portraits – Lifetouch and Barksdale Church Directories.  In 1993, the company provided one “free” full-color photograph to each family. The sales staff – who came to the church a week or two after the photographers – earned their commission by selling extra copies and/or photographs. 

Re: “Counterculture.”  That’s a “subculture whose values and norms of behavior differ substantially from those of mainstream society, often in opposition to mainstream cultural mores.”

The Ethan Bronner quotes – listed below – are from his 1989 book, Battle for Justice  How the Bork Nomination Shook America.  (Anchor Books, published by Doubleday, at pages 249-50.)  

The lower image is courtesy of Lower East Side – Wikipedia.  The caption:  “‘Cliff Dwellers‘ by Bellows, depicting the Lower East Side as its in the early 20th Century” (sic):

In Cliff Dwellers, George Bellows captures the colorful crowd on New York City’s Lower East Side.  It appears to be a hot summer day.  People spill out of tenement buildings onto the streets, stoops, and fire escapes.  Laundry flaps overhead and a street vendor hawks his goods from his pushcart in the midst of all the traffic.  In the background, a trolley car heads toward Vesey Street.    

For more on Alice’s Restaurant, see The Story Behind ‘Alice’s Restaurant‘: the 50-Year-Old Song that Is Forever YoungArlo Guthrie Looks Back on 50 Years of ‘Alice’s Restaurant,’ 50 things about Arlo Guthrie’s ‘Alice’s Restaurant,’ and Arlo Guthrie Returns to ‘Alice’s Restaurant‘ 50 Years Later.

 *   *   *   *

Re: the draft.  See Vietnam War DraftDraft lottery (1969) – Wikipedia, and content.time.com/time… article/0,28804,186225, regarding President Jimmy Carter’s pardoning the “Vietnam war draft dodgers” in 1977.  Other articles of interest include Was Trump a ‘draft dodger’? | PunditFact – PolitiFact, and How I Got Out of the Vietnam Draft – And Why That Still Matters.

 *   *   *   *

And finally, here’s a portion of the post where I started going off on a tangent

(Beginning with the sentence, “Unfortunately we haven’t ended war yet…”)

Unfortunately we haven’t ended war yet.  On the other hand, today’s young people no longer have to worry about the Draft.  (Which may or may not be a good thing, depending on your viewpoint.)  That “phasing out” started in 1969 with the Draft Lottery:

In the late 1960s, President Nixon established a commission to recommend the best ways to raise military manpower, to keep the draft or to institute a volunteer army.  After much debate … it was decided that an all-volunteer force was affordable, feasible, and would enhance the nation’s security…

And that’s what we’ve had ever since.  But Wikipedia also noted that the 1970s “were a time of turmoil in the United States, beginning with the Civil Rights Movement.”  Further, the draft lottery “only encouraged resentment of the Vietnam war” – and the draft – and “strengthened the anti-war movement.”  Which brings up a conversation I heard a summer or two ago.

I was flying out to Salt Lake City.  In the row right behind me, the older guy in the window seat was pontificating.  (Actually he was about my age.  The subject of his pontification – to the young man “captive audience” in the next seat – was how great things used to be – in the 1960s.

Bigmouth.jpgI forget exactly how this bigmouth put it, in his unchallenged opinion.

But what he said fit in precisely with the definition of massacree Arlo used in the full, original title of Alice’s Restaurant.  (Meaning “an event so wildly and improbably and baroquely messed up that the results are almost impossible to believe.”)  Or respond to in a timely manner.

It was only later – after the drive from the airport and the comfort of one Utah’s famed 3.2 beers – that I fully started to remember why the ’60s and ’70s weren’t so great.  Or more precisely, what exactly happened during those years of turmoil.

As Ethan Bronner noted, “In the 1960s much changed,” beginning with the U.S. Supreme Court. Court rulings began protecting the private possession of obscene materials (for example).  The Court did so under the theory that the right to receive information and ideas – “regardless of their social worth” – is fundamental to a free society.

But to many others, “the sixties were where America went wrong.”  To them, the government existed to make value choices.  To them, allowing such “free speech” as the 1978 March on Skokie (Ill.) led to feelings of “powerlessness and alienation of many Americans:”

Citizens’ efforts to take control of their lives and environments were further undercut by the growing power of courts and bureaucracies.  No wonder so many Americans dropped out of the political process…

Which could bring up the term Kafkaesque.  Illustrated by “Kafkaesque bureaucracies,” the term means something marked “by a senseless, disorienting, often menacing complexity,” and/or “by surreal distortion and often a sense of impending danger…”

Like I said, that’s where I started going off on a tangent, last night, as I tried to finish this post in time to be relevant to Thanksgiving weekend, 2015.

Black-and-white photograph of Kafka as a young man with dark hair in a formal suitAnd one final note, Franz Kafka – who’s name gave rise to the term “Kafkaesque” – died in 1924, at the age of 41.  He was noted for writings that explored “themes of alienation, existential anxiety, guilt, and absurdity.”   (Perhaps in his way not unlike Arlo Guthrie.)  See Wikipedia.

The point being that alienation, anxiety, guilt and absurdity seem to have been with us – as Adams noted – now and forever, “world without end.”

 *   *   *   *

“Into the Okefenokee” – Part III

As noted in Part II, “water lilies” are lovely to look at but a pain to paddle through…   

*   *   *   *

This is the final installment of Operation Pogo – “Into the Okefenokee.”

1444146412784For an overview, see Canoe Map.  I started from Refuge Headquarters, southwest of Folkston.  At Mile Marker 2 there’s a “Porta-potty.”

Another note:  This is the “short version.”  For the long version – in the manner of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida – see the notes below.

And one more “by the way:” You’ll probably want to read the first two installments first.

Part II ended with me thinking this, as I paddled through the swamp in the dark:  “That Monet guy can take his stinkin’ water lilies and ‘stick ‘em where the sun don’t shine.'”

But we digress!!!

1445698042386I found myself paddling through the swamp late Friday night because my timing was off.  It was off because I thought my “tagalong combo” – at right – might get me charged twice.  So I tried to be sneaky, and ended up paddling in the dark…

To make another long story short, my two days’ paddling-MPH turned out to be a lot slower.  (A mile in 36 minutes, not 18 minutes.)  So Friday afternoon I turned back early…

I was able to get back after closing.  And get my rubber raft from the car, blow it up and pack it, then set off “into the sunset.”

oke 066

(On the Suwanee Canal, to get a photograph of a beautiful sunset.)

I didn’t get to the shelter until 8:30 or so, well after sunset.  Which brings up again that the “canoe only” trail from Suwanee Canal to Cedar Hammock is loaded with water lilies…

That’s when I discovered a nasty thing about water lilies.  They’re hard enough to paddle through during the day, when you can see what you’re doing…

oke 055(The image at right is a picture I took of the canoe-only water trail to the Cedar Hammock shelter, during the day…)

I found out when you paddle through water lilies in a kayak – in the dark and in a hurry – your paddle tends to grab a great wad of swamp weed.  Then the paddle tosses the soggy lily-entrails – wet and cold – all about your head and shoulders.

But there were moments of beauty.

I had been after an adventure all my life, a pure dispassionate adventure, such as befell early and heroic voyagers … not knowing north from south, as strange to my surroundings as the first man upon the earth…  (E.A.)

oke 057That’s Robert Louis Stevenson by the way, so I’m not the only one with such thoughts…  (See 12 miles offshore.)

I eventually did make the Cedar Hammock shelter.  (Seen at left in the daylight.)  But I didn’t bring my tent because there was no place on the platform to put in stakes.  And because I was in a hurry to pack.  And the forecast was for no rain.   And because I thought it’d be nice to camp “under the stars.”  I didn’t bring any bug spray because there hadn’t been any mosquitoes any of the times I’d been at or around there before.

Fortunately I ended up getting some sleep that night.  Mostly by covering myself completely with the sleeping bag.  And even though a week later I was still scratching mosquito bites, mostly on my ankles.  (Which was strange because they’d been covered by socks.) All the while I took some small pride in being in a place other people weren’t, and where few “normal” people dared tread.  (As the saying goes, Why Be Normal?)

Next morning – Saturday – I took my time getting going.  (In part because of the late night paddling, and I thought I had plenty of time.) Then I set off for the Canal Run shelter.  (See Part II, including the Permits link.)  On the way I found a rare spot to actually get out and stretch me legs.  (And give other body parts a break as well.) That’s where I took the tagalong picture above, on a rare stretch of rather squishy-underfoot hammock along the Suwanee Canal.

oke 038That was on the way to the “fork in the canal,” shown at left.  See also the Canoe Map.

From there I set out for the Coffee Bay day shelter.   (Which according to the dots on the map is three miles further west.)

The problem was that when I first got there, it was occupied.  By a raucous group of adult men and teen boys, out for a day-cruise.  So I set off for Mile Marker 6, got there and turned back.

My hope was that they’d be gone by the time I got back.  Which worked, up to a point.

Then came the best part of the trip.  I sat in my camp chair and enjoyed a sense of accomplishment.  Along with the one cold beer saved from the night before.  And a hearty lunch of pre-packed chicken.  Not long after that I nodded off for a short nap, there in the afternoon warmth. And that one brief shining moment of happiness even survived the morning after.  Or in this case the late afternoon after…  (Alluding to the 1972 Maureen McGovern song.)

Which is being interpreted:

They say that time heals all wounds.  And looking back, a month after my voyage into the Okefenokee, that seems true.  Which is another way of saying the paddle-back after the nap was rushed, to say the least.  But thanks to the healing power of time, the body parts that ached so much – that long Saturday afternoon of paddling – no longer seem so important. At the time I was frustrated, mostly because of the disconnect between how fast I thought I could go, and how fast I actually could go. But despite the discomfort that seems to got along with such efforts, it felt good to finally visit the home of Pogo Possum.  To visit – even for such a short while – the “hollow trees amidst lushly rendered backdrops of North American wetlands, bayous, lagoons and backwoods.”

And maybe – just maybe – I got from the trip just a hint of growth.  (From being merely a “misanthrope and cynic,” to develop a sense of “prickly on the outside but with a heart of gold.”)

As exemplified below.  And in closing, note that my Utah brother has a brilliant idea for further adventures next summer.  A 16-day, 400-plus-miles canoe trip down the Yukon River

*   *   *   *

Pogo - Earth Day 1971 poster.jpg

Pogo and his buddy “Porky Pine,” deep in the Okefenokee…

*   *   *   *

The upper image is courtesy of Water Lilies (Monet series) – Wikipedia.  The caption:  “Le Bassin des Nympheas, 1904, Denver Art Museum.”  See also Le Bassin des Nympheas (Water Lily Pond) by Claude Monet, which added:  “Monet treated the water’s surface like a mirror, reflecting the swaying fringe of foliage and the clouds moving across the sky.  The water spans the breadth of the composition.  Only the willows and reeds that appear at the top of the canvas moor the pond to its surrounding banks.”  (But they’re still a pain in the butt to paddle through…)

Re: short and long versions.  See also In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by Iron Butterfly on iTunes:   “There was an under-three-minute single version, but clearly fans wanted the complete experience.  Flipping the record to its first side, though, is an underrated experience.”

I took the photographs of the “tagalong” boat combo, the sunset on the Suwanee Canal, the water lilies on the way to Cedar Hammock, and the Cedar Hammock shelter itself. 

The “trying to be normal” image is courtesy of: thecompellededucator.blogspot.com/2014/03 … “why be normal when you can be amazing.”  And of course Maya Angelou

The lower “enemy is us” cartoon image is courtesy of Pogo (comic strip) – Wikipedia.  The caption:  “Pogo daily strip from Earth Day, 1971.”  In the alternative:  “A 1971 Earth Day comic strip written and illustrated by Walt Kelly, featuring Pogo and Porkypine [sic].”  Wikipedia described Porky Pine:

A porcupine, a misanthrope and cynic; prickly on the outside but with a heart of gold.  The deadpan Porky never smiles in the strip (except once, allegedly, when the lights were out).  Pogo’s best friend, equally honest, reflective and introverted, and with a keen eye both for goodness and for human foibles.  

I wondered why I liked him so much…

*   *   *   *

 And now word about the subtle difference between water lilies and water hyacinths

Water hyacinths are formally known as Eichhornia crassipes, “an aquatic plant native to theAmazon basin,” and considered “a highly problematic invasive species outside its native range.” (Fancy language for a “pain in the butt.”)  Water lilies on the other hand are formally known as nymphaeaceae, a “family of flowering plants” living as “rhizomatous aquatic herbs in temperate and tropical climates around the world.”

 *   *   *   *

And finally, the “long version,” in the manner of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida

Picking up with, “This is the third and last installment…”

This is the third and last installment of a tale that began with Operation Pogo – “Into the Okefenokee.”  It’s an account of my overnight camping trip, “deep” into the swamp.  (Last October 23-24.)  It included 11 hours of paddling over two days, lots of slithering alligators, and a “night operation.”  (Paddling to the Cedar Hammock shelter in the dark of night.)

1444146412784For an overview, see Canoe Map.  I started from Refuge Headquarters, southwest of Folkston.  The Cedar Hammock shelter-image is just below Mizell Prairie.  The image just below that is the “porta-potty” at Mile Marker 2, on the Suwanee Canal.  (Seen at right.)

On Friday afternoon, October 23, I paddled about half-way to Monkey Lake.  (Then turned back to Headquarters to pack my camping gear.)

Saturday afternoon I got as far as Mile Marker 6, just west of the Coffee Bay shelter.  And by the way, each black dot on the “trails” represents a mile.  (That and other factors mean the Canoe Map is “extremely small scale.”)

Another note:  This is the long version of this tome – in some ways not unlike the long version of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.  And one more “by the way:” You’ll probably want to read the first two installments first.

Part II of this venture ended with me “on the cusp.”

On the cusp of paddling a canoe-trail deep in the Okefenokee, in the dark, through a slough of water lilies.  (The “entrails” of which blapped me; noted below.)  

That’s what made me think this thought, paddling in the dark:  “That Monet guy can take his stinkin’ water lilies and ‘stick ‘em where the sun don’t shine.’”

But we digress!!!

1445698042386I found myself paddling through the swamp late Friday night because my timing was off.  My timing was off because I thought my “tagalong combo” – seen at right – might get me charged twice, for two “boats.”  So I tried to be sneaky, andthat’s how I ended up paddling in the dark…

There’s more on that later, but first let’s review that first morning in the swamp.  (After driving down from Cordele.)

I left my camping supplies behind at the main (east) entrance, to be picked up later.  Then I made a quick 3-mile preliminary paddle – sans rubber raft – to the Cedar Hammock Shelter.

Then I started out on the canoe trail to Monkey Lake.  That’s where I ran across the big bull gator – almost literally – as noted in Part I:

As I paddled over over the water where the gator had been, I could swear he came up and nudged the bottom of my kayak.  I figured it was an accident.  (But the second time?)  Thatadded some spice to the trip.

I figured I could make Monkey Lake easily that first day in the swamp.  For one thing, a helpful sign along the way said it was only 5.5 miles or so.  At the time I figured I could make that in a couple hours.  But that’s also when I found out that my paddling-MPH on an all-day trip was a lot different than my speed on a two-hour jaunt.

Again to make a long story short, that day and the next my paddling-MPH turned out to be a lot slower.  (A mile every 36 minutes, not every 18 minutes.)  The result was that Friday afternoon I had to turn back early from the paddle to Monkey Lake, and paddled back to the put-in place.

I was able to get back after closing.  (Per my sneaky plan.)  And I did get my rubber raft from the car, blow it up and pack it, then set off literally “into the sunset.”

oke 066(Along the Suwanee Canal entrance to the Refuge itself.)  And in the process I got to photograph a really beautiful sunset, seen at left.  But again, either my timing or my paddling was off.

I didn’t get to the shelter until 8:30 or so, well after sunset.  Which brings up again that the “canoe only” trail from Suwanee Canal to Cedar Hammock is loaded with water lilies…

When I left the east entrance put-in, I thought I had plenty of time.  (Laboring under the delusion that I could make three miles in 54 minutes; 18 minutes per mile.)   Sunset was supposed to be about 7:00 p.m., and “last light” about 7:30.  But it took a tad longer than I expected.  One of the reasons was those stinkin’ water lilies…

That is, in this venture I discovered a very nasty thing about water lilies.  They’re hard enough to paddle through during the day, when you can see what you’re doing…

oke 055(The image at right is a picture I took of the canoe-only water trail to the Cedar Hammock shelter, during the day…)

Then too, the strange thing is that while I was paddling on the way back from Monkey Lake, I visualized how much fun it might be to “conduct a night operation.”  (To paddle through the beautiful Okefenokee at night.)

Which brings up the old saying:  “Be careful what you wish for.”

Which is being interpreted:  I found out that if you’re both in a hurry – as I was – and can’t see what you’re doing, your paddle tends to gouge out great tendrils of “swamp weed.”

That’s what I call the stuff that grows down under the lilies.  (As opposed to “sea weed.”)

I found out that when you try to paddle through water lilies in a kayak – in the dark and in a hurry – your paddle tends to grab a great wad of swamp weed and toss it – soggy and cold – all about your head and shoulders.  (Not always.  Just enough to keep you off balance…)

Which made for a long hour of paddling, with the last mile or so  through a never-ending sea of water lilies.  But there were moments of beauty.  Every once in a while along the way I’d stop paddling.  (I am retired after all.)  Partly to rest my arms and shoulders.  Partly to get a break from being blapped by water-lily entrails.  But a big part of it was simply to stop and appreciate the ambience.  It really was beautiful, in the middle of the Okefenokee in the moonlight:

I had been after an adventure all my life, a pure dispassionate adventure, such as befell early and heroic voyagers … not knowing north from south, as strange to my surroundings as the first man upon the earth…

oke 057That’s Robert Louis Stevenson by the way, so I’m not the only one with such thoughts…  (See 12 miles offshore.)

I eventually did make the Cedar Hammock shelter.  (Seen at left in the daylight.  My kayak –sans “tagalong” – is near the bottom of the picture.)

That’s when I found out that I should have brought something for the mosquitoes.  I did bring a cooler with four beers and two sandwiches.  (Along with some “dry good” food.)  And that first beer tasted really great, in the process of unpacking.

Also, I brought a “night light,” a small flashlight that attaches to the bill of your camp.  But I didn’t bring my tent, or bug spray, or mosquito netting.

I didn’t bring the tent because there was no place on the platform to put in stakes.  And because I was in a hurry to pack.  And the forecast was for no rain.   And because I thought it’d be nice to camp “under the stars.”  I didn’t bring any bug spray because there hadn’t been any mosquitoes any of the times I’d been at or around there before.  (And besides, bobandrobin had said, “We didn’t need the bug spray today…”)

Fortunately I ended up getting some sleep that night.  Mostly by covering myself completely with the sleeping bag.  And even though a week later I was still scratching bites, mostly on my ankles.  (Which was strange because they’d been covered by socks.)

And again there was a great deal of beauty to appreciate.  I alternated between hiding under the sleeping bag and sitting in my camp chair, drinking a beer and slapping mosquitoes.  The first part of the night featured a full moon.  (Which came in handy when paddling through the water lilies.  And that full moon may have helped me not lose my way.)   And that first part of the night the full moon lit up the swamp rather prettily…

Later the moon went down.  And with no artificial light around, the stars sparkled just out of reach.

All the while I took some small pride in being some place other people weren’t, and where few “normal” people dared tread.  (As the saying goes, Why Be Normal?) The next morning – Saturday – I took my time getting up and going.  (In part because of the late night paddling, and because I thought I had plenty of time.)  In lieu of coffee I had a Coke Zero, and for breakfast a couple of granola bars.  I had a single-serve packet of chicken for lunch, later on.  And I’d saved one last beer, to enjoy with lunch.

Then I set off for the Canal Run shelter.  (See Part II, including the Permits, link.  And as per my plan to “bisect” the swamp later trip, via Foster State Park – Fargo.)  On the way I found a rare spot to actually get out of my kayak and stretch me legs.  (And give other body parts a break.) That’s where I took the tagalong picture above, on a rare stretch of rather squishy-underfoot hammock along the Suwanee Canal.

oke 038That was on the way to the “fork in the canal,” shown at left.  See also the Canoe Map.  The fork in the canals shown at right is just below and slightly to the right of the “porta-potty” image shown above.

From there I set out for the Coffee Bay day shelter.   Which according to the dots on the map is three miles further west.

I ended up getting to Mile Marker 6, that apparently marks six miles from the start of the National Wildlife Refuge, not the put-in place with rental boats, cafe and gift shop.  (According to the dots on the map.)  Then I went back and enjoyed some much needed “leg-stretching.”

The problem was that when I first got to the day shelter, it was occupied.  By a group of adult men and teen boys, out for a day-cruise adventure.  So I set off for Mile Marker 6, got there and turned back, all in the hope that they’d be gone by that time.

The plan worked, up to a point.  I only had to dodge a couple of BB-gun shots by the ardent young sportsmen.  (Not to mention the usual teen-boy goofballing.)   But then the group departed in its three canoes, and the Okefenokee was quiet again.

Then came the best part of the trip.  I sat in my camp chair – packed in the rubber raft – and enjoyed a sense of accomplishment.  Along with the one cold beer saved from the night before.  And a hearty lunch of pre-packed chicken.

Not long after that I nodded off for a short nap, there in the afternoon warmth.  And that one brief shining moment of happiness even survived the morning after.  Or in this case the late afternoon after…  (Alluding to the 1972 Maureen McGovern song.)     Which is being interpreted:

I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening rushing to get back to my car at the put-in place.  I made it time to leave before dark, but not to enjoy a much-anticipated burger, fries and cold drink at the cafe.  That came later, much later, as I drove my way back home.

They say that time heals all wounds.  And looking back, a month after my voyage into the Okefenokee, that seems true.  The body parts that ached so much – that long Saturday afternoon of paddling – no longer seem so important.

At the time I was frustrated, mostly because of the disconnect between how fast I thought I could go, and how fast I actually could go.  (Which BTW is a theme repeated on the just-completed, two-day Appalachian Trail hike.  The subject of my next blog-post.)

On the other hand, maybe that’s part of the process.   Maybe such disconnects come with the territory of fulfilling a life-long dream.  (See Part I.)

Despite the discomfort that came with the effort, it felt good to finally visit the home of Pogo Possum.  To visit – even for such a short while – the “hollow trees amidst lushly rendered backdrops of North American wetlands, bayous, lagoons and backwoods.”

And maybe – just maybe – I got from the trip just a hint of growth from being the “misanthropeand cynic,” and from there develop a sense of “prickly on the outside but with a heart of gold…”  And in closing, note that my Utah brother has a brilliant idea for further adventures next summer.  A 16-day, 400-plus-miles canoe trip down the Yukon River

*   *   *   *

“Into the Okefenokee” – Part II

*   *   *   *

And now, back to “Operation Pogo:”

1445624973384Operation Pogo was the first episode of my travel-venture “Into the Okefenokee.”  This is a followup.

(The saga will conclude in Part III.  And just a suggestion: You’ll probably want to read Part I first.)

As noted in Part I, I saw tons of alligator “cousins” – like the one basking at left.  (Usually on the ostensible shoreline, or slithering through the waters ahead of me.)

That first episode ended with me trying out one of those “free” campgrounds listed on Freecampsites.net, on Thursday October 22.  (Killebrew Park near Warwick.)

What I found seemed to be a modern-day equivalent of a Depression-era Hooverville:

I’m guessing [that] most people [who stay at such places] already have their Plan B…  Packing up and moving to the next-closest “free campground…”  The point is that after feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the idea of camping at Killebrew Park – even if there had been a space available – I had my own Plan B.

My Plan B was to drive up to nearby Georgia Veterans State Park that late Thursday afternoon.  (West of Cordele and just off I-75.) It’s a beautiful park – and campground – but then I went to register.  Fortunately I’d just renewed my “Friends of Georgia” ParkPass, and so was entitled to one free night of camping.  I then asked how much it would cost to tent-camp otherwise.  (For future reference.)  The best available discount rate was $28.00…

On the other hand, Expedia said there was a nearby Budget Lakeview Inn (Sycamore) for $38.00. That may not be everyone’s cup of teaBut – having camped less than a year ago on a soggy salt marsh 12 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico – that wouldn’t have been so bad to me.  (See 12 miles offshore, on the 8-day primitive-camping canoe trip last November 2014.)

Which brings up what I said in my first Mid-summer Travelog:

For the price you pay to camp these days – as Steinbeck did [in 1960] – you can get a nice Motel 6 with AC.  (And that’s tent camping.  For what you pay for an RV or travel trailer, you can stay at a lot of Motel 6’s.)

And just for the record, I’ve owned motor homes.  (Three in fact.)  So I know whereof I speak.

Which brings up the fact that on that Thursday night – October 22 – I discovered that my spandy-new 2015 Ford Escape offers plenty of room for sleeping.

But first a word about permits.  Before you camp overnight in the Okefenokee, you need a permit.  (See Overnight Camping Permits – Okefenokee.)  That costs $15 a night.  (Of which $6 is non-refundable.  And none of it is refundable if you cancel less than a week before the reservation date.)   Then I also found out Recreation.gov tacks on a $6 “reservation fee.”

So for a grand total of $21, you may tent-camp in a swamp.  Which brings up again:  “For the price you pay to camp these days – as Steinbeck did – you can get a nice Motel 6.”  (On the other hand, you might miss some of the gators, “slithering along.”) Meanwhile, back at Veterans State Park, Thursday night.  (After registering…)

I had my tent, but wanted to get an early start.  So I blew up my air mattress and spread it – and my sleeping bag – in the back of my Ford Escape.  (I’d folded down the seats and moved the kayak outside.)  By moving the front passenger seat up and folding it up toward the dashboard, I had plenty of room in case of jimmy legs.

(The latter term refers to the Seinfeld Money episode.  In it – and perhaps ironically – “Jack Klompus drives the car into a swamp and Jerry returns to Florida.”)

So anyway, I got a pretty good night’s sleep.  Next morning – Friday October 23 – I left Cordele and covered the 160 miles to the Folkston entrance in about three hours.  I took my time getting ready, in part because my reserved camping shelter was only three miles away.

That is, in the time frame I had there was only one camping platform available, Cedar Hammock.  The nice lady at the main (east) entrance assured me I “should be able to reach it before dark.”  I in turn thought her estimate was way off.

oke 031Remember that I’d made Mile-Marker Three – at right – in 54 minutes the first time I visited.  (See Part I.)

So this Friday, I thought I’d have plenty of time to paddle around that day, and might even make the Canal Run shelter and back. (See Permits, above.  That would allow me to “bisect” the swamp on a later trip, coming in from the Stephen C. Foster State Park – Fargo, to the west.  Or so I thought…)

But there was another reason I took my time getting ready that Friday morning.  I wasn’t sure my “tagalong combo” was completely kosher.  (The rubber raft I towed behind my kayak, to carry supplies, noted in Part I.)  For one thing, according to a “liberal” reading of the park rules, I might be charged twice, for the kayak and the rubber boat.

So I operated on the theory, It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.  I figured I’d leave the rubber boat – and supplies – in the car.  Then I’d paddle around happily during the day, and return to the entrance area a bit after closing time.  (6:00 p.m.)

It kind of worked out that way…  But my plan also ended up with me thinking that Monet guy could take his stinking water lilies and “stick ’em where the sun don’t shine.”

But we digress!!!

I’ll conclude this venture in Part III, which means another “To be continued…”  Meanwhile you can consider this as well:  My Utah brother has a brilliant idea for further adventures next summer.  A 16-day, 500-and-some-mile, primitive-camping canoe trip down the Yukon River.

From Whitehorse, up through Lake Laberge – of “Sam McGee” fame – to Dawson City.

But for now, enjoy this lovely painting by Monet, of water lilies.  (And you can thank your lucky stars that you don’t have to paddle your stinkin’ kayak through them…)

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 “Water lilies:”  Lovely to look at, but a pain to paddle through…   

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As in Part I, the upper movie-poster image is courtesy of Swamp Water – Wikipedia.

I took the photographs of the first alligator basking on the “shore” and Canoe-mile-marker Three.

Also re: Mile Marker Three.  It’s past the turn-off “canoe only” trail to the Cedar Hammock shelter.

Re: “travel-venture.”  See also Travelogue … at Dictionary.com.

The “floating gator” image is courtesy of Okefenokee Swamp – GA | Kayak Trip … Paddling.net.

Re: “Lake Laberge.”  In his 1907 poem “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” Robert W. Service spelled the name of the lake as “Lebarge.”  

The lower image is courtesy of Water Lilies (Monet series) – Wikipedia.

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Operation Pogo – “Into the Okefenokee”

A contemporary view of the Okefenokee Swamp, made famous – or infamous- by a 1941 film… 

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November 7, 2015 – I saw the movie Swamp Water back in the early 1960s.   (When I  was around 10 or 12.)  The part I remember best was watching Walter Brennan getting bitten in the face by a snake. In the scene, he kneels over and parts the bullrushes to get a drink. (Of  “swamp water,” while hiding from John Law in the Okefenokee.) 

As Walter does all that, the viewer can see a grinning cottonmouth off to his right. (The viewer’s left.) The grinning cottonmouth then proceeds to bite him “right on the cheek.”

I’ve been fascinated ever since…

Which is another way of saying that back on October 23, 2015, I fulfilled a life-long dream.

I took my little 8-foot kayak and paddled deep into the Okefenokee Swamp myself.  There I camped overnight, on the Cedar Hammock shelter. On the other hand, I didn’t see any snakes either… There’s more on the overnight camp-out later.  But first a word about that life-long dream. I’ve been fascinated by the Okefenokee as long as I remember.  (In much the same way as I am by New York City.  To me they’re both fascinating and scary…)

Part of it was the movie Swamp Water, but another part was the old Pogo comic strip.  It starred Pogo Possum, and was set in the Okefenokee Swamp.  It also featured “social and political satire through the adventures of its anthropomorphic funny animal characters:”

Pogo is set in the Georgia section of the Okefenokee Swamp;  Fort Mudge and Waycross are occasionally mentioned.  The characters live, for the most part, in hollow trees amidst lushly rendered backdrops of North American wetlands, bayous, lagoons and backwoods.

And characters in the strip included Albert Alligator. Which brings up a note:  I saw tons of Albert’s cousins – and other distant relatives as well.  I usually saw them basking on the “shore,” or slithering through the waters ahead of me. But one time I saw a big bull gator – who eventually submerged – in a very narrow canal. This was on the canoe trail to Monkey Lake. As I paddled over over the water where the gator had been, I could swear he came up and nudged the bottom of my kayak.  I figured it was an accident.  (But the second time?)

That added some spice to the trip.

And speaking of “shore.”  One thing I learned is that – in the Okefenokee – there are precious few places to stop and take a break from your canoe or kayak. The shelters – for day use or overnight – are few and far between.  As a result, the ol’ keister got extremely sore by the end of the second day.  (Not to mention blisters on my palms…)

065Which leads to the fact that the “shore where the gators bask” – noted above and as shown at left – was not really a shore(As that term is generally understood.) In the Okefenokee Swamp, such a shore is usually a line of reeds that an alligator can mash down.  (And where a human steps off at his own peril…)

But we were talking about that life-long dream.

I’ve lived in the Tampa Bay area most of my life.  (Before I ended up in “God’s Country.”)  So to go anywhere north, I always had to drive up I-75 or I-95.  Either way, as I got just past the Florida-Georgia line, there – off to the right or left, respectively – always lurked the Okefenokee. (Begging to be explored, both threatening and fascinating…  Much like New York City.) So when I finally got my chance, I took it.  (Albeit, well past my 64th birthday.)

To prepare for the trip – about two weeks before the October 23 overnight jaunt – I drove down for a short two-hour exploratory kayak.  (Verb, not noun.)  On that short jaunt I paddled out to Mile Marker 3.  Three miles west of the Suwannee Canal East Entrance to the Swamp. I covered that three miles in 54 minutes, a figure that would came back and haunt me later. Having done that, I took the plunge and made a reservation to camp overnight. That – I thought – would enable me to explore a lot more of this mystic swamp.

1445698042386But first a word about transport.

I originally planned to rent a canoe, from the local Okefenokee Adventures at the main entrance.  (11 miles southwest of Folkston.)   The cost would be $25 a day for the two days, and in the canoe I could carry all my gear in comfort.  (In one vessel.) Needless to say, you can’t pack much gear – beyond a cold drink and sandwich – in an eight-foot kayak.  But then I found myself “financially challenged,” for the time being at least…

The upshot was that – instead of renting a nice big canoe – I opted for a “tagalong combo.”  I paddled my small kayak and towed a small rubber “dinghy,” as shown at right. And incidentally, this site shown was one of the few places that I could get out and stretch my legs.  That’s another way of saying I found one stretch of hammock(s) along the Suwanee Canal, the ” principal waterway into the swamp.”  Aside from the shelters themselves – few and far between – that was pretty much it for getting a break from paddling.

And finally – for this episode anyway – here’s a word on tent camping.  (Before  we get to the swamp-camping part of the journey into the Okefenokee.) In Mid-summer Travelog (Part I), I wrote about tent camping as a less-expensive alternative to motels, while traveling on the road.  That was part of a discussion of Travels with Charley, the book on a road trip John Steinbeck took in 1960.  I noted some big differences between highway travel in 1960 and highway travel today. Like, in 1960, Steinbeck could camp for a dollar a night, if not free.

Once, early in his trip, Steinbeck stopped at a farm in New Hampshire for fresh eggs.  He then asked permission to “camp beside the stream and offered to pay.”  The farmer said there was no need to pay.  “The land’s not working.  But I would like to look at that rig you’ve got there.”  (At this time motor homes were still rare.)   The two men ended up at the table inside Steinbeck’s “rig,” discussing events of the day over “a good dollop of twenty-one-year-old applejack.”

Old Grand Dad.jpgAnother time – just before he drove into Chicago to meet his wife at the Ambassador East – Steinbeck was relaxing where he’d pulled over to make coffee.  (Beside a lake of clear, clean water.)  Then, “A young man in boots, corduroys” and a mackinaw came up; “Don’t you know this land is posted?  This is private property.”  Steinbeck ended up camping there, after a “bribe … with a cup of coffee.”  Coffee, that is, with a “dollop of Old Grand-Dad.”  (Which may bespeak an object lesson for traveling…)

Then on pages 95-103 of the Penguin Books edition, he wrote of the marvels of the then-new trend in personal housing.  (Mobile homes.)  More to the point, on page 98 he wrote this: “Since I did not require any facilities, sewer, water, or electricity, the price to me for stopping the night was one dollar.”

That seems to be no longer true.  Not in any meaningful way anyway.

In Travelog (Part I), I wrote that for what you pay to camp – as Steinbeck did – you can get a nice Motel 6, with air conditioning and no bugs.  (And that was for tent camping.)  But then I had to add this proviso, in a follow-up post, Mid-summer Travelog – Part III:

It is true that camping at a state park these days – even with online reservations – can cost almost as much a night at a Motel 6.  But after the trip I found a website, Freecampsites.net. (See also FreeCampgrounds.com.)  I haven’t actually tried one of these yet, but it does bode well for the future.  (And I suppose there’s some kind of object lesson in all this…)

Which is another way of saying that on the way down to the Okefenokee, I got a chance to try out one of those campgrounds on Freecampsites.net. The site I planned to check out was Killebrew Park – Warwick, GeorgiaWarwick is a cute little town of some 430 souls.  It’s at the south end of Lake Blackshear, and a mere 16 miles southwest of the Cordele ramp to Interstate 75. But Killebrew Park was a different story.  It was indeed at the south end of Lake Blackshear, and thus a possible site for future kayaking adventures.  Before even entering the campground I saw a large sign, “No campsites available.”  (Or Words to that Effect.) Then I drove into the campground itself, just to make sure.

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NEdTsiK6DRA/Tz3sF8_7X-I/AAAAAAAACO0/AjUYec-_ZGo/s1600/Bonnie+and+Clyde+1967.JPGWhat I saw reminded me of a scene from Bonnie and Clyde.  (As shown at right.)  That led to me to later Google the term Hoovervilles  – and possibly discover their modern-day equivalent:

The communal “Hoovervilles,” “Hobo Jungles” and “Shanty Towns” of the Great Depression evoked
the hippie communes that were springing up all over the country in 1967.  The nomadic, anti-establishment rebel  lives of Bonnie & Clyde struck a chord with young audiences of the 60s.

But the campground at Killebrew Park had a different feel to it.  The standard practice at most campsites is for a 14 Day Stay Limit.  So after driving through the place, I’m guessing at what most people do when staying at such places as Killebrew Park.  I’m guessing they already have their Plan B mapped out:  Packing up and moving to the next-closest “free campground.” Whether these free campgrounds are the modern equivalent of such “Hoovervilles” is beyond the scope of this post.  (Now just passing the preferred post-length of 1,600 words.)   Or possibly for another, later post.  The point is that after feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the idea of camping at Killebrew Park – even if there had been a space available – I had my own Plan B.

That and the overnight-camp in the Okefenokee will be covered in the next post…

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SwampWaterPoster.jpg

“…a cottonmouth bites Walter Brennan ‘on the cheek.’”

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The upper image is courtesy of Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge – Image Results. From the article, National Wildlife Refuge System celebrates 114th birthday

Re: “John Law.”  See also Urban Dictionary: John Law, and not to be confused with John Law, the noted economist (1671-1729), the “Scottish economist who believed that money was only a means of exchange that did not constitute wealth in itself and that national wealth depended on trade.” 

The “Albert” image is courtesy of www.comicvine.com/four-color-105-albert-the-alligator-and-pogo.  Wikipedia described Albert as “Exuberant, dimwitted, irascible and egotistical…  The cigar-chomping Albert is as extroverted and garrulous as Pogo is modest and unassuming, and their many sequences together tend to underscore their balanced, contrasting chemistry —like a seasoned comedy team.”

Re: “God’s Country.”  See Introduction to Ashley Wilkes:   “I live in the ATL – also known as ‘God’s Country’ – and that’s the birthplace of Gone with the Wind.”

Quotes from “Travels with Charlie” are generally from the 1980 Penguin Books edition.  The “applejack” quote is on pages 27-28.  The “Granddad” quote is from pages 109-13.

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And finally, as to possible other places to camp free, see RV Parking at Walmart | Walmart Atlas.   See also A Guide to Car-Camping – in Walmart Parking Lots and No Overnight Parking at Walmart | Walmart Atlas.  The upshot seems to be that you should be able to car-camp at some 80% of Walmarts around the country.  For another example – mobile home parks, as Steinbeck used – see Amenities & Rates – Arrowhead Campsites & Mobile Home Park.  That park – located in Ocala, Florida – offers an overnight tent-site rate of $17.00.  

Introduction to “Ashley Wilkes”

GWTW – Good for local business and a “tourist boon for Atlanta…”  

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I just published a collection of posts from this blog.  The title comes from the one I did on September 1, The mysterious death of Ashley Wilkes.  The sub-title:  “And other tales from the ‘Georgia Wasp.'”  Which is another way of saying that I’m a firm believer in kismet. In one sense it means your lot in life.  (Or the alternative, your fate.)

But in another sense it means a situation “when you encounter something by chance that seems like it was meant to be.”  (Sometimes called a sign from God.  On which see Isaiah 7:11.) That explains why – in my new book of posts – the Mid-summer Travelogs are out of order.  (Part II comes before Part I.)  There’s more on that later, but first an explanation. I live in the ATL – “God’s Country” – and that’s the birthplace of Gone with the Wind.  In turn, “GWTW” has been both good for local business and a “tourist boon for Atlanta.”  (See for example GWTW trail: the top 10 sights in Atlanta.)

Leslie Howard as Ashley Wilkes in Gone With the Wind trailer cropped.jpgSo after I posted Ashley Wilkes – seen at right, as played by Leslie Howard – I sensed a definite marketing opportunity. Like most people my age – 64 – I sat through the full 220 minutes of the film some time in the 1960s.  (At a periodic re-release in theaters.  That’s almost four hours of running time.)   And I saw it all the way through another time or two, with my parents, at home, on TV.  (Complete with what seemed to be more hours of commercials.)

Since then I’ve seen parts of GWTW dozens of times, in the process of channel surfing.  (A side note: Eugene Polley, who invented the first wireless remote control, died in 2012 at age 96.)

And finally – just last summer – I once again watched the entire movie, all the way through.  (My brother and I were traveling back from Astoria on “unfinished canoe-trip business.”)

Bundesarchiv Bild 101I-363-2258-11, Flugzeug Junkers Ju 88.jpgBut it was also only then – after getting home from Astoria – that I learned about Leslie Howard dying so mysteriously.

It happened during the early years of World War II, over the Bay of Biscay off the French coast.  In June 1942, a commercial airliner carried Howard and 16 other passengers and crew from Lisbon to London.  It got shot down by eight Luftwaffe Junkers Ju 88C6 fighter aircraft, like the one above left.

You can see the full story at Mysterious death, the first chapter of this new book.  On that note, some called the shoot down an accident of war.  But others said top Nazis ordered the attack deliberately.  According to this theory, the Germans considered Howard as either a British spy, or as “Britain’s most dangerous propagandist,” or both.

Personally I found this new information fascinating, and wondered why I’d never heard it before.  (Including the part about Conchita Montenegro, seen at right.)  In turn I figured the people of Atlanta would be equally fascinated.  So, I decided to do something about it.

Thus was born The mysterious death of Ashley Wilkes (and other tales from the “Georgia Wasp”), now available in E-book and paperback.

Which brings us back to kismet

To get the book ready to publish, I had to copy-and-paste the first chapter – Mysterious Death – onto a flash drive.  But for some reason, the resulting copy-and-paste resulted in a bunch of posts being transferred.  Some 14 posts in all – including drafts – all the way down to Canoeing 12 miles offshore.  (I posted that on May 23, while I posted Ashley Wilkes on September 1st.)

But rather than get upset, I figured it was kismet.  (Either that or a sign from God)

Which means that a happy accident shaped at least the first draft of the book.  Later I did some tweaking, adding some posts, editing others and deleting some.  But basically the order of chapter-posts in the book came from that initial C&P bit of “kismet.”

There’s more on the other chapters later, but first I wanted to do another bit of homage to Harry Golden.  He’s the guy who inspired me to start this second blog.

Some years ago I bought a second-hand paperback copy of Harry’s book, Only in America.  (Not to be confused with the 2001 Brooks and Dunn song of the same name, or the 2011 “reality television series” featuring Larry the Cable Guy.)

I admired the way he wrote about topics that interested him, yet still managed to find an audience for his ramblings.  I also admired the way he wove stories that became “a wonderful look into a different time.”  And I admired the way he overcame the obstacles in his life, like serving five years in prison for mail fraud.  (See “Wasp.”)

Only in AmericaBut despite it all, Harry still liked to “accentuate the positive.”  And that alone made him both unique and well worth emulating.

I’m pretty sure he too would be fascinated by the mysterious death of Ashley Wilkes.  And I’d like to think he’d enjoy the rest of the book as well.

For example, the second chapter is “Johnny YUMA was a rebel…”  It’s about The Rebel (TV series), that ran from 1959 to 1961.  (And Harry himself was a bit of rebel.  Facing down intolerance, distrust and greed, and standing up “for the weak and downtrodden.”)  But once again there was a death under mysterious circumstances.  The series’ star – Nick Adams – died at age 36, in 1968.  (A mere seven years after the show ended.)

The third chapter is “When adultery was proof of loyalty.”  That post was inspired directly by Harry Golden, who wrote a column of the same name.  I did it as a “book review plus:”

Unfortunately, in Harry’s delightfully retro format – an old-timey newspaper or newsletter – he couldn’t use the full-color pictures, flashy graphics and built-in links that we can use in today’s blogs.  So, this bit of a book review will be more than a bit of an update. (E.A.)

Other chapters include On Oscar Wilde and “gross indecencies.” It talks about the rise and fall of both Oscar Wilde and “computer scientist Alan Turing.”  (As told in the 2014 film, The Imitation Game.)  The lesson?  It pays to remember our past history.  Which is something Harry would believe in. Then there was a chapter On leaving a legacy. It talks about something that should be near and dear to all of us aging Baby Boomers:  Putting your stamp on the future, giving some meaning to your existence, or both.

And speaking of positive mental health advantages…  That’s one of many things that I got – and get – from reading and re-reading Harry Golden’s old books full of columns, observations and essays.  (Books like Only in America and For 2 Cents Plain.)

One reviewer noted above said that Harry’s essays were “at once insightful, thought provoking and in some instances just plain funny.”  Another noted his special brand “of wit and whimsy, and a love of people and learning.”  A third said that Harry’s Carolina Israelite was “the most quoted newspaper of personal journalism of them all.”

In closing, someone once observed that “a man is known by his dreams.”  Assuming that is so, it is my sincere hope – and dream – that I can carry on the good work done by Harry Golden.

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The upper image is courtesy of Gone With Wind – Image Results.  

Re: positive outlook on life and/or “accentuating the positive.”  Referring to “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive,” the 1944 song written by Harold Arlen with lyrics by Johnny Mercer.

See also curveball, defined in part as a “particularly difficult issue, obstacle, or problem.”  The point being that life seems to have a habit of “throwing us curveballs.”  See also the alternate definition of dinosaur, assomeone who resists change or is old-fashioned.”

Re: “The ATL.”  The link in the text goes to the Wikipedia article on the Atlanta metropolitan areaBut “ATL” or “the ATL” is a common acronym or abbrevation for the same area, if not Atlanta proper.  (Possibly or partly based on the airport code for Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport – Wikipedia.  See ATL – Acronyms and Abbreviations – The Free Dictionary.)

The “tourist boon for Atlanta” quote is from “A Tough Little Patch of History:”  Atlanta’s Marketplace for Gone With The Wind Memory.  That was the 2007 history dissertation by Jennifer Word Dickey, presently an Assistant Professor of History at Kennesaw State University:

She has a master’s degree in heritage preservation and a Ph.D. in public history from Georgia State University.  Her research focuses on the cultural impact of Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, a subject upon which Dr. Dickey has delivered public programs in the United States and in Vietnam.

Re: “periodic re-release in theaters.”  See for example ‘Jaws’ Re-Release:  Film to Hit Theaters for 40th Anniversary:  “On June 21, [2015,] nearly 500 theaters nationwide will show the thriller for its anniversary, presented by Fathom Events, Turner Classic Movies and Universal Pictures.”

899931_80902243Re: “happy accident.”  Also known as Serendipity, originally a term coined by Horace Walpole in 1754 and meaning a “fortunate happenstance” or a “pleasant surprise.”  See Wikipedia, and also Embracing Creative Failure (II): Cultivating Happy Accidents.  The latter web-article discusses happy accidents in the process of creating works of art – as seen at left – and added this:

Where would we be without serendipity…  Without the “X Factor” that unexpected results bring, who knows how long it would have taken scientists to discover oxygen, electric current, photography or the vulcanization of rubber.  And who knows if such vital medical breakthroughs as the discovery of penicillin [or], the development of chemotherapy as a cancer treatment … would have happened at all.

The view of lower Manhattan is courtesy of oneworldobservatory.com/experience.

Re: “a man is known by his dreams.”  That thought was attributed to Plato, in the third paragraph down of the web article, The Dreams and their Interpretation.

The lower image was featured in Was Moses the first to say “it’s only weird if it doesn’t work?”  In turn it was courtesy of Rephidim – Wikipedia, with the caption:  “Moses holding up his arms during the Battle of Rephidim, assisted by Hur and Aaron, in John Everett Millais Victory O Lord! (1871).”

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In addition to Gone With The Wind Trail: top 10 sights in Atlanta – vis-a-vis the film being good for local business and tourism – see also Gone with The Wind| Atlanta History CenterVisit the Margaret Mitchell House | AtlantaHistory Center, and/or Gone With The Wind- Roadside Georgia.