Forty-Mile Desert - Nevada Historical Marker 26

About midway between the towns of Reno and Winnemucca Nevada, lies the Forty-Mile Desert.

Before the first transcontinental railroad was completed in 1869, the life-giving Humboldt River Basin of Churchill County was the last water to be seen by many people slowly heading west to California by covered wagon.

During the height of the gold rush, upwards to 30,000 people annually emigrated west via the "Overland Emigrant Trail" which separated from the Oregon Trail near Fort Hall in Idaho and headed across the empty plains of Nevada to the gold fields in Placer County, located high in the rugged Sierra Nevada mountains and onwards to settlements and cities of northern California.

One of the more northern branches of the California Trail, the Truckee River Route, was used by the ill-fated Donner party. The Forty-Mile Desert route was originally touted as "a better way, being a shortcut."


The sign reads, "The 40-Mile Desert, beginning here, is a barren stretch of waterless alkali wasteland. It was the most dreaded section of the California Emigrant Trail. If possible, it was traveled by night because of the great heat.

The route was first traveled by the Walker-Chiles party in 1843 with the first wagon train. Regardless of its horrors, it became the accepted route, as it split five miles southwest of here into the two main trails to California--the Carson River and the Truckee River Routes.

Starvation for men and animals stalked every mile. A survey made in 1850 showed these appalling statistics: 1,061 dead mules, almost 5,000 horses, 3,750 cattle and 953 graves. The then-value of personal property lost was set at $1,000,000.

The heaviest traffic came from 1849 to 1869. It was still used after completion of the Central Pacific Railroad in 1869."

Thanks to photojournalist Pamela of "The Dust Will Wait", we can see just who is still using the perilous dusty, hot, desert trail...


Pamela suggests that this straggler has become separated from an Orange Barrel Train, and is very thirsty. We will never know the fate of this particular ORBA, but that nasty dent to the head makes me think this one will become a statistic and join the 1,061 dead mules...

A glimpse of the desert behind the suffering barrel really makes me admire the stamina, pluck, and courage of our ancestors. The overland journey from the Mid-West to Oregon and California meant a six month trip across 2,000 miles of 'difficult' country, traveled mostly on foot.

More Wagon Trail information (here)

Sometimes things don't go as planned...

This past Friday morning, I left home and went to Rochester, New York to see my nephew graduate from High School that evening.

After seven hours on the road, and a quick shower at a motel, I joined my brothers, parents, my older brother's wife and her family and we rode to the Rochester Institute of Technology's Gordon Field House.

My nephew, who plans to go to St. Bonaventure University this fall, was really excited to see everyone - its been a while since everyone in his family has visited him in Rochester. He had a crowd of twenty-two relatives there to cheer loudly and lustily when he picked up his diploma.

Well, almost.


I think there were about 20,000 people in attendance at the ceremony. I felt hemmed in and claustrophobic, so I moved toward the back and midway up some grandstands to get some air. And was stuck back there alone when ceremony began.

About midway through the reading of 450 some graduate's names, my cellphone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at the display and saw "Urgent - Rochester EMT needs to talk to you". I moved out of the noise, called them, and was told, "Find your mother and bring her outside NOW. Your dad is in the ambulance at the curb." So I elbowed my way back into the crowd, found my mother, and dragged her outside to the ambulance where she hopped in, tossing me her car keys.


I didn't see my nephew get handed his diploma. I found my brothers and made hasty arrangements to get out of the parking lot before the crowd poured out of the building.


I did hear the commencement speaker - the town manager of Henrietta, tell the graduating class, "Now it's time for you to find your way in life, and let me tell you something, you are young, and you need not decide today what you want to do with your life. If you find yourself in a college you don't like, or a job that isn't making you happy... Change! Get a new college, a new major, or new job! Life is to be enjoyed, I myself, have had five different jobs before finding this one - the job of my dreams."

I think he was "right on."

But that night, as I raced across the parking lot to my parent's car - I found myself in electronic contact with my deaf brother texting me directions, while my nephew celebrated a milestone in his young life without me seeing it, to a hospital I've never seen before, traveling on dark roads in a city far from home, wondering why my dad had been carried away underneath a strobing red light and mournful siren.

I got to the ER without mishap, and learned my dad had become dizzy during the graduation ceremony and had staggered out of the building, where a campus security guard found him and led him to a standby EMT crew. My dad was profusely bleeding internally and before things were stabilized, would require 8-9 units of blood transfusions.

Late that evening, I took my mom back to the motel in hopes she would get some rest and early Saturday, we returned to the hospital to be told "we would need to wait and see" what would happen. My dad said, "You two go and visit with the others, I'll be okay here." The Doctor said to stay nearby just in case.... "Just in case, WHAT??" I asked. He's only reply was it would take some time to stabilize my dad, he had lost a lot of blood. It turned out, it was just case they needed someone to donate some blood...

So, remembering a happier day, my older brother said, go to the Pittsford's Canal, where we walked with Aunt Eleanor when she was here for my (older brother's) wedding in 1982!

I scratched my head, got the car out of the garage, "poured" my mom into it, and drove down a couple streets that I thought looked "vaguely" familiar and then the old photographic memory kicked in. Fifteen minutes and ten miles later, I pulled into the parking lot where I had last talked to my (Great) Aunt Eleanor, 35 years ago. My mom looked at me and said, "I don't know how you do that, and it freaks me out sometimes, but today that ability of yours is really a blessing."


My older brother joined us a few minutes later and we had an early lunch and took a short walk on the Erie Canal.

As we were leaving there, I remembered I had something for a wonderful blogger friend, Yaya and her son Alex, but hadn't made arrangements with her yet or found her place on a map, so my older brother put his thinking cap on and said, "I know where that street is... you two follow me, it's just a short distance away." We found the street and her lovely house, but the blue-eyed, orange-loving Yaya wasn't available.

Oh well. I hoped to be able to go back and meet her later that weekend, but things refused to work out that way. My other nephew graduates next year. Maybe next year things will go a little smoother?

It wasn't until Monday afternoon that my dad stabilized and was discharged from the hospital. I immediately drove my parents home - and then drove myself the rest of the way home last night. My dad is doing better today - but is visiting his own doctor for follow up today.

I have been alone all day today in a cool, very quiet office and just can't stop yawning... I think I'm getting too old for this kind of exciting weekend.

I hope to visit your blogs soon, if I've not done so yet.

25 things you didn't know...

Nancy over at f8hasit tagged me in a 25 things you really never wanted to know about me-MeMe. I really admire Nancy, she is very smart and writes like I only aspire to on my best days. So I'd decided to give this me-me a shot.

I think you already know about my only having one pair of underwear and of the agony I go through when I have to put the SpongeBob SquarePants underwear (briefs) in the washer, so digging up 25 other things really made me have to think...

1. If you lined up all the men I admire alphabetically, Rodney Dangerfield would be right front of John Denver.
2. I once memorized the words to "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" at a recital just so I could blog about it.
3. I think spitting is grosser than discrete nose picking.
4. I learned the hard way why you don't wear size 32 man's underwear briefs when you have a size 36 waist.
5. Some days, I just want to look at a sexy woman for hours and hours and hours on end.
6. I think Oak trees over the age of 120 years old should be given the right to vote.
7. I used to dream of taking the perfect photograph of a wild squirrel. Thanks to modern medicine, I've been (mostly) cured of this.
8. I wished I had or knew an Aunt Rhody. And for more than ten minutes, even.
9. If I could teach the world to sing, it wouldn't be about Coca-cola.
10. I used to like Orange and Vanilla Creamsicles, but now I just see them as frozen Orange Coneheads.
11. I enjoy flying in little airplanes, and flying really low so I can see "what's down there", and really enjoy seaplane rides most of all.
12. I've visited over 3 dozen different denominations of Churches, to find the right one, and ended up just enjoying the stained glass windows.
13. I greatly covet a SLR digital camera with a real zoom lens, but don't think my photography hobby justifies the expense.
14. I think dogs are way cooler than cats, but I know some nifty cats too.
15. Every time I put fuel in my car I can hear my college roommate bemoaning that the two biggest wastes of time are pumping gas and going to the bathroom.
16. I will read virtually anything and read virtually anywhere.
17. I never own more than two pairs of shoes at any given time, but have worn out ten pairs in the past two years walking. I'm on a first-name basis with the cute shoe sales lady.
18. My dental hygienist is cute too. Every time I visit, I eat a whole package of Oreo cookies while waiting in the lobby. Sometimes she has to cancel the rest of the afternoon's appointments. I blame being overweight on her cuteness.
19. I've actually been thinking about getting a computer with Linux instead of Microsoft Windows on it for the first time in my life.
20. I continue to "train" for getting married. I find sleeping on the sofa is more restful than sleeping on a bed.
21. I will eat almost anything once. Dried octopus chips/crisps (they looked like potato chips) to mountain oysters, but I can't get past "eating bugs" like they did on Fear Factor. And oh yes indeedy, I still dislike Brussel Sprouts.
22. I like how young kids look after they have had a nice tall glass of any flavor of Kool Aid.


23. I secretly wish I was the M & M Yellow guy but I'm probably more like the red one.
24. My favorite soup is New England-style Clam Chowder.
25. Given the choice between riding a Camel and an Elephant, I go with Elephant everytime.

Now I must tag 10 people to beg, plead, and nag to do this!

These lucky people are:

1. My cute dental hygienist.
2. My cute shoe sales lady.
3. The cheery lady at the cash register at the 7-11 across the street.
4. ToriZ of Tori's World in hopes of finding out how she determines horse's sex.
5. Rita of SoulComfort but if Karma wants to stand in for her, that's okay!
6. JennyMac at Let's have a cocktail. I don't usually get intimidated but this woman is so well put together she leaves me tongue-tied and stammering.
7. Yankee Girl over at Adventures of a Yankee Girl because she's so cool I'm sure I'll learn something surprising.
8. You!
9. And You!
10. And You Too!

An Idyllic Evening in the Meadow

Cotswold Sheep... grazing... in the setting sun...


When viewed from a distance, these Cotswold Sheep seem startlingly alive.


They were fabricated from cor-ten steel at 125 percent life-size, to avoid appearing diminished by the vast meadow.

Artist - Charles Layland, American, born 1928.

Cor-ten steel is a "weathering" steel that forms a protective layer (basically a fancy form of rust) that prevents them from rusting through.

According to the sign located near the sheep, "Historically, garden parks like the Morris Arboretum sometimes included ornamental farms with livestock. Not only did sheep trim the lawn, but as pictureque counterpoints to the culivated landscape, they provided a reference to an agricultural past."

Blah blah blah... This not-so stuffy art critic thought, "Hey these things are cool!"

:)

Allegro by Gioseffo Hectore Fiocco

Hi everyone,

I've been busy since Sunday - I hope to catch up reading your blogs soon!

Last night I was at the Central Schwenkfelder Church to hear my niece playing her voila in a summer student recital. I had to hussle to get there since I was at the "Ladies Room Job" earlier in the day. I forgot to bring my camera, so the two pictures are low quality cell phone shots.


My niece playing Allegro by Gioseffo Hectore Fiocco

This is NOT my niece but an award winner playing the same piece. I had never heard of the piece (or the composer for that matter.) I thought you might like to hear how lively this music is.


The grand finale, "Go Tell Aunt Rhody", was played by all the students ensemble. The students ranged from first and second graders up to two graduated high school seniors.

Go tell Aunt Rhody
Go Tell Aunt Rhody
Go Tell Aunt Rhody
The old grey goose is dead.

The one that she's been savin' (3 times)
To make a feather bed.

She died in the millpond (3 times)
From standin' on her head.

The goslins are crying (3 times)
Because their mammy's dead.

The gander is weeping (3 times)
Because his wife is dead.
From Fiocco to Aunt Rhody. All of them were gifted with talent.

Happy Father's Day! (LBE)

Today, I am feeling especially fortunate to have a lot of shared interests with my dad and having my dad around...

This past weekend, just the two of us went to the town of St. Michaels, located on the Miles River which flows into the Chesapeake Bay about 24 miles south of Annapolis, to visit the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum. The museum was hosting the 23rd Annual Antique and Classic Boat Festival which means old wooden boats, old cars and pickup trucks, old "nautical stuff", lots of people and plenty of fresh seafood.


The museum covers 18-acres on one of the most postcard perfect waterfronts known to man. The centerpiece of the museum is the Hooper Strait Lighthouse.

This 1879 lighthouse once stood on Navy Point (north of Norfolk, VA) and lit the way through the tricky waters of Hooper Strait. Because the Chesapeake Bay is shallow, with dangerous shoals, Bay lighthouses were essential to safe navigation.


The Hooper Strait lighthouse is called a "screwpile," built on special iron pilings which were tipped with a screw that could be turned into the muddy bottom for a depth of 10 feet or more.

Lighthouse keepers had risky jobs with an important responsibility to keep the Chesapeake's shoals and channels safely marked for shipping. Two men kept watch; their duties included maintaining the building, standing watch all night to make sure the light remained lit, and ringing the fog bell during inclement weather.

In some locations, families were permitted to live in the lighthouse, but Hooper Strait was not one of them. Consequently, there were no domestic niceties in the lighthouse. Water for drinking, bathing and cooking was collected from the roof's rain gutters, groceries were rationed and arrived once a week from the mainland, and the bathroom facilities were located outside on the deck.


When I saw this wooden boat floating along side the dock I turned to my Dad and said, "Do you remember the time..." just as he turned to me and said, "Remember the time..." and we both laughed.

My Dad had a boat very similar to this one when he was first married. He and my grandfather were often out in it, in any season, and in any weather. One summer, my father, grandfather, my younger brother, and I were out fishing in the inlet off the "fish factory" down the New Jersey shore in this old wooden boat.

The inlet was pretty calm and smooth - the water very clear and sparkling, the flounder were biting and we were catching fish when suddenly I looked up and saw a rogue wave, 9 or 10 feet in height in a cresting roll, bearing down on us. I shouted to everyone to "Hold on!!!" while cranking the wheel to steer the boat into the wave. The wave crashed over the bow and smashed through the windshield and flooded the boat, leaving it with about 2 feet of water over the floor. My dad immediately started bailing with a bucket and had my grandfather show my younger brother how to work the manual pump.

My arm and side of my head was cut pretty bad by the shattered glass, but my Dad told me just steer the boat into the waves and try to edge over to the beach. After a short while, a much larger boat used to take people offshore deep sea fishing came by and towed us over the bar and into the bay, where we beached the boat and finished getting the water out of it.

We arrived home many hours late, soaked in seawater and half bloody, to find my mom and grandmother frantic from fear. To show everyone we were made of the "right stuff" (and after getting stitches in my arm and the side of my head), we were out fishing and water skiing the next day - however it was quite a while before we ventured out into the inlet to the ocean again.

I think this happened in 1967 - and while I remember the wave crashing through the windshield inches from my face, I also remember how calm and no nonsense my dad was - he saw to it that we were all safe, and that we were in no real danger, and set about getting us out of our predicament.

Yes Dad, I remember when... :)


My dad and I envied the owner of the Hours and Ours while coveting his boat. This boat was basically a wreck found in some one's barn, and the owner spent from 1998 to 2008 rebuilding it, piece by piece while living along (with it) in his garage.

I asked him if the boat's trailer had the same story, you know, a "pile of rust" that he grinded, welded, and repainted over 10 years in order to restore it.

He turned to me with a huge smile and said, "Now THAT would be insane!"


The museum offers an apprentice program to those that want to learn the skills involved with building a wooden boat. This exquisite canoe was built by such an apprentice. My only thoughts were when I saw this work of art were admiration and appreciation. The only person I know that has talent like this is Hank Jr.


This little tugboat named, "Coastie" reminded me of a little boy who's grandfather was in the Coast Guard. Maybe someday, he'll be a happy boater too.


When I saw this pickup truck, I could of swore I was just looking at one of these somewhere - when I remembered I had seen one on Far Side of Fifty's Forgotten Old Photos's blog. There was also a Model T, a '57 Chevy, a "Woody" station wagon, and a 1952 Ford V8 Customline.


...finally, when regretfully having to leave the museum, I saw this little exhibit showing how the waterman's family garden would contribute to the seafood that many of them lived on, as well as made a living from. This reminded me of another very talented person, the creator of the Conas Brothers.

Happy Father's Day, Dad! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

The Trouble With Jane

Not too long ago, I wrote of a customer that keeps his company's server as well as other computers in the ladies room (here). While I know its not a good idea to label projects and jobs in any way that would offend the customer should one's tongue slip, this job has become known as "the ladies room job".

In fact, the job is entered into the time-tracking/billing database that way. It has become a steady 2-3 day a month one, but it has never become a routine one.

Take the trouble with Jane for instance.

A couple days ago, I got a call from Chris at "the ladies room job" telling me that Jane was having problems. So not knowing what to expect, I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, packed my service kit and grabbed a handful of manuals I lend to users, with such flattering titles as "Windows XP for Dummies" and drove off.

As I drove the 60 miles, it occurred to me that I've never met Jane. I began to wonder if she was someone new - and maybe she's nice and single and ... well, my mind went down a few roads while the car went down some other ones.

Eventually, somewhat weary from battling traffic, I arrive in the company's parking lot and walk up to the receptionist and ask for "Jane."

The pretty receptionist looks at me with puzzled eyes and says, "Who?"

"Jane," I repeat more slowly, taking great care to enunciate clearly.

"There is no Jane here." She replied. "Can someone else help you?"

Thinking I misheard the name, I say, "Well, maybe Chris said Wayne..."

Nope, no Wayne's here either..

So I ask for Chris, the person that called me, and she gets on the phone and the person she talks to says they aren't expecting anyone. The receptionist, who by now is starting to reach for the panic button to summon the security guard, tells me, "You must be at the wrong place."

I clumsily, because my hands are full of computer stuff, pull my cellphone out of my pocket and call Chris. They calmly say they will call the receptionist and tell her where to send me. The phone rings on the desk and the receptionist picks it up and says, "Oh! It's the other Chris!" and starts giggling. She looks up to me and says, "You want to see Bob, he's in Building Three in a cube near the restrooms."

Being intimately knowledgeable of the Building Three's restrooms... or at least the ladies room, I know exactly where Bob sits. "Jane?" I ponder as I walk down the corridor...

I find Bob and say somewhat questioningly, "I understand Jane is having troubles?" Bob looks up to me and replies, "Yes, she certainly seems to be," while he rolls back away from his desk on his chair and looks at me expectantly.

I looked vacantly around, and feeling really foolish and stupid, ask, "So where is the lady having the troubles?"

Bob looks at me and points to the floor under his desk and to an area I cannot see from my side of it. "Dear God what have I gotten myself into?" I inadvertently exclaim while my jaw drops on its own volition.

Bob suddenly realizes that I think Jane is a human being "lady" (and of questionable repute) and starts laughing at me.

"No, no, no! Jane the Computer!"

Red in the face, I say, with great wit and complete tact, "Oh."

While I work, I ask Bob a few questions about "Jane". It turns out, in the early days of the company, the computers where named for the person that they were bought for. Jane, the person, no longer worked there and as a matter of fact, I learned after asking around, no one even remembered who she was...

It was with great sadness, I had to tell the "other" Chris that "Jane" had passed away. Without blinking an eye, she replied, "Oh well, we will just have to buy a new Jane, although I guess this one will be a Bob."


Alas! Jane the Computer, we hardly knew ye... and Jane the Lady, we knew ye not at all.

Dear Diary

Yesterday, I changed a light bulb.

Now, I'm sure you are wondering how many Iggys (Iggies?) does it take to change a light bulb.

The answer is the same as the answer to "How many jugglers does it take to change a light bulb?"

And that is, only one, but it takes at least three light bulbs...

You see, the light bulb burned out in my hallway sometime shortly before last Thanksgiving. The very next day, I went downstairs to the supply closet and got out a couple of boxes of light bulbs and sat them on my dining room table and ... then I got distracted.

So November turned into December, and 2009 into 2010... and winter came and left and then spring came... and now, summer is just about around the corner...

I know sometime in February I would have appreciated a hall light, as I got up in the wee hours of the morning to "relieve myself" and walked into a closed door giving myself a hellacious bruise.

I also vaguely recall being somewhat glad when Daylight Savings time arrived, and then the hall wasn't quite so dark at night. And full moons! Oh, they were a godsend!

So anyway, yesterday, I looked at the dining room table and I saw two boxes of light bulbs sitting just were I left them. I made a scrunched up face and wondered why I felt I needed to bring up two boxes from the downstairs closet.

I wandered over to the boxes, and saw they were of two different wattage's. Hmmm... I guess I was planning ahead so I had whichever size I needed. I sat down on my sofa and was about to flick on the TV when the light bulb went on over my head, figuratively, and not the one in the hallway.

"Oh yeah! I was going to change that light bulb in the hallway!"

I got out a chair. I know, I know, I should have gotten at least a step-stool but I wasn't that ambitious. I placed the chair under the domed ceiling light bulb fixture, got up on the chair and took down the dome.

Wow! I wonder how and where all those dead dried out bugs came from anyway? I swiped away the cobwebs from the fixture and washed the glass dome in my kitchen sink and... hmmm.. I didn't have a towel to dry it with. So I went downstairs and got a clean dish towel and came back up and dried out the fixture and got back up the chair and put the glass dome back up on the ceiling fixture.

Proud of myself, I put the chair back where I got it.

I was comfortably reseated on the sofa when it occurred to me, durn it! I hadn't changed the bulb.

Hmmm... Getting back up, I retrieved the chair, re-took down the glass dome, unscrewed the light bulb, got down from the chair, threw away the old light bulb and just then, the doorbell rang. I had a wonderful chat with someone trying to sell me stuff that would make my lawn weed-free. I talked to him for at least twenty minutes before I told him I think weeds have a right to life as much as any of God's lifeforms and killing them was murder. I was slightly puzzled by the odd look he gave me when he walked back to his gaudy but cool, green colored van.

I closed the front door and reseated myself on my sofa. My eyes began to droop and dreamland was calling me (quite loudly, actually), when suddenly I went "No!! Not time to sleep! Must change the light bulb!"

I got up on the chair with a new light bulb and promptly dropped it. It miraculously survived the fall to the floor and didn't break, but then I stepped on it getting down from the chair and crushed it into a bazillion pieces. Cussing softly, I went and got another light bulb. I screwed this one in, put the glass dome back up, and then flicked the switch... and ... nada. nothing...

At least this time, I didn't have to retrieve the chair.

So up I went onto the chair, off and down came the dome, unscrewed was the defective bulb, went and got another bulb, screwed it in and this time... this time... I hit the switch before putting the dome back on and ... Voila! The light shines for the first time in ... let's see... December, January, February, March, April, May, June... about 7 months. Glory be!


Maybe tomorrow, I'll put the glass dome back up and put the chair away.

A Day in Schwenksville (Part 2)

Parsley asked me where I found all the information for my previous entry.

Want to know a "secret"? Acadia Publishing has a couple series of books that I've been avid reader of for years. Parsley, being a postcard collector, might find Arcadia's Postcard History Series of great interest. They have a lot of books, and perhaps one (or two) of your area. They have over 500 books for Pennsylvania alone.


So when I set out for Schwenksville, just a handful of miles down the road, I took this book with me. My intent was to find any of the old buildings featured in it (as a postcard) still around and take a picture to creat a then and now set. I got so wrapped up with the firehouse history and the Victorian homes - I forgot to "cite my sources" and forgot the "then" shots! Looking at the buildings then and now - there is remarkably little change so the "then" shots went by the wayside!

To fill in the blanks, I found a historical account of Schwenksville (here) on the web. It is a derived from a booklet printed in 1976 by The Schwenksville Bicentennial Committee.

One of the buildings that one can't miss entering the town of Schwenksville is a block (or more) long red, shed-like, one that used to be the lumber company's. Today it is home to "The Trading Post", a rather ecclectic assortment of old country living items charitably called "antiques".

Sprawled outside the front door were the following items.


I could hear the scree-cree scree sound that pumping the handle made - in so many places in so many times in times past. I fondly recall one of these in a park where I walked - and after 6-7 miles of summer heat, the chuggling sound of cool water "on the way!" was a blessing.


A cast iron wood (or perhaps coal)-burning cook stove. I look at this and think about my microwave and say sometimes progress ain't all bad.


The first thought through my head was, "No, this cast iron tub doesn't look very bendy to me" followed by a flood of memories of a pair of similar tubs that used to be in the house "down the shore" where I spent so many boyhood summers.


An old metal milk can - one of the reasons for being for many of the railroads in farm country was to bring fresh milk to the city from the outlying farms each day. A dairy farmer would put his milk cans on the train freight station platform and take his empties back to the farm - there must of been hundred of thousands (or more) of these "back in the day".


This 1950-ish Maytag washer looks like it might still work. I would have bought it except the original Maytag repairman passed away as well as his replacement, waiting for me to require his services.

And then I came across this -


This is about a foot and half high with the gear and crank handle, and the can about ten inches in diameter. Very sturdily made as the long bolts attest - I originally thought, "Hmmm... a cider press?" and decided, no... it can't be.

I showed the picture to a friend of mine and we put our two heads together. Olive oil? No. Orange juice? Doubtful. Lets look at google pictures for "iron press" and of course we saw a bunch of clothes irons. Getting increasely mule-headed by being stymied, I searched on - until I stumbled onto this webpage (link).

Titled, "Consider the Pig: Adventures in Sausage-Making," it was an "on-line forum" that had pictures showing pretty much the same object.

Ah! A saugage stuffer and Fruit/Lard Press!

I sent my friend the link and had moved on when I was greeted by gales of laughter. She had started reading the page. I went back to see what the laughter was all about and started reading -

"My mama was the very first Queen of the Cochon de Lait (or, Queen of the Roast Suckling Pig, or just plain “Pig Queen,” as we like to call her) in 1951. I am royalty in the line of pageant swine. For reasons totally unrelated to my hog heritage, my favorite cashier at Dominick’s calls me Miss Pork, and frankly, I’m flattered."

I started to giggle.. and then laugh... Her tips...

"Wear hairnets or hats. (I won’t go into the details.)"

"Be brave. Mix in more pork fat nubbins."

"Don’t eat homemade sausage at every meal for three days straight, no matter how delicious it is."

And some of the reader comments:

"I don't know if this is a plus or minus in your book, but Halsted Packing smelled like a barnyard when I went in. They do 'live kill' butchering, which is why I chose it over the other places I checked out."

"I don't know why, but I find the fact that there's an International Natural Sausage Casing Association...hilarious."

And someone's mind went into the gutter when they read:

" It doesn't have to be frozen solid - just firm and it works fine."

So, I hope you enjoyed what my trip to Schwenksville turned up - there were some other pictures - I might even get to a "then" and "now" set with them.

A Day in Schwenksville (Part 1)

A short drive west of my house is the town of Schwenksville, PA.

The town sits at the confluence of the Perkiomen Creek and Mine Run, was home to what might have been the oldest copper mine in the United States. It is believed that efforts to mine copper in this area were begun as early as 1695.

George Schwenk, a German immigrant who arrived from Holland with his parents and brother in 1741, is credited with founding the town of Schwenksville in 1756.

The Revolutionary War halted copper mining operations and brought to the Schwenksville area, General George Washington and approximately 10,000 men, who camped there before and after the battle of Germantown on October 4, 1777. Many soldiers died of battle wounds here and over 250 of them are buried in the town cemetery.

It wasn't until about 1850 that Schwenksville began to develop into something more than a sleepy little farming village. In 1846, the Perkiomen and Sumneytown Turnpike was extended through the village and reached Green Lane. It was now, "only a three day trip" to go to Philadelphia and back by horse-drawn coach.

More importantly, in 1869 the Perkiomen Railroad reached Schwenksville. It was with the advent of the railroad the community experienced its first growth spurt. Because of this convenient means of transporting goods to Philadelphia or Allentown, businessmen found Schwenksville an attractive location and built their homes there.


Apparently any house built during the Victorian era, which spanned the period of Queen Victoria's reign from June, 1837 to January, 1901, is considered "Victorian". Many of beautiful homes found on Schwenksville's Main Street are of the "Victorian era".


- A beautiful home on Main Street -

- Another home on Main Street - Twin -

- The William Bromer House - c. 1890 -
Albert Bromer started a small clothing manufacturing business in his home with one employee in 1864. He and his wife Catherine were the parents of 11 children, three of whom remained in Schwenksville - Jacob, Elizabeth (the wife of Irvin Schwenk), and William, who took over his father's business in 1889.


- Industrial Hall - 1984 -
In order to house his growing business, Albert Bromer built Industrial Hall in 1874. On the ground floor of this building, clothing was cut and was distributed by wagon to the homes of the women who "sewed for Bromer".


Industrial Hall's the second floor boasted a large meeting room. The third floor of this building was used as a meeting place for the Improved Order of Red Men (founded in 1765) and the Brotherhood of the Union.

At William Bromer's retirement in 1907, the business employed about 600 people with an output of 8,000 garments per week.


In 1874 the Schwenksville Fire Company was organized, and with money raised from community carnivals, a shallow-well, hand-drawn pumper was purchased and housed in what is now the Borough Hall Building following its completion in 1880.

The fire company received it's charter and was incorporated May 22, 1907. It then moved into the first floor of the Industrial Hall building.


In 1979, Schwenksville Fire Company, after over a hundred years of residency, outgrew the Industrial Hall building and moved into today's station.

Today is Flag Day

The Star Spangled Banner was written by Francis Scott Key, as a poem called "In Defense of Fort McHenry", off Baltimore Harbor, in September 1814 during the War of 1812.


Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard...

When an American says that he loves his country, he means not only that he loves the New England hills, the prairies glistening in the sun, the wide and rising plains, the great mountains, and the sea. He means that he loves an inner air, an inner light in which freedom lives and in which a man can draw the breath of self-respect.

It is the flag just as much of the man who was naturalized yesterday as of the men whose people have been here many generations...

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." ... I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

The hopes, goals and aspirations of America are of Freedom, Liberty, equal and even-handed justice, and equality... and they actually remain a work in progress, but while we wrangle today with so many divisive issues - let us remember that our country allows us all the liberty to speak our piece and we've set ourselves a truly noble goal "not because they are easy, but because they are hard."

Diamond Rock Schoolhouse

The Diamond Rock Schoolhouse is an historic octagonal one-room school. A well-known landmark in The Chester Valley, it is located at the foot of Diamond Rock Hill in Tredyffrin Township, a short distance from Valley Forge National Historic Park and the Great Valley Corporate Center.


A postcard from 1910, showing the restoration.

In 1818, half a century before the advent of public schools in this area, a small community of primarily Mennonite families contributed their labor and money to building this one room schoolhouse and hiring a teacher.


The schoolhouse as it looks today.

They chose an octagonal plan - at the time a popular architectural concept - because it provided one wall and window for each of the six grades, another for the teacher opposite one for the door. The students sat on benches facing table-like desks against the wall with their backs to the warmth of a small wood-burning stove. As the teacher would address a class, those students would turn around to face the center.


Close up of the school.

The Diamond Rock Schoolhouse was used as a school between 1818 and 1864. As the population of the area grew during the mid-1800s, the school eventually became too small, and it closed in 1864 when students were reallocated to other nearby schools.


Close up of the marker by the front door.


The backside of the schoolhouse - it looks like every side except the front - I wonder why that it? :)


The view up Diamond Rock Road.

I used to work in the The Great Valley Corporate Center and this was the road I normally drove home on. It's been a long time - and I still miss the drive - and the job I had "down that way", where I worked with a bunch of wonderful and talented people.

The Friends of the Diamond Rock Schoolhouse site is (here)

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

...but some gentlemen aren't at all picky.

Photojournalist Deanna of My Loves, My Life sent me another photograph of that new species announced by the (easily excited) folks at Global Organization for Research of Alien Narcoleptic Gazing Entities (Glo-Orange) (here).

Deanna write, "These BOCHAs were standing at a street corner next to a very busy road. I think the blonde bombshell was being pimped by the other one." (Ed. note: BOCHAs are Bubba Orange Cone Head Aliens to you newbies...)

Well, given what little I know about OHCA sexual practices (summarized here), I suppose that is quite possible. On the otherhand...


The gentleman caller might be ready for some fun as he is already wrapped in saran wrap-like plastic for ummm... safety. Yeah, that's it... safety.

Come on y'all, chime in like Sergeant Schultz of Hogan's Heroes now - I know nothing, nothing! nothing!! about STD's of the "Orange" Kingdom. I want to keep it that way, thank you very much.

My brother just chimed in with his opinion... he thinks they are remaking a movie and those BOCHAs (to be honest he said "those other ones") across the street might be extras, film crew, or spectators.

Hmm, so which would you prefer?

A remake of "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" with Marilyn Monroe Bocha singing "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend?"

...or maybe "Blonde and Blonder" with Pamela Anderson Bocha and Denise Richards Bocha which was ... well, I guess basically "plotless"... dancing about.

...or "Legally Blonde" with Reese Witherspoon Bocha attending Harvard Law School?

:) Have a great weekend!

The long way home...

Recently someone asked me if I enjoyed roller coasters and I most certainly do!

While thinking about fun times on screaming at the top of my lungs with my arms waving overhead, I wistfully and fondly remembered the Matterhorn Bobsled and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coasters in Disneyland, Anaheim, California.

My Uncle Johnny (my mom's brother) lived in Culver City (northwestern metropolitan Los Angeles) and delighted in taking me and my brothers to Disneyland. My Great-aunt Eleanor (my dad's mom's sister) lived in Chula Vista, CA, and my honorary Aunt Bea who lived in Carlsbad, CA made for many reasons to head to the west coast when I was growing up. And even better to a youngster, all the relatives on the west coast took turns taking my brothers and I to Disneyland!

My last trip to Disneyland wasn't a typical one though.

Sometime around 1996 I had a job interview at a pharmaceutical company called Synergen Pharma Inc. (later bought by Amgen, Inc.), in Boulder, Colorado. I remember the flight to Denver and renting a car to drive to Boulder where along the way, it began to snow. The next day, I had my interviews while the snow continued to fall, and when done, I drove back to Denver and returned the rental car. I don't remember the exact details, but my flight home to Philadelphia had been canceled. I think the airport in Philadelphia was closed because of snow.

The next flight I could get into Philadelphia, on whatever airline I was flying, was via Los Angeles a couple days later. If I hurried, I could fly that day from Denver to Los Angeles that evening, spend the night with my Uncle Johnny and Aunt Ilene, and have the next day at my leisure while waiting for the flight home the following day.

So it was, I flew from Denver to LA and ended up in Disneyland on a TUESDAY!

The park was virtually deserted! I think the longest line might of been about two... no not two minutes, or two cycles of rides, but two people!!!

I know I rode the Matterhorn Bobsleds and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coasters until I was slap happy and ready to fall over.

But the thing that I remember more - vividly - and with great fondness - besides the feeling like a young carefree kid, was the smell of burning "coal" and hot steam while riding on the Disneyland Railroad.

The live-steam Disneyland Railroad, was inaugurated on the park's opening day, July 17, 1955. Riders use it as transportation to other areas of the park or simply for the experience of the "Grand Circle Tour". The Main Street railroad station is seen entering Disneyland.


My Uncle loved this station. When he died, I got a shoebox in the mail filled with his slides, photographs, and postcards from the park. I think 1 in 5 of the pictures in the box are of Main Street Station.

A sign on the roof of the station shows an elevation of 138 feet above sea level and a population number that roughly corresponds with the number of visitors to the park over the past six decades. The number is currently about 575 million.


"To all who come to this happy place, welcome. Disneyland is your land. Here age relives fond memories of the past, and here youth may savor the challenge and promise of the future. Disneyland is dedicated to the ideas, dreams and the hard facts that have created America, with the hope that it will be a source of joy and inspiration to all the world." — Walt Disney, July 17, 1955

I spent the day alone - but so wrapped up in memories of times past - it made no difference.

...and in case you are wondering, I didn't get the job at Synergen. My only regret about that was never meeting Mindy (or Mork for that matter.)