Baby, It's Cold Outside.

Autumn has given up all attempts to hold off winter. Officially, it's still nine days until winter is in residence, but it has been regularly cold and snowy for ten days, now. The ice storm that is currently in the news, was a little to the east of us. We got a bit of sleety rain that turned into a thin coating of ice, but nothing as severe as an ice storm that hit Alma last new year's eve. Parts of the town were without power for a week, and Holdrege, twenty-four miles north of us was powerless for weeks and weeks. That ice storm hit this area so bad that 3,000 telephone poles broke off and fell over. Power workers from three or four nearby states came to the rescue. Several eighteen wheelers came to Holdrege with flat bed trailers holding enormous generators to supply electricity to the freezing town.


This is my satellite dish, and while it is showing the result of icing, it certainly isn't severe. And contrary to claims of some "competing" forms of tv service, I have never lost my signal due to clouds, rain, lightning, snow, ice or the heartbreak of psoriasis.
You see these dishes on almost every home in the area, since the alternative ain't much. The local cable company's top of the line, most expensive package consists of only 47 channels and does not include ESPN2. That is tantamount to heresy. How is a man supposed to be whole without ESPN2?

Since I have no covered parking, my poor car must feel like I'm storing it in a food freezer. This morning I had to fill a plastic juice container with warm tap water and pour it in the cracks around the car door to get it open. It was frozen solid and wouldn't budge. My California friends who came from the midwest and the east can probably recall those glorious moments. I have a special "bra" that covers the windshield at night so that it doesn't ice up and force me to scrape, scrape, scrape. I have found that making products to help deal with the problems of automobile icing is a big business out here. I have also found out that most of those products don't work very well. Warm tap water worked great, but the special aerosol spray I bought to "guarantee" that the doors would not freeze shut was a piece of crud. Ah, well.

There will always be something magical to me about white snow covering a neighborhood scene. I took this picture while standing in my front door at noon today. The high temp is going to be 22 degrees F, and the low tonight will be approximately 6-8 degrees F. I won't notice most of it at all since I will be comfortably housed on my couch this afternoon reading a book and sipping a cup of hot chocolate topped with those little marshmallows. Now, that's how cold weather should be experienced.


Looking down the street in the other direction produces the same sort of scene. The snow is about six to eight inches deep on the lawns and walkways, but has certainly been flattened on the street by passing cars. I am gaining a certain amount of expertise in navigating in the snow and ice. Mostly, it calls for slower speeds and common sense. Of course, every region has it's share of yo-yos who simply don't understand concepts like caution when driving in poor road conditions.

Does the cold upset or discourage me about the move from California. Not one bit. I have been in Nebraska when it was bitterly cold (-38 wind chill temp) and I spent a year in Greenland in the army where wind chill was not required for it to get to -38 or lower. The saying is true: "There is no such thing as weather that is too cold - there is only inadequate clothing." I have invested in some pretty warm clothing and footgear and I have to say that it makes being outdoors in cold weather tolerable. Of course, I would love for it to be Spring so I could be relaxing on the bank of the lake with a line in the water, but I accept that Winter is a necessary part of this earth's rhythm.

Life is pretty good, regardless of the forecast.

Winter Has Arrived

December 21 is officially the start of winter, but for all practical purposes it arrived last night in the form of our first significant snowfall. Last Monday, November 19, the high temperature was 77 degrees F. Yesterday, November 23, we got three inches of snow. I guess that's the way it goes in the plains states (I would normally have said, "that's the way it goes in the midwest", but it has been pointed out to me by several residents that this is not the midwest but is part of the Great American Plains).

My car does not have covered parking, so this is what I found waiting for me this morning. The picture is a little dark as it was fairly early and still quite cloudy. Under the beautiful, fluffy snow lies hard as rock ice, so I got to use my ice scraper and bristle brush for the first time. I'll have to get a can of silicone spray in town and spray it on my rubber door seals so they don't freeze to the door as they tried to do today. Luckily, it didn't get too cold last night (about 17 above, F). I had to make a trip to Orleans this morning (distance= 7 miles, population=425) and tried to be prudent in my driving habits. There is an old saying to the effect that half of being smart is knowing what you're dumb at, and I have no trouble admitting that I am dumb at driving on snow and ice. I will learn as the months go by, but for now I'll take it slow and easy. My Sister, the Rev. Kathe Ford, lived in Alaska for ten years and told me that driving on snow and ice was easy as could be. No problem, she said. "Stopping on ice," she then said, "now that's a problem".

Here's what it looks like up the walk to my front door. The snow isn't very deep at all, but it's still a measurable snow fall. The concrete walks hold heat longer than the dirt areas, so they tend melt the snow off. Problem is, the melted snow shortly freezes and makes the walkways slippery and dangerous. I have purchased a pair of boots designed for good footing in snow and ice, but short of mounting climbing crampons, nothing can really give good footing on ice.

The view up the street shows off a wintry view that is truly beautiful. The high temperatures today and tomorrow will be in the mid forties, so I'm told that what is beautiful today will be ugly, muddy slush by Monday afternoon.

Ah, well. So much for a wintry paradise.

A Lot Going On, Part 2

Each year the Friday before Thanksgiving is the occasion for Alma's "Holiday Preview". The Christmas lights are up and lit. Christmas carols echo up and down the streets from strategically located loudspeakers and there is simply no place to park because all the shops are open and most of the town has turned out to take a look at this year's decorations.

When I walked past the Subway franchise and looked in the window, I could see my granddaughter busily putting sandwiches together for a host of customers. There were similar scenes in all the stores as the people of Alma made a point of walking each side of Main Street and stepping into each store for at least a few moments. Since almost everybody in Alma knows everybody else (at least slightly), it's a time of community conviviality.

Two small horses pulled a wagon filled with people on a tour of the four block area that is essentially downtown Alma, Nebraska. The wagon has regular automobile tires on its wheels, so it looked to be a comfortable ride. Even though it was after dark, I saw many hardy souls wearing only T-shirts, no jackets. The temperature was probably in the low sixties or high fifties, and a softy like me wears a light jacket in that weather, but then I've only been here a little over five months. Maybe my blood will thicken as time marches on.

The entity that operates my apartment complex, The Alma Housing Authority, led by my apartment manager, Denise (boy, is she high energy Irish), had set up camp at Joe Camera, my favorite store in town. Denise offered free coffee, cookies and blueberry muffins to all who stopped in. She was also offering a drawing for a new DVD player, so people came by, said "Hi" and generally hung around to talk. I had volunteered to help host a half-hour slot, so from 6:00 PM to 6:30 PM, I welcomed people and made sure they were aware of all to be had there at Joe Camera.

Two ladies from my apartment complex relieved me at the appointed time. One of them was my immediate neighbor, Ruby. Ruby is 98 years old going on 45 and has suffered no real ill effects of aging, other than (like most of us) she's probably not as tall as she used to be. If I make it to 98, I hope I am as physically and mentally able as is Ruby. She is a delight.

The free coffee was limited to regular and decaf, because the shop offers everything you can imagine in the way of coffee. In an earlier post, I commented on the wide selection of coffees available. So for those who wanted a Latte or a "Mocha Java" (whatever that is), I referred them to the store owner, Dusti, who happily obliged them at regular store prices for the fancy stuff.

The jars of coffee beans and tea leaves on the shelves are more numerous than anyone would ever expect to find in a town of 1232 souls. The tea included Earl Grey and Oolong Formosa, while the various coffees included a bean called, "A.M. Mayhem". I think I would be afraid to try that one first thing in the morning. I'll take ordinary coffee, thank you. In fact, I love the smell and taste of unsullied coffee, especially in the morning. When my daughter, Eva, and I have coffee at Bugbee's after our walks, I watch her pollute her cup of java with sugar and creamer, and I wonder if it's too late to save her from that poor condition.

Next Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, I will sit down and celebrate that holiday with both my daughters for the first time in 27 years. This is the kind of thing that my move from Duarte, CA, was all about. Time has taught me that few, if any, things are more important than family.

I hope everyone who reads this has a happy Thanksgiving.

A Lot Going On, Part 1

Sorry to have been absent so long, but a lot has been going on. A person might think that a small town in the late fall would be a quiet place with people getting ready to hunker down for the winter season. Not so. When November rolls around, Alma, Nebraska, gets crowded.

It's hunting season and it seems like half the state is here in camouflage (or camos, as is the new lingo) to hunt for deer, waterfowl, pheasant, quail, turkey, you name it. The two motels in town have "No Vacancy" signs hung out, which helps to explain why the Super 8 Motel chain is working frantically to finish their newest addition on Highway 183. It is currently set for a January, 2008, opening. This area is regarded as one of the "primo" hunting areas in the state, and the primary hunting season starts in November. Luckily, it's been a mild, if not warm, autumn, so those guys crouched down in the duck blinds at dawn aren't going to freeze to death.

It's been warm enough that my neighbor and I went fishing near the dam and while I got blanked, my neighbor, Steve, got two nice wipers (5 and 8 pounds) and a largemouth bass, not to mention two nice hookups that he lost. I didn't even get a bite. How is it that two people can stand essentially side by side, casting the same lure (silver and blue rattletrap) into the same locations and one gets the fish while the other (yours truly) draws a blank?

Deer season ends tomorrow, November 18, and that is good news for my walking habit. My daughter Eva and I have had to give up using the walkway built by the city because there are too many deer hunters out there and we don't want to run the risk of being a hunting casualty. Like any large group of people, 99% of the hunters are good at what they do and observe the rules of rifle and hunting safety. It's the 1 % who are idiots with guns that we worry about, so we have been meandering through town in the mornings trying to get our walking mileage in. With the season ending tomorrow at midnight, we will be back to our old routine on Monday.

Drop into Bugbee's restaurant at any time of the day and you will find that half the crowd is wearing camos or flourescent caps and vests while they eat their meals and scarf down the coffee. These are the hunters taking a break.

Another breed of hunter here is that of the archers. Archery deer season ended just before the rifle season began, and it was a smashing success. A combination mini-market gas station here is called the "Short Stop", and it is also a deer check-in station for those who have accomplished their mission. When I filled up with gas on the last day of archery season and commented on two deer that were strapped to pickup trucks in the parking area, the lady behind the counter said that they had logged in over 90 deer and one of them was the biggest whitetail deer she had ever seen. That's just one check-in station in one small town. This area draws a lot of people who, by staying at the motels, dining at the various eateries and shopping at the local stores pump a lot of money into the Alma Economy.

In the summer, of course, it is Harlan County Lake that brings people in. It's the second largest lake in Nebraska and the fishing and water sports keep the motels and RV parks reasonably full for the entire summer season. Some people in Lincoln (three hours away) and Omaha (four hours) park their RVs here for the summer and drive down every chance they can find to get away from work.

This is a remarkably busy little place. A cell phone company recently constructed a new tower across Highway 183 from Bugbee's, and companies don't do those kinds of things without market research that says the market here will expand. That gives us two cell phone options in town, now, so we're expecting the competition to produce some reduced monthly plans. Only time will tell.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words.........

A couple of friends said that while they appreciated my photos of the walkway, some were a bit too dark and it was hard to see the detail. Sorry about that. My digital is seven years old and doesn't compensate for low light levels well at all. On Some days I have carried one of my 35mm cameras and got some beautiful shots, so here they are.















You find beauty where ever you look for it. Don't forget to look.

Nuff Said

Let's Go Walking.....

I often mention my morning walks with my daughter, so it occurred to me today, when she said she couldn't make it, to take my digital camera along and show my friends what we see when we walk.

First off, about four years ago the city Alma installed a three mile long cement walkway near the shore of Harlan County Reservoir. It takes a person along grassy areas at its beginning in town, travels through two or three wooded areas, bisects a couple of small meadows and ultimately terminates at the Methodist Cove boat launching ramp right on the lake. Eva and I normally start at dawn and walk to the halfway point where there is a convenient bench. There we sit while I wait for my arthritic left hip to quit screaming at me and I take in a terrific vista of the lake itself. When my aging, decrepitizing (is there such a word?) body has recovered, we march back to our starting point. My pedometer has confirmed that the round rip march is a three mile trek, which we accomplish in just about one hour. Ours is not a leisurely stroll, it's a fairly aerobic pace and works well for both of us.













Here is where we start. The manicured area greets us at the beginning and welcomes us back when we have completed our route. It was here, a couple of months ago, that we saw a momma opossum trudging across the grass with five or six of her little ones clinging to her back.












Fallen leaves in the wooded areas confirm that the fall season is now in charge. While most of the trees still have their leaves, enough are on the ground to "leave" no doubt as to the departure of summer.












Normally, the morning sun is just starting its climb into the sky and not every area is fully lighted. The partial sunlight creates some striking views of the wooded areas. The grasses in the foreground have been throughly pushed flat by groups of deer, who use this small meadow to relax or sleep. With the tall corn crops now harvested, the deer, who often spend their days hidden in the corn fields, now come to the wooded portions of this protected area. Deer hunting season begins November 1, and they seem to sense that the law prohibits hunting on this side of the lake. We see as many as eight to ten deer each morning as they take flight at the sight of us.












Small creeks, or rills (I've always wanted to use that word), find their way down to the lake. We've seen wild turkeys, pheasants and, of course, deer drinking from this creek. Where there is abundant water, the grasses are still green, but that won't last long. Winter is seriously approaching.













This is our view from the bench at our halfway point. The lake is almost nine miles long and there are dozens of places to view it, but this is my favorite. The sun hasn't reached here yet, but it is still a remarkable view. Normally, I fish on the far side of the lake at a place called Cedar Point. With fall here, it's time for several species of fish to start feeding. I can't wait.










I understand why professional photographers love to play with different lighting. Here the rising sun creates a scene I simply can't pass up.

Here are some more scenes from the walk:










A Dixie Chicks song includes the lines: " I wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tall... I wanna be the only one for miles and miles...."



I find that concept appealing, and the walk is the place where it comes to life for me.
It's a bonus I didn't know existed when I decided to move here. It helps me feel blessed every day and I fully appreciate that every day is, indeed, a gift.

Winter Wheat - What's That?

Summer is officially gone in Nebraska and the fall season is in charge. I Drove to Kearney today in a driving rain with blustery cross winds that made me keep my speed well below the limit just to make sure I had control of the car. Everything is changing because the seasons are changing. I have been to Nebraska several times in the winter, but I have never been anywhere outside of California to watch the seasons change from one into another. It is a fascinating process. (Actually, I spent a year in Virginia in 1954-55 when I was in the army and I am sure I saw the season change, but a kid that age just can't appreciate something like the miracle of seasonal changes). The winds have stripped the leaves from many of the trees and covered the walkways. Soon the trees will be empty limbs sticking up in the colder air. And now is the time when the harvest is in full swing.

When my daughter and I have morning coffee at Bugbee's restaurant, I overhear snippets of conversations from hard working men who are preparing for another day's work at the grain elevators that offload the trucks filled with the harvested corn, soy beans and milo. Some of the truckers don't like the price they are being paid for their load while others don't like the wait behind several trucks in front of them. It's a new time of year, and it is reflected in the fields surrounding this area.

The green rolling countryside that so impressed me when I arrived in June is now brown and dead with just an occasional patch of green. Harvest time is here and the rolling vistas are still striking, but with a different sort of beauty. The endless fields of tall, green stalks of corn are now fields of short brown stalks no higher than 4 to 6 inches. The short stalks are left in the ground deliberately to act as snow traps during the winter, and they are absolutely essential for a successful winter wheat crop.

I had always thought that during the winter in Nebraska the fields just sat there waiting for spring so the plowing and planting could start all over again. Not so. Once corn is harvested and the remaining cane is chopped for cow feed, the short brown stalk remains. In late October and early November, the planting of the winter wheat takes place. Machines travel down the rows and punch seeds below the surface. These seeds are of a type that depend on being underground in cold weather in order to germinate and sprout in the earliest spring days. Those seeds sit there all winter taking advantage of what is called "dry farming". All that means is that there is no irrigation. The farmer depends on mother nature to supply the moisture in the form or rain or snow. Remember, snow is an insulator, that's why igloos and snow caves can keep people warm in the far, far north. Once snow falls, the left over stalks from the corn crop prevent the wind from blowing the snow away. The snow then keeps the ground temperature at seed level well above the air temperature. If all goes well, the seeds prosper during the cold of winter while humans go about their business dressed in fifty pounds of insulated coats, pants and boots.

When the cold of winter finally breaks in early spring, and when the the snow melts and the ground warms, the seeds sprout and farmers have another crop to harvest before they start to plow and plant for the new farming year.

The land is in use twelve months a year. Farmers need the land to keep producing income because theirs is a precarious financial existence. I spoke to a woman at the county offices one day who said she and her husband had been farming for the past twenty years, and finally this year, with its heavy spring rains and a reasonably kind summer, is the first year they will show a significant profit. Remember, Nebraska is one of those states with laws that prevent huge agri-corps from owning or operating farms. The state does all it can to promote the continued existence of family farmers. They are a dying breed in this country.

Parades And Cattle.

This past Saturday morning, October 6, I was flipping channels with the remote looking for something to occupy my brain while my coffee got my heart started, and I found myself watching a parade taking place in Grand Island, Nebraska. It was a terrific parade almost three hours long with a seemingly endless series of marching bands. This was no penny-ante parade, and there were thousands of people lining the streets to watch.

Grand Island is a city of 50,000 people about 2 hours east of Alma. It is the third largest city in the state (Omaha and Lincoln are the two biggest) and each year it holds what is called the Harvest of Harmony parade, which has been held annually for over 66 years. High school bands from every part of the state march proudly with their selected queen (each band has its own) waving from a float usually pulled by a shining pickup truck. Also marching was the United States Marine Corps Band, and, wow, did it ever get a standing ovation from the curb sitters as it moved down the parade route.

Originally called the "Central Nebraska Music Festival" the name was changed to Harvest of Harmony in 1946 and is held on the first Saturday after the first full, or "harvest", moon in October. This year 89 bands marched in the parade, but some years have seen even more. One year, in fact, the parade was listed in the Guinness book of world records as having the most bands in a parade when it hosted 132 marching bands.

Some high school bands from larger towns were big and had 100 or more students marching and playing. Schools from the smaller towns offered quite a contrast. This year the smallest band had but nineteen musicians. Alma High School was represented with a contingent of 42 band members, which is pretty good for a grades 7 thru 12 student body of 110 boys and girls. Almost half the student body is in the band. (My sixteen year old grand-daughter, Enchantra, is not in the band. Her talents are not musical, which is to be expected in this family, not one of whom can play an instrument or carry a tune.)

Each band elects its own queen, who then rides a float in front of the marching band and waves to the crowd. In 1952, one of those young ladies in the parade was Sharon Kay Ritchie, who went on to be crowned Miss America in 1956.

The state of Nebraska keeps offering up interesting and surprising events and facts about life in a farming community, and this parade is just one more of the pleasant surprises. Of course, there are other things that go on that don't exactly involve growing crops. Cattle, for instance.

If corn is king in Nebraska, then the raising and selling of cattle comes in a hot second. Here in Alma there is what is called the "Sale Barn", and every Tuesday morning I can hear the mooing of cattle who are not happy to be in that barn - They probably know they are "short timers". People truck the cattle in on Mondays from the local farms and ranches, then the feed lot buyers come in on Tuesday and bid on the animals that fit their requirements. After fattening up in the feed lot, they soon appear on dinner plates from New York to Los Angeles as steaks, hamburgers, roasts, etc. Sad, but true. Because of the importance of cattle to the Nebraska economy, vegetarians are, of course, not popular here. People who decry the consumption of red meat are looked upon as deranged souls who need counseling or a one-way ticket out of state.

My next post is going to cover another surprising discovery for me, "Winter Wheat". I didn't know there was such a thing, but there most certainly is, and I'd like to tell you all about it.

Charlie

All Right, Already.....So I'm Not Perfect.

It has been pointed out to me by a close relative (my daughter, Valerie, to be exact), that in my last post I didn't include some important places to eat and gather. To be honest, I didn't consider two of them because they are not what I would call unique places where people go to sit and jabber for an hour or more with friends.

Alma does have a Subway sandwich shop and a Pizza Hut. They are just like the same stores found in cities across this country. I don't want to demean them, it's just that they are what they are: chain stores that sell formula food that's reasonably good. Generally, people go there to eat and then they leave. Of course, my other daughter, Eva, wants me to tell the world that my 16 year old grand-daughter, Enchantra, makes sandwiches at the Subway when she's not in school. She's a great kid, but then as her grandfather, I tend to be a little prejudiced. When I eat at Subway and she makes my sandwich, she professionally pretends she doesn't know me, which is difficult in a town where everybody knows everybody else.

There is another fast food place on Highway 183 in Alma called the Dairy Barn. It's an old eatery building that was closed for a long time, but about four months ago it re-opened with new owners and its current name. They serve soft ice cream, shakes and malts in addition to hamburgers, fries and broasted chicken. Again, it's a good place to eat, but its limited seating doesn't lend itself to groups of people sitting and talking about their day.

There is one more place to gather and talk, but it had been my intention to save it for an in depth post as a single subject. It's called Joe Camera, but trust me, it's one heck of a lot more than a camera shop. Located in downtown Alma right next door to the Subway sandwich shop, Joe Camera is owned and operated by a young husband and wife who have combined their talents to offer a camera shop, coffee shop and bicycle repair shop. Don't laugh. It's a heck of a place to get a Starbuck's (In fact, I think it's better) type of coffee, sit with some friends and catch up on the news of the day or simply lie about your last fishing adventure on the lake.

What kind of coffee do you like? Ethiopian? Jamaican? Colombian? Hawaiian? Make your choice from a bewildering selection of large hermetically sealed jars with beans from around the world. It is ground for you on the spot. New mama Dusti will put it together for you while she tells all about her brand new baby boy. A computer with a large monitor runs an endless loop slide show about the new one so that all who enter can admire Alma's newest citizen.

On top of the tall display case for the coffee is an array of old cameras. They range from the oldest Kodak Brownies to the first Polaroids to older cameras hard to describe. There is even an old Argus C4, which was my first 35mm camera, purchased in 1954. On the shelves below are 35 mm film supplies, photo paper for computer printers, and a few other items that are nice to find locally in Alma. In this era of digital cameras, finding the right film for my three 35mm cameras is getting harder and harder, but they have it here

Toward the back of the store, out of sight, is a one hour photo processing machine. The store also has a professional film lab operated by Dusti's husband, Joe, who is seldom seen because he is either processing film, taking portraits, or at home taking care of the baby. Oh, yes, and he also sells and repairs bicycles at the rear of the store.

Overall, its an outstanding merging of the skills of two young people. They have a website at www.joecamera.biz that shows off what they do.

Why, then do my daughter and I have our morning coffee at Bugbee's up the road? Simply because Joe Camera isn't open yet when we finish our daily three mile walk by the lake. We are early birds who hit the trail literally at dawn's early light. It's great to be a morning person.

Alma Social Life and Other Assorted Adventures

Alma, Nebraska, is a quiet town of 1232 mostly hard working, God loving souls who never forget that there are times to put the hard work behind for a little while and gather with their friends.

One of the places they gather is the local coffee shop/restaurant called "Bugbee's", which is the last name of the owner. After our morning walks, my daughter, Eva, and I normally adjourn to Bugbee's for coffee and to simply jabber. We are still catching up on 25 years of seeing each other only occasionally, even though we talked on the phone long distance once a week.

Bugbee's is a throwback to the past. It is an old fashioned (but delightful) hash house reminiscent of the workplace in the old "Alice" series on TV. Does it have an equivalent to Flo? Yep, sure does. Every morning a regular contingent of Alma citizens can be seen at the same tables enjoying coffee or breakfast with the same friends and relatives. Bugbee's opens at 5:30 each morning except Sunday to take advantage of its location: It sits at the corner junction of U.S. highways 183 and 136 and by 6:00 AM as many as six or seven eighteen wheeled semis can be seen in the parking lot while their drivers have breakfast. Hwy 183 is a major north/south highway and is central Nebraska's primary route from I-80 south into Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas, so there is a lot of traffic. It's a great corner for a restaurant.

Is the food good? You betcha. Don't expect anything fancy, but if you would like a geat hamburger, lots of french fries and a coke for $4.95 total, come on by. Breakfast is equally inexpensive, and the women who wait the tables are pros at what they do. It closes at 9:00 PM, but is not the only eatery around.

About half a mile down the road on Hwy 183 is "The Station". Now, if knocking down a few shooters at lunch or dinner while you watch sports on TV is your thing, then The Station is for you. It isn't open for Breakfast, but it has a steady clientel. It tries to be a bit more upscale than Bugbee's and succeeds for the most part. It has a full service bar and a very nice dining room area.

In the same area, and also in Hwy 183, is the "Fisherman's Corner". Remember that Alma sits on the shore of the Harlan County Reservoir, which is nine miles long and a couple of miles wide. It's an extremely popular place for fishing and the Fisherman's Corner takes care of those who want to sit at a local pub and tell lies about the big one that got away. They sell bottled beer over the bar and twelve packs from the cooler. They sell fishing licenses, live bait and other things important to those like me who are addicted to fishing. It's where I buy my night crawlers.

Highway 183 marks the western edge of Alma and seems to be where newer businesses are setting up. A newish Bosselman's Pump and Pantry (A gas station and mini-market chain) is in business next to Bugbee's and a Super 8 motel is under construction on 183 right next to the baseball field and golf course.

Six blocks away, in downtown Alma, there are three primary places to enjoy yourself on an evening:

First there is the bowling alley. It's just six lanes but that's more than adequate for a town this size. My daughter is a member of one of league teams that plays there. It's old, but it is a warm and friendly place and the lanes are in great shape. All the usual snacks and libations you might expect of a bowling alley are available.

Second is the "Dugout". Every town must have a plain old fashioned bar, and this Alma's. Excessive inebriation will get you invited to leave, but otherwise come on in and enjoy the evening. Each Tuesday night is fifty cent taco night and the owner, Rhonda, cooks up a bunch of terrific fillings for the tacos. She's a great cook. Every Wednesday is two dollar hamburger night, and again Rhonda does the cooking honors. There is a pool table in the back of the room- it doesn't seem to be too level, but enjoy yourself anyway.

Third is "Shelly Ann's Steak House", which is directly across the street from the Dugout. In fact, I am told, It used to be owned by the Dugout and was called the "Dug-in". Now, however it is owned by Shelly Ann and is in the business of serving complete dinners with steaks being the specialty. On Wednesday nights, Shelly Ann's is host to a "Texas Hold 'em" poker tournament. It's legal because no money changes hands (they claim) and it's all for fun. Yeah, right.

Now, just for the heck of it, I have included a picture of one of Nebraska's Banded Garden Spiders which I saw in her web beside our morning walking trail. I was carrying my digital camera and was fascinated by the coloration. She is a big spider, measuring about 2 1/2 inches from top leg tip to bottom leg tip. I say "she" because I've learned that the males are much smaller and drabber than the females. These are very common spiders here and are harmless to humans. According to a research source, they have a particular liking for wasps for dinner. Since my daughter is having a problem with wasps nesting in her exterior window frame, I suggested that I could trap the spider in a jar then place her near that wasp infested window where she would then spin her web. My daughter's response , unfortunately, is not suitable for printing.

Don't Bug Me

It's the latter half of September and already signs of the changing seasons surround me in Nebraska.

One of the changes involves the thinning out of the insect population. The midwest has far more flying insects than southern California, as my windshield can attest. Before any given trip to one of the nearby towns, I clean my windshield with the bottle of glass cleaner and the squeegee I keep behind the front seat of the car. When the trip is done and I am back home, the windshield is a bug splattered mess. For a good example of what it is like, I refer you to the opening scenes of "Men In Black".

One of the more interesting insects here is the cicada. Its history is fascinating and its "chirp" or "song" makes it one of the loudest insects in the world. It can be heard more than a hundred yards away. On the right is the magicicada, which has a lifespan of over seventeen years. The cicada is over two inches long and about a half inch wide and at first glance looks like the world's largest housefly. It is harmless, however, and the only thing about it that bothers some people is its "chirp" or "song" at night. During summer when dozens might be in any given yard, the noise level can be spooky.

The male cicada has two empty chambers within its body which vibrate to create an extraordinarily loud mating call. It sounds like a cricket on steroids. While the cricket's chirp has a "forward and backward" sound as that insect rubs his legs together in a back and forth motion, the cicada's is a non-stop, continuing, high pitched warble. According to experts, the sound announces to others that this territory is taken and lets the opposite sex know that the male is available for instant mating (Ah, if only our lives were that simple). The female cicada has no "song" - she is totally silent (No comment). Not long after the mating process, life winds down for the cicada, both male and female. The female lays her eggs in the bark of certain trees while the male slowly begins to die. When the female has laid her eggs, she, too, will rapidly deteriorate in health and die. But it took a long time for both of them to reach that point.

When a cicada larva hatches in a tree, it falls to the earth and burrows six to eight inches into the ground. As it evolves underground, it feeds on roots and other vegetation and otherwise keeps occupied for the next year, thirteen years or seventeen years, depending on what type of cicada it is. When mother nature trips the time switch, the cicada nymph emerges from the ground and climbs up the nearest tree or bush. Soon the adult cicada emerges from the shell of the nymph. The male immediately starts chirping and looking for a mate.

There are three breeds of cicada: The annual, or "dog-day" cicada, the thirteen year cyclic cicada and the seventeen year cyclic cicada.

Seventeen years. Think about it - That's longer than most dogs and cats live.

The cicadas, however, have pretty well disappeared by now. At night I can hear one across the street, but they are few and far between at this time of September.

Erroneously, many people call the cicada a locust, but a locust is another insect altogether and is, in fact, a type of grasshopper. That's a locust on the right. I guess the best way to describe it is to say that when we see a grasshopper here and there, that's exactly what it is - a grasshopper. When the occasional infestational swarm of grasshoppers emerges by the millions and devastates every growing plant the swarm encounters, those bugs are now locusts. That's an over simplification, but it works for me.


I can hear the Alma High School marching band parading around the town right now. When a home game is upcoming, the band lets us all know that it's time to turn out and root for the home team. Currently the Alma Cardinals are 1-2 and hope to even their record this week. I'll let you know how it goes.

What happens in the cornfield, stays in the cornfield

I apologize to the good friends who check this blog to see what I am up to, but the past couple of weeks involved the health of one of my daughters and I gave all my attentions to her. She is fine, but when we first heard the news that a tumor was lurking in her body, we were all quite concerned. Further exams showed that the tumor was benign and it was removed at Good Samaritan Hospital in Kearney, Nebraska, on Tuesday, September 4.

Watching my daughter, Eva Marie, go through this was interesting. Please remember that she moved to Nebraska 25 years ago while I remained in California, so there are a few things about her personality that eluded me. She does not like hospitals. She doesn't fear them, she is simply sick and tired of them. Eva has had to deal with a chronic illness (Crohn's disease) most of her adult life, and she has spent more time in hospitals in California, Missouri and Nebraska than any person should have to experience.

She told me of an ordeal when a medical tech was trying to insert an IV needle into the back of her hand and he kept missing the vein. If you've never experienced that kind of pain, try laying your palm flat on a table and then jamming a paring knife into the top of your hand. It hurts like hell. She said that the third time he missed the vein and shoved the needle into painful flesh, she "wanted to grab a scalpel and disembowel the little %$#*&@$*". And she said it with a little smirk on her face that said worlds about how she truly would have enjoyed doing what she was thinking. She knows how to be mean.

She came through this hospital stay, though, with flying colors, largely thanks to how well the hospital is run. Good Samaritan proudly states that it is part of the "Catholic Health Initiative", and all I can say is that I was impressed how things were run. From the moment she entered the hospital on Sept. 4th, every employee went out of his or her way to be kind, courteous and informative. The doctors, nurses, nurses aides, and others took all the time it took to make sure all my daughter's questions were answered.

There is a baby grand piano in the main lobby downstairs and during the daylight hours, somebody is playing soothing "elevator" music. My other daughter, Valerie, and I had dinner in the cafe in the basement. Wow. I may have eaten the best slices of brisket of beef that I have ever tasted. The food was terrific. And, no, I am not part of the hospital's PR team. I just appreciate the effort that Good Samaritan hospital puts into its operation.

My daughter is now home and taking things easy while she heals.

I've got to comment on the fact that the route we took from Alma to Kearney took us through the little town of Funk, Nebraska, population 126. Funk?? Right by the highway is a sign proudly proclaiming that this is the home of "Funk Lagoon". The sign includes a painting of a largemouth bass jumping above the water. Hmmmm. All wise guy thoughts aside over its name, I guess I'll have to go fishing there to try it out.

Tomorrow (I promise), I'll post about some interesting critters.

Charlie

When You're Hot You're Hot

Well, It's August and Nebraska, as well as other parts of the country, is baking. We are at or near one hundred degrees today and it will stay that way for the next week or more. Some parts of the state will get some thunderstorms to help cool things off a little, but the south central part of Nebraska is not scheduled for any rain.

Temperatures at the century mark are common during Southern California summers, and at this point someone might say, "Yeah, but in California it's a dry heat". Lemme tell you - It doesn't matter whether it's dry or humid, one hundred degrees is hot, hot, hot. People can die from inappropriate clothing and activities when it's that hot, no matter where you live. Thank God for air conditioning, right?

However, I do not complain about heat no matter the temperature, and I have not for over fifty years. Many friends have heard me tell the story of my younger years when I was in the army and stationed in Greenland. Yup, Sondrestromfjord, Greenland was host to a small army base. It is north of the arctic circle, which means for great lengths of time in the winter, the sun never rises - it is dark for weeks at a time. Conversely, in the summer there are many weeks when the sun never sets - it just travels in a never ending circle above our heads.

The picture above is yours truly in the summer of 1955 in Sondrestrom (Yes, I once weighed only 120 lbs). But it was the winter of 1955-56 that brought about the approach to hot summers that I use today. It was February of '56 and I had been working in the Headquarters office all "day" and when quitting time rolled around, I dressed up like "Nanook Of The North" and headed for the barracks to relax with my buddies. When I stepped up to the barracks door, the thermometer on the outside informed me that it was forty-two degrees below zero. I looked at that temperature, realized that I had not seen the sun in weeks, watched my breath crystallize instantly, and reflected that when I entered the barracks I would be required to drink a full glass of cold water before I would be allowed to have a cup of coffee (the thinking at the time was that the cold water would warm the teeth so that hot coffee would not crack ice cold tooth enamel).

At that moment, looking at the thermometer and realizing how I was living, I swore that when I returned to the United States I would never, ever, ever, complain about hot weather again. That was more than fifty years ago, and I stick to that pledge, even when today's forecast for Alma, Nebraska, is for temps to reach 102 with humidity you can water ski on. Ask me if it's hot and I will smile and say, "Yeah, it sure is". It is a statement of fact, not a complaint.

Of course those memories brought me several years ago to ask the question, "Who the hell is 'Nanook Of The North'?" I use that phrase because when I was a kid it was commonly used to describe someone living in extremely cold conditions. I thought maybe he was a character in a book or a movie. Thanks to the Google search engine, I discovered that "Nanook Of The North" was a 1923 silent film documentary of a Canadian Inuit with the name "Nanook". Most film historians credit it with being the first documentary ever put on film. The film-maker followed Nanook for a full year and let his film roll on all aspects of life for an arctic native.

After reading the search info, I went to one of my favorite places, Netflix, and did a search on the title just on the off chance that they would have it. Holy mackerel, they did. I ordered it, watched it and was enthralled with the movie. You want to know what a tough life is? Order that film and watch it. Want to know how many people and dogs you can stuff into an Inuit kayak? Order that film and watch it. Want to know how to build a clear ice window into your next igloo? Order that film and watch it.

I want to report one of those rare mornings we humans are occasionally gifted to live in. My oldest daughter, Eva Marie, and I went on our usual morning walk. At the half way point of 1.5 miles, we normally sit on a bench at an observation point while I wait for my arthritic left hip to quit screaming at me. The view of Harlan County Lake (which is 9 miles long - it ain't a small pond) was spectacular. As we sat, a young rabbit hopped out of the taller brush and began munching on some of the greenery around the bench area. He looked at us then apparently decided we did not represent a threat. He was not yet adult size and we may have been the first humans he had ever seen and so he did not know that our species is to be feared. He munched his way to within three feet of us and, while wary, went to work on some small flowers on the plants. He really liked the flowers, and picked them off one by one. We watched him for a good ten minutes, then decided it was time to hit the trail again. He was still there as we left. As I was thinking about what a rare moment that was, I chuckled and said, "He really likes those flowers, doesn't he?". She said, "Yeah. That's probably what happened to the jalapenos in my garden. The rabbit ate the flowers and so no peppers grew." I felt that she was silently thankful that her local garden snake had disposed of her local garden rabbit. It's the law of the jungle, I guess.

I still liked the little guy this morning.

Differences - Odds And Ends

Some things about life in rural Nebraska are strikingly different from my lifelong experiences in Los Angeles. They may seem like individually small things, but they add up to a lot of differences.

In Alma, Nebraska, most people buy a vehicle to fulfill a needed function. What a concept. In Southern California (as well as other places), people buy a car to make a statement to others about who they think they are. As nearly as I can tell, there is only one Hummer in all of Alma, and the owner doesn't drive it very often. It is usually in his garage. I haven't seen those expensive spinning wheel covers anywhere in Nebraska, which says good things about the people here.

There are lots of off road vehicles here, both SUVs and pickup trucks, and (wonder of wonders) they actually drive them off the roads. Many are perpetually dirty because they either kick up a lot of dust or drive through a lot of mud. In L.A., the only time they are off road is when the owner pulls into his paved driveway. The paint is always spotless and the chrome shines brilliantly. Yep, the cars here serve a purpose other than to make a statement about the owner's ego.

Driving habits are interesting, too. since there are no traffic lights in Alma, just the occasional stop sign, people keep a look out for cross traffic at all times in the neighborhood. When they see other cars two things happen that are remarkably different from L.A.: They show a lot driving courtesy to each other, often giving up their "right" to the right-of-way, and they always wave a greeting to each other. How nice that is. I wave at people I do not know and they smile at me in passing and wave back. In Los Angeles, what might be mistaken for an attempt to wave is really just a sloppy "one-fingered salute" followed by an arm extending out the window with the latest model Glock 9mm pumping bullet holes into the side of my car - proving once again that the City Of The Angels is a technology leader.

On a more curious note, there seem to be a lot more wives mowing lawns in Alma than husbands. Almost everyone here uses "riding" lawnmowers which certainly require less brute force to operate, nonetheless, It seems to me that when it comes time to get out in the sun and crank up the mower, it is the women, not the men, who get the job done. Hmmm. I don't have an explanation for that curiosity. If it were football season, the men might be inside watching the Nebraska Cornhuskers go at it with Oklahoma or Colorado, but since we are still one month from kickoff time that isn't the case. One day I saw a teenage boy come out of the house while his mom was mowing the lawn. He met a buddy from next door and they walked off down the block. Now, since I come from the "old school", I am a firm believer that every teenager should become intimately familiar with the feel of a lawnmower handle on weekends. The times, though, they are a-changin'.

Most homes here do not have garbage disposal units in the kitchen sink. ??? I don't know why, but it makes me recall the triangular rubber food scrap collector that used to sit in one corner of the sink when I was a kid in Lincoln Heights in east L.A. That's another of the old-timey things that have gone the way of glass milk bottles, ice-men, and Saturday serials at the local theater. I assume there are good reasons why disposals are not installed in sinks here, I just haven't found out what they are yet.

The local fishing gods smiled upon me and brought an end to my fish catching drought. Last night I enjoyed catfish (caught with my own rod and reel) in a yellow cornmeal batter with a touch of cayenne pepper. I had forgotten how good catfish could be.

Since I now have yellow cornmeal on hand, this morning I made myself cornmeal mush for breakfast. It took me back to my childhood again. My mother and her mother were both from Oklahoma, and since we lived with my grandmother for many years, I had lots of cornmeal mush for breakfast. Grandma would cook up a batch in a double boiler (do people use them any more?), and the leftover mush would go into the refrigerator. The next morning the now firm cornmeal dish would be sliced, fried lightly and served hot with syrup for breakfast. It was always a winner. And, yes, she also made grits for breakfast. Grandma also regularly cooked up things like fried green tomatoes and batter fried okra for dinner. Often, instead of mashed potatoes we would have boiled turnips with the evening meal. I haven't tasted turnips in over fifty years. It's not a vegetable I would want every day, but I just might have to track some down in a market and give 'em a try.

Isn't this an interesting world?

The Day that the rains came down

How many are old enough to remember the song. "The Day That The Rains Came Down", by Jane Morgan, from the sixties?

Kearney, Nebraska, is some 60 miles north of Alma, and this morning in a space of two to three hours it received over six inches of rain. The thing that makes that fact of interest to me is that I was in Kearney at the time. Kearney hosts the nearest Wal-Mart, Target, Wells Fargo Bank, and Burger King among others, so I find myself there from time to time. This morning was an adventure.

It was raining but not heavily when my youngest daughter and I entered a bank to do some business, which took about 45 minutes. We could hear rain pounding the roof while we were in there, and even though my car was parked directly in front of the bank and only 10 feet from the door, when we left we were drenched by the time we got inside the car.

Since the noon hour was fast approaching, we cautiously traversed a couple of fairly well flooded intersections to get to one of the local food places. Mama Nature continued to drown Kearney while we ate, and by the time we came out (this time with an umbrella that wasn't a whole lot of help), street flooding was the order of the day and any drying out we did in the restaurant was completely undone by a new soaking.

We headed back toward the highway that would take us back to Alma and found Kearney street traffic reduced to a crawl. Kearney is a good sized town of about 30,000 and its primary through street is four lanes and divided, but of course the lane nearest the curb was unusable because of flooding, so everybody drove in the left lane. Intersections were one step short of impassable. Four or five intersections in a row we saw at least two cars flooded out and stalled. We proceeded at a snail's pace so that we didn't create a wake that would throw water up into the engine compartment and force us to join those waiting in two to three feet of water for some help. We made it OK and got to higher ground safely, but not before I learned something about Nebraska drivers.

Take heart those of you who are decent, safe driving Californians, you are not alone in encounters with crazy people who drive. Nebraska also has its allotment of jerks and inconsiderate idiots who drive jacked up pickup trucks. While we were inching along carefully in the left lane so as to not stall out, we were passed on the right by a speeding pickup truck with those big wheels and no fear of stalling. He seemed to be enjoying kicking up a huge wake of water as he traveled, the wake rising about three to five feet in the air and absolutely swamping ordinary sedans (including mine) in the left lane. Other than blinding me for a few seconds with a flooded windshield, we suffered no ill effects except for my anger at that yayh0o and a desire to do him great bodily harm. There are times I wish I was young again and stood about six feet four inches and weighed 250 pounds. I would then take that pickup driver into a locked room and "explain" a few things to him. Perhaps a few lumps and some minor maiming would help him demonstrate more acceptable social behavior. Is it possible to "maim" someone just a little bit? Hmmm.

Normally I allow at least a full five minutes for those kind of thoughts to bounce around inside my skull before I clear them out as poison to the soul and move on to more productive uses for my brain cells, like, wow - only one more month until college football starts. On a later post, I'll try to describe what life is like in Nebraska Cornhusker territory for a guy with a UCLA Bruins license plate frame on his rear bumper.

Critters

The assortment and quantity of wildlife in Alma, Nebraska, certainly differs from what I was accustomed to in Duarte, California. Some are the same, though. What area of this country can say it contains no coyotes, raccoons or opossums? Not many, if any.

Each morning my oldest daughter (Eva) and I walk for three miles along a trail next to the Harlan County Reservoir. The trail meanders through some beautifully wooded areas and next to some typically Nebraskan farmland. Often we surprise a deer on or next to the trail and we get a good view of its rear end as it leaves us behind and heads for safety. While I am fascinated by them and their grace, Eva holds a grudge against them. She has a garden at her house and has had to build a fence around it to keep the deer from eating her tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, etc., before they have had a chance to produce the bounty of produce she counts on for cooking and canning.

One morning we were surprised to see a mama 'possum trudging through some grass while transporting her five or six little ones on her back. I can only assume that the marsupial's eyesight is not too good. We stood absolutely still watching her but if she saw us standing in plain sight, she gave no sign of it.

Rabbits abound. These are not the long eared jackrabbits (which are really hares) we see in California but cottontails, which are smaller. Each morning we find them on the trail and next to the trail. Some mornings we see more than ten or fifteen. They are prudently careful but they don't panic at the sight of us. Some of them wait until we are only two or three feet from them before they bound off into the woods or tall grass. I would imagine there are some well fed coyotes, foxes and owls in the area.

My daughter's yard and garden are home to at least one mama rabbit and her little ones. Nature is nature, and over a couple of weeks mama rabbit was down to one baby. It was small enough to get through the openings in the metal link fence and was stuffing itself daily on Eva's freshly sprouting vegetables. Eva's yard also hosts a bull snake (harmless to humans). One day she noticed that the snake had an unnatural bulge in its midsection and the baby rabbit was nowhere to be seen. Shortly thereafter, mama rabbit left for other hunting grounds.

I drive seven miles to the nearby town of Orleans once or twice a week, and as I drive between the ever present cornfields I see more animals. Yesterday, I came to a halt as a mama raccoon and four little ones came from the right side of the road and started for the other side. Once I had stopped, she looked up at the car, turned around in the middle of the road and headed back into the cornfield whence she came, followed of course by her troupe of little masked raccoons. Their hind legs are longer than the front, and with their ringed tails high in the air, they made for an odd looking parade as they disappeared single file into the field.

Last week I had the same experience on the same road with a mama wild turkey and her five or six little ones. At least they continued across the road. Wild turkeys are abundant here and are a staple for hunters when the season is on.

On another day, I saw a different looking critter start to cross the road then change its mind and head back for tall grass. Only when I got right up near it did I realize it was a badger. Yep, they're here, too.

One Nebraska inhabitant I am not likely to see (they are nocturnal) is the armadillo. I didn't realize they came this far north, so I did a little research and discovered they do exist here in the Husker State. I think armadillos are one of North America's most fascinating animals. They are digging machines and are known to dig a burrow faster than a foot a minute. The range of armadillos keeps spreading and animal scientists are not sure how far north they will ultimately go. Two hundred years ago, they were limited to South America, but now they are found as far north as Illinois. This is the nine banded armadillo, which seems to be the most adaptable of all the variations in this strange animal. With its limited ability to store body fat, it was believed it couldn't survive the winters in Kansas and Nebraska, but here it is and it seems to be thriving.

I have yet to see one of the state's porcupines, which are common, and if I do see one you can bet I will keep my distance.

Went fishing again this morning. The score now stands fish=300, me=0.

Strange History

History can take some strange twists, and most people would be startled to learn that in 1860 California was almost split into two states, with the southern half called "Colorado". Whoa! Wait a minute. What about the real state of Colorado?

Prior to becoming a state, Colorado was part of three different territories: Utah, Nebraska, and Kansas. For a few years it was a quasi-independent entity known as Jefferson Territory. It became the state of Colorado in 1876.

California, meanwhile, was going undergoing a minor revolution in that San Francisco and Sacramento were the dominant cities in the state and southern California felt that the north was sucking up taxes from the south and not giving much in return (exactly the opposite of the feelings today with the north furious about Los Angeles sucking all the water out of the high Sierras). In 1859, The Sacramento legislature passed a bill to split California in two, with the lower half to be a new state called Colorado. As the United States Constitution requires, the bill was then sent to the nation's capitol for congressional approval.

In Washington, however, the slavery issue was drawing southern secession closer and closer. The abolitionists felt that since southern California was sympathetic toward the slave holding states, approving the bill would add more pro-slavery votes in congress. In 1860, the abolitionists succeeded in killing the bill, and so we have things as they are today.

It's hard to imagine Colorado being called anything else than what it is. To me, the very name calls up images of the majestic, snow covered peaks of the Rockies. Incidentally, forty-two of the peaks are at least 14,000 feet high. California does not have nearly that many in the Sierras, but one, Mt. Whitney, towers a few feet higher than any of the Colorado peaks and so is the highest point in the contiguous United States.

Intra-state conflicts were not limited to California. Nebraska became a state in 1867 and featured its own north-south dispute. Originally, Omaha (north of the Platte River) was named the state capitol. The population south of the Platte rose in uproar and threatened to join the state of Kansas. Finally, the capitol was moved from Omaha to Lincoln (south of the Platte), and we have the state as it is today.

At some point I hope to have some interesting stuff about the Platte River. It's size cannot compare to the Mississippi, the Columbia, the Colorado or the Hudson, but its importance in the opening up of America is huge. More on that later.

Oh, I went fishing again this morning. The score now stands at: fish=200, me=0. It will get better, I guarantee you.

Education of a city boy

This is part of the new car lot at our local Chevy dealer (There are no other auto dealers in town). To me, this picture speaks volumes about the nature of Nebraska. The car lot is not bordered by a fence or another business. It is backed right up to a cornfield and features a grain elevator in the background. You will notice, of course, that smog simply does not exist here.

People buy new vehicles because of income created by farming. People live in the area because of farming. All kinds of products are sold in the area because of farming. Colleges offer all kinds of degrees in various aspects of agriculture because of farming.

I thought I had an appreciation for the importance of the farmer when I lived in Los Angeles. How could those of us in the cities put food on the table without the existence of farmers? But I am almost overwhelmed here in Nebraska with what I don't know about farming and the people who put their lives into it. It's a lifestyle of hard work, long hours, expensive equipment and nerve-wracking risk.

Example: To the right is a picture of a "pivot", an irrigation device found on most farms these days. Water shortages make the days of flooding fields with water a thing of the past. A pivot is more efficient than flooding, can be longer than two football fields and costs upwards of $40,000.00. That's a big number for the average farmer, and the vagaries of weather can turn a harvest season into a time of plenty or a time of economic disaster. If you've flown across our country and looked down on farmland to see the round patterns of fields, that is the work of the pivots.

Nebraska is one of nine states that helps out the farming community by outlawing the ownership of farms by large corporations. Any farming corporation must be family controlled and can have no more than three stockholders, at least one of whom must live and work on the farm. And of course, there is huge pressure from the major agri-corporations to change all that. I hope their efforts fail. Farming families literally built America and we should never threaten their existence for the sake of larger profits for mammoth corporations.

This city boy is just beginning to learn, and it is a fascinating experience. Even at my age of 72 years, I continue to marvel at the world in which I live. I was born an information freak, and I will never live long enough to investigate all the things in this world I find interesting. Farming is just one of them.

A Celebration

Independence Day was a great celebration here in Alma, Nebraska. The parade through downtown started at 10:30 AM was an impressive presentation for a town of 1232 people (I am told that is the current count and it includes yours truly). There were more than 70 entrants in the parade which included the expected fire trucks, civic organizations, businesses, thirty motorcycles with engines roaring, custom cars (a 1949 Merc sedan chopped, lowered and with a paint job to die for took me back a few years), horse and rider units that included a 12 year old girl riding bareback, and six or eight great old restored tractors. Just listing them doesn't do the event justice. And, of course, it was preceded by a color guard composed of Vietnam war vets with Old Glory flying proud and getting a standing ovation.

After dark there was a fireworks display at the edge of town by Harlan County Reservoir. There is a grassy park like area near where the city fireworks would be set off, and the locals put on their own show before the main event. There are legal fireworks in Nebraska that would get a Californian sent to jail. Firecrackers abound, and are the lesser noisemakers behind some roman candles, and things that are only slightly less than what the professionals set off. It was an orderly outdoor party, and I sat with my daughters on the front lawn of of a friend. I watched ordinary citizens set off shells that went a couple of hundred feet straight up and then sent out an umbrella of color with a bang. Set one of those off in Los Angeles and you'll probably be the target of a SWAT team. The city's display, though, was terrific and certainly made for a great evening.

Between firework displays, I found myself fascinated by the fireflies that buzzed everywhere turning their lighted bodies on and off. I am told that the males put on an unnatural display and parade in front of females hoping to find one ready and willing. I'm sure glad human males don't act like that.

There is a sense of community here that may not seem like much to the long time residents but which is glaringly obvious to a transplant like me. These people look out for each other. Sure, there are probably petty rivalries here and there, but it's between them. Let an outsider step in the middle of a fight and they will band together in a hurry. The people here have been warm, friendly and welcoming, but it will take years for me be considered an inner member of the community, and that's OK.

This coming week, I get to go fishing.

Charlie

A Little Travelling

Today I drove 55 miles up the road to Kearney to get some things at Target (Yes, that is the closest store of that chain to Alma). One thing about Nebraska that is truly unique is that the traffic signals are mounted horizontally rather than vertically. ??? If you are color blind, it's helpful to remember that green is on the right and red is on the left. I asked a local about that and he said it's because winter winds tend to knock down signals mounted in the traditional vertical fashion. I don't know if that's the truth or not, but it sounds reasonable. In Alma, there are no traffic lights. The stop signs are more than sufficient for the cars involved.

I did some shopping and other chores that can't be done in Alma and headed back. It's an easy drive on good two lane roads with 65 mph speed limits. Sometimes, though, the 65 is impossible to do and this driver has to accept that due to the semis ahead of me, 55 to 60 mph is going to be today's speed. Passing on these two lane roads can be a hazardous undertaking, and I simply don't feel it's worth the risks involved to pass large vehicles that are only a few mph under the max allowable speed. Besides, for what major event am I going to be late?

All went well until I reached the Alma city limits and heard the unmistakable sound of my right rear tire going flat. It's a tire I wanted to replace soon, anyway, but the timing could have been better, or could it? I was right at the entrance to what is called the "co-op" here, where major tire repairs are the order of the day. It is sort of like a local answer to the Pep Boys stores in southern California. A half hour and one new tire later, I was back on the road with a somewhat lighter wallet. Less than a minute later, I was in my parking space at home deeply appreciative that the flat didn't occur on any of the more isolated areas I passed through today.

I enjoy the drives I occasionally take to other towns. The roads are straight, well maintained and provide terrific views of the rolling farmland. Some farm states are flat, but Nebraska provides often breathtaking views of an undulating landscape planted with corn and other plants I have yet to identify. The wet spring makes it all deeply green and attractive and reminds me of the some the landscape paintings I have seen by noted artists. People have told me it is not always this green at this time of the year, so enjoy it while I can.

It occurs to me that someone who doesn't know me well might think I am some kind of paid shill for the city of Alma or for the state of Nebraska. Not so. These are really my impressions of the place.

Tomorrow I am going to Alma's July 4th parade and then will watch the city fireworks in the evening. I'll try to post some pictures.

Here we go

Here I am living in a small town in mid-America after being born and raised in Los Angeles, one of the busiest, most dynamic and at the same time one of the most dangerous cities in the country. My two daughters have lived in Nebraska for years, even though they, too, were born in the L.A. metropolitan area. The oldest (who is now 50, much to her chagrin) discovered Nebraska shortly after she graduated from high school and fell in love with the state. She has been here since. She convinced her sister, who is two years younger, to move here almost twenty years ago.

At the tender age of 72, (generally, I am in excellent health) I came to realize that, because of the distances involved (1400 miles), I had not seen my grandchildren grow up, and now those grandchildren have presented me with five great-grandchildren - Three of whom I have never seen. At this point in my life, I don't know if I have two months, two years or twenty years left to me, but I have decided I will spend them with my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I arrived in Alma on June 2, 2007, so I have now been here one month and am convinced so far that this is the right thing for me to do. Alma is an interesting town - a pretty town - and has many characteristics straight out of a scene by Norman Rockwell (If you're too young to know that name, I can't help you).

As Independence Day approaches, many houses in Alma have flag like bunting on their porches as well as large American flags flying above the yard. Flags may be in evidence, but that kind of bunting is almost never seen on house properties in Los Angeles and environs.

The properties here are open and scenic, aided by a wetter than usual spring that has made lawns green, green, green. Most house properties are not surrounded by solid fences as they are in California. A person can see through property lines here and appreciate the unbroken green. In L.A., people build solid fences as high as the city code allows, thereby building their own private caves into which they retreat, seldom seeing and often not knowing their neighbors. Not so in Alma. Everybody knows or knows of everybody else. People wave at each other as they pass on the street, whether on foot or in a car.

There is a single, well stocked market where the bag boys carry every bag to the customer's car. There is a combination photo store/coffee shop where people gather to jabber over coffee. When the local high school speech/debate team was ready to travel out of town for a debate competition, many in town gathered at the photo/coffee shop to hear a preview of the prepared speeches from the students, one of whom was my 15 year old granddaughter.

My first impressions are that this is Mayberry reborn, and it is delightful.