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