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