with thoughts of the people in your part of the world.
Glad to hear you missed the worst of it.
It is windy here at the foot of the Turtles and
a forecast of 100% chance of rain and snow
Deer Hunting began yesterday!
Yes, the opening day of Deer Hunting continues to be
recognized as a “holiday” in Nor Dakota.
The Holiday music began yesterday morning, with
folks calling the local radio station.
The hands down favorite request.
“Tirty Point Buck”.
You know you’re from Dakota when you feel amusement perking.
The warmth of laughter bubbles up and
chases away curmudgeon pessimism and prepares
a hardiness within for whatever winter may bring.
Vickie
I’m glad to hear that the worst of Yolanda missed you guys. But even at 60 mph the winds from such a large storm can be very destructive, since the high winds can continue for such an extended period. Add to that the potential for very heavy rain and near the coastline the often high seas, these are truly monsters of nature.
Living so close to the Atlantic Ocean as we have for over 40 years has put us in harms way many times out here. Interestingly, predicting the path of a Hurricane/Typhoon, though vastly improved, is still a lot of guess work and many times over the years when they have predicted the Washington, DC area to be in the center of the path, we got very little of anything. On the other hand, sometimes when they have predicted it would miss the entire region, we got hit very hard. That was the case two years ago with Hurricane Irene. This area of NC (where we now live) was not supposed to be hit hardly at all. Instead we got hurricane force winds (75 mph plus) and it lasted for over 20 hours. Because of the different destructive parts of one of these storms even the lack of strong winds doesn’t mean you are home free. In 1972 the DC area was hit by Hurricane Agnes and though the winds were only around 40-50 mpr, we got over 14 inches of rain in about 12 hours and because of the terrain with the mountains just the west, every gully, creek, stream and river overflowed and caused extensive flood damage to the entire region. In 1996 and again in 2003 the area was hit by storms that came ashore near the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay which caused a tremendous back flow of water up into the Chesapeake Bay and then into the rivers feeding the Bay which then back flowed into the smaller creeks, etc. In our case, we lived on Aquia Creek (actually a small river) and the water rose over 7 feet over it’s normal level in the creek and in both cases came within about 20 feet of the back of our house. Very unnerving, to say the least.
Again, I am really glad it wasn’t as bad for you as it clearly could have been, but even so, I’m sure there will be reports of significant damages near you. I do hope the loss of life in the country as a whole is low.
It’s good to see Bernadette enjoying herself. May The Good Lord help her to heal and have better times.
Keith Pladson (66)
MEMORY FROM 1962
Was it a Setup?
We the class of 1966 were the first freshman class in the new school on the south edge of Dunseith, ND that opened for classes in 1962. It was a bright new school, and we were bright new freshman. No brag, just fact!
We freshman entered that school, knowing that the world was at our feet and we were of the attitude, that we would step aside for no man. Then the senior classmen (class of 63) entered the picture and all out war broke out. There were rubber bands spit wads, paper clips and erasers flying through the air.
We freshman wanted to survive and we weren’t about to roll over for them seniors, and so we started building and improving our arsenal. The weapon of choice was large, and thick rubber bands that we would loop over a couple of fingers making a slingshot type weapon. The ammunition was tightly folded paper. The paper that was shot with the rubber bands was folded tight and then we would bite down hard on the folds, and add a little saliva so that they would hold their shape, and would fly faster and hit harder. It was definitely a battle that took place between the senior boys and several of us freshman boys almost every time the teacher left the study hall room. The rubber band shooters were the weapon of choice for us as they were easy to get and easy to conceal.
Then for some odd reason one late sunny afternoon about eight of us freshman and about the same number of seniors ended up in this study hall room together. The seniors all sat in the row of desks along the window side of the room and us freshman all ended up in a row behind the door on the interior wall side of the room, with about four rows of desks separating us from each other. Mr. Bob Jury was the instructor in charge of the room. Everything in the room was good and quiet.
I don’t know where the classmen, of the classes of 64 or 65 were at this time. Maybe they were hiding out somewhere or maybe they were in a different room being watched by a different teacher and going through the same experience we were about to experience? I just don’t know where they were? I guess it just wasn’t my day to keep track of those classes.
Mr. Jury was in charge of our little gathering, and when Mr. Jury was in charge of a room everybody was usually all business and there was no screwing around. Then it happened, for some reason Mr. Jury left the room. Was his departure planned? Well, as was expected by all of us in that room. When Mr. Jury left that room, all hell broke loose! Everything but the kitchen sink went flying across no man’s land, over the four rows of desks separating the seniors and the freshman.
Then suddenly one of them fast, hard, flying rubber band shot zingers took a sharp left turn, and hit the biggest senior of them all, right on the end of the nose. He went to his feet in an instant, his desk went flying. God, that must of hurt! He was starting to move toward us and the rest of that bunch with him, in that row were getting out of their desks to follow him.
We freshman knew we were in trouble, and instantly begin preparing for the worst by putting away our fighting equipment, and putting on our best and most innocent faces, faces any mother would love, and getting ready to deny that we even possessed any equipment or weapons that would hurt or at worst, piss off a senior.
We were ready to convince them seniors that the zinger, that hit that spud, must have been shot by some alien from outer space or more than likely, we would point to the other guy and throw him under the bus. The seniors were big compared to us, and probably looking for a reason to take us out anyway. Especially that senior with the mad look on his face and the red, sore, nose.
We freshman all thought, that we were dead meat, and were signing ourselves. When all of a sudden them seniors froze in place. We freshman begin looking at each other, wondering what the hell just happened. The seniors stayed motionless with their eyes fixed on the door, what seemed like an eternity.
We freshman looked at them and then peaked around the edge of the door, and their stood our savior, Mr. Jury. He strolled into the room and gave us freshman one look and the thumb, telling us to go to library and stay there. We did not hesitate, we were up and out of them desks and out the door. On the way to the library we were getting rid of our weapons and ammunition, as we figured someone was coming to ask us to empty our pockets. It never did happen. When the final bell rang for the afternoon we all packed up and left the school and as far as I know, no one, not one of us were ever asked, or asked to talk about what went on in that room. The seniors never bothered us after that or tried to get revenge, as far as I know, anyway. What did Mr. Jury say to them seniors? It must have been convincing?
No, not everyone became angels after that, but I do remember not seeing or bringing any more rubber bands, or spit wads to school. However, every once in awhile you would see some guy dilly-bopping down the hall way wearing an eraser brand (strip of chalk dust) across the back of his head.
It would bring a smile to my face and still does, just remembering our lucky day.
Remember to keep laughing,
Larry
