Wednesday, February 13, 2019
The wind was causing the clouds to scurry across the sky this morning creating an interesting pattern of light and shadow playing across the landscape. Looking for an image, I noticed how at this moment the sunlight highlighted the distant pipeline right of way as it crossed Sidling Hill Mountain.
For the most part pipelines are fairly uninteresting to most of us unless you happen to live in the path of where one is to be built or perhaps you are concerned about the environmental impact, however this pipeline has a very special place in our nations history that deserves retelling.
During World War II our nation had a serious problem with German submarines attacking our shipping fleet along our Atlantic Coast and in the Gulf of Mexico. The problem was so bad that moving oil from the western oil fields to the east coast was seriously hampered.
The answer was to build pipelines and on August third of 1942 the project commenced. Two pipelines were to be built. The Big Inch, a 24" pipeline running from Long View Texas to Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where it then branched with one branch running to Linden, New Jersey and the other to Philadelphia delivered crude oil. This pipeline was finished an amazing 350 days later! The second line, nicknamed the Little Big Inch, a 20" pipeline, began in Beaumont Texas, joined the Big Inch at Little Rock Arkansas, and from there shared the same right-of-way and pumping stations until it reached its terminus in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Unlike the Big Inch, the Little Big Inch carried refined products; gasoline, heating oil, kerosene, and diesel with each product separated by a solid rubber ball slightly smaller than the pipe diameter. This pipeline is credited with making a very important contribution to the war effort. Much of the fuel and oil products that supplied our troops fighting in Europe flowed through these two pipe.
I remember my grandfather Hill telling stories about the pipeline during the war. He recounted how people were hired to walk the line checking for leaks. He told of one particular individual who walked a section in our area who would add to his income during the winter by trapping fur. Granddad recounted how the man would bore a hole about in inch in diameter and two or three inches deep into trees along the right-of-way. Then driving three or four nails at an angle into the opening and placing a bit of sardine into the hole he fashioned a trap that would grip a paw. It would have been a gruesome trap to be sure, but with money tight in those days, no doubt it was an inexpensive method to acquire some much needed income.
The pipeline became surplus property after the war and was sole to the Texas Eastern Corp who converted it to carry natural gas. While the pipeline has changed ownership a few times since and has been upgraded it still serves as a vital energy link for our country.
For a short but interesting read concerning this historic pipeline follow the link Here
Friday, February 01, 2019
With the thermometer registering 12 deg. F and a fine snow softly falling, I walked through Union Cemetery today looking for an image that would resonate with my feelings of melancholy.
Passing by tomb stones I noted some of people who had lived long lives and others who died before their life outside the womb had even begun.
Thinking of these folks who have now gone on I could not help but think of their hopes and dreams, their emotions of love and hate, their financial success or lack there of and how it makes no difference now as their remains rests with the remains of their loved ones, family members, and also with those who they may have spent many years feuding with.
As I walked the cemetery I could not hear the children playing, nor the sounds of their crying. I could not hear the happy chatter of the adults greeting their neighbors nor the angry words shouted during times of disagreement; only silence.
And all too soon we to shall join them as time marches on.............
Sunday, January 13, 2019
A few inches of snow fell during the night with snow showers still dusting the countryside this morning. As I made my morning rounds I paused for a moment to capture this peaceful rural scene.
On the way to the farm I helped extricate our neighbor lady's car from the road ditch. While on her way to church she had spun out and slid off the road. A good push on the front fender while she gently backed up was all it took to get her turned around and headed safely home. Continuing to the farm and tending the cattle I had plenty of time to think about some of the things I have to be thankful for.
I am thankful for my family, those that are with us and those who have passed on. Each one in their own way has influenced my life and made my time here richer.
I am thankful for the lifestyle that I am able to lead; thankful for not having to get up and drive a long commute each morning, thankful for the farm that my grandparents bought in the 1920's and retained while struggling through the depression.
I am thankful that I live in a peaceful country, a place where I don't have to worry about war or paramilitaries invading my home, taking our belongings, and destroying our lives. I'm thankful for a warm home with plenty of comforts and food.
I am thankful for our good neighbors who are always a pleasure to chat with and who we can always depend on to give us aid and moral support during times of hardship. And that goes both ways.
I am thankful for the career that I had and the various jobs that I held. Each job and the coworkers influenced me and enriched my life.
I am thankful for the hardships that I have faced. While hardship is never pleasant to go through, the hardships test us and teaches us to make better life choices in the future.
When I think of all the things that I have to be thankful for I realize that so much of what I am thankful for are things that I had no choice in. These are things to be truly thankful for rather than proud of.
None of us chose what family we were born into, we didn't choose what race we are, we didn't chose what religious tradition our family taught us, or what socioeconomic group we are born into. Not one of us had a choice in whether we were born black in an underdeveloped country, a mixed race person born in a so called shit hole country, or being so fortunate as to be a white American.
None us us had any choice about our birth but we do have a choice in how we live our lives. We can either choose to be thankful for what we have and treat others as Jesus commanded "you shall love your neighbor as yourself" or we can stand up, beat our chest proudly and vilify those who are less fortunate than we.
Thursday, January 10, 2019
I think back over the past couple years, thinking of the heinous crimes committed here in my area.
A man on his way to work early in the morning spotted a duffel bag lying in the road and stopped to check it out. Unknown to him three people had placed it there and were lying in wait. Upon getting out of his car, the victim was hit with a hail of gunfire, the perpetrators fled with his car and the few dollars he had in his pocket. They were apprehended a few days later. The motive was that the leader wanted to kill someone. They were all local people.
It was nearing shift change at a rural Pennsylvania Turnpike exit when an armed man accosted two tollbooth personnel. While he had a plan to have them tie up each other they outsmarted him. The male employee was able to disarm the assailant and run outside, alerting the guard of the armored car that had just arrived to pick up the tolls. The gunman, unknown to them, had a second gun. In short order the turnpike employee and the armed guard were both dead. When the Pennsylvania State Police arrived they killed the gunman. The gunman’s motive was to rob the armored car. He knew the schedule, he knew the routine, and he was a retired State Police officer who had been assigned to the Pa turnpike. He was also was employed as range master at shooting range in nearby Harrisburg.
A family living just a couple of miles away was going through some serious domestic issues. One night it reached the boiling point. When it subsided three lives were wasted, the wife and one step daughter lay dead, two step daughters were traumatized, and the husband was headed for a life behind bars. I knew him, he was a hardworking man born and raised right here in Fulton County.
With this in mind, I think of all the post I see of people wanting our government to build a wall on our southern border. Now I would be the first to agree that we do need border security and in places a barricade of some sort certainly is necessary however no wall will protect us from the crimes real and imagined that our POTUS trots out daily. As Walt Kelly said over two hundred years ago “we have met the enemy and he is us”.
Sunday, January 06, 2019
By day three I noticed the calf was having problems walking and maintaining its balance while standing. While I cannot be sure, I suspect that she had injured him with some of her blows. At this point I took him away from her and would only allow him contact with her while she was restrained. Keep in mind that she was showing every normal mothering instinct by this time except allowing nursing.
Day six I decided to once again allow him to nurse without restraining the cow and after only a couple slurps she struck at him with a powerful blow. Fortunately I was supporting the calf and able to move him out of harms way. At that point I finally lost my cool! Moving the calf to its pen, I opened the stable door and chased her out informing her as she went that she had had her last chance, (yes I do talk to the cows). A few minutes later I texted my livestock hauler about taking her to market. He soon responded that he would pick her up the following Wednesday, some six days away.
For the next two days I fed the calf while she spent much of her time standing outside the barn bawling and running frantically from door to door anytime I was near the barn. Finally I relented and invited her in for one more "last chance", and this time she allowed the calf to nurse without so much as raising a foot! Keeping the calf in a separate pen and only allowing them together for nursing over then next two days I was able to observe that the transformation was complete. She is not only the doting mother but also the consummate wet-nurse.
Perhaps even with cattle the old adage, "distance makes the heart grow fonder", is true. Whatever the case the calf now has a good mother and her trip to hamburger land is postponed indefinitely.
Thursday, December 27, 2018
In the mid 1980's I became interested in arranging a trip to hunt caribou in the Ungava Peninsula region of Quebec. The George River caribou herd was growing rapidly, trips were affordable, and the success rate for hunters was nearly 100%. I was fortunate to have been able to make three trips, one each in 1987, 1989, and 1991. The above photo was of our party in 1991.
The herd which was estimated to number some 50,000 animals in the 1960's had grown to 800,000 animals by the early 1990's. Sport hunters were allowed two animals of either sex and the killing of wolves was strictly forbidden. The major management concern voiced by the managing ministry was of the herd eating itself out of house and home.
The early 1990's was the high water mark for the George River herd. By 2001 the herd was down to 385,000 animals and dropping farther to 75,000 by 2010 when all sport hunting was banned. The herd population has continued to fall with the 2018 estimate being only 5,500 animals.
According to government researchers wolf populations are considered low, habitat disturbance is low, calf birthrates are normal, and the animals tested are healthy with decreasing prevalence of parasites. However the herd continues to decrease. Consideration was given to place this herd on the Canadian endangered species list.
Caribou populations in many areas around the arctic are decreasing and may very well be tied to global climate change.
Saturday, December 22, 2018
As I dried the calf with old towels she became interested and soon was licking him enthusiastically however when he tried to nurse she nudged him away. After giving him time to gain some strength I maneuvered his to her bag and she kicked him each time he nuzzled her teats.
Its imperative that a newborn have colostrum within a few hours of birth so the next step was to attempt to milk her but I soon found that what was gentle kicks when her calf nuzzled became roundhouse kicks that if landed soundly could break bones. Borrowing a set of kickers from a neighbor I was finally able to milk her a little and feed the baby a mix of her colostrum and a bag of colostrum supplement.
Today the calf, while much stronger, showed no interest in attempting to nurse. Again I struggled to milk the cow some and supplemented her milk with milk replacer. I still have a couple tricks up my sleeve and remain optimistic that mother and son will soon bond in a nourishing relationship but only time will tell.
Such is life on the farm!
Friday, December 21, 2018
While my photographic success during this years rut didn't measure up to some ruts of the past it was more the fault of other obligations on my part rather than the lack of whitetails.
Other bucks were more accommodating
Some posed nicely
While others intent upon pursuing does seemed oblivious to the clicking of the shutter
And some were at a distance where my presence was not as noticeable
Lip-Curl's are one of my favorite poses with this rut providing me a number of opportunities.
I am most thankful to have once again had the opportunity to photograph another whitetail rut. Whitetails have always held a special place in my heart. Whether it is a tiny spotted fawn, a soft coated brown doe, or a heavy antlered buck, they all are incredibly beautiful and graceful, deserving of out attention and support more so as other living beings who's presence enriches our lives rather than as mere targets to shoot at and antlers on the wall.