Back Home Again

Fine Wine

Yesterday, I went to the other side of Houston to have dinner with my friends Brent and Sue.  They were grilling steaks and corn on the cob on the grill.  Sue made an olive oil dipping sauce and warm bread.  The meal was delicious.

I brought a bottle of Merlot wine with me.  Just something I picked up at Kroger.  Brent was commenting that it was really good.  I guess I lucked out.  I know nothing about wine.  I asked Brent what was the name on the bottle.  He fished it out of the trash and read the label.  "Fina Lini".  I thought that was an odd name for a wine that I picked out.  I usually pick a wine by something odd on the label like an alligator.  I probably wouldn't pick up wine with a faux French or Italian sounding name.  I looked at the bottle and handed it back to Brent.  I said, "Dude.  You need glasses.  It says Fine Line."  It even has a circus acrobat riding a unicycle on a tightrope.

To give Brent credit, he was born in 1960; same as me.  The blind, old fart.

Injured List

When I arrived at Carl's with the shrimp, his boy Carter was hobbling around on crutches.  Two days before he was running around on the football field barefoot, jammed his toe, and came up with "turf toe", a badly broken big toe.  This is the week before football begins and he's one of the starters on the 8th grade squad.  He's out now for eight weeks.  Carl had been on him for some time about wearing proper footwear.  Carter's buddy, Nicky was over for a visit.  He broke his ankle playing football and was on crutches too.  

Carl and I took the shrimp over to Mark and Jana's.  Their buddy Sammy was on crutches, having just had hip surgery.  He was learning how to get in and out of their pool with the least amount of stress to the body.

Later in the evening, we had the pool area looking good for the party.  Mark and Sammy were repairing some of the floating furniture for the pool tomrorrow.  When he got out of the pool, Mark complained that his back was hurting.  Carl offered to pop his back.  Carl weighs about 220 lbs and Mark weighs probably 260 lbs.  Carl pulled him onto his back and then his feet slipped out of his flip flops and Carl fell face first onto the decking with Mark on his back.  Blood was everywhere.  I quickly grabbed some beach towels.  Mark ran to the house and got a baggy full of ice.  Carl's nose was broken.  Again.  For the 4th time.  We grabbed our stuff and headed back to Carl's house.  Carl kept the ice on it for a long time.  As he lied there with a bag of ice on his face, I reminded Carl what the cause of tonight calamity was:  Improper footwear.

The next night, Carl's youngest son had a football game.  Carl dropped me off at the birthday party and he went to the football game.  The party was great.  The shrimp was awesome.  There was supposedly some corned beef that I never saw, or ate.  Later that night, Carl picked me up and we headed home.  While we were gone, Carl's wife, Donna, heard a loud crash and then someone yelling "Owwww" at the end.  Carter was at the top of the stairs and still was not used to the crutches.  He tried to come down the steps using the crutches and put his foot first.  He teetered on the crutches and then sommersaulted down the steps and hit the wall on his way down 14 steps to the bottom.  He had a cut on his nose, just like his Dad.

I'm getting outta this house before I end up in the ER.

Here's a picture of father/son on the injured/reserve list:

 

Barbers

Note to self:  Don't challenge my buddy Carl to a hair-cutting contest.

Pool Party

This the third or maybe fourth annual 4th of July pool party hosted by my friends Chip and Susie.  I've attended most of them.  This year, I drove all night to get there on time.  

I remember the first year, there were several Harley guys who showed up in long blue jeans and full Harley gear.  I asked Chip, "Did they not get the memo about a pool party?".  With each year, folks came in beach gear, but there was always that one guy who had on jeans on a 90+ degree day.  This year, I think there was only one.  Most folks were IN the pool.  It was hot.

Around 4pm, a three man band, started playing their set for the crowd.  All three sang vocals and each played the guitar.  They played lots of Eagles, Jimmy Buffett, Hank Sr & Jr, Johnny Cash, and even some McCoys.  They were a great band called 15th and Hulman, because they were the house band at a bar located at 15th and Hulman, which burnt down.  At one point, they were coaxing Chip to come sing a song with them.  He said he would on the last set.  Finally Chip got up to the mike and sang us a song.

Later in the day, the keg went dry and I volunteered to get the next keg, since I was sober.  Susie hopped in the pickup truck wearing nothing but a string bikini and flip flops.  I asked if she was trying to get a discount from the liquor store.  As we drove away two monitors were flashing on the truck.  One was the Check Engine light.  Susie said it was always on.  The other was the Gas Engine light.  Susie pressed a button and informed me that we had 5 miles of gas left.  So we had to go to the gas station and fill up Chip's truck.  We got back to the party about an hour later and people were bitching, "Where have you been?" whcih we quickly threw back in Chip's lap since he left the truck high and dry.

The party continued and then late that night, fireworks were set off.  By now, most of the partiers were pretty drunk.  I had the nerve to ask one guy about his nipple rings and another about his nipple clamps.  They were quite chatty about them.  One of them asked me if I was in the market for some nipple piercings.  I replied, "Not just no but HELL no.  Stay away from my ta-ta's!!"  

Around 1:30am the temps dropped and the winds picked up.  We decided to clear the tablecloths and patio umbrellas.  Then a storm blew through fast and furiously.  Most folks went off to sleep after that.  We arose the next morning and some of the houseguests had made breakfast for all.

It was a really fun party.  Here's a video of Chip singing Amos Moses:

 

 

Dad & Dave

Here's a photo and one of our neighbors, Dave Herr, taken back in September 1995.  It's a great photo of both of them.  My father and Dave's father, Sam Herr, farmed together for years, as did both of their fathers.  Dave was the one who was featured in a 1988 LIFE magazine article. 

Through the Herrs is how I know Nora.  Nora is best friends with Dave's sister, Ann Herr.  I was their neighbor.  All three families attend the same church.

A few years ago when a big wind knocked down the Herr's barn, Dad and I went over there to check out the damage.  This was after Dad was already legal blind, yet always eager to be helpful.  Dave was trying to figure out the best way to clean up all the debris.  While Dad was out of earshot, I said this to Dave:

Me: Tell you what.  I can drop Dad off with the bobcat tomorrow morning.  He can help you all day." 

Dave:  (smiling) Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary, but thanks!

Me: It's no trouble.  Really.

Dave: No, that's okay....REALLY.

The funny thing is that when I got back in the truck, Dad suggested the same thing, for real.  I told Dad the Herrs had it handled, and lucky, for Dave, they got it all cleaned up and burned within a few days. 

It's good to have good neighbors. 

Golf Cart Giveaway

I posted a few years ago about buying Dad a golf cart.  Well, let's just say he didn't take to it.  I also discovered that an open vehicle, such as a golf cart on a dusty road, is not such a good idea.  By the time you got to your destination, you were covered with gritty dust.

My friend Brent mentioned that he was looking for something like a golf cart for his mom to reach her garage which is located on the other side of a pond.  I told him I would give him the golf cart.  It was just taking up space in my barn.  It still had the original tank of gas.  It needs a LOT of work.

My brother and his family were gone to spring break in Florida, so I had access to a free truck and trailer.  The golf cart started...barely.  I could not get it to go up the trailer ramp in forwards, so I had to back it onto the trailer. 

The last time I had the golf cart on the trailer, it bounced all around, even breaking one of my bungee cords.  So this time I packed it with bales of straw on the side.  It fit just perfect. 

The trailer didn't have any juice in the light towing package, therefore I had no trailer lights.  I took the risk and took mostly backroads for 65 miles down to Brazil, IN.  I sure got some funny looks.  What?  You've never seen a trailer with bales of straw and a golf cart in the middle?

Here's some photos of the trailer and the golf cart's new owner:

Facebook Comments

  I mentioned on Facebook that I'm cleaning for a houseguest that's coming next weekend.  I got a comment from an old college friend living in Long Island, NY:

People actually travel to the farm on purpose?? 

Then I got this comment from a Tulsa friend, currently living in Washington:

More than once, I've used the leaf blower inside the house....is that wrong? It sure gets the cobwebs out, but it's hell on sheet music!

I love my friends!

Midtown Adventures

I had a free night and Nora was cooking at the Red Key Tavern tonight.  I had never been there before.  I decided that tonight was the night.  I headed to midtown Indianapolis.  On the way there, I looked up some old family haunts.  I had some family members that used to live in the vicinity in the area during the 1940s-1960s.  All the houses were intact and probably looking much better than they did ten years ago. 

I got to the Red Key and was quite surprised at how small it is.  But very cozy.  A real neighborhood bar.  I told the waitress to tell Nora that I was there.  Nora came out in a few minutes and we chatted.  Later she brought over a mutual friend, Joe.  Joe is married to my college roommate's ex-wife.  It was very funny to run into him there.

Nora made me a grilled tenderloin and potato salad.  It was very good.  Nora CAN cook; she's just not blowing smoke.  It's a big comfort knowing the person who's cooking your bar food. 

There is a bunch that meets there the first Tuesday of each month.  So the place was quite busy.  I really liked it there.  I'll be back.  Only a half hour away.

Open or Closed?

I had a conversation with Erica just the other day on this very topic.  Is your address book open or closed?  Specifically, are you open to meeting and welcoming strangers?  Or have you had the same circle of friends for twenty, thirty years?

I think most bloggers have an open address book.  It's kind of the nature of the beast.  You put your thoughts out there on the internet.  A complete stranger reads your blog and leaves a comment.  Then you go their website and return the favor.  I have met dozens of bloggers in the past three years, many I've met in person too.  Pretty much what you read is what you get in person. 

I'm always amazed at passengers on an airplane.  Someone will be yakking away on a cell phone and having a great conversation, laughing and animated.  Then they hang up and fly the entire flight without speaking to the person sitting next to them.  I generally talk to the person sitting next to me unless I am extremely tired, or I already think the person is a complete asshole (cell phone guy/gal).

My Mom used to keep all the addresses for the family.  When all the area codes started changing due to cell phone / fax numbers, it got to be too much for her to keep up with.  So I took over keeping track of her addresses too.  I used a software product called Address Book for years.  It was great, but it didn't communicate with any handheld devices.  So I converted it all into Outlook and have them sync'ed up with my Palm Pilot.  I currently have 924 names in my Address Book.  Over half of those are family members, spread over 41 states and various foreign countries. 

Whenever I meet someone who is pre-occupied with their small clique of friends, I always have the same thought:  I wonder how many names are in their address book.  It's kind of sad really, to live life in a cocoon like that.  To look through your address book and realize that the last update you made to your address book was when you crossed off the name of a person who died. 

Last week, I saw a lady that I recognized at a local graduation.  She was a year behind me in school.  I went up and introduced myself.  She said she didn't remember me...at all.  Not that she strained herself much either.  She couldn't be bothered.  There were 18 in my eighth grade class; 15 in hers (I could probably name them all).  We attended the same tiny school for five years, and then went to the same high school for another four.  She grew up two miles from me and we carpooled to band practice together.  Doesn't remember me?  Did she suffer a brain aneurysm?

Definitely a closed address book lady.  I don't think we'll be exchanging Christmas cards.

Another time, at a family reunion, my cousin introduced his wife to me and my siblings.  She shook hands, and then when she got to me she asked her husband, "Do we really have to shake hands with everybody? *eyeroll*".  I said, "No.  You don't." and walked away.  Wow!  Her address book was under serious lockdown.  Thankfully, she is no longer married to my cousin.

I will be attending two blogmeets in the near future.  I'll get to finally meet some folks that I've been reading for years.  Plus, I'll get to meet some complete strangers too.  I'm sure I'll be adding some names to my address book. 

So...is your address book open or closed?

Good Neighbor Sam

We have been farming with the Herr family for three generations.  Sam's father Garrett and my grandfather Bill farmed side by side.  Sam and my Dad farmed together for years.  They shared pieces of farm equipment and the cost of running them.  My brother and Sam's son, Dave, help each other out when they need a hand.  The Herrs are the kind of neighbors you want to have:  dependable, honest, and ready to lend a hand.  They live two miles away from our farm.

Dad was twenty when Sam was born.  Sam was an only child.  He married a Catholic farm girl.  They had three children: Ann, Dave, and Mary Beth, all two years apart.  Ann, who is a year younger than me, is Nora's best friend.  The Herr household was always full of fun and laughter.  Sam's wife Fran always had a smile on her face and a hearty laugh.  Sam was the straight man with the poker face.  But then you'd see his lip curl up into a slight smile, and you knew that Sam was in on the joke too.

When we moved from the old house to the new house in 1968, Dad and Sam moved all the furniture on a couple of pick-up trucks.  They didn't even unload any of the dressers.  They just picked them up and moved them.  All in one day...just the two of them.  Being a kid, it seemed there was nothing those two big strong guys couldn't do (see photo of Dad and Sam above).

One time we were vaccinating hogs and Sam was holding the hogs while Doc Gross injected them in the hind quarters.  The hogs were pretty large.  One hog bucked and Doc stuck Sam in the leg with the needle.  Poor Sam.

Some Indiana maps show a town called Herr just south of Lebanon.  It's actually a grain elevator.  The Penn Central Railroad needed a designator for the stop at the Kern Kirtley & Herr Elevator.  The name Herr (nice and short) was chosen.  Some motorcycle riders still stroll into the elevator asking where the town of Herr is.  Directly across the railroad from the grain elevator is Sam's house. 

On Saturday mornings all the old farmers in the area would gather at the grain elevator for what we called a "bull session".  They would discuss everything from sports to agriculture politics to the local county gossip.  There would usually be an open package of peanuts in the shell to munch on.  It was great to just listen in.  I remember one time sitting next to Sam eating peanuts.  Dad was at the counter paying a bill about twelve feet away.  Sam nudged me and winked at me.  He was going to play a joke on Dad, who was hard of hearing (and still is).  Sam started calling Dad's name very softly and then gradually got louder and louder.  "Johnny.  Johnny.  Johnny.  JOHNNY."  Sam kept a straight face.  I was busting up laughing.  Finally Dad turned around and said, "I hear you.  What the hell do you want?"  Many years later, Sam wore a hearing aid.  Dad's hearing aids are still sitting in the box they came in, unused.

Sam was a quiet guy.  He didn't say much.  But he was a great listener.  When he talked to you one on one, you had all of his attention.  I always enjoyed talking with Sam.

Sometime in the 1970s, Sam began having cluster headaches that would last for days.  He told me one time he was down on all fours pushing his head against a wall to relieve some of the pressure.  Sam usually got these headaches in the spring just about time to go to the fields.  Sam was a planner and he would have his mind going a million miles a minute planning the spring planting.  Then boom; a headache.  This was not in the plans.  He tried several different procedures and medicines, but nothing seemed to work.  Sam's health really began to decline in the past ten years. 

In 1988, LIFE magazine did a story about farming and the drought.  Sam's son, Dave, was one of the farmers featured in the story.  The picture above with a sweaty Sam is from that issue.  He's wearing a Kern, Kirtley & Herr hat.

The Herrs began an annual 4th of July celebration several years ago with the Spitznogles which continues today.  I've blogged about it before.  This past year, Sam was putting on a brave face.  When we were alone in the garage I asked Sam how he was feeling.  He just looked me in the eye and shook his head. 

A week ago, I heard that Sam had passed out in the kitchen and was taken to the hospital.  The doctors performed many tests but couldn't find anything wrong with him, except that he was weak.  He was sent home.  Sam told his son Dave that he just needed about four days rest and he'd be able to get out on the tractor.  Sam died in his sleep two days later.  He was 70.

Today was the visitation at the mortuary.  There was a big turnout:  people from church, farmers, neighbors.  Sam's entire family was there.  Nora and her family were there too.  I don't think I'd ever seen Sam and Fran's wedding picture before.  And there was a great newspaper clipping of Sammy Herr being hoisted on the shoulders of his teammates as he hit the winning basket at the buzzer in high school.  Lots of photos and memories with that slight smile of Sam's.

I can't imagine what the neighborhood is gonna be like without Sam.  The bull sessions ended years ago.  The grain elevator is a rusting shell from a by-gone era.  But as the planting season approaches, I hope Sam is finally at peace.  We miss you already.