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News from the Hills The Hocking Hills in Southeastern Ohio is a vacation and camping area with forests, state parks, and the famous Old Man's Cave. It is a rural retirement haven for refugees from the city. A former Short North Gallery operator (now retired to the Hocking Hills) shares his unusual thoughts in News From The Hills. |
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NEWS FROM THE HILLS................ News from the Hills, July 2007Living in the Hills is
wonderful, but it does take a lot of work
After a movie and a
good nap, you can check on your children Many Holiday Inns
even ffeature live entertainment on the And if you're
getting a little absent-minded in your old days, you Being a natural
skeptic, I called a Holiday Inn to check out the
PLC
REMOVING June 1, 2007
It was my own foolish mistake. After all of these years, you would think that I should know better. I said, out loud, “it is time to clean out the garage”. I know that seems to be an innocent enough statement, but you need to know what all that implied. The garage was built to hold two cars, with additional room for my workbench, power tools, and a few miscellaneous items. Over a period of time we had accumulated various pieces of family furniture, books, pictures and other memorablia, plus some of our own stuff that was “too good” to throw away. The result of this accumulation was that there was scarcely room for the cars, or at least it was difficult to get out of the car and walk to the door.
It was clear that our problem was too
much stuff and not enough space. The option was to add on to the house
to create more space, or to remove some of the stuff. Adding on seemed
like overkill, so we decided that “removing” our surplus was the logical
decision. As with most of our plans, it wasn’t that simple and it
turned out to be more like moving all over again……which is another way
of interpreting the word “re-moving”. To a certain extent this phenomenon was also occurring in the house, which is celebrating its 100th year this year. The computer alcove and laundry rooms were especially crowded and in need of some relief. The parlor in this old house was set up to be a dining room and was seldom used. It has been referred to as the Cartmille Museum, as it was mostly furnished with things from my g/gparents farmhouse, complete with a large portrait of my great-grand father and great-grand mother. The bookshelves were overflowing with literature of all sorts and in no particular order.
As I said, this room was seldom used, and
it represented potentially useful “space” The old parlor was stripped of furniture, and the walls and woodwork were painted. We carpeted the floor, as its condition was poor. Surplus books were boxed up for the local library sale. Questionable items were moved to the garage, and one car was forced to outside parking. This part only took four days.
Next, the computer desk and associated paraphernalia were moved to the old parlor room, and the computer alcove was scrubbed and painted. That took another day or so. One problem came up though. The old parlor never had a phone jack, so in order to stay in touch with the world, it became necessary to run a line from the parlor to the communication board in the basement. I swiftly drilled a hole in the wall and installed the new line as far as I could. Problem was, that I couldn’t quite get to the communication board to finish the job. There was a stack of plastic boxes that were in the way. These boxes contained genealogy papers amounting to 12 years of researching all four of my g/parents lines. Moving on, I began to restack the boxes in another corner of the basement. Along the way, I spotted a box that contained my Alford line, and I made the mistake of opening it to take a look. Three hours later, I got the new phone line hooked up and operational.
Next was moving the antique Hoosier Cupboard from the laundry room into the old computer alcove, and it now houses the good China and other assorted “keepers”. Of course this required a complete scrub down of the laundry room and Dottie decided to paint that room also, since we were in the midst of all of this “improvement”. There goes another couple of days.
By now the house is beginning to take shape, but the garage is a complete disaster. If time and energy permit, that will be the “next” battleground and it should take only another week or so. In the meantime we have lots of yard work to do, plus tending to our volunteer activities. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?
Stay tuned for more News from the Hills.
Phil Ohio Weather
April 1, 2007 was a beautiful Spring day. The sun was shining, it was nearly 80 degrees, and the soft white clouds were like cotton balls scudding across the sky. Along about midnight, the wind began to blow, and dark clouds covered the silvery moon. By morning the temperature had plunged to 38 degrees, and a drizzly rain was spattering on the windows. It is difficult to imagine such a severe change in the weather in such a short time.
It seemed odd that this calamity coincided precisely with the OSU attempt to prove that they were the best college basketball team in the U.S. One would think that the Archangel in charge of weather was either a Gator fan, or simply decided to punish all Buckeyes for possessing excessive pride and vanity.
As if the one day change was not severe enough punishment, the rest of the week spiraled out of control and by Thursday the low temperature had plunged to 21 degrees, and snow covered our sacred soil. It seemed that no amount of supplication would relieve this downward spiral of our much longed for Spring weather. In addition our peach crop was wiped out, the bee colonies were severely hurt which would reduce other summer crops. Today is Easter Sunday, and the cold weather still persists. Can you imagine the children who have looked forward to hunting Easter eggs, attempting to find them in the snow? This is cruel and unusual punishment!
We Buckeyes are forming a coalition to protest this gross punishment to a higher authority and we are gathering signatures to impeach the Archangel in charge of Weather. In the meantime, we are salving our wounds by watching re-runs of the Ohio State vs. Michigan football game.
PLC-April 8, 2007
NEWS FROM THE HILLS As a simple example…. an unused former filling station, on the extreme western edge of the city of Logan was recently occupied by an auto repair business. The big, bold new sign on the building says “East Side Auto Repair”. I find that odd. Just down the road from East Side Auto Repair, is a nice brick building that is vacant. It has a sign in the window…..”Not For Rent”. It has been that way for over 5 years and sure enough it is still vacant. I have never seen such a sign before, and all I can say is that this seems to a tribute to the power of advertising…..but still a bit odd. You may recall that I wrote some time ago about walking the dogs each morning up our lightly traveled road and carrying a plastic bag to pick up beer and pop cans. Since we moved here in 1998, our road has become a little busier what with people building cabins and such to the north of us. I have noticed that the volume of cans that are thrown out of cars and trucks has increased. I attribute most of that increase to the tradesmen that are involved with the aforesaid construction, and simply can’t wait to have a beer at home. The other source of this debris is most likely young couples who have several convenient trysting places along our road. I am sure that these people have noticed that our road ia cleared of cans on a regular basis. On Christmas morning I took the dogs on a walk up the road, with plastic bag in hand. There was an unusual amount of cans to retrieve. To my surprise over half of the cans that I picked up were unopened beer cans. I can only assume that the “can throwers” who use our road, were trying to be kind to the unknown trash picker-upper and decided to reward him/her with a Christmas gift or two. (Actually 8.) I can think of no other explanation, and when you think of it, it was actually a blend of Christmas giving and an Easter egg hunt. Now, isn’t that quaint gift giving tradition?
THE COMEBACK CARNews from the Hills, Oct 06
The west side of Columbus, Ohio was a good place to grow up. I lived 4 houses from my elementary school and two blocks from my Junior/Senior High School. Everything that we needed was available within a block or two: grocery, dry cleaner, hardware, barber shop, etc. All of my Aunts and Uncles lived in the same area. We didn’t have a car, and didn’t need one.
When I turned 16, I got a drivers license. My grandfather had a 1942 Plymouth with 62,000 miles on it and considerable rust. He bought a new 1950 Dodge, and gave me the Plymouth. I made a deal with the local garage to sand body repairs in trade for using their welding equipment to replace the floorboards in the Plymouth. After some experimenting, I learned to weld (after a fashion). I removed the hood and trunk ornaments and leaded in the holes. I painted the Plymouth dark green. This was a learning experience.
I lowered the rear end and put fender skirts on the Plymouth to give it a sleek, hot rod appearance which was the fashion for young men at that time. It didn’t matter to me that it was a Plymouth and not a Ford, which was the preferred hot rod material.
After two years I found a 1949 Plymouth convertible that I really liked. I justified buying it, as I was now enrolled at Ohio State and it was a 10 mile round trip from home to campus and I surely needed more reliable transportation. I sold the ’42 Plymouth to a friend for $250. He drove it a year before joining the Marines. While he was in boot camp, the ’42 was left outside during the winter. When he returned, he called me and said he was going to junk the ’42 as when he poured water in the radiator it ran out of the tailpipe and he wasn’t going to mess with it. I told him that I would give him junk price for it ($25) for sentimental reasons. So, it came back.
It had a blown head gasket. I took it apart and put a new gasket in and it ran fine. Another learning experience. I then sold it to my girl friends brother for $250. He was a jerk and it I knew that it wouldn’t last long in his hands. Sure enough, he raced it around and eventually threw a rod and destroyed the engine and it was headed for the junk yard. I gave him $25 and it came back again.
The local Sohio station guy drove a 1940 Dodge back and forth to work. I noticed that the Dodge was just sitting there and he was driving his 1948 Buick “Sunday” car to work. I asked him what he was going to do with the Dodge. He said it was going to the junk yard since the transmission was shot, but he just hadn’t gotten around to taking it there. I gave him $25 for the Dodge. (The Dodge had the same engine as the ’42 Plymouth, so you can see the plot unfolding.)
I put the Dodge in our empty garage and rigged a tripod to pull the engine. Now this was February and our garage was not heated and had a gravel floor. It was cold hard work, but I finally got the engine out of Dodge. Another learning experience.
I put the ’42 Plymouth in the garage and pulled the blown engine out of it. The Dodge was sitting in the alley behind the garage so it was just a matter of pushing the two cars back and forth for the swap. I put the ruined Plymouth engine in the Dodge and towed it to the junk yard where I received $30 for it. The Dodge engine was then placed in the ’42 Plymouth, and luckily it fit and the bolt pattern matched. After getting it back together, everything worked and the Plymouth became an early version of a “hybrid” automobile.
I advertised the ’42 Plymouth in the newspaper for $250. Several “lookers” wanted to buy it for less money, but I didn’t want to take less. The owner of the filling station (and the Dodge) had not found a “work” car as yet, and he offered me the $250. I sold it to him and he was still driving it when I graduated from OSU, got married, and moved away. It had finally found a home with an older man who treated it gently and appreciated it for what it was.
It is one thing to add up the financial gains that I netted from this car, but a wise person would question the amount of time and effort that it took to make this happen. Was there really a financial gain here? Probably not if you choose to ignore how much I learned from this experience. I think that I came out about even.
The most important thing that I learned was that I did not want to be an auto mechanic. This lesson caused me to take my studies at OSU much more seriously.
PLC
January, 2006There are a lot of things that a person keeps. Each of us keeps different things. Some of us keep more things than others do. I am a keeper. I like things that I am familiar with and it is hard for me to discard most anything. I either learned this from my Grandfather or inherited the trait from him, as he was a keeper too. He would rather have old shoes fixed than buy new ones. He had a single gray suit for as long as I knew him. He had tools that belonged to his grandfather. His shop was filled with pieces of wood, old screws and nails, repairable furniture and all sorts of old tools I know that this makes me a bit odd in this fast moving, ever changing world, that seems to be based on trade-in's and disposal of old things. I always felt that things are meant to last. Things should not be thrown away just because they are old. People shouldn't be thrown away either…..not just because they are old. I believe that more now, than I did a few years ago. Keeping is a state of mind. It has nothing to do with neatness. Just because you keep things doesn't mean that they are peculiar, it is just something in the genes. A person can’t help it if they were born with the Keeper gene. I have the front windshield from my grandfathers Model T Ford. Not long ago I was offered $120 for it, but I chose not to sell. Next year it will be worth more. At the same time, it isn’t about money. It is about maintaining close contact with a special person in my life and remembering how proud he was of that car. I have a few other things of his, but that windshield is special to me. In the Fall, I reluctantly put a sturdy old parka of mine in the Volunteers of America box, in downtown Logan. A week or so later, I saw an old gentleman walking down the street with my coat on. He looked needy. It was cold that day and the wind was blowing, but he looked warm in my coat and that made me feel warm inside. This is one of the advantages of living in a rural community. The good things you do are close at hand, and the probability of seeing one’s good works on the street in the city is a real long shot. I was not sentimental about that parka, even though I had owned it for many years. I don’t know why. Perhaps because there were no significant memories attached to it, except wearing it while working on this old house during the winter of 1996. It had served me well, but it was time to pass it on, and I am glad that I did. So, I think that although I am a confirmed Keeper, I am not a Scrooge. PLC 1/22/06
News from the Hills, December, 2005 At this time of year, it seems appropriate to let friends know what is going on in Upper Hockington, Ahia. Many city folks wonder why anyone would move from the bright lights of the city to the remote hills of Hocking County. This would lead me to reply, that we have our own bright lights. This past summer Nextel installed a cell phone tower down the road from us, which flashes bright red lights incessantly. Of course, they couldn’t do that within our corporate limits, but they were wise enough to set it up just over the line. We are getting so many of these towers that it would seem wise to rig them with cable cars to allow us locals to ride to town for supplies instead of wasting gasoline by driving. We have enjoyed a very nice year, weatherwise. It is quite cold now and the forest is coated with a beautiful snow cover. One can track the movements of the wild animals in this quiet time of year and it is reassuring to know that Mother Nature provides for them, even in the bitter cold. The pond is frozen over, and there are deer tracks marking their crossing. Even waterfalls in the nearby Parks, are beginning to build interesting sculptures that defy human creativity. It is a time of quiet reflection and a reason to ignore the latest news in the newspaper and on TV. Our local world is taking a rest and preparing for another new season in the Spring, when all of our surrounding nature will abound with new life and robust growth. This is a season to reflect on things that are past, and hope for better things in the future. It is a time to celebrate our traditional Holidays and prepare for a new season of growth, both personal and natural, that will soon be upon us. I would like to offer you our best wishes for a wonderful Holiday Season this year, and the hope that the New Year will bring you health, happiness, and peace to our troubled world.
Sincerely,
I have always kept old things. One never knows when an old tool, board, or piece of rope will come in handy. I have many good examples of successful use of old things. A recent example would be the very sturdy basketball pole and backboard that Dottie gave to me as a birthday present back in 1995. This item was made andinstalled on Canterbury Road by Fortin Welding, and employs engineering that was most likely based on highway bridge projects. I brought this item to the Hocking Hills with the intent of erecting it here for daily use. Somehow I never got around to putting it back in service, mostly due to a lack of a flat area in this hilly terrain. It has lain in grassy area near the garage for the past 8 years, and it has suffered somewhat from weather and lack of maintenance. I retrieved it, sanded and painted it. I dug a 36’’ hole, and poured a concrete base on which to mount this pole and with mountaineer grit, I managed to erect it single handed. It didn’t take long to install the backboard and hoop and I was ready for a trial run. I fully expected it to be as good as new. I reinflated my tried and true basketball of earlier days and spent the next 30 minutes trying to get the basketball to go through the hoop. I double checked the size of the basketball and the hoop. They seemed to be according to NBA specifications, so that wasn’t the problem. I concluded that some old things just don’t work the way they used to. I decided that maybe the problem was that in my haste to put this rugged, but aged equipment back in service, that I was rushing things. I have been spending about 30 minutes a day exercising the old thing in small doses and it is responding very well. Our shooting percentage has improved from zero to nearly 30 percent in just a week. I don’t know how much more improvement we can make, but it is clear that one must be patient and considerate when dealing with old things.
October, 2004 Living in the Appalachian foothills of Ahia, and being a city kid, I often take note of how I seem to have myself positioned in some sort of time warp. It is one thing to live in a hundred year old farmhouse, and it is a completely different thing to try to explain to unknowing people just how much time it takes to keep it all together. No, I am not seeking sympathy. I got myself into this and I am not going to cry about it.
What I am referring to when I mention “time warp”, is that I am stripping the old clapboard wall covering off the walls that lead to the basement. These clapboards are one hundred years old, and you just can’t imagine what is behind them…..therefore I will not go into detail. My reference is related to the crude tools that I must use to accomplish this task, which are very similar to those prevalent in 1904. While I am grunting, cursing, and fumbling through this manual task, not fifteen feet away, my computer is downloading the latest Microsoft updates and I am listening to continuous music on my satellite TV hookup. (I chose “Easy Listening” as it fits my style.) It is clear that I am living in two different worlds, and I often pause in my work to reflect on that. I do not find it disconcerting at all. I think that I relish it. I like being connected with the past, and I enjoy wonderful improvements that have come to pass in my lifetime. I find it invigorating to relate to both, and I clearly have my feet in both worlds.
So here we are at another Autumn. The Hills are alive with color and the Geese are forming for their southern migration. What a wonderful time and place to enjoy life!
All is well here in Upper Hockington, Ahia…….and I hope that all is well with you.
Phil
NEWS FROM THE HILLS October 17, 2004
Now really…..I think this Presidential Campaign is getting out of hand. We live deep in the hills of southern Ahia, on a back country road, where the sight of car that is not the mailman is considered a noteworthy event. About the only time that our tranquil life style is disturbed, is when someone gets lost in Cantwell Cliffs State Park and wanders out on our road. They often stop at our place in an effort to find their way back to the parking lot. We always try to help these lost souls with directions, as I have taken the Hocking County Pledge of Allegiance to assist all tourists, since they represent our #1 industry these days.
It has been a busy weekend, with my son and family visiting. They get packed up and head for Klumbus about 1PM. I am due to serve my Hocking County obligation to the Tourism Industry at the Welcome Center at 2PM and it is necessary to get cleaned up in order to meet and greet the public on this beautiful Autumn afternoon. I have just finished my shower when there is a knock at the door. The dawgs go wild. I am in a quandary, as I assume that there are some lost tourists in need of assistance. I wrap a towel around me and carefully open the door a crack. Standing there is a smiling middle aged couple, burdened with a stack of brochures that are designed to encourage people to vote for Kerry-Edwards. They are not in the least put off by my appearance and semi-nakedness. They proceed with their well rehearsed spiel to convince me of the virtues of their candidates. I see no car in the driveway and I silently wonder if they found our house after being dropped by parachute into the forest. I wait for an opportunity to inject the simple fact that I am undecided about who to vote for, while trying to control the dawgs. It was altogether an awkward scene, but they were obviously dedicated to their mission. Now my obligation to assist lost tourists does not apply being pleasant to political promoters, so I break off the conversation by agreeing to allow these people to stuff a brochure through the hole in the screen that was created by the dawgs in their frenzy. Soon all was quiet, and I was able to finish dressing and make it to the Welcome Center on time.
I am still undecided about who I am going to vote for. On the one hand, I could be angry at this effrontery and vote for the other guy. On the other hand, I could look at the extreme efforts of the Kerry-Edwards team and consider this a plus for their side. In any case, it made me stop and think about this important issue.
In all of the furor, I still don’t know how they found me, or how they departed. All in all, it was a strange experience.
Melancholy News from the Hills. Hair I don’t know when I first noticed it, but I am nearly bald on top. I never had a great head of hair, but it is unsettling to find that what you did have is rapidly disappearing. I have done some research on this, and most experts claim that it is genetic. I have to dispute that, as my father and my grandfathers retained most of their hair and baldness does not seem to run in my family. I am now older than my father was when he died, and I am not much younger than either of my grandfathers, when they passed away. I am not counting on genetics alone to explain my loss of hair. I think that I have another explanation for this condition. The simple answer is that my brain is expanding. The brain is only so big, and it is surrounded by the boney cage of the skull. The brain stores data just like a hard drive on the computer. Sooner or later it gets full, and there is no known way to purge the data. My brain is filled with old memories and lots of pictures of places that I have been and people that I knew……and we all know how much storage space pictures take up. In addition I have an inordinate amount of trivia cluttering up my brain. These range from answers to crossword puzzles and the words to old songs. A good example is to be able to the name of all of the South American countries and their capitols, starting with Brazil and going counter clockwise around the continent. The latter was learned in the fifth grade in a sing-song rote routine that Mrs. Ryerson imposed upon us. I wonder what Mrs. Ryerson would think of that now, after all of these years? It is a shame that some of the names of the countries have changed, as I think it damages the rhythm of our sing-song routine. Now, to the proposed causes of my malady. It is perfectly clear that my brain is expanding and squashing the topmost hair follicles till they can’t receive nutrients. The hair that these follicles feed just falls out. “Prove it”, you say? Well there is much evidence to support my premise. Hair is like a weed, and grows very aggressively, which is why most barbers are well-to-do people. If hair can’t grow one place, it will grow in another. As proof of this, I can tell you that there is a lot of hair that now emerges from my ears and my nose that was never there before. Even my eyebrows are bushier. It is obvious that this new growth, in these obscure places, is being nurtured to excess, ever since the follicles on top have had their nutrients cut off by my expanding brain. Another symptom of the simple fact that my brain has outgrown its home, is the obvious problem that I have with remembering what I had for breakfast. All of that old data is still there, taking up storage space, and there is just no room for anything new. I think this explains why senior folks have trouble accepting new ideas. I propose that medical science find a way to erase old data from the brain and make room for new stuff. In the meantime, I continue to comb my hair over the shiny surface that gets bigger by the week. I have always been a lucky guy, and my luck is holding on this issue too. Just in time for me, the “bald look” is becoming popular in this country. Men with perfectly good hair coverage are shaving their heads to keep in step with the new look. I think this is really silly, but who am I to judge what is “macho” or fashionable? One thing these young men don’t realize is that hair was put there to be an insulator. All of the blood in the body passes through the head every three minutes. A hairless head is like an efficient radiator and extreme amount of body heat is lost, thus exposing the hairless person to being chilled and possibly catching a cold or the flu. Of course if these folks would wear a warm hat this problem could be eliminated, but for some reason they seem to want to display their dome, and the simple hat solution appears not to be in fashion. I have prepared for my impending baldness by acquiring many hats for all sorts of occasions, as I have no regard for current fashion, and no wish to invite sickness. I have always liked hats anyway. I am currently exercising the “comb over” technique of covering my fading follicles. It is a pitiful effort, and I have vowed not to go to the extreme with this. For example, just watch the next Purdue basketball game and get a look at the way their coach (Gene Keady) handles this problem. He combs from the top of his left ear, over the top with about 8 inches of hair, and plasters it down with bear grease or Vaseline. It really looks strange. I have promised myself that I won’t do this. I am considering getting a regular bald person’s haircut when I have my Spring trim. I have been working up to this event, and it won’t be easy, but I think that it is time. PLC, November, 2003
Heavenly Ohio Once upon a time, when God was working on creating our world, the Archangel Michael was looking over God’s shoulder, and inquired as to what he was working on. God explained that he was outfitting a planet to represent all of the good things of life. He was quick to comment on how difficult it was to achieve balance between the different areas. There were climate and terrain differences, and only so many places that he could put people in this new venture. The plan was to make the people as different and varied as the geography. Creating all of this was not difficult for God. The difficult part was balancing it all. With the patience and discipline that only God possesses, the project was nearing completion. He was still fine tuning the “balancing” situation, when the Archangel Michael inquired about some places on the planet that were marked with a “star” symbol. Michael inquired about a “star” on the North American continent just south of the Great Lakes. Michael asked, “What is this area?” God replied, “This will be Ohio, one of the most glorious places on earth. There will be beautiful lakes, rivers, and rolling hills. I have decided that the people who live in Ohio will be modest, intelligent, and they will travel the world. They will be sociable, hard working achievers and they will be known throughout the world as diplomats and messengers of peace.” Michael was impressed with this goal, but he felt it necessary to ask God about his goal of achieving “balance” in his design, for certainly it appeared that this “Ohio” was to be a very special place God replied, “Ah yes, Michael. Ohio is indeed a special place, but I have achieved balance by surrounding Ohio with West Virginia, Kentucky, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and Michigan.”
January 5, 2003 Living here in the Hills of SE Ahia, I was not aware of the recent exhibition football game that was played by my alma mater, Ahia State, and another team from down south. I have been busy cutting wood, tending livestock, and mending the roof of the house. I had assumed that football season was over after Ahia State beat Michigan back in November. When I was in school that was the only thing that mattered, so I went back to doing pressing chores and forgot all about the exhibition games that occur during the Holidays. It seems that I have overlooked the importance that some people place on these exhibition games. I apologize for that. As a legitimate, third generation Buckeye, it is my mission to be fully conversant with whatever my team is doing, at any given moment. As best I can fathom, there is a computer somewhere that matches up college football teams and the media puts on a big blitz to create excitement for these "after" season games. I think the driving force here is for advertising revenue and has little to do with educating student athletes. I don't know how the computer works, but it somehow it creates an "after season" exhibition menu of games that folks might find appealing and e willing to pay for seeing in person or viewing on TV. I don't know how all of this works, but it would seem the computer selected the two unbeaten teams in the country to play in a game that would decide who is best. (This is a little like the Roman idea of the Lions against the Christians.) The team from down South (and their name escapes me) had built up a most impressive record of winning regular season games and a few exhibition games. This team was an upstart in the history of college football and had little to recommend it except for their recent success in attracting players who did not like snow. It is important to note that the public interest in college football had been on the wane among TV viewers, which is a major source of revenue for colleges these days. All of the big schools were aware of this. The Big Ten, which is comprised of more than ten schools was particularly affected by the fall off of TV revenue. The NCAA, which is the governing body of collegiate sports, was also most concerned about the declining interest of TV viewers and the associated revenue, which would keep their various members athletic boats afloat. So the stage was set. 2002 was the year to do something dramatic to capture the interest of the general public in the NCAA brand of major sports. The NCAA decided early on that the southern team with an impressive recent record, should meet up with a challenger that would capture the interest of the American public. The challenger should be a team that had a good history of performance, but had not enjoyed a recent history of success. Where else to look for a challenger but the Big Ten? Everyone on the inside knew that Ohio State was a powerhouse, but it was decided…..in the interest of public appeal to keep this information quiet. The NCAA quietly restrained the Buckeyes from running over all of their opponents in order to set up a major exhibition game at the end of the year. So it was that the orchestrated outcome of the regular season for Ahia State was to produce an unbeaten season, but to fill it with the drama and effect of many "close" games. This was accomplished in professional dramatic style and the Buckeye fans were ecstatically thrilled. For most Buckeye fans a win over Michigan was the end of the football season, but the NCAA had more to put on the Ahia State plate. The exhibition game with the recently dominant southern team bore all of the ingredients of a "Rocky" movie with Ahia State playing the role of Sylvestor Stallone. It was designed to be a definite crowd pleaser. It was a game to inspire the viewer into the romance of the David vs. Goliath story. It is interesting that the site of this contest was held in Tempe, AZ, which is a suburb of Buckeye, AZ. To suggest that this was scheduled to give Ahia State a "home" edge is probably not valid. Nonetheless, there were more Buckeye fans at the game and in the area than the southern team, and so there could be a slight advantage there. To insure the proper outcome that NCAA was prepared to introduce a teflon covered football for the southern team, but that proved to be unnecessary as the they showed a proclivity for losing the football all on their own. There were other proscribed methods for insuring the outcome, but they were all proven to be unnecessary as the teams on the field delivered the proper moments of suspense at just the right times. One might think that it was all orchestrated to a script, but the only real script in the whole extravaganza was the Ahia State marching band doing the script Ohio…..which has no equal. (It is important to note that the band has difficulty in performing a script "Ahia" as the "O's" are much easier for the band to do than the "A's".) As I understand it, both teams played well and the game was not only even at the end, but required two overtimes to determine the final winner. Even the NCAA did not have this in their script. So, I am sorry that I missed the game on TV, but I notice that WOSU-TV is showing re-runs of the exhibition game 24 hours a day, while soliciting contributions to the station for Tee shirts, autographed footballs, and the Email addresses of the key players. I noticed this change, as prior to Jan 3, 2003 the station was doing the same thing with memorabilia from the Michigan game, which signaled the end of the regular season. Funny how success in one venue, promotes interest in the next. From what I can tell the season is now over….offically…..and I can get back to my mundane chores of providing food and shelter to my flock. It was a good season for all Buckeye fans. PLC
News from the Hills
In the years since he started bringing washboard players together for musical gatherings, Mike Johnson has seen countless observers struggle to make sense of these down-home jams. One likened the resulting sound to "10,000 marbles rattling around in a glass jar." Another compared it to "being inside a snare drum in a hailstorm." And Mr. Johnson, who heads a world-wide organization for fans of this household-appliance-turned-percussion-instrument, takes no exception to such colorful criticism. After all, the washboard isn't necessarily about showmanship or finesse, he explains. Rather, it's about getting whatever old-time rhythm you can out of its grooved metal surface, using thimbles, drumsticks, eggbeaters or even a paint-can opener. "It's something you can have fun with," Mr. Johnson says from his home outside Denver.
These days, that notion has translated into nothing short of a washboard renaissance. Mr. Johnson's own organization, Washboards International, has seen its roster grow in the past three years by nearly 200 players -- to a current total of about 450 -- with washboard buffs hailing from nearly all 50 states and more than 20 countries. And at Columbus Washboard Co. in Logan, Ohio, the country's last manufacturer of washboards, annual sales during that same period doubled at one point -- to 80,000 washboards. The company says the musical segment, currently 15% of total sales, accounts for the strongest growth. (Yes, some folks still buy washboards to do their laundry, although it's considered a "stagnant" market; and others purchase them for decorative purposes.) But what has provided the most obvious evidence of a washboard boom are the musical events Mr. Johnson and others stage from coast to coast. This Sunday, Mr. Johnson will host the 20th annual washboard concert at the Sacramento Jazz Jubilee in California, a showcase that now typically attracts more than two dozen of the country's top players, even though the event's founder, Bill Gunter, admits it started out more as a novelty than anything else. "When I first heard the clatter of those washboards coming back at me, I thought, 'This is awful.' But everyone got a big kick out of it," he says. The Sacramento event is small stuff, however, compared with the International Washboard Festival, set for June 14-16 in Logan. Conceived to promote both this small Ohio town and Columbus Washboard Co., the three-day extravaganza celebrates the role the washboard has played in a variety of musical styles, from jazz to jug band, and offers would-be washboard virtuosi a chance to learn from the pros. Topping it off are tours of the factory and a "washboard abs" contest for the physically fit. Last year's festival -- the first of its kind -- attracted an estimated crowd of 6,000. "We were packed," says Columbus Washboard manager Jacqui Barnett, who adds the company sold about 2,000 washboards alone that weekend. In a sense, the happenings in the washboard world reflect a broader musical trend -- namely, a renewed interest in all things acoustic and homespun. "I call it the 'O Brother' effect," says old-time music enthusiast David Lynch, who has a popular Web site devoted to the pre-country folk idiom. He's referring, of course, to the Grammy-winning roots-inspired soundtrack to the Coen brothers movie, "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" With sales now topping five million, the album, produced by T-Bone Burnett, has sparked a commercial revival in mountain music not seen since the early '70s, when the "Dueling Banjos" theme from "Deliverance" became an unlikely pop hit. But the "O Brother" phenomenon has led to more than just a surge in album sales. It has also inspired thousands to pick up an instrument and join the chorus. Making Musical Clatter Accessories some artists use to make music on washboards Thimbles, gravy strainers, egg beaters, drumsticks, spoons, brushes normally used for drum sets, heavy steel brushes, antique pop bottle openers made from wire, plastic or wood-head mallets and paint can o Source: Mike Johnson, Washboards International Saga Musical Instruments, one of the country's leading acoustic distributors, reports that its sales of mandolins have doubled since the middle of last year. "And banjos are off the chart. God knows how many we could sell if we could keep enough of them in stock," says Richard Keldsen, president of the San Francisco-based company. Even jaw's harps, those quirky folk instruments once popularized in a Peanuts cartoon, have taken off. Mouth Music Press, a jaw's harp distributor in Boise, Idaho, says its business has doubled every year since 1998. The only problem with tying the washboard boom to the "O Brother" trend is this: There's not a washboard to be heard anywhere on the soundtrack. Indeed, washboards are more common to such early jazz styles as Dixieland and swing, reaching a height in popularity in the 1930s. "It was kind of a poor man's drum set," says Ralf Reynolds, a washboard player in Newport Beach, Calif., who is often hailed as the instrument's greatest living champion. (He perfected his art playing for more than two decades at Disney theme parks.) Bluegrass and old-time musicians, on the other hand, rarely express much enthusiasm for the washboard, often viewing it as a raucous toy, especially since many players adorn their instruments with cowbells, horns and empty tin cans to create additional percussive effects. Even the instrument's finest practitioners confess that, in the wrong hands, a washboard can turn into in a tool for wreaking cacophony. "It's got to be played subtly and as a real percussion instrument, not as a goofy thing," says David Holt, a well-known folk musician (and "O Brother" artist) whose video, "Folk Rhythms," offers pointers in washboard technique. And yet, some speculate the very reason washboards have taken off in tandem with "O Brother" and the larger folk movement is because they're easily accessible to beginners. "Most people have a certain degree of rhythm. And with rhythm comes a natural ability to play the washboard," says Columbus Washboard owner G.K. Richards, who bought the company with a group of partners in 1999 when it was nearly set to close. While Mr. Richards, a pharmaceutical-company executive, doesn't foster any illusions about taking the company to its pre-washing-machine-era height -- in 1941, it sold some 1.3 million washboards -- he is hopeful that the musical side of the business will propel the 107-year-old manufacturer to a new profit level. To that end, Mr. Richards has already introduced special "musical" models, priced as high as $35, that feature stainless steel and teak. Players prefer them because they're more durable -- and sound better -- than the tin-and-pine clothes-washing variety, which sell for about $20 less. But even Mr. Richards admits the company has been "caught off guard by the groundswell of interest," noting he hasn't had time to heavily promote the product to the music industry. Still, retailers and distributors keep finding their way on their own. Dann Skutt, a vice president with Trophy Music, an instrument distributor in Cleveland, decided to add Columbus washboards to his product line a few years ago "on a lark." Now, that lark is worth sales of about 1,000 washboards a year. "It's just become a standard product," Mr. Skutt says. And MARS Music, one of the nation's largest instrument chains, could be next in line. Tom Triozzi, a vice president of merchandising of MARS, which is based in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., says he is already fielding requests from some MARS stores about stocking washboards. He sees such interest as fitting in with the "back-to-roots thing going on in the country right now." But Phillip St. Ours, a 26-year-old washboard player with the Hackensaw Boys, a Virginia band that plays "up-tempo mountain music," has found his own way to get the instrument in more people's hands. After every few weeks of gigs, the punk-rock-loving musician gives away his battered washboard to a lucky fan in the audience -- and then breaks a new one in for himself. His goal is to get today's rock- and rap-minded generation turned on to the washboard. "I'm like Johnny Appleseed," he says. Updated May 21, 2002
As the principal management consultant in Hocking County, Ahia, I wanted all of you to know that I have been researching ways to measure management efficiency that could be used in virtually any organization. I have never been very good at working with numbers, statistics, or formulae, so my efforts have been directed at coming up with a method that would be simple to use, widely applicable, and easy to understand. I think that I am close to achieving all of those goals. Let me take you through this process and I would appreciate your feedback before I finalize it. Since I prefer language to arithmetic, I chose to base my method on the alphabet, with number equivalents. First, I assigned the numbers 1 through 26 to each of the letters of our alphabet. This then becomes the basis for all efficiency calculations. Since every organization is shooting for something over 100% effort for all of its employees, that would be the goal of the measurement yardstick. Now to show you how this works, let us take the word "HARDWORK". By assigning the numbers of these letters, 8,1,18,4,23,15,18,11 you come up with 98......which is a little short of our 100% target. Now let’s look at "KNOWLEDGE". 11,14,15,23,12,5,4,7,5 = 96....and again we fall short. Let us now try the golden key word "ATTITUDE". 1,20,20,9,20,21,4,5= 100....and now we are cooking. See how simple this is? In order to be objective, I felt
that it was important to test the unspoken word that is crucial in measuring management
efficiency, and that is "BULLSHIT". 2,21,12,12,19,8,9,20 = 103 which clearly
puts us over the top. Mid-December 2001 Shopping is in high gear here in Appalachia. I don't like to shop, but it had to be done. Today I ventured up to Lancaster to visit the River Valley Mall, which is one of the largest malls around here. It is located right beside the very heavily traveled US Rt. 33, which is the main highway from Carrol, Ohio to Nelsonville. I need to throw in a little local history here in order for you to appreciate what has transpired here over the years. The early Hopewell Indians loved to build earthen mounds. They built all sorts of them in central Ahia…...circles, squares, serpentine, and just about any shape you can think of. They were clever people and they also built some mounds as mazes. You know, only one way in and one way out, and you wander around the inside of the maze trying to find the exit. Those old earthen mounds were pretty well worn down, but you could still see the complexity of the design as recently as the mid-20th Century. OK, so the Mound Builders have been long gone, but as fate would have it, modern day Mall Builders rediscovered it. They saw a remarkable retail opportunity in its intricate design, and immediately set about copying the plan and building stores. The original "mound maze" covered about 120 acres, and soon the whole place was simply a maze of stores from one end to the other, running in all directions. The original Hopewell plan really worked to the retailers advantage, because shoppers were always getting disoriented and walking around in circles. Eventually, tired and lost, with their resistance worn down, a person just has to stop and buy something, because that is the only way you can get directions to the exit.
It is rumored that there are a few disreputable retailers who will sell directions to the exit "under the table", but most folks would rather buy something in order to have something tangible to show for their cash outlay. The odds of finding your way out of that mall without buying something are about like the odds of winning the State Lottery. There are no clocks and no windows to the outdoors, so you have no concept of time. This is an idea that was no doubt borrowed from the Casino Builders out in Las Vegas, who also don't want you to know where you are or what time it is. I even stopped in a jewelry store, thinking that I could find out what time it was by looking at watches. Once again the retailers had outsmarted me. All of the watches were set at 10 minutes past 10, just like they are in the newspaper and magazine ads. This Mall Builder also did an ingenious job of creating a lot of directories and floor layout maps that are clearly designed to confuse the shopper. These things are pretty and they are encased in fancy glass covered metal cases for easy viewing. The problem is that they don't tell you where you are, and the stores are listed in different places on each directory. It is like they brought these in from some other mall, and set them up without putting the correct information in for River Valley. One trick that I have heard is that if you go up there early in the morning you might find a "mall walker" to help you. These are mostly retired people and they are allowed to come in before the stores open to get their exercise by walking indoors through the labyrinth of corridors. They do this often enough that they know the way, and if you are real nice and offer to buy them Sanka or prune juice, you can often get their help in finding your way out. They say though, that you don't dare ask a mall-walker for directions after 10AM though. Any mall-walker still around at that hour is most likely a rookie and would be just as disoriented as you are. Another ploy is to go late in the evening and wait till the stores close. Then security guards come and round up the people who didn't buy anything, blind fold them, and lead them to the exit. The River Valley Mall is getting such a bad reputation that the State of Ahia is building a bypass around Lancaster to allow innocent travelers to get from Carrol to Nelsonville without going past the Mall. This bypass won't be complete until 2004, so folks with a shopping problem will be in danger of being lured into the Mall for the next couple of years. In spite of all the rumors about River Valley Mall, there were a lot shoppers there today, doing Christmas shopping. I knew the perils, but since I was committed to spending money I felt that it was time that I saw it for myself. I am pleased to report that I spent enough money that they let me out with no problem at all. Having achieved a moral victory here, next year I may go all the way to Klumbus and try my hand at Polaris……or Tuttle Crossing……or maybe even Easton. PLC Thursday,
November 01, 2001 8:31 PM The construction site was on the south
side of the house with no shade in sight. By the time I had completed the foundation I had
lost 8.5 lbs. Smoothly changing hats, I changed from a mason to a carpenter. I nailed in
the joists, put down the rough flooring, and erected the wall studs on the first floor. I
then put the ladders to work and put in the second floor joists, rough floor, and wall
studs on the second floor. It was here that I realized that I have recently been subject
to feelings of vertigo when I am more than 10 feet off of the ground. I shrugged off this
affliction, as I was too far along to stop and I surely wasn't going to call for help and
thus ruin my reputation and community standing. The rest of the project has gone
reasonably well and now the drywall is in place. It should not take long now to finish and
in the meantime we are practicing using our new closets. We take turns putting stuff in
them, and then ask each other where the sweeper or the step stool or the broom is? The
answer of course is "In the closet". I never knew how heart warming that simple
phrase could be. Those words had never been spoken in the house until now. Today the "tall" closet will go into operation for real. We have been practicing using it for a couple of weeks now, even though it wasn't complete, and we think we have the procedure down pat. The shelves are loaded with all sorts of things from all over the house. Some of the old cupboards are nearly bare. It will be hard to get used to this new closet (which is why we practiced), but I think it is going to work out OK. I have posted a list of what is in the closet, just to make it easy. Several times during practice, my wife would ask me where something was, trying to trip me up, but I soon caught onto that and started a list. In the old days, when a barn was
raised, all the neighbors gathered and had a party. They always tied a pine tree to the
top of the barn to signify completion. Professional Do-It-Yourselfers around here, don't
do that. We tie a whisk broom to the mail box. It just seems more appropriate, and not
nearly so show-offy. We like to think that we are capturing the spirit of the old
tradition, since nobody builds barns anymore.
We accept these incursions into our
daily life and know that our lives will change whether
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