Our Eagle

When we poured the driveway for our current home, approximately 10 years ago, we did not know it at the time, but we had poured it too close to this 90 year old and 70' tall Blackjack Oak tree. 

The Arborist that came out to cut it down after it had died in year two of us living here told me that it was because of magnesium and fly ash from the concrete that had leached into the feeder roots; clogged them, and led to the untimely death of this gorgeous tree.  Though we also have an incredible looking 100+ year old Pecan tree on our lot, this oak tree had been the most grand of them all.

I have always loved Eagles, not only for what they symbolize to us as a nation; but also for their majesty. I have watched documentaries on them, and to understand how God made them to fly like no other bird, makes them the most grand bird of all.

That is when I got the idea to hire Clayton Coss, the world's greatest chainsaw artist, to come out and turn the ruins of our grand oak tree, into an even grander Eagle sculpture.  And I wanted it to be a Momma Eagle, with 2 little eaglets in the nest being tended to.

This sculpture is of Momma Eagle just landing, surveying the area for danger, and preparing to feed her two young eaglets.

Because this is a dead tree, it will not last.  3 years ago, we hired Clayton again to cut off the base of the tree, and to permanently mount the Eagle sculpture to a decorative stone base that we had constructed. That helped to stave off water damage from the base.

It was time to spruce her up again this year.  She needed caulking in the cracks, she needed a new coat of weather proof stain/sealer, and she needed to have 3 squatters evicted.  The squatters were actual wood peckers that had bored 3 holes into her structure and nested.

Thanks to my good friend Kelly Wood, our Momma Eagle is now back to her previous majestic glory, beaming with pride from Kelly's latest restoration efforts.  She is now good as new for hopefully another 2-3 years.  Thank you Kelly.

At night, she beams with pride too.  Long ago, we installed an LED spotlight high up in another tree, and make our Eagle the primary focus of the spotlight.

Take a look:

This is probably as close as I will ever get to seeing one in real life; but to me, she is the next best thing to being there!

Cowboy?

 

 

Cowboy?

 

I am a hat guy; having worn them almost every day of my life since I was a young child.  Doesn't matter the kind, be it Ball caps, Beret's, Fedora's, or a Cowboy hat; you will see many photo's of me over the decades, and most of them include a hat if I am outside.

 

About 7 years ago, I primarily converted to a cowboy hat because it provides the greatest protection from the sun on my neck and ears.  I liked the look of cowboy hats, just had never worn them till then.  I've worn cowboy boots for longer than that out of pure comfort.  My boots are super comfortable, and quite warm in the winter.

 

I like country music.  But, I am not a cowboy.

 

I own guns, and I am *always wearing a gun (those idiotic door stickers mean zilch unless it is a school, a professional sports stadium, or any government building).  But, I am not a cowboy.

 

I drive a BIG truck.  But, I am not a cowboy.

 

I never worked on a ranch or a farm.  I have never rode a horse.  I have never milked a cow.  I have never shoveled manure.  I have never 2-step danced, nor been to a country bar.  I have never eaten calf fries, and, I hate rodeo's; having twice endured the torture of those at a young age.

 

So, my normal daily wardrobe is jeans, cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and a gun; and I'll be driving around all day in a BIG truck, rocking out to loud country (or pop) music.  And most likely, I'll be eating a big piece of dead cow for dinner.  But, I am not a cowboy.

 

HOWEVER,

 

Walking and driving around the New England states earlier this month on our leaf-peeping tour; from the amount of comments, to stares, to gawking, I was obviously a "Cowboy" to them.  I'm not a small guy; and standing 6'2" in my boots, with 225 lbs. on my bones, I dwarf a lot of folks. 

 

I am not intimidating on purpose, but I know that my girth and stature can freak out quite a few 'small' people. :-) 

 

Stepping off the elevator to my hotel room on day one, I was greeted with "Yippee Ki Yay" by a pair of octogenarians.  It took me a minute to recall where I had heard that, and it wasn't Roy Rogers, it was John McClain, and if you don't know what else John McClain said with it; let's just leave it at that.

 

At breakfast each morning in the hotels, I lost track of how many little boys and girls would stare at me like I just landed here from the moon.  Some of the comments I remember were: 

"Look Mom/Dad, a real Cowboy", "Giddy Up", "I like your hat", and "Howdy partner."

 

When we were out in public, many times I was asked by the locals, "Are you from Texas?"  I'd say, "No; Oklahoma."  To which a few said, "Oh, where is that?"  And I'd say, "It's on the dark side of the moon." I really did say that. Once. With a straight face. The tattooed young man looked back at me again like he was contemplating if I was telling him the truth..., and then he walked off.

 

People weren't rude, just inquisitive.  Finger pointing and quick head movements don't bother me.  I thought it was quite funny actually.  Who would have thought that seeing someone in a cowboy hat and boots was so rare back east?

 

Not a single time in 10 days did we see anyone else with a cowboy hat.  I was it.  I was the only one on the jets, the only one in the airports, and the only one through almost 1,400 miles of driving.

 

BUT, at the end, stepping into the DFW airport on our way home, what was I greeted by?  That's right, at every turn in the airport were other's, just like me, wearing boots and hats!  It felt so good to be home, even though it was Texas.

 

Happy trails to you, until we meet again . . .

 

~

 

*unfortunately, no guns were worn while traveling back east, as I didn't want to hassle with locking up my guns in checked baggage at the airport.

New England Steeple Churches

One of the prettiest and most enduring things about the New England states are the small rural towns, with populations ranging from 54 (the smallest that I saw a sign for), to 740 (the largest that I saw a sign for).  There were also quite a few cities of 1,100 to 1,500 in population that we saw. 

 

One of the local ladies at a tourist information center told me that 'towns' are less than 1,000 people, and 'cities' are 1,000+ people. 

 

We passed through no less than 100 (and it was probably twice that many) small towns driving through Vermont, New Hampshire, Mass., and Conn. 

 

Another culture shock to me is the age of these towns. Founded in 1612, founded in 1701, founded in 1675, and founded in 1629 were four of the oldest towns that I remember.  That is old for America.  That is nothing for Europe.

 

Many of these small towns had white church steeples that we were looking for, and some of the greatest foliage was around the same rural areas, or in their parking lots, or adjoining with neighboring sites or buildings.

 

We stopped for pastries and peeping in several, and even more small towns or cities for lunch if we saw a main street that had commerce.  Lunch was pretty much always the same: a strange sounding bistro sandwich with toppings and protein combinations that I had never heard of, paired with eclectic salads, and delicious home made soups.

 

I am not a picky eater.  Virtually everything was delicious to me.  But, the portions were consistently small from town to town, (not being able to fill either of my granddaughters had they been with us), and were radically overpriced. $11 to $15 for a lunch combo plate and Coke* was standard. 

 

*Back east is not Pepsi country, it is Coke country, and no one served true brewed iced tea either unless it came from a soda fountain dispenser like Peak.

 

My previous set of pics was a baker's dozen, so, sticking with that theme, here is another baker's dozen:

 

 

 

 

New England Covered Bridges

For as long as we both can remember, we have wanted to tour the new England states in Autumn, and this year, (after 37 years of talking about it), we did. We've actually been back east on vacation eight different times to various cities and/or states, but never before in Autumn. It was magnificent.

 

And we nailed it too. We hit the peak season of 10/1 to 10/10 head on with virtually every road, route, highway, byway, and interstate that we traveled. (Approximately 1400 miles). We decided not to travel up into Canada or Maine, as peak season had already passed in those regions.

 

Flying into Hartford, we then traveled to Vermont, and worked our way down through New Hampshire, Conn., and Mass. 

 

Vermont and New Hampshire yielded the most covered bridges, which was an item on our agenda to accomplish while we were leaf peeping.  Overall, Vermont was the best state of all, and if you only have time to do one state, that is the one to do. 

 

Here is a baker's dozen sample of some of my pics from just around the covered bridge areas. There is not much foliage showing in these pics, but I've got 3 more upcoming blogs covering various subjects, and some of my other favorite pics will show up in those blogs.

 

And of course, the most beautiful woman in the world to me, rounds out the end of this baker's dozen :-).