How Much OCD Can You Handle?

Have you ever known anyone who had to have their desk in a certain order, before they could sit down and work? Personally I have always taken that as a challenge to re-organize their desk for them. I once worked with a Senior Chief named Larry, who had to arrange his work area and desk drawers every morning before he could begin work. It didn't take long before all the other guys picked up on this fact, and started to take delight at messing up his desk when he wasn't around, causing him to have melt down moments upon his return.

I spent 32 years on active duty in the Navy, as almost everyone knows. There is a lot of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) in the Navy. We were trained that way from day one in boot camp. Every uniform item must be a certain way, your under wear must be folded a certain way, any form of individuality must be stripped away. I have been assured that I may have a touch of OCD, because I do like some things, just so. I do still fold my tee shirts in just the same way as I was taught in boot camp, but other than that. I think, I have bucked the system pretty well. Hey its my story and I'm sticking with it.

I have been re-arranging book shelves, and the young adult males that happen to co-habituate here with me between the swamp and the sea, are starting to accuse me of OCD. OK, so, I have lined books up tallest to shortest, left to right, that is just the way they need to be, no OCD there. Music Cd's are on shelves with titles outboard, in alphabetical order, no OCD there, right?

When it comes to my fishing gear, my knots must be tied correctly, that just ensures that they hold properly, no OCD there. I like my hooks, sinkers, swivels, and other accouterments to be stowed in just the right order. That just makes it easy to find the right size that may be needed, right?

Now the way I see it is this, we are not suppose to be judgemental of our fellow man, and his organizational habits. So my true question is this, is it our own OCD that bothers us or, is it that of others. I think if we are letting others bother us, we need to re-focus our priorities. As my old friend Captain Tony of Key West always said, "Look for the good in people" and let the criticism of others go.

I have to admit though, it is a lot of fun to re-arrange someone desk when they suffer with an extreme case of OCD. So you are forewarned.

Old Captain Sends.

Happy Birthday, Puddle Pirates!

Happy Birthday Coast Guard, the oldest sea going service.

The United States Coast Guard (USCG) is a branch of the United States Armed Forces and one of the seven U.S. uniformed services. The Coast Guard is a maritime, military, multi-mission service unique among the U.S. military branches for having a maritime law enforcement mission (with jurisdiction in both domestic and international waters) and a federal regulatory agency mission as part of its mission set. It operates under the Department of Homeland Security during peacetime, and can be transferred to the Department of the Navy by the President at any time, or by Congress during time of war.
Founded by Alexander Hamilton as the Revenue Marine first, and later as the Revenue Cutter Service on 4 August 1790, it is the United States' oldest continuous seagoing service. Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton headed the USRCS, and the branch was involved in every war from 1790 to World War I.^[5] As of August 2009^[update] the Coast Guard had approximately 42,000 men and women on active duty, 7,500 reservists, 30,000 auxiliarists, and 7,700 full-time civilian employees.^[6]
The Coast Guard's legal authority differs from the other four armed services: it operates simultaneously under Title 10 of the United States Code and its other organic authorities, e.g. Titles 6, 14, 19, 33, 46, etc. Because of its legal authority, the Coast Guard can conduct military operations under the Department of Defense or directly for the President in accordance with Title 14 USC 1–3.
The Coast Guard's enduring roles are maritime safety, security, and stewardship. To carry out those roles the Coast Guard has 11 statutory missions as defined in 6 U.S.C. § 468, which include enforcing U.S. law in the world's largest exclusive economic zone of 3.4 million square miles.^[7]
The Coast Guard motto is Semper Paratus ("Always Ready").

22 Inches of rain, Shark Week Is Coming, and Vintage M&Ms

 

 

 

We have had 22 plus inches of rain here between the swamp and the sea, and needless to say we are a little saturated. I don't mean to complain, but when we got a break in the precipitation action it was good to be fishing. On our latest inshore expedition, sharks were the order of the day. Maybe they know it's almost shark week on the Discovery channel, I don't know. My intrepid fellow captain, did mix things up a bit, by scoring on a very rare form of inshore slam, he caught a shark, a stingray, and even a mullet, all on rod and reel. Very rare indeed, just not quite sure where to rank it,

 

I have also spent a lot of time cleaning house while it is so hot, and so rainy that one does not want to be outside. Today I took a break from cleaning and talked to an old friend of mine, whom we shall just call Dufus. Ole Dufus and always pick up a body's mood and in general make one feel better about ones self.

 

Dufus told me he had been kind of down because of the weather himself, but was keeping busy, by cleaning house as well. He also related to me the following story. I n the midst of his cleaning, he had opened a box that had most likely not been open for a large number of years. At least 30 to 40 years, to be exact. It was in this particular box that the astounding discovery was maid. Amongst the dust and the clutter, he found a very faded blueish orb shaped object, a bit smaller than a cats eye marble, and clearly displayed upon it was a very legible black M. Dufus then deduce that it was a vintage M&M candy. Zowie, he thought! Must share this treasure with someone, and once again I present the following exchange as it occurred through text messaging with his girl friend.

 

Dufus: "I found a vintage M&M"

Girlfriend: ?????

Girlfriend: LOL

Dufus: "Yep, must be 30 years old"

Girlfriend: "Lol, Keep it if you don't want it I do"

Dufus: "I already ate it"

Girlfriend: Lol

Dufus: "I mean, how many people can say that. WOW!"

Girlfriend: Dufus!

Dufus: Why?

Girlfriend: Cuz

Girlfriend: " It would have made a great intro for my math class"

Dufus: " Have you ever seen a 35 year old M&M?"

Dufus: "If I find another, you can have it."

Girlfriend: :)

Dufus: "I don't think they are like wine"

Girlfriend:" I am sure I have seen one, I used to eat them all the time. Dufus"

Girlfriend:  "Tasted the same?"

Dufus: "Again with the Dufus"

Girlfriend: "Tee Hee"

Dufus: "Tasted like shit! I nearly pucked!"

Dufus: Puke, dang phone!"

Girlfrien: LOL

 

Just the way I heard it from the source, I kid you not, and the moral of this story? Well there isn't any.

 

Old Captain Sends. 

     



 



Remember The FID, Trial By Fire

Forty six years ago today, while conducting flight operations on Yankee Station off the coast of Vietnam, the USS Forrestal caught fire, resulting in the largest loss of life by the U.S. Navy since world war two.

I was in boot camp in 1979, when I first saw the Navy training film "Trial By Fire", and heard the story of the USS Forrestal fire. The Chief that taught us fire fighting that day at RTC Orlando, was a survivor of the fire. He taught us the lessons that were learned that day in 1967, where 134 of his shipmates had paid with their lives. I never have forgot those lessons and they served me well throughout my Naval career, having been involved in several fires at sea.

134 brave men paid the ultimate price on that July day, and 166 more were injured. The names of the 134 who perished are inscribed forever on panel 24E of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial wall in Washington D.C. Those of us who saw the films of this fire over and over throughout our Naval careers, may not know all the names, but I can tell you this, they are not forgotten.

I was reminded about this today by a good friend and shipmate, who also posted the words from the Forrestal's Skipper to the ships crew on that day. It bears posting here, hat tip to Big John for reminding us all.

 July 29, 1967 "Men of Forrestal, this is the Captain. There are no words that say what comes from our hearts tonight. Yet we must try. I ask you to join with me in this humble effort to express our thanks and our deep, deep debt to Almighty God. Let us pray: Our heavenly Father, we see this day as one minute and yet a lifetime for all of us. We thank you for the courage of those that gave their lives in saving their shipmates today. We humbly ask you to grant them peace. And to their loved ones, the conciliation and strength to bear their loss. Help us to renew the faith we have in you. We thank you for our own lives. May we remember you as you have remembered us today. From our hearts we turn to you now, knowing that you have been at our sides in every minute of this day. Heavenly Father, help us to rebuild and reman our ship so that our brothers who died today may not have made a fruitless sacrifice. Amen" -Captain Beling

46 years ago today, 134 men died on the USS Forrestal in the fire. They gave their lives to save the ship and their shipmates in a time of need. They were Sailors to the end and Heroes for eternity. FID- Forever in Dignity and First in Defense.

We honor and remember them today and everyday.

Master Chief Sends.

Bambi's Voice

I have been watching a lot of deer lately, and have been plotting and thinking about deer season a lot as well. I got this story from an old Navy friend, and it is just too cool not to share.

 

DID YOU KNOW.....that the kid who voiced Bambi grew up to become the youngest Marine drill instructor and served three tours in Vietnam!

Donnie Dunagan was only 6 when Walt Disney hired him to be the voice of Bambi. He was discovered at a Memphis talent show, and actually performed in 8 movies as a little child. He had a promising career that was cut short because his family fractured. He spent his time as a kid and teen in different boarding homes, until he joined the military as a teen.

He had a pretty good career there too. He was the youngest ever Marine Drill instructor and served three tours during the Vietnam war. He said he was fortunate to be in a leadership position for over 25 years.
...
However, his true identity as Bambi remained hidden while he was in the military. He thought people wouldn’t have taken him seriously if they knew he voiced the famous fawn. It wasn't until years later, when he was 70, that he made it publically known.

He was attending a banquet, when a casual comment tipped media off that he had been a child star. After that, Disney got back in contact with him and he participated in the DVD featurette about the Bambi cast. He's now getting DVDs from them to give to orphanages.

Fans are ecstatic that he's come back into the spotlight, and he's now proud whenever someone calls out "Major Bambi" out on the street "I love it to death," he says.

Old Capt Sends.

RIP J.J. Cale

If you ever have been a Lynyrd Skynard, or Eric Clapton fan, then you have heard this man's songs. Among the many of his compositions, include Cocaine, Call Me The Breeze, and After Midnight. J.J. played around the Atlanta music scene a lot in the 70s when I was in that area. Oddly, his last album which has just recently been released was titled "Roll On", and now he has.

Sharing from his web site;

JJ Cale Has Passed Away

JJ Cale passed away at 8:00 pm on Friday July 26
at Scripps Hospital in La Jolla, CA.

The legendary singer / songwriter had suffered a heart attack.
There are no immediate plans for services.
His history is well documented at JJCale.com, rosebudus.com/cale,
and in the documentary, To Tulsa And Back.

Donations are not needed but he was a great lover of animals so, if you like,
you can remember him with a donation to your favorite local animal shelter

Old Captain Sends.

In Chubby's Church

I present one of my newest friends. I have named him, or her as the case may be, Chubby. Chubby lives in crystal clear water in an undisclosed southeast Georgia lake. Chubby and his, or her brethren call out to the fly fisherman in me.

Tom Brokaw once said "If fishing is a religion, then fly fishing is high church". I'm not sure if fishing is a religion or not. I do know that fishing provides me with plenty of religious experiences, but I digress, because this is about the church of Chubby.

Fly fishing may be more of a disease, or sickness than a religion. It can almost posses me, and in ways it carries me back to my beginnings catching small fish on a cane pole from Carole creek which ran through my Grandfather's pasture, and from the muddy winding Sweetwater creek which Carole creek emptied into. That may be were I started giving fish names, because I would catch and release them over and over. So, this week when the opportunity arose to do a little fly tossing for bass in the crystal clear water, I named my newest nemesis, or friend Chubby, because he/she was the big fish in the pond.

Throwing the smallest, lightest lines and fly I could still spooked the fish, so I had to resort to making a cast and allowing the water to settle then start the slow dance of the fly to entice the prey. This prove to work somewhat well, and it was the only game in town. I caught numerous panfish and a few small bass, but Chubby just refused to play.

Now while I might have you thinking, oh no, another story about the one that got away, let me just say that is not the Old Captains intent. I prefer to think of it in another light, any day you get to fish is a blessing, and to be able to share that with someone else, and even to relate the story at a later date, proves nothing escapes from memory. Some people fish their entire life and think that fishing is only about catching fish, and I will admit that, that is an important part, but only a true fisherman will understand the surrounding beauty and peace that comes from time on the waters.

Old Ernie Hemingway said, " having someone at your back while you fish, is as bad as having someone look over your shoulder while you write a letter to your girl". I think having the right companion to share the experience with makes it all the better, and in the case of the battle of wits with Chubby, there was a witness, so I also have temper the embellishment of the adventure.

In closing I will tell you it was a great time and a great blessing to spend time in Chubby's church, where I learned even more the lessons of the humility of fly fishing. Thanks for the lessons and the blessings.

THE END

Old Captain Sends.

Rock City

On a nostalgic journey today, while doing Monday morning chores at the BAQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters), here between the swamp and the sea.

I was put walking early this morning, and wishing it would dry out enough to cut grass, and noticed a small bird coming and going from our old Rock City bird house. The got me to thinking about Rock City and what a magical place it is, and also what a unique advertising idea it created.

In 1932, Garnet Carter decided to open his wife neatly manicured gardens atop Lookout Mountain to the public. He developed a strategy of painting barns along roadways as a means of advertising his venture. "See Rock City" was painted on the roofs and sides of barns, from the great lakes to the Gulf of Mexico. Numbering over 900 hundred in the heyday to just around 100 still existing today. Rock City was opened at a time to give the depression weary nation a destination for a road trip and a vacation.

In the 1960s it was magic for me to see those barns along the roadway and Rock City was a magical place as well. I can remember looking at View Master slides of all the rock formations, and wanting to be there so bad. One should also remember at this time Kissimmee Florida was still just a cattle town and Orlando at best was full of orange groves. No magic kingdom had yet to forever change that natural landscape, so the natural rock formations, and the ability to see seven states called to us, the children of the red dirt country.

More than a few years back, I carried my own sons there, and they enjoyed it as well, proving that some things never seem to totally go out of style. We have owned the bird house since that trip, and countless birds have been born, and lived in it. It does show some signs of wear but still shelters yet another summer of new birds.

What a legacy Garnet Carter, a man who's first name is the same as a type of rock, has left us with. It brings memories of simpler times, road trips, and cheaper gasoline, and reminds us all to look for beauty in the natural world, such as the rock formations in his wife's beloved garden.

See Rock City!
Old Captain sends.

GPS And The Modern Fisherman

 

 

 

 

The Global Positioning System (GPS) is a space-based satellite navigation system that provides location and time information in all weather conditions, anywhere on or near the Earth where there is an unobstructed line of sight to four or more GPS satellites. The system provides critical capabilities to the military, civil and commercial users around the world. It is maintained by the United States government and is freely accessible to anyone with a GPS receiver.

I have always contended that GPS, really just means girl pointing and shouting. Hey it works great in aircraft, but can give us fits down here in the real world.

I have friends who think it is the greatest invention of all time. They won't leave home to drive across town without checking the GPS on their car, or smart phone. More power to them, but give me a map, or nautical chart any day. Add a wet compass and I can get you pretty much any where you want to go. I have had GPS direct me to an obsolete stage coach road, that a mule could barley traverse in the mountains, and once in San Diego in a rental van, I witnessed the driver drive around a city block three times, because a female voice from the GPS kept saying left turn now.  At least it was a pleasant voice pointing and shouting.

In regards to the modern fisherman, GPS works great for fast marking of good fishing spots, so that you can get back to them. Now, for the cautionary side, what it will not do for you is let you know when channels change, sand bars shift, or tides change. Always remember it is a point to point system.

Why oh Captain, are you providing this Saturday morning review of your history with GPS you ask? Well as some of you know the month of July has presented it's share of challenges on the water. Heat, storms, runaway tubes on mountain rivers, and the story does not end there.

On Friday, we set out on a beautiful summer morning, in hopes of filling the fish box and beating the afternoon summer squalls. All was going splendidly well, right up until the decision was reached to change location, the tide was dropping and off we motored to a low tide fishing spot, where we had had good luck in the past. Ah, a leisurely ride a cold drink and good conversation, following the GPS track on the screen, what could go wrong, done this thousands of times. This was right up to the point where entering a smaller tributary, our GPS track carried us right up a sand bar and after a hard sudden stop, and the re-decorating of the bow of the boat with sun warmed bait shrimp, we find our selves in a situation akin to the one Noah found himself  when he parked the Ark on top of Mount Ararat. High and dry, with a tide still dropping and storm clouds gathering.

No amount of pushing, pulling, digging, or crying helped. Nothing at this point but to sit it out and wait for the water to rise. Moral to be added here, sometimes obstacles are placed before us to remind us that we are not in charge and just need to slow down. Not always a lesson we want. We had other boater sail by while looking at us as if to say, look at those two dummies run aground, never once did they offer assistance, most likely because they knew we just needed to wait on the tide to rise. The tide did rise and we were freed from our perch in the river, and even beat the major rain back to the ramp.

Another memorable trip out on the water, and other than a little extra soreness, no worse for the wear  of the grounding. Our lesson again slow down and smell the roses, or in our case the bait shrimp, and never trust a Girl Pointing and Shouting,

Old Capt Sends.

Admin Day Between The Swamp And The Sea

After the triumphant return from an excursion into the red dirt country, and after a restful, thankful Sunday, it is admin day at the shack between the swamp and the sea. I hate admin days! Book keeping, house cleaning and laundry. Feeling like Uncle Charley from "My Three Sons" again. The young adult male left in charge of the outpost, didn't let anything bad happen while I was out, but on the other hand didn't do any preventive maintenance or cleaning either. Welcome back Captain.

It is now noon, and I am finally ready to cut the grass, hopefully before an afternoon squall, and did I mention a tropical storm formation possible in the Atlantic, which may be headed our way. We are not even into the dog days yet! Anyway after a morning of paying bills and an hour and a half of looking for lost stamps, I am ready for some outdoor activity, that does not require a lot of thought. Some days being the Captain of this enterprise is not all that it is cracked up to be, however I think I'll keep the job, and thankful to have it.

Just read the beginning of the 103rd Psalm, and feeling very renewed and lucky to be me! Now off to get that grass cut.

Old Captain Sends.

In-land Crusing, Or You Can't Steer A Tube

This is a cautionary tale of the Old Captain's adventures back home in the red dirt country. Most all who know me know of my love of the water and wild places, this shall be the tale of a lovely Sunday afternoon cruise. Cruise indeed, actually a tubing experience, at least that is what it's called.

Aw yes, tubing, floating lazily down a slow moving mountain river, with ones posterior stuck into a canvas covered inner tube, dragging along a cooler of ones favorite beverage. The very thought brings to mind an idyllic setting, also thinking back to the fun we used to have in the 1970's rambling raft race on the Hooch. All in all, a capital idea.

My intrepid group of explorers, first took to the task of stocking the cooler for said experience. Two store stops and a cracked windshield later we arrive at the point of embarkation Here is where one signs a page in spiral notebook and pay up for your tube rental. At this point our group of intrepid explorers is informed, no coolers, no cans, no bottles. So much for said cooler stocking. Then we are informed we can have a personal size cooler, but should not let cans be visible. A personal sized cooler is produced and re- stocked, then we await transport to put in site, along with a dozen or so of various Yuppie tourists.

An old model 1970's short school bus arrives and we are herded onto it, very reminiscent of some transports I rode in during my military time. The driver looks like Kid Rock, I kid you not, no pun intended. Behind it is towed a trailer filled with tube floats and life jackets. When we arrive at the put in sight it is determined that there are not enough life jackets to go around, and one is a requirement for each person. Kid Rock charges off to save the day and retrieve more life jackets.

At long last, properly briefed on the dangers of missing a vital left turn in the river and on not missing the take out spot, we are off into the water. Almost immediately the idyllic thought changes as every one floats off in their own direction. Here it should be added that an out of control inner tube can be next to impossible to maneuver. leaving one out of control in fast moving water, and at the mercy of the river. We have used the straps of two life jackets to fasten two tubes together, a move which may be regretted at a later time. We are pulled under low hanging trees and floated into snaky looking washes.

The first couple sets of light rapids proved doable, and other than high centering a few rocks, all went well. That is, right up until the time when my beautiful float buddy decided to leave her tube in the midst of a rapid, hitting her head on a rock in the process. Once we had recovered and had everyone mounted back up on their float, we almost immediately are pulled under the largest river birch limb that I have ever seen. This is also a point when having two tubes strapped together, may have proved a detriment, as we each choose our own way through the branches, but wait beyond this fine obstacle. just up ahead lies the "fork in the river, where ye must turn left", you guessed it, we're headed to the right. We pull through and get back left, with the help of a friendly sun bathing local, who had nothing be warnings for the rest of our tubing experience.

Alas! Onward to the falls it's only class 4 how bad can that be. I and my beautiful float buddy are still attached by life jacket straps, and we have a conversation about us un- connecting our tubes, and maybe even downing the jackets. Too late for all of that, we are now committed. Hearing strains of Eternal Father in my head I tell my companion to just hang on, how bad could it be. There is a wide array of locals gathered around the falls just to watch the show of hapless tubers, floundering through the falls, and even one brave sole trying to fish right in the main channel. In we go! At the point of the first drop in the falls, my float buddy decides to leave her tube again, we managed to get her on to the side of my tube, where she road out the rest of the falls.

The take out point proved to be no less challenging, getting my float buddy safely to the side to get out, I found myself prematurely exiting my own tube and tumbled into the channel, which you guessed it was pulling me away from the take out. Hey, the water is only about knee to waist deep, just stand up. Slick rocky bottom, bare feet, perfect recipe for a broke ankle, wait! Another idea, lie back down and swim out along the bottom. Works perfect, I am out of the river and awaiting extraction.

Kid Rock, arrives back to pick us up in yet another 1970's short bus, don't care at this point, just get on the bus. This ancient warrior of a bus starts chugging and sputtering, just as soon as we start moving. The question is posed, does this thing have brakes? Answer, no. Just as we crest the highest mountain the bus runs out of gas. Kid Rock is on his fourth cigarette. We coast the next 5 or so miles through the mountains, at times backing up quite the traffic jam behind us. We coast into a country store gas station, we manage to stop at the pump, the bus tire is chocked and the bus is fueled, Kid Rock lights up number six.

Like I said in the beginning. just a cautionary tale. All in all a great experience, with a really wonderful group of fellow floaters.

Old Captain sends.       

   

An Old Man And The Sea

“Perhaps I should not have been a fisherman, he thought. But that was the thing that I was born for.”
― Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

I have to admit, that I have never considered not being a fisherman, and as Ernie said, "that was the thing that I was born for." Nothing replaces time spent on the water. This morning, I read the Hemingway quote and it made me think of all the wonderful antidotes and sayings about fishermen, so I thought I would beg the reader's indulgence and share a few.

May the holes in your net be no larger than the fish in it. ~Irish Blessing
There is certainly something in angling that tends to produce a serenity of the mind. ~Washington Irving

If people concentrated on the really important things in life, there'd be a shortage of fishing poles. ~Doug Larson
I love fishing. You put that line in the water and you don't know what's on the other end. Your imagination is under there. ~Robert Altman

 Three-fourths of the Earth's surface is water, and one-fourth is land. It is quite clear that the good Lord intended us to spend triple the amount of time fishing as taking care of the lawn. ~Chuck Clark

You cannot catch trout with dry breeches. ~Spanish Proverb

Scholars have long known that fishing eventually turns men into philosophers. Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to buy decent tackle on a philosopher's salary. ~Patrick F. McManus

Men and fish are alike. They both get into trouble when they open their mouths. ~Author Unknown
There will be days when the fishing is better than one's most optimistic forecast, others when it is far worse. Either is a gain over just staying home. ~Roderick Haig-Brown, Fisherman's Spring, 1951

These are just a few of my favorites, and the list could go on and on. Most anyone who knows me, knows of my love of the water. Be it a river, a lake, a swamp, or my beloved ocean, I hope to never be far from it for very long.  
Yesterday the sea was calm and the sky was blue, and it was a beautiful soul restoring day on the sea, and in the backwaters. The sea teaches you something every time you venture forth upon it's waters, and yesterday afternoon was no exception. A crack of thunder and a far bolt of lightning signaled that it was the appropriate time for our return to the hill. Only one thing stood between us and the truck, and I will show you that in the following picture.

Yep, behind that wall of rain is the boat ramp. Nothing like a cool, stinging rain squall to go through on the way in. Lesson? Well in retrospect maybe we stayed out fifteen minutes too long, maybe we should have stayed put and let the squall pass. Don't know, because neither of those things is what we chose, instead we pushed right through the chop, and the stinging rain and made it safely in.

One of the keepsakes that reside upon my desk is an antique paper weight that Belinda gave to me years ago before one of my long deployments. It contains in cased in glass an Old Breton Fisherman's Prayer, that goes like this: "Dear God be good to me; The sea is so wide, And my boat is so small." Most likely my favorite fishing quote, and one that I leave you to ponder.

Old Captain Sends.  

The Desk, The Writer, And The Weather

A leisurely start to the Saturday here at the shack, between the swamp and the sea. All young adult males made it in safe from all Friday night activities, and the stage was set for sleeping in, and by that it normally means around 0800. Got up, made coffee, feed red dog, and the cats, drank too much coffee, now bouncing of the walls, have decided to clean off desk and return it to a usable form. Have also decided it might help my writing motivation to pick up.  Read Bible verse for inspiration Matthew 19: 14, posted by a friend feeling sad, deep thoughts, and feeling grateful, back to desk.

NO. First more thought about writing, read this: "Writers aren't exactly people...They're a whole bunch of people trying to be one person." F. Scott Fitzgerald. Now wondering why even worry about writing. Read a short story from Gene Hill also, written about a bird dog, now feel the need to pet Woody, then get to the desk.

At some point after 1000, two young adult males roll out of bed and invade the den. At this point it should be added, that some desk straighting has occurred, but now progress stalls as we all parlay and catch up on shedules, and the like. Sometime around noon the two young adult males announce an expedition of bike riding through the refuge, I am asked "You are going to go with us aren't you?"
Think about this, NO, its 90 plus degrees and the humidity is around 70%. It will storm later, and besides that the yellow flies will be terrible. So, no not going, Getting back at that desk.

I can now see the color of the wood on top of the desk. I have burned some useless paperwork and files, and have started to organize things into neater piles. Not so sure that actually qualifies as cleaning yet, oh well, hungry need a sandwich sit down for a moment and rest, then get back on the desk.

May have made fatal error, turned on TV to check weather, there is a very good movie on, "The Wild Geese". As stated may be in trouble now, but  must say at least I can set in the desk chair now, and there is only one fishing vest hanging on it. Will get back to the desk later.

1445, The storm is building over the river, two young adult males still on bicycle trek through the swamp, they are going to get wet. This movie is really good, Richard Burton, Roger Moore, Richard Harris, playing mercenaries. Desk is waiting but not forgotten. Thunder is rumbling in the distance.

1530, Frog drowning rain. Two young adult males have returned just in front of rain. Mark got good pictures of baby gators, and still has all his fingers and toes. The desk now has a workable area, and I have uncovered things I thought were lost to the ages. Beginning to regret this desk cleaning  Mission though its taking all day.

OK, calling it quits, enough is enough for one day,

Old Capt Sends.












  

About Sailors

 

WHEN GOD CREATED THE SAILOR!

God created the heavens and the earth, man and woman and He said that this was good. Man ruled over the earth, but something was missing... this man was good,but God felt the earth needed something more. It needed a man who could rule the earth and tame the waters.

God molded this "special" man's body. Strong and secure. He knew this man needed an arm long enough to reach across oceans and countries. God gave him tough hands meant for handling guns, flying planes, and doing push-ups at the drop of a hat. Yet He made his hands soft and gentle for holding his baby, hugging his mother and caressing the cheek of his wife.
...
This man's heart- his most important detail. God molded it with care and gave him a strong heart. Strong enough to endure loneliness and separation. Strong enough to leave the ones he loves. The heart to kill whether its right or wrong.

The Lord also blessed this man with a brain. A brain to outsmart the enemy, devise new weapons, remember to call his mother, remember his anniversary and how many push-ups he had left... all at the same time.

God also made him a great speaker and a talented writer- his only communication home. This man is also a good listener and a friend... especially to those just like him. God had big plans for this "special" man. He wanted to make more... many more of this man who can do anything. This man who tames the waters and sails in ships. This man who sails in ships... God stepped back to admire his newest creation... this man who sails ships............this SAILOR!

Yellow Flies!

This just posted from my friends at the refuge, a picture of a true yellow fly.

 

 

They’re quiet. They’re big. They’re fierce. And they’re BAAAACCKKK! They’re YELLOW FLIES! (Insert melodramatic music here.) All year their larval selves have been quietly munching on decaying vegetation in and near the swamp waters, and then pupating until the weather was hot and sticky enough. Now these winged terrors await the unsuspecting visitor or critter for their blood meal.

As with ‘skeeters, only the females draw blood. The good thing is they often give you time to swat them while they contemplate their meal on your skin. The bad thing is that bug repellent is only moderately successful. They are attracted to blue and black moving objects, so watch your wardrobe. Long-sleeved and breathable khaki or light colored clothing is your best bet. They also prefer shady, wind-free areas, and will follow you inside buildings. But unlike ‘skeeters, they don’t bother you at night.

So if you’re visiting Okefenokee during Yellow Fly Season, suit up and prepare for battle! Don’t let them keep you from that boat tour or hike. Don’t let these terrorists win!
Photo Cindy McIntyre USFWS

After the Deluge

Our first storm is weathered, clean up has begun, and the weather turns hot with a pattern of afternoon showers just to keep us on our toes. All the so called experts say that we will indeed, have an above average active hurricane season. They say this every year, so sooner or later they'll be right. You can't fight it you just have to roll with it, with the rain the mosquitoes and yellow flies will be worse, the danger of forest fire will be lower.

Fishing has fallen into the doldrums, and I find myself fine tuning weapons for fall and looking forward to restocking the freezer. I also have thoughts of the islands and bone fish on the fly, the endless flats of Andros and the empty beaches where one might run around in Gods natural bathing attire, if so inclined. I re-read the writings of Hemingway, as I think of the busy crowd and drinking with close friends on Duval street, in the old town of Key West. A place where music is still performed live and troubadours ply their songs over beat up guitars, while sitting on a bar stools. I think that somewhere, there maybe someone, just waiting for me to read some of Ernie's best stories to, in some quiet well lighted place.  The reality though is siesta time is almost over here between the swamp and the sea, and I need to stop daydreaming of desire and turn my efforts back to storm clean up, and destroying the launching areas for the next mosquito hatch, I saw one the other day that had USN written on its body and blood dripping from its beak.

So, with that I close, a very worrisome red dog and I are about to brave the jungle of our yard and seek adventure.

Old Capt Sends

June 6, D-Day

As I sit here between the swamp and the sea watching the rain come down from our first tropical storm of this young hurricane season, I think of the storms on the beaches of Normandy sixty nine years ago today. Almost 2 years to the day since of our Navy turned the tide against Japan at Midway, the largest armada of vessels ever assembled, for the largest amphibious assault ever, took the battle against the Third Reich to the European mainland.
Nothing that I can write at this point can do justice to those brave men who stormed those beaches. In my life time I have had the honor of knowing a few of these men, some who are still among us. They returned home after thee war to a changed world. They lived good lives, and never asked for any special recognition. For after all it is a tribute to the fallen to live well, and as long as we remember them they are never really gone. They have just moved on the next duty station, and now serve only with the best.

Ronald Reagan's speech at Normandy on the 40th anniversary of D - Day I think summed it up best.


We're here to mark that day in history when the Allied armies joined in battle to reclaim this continent to liberty. For 4 long years, much of Europe had been under a terrible shadow. Free nations had fallen, Jews cried out in the camps, millions cried out for liberation. Europe was enslaved, and the world prayed for its rescue. Here in Normandy the rescue began. Here the Allies stood and fought against tyranny in a giant undertaking unparalleled in human history.

We stand on a lonely, windswept point on the northern shore of France. The air is soft, but 40 years ago at this moment, the air was dense with smoke and the cries of men, and the air was filled with the crack of rifle fire and the roar of cannon. At dawn, on the morning of the 6th of June, 1944, 225 Rangers jumped off the British landing craft and ran to the bottom of these cliffs. Their mission was one of the most difficult and daring of the invasion: to climb these sheer and desolate cliffs and take out the enemy guns. The Allies had been told that some of the mightiest of these guns were here and they would be trained on the beaches to stop the Allied advance.

The Rangers looked up and saw the enemy soldiers -- the edge of the cliffs shooting down at them with machineguns and throwing grenades. And the American Rangers began to climb. They shot rope ladders over the face of these cliffs and began to pull themselves up. When one Ranger fell, another would take his place. When one rope was cut, a Ranger would grab another and begin his climb again. They climbed, shot back, and held their footing. Soon, one by one, the Rangers pulled themselves over the top, and in seizing the firm land at the top of these cliffs, they began to seize back the continent of Europe. Two hundred and twenty-five came here. After 2 days of fighting, only 90 could still bear arms.

Behind me is a memorial that symbolizes the Ranger daggers that were thrust into the top of these cliffs. And before me are the men who put them there.

These are the boys of Pointe du Hoc. These are the men who took the cliffs. These are the champions who helped free a continent. These are the heroes who helped end a war.

Gentlemen, I look at you and I think of the words of Stephen Spender's poem. You are men who in your ``lives fought for life . . . and left the vivid air signed with your honor.''

I think I know what you may be thinking right now -- thinking ``we were just part of a bigger effort; everyone was brave that day.'' Well, everyone was. Do you remember the story of Bill Millin of the 51st Highlanders? Forty years ago today, British troops were pinned down near a bridge, waiting desperately for help. Suddenly, they heard the sound of bagpipes, and some thought they were dreaming. Well, they weren't. They looked up and saw Bill Millin with his bagpipes, leading the reinforcements and ignoring the smack of the bullets into the ground around him.

Lord Lovat was with him -- Lord Lovat of Scotland, who calmly announced when he got to the bridge, ``Sorry I'm a few minutes late,'' as if he'd been delayed by a traffic jam, when in truth he'd just come from the bloody fighting on Sword Beach, which he and his men had just taken.

There was the impossible valor of the Poles who threw themselves between the enemy and the rest of Europe as the invasion took hold, and the unsurpassed courage of the Canadians who had already seen the horrors of war on this coast. They knew what awaited them there, but they would not be deterred. And once they hit Juno Beach, they never looked back.

All of these men were part of a rollcall of honor with names that spoke of a pride as bright as the colors they bore: the Royal Winnipeg Rifles, Poland's 24th Lancers, the Royal Scots Fusiliers, the Screaming Eagles, the Yeomen of England's armored divisions, the forces of Free France, the Coast Guard's ``Matchbox Fleet'' and you, the American Rangers.

Forty summers have passed since the battle that you fought here. You were young the day you took these cliffs; some of you were hardly more than boys, with the deepest joys of life before you. Yet, you risked everything here. Why? Why did you do it? What impelled you to put aside the instinct for self-preservation and risk your lives to take these cliffs? What inspired all the men of the armies that met here? We look at you, and somehow we know the answer. It was faith and belief; it was loyalty and love.

The men of Normandy had faith that what they were doing was right, faith that they fought for all humanity, faith that a just God would grant them mercy on this beachhead or on the next. It was the deep knowledge -- and pray God we have not lost it -- that there is a profound, moral difference between the use of force for liberation and the use of force for conquest. You were here to liberate, not to conquer, and so you and those others did not doubt your cause. And you were right not to doubt.

You all knew that some things are worth dying for. One's country is worth dying for, and democracy is worth dying for, because it's the most deeply honorable form of government ever devised by man. All of you loved liberty. All of you were willing to fight tyranny, and you knew the people of your countries were behind you.

The Americans who fought here that morning knew word of the invasion was spreading through the darkness back home. They fought -- or felt in their hearts, though they couldn't know in fact, that in Georgia they were filling the churches at 4 a.m., in Kansas they were kneeling on their porches and praying, and in Philadelphia they were ringing the Liberty Bell.

Something else helped the men of D-day: their rockhard belief that Providence would have a great hand in the events that would unfold here; that God was an ally in this great cause. And so, the night before the invasion, when Colonel Wolverton asked his parachute troops to kneel with him in prayer he told them: Do not bow your heads, but look up so you can see God and ask His blessing in what we're about to do. Also that night, General Matthew Ridgway on his cot, listening in the darkness for the promise God made to Joshua: ``I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.''

These are the things that impelled them; these are the things that shaped the unity of the Allies.

When the war was over, there were lives to be rebuilt and governments to be returned to the people. There were nations to be reborn. Above all, there was a new peace to be assured. These were huge and daunting tasks. But the Allies summoned strength from the faith, belief, loyalty, and love of those who fell here. They rebuilt a new Europe together.

There was first a great reconciliation among those who had been enemies, all of whom had suffered so greatly. The United States did its part, creating the Marshall plan to help rebuild our allies and our former enemies. The Marshall plan led to the Atlantic alliance -- a great alliance that serves to this day as our shield for freedom, for prosperity, and for peace.

In spite of our great efforts and successes, not all that followed the end of the war was happy or planned. Some liberated countries were lost. The great sadness of this loss echoes down to our own time in the streets of Warsaw, Prague, and East Berlin. Soviet troops that came to the center of this continent did not leave when peace came. They're still there, uninvited, unwanted, unyielding, almost 40 years after the war. Because of this, allied forces still stand on this continent. Today, as 40 years ago, our armies are here for only one purpose -- to protect and defend democracy. The only territories we hold are memorials like this one and graveyards where our heroes rest.

We in America have learned bitter lessons from two World Wars: It is better to be here ready to protect the peace, than to take blind shelter across the sea, rushing to respond only after freedom is lost. We've learned that isolationism never was and never will be an acceptable response to tyrannical governments with an expansionist intent.

But we try always to be prepared for peace; prepared to deter aggression; prepared to negotiate the reduction of arms; and, yes, prepared to reach out again in the spirit of reconciliation. In truth, there is no reconciliation we would welcome more than a reconciliation with the Soviet Union, so, together, we can lessen the risks of war, now and forever.

It's fitting to remember here the great losses also suffered by the Russian people during World War II: 20 million perished, a terrible price that testifies to all the world the necessity of ending war. I tell you from my heart that we in the United States do not want war. We want to wipe from the face of the Earth the terrible weapons that man now has in his hands. And I tell you, we are ready to seize that beachhead. We look for some sign from the Soviet Union that they are willing to move forward, that they share our desire and love for peace, and that they will give up the ways of conquest. There must be a changing there that will allow us to turn our hope into action.

We will pray forever that some day that changing will come. But for now, particularly today, it is good and fitting to renew our commitment to each other, to our freedom, and to the alliance that protects it.

We are bound today by what bound us 40 years ago, the same loyalties, traditions, and beliefs. We're bound by reality. The strength of America's allies is vital to the United States, and the American security guarantee is essential to the continued freedom of Europe's democracies. We were with you then; we are with you now. Your hopes are our hopes, and your destiny is our destiny.

Here, in this place where the West held together, let us make a vow to our dead. Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for. Let our actions say to them the words for which Matthew Ridgway listened: ``I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.''

Strengthened by their courage, heartened by their value [valor], and borne by their memory, let us continue to stand for the ideals for which they lived and died.

Thank you very much, and God bless you all.

President Ronald Reagan - June 6, 1984

Old Capt sends

When You See The Red Poppies, This Is Why

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Least We Forget!

Sailors

Sailors come in all shapes, shades, weights, sizes, and states of sobriety, misery, and confusion. They are sly as a fox, have the nerve of a dope addict, the sincerity of a politician, and the subtly of Mt. Saint Helen. They are extremely irresistible, totally irrational and completely indestructible. A sailor is a sailor all his life. He is a magical creature. You can kick him out of your house ...but not out of your heart. You can take him off your mailing list but not off your mind. Sailors are found everywhere... in love...in battle... in lust... in trouble...in debt...in bars and ... behind them. No one can write so seldom and yet think so much of you. No one else can get so much enjoyment out of a letter or clean clothes or a six pack. A sailor is a genius with a deck of cards. A millionaire without a cent and brave without a grain of sense. He is the PROTECTOR OF AMERICA, with the latest copy of playboy in his back pocket. When he wants something it's usually 30 days leave, music that hurts the ears, a five dollar bill...or a woman he can count on. Girls love them, mothers tolerate them, fathers brag about them,the government pays them, the police watch out for them and somehow they all work together. You can beat their bodies but not their minds. You can tame their hearts but not their souls. He likes girls, females, women, ladies, and the opposite sex. He dislikes small checks, working weekends, answering letters, eating chow, waking up, maintaining a uniform, and the day before payday. You may as well give in. He is your long distance lover...he is your steel eyed, warm smiling, blank minded, hyperactive, over reacting, curious, passive, talented spontaneous, physically fit, good for nothing bundle of worry..... And will always be there for you regardless of how long its been since you've last talked.

IN HONOR

In honor of Memorial day I think back to the Men who trained me and guided me, when I first joined the Navy.

OLD CHIEFS

by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong

This story was originally called Submarine Chiefs when written by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong. Someone somewhere changed a few words and the name but this is definitely Bob's work. He has many more great stories on his web site called the After battery
One thing we weren't aware of at the time, but became evident as life wore on, was that we learned true leadership from the finest examples any young lad was ever given, Chief Petty Officers. They were crusty bastards who had done it all and had been forged into men who had been time tested over more years than a lot of us had time on the planet.
The ones I remember wore hydraulic oil stained hats with scratched and dinged-up insignia, faded shirts, some with a Bull Durham tag dangling out of their right-hand shirt pocket or a pipe and tobacco reloads in a worn leather pouch in their hip pockets, and a Zippo that had been everywhere. Some of them came with tattoos on their forearms that would force them to keep their cuffs buttoned at a Methodist picnic. Most of them were as tough as a boarding house steak. A quality required surviving the life they lived. There were and always will be, a breed apart from all other residents of Mother Earth.
They took eighteen-year-old idiots and hammered the stupid bastards into sailors. You knew instinctively it had to be hell on earth to have been born a Chief's kid. God should have given all sons born to Chiefs a return option. A Chief didn't have to command respect. He got it because there was nothing else you could give them. They were God's designated hitters on earth.
We had Chiefs with fully loaded Submarine Combat Patrol Pins in my day.....Hard-core bastards, who found nothing out of place with the use of the word "Japs" to refer to the little sons of Nippon they had littered the floor of the Pacific with, as payback for a little December 7th tea party they gave us in 1941. As late as 1970 you could still hear a Chief Petty Officer screaming at you in bootcamp to listen to him, because if you didn't, the damn gooks would kill us. They taught me in those days, "insensitivity" was not a word in a sailor's lexicon. They remembered lost mates and still cursed the cause of their loss... And they were expert at choosing descriptive adjectives and nouns, none of which their mothers would have endorsed.
At the rare times you saw a Chief topside in dress canvas, you saw rows of hard-earned worn and faded ribbons over his pocket. "Hey Chief, what's that one and that one?" "Oh Hell kid, I think it was the time I fell out of a hookers bed, I can't remember. There was a war on. They gave them to us to keep track of the campaigns we had in country. We got our news from AFVN and Stars and Stripes. To be honest, we just took their word for it. Hell son, you couldn't pronounce most of the names of the villages where we went. They're all gee-dunk. Listen kid, ribbons don't make you a Sailor. The Purple one on top? OK, I do remember earning that one. We knew who the heroes were and in the final analysis that's all that matters."
Many nights we sat in the after mess deck wrapping ourselves around cups of coffee and listening to their stories. They were lighthearted stories about warm beer shared with their running mates in corrugated metal hooch's at rear base landing zones, where the only furniture was a few packing crates and a couple of Coleman lamps. Standing in line at a Philippine cathouse or spending three hours soaking in a tub in Bangkok, smoking cigars and getting loaded. It was our history. And we dreamed of being just like them because they were our heroes.
When they accepted you as their shipmate, it was the highest honor you would ever receive in your life. At least it was clearly that for me. They were not men given to the prerogatives of their position. You would find them with their sleeves rolled up, shoulder-to-shoulder with you in a stores loading party. "Hey Chief, no need for you to be out here tossin' crates in the rain, we can get all this crap aboard." "Son, the term 'All Hands' means 'All Hands.'" "Yeah Chief, but you're no damn kid anymore, you old fart."
"Shipmate, when I'm eighty-five, parked in the Old Sailors' Home down in Gulfport, I'll still be able to kick your worthless butt from here to fifty feet past the screw guards along with six of your closest friends." And he probably wasn't bullshitting. They trained us. Not only us, but hundreds more just like us. If it weren't for Chief Petty Officers, there wouldn't be any U.S. Naval Force. There wasn't any fairy Godmother that lived in a hollow tree in the enchanted forest that could wave her magic wand and create a Chief Petty Officer. They were born as hotsacking seamen and matured like good whiskey in steel hulls and steaming jungles over many years. Nothing a nineteen year-old jaybird could cook up was original to these old saltwater owls. They had seen E-3 jerks come and go for so many years; they could read you like a book.
"Son, I know what you are thinking. Just one word of advice, DON'T. It won't be worth it." "Aye, Chief." Chiefs aren't the kind of guys you thank. Monkeys at the zoo don't spend a lot of time thanking the guy who makes them do tricks for peanuts. Appreciation of what they did and who they were comes with long distance retrospect. No young lad takes time to recognize the worth of his leadership. That comes later when you have experienced poor leadership or let's say, when you have the maturity to recognize what leaders should be, you find that Chiefs are the standard by which you measure all others. They had no Academy rings to get scratched up. They butchered the King's English. They had become educated at the other end of an anchor chain from Copenhagen to Singapore. They had given their entire lives to the United States Navy. In the progression of the nobility of employment, CPO heads the list.
So, when we ultimately get our final duty station assignments and we get to wherever the big CNO in the sky assigns us. If we are lucky, Marines will be guarding the streets. But there will be an old Chief in an oil-stained hat, a cigar stub clenched in his teeth and a coffee cup that looks like it contains oil, standing at the brow to assign us our bunks and tell us where to stow our gear... And we will all be young again and the damn coffee with float a rock.
Life fixes it so that by the time a stupid kid grows old enough and smart enough to recognize who he should have thanked along the way, he no longer can. If I could, I would thank my old Chiefs. If you only knew what you succeeded in pounding in this thick skull, you would be amazed. So thanks you old casehardened, unsalvageable sons-of-bitches. Save me a rack in the berthing compartment!

God Bless Those Old Chiefs.

Congratulations Mark!

This afternoon, I will be out of the getting kids through high school business, as my youngest son receives his diploma at his graduation at the University of North Florida.

This is a huge milestone in his life, and I am very proud of him. A first step of adulthood, he weathered the storms and stayed the course. Times when it would have been easier to not to continue, he kept going, It is a very emotional and rewarding time, like I said I am very proud. I know that he will succeed in any direction he chooses. Congratulations Mark Scott Umphrey!

 

 

  Proud Old Dad Sends. 

Wilco - California Stars

Monday Update

Things have been busy here between the swamp and the sea. Our majestic live oaks are in full bloom with new growth and the pollen from them is giving our sinuses fits. The fishing has been slow, and graduation for the youngest adult male is just around the corner. The dog got left outside last night and around one o'clock in the morning he woke me up howling to get back in the house, but only after eating the screen door off the back porch. Thus goes life here in the low country.
There is always grass to be cut, leaves to be raked, laundry, cooking, repairing screen doors to be repaired jeeps and boats that have to be constantly tweaked to keep running. When does a retired guy get a break? That answer is still out there some where.

Hemingway wrote every morning, before playing every afternoon and into the night. Why can't I seem to make that work? Once again that answer is still out there some where. The plain fact of the matter is, it takes a lot of work to be me. Now the good lord knows that I am a work in progress, and I try to do the best I can. On some days that best is better than others, but make no mistake it is always my best. Never thought I would be missing the days when I could back my sea bag and climb on the plane and be off to adventure some where in the world, but for now those days are through, and I must carry on here. Yes, it takes a lot of work to be me, and I have greater respect of those who manage the home front than ever before.

Just so you know I'm not all about blues, a lot was accomplished today and we do have a newly rebuilt screen door on our back porch. Everyone has clean clothes and all have been feed.I always have tomorrow to look forward to, and the sunshine of dawn. I close now with some words of wisdom from Don Blanding.

I USED TO SAY........

Having sighted Heaven
   And having lived in Hell
I would not chose the middle-ground
  As a place to dwell.

NOW I BELIEVE......

Heaven for a little while
   (the altitude is heady).
Hell...well, just a glimpse of it
  To keep my footsteps steady.
Now, I'll choose the middle-ground
  And plow and rake and hoe it
To raise a crop of happiness.
  I've found the seeds to sow it.


Old Captain Sends.
 

Okefenokee

Today as I paddled off into the swamp, I could not help but think back to my school days in the red dirt country. Sometimes being alone in a small boat has that effect on me, it reminds me of simpler times.

As I was growing up, we could not wait to reach the fourth grade, because in fourth grade, and most especially if you had the right teacher, you got to learn about Georgia history. Now, people now days will be wondering what was so exciting about that. Well, we got to go on field trips to local sites of historical interest, through out that year. As I came from a long line of school teachers, I wound up in the best fourth grade class with the best teacher of that day.

So, what has this to do with a blog on the Okefenokee, well here it is. I still have a copy of my fourth grade history book, which I inherited from my Grandmother, and the following is what us red dirt kids were taught about the Okefenokee.

"++++++OKEFENOKEE SWAMP+++++++++

Okefenokee swamp is the second largest swamp land in the United States, It is a huge jungle land near Waycross. There are twenty one islands in the swamp. Lakes are scattered about. Two prairies spread for miles in the swamp.
Indians named the swamp Okefenokee. Okefenokee means "trembling earth." The swamp land was so wet that the earth trembled when people walked on the land. Huge trees shook as the Indians walked.
Long ago, Indians used the swamp as a hiding place. Whenever they did anything wrong, they went to live in the swamp. It made a safe place for the Indian to stay.
In the swamp, the night is never quite. Voices scream and howl and call to each other. The swamp is alive with animals and birds. Alligators, fish and snakes live in the water. Deer, bears, wildcats, and many other animals live on the islands. After a warm rain the frogs make wild music. The swamp people call the frog music the Song of Okefenokee.
An old tale is told about the swamp. Just before dawn everything is quite and still, for each animal has gone home. This is the hour when "hants" roam in the swamp country. Very few living things dare to come out. But with the coming of the sun, nothing is quite. The animals awake. Buzzing sounds come from the forest. Wild cries are heard. Animals Begin leaving their homes.
A white egret can be seen on her nest. The nest is in the edge of the marsh. A large crane can be seen winging her way across the swamp. An old black bear may be seen wobbling down the banks of a stream looking for his breakfast. On the prairie a blue heron can be seen standing on one leg. An old alligator thunders, and from far down the river is an answer. As the thundering call echoes, there is another answer and still another. A cottonmouth moccasin can be seen coiled on a cypress knee, waiting for a sun bath.
Trees of many kinds grow in the swamp. They stand deep in the water. Many of them have been cut for lumber. There are gums, pines, oaks, hollies, bays, and cypresses. The cypresses are queer looking trees. They look like great bottles rising out of the water. Strange looking knees stick up from the trees above the water to breath for the trees. The trees spread out over the swamp like huge umbrellas. The leaves are so thick that the sun can hardly shine through.
Gray moss hanging from the trees is used by the flower nurseries in packing and shipping plants. People who make furniture use it in making chairs.
Hundreds of plants grow in the swamp. Tall trees grow above the smaller plants. Palm fans grow beneath the trees because they do not need much sun, The palms have long white blooms. They have black fruit. All kinds of berries grow there.
There is a lather bush that is sometimes called a leather bush. Its leaves can be used for soap. When the leaves are crushed, they will lather in water.
Here the Cherokee rose grows. It is here the Seminole brave brought the Cherokee maiden to live. It was this maiden who planted the rose spray from her father's cabin.
Since 1936, the Okefenokee has been a national park. Tourists from all parts of the country visit the swamp.
Some people live in the swamp all year. They make their living by fishing. They have built fishing camps on the larger islands. People may spend the night in the cabins. People who live in the swamp act as their guides,
Scientists go there because it is a reservation for wildlife. They want to study the plants and animals.
The Okefenokee is one of the most interesting places in Georgia. It is on of the Seven Wonders of the state."

The book was titled "Our Georgia" copyrighted 1950.

I can't make this stuff up, and I can't top it, but if you want to see the real deal and learn some real history, get in touch.

Old Captains ends.