What Time Is It?

What Time is it?

By

B.D. Adams  ©2015

It’s

 been the best of times … it’s been the worst of times. That could describe most any decision to move to or from a place. I am not Lucie Manette, in A Tale of Two Cities. I’m not perfect and nowhere near ideal, according to Dickens description of his heroine.

            The tale of two cities was about what went on with London and Paris around the French Revolution. Two decisive cities.

My story would be more a tale of why would two modern day twenty-year-olds even think about moving to a place so different from how they currently lived. Not during a revolution, unless you count the generation revolution. My tale happened many years ago and could have been a horrible disaster for me.

            This was when I was in Columbus, Ohio, in 1972. I was 22 and in college at Ohio State University. Ed, my boyfriend, was 24 and at OSU, also, and a senior. I was working on my sophomore year – hadn’t begun my major’s classes; Fine Art. In under a year, Ed would graduate. His major was philosophy.

Ed was a guy who liked to dress casually, not dumpy, but blue-jeans and flannel shirts --kind of like mountain attire. Would roll his own cigarettes (tobacco only) and liked rock-n-roll and Bluegrass music. So did I, however, I didn’t smoke.

We lived in a small bungalow house that was behind a larger house in the campus area; a Victorian style, rather old. The backyard was long and narrow, as was most of the older homes in this area. The big, main house was divided into smaller apartments. Two first floor and two second and one attic studio. Not every apartment was occupied, but the ones that were had tenants who were good people. All students.

This particular year, the cost of food was horribly inflated. With some of the other tenants, we made a big garden, a communal-like garden. The cost of meat was more than outrageous, as well. Ed and I decided to raise rabbits for our meat. He built the hutches. I fed the adults rabbits and the young ones and helped to keep under the hutches clean.

The rabbit’s droppings were fertilizer for the garden and we sold some to other houses with gardens. Fairly profitable.

Ed killed and skinned the rabbits, I gutted and cooked. A bit gruesome, but rabbit was good eating and only cost the fee for their food.

The bungalow was actually, at one time, the garage for a vehicle and the above was the living quarters for the “help.” I lived in the quarters. Ed’s open apartment was the one-time garage.

We kept our separate homes because we both needed our space. My homework, his thesis work. All in all, our relationship went pretty well.

Then, our conversations began to sound more serious. It kind of went like this:

Ed:       I’m graduating next Spring. (Spring 1973)

BD:      Yes, I know.

Ed:       You want to stay in school?

BD:      Probably. Why?

Ed:       Wanna stay in Columbus?

BD:      OK, Ed. What are you getting at?

Ed:       Oh … I’ve been thinking.

BD:      Yes … about what?

Ed:       Going to Kentucky.

BD:      Kentucky …

Ed:       Yeah, Kentucky. They have “hollers” there, deep in the hills.

BD:      Hollows … like in Sleepy Hollow?

Ed:       Sort of. (a small giggle) No headless horseman.

BD:      That’s a relief.

Ed:       In the Hollows, nobody bothers you. (points to antique musket rifle, still worked)

BD:      You want to shoot hillbillies in Kentucky?

Ed:       (small laugh) Of course not.

BD:      Whew. (wipes forehead with fingers)

Ed:       I’ve checked it out – I can teach there with my degree.

BD:      Teach. Teach philosophy in Kentucky – like in Louisville?

Ed:       No, silly. Teach children in whatever Hollow we decide to live.

BD:      Live in a Hollow in Kentucky? Teach children?

Ed:       Yes.

BD:      Hmmm … let me ponder that idea.

Well, that was how it all began.

Oh, yes … it was made known that there would be no electricity where we’d live. A well, but no running water. We’d need to cart water from the well and heat the water at the fireplace for baths or to wash clothes or dishes. I couldn’t have any of my “dry-cleaning” garments. Ed would build a loom so we could weave cloth.

We would have animals, but not for pets … for survival. A few head of cattle (beef and milk), pigs, sheep, chickens and ducks. It might take five or so years to truly become self-sufficient.

I checked books out of the OSU library to learn how to make candles, how to do canning, how to weave cloth, even how to spin wool to make thread or yarn.

The Hollow we looked at, near the Daniel Boone National Forest, had a small, general store. We could buy or trade for whatever we needed.

And, there was a log-house, not just a cabin, for sale that had caught our eye. Measured about 1,100 square-footage. Had a fabulous fireplace for warmth, plus a wood cook-stove with a separate chimney. The main, big-room had a few support posts that held up the roof, with a cozy upstairs bedroom. All the windows, that opened outward, were glass, but had the look of age.

There was a barn, but not all that big. Ed said he’d add-on to it, maybe attach it to the house. Also, there was a room built connected to the house, but somewhat separate. Could be used for Ed’s pre-school to teach the Hollow’s children.

In all honesty, the idea was intriguing. Rather romantic. Live in the wooded hills where things were still not all that up-to-date, modern. Be secluded from the mainstream. My imagination took over rational decisions.

We had long discussions of our ideas for this new way of living. We would keep his Dodge Mini-van, only for emergencies. Our bicycles would be used as we used them now. I could ride mine to the country store; albeit a more bumpy ride.

However, things began to unravel. All our ideas were workable and detailed for 2 ½ seasons, but not for the rain and winter seasons in those hills. Carting the children to Ed’s school would almost be impossible for the parents. The snow drifts were very high at times, Ed learned. The snow, ice, slush and mud were not calculated in our plans.

Even for our situation, it would be a hardship to maintain the animals, keep them warm and dry, along with their feeding and water. The barn was not insulated – the water would freeze overnight. Even the well could be ice-covered which made it hard to break. There were many stories of hens and ducks that would not lay in the winter. We had planned for the eggs to be our staple.

Well, Ed and I faced the idea of our new way of living without blinders. Could we truly live all winter inside that house? Would we go bonkers with “cabin-fever?” Reality slapped us with the words of, “Snap out of it!”

We weren’t Kentuckians of the 1800s. Daniel Boone and Davey Crocket had died at the Alamo over a century ago. Who were we kidding? Ourselves, of course.

As I said before, it was a romantic idea.

Ed and I discontinued our romantic relationship, but we did continue as friends. He graduated and went to work for the Ohio EPA. His degree was in philosophy, but any degree was good for the EPA. He got a good wage and a new girlfriend.

A few years later, after I left college, I became a commercial photographer. That was a good move for me.

In my present way of living, in 2015, I live in a cut-out area of a forest in mountains in New Hampshire with a fellow I plan to marry next year. With this house, we have electricity, hot & cold running water from a well, propane gas oven and a wood stove for winter heat, plus a kerosene heater. Also, there is a two-car garage we call a barn.

Roads are plowed in the winter after a New Hampshire snow storm. Rustic living, but not like what I envisioned back in 1972, but it definitely has that romantic feel.

Right now … it is the best of times.

Forest Neighbors

Forest Neighbors

by

B.D. Adams ©2015

T

hunder cracked so heavily that the waters of the small pond rippled fiercely! Then, there was another blinding flash, followed by an even louder kettle rumble. And the wind sliced over the water that made it cooler than desired.

     How long will this last, the old frog wondered. He took shelter between a couple of large lining rocks in the pond. Nighttime storms were never welcomed. Better for bugs, though, after the storm ended.

            His young metamorphosed frogs (males and females), without tails, experienced their first summer thunderstorm. His new mate was as skittish as the young frogs, so she huddled near to him. The older female just took the storm in stride. She merely dozed, as the storm raged.

            Thank goodness, it was a short lived noisemaker – all there was now was the rain. How nice.

            George, the name the humans gave the old frog, began his “all clear” croaking cadence. His voice was deep and resonated off the rocks that lined around the small pond. The little chirpy tree frogs began their nighttime song. All was at it should be. The rain had subsided. 

            Gracie, the name they gave the older female frog, woke more to the calmer night. She croaked right along with George. The younger female, who hadn’t been named yet, just moved from George’s side. She glided to a lily pad to sit to snatch bug snacks. The young frogs gobbled what tidbits they could get in the water. They were still learning what to eat.

            The human’s burrow, a massive structure by the pond, was quiet and dark. They must be sleeping, as humans do.

            The humans, a male and a female, had built the pond many seasons ago. When George first learned of the water, he set up his burrow to attract a mate. Gracie came to him very quickly. He liked these humans. The other humans would chase him, which made him hide deeper into the near swamp. He didn’t like the swamp. Too many furred creatures that were as bad as the chasing humans.

            There was a furred creature with these humans, but it wasn’t allowed to roam the pond’s area. They would bring the creature – a dog, it was called – while they sat by the pond. The dog was very interested in the frogs, especially George. However, it never got into the pond’s water.

            Now, he merely lived in the pond with his current family.

            With the calls from other big frogs, the night air was filled with the nocturnal serenade. Crickets would harmonize. Very soothing, even for frogs.

            The storm had ended, but George sensed a different concern. A danger for the pond. He had sensed this danger before.

            He swam to the other side of the pond, and then hopped onto a tall rock to see what he could see. He tucked his long hind legs underneath him to look near the trees away from the pond. Gracie had the same sensation, but stayed in the pond and summoned the young female to come to her, along with the other young frogs.

            Then, with his excellent ability to see at night, George saw it – he saw the snake as it silently slithered closer to him. Snakes had been close before. However, because the pond is in an open area, they usually stayed more in the tree line; in the shadows, out of sight.

            This was a large snake, not a small grass snake. A larger Garter Snake. It would eat as many frogs as it could handle!

            George hopped back into the pond and saw where Gracie had hid the others. He climbed  on another large rock. He wanted to lure the snake away. He was ready to hop as far away as he could to direct this predator from his family. The new batch of tadpoles were in danger, as well. All the other nocturnal amphibians were quiet, didn’t want to draw attention.

            The snake must be super hungry, to come into the open.

He felt the snake would follow him. He knew he would satisfy this snake’s hunger.

            The snake went into the pond’s water, went toward George. It noticed the cowering frogs between rocks. Easily gobbled a few tadpoles.

George made like he was injured (a ploy performed by many animals) to lure the snake away. He extended one hind leg and let out with a loud “Bbbrrrruuukkk!!” With that sound, the snake turned back to the bigger frog and quickly slithered through the water to him. It saw George’s “injured” leg.

When the snake attempted to catapult itself up onto the rock, George made a giant leap off the rock, into the opened grass area. The snake followed!

He wanted to keep out of the snakes reach, but needed to get it farther from the pond; his family.

They chased all over the wet open area! To the right – to the left – forward – back! The snake made a wide circle to get behind the frog; to corral the big frog back where there was additional appetizing food. The frog was fast, but the snake was faster. It made a lunge to George, but the frog pushed off with his powerful hind legs!

With this push, though, even frogs can have a sprain. George had been less active in the pond. He felt the sharp pain of a sprain. He wanted to move through this pain. He tried to jump away, but it hurt way too much. Now, his limp was real – not faked. The snake sensed this.

George gingerly moved away as best as he could. The snake enjoyed this. It knew the frog was injured and he would eat it very soon.

If a snake could smile, that was what it wore on its face.

The old frog crawled slowly. He sensed the closeness of the snake, not much he could do. His frog mind began to think of the times in this welcoming pond, of his little family, all the tadpoles he’d never see grow into frogs, if the snake had its way. George let out a sorrowful croak. Gracie heard and answered him with her sad lament.

The snake was within a few feet. Closer. Closer.

Then, there was a screeching sound from above! A flap of wide-spread wings swooped to the ground behind George! As quickly as this happened, George lost the sense of the nasty snake. It was gone.

He looked up and saw that a large owl had gathered the snake in its powerful talons. The owl had the snake’s head crushed in one of its talons, killed. She would feast on the snake with her owlets.

George breathed with such relief! He knew this owl. She lived in her nest in the near trees, but she had been hunting in a different forest. He had helped her escape a fox, about a year ago, when the air was just turning cool for the new season.

The fox had attacked her when she had downed a squirming squirrel. It injured a foot and the tip of one wing. She was unable to quickly fly off! George did the only thing he could to help her. When the fox was about to pounce, to kill her, George jumped at the fox, which startled it! The owl was able to fly up to her nest.

With the owl’s interception, George was able to limp back to his family. All the frogs greeted him as happily as frogs could be. George and Gracie and all the others, old enough to join in, resumed their joyful nighttime songs.

From then on, it was known that good neighbors were better to have, even in the animal kingdom.

CROAK -- CROAK