I may not hate January, but I don’t exactly love it. After the fun and festivities of Thanksgiving, the Christmas holiday season, and New Year’s Eve, January arrives like a fat dose of reality, cold and hard. When I was at West Point, it was the start of what we called “Gloom Period”*.
The weather, reduced daylight, post-holiday debt, broken resolutions, and springtime nowhere in sight all combine, making January a demanding month. Additionally, living on a farm in the country makes January more “real”, or at least more of a challenge than living in the city or the ‘burbs. All of the daily chores go slower, or take longer to do. It’s just a fact of life here on the farm.
There are of course good things about January – a couple of holidays; the fresh start of a new year; skiing, sledding or skating if you are into those and nature collaborates; all of those wonderful soups, stews and casseroles we make and eat in winter; seeing a bright red cardinal framed against the white of the snow; sitting by a fire, while looking out a window at the beauty of the falling snow…
Beauty of the New Fallen Snow.
Looking out a window at the beauty of the falling snow… and knowing I had to get my butt out there ASAP and plow the drive from the barn to the house to the road. This year, after over 700 days of no measurable snow in the Virginia Piedmont, Mother Nature reminded us she is boss. This January, two storms gave us 10 inches of snow and I plowed after each of them. I also plowed an elderly neighbor’s driveway so she could get up and down the hill at her home.
Plowing the Drive From the Barn to the House to the Road.
After the snow, the temperature dropped into the low teens and single digits. This meant placing an extra space heater in the barn tack room to keep the pipes from freezing. We also moved the barn cats into the tack room at night to keep them from freezing. Extra hay was provided for the horses, as well as giving them a fresh bucket of unfrozen water just before bed each night.
Trying to Keep Both Pipes and Cats Protected.
The state and county plowed the roads and then plowed them again. With high winds, the dry snow drifted back over a couple of our country byways, making them nearly impassable. Additionally, a couple of friends ended up with frozen pipes. The pretty white snow wasn’t quite so pretty by then.
Of course I realize compared to friends and family in the midwest, this weather has practically been balmy and the snowfall not so bad. Maybe I’ve grown soft over the years away from home.
This being Virginia, you can count on frequent weather changes, which did happen last week. The snow, ice and freezing temperatures gave way to a day of misting rain and then temperatures first in the 60s, and then the mid 70s the next day. The snow disappeared and the ground turned to mud. This week as the month is ending, the temps are dropping again. So goes January in The Virginia Piedmont.
In the poem, The Wasteland, T.S. Eliot famously said “April is the cruelest month…”. I’m not smart enough to argue with ol’ T.S., so let’s just call January a challenging month and let it go at that. I don’t hate January, and I don’t hate winter. I enjoy our four seasons and have no plans for relocation to a warmer climate. Still, I’m ready for February’s arrival. Yes, it remains winter, but January will be over, and we’ll have Valentine’s Day on February 14th. The 14th is important for another reason as well. The National’s pitchers and catchers report that day, as sure a sign of spring’s approach as anything I know of, and certainly more reliable than a groundhog’s musings.
Enjoy the season as best you can, my friends.
Addendum:
* If interested, here’s a blog I previously published about Gloom Period at West Point. “The United States Military Academy at West Point can be a beautiful place, just not in the middle of winter. We called the time from January through early March, Gloom Period. It was a combination of the blahs, a lack of color, a lack of light, and coldness. There was a pervasive grayness to life […] Continue here – https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2018/01/21/gloom-period/
Recently, I stopped in at David’s Barbershop for a haircut. My usual barber wasn’t there and instead, Tammy cut my hair. We were making small talk, when I learned she was one of the original boat people* who escaped from Vietnam. She told a fascinating story filled with both sadness and hope.
You know what I mean by barbershop small talk with a new barber – the weather, what’s new in town, whether I was retired… When I asked where she was originally from, she said Ho Chi Minh City, but left as a young girl. I asked her if she was one of the boat people. She looked at me, nodded and started telling her story.
After the fall of Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) in 1975, things became tougher in what was then South Vietnam. The North Vietnamese were rooting out “problems” and people who were, perhaps, too close to the previous government in the South. Tammy’s extended family decided that in order to survive, they needed to leave Vietnam.
They considered going overland to Thailand but discarded the idea. The only practical way was via boat as many others were already doing. Tammy’s aunt, her father’s older sister, took on the task of organizing the escape for their family.
Eventually, she found a boat making the trip to the Philippines. The boat held 50 people total and they secured passage. They were told when and where to meet the boat and have the remaining necessary funds with them.
They Would Attempt to Cross the South China Sea, Heading for the Philippines.
On the appointed day, they arrived early at the location and the boat was waiting for them. They made their final payments and boarded. Her father suddenly remembered something he needed from their house. Tammy doesn’t remember exactly what it was, only that it was important. There was plenty of time, so he left the boat and told them he would be back soon.
Time passed. Her father didn’t return. More time passed and her father still hadn’t returned. Finally, it was time for the boat to leave. Tammy’s aunt tried persuading the captain to delay the departure, but it was to no avail and the ship departed. Tammy never saw her father again.
The journey was a perilous one, as they needed to cross the South China Sea to reach the Philippines. They didn’t encounter pirates on their trip, which was sometimes common, however they did face bad weather and rough seas and the ship became lost. Although the captain piloted them back on route, they spent six days without food or water, before eventually landing in the Philippines. 49 people departed Vietnam. Unlike many of the boats evacuating people, all 49 arrived alive at their destination. Her father would have been the 50th person.
A Boat Similar to the One Tammy and Her Family Used.
Her family spent one or two years in a refugee camp in the Philippines, before eventually relocating to the United States. There she would meet her husband, also a Vietnamese refuge. He became an electrical engineer and eventually worked for the United States government. They raised two sons, one of whom graduated from George Mason with a degree in Cybersecurity, and the other from Virginia Tech with a degree in Software Development.
Tammy finished cutting my hair and I thanked her for the haircut and for sharing her story. I’d gone to the barbershop for a haircut – I also left with a small history lesson.
Tammy.
While driving home, I thought about Tammy, her family and other Vietnamese who came to this country in the aftermath of the Vietnam War. Wikipedia tells us about 2 million people attempted to flee Vietnam by boat. Somewhere between 200,000 and 400,000 people died. Roughly 800,000 were successful in finding a new home. Over 400,000, including Tammy, eventually settled in the United States.
All they wanted was a bit of freedom and a better life than what they saw coming at home. They were willing to risk death or imprisonment. Tammy and her family achieved some version of their dream here in America, although at the price of losing her father. Since then, she has contributed to our country and her children will contribute to our future.
In many ways, her story isn’t so different from the indentured servants, the Puritans, the Irish, the Italians, the Eastern European Jews, the Mexicans or others who have emigrated to America over the course of our history. People left home, often at great peril, to flee persecution, or seek a better life or greater freedom. For many, upon reaching America there was a period of adjustment on their part, and resistance by those already here, before they too were accepted and became a part of the melting pot.
It is a story as old as America itself and regularly repeats over the decades and centuries of our history. Personally, I believe it builds up who we are as a country. They say the strongest steel is forged in the hottest fires. Thank heaven for Tammy and people like her who have faced great adversity and are now a part of America. We need them to continue strengthening the steel of this country.
Addendum:
Some older people may have forgotten the story of the Vietnamese Boat People, and those who are younger may have never heard about them. The short version of the story goes like this: the United States left Vietnam in 1973. In 1975 30 North Vietnamese divisions were involved in the fight to take South Vietnam. A great number of the troops defending South Vietnam were concerned about their own families and deserted. The North Vietnamese moved rapidly through South Vietnam and Saigon fell in April of 1975. After the fall, many South Vietnamese were in fear of their lives under the new government and fled, or tried to flee South Vietnam. This took place between 1975 and the early ‘90s, with the highest period of flight from ’78 – ‘79. While some travelled overland, trying to reach Thailand, most went by boat with destinations of Thailand, the Philippines, Malaysia, Hong Kong and Guam.
Thanks to my friend and West Point Classmate, Ken Bresnahan, for some assistance with this blog.
The last time I saw Tim, I was back in Ottawa for my Brother-in-Law Jack’s funeral. I didn’t know it would be the last time, although I suspected it might. Mark, Howard and I were invited to Tim and Renee’s home for a lunch of Mooseburgers, with Tim serving as grill master.
Cath and I had visited Tim and Renee a few weeks before, while in Ottawa for my 50th high school reunion. After flying into Chicago, we stopped by and spent a few hours at their place in St Charles. It was good to catch up. They were supposed to make the reunion as well, but couldn’t. At the time, Tim was a 4+ year pancreatic cancer survivor, but things were going downhill the last couple of months prior to the reunion.
When Jack died of brain cancer a couple of weeks later, I returned for his services and to see my sister Roberta. I called Tim and Renee to see if we might get together, and I think Tim came up with the idea of the group lunch. Old buddies, Mark and Howard were invited and both quickly said yes. The five of us met on the 14th of October.
Tim, Howard and I have known each other since before kindergarten. Mark came on the scene around 5th grade and we have all been buddies ever since. As to Renee, Tim and Renee met through Cath and I in the early ‘90s. What started as friendship turned into love, and they married.
Tim and Renee’s Wedding.
The lunch was a good time. Renee made some wonderful appetizers and our conversations were wide-ranging. Yes, we talked about Tim’s cancer, but we also talked about the Bears and the White Sox, and as is inevitable when together, retold stories from our youth and good times together over the years.
After a while, Tim shuffled out to the grill and cooked the Mooseburgers. They’d brought the ground moose back last summer from their annual vacation to their place in Maine. I believe a cousin shot the moose and gave them some of the burger. Renee let us know that although he was weaker, Tim insisted on cooking. The burgers were great, and cooked perfectly. There was more talk and Tim, his voice somewhat raspy, eventually grew tired. It was time to go. We hugged Renee, fist-bumped Tim and said our goodbyes and “I love you’s”. Mark drove north to Wisconsin, while Howard and I headed south. It was the last time all of us were together.
Mooseburgers
Tim and I continued to text almost daily after that. The last one from him was on November 8th, when he congratulated me on the Virginia election results. After that, the link went silent. Cath and I stayed in contact with Renee and others, and knew Tim’s condition was worsening. Late on the night of December 4th, Renee called and let us know Tim passed away. After talking a while longer, I sent our love her way and hung up the phone. I silently cried dry tears.
I’ve known Tim for about 65 of my 68 years. Tim…June…Junebug… There are so many stories. Although I know there are groans in some quarters when we re-tell them for the 1,000th time, they still bring a smile to my face. In my mind, rather than a film, I see thousands of snapshots of our times together. The number of actual photos is more limited. Unlike now, back in the day we didn’t have the technology, or the desire, to capture everything going on. I think our lives are a little richer for that.
The “snapshots” of those times blur together. Some of the memories are blurry as well, while others are crystal clear. They span two continents, several states and seven decades.
I can turn the kaleidoscope of those decades in my mind and several pictures emerge – earning my God And Country Scout award in ‘68 with Tim and Howard; Tim, Howard and Mark serving as groomsmen for Cathy’s and my wedding in ‘78; multiple visits by Tim and Howard to our home in Germany in the ‘80s; introducing Tim and Renee in the ‘90s and then they married; ski trips to West Virginia in the ‘90s and 2000s with Tim never leaving the cabin; wonderful Bordeaux Dinners at Tim and Renee’s home near Chicago in the 201Xs; all four couples together at Camp Kishauwa in ‘22.
Tim, Howard and I Receiving our God and Country Awards.
I turn the kaleidoscope a second time and different pictures emerge – in the 60s, Tim and I in Boy Scouts sharing a tent at Camp Kishauwa; the Ottawa Gluttons eating team at OHS in ‘73; shipping a keg of bier from Germany to Tim in Chicago in ‘86; visiting Tim and Howard at their iconic Chicago apartment on numerous occasions in the ‘90s; New Year’s Eve dinners at the farm with Tim and Renee in ‘99 and the 2000s; Cath and I visiting Tim and Renee’s beloved Maine for a vacation; endlessly talking and texting about politics and history during Covid.
At Howard and Tim’s Apartment in Chicago in the Early ‘90s.
I rotate the kaleidoscope again and more memories race through my mind – Mrs Finkeldye’s first grade class; drinking biers at the Butler’s House in our high school years; church youth fellowship; Tim saving me from the MPs in Germany; Tim sleeping on the couch with our dog, Top; Tim and Renee with Cath and I skinny dipping in Lost River; Tim and Renee at the Hash; Tim, Howard, Mark and I decades ago on a New Year’s Eve at 3AM in a picture forever frozen in time – all of us young, with our whole lives in front of us…
New Year’s Eve 1978.
There were no photos taken of us at the Mooseburger lunch. We didn’t need or want any. What I’ll remember is the fellowship and love of old friends spending a few hours together. I’ll always remember that lunch. Always. The memory of it will spark a kaleidoscope of images – an endless stream of snapshots in an infinite number of combinations.
In the ‘80s when we lived in Germany, several family members and friends visited us. To “help” them overcome jet lag, we made sure the first couple of days were action packed with eating, drinking and activities to keep them occupied. It almost proved one friend’s undoing in 1987 […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/09/12/tim-and-bobbys-visit/
The night wasn’t supposed to happen. As a matter of fact, in today’s post 9-11 world, it couldn’t happen. They never would have made it through security. But in 1991? Yea, my buddies Howard and June sprung me from O’Hare Airport during a layover, and we had an unexpected night in Chicago. It was July 2nd, 1991 and I’d been in Omaha, Nebraska running tests on the President’s “other plane” for […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/06/30/an-accidental-night-in-chicago/
This slightly blurry photo from New Years Eve, 1978 captures Mark, Howard, Tim and me. We are, perhaps, slightly inebriated. Our youth has passed, and our adult lives stretch in front of us. Looking at the picture now, 42 years later, I think about our friendship and the transience of […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/12/27/old-friends-dunny-howard-june-and-ben/
In 1988, Cath and I enjoyed a ski vacation in the village of Ischgl, Austria, known for both its skiing, and its Après-ski activities. It also presented the opportunity to ski from Austria to Switzerland, as long as we brought our passports. As is usual, Cathy had the last word after we completed the run.
While stationed in Germany in the ‘80s, we took many ski vacations to Austria, sometimes for a long weekend, sometimes for a week. We often went with our friends Jim and Res to the Austrian town of Nauders on the Italian border. The skiing was great there and we enjoyed many fun trips with them.
Good Times With Jim and Res on One of Our Ski Trips.
In ‘88, Jim and Res couldn’t get away, so we decided to go on our own and try a new location. We eventually settled on Ischgl, a village in Austria’s Paznaun Valley with nearly 150 miles of groomed downhill trails. It’s also known as something of a party town with a multitude of Après-ski bars, clubs and restaurants.
We had a great time that week and the town lived up to both its ski and Après reputation. We would ski in the morning, have lunch and a bier at a restaurant on the mountainside, and then ski all afternoon. Eventually, we skied our way back to town and stopped at different places for a drink. Afterwards, we walked to our Gasthaus, cleaned up and went out for dinner, and maybe dancing later. Finally, we’d make it to bed, sleep like the dead, and then do the same thing the next day. It was wonderful, and an easy thing to do when in your early thirties.
Cathy Catching Some Rays on the Slope at Lunch One Day
We learned we could ski from Ischgl, across the border and into the duty-free town of Samnaun, Switzerland. As the crow flies, about 10 kilometers separate the two towns, but It’s farther when skiing. Looking at the map, the route was a combination of ski lifts and Blue and Red trails. (in Europe, Blue are considered easy and Red are intermediate trails). Although we didn’t need passports to enter Switzerland, we would need them to re-enter Austria. We decided to give it a go the next day and have lunch in Samnaun, before returning to Austria.
Ischgl on the Right. Samnaun on the Left.
It was a perfect day with a blue sky as we started towards Samnaun. Through a combination of skiing and a couple of chairlifts, we arrived at the red trail heading into Switzerland. As we descended, it was nice skiing, but then we came upon an icy, relatively steep cat-track, connecting on its far side to a steep descent to the village of Samnaun. Several people stopped there gathering their breath, before continuing. The mountain was on the right side of the track. On the left side, the ground dropped rapidly away into an unskiable valley. As we were watching, many people had problems on the ice and were falling, so some caution was warranted. We were about ready to go when someone came zooming down the slope from above, cut his skis into the snow and ice to turn onto the cat-track and… the skis didn’t grab the ice. Instead of turning, he shot off the side of the mountain, traveled through the air for about 40 feet, and then landed 20 feet below the trail in the snow. Hmmmm.
That caught our attention, particularly Cathy’s. The guy was OK, but now needed to find one of his skis and then climb back up the side of the valley to reach the trail. He couldn’t ski out from where he was.
We watched awhile longer, and then I said to Cath it was time to go. She disagreed and wanted to wait a little longer. More time went by and Cathy still wasn’t quite ready. Finally, I said something like “We can’t stay here, and we can’t go back up. The only way out is down the cat-track.” Eventually we started and slowly made our way. Cathy reverted to snow-plowing and her edges grabbed on the ice. After what seemed like forever, but in reality was probably two or three minutes, we made it past the cat-track. A few people were crashing and burning around us, but we had nary a fall. All that was left was the final descent.
We stood there congratulating ourselves and I pulled out my flask for us to share a short shot of brandy. I filled the cap about half full and handed it to Cathy. She looked in the cap and said, “Really? Do you think I could have a double?!” We both laughed and I filled the cap to the brim. She shot it down, handed it back, and took off on the final descent into Samnaun. After pouring myself a short one, I put away the flask and tore after her, eventually catching up. While the slope was a little steep, the snow was good and we arrived in town without mishap.
Cathy on the Slope.
We took off our skis and found a nice looking Gasthaus. I don’t remember what we ate, but the bier we drank with lunch tasted awfully good. After lingering a while and doing a little shopping, we took a cable car back up the mountain. Following a short ski, and then an additional chairlift ride further up, we arrived at the border crossing into Austria, where we dutifully presented our passports.
Once through customs, we skied down the slope into Austria. We made a couple more runs, and decided to call it quits. It had been a tiring day.
We skied into town to a bar/restaurant we discovered earlier in the week, and after stacking our skis outside, walked in. The place was quite crowded. We found a small table, settled in, and ordered biers along with a couple of Poire Williams*, a French eau de vie (we called them Poor Willies).
As we sipped our biers, the band began playing and their first song was The Stones’ “Satisfaction”. We, along with half the crowd, jumped on the dance floor and started dancing in our ski boots. As we were dancing, the crowd, a mishmash of Austrians, Germans, French, Dutch, Italians and others from who knows where, were all singing at the top of their lungs “I CAN’T GET SNOW… SATISFACTION!” It was one of those perfect moments you can never replicate, but forever remains clear as a bell in your mind’s eye. To this day, I feel my boots hitting the floor in time with the music, hear the crowd singing to “Satisfaction” and see the look of laughter and love in Cathy’s eyes.
Eventually it was time to leave. We went outside to find our skis and make our way home. As we were standing there, Cathy grabbed her crotch with one hand and started pulling at her clothes. I burst out laughing and said, “What the hell are you doing?!” She looked me straight in the eye and answered, “I am adjusting my balls. I kicked that slope’s ass today!” With that, my wife threw her skis over her shoulder and started walking home.
Addendum:
Poire Williams is the name of a French eau de vie (literal translation – “water of life”), a clear brandy made from pears. Poire is the French word for pear, while Williams is the type of pear. In Germany and Austria, they make an equivalent bottling called Williams Birne Schnaps. Both are strong, and nothing like the peppermint schnapps we know here in America. Depending on the quality, you might either sip or shoot it.
It was an early winter morning a little before sunrise – that liminal period of time between darkness and light. When I left the house to feed the horses, it was so quiet, the silence felt deafening. I soon discovered the opposite was true. In that cold predawn stillness, sound was everywhere, once I started listening.
That Liminal Period Between Darkness and Light.
I have to admit on most mornings, I’m on autopilot as I walk to the barn. Typically, I’ve only been up about ten or fifteen minutes and haven’t yet had my coffee. It’s pretty rote – walk to the barn, feed the cats, feed the horses and return to the house to make coffee.
I suppose I have the sudden snorting of a buck to thank for my change on this particular day. I stopped and tried to pinpoint his location in the paddock, but couldn’t see him. The question of whether he was sounding an alarm, or merely indicating curiosity was soon answered – I heard muffled footfalls, and then saw six deer leaping our fence before clamoring into a neighbor’s field. Our dog Carmen and I were both so startled, neither of us did anything except watch them go, their white tails vivid in the half-light. I have no idea why Carmen didn’t chase them – it was the first of three unusual non-actions on her part that morning.
The deer must have disturbed some nearby turkeys, as two of them started “gobbling” in the woods by the pond. I looked for them as well, but couldn’t tell if they were on the ground, or the low branches of a tree. Carmen, for the second time that morning, did nothing.
By now, my ears were evidently alert, as I heard a woodpecker tapping near the side of the house. A few footsteps later, the whinnies of our neighbors’ horses came from about 100 yards away. That was unusual for them at this time of the morning. Perhaps something was about, as they were joined by the barking of our friend’s dogs, Jonah and Jebson, about a quarter mile down Swains Road. Carmen’s ears pricked up. Much like the dog telegraph in the movie, 101 Dalmatians, the two frequently start a message that circulates among the other dogs in the neighborhood. This morning, Carmen must have decided they were just gossiping – after listening for a second, she trotted to the barn, with nary a bark.
Jonah and Jebson Trying to Look Innocent
It was chilly in the barn and there was a skim of ice on the water buckets. Our cats, Ollie and Mama Cat, stared silently at me, waiting for their breakfast. The horses weren’t so quiet. Stella and Katie nickered, snorted and pawed the ground. They too wanted their breakfast, but made a much bigger demonstration than the cats about it.
I fed the cats and then the horses, left the barn and started making my way back to the house. It was nearing sunrise now and there was some color in the eastern sky. Carmen and I stopped for a moment just outside the barn and looked to the east. We disturbed a couple of crows who scolded us with their caws, but the cardinals in the nearby evergreen didn’t seem to mind our presence and continued to sing their song of CHEER, CHEER, CHEER ,,, PRETTY, PRETTY ,, PRETTY, PRETTY!
Color and Light in the Eastern Sky.
I thought about the birds and animals, both tame and wild, who were there to greet Carmen and I that morning. It brought to mind one of my favorite quotes from Maya Angelou – “Listen to yourself and in that quietude you might hear the voice of God.” While watching the sun rise that morning, I had an additional thought – In the quietude of a winter’s morning, hear the voices of God’s creatures and feel blessed, for we are all God’s creatures.
Years ago my friend Joe said, “When I turned fifty, God shared all the knowledge and wisdom of the world with me. When I turned sixty, God told me I should share that knowledge and wisdom with the rest of the world.” Thinking of any number of older pontificators we both knew, we chuckled. I’ve thought about it more seriously since then – from whom have I gained knowledge and wisdom?
Of course, knowledge and wisdom aren’t exactly the same thing. According to the Oxford Dictionary, knowledge consists of “facts, information, and skills acquired by a person through experience or education”, while wisdom is “the quality of having knowledge, experience and good judgment”. Those definitions are close, although not exact. Looking at the two, knowledge is necessary, but not sufficient to have wisdom. There’s that little thing called “good judgement”. I also note the word “age” is in neither definition, and while perhaps, unexpected, I think that’s good. I know some people who were fools when they were young and have remained fools their entire life. It’s almost as if they have an anti-wisdom gene in their DNA.
I’ve thought of my own life and how I’ve obtained knowledge and tried to gain wisdom. Reading books or online resources, experiencing life and listening to others seem to be the three primary ways I’ve learned about life. To keep consistent with the “from whom have I gained Knowledge and wisdom” question in the opening paragraph, I’m only going to talk about listening to and interacting with others today. Certainly, the other two thoughts are important, but short of writing a thesis, I think it’s a bit hard to tackle all three in one short blog.
My parents were a big influence on me, not only as a kid, but throughout adulthood. I think back to the important lessons I learned at home as a child, and also to the advice they gave me over the years. Sometimes I listened, and other times not. Later in life, I also remember a conversation on the phone with dad one day. I was considering a job change and asked for his advice. There was a pause, and then he said “I think this is above my pay grade. You have to make this decision on your own.” Sometimes, wisdom is knowing when to say nothing.
When it comes to learning from others, I along with many of us, have practiced this inconsistently over the course of my life. As a young man, I certainly listened to “older” folk, but I was also guilty of the arrogance and certainty of youth. Who among us hasn’t experienced that combination of youthful passion and fearlessness? I alone KNEW the right answer! Sometimes I was right, and sometimes I failed. But where would we be without that youthful exuberance which has brought so much innovation? Who else has the courage, desire and tirelessness to challenge the status quo?
Growing into middle age, I continued to gain knowledge, and I hope I was gaining wisdom. Moving into leadership positions in the Army, business world and with other groups, I was frequently asked to impart my knowledge and/or wisdom across multiple subjects. I certainly listened to others, but as George Bush infamously stated, I became the “decider” on any number of issues. I believe I made my share of good decisions. There were also errors and poor recommendations along the way. I can think of more than a couple of choices I’d like to have back. Maybe if I’d listened a bit more to others … but of course, you can’t go back.
And now? I mostly retired 10 years ago. Today at 68, I sit on the cusp of elder time. Unlike my friend Joe, as I become older, I’m less sure God gave me any of the knowledge or wisdom of the world. Still, I often DO feel compelled to share what I have with others.
With that in mind, there are two things I’ve learned about myself I want to share.
First, for my peers, don’t let the complacency of old age settle in. You have to keep learning. If you don’t, you grow stagnant and might as well die. Never. Stop. Learning.
Second, and this is for everyone, the true wisdom I’d share is no matter your age, don’t constrict your interactions only to a group of people your own age. There is a wealth of knowledge and wisdom out there and you can learn at all ages from people of all ages. Don’t deprive yourself of the chance to find this out. All you need are open ears and eyes, and an open mind. Most importantly, an open mind.
And so, while I continue to learn much from my friends and peers in their 50s and 60s, I also continue to gain wisdom from friends John, Bill, Nancy, Irv, Malcom, Bob and Kathy among others in their 70s and 80s. Our nieces and nephews who are in their 30s and 40s are a constant source of joy and education about things both large and small. I continually gain new insights and ideas from our friends Mila, Raagni and Morgan, all in their 20s, and all of whom seem wise beyond their years. Lana, our 18 year old niece, makes me think, and raises new concepts and thoughts for me to consider. A couple of months ago, I even learned more about modesty and good manners from Kaeden, the 11 year old grandson of a friend. Of course there are many, many other people I could name here, but you get the idea. Making it personal also makes it more real. Who are some of the people of all ages in your own life you learn from, or maybe more importantly, could learn from? Never stop learning from friends and people of all ages. Never.
I realize this blog has rambled, and I apologize for that. With the year 2024 starting soon, I hope you will commit to a life of gaining knowledge and wisdom. Sample broadly from the learning choices offered. My wife is fond of saying “Every time an older person dies, it’s like a library burning down.”, and she’s right. Don’t miss the opportunity to learn from your older friends and family members before they are gone. Listen to their stories. But also allow time and openness to drink from that endless fountain of youthful exuberance. No one has a corner on knowledge and wisdom. No one
Addendum:
In my younger years, I never did “New Year’s Resolutions”. To be honest, I still don’t. But, as I’ve become older, I seem to do a bit more reflection this time of year. Maybe it’s because I have more time to be reflective, or maybe it’s because I have less time left in my life – I’m not sure which. In either case, I wish you the Happiest of New Years and hope you can take a few minutes to reflect on your life. See you in 2024.
As a Christian, I’m sick of hearing about the War on Christmas. The war on Christmas has nothing to do with people from another religion or immigrants from another country. It has nothing to do with saying Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. What’s it really about? Dollars. The war on Christmas is one waged by American Capitalism, something we all seemingly subscribe to.
While Bill O’ Reilly is credited with starting this crap almost two decades ago, the War on Christmas actually started over 350 years ago when one of the most organized American attacks on Christmas occurred in the 17th century. Who led this attack? What blasphemous organization? The Puritans. Yep, the Puritans banned celebrations of the holiday because it did not accord with their interpretation of the Bible. Let me say that again – they banned celebrations of Christmas, because it did not accord with their interpretation of the Bible. Seriously. In 1659, the Massachusetts Bay Colony enacted a law called “Penalty for Keeping Christmas”. The notion was that such “festivals as were superstitiously kept in other countries” were a “great dishonor of God and offense of others. Anyone found celebrating Christmas by failing to work, feasting, or any other way… shall pay for every such offense five shillings.” That’s right. You honored Christmas by working, not feasting and not celebrating in any other way. It’s too bad Bill wasn’t around in the 17th century. He could have put those Puritans in their place.
Saying “Happy Holidays” doesn’t denigrate a single Christian. It takes nothing away from the Birth of Jesus Christ. What does take away from celebrating the Birth of Jesus? What takes away from the sanctity of the season? What takes away from the message of Christ?
Excess. Too much of everything. Too many presents. Too many lights. Too much eating and drinking. Spending too much money on all of those things. There’s a big difference between the joy of celebrating the birth of Christ and a fat man in a red suit urging you to buy more presents, which most Americans, including Christians, seem to go along with. Nothing quite says Christmas like fighting with another shopper over the last available “cool” toy for this year.
I’m American and I subscribe to capitalism, but capitalism is ruining Christmas. When stores have Christmas decorations up before Halloween, when those same stores have a combination of Christian and secular Christmas music playing NONSTOP starting in early November, when the biggest shopping days of the year occur right after Thanksgiving on Black Friday, Small Business Saturday and Cyber Monday something is wrong. And by the way, all of those stores cater to what they think we are going to buy the most of and what they believe they are going to make the most profit from. It’s pretty simple. Money rules, and most Americans, whether Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Atheist, Agnostic, or some other religion seem to agree. We love spending money during the holidays.
Money, Money, Money.
If you are getting your religious advice and “good feelings” (or lack thereof) from Costco, Target, Starbucks or Walmart, perhaps you should reconsider your source. Maybe the War on Christmas is within yourself. Many so-called Christians buy into the whole capitalistic nature of our secular Christmas celebrations here in America, and you know what? That’s OK. But don’t blame Jews, or Muslims, or Immigrants, or Atheists, or Hollywood or Corporate America for the lack of support of a Christian Christmas holiday. Instead, look in the mirror. Are you doing anything that actually has to do with the birth of Christ or his teachings? What are you doing to celebrate Christmas, besides buying your wife a new necklace (and maybe your mistress a new bracelet), your daughter a new iPhone, your son a new Xbox, bragging (or whining) about your end-of-year bonus and drinking with your friends? Maybe you are celebrating Christmas just like Representative Thomas Massie (R – Kentucky) by sending Christmas cards showing you and your family all packing heat and asking Santa for more ammo? That’s the Christmas spirit!
Representative Massie Spreading the Christmas Message… Or Not.
No one is hating on Christians and no one is hating on Christmas. The last time I checked, we still celebrate Christmas with a national holiday. I note there are no national holidays this year (or any year) for Hanukkah, Kwanza, Boxing Day, Diwali or even Festivus.
It’s time for people to take a pause, exhale and relax. How many of us still occasionally watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special? First released in 1965, it too wrestles with the dichotomy between the birth of Christ and the commercialization of Christmas. Is the show secular or Christian? Snoopy’s doghouse captured first prize in the Christmas decorating competition, but what most of us remember is the scene with Linus, as he quotes from the Gospel according to Luke:
And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
…
Charlie Brown and the Message(s) of Christmas.
I think both the Gospel of Luke and Linus got it right – “On earth peace, good will toward men.” Aren’t those words we can all agree on?
With that, I wish all of you a Merry Christmas, and the happiest of Holiday Seasons. May you find peace, and practice good will toward others, no matter your religious beliefs, or the time of year.
May you find peace, and practice good will toward others – A message simple enough for a child to understand.
Addendum:
Thanks to my friends Annette and Colleen, along with my wife Cathy for providing editing and review assistance for this blog.
Every once in a while, something happens, or somebody does something that makes the idea of “The Long Gray Line” real to us West Point graduates. Sometimes it’s an event affecting the world. Sometimes it’s a death. Sometimes it’s only something small. One of those small things happened at our recent 45th class reunion.
A month or so ago, we had our West Point 45th reunion*. It was a wonderful long-weekend seeing the Academy and more importantly, catching up with classmates. A few days after the reunion some of my classmates were exchanging stories online, when one of them asked if anyone else noticed during the parade honoring our class, one cadet staff element maintained “Eyes Right” as they passed our entire class.
A side note for those who have not served in the military. Everyone knows what a salute is, from one soldier to a more senior officer, or soldiers saluting the flag as it passes, or is raised or lowered. When there is a parade in the military, as a unit marches past the reviewing stand while carrying their weapons, it’s impractical/impossible for the unit to salute, or present arms to the reviewing party. Instead, the commander calls out the command, “EYES…RIGHT!”, and the entire unit, except for the file of troops on the right side of the unit, turns their head at a 45 degree angle and looks at (salutes/honors) the reviewing party as they march past (the right-hand file of troops continues to look straight ahead, ensuring the unit remains on the line of march). Once the entire unit is past the reviewing party, the command “READY…FRONT!” is given and the soldiers snap their heads back to the front. This is a form of saluting (honoring) the reviewing party while on the march.
Back to the story…
During our reunion, a Saturday morning parade was held in our honor. There were about 300 or so of us who dutifully lined up to the right of the reviewing party, which consisted of the Academy Superintendent, his Command Sergeant Major, the Commander of the 7th Infantry Division, and his Command Sergeant Major. Two of the four Cadet Regiments (eighteen companies total) took part in the review. After Ruffles and Flourishes and the Star Spangled Banner played, the command “PASS…IN REVIEW!” was given and Corp of Cadets began their march past the reviewing party and then our class.
Proud and Great ‘78, Lined up for the Parade Review
By happenstance, I was near the front and left side of our class line, fairly close to where the reviewing party was. We could hear the various staff elements and companies give the command EYES RIGHT as they arrived in front of the reviewing party. Then, after the staff element or company passed completely by the reviewing party, the subsequent READY FRONT command was given. Coincidentally, the READY FRONT command was given just before or after where I was standing, depending on the timing of each commander.
My buddies, Steve, Jay, Gus and I all noticed they were doing EYES RIGHT only for the reviewing party. Someone may have even joked about us not being salute worthy, but someone else pointed out it would be pretty tough, and almost impractical to carry an EYES RIGHT for the entire length of our class, spread out over perhaps forty or fifty yards.
Cadets Passing By Us, Already at the READY FRONT
Eventually the parade ended and after pictures, we headed off for lunch and the football game, and no one thought anymore about the parade.
Well, almost no one.
Joe Mislinski and a few other classmates who were at the end of our class in the reviewing line noticed one staff element held their EYES RIGHT the entire time. It was only after they passed the last member of our class that the commander gave the READY FRONT command. Joe was intrigued and got to work trying to find out who this particular commander was.
One Staff Element Held Their Salute Until They Passed our Entire Class
Another one of our classmates, Bob Greenwalt, videoed the entire parade. Joe watched the video and eventually was able to determine the staff element who retained their salute was the commander and staff of the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Regiment. Through a chain of several cadets Joe knows, he was able to track down the 2nd Battalion Commander. It turns out, he was out that day and the cadet in charge for the parade was Cadet Lieutenant Paul Conroy, class of ‘24. Joe wrote him an email asking if he indeed was the commander for the parade that day and if so, thanked him – “I’m sure you thought it was a small thing to do, to honor us in that way, but it really meant a lot. Thank you, it really warmed our hearts. Grip Hands!”
Cadet Lieutenant Conroy and the 2nd Bn, 2nd Reg Staff holding Their Salute
A bit later, the reply came back from Cadet Conroy – “As the stand-in for the commander, I was responsible for giving the commands “Eyes Right” for my staff to salute and “Ready, Front” for them to drop it. I admit my gesture was not premeditated; it just did not seem right to order my staff to drop their salutes until we had passed all the officers, current or retired, who had served our Army. I waited to call “Ready, Front” until myself and my staff had passed the class line. I could not look behind me, but I assume my entire staff held their salutes as well.”
Cadet Conroy’s Reply
After another exchange or two, Joe and Cadet Conroy arranged to link up in person at the upcoming Army Navy Game. Unknown to Cadet Conroy, Joe had a small gift for him and the Battalion staff.
Finally, it was the day of the Army Navy game. If you ever get the chance to go to one, I urge you to do so – it’s a day of pageantry – Cadet and Midshipman march-ons, flyovers, parachute drops, and of course the game itself. No, they aren’t Michigan, Texas, Alabama or Washington vying for the National Title. But that’s OK. These two teams – the passion, the emotion, the rivalry, the ties that bind these two schools. Yes, Michigan and Ohio State have a great rivalry. But when the Army Navy game is over, and the players graduate, these men and women take on joint duties and responsibilities, risking their lives for this great nation.
West Point March-On at Gillette Stadium in Foxboro, MA.
During the game, Joe and Paul texted and arranged a location to link up at the end of the first half. The score was 10-0 Army at halftime when classmates Joe, Paul Chang and Jeff Foley made their way to the bowels of the stadium where they met with Paul, and two of the members from the Battalion Staff – Firstie (Senior) Allen Liu and Cow (Junior) Timothy Jolicoeur. Tim is who originally caught the eye of many of my classmates as he is the one in the photo holding the hand salute the entire time. Three of the cadets, Justus Gabriel, Jake Pinuelas and Wesley Anderson couldn’t make the meeting. Wesley is on the West Point Marathon team and was one of the cadets who ran a game ball from West Point to Gillette Stadium.
As my classmates spoke with the cadets, Joe mentoned how he, Jeff and Paul were there on behalf of our entire class. They gave each of the cadets a Class of ‘78 coin. “Coining” is something done in the military (and some other government organizations). When you “coin” someone outside your unit, it is considered an honor and is because they have done something of value or importance to the unit. The way it’s done is in the form of a handshake. The coining party holds the coin in their right hand and extends the hand for the handshake. The parties shake hands and the receiving party takes the coin after the handshake. For West Pointers, it’s particularly meaningful because of lines from one of our most treasured songs, “The Corps” and the act of “gripping hands”.
The Cadets were surprised and happy. My classmates discussed how meaningful their gesture was for us as a class and how many of us noticed it and remarked to each other about it. They let them know there was chatter about it on our class Facebook page and the class unanimously agreed it was a great idea to do this meetup and present them with the coins.
Class of ‘78 45th Reunion Coin.
There was a bit more small talk, and then all headed back to their respective seats for what turned out to be an exciting second half. If you didn’t see the game, Army won 17-11 after stopping Navy on the one yard line with three seconds left in the game. These games are always thrilling and you shouldn’t leave your seat until they are over. Army has won six of the last eight games between the two Academies. Their margin of victory in those six wins? 36 points. Total.
So that’s the story. Cadet Lieutenant Conroy will graduate from the Academy in another six months and join The Long Gray Line. “The Long Gray Line” is often talked about in the abstract, but every once in a while, you experience something that makes it real and personal. In the future, I’m guessing if Paul Conroy runs into a member of our class in a bar or restaurant, or some other place in this far-flung world of ours, his money will be no good. Sometimes it’s the little things that make a difference and you notice. The Class of ‘78 noticed on this occasion.
Thanks to you Paul Conroy, and the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Regimental Staff for going out of your way recognizing the Proud and Great Class of ’78. We wish you good luck and Godspeed on your journey with the Army and throughout your life.
Addendum:
In a side note, classmate Paul Chang has an interesting connection to Paul Conroy – “Paul Conroy and my youngest son were classmates at the same grade school in San Antonio (Keystone) before we moved to Massachusetts 13 years ago! His mom and I worked together at the Med School and they lived close by. Another classmate from that grade school also went to West Point – Isabella Sullivan, who is one of two West Point Rhodes Scholars this year!”
Credit goes to classmate Billy Harner for the photo of our class lined up for the parade. It’s used in both the lead in to the blog, and again in the text.
Photo of the West Point march-on at the Game was provided by my good friend, Rudy Crespin, who was in attendance at the game. Rudy is a Naval Academy graduate from the Class of ‘87.
The two photos of the Cadet Conroy and staff were extracted by Joe Mislinski from the video provided by Bob Greenwalt.
Thanks to classmate Rick Makowski, who provided the coins for free from his merchandising company.
Thanks to classmates Joe Mislinski and Gus Hellzen, along with my wife Cathy for providing editing assistance with this blog.
If interested, here is a link to Bob Greenwalt’s video of the parade. There’s a bit of chatter going on throughout the video, which is also a bit cool. Cadet Conroy and staff come into view at 21:40 and it’s clear that they didn’t do a READY FRONT when everyone else did – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMCKT8QXodE
* Here’s a link to the blog about the reunion itself: It was raining as I left our West Point 45th reunion last Sunday. I took the longer, slower route home rather than drive Interstate 95. Tired and emotionally spent, I didn’t trust myself on a route that would have more traffic. I knew I would be thinking about West Point, the reunion and my classmates […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/11/01/grip-hands/
It was December 6th, 1941. Dad, Noble and other men from B Company, 60th Regimental Combat Team of the 9th Infantry Division had weekend passes. They left Fort Bragg, North Carolina that Saturday for nearby Fayetteville. They didn’t know it yet, but the next day their world would change forever.
That weekend, Dad was a little over 18 years old and had been in the Army for about fifteen months. The 9th Infantry Division reactivated in August of 1940, and Dad joined the unit in September of that year, at the age of 16.
Dad (on the left) in 1941 in the Bravo Company Motor Pool.
In 1940, the population of Fort Bragg was 5,400. One year later, there were 67,000 troops at Bragg and Fayetteville was on the way to becoming a military town, with bars, clubs, restaurants and everything needed to “entertain” the troops, for better or worse.
Fayetteville, 1941.
Dad and the other boys of Company B received their weekend passes that fateful weekend and probably left Bragg around noon. Typical weekend passes went from noon on Saturday to 6PM on Sunday. They usually rented a room or two to use as a base for their partying. Over the years, he told me about some of those weekend passes. Real food, beer, clubs, blues, jazz, dancing and trying to link up with girls. They’d party into the night, and then the next day, after a big breakfast, party some more until they eventually returned to Post. I heard stories about fun times in North Carolina (Fayetteville and Charlotte) in Tunisia and Algeria, and late in the war back in Washington DC. Let’s just say, Dad knew how to party.
For this particular weekend, he didn’t tell me about any of that. What he talked about was the return to Fort Bragg late Sunday afternoon on December 7th.
Dad and several others were returning to the Post in a cab. I think he said there was a formation at 6PM for accountability purposes, but maybe they just had to sign back in. He and his friend, Noble, had partied it up pretty good and were a bit hungover. As they neared Fort Bragg, two things happened. First, traffic was backed up to drive onto the Post – they were checking IDs or checking IDs more closely than normal. Second – the cab driver turned on the car radio.
By 1940, AM radios were considered a standard feature in automobiles. The stations carried news, some radio shows and music. There weren’t lots of stations, and the programming wasn’t all that varied. This time however, the boys of Company B heard the words that would change their lives. An NBC announcer read the following statement, relayed earlier from station KGU in Hawaii:
BULLETIN: We have witnessed this morning the attack of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by army planes that are undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombers dropped within fifty feet of Tanti Towers. It’s no joke -it’s a real war. The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away from the army and navy. There has been severe fighting going on in the air and on the sea …(There then was an interruption, followed by this) . . . We have no statement as to how much damage has been done but it has been a very severe attack. The army and the navy, it appears, now has the air and sea under control.
There is a five-hour time difference between Honolulu and the East Coast. The attack on Pearl Harbor started at 8AM and lasted about 90 minutes (not the three hours in the news bulletin). That means the attack ended about 9:30AM Honolulu time, or 2:30PM East Coast time. The Honolulu station was somewhat delayed in reporting the news, and then of course, in the pre-internet age, it took longer for stations in the Continental US to pick up the bulletin and rebroadcast it. My guess is Dad, Noble and the other guys were hearing this news around 4:30PM or so that afternoon.
What did they do at this point? Wait in the cab to drive onto Fort Bragg? Get out of the cab and run onto Fort Bragg? Leave the cab and start talking with the other gathering soldiers? None of those things happened.
Instead, they directed the cabbie to make a U-Turn and drive back to Fayetteville. They were going to hit the bars again, even though they would be Absent Without Leave (AWOL) and miss the evening formation. They knew instantly this was going to be a shooting war, training was going to get tougher and opportunities to leave Post become slimmer. They weren’t going to miss this chance for a last shebang.
Dad and Noble in ‘41 or Early ‘42on a Different Weekend Pass.
And of course, when they returned to Fayetteville, they weren’t alone. Soldiers were everywhere drinking and partying. I think Dad said he thought half his battalion was in town. They joined the crowd and partied into the evening. There was a great deal of talk about when and where they would deploy.
Eventually, they returned to Bragg late that night. According to Dad lots of guys had hangovers at morning formation on Monday, December 8th, but nothing was really done about them missing the evening formation. There was too much work to do.
On the evening of the 8th, President Roosevelt gave his famous “A Day which will live in Infamy” speech to a joint session of Congress. The speech was broadcast live by radio and attracted the largest audience in American radio history, with over 80% of Americans allegedly tuning in to hear it.
President Roosevelt Speaking to Congress on Dec 8, 1941.
Eleven months to the day later, on November 8th, 1943, the men of the 60th Regimental Combat Team, including Dad and Noble, landed on the beach under fire in North Africa at Port Lyautey, Morocco as a part of Operation Torch. The counteroffensive had started against the Axis powers in the European Theater of Operations.
When dad joined the Army in 1940, it was for a three-year hitch. It would be 5 years before he was honorably discharged in August of 1945. He took part in the invasions of North Africa and Sicily, where he was wounded and almost died. I think partying several extra hours on the evening of December 7th was probably justified.
— Never Forget —
Addendum:
In 1940, the population of Fort Bragg was 5,400. By the following year, it reached 67,000. Various units trained at Fort Bragg during World War II, including the 9th Infantry Division, the 82D Airborne Division, the 100th Infantry Division, the 2nd Armored Division and various field artillery groups. The population reached a peak of 159,000 during the war years. This past year, Fort Bragg was renamed Fort Liberty.
Here is one other Pearl Harbor blog I’ve done: The plaque is only a small one, over in front of The South Ottawa Town-Hall on 1st Avenue. The Hall is still used for occasional meetings, but 1st Avenue is pretty sleepy in that area, so I don’t know how many people actually ever see the plaque. When I walk by, the words always compel me to stop. And think. And remember … Herman Koeppe was 19 the day he died […] https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2016/11/30/never-forget/
In America, we often ignore cuts of meat used to make excellent dishes elsewhere – beef cheeks and pork jowl are two examples. Oxtail is another. When we lived in Germany, Ochsenschwanzsuppe (Oxtail soup) was a classic you rarely see here. It’s an OMG wonderful dish I’ve made a couple of times now.
Of course, many hear the word Schwanz, and immediately think of the Mel Brooks film, Young Frankenstein and the scene with Inga (the great Terry Garr) using the pseudo-German word schwanzstucker*. I can assure you, there is no schwanzstucker in this Ochsenschwanzsuppe. 😉
Young Frankenstein – Worth Watching Again, Just for the Schwanzstucker Scene!
In today’s world, what we are really talking about is beef tail, but I’m going to stick with Ochsenschwanz, or oxtail, which is what it was called when we originally learned about it in Germany. Plus, it sounds cooler.
Oxtail; You Can Actually Order it in a Butcher Shop These Days.
Oxtail is high in protein, has abundant collagen and is a source of healthy fats. With the high collagen and connective tissue content, oxtail was made for long, slow cooking in dishes such as this soup. It’s a great winter dish. I’ve learned from friends who also cook that it is core to many other ethnic dishes as well. As an example, my friend Antoine Freche says, “Oxtail is the preferred bone source when creating a “silky-smooth” broth for Vietnamese Pho. Oxtails are best since they contain more collagen than a regular beef bone. The collagen is what makes the broth silky-smooth.”
I have to agree with Antoine. The broth in this soup is wonderful. It is a different flavor than a typical beef stew and packed with umami**. Silky and smooth are both great descriptors, but so are tasty, delicious and “OMG this is so f’in good!” I’m already thinking of ways to use this broth for other dishes – it really is that outstanding.
This recipe combines a rich beef and vegetable broth with paprika and pepper to add some bite, along with sherry and cream to round it out. It’s finished with a roux. It takes a while to make but is sooooo good. If you don’t have quite enough Oxtail, add some chuck steak, or some other roast to make up the difference.
Traditionally, Oxtail soup is served as a first course in Germany at restaurants or special events. They have two main versions of Oxtail Soup there – one is a clear broth with beef bits, the other is a “gebundene” (bound) version and is a little heartier. This recipe is a gebundene soup.
Ochsenschwanzsuppe – This is Soooooo Good, and Packed With Umami.
While the original version of this recipe was for a first course, Cath and I have it as a meal. With some bread and a small salad, it’s hard to beat. If you want to add a little to it for a main course, cut up a carrot or two and simmer with the sauce in the final 1/2 hour. As with most soups and stews, it’s better the day after you first cook the broth. The meal is certainly guest worthy, but I won’t judge if just you and your partner eat it by yourselves over two or three days. By the third day, it will be mostly just broth left, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll still be marveling at how tasty it is.
Ochsenschwanzsuppe Recipe.
Addendum:
* Here’s the scene from the Mel Brooks film, Young Frankenstein. It’s a great scene with Inga (Terry Garr) using the pseudo German word schwanzstucker. Gene Wilder’s reaction is classic: https://youtu.be/QuHw5ivCs1A?si=_nb9DdTWr1rlTXF1
** Umami is a fifth category of taste in food (besides sweet, sour, salt, and bitter). For me, the best description is one of savoriness, or perhaps earthiness. Umami means “essence of deliciousness” in Japanese.
Pork Jowl is sometimes considered traditional in Southern Cooking, particularly in a pairing with Black-eyed Peas for good luck on New Years Day. You don’t see it cooked that way much anymore, with folks substituting fatback, or bacon instead. It’s also used in Italy to make Guanciale, a cured meat considered essential for an authentic pasta carbonara.
I have a heavenly recipe for Beef Cheek Daube (stew) that is served over saffron risotto. Like oxtail, it is full of collagen. The first time I made the dish, two of our local grocery stores said there was no such cut of meat as beef cheeks. I ended up going to our wonderful local butcher shop, The Whole Ox, who knew immediately what I was talking about, and got the cheeks for us. The recipe is so good, we once served it on NY Eve.
Live Life Exuberantly 