Each October at Rohan Farm, we have a sign of cold weather’s impending arrival – the day Cathy plays god with the outdoor plants. Which ones come in the house, which are on life support in the barn tack room, which are left dormant in the garage, and which ones die on the patio with the the first frost.
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And just like that, a decade has passed. I started this blog ten years ago, on October 19th, 2015. I was 60 then. I’m 70 now. The blog started because of a death*, and a West Point classmate’s admonishment to “Live Life Exuberantly.” I have tried to do so, although not always successfully.
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This is a good month to be a squirrel at the farm. Acorns are falling like rain and the ground is covered. You hear them hit our metal roof day and night. It is so loud, it sounds as if the trees threw the acorns at the roof. Old wive’s tales say all these acorns are a prediction of a bad winter to come.
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I opened the door to the room and the five of them were there. My brother-in-laws, Jack and Don, old friend Tim, Dad, and Cathy’s Dad, Max. All looked robust and in their 50s, except for Max who died at 41 and remained forever young. Tim looked up from the bar. “French 75 Maxie?” I nodded yes.
Continue reading “The Dinner Party”
September 11th is our National Day of Remembrance. I think back to that horrific day, and also recall the unity that came to America afterwards, for a while at least. I now also have something else to think about. I recently learned my dad enlisted in the Army 85 years ago, on SEPTEMBER 11th, 1940. He was all of sixteen.
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OK. Cath and I did a thing. We are in California and bought a camper van. It has been a lifelong dream, and we just pulled the trigger. Over the next couple of weeks, we will drive it 3,000 miles back to Virginia, hopefully the first of many adventures with it.
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Having recently revisited Jefferson Airplane and their brilliant “White Rabbit” in a blog about Woodstock, I decided to reread “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”. I’m not sure I’d read it since childhood. How close are White Rabbit and Wonderland to each other? Go ask Alice, I think she knows.
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Recently, my wife, Cathy, and her sister Bonnie spent three weeks touring the wilderness and National Parks in Wyoming and Montana in a camper van. I’ll talk a little about that. What I really want to talk about is the people who stole their firewood at a couple of campgrounds.
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Fifty-six years ago, from August 15-18, 1969, a three day festival celebrating Peace and Music took place at Max Yasgur’s farm in upstate New York. My friend Chuck, all of 19 at the time, drove there with three buddies, and experienced sex, drugs, and great Rock & Roll music at what came to be known as Woodstock.
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We West Point Whiskey Warriors gave it our best shot on the Bourbon Trail in Kentucky. By the numbers, there were fourteen of us ‘78ers, along with eight wives, from twelve states. We sampled at nine distilleries in four days, and had one helluva good time. Numbers of course don’t capture everything, or for that matter, much of anything.
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Live Life Exuberantly 