Once Upon a Mid-night Weary

 It was a sound that was felt, more than heard.

Like the faint hammering of fists on the oaken door of my soul.

I awoke from my death-like slumber to find a large long haired animal on the floor by my bedside, 

where my golden lab should be, and in the dim early morning light, the opening verse 

     to "The Jabberwocky" on my lips.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

It had been a Hellish night of pain and distorted dreams. 

Fit for writing by Poe, in his madness.

I listened for a repeat of the noise that had awakened me.

And found none.

I moved Bear out of the way with my feet and got out of bed. I stumbled my way on rubbery legs to the front door to let the dogs out. Upon opening the door I found it was raining and neither wanted outside.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

There was no sign of vehicle traffic in either driveway and no muddy footprints on the porch.

What was the sound that had disturbed my sleep? I listened for any rumblings of distant thunder and heard none. 

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

I made my way to the kitchen window and searched for any sign of what had raised me so early from my bed. 

Nothing......

And as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

Finally I sat before my computer and started to type.

One, two! One, two! and through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

The panic of the offending sound was gone.

Bear and Harley curled at my feet.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

He chortled in his joy.

Mayhap I shall return to my slumber after all....

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

P.S. - A big Thank You to the late Ms. Isbister, my 10th grade college prep. English teacher. 

           For her stellar performance in the reading of Lewis Carroll's famous poem, which caused me 

           to memorize the horrid thing.

Vampyre Bugs

I don't know what happened this year, but it has been the worst ever for mosquitoes.

We have literally been held captive in our house because of these blood sucking bugs.  When we venure out of the house to take care of the animals we must be covered with insect repellent from head to foot.  Not that it does much good, they just seem to laugh at us and bite anyway.

When we mow the lawn a cloud arises of these winged predators and follows us around the yard, sucking blood at every opportunity. For every gallon of gas I use, I lose about a pint of blood too.

I had to put up warning signs so visitors would be aware of our problem.

We have been battling these miniature vampires since the weather warmed up and the rains started. The woods that surround us are very swampy this year and our local Mosquito Abatement crews have been nowhere to be seen. I called last month to see how soon they would be roadside spraying and they said that they had no idea, but they were working overtime on the problem. They claim that the problem this year is that both the spring and summer varieties are hatching at the same time. 

All I know is that the stores cannot keep insecticides or repellents on the shelves, and no one has seen or heard the Mosquito Abatement trucks spraying. Personally I believe that they are afraid of being caught spraying with only the protection of their light pick-up trucks.

Tonight after taking care of the animals, I got fed up ducking and dodging the avian epidemic and took drastic measures.....

It may not be sporting, but it works.  This one didn't get blasted too badly.  But since I shot it, I can't figure out what to do with it, have it mounted or have it for dinner !!!

How High's the Water

It's been raining a little bit and the river has been raising. So when I headed to town yesterday I grabbed the camera to take a few photos.  Looking at all of that water reminded me of a song. Click on the video below so you can get on the same page as me.

Now that I've got you the right frame of mind, let's continue.


I've lived near the Cass River most of my life. Most of the time it's hardly big enough to call a river. With a depth in this area of about knee-deep in most places. With its slow pace and many rocky rapids, you can't even canoe much of it in the summer. About the only time it looks like a real river is during spring runoff or after a bad storm.

So we have this.....

instead of this.

And this.....

instead of this.

Now the next photo got me to remembering a tale about a couple of "young men" not long out of high school. It was about 40 years ago, and these two hooligans who thought they were so smart and fearless, decided to canoe the Cass after one of these storms. After a night of sucking suds, there hung over minds told them that since it stopped raining and turned into a beautiful day, that they should go canoeing. So they went down to the river to see what it looked like.

This was pretty much what they saw, only the water was even higher. The water was only about 3 feet below the bridge. So they went back and loaded a canoe up on one of their cars, and brought both of their cars back to the river, parked the one without the canoe by the bridge, and drove about 4 miles up river to launch the canoe.

Evidently these two idiots thought it would be great fun to get in a little white-water canoeing. However they neglected to take into consideration that the speed of the river turned their canoe into little more than the rest of the debris floating down the turbulent water. They had a very difficult time trying to avoid logs, limbs and other junk that was caught in the path of the onrush.

Some of what used to be curves of the river, now took them on a high-speed trip through the flooded woods, fending off trees and snags with their canoe paddles. Then they came up to what should have been a hairpin turn and all of a sudden ran aground. They had hit an underwater boulder that shouldn't have been there. The force of the water pushed half of the canoe up on the rock and they were stranded there. The water was so deep that they couldn't touch bottom with their paddles to work themselves off the rock. After a few attempts which almost capsized the canoe and spinning around on that rock like a compass needle, they finally managed to get loose, going backwards down the river.

Before they knew it, the bridge came in sight, along with the realization that the water had risen since they had last been there. Now there was only about a foot and a half separating the water from the bottom of the bridge. They paddled for all they were worth, but couldn't get out of the mainstream of the wild river. Quickly the bridge was upon them and all they could do was duck down in the bottom of the canoe and grab onto their life vests, (which of course they weren't wearing), and pray that they could make it under the bridge.

The bow and stern of the canoe scraped along the bottom of the bridge. The noise and darkness under the bridge seemed to last forever, but soon they shot out from underneath. They were able to get their canoe under control and finally break from the mainstream at the next curve of the river.

After they finally landed the canoe, and their knees stopped shaking, they had to walk back to get the car. They had made the whole trip in less than half an hour.

Word of their escapade got around town, and a lot of folks just didn't believe it. But I have seen the marks on the bottom of the bridge when I have waded underneath it fishing. What at first were two bright aluminum scrapes on the cement faded over the years to a dull grey.

It's been many years since I was under that bridge, I wonder if the marks are still there.


I know they are still on my canoe.