Nature splashed a barrel of crimson on this tree bouquet in neighbor Norrie and Jan’s pasture;

--a sparkling celebration of this visually poignant season, yet

--as the skeletal branches remind us, life soon will be frozen still

--until Spring’s cycle of renewal.

THE PRAIRIE PEDDLER--
An annual artsy-craftsy show

After 40 minutes of stop and go traffic for 2 miles Saturday as we drove toward this annual event in the weeds near Butler we encountered

another 30 minute delay while we stood in line to pay for our $6 admission tickets

which allowed us to join a a noisy, stepping-on-your-heels, crowd trying to travel every which direction--all at once--for the privilege of paying top dollar prices for mostly seasonal, trinkets.

As it turned out, a miles-long traffice jam and a caterpillar-paced ticket line wasn't the only place folks had to endure delays that day.

With a grateful nod to the true artists in residence at this event, Fogeyisms would prefer another jaunt somewhere on the Appalachian Trail--anywhere.  

NATURE FLAUNTS HER OHIO PALLET

While Jack Frost continues to snooze

A PROFILE IN DETERMINATION--

Her heart was larger than her body that weekend.

Jane Matz is one of our group of ten square dancing friends who spent a recent weekend hiking segments of the Appalachian Trail.

She is a large woman and I was concerned for her comfort as we struggled with three challenging climbs on that outing; the first across the Shenandoah River from Harpers Ferry where we found parking up on Chapel Hill Rd.

The AT crosses there then ascends to a ridge line on the border of West Virginia and Virginia.

Our parking area was at 630 feet above sea level and the ridge peak was near the 1170 foot elevation giving us a hefty climb of 540 feet over a distance of likely less than an often switch-backed mile.

We were confronted with heavily forested and rocky terrain as we climbed toward a rising sun which was pushing up the opposite side of the steep ascent.

We soon left she and husband Russ behind as we headed toward the summit where we would set foot in our second state of the morning—Virginia. They smiled as we left them and told us they would rest a bit and enjoy some bird watching.

We stopped and rested often too as the steep grade penalized our aging bodies.

As we reached our summit then headed back I was pleasantly astonished when we encountered Russ and Jane slowly finishing their climb surprisingly close to us.

They were still smiling quietly as they usually do.

We had a similar experience the following day when we climbed out of the Caledonia State Park in Pennsylvania near Gettysburg.

That climb left a parking area at 940 feet and peaked somewhere near 1520 feet.

We were not concerned so much with elevations as we were with experiencing a meaningful length hike on the AT in each of the four states.

Again, we left them with their smiling blessing—only to, once again, encounter them close behind us when we reversed our course.

Our third heart-pounding climb happened right in Harpers Ferry where the AT passes into town from Maryland to the north then ascends a challenging set of worn, colonial period, stone steps up toward Jefferson’s Rock and past the Harper Cemetery where General Phil Sheridan had his headquarters during the Civil War.

I tip my hat to Russ for his quiet chivalry and want to shout my congratulations to Jane for being the kind of lady you would want to have close by when life hurls you one of its challenges.

The general would have been proud of her too.

OSU 10, Michigan 2--

Ten of us mildly geriatric, square dancing friends recently spent a weekend hiking segments of the Appalachian Trail in West Virginia, Maryland, Virginia and Pennsylvania.

On our first morning’s ascent out of the Shenandoah River valley near Harpers Ferry our robust platoon of hikers encountered a young couple coming the opposite direction.

Some of us were resplendent in OSU colors. The young couple was mildly restrained and we soon found out why.

They were from Michigan and hailed from a school somewhere up there near Ann Arbor.

As we stood there mostly surrounding them I sensed we might break out in the Buckeye fight song at any moment.

Turns out we, realizing our superior strength in numbers, set a tone of gentle civility and told them the truth on the hiking conditions we had just conquered and they were about to encounter.

And, so began our marvelous weekend. Please stop by over the next week or so as Fogeyisms tells the rest of that story.

Our slightly bewildered friends are on the left in the photo as we alternate discussions between hiking and rivalry. We parted, smiling peacefully. The tiny piece of red behind the Michigan fellow belongs to Nancy Meinzer’s OSU ball cap. That’s yours truly with back to the camera, Sue Brooks with the yellow jacket tied around her waist, Mark Meinzer with his OSU ball cap, Rosa Hatfield mostly hidden behind Mark, Dick Hatfield and Roberta Karger on the far right.  Out of view are Russ and Jane Matz.
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Photo by Don Karger—with a tip of my hat, of course.

OUR ELECTRIC COMPANY

and it's "air force"

I heard the jarring thump of a large helicopter’s blades pounding the air.

But, something was not right. Its machinery sounded like it was in serious need of lubrication.

I grabbed my camera and searched the sky through the canopy of trees surrounding my home and discovered what looked like an avian escapee from Jurassic Park trying to devour a slice of my east woods.

It was a helicopter all right—but it had a stinger-like appendage dangling from its belly containing a silhouette of black balls that were chomping branches of my 90 foot pine trees into woodsy debris.

Turns out AEP, the local electric company, was using this aerial gizmo and clearing the power line easements that previous, ground-bound crews were unable to reach during recent years of similar effort.

His stinger was a long, skinny shaft that suspended a small engine that spun saw blades some 2 feet in diameter stacked along the lower end of its vertical boom.

The helicopter pilot put on a dazzling display of airmanship. He jockeyed his machine like a yo-yo; the shaft swinging gently back and forth as he exploded branches protruding toward the power lines.

He slowly adjusted his altitude to accommodate the hilly terrain and the height of the trees.

I wasn’t surprised my power was out but I never saw any damage to local lines.

I learned later a line crew worked the same area as the helicopter; standing by to make hasty repairs to any damage that resulted.  Maybe they had the power turned off as a safety precaution.

In an article in the Roanoke (VA) Times on the same day of my experience their power company said one helicopter can accomplish as much as eight to10 ground crews. They went on to explain it costs about $35 per tree to prune a power line’s path with the crews but only $10 per tree with a helicopter and its solitary—but highly skilled pilot.

The aerial apparatus of these airborne lumberjacks can cut through 16 inches of tree and bark with ease according to the news story.

In my neighborhood we have a recurrent history of power outages, so, I certainly applaud this skilful pilot and his employers for their dazzling effort.

Nancy Meinzer (left) and lady friend Sue Brooks enjoy the display of a replica of the Wright Brother’s first airplane in the “Early Years” section of the air force museum. Shown in the smaller photo, lower right is The B-29 bomber “Bockscar” and the replica atomic bomb “Fat Boy” it dropped on Nagasaki Japan to end World War II in 1945.


THE US AIR FORCE MUSEUM
Wright Patterson AFB--Dayton

As I wandered through the museum that day I was compelled to ponder it was just 66 years from the Wright Brother’s first flight (1903) to Neil Armstrong and man’s first walk on the moon (1969).

On that 1903 day Wilbur Wright flew about 112 feet. The distance to the moon is approximately 238,000 miles.

The museum, located at Dayton’s Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, is the world’s oldest and largest military aviation museum and contains more than 17 acres of indoor exhibit space in three, hangar-style buildings. It has more than 1,000,000 visitors per year.

There is a separate hangar containing the museum’s collection of Presidential aircraft including the Air Force One that returned President John F. Kennedy’s body from Texas to Washington DC. It, too, is open to the public.

Pictured in the next smaller photo is a 1955 Aero Commander, the smallest ever Air Force One and used by President Dwight Eisenhower for personal transportation. That airplane is very similar to the 500S Shrike Aero Commander I flew for the Shiloh Corporation in the late 1970s. Imagine how that discovery rattled my memories.

Nancy also had a fond recollection of a childhood visit to the museum and a photo of her late father with a WWII era bomber named “Strawberry Bitch”. That airplane is still there.

We quietly pondered the Holocaust section which memorialized the victims and survivors of the Nazi WWII concentration camps—including captured American airmen.

We wished we had more time to reflect on the personal stories for which air force personnel had been awarded the Medal of Honor—our nation’s highest award for conduct above and beyond the call of duty.

Overall it was painful to contemplate the fact the majority of exhibits, naturally, involved the machinery of war.

But, that is a proclivity of the human experience and this museum treats it with a palpable, scholarly respect.

Open year-round, daily, 9 to 5 and free.

The silver airplane on the right above is a North American 047B and has been on display since 1978 after it was restored by members of Mansfield’s Air National Guard Maintenance Squadron. The airplane standing on its nose in the center of the picture depicts a flight training accident.
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http://www.nationalmuseum.af.mil/