Tribute to Papaw Wood - Revisited (published 3-14-2013)

The Appalachian Irishman penned the following words exactly two years ago today. Thirty years have now passed, since Jesus took Papaw Wood home. Much has changed in those years. His dear wife, Granny Wood, passed in 1991. Their daughter, my mother, went to be with Jesus, so early and unexpectedly, in 2000. Their son-in-law, my father, joined them in 2008. Life has changed. Still the memory of Papaw ties a strong bond to the past, the present, and the future. Now, my purpose is to instill in my remaining family the family stories, the history, that still binds us today. I love you, Papaw!

----- From the Appalachian Irishman, 3/14/2011 -----

My Papaw Wood, my mother's father, passed away on this day, March 14, back in 1983. I'll never forget leaving Morristown-Hamblen Hospital, after sitting the night shift with him, thinking that Papaw was going to make it. Mom called me later to say that he had passed.

Papaw was a farmer, in his earlier years, in Indiana, where Mom was born. Later, he worked for Prater's Furniture, as a furniture mover, in Morristown, Tennessee. In his retirement, he worked part-time at a gas station, in Bean Station, Tennessee.

He and Granny had one of those all-too-rare marriages, in which Papaw courted Granny all his life. They always had that spark! Even in their later years together, Papaw would sneak up behind Granny, reach behind her ear, and say, "I stole some sugar!" Granny would pretend to be annoyed, but then she'd smile and say, "Oh, Aby!"

Papaw was married once, before he met Granny. The first marriage didn’t work out. Some time after the divorce, as he enjoyed telling it, he saw Granny walking down Main Street, in Morristown, and said, "There's the girl I'm going to marry!"

I used to spend a week during the summer with Granny and Papaw. I saw how they genuinely loved each other. Papaw taught me how to whittle, carve wood, tie rope, work in the garden, etc. He loved to tickle me until I couldn't breath! His mother's maiden name was Bare, and he'd give me a "big ol' Bare Hug," as he'd call it. Papaw loved to pull little pranks on Granny and other folks. I got some of my sense of humor from him.

For birthdays and holidays, we would either go to Granny and Papaw's, in Bean Station, or they would come to Rogersville. Well, they always came to Rogersville for Christmas Eve and spent the night. I used to love to listen to Papaw "tell his stories," about when he was younger. I just wish I could remember them all! I guess I received my appreciation for good conversation from him.

At the viewing, before the receiving of friends, Granny looked at Papaw’s body, lying in the coffin, and said, “He loved me so good.”

Papaw, thank you for being so good to me! You were the best Papaw I could have ever had!

“ELIMENTRY” LESSONS for the “GUVERMINT EDUKATED, SO$IALIST” FOLK (published 2-24-2013; updated 8-28-2022)

Introduction

8/28/2022 note: I updated for style only. I did not change one word! I added this sentence only, which I conclude now.

US Debt Clock is the link.

Pay attention. You may have difficulty thinking logically, with conclusions from facts, not feelings. Take a deep breath, clear the mush from your mind, and THINK!

Lessons

Lesson #1: On spending. (Source: “US Government Revenue: Government Revenue Details for 2012,” compiled by Christopher Chantrill.)

* 2012 federal tax revenue:   $2,627,500,000,000
* 2012 federal budget:           $3,728,700,000,000
* 2012 new debt:                   $1,101,200,000,000
* 2012 national debt:           $16,654,300,000,000
                                                (and still counting!)
* 2011 budget cuts:                    $38,500,000,000

Now, let's remove eight zeros and pretend it's a household budget:

* Annual family income:                               $26,275
* Money the family spent:                            $37,287
* New debt on the credit card:                     $11,012
          (29.5% of spending)
* Outstanding balance on the credit card: $166,543
* Total budget cuts so far:                                 $385

Got it? Now, do we have a spending problem in the home? Do we not also have a spending problem in the nation?

Lesson #2: On the debt ceiling.

You come home to find that the sewer backed up. Your home has sewage up to the ceiling. What should you do: Raise the ceiling, or remove the crap? Oh, this argument has one weakness: Crap is free, but when the federal government borrows and spends money that it does not have – that is not free!

Conclusion

By way of primer instruction in logic, these are arguments by analogy. (You may want to look up the term “analogy,” as you may not understand it.) The reasoning is sound. (Look up the formal, logical meaning of “sound.”)

Do you want “free” or “guvermint” subsidized healthcare, housing, and food? Do you want a guaranteed job, with guaranteed income, and guaranteed retirement income? Do you want our “grate nashun” to keep spending more than it takes in? If so, here’s your new “fed-derail” tax form:

Line One: How much did you earn last year?

Line Two: Send it in!

You know, the type of “so$ialist” state that we are becoming was tried in another country. That was the former Soviet Union. It fell in 1991.

SILENT FOR TOO LONG (published 2-3-2013; article #66)

The Appalachian Irishman has been silent for too long! (Well, I must admit that the almost three-month battle with the KYB virus had been a significant distraction. After seven trips to the doctor, four days of missed work, five antibiotics, two rounds of Prednisone, volumes of salt water flushed thru my nose, hot toddies, etc., maybe, just maybe, I’ll be completely well, and over this lingering cough, soon! Having been blessed with excellent health all my life, this is a first for me, to be sick this long.)

Nothing gets the ol’ Appalachian Irishman’s blood boiling faster than these namby-pamby, liberal, socialists who want to further their ever increasing and faster-paced agenda to change what was once a great, God-fearing nation into their “socialist utopia” of limited freedom and a super-sized “Big Brother is watching you” government. The opinions of those who do not toe the politically correct line will be silenced.

Until recently, I have resigned myself to sitting back to watch, with sarcastic glee, as our nation taxes and spends itself into oblivion. I gave up when “we the people” re-elected our socialist, Jimmy-Carter-on-steroids President. I stopped watching the news, and I just didn’t care anymore. “Let the country fall apart,” I thought. Maybe the phoenix will rise from the ashes.

Then, the socialists began pushing my buttons, on “gun control” and “homosexual rights.” My Irish dander went up several degrees. Dang it; enough is enough!

First, on “gun control,” as a true conservative knows, gun control involves careful aim to hit your target—nothing more. The socialists, however, want to stand on the coffins of those who were killed by a mentally unstable individual to restrict our freedom. Make no mistake—taking away, or greatly restricting, a true patriot’s access to fire arms is the real, hidden agenda of these socialists. The second amendment exists to secure the right of the people to stand against a tyrannical government. The socialists want to remove that freedom. They will do so by any means possible.

Notice how the legislative focus is on “gun control,” not on the degradation of society or on the mental state of the shooter. We need an overarching discussion on how big government policy and the welfare state have broken down the family, diminished the role of religion and morality in society, and led to a situation, in which school shootings occur. That, dear reader, is the true issue, which the socialists will avoid discussing at all cost. Oh, and the media arm of the socialist state will not even allow these points for open and honest discussion. Nope, they will focus on “gun control” only. Beware, the camel has his nose and hump under the tent. “Shoot” him quickly, before he gets in completely!

Then, the news came out that the Boy Scouts of America (BSA) may cave to the homosexual lobby pressure by allowing openly homosexual scouts and, even worse, scout leaders to join their organization. I was a Cub Scout and a Boy Scout in my youthful years. This news distressed me greatly. Homosexuals compose about three percent of the population. Their power in proportion to their numbers is frightening. History indicates that a small minority can render significant change, for good or evil, in a society.

I acquired the names of local BSA leaders, and thru them, learned how to communicate to the BSA national executive board. The local leaders, thankfully, are taking a stand against the national executive board. I have penned my two cents in their support and against the national executive board’s spineless considerations.

Moral absolutes are not changed by the whims of society. Murder, theft, lying, pre-marital sex, adultery, homosexuality, polygamy, bestiality, etc., are morally wrong—absolutely. This I can prove and defend easily, if anyone wishes to challenge me. People of good conscience must take a firm stand now; lest we, by our silent complacence, allow our moral and ethical standards to erode even further in this once proud nation. Otherwise, to speak against “homosexual rights” will be a crime worthy of some punishment. Churches beware! A sermon upholding marriage—which is, by definition, between one man and one woman—could be outlawed. Employers beware! Not hiring or offering benefits to “same sex partners or spouses” could enlist fines. We are already very far down the road. We must stand, hold the line, and turn the tide.

The thought enters the Appalachian Irishman’s mind that Big Brother may be monitoring the Internet for posts such as mine. The freedom to speak in opposition to the forces of political correctness may be the next to be lost. For now, I do have this little forum, but I’m watching my back!

What say you?

HAPPY 85th BIRTHDAY, DAD (published 9-17-2012; article #65)

Dad would have been 85 years old today. Happy Birthday, Dad!

Three of the four of us brothers gathered at "the home place" for a little while yesterday afternoon. I stopped by the gravesite on your and Mom's anniversary. It's a rainy Monday, and I'm here in Johnson City, alone, without my "little Georgie," due to work training. It's almost over, only eight more days. I feel empty, pensive, and sad.

When will the circle be unbroken? By and by, Lord, by and by. There’s a better home awaitin’, in the sky, Lord, in the sky. As a ten-year-old boy, I remember you and your brothers, my uncles, talking about that song, around Papaw Ferrell’s passing. For some reason, I remember standing in the front yard, at the ol’ Livesay place, near the big walnut tree by the garden entrance, with that song going through my mind.

You often kept your thoughts about your parents, after their deaths, just seven months apart, to yourself, rarely opening up to us. How did you feel, when you were my age now, after your parents were both gone? You never seemed to meet a stranger, and you could get that Irish dander up, but what about your pensive side? I knew it was there, but I respected your privacy.

Dad, I’d like to sit around the living room talking, after eating one of your good Sunday afternoon dinners, as we used to do, after Mom passed. Heck, I’d like to sit around at the home place, with you, Mom, both sets of grandparents, us four boys, and the next generation of young ‘uns. Wouldn’t that be something, for Granny and Papaw Wood and Granny and Papaw Ferrell to see the youngest generation?

For now, I’ll let that thought comfort me. I’ll reminisce. Maybe I’ll have my upbeat spunk back tomorrow. Until then, may God grant the whole Ferrell clan a wonderful, beyond imaginably joyful great reunion day, up there, where you, Mom, your all’s parents, and so many others are already “waiting,” celebrating already!

25th Anniversary Myrtle Beach Vacation! (published 8-23-2011)

Ah! Beach! Twenty-five years ago, newly married Mr. and Mrs. Appalachian Irishman spent their honeymoon at Myrtle Beach. Many things, in that resort city and in life, have changed. They beauty of the ocean, the reassuring repetition of the waves and tides, and Mr. and Mrs. Appalachian Irishman's love for each other have not.

Despite all the changes, of the last ten years or so in particular, Mrs. Appalachian Irishman's unconditional love suns Mr. Appalachian Irishman's heart and reassures him in waves.

Enjoy the photos!

August Dacha Time (published 8-4-2011)

Ah, August dacha time in Russia! When Mrs. Appalachian Irishman and I lived in Russia, August was the month, when it seemed as if half the population of Moscow fled the city to enjoy a month at their summer dachas. The time was spent relaxing, socializing, enjoying the countryside, and tending the potatoes, cabbage, beets, and other crops that would sustain the family during the winter. The electric train rides between Moscow and Klin were often standing room only, as travelers came and went with gardening supplies or harvested crops. The aroma of fresh soil, harvested crops, and, yes, human sweat filled the wagons. We had opportunities to “go to dacha” with friends or to vacation, going to St. Petersburg, Turkey, and Ireland.

Americans need to slow down, stop, and take “dacha time” more often. We rush from task to task, work too many hours, endure too much stress, and lose our life balance in the process. A year, five years, a decade go by, and, looking back, we wonder how we came to the point in life where we are now. We bury ourselves in the darkness of our lives, failing to realize that the light is all around us.

The Appalachian Irishman has wandered through a decade of darkness – searching for understanding, purpose, motivation, and meaning, having faced a faith and career challenge – since his godly mother suffered a yearlong illness and passed, so traumatically and so early in her life, immediately after he and his devoted wife returned from Russia. A recent series of events has enlightened the Appalachian Irishman, causing him to renew, refresh, and refocus his life. It is his “dacha time.”

My dear, precious, and lovely Mrs. Appalachian Irishman has patiently endured and stood by her man’s side, even when he did not want her to do so. Her unconditional love brought her husband back from the brink. Words cannot express the depth of love, respect, and appreciation that I have for her. Thank you, my dear, for your patient long-suffering. Our renewal enlightens my renewal. The clouds have parted, and the future is filled with sunshine.

The Appalachian Irishman will take his “dacha time” now. He will find his center and pursue it, in meaningful focus and direction. God’s grace is there, as it has always been. He has just been waiting on me to find it again. Hum, where do we go from here? I drop the reins and look forward to His guidance.

Tribute to Papaw Wood (published 3-14-2011)

My Papaw Wood, my mother's father, passed away on this day, March 14, back in 1983. I'll never forget leaving Morristown-Hamblen Hospital, after sitting the night shift with him, thinking that Papaw was going to make it. Mom called me later to say that he had passed.

Papaw was a farmer, in his earlier years, in Indiana, where Mom was born. Later, he worked for Prater's Furniture, as a furniture mover, in Morristown, Tennessee. In his retirement, he worked part-time at a gas station, in Bean Station, Tennessee.

He and Granny had one of those all-too-rare marriages, in which Papaw courted Granny all his life. They always had that spark! Even in their later years together, Papaw would sneak up behind Granny, reach behind her ear, and say, "I stole some sugar!" Granny would pretend to be annoyed, but then she'd smile and say, "Oh, Aby!"

Papaw was married once, before he met Granny. The first marriage didn’t work out. Some time after the divorce, as he enjoyed telling it, he saw Granny walking down Main Street, in Morristown, and said, "There's the girl I'm going to marry!"

I used to spend a week during the summer with Granny and Papaw. I saw how they genuinely loved each other. Papaw taught me how to whittle, carve wood, tie rope, work in the garden, etc. He loved to tickle me until I couldn't breath! His mother's maiden name was Bare, and he'd give me a "big ol' Bare Hug," as he'd call it. Papaw loved to pull little pranks on Granny and other folks. I got some of my sense of humor from him.

For birthdays and holidays, we would either go to Granny and Papaw's, in Bean Station, or they would come to Rogersville. Well, they always came to Rogersville for Christmas Eve and spent the night. I used to love to listen to Papaw "tell his stories," about when he was younger. I just wish I could remember them all! I guess I received my appreciation for good conversation from him.

At the viewing, before the receiving of friends, Granny looked at Papaw’s body, lying in the coffin, and said, “He loved me so good.”

Papaw, thank you for being so good to me! You were the best Papaw I could have ever had!

A Tribute to Bart (80th House Mt. Hike) (published 3-13-2011)

My cousin Bart died last night, unexpectedly, too early in life, after a sudden illness. My youngest brother called me this morning to tell me.

Bart was the only son of my uncle Roy and aunt Maxie. Uncle Roy was one of Dad’s brothers. Uncle Roy and aunt Maxie passed away years ago. Bart lived with uncle Bill, Dad’s oldest brother, and aunt Bobbie, until they both passed. A cousin took care of him for a few years. For about the last three years, cousin Bart lived in a nursing home in Morristown, Tennessee.

Bart was physically and mentally disabled, due to an early childhood illness. His right leg and arm were drawn, but he could walk fairly well with a shuffle. He didn’t seem to mind his limitations. Bart didn’t really think he had limitations, for he loved life, family, and friends. He was sharp-minded in his own way. Bart knew every state capital, and he loved to quiz you on it. If I didn’t get one right, Bart would smack his hands, laugh, and correct me. He could remember things from the past that many folks might forget.

Bart loved to cut up and joke. He was the life of many a family gathering. He loved to watch the old TV shows, Andy Griffith, Bonanza, and the like. He enjoyed calling people Barney, Goober, Floyd, Hoss, etc. I’d say to him, for instance, “Bart, you ol’ Gomer-lookin’ thing, you!” He would just shake his good fist, call me Barney or something, and laugh. We had a lot of fun with Bart. He was a rich soul.

After Mom died, Dad kept Bart at times, often for a few days, when my cousin, who plays in an Irish band, had to travel or do something else. Dad often took Bart down to the Burger Bar, a local Mom and Pop restaurant, where the “old folks,” and sometimes the young ones too, hang out. Bart always livened up the place. Bart was good therapy for Dad, and Dad was good therapy for Bart. I went up most every Sunday to see Dad, and I was glad to see Bart when he was there. The only problem was that Bart liked to sneak cookies! “Bart, did you get those cookies?” He would walk down the hall, look around, and just grin.

I took my 80^th hike up House Mountain this afternoon, in honor and memory of my “ol’ cuz” Bart. He is in a far better place, and I could imagine him looking down from much higher above and seeing the view that I saw from the ridge.

While Mom went through her year-long illness, which led to her passing, over ten years ago now, she dreamed that she saw cousin Bart in heaven, not disabled, whole in body and mind. Well, Bart, you ol’ cuz, you, I would like to see you where you are now! Tell Mom and Dad hello for me, and tell them I’ll be seeing them again one day!

Bart, these photos are for you, you ol' cuz! I will miss you!

Norris Dam Park 2/26/2011 (published 2-27-2011)

The Appalachian Irishman enjoyed another solo hike in Norris Dam Park yesterday, when the weather was sunny and crisp – unlike today’s rain, which left him bored, as a “women’s basketball widower,” unable to get into the woods.

The first two photos show the solitary trail that I selected. I didn’t meet a soul. My reliable ’95 Nissan pickup, with almost 160 thousand miles on him, was the only vehicle in sight. (As a side note, I met a most interesting Bulgarian gentleman on a House Mountain hike in early January. He and I hike together occasionally now. Of course, I enjoy hiking alone, at times, to clear my mind, but I am always eager to meet interesting people to join my little Appalachian Irishman hiking club!)

The next eight photos show the beauty of the upper reservoir. The water was clean and blue, and the sky was a clear blue. In one photo, you can see the dam to the south.

The next two photos are of the dam itself. Norris Dam Park and the nearby Norris Watershed offer an abundance of trails for backwoods camping, hiking, horseback riding, and biking. A couple of campgrounds and a cabin area are available. Of course, fishing and boating opportunities abound. Yes, I know, I sound like a commercial!

Ah, now, let’s get to the last photo, and the point that the trail emphasized in my mind – a point that I already knew. The Marine Railway Loop trail started out well, with the great views of the lake above. After trekking a while, however, the trail became boring. So, in typical free spirit, adventurer style, the Appalachian Irishman set out to make his own trail! Exploring around, I crossed over two trails and decided to follow one. That trail led me to within about 100 yards north of my truck.

Life lesson: When you are bored or frustrated with one path, get off that trail and blaze a new one! You will come out about where you thought you would! Nature is a good teacher, or reminder, if you listen.

New Year's Eve Shooting! (published 1-1-2011)

The Appalachian Irishman was involved in a shooting on New Year’s Eve, up in his native Hawkins County! Wait! Don’t start gathering that bail money!

His youngest brother and he finally got together to release a little stress, by killing a few hanging targets. Here are the “taking down the bad guy” poses of my brother and me.

We started by firing a few rounds with Dad’s old 32-caliber pistol. We need to do a little work on the weapon, to restore it to proper condition, but it still shoots! Next, we shot my brother’s 9mm handgun. This photo shows my hits, from about 15 yards away. The black tape marks where I fired Dad’s pistol. The holes mark the 9mm impacts. Not too bad for my first time firing a 9mm, huh?

The fun started when we switched to the 12-gauge shotgun! I hadn’t fired a shotgun in many years, but it came back to me instantly. Here’s the results!

I needed some stress and frustration relief! Thanks, brother! We’ll do this again soon!

Ten Years Ago Today (published 12-27-2010)

Ten years ago today, at 5:15 PM, Mom went to be with Jesus. She was the best mother that I could have ever had. Taken at only 68 years old, Mom could still be alive today, touching the lives of family and friends in her unique way. Mom’s absence has been felt strongly these past ten years.

Mom, I miss you, but I know that you are in a far better place. Tell everyone, Granny, Papaw, Uncle Bobby, Dad, and so many others, that I will see them someday. Life goes on here, until we are all reunited there.

I love you, Mom, bunches and bunches!

See Happy Birthday, Mom (published 11-24-2009).

House Mountain #75 on 12-26-2010 (published 12-26-2010)

Hike number 75! The Appalachian Irishman is three-fourths of the way toward requesting that House Mountain be renamed after him!

The date is Sunday, December 26, 2010. I love it when a good snow falls on the weekend! Temperature – mid to upper 20’s. Attire – long sleeve T-shirt, sweatshirt, long sleeve shirt, flannel insulated shirt, old patched up blue jeans, rugged hiking boots, quart canteen, trusty camera, old baseball cap. Heck, no! I didn’t wear gloves! It wasn’t cold enough!

The first three photos are taken along the west trail, near the west bluff. I’ve passed this tree trunk that grew out of this rock formation many times. That tree, once alive, now dead, teaches me defiance and survival against the odds!

The next three shots are from the west bluff. A strong, cold wind was blowing snow in from the north. I put my top layer back on and stayed a while. The camera doesn’t capture the view that the eye will always remember! Yes, that’s Leak Rock! Yes, I did! Of course, as I headed east along the ridge, I had to write (with my finger) “Appalachian Irishman” in the snow on a large, smooth rock! Advertising is everything!

The first of these next two is a communications building that is located about half way along the ridge. Could someone give me a job running the equipment? The next shot is what is left of an old two-seater outhouse, which has been hit with buckshot several times over the years. It leans near the base of where the old fire tower used to stand. Remember, the purpose of a two-seater outhouse is so you can encourage each other!

These next three photos are taken along the ridge toward the east bluff and at the east bluff. The snow draped the mountain and the trees in brilliant white. The cold north wind blew snow from the laden trees onto the ground – and down my back. The old oak tree has stood proudly many years.

The final four shots are from the two north bluffs. One, where the flag stands, is just east and higher than the other. I have not taken before a shot of the small cave opening, near the lower northern bluff. Looks like a good place to take shelter!

Hum! The Appalachian Irishman wishes he could hike, camp, photograph, and write for a living! Thank you, House Mountain. I needed some exercise and some time to think alone. I’ll see you again, but for tomorrow, it’s back to the old grindstone.