Saturday, December 19, 2009

It's About As Bad As I've Ever Seen It


When I bury them, I bury them. 

Fortunately, I have a neighbor with an even bigger tractor.  And a chain.

Oh, and just after this happened, our electricity went out.

What a fun day.

By the way, want to know the best way to measure snowfall?

Collect it on a tabletop!



Yup.  18".

- - -

We've gotten about a foot and a half of snow thus far here in Bland.  So we're pretty much stranded until further notice.  But we prepared and will be fine.

Chaos ensued elsewhere though.

I was driving down I-77 last night and the mess was about as bad as I've ever seen (and I drove Michigan roads for years).  The worst was in southern West Virginia where cars were off the highway by the dozens and trucks were jackknifed up and down the stretch from Princeton to the state line.

And not a plow in sight the whole journey.

I felt sorry for all those stranded motorists.

My SUV (all wheel drive) is now buried in snow at the bottom of my drive way after failing to make the climb when I got home.  I'll go to work plowing it out this morning.  Wish me luck.

- - -

I got a call from my boss this morning.  He's been stranded on I-77 (the West Virginia Turnpike) south of Beckley since early yesterday evening.  15 hours?  He tells me there are hundreds of people there with him on a stretch of highway where there are no exits, no restaurants, no hotels, no refuge.

Will the national guard be called in before people start dying?

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Here's To America's Veterans

Past ...


And present ...



And to their spouses, who have to put up with endless stretches of time during which their loved ones are off taking America's fight to its enemies so that those enemies don't bring it here.  Again.

Happy Veterans Day.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Teachin' 'em Young

Little Kaid Fuhrman getting a shooting lesson from his mom last Sunday:


He was hitting the target with his single-shot .22 in no time.

"Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day.  Teach a child to shoot and you won't have to worry about eating fish every stinking day the rest of your life."
-- Henry David Thoreau

I think it was Thoreau.  Or was it Leno ...

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Master Of His Domain


That's me with a maple tree on my property that has seen better days.  (It's still quite alive after losing a big chunk of itself a couple of years ago).

To think, this tree, which grows about twenty feet off of the old, long-ago-abandoned Raleigh Grayson Turnpike, was probably peed on by some yankee with the Union cavalry when they were riding by on their way to Wytheville to burn the train station there in 1864.

"Time is but the stream I go fishing in. I drink at it, but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. It's thin current slides away, but eternity remains.
-- Henry David Thoreau

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Ridiculous


I took this photo of some of my bookcases a few minutes ago while sitting here at my desk to make a point.

Actually to prove my bona fides.

Look closely and you'll see - along with bottles of the world's finest bourbons; Maker's Mark, Wild Turkey Rare Breed, Old Grand-Dad, Henry McKenna, even an unopened bottle of 1966 Kentucky Nectar, along with a bottle of Macallan scotch (which snuck in) - a few hundred books. Nearly all of which are devoted to one subject.

The Civil War.

I'm not just a collector. I have absorbed a thing or two over the years offered up by the world's leading authorities on the War Between the States. Including works by James M. McPherson, Bruce Catton, Douglas Southall Freeman, Harry Pfanz, Shelby Steele, Edwin Coddington, Stephen Sears, James I. Robertson, Stephen B. Oates, and William C. Davis. I also have books written by those most in the know: Ulysses S. Grant, Jubal Early, Phil Sheridan, William T. Sherman, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, and Abner Doubleday, to name a few. I also have a host of books of lesser-known figures from the war. Including a sizable number of regimental histories. An expert? I don't claim the title.

Knowledgeable? You bet.

So when I read something in the newspaper this morning about a Civil War battle that took place in this area, with all my reading, knowledge, and understanding, and I have no idea what battle the article is referring to, there's a problem somewhere.

But a "battle" it indeed cites:
Winds of change make battlefield center of fight
By Laurence Hammack, Roanoke Times

Camp Allegheny, W. VA. -- From an alpine meadow west of Allegheny Mountain, Richard Laska gazed at a pristine landscape that has changed very little since the day Confederate soldiers defended the ridge from an onslaught by Union troops.

"If wilderness is sacred, and if American history is sacred, then there's no doubt this place is doubly sacred," Laska said.

So when ground was broken last month for a row of 400-foot-tall wind turbines along the ridge that overlooks Camp Allegheny Battlefield, it didn't just dismay Laska and other nearby property owners who have been fighting the project for years.

It also prompted a state agency to raise new questions about the wind farm's effect on a historic Civil War battlefield. [link]
The Camp Allegheny Battlefield?

Hmm.

My SkeptoMeter just went to Level Orange.

Let's be clear. There was/were, by anyone's reasonable measure, one - maybe two, if you call Summersville, West Virginia part of the local area - battle(s) fought in this region in all the Civil War years. That would be the Battle of Cloyd's Mountain that took place up near Dublin in Pulaski County in 1864. The second having been fought at Carnifex Ferry in 1861 (some wouldn't even categorize that as a battle since "only" 250 casualties resulted; but there were armies/divisions involved - as opposed to companies, regiments, or brigades, so ...).

Camp Allegheny?

Here's how the Roanoke Times lays it out:
Winter had taken hold of Allegheny Mountain when, in December 1861, Confederate forces occupied the summit to protect the nearby Staunton-Parkersburg Pike.  
The stronghold was attacked by Union forces on Dec. 13. Fighting continued throughout the day before the Northern troops were eventually forced to retreat.
Of the nearly 300 soldiers killed, 146 were Confederates. Some were buried in gravesites that remain at the site, which is just across the Highland County line in West Virginia.
300 killed? 146 Confederates? That would give it more significance than Carnifex Ferry? Had I been missing something?

Well, terminology can be slippery. Just as the word "battle" can sometimes be tossed about with regard to what most historians might call a skirmish, so the word casualties can sometimes be ... misconstrued.

In truth, the Battle of Camp Allegheny resulted in there being 300 casualties. Not 300 killed. Including, yes, 146 Confederate. With 25 killed.

Note the fact that the word "casualties" included in its definition not just those killed in battle, but those wounded and missing (which generally included those who ran off - deserted - never to be seen again). In addition, many of those casualties continued to fight with only minor wounds. It's worth noting that Major General Don Carlos Buell was a "casualty" in the Battle of Perryville (Kentucky) in 1862 when he was thrown from his horse and injured.

So. I'd be careful how I bandied about words like "battle" and "killed."

Had the reporter only used the word "engagement" all would be well.

Although "Engagement at Camp Allegheny" sounds like a betrothal party, I suppose.
- - -
Here's partly why the action at Camp Allegheny in 1861 is given more prominence than it deserves. From the article:
"A wind farm within eyesight 'will likely have a negative impact' on the battlefield, which is listed on the National Register of Historic Places ..."

The wind farm won't even be on the "battlefield." It will be within eyesight. A criterion that automatically puts all of northern Virginia and most of central Virginia off limits to any kind of commercial construction, if adopted as law.
Please. Stop. You're "killing" me.
- - -
* No, Lead Mines, Marion, Saltville, Greenbrier River, Droop Mountain, Crockett's Cove, Wytheville, don't rise to the level.

Heaven On Earth

Here's a photo I took one afternoon recently off the back porch:

They barely acknowledged my presence. And moved on.

- - -

I just remembered ...

I had the opportunity the other day of rescuing a fawn from certain doom. I was working at the back of my property when I heard the distinct and prolonged bleat of a young deer. A distressful bleat (you live amongst them and you get to where you can understand the language). I walked about a hundred yards down the old turnpike to see what was going on but the screaming stopped. I figured the fawn had found its mother and all was well. I went back to work.

Then a neighbor drove up and told me that, sure enough, a young deer was caught in the farm fence down the road a bit.

So I hopped on my ATV and went to the rescue!

The fawn had tried to leap the fence (standard woven wire farm fence), had accidentally slipped a leg through the top wires and, when the little guy came down on the other side, had wrapped the wire around its lower leg. The fawn was hanging almost vertical when I got to him/her.

I had this happen once before down below my house. I pulled what was left of a carcass (after the buzzards got through with it) of a deer that had gotten entangled in the exact same way, but wasn't able to escape, and I disposed of the remains. I'll bet this sort of thing happens more than we would all imagine.

Anyway, I climbed the hillside to the fawn, wrestled with the tightly wrapped wire, and finally freed the deer.

It was disoriented (in fact it slammed into the fence upon release) and was hobbling. But it looked to be in good shape as it scampered off.

A good deed on my part. I saved a deer for the hunters to shoot next year.

Ah, life on the frontier.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

We Work Hard, We Play Hard

What? You weren't able to make it to the beach last week?

Toooooo baaaaad.

That's Chase, by the way, reeling in the line (at sunset). He caught a 16" shark the evening before this photo was taken. It was carefully released back into the ocean.

Photo taken at Topsail Island, North Carolina, August 20, 2009

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Trainin' 'Em Right

Here's how to teach the young ones to be self-reliant:

You don't put food on the table, you don't eat.

"Focus, you two! I'm getting hungry!"

- - -

By the way, the location of this trout stream here in the mountains of Southwest Virginia will forever remain a secret known but to God, some cows, and a whole mess of wildlife. And Jayla, Kaid, and me.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Daughter To The Rescue

Hello to all of the From On High readers! My Father, Jerry, has asked that I deliver a message to all of you. My Dad has had a weather related computer malfunction. When I noticed that he had not updated his blog today I immediately called thinking there must be a major crisis. He has called a tech to help get back online but it will be Monday or Tuesday before anyone can take a look at it.

He will be back in short order to continue posting on From On High. Until then, I will be taking over the blog to discuss fashion tips. Just kidding Dad!

Hopefully he will back online Monday... Until then, a tip of the hat from the coast of North Carolina.

Jodi Fuhrman

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Such Good-Looking Offspring

Why, who is this handsome young man?

It's none other than my firefighter son, Jarrod, in church.

And before anyone comments, yes, he gets his good looks from his father.

(Companion unknown)

Monday, July 06, 2009

Babe Alert!

Why, who is this beautiful young woman?
It's none other than my daughter, Jodi, celebrating her birthday with ... Kool Aid ... in hand.

That's what she told me it was anyway ...

Thursday, July 02, 2009

Ah, Nature

I've been meaning to post this.

You may recall a year ago I had told of an incident that had occurred when I untarped my pasture mower deck, expecting a snake to be underneath, found none, but unbeknownst to me was the fact that there had been one curled up in the folds of the tarp and, when I lifted it off the machine, the bugger fell at my feet.* I didn't realize he was there until I felt him slide along my leg.

An interesting feeling.

Well, this year I was ready. I took my camera with me when I went to uncover my mower. That's how sure I was that there was a snake lurking. There is always a snake lurking underneath the tarp (they're big on warmth and seclusion).

Here are some photos I took.

Tarp being slowly lifted, revealing something black curled up and happy:

A closer look reveals ...

I wanted my mower. He wanted it too. Thus the look I got when I tried to nudge him:

This last photo gives you an idea as to how long a black rat snake can get. This one is six feet, give or take. Next year I'll bring a tape measure.

I finally coaxed the little guy off the mower, only to have him slither underneath and go up and wrap himself around the blade.

So I took him for a ride. After about 75 yards of bouncing along, he plopped onto the ground and, when last seen, was heading south.

Beautiful little creatures, aren't they?

- - -

* Sorry about the awful sentence structure. I've only had 1 and 1/2 cups of coffee so far.

** Before you write, no, I don't wash and wax my mower.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

On Fathers Day

Passing the torch.
Grandfather. Father. Son.

Baseball.

As it should be.

Saturday, June 06, 2009

Seems Only Fair

Since I wrote rather disparagingly about a gaggle of liberal women the other day, it was suggested in an email that it was only fair if I let everyone know what I look like, so that they could return the favor.

Seems only right:

That's me, sitting in McDonald's Playland, contemplating thoughtfully of my next "From On High" post.

Either that or I'm waiting for my Big Mac.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

No Match For the Big Dogs

Cocked, locked, and ready to rock.
What you see above is what I used to call my "groundhog rifle." It's a .22-250 caliber Remington model 700 ADL bolt action rifle with a 12X Weaver scope and Harris bipod. I had removed the "iron" sights from the barrel because they were unnecessary for the kind of shooting I did back then. With this little hummer I could "drill nails," as they say.

On the right day, under the right conditions, and with a bit of luck, I was pretty good at hitting my target, even out to 200 to 250 yards. I could say that I was even a reasonable marksman with this rifle out to 400 yards, but I'd be stretching the truth. Shots that far out were more luck than anything else.

As any Marine sniper will tell you, putting the crosshairs on the target is a small part of achieving pinpoint accuracy. On long-distance shots, before one pulls the trigger, one needs to take into account such things as windage, elevation, and bullet weight (I used a 55 grain Remington bullet with standard factory loads) (the heavier the bullet, the more it drops).

Estimating windage (the amount of drift that occurs between the muzzle and point of impact as a direct result of air currents) comes with experience. Calculating elevation (or trajectory) doesn't have to. It's done for you. I used to carry a small sliding-scale chart that I used to figure how high I needed to aim based upon that bullet weight and the distance to the target. For example, if I was 250 yards away from the target, knowing that I had my rifle "sighted in" at 200 yards, I might calculate that I needed to aim 3 inches above the point of intended impact in order to hit that which I was aiming at. (The purist will say that barrel length makes an appreciable difference as well, and that's fine.)

All that said, I considered myself to be a pretty decent shot, in the day.

But I don't hold a candle to the big boys. The big "boys" being the men and women in the armed forces who are trained to do that which I did for fun and relaxation.

400 yards involved, for me, a whole lotta luck.

For them, it's little more than a stone's throw.

The record? In Afghanistan it stands at 2,657 yards. But we aren't talking groundhogs.

Imagine trying to hit a target a mile away - or more. How is it even possible?

I see that and I know I'm out of my league. I'll stick to throwing snowballs.

These guys rock.

* I'm told they are using .50 caliber rifles but I have no way of knowing that.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

True Story

A letter to the editor of the Roanoke Times about gays in the military reminded me of an incident that took place several years ago, when I was young and stupid. For having consumed great quantities of alcoholic refreshments at premium prices on a regular basis.

I was sitting at the bar one night in a dump outside Detroit with a couple of friends, where I'd been downing bourbon at a pretty steady clip (the night was warm, the bourbon on ice was cold, the rest is fond memory; fuzzy but fond).

At some point, after a few hours of fun and relaxation, I needed to urinate.

So off to the (really awful, disease-infested) restroom I went.

When I came back to the bar, I looked at the two guys sitting there and said, with eyes popping open,

"Hey, you're not going to believe what just happened in the men's room."

"What?" they asked in unison, with a certain amount of trepidation.

I said, "You know how, when you're standing at the urinal sometimes and there's someone at the next urinal beside you, you raise up on the balls of your feet and peek over the side to see how big his penis is?"

They stared.

"What?"

"You know what I'm talking about. When you're sometimes standing at the urinal and there's someone standing at the urinal next to you, you raise up on the balls of your feet and peek over the side to see how big his penis is. Don't tell me you guys never do that."

Silent disbelief.

"So I peeked over the rim of the urinal next to mine, where a black guy was taking a squirt, to see how big his penis was, and - to my total surprise - happened to notice it was tattooed."

"What?! You're making that up!"

"No. I swear, he had tattooed on his penis a woman's name."

"It said, 'WENDY.'"

"Wendy?"

"Yeah! The entire length of his penis!"

No."

"Yeah! So I asked this fella, who had dreadlocks going in all directions, 'Sorry to interrupt you at a time like this but I'm curious. I notice that you have the name WENDY tattooed on your penis. What's that all about?'"

And in my best Jamaican accent I tossed out the punchline:

"He looked at me rather oddly ... then replied, 'Oh, no, mon. That doesn't say Wendy. That's ...

... WELCOME TO JAMAICA. HAVE A NICE DAY.'"

They hit the floor.

I ordered another round.

True story. I don't make things up for the weblog. Ever. Well ...

Monday, February 09, 2009

An Announcement

It is with great pleasure that I announce the marriage of my favorite daughter, Jodi. Michael Kasprzyk, the lucky groom, is a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps, currently assigned to the general staff with the 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force, stationed at Camp Lejeune.

Wedding plans had to be abruptly altered recently as a result of his being ordered to Afghanistan on May 1. When he gets there, he will be in the Combined Security Transition Command, which involves itself in the training of Afghan forces. Michael specifically will be the Liaison Officer to ISAF, the International Security Assistance Force, which is run by NATO.

Paula and I are very proud of his accomplishments and of the work he does for our country, and admire his unwavering loyalty to duty, honor, and country.

We are also proud to welcome him into the family, and for putting up with my daugh ... uh, skip that.

We hope that Michael has a safe deployment to the war zone, knowing that, and being grateful that, in going there he makes this chaotic, strife-torn world a better place.

We also hope that he and Jodi have a long, rewarding, loving, sharing life together.

Our best wishes to the two of them.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

I Raise 'Em Right

Daughter Jodi sends a message: "Dad, this is what I want for my birthday."

Here she is aboard the U.S.S. North Carolina recently.

So where does a guy go to buy a 20mm anti-aircraft gun for his favorite daughter?

* Note: I'm not sure if the trash can in front of the weapon is a replica of an original or if the Navy was kind enough to provide waste receptacles like this for the North Carolina's sailors for their used Kleenexes after they blew their noses (between kamikaze attacks).