Heading Into Fall

It’s starting to get fallish around here. We had two mornings when the temperature was in the upper 40s, though by mid-afternoon the temperature rose to the upper 70s. The corn has been harvested, and the stalks are standing tall and dry in the fields. Everywhere you look you see the remnants of old summer gardens. The leaves on the on the sourwood and sassafras trees are beginning to turn colors. These trees are the first true harbingers of autumn. The leaves on the oaks and maples are a dark green, and they are dry and brittle like an old person’s skin. I never noticed that before, but there are a lot of things about nature that I never noticed until I moved here.

I can’t say that I am looking forward to winter, particularly if it is as cold as last year’s. Unfortunately, that’s the prediction from all sources. So say the weather scientists, the ancient sages of Fannin County and last but not least, the Old Farmer’s Almanac. People in these parts use the almanac, and some swear by it. It’s sold at the Farmers’ Coop and at Quinn’s Nursery, the place where I get many of the vegetable sets I plant in the garden. I’m not a believer yet, but I intend to keep my copy on hand and see how reliable it is.

Even if the predictions are true and this winter does rival last winter for cold, I’m hoping I’ll have enough projects to keep me busy. That was the problem last winter. It was too cold to work outside or in the workshop, and I ran out of things to occupy me inside, so I developed cabin fever. This year I’m more involved in the community. Hopefully that means that I will have more things to do this winter. I’ll probably end up writing a year’s worth of guest columns for the local paper. Maybe I’ll start that great American novel that I’ve always wanted to write. If it gets too bad, then maybe it’s time for that month long trip to New Zealand that I’ve always wanted to take.

I have added another activity to my plate. There are a couple of guys in the church that I attend who play the banjo and guitar. They’ve started to get together to practice a few songs for the church’s annual Christmas Bazaar. When they learned that I play the bass they invited me to sit in. Now I’m trying to figure out bass lines for songs like Silent Night, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and Winter Wonderland. It’s a little challenging to say the least. I’ve grown to hate the song Jingle Bells.

Last year at this time I was commenting on the squirrels around here. Not only were they abundant, but they displayed such crazy behavior that I came up with the theory that they were zombie squirrels. The most bizarre behavior was how they reacted to cars when they were in the middle of the road. Unlike the squirrels in Florida, these squirrels did not panic when approached by a car; they just went about their business like they were on quaaludes.

This year I have not seen near as many squirrels as last year. One explanation I’ve heard is that it has to do with acorns. Apparently oak trees, like many other nut-bearing trees, tend to produce abundant nuts every other year. The theory is that this year acorns are abundant and so the squirrels are staying in the forest where the food is. Last year was a bad year for acorns, so the squirrels had to leave the forest and forage over a wider range; hence they were more noticeable.

The theory makes sense, but I’m not one hundred percent convinced. It’s true that acorns are abundant this year, but I don’t think the relative scarcity of acorns last year explains why a squirrel was seen swimming in the middle of Lake Blue Ridge last fall. I think my zombie theory explains the facts as well as the acorn theory. Human zombies eat humans, so it makes sense that zombie squirrels eat squirrels. My thought is that last year all the zombie squirrels ate all the normal squirrels which means that this year there are no normal squirrels left for the zombie squirrels to eat. As a result the zombie squirrels have left the area in search of normal squirrels to feast on. This would account for why I have seen so few squirrels this fall―the normal squirrels have been eaten and the zombie squirrels have left. Logically, then, it follows that that if you live in an area where there are a lot of squirrels, you need to keep your eyes open for an invasion of zombie squirrels. Watch out, Florida.

One thing is constant―the squirrels remaining around here still do not know how to react when a car comes up on them when they are in the middle of the road. The other day I drove up on one. Instead on going left or right to get out of my way, this squirrel proceeded to run down the road in front of me for a couple of hundred feet. This pissed me off since a squirrel’s top speed is about five miles an hour and I was anxious to get home, so I’m following the squirrel down the road with my head out the window shouting, “Swerve, you fucker, swerve.” Though I have been trying to cultivate a calm and passive disposition in retirement, it’s tough sometimes. This may have been this first time that road rage was produced by a slow speed squirrel. Fortunately I had enough sense not to pull my pistol from the glove compartment.

Switching gears, my fall garden is doing well. I’m growing cabbage, collards, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, swizz chard, kale, turnips, lettuce and beets. Last night we ate some of the first beets. I feel like I’m turning into a herbivore. The next thing you know I’ll be into high colonics and tofu.

Well, that’s it from the hinterland. It must be close to nap time. 

More on Fannin County Roads

In my last post I urged that Fannin County create a Department of Appropriate Road Names (DARN) to rid the county of roads with silly names that are inconsistent with the history, traditions and culture of Southern Appalachia. The ultimate object is to have all roads in Fannin County sound like they were named by an early settler.

Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart once said that even though he had difficulty describing pornography, he recognized it when he saw it. The same is probably true about unacceptable road names. Difficult as it may be, DARN needs some guidelines to assist it in distinguishing good names from bad. Though I have not prepared a complete set of rules, I suggested two general principles from which it may be possible to derive some rules. The first principle is that a road name cannot be cute, silly or sappy. The second principle is that a road name has to sound genuine like it was given by an early settler of the county. A review of the names of some roads in Fannin County will illustrate these rules in action.

Calling a road a trail seems to be popular in Fannin County. Trail is one of those iffy alternate words for a road. A trail connotes a winding, narrow, primitive path through the wilderness. It seems strange, therefore, to call a road a trail. A road should only be called a trail if it once was a true trail. While it is true that Indians, trappers, frontiersman and pioneers followed trails, all too often roads that are called trails are given names that just don’t fit.

There is an Alamo Trail in Fannin County. The Alamo belongs in Texas, not Fannin County. The same reasoning applies to Cheyenne Trail, Lodge Pole Trail, and Hiawatha Trail. The Cheyenne lived about 1,500 miles west of here. Lodge Pole Pines grow on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains and were used by the Plains Indians to make teepees. I’m pretty certain the Cherokee around here did not live in teepees. Hiawatha was an Iroquois I think. He certainly wasn’t a Cherokee.

The cuteness rule eliminates Bear Cub Trail, Fawn Trail, Snowbird Trail and Hillbilly Trail. The first thing that pops into my mind when I hear about Dancing Leaves Trail, Dancing Sun Trail and Dancing Tree Trail is a Walt Disney animation set to music. Sunset Trail sounds like a euphemism for old age (“He could look back on a full life as he set out down the sunset trail”). Then there is Oakawana Trail. What the hell is an oakawana? Water Garden Trail—I’m pretty sure that the last thing on an early settler’s mind was a water garden with lily pads and giant goldfish.

Fannin County has quite a few lanes. Any road called a lane is automatically suspect. In fact, it might be better just to ban lanes altogether. Lovers and men who aspire to be poets stroll down lanes; rugged pioneer men and women cut roads through the wilderness. There is simply too much temptation to get cute when naming a lane.

Take Adventure Lane. It sounds like it came from a high school motivational pamphlet (“You are about to take a drive down the Adventure Lane of life”). There are lanes called Harmony, Honey Bear, Honey Do, June Bug, Lucky, Short, Mystic, Icy, Idle, That, The Other, Victory, Free, Comfort, Tranquil, Quiet, Treehouse, Common, Contrast and Clear in Fannin County. They are way too cute or clever to remain. Cadillac Lane—the car had not been invented in the 1840s. Tennis Court Lane—Pioneers didn’t play tennis. Niceville Lane—no Superman references. Trotalot Lane—sounds like it was named by a man with a gastrointestinal disorder. Dogpatch and Dew Drop Lanes—are you kidding me?

There are several roads called ways around here. Calling a road a way is an invitation to cuteness. Breese Way, Leisure Way, and Porch Swing Way have got to go. Cheyenne Way has the wrong tribe in the wrong location. Tombstone Way is too grim.

There are a number of roads that have is no designation to indicate whether they are roads, streets, paths, lanes or whatever. Among them are Cabbage Patch, Dream Catcher, Evening Shadows, Beaver, Misty Hollow and Left Turn. Regardless of what you call them, those names are way too cute and need to be changed. Two others, Manna and Lord’s View, are okay under the general rule that these are biblical or religious references, and it is never a good idea to mess with Providence.

Other roads that fail the tests are Peyton’s Place, Steel Can Ally, Canary’s Nest, Chat A While Road, Critter Cove, Ghost Pony Road, Havanogotta Road, Mile High Drive, ZZZ Road, Cowboy Way, Cops Road and Hillbilly Trail. Hopefully, by now you should understand why these road names are inappropriate.

Finally, there are a lot of roads with names that are close calls on the appropriate/inappropriate scale. These will certainly be a challenge for DARN. I’m not sure whether the rule should be that a road name stays or it goes in the event of a close call. For absolute purity’s sake, the rule should be that a road is presumed guilty until proven innocent. Some of the road names that are borderline are as follows: Abbey Road, Bucking Horse Trail, Broken Arrow Way, Cloudland Trace, Last Resort Pass, Bear Foot Drive, Cranberry Drive, Fairy Cross lane, Kennebec Drive, Knight’s Landing, Raccoon Trail, Ruby Lane, Sea Creek Road and Wehunt Road.

Well, there you have it—my proposal for eliminating road names that simply do not belong in Fannin County. I think it’s a good idea. My next idea is even more brilliant. Once the county develops a list of discarded names, I intend to ship them off to Florida where I’m pretty certain they’ll be put to use.

A Road by Any Other Name

Some time ago I wrote a post about my fascination with place names and road names, and I talked about some of the interesting names in this area. After further thought, I have come to the conclusion that something needs to be done about the names of some of the roads in Fannin County.

There are roads in this county with embarrassing names like Wunder Bear Ridge, Tee Pee Trail, Papa Bear Path, and The Forest Has Eyes Road. Names like these are inconsistent with the Southern Appalachian history, tradition and culture of this area. They sound like they were named by a sixteen year-old Valley Girl or a city-born wussy who was raised on Sesame Street and Barney the Friendly Dinosaur. You just know that the persons who named these roads were Yankees at heart.

Wunder Bear Ridge, Tee Pee Trail and Papa Bear Path are names that you find at Frontier Land or Dollywood or Wallyworld. They are not names that belong in an area where stout pioneer men and women braved countless privations to wrest a life from the primeval wilderness. (Yeah, I know that’s not exactly how it happened around here. What really happened is that the white man stole it from the Cherokees after they had wrested it from the wilderness, but you get my point. As Joseph Goebbels, the brilliant Nazi propagandist once said, never let the truth get in the way of your point.)

Imagine having to tell someone that you live on Papa Bear Path. The response is probably going to be, “Yeah, and who’s your neighbor—Little Red Riding Hood?” Mr. Greenjeans, Little Miss Muffet and Richard Simmons live on roads with names like Papa Bear Path.

Only a deeply disturbed person would name a road The Forrest Has Eyes Road. Talk about paranoia. Whoever named that road watched too many horror flics and needs a lengthy session with Dr. Phil. Why make your nightmare our nightmare? The next thing you know we’ll have Jack the Ripper Road, Freddy Krueger Drive and Texas Chainsaw Massacre Way here in Fannin County.

And then there is Elvis Presley Boulevard. It’s wrong at multiple levels. It can be stated categorically that there is not one road in Fannin County that deserves to be called a boulevard or, for that matter, an avenue. Moreover, boulevard and avenue sound French to me, and who wants that? Finally, while I am a great admirer of the musical legacy of Elvis Presley, his name does not belong on a road in Fannin County. He’s too modern, and he was never here. A tourist is going to know right away that Elvis Presley Boulevard was not named by one of the early pioneers to these parts. If we allow a road name like that, then we better be prepared for Englebert Humperdink Highway and Tiny Tim Terrace.

So what can be done about silly road names that detract from our heritage? I propose that the county create a new division called the Division of Appropriate Road Names. That’s DARN for short. DARN would be charged with the task of renaming existing roads which have been determined to have inappropriate names and vetoing any proposed road names that are inappropriate.

To prevent DARN from being accused of acting arbitrarily, it would have to adhere to definitive rules in deciding whether a name is appropriate or not. I have given this a lot of thought, and even though I have yet to formulate a complete set of rules, I do have some suggestions.

I think rule number one has to be that a road or street name cannot be cute. Unfortunately, this means that women and wimps cannot serve on the DART committee. Not to be sexist, but only women and male cheerleaders consider it acceptable for something to be described as cute. A manly man hates cuteness. In fact, the word is almost absent from a real man’s vocabulary. There are rare occasions when a man’s man will use the word, but this is only when he is at a loss for another word in a situation when the truth might be a little harsh. For example, show a real man an ugly baby, and he might describe the kid as cute to avoid saying something like, “Holy crap! What did you beat that kid with—an ugly stick?” Because of the tendency of women and wimps to find cuteness acceptable, DARN will have to be staffed exclusively by cranky old farts.

There needs to be a whole set of rules to determine if a road name is regionally and historically appropriate. For instance, a road name may include a person’s name only if the name sounds like it could have belonged to an original settler of the county. That effectively limits the list of acceptable names to those that are English, Scotch, Irish or German in origin. If you want to name your road La’Kisha Drive, Giuseppe Street, or Rodriquez Road you’re out of luck. Native American names are okay as long as they do not run afoul of rule number one. There is a road in Fannin County called Bear Walks Medicine Path. While it may be argued that the name is historically appropriate, it fails because it’s cute.

Of course, you need a rule that a road name must sound like it was named before 1875. So, for instance, Hoop Skirt Road might be acceptable, but Wonderlift Bra Road would not be.

There are certain words that are preemptively acceptable if used in a road name. Some of these are old, farm, church, creek, mill, gap, hollow, ridge, forge, grove, shady, pleasant, hill, branch, springs, pond and hickory. If you were to name your road Old Hickory Branch Church Gap Road, you would probably win a prize from the Fannin County Historical Society. Of course, when you pair any of these acceptable words with other words you could end up with an unacceptable road name like Hickory Dickory Dock Road, Old Bed Springs Road or Chia Pet Farm Road.

While we are on the subject, I think there should be a rule that roads must be called roads or streets. Avenues, circles, ways, courts, drives and boulevards are not allowed. I’m still up in the air about whether to allow paths, lanes, traces and trails. At the very least they are suspect and will be scrutinized closely. Roads that are paths, lanes, traces and trails tend to be cute and violate rule number one. For example, Fannin County has roads named Memory Lane, June Bug Lane, Dew Drop Lane and Dog Patch Lane. These names are too cute and have to go.

This is far from a complete list of the rules that must exist before DARN can do its work. Even though it may take several months to come up with a complete list of rules, I intend to persevere so that Fannin County can rid itself of silly, inappropriate road names. 

I'm Talking About Old School

I let myself get talked into proofreading and editing a new book by the Fannin County Historical Foundation on the history of schools in Fannin County. What a job that’s been.

There have been 144 schools in Fannin County’s close to 200 year history. In 1926 alone there were 46 schools. The idea was that no student should have to walk more than two and a half miles to school in the days before busing, paved roads and student drivers. That meant that every little hill and dale had its own school.

Imagine a student having to walk two and half miles to school today. There would be an outcry that the school system was subjecting the student to cruel and unusual punishment. Sadly, in this sicko world that we live in today, making a kid walk to school is probably exposing the kid to all sorts of dangers from perverts to drive-by shootings. Based on what I saw when my kids were in school, most kids today would benefit from walking four or five miles a day. There would be a lot less fat ass kids.

Most of the schoolhouses were one- and two-teacher schools teaching all grades in a one-room building. Heat came from a wood stove, and water was carried from a near-by spring. Some of the schools did not get electricity until the 1950s. Remember that Fannin County is part of southern Appalachia, the land that time forgot until the TVA and rural electrification.

Many of the reminiscences contained in the book tell about how it was the older students’ responsibility to keep a school’s woodstove supplied with firewood. Once a week the teacher would hand an axe to a couple of the older boys and tell them to cut more firewood. If a teacher handed an axe to a student today the teacher would be fired, arrested and sent for psychological counseling for anti-social behavior. I can’t help but think that it would send a good message about life to students today they had to chop wood to stay warm in class.

A number of the accounts talked about the games that kids would play during recess. It seems that mumbly-peg was a favorite of the boys. For those of you who have no clue, mumbly-peg is a game played with a pocket knife. Back in the day a pocket knife was a prized possession for a young boy. If a kid got caught with a pocket knife in school today, the police would be called and he’d be suspended in nanoseconds. In fact, you can make an argument that just about the only thing that a modern school system does efficiently these days is punish student behavior that the school system considers contrary to its view of a progressive, enlightened, and politically correct society.

In the old days, teachers would punish students who misbehaved by giving them a dose of a hickory switch. Sometimes the student would have to go out a cut the switches for his or her punishment. Talk about adding insult to injury. To a person, the authors of the stories said that what they feared the most was the second whipping they would get at home if their parents found out that they had been punished for misbehaving at school. Wouldn’t it be great if all parents today cared as much about their child’s behavior and education?

Time out for an anguished cry over the present state of the country. Can anyone give me a good explanation of why things have changed so much over the last 60 or so years? I know how things have changed. I want to know why. It’s almost as if the United States has contracted an insidious festering disease that slowly is getting worse with time. Personally, I blame it on Roosevelt, progressivism, the Democrats, television, video games, the Eastern Establishment, Rosie O’Donnell, Ivy League schools and the United Nations. But I digress.

None of these one- and two-teacher schools had indoor plumbing or bathroom facilities. Kids had to use outhouses. Some of the schools only had outhouses for the girls. The guys would have to crap in the woods. I’d like to hear the bitching today if kids had to put their bare asses on a cold board in 20 degree weather to take a dump.

About half the book consists of personal reminiscences by former students and the other half consists of histories of the many schools. All told I’m editing about 400 pages of material, and it’s been a challenge.

Despite my bitching, I’m proud of the job I’ve done, honored to have been chosen to do it, and happy that I had the opportunity. Editing the book has given me great insight into the history of this area and a real appreciation of what it was like around here before World War II. 

A Year in the Country

The country is not paradise, and can show the vices that grieve a good man everywhere. But there is room in it, and leisure. ~ E.M. Forster

Drum roll. Clash of cymbals. Trumpet fanfare. I have been retired and living in north Georgia for one year.

Both retirement and the rural life have proven to be as good as I could have hoped for. Phrasing it that way may not sound excessively effusive and celebratory, but I don’t want to overstate my case. I’d be lying if I said that retirement and living in the country were the best things to ever happen to me. That would mean they ranked above such things as being born, getting married, having two great kids and discovering sex.

That being said, one thing is for certain: I do not miss the stressful work of being a trial lawyer. I used to joke that being  a trial lawyer is like getting up every day and putting your head into a microwave oven. It was no joke. There are few occupations more competitive than that of a trial lawyer. There is always an attorney on the other side of every case trying to defeat you. A trial attorney makes his living engaging in contests. It’s the intellectual equivalent of warfare but with multiple skirmishes and battles every day.

I don’t care who you are, that takes a toll on you. I discovered that my ability to absorb stress, like the cartilage in my knees, started to wear out over time. The obvious benefits of being retired are that I don’t have to work long hours, drive long distances, ruin weekends preparing for trial and deal with opposing counsel who are jerk-offs and judges who have forgotten what it is like on the other side of the bench. But for me, the greatest thing about being retired is not having to deal with the daily stress and pressure.

It’s so great waking up and having to face a list of things that you want to do as opposed to a list of things you have to do. Even if your day consists of a bunch of chores, its great knowing that once they are done, you’ll have time to do the things that interest you.

The bottom line is that I don’t miss work one bit. I don’t think I could gear it up, strap on the pads and go back to work even if I had to. That great driving flywheel of momentum that sustained me in the latter years of my career has slowed to a halt. I think Newton said it best: An object in motion tends to stay in motion, and an object at rest tends to stay at rest. I’m certainly at rest.

As for the decision to leave urban Florida for rural Georgia, I have no regrets at all. The last year has been an adventure—meeting new people, learning new ways, and figuring out how I can fit into the fabric of my new society. It has been rewarding to realize that I have some skills, aside from being a trial lawyer, that local people and organizations value. I’m doing publicity for a charitable group and writing press releases that get published in the local papers. I’m editing a book for the history society on the history of schools in Fannin County. I’ve become a Georgia Master Gardener, and I’m creating a website for my Master Gardener Chapter (now all I have to do is figure out how you create a website). I’m about to start a publicity campaign to bring awareness to the problem of homelessness in Fannin County.

Life in a rural area is slower paced and more relaxed. There’s less traffic, less congestion, and less stoplights. When you arrive at where you’re going after a ride down a country lane, you’re not pissed off at the world.

I can’t state this as a universal fact, but my guess is that people in rural areas are generally nicer than people in crowded urban areas. I think scientists may have demonstrated that by crowding rats in a cage. I can certainly say that the people around here nicer than the ones in Pinellas County. That may have to do with the fact that if you are rude to a stranger in populous Pinellas County the chances are that you will never see him or her again, whereas in Fannin County there’s a good chance you’re going to run into the person again.

I like living in a small town. I may not have access to the opera and the symphony, Bern’s Steakhouse, and art exhibitions, but I’ve got small town Fourth of July Parades and Labor Day weekend barbeques in the park involving the whole town. I have a genuine sense of community here. I can’t say the same for Clearwater or Pinellas County.

So, the bottom line after one year is so far, so good. I’m glad I retired and happy that I moved to north Georgia. To those of you who read this blog, thanks for coming along. Now let’s see what next year brings.