Tree Cutting and Lunch

Right after high school, my brother, and a friend went to our friend's mother's house up country to cut some trees. We were offered lunch and it was a fair exchange for helping. After all, that's what friends do for friends.

Most of the trees were sweet gums, that were making a mess of the yard. None were really big, so the work wasn't nearly as hard as I originally envisioned. We had the trees cut and the rest stacked for burning before lunch.

Our friend's mother called for us to come eat. The aroma from the kitchen was intoxicating. She'd made a squirrel gumbo and we were hungry.

We lined up at the stove, placed some rice in our bowls and scooped our gumbo from the big pot sitting on the burner. Judging by the color, it was near perfect. I was hungry and anticipated a good feed.

The gumbo was excellent. The squirrel was cooked fork tender, so it was easily removed from the bones. The side dish of potato salad only embellished an already fine lunch.

As I ate, I worked my way around a piece of meat I didn't recognize. I usually don't place anything in my bowl that doesn't look familiar, but avoided the practice when I filled my bowl. The cook was watching and I didn't want to break some unspoken rule.

Eventually, there was nothing left in my bowl, except the unknown piece. Glancing at my friend's mother, I realized she was watching closely. She must have known I was confused and spoke: "It's the head."

I just stared.

"Here", she said, handing me a nutcracker, "You crack it open and eat the brains."

My mind was racing. I've never eaten any type of brains; had no desire to eat any type of brains - much less a squirrel's - and there was no honorable escape.

"Okay" was all I could say, as I reached for nut cracker, opened the head and scooped out the brains. They tasted like liver, which I don't like.

"The jowl meat is good, too."

It helped remove the taste of the brains.

"The tongue is good."

I quickly spoke, which was probably impolite, but a line had been crossed.

"That's where I draw the line."

She laughed. Everybody laughed. I looked around sheepishly and realized I'd been played.

She explained how her mother wouldn't cut up the squirrel the way she did, and I would have known immediately what I'd placed in my bowl.

We finished, helped clean the kitchen, drank a few beers and eventually headed home. All, in all, it was a good day and we had some firewood for my dad's fireplace.

I haven't had squirrel gumbo since that day. Next time I do, I'm going to look more closely.

Social Media and Relinquishing Your Privacy

I was trying to explain to a young man on the job yesterday how precarious his future may be, due to his obsession with social media. I hope he understood, but I have my doubts. I hope he realizes his ability to make a loan, or gain a better job may not happen, since he's revealed his entire life as an open book.

After many conversations with people, I realized how many people destroy their privacy with constant updates of their life. They throw their security away without realizing the consequences To aggravate the situation, their words are twisted, re-broadcast and eventually become "facts" to others. What could be an innocent comment may end up insulting someone, or jeopardize a future relationship or job.

The young man I was talking to is far from alone. All his friends are the same. They spend way too much time jabbering like birds and too little time examining their thoughts before they reveal things that might best be kept private.

What happens in the future? I think we'll have a generation that shuns social media. The constant updating will become intrusive. Instead of willingly revealing their lives, they'll prefer their privacy. That will be a good thing. People are generally too nosy in the first place. Giving them information they have no right to is madness.

Conundrum

So now what does Obama do?

If he keeps Holder, the pressure to reveal what he's hiding, including possible illegal activity, will lead to much more than distraction. That won't end well.

If he get's rid of Holder, the new sheriff will have a job of cleaning house. This will expose executive weakness at best. At the worst, investigation may lead to oppressive misuse of power by several members of the administration, which will not only discredit Obama, it may lead to his impeachment and the damning of the Democratic Party for their foolishness is promoting the man that led to the problems.

It's a conundrum and you can see the administration start to squirm. There's a strong effort to change the subject, which isn't working. Many in the media are outraged and they're digging for answers.

I don't think many in the media will like what they find. Not only have they now become political enemies, they share the responsibility of placing Obama in power. They thought they were insulated, but now find they're first to go. They have too much power and this administration wants to make sure they don't use it.

Ten More Degrees....

...and it will really be summer.

It reached 90 today, with a relative humidity of around 75% at the hottest part of the day. Otherwise, it was like a sauna, without the "I'm tired of this; I'm leaving" option.

I'm not looking forward to the the next three months.

Some Days With The Pile Driving Crew

Decades ago, I was farmed out to a pile driving subcontractor, while the main crew went to pour a bridge a few hundred miles away. We were driving piling for an abutment cap on an overpass. Since I'd never driven pile, I was the F.N.G. and I had a lot to learn.

The piling was 16 inch square, prestressed concrete pile about 60 feet long. To those that don't know what that is, the piling has strands of cable that run the length of the pile. The cables are stressed to a certain amount of tension, before the concrete is poured. After the concrete is cured, the cables are cut at the end of the pile and the holes are filled with epoxy. The cables add strength, and hold the piling together.

The crew was well seasoned, so my tasks were the most menial. If it required someone to wallow in the mud and move something, I was first in line to accomplish this task. After all, other than doing such things, I was damn near useless.

As the week progressed, I learned how the rig was set up, the parts of the hammer and how they would set the batter for the batter piling. All of it was hard dirty work and the constant beating while driving required ear protection. To add insult to injury, the hammer - which was a diesel hammer - "slobbered" oil and diesel. Every day, when I returned home, I was speckled with drops that constantly fell from the running hammer.

The one day I really remember started brutally hot. The humidity was high and the forecast was for heavy evening thunderstorms. The hammer was cantankerous that morning, which meant I had to climb the leads and spray starting fluid in the intake. It took a few tries, but the hammer finally fired and I was rewarded with an extra amount of "slobber" as I climbed down the leads. The noise was deafening, even with ear plugs. Since the piling was just resting in the hole we drilled, there wasn't much bearing and the piling was sinking quickly. All I could think of was hurrying down and avoiding getting my hands caught in the pinch points as the hammer dropped.

The piling eventually reached the point where every blow only buried it a fraction of an inch further. The inspector, who was logging the pile, nodded his head and the foreman pulled the compression release on the hammer. We had one done and many more to drive.

It was around 3:30 when I noticed the huge thunderstorm to the south. It was hard to say which direction it was headed, but I had a good idea it was headed our way.

We were setting the leads on another piling, when it became obvious we'd be hit by the storm. The foreman, who didn't want to go through the entire process again, continued setting the leads into position. The thunderstorm arrived before we could finish.

As we tried to secure the rig, lightning started hitting close and often. We secured what we could in the high wind, but were soon soaked by the torrential rain that arrived faster than anticipated. We all cringed when a bolt would strike close. We scattered to our vehicles to wait it out; we still had tools to pick up after the storm passed.

I sat in my truck and dripped while I watched the winds whip the rain. As I watched, the tool shed scooted a few feet. The next gust started it skidding and it soon flipped on its side. As my truck rocked, I began to wonder if a tornado was near.

After about fifteen minutes, a few of the crew left their vehicles and started gathering tools in the still steady rain. Not wanting to be odd man out, I left my truck and started helping. After all, I was already soaked, so the rain didn't really matter any longer.

We finally finished, which was a relief. The packed, clay header bank was now slick as ice and the heavy mud coating my work boots made walking difficult. I was already tired and this wasn't helping. It was time to go home.

As I left, I drove by the tool house, which was turned where the door was pinned. Deciding it didn't need to be locked, I headed home. Tomorrow would arrive soon enough and it promised to have heat even more brutal, with the added burden of slogging in the mud.

I stopped an bought an ice cold beer on the way home. It was one of the best I ever had.