EPISODE 158 SO I DECIDED TO HELP MARJORIE…AND THAT WAS A BIG DECISION

EPISODE 158   SO I DECIDED TO HELP MARJORIE…AND THAT WAS A BIG DECISION



alan skeoch
Nov.  2020




The newspaper and a cup of coffee take my full attention every morning.  First, I read the lonely hearts
column.  No particular reason.  Perhaps because the column is on the back page which is easier to 
read than taking all the effort of opening the newspaper and finding the editorial page which always
features a political cartoon.   After that I may  or may not continue with the paper providing my coffee
cup is not empty.   If I wait a bit Marjorie will make proper coffee whereas my choice is speedy coffee
with those little plastic cups

Today was different.  I never got beyond the lonely hearts column.  A woman wrote a long letter
complaining about her husband’s laziness while they are on the Covid 19 lockdown.  She is  at
the breaking point.  He does noting to help ever since he lost his job due to the virus.  He just 
parks himself in front of the TV all day.  Does nothing.  She vacuums right in front of him.  He doesn’t
move.  She does the washing… replaces the sheets, finds the used clothing, pushes the button.  He just
sits there.   She makes the meals, washes the dishes…”he doesn’t even help to dry a pot.”

As I read this litany of complaints I began to think.  Marjorie does the vacuuming, makes the meals, washes
the dishes, puts the dishes away, does the shopping, 
changes the sheets, washes my socks, ….in short I realized Marjorie does it all.  Me?  I read the
lonely hearts column and amuse myself with the political cartoon before I spend an hour or two
writing these Episodes for you…yes, for you lazy creatures who probably have a wife like mine.
Lucky for us.  Lucky we married multi-taskers.

Then I began to feel a bit guilty.  Unusual for me for I am a positive type person.  Marjorie is still
in bed.  She stayed up until 4 a.m. watching the horror show that never ends in the United States.
My guilt got over powering.  “I can do something to help, I suppose.  I can put the dishes away
in the cupboard from the dishwasher.”

Which is exactly what I did.  Cups, plates, bowls, even the knives, forks and spoons.  I put them
away.  Perhaps not as neatly as Marjorie.  Bit of a pain in the ass to sort the cutlery so I just
piled it in the cutlery drawer. 

She is still in bed. “What about my second cup of coffee?  I will have to make it myself. Yuck!”

So, I reached in the cupboard to grab a clean cup and was immediately a bit shocked. The
clean cup was not clean.  It had a brown coffee stain in the bottom.  I had just replaced it
from the dishwasher…was the machine broken?  The problem was bigger than I imagined.
I had taken all the dirty dishes and cutlery out of the dishwasher and put them all away
in the cupboard.  Let me say this again.  Dirty dishes in the cupboard.  Now I will have 
to take them all out and put them back in the dishwasher.  That is not an easy job.  Double
the work.




What then?  I will have to start the dishwasher.  Push the right button.  What button?
I am left handed so the buttons confuse me.  Great excuse that I use all the time. I do
not know how to do the following tasks…do not know which button to push on the washing
machine, the clothes drying machine, the TV…hell, I do not even know how to start
the lawn mower.  Feigned ignorance has served me well for sixty years.   

When we were first married Marjorie said “stay out of the kitchen, Alan”  and I have 
faithfully followed that command.  Until this morning.  Oh, the labour is too much.
…the effort, double effort, Putting dishes back in the dishwasher before Marjorie gets up.

My sole achievement is putting the little plastic cup in the coffee maker.  Even that
is a trial because some days the machine needs water.

I went back to the newspaper.  “Who wrote that complaint?  Couldn’t be Marjorie…or could  it?”  
I dared not read the advice section so I turned back to the political 
cartoon and settled myself comfortably in the big chair.

“Marjorie, are you awake yet?  You will never guess what I did this morning.”
She would never guess.

alan skeoch
Nov. 2020


That is Woody, our dog, on the front lawn.  On nice days like this I put a lawn
chair beside him and soak in the sunshine.  Marjorie”?  You cannot see her
from this angle.  She is down in the ditch mowing the lawn.  Why do I not help?
I have tried.  She says I do not do a good enough job.  “I may as well do it myself.”
I am not all bad…bought her the lawn mower after all.

Putting that new lawn mower from the big box to the lawn was a lot of effort.  Then I had to figure how to put the wheels
on.  Marjorie figured that out.


“Marjorie, there is no water in the coffee machine.”

EPISODE 158 GRANDMA ALWAYS WRAPPED A HOT BRICK OF US ON THOSE DARK WINTER NIGHTS

EPISODE 158


alan skeoch
oct. 2020

Louisa Bufton Freeman and her dog Laddie in 1957



EPISODE 158    GRANDMA ALWAYS WRAPPED A HOT BRICK FOR US ON THOSE  DARK WINTER NIGHTS
(and she shook with Parkinson’s disease while doing it)

alan skeoch
Nov. 4, 2020

“Here, boys, a warm brick for each of you.”
“Hot brick?”
“You will need it…the bed will be cold.”

We left the wood stove  comfort of the only heated room in the farm house.  Leaving that room was Like walking into a refrigerator.
Every other room in the farm house was frozen…walls clothed  in  frost where the winter winds slipped through
the cracks in window and door sash.  Footsteps on frozen floorboards echoed back at us from the dirt floor
cellar below our feet.  

“Two tired little boys.”
“Grandma, it is really cold.”
“Climb the stairs, I’m right behind  you holding the lamp.”

And  she began sing…a song of which I only remember fragments.

“Too tired to climb the stairs … off to the land of Nod”  Grandma had a nice singing voice
that we just took for granted as a natural part of life.  Kids  are like that. 

We took a  lot more than Grandma’s voice for granted.  She had serious Parkinson’s disease.
Made her shake all the time.  That lamp that she carried shook  as my brother Eric and I climbed
those cold  stairs.  It made shadows on the wall that seemed alive and plenty frightening.
But grandma never let the disease change her life  She had lived through a lot worse than
Parkinson’s.

We took everything for granted.  Eric and I let grandma light the wood stove in the morning.
She had  made a whole pile of twisted  paper wicks from old newspaper.  Getting that burning wick
in under some kindling and a piece of split maple was not easy because her hands shook so badly.   She knew  the
dangers that an error could light the farm house on fire so she was  as  careful as possible and
in no time the stove was belching out enough heat to drive the frost from the walls while wash
water was warming in the water reservoir attached to the stove.

Funny thing.. I just remember that her hands  were wrinkled and  the wrinkles held
soot from that stove.   She was clean but the soot was deep.  Grandma and Granddad
had  odd habits.  She had her tea cup and he had his.  Those cups were old and
cracked but they were used every day.   The same was true of the plates and  cutlery.
Seemed almost that using those old dishes was some kind  of religious act.  After they 
died  the farm house was  robbed.  The robber or robbers broke in on one dark mid-March 
evening when the fog was as thick as Cream of Wheat porridge.  Why mention this robbery?
Because the thief took his time .  He sorted the dishes.  He did  not take grandma and grandpa’s
cracked  and  beaten plates and  cups.  He took the good stuff, I suppose  But I was glad left those
heirlooms behind.  I wonder if  I will have a  favourite cup when I  get old?

So many memories  about her tumble out of my finger tips as I tap tap tap on the computer.

Around  1957 I was offered a summer job  working in the bush deep in Northern 
Quebec North west of Chibougamau.  It was a tough and lonely job as those of you
who have lived in the wilderness know.   Some of our bush crew were very rough
people.  The meals we made for each other were less than perfect…fly larvae lived
well in our kitchen tent.   To kill the taste of some of  our meals  I lathered it with
Worcester sauce.   That killed  the taste.  Eating in the bush reminded me of Grandma’s
meals.   I always ate what was put in front of me.  Still do.   Grandma always had
a great lump of beef hanging  in the Dairy.  Now there is a misnomer.  The Dairy was a
dark room in the dirt floored cellar of the farm house…a room that acted as  a refrigerator
The slab of beef was always well marbled with congealed fat.  Grandma and granddad
loved that.  I  did  not.  I found that a slab of that beef and  fat on my plate discouraged
eating so I lathered everything with Worcester sauce.   Grandma notice, of  course, and
she told  Mom  on several occasions.  “Elsie, did you know that Alan loves Worcester sauce?”

What is the connection among these disparate comments?  They all came together when the
bush plane landed with our mail on that lonely lake.  Every time there was a letter from
grandma.  I took those letters  for granted.  Just writing a letter was a  chore for her.
her hands  shook so badly.  It would  have been easier for her to use Parkinson’s as
an excuse for not writing.   I took those letters  for granted just as I did everything else
about Grandma.   I never said  thank you…never asked  about her shakes…never 
commented on the cold  marbled roast beef.   All I said was, “Grandma, where is
the Worcester sauce?”   

Now I do not remember Grandma asking  if I had a bottle of Worcester sauce on
that mine exploration job.  She probably did.

I remember so much  about her.

This is  just my opening Episode about Grandma.   Her early life was  not very nice
and initially I was  unsure I should even make into an Episode.   Maybe she would not
want the bad  times in her life put before those of you who actually  read these Episodes.
No, I don’t think she would  mind.  She loved  me.  I knew that.

alan skeoch
Nov. 4, 2020

POST SCRIPT:   1885 A Child’s Garden of Verses

I Don’t remember the song she sang but the lyrics fitted  the
Land  of  Nod  as written by  RoBert Louis  Stevenson in 1885
“Nod” is a very interesting biblical name.  The Land  of Nod was supposed gel
East of  the Garden of Eden.  Only mentioned once in the Book of Genesis but
it has fascinated biblical scholars  Did the Land of  Nod exist?

The Land of Nod

From breakfast on through all the day 
At home among my friends I stay, 
But every night I go abroad 
Afar into the land of Nod. 

All by myself I have to go, 
With none to tell me what to do — 
All alone beside the streams 
And up the mountain-sides of dreams. 

The strangest things are there for me, 
Both things to eat and things to see, 
And many frightening sights abroad 
Till morning in the land of Nod. 

Try as I like to find the way, 
I never can get back by day, 
Nor can remember plain and clear 
The curious music that I hear. 

EPISODE 157 future LOOKS GRIM…MAYBE I WILL HAVE TO KEEP SENDING STORIES

EPISODE 157 FUTURE LOOKS GRIM…MAYBE I WILL HAVE TO KEEP SENDING STORIES
alan skeoch Nov. 4, 2020
Just when I believed our existence on planet earth could not get worse…things did get worse, far worse. The leader of the western world has devolved into chaos. Neighbour hating neighbour. Violence on the horizon. My only answer is writing these stories. Originally I planned to write 14 stories to help us all through the two weeks of self-isolation in March. Those two weeks became 8 months and the stories are now numbered Episode 157. A lot of stories. Trying to write one each day. Two emergency visits to the Trillium hospital broke the sequence but I managed to keep the stories coming…even a story about my amusing Morphine trips while huddled in pain at the base of my hospital bed…then another when I had an anxiety attack in the empty emergency ward.
Covid 19 kept our lives in a kind of suspension between isolation and re-emerging into the embrace of routine daily life.
I kept the stories pouring out…some trivial, some weighty, some beautiful as the fall season of 2020 was prolonged.
But last night I thought story time would be over as life would return to normal. Maybe we could get back to figuring out how to handle Climate Change which threatened our world with the Sixth Extinction. That was enough to worry about.
What a fool I was. I came to believe the pollsters and journalists and the dreamers and my friends…I came to believe all would be well if Trump was defeated and Americans began to let go of hate for one another and embrace the philosophy of Rodney King who asked long ago, “Why can’t we all get along?” (while at he same time being beaten up). Hope would replace hell. Now the reverse seems to to be happening with hell replacing hope.
As if to confirm this grim reality I turned by chance to a short news release of the far right wing fringe Americans. Too many of these deadly serious Americans were strutting around with machine guns in their arms and revolvers strapped to their camouflaged pant legs. Who were their enemies? It was a shock to realize that I was the enemy. A middle of the road believer the good will triumph over evil. A believer in gun control.
So the stories will keep coming.
Keep a stiff upper lip folks.
alan

EPISODE 156 BETWEEN HARROWING AND PLANTING WINTER WHEAT IS A LOT OF BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS…EVEN TODAY

EPISODE 156    BETWEEN HARROWING THE LAND AND THEN PLANTING WINTER WHEAT…LOTS OF WORK


Alan skeoch
oct. 2020




THIS is the man that does  the job….getting winter wheat in the ground.





HOW  DOES A FIELD  GET THIS NICE?


“HAVE you ever wondered how tiny seeds of wheat are planted?”
“Well, all those pieces  of equipment hauled by that immense tractor are
designed  to put one little winter wheat seed in the ground at the proper spacing.
A bunch of seeds got confused when the tractor made a sweeping turn and those little
seeds just jumped out in a bunch but that was  rare.   Most seeds got out at their proper
spacing and  got ready  to germinate for spring combining as future pastry flour.”


“Perhaps you think that such huge machines would find the job of getting the fields ready for seeding was  EASY??
NOT SO EASY AT TIMES…see below”



“This is the rig for planting those tiny winter wheat seeds…the great tub at the back is filled and then manages somehow to select tiny seeds
to be put in the ground at proper spacing.   …The huge harrow at the front digs a shallow hole for the seeds.  Notice the ground  cover of soybean waste
left behind after the combine had done the harvesting a few weeks earlier.  Called  NO  TILL FARMING.   PLOWING IS NOT DONE from 
year to year unless the fields are covered in sod.


WHEN the  fields were covered in  sod….deep plowing was necessary.  After that…smooth sailing except where a hidden
sink hole was found.


Disc Harrow sliced up any sod that was  not turned over by the plow.


How  would you like to find yourself and all that equipment sinking into they hidden swamp?   Believe it or not the machines  got out with ease.


Why are the wheat seeds orange…reddish?   They have been treated with poison…I do not know which poison.  At one time Atrizine was
used…perhaps still used.  Bad Stuff.   A poisoned  field is easy to find as  no weeds can grow…the  field appears a  sickly grey through
the summer months if fallow.   Deadly stuff.



Here  is the chopped  up soybean plants  left as a ground  cover … winter wheat seeds in a bit of cluster…an error when the
machine  did a turn at the end of the field.


A long time earlier a  stone picker was able to criss cross the fields in search of rocks.


the stone picker can drive forwards  and backwards scooping out and  scooping up rocks  left by the glaciers.


And that is all there  is to the job…as long as  you have a million dollars  or so to invest in the job.   This large scale farmer owns  and rents
several thousand  acres  of  crop land  centred in Limehouse, Ontario … covering miles  and mlles.   

…which includes the 90 acres owned  by  our sons and their partner.   

One thing worth noting.  The fields are relatively small with lots of fencerows for birds and small creatures…even large creatures like
deer and coyotes and wild  turkeys.   That is not always the case with modern farming…much more efficient to tear out the
fencerows and  have clear fields from horizon to horizon.  A sterile landscape where “no birds sing”.   That will not happen here.

alan  skeoch
Oct. 2020


Grand Match, Grenadier Pond, High Park Curling Club Jan 3o, 1993

A group of people walking in the snow    Description automatically generated



 
EPISODE 155     THE  GRAND MATCH OF CURLING…ON THE ICE BENEATH WHICH THE GRENADIERS WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE DROWNED

A group of people posing for the camera    Description automatically generated
THE Schneller Team entry in the High Park Curling  Club GRAND MATCH 1993 celebrating  80 years of fine curling.  Left to right:  Mike Dent, Alan Skeoch,
Dave Snyder ,  Brad Schneller (skip).  


alan skeoch
Oct. 2020

Dateline: Winter 1993
Occasion: HIGH PARK CURLING CLUB GRAND  MATCH
Location:  Grenadier Pond, Toronto
Danger: Would the ice support 64 curling jteams
with their stones?

THE  GRAND  MATCH, HIGH PARK CRLING CLUB, 1993

The telephone  rang  as the winter wind blew.

“Hi, Alan, I have an adventure for you.”
“Great Brad, spill it out.”

Brad  Schneller was almost breathless…excited.

“Let’s get a curling team together for the Grand Match”
“What Grand  Match?”
“The HighPark Curling  Club is 80 years old  this winter…planning a
special competition on Grenadier Pond…let’s enter a team.”
“Did you say the Grand Match would be on Grenadier Pond?”
“Yes.”
“How many teams?”
“64 Curling Teams”
“That’s a lot of people on ice that could be  thin.”
“Lucky this is a bad winter…I figure there will be more
than 300 people out on the ice when pipers and Fort York guards are included.”
“Remember what happened  to the Grenadiers in 1812?”
“I’m not sure that really happened, Alan…the drowning of the Grenadiers is a myth I think.”’
“According to the story the soldiers were retreating from Fort York hauling their cannons
with them…that’s a lot of weight.”
“About as  much as 300 curlers?”
“Right.”
“Didn’t you do a dive last summer to see if there were cannons at the bottom of the pond?
“We did…a CBC radio story…Kevin and Andy did the diving while Christopher Thomas  and
I were in a rowboat.”
“Well…the result?”
“Andy reported  ‘Dad, I  shoved my arm deep  in the mud at the bottom…right up to my elbow…no cannons yet.”
It was  a  stupid idea.  Dangerous.”
“If we all break through the ice…there will be a lot of curling stones down there
for future divers.”
“Ice collapse  is Not likely this year…been dreadfully cold winter…ice  as thick and tough as old concrete.”
“And now a snowstorm is coming.”
“Nothing stops the bagpipes so we should not feel intimidated…let’s throw some rocks…find
a team willing to play.  A lot of people trying to clean the ice with their brooms…
sort of hopeless  for real curling.’
“Suppose we  get Mike Dent to lie down and  use him and his coonskin  coat as a sweeping  machine.”
“How?”
“You grab his feet, I’ll grab his arms…now walk … see  we are clearing a sheet.  How do you feel Mike?”
“Just keep my coonskin closed…otherwise  I will turn into a block of ice.  Pull…pull.”
“Any help with the game?”
“Not much…snow keeps  coming.”
“Throw your rock, Brad.”’
“Just throw, forget about the fine tuning…most rocks do not even get to the other end.”
“Let’s refine the game…forget about accuracy…see how brute strength works…wind  up with
a big back swing and then rifle the rock down the ice.”
“See who can throw the rock the farthest…forget about real curling.”
“When the rock  hits the ice, it echoes.”
“Hits like a cannonball.”
“Let go, Mike…let go!”
“Holy Samoley, Mike did not let go and threw the rock with all his might…he flew with the
rock…parallel  to the ice.”
“Here come Ed  Werench…top curler of 1993…looks sceptical…not exactly optimum conditions…he wans
to meet the so called ice maker.”
“This is turning into a wonderful afternoon…a real  celebration for the High  Park Curling Club…
an event that I wish we could duplicate each year.”
“i think the insurance companies would put an end to that idea.”

A couple of people that are standing in the snow    Description automatically generated


“Hey, Al,where did you get your curling clothes?”
“Bearskin coat  I bought for $10 at a farm auction…”
“And the hat?”
“A Russian field hat from the Afghan war…sent from Slovakia by
our son Kevin.”
“And  your coat, Brad?”
“Sandra’s historic  beaverskin coat…expensive.”
“Makes us look like drifters from the Great Depression.”

A group of people walking in the snow    Description automatically generated

And so the day wore on.  Cold, snowstorm, hopeless for real curling but so
memorable … so memorable that even now, 27 years later I remember the 
day clearly.  Who dreamt up the idea? Well, I think Al White from the HPC
was one of the prime movers but there were so  many others.  

alan skeoch
Oct. 2020


 
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(PICTURES COURTESY OF BRAD  SCHNELLER)


alan skeoch
oct 2020


HISTORY OF THE HIGH PARK CURLING CLUM

Land for the club was purchased in 1910 by the club’s first president and chief financial backer, W.R. Prittie. The building, erected in 1911, was designed by architects Gemmell and W.R. Gregg and modeled after another Toronto club, the Queen City Curling Club. Today, the exterior looks very much as it did then. Facing east to west, the street façade is an unobtrusive red brick and on the west side a spectacular two-storey verandah overlooks the lawn tennis courts (formerly lawn bowling greens).

The High Park Curling and Lawn Bowling Club’s Inaugural Ball was held on the rink floor on December 15, 1911. In the early years, the club offered curling, lawn bowling, skating, indoor baseball, billiards, and cards. The new Club’s first few seasons were quite successful but with the outbreak of WWI in 1914 and the mild winters in 1916 and 1917 limiting the natural ice for curling, the club’s membership sagged and the club went bankrupt in 1917. It re-opened in 1918 as the High Park Club Limited with a new board of directors and a new charter.

HPC became the social centre for the whole community, with the vast majority of its members living within a 10-minute walk of the club. In the 1910’s and early ‘20’s, it was customary for members to visit the club in the evening and play cards. HPC was the centre for some of the best bridge played in Canada with numerous championship trophies to its credit.

Until 1919, women could not be members but wives of members had some privileges. In 1986, Anne Craig became the first female President of the High Park Club. 

From its start in 1912, lawn bowling was the principal sport at HPC, with bowlers frequently outnumbering the curlers. The Club’s sweeping verandah provided an ideal spot for watching lawn bowlers in action. Spectators watched players dressed in whites on 16 greens surrounded by climbing roses, lilacs, chestnuts, and gardens with multi-coloured flowers, shrubs and trees. As a result of the rise in popularity of golf and cottaging in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s, membership in the section declined and the bowling greens were converted to lawn tennis courts.

Started in 1984, the tennis section of HPC boasts a unique feature – the only club-owned grass courts in Ontario. Tennis professionals have been known to grace its courts in preparation for the Wimbledon Championship (the oldest tennis tournament in the world).

Curling has been the other dominant sport at HPC and continues to be so today. At the club’s inception, it was a very different version of the game than what is played today. Along with their straw brooms, each player was responsible for their own rock and for $1 a year it could be stored in a wooden locker placed along the walls of the rink. In 1939, 41 pairs of stones, weighing 41.5 lbs each, and with black or white handles, were purchased for $36 per pair. The first sets of stones were lost when a German torpedo hit the Athenia, the ship carrying them. Their replacements arrived in time for the following season.

Artificial curling ice was installed in 1926, thus ending both the indoor softball league and public skating. Today, the only skating that takes place is at the end of the curling season party held in May. In celebration of the club’s 80th Anniversary in 1993, the Grand Match took place on nearby High Park’s Grenadier Pond and drew 64 teams from across the GTA. High Park Club curlers have excelled at their sport and the trophy cabinet is full of cups and plates won over the past century.

Until the mid-60’s, the club was managed by committees and the day-to-day needs were taken care of by the club’s steward or caretaker who lived in a private apartment with its own entrance on the north side of the club. 

Today, there is a full-time manager, icemaker and a part-time ice, lawn and catering staff that ensure the club runs smoothly and efficiently. Volunteerism continues to be a core tenet of the club’s culture, with over 1 in 7 members contributing time and efforts to committees, events, maintenance, decorating, and governance

EPISODE 154 KILLING GROUND DISCOVERED

EPISODE  154    KILLING GROUND DISCOVERED


alan skeoch
Oct. 2020



What is this?  Below



The back part of our farm is a forest…dense.  We rarely go back that far
because the front ten  acres keeps us busy.  We also take comfort in
the fact that the 15 acres of dense bush  and swamp are perfect places
for wildlife to thrive.  So it came as quite a  shock in October 2010 when
our boys said we better get back and take a look at what was  happening.

We bashed our way through the bush.  There are only deer trails here 
and there.  Someone or some group knew that.   What we found
was a wood trough which turned  out to be a deer feeding station.
But there was more.  

The so called hunters had wired a ladder and platform to a tree
about ten feet from the trough.  This was not a cheap thing.
Very well built shooting platform made  of heavy aluminum with
rubber treads.  

About 30 or 40 feet distant we found a night vision camera
strapped to a tree on what must have been  a deer trail.





So that is what hunters do, I guess.   They climb up into
the tree platform and sit there waiting for deer to come
to feed on the corn or food pellets on the wood trough
…and then they shoot them.  And  they call that hunting.
No  guesswork involve since the night vision camera automatically
tells them the time the deer will arrive…their numbers.  The 
hunter can pick his kill at leisure  at home then pick a nice
time to do the killing based on the camera information.

And  all this was done on our land.   No one asked permission.  They would
have been refused.  I have no respect for guns or for hunting.  But the
nerve of these hunters to just assume they could set up their
killing spot in our forest.   Trespassing.   We had not littered our
land with NO Trespassing or No Hunting signs.  Why would we have
to do that anyway?   

What should we do? First, we tore  down the shooting platform and
carried it to the road where  we keep  scrap metal.  Then we unstrapped
the camera and  took it to our neighbour.  Told him the story.

He seemed interested:

“I figure they got to our bush from your back field.”
“Yes,I do allow a couple of hunters from the city to hunt…but No,
I  did not know about the platform or the trespassing.”
“This must be their camera.  I want you to give it back
to them. Do you see them often? “
“No.”
“Will you take the camera?”
“Yes, they might drop by.”
“Tell them we have contacted  the police and have
put up NO TRESPASSING SIGNS…and  one other thing.
Tell them I do  not want to see them.  We will never  meet.”
“I will do that.”

This conversation was  not what it seemed.   I knew that my neighbour 
must have known these hunters really well.  They parked on his land.
I even suspected that the hunters were not from the “city” but may
well have been  very local…nearby in other words.  If I met them
personally there would be deep repercussions.  Best  not tp alienate
people with guns.  I had  raised enough hell  anyway.

How  did the police react?   No help whatsoever.

alan skeoch
Oct. 2020

P.S>  A few months  later a neighbour asked  if  I still had the ladder and
shooting platform…started with friendly blather and eventually got to the 
Point.   “Sorry, the shooting platform has  gone to the scrap yard” (where
it belonged).

EPISODE 153 GRAN FARMERS MUST HAVE HATED DOCKING MACNINES

EPISODE 153   GRAIN  FARMERS MUST HAVVE HATED DOCKING MACHINES


alan skeoch
Oc.t 2020



“Take a seat, Alan…rain trying to sleet outside…good time to think…to remember”

HEADING:  DOCKING MACHINES MUST HAVE  BEEN HATED

Cold rain…almost sleet…falling today.  Good time  to try and sort through our collection of weird and wonderful machines
in the main barn.   It has been years since I have  done so.  Seems like a treasure hunt … includes a chair for contemplation.

Contemplation?  Yep, I sat down and stared at two machines that were uncovered once the flower pots and threshing machine
moulds were set  aside.   Two antique DOCKING MACHINES.  Probably the only such machines left in North America.  How
did  I know that?  I combed the internet under various titles like ANTIQUE  GRAN DOCKING MACHINES and  other word
combinations.   No luck.  You might do better but let me get on with the story.

The same year, perhaps 1980,  we visited those hidden ICBM  SILOS in North Dakota we also  stopped at a grain silo near the Canadian
border.  A  huge wooden structure that, unlike the ICBM sites,  stood out against the flat horizon. 

“Hi, hope we  are not intruding but could I take a couple of pictures of your grain silo?”
“Do what you want.  We don’t get many  visitors…matter  of fact we  don’t get any except for
the trucks loaded with grain.”
(I noticed two dust covered mini fanning mills in a forgotten  corner)’
“What are those machines?”
“Old Docking machines…they go a long way back.”
“Docking machines?”
“Yep, we take  a sample of every load of  grain, dump it in the docker and then
calculate how much to dock the farmers’ load.”
“Weed seeds and rat dung as a percentage  of  total load.”
“Not so much rat dung but weed seeds for sure and other waste”
“Farmers must hate these machines.”
“They do…cuts into profits.”
“Still using those dockers?”
“No…they’re obsolete.  New dockers are  better.”
“What are  you going to do with the old ones?”
“Nothing…we’ll get rid of them when we have time.”
“Would you sell them to us?”
“Sure…sell them cheap, how  about $20 each?”
“I’ll give you $25 each.”
“Sold.  Let’s get them in your truck…Not much room.”



This is the older  of the two…perhaps once  it was hand cranked.   Both Docking machines run by electric motors so they are likely vintage 1920 or 1930 or 1940.




CONCLUSION

And so  we  loaded both docking machines…packed tight in our  van.  Two kids, two dogs, four sleeping bags, Coleman stove, coolers, dog food, human food, one giant tractor tube (our idea of a boat),
then Marjorie and  me  and  now TWO DOCKING MACHINES.   And a case of Coors beer for our visit with Wick at Lake of the Woods.  Behind the van we hauled a pop up trailer.  We  must have looked  like
a modern version of Steinbeck’s Grapes of  Wrath.   

I sat in the barn today thinking about that trip.  Good memories.  One mistake somewhere along the way when the tractor tube broke loose and rolled like an immense do-nut into the ditch.  We should
have deflated it rather than tie it to the truck roof.  But how would we re-inflate it at a lakeside camp ground?  I think we gave it away.

I hadn’t seen those  Docking Machines for two decades.  I knew they were  safely tucked away in the barn though.   This was a good time to give them the 
exposure they deserved.  So here they are…yours to admire.

alan skeoch
Oct. 2020

P.S.  Just in case you wonder why I had trouble finding the Dockers, here’s a picture of things that blocked
my view.  Each of these things is  another story.  The great wood  drive pulleys were rescued when the
Massey Ferguson factory was demolished around  1990.  


Fwd: EPISODE 152 ICBM MISSILE BASES IN NORTH DAKOTA…HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: EPISODE 152 ICBM MISSILE BASES IN NORTH DAKOTA…HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT
Date: October 26, 2020 at 6:23:35 PM EDT
To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>


EPISODE 153   ICBM MISSILE SILOS…DO THEY LIMIT THE CHANCE OF NUCLEAR WAR?

alan skeoch
oct. 2020



Minuteman ICBM site….Hidden from view…almost  hidden on two acre lots across the American midwest .


 I did not want to look like the yahoo B52 pilot in the Movie Dr. Strangelove but
this picture taken on our trip to North Dakota certainly gives that impression.

Two boys at the controls of a Minuteman launch control center during a "community day" at a facility in South Dakota in the 1
Making child’s play out of a potential horrific disaster.  Tours  of the missile silos could be arranged. In this case
two children are planed in the launch seats.  What could be more chilling?

THE NORTH DAKOTA MINUTEMAN SILOS


Summer around  1980:  We  headed west  In search of

the missile  silos in North Dakota.  Frightening.  Marjorie and  I

were just ordinary citizens…not political party members or members of peace groups;
Just Concerned citizens.  


We drove from Toronto to North Dakota back  around 1980 just to get a sidelong look
at this American silos housing the Minueman Inter continental ballistic missiles…ICBM’S.
WHY?  First, I found it hard to believe that such  missile  sites really existed.  They did exists…
and many still exist today, Oct. 27, 2020.   Second, Our boys were now teen-agers and we thought they should
be aware  of the insanity of Nuclear conflict.

“Boys, look over there.”
“Where?”
“That field.”
“Nothing there, dad”
“That is  where you  are wrong.  See  the little  bump?  What you are looking at is the hiding place
of a 1.2 megaton nuclear armed  ICBM.”
“ICBM?”
“INTER CONTINENTAL BALLISTIC MISSILE…A nuclear weapon capable of wiping out a city.

From launch  to impact in 30 minutes.”


“Oh, Alan,  don’t say that.  You  will scare the boys…and me!”
“Scares me as well, Marjorie.”
“Tell us more, dad.”
“These Minuteman  missiles buried  in silos 8o feet deep….many around us  here
in North Dakota…spread  out in a circle around the city of Minot which has a big SAC base with those 
big B 52 nuclear bombers.   Some  of those planes are in the air at all times in case of nuclear war
they are ready to strike.”
“Alan that’s enough…no more.”
“Just one last comment, Marjorie, before we strike north to Manitoba and then to Wick’s place on Lake  of the Woods.”
“No more.”
“Can’t I just tell the boys to watch the movie titled Dr. Strangelove?”
“No!  Now stop.”
“What movie dad?”
“Dr. Strangelove is supposed to be a funny movie with Peter Sellars…really a dark comedy.  Seems  funny until
the very end when the crazy pilot of a B 52 rides a nuclear bomb heading for a Russian city.”
“Riding…what do you mean  by riding, dad?”
“Like riding a horse only it’s a bomb.”
“Alan,  if you don’t stop, I am  taking the boys for s walk.”
“My lips ae sealed…for a while”

COMMENT

How  long does  the President of the United States have to make his decision to launch the missiles?  About six minutes.
Has a mistaken alert led to a near catastrophe?   Yes.

  From 1961 to 1967 the United States was building silos encased in rebar and concrete. That’s most of my teaching  career.  Why?   To house

 1,000 Minuteman missiles …  underground  silos, 80 feet deep,  all across the American midwest.  Why underground?  It was expected  most

of the Minutemen missiles would withstand a surprise nuclear war and be ready to fire back at an enemy.  That was the essence of the Cold War. 

Two enemy states capable of destroying each other and thereby creating a stalemate…a tenuous  Peace due to the chance of mutual self destruction.

Who had…whups! I used  the past tense…the verb ‘had’  should be the verb ‘has’. Who has the power to push the launch button? The President

of the United States.   Did you ever notice the military man with the briefcase that follows the President.  That brief case contains the codes that

can trigger a missile launch.   Two men are in each command room near the missile silos.  Replaced by others in each 8 hour shift
These men are deemed psychologically stable before getting placed.   Great Care is taken.  
The missiles could only be launched when both men receive the “Go” command from the President and agree to push the  launch 

button simultaneously.


Some of the silos  have been rendered inoperable but around 400 or more are still ready in  spite of the fact that the Cold War is
over.   Most of the operable silos are located on farm land distant from any human beings.


Is  the system foolproof?  Could one man  go mad  and just launch a  Minuteman  for the hell of it?   What if one man refused?  
What was the other man supposed to do?  What if the President of the United States went mad?    Is there some kind of check

  on madness?



alan skeoch

Oct. 2020




The Minuteman was the first missile that could be stored in and fired from a concrete silo sunk 80 feet underground.    <em>(” apple-inline=”yes” id=”1FD4C95F-5574-43C4-B78B-1E4D4472C194″ class=”” src=”http://alanskeoch.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/5bb619b13c000018010d296d.jpeg”></div>
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EPISODE 151 BEAR HUNTING WITH THE KIDS…BEGAN AS A JOKE … BECAME NO JOKE

EPISODE 151   BEAR HUNTING ON LAKE OF THE WOODS…BEGAN AS A JOKE, TURNED SERIOUS


alan skeoch
Oct. 2020
This  is  Terry Wickstrom, a good friend and fellow teacher at Parkdale C. I. during the school year.  In the summer he 
travelled to his island on Lake of the Woods where he became a very different person.  Sort of a Grey Owl character if you will.
And always with a grin and chuckle.



alan skeoch
Oct. 2020

We were eating breakfast when Wick (Terry Wickstrom) said to the boys:

“How would you like to see a bear today?”

They nodded  and  looked at their mother who smiled agreement.

The plan was hatched the night before when we were having an outdoor supper
around  a campfire on a small rock island on Lake of the Woods.

“Why don’t we have some fun tomorrow…take the boys on a bear hunt…make it 
sound real…scare the boys but all in fun.”
“A game.?  Sounds good to me, Wick.”
“Marjorie wants to stay with the dogs so they do not get lonely like yesterday’s near disaster.

Wick speaking to Kevin and Andrew:

“Boys, how would you like to go bear hunting today?”
“Dangerous..is it dangerous, Terry?”
“No.  I will take my gun as protection.”
“Good, let’s  go.”
“Jump in the canoe…we must be very quiet so the bear does not hear us.”
“Shhhh!  Getting close to Bear Island now…that’s my name for the island  because
a bear lives here.   Shhh!  Silent paddling.  Careful getting out. Try not to step on
twigs…be very quiet.”
“Do you know why the bear lives here, boys?”
“No.”
“Blueberries…lots of  blueberries.  Long ago  there must have been a fire because the
high point of the island is  clear.  No trees.   Just a great swath of blueberry bushes.”
“Is that why dad is carrying the bucket?”
“yes.  We may pick some berries  if the bear allows us to go berry picking.”
“You won’t shoot the bear with the gun, will you , Terry?”
“No.  Just scare him … or her,  could be a momma bear with cubs.  If we see her,
we will leave fast. Now be very quiet as we climb the hill…step  on moss if you can.
No snapping twigs.  We will move up slowly.  Maybe your dad can get a  picture if
the bear if we are far enough away.  Shhhhh!”

Bears often appear where you least expect them…except in blueberry patches
where they often claim ownership.



“Wick, look here,”  I whispered
“Bear shit…old bear shit.”
“Boys, take a look.  What did the bear  eat?”
“Blueberries…skins in the shit.”
“Don’t swear, boys.  Proper word is Bear Skat.”
“Is the bear near?”
“No, this  is  old  bear shit.”

And  so  the four of us silently climbed the hill…very quietly.  Wick in the lead  with the
gun…then the boys…then me with the berry tub.   Our real goal was to get some blueberries
…we exagerrated the bear just for fun.   We moved silently.  Wick looked  around and  put
his finger to his mouth.

“Shhhh!  Boys…we close to the big blueberry patch…don’t scare the bear.”

Then Wick stopped abruptly.  No reason to stop as far as I could see.  Wick pointed
to the ground  at his feet.



“Alan, look here…fresh  bear shit…Today’s bear shit.”
“Do you mean there is a bear here on the island….a real  bear?”
“Yes.  We’ve got to get the hell out of here now.”
“Turn around  boys…back down to the canoe…be quiet but move
faster than the climb.  We’ve got company on the island.  A real bear.”
“But you said  there was a  bear on the island, Terry.”
“I did…I know I did.   Your dad  and  I thought we would  make this trip
into an adventure.  We did not expect a real bear.”
“Could the bear be down at our canoe?”


“No…bears do not like people much.  I think the bear is on
the other  side of the island.  But the island is small.  Best we
get out of here.  The bear may be watching us.  Let’s hope it’s 
not a momma bear with cubs.  Keep  moving.”
“Lucky you brought the rifle, Wick.”
“Not really.  I did not put 22’s in the gun…gun’s are dangerous.”

“What about berry picking, Terry?”
“No blueberry picking today, boys.”
“No blueberry pie!”

And so  the adventure ended.  It was a very small adventure in the great 
scheme of things but it was our adventure…ours!

alan Skeoch
Oct. 2020




This is fresh bear dung.


Here is Wick  with  “the Devil made me do it” look on his  face.


This picture reminded me of another adventure we shared with our friends when some hunters decided to see what they
could kill on our farm.  That will be another Episode.  Susie and Wick are in picture above beside he ladder.   My brother Eric is on the far
left..  And  Don Hamilton holding his chin.  Louise Joyce is holding the ladder in centre.  All supporters in the mini-crisis.