Journey from Gauntlet to Paradise

By Roger A. Vincent

Journey from Gauntlet to Paradise begins with author Roger Vincents early years as a curly-haired little boy on Grandmas Hill Farm and follows the author and his wife through their life travels. A thrilling, awe-inspiring journey awaits all who venture along with author Roger Vincent, and the love of his life, Betty May, as they journey through over sixty national parks along the way.

We all live in critical times, times that are crucial and sometimes even dangerous. The Bible informs us that God is a God of exclusive devotion, but who can manage to do that? Vincent tells us not to worry because God doesnt expect us to exclusively devote ourselves to Him. If it were not for God excusing our errors, none of us would survive his inevitable day of reckoning!

Through his lifes journey, he comes to understand the fact that despite who we are, we will all face judgment day when we die. The question he poses is this: who among us has a strong and solid knowledge of God and the Bible? They are the ones who will draw closer to God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466942981

Roger A. Vincent

Roger Vincent was born and has lived most of his adventurous life in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains in the Hudson View Valley near Catskill, New York. He is a survivor; his heritage includes both Mohawk Indian and ordained minister. This is his first book.

Book preview

Journey from

Gauntlet to

Paradise

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ROGER A. VINCENT

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© Copyright 2012 Roger A. Vincent.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Cover Illustration by Marvin Alonso and Roger A Vincent

ISBN: 978-1-4669-4296-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-4297-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-4298-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012910911

Trafford rev. 10/31/2012

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Contents

Concerning the author

Foreword

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1. GRANDMA’S HILL FARM

Chapter 2. GROWING PAINS AND JOY

Chapter 3. JEHOVAH SENDS BETTY MAY

Chapter 4. DUMB ELMER’S FARM

Chapter 5. A-FRAME WILDERNESS LIFE

Chapter 6. IF WE COULD JUST JOURNEY BACK THEN

Chapter 7. THE RAGS-TO-RICHES STORY BEGINS

Chapter 8. THIS TIME YOU GAVE ME A MOUNTAIN

Chapter 9. GRANDPA’S PIONEER WAY OF LIFE

Chapter 10. A LITTLE EXPLORING A LITTLE TRUTH

Chapter 11. BEEN THERE, DONE THAT

Chapter 12. WE DON’T LIVE A NORMAL LIFE!

Chapter 13. THE DOWN TO EARTH SAGA BEGINS

Chapter 14. ARE WE THERE YET?

Chapter 15. THE GAUNTLET AT THE END OF OUR JOURNEY

Chapter 16. REMEMBER THE PAST—HOPE FOR THE FUTURE

Chapter 17. MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS!

Chapter 18. THE FUTURE JOURNEY TO REASONABLENESS

Concerning the author

Just a brief description of this grandfatherly character who is undertaking the task of an author. By no stretch of the imagination does Roger A. Vincent consider himself to be a qualified author, however he is conscientiously attempting an honest effort to perform a literary accomplishment! Have you ever met an honest to goodness bo-na-fide character? My grandma always told me to be yourself, so insofar as the author of our Journey from Gauntlet to Paradise adventure is concerned, what you will see is most definitely what you will get! Your author was born and has lived most of his entire life in the Hudson River valley, near Catskill, New York. Mr. Vincent graduated from Catskill High School some fifty-nine years ago.

However, this storytelling character has been there and done that. Roger is a survivor who has endured while coping with the critical times in this troubled world! Surviving, keeping a roof over your head, food on the table and the bills paid, is in itself an education in survival! Our native American Indian friends were survivors! This author is proud to include as part of his heritage, Mohawk Indian!

The author is an ordained minister who only knows of one way to be involved in religion, tell the truth, live the truth, teach both barrels of the truth! We will not go into details regarding the critical, if not catastrophic times the world finds itself in today! If the world would only abide by Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount found in Matthew chapters 5, 6 and 7, then the problems of this world, would be solved! Events we are seeing fulfilled today (tornados earthquakes natural disasters economic turmoil), are in fact the fulfillment of Bible prophecy! God will not be denied, he will have his day, will you join Roger and Betty May as survivors in God’s new world paradise?

Although a difficult task when writing an autobiography, the author will attempt to refrain from boasting! Boasting is like the rooster who thinks the only reason the sun comes up is just to hear him crow! The author grew up on Grandma’s hill farm, and lived, laughed, and loved his way through a hillbilly country way of life. In 1958, God sent Betty May the lady the author has enjoyed the past fifty-four years in love with! Hang on! Fasten your seat belt! Enjoy our Journey from Gauntlet to Paradise.

Foreword

Have you ever known an authentic down-to-earth character? The individual nature or personality of this person is in possession of distinctive moral, ethical, and good-natured peculiarities, making him recognizable as the one acquaintance who has left a lasting impression on you! Our journey begins with the life of the just-described curly-haired little boy! Life and our journey begin on Grandma’s hill farm. Although curly haired, our author is quite proud to be part Mohawk Indian, who several times throughout our journey almost loses his scalp to time and unforeseen circumstances!

A thrilling, awe-inspiring journey awaits all who venture along with our author and the love of his life as they enjoy their travels through over sixty national parks. Be impressed on our journey as only God can impress you, when the creator of all things gets out his paintbrush! Paradise!

We all live in critical times—times that are crucial, sometimes even dangerous! Now the Bible informs us that God is a God of exclusive devotion! I can’t do that! You can’t do that! Don’t worry because God doesn’t expect us to exclusively devote ourselves to him! If it were not for God excusing our errors, none of us would survive his inevitable day of reckoning! However, as part of our journey, our author is forced to endure the wrath of those who claim to possess the power of eminent domain! The gauntlet endured is enough to bring a tear to our grandfatherly author’s eyes! You too, prepare to shed a tear! Journey along and be there when the light at the end of this power of eminent domain tunnel is ultimately darkened! Eminent domain status belongs exclusively to God! God will spread those who falsely claim what rightfully belongs to him. God will spread them over the surface of the ground as manure! Gauntlet!

So come tag along, escape from your mundane daily existence of hard-to-deal-with, critical times, and enjoy an honest relationship with our author and his fun-loving tribe of wild Indians! Anyone who reaches the ripe old age of a grandfather should be capable of sharing some tall tales. Our tribe just loves the stories that grandpa has to tell! Our readers will enjoy the exhilarating adventures of this once-in-a-lifetime rags-to-riches story—carving a home out of the wilderness, both barrels of the truth journey from gauntlet to paradise.

Acknowledgments

Confessing credit where credit is due!

Watchtower. Feb. 1, 2009. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

2009. Yearbook of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Watchtower. Sept. 1, 2008. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

Watchtower. May 1, 2008. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

Watchtower. Jan. 15, 2008. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

Awake. April 2007. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

Awake. Feb 2007. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

Watchtower. Sept. 15, 2006. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

Watchtower. Oct. 1, 2005. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

Reasoning from the Scriptures. Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York.

Bible. New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures.

Our National Parks. Published by Readers Digest Association.

Scenic Wonders of America. Published by Readers Digest Association.

CHAPTER 1

GRANDMA’S HILL FARM

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Guess what? After lengthy discussions, and with heartfelt encouragement from friends and family, self (as I like to refer to myself) came to the conclusion to write this book. And now you have decided to partake! Fasten your seat belt. This will be my one and only effort at book writing, and my being no literary genius will leave one disappointed if they expect to find proper grammar, spelling, and punctuation. Your author Roger, even though reaching the knowledgeable age of seventy-five years young, graduated fifty-six years ago in the little Town of Catskill, New York, about one hundred miles due north of New York City. Graduating fifty-six years ago may or may not qualify one as a literary genius! But then trying to survive in this crazy mixed-up world is an education in itself!

Whenever I tell my wife, Betty May, Guess what… I’ve got an idea, she just puts her hands on her hips, glares at me, and exclaims, Oh no, here we go again! And that’s just exactly how my wife’s acting right now! You’re such a blabbermouth, you just can’t go telling folks all your business, they will never believe you anyway. Well, regardless, self has been a little bored lately, so I’m just going to go right ahead and tell you all this crazy mixed-up story and take you with me on a journey from gauntlet to paradise.

On the following pages, we’ll shed some tears, have some laughs. There will be some trials and tribulations, some near disasters and a good deal of everyday life adventures. All adventures will be wrapped up in a way that hopefully everyone can enjoy and possibly wind up being a better person—maybe even learn a little bit from some of my very own mistakes. Oh, if only they would listen!

The author was born on a farm in Coxsackie, New York. Coxsackie is a little town about ten miles north of Catskill, where he now resides with his wife of fifty-three years, Betty May. I love this lady that God gave me more than any lady has ever been loved before and don’t anyone even bother to argue with me ’bout it. My wife sometimes claims she is the thorn in my side, which the Bible says occurred when God took a rib from Adam to make Eve—thus the thorn in Adam’s side! In the beginning, before Betty May was a thorn in my side, I was not this old gray-headed grandfather. I was a curly-haired little boy who could have won a beautiful child contest. Mom even cut my six-inch curls off and saved them in a red heart-shaped Valentine’s box, and I show my curls to folks when they began teasing this old bald-headed grandfather ’bout his baldness. I’m not going to elaborate that much on my boyhood, but there are a few fond memories I’d like to share. My grandmother had a hill farm way off in the wilderness near West Berne, New York, about forty miles northwest of Catskill. I loved my grandma and that old pioneer days’ farm. Mom and I were on a visit there when I was about three, and I was wandering around by the chicken yard when I had to pee! I decided to pee through the chicken wire. Guess what? The Rhode Island red rooster thought he saw a worm! That rooster got a hold of my difference between a boy and a girl. It’s a miracle I wasn’t injured permanently. OW, OW, and OW again! Mom and my very own grandma just sat on the front porch laughing. Laugh?! My foot, it was not funny, not one bit funny!

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Grandma had an old plow horse named Dick. One of my favorite spots in the whole world was on that old plow horse’s back. Grandma would make a batch of pancakes every morning, and there was a sliding glass window in the kitchen with a shelf where Grandma would place the leftover pancakes for Dick to come and get. One morning, Grandma decided to play a game and tease poor old Dick. She would place the plate full of pancakes on the shelf, and old Dick was awaiting patiently, even gave a little whinny under his breath. Grandma pulled Dick’s breakfast away. She teased the poor old horse three times this way, but the third time she pulled his pancakes away, he spun around and put both feet right through the kitchen window.

Then came the time when my mom and grandma went blackberry picking. As for me I had more blackberries all over my face than in the bucket, self was a-doing more eating than picking. We had filled our pails with berries when there came this god-awful snarling, growling and spitting just off in the bushes. Now my mom’s older brother, Perry, was always up to no good, pulling pranks on everyone, so Grandma just logically assumed that her prankster son was up to his old tricks trying to scare us by making believe he was a mountain lion or bobcat. We all just ignored him and continued filling our berry pails. The spitting and snarling got worse, much worse! Grandma let out with a war whoop, That’s just about enough of your nonsense, Perry. We know you’re in there, you get your butt outta there! The snarling and growling increased, so Grandma started throwing stones into the bushes. Mom and I joined in chucking stones. Now the howling and spitting got real bad. Will you just listen to that damn kid?

We finished filling our pails and went home. There on the front porch sat Perry and Grandma’s brother Uncle Emery. Grandma shook her finger under Perry’s nose. Thought you were smart trying to scare us like some wildcat, didn’t ya. Uncle Emery just sat there dumbfounded and then exclaimed, What the dickens ya talking ’bout! The kid’s been right here with me all afternoon! All I got to say is that wildcat must have thought he’d met up with some real brave berry pickers!

Grandma’s hill farm was at the base of a long gradually sloping hill with fields and pasture lots. Just beyond the base of the sloping fields and in front of the farmhouse was a deep ravine with a stream and a waterfalls. In the winter when there was snow, my mom and her brothers—Perry, Ernie, and Dale—would take me, at that time being only four or five years old, out for some winter fun. They would all gather up their sleds, toboggans, and skis, and we would walk up that big old hill to go sledding and skiing. Mom was riding on a homemade toboggan Perry had made. Perry was doing the driving, and Mom was carrying me. We were about to take off on toad’s wild ride. We were coming downhill, snow a flying and doing about warp two. Wow, we were really flying! We were coming up on Grandma’s house real fast, and I do mean real fast! Mom said to Perry, Don’t ya think ya should begin to apply the brakes real soon, like… now!? What brakes? Don’t got none! Mom just dove in a snowbank with me. Perry, well, he abandoned the toboggan, which went flying past the farmhouse and down into the ravine. Sometimes, events that occur in your childhood leave a lasting impression. I know one thing for sure, I had never been too keen on tobogganing. Wonder why! Back in the good old days, we would really get snowed in on Grandma’s hill farm. Grandma would have to hitch up our horse, old Dick, to the buckboard wagon and go to East Berne and buy the winter’s supply of groceries. Buying winter groceries had to be done along about the first of October before the heavy snows came in. Grandma’s farm was quite self-sufficient. Many good old-fashioned foodstuffs were grown or raised right on the farm. Grandma had a vegetable garden, and we had a cellar full of canned fruits, vegetables, jellies, and berries, like the blackberries I was telling you ’bout. We had all that good old-fashioned canned stuff. Grandma even had her own beehives, so we had plenty of honey. The farm, of course, produced milk, cheese and butter, eggs, meat, chicken, beef, pork, and ham. We even had a smokehouse, so we had smoked ham, bacon, and pork. Although most of our light came from kerosene lamps, Grandma eventually had a windmill installed for electricity. We only had a hand pump or used a pail to get water from the wells. We didn’t have any indoor plumbing either, just an old two-hole drafty outhouse and a Sears and Roebuck catalog. Why we even had our own ice house. We would all cut ice from the creek, store it in the ice house, and use it to keep food and drinks cold. There was no refrigerator, just an ice box.

Grandma had a hired hand, Roy, who lived right there on the farm. Grandma eventually married Roy, but that’s another story that we won’t be talking much about. Roy was Grandma’s fourth husband. This ole gal was a real swinger, and I loved my grandma. Now let’s get back to foodstuffs. Even though the farm produced a variety of produce, we still had to go to town before it snowed to stock up on salt and flour and other food items that the farm didn’t produce, like sugar, although we did tap maple trees and make maple syrup, which we would use in our coffee or where it was best on our pancakes.

Roy, this old farm hand I was telling about, was some character, wore his long johns year round! Roy was always a walking around, humming to himself. Roy and Grandma would get to arguing, and Roy would head for the woods to cool off a bit. Roy would tell everyone, If ya really get to needing me just raise the flag. Grandma would let him stay in the woods for a few days, then she would raise the flag. The only radio we had was called a crystal set. It had a wooden handle with a wire on it that you had to wiggle around on a crystal until you found a station. Roy would come in from doing his chores morning, noon, and night to listen to the news. This was a ritual that was by no means to be interrupted! One day I was raising cane as five-year-olds are entitled to do. Roy couldn’t hear his news, so he hollered at me. My very own self paid absolutely no attention. Roy chased me down, and when he caught me, he put me over his knee and spanked my butt. Well, self bellowed like a moose. My mom and Roy got in an argument about the whole thing. You can’t spank my little boy like that! Roy went to the woods again.

On another occasion, self was once again raising cane. This time my very own grandmother had just about enough of my shenanigans, so she came a running after me. I waded through the stream behind the barn, stood on the other side, and—big mistake—stuck my tongue out at Grandma! Grandma hiked up her dress, came across the stream madder, then a wet wolverine self got his little brat hind end whaled, but good! God, but them were the good ole days! Sure would solve a lot of problems if a lot more brats got their hind ends whaled a lot more often today. Nope, instead this good old common sense discipline is mistaken for abuse. As for those who do abuse children, throw them in a cage with King Kong, and let them experience what it’s like to have some big dude beat you up. In the Bible, Proverbs 22:15 advises us the rod of discipline removes foolishness from the boy!

My mom was pregnant. When the time came for the new baby to arrive, Mom had to leave me and my baby sister, Carol, with Grandma on the farm. We were all waiting in eager expectation for the arrival of the new baby, then came the tears. The new baby died three days later! Mom had named our new baby sister Joan. History would repeat itself later in my story.

Grandma had originally bought her farm for $800—all hundred and sixty acres of woods, fields, streams with waterfalls, and all this remote wilderness. Paradise. As Grandma got up in years, she could no longer handle the everyday operation, so she was forced to sell her farm. Grandma sold her little piece of paradise for a paltry $1,500. Ya¹ know what? Grandma’s hill farm still sits there vacant for over fifty years. This farm could probably be bought if someone were to make a deal and pay the back taxes. You know what else? If this book sells, my very own self and wife are going to buy Grandma’s old hill farm! Why, I can even remember the farmer who had to come around and pick us kids up for school in the winter with his sleigh and team of horses. Maybe someday we’ll get to go back to that good old-fashioned way of life. Maybe someday paradise will return!

My grandma is no longer with us. She’s taking a well-needed rest. The most important reason, that God sent his son to earth to die on a torture stake was that we would get to see our dead loved ones again. Don’t know how many others will enjoy that privilege, but I certainly hope that I will. In fact I know in no uncertain terms that I will get to see my grandma
again in the Resurrection! How did Grandma die? Well, that tough old self-sufficient Indian
lady slipped on a throw rug, broke her hip, went to the hospital where they dropped her out of
bed twice, and she died. As for that old hired hand, Roy, that she finally wound up marrying,
well, Grandma had to kick him out, and he went and lived in a small camping trailer in her
front yard. Roy turned out to be a dirty old man who would pay local teenage girls to dance
around in the nude in front of him. Guess all this excitement proved to be too much for him.
In fact, all this nudity killed him.

As for my real grandpa, well, he was another full-blooded Mohawk Indian character. One story I can remember about him that my mom told was how she was brushing my head full of curls out on the back sun porch. Mom had me standing on an ironing board. Grandpa who was going to go partridge hunting and was a loading his 10-gauge shotgun, well, the shotgun went off and took the windows out both sides of me on the sun porch. Although it is rather difficult to part, curly-hair grandpa most certainly made an attempt at doing just that! I have fond memories especially of the curly-hair part since now I’m just mostly bald! Oh, for the good old days! Like my grandma, grandpa is no longer with us. Grandpa was taking in hay with his hay wagon and team of horses. Grandpa was moving hay on top of the hay wagon when he told the horses to giddyap. They stepped on a bees’ nest, jumped ahead, and Grandpa fell off the hay wagon and ran the pitchfork through his chest! Grandpa was only in his forties when he was laid to rest!

Guess we better go back and begin at the beginning since that’s a very good place to start. The very first event that occurred in this curly-haired child’s life included dear old Dad. Now first off, right off the bat I’m not going to beat around the bush at all when it comes right down to describing my old man. Dear old Dad was, and this is putting it mildly, a first class, number one gold-plated north-end-of-a-southbound rotten louse, period! When I was due to be born, George, which was my old man’s name, sent my mom to a clinic to have an abortion! No sir, by George, no way was dear old Dad about to be saddled with any brats! But abortions seventy years ago were more like a butchering than an operation. So Mom was more afraid of the operation than she was of George! Mom didn’t go through with the abortion. So my very own self started out in life with there pretty darn near not being any life at all!

Events have a way of coming full circle, so now I’m looking forward with eager expectation to living forever in paradise right here on earth. Now don’t you all get to wonder what the dickens is Roger rambling on about. Now, just hold your horses. I’ll explain all about paradise a little later in our book. Back to the beginning. Mom came home still pregnant, so George beat her up real bad. Ya know, I knew my old man was a rat, but I didn’t know how big a rat he really was till just a couple of years ago when I first became aware of the abortion situation. All you folks who have a real nice dad, well, you just treasure your relationship and the good times you all have shared together, ain’t no fun having a louse for a dad.

My mom had a sister, a louse who was married to another louse Leonard. They had nine kids, and they all lived on a farm. When Grandma moved off her hill farm, she still had ten cows. Grandma put her ten cows in her son-in-law Leonard’s barn. Big mistake! Leonard put a lock on the barn door. That low-down cattle rustler stole Grandma’s cows! Possession is nine tenths of the law.

My old man was a louse, but he proved to be one tough character. It was a known fact that Leonard was one tough lumberjack barroom brawler. Leonard had a reputation for barroom fights and beating up almost every man in two counties. Sometimes I exaggerate just a mite, but at least everyone gets the general idea.

Anyhow, this is how the battle royal began. My old man came for one of his infrequent visits. We had an upstairs apartment in Leonard’s old farmhouse. There was this huge room with a couch and some living room chairs on one end of the room, a kitchen table and chairs in the middle of the room, an old wood-burning cook stove and a double bed that Ernie and Dale and me shared on the far end of the room. On this particular evening, we had just finished a late supper, food was still on the table, and us kids were in bed. Grandma had started to clean off the supper table. My mom and George were sitting on the couch. They were discussing Leonard’s stealing Grandma’s herd of cows.

A knock comes on the door. Here comes Leonard. What is all this racket going on up here? You better just quiet down all this hollering and yelling or I’ll throw the whole bunch of you out. My old man jumps off the couch. Why don’t you just start by trying to throw me out? I’m just dying to poke you in the mouth, you lousy cattle thief. By this time, us kids, who were like I said in bed, were now wide awake. My mom grabbed George. She thought he was about to get killed.

But the battle royal was on. You, never in all the prizefights or western cowboy barroom brawls, you ain’t never seen a fight the likes of this one! One of these men would throw a punch, blood would fly out of their mouth or nose and run down the wall on the opposite side of the room. In the brawl, the woodstove was knocked over, and the stovepipe came off. There was black soot all over the room. One of these men threw a punch and knocked the other man across the kitchen table. They were all covered with mashed potatoes, gravy, and ketchup, and there were foodstuffs splattered all over the room. Food was running down the walls. The two fighting men were wrestling around on the floor in the blood and food. They knocked each other across the bed. Us kids were scared half to death, even screaming and crying ourselves while they were fighting and throwing punches and yelling and cursing right on top of us. But mostly they were just standing toe-to-toe in the middle of the room and punching each other in the face just as hard as they could. They would haul off and swing, and we three kids would duck under the covers, afraid to watch the blood fly. My mom and grandma were screaming and crying hysterically! Those two men were calling each other every dirty, filthy name in the book: Take that you rotten, no-good, rotten, low-down, no-good louse.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was more like twenty minutes of this horrific fight, George really beat Leonard up real bad with some devastating punches, and the end results was that Leonard staggered to the door, got out the door, stood outside holding the door closed so my old man couldn’t get to him anymore! But you know what? Leonard did steal Grandma’s cows! You know what else? I grew up to be a chip off the old block. Oh, most of the time I’m just a quiet gentleman, but it’s the quiet man that you don’t want to ever back into a corner, but then them were the good old days. Now his very own "self, is just getting old.

My mom had a tough life raising two kids all by herself. Later on in life, God would give me a wife, a very special lady, and three very special lovely daughters and one son who was very special too. Only just right now I’m on the subject of the ladies in my life, and especially when you throw my grandma into the mix of women in my life, well, the point I’m trying to make here is that I have every good reason to have always put women way up on a pedestal! Period! Oh, there may be times when a woman can ruffle your feathers, but don’t let me ever catch any so-called man laying a hand on a woman, unless it’s a loving, gentle one. My old man beat my mom, but then, he was a louse. This old Indian is going on the warpath if he catches any so-called man beating up on a lady. Just a side note to all this rough-and-tough talk, this chip off the old block stuff. Once again you know what? Just to put everyone’s mind at ease as to the real nature of this author. When yours truly finally graduated high school, he was honored to receive the school’s courtesy award. Your author grew up to be a real nice peaceful Christian gentleman. So there put that in your peace pipe and smoke it! Whoa there, this chapter is supposed to be all about Grandma’s hill farm, and we been getting a bit sidetracked, so let’s return to a story about my favorite old horse Dick.

Grandma, of course, burned wood, lots of firewood. Roy had to spend a good deal of time in the woods cutting pole-length firewood, and they didn’t have a chain saw either! They did have a buzz saw though, so they could cut the pole wood into firewood.

Roy and Grandma had a wood-hauling sleigh, so as soon as the first snow came, Roy would hitch Dick to the sleigh, and they would haul firewood out of the wood lot and down to the woodshed by the farmhouse. Roy would load the wood sleigh up in the wood lot and send Dick off all by himself back down to the woodshed. The sleigh had a latch on the side. Grandma would come out and unlatch the sleigh, and the pile of pole-length logs would flip off the side, unloading the sleigh, and back to the woodlot all by himself, dick would go. That horse would outwork any two horses, but if he decided he had done enough wood hauling and Grandma tried to send him back for another load of wood, he would go, but on the way he would get the sleigh caught on a tree, break the harness, and run off and hide for days! That smart-aleck old horse would find a big old pine tree with low hanging branches. Dick would crawl under the branches and hide. You could be standing right next to that horse hiding under the branches quiet as a mouse and not be able to find him. The moral to this story is when you got a good horse working all by himself, don’t push the old horse!

My mom tells this story about her favorite pet pig. Folks will have these potbellied pigs for pets. Well, Mom had a pet pig, not a potbellied one, just a friendly barnyard white pig like Babe, the pig in the movie. When Mom was just a young girl on the farm, her pet pig would follow her around like a pet puppy. Mom would dress her pig up in doll’s dresses and put ribbons around the pig’s neck and in her curly cue tail. Mom would be playing in the yard, and that pig would come a running over by her just to have her back scratched. Grandma’s second husband, Ernie Dale, and Perry’s father who was by the way another north-end-of-a-southbound donkey also named Perry, and not just part donkey but a dirty old man to boot. Unfortunately, it was the day to do the butchering! The day when Perry and the other farm hands were going to butcher pigs—you guessed it—that louse cut Mom’s pet pig’s throat! Mom heard the pigs squealing, but one squeal sounded just a bit too familiar. Mom ran to see just what was going on, got there just in time to see her pet pig look up at her with those big black eyes just as much as to say, Why me!

We had another pet on the farm, Timothy T. Titus-Tigerlilly tomcat. Timmy was a big ole fluffy yellow with white stripes tomcat. There were always plenty of cats on the farm, or the farm would be overrun with mice and rats, but Timmy was Grandma’s favorite. Timmy’s favorite pastime, other than lying by the woodstove or curled up on your lap with his motor running just a purring away, was eliminating the rat and mouse population—well, almost! However, there came to be this mother of all rats that moved into the cellar where Grandma kept all her canned goods. Even Grandma was afraid to go to the cellar because of that big rat. Grandma was becoming real annoyed with the situation. Grandma announced, This is just about enough of this nonsense. That rat has just got to go! She decided to end this rat situation, nip it right in the bud. Grandma turned Timmy loose on the rat.

There was a terrible battle, screeching and hissing and howling. Out of the cellar just about flying came Timmy, the rat right behind him. Grandma’s eyes got about as big as saucers. Once again, she announced, Enough is enough. I’m ending this before that dumb rodent kills my cat! My grandmother got the 12 gauge down in the cellar she went, boom! No more rat! Grandma loved that cat so much that when Timmy died, she took him to a taxidermist. Grandma had Timmy stuffed. Poor Timmy came back looking like a skinny yellow striped rat. What a shame that Timmy didn’t look like the original old fluffy Timmy because when he died, Roy had buried him, so they went and dug the poor old tom cat up just to have him turn out looking like a pretty sick cat!

Kids on a farm have their choice of pets. Grandma had a flock of white leghorn chickens. Ernie and Dale had their own very special pet roosters. My young uncles would have cockfights, letting their roosters battle until a winner was determined. Whenever we visited the farm, I would always get a big kick out of watching my uncles fight their roosters. This would prove to be the beginning of my very own involvement in cockfighting later on in life. There will be more stories to relate as to these cockfighting adventures later on in our storytelling.

My two younger uncles, Ernie and Dale, also came to have some pet goats. My mom found for herself a just-out-of-the-army new boyfriend! I’m just going to have to fill you all in later as to the details of this particular involvement. Well, anyway, Mom and her boyfriend Ed (just after she had gotten divorced) had two goats given to them. The goats were loaded into the rumble seat of their old 1930-something Chevy. The trip to Grandma’s hill farm was made with the goats a blatting and a pooping all the way from Saugerties to East Berne, a distance of about forty miles. Ed got so aggravated with those goats blatting that ever so often, he would just have to stop and shove their heads in a snow bank!

Once the goats arrived at the farm, those uncles of mine sure did enjoy their newfound playmates. A large goat yard was made with all kinds of wooden ramps made up in the air for the goats to perform their acrobatics on.

On one of our visits to the farm, Dale and Ernie took me, then about nine years old, into the big woods accompanied by the 8-gauge shotgun! It came to be my very own self’s turn to shoot. Well, now you talk about acrobatics! That 8 gauge kicked like a mule, knocked me for a loop, ’bout tore my shoulder off, and those two dumb kids were just a rolling around on the ground, holding their sides from laughing so hard. They thought it was oh so funny. I certainly wasn’t amused, not one little bit!

I didn’t think it was so funny either when one morning I was playing in the barnyard and I came tearing around the corner of the barn and Roy who was cleaning out the manure ditch behind where the cows stand when their in the barn, well anyway, Roy hit me right in the face with a pitchfork full of wet sloppy cow manure. I could be wrong, but I’ve come to the conclusion that all that fertilizer is where my very own self got all his good looks from. Really, I looked pretty good when I was younger, but now I’m just old.

Life on Grandma’s old hill farm brings back fond memories of the winters that were certainly harsh. We would go to bed with a hot iron wrapped in a towel by our feet. Life on Grandma’s hill farm, they were hard times, yes, but made for warm memories.

One of the reasons our Lord Jesus died was so death would be no more! I, like all of you folks, just can’t wait to see our dead loved ones again, especially my mom and my grandma!

Some folks question the resurrection. They ask, And just where do you think you’re going to put all these resurrected ones? How strange it would come to be if although the Bible promises a resurrection of all men, all men could not find a footing on earth! Since creation, there are now approximately seven billion people living on this earth. People on earth began with one pair (Adam and Eve). They were fruitful and multiplied. The flood of Noah’s day reduced earth’s population to eight persons. There were about 180 generations since Adam, or about 250 billion from creation to the present time! Once again, where on earth will we find room for all these resurrected ones?

The state of Texas alone measures 237,000 square miles! There are 27 million 878 thousand 400 square feet in a mile, and therefore 6 trillion 6 hundred and 7 billion 108 million 800 thousand square feet in Texas! Allowing 10 square feet as the surface area for each resurrected body, we find that Texas as a cemetery would at this rate hold 660 billion 718 million plus 80,000! With earth’s present population of 7 billion, each and every one of them would have all to themselves approximately 10 acres! Now listen! These numbers of people are exaggerated estimates because not all resurrected ones will prove themselves worthy, or survive judgment day, and remain! However, you can take this fact to the bank. This author is going to get to see his grandma again!

CHAPTER 2

GROWING PAINS AND JOY

Back in the days of Grandma’s farm, young men were drafted for military service. Uncle Perry got drafted. He nearly got blown up by a hand grenade. For a long time even after he was discharged, doctors had to keep taking pieces of the grenade out of him. When Perry went to war though, he left his 1932 white Ford coupe with Grandma to learn to drive. She couldn’t drive! Grandma went three times for her driver’s test. The driving instructor finally told her, Don’t come back! We were way off the country, so Grandma tried to drive anyway. My mom tells the story of how one afternoon when they were on their way home from the country store, Grandma missed the turn on the back country road. Mom told her mom, You just missed your turn. Grandma turned anyway! Right down through the trees across the cow pasture through the barbed wire fence a bouncing all over the place and back on the dirt road. Mom pulled herself back up from under the dash and never said a word. She didn’t dare to, and on home they went, with Grandma just a driving right along just as if nothing had happened.

The old Ford had a clutch; Grandma couldn’t do clutches. Went to back out of the driveway one morning, she put the Ford in reverse, let the clutch out, and the Ford went hopping and bucking out the driveway across the main dirt road and wound up sitting on top of the stone wall on the other side of the road. The stone wall had an electric barbed wire fence on top of it. The Ford was electrocuted! You couldn’t touch anything on the Ford’s door handles, window cranks, ignition key, anything, without getting a shock! Grandma had to just sit there till Mom went to the barn and shut the fence charger off. Right then and there, Grandma gave up driving. Even though Grandma didn’t use the Ford very much, it’s a miracle it was still in one piece when Perry came home after being wounded by the grenade.

One hundred people an hour round the clock for the past ninety years have not just been wounded by a hand grenade they have died as the results of wars! War is a disgusting way of settling differences! We have this war in Iraq going on right now. At this point in time, George Bush’s own private war have caused the deaths of over four thousand young American men and women. This war is approaching as being the longest war in American history, and for what, control of oil interests? That’s what you get when you elect an oil tycoon for president! What have we accomplished, absolutely nothing! Dead men and women, a country that is in civil war, and politicians who will get their names in the history books. And, oh yes, by all means, let us not forget all those who will become filthy rich as a result of this atrocity. This was a war to stop terrorism; you can’t stop terrorism! Period! A war to end weapons of mass destruction, there were none! I for one am getting thoroughly disgusted with anyone looking my very own self right in the face, and lying.

Self is becoming thoroughly disgusted with people saying to themselves, If I can get away with it, why shouldn’t I? I’m definitely going to have the last laugh though because God is going to have his day. In the Bible, Zephaniah 14:1 warns the great day of Jehovah is near. Psalms 46:9 assures us God is making wars to cease to the extremity of the earth. As far as this war in Iraq nonsense is concerned, George Bush, along with anyone who thinks that handing some kid an AK-47 rifle and training them to kill another human being, gets an absolute zero. What part of thou shalt not kill don’t they understand?

Perry got discharged, got his Ford back, and met a beautiful blonde. Mom introduced her brother to the blue-eyed blonde. My very own self thought she was beautiful. Of course, a twenty-year-old blonde is bound to be very attractive to a ten-year-old. Well, as it turned out, Uncle Perry and the blond Shirley were in love, and as it turned out, they got married, had three kids, and moved to Florida. Uncle Perry died about two years ago.

A lot was going on in my life back about the time Perry had gotten out of the war. Mom had moved with my sister Carol, and I to a bungalow in Saugerties, a town about ten miles south of Catskill. Mom was still with George but, fortunately, not for much longer. George was a woman chaser, and Mom became suspicious. George was driving a bus for Mountain View bus line when Mom suspected that he was having an affair with the boss’s daughter. My very own Mom and Peggy, Mom’s friend who lived in a bungalow right next door to us, hatched a plot to catch dear old Dad with his pants down—well, almost! Mom and Peggy went to the bus terminal where Pappy worked, stood outside a window and overheard George and the boss’s daughter planning a trip to Lake George, heard them discussing the cabin by the lake that they were going to spend the night in together, and all that good fun and games stuff. That night back at the bungalow, Mom was planning to confront dear old Dad with what she and Peggy had overheard. Peggy was going to observe the confrontation from her window right next door because they knew Pappy was not going to be a happy camper! So the trap was set. Pop came home. He was in a real good mood. That mood was about to change. Mom told Pop just what she and Peggy had overheard. He started slapping her around, so Peggy called the cops! The state police came. Pappy took off in his green-and-white Chrysler, and the cops were right behind him. Mom got a divorce. George married the boss’s daughter! As in all situations of this nature, George was ordered by the court to pay child support. True to his colors, he didn’t.

The boss’s daughter got killed in an automobile accident. His very own self, namely me, got three days off from work because my stepmother had died. The irony of the situation was I had never even met my so-called stepmother.

For fifty years, I had nothing to do with George. One day I got curious and went inquiring as to his whereabouts. I went to where he had lived. I talked to an elderly lady who had been his neighbor. She told me he had died ten years ago! George’s second wife was still alive. Now I knew this was the third wife. Obviously that liar had been married to his third wife for some thirty years and kept his first wife, my mother, a secret.

After thoroughly pondering over this third wife’s situation, what I was tempted to do was go knock on the third wife’s door and say, Hi, Ma! Somehow though, I just couldn’t bring myself to do that. The old lady was in her nineties, and she would have undoubtedly have had a stroke!

Mom met a soldier fresh out of World War II. They became romantically inclined. My first impression was that I didn’t much care for Ed because once dear old Dad was out of the picture, twelve-year-old Roger became the man of the house! So my very own self didn’t much care for this intruder.

One day, my sister Carol got to picking on the man of the house who was definitely not going to tolerate little sister picking on him. So out in the kitchen, I stormed and got a butcher knife and announced to Carol, Stop picking on me or this Indian is going on the warpath! However, little sister continued slapping at me, even throwing couch pillows at me. I grabbed the knife, and Carol headed out the screen door, slammed the door, and stood in front of it. I took the butcher knife by the blade and threw it at her. It went through the screen with the blade pointed right at her chest. You know how the modern version of disciplining your child dictates that a parent is not allowed to lay a hand on a child? Well, when Mom got home and little sister gladly informed her of the knife-throwing incident his very own self received a heaping helping of the good old-fashioned hands-on version, of discipline! In other words, Roger got his you-know-what whaled—poor little man couldn’t sit down for a week. God bless the good old days!

Ed, Mom’s new boyfriend, got a job managing a large farm. We moved to the tenant house on the farm. From here is where the next few adventures for our book will take place.

Carol and I went to a one-room country school. We had just one teacher, Mrs. Snyder. She taught all eight grades in the school. I was in the eighth grade. There wasn’t another boy until way back in the fifth grade. I was king of the school! No competition. I made poor Mrs. Snyder’s life miserable. I was such a roughneck trouble-making little brat. That brat wasn’t allowed on school property without Mrs. Snyder’s permission. Before I could come on school grounds, I actually had to stand out by the road and shout for Mrs. Snyder to come to the front door of the school, and I then had to ask for permission to be allowed to enter school property. Poor old lady had to keep her eye on this brat all the time.

Carol and I only lived a half mile down the road from the schoolhouse, so we would go home for lunch. The old country schoolhouse didn’t have any indoor plumbing. We got our water out of a well with a pail. The school had an outdoor outhouse with wooden seats. There was a girl’s side and a boy’s side to the outhouse, with a partition in between. I never had to use the outhouse because, like I said, we went home for lunch and we could make a pit stop then. However, wouldn’t you know it one day I got caught short had to go! There was a blackboard on the wall in back of the school. If you just had to make water, you would write down your name with a one after it, and if you had to be longer, you wrote down a two.

I put down my name and a two. When I got seated in the outhouse, I noticed daylight coming through a hole in the partition between the girl’s side and the boy’s. Why, you could see right over to the girl’s side. When I was back in the classroom, Mrs. Snyder did an inspection of the outhouse. Back came Mrs. Snyder, madder than a wet hen.

Roger—Mrs. Snyder had her bony finger pointed at me—you come right back here this instant.

You look a little bit upset. What’s the matter? I asked Mrs. Snyder.

You know exactly what’s the matter. You carved a hole from the boy’s side to the girl’s side.

I never use that outhouse, and I wasn’t out there long enough to carve any dumb hole, and besides that, I don’t have any knife to carve any dumb hole with!

Mrs. Snyder wasn’t one bit convinced. She probably thought I needed a spanking anyway, and this was her opportunity to give his very own self a well-deserved spanking. The whole schoolroom was deathly quiet. My god, Roger was going to get spanked! I gotta give Mrs. Snyder credit. She tried to spank me, but I didn’t carve any dumb hole, and I wasn’t about to take any spanking! The battle was on. Why, the poor old lady lost most of the buttons on the front of her dress. Mrs. Snyder was almost naked! The classroom was in an uproar. Little Johnny, a lad in the fifth grade, was by now a nervous wreck, thinking about the beating he was going to get when I found out that he was the culprit who had drilled the hole.

Well anyhow, Little Johnny decided to come clean. He began to shout out to Mrs. Snyder, I did it, I did it! Poor teacher had to compose herself as best she could. Although her heart wasn’t in it, Mrs. Snyder had to apologize to the now once-again king of this country school. As for Little Johnny, he got thumped up twice. First, he went across Mrs. Snyder’s knee, and then after school, guess who punched him in the nose? Then we went and played softball.

Carol and I had a dog! Our dog Teddy was a big ole fluffy yeller and white, part collie and part chow chow. Every day, Teddy would walk to school with us. Every day, Teddy would come back to school and walk home with us for lunch, walk back to school, and run around the school yard, barking, jumping, and playing with us kids. Right back, Teddy would come just as faithful in the afternoon to walk home with us after school. Teddy was the most favorite ole yeller dog any kid could ever hope to have. Mrs. Snyder noticed our dog Teddy. She contacted Saturday Evening Post magazine. The magazine folks came and interviewed Carol and I and Teddy. All three of us got our picture in the magazine for having perfect attendance!

Teddy also went with us in the summer to the swimming hole. A stream came down out of the Catskill Mountains, and there were several deep swimming holes with waterfalls. There were also many rock ledges, some real high ones that if you had nerve enough you could dive from. I had nerve, plenty of nerve no one followed Roger! Self was the swimming hole show-off! Some of the young men would dive off the high ledges. Self would climb the trees on top of the ledges and dive out like Tarzan! Sometimes there would be two hundred or more people at the swimming hole. When I started to climb a tree to dive out of it, folks would leave the water and just stand around in amazement! Oh my god, he’s not going to dive from up there, he’s going to kill himself! Like I had done so many times before, away I would go out of the tree, hit the water, and come up, and all the folks would be clapping and cheering—what a show-off. These are just fond memories because today I’m just old. I couldn’t even climb the ledges, let alone climb the trees and dive out. Sometimes though, I still go to the old swimming hole, and reminisce and recall the good old days. Now I’m the one who just stares in amazement at some of the shenanigans I used to perform. However, insofar as the rock ledges are concerned, the large flat ones were good for just stretching out on them in your bathing suit and getting a nice suntan. The rocks would get so nice and hot in the summer sun, and I still am capable of enjoying this feature of the rock ledges. Your author still is a fan of Tarzan though. Tarzan is one of my favorite movie and comic book characters. In fact way back in the 1950s, I started a Tarzan comic book collection. I still have about forty Tarzan comics from the 1950s.

One more, well, maybe two more schoolhouse adventures to tell about. When I was in the eighth grade, I met my first girlfriend, little red-headed freckle-faced Virginia. Virginia was an adorable country girl in the seventh grade. Virginia and her sister rode their bicycles to school from their country home, about two miles from the schoolhouse. When Virginia