Tuesday, July 14, 2015

The Knot Hole - A Poem



The Knot Hole


Limbs that die, sometimes leave a hole,
for birds, squirrels or just a curious soul,
wondering what mystery it might hold.

A little hole caught my attention along the marsh,
was something hiding in the smooth clean bark,
a little touch of white caught my eye in the dark.

A cord, dangling from the limb above the hole,
tied to something left behind by some little troll,
a brown painted little bottle with a white cap.

Who left it there and why is anyone’s guess.
Slowly I open the bottle, what might it possess?
It was empty, to my great distress.

Now I could not leave this bottle be,
remaining there empty inside this tree,
a little treasure I left for the next curious as me.

Copyright © 2015 Hubert Clark Crowell




The Trout Pond is now on Audible.com: http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/The-Trout-Pond-Audiobook/B06WLMRTH3/

By: Hubert C. Crowell
Jim makes a find in a pond that tears a small Kentucky coal mining town apart. Ron, a stranger in town carrying a secret of the largest crime of the century becomes snared in the Union wars of the 1950’s.
 

Friday, July 10, 2015

End of Day - A Poem

End of Day


A walk on the beach at the end of the day,
leaving tracks for the waves to wash away.
Cares have vanished with the setting sun,
ending a picture-perfect day of sun and fun.

At the end of day when all is said and done,
have we changed the world or touched someone?
A kind word for all we meet along the way,
may seem like a small and humble thing.

Just a small start to show how much we care,
for others we meet, as we smile instead of glare.
Who knows what trouble the other may bare?
Share a smile, kind word or even a short prayer.


Copyright © 2015 Hubert Clark Crowell




The Trout Pond is now on Audible.com: http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/The-Trout-Pond-Audiobook/B06WLMRTH3/

By: Hubert C. Crowell
Jim makes a find in a pond that tears a small Kentucky coal mining town apart. Ron, a stranger in town carrying a secret of the largest crime of the century becomes snared in the Union wars of the 1950’s.
 

The Office Visit


The Office Visit


Non-fiction 




A phone call to remind me of an appointment that I had put out of my mind. I can always find time for doing things, so why then did I dread the reminder call? A month before, a similar call reminded me of a fasting blood test, but that phone call did not bother me at all. I guess I was looking forward to the breakfast stop at the Family Tradition restaurant after the test, thinking about the bacon and eggs with coffee, or maybe the French toast. The restaurant was just around the corner from the office, and it was on the right side of the road, so it was easy to get to. Breakfast out is a rare treat that I indulge in once every few months.

A 10:00 appointment allowed me to have my coffee and rye toast, with maybe a little jam, then run an errand or two before going. I was feeling fine, so why was I having these uneasy feelings about this visit?

The office was full as I signed in and paid the copay fee. I settled in on one of the easy chairs and tried to find a magazine to read. The doctor was running behind, and after an hour wait I found an interesting article to read. Just as I got into the article, the nurse called my name.

On the scales, temperature probe in the mouth, and blood pressure band on my arm, as the nurse went through the routine with some small talk. My arm went numb as the bell finally went off. She directed me to a small exam room that was a little chilly. I sat in the cold for thirty minutes and listened to patients in the adjoining rooms explain their symptoms to the doctor, before he burst through the door with his computer under his arm. A quick handshake and he connected the computer to the monitor and printer, asking how I was doing. Here was my chance to spill out all my ailments, as thoughts of more pills or another test, slowed me down.

"Been doing just fine!" I blurted out.

His concentration was now on all the data streaming down the monitor faster than I could read it, not that I understood anything that was displayed anyway.

Stopping on a list of numbers, he started making some notes. "Have you had any pain or numbness in your legs?"

"No, they have been just fine."

"Your last sonogram shows an increase in calcium in your arteries. Something must be interfering with your cholesterol medication." We reviewed all the medications I was taking, including the over-the-counter ones. As I listed them, he kept telling me to stop taking them.

"We are going to have to get you back to a base line to find out what is working."

"I would like to stay on my memory pills!"

"We need to find out if it is causing the problem, I don't want you to have a stroke!" He continued to study the numbers. "You know there is an upside and a downside to any medication. We are going to adjust your medications to try to reverse this trend, but we will have to monitor you carefully, in case of kidney problems."

"It would be nice to come off of some of these pills."

"Well I am going to put you on another cholesterol medication twice a week. Continue taking what you're on the other five days." His printer buzzed as he printed out several sheets of instructions and refills. "Come back for another fasting blood test in six weeks and a follow-up visit the following week. Give this to the front desk."

While checking out and scheduling the next appointments, my mind whirled with all the new data. Confused, I would have to retype my medication list of what and when I take each medication.

Life is interesting, and getting older gives us more to look forward to, like the reoccurring ‘office visit’.

Copyright © 2015 Hubert Clark Crowell
 

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Thursday, July 9, 2015

The Courtship


The Courtship


Fiction 


Hunter returned home and started to rebuild his life. Before he left, he had gone to work for his father in the coal mines and was buried under a rock fall when he was fourteen that resulted in a broken ankle. In 1929 Hunter turned sixteen and went to work in east Kentucky, where he fell in with the wrong crowd and spent six months in the Atlanta Federal penitentiary.

Two years was a long time for the young man to be away. He was older than the other kids in high school since he had quit school in the eighth grade. Now he had to make new friends with all the younger kids. His buddies had graduated from school and now worked the mines or local farms. His older brothers had left home to look for work in California, and Hunter moved back in with his parents, Allie and James. The depression had hit them hard, and there was no work available in town, so Hunter decided to finish high school. He was eighteen, and the year was 1931.

Hunter turned his life around, got back in church and tried to put his young, troubled life behind him. He was looked up to by everyone and loved to play football. Soon he became the local football hero, playing every game. Hunter did well in school, so well that the teachers would put him in charge when they were out.

The Clark family had a farm about two miles west of town on a gravel road. Mr. Clark was a widower left with four daughters and three sons to raise, He was a kind, fun-loving man, and the girls made sure there were always dances and parties on the weekends. Nellie was the youngest, and was in the same grade with Hunter, who was four years older.

Nellie was one of the most beautiful girls in school, and all the young men were trying to take her out, but she had her eye on Hunter. Hunter was busy with school, football and hunting. He sold the squirrels to a man in town who loved the wild meat. After buying the rifle shells, he would end up with two bits for each squirrel. Hunter was a good shot. He would watch the squirrels play, and when they lined up just right he would get two with one shot! Nellie was really impressed with Hunter when he would bring over fresh meat for dinner, and of course Mr. Clark would ask him to stay and eat with them.

Hunter would always find some reason to visit the Clarks, maybe to go hunting with the boys or dance with the girls. During the winter months he would strap on a pair of ice skates and skate on the ice and snow-covered road to the Clark home.

Hunter could not play football his last year of school because of his age. However he was the class president and Nellie was voted the prom queen. Everyone in town knew that the two were in love and could not be separated.

After graduation Hunter went back to work in the local coal mines, fishing, hunting and dating Nellie. The town was excited when the news of the marriage was out. No one was invited to the wedding, it was just assumed that everyone was welcome. And come they did. The church was full, and the rest of the town people crowded around the church, looking in the windows.



Hunter took his new bride home, and his mother fixed up the front bedroom for them. When it came time to go to bed, she made herself a spot across the foot of the bed for the wedding night! 


Copyright © 2015 Hubert Clark Crowell

 
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Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Herkimer Cave


Herkimer Cave


Short Story –Fiction


It was a cold winter day in upstate New York as Ray and Bob crossed the hard frozen field. They had been exploring known caves in the area and had heard about Herkimer Cave, which had a vertical twenty-foot shaft that looked more like a well than a cave. Equipped with hard hats and army surplus belts with battery packs, they felt ready for what lay ahead.

The climb down was easy with the help of an old log that someone had dropped down the hole. At the bottom, a low but wide hands-and-knees passage lured them on. They made several turns before dropping a short distance into a small room with large animal bones scattered around on the floor.

“These bones look fresh to me.” Ray commented.

“I agree, looks like some sort of den. I hope we don’t meet up with who or what lives down here!” said Bob.

          Ray led the way as they continued on, pushing the passage a little more until it got real low. “It’s too tight for me,” he groaned.

“Let out some air. You can make it.”

Ray pulled back and over to the side where there was a little more room and challenged Bob, “If you think you can make it, come on ahead!”

Bob edged past Ray. He removed his hat and pushed it out in front to light up the crawl, but forgot to remove his belt and battery pack. He pushed on toward the bend in the passage, determined to see what was around the next turn. He pushed hard, turning his head sideways to glance around, and thought he saw something move up ahead. Cramped in the tight confines between the rock above and the rock below, he felt his heart beat faster.

At last his head reached the turn, his hat with his light against the side of his face pointing in the wrong direction, in the semi-darkness were two big eyes looking back at him! Bob did not even take time to shine his light to see what it was; he just started backing up as fast as he could, dragging his hat and light by the cord. Quickly his belt and battery pack got caught and would not budge. The more he tried to move backwards, the more wedged he became. Exhaling helped him move a few more inches, but then he was completely stuck.

Fear and panic set in as Ray heard the groans Bob was making and saw his frantic kicks. Something was wrong.

“What’s the matter? The passage too tight?”

Bob, with one arm extended in front and the other stuck down by his side, felt something bite his finger. “Ouch! It’s eating my hand! Pull me out of here quick!”

Ray had both arms extended out in front. He tried to reach Bob’s legs, but he was able to grab only one boot. He pulled hard, and the boot came off. Now Ray felt like he was stuck too. “Can’t do it, too tight! I’m going to try to back up and go get help!”

“No! Don’t leave me. Ouch! He bit me again!” Bob slapped around in the dark, trying to fend off his attacker, his light now out of reach, and unable to turn his head, he could only yell and slap the air hoping to hit the beast.

 After an hour of fighting, pulling back with his toes and exhaling, he at last felt the cave give up its grip.

          He quickly moved back into a larger passage and took a close look at his bloodied and mangled hand. As Bob and Ray scrambled up the log and into the cold air, they heard growls coming from below. Shining their lights back down the hole they could make out the bob cat with his teeth showing, ready to jump. They threw several rocks down the hole and ran for the car.


Copyright © 2015 Hubert Clark Crowell
 








Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Overnight Hike


Overnight Hike


Non-fiction 


The parking lot was full of hikers' cars along Maine's section of the Appalachian Trail as Andrew changed into his hiking boots and shouldered his homemade backpack. A weekend overnight hike up to the Rainbow Stream lean-to and back sounded like a good break from a week of hard work. In a hurry to get on the trail, Andrew stopped and picked up a couple of hamburgers on the way and stored them in his pack for later.

It was a nice warm fall day, and Andrew did not see any other hikers as he climbed the mountain toward the trailhead. When he reached the Appalachian Trail, he noticed bear warning signs that were badly clawed and scarred. Arriving at the shelter late in the evening, Andrew found that it was already full with overnight hikers. Before heading on, he took a break to eat one of his burgers with the other hikers. "Have you seen any bears around?" he inquired.

"No," one man replied, "and if any showed up, our German shepherd would run him off!"

As the sun dropped low on the horizon, Andrew decided to find a quiet place to camp before dark. Following a side trail, he found a nice level clearing and unrolled his sleeping bag. Andrew thought about the extra hamburger in his pack, and he wondered if the dog back at the shelter would come searching for a midnight snack. In order to protect his meal for the next day, He took a twenty-foot length of rope and tossed the line up and over a tree limb, then tied on his pack, pulling it up and out of reach. Then he turned in for the night.

The view was lovely with the moon reflecting on Bear Lake just below him. He knew that the dew would get him wet during the night, so he placed the sleeping bag cover over his head. Through the material he could see the moon and the outline of the trees. Andrew wore a hunting knife, and just in case anything tried to attack him during the night, he removed the knife from its leather sheath and placed it next to his side, under his hand.

Before Andrew could get into a sound sleep, a strange sound woke him up. The moon was still high and bright, and he clutched the knife handle and remained very still. Thinking about the German shepherd back at the shelter, he was convinced the dog had smelled the food and followed him down the trail. He must have been more tired than he thought. Although he tried to stay awake and guard his breakfast, he dozed off again.

A heavy weight on his chest woke him again. This time a large dark object was moving across his sleeping bag! This was no dog! Andrew froze, not knowing what to expect next. In a moment his life flashed in front of him. He thought of his wife and daughter, and said a quick prayer. The bear continued on, snorting as he left. Andrew released his grip on his hunting knife and was surprised by how quickly he slid back into a deep sleep.



Again the bear crossed over Andrew, waking him up. He offered up another prayer, gripped the knife tightly, and laid perfectly still. Yet the bear left as quickly as he came. He did not sleep any more that night but kept a tight grip on his knife. As dawn's first light crept to where he lay, he sat up and looked around. He had been sleeping crossway on the trail down to the lake. His tattered pack lay on the ground, the treasured burger long gone. As he gathered up the pieces and hiked down the mountain to his car, he decided to celebrate his appreciation of life by stopping for another burger on the ride home. 


Copyright © 2015 Hubert Clark Crowell

 
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Monday, July 6, 2015

Okahumpka


Okahumpka


 Fiction


At age ninety-eight and traveling north on the Florida turnpike with family, Abigail thought about the past and all the places she had been. As the van pulled into the Okahumpka service plaza, she drifted back to a time to when the roads were smaller, and most roads were made of  dirt.

She remember back to when she was ten years old. Each year the circus would come through town, leaving their winter home in Florida and working their way north, stopping at each town for a week or more and then taking a train for the return to warmer weather in Florida.

It was the last day for the circus in Bartow. Abigail's father took her and her brother to see the show. As they were leaving the big tent, in the crushing crowd Abigail was separated from her father. As she wandered around all the horse-drawn campers looking for her father, the Big Fat Emmy, who ran a side show on the back end of the circus, invited her in and offered her a meal.

"Young lady, are you lost?"

"I got separated from my father in the crowd."

"Stay here and rest, I will see if I can find him for you."

It had started to rain, and Abigail was cold, so the Fat Lady's offer was more than she could resist.

Her father was desperate, and the young boy was crying. He rushed from tent to tent, shouting for Abigail, but she could not be found. Fat Emmy spotted him and offered to help look for her. "Go ahead and take the boy home, I will continue to look for your daughter. She may have entered one of the tents to get in out of the rain."

After taking her brother home, he returned quickly to continue searching. By the time he returned, the big tent was down and the wagons were almost loaded. No one had seen a little ten-year-old wandering around, and they were too busy to help search. Fat Emmy wrote down his address and promised to notify him if Abigail showed up. The carny workers finished up late in the night and pulled out of Bartow before daybreak.

It was 1926 and the Great War was still on everyone's mind. The circus was a good way to shut out the memories. The circus wagons arrived in Lake City, then worked all day setting up the tent for the first show. The fat lady now had a sidekick, a little ten-year-old that she dressed up as an old lady with a gray wig. The thin, and small "old woman" made the fat lady look much bigger and drew a larger crowd. No one suspected that the old lady was actually a ten-year-old girl.

As they traveled from town to town, Abigail wondered if she would ever see her brother and parents again. The fat lady was kind, but determined to keep her sidekick for the show. Abigail got to know most all of the circus people and the side shows. She knew that she was missing school, but there was nothing she could do about it. Each night before the Fat Emmy went to sleep, she would lock the back room where Abigail slept, to make sure she did not run off.

As late fall approached, the circus loaded up and boarded a train for the return trip to their winter home in Sarasota, Florida. As they passed through Bradenton, Abigail began to recognize a few of the landmarks from when she had lived there before. The train made a last stop in Bradenton, Florida, and Abigail made her escape, getting off the train and hiding in the station until it left. The fat lady just thought she was still in the bathroom as the train departed.

Once out of the station, Abigail found her way to a friend's house. They were excited to see her, and had hundreds of questions. They sent a telegraph to her parents in Bartow, and they were soon on the way to fetch Abigail. Abigail would never forget her year with the carny and all the weird people and animals. Her father was never able to get over losing his little girl and the pain he caused her mother. When she shared how kind Fat Emmy was to take care of her, her father commented, remembering what Fat Emmy had told him, "I will write a letter to the circus and thank them!" When Abigail was older he would tell her the truth about the fat lady. 



As the van pulled out of the Okahumpka service plaza onto the Florida Turnpike heading north, once again the memory of that summer trip with the circus faded, the stream of billboards like circus advertisements brought her back to the present. 


Copyright © 2015 Hubert Clark Crowell

 
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