Group Rantings

Posted on Thursday, August 12, 2010 by Jefferson Davis

I have a gripe that perhaps some of you have as well. There are tens of thousands of groups on Flickr. Over the years, I’ve joined quite a few and contribute when I can. There is an entire segment of groups centralised around the cities in which we reside. I too think this is grand. It gives us an opportunity to show how beautiful or ugly our city may be according to the filter we use to perceive our surroundings.

Again, the premise is grand but the implementation of such a construct is atrocious. My home cities group is filled with pictures of food and humorous expressions! What does that say about the city in which I was born? We’re funny and fat? In all fairness, there are shots of grand architecture, landscapes, portraits, and lovely shots that tell compelling stories. Photography, at least in my wee opinion, is about evoking an emotional response in the viewers. The trick is to get the actual reaction
you were hoping for. In just as many instances, however, it is just as important to tell a story with that simple yet daedal medium.

Ask a different photographer, and you’ll get a different answer every time. Enough rambling. I’m going to bugger off now and have a cuppa tea.

Thanks Gramps

Posted on Thursday, May 14, 2009 by Jefferson Davis

As the sound of splintering white oak limbs reverberated across the large ravine, I thought of my grandfather. If it were not for him, I wouldn’t have known what to use to shelter myself from the horrendous rainstorm that blew out of nowhere deep in the wilderness trails of Caesar’s Head State Park. I would not have known how to get safe drinking water, when my water reserves ran out. And, I certainly would not know how to track, kill, and clean deer or bears, if such an extreme were necessary.

Saturday morning I decided to go hiking by me self. It is irritating when someone offers to join me, yet he or she only has a two or three hour window in which to hike. That is utterly useless. When I go hiking, I hike for at least four hours. I go on wild walkabouts simply for the journey. The constantly changing elevation and terrain is better than any tread climber. The scenery isn’t bad either.

On a usual trip, I see snakes (this time too), wild boars, bears, wildflowers, and of course, huge squirrels. It is indeed a treat to hike through the mountainous terrain that is my home.

Grandfather and I spent every summer of my youth camping, fishing, and hiking. He taught me everything I know about how to survive in the wild. He spent ages teaching me which wild berries are edible along with how to clean animals. I didn’t always enjoy it, but sitting here today, I am very grateful that he passed it on to me.

His parents died in a car wreck, when he was seven. His mothers family on the Cherokee reservation took him in and raised him ‘til he was thirteen. The elders of the tribe treated him as one of their own, even though his father was ‘white’. He was taught all of the traditions that were still being passed down through the generations at that time. Sadly, most of these teachings are fading away with the memory of the trail of tears.

Gramps was on his on from his teens until he met my grandmother at a dance in 1949. They were head over heels for each other from that point forward and married in ‘50. Both had jet black hair yet managed to have three blonde haired, blue-eyed children.

Everyone called him Abe, because he was a spitting image of Abraham Lincoln. I don’t know if he fashioned his beard like Lincoln’s on purpose, but he definitely got a kick out of the remarks. At 6’5”, he had the stature of a giant and the posture of a titan. Throughout his life, he had five heart attacks. I never heard the man whine or whimper once in the seventeen years that I knew him.

When I was a wee lad, he would take me bowling. This happened quite frequently, since I was sick a lot and unable to go to school. On one occasion, a drunk started mocking me because of the way I talked. He made the mistake of calling me retarded. Gramps hit him so hard and fast that the man slid halfway down the alley.

He taught me a lot about life, but the most important one of all was to keep going down that wacky, and sometimes wicked, trail we call life no matter how arduous it may become. So, I kept going down that lengthy trail soaked from head to toe and already exhausted. Five miles later, a few blisters and bruises, and wrecked knees I emerged victoriously. Fifteen miles through some of the toughest mountainous terrain the Southern United States can provide.

Survivor Tip: If you are in need of water and it happens to be raining (lucky you/me), simply ring out your clothes. I got enough water out of my t-shirt and a few leaves to almost fill up the water bottle. I could have used water from the rivers and streams that surround the trails, but I would have had to set up camp, start a fire, and boil the water. Because of pollution and disease, the water in the rivers and streams is not safe to drink unless boiled. You’re not supposed to drink from rivers right after it rains anyway due to the animal faeces that washes off the banks.

How ‘bout some pictures?

Two Weeks Late

Posted on Friday, April 3, 2009 by Jefferson Davis

Tap…tap…tap

Whack…whack…whack…

Bang…bang

“This better be good at…4AM”, I yelled whilst wiping the muck from my eyes.

“Who the f*ck is it?” I demanded, as I treaded across the frigid oak floors towards the back door.

“It’s Dr. Don.”

I unlocked the door and swung it open in anger of be awoken.

“What are you doing here this time of the morning?” I pleaded while rubbing my dreary head and heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

After putting the water on to boil, I realised that he was sporting a green t-shirt with a big shamrock on it.

“Shite”, I exclaimed whilst running to my bedroom.

“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, dude”, he said, as he looked through the cupboards for something to snack on.

I grabbed my camera gear and supplies and headed out the door a few minutes later. We got on the main highway about 4:30AM. It’s quite fun to drive early in the morning. The roads were empty at that time of dawning, so I could use two lanes if I so desired.

Just as we started making good time, it started misting rain. I turned on the windshield wipers to alleviate the haze overtaking my view. The drivers side wiper started acting erratic, veering way off its predetermined course, so I turned them off and back on. It fell over and hung precariously off the drivers side of the windshield.

“This is not a good omen”, I cogitated whilst looking for a place to pull over in the pitch blackness of an empty road.

We pulled into a rest area and inspected the damage. We couldn’t help but laugh, when we discovered that the gears in the wiper motor were stripped.

“I hope the rain stops”, I laughingly muttered whilst getting back in the truck.

“Ah, throw a string on it and yank it every time it starts to mist”, Dr. Don muttered, as he stared into the vacuous rest area.

Luckily, the rain clouds dissipated and we continued down I-385 S. Once we got on I-26 East, the driving was a breeze. I put the truck in cruise control mode and relaxed a bit. Dr. Don freaked out a bit, when I pretended to be asleep and let the vehicle veer closer to the concrete median.

After breakfast somewhere near Columbia, SC, Dr. Don went to sleep and I sliced about a half hour off the trip by speeding. When I saw the Savannah River in the distance, I turned up the radio to wake him. We arrived about an hour before the parade. People of all colours, shapes, and sizes were painted in green. The one’s that weren’t covered themselves with a lovely green beer. It wasn’t Guinness, but eh?

After fighting through a crowd of a half million people, I finally found a spot to take pictures. I normally hop from place to place to get different perspectives, but because there was a mass of people and I was trying to stay within seeing distance of Dr. Don, I stayed in one spot the entire time.

It was an all out celebration of Craic. Some whacky and legless college guys ran out into the parade street and high fived everyone while screaming, "Éirinn go Brách". Others would run up and yell, “Irish, yeah”. It was a party on wheels.

I watched bands march by from about thirty US states, including: Georgia, Wyoming, Florida, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, and Delaware to name a few. Heck, there was even a bagpipe band from Edinburgh, Scotland.

An African-American woman with a hellish attitude and seven kids tried to root me out of my spot. I didn’t mind the kids getting a decent spot, but when she tried to push me out of the way, I got irate and decided to leave before saying something and causing a riot.

Dr. Don was arguing with her husband, so I grabbed him out of the crowd and walked away.

“On the one day when American’s with Irish ancestry can celebrate their heritage, someone has to start some shite”, I muttered, as we walked away.

“She was just dreaming that Obama was in the parade and had to get a closer spot, being that he’s Irish and all.”

“Yer not Irish, unless yer born in Ireland”, I muttered, as we walked into a quaint little cigar shop.

“Does the north count?”

I laughed and we picked out some proper cigars. We sat by the river and watched babes in short shorts and skin tight T’s compete in a wet t-shirt contest.

We hung around for about another hour talking junk to the fairer sex. One woman thought I worked for a paper, so I went with it.

I hadn’t been down there since I was knee high to a grasshopper, so it was nice to go back even for a day. When we returned to the truck, we decided to take a wee side trip to Charleston, S.C.. It is older than Savannah and even more picturesque. The city was formed in 1670 and was once the fifth larges city in the United States. The first shots of the Civil War were fired there as well. So, it is truly a historic playground. One of my ancestors, a Mr. McManaman (can’t remember his first name at present) from County May, died there during the Civil War.

We hopped on I-95-S and sped away from Georgia. I stayed behind a big rig that was speeding, so we made good time. We crossed the massive Cooper River Bridge around 4:30PM. It is the largest cable-stayed bridge in the Western Hemisphere. And, people say we’re a bunch of hicks in South Carolina!?

I took a few shots of the coast and the Cooper River. We walked through battery park. The architecture of the plantation houses and mansions is awe inspiriting.

After observing the rich women (A person has to be well off to reside in auld Charleston.) jogging through the park, we treaded down some side streets. The streets are very narrow, so I was not surprised when a lady in a minivan ripped a mirror off the side of a painters van. The painter ran out into the street discovering his drivers side mirror laying shattered on the paving stones. The nice lady returned and apologised to the gentleman.

“dun’t w’rry ‘bout it ma’am…these types ah t’ings happ’n down ‘ere”, he muttered as the lady helped him pick up the mirror shards.

She offered her insurance information and her number, but he wouldn’t take it. After she left, he got all of his things together and proceeded to leave. As he pulled away, the rear bumper fell off. He parked, got out, rubbed his head, and yelled, “Shit’”.

Dr. Don and myself got a good laugh out of this and headed back up the road. When we arrived at his house, my hands were stuck to the steering wheel, and I was unable to bend my arms.

“So, how long is it gonna take you to get this on the blog?”

“I’ll have it up by the time I pay dearest deeds to the moon before it fades away.”

“Yer full of shit…”

“Within a fortnight”, I mummbled whilst puffing on a cigar in the mountainous night air.

Dr Don sighed and went in the house.

I drove a wee bit over 600 miles in a day not including all of the walking. We had a blast! I look forward to doing it again soon. Although, next time I may have a chickidoo with me.

Return to Green 2009

Posted on Saturday, March 7, 2009 by Jefferson Davis

Many apologies for the lack of post this week. My family had a bit of a crisis. Everyone still has their fingers and toes so no worries. Saturday will be a grand and somewhat green start to a brilliant weekend.

I’ll be at Return to Green distilling a days worth of events into fifty to a hundred memorable photos. We are supposed to be blessed with a blue sky, bibulous smiles, and a green river.

This wee festival is my hometowns early celebration of Saint Patrick’s Day.

I’ll update the post with a proper description and pictures Saturday evening.

UPDATE: I made a bit of a mess of things with the dates. The festival is tomorrow, Sunday, the 8th day of the third month of 2009. Ooopppssss.

Wintry Cerulean Moonbeams

Posted on Monday, March 2, 2009 by Jefferson Davis

We were warned on Friday that we would get up to a foot of snow Sunday evening. I laughed at the very thought of it. Tis not very common for us, the southern US, to get snow in March. However, I remember it snowing as late as Easter, when I was a lad. In fact, I remember being snowed in, in the middle of March on my birthday. Hint! That year, we had a blizzard of epic proportions. I vividly remember wading waist deep through it and disappearing into a sea of white fluff.

The continuous pelting of raindrops over the past week turned my yard into a mud hole. About 5:00PM yesterday, sleet began mixing in amongst the droplets of frigid rain. Only minutes later, everything around me was covered in a light dusting of snow. It started out as tiny bits of snow and ice mixed together and progressed into cascade of powdery flakes.

There’s nothing I like better than a good blizzard. It purifies the air and kills off all of the nasty critters that I can’t stand anyway. I got out and played in the snow, capturing moments in time along the way. I ended up at my Uncle’s house. He was going on about not being able to watch the telly because of snow buildup on the roof. Pardon the pun, Uncle.

So, we wrapped up and headed out to knock the snowfall off the Dish. The moment we got the signal back, the power went out. I speedily called the utility company and was told that the power would promptly return at 5:00PM Monday. This made me irate, so I told the kind lady that I had two grandmother’s that could not be without power due to the freezing temperatures. She dutifully told me that my grandmothers and about a half million more would have to find somewhere to stay overnight.

I hastened the delivery of heaters to me nannas and then tried to figure out what to do about moi. After all, I needed to stay warm as well. My Uncle offered me a couch in his heated and powered RV, so I took him up on it.

We woke up at four this morning to find the power on. Those poor fellas that get paid $75 an hour must have worked all night long. Some neighbourhoods are still without power. I’m very thankful to be sitting in this cozy house rambling about nothing.

About 4:30AM, I treaded across the snow laden range that separates our houses. I’ve walked through that area at all times of the night and day and never had a worry except for the crack heads two streets over. This morning it was eerie.

The ever wise moon casted sombre cerulean moonbeams across the landscape leaving crisp lines in the icy abyss. I, in my own abysmal cerebrations, glanced up to discover the moons half smirk and laughed. Quietly, I walked across the plain leaving a stamp of myself behind. As I approached the house, the snow ceased thus did I. Perhaps it was nature itself trying to tell me to stop and look. I heard frozen limbs creak as clumps of snow fell from the heavens.

A wee squirrel leapt from a low limb onto the plush snow, twitched his head and tail in a synchronous motion back and forth. He struggled across the snowy woodland behind my residence, and made his way to one of the evergreen trees and began hastily digging for treasure. I knelt there for a few minutes and watched the gnawer dig with his little paws. I finally gave up and went inside.

A few minutes ago I went outside and he had dug a bunch of holes in the snowpack. One extremely important principal we can learn from nature, is to never ever give up. If you can’t find your treasure in one location, try somewhere else until you find it. Squirrels are brilliant little critters, aren’t they?

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Jefferson Davis

The writings and scriblings of an inquisitive American.

Tag Archives: sc

Group Rantings

Thanks Gramps

Two Weeks Late

Return to Green 2009

Wintry Cerulean Moonbeams