The farm stories are very loosely based on my growing up on a farm in rural Connecticut in the 50′s.  I like to think of them as being more truthful than factual—but who can really tell as time has a way of altering what we remember—and remembering what we alter.  While they may seem written for kids, they are hopefully relevant to the kid in us all.


Henry and the Dinosaur

. . . . . these boys just knew they would be famous after finding real dinosaur bones–it was every kid’s dream!

Henry and his brother and cousins liked to fight great battles for truth and justice in the woods.  One day it would be Davy Crockett fighting against impossible odds at the Alamo—or Robin Hood outwitting the Sheriff of Nottingham forest—-another day itThe Famous Explorers might be Zorro, or the Lone Ranger.  Regardless it was never about “pretending” to be these heroes—they were them.  They were invincible—even invisible if necessary.

One day as they were fighting desperate battles with enemies seen and unseen along the old logging road in the woods next to the farm, they came across something white sticking out of the leaves under a monstrous oak tree.  They laid down their swords and cleared away some of the leaves, twigs and piles of acorn hats from around the object. They quickly realized it was a gigantic bone.  And not just one bone—there were several bones—dinosaur bones!

 For the rest of this story please click on the “Read Me” button below–and enjoy!

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Two Boys, a Pony and a Wagon

. . . . . you just never know what mischief a couple of farm boys can get into when nobody is watching.

FarmWagonOld Daisy Mae was a Shetland pony and was about 138 years old when she died—well not “actually” but quite old for a pony—the quintessential “old nag.”  She was so sway-backed her belly almost dragged on the ground and you could count every single rib.  She had a back bone that would hurt a saddle.  When riding her, there was only two possible ways to fall off—- so no saddle was required.  We rarely rode the ponies using saddles anyway.  It was great fun to ride them bareback—using their mane to turn them in the direction you wanted to go.  If you are going to play Cowboys and Indians you have to have a horse.  If you were playing the Indian, a saddle was wrong anyway.

For the rest of this story please click on the “Read Me” button below–and enjoy!

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Not a Good Idea

. . . . . it can be a fine line between stupidity and survival.

twinponds-11412-13Living just southeast of Lake Ontario, in a little town called Cato, New York, Jill and I, were used to the lake effect snows that could blast into town and dump 48 inches of snow in a few hours.  These storms were an adrenaline producing adventure as valid as sport climbing or parapenting.    While “getting used to them” is perhaps a bit preposterous, we did treat them with the respect, excitement and anticipation they deserved.

For the rest of this story please click on the “Read Me” button below–and enjoy!

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