Tag Archives: History

It’s Alright to be Impacted by the Game

Sometimes I stay up quite late just so I can let my mind run away from the real, and approach subjects that I would much rather touch, or certainly feel.

Then there are times when I lengthen the day just to wrestle free from the noise, you know, to get out from under the distractions, and that which just annoys.

So, what. So I can prove that, maybe, something good happens after midnight, and I descend to the depths of thought, just to get to the core, then I sit and write. Continue reading

Image

Old Mill Site

I decided to get off of the well beaten path. I followed tracks from deer and bobcats into the woods. Around a bend I saw the land open up to where beavers had made a pond. To my surprise, hidden behind a little knoll, below the beaver dam, there sits this old mill site. Upon closer inspection this site is pretty large, even in comparison to sites I have seen in Weare and Dunbarton. I will return another day when I have more time to explore the stone ruins beyond the mill site. Sometime during the last century or two, there was quite a sizeable operation in this spot I found. Now, the animals make the only tracks around this place, and the water still flows where it’s supposed to as far as the mill would be concerned. It was a pretty cool find on a little walk in the woods.

image

Stumbling upon history while walking in the woods. Now I want to know the story.

Mistreated

History telling.
Abuse overwhelming.
Ignorance quelling.

Baseball Then and Now

For as long as I can remember, I have loved the game of baseball. I still do. I don’t just love the game play, but I love the strategy, the gamesmanship, the personal effect, the unwritten rules, and perhaps most of all, the measurement by which all eras can correlate with one another.

I watched last night as the San Francisco Giants punched their ticket to the World Series by ousting the St. Louis Cardinals in five wonderful games. (Yes, I watched the Bruins and the Patriots too. Sometimes technology is my friend.) During the series, and last night’s broadcast, history was made. Things that I love about the game like…SF Giants starting pitcher Madison Bumgarner joined Bob Gibson and Mike Mussina as the only pitchers ever to submit five consecutive playoff starts of at least seven innings with seven or fewer base-runners

Or perhaps it was the ties to history such as…the Giants advanced to the World Series by way of a walk-off home run for the first time since Bobby Thomson’s unforgettable ‘Shot Heard Round the World’ in 1951

Then there was the mention of Bumgarner and Carl Hubbell in the same sentence…Bumgarner is just the fourth Giant to toss at least seven innings in four straight postseason starts, the first since Carl Hubbell between 1933 and 1936

I know a lot of things are different about the game now than they were then. Then again, with each moment bigger than the last, a pitcher holds the ball while a batter waits. The battles are won and lost pitch by pitch. It’s a beautiful thing.

Stories in every stone

http://wp.me/p2WUYR-5E

Then came a silence, a hush that only solitude knows
The hazy sun, diving to the horizon all aglow
 
Peeked, all other sounds, tho faint, seems to explode
Hidden now, a trail, reverent americans once rode
 
Shadows grow, the bouquet of color dims and greys
Light diminished, familiarity rushes from this place
 
Exhaling breath that finds the exit difficult to behold
A piece not to be touched wishes for the days of old
 
Not to fear, atrocities, adventure, stories not passed on
What of this spot? Man and nature have tread upon
Kansas Tree
 
There are stories in every stone, in each ancient tree
Who, if any, were along this trail, witness to see?
 
Many running aloof, bestowed in them a respect
Content they were, their future they could not protect
 
Skies open in all directions, they have seen, seen all
The lands the same, mostly, many did rise and fall
 
Progress wandered along this way defined by the ages
Leaving the open, the expanse, in some sort of cages
 
Winds still blow, visions distorted, unreal still appear
Or maybe it’s a trick, played on all whom traverse here
Colorado
 
Hark! The rustle along the edge draws all away
The breeze that blew then still rushes the same way
 
Truths hide in sight, protected by the wild, and time
Tarry longer, that age is gone, only remnants to find
 
Perhaps, as it should be, to save the stories for those,
The ones unspoiled, passed down by the ones that know 
 
Treading on ground, leaving this place, quivering alone
A sachem long gone could draw the past from a stone
 
So it remains, the places we see, only a trace to then
Lest we forget all, a time, we must remember had been
Nevada
 

 

The heron, an eagle, loons, and me

It was the middle of the day when I climbed in
A two seat canoe, a paddle, and me, I did begin
 
The water was calm and close to crystal clear
Moving through water, and birds, all I could hear
 
Not a cloud to be found among the blue sky
The sun warmed everything from up on high
 
I imagined this place in a time centuries before
Wishing it were then, and how I’d still explore
 
I moved slowly, and quietly, letting my senses record
The smells, the sounds, the sights, while aboard
 
A faint noise from above sparked my heightened sense
I moved toward the cattails and reeds oh so dense
 
I squinted and searched for the origin of the sound
And soon, a great blue heron in a spruce, I found
 
Moving away to allow it some space, another sound
I heard from across the cove and closer to the ground
 
It was another heron calling, or at least to be heard
When above my head appeared, yet another bird
 
Passing the spruce and gliding in, a bald eagle did rise
The majestic bird landed with grace before my eyes
 
Once in his perch, silence ensued, nothing dared move
Or so it seemed, but for me, my site to improve
 
All at once a splash from behind, and I turned to see
But nothing was there but ripples left for me
 
Resuming my gaze the calm pierced masked in black
The loon appeared from below, after a snack
 
My masked playmate called another yards away
The eagle, or not, the loons wanted to play
 
Time stalled and rested with me there in the sun
Sitting still in nature, watching, I was having fun
 
My mind raced to the eras past, land minus flaw
And I wondered what I missed among all I saw
 
As self-imposed limits do, measurement moved me
I paddled in, slowly, so as to stretch time, there to be
 
The loons called across the water while the heron hid
The eagle cleaned his wings, and I smiled like a big kid
 
I left, wanting freedom for always, to just be
The heron, an eagle, a pair of loons, and me
 
 

 

Thanks #22 (History)

I am thankful for our history, U.S. History. I enjoy reading about it, and learning more about our history. Much more than we were ever taught in school. More importantly, I am thankful for the repeated examples of individuals who showed tremendous character, determination, and integrity throughout our history. Even with today’s speed of life, scenarios involving technological advances, political encounters, and religious discussions, there are points and people in our history that we should, could, and would be better off for having learned from. Even the details of the very first Thanksgiving festival show just how frail the line between thanksgiving and perishing on a foreign shore really was. It’s impossible to imagine how different history would have been were it not for the Native Americans offering their knowledge, and then some, to the English traveller’s. I’m thankful for the holiday which tends to bring families together allowing for focus on actual thankfulness.