From The Arbor Starting A New Year Of Publication
I think my co-editor, Carl Wayne, had a successful tomato harvest, but if not, it’s safe to assume his was more fruitful than mine. I’m not a gardener, but I did purchase three tomato plants in early May and set them in a sunny spot in my backyard. There they sat, and nothing I did for them worked. I transplanted one to a container after two months and purposefully mowed down a second one in early August. I doubt the third will fare any better. So far, I’ve not harvested a single ripe tomato, which is a personal low in my lifetime of green thumb efforts. I continue to despair that our area public schools start their respective school year in early August after having ended the prior school year in late May. At best, students get about a ten weeks’ vacation from their formal studies and teachers less than that. Economically, it makes little sense to air-condition classrooms during the hottest month of the year, when adjusting the length of a few of the many holidays of the school year would allow students to return to school after Labor Day. We, here at The Bodock Post, are especially pleased to have ended year two of our publication with more than five hundred "subscribers." More than two hundred individuals have befriended our publication via the popular social networking site, Facebook. And, more than three hundred individuals have requested to receive an email-copy of our publication. This issue, September 2010, marks our Second Anniversary and necessitates a change in the monthly rotation of our there editors. Early into our first year, we recognized, we would each be writing introductory comments for the same months, year after year, unless yearly adjustments were made. To use baseball terminology, the lead-off hitter drops to bottom of the batting order at the close of each year. So for our third year, I will become the lead-off writer. Carl Wayne will follow in October, and Ralph returns in November to complete the lineup of our editors. Since inception, and as of this writing, The Bodock Post has published one or more articles it has received from twenty-four different writers. We are proud to share the work of others that meets our guidelines posted on our website. If you have a story you want to share with our readership, please email us at editor@bodockpost.com or snail-mail us at:
The Bodock Post
Your submissions are greatly appreciated. ~ By Wayne L. Carter, Associate Editor & Publisher
Travel To Eupora Editor And Wife Enjoy Their Drive The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page. – St. Augustine Recently I enjoyed speaking at the Webster County Library in Eupora MS on writing and gardening. Mimi and I enjoyed the trip. We love a leisurely drive in the country. Bruce MS is as far south as we had been on MS 9. We love the Bollinger Family Theater in Bruce. It's our own local mini-Branson. The story of Bruce MS is interesting since it is an old time hardwood company town. Some folks hate to drive. They want to get the anguish over with. Mimi and I love the countryside. We sometimes sing Ricky Van Shelton’s song: Backroads. This trip we listened to Elvis’ 2-CD Gospel Music set. "I’m gonna walk that milky white way, one of these days…." On this trip we saw lovely magnolia trees in full bloom, gorgeous flowerbeds and wild native flowers, rivers, creeks, hills and hollers, cows, chickens, horses, row crops such as cotton and soy beans and corn and sweet potatoes, huge logging trucks with their loads of soon-to-be toilet paper and computer paper and napkins, and oh so much more. We followed age old Indian paths much of our way south on MS 309 south from Dragonville (Collierville) to Byhalia where we turned east on US78. It was the main Indian trail to the MS River and the Tennessee shared hunting grounds of the Choctaw, Chickasaws, Cherokee, and Shawnee. It forks north and west at Byhalia. At Holly Springs we turned south on MS7, another old Indian Trail system. South of Rebelville (Oxford), we veered southeast onto MS9 to Bruce ending in Eupora.
The prairie grows tons of sweet potatoes which form more of our diets than most people realize. They are widely used as starch and sweeteners in many prepared foods. The white sweet potatoes from Pontotoc County around Randolph, yams actually, are chiefly used for those purposes. We crossed the Coldwater River which flows into the Arkabutla Reservoir, then the Tallahatchie River which flows into Sardis Reservoir. Next we crossed the Yocona (YOK-nee) River which flows into the Enid Reservoir. Yocona is short for the old Indian name which Mr. Faulkner adapted a bit for his fictitious county name Yoknapatawpha. These rivers are unusual. They flow within a few miles of the Mississippi River but not directly into it. They turn south and flow into the Yazoo River before emptying into the Mississippi. My talk at the library was my favorite kind: more of a conversation and less of a lecture. We talked a lot about the old days and old ways and shared stories about those memories. But all good things have to come to an end, so Mimi and I shared a tasty generous lunch with them, and got in her van, Silver Streak, for another enjoyable ride home. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Roger, Our Guardian Four-legged Family Member If you ask a dog how fast he can run, he’d tell you, "As fast as I have too." With many dogs, that is their attitude, "I’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish what I have set out to do in this life." When our children were young, Joey was six and Jan was about four, we had a genuine, all American, dog. He was a mixed breed of medium build, short tan and white hair, a strong muzzle, and solid muscle. He may have had a bull dog in his genetic make-up somewhere, but a gentler, more loving dog you would never find. We lived way out in the country, south of Olive Branch, Mississippi. This puppy just showed up one morning at our door. We claimed him for our own and he claimed us. The kids gave him the name of "Roger." My parents had a favorite TV news commentator named Roger Mudd; they wondered if he was named after Mr. Mudd. Afterwards Roger was often referred to as "Roger Mudd" or as our youthful Jan said, "Roger Mudge." Our house was located on a narrow graveled road that dead ended at the Allison dairy a mile or so further east. Joey and Jan had an oak tree down by the road that was their favorite play area. Since grass would not grow under the tree, it was a great place to dig in the dirt and invent their own fun. Roger was always close-by when they were there, or wherever they happened to be playing. I did not realize how he stayed close to them; he was their dog and he just liked to be near them, sleeping peacefully nearby. As fall set in, there was a natural gas pipeline coming through our community not far from the house. We could hear the machines running, and the kids and I decided to go see just what they were doing. Walking down the road, we found a position on a little hill to watch their progress. Of course, Roger was with us, running ahead and checking out all the trees, exploring the terrain, and flushing out birds along the route; just being a dog. As we observed the machinery, he leisurely sat in front of us and looked listlessly down the hill.
There were machines of different kinds; diggers, pipe handlers, men welding, equipment laying and covering up the huge steel pipes. The kids were standing on either side of me enthralled by the activity and asking a thousand questions a minute. One of the men from the crew, the foreman probably, saw us and started up the grade toward us. As he approached he asked, "Will your dog bite?" Not even looking at Roger, I chuckled and replied that he would hardly bite a biscuit, much less a person. He took another few steps and said, "Mister, I think he’s going to bite me if you don’t do something." Looking down at Roger, standing between us and the man, the bristles on his back were up, and every tooth in his head was showing. Because of the loud machinery, I could not hear his growls. He was fully ready to take on this large man and keep him away from the kids. I had never seen him like this before. Reaching down, I patted him on the head and told him that all was well and this was a friendly person. His attitude changed back to the Roger that we knew and loved, and he began to wag his stump of a tail. Although he sat back down, his position between us and the man never changed. I apologized to the pipeline worker and told him that Roger had never done this before. He said that you’ll come near getting bit by an otherwise docile dog when you approached "his" kids than any other time. He said a dog will, more often than not, take on the job of protecting his family and especially the children. Although not aggressive when none of the family was around, Roger would go into a protective mode when he thought the children were threatened. After that situation I began to watch Roger more closely. Wherever the children were, he was there. He was always between the kids and anyone who might approach them. Since cars and vehicles passed on the road without stopping, Roger paid no attention, but when the mailman stopped at our box, he was always between the children and the truck. Roger did not show his defensiveness as long as the mailman simply talked to the children from the truck; but don’t get out of the truck, First Sergeant Roger Mudd is on duty. Several happy years later, our business in Southaven required much of our time so we moved back to that area. We rented the house out, sold our two calves, and gave the five ducks away. Since Roger went over to the Morgan’s house, our neighbor’s, when we were away, and having made friends with them and they with him, we reluctantly gave him over to their safe keeping. Being an out-door dog, we knew he would not be happy in town. Although gone to his final reward now, Roger was a fine companion to our family, and especially to our children. We all loved him and he returned the love. Looking back at the question of how fast can a dog run, I’m still not really sure. Most days when I left for work, Roger would run with the car up to the paved road a distance of three tenths of a mile. Just for fun, one day I speeded up to thirty miles per hour and he still kept up. Roger I hope you now run when you like and as fast as you like, and are enjoying the fullness of heaven and the children there. ~ By Ralph R. Jones, Managing Editor
Fortnight Vacation Fourteen States In Fourteen Days
am in the process of retiring from a career of forty-three years with SUPERVALU, a national wholesale food distributor and service provider to the largest group of independent retail grocers in the world. I call it a process because in order to avoid the financial pitfalls of lump-sum vacation pay, I have chosen to remain an employee, one on vacation for eleven weeks, until October 20th, at which time I shall return to work long enough to turn in my company car, cell phone, credit card, and laptop computer. Thereby, I shall maximize the benefits afforded me. My wife and I have long desired to drive out West and see for ourselves the wondrous sights we’ve read about but seen only on the pages of magazines, newspapers and the marvel that is television. While we didn’t plan to drive through fourteen states in fourteen days, it worked out that we did just that. We left Pontotoc on August 9th and returned on August 22. A few of the highlights of our trip follow: Through a blog, I discovered a wonderful artist with a Northeast Mississippi connection, who lives in Oklahoma. We soon became Facebook friends. Barbara and I had a wonderful time meeting Arni and Nina Anderson and having dinner with them in Oklahoma City, OK, on the first night of our travels. We shared of our respective families and of ourselves while enjoying a fabulous meal in OKC’s best steakhouse, Cattleman’s. Whenever Christians meet other Christians, good things follow. If you enjoy fine artwork and reading the artist’s comments, you’re sure to appreciate Arni’s Art Blog at http://arnisblog.blogspot.com. On our way to visit the Grand Canyon, we spent a night in Albuquerque, NM, where my first cousin and his wife live. Though we seldom see Ken Gaillard and Pat, we always enjoy time spent with them. They treated us to dinner at what they consider the best Mexican Food in Albuquerque, a restaurant named Sadie’s. Afterwards, Ken drove us high into the mountains to show us the night lights of Albuquerque; it was a most impressive sight. Ken is twice retired but works three days a week at a sporting goods store simply because he loves meeting and talking to people about fishing. He’s chronicled enough customer comments to write a book on "Stupid Questions" he gets from customers. My favorite one he shared was the phone call he got one Sunday morning stating, "I bought a fly there yesterday and my buddy is using one just like it. He’s catching fish, and I haven’t caught anything. Why is that?" The Grand Canyon was even more grandiose than I could have imagined, and I only had the courage to see a small part of it. Hundreds of people waited to board shuttle busses to see the most scenic areas. To have boarded one such shuttle, we would have waited an hour or more, and I would have had to stand in a line that backed up to the railing of a precipice so deep that I could not stand within twelve feet of it. People, like me, who experience Acrophobia – a fear or heights, find it difficult to explain what they experience. For me, I imagined the Grand Canyon in a way astronomers describe a black hole in space. Matter that gets too close to a black hole is drawn into its darkness by a powerful gravitational force too great to overcome. Had I gotten closer to the Grand Canyon, I might have been pulled into its depths to my death. A personal highlight of our trip was that Barbara and I were able to meet Karyn Lamb in Shingletown, California. Karyn once owned the local newspaper in Shingletown, Ridge Rider News. I once wrote a weekly newsletter of the same name. About ten years ago, I phoned the Shingletown newspaper to see if I were infringing on a copyrighted name, and in the course of our discussions, Karyn and I agreed to exchange publications and did so until 2008, when she sold the newspaper. Having read the Shingletown newspaper for almost a decade, I felt as though I knew many of Shingletown’s residents and hoped to meet some of them. Karyn was kind enough to invite us to "Fun Day" a festival of sorts to raise money to support the volunteer fire department of Shingletown. We later lunched at a plush restaurant, about ten miles down the mountain, which is but a part of a winery complex. That evening Karyn had us over to her home where we dined with three of her friends on a spacious deck that overlooks a large residential lake.
In subsequent days, we briefly toured Mt. Lassen National Park, near Shingletown and Yellowstone National Park, largely to see the geyser, Old Faithful. We also visited Mt. Rushmore and the Badlands of South Dakota. Everywhere, we were spellbound by the scenery and the beauty of our country, and we only touched a few of the hundreds, if not thousands of wonders that constitute America. We also enjoyed meeting friendly folks along the way, some of whom we dined with, and we reconnected with friends in Waynesville, MO, and Cape Girardeau to round out our excellent adventure. On the last day of our trip, my wife asked me what I thought was my favorite part of our trip. I asked if she wanted my response by category, but she said no. "What was your overall favorite part?" she quizzed. "Seeing the Grand Canyon!" I responded. "Even with my fear of heights, it was the most awesome sight I have ever seen." Oh…by the way, In Cody, Wyoming, I bought a raffle ticket for a fully restored 1977 Chevrolet Corvette to be given away on September 25th. Considering it a form of gambling, I don’t normally buy such tickets, but a "still, small voice," told me to and I would, thus, have a like-new retirement vehicle. I can’t wait to hear that I’ve won it! ~ By Wayne L. Carter, Associate Editor & Publisher Gardening With Tim August Tips From Tim The heat is still here and probably will be for another couple of weeks, so please be careful out there while doing your gardening chores. Drink plenty of fluids and take regular breaks. Don’t forget to wear a hat in the hot sun to protect your face. Try to plan your gardening chores early in the morning and late in the afternoon. In these days of little or no rain, be sure and water once a week and it is better to water each area deeply. Lawn and garden plants can survive well with about an inch of water a week. Potted plants will require watering daily as they dry out much faster. For the most part, I don’t recommend fertilizing your lawn and plants this time of year due to extreme heat and the lack of water. There are some exceptions, if you want to have an abundance of fall blooms on your roses, I recommend fertilizing them with two cups of organics and three tablespoons of Epsom salts per bush. You can also add one cup of gypsum and one cup of lime. For miniatures and smaller bushes, cut this amount in half. Be sure to sprinkle these amendments out around the drip line, scratch them in, and water in deeply. My favorite organics are equal amounts of cottonseed meal, alfalfa meal, bone meal, and my newest favorite is worm castings. Worm castings also make a good compost tea that will give your plants a boost. Worm tea has also proven to help with fungal diseases on plants, especially black spot on roses. It will not stop fungi completely, but it will slow it down. Potted plants could probably use a good clipping and a dose of a water soluble fertilizer or a slow release fertilizer such as Osmocote. I don’t recommend any fast release fertilizer of any kind in this heat. Keep your flowering plants dead headed to promote new growth and more blooms. I would also recommend to raise the height of your lawnmower blades to allow the grass to retain more moisture, also keep those blades sharp to give an even cut and to help prevent fungal diseases. A jagged cut on grass blades will allow disease and fungi to invade your turf. Gertrude Jekyll once made the comment "The love of gardening is a seed once sown that never dies". I think that pretty much sums up the love of gardening. Happy gardening and keep digging in the dirt. ~ By Tim Burress, Contributor CWH, Private Eye Mystery No Match For Carl Wayne I was manning the Master Gardener telephone hotline as a volunteer in the Agriculture Extension Office that day when a lady called and asked how she could rid her yard of moles. They were making her lawn an obstacle course of hills and holes. She was afraid her next door neighbor, Herbert Spencer, who was getting on in years, might fall one day when walking across her lawn, which he did often to complain that Chichi, her precious Pom-a-Poo, had once again eschewed her own lawn for Herbert’s more verdant and flatter lawn to do her dirty job, as pets are want to do. The lady said Chichi was a small dog, and her effluvia would only help fertilize Herbert’s lawn, but he still complained to her, explaining canine excrement had a high acid content and was upsetting the pH of his hand tilled organic humus and might harm his beloved Palisades Zoysia japonica, for which he paid ten dollars per square foot three years ago. But back to the problem at hand, or should I say, at ear. I listened to her story carefully, as we Master Gardener Private Investigators are professionally trained to do. I resisted the urge to immediately ask her if she had had her soil tested, thinking I would wait and let the county agent ask that, should the problem escalate to that level. I was suspicious right away. First, it was mating season for moles when they spend little time and energy digging tunnels. Second, mole tunnels make little hills, but never holes. Something in my gut told me there was something strange going on, and I should go investigate. When I pulled up to the curb in Bluebird, my trusty old van, Herbert was busy lifting and separating his daylilies. Hemerocallis, he called them, when I noted the long crowded bed beside his driveway. He said he loved digging things up and replanting them. Reminded me of Tiller, my late Chocolate Lab, a specialist in digging up things. But I was there to speak to the lady with the mole problem. When I rang her doorbell, she came to the door, through which Chichi charged and attached herself to my pants leg. Fortunately I had on my Felder Rushing brand heavy duty gardening overalls with the Dr. Dirt logo on the pocket, so my leg was in no immediate danger, though the growling and snarling were distracting. She reminded me of Maxine, my landlady. The lady showed me her yard. It was a mess, and dangerous to walk across. She and Chichi went with me to inspect her lawn. I could not help but note the lack of a good mole tunnel pattern, which ordinarily looks like a Celtic knot design, but moles have been known to get inebriated sipping soil soup and compost teas, which could account for tunnels of most any asymmetry. The little holes here and there were an oddity. I needed some time to reflect on these things, so I shook Chichi loose, bid good day to the lady and Herbert, and drove old Bluebird back to my office. Moles had been a problem earlier in our town, but only in sections where the turf grew lush naturally, due to the nice layer of loam, which covered most of the town. But this part of town was once a dairy farm, and this very cluster of homes stood where the old barn lot used to be. The clay was bone dry in the summer and miry in the winter. Grass would grow only sparsely and grudgingly unless extraordinary measures and expense were taken, which is exactly what Herbert had done. But the lady’s lawn was, shall we say, naturalized - full of weeds and unkempt, a marked contrast to Herbert’s lawn. I wondered then what sort of battle the zoysia and weeds must be in at the property boundary, and how that might be affecting these neighbors’ relationship. Clearly the lady’s hills and holes problem was not being caused by moles. On a hunch I talked to Herbert. He might have some additional information a Master Gardener Private Investigator could use, and besides I needed to ask him how much bone meal to use on my daylilies. He said he was a retired plastic surgeon. He had specialized in liposuction techniques and dealt with severe cases of jowls and love handles. He still had all his equipment in case the practice ever needed to recall him. And two pounds per 100 square feet would be enough bone meal.
The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together. I needed to think some more, and consult my medical and lawn care books for further inspiration. So I loaded into Bluebird and went back to the office. After a supper of cold special fried rice and a warm bottle of diet green tea, I could not sleep. I decided to go for a ride in Bluebird and listen to Art Bell on Overnight Radio from Pahrump Nevada. Who knows, other people may have noted the same lawn problems and talked to aliens who were causing them by stealing our clay. Since there was a full moon, gasoline was down to $2.33 per gallon, and I needed three more master gardener volunteer hours this month, I decided to go see the lady’s yard at night. Maybe something or someone was stealing her clay. As I drove slowly down her street with Bluebird’s headlamps dimmed, I saw a lank figure bent over and toiling in her yard. I turned on Bluebird’s headlamps and turned into the lady’s driveway where I could see the figure in bright light. My hunch had been right again. It wasn’t just the MSG in my system. Herbert Spencer had been busy with his liposuction equipment siphoning the clay from underneath the lady’s lawn and inserting compost. That accounted for both the hills and the holes. I asked him why. He sobbed and muttered something about wanting to win Yard of the Year just one time, just once, he said. I felt for him and told him I understood. I once had a neighbor who planted Lombardy poplars along a common property line and destroyed part of my lawn. As a Master Gardener Private Investigator I told him I was duty bound to pursue a solution for all legitimate enquiries, as the lady’s had been, and to record all volunteer hours in the proper categories on the extension office’s forms. I offered him a deal. I wouldn’t report his little indiscretion to the authorities if he offered to work out some agreement with the lady. He said he would. A few weeks later I drove by and was happy to see Herbert and the lady spreading compost on her lawn with Chichi riding in the wheelbarrow. Unfortunately I could see the same pattern of hills and holes in the lawn on the other side of Herbert’s lawn, but I would wait for that call later. Carl Wayne, Master Gardener Private Eye ~By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor Little Red House Sat Atop Pontotoc Ridge When I was about four years old, near the start of World War II, we moved from Randolph to Pontotoc. Dad had taken a job at the Pontotoc Dairy and we moved into "The Little Red House." Mother gave it the name because it had been painted with red barn paint. It set atop Griffin Hill, up from the depot. It was a small two room house with a front porch and an unfinished basement. There was no indoor plumbing, running water, or electricity. An old fashioned ice box was used to keep things somewhat cool, a wood stove sufficed for cooking, and there was a fireplace for heat. Though small, the house was adequate for our three member family.
There was a path that took us through the woods and came out near the railroad depot and the Pontotoc Dairy. Since Dad worked at the dairy, he walked to work each day. If we needed anything from town we simply took the path to the railroad, then up the hill past First Baptist Church, and we were in the heart of Pontotoc. All the stores were there clustered around Court Square and along Main Street. It was quite handy for all concerned. We did have a vehicle, such as it was; a used-up 1928 Chevrolet Sedan. Dad parked it on the hill side of the lot so that we could roll it down grade to get it started, if needs be. With us walking most places, it did not get used very often and would usually have a dead battery when we did want to drive somewhere. Even though I was young, there were several things I remember from that time. A truck came by and delivered ice, during summertime, for our ice box. We hung an ice company sign on the front porch telling him how much ice to bring to the house, usually 25 pounds. We had a cow, because I remember we kept the milk in a tall bucket and we let it down into the well water to keep it cool. Once it tipped over, and the lid came off; milk spilled out into the well, and we drank "white water" for a while. One day, mom and I saw a woebegone looking dog in our unfenced garden. He was just skin and bones and had a bad case of mange. We both felt so sorry for the little guy, but not knowing if he was mad (rabid) or not, we did not want to take any chances. Mom had me stay in the house, and she got her faithful hoe and went out to investigate. The dog was so miserable he did not run away. Come to find out, someone had tied a tin can to his tail with a cotton cord. They put gravel rocks in the can to make noise and the more he ran the more it rattled and the more it rattled the more he ran. It scared him so much he had almost run himself to death. After seeing his predicament, Mom realized he was just exhausted and hungry, but she could not get close enough to catch him. She did get within range with her hoe and cut the cord that held the can to his tail. Then we fixed him water and a meal. He ate heartily, but did not stay around. It was at this house that I stayed by myself for the first time. I was getting over the mumps and could not go anyplace and Mother needed to get additional medicine from Furr’s Drug Store. It was nice weather and she persuaded me to stay there while she went to town. I agreed, not realizing how long thirty minutes could be to a five year old. She told me to stay in the house and to latch the screen door. She took off walking at a rapid clip. She probably was not gone very long but it seemed like forever to me. I stood by the door looking out the entire time. I just knew I was left all alone without anyone to look out for me. After a hundred years, or so it seemed, she did emerge from the trees, down the path and to our home. Talk about one happy little guy, it was me. One of the other fond memories from "The Little Red House," was eating at the kitchen table looking out over the countryside. The house was two stories tall at that end and there was a good view. Sometimes Mom would allow me to have a half cup of coffee mixed with a half cup of milk at breakfast time. She made the most wonderful biscuits and she would crumble one of those in the warm coffee-milk and add sugar. I called it "Soaked-Biscuit and Soaked-Coffee." Although the coffee was already about as soaked as it could possibly be, nevertheless, the name stuck and occasionally I still enjoy "Soaked-Biscuit and Soaked-Coffee." Those were simple memories from a simple place in a simple time. Where have all the less hectic days gone? Not many things are simple anymore. Don’t think about it too long, it will mess up your mind and your "Soaked-Biscuit and Soaked-Coffee" will get cold….
~ By Ralph R. Jones, Managing Editor
Ridge Rider News Friendship Twelve Years In The Making In 1996, I began writing a weekly newsletter, Ridge Rider News. In 1997 I started maintaining a website for the fledgling newsletter. The following year, I discovered the name of my newsletter was the same as a newspaper in California. My wife and I recently drove out West on vacation, to be sure, but also to celebrate my retirement, our August 20th wedding anniversary and my August 16th birthday. We made time to visit Shingletown, California, where the other Ridge Rider News is located. The Ridge Rider News that I began is no longer published, and the Ridge Rider News in California has changed owners, but we were able to contact the former owner, and Barbara and I visited her. The following was excerpted from my writings in May of 1998 concerning my first exposure to the Shingletown Ridge Rider News: I began to have second thoughts as I waited for someone to answer the phone, "What will these folks say if I explain I publish a newsletter by the same name? Will they say I am infringing on their copyrighted name? Will they think I am calling them about their infringement upon my choice of a name for my newsletter? Maybe I should have written down what to say to them before I dialed the number. Maybe...," but about then a woman answered the phone. "Ridge Rider News, this is Karyn," she stated. I am not certain I was ready to respond. It was as if I did not really expect someone to answer the phone, plus I don't know that I was prepared to hear someone speak the name of the newspaper. I guess I figured they would just say, hello. So, ready or not, I did respond in the business manner I have been taught, "Identify yourself and state the nature of your call, or the name or title of the person with whom you wish to speak." "This is Wayne Carter," I stated, recovering from my anxiety attack. "Is the editor in?" I figured the person to whom I was speaking was a receptionist, or other member of the newspaper's staff. "I am sorry, the editor is not in, but we work together. May I help you?" was her polite and friendly reply. "Yes. Perhaps you can," I stated, leaving open the possibility that this person might not be the individual to whom I should be talking, and all the while thinking, "She must be the wife of the editor. She will probably have him call me back when he comes in." Okay, okay, being a Nineties guy, I realize my thoughts were a little sexist, but give me some slack for not asking her if she was the editor's wife. To have done so might have offended a feminist as well as left me looking as though I had never been to a sensitivity training class. It could have turned ugly, "And, what makes you think our editor is a man, buster?" could have been her response. Keeping my thoughts to myself, I began to disclose the purpose of my call. "I live in Mississippi, and I write a newsletter that has the same name as your newspaper. I was wondering how to go about getting a copy of your paper. I think my readers would be interested in hearing about a Ridge Rider News newspaper," I explained as I became more relaxed. In the next few minutes, I explained a bit more about the Ridge Rider News newsletter, and she shared a willingness to send a copy of the Ridge Rider News to me if I would be willing to reciprocate the favor. I affirmed that I would be happy to forward the current copy (May 16th issue) and to, later, send a copy of the newsletter in which I would share with my readers my introduction to the California version of the Ridge Rider News. Karyn seemed delighted with my interest in her RRN and sincere in her interest with my RRN. When I told her I might write an article about the California RRN, she responded that they might mention something about me or my RRN in their paper. At some point in our conversation, I tried to explain how I came up with the name, Ridge Rider News. I briefly mentioned that I have two residences, one being Pontotoc, a place situated on the Pontotoc Ridge land mass, and Greenville, my other residence, the one whose address I use for the newsletter. I further explained that my work for a wholesale grocer required me to travel. I figured she could tie it all together and see how I chose the name Ridge Rider News. Karyn shared that the California version of Ridge Rider News drew its name from the city's mountainous area, had been published for twelve years, consisted of approximately twenty pages, and is published weekly. I forgot to ask about circulation numbers or the population of Shingletown, or how Shingletown received its name. Come to think of it, I don't think I explained that Pontotoc is the Chickasaw Indian word for The Land Of The Hanging Grapes. I do plan to send her a copy of this edition of RRN, so perhaps I can include some brochures from the Pontotoc Chamber of Commerce. Karyn assured me that she would immediately send me a copy of the newspaper and I promised to promptly mail a copy of my newsletter. Before ending our conversation, I asked Karyn to repeat her name, for I had failed to write it down earlier and wasn't sure I remembered. "It's Karen," she said, "with a 'y.'" "Thanks," I replied, while thinking, "nice touch," as we said good-bye to each other. The expected copy of Ridge Rider News arrived in Pontotoc, Monday, May 18 (1998). Barbara, who took one week of her vacation time to prepare our house for the gala celebrating the 2nd year of the Mississippi RRN, was the first to peruse the California publication. I was in Gulfport, MS, that evening, and when I phoned home, Barbara read a few paragraphs to me and shared her general impressions. It would be another night before I had a chance to see the newspaper. The small newspaper, about the dimensions of our state Baptist Association's weekly publication is filled with the usual small town fare: a few feature articles; a couple of local accent columns; articles dealing with health issues, gardening concerns, and area news; a section for letters to the editor; a crossword puzzle; classified ads, and a number of half-page or less local advertisements. My joy in finding another publication bearing the same name as this newsletter has been strengthened by the variety of articles and quality of writing found in the pages of a local newspaper in northern California. I appreciate the helpfulness of Karyn Lamb and her responsiveness to my request for a copy of the newspaper. For Shingletown's Ridge Rider News, I wish at least another dozen years of success, and include my personal thanks to the editors for allowing me to glimpse their community through the window of Ridge Rider News. Note: Portions of this article were first published in Ridge Rider News, Vol. 104, May 30, 1998. ~ By Wayne L. Carter, Associate Editor & Publisher
Bubba Bodock Late Night Humor The following were recently heard on the Late Night shows: Go Topless ~ A small group of men and women rallied in San Francisco yesterday as part of "Go Topless" day, to demand that both sexes be equally able to go out in public with bare breasts. Finally, a feminist cause most men would wholeheartedly agree with. - Janice Hough
American Idol ~ Kara DioGuardi said in an interview recently that she wanted to get off "American Idol" months ago and is not being fired. Apparently her old life as an obscure songwriter is much more appealing than making millions of dollars on a hit show for doing basically nothing. - Jim Barach
Fried Cheese Melt ~ Denny's has a new sandwich called the Fried Cheese Melt that is a grilled cheese sandwich with deep fried mozzarella sticks inside of it. "Can you get that with bacon?" asked a guy trying to kill himself. - Alex Kaseberg
Obesity Report Card ~ A school in Massachusetts is facing criticism for sending kids home with "fat report cards" that alert their parents to obesity issues. That could get confusing: "Well Gary, the good news is you got an A; the bad news is, it's between an F and a T." - Jimmy Fallon
Florida Arrest ~ An 87-year-old woman in Florida was arrested for selling crack cocaine. Do you know where an 87-year-old woman hides her cocaine? Depends. - Jay Leno
Traffic Jam ~ A traffic jam in China is in its 9th day and stretches more than 60 miles in length. Apparently it is the modern version of China's Great Wall. - Jim Barach
Amicable Discussions ~ Tiger Woods and Elin Nordegren have announced that they are officially divorced, and that "once we came to the decision that our marriage was at an end, the primary focus of our amicable discussions has been to ensure (our children's) future well-being." Translation of "amicable" - no golf clubs were involved. - Janice Hough
Cuzin' Cornpone A Bodock Post Exclusive Cuzin' Cornpone, our loveable, often laughable, friend appears only here in The Bodock Post.
Our Mission Purpose - The Bodock Post It is our desire to provide a monthly newsletter about rural living with photographs of yesterday and today, including timely articles about conservative politics, religion, food, restaurant reviews, gardening, humor, history, and non-fiction columns by folks steeped in our Southern lifestyle.
Copyright © 2010 ~ The Bodock Post. Return to home page. Open This Issue with MS Word
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way of comparison, has this summer been as hot as last winter was cold? I
don’t have the statistics to back up my claim, but I declare it to be
so and with confidence that most folk will agree with me. Thanks to the rainfall
this summer, Pontotoc County has stayed green longer into August than one
might expect in a more typical year.
We
enjoy the changes in terrain. Northwest MS is known as the Flatwoods. South
of Holly Springs are the hills of the Holly Springs National Forest and the
western edge of the Pontotoc Ridge system. MS9 runs through the vast central
MS prairie where grow the finest beef cattle and Vardaman sweet potatoes.
Had we continued south we would have entered the pine forest lowlands and
coastal plain. From Woodall Mountain in northeast MS to the shining Caribbean
Sea, Mississippi is a microcosm of the USA.
I
broached the subject of the difference between his lawn and the lady’s.
Something in his grimace was telling. Sure, he resented Chichi’s twice
daily incursions onto his nice lawn. But what irked him most was Chichi’s
thick wooly coat was gathering weed seeds as she ran through her own yard
and strewed them across Herbert’s otherwise pristine lawn. He noted
he would never have a permanently beautiful lawn as long as the lady’s
lawn was a mess, and she refused to do anything about it, saying it was too
much work
