Country Road, Take me Home

This past weekend found me bidding adieu to yet another place I had grown very comfortable with, maybe I had even loved. My time at the winery has come to a close not but 5 months after I stepped into the vineyards.

The beginning of the end was last week when all of us from the winery headed up to the Red Willow Vineyard in the Yakima valley of Washington state for an end of the year harvest send off. You can see some of Owen Roe's vineyards here. Red Willow is home not only to the oldest vines in Washington state but also to the most photographed site in all of Washington vineyards, their beautiful chapel. Keeping with the traditions of the old world, Red Willow has a chapel at the highest point in their vineyard. Many, if not most vineyards in Europe have a chapel or a Crucifix or a cross at the highest point in the vineyard. To remind them who the true keeper of the vineyard is. We enjoyed burgers made from a cow they had been feeding only organic grass and kept free range and then got an extensive tasting of all the wines we made from Red Willow through the years. We tasted the life of the vineyard, the ups and downs of each vintage through the past decade. The vineyard owners gave us an extensive tour of the vineyard so we could see how the morning and afternoon sun hits the grapes and how that influences sugar levels and pH.

Friday was my final day. I spent it much like I spent many other days, washing barrels and cleaning up the winery. One by one, many of my co-workers came up to me to say goodbye and that they would miss me. I fear I've gone and done it again, gotten very close to people in a state very far away. And then gone and left. When people ask me why I was leaving I told them that "I was born a ramblin' man. Trying to make a living and doing the best I can. When it comes time for leaving I hope you'll understand. That I was born a rambling man."

After work we all headed out to HUB brewery in Portland for a goodbye round of drinks. Almost everyone I met in Oregon showed up. Even the mighty Berlin showed up, in all of his glory. He told the best stories, as usual. Berlin used to be in a popular band that toured the country. One tour, his manager was holding out on all of them with their tour money allowances. So, this angered the band members to the point where they were going to track down their manager and get the money they were owed. The band was going to the bathroom when all the sudden they smelled hot dogs. So, they busted down the stall door to find the band manager eating hot dogs on the toilet. That's when they got their money. It was quite a sad goodbye for me, leaving Berlin, who I had worked the night shift with during the peak of harvest. You get to know someone pretty well when you press 500 gallons of wine with them at 3 in the morning.

Owen Roe was a unique working experience. I probably will never meet families as truly generous and genuine as the Owens and the O'Reillys. I will probably never work with people as funny as Berlin, Jeff, and Matt again, nor a group as talented as the cellar crew at Owen Roe. But, as I told all of them before I left, I wouldn't be upset at all if I was meant to end up as a wine maker in Oregon, but I don't think it is where the Lord intends for me to end up. But, I've been wrong before. Once.

Stephen, my housemate, and Lucy took me to the airport and we said our goodbyes. I told them that we Catholics don't really say goodbye. I told them, as I tell all of my departed Catholic brethren, "I'll see you when I see you." Sooner rather than later, I hope.

Cheers.

Well the work's gotten slow
So where's a boat man to go?
I think I'll float
on down
to Richmond
town

They don't need us any more
hauling freight from shore to shore
that big iron does much more
than we ever could before

So I'll be steppin out tonight
On the cool flow
Floatin' down
down below
The bridge to the waters edge
From the ridge to the ledge
From the hills to the sea
I'll become a memory.

-OCMS

A Pleasant Surprise

Yesterday, my housemate Stephen and I were in the people's republic of Portland doing some shopping down on 23rd and Johnson.  I was sitting on a park bench on the busy street, watching the shoppers go by, the cars frantically weaving in and out.  Just then I heard music from a boom box on the corner.  It was kind of an introductory song, the one from Blues Brothers.  Da na na na na na na na na.  It continued to get louder and build.  Many people passed by the boom box as the music continued to build.   

Just then, a man dressed in a white Elvis costume with a horrible wig showed up and started dancing around to the song.  He went on the corner and pointed to an imaginary audience, then to the other corner of the street and pointed to another imaginary audience.  I think he was supposed to be Elvis of the later years because he was a bit on the portly side.  He then went into traffic, effectively stopping traffic flow and danced around to the music.  He angered the drivers when he pointed to them while essentially shaking it, so to speak.  

He then came on to the side walk and sang 2 Elvis songs.  Every once in a while, he would look into the shop windows, at himself, and wink as he danced around.  People who were walking at an average pace would quicken their step and avert their glances to the swinging and gyrating.  After the second song (I was the only one watching), I started clapping and he said, "Thank you, you've been a great audience."

Elvis then caught the next bus to head to another section of Portland to entertain and raise the spirits of all.

Here is a video posted by someone on Youtube of the Portland dancing Elvis.

Cheers. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tott-8PVipE

Give Thanks

T is for the 33 pound Turkey slaughtered for me to induce a food coma.

H is for Hunting for a wheelchair to make it out to the car.

A is for Always remove the bottom button on my shirt to avoid repeating the incident of '03... poor Aunt Sally.

N is for Not being with my family for the first time in 23 years on Thanksgiving. 

K is for Killing me not to be with family this year.

S is for Singing Wagon Wheel to the O'Reilly family at their dinner.

G is for Gone to the OReilly's for Thanksgiving Dinner, the nearest thing to being with my family without actually being with my family.

I is for Intending to use the bathroom 2 times tonight.

V is for Voluntarily eating 2 plates plus desert.

I is for Inching to the next notch on my belt.

N is for Never eating this much again... until next year

G is for (not) Getting any thinner.

This Thanksgiving was a new kind of Thanksgiving for me.  It was the first time in my life I have not been with my family on Thanksgiving.  There would be no huge gathering with the cousins, no Turkey bowl football game, no RISK game, no food coma.  So, this made me pretty sad quite honestly.

So, as a consolation prize, the O'Reilly family, one of the owning families of the winery invited me to their house.  As it turns out, when people have good wine palates, it usually makes them fine chefs as well.  We had the prefect meal, Turkey, gravy... you know how I love gravy, and 7 of the O'Reilly children to sing and recite poems after the meal was done in front of a fireplace.  David is as good a chef as he is a winemaker so the meal was close to a meal I could have with my family while still not being with my family.  We also drank a good amount of quality wines both from Owen Roe and other Oregon wineries.  To top it off, I was able to sing "Wagon Wheel" to the family after dinner.  Robyn, my friend and fellow homeless winery worker, also played for them.  A small repayment for the unforgettable meal.

It occurred to me this morning when I was at Mass how profoundly Christian the Thanksgiving holiday is.  What is it about?  Giving Thanks.  To Who?  To God.  To God for all the blessings we have in our lives.  This particular Thanksgiving made me quite aware of just how thankful I am for my family and friends.  I could only pray that where ever they are, they are enjoying a warm home and full hearts and stomachs.  We have this holiday to thank God.  The meal, the turkey, the Lions game, the beer, wine and bourbon are only there to help us realize, when we are full and sleepy at the end of the night, how much we truly have in addition to being full.  For we do have a great deal, not only a country founded on free principles but the ability to provide for our families, to live and love, to live our Faith and love God, to eat each other's cooking and say it was good.

Cheers.

Harvest is over.

The leaves on the vines have begun to change colors in a dramatic fashion. In three weeks I will be home for Christmas and am greatly looking forward to it. Things at the winery have slowed down and I have started running again. Also, all of my grad apps are done which is a huge relief. All that is left now is the end of the harvest parties and enjoying Oregon for a few more short weeks. But I am ready to come home.



The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began,
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many path and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say

Here are some pictures from the wedding...ya'll.

The one about Ross and Sarah's wedding

This past weekend I flew from Portland down to Tallahassee for the wedding mass of Ross and Sarah....Ross and Sarah Peters.

Frankly, I had been looking forward to this event for the entirety of harvest.  I had been looking forward to it since Ross and Sarah got engaged actually.  I had been looking forward to it mainly because two of my good friends were getting married, two friends who I had spent much time and shared much with last year CAP.  But also, I was longing to see all of my friends again who I bid farewell in old Kentucky many months ago.

I got in late Thursday night and rented a car.  This time, I got the luxury experience known as the Chevy Cobalt.  It was the envy of every young man at the wedding and everyone wanted to experience the sheer power and prestige of the Cobalt.  At the rental car counter, a young man was working late.  I stumbled up to the counter with 2 cases of wine.  The attendant told me that there was a 15 dollar per day fee for being underage.  I said, "Well, here's the thing about that.  I work at a winery and have 2 cases of wine here.  Why don't you knock off those fees and I'll give you a bottle, savy?"  He seemed quite bewildered and said..."OK."  So I got 45 dollars off plus an additional 10 percent off of that.  Pretty good for a bottle of O'Reilly's Pinot Gris.  I spent the night with Ross' brother Todd and two of their other friends from Ohio.  And let me tell you, there's nothing wrong with Ohio, except the snow and the rain.  The next morning, Friday morning, I got the pleasure of enjoying a Jimmie Dean's microwavable breakfast sandwich.

Friday was quite exciting for all of us.  We had the rehearsal dinner and everyone from CAP started showing up.  We went to the church around 5 and then everyone started rolling in.  It was kind of the scene in Return of the King when the fellowship reunites.  Ross, Taye, Sarah and I were standing at the front of the foyer and the families of the bride and groom were between us and the door.  As people started filing in, we first made eye contact, across a sea of relatives.  You could see a subtle smile grow in love into full blown laughter.  We didn't have to say anything really, we just started laughing.  Jenny, Heather, Jennie, Laura and Cat-Lisa all showed up and in many ways the celebration started.  We made our way to Sarah's aunt's house for the rehearsal dinner.  We shared in the wine I had brought, in prayer followed by dinner and then in much reminiscing and laughter.  After dinner we made our way back to the hotel where we met up with Jesse and continued to tell stories both past and present to share in the company we had all missed so dearly.  Especially those of us who are overworked and live in heat less homes.  It was almost as if we were sitting in one of our rooms in a volunteer house.  Nothing much had changed really, we all fell into our old rhythm.  Jesse and I departed around 2 am to go to our hotel to get some sleep.

The next morning, Saturday morning, we awoke to celebrate the wedding of our dear Ross and Sarah.  Most of the morning was spent in preparation and anticipation.  Jesse and I awoke and had some breakfast, including gravy, and headed over to meet up with Cat-Lisa, Laura, Jennie, and the Peters family.  We basically hung around until it was time for the wedding to start.  We went to Publix to get some great subs and some cigars for after the wedding.  But that's all boring, on to the wedding!

The Mass was beautiful.  The priest who celebrated was from Ireland which is like an added bonus.  I think it made the Mass a lot easier for all of our Protestant brothers and sisters, quite charming.  When Ross and Sarah exchanged their vows and the priest said at the close of the mass, "What God has joined together, man shall not tear asunder" I started to tear up.  After mass, we made our way to the reception which was quite a sight to behold.  It was at an old school woman's club with moss covered weeping willows in the yard of green grass and gentle breezes.  Sarah looked lovely in her wedding dress as both families took pictures under a massive far-reaching tree.  Sarah was almost upstaged by one Jesse Timmons in a red bow tie, tearing up the dance floor ... but not quite.  Many votes were secured and Ross and I got more secure in our cabinet positions.  Love is a beautiful thing, I can't wait to see what the new day brings.  Many drinks were had, dances danced, great food eaten, love and merriment abounded.  I even made a toast to the lovely couple.  Naturally it was a toast with ALE 8 and Captain Morgan, our signature drink.  I did my Ross impression and tried to suppress my nervousness long enough to let everyone know how much I loved the newly married couple.  We danced a very special dance when Wagon Wheel came on.  We all joined arms and sang along, making sure to abridge the lyric, "He's a headin west from the Cumberland Gap to Johnson City, Tennessee" to "Johnson County, Kentucky."  It was just as it should have been.  Ross and Sarah left and made their way down to the coast.  The rest of us made our way back to the hotel to hold on to our last moments together.

The following day, we all headed our separate ways (again).  I could go into an entire section about how horridly I miss everyone and feel like I left a home in Kentucky.  But I won't, because we all know this to be true.  Here I am, in an old farm house in rural Oregon, no heat, green tea, Yonder Mountain String band playing, stocking hat, blanket on my lap, and my friends are elsewhere.  But I'm not going to get into it.  No, I'm not going to get into it.

Instead I will tell you a funny story.  When I was flying back to the People's Republic of Portland, I had an hour layover in Chicago.  So I planned to meet up with Mom and Dad to see them and get some Portillo's Chicago hot dogs.  Due to Southwest's lack of punctuality, I only had 15 minutes to get from my gate at one end of the airport, out of security, back into security, and to the other end of the airport.  So, I sprinted past the Chicagoans in and out of security and made it back to my plane as the doors were closing.  On the plane, sweaty and crowded into a middle seat, I was hungry and out of breath.  I had last eaten a piece of nasty airport pizza 10 hours ago.  So, I put out a newspaper and started eating the potent-smelling dogs.  As the mustard and onions dripped down my huge beard the Portlanders were horrified.  Maybe it was because I was eating hot dogs, or maybe because my beard was so nasty... maybe because they were wondering how a homeless man got on the airplane.  But, let me assure you, the dogs were well worth it.  I looked over at the man next to me.  He looked wide eyed and a little like he might vomit, so I offered him a bite.  He said no, so I just gave him a thumbs up.

Ross and Sarah are married.

Cheers and holler at your boy!

Well the summer is come and gone

As the leaves fall on the lawn

I think about the pleasures pass me by

And I'm thinking of my old home

And the loves I left behind

No, I couldn't go back there if I tried.

-O.C.M.S

Miseray

Dear Friends,

I know many of you would like an update on the wedding of Ross and Sarah...

I am currently working on it and will have it up in a couple days.

As a preview you will hear about:

1. Jesse's bow tie and dancing abilities
2. my speech
3. Bribing the rental car agent
4. eating stinky hot dogs on the plane
5. missing my friends

stay tuned...

It got so bad that Berlin and I ate "Stagg Chili" out of a can last night.

The study of history is a powerful antidote to contemporary arrogance. It is humbling to discover how many of our glib assumptions, which seem to us novel and plausible, have been tested before, not once but many times and in innumerable guises; and discovered to be, at great human cost, wholly false.

--Paul Johnson

Alas, how many have been persecuted for the wrong of having been right?

--Jean-Baptiste Say


..mercy to the guilty is cruelty to the innocent...

--Adam Smith

"Miserayyyy"

--David Doyle, esq.


courtesy of tsowell.com

Pray before you vote.

Pray before you vote.

Decommissioning

Things have been a little tense at the winery as of late. We have been working about 80 hours a week, sometimes more. People have been getting stretched thin.

So, last Friday, Berlin comes jogging by saying, "come down for a barrel decommissioning!"

I went down to the crush pad to see everyone from the winery just standing around and Berlin and John (2 winemakers) with a forklift and an old barrel. Berlin said, "Dear friends, we have gathered here to decommission this barrel after its long years of service. It has worked so hard that it can no longer hold wine. We bid it adieu."

Just then John started raising the water-filled barrel up on the forklift, as high as it could go. Berlin shouted out, "Sound the death horn!" Eric blew on a broken pipe like a didgeridoo. John tipped the forklift forward, dropping the barrel. It exploded on the ground to joyous shouts.

I then turned to Stephen and said, "Lets pick up the fragments to burn in the fireplace tonight."
"Yeah" he replied, "I'm tired of waking up and seeing my breath."

This is where we make the wine

Here is what I do for 15 hours a day at work. In picture one, the grapes come in. These are pinot noir from Oregon. Then the grapes are dumped onto the sorting table as seen in picture two. We look through the sea of grapes to find interesting things that make wine taste bad from rocks to moldy grapes. We even found a bandaid and a batman throwing plastic star in one lot. Look, there's Berlin with his hat and scraggly beard that we all have. Then, the grapes go to the conveyor belt which brings them up to the de-stemer (picture 3). The grapes are then separated from the stems and added to giant fermenters (picture 4). The grapes will ferment when yeast is added. They will continue to ferment as we punch them down every day, twice a day. Fermenters take anywhere from one to 4 weeks to ferment at which point they are pressed out and put into barrels. I have proclaimed myself 'vice president of punchdowns' because most of my time these days is spent punching down. Berlin has verified this title and will no longer accept my requests for "permission to die" until I have completed all of my punching down.

Life is good, mostly, but I'm very busy with work and grad applications. Hope ya'll are well.

Cheers.

For your consideration

You should read this article before the election, especially if you are a Christian:

What you should already know.


Also, I highly recommend this one as well, especially if you are concerned about government power. Thanks Chris:

On big government.


quote of the season:

Too many Americans have ''no recognition of the fact that children continue to be killed [by abortion], and we live therefore, in a country drenched in blood. This can't be something you start playing off pragmatically against other issues.''

- Cardinal Francis George of Chicago

"This is just like the (poopie) they do on ice road truckers!"

I know some of you may be wondering about the lack of postings these past weeks but there just is not too much to report. Last week I worked 80 hours (again) and the fruit just keeps coming in. We did 16 tons of grapes (pinot gris) on Friday, 16 on Saturday, and 18 on Sunday....yes Sunday. All of the cellar workers have become quite delirious as well, some of us even seeming quite mad. We have a running joke that when we pass our 13th hour of work in a day we always ask in a manner similar to an old war movie, "Permission to die sir." My boss always replies, "Permission not granted, go do punchdowns."

Jerry has me working on all sorts of projects lately. I had to insulate a barn so we could cool it down to 55 degrees to store fermenters, I had to insulate some pipes for a cooling system for new tanks, and lastly, I had to build a shed roof over the cooling system I put in. Seemingly I cannot escape being a carpenter. I remember at CAP, whenever there was something scary to do, like go to the peak of a rickety roof or touch some electrical stuff, Kevin or Donnie or Ross would always be the one to do it. But, with none of them around, I found myself the one teetering on top of an air compressor 2 stories off the ground. I had made a huge mistake.

Shortly after I got off the roof, a truck pulled in carrying 5 5,000 to 10,000 gallon tanks that needed to be installed in the winery. Due to our lack of skills in rigging and transporting 5 ton tanks, the cellar workers used forklifts and a huge crane to try to complete the job. My boss Aaron said, "this is just like the (poopie) they do on ice road truckers!" He then flashed the lights of the forklift and said, "niner niner niner!"

But, most of my days consist of sorting fruit and de-stemming it. The fruit is dumped on a large shaker table and 4 of us line both sides. We take out any moldy fruit or under ripened fruit. We are constantly taking fruit off the table and biting it to see if it pasts taste regulations. My beard is huge now and it is constantly getting seeds and juice in it. Enjoy that mental image. I really enjoy taking part in an ancient tradition and love testing the fruit, then the juice, then the fermenter, and finally the wine. It's a blessing to see the whole process unfold.

In other news, I am now beginning my applications to grad school. I have decided to pursue a Ph.D. in either neuroscience or clinical psychology to work with children with Autism. It has taken a great deal of prayer and thought to decide what to study but I am now beginning my applications to grad school. I am applying to Missouri, Carnegie Mellon, Wisconsin, UCONN, California San-Diego, Vanderbilt, and maybe others. I would appreciate your prayers and will keep you updated.

Cheers.

You work every day, son.

My apologies for the lack of postings these past days.  Business at the winery has gotten unreasonably busy, as planned, and I am now working 12-16 hour days on a regular basis.  Last week I worked close to 80 hours.  Grapes are coming into the winery from all corners of Oregon and Washington, and even the Santa Barbara region of California.  As the grapes come in, we must clean, sort, and de-stem them.  Then, once the sorted, de-stemed grapes are in huge vats called fermenters, yeast is added.  Then, after yeast is carefully added to each fermenter, the yeast converts the sugar from the grapes into alcohol and the whole thing stews for weeks.  After all, or close to all, of the sugar in the fermenter is converted into alcohol, the fermenters are pressed out by these huge steel drums that turn and compress the wine.  The wine is then put into barrel for many months.  Only oak barrels are used, most often from various regions of France.  Some American oak from Minnesota is used, but American oak is usually too strong and imparts harsh flavors.  While in barrel, you achieve secondary fermentation when malic acid is converted into lactic acid.  This is how you make wine.

My job involves very few of these processes.  Mainly, I clean the wine presses, clean empty fermenters, clean barrels and perform punchdowns.  Punchdowns occur when the grapes are in the fermenters.  We must physically push the grape skins and seeds down into the juice so that the remaining sugar present in the seeds and skins can be processed into alcohol.  We climb atop rows upon rows of these vats that are about 5 feet tall, 4 feet wide and 4 feet long.  We then use stainless steel plungers, about 6 feet in length and push the hardened muffin-top-like head of the grape skins down into the juice.  After doing this, we give each fermenter a healthy dose of carbon dioxide so as to kill fruit flies which can carry harmful acetobacter.  Acetobacter can cause volatile acidity when the wine is in barrel, giving the wine a vinegar taste and it can also convert sugar into ethyl acetate (EA) which gives wine the smell of nail polish.  And no one wants to drink that.

Anyways, my job can be slightly dangerous because when the yeast is converting sugar into alcohol, CO2 is produced.  CO2 in high concentrations, say the amount that is produced by 200 stewing fermenters, can cause one to pass out.  And, if you pass out into a fermenter, it will most likely not end well for you.  Also, CO2 is heavier than air, so if you fall off a fermenter, or pass out, and end up on the ground where there is more CO2, it will not end well for you.  But, after standing on countless shaky Appalachian roofs, its quite easy for me to balance.  Also, we open the door first to let the CO2 out.

Jerry my boss has the utmost confidence in me.  Much like Ross Abrams, who always told me he had the utmost confidence in me.  However, what this really translates to is, "you better not mess up."  Jerry thinks I am some kind of master contractor.  He'll say something like, "Hey, you're good at X (which you probably are not) and then will set you to this task for which you are not prepared.  For example, Jerry said to Charlie one day, "Hey Charlie, you're good with chairs right?"  To which Charlie replied, "What... no..."  So Jerry said, "Well, I want you to go around this place and find all the broken chairs and fix them for me."

Last week, Jerry says to me, "So you're good with concrete right?" 

"Well, kind of..." (I am really not at all)

Jerry replied, "Well, I want you to help these contractors tear up this concrete in the floor of the winery and help install a new drain system."

I would have given all the wine in all the world to have Kevin or Marion there...or Ross.... or even UBS man.  But alas, I was set to the task alone.

As always, I was going along with my task and a professional would come over and be like.... "son, what are you doing?"

"I'm putting in this concrete."

To which every pro I have ever met replies, "No."  Then they show me how to do it.  Thanks to the help of several local legends, who spit dip juice, swore heavily and drove an American flag painted cement truck, I achieved the task and (helped) put in the new drain system in the Owen Roe winery.  I just hope tomorrow Jerry doesn't say, "Hey Andy, you're good with brain surgery right?" or "Hey Andy, you're good with hog-tying sheep right?"   ....but I wouldn't rule it out.

Cheers.

quote of the day - this song has been in my head all week, its from The Band

Back with my wife in Tennessee, When one day she called to me,

"Virgil, quick, come see, there goes Robert E. Lee!"

Now I don't mind choppin' wood, and I don't care if the money's no good.

Ya take what ya ned and ya leave the rest,

But they should never have taken the very best.

Like my father before me, I will work the land,

Like my brother above me, who took a rebel stand.

He was just eighteen, proud and brave, but a Yankee laid him in his grave.

I swear by the mud below my feet,

You can't raise a Caine back up when he's in defeat.

The harvest is plentiful but the workers few.

This week I had an opportunity to work in one of the vineyards Owen Roe draws from.  All of the cellar workers have been preparing for the coming onslaught of harvest.  Once the grapes come in from the dozens of vineyards, we will suddenly be sorting, crushing, and pressing hundreds upon hundreds of tons of grapes to make into 18 or so labels of wine.  So, suspecting this coming fury and finding ourselves in "the deep breath before the plunge," we decided to visit a chardonnay vineyard and prune grapes in the quickly diminishing Oregon summer sun.  Our goal was simply to prune and tend the grapes so as to make the best chardonnay we possibly can for this season.

The work in the vineyard consisted of going down the many rows of grapes and pruning off the "shoulders" of the clusters.  The shoulders are two smaller bunches at the top of the main cluster of grapes.  Grapes ripen from the bottom of the cluster up.  So, the shoulders have to be discarded because they rob the main cluster from valuable late season energy, thus lowering the overall quality of the cluster as a whole.  Each vine shoot has, or should have, two clusters of grapes.  The scenery was breathtaking.  The hills are carefully lined with countless carefully planted rows of grapes.  The lines of vines gently cascade down the rolling hills and culminate in a browned valley below.  The valley extends for miles into the distance and ultimately leads up into taller hills that fade to purple and dark blue, rising to touch the pale blue sky.

The grapes were still very green, not mature at all.  I found myself taking my fill of the unripe grapes so as to get a feel for how the grape develops into what will become wine by this time next year.  I like the idea of being able to taste the progression of the wine.  After I had eaten a good number of grapes I had pruned off the vine, my bosses remarked to each other, "you know, it's always funny when people first come out to the vineyard because they always eat a ton of grapes."

"Why is that funny?..." I asked.

"Well, grapes are a natural laxative and high in acid.  So, a short while after eating a ton of grapes, the new workers can be seen waddling off to the port o john grabbing their (butt) and grimacing in discomfort and urgency."

Clearly I had made a huge mistake.  To make matters worse, we had Mexican for lunch after our visit to the vineyard.   

Yesterday, in celebration of my last weekend of freedom until Thanksgiving, Jerry, my boss, took me golfing to a public course near Portland.  Jerry and his wife co-founded a Catholic school in Portland a few years back called Ecce Veritas, "Behold the Truth".  The school was having a fundraising golf tournament and Jerry took me as his guest.  I had forgotten how horrid I am at golf and Jerry and I both appreciated the lesson in humility.  The guys we were playing with commented, "Wow Andy, you have a great swing ... I wonder why the ball goes in completely the wrong direction..."  The warm Oregon sun, cool breeze, cheap beer (PBR) and hot dogs made the trip well worth it.  The highlight for me was when my golfing partner, after a couple beers, was driving our golf cart.  We were going up hill and the cart was slowing down so the guy said, "We need more power crystals captain, we need more power!"  Then he made a noise like a submarine preparing for dive.  Overall, it was highly enjoyable.

This week, the grapes come in.  Here we go.

Cheers.

I leave you with a quote from our beloved John Paul II.  Something to think about in light of current events.  

"For this reason, America, your deepest identity and truest character as a nation is revealed in the position you take towards the human person.  The ultimate test of your greatness is the way you treat every human being, but especially the most defenseless ones.  .... If you want equal justice for all, and true freedom and lasting peace, then, America, defend life!  All the great causes that are yours today will have meaning only to the extent that you guarantee the right to life and protect the human person.  

Every human person - no matter how vulnerable or helpless, no matter how young or old, no matter how healthy, handicapped or sick, no matter how useful or productive for society - is a being of inestimable worth created in the image and likeness of God.  This is the dignity of America, the reason she exists, the condition of her survival - yes, the ultimate test of her greatness:  to respect every human person, especially the weakest and most defenseless ones, those as yet unborn."

JP II - Sept. 19, 1987

Is there a burning tire fire near here?... No, it's my new truck

As I mentioned previously, I have recently come into the quasi-ownership of a 1972 Ford 250 Truck. This is going to be my mode of transportation for my time here in Oregon. Assuming she makes it that long. Right now I'm just hoping she'll make it to the end of the week.

Today, my boss Jerry informed me that I will be driving the newly insured tank, er, truck, from now on. The new truck is full of surprises. For example, I found out very quickly that she does not have power steering. This is quite unfortunate news because it makes parking almost IMPOSSIBLE. Also, I discovered that she gets 9 miles to the gallon. Nine. Miles. To. The. Gallon. But at least gas is super cheap in Oregon, only 1.96 a gallon. Where is it where you are... Lastly, I discovered while driving, that she has a real problem shifting into third gear. Actually, it has a problem shifting into ANY gear, but especially third gear.

I left the farm today around 5 with the gas tank bordering on empty. And, to make matters worse, the gas that was in the tank was about 2 years old. So, I headed directly for the gas station which is about 10 miles away. Let me tell you, when this baby's near empty, she purs like a kitten. Also, did you know that when one burns old gas it smells like a dying sun. Vapors and smells emitted from the suffering grandmother of a truck the likes of which probably lowered my life expectancy significantly. I was saying Hail Marys the whole way there, hoping beyond all reason that this thing would not explode in a fiery inferno or worse - run out of gas in town.

I limped into the gas station. Did you know that in Oregon it is illegal to pump your own gas....illegal. Cursed state supreme court. So, the kind Mexican fellow I know at the gas station came over to pump some gas. "Aye Amigo, como aslkasdfluiafd;(incoherent Spanish)askfj que malo!"

"Just fill'er up with premium my good man. Nothing but the best for this vehicle." He also made sure to make fun of the jerky motion of the car when I switched gears.

So, this will be my mode of transportation for the next several weeks. Your prayers will be more than welcome.

Cheers.

p.s. I am thinking up names for my sweet new ride. In consideration are: Buelah, The Belafonte, and Green Thunder.

p.p.s. Gas is not that cheap, that was a joke...

The only ground I ever owned was sticking to my shoes

Maybe I should start from the beginning. My first full week at the winery is over. Harvest has not started yet, and probably won't start until September first when the grapes come in. So, I have spent most of my time doing all the work no one else wants to do. I have cleaned drains, cleaned old wine barrels and cleaned bungs for the bungholes (by the way, I am having a really hard time not laughing every time someone says the word "bunghole"). Also, I have climbed into a 10,000 gallon stainless steel tank to clean it for wine. Lastly, I took apart and reassembled three very expensive and very complicated water well filtration tanks. It's a good thing I'm my father's son or I never would have been able to do something that technical or that mechanical.

Stephen, my housemate, and I went to dinner with the O'Reilly family. The O'Reillys are the other family who own the winery. They have 8 children and are just as hospitable and kind as the Owens. Their eldest son was leaving for college and they were having a send off dinner. We had steaks as big as your head, potatoes and tomatoes grown from their garden, as well as some wonderful wine. We had Orien pinot, some Murphy's Law red, and also Dubrul Cabernet. We also had some Owen Roe dessert wine from 2001. After dinner with the family we all sat down and Dom played his fiddle as we all sang "The Parting Glass." The walls are decorated with icons of our Blessed Mother as well as several saints. Mr. Oreilly is from Ireland, as is evident when he says the word "Ire-lund". So the singing was plentiful and much like an old town pub. I felt close to home, or at least closer than I have lately.

Lastly, and most excitingly I have obtained a vehicle. Jerry told me that if I could get the old truck in the barn running, then I could drive it around while I'm in Oregon. Able, the Mexican farm worker of the Owens and I knocked off the cobwebs, put in some gas and a new battery, moved all the old crap off of the vehicle and turned the key. What resulted was a resounding roar of pure beauty. She is a 1971 Ford 250 truck, green and rust colored. She's made of 100 percent steel (and magic) and to top it all off, has a gun rack in the rear window. To prevent tailgating. I said in incorrect Spanish to Able, "This is the most beautiful car in the world." He looked perplexed and laughed. I'm pretty happy because previously I was driving around a van from the 80's that had 211,000 miles on it. The van also had a "check engine" light that would blink on and off like a Christmas tree. But, my hope is restored and as soon as I get insurance and stickers, The Green Machine and I will be off at the speed of smell.

Hope you all are well. If you think I miss you, I probaly do.

Check out www.owenroe.com for more on the winery.

quote of the day:

Kentucky you are the dearest land outside of Heaven to me
Kentucky your laurels and your red bud trees
When I die I want to rest upon your graceful mountain so high
Kentucky that is where God will look for me

The Grapes of Wrath

The great winery adventure has begun.

My flight in to Portland arrived 3 hours late, around midnight. I have to admit, not having a car is a real pain in our country, and relying on my housemate Stephen is rough. But, Stephen, God Bless him, was there to pick me up and take me to our humble abode in the rolling hills and vineyards of Oregon. The road to our house is much like Rt. 421 for all of my Kentucky readers. Very windy and dangerous. We have a spectacular view of Mt. hood out our back door. Lush, ripened grape vines line the roadsides with white fences and the rolling hills run all the way to Mt. hood, with it's pronounced, snowy peak.

The house itself is ... rustic. there is no air or central heat. The heat is controlled by a giant wood furnace in the basement. The air is controlled by the Lord. The structure of the house is sound, but it is most assuredly a guy's house. Seat up.

The winery has been an adventure thus far. Stephen drove me to work on the first day and we were the first to arrive. We entered the main building and immediately I was taken in by the vastness, the history and the beauty of the craft. Aged oak barrels filled the cool warehouse and the sweet scents of the wine filled the room. One of the great perks of the winery is that we get lunch and sometimes dinner provided for us during harvest. They keep two professional chefs on staff whose only job is to cook for us. So far, we have had seared salmon, pasta, cucumber soup, smoked pork sandwiches, and all the Owen Roe Wine one can drink.

My boss, Jerry, is a saintly man. He and his wife have 8 daughters and one son, the youngest, and they are a spectacular example of God's love and how to have a loving Catholic family. On my first day, Jerry took me up to Portland, about a 45 minute drive, to install some shelves at the Catholic school he and his family helped start. Apparently, my carpentry skills have been vastly over-estimated. But, I think I did a pretty good job ... they seemed sturdy. We didn't get back to the winery until around 6 so Jerry invited me in for dinner with his family. It was truly astounding and touching for me really. Here I was, more or less a stranger, and Jerry invited me in for a dinner of home-raised chicken, mashed potatoes and home made gravy, home made biscuits and home made jam as well as Owen Roe wine (very high end) and home made pie. His family is delightful as well. The older ones take care of the younger ones and everyone is polite and gracious to the utmost. It was moving, and full of Blessings.

After dinner, Jerry gave me a ride home to the 100 degree shack and I called it a first day. I was exhausted, having only gotten 4 hours of sleep the night before. I went straight to bed.

Cheers ya'll.

I'm stuck in this city but I belong in a field

Today begins the next leg of my journey to Oregon. I have discovered that my housing will be without internet and so my posts will be less frequent. But take heart reader! There will be much hilarity and foolishness to come.

I fly from Midway to Portland this evening.
I start work on Thursday.

When I asked my future house mate (we have never met) about work hours, he said, "well, we usually work 12-14 hours a day. And, sometimes we get Sunday's off."

Home, home, where I wanted to go.

The journey home:

Don and I started our way home from the hundred mile wilderness, leaving behind the land of soap-less lake baths and granola.

Don has been looking for a new volunteer opportunity and he was applying to a couple organic farms in Maine. So we took our time, meandering around the countryside, visiting various places. We stopped at one hippie farm that Don was checking out. It was mostly a dairy farm with some vegetables. The leader hippie took us to see the grounds, which started in a barn full of cattle. The floor was covered in straw and we were walking around when all the sudden my foot sinks ankle deep into a HUGE pile of cow poopie. The bad thing was that I was wearing my sandals. The lead hippie woman said, "Oh honey, that happens all the time, we'll hose you off later." We decided to scamper down the state and make our way home.

We made our way down to Acadia National Park on the coast of Maine. But first, Don and I had to accomplish our 2 main goals of this trip: 1. go in the ocean, and 2. get some lobster, fresh out of the shell. Acadia is on a huge island, which is gorgeous. Just before we entered the island park, we stopped at a small coastal Lobster shack. I ended up ordering a 1.5 pound lobster. The woman took me over to a huge tank and said, "which one do you want." So, not knowing how to pick out the most tasty lobster, I made a deliberate gesture and said "That one..." Don ended up naming his lobster Gargoyle because the huge rocks we had to dig out of the ground were called Gargoyles. I named mine Herman. They were delicious, I must say. We would do like a shot of butter with every savory bite.

We spent the night in Acadia. Acadia is simply one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to. It is marked by mountains, lakes, streams and the gorgeous coast line. At low tide, beautiful pools of ocean water gather on the rocky granite shore. These pools are full of ocean life, such as star fish, which you can see until the next high tide comes to wash them back to the ocean. We did a good amount of hiking and finally were able to conquer the ocean at a beach in Acadia. We planned to swim in the ocean but after our ill-fated charge into the water, we discovered it was a balmy 55 degrees. We strategically retreated back to the beach and decided to enjoy the ocean from the shore. Nevertheless, the ocean was conquered, much like the lobster. We also climbed to the top of Cadillac Mountain. Cadillac Mountain is the highest point on the northeastern seaboard. So, the sun rises first on our fair country here. We were going to see the sun rise here, but the weather had other plans.

We fell asleep to the quiet, consistent ringing of the harbor bells on the Maine coast. Then, the bells faded away to a calamitous thunderstorm that lasted for over 4 hours. Laura's defective, leaky tent got the best of us once again, so we headed out the next morning to head down south to the land of the pines.

We stopped in New Hampshire at our friend Jen Luoma's home. New Hampshire was probably the most gorgeous place we visited after Maine. Beautiful mountains and lakes made our trip down much easier. Jen and her parents were like saints. The treated us to a meal of pork loin, salad and PBR. Don and I, having not had a meal that wasn't peanut butter or generic fruit loops in about 2 weeks, devoured the food and were quite satisfied. Table....flat....smooth....fork....pointy. Anyways.

Jen accompanied us down to Boston where we met up with my long-time friend Dan. We walked around Fenway which was teaming with Yankees and RedSox fans. I kept saying quite loudly, "What in the Hell is a Big Papi?" The Red Sox fans looked a mix between angry and like the world was about to end. How could anyone not know who Big Papi was? The insanity! We also walked the freedom trail, saw Ben Franklin's grave, saw where Paul Revere left for his fateful ride, and ate at the Boston beer works brewery. We also tried to go to Sam Adams but there was a 4 hour wait for a brewery tour. But, to their credit, they did let us some free samples. Cheers.

After Boston, we went to DC to meet up with my good friend Andy Bender (aka Chat). The highlights of DC included the Lincoln monument, the Washington Monument, and the rest of the mall. But, my favorite part of the city was The Brickskeller tavern. This hole in the wall saloon had 1,032 choices of beer! It is classified as the largest single selection of beer it the entire world. I asked the waitress, "Do you have Miller Light?" She almost punched me in the face. But then I ordered a Coopers from Australia to remind me of days of old. It was all together delightful.

We made our way back to Kentucky and I have to admit, it did feel much like coming home. Kathleen Levil said, "Well well well, look who comes crawling back." Then she whispered in my ear, "welcome home sweetheart." But more on this later. It felt good to breathe the Bluegrass air again. I proclaim this trip a victory! Take that East Coast!

Cheers.

Quote of the day:

"Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

-Abraham Lincoln

No soap

MAINE:

After leaving the banks of Niagara and the long, horrible state of New York, Don and I made our way up to Maine. We had no idea at the time that we would also be leaving behind electricity, dry sleeping quarters, toilets and also our deodorant.

The drive up to Garland, Maine took us a little over 12 hours due to several setbacks. Most notably, we blew out a tire on our way through New York near Albany and ran into hurricane like conditions in Southern Maine. But, not even a hurricane could stop our conquering of the AT and the northeast.

We arrived at around 10 p.m. in Garland's "base camp" where the hippie work crews strike out from each week to various points on the AT. The base camp is actually on a working sheep farm. Don and I arrived and got an assigned tent to stay in for the one night before we would leave on the trail the following morning. We were serenaded to sleep by hippies doing who knows what in the surrounding tents and sheep bah-ing in the nearby barn.

The week was to be quite a bit more rustic that I had originally anticipated. We drove up from Garland to near Gulf Hagas which is just about at Mt. Katahdin where the trail ends. The section we were on is called the 100 mile wilderness and it stretches through the last 100 miles of the trail in Maine if one was heading northbound. It earns its name because there are no towns within this stretch and hikers widely consider this section the most difficult of the entire 2170 mile trail. We saw only a few "thru-hikers", hikers who intend to walk the entire trail and are only passing through. Of those we did see, they were quite ragged looking and thin as well. They were also from the looks of it quite mad, as the 2070 mile journey is frightfully daunting. It was the perfect time to barter toilet paper for exorbitant amounts if one was blessed enough to possess such goods...

Our work on the trail consisted of two main activities: digging trenches for drainage and digging massive rocks out of the Appalachian soil and rolling them down the hill to be used as steps. The work was tiring as the bugs were swarming around. The most annoying bugs were called noseeums (no-see-ums). The main reason they were called this was because you could barely see them and they would bite the living hell out of you and annoy you within an inch of insanity. But, we went on with our work, digging out rocks, rolling them down the hill and so on.

The accommodations were rustic - kind of like the old west perhaps - suitable for a homeless former CAP volunteer. We were living out of tents in a field near a serene lake. We ate only what we carried in in coolers and cooked our food with propane. There was no running water or electricity.

On our first day at the camp, Don and I decided to go swimming and take a lake bath. I am a HUGE proponent of the lake bath. So we took our bath and were quite happy. The second day we were there, we were completely filthy from digging. I headed along the shore to take a lake bath, got into the water and took out my soap. Then I hear from the shore, "That's not soap is it!?!". "Uh yeah" I replied, "I'm taking a lake bath. I love lake baths."

"Well, it hurts the environment! Soap is bad for the water!" So, I ceased and desisted with my only remaining pleasure in the wide world.

So, the next day, I came back with some hippie, biodegradable soap to appease this woman. I started to wash in the lake when I heard from the shore, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" To which I replied, "Using this hippie soap to wash, it's biodegradable." "It's still bad for the environment, you have to wash off on the shore!"

So, to appease this lady once more I took a kayak, filled it up, and used a helmet to bathe on the shore. We called it a hippie bath.

Later in the week, Don was walking by a cabin on the shore when he heard a male voice come from within that says, "NO SOAP..." and that's it, just a simple order from a concerned greanie. No hello, how are you, where you from? Just "No soap."

We stink horridly. Fortunately the leaky tent and stormy Maine weather ensure we smell like wet smelly dog instead of just plain old smelly dog. Laura, you should really invest in a better tent.

Cheers.

Mainers are Mainicas because in Maine, the rain falls constantly on the plain

DAY 1, The Beginning:

Last Thursday, July 17th, Don and I started our adventure up to Maine to work on the Appalachian Trail (AT). Our journey began near Louisville and ultimately would take us to Garland, Maine. Our first day of driving was about 13 hours and took us to Niagara falls. Neither of us had ever seen the falls before and so we thought we'd take a little detour before heading across the long, horribly boring state known as New York. It was about midnight when we got to near the falls, Grand Island precisely - a huge island near Niagara falls. We planned to stay the night in some one's back yard and then see the falls on Friday morning. So, there we were; midnight, driving around Grand Island, looking for a back yard or an abandoned lot to sleep in. But, due to the tenacious boarder patrol, the grand island police and the Buffalo police forces, we couldn't find anything nearly suitable enough.
We were painfully tired. We had been driving for almost 14 hours and were exhausted. We took several turns down side streets into a suburb-like part of town when I spotted a light on at "The Village Inn". I ventured up to the door, quite tentatively, and saw there were 2 men inside, the barkeep/owner and his friend. I asked if they had any rooms because it was called the Village Inn. The owner said it was just a bar/restaurant and there were no rooms, but why don't we come on in and have a beer. Not being one to offend a new friend, I decided to take him up on his offer and have a beer. The bar owner's name was Mike and the man who was sitting at the bar was also named Don, oddly enough. The bar Don said to us, "how in the world did you get to this place?" We told them about how we had been driving around and looking for a place to sleep and asked if we could stay in their back yard. Bar Don was quite inebriated at this point and said, "SURE, you can stay in my yard, but you have to drink some of my home made beer first!!" Keeping with my manners and remembering how I hate to offend, Don Schaeffer and I drank some of this guy's home brew which he kept bringing in from the front seat of his car. Apparently, he had a whole keg of home brew in the front seat of his car and kept bringing it in for us to "sample". It was quite potent and had an alcohol content of maybe 13 or 14% I would estimate. It was quite tasty though, I must say.
Mike, the owner of the Village Inn, showed us hospitality you never hear of today and rarely experience in a lifetime. He heated up some of his home made New England clam chowder as well as a heaping plate of home made "Buffalo" wings - free of charge. He said, "you guys have been traveling and must be tired, so this is on me." So, we chatted with these two guys, drinking their home brew and eating New England clam chowder and Buffalo buffalo wings until around 1:30 am. Bar Don was giving us reasons for why he doesn't pay taxes and I was talking home brew techniques with him.
After a while, Bar Don realized he was too inebriated to drive so Don Schaeffer had to drive his car while I drove Don Schaeffer's car back to this guy's house. The man lived right on the Niagara river and we ended up sleeping on the beach right in front of his house. He apparently lived with his mother and couldn't invite us in, but I bet he would have if she allowed it. He kept saying, "Man, I love you guys, I don't know where you came from or how you got here, but I love you." We helped him inside and laid down on the banks of the mighty Niagara, well fed and ready to sleep. We left the next morning without seeing our friend, but not wanting to see the Mounties either.
We saw the mighty Niagara Falls around 7 a.m. and then decided to scamper on to Maine. The falls were quite impressive really, but the surrounding town was a complete dump. People say there is a better view on the Canadian side but due to the fact that Canada sucks, we stayed in the good ole' USA and decided to leave.

Cheers to the Village Inn on Grand Island near Buffalo, New York.

Good Article

Here is an interesting article I came across on ESPN.com about a professional soccer player retiring to enter the priesthood. You should check it out.

http://soccernet.espn.go.com/news/story?id=555353&sec=mls&&cc=5901

Headed West from the Cumberland Gap

"Well, I'm back."

I'm sitting here in the quiet Illinois plains pondering the year past and all that has happened since I last left nearly a year ago. The corn is only about waist high and the lingering smoke from the fireworks last night has long blown away.
Surprising to me, it was very hard to leave CAP. I thought, after all my friends had gone, it would be much easier to journey for the last time out of the mountains. But, as I prepared to leave, leaving became much more difficult. I made my tour of all the areas I had been before to visit all the people I have served and served with. I went down to McCreary Co. to work with the McCreary boys and Kevin. I went to the Berea house to bid them farewell. Then I went out to the Johnson house for the last time. At each location, I received the same general reaction. As I gave hugs for the last time (for a while) we always agreed that, 'this stinks.' As I visited each place I would drive back around sunset through the familiar hills and past familiar hollars. Playing Old Crow Medicine Show and smelling the mountain air, I could finally understand the desire to stay in the mountains. Throughout my time here I have left pieces of my heart here and there. I didn't go back to say goodbye and recollect those pieces, I went to make sure that they would remain there always.
I then visited many of my old participants. My motivation was two-fold; to see them for one last time and to make sure that my work had not completely fallen in. The work was fine and the good-byes emotional. Shirley and Miss Connie, the two perfect storm jobs were particularly hard to say farewell to. They both assured me that I was always welcome back, and in truth it was as if I never left. I expected to see Ross walking around the corner with a saw, Brittney to be dancing around like a maniac or Katharine teaching some lost college student. But all of my friends have gone away, and now it was time for me to do the same.
The last person I saw on my way out was David Frank, still up at camp and one of the last remaining volunteers from this year past. he was wearing some cut off jean shorts, a sleeveless T and a maroon trucker hat. He waved goodbye with our traditional Kentucky wave saying, "Go on home now GITTTTT." It was most appropriate.

The Beaver: The Beaver was never heard from again. However, it has slipped into local legend. Children at camp have frequently reported that they saw a fuzzy creature lurking across the lake on a misty evening with a sling tied around its stomach and ham in its mouth. The beaver will most likely terrorize children for years to come either as a ghost or some kind of mutant beaver that eats children who go out at night against the rules.
Jesse: Jesse got many votes this year and Ross and I feel confident that our cabinet positions are secure. When Jesse left, he refused to tell me where he was going. Watch out for a Timmons near you.
Jackson vs. Johnson: Johnson was always and will always be a nice place to visit. But, I am quite partial to Jackson. We liked it there.
Cap Corps vs. CAP: Cap Corps has more of a spiritual center but CAP gets more done. Both could use more Bamberger. But then, who couldn't.
Facebook: I left facebook because I consider it a vapid and vacuous form of communication. Plus, I think it deludes friendships. So if you want to talk, just call.
Will I be back?: After Lance Armstrong ran the New York marathon, he considered it the hardest physical thing he ever did. When asked if he'd be back he said, "No. But I reserve the chance to change my mind." He ran the marathon the very next year. No promises. I go where the Lord asks.
Socioeconomic: Why are poor people in this area poor? Quite simply, there are no jobs. There is no industry so most people just spend their time focusing on entertainment. Particularly in the younger generations, the focus is not so much on survival and improvement of the quality of life, but more on living how modern media tells them they should live. This has a two-fold effect; 1. greater dependence on welfare and 2. loss of vital Appalachian culture and traditions. People usually respond to this, "Why don't people just move." Good point. People don't move because their family is there/was from there, they have always lived there and/or they have an attachment to the land. The first two are fairly easy to understand but the attachment to the land is a bit harder. However, after driving around for a couple days, saying goodbye, I felt this effect to a large extent. The mountains hold you like a warm embrace. They shelter you, support you. The air, the streams, the woods and the little rivers make you feel like you're at home and call you home when you are away. Now, the real question is, are these reasons enough for subjecting your family to such harsh conditions? Probably not. But for many, these reasons are enough.

As for me, my time is over. As Gandalf says, as he is about to depart at the Gray Havens -


'My time is over: it is no longer my task to set things to rights, nor to help folk to do so. And as for you, my dear friends, you will need no help. You are grown up now. Grown indeed very high; among the great you are, and I have no longer any fear at all for any of you.'

I commend all I left into the able hands of those I leave behind. I have a few plans ahead. Don (aka the Donminator) and I will be heading up to Maine to do some volunteering on the Appalachian Trail doing maintenance. Then I have a wedding of two dear friends, John and Debbie, at St. John's. Finally, around mid-August, I will go out to Oregon for a season to work as a manual laborer at a winery called Owen Roe. This is the plan as it exists.

The blog will continue, because I'm sure the adventures ahead will be far too priceless not to blog.

Stay tuned for chapter 2: Andy and Don's big adventure and chapter 3: No money, lots of wine.

Cheers.

This is a Year of my Life

Darth McCrackin

P.S. My new padewon learner Chris, a HUGE Reds fan, said today:

"I hope Harry Carry comes back to life and choke slams Dusty Baker into a table that is on fire and has barbed wire on it."

The End has Come

My last day with CAP is on Friday when I will begin my next journeys. These last days have been marked by my training our two new housing guys, Chris and Ryan (aka, my padawon learners).

For my last post with CAP, I will answer any unanswered questions you may have about this year; volunteering, the beaver, DavidFrank's smell or anything else. Just respond to this post with your questions. (after all these months, I am out of new ideas).

Cheers.

"From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won"

There are certain things in life you do only once. Death, for example, you do only once. Or, building your own raft out of logs, chicken wire and garbage and taking said raft down a very shallow river in eastern Kentucky. That is also something you do only once.

The plan was flawless really... from a certain insane point of view. The raft was constructed and tested, our cooler was packed and we were ready to go where none or maybe few people have gone before. Our journey began on the banks of the Cumberland River. There were a few kayaks floating down near our launch site with perplexed locals at the helm. I immediately went out knee deep into the water and started shouting, "USA! USA! USA!" and pumping my fist in the air. They immediately started cheering and joined right in, "USA USA USA!" You wouldn't believe how easy it is to start a USA chant, you should really try it sometime. After that rousing display, we boarded the raft. It was me, Jesse, Don (The dominator), UBS man, David Frank, Joe a short termer, and Ryan. We piled on the raft and to our surprise, it floated! I know what you're thinking, "USA, USA, USA!" But don't get too excited. We traveled about 50 yards and then ran aground on the shallow river bottom. We then noticed that the river was only about 6 inches deep on average for the entire 5 mile stretch we intended to do. So, we picked up the raft, which weighed about 300 pounds, and carried this stupid thing over the shallow water. We carried this horrid boat from hell for 5 miles on and off, over slick river boulders and ankle twisting crevasses on the river bottom. I threw my paddle into the water and said to Jesse, "this is by far your worst idea ever."

We achieved our goal of 5 miles in a little over 5 hours. We were exhausted and threw ourselves up on the grassy bank near the Cumberland Falls. We had run out of water and food and were all cut up from our bulky, awkward monstrosity. We headed for home, but not before a stop at the Big Boy's in London, KY. We looked quite near homeless. Don was donning his "USA 2002" cut off sleeveless t-shirt with a picture of the American flag. UBS was soaked. I had my "Michigan lottery: fame and fortune, it could happen to you" shirt on. Jesse and Ryan had dirty shirts from the work truck and damp swimming suits on because the rest of their clothes were wet, and Frank reeked and had no shoes on. It was rough. Regardless, we were all starving so we feasted on burgers and all was well in the world again.

Our vessel was named "Sarah 2" in honor of Ross and Sarah and their engagement. Top THAT engagement gift son!

Anyways, Cheers.

Alas, that these final days should be mine.

First, let me make a revision on the previous post. CAP has removed the Perfect Storm video from the website. Don't ask me why... maybe it was my reference to us as a "poverty eliminating machine." Who can say. As official PR person for the Perfect Storm, let it be known that we do not mind it's removal. For the perfect storm is so perfect that its essence cannot be captured by any conventional recording device nor can it be captured by the man who seeks to exploit its limitless successes. That being said, on to more important business.

The beaver remains at large and has not been seen since it got caught in the snare. It is now caught, escaped, at large, expected dead, probably armed and still dangerous.

Now, dear reader, let me take you back to the cold month of January. Due to the icy winter and the very curvy roads here in eastern Kentucky, we had several "snow days" this past winter where we could not go to work or drive cars. We were locked in these quiet, snowy hollers with only our imagination to keep us busy. These days would often end with Jesse and I having sore arses after sledding on lasagna pans down the bumpy hills. Needless to say, we were bored out of our minds. As a result, Ross, Jesse and I started to build a raft. A home made raft made of fallen timbers and twine. Initially, we were planning on having a CAP formal dance in February. Ross, Jesse and I were going to traverse the lake at camp and meet our dates on the opposite shore. We were going to use our house flag as a mast and blast "The Final Countdown" on loudspeakers as we made our voyage. The attire would be blue speedos and we would break a bottle of PBR on our mighty vessel's bow before we embarked. But, then we were all called to Tennessee on disaster relief (where I met the Mennonites) and we forgot about the raft. As winter thawed and we could take up other pursuits, the raft fell into memory.

Until now. Jesse, Joe (a short term volunteer from Tennessee) and I have resurrected this forgotten project and now intend to embark on our final mission. We will attempt to conquer the Cumberland River on our mighty vessel. We will have 7 passengers on our tiny craft: me, Don, UBS man, Joe, Ryan, Jesse, and David Frank. The journey will be epic, the water cold, and the result unknown. I should mention that the Cumberland Falls are on the Cumberland river. Hopefully we can strategically avoid the falls (no pun intended).


Cheers for now.

















By the way, Sox/Cubs this weekend. Good GuysWear Black. Holler at you boys.





(AP Photo/Jerry Lai) - Jim
(AP Photo/Brian Kersey) - Ozzie

Perfect Storm revisited

This is a video portrayal of the perfect storm at our first job, Shirley's home. It is an encapsulated summary of the essence of the...

PERFECT STORM!



http://christianapp.org/

Thank you and good night.

Cheers.

Captain's log: the war has begun

Last Friday, I was at work minding my own business. I went to check my voice mail at the truck to get a drink and get out of the sun for a minute. I had one message. It was from a frantic David Frank. It sounded something like this:

"Andy, Beaver here, come quick, we got it, at the camp, beaver Andy, Beaver! Beaver!....(Inaudible screeching) Beaver!"

I called him back to hear the following story from Frank.

Frank: "Well, I was on a hike with the camp counselors at orientation. We heard some rustling down in the bush and discovered that the beaver had been caught, at last! It was caught in a trap set by one of the maintenance guys and it was angry fierce, thrashing about. It was about 4 feet long including the tail and was rather unfriendly looking."
So, Frank went back to inform the maintenance man (who shall remain nameless, we will call him Kurt) who set the trap. Kurt called up a buddy of his who quickly brought over a 38 revolver. He got a twinkle in his eyes, a crooked smile, and said, "Let's roll." They paddled over to the other side of the lake where the beaver was. Frank's little heart was beating like a small boy's on a Christmas morning. Maybe a boy who has recently tried to kiss a girl for the first time in a Thai restaurant parking lot. At any rate, he was excited.

When they arrived at the site, to their great depression, the beaver had escaped, chewed through 2 trees and shook the trap! Heartbreak.

The beaver is now caught, injured, escaped, at large, and presumed dangerous.

Beaver: 1
Us: 0

Cheers.



"For I go gathering Christian men
From sunken paving and ford and fen,
To die in a battle, God knows when,
By God, but I know why.

"And now two blasts, the hunting sign,
Because we turn to bay;
But I will not blow the three blasts,
Till we be lost or they.

And now I blow the hunting sign,
Charge some by rule and rod;
But when I blow the battle sign,
Charge all and go to God."

excerpts from G. K. Chesterton's Ballad of the White Horse

This act of aggression cannot stand, man.

Every time I go to mass at St. Claire's in Berea, I'm always incredibly annoyed by the congregation's continuous battle between saying the word "God" and the word "His" or "He". There are certain diocese it seems that have some kind of odd aversion to referring to God as He. If such a rift has been caused over one word, just imagine what the Church has endured over far more complex and far-reaching theological matters through the centuries.

Anywho, I found a passage in a Peter Kreeft book, "Catholic Christianity" that portrays my feelings on the subject exactly.

"'Man' does not mean 'males', or 'males more than females'. Despite this fact, many publishers today strictly censor the traditionally inclusive use of 'man' or 'he' -- a use we find until the 1960s in all English translations of the Bible, all the documents of the Church, and all the great secular books in the history of Western civilization.
This censorship is usually insisted on out of respect for the strong feelings of a small minority of influential feminists, and perhaps in guilt and reparation for the many real injustices done in the past by men to women.
Traditional language is maintained in this book, not out of any desire to exclude women or to deny the full equality between men and women (full equality is a biblical principle, by the way), but because of the conviction that past injustices against women are not atoned for by future injustices against language.
In the English language, the word 'man' does double duty; it means two things, 'humans' and 'male humans'. For English has only one word ('man') where many other languages have two. In Latin for instance, homo means 'human being' and vir means 'male human being'. In Greek, anthropos and aner make the same distinction. When English writers said 'God and man' they did not mean 'God and males'.
Why not say 'God and humanity' then? Because 'God and man' not only sounds better than 'God and humanity', but it means something different. 'Man' is a concrete term, like 'God'; but 'humanity' is an abstract word like 'divinity'.