Death of Old Growth Trees

I just read in the paper the rate of death of old growth trees has almost doubled. This is apparently happening all over the United States.

When I was a child living in Bull Creek, California, I used to run and play in an old growth redwood forest, now a large park. My favorite tree was called the Flat Iron Tree. The lower part of its giant trunk looked like it had been flattened by a huge iron.

Last fall, when I made my journey to Humboldt County, I was grief stricken when I visited my old friend. I found it on the ground, broken in several places, large sharp bristles jutting from it's awful wounds. It had stood tall for 2,000 years. How could it have died in my lifetime? It was there when Christ was born. It was there when the Mayflower landed on our shores. It was there during the Civil War. It was there when King told of his magnificent dream. It was there when the first black man was making a successful run for the presidency. The history it had witnessed was enormous. Yet now, it had fallen and died. All was quiet around it's beaten corps. The quiet wasn't the same as the deep silence of the trees. This soundless sleep spoke of defeat, a sacrifice to the idol of civilization.

Copyright 2009 Sharon Porter Moxley

OBAMA

I am in awe of our new President! I had huge reservations about him when he was campaigning but I love the choice of cabinet members and today on TV his government transparency provisions left me dumb founded. We may have the real deal with this man.

ANSWER ABOUT THE DONKEY

My uncle by marriage, Gene Croy used to run the Donkey at Bull Creek. It was a big machine that rested upon a bluff overlooking the Bull Creek road and the log pond of a lumber mill. The Donkey had steel cables that were hooked to the logs on the big trucks that parked between the road and the pond. The lumberjacks fastened the cables to the logs and the Donkey pulled them up and dropped them into the pond. Once in a while, (just for fun) my Uncle made the Donkey slap the huge steel cables down across the road. This was scary for everybody, but no self-respecting lumberjack would admit it. I can remember by Aunt Maude Croy saying, "If the cables came down on a man, it would cut him in half!"

Copyright 2009 Sharon Porter Moxley

Question of the Day

What was a donkey and how was it used? Hint: It was not an animal.

Copyright 2009 Sharon Porter Moxley

Continuation of A Cat's Tale

" While they’re on the porch arguing about the gun, I take the flashlight and go into the yard to see if she killed the tom. I hope so, because he will come back and kill our kittens. I move the flashlight slowly across the grass and weeds. My eyes go wide as I spot a black, furry tail on the ground. I grab it up and yell to my mother, “You shot his tail off!” I dash back to her and show off our prize. “You didn’t kill him, but I bet he won’t come back again,” I laugh.

“If he does come back he won’t be bringing his tail.” We both chuckle at the thought of the cat running away without its tail."
Copyright 2009 Sharon Porter Moxley

Almost Finished

I have been writing my book, True Tales of Whitethorn, for 4 years. I am now on the next to last chapter. The book is 80,000 words long. I plan to submit it to a publisher but I might delay this because of the poor economy. The book chronicles my childhood in Whitethorn. My blog is about Whitethorn but most of it is general information rather than the drama of my life.

I considered self-publishing a collection of three stories but again decided against it because of the economy. I have done considerable market research in northern California and find book stores would take it on consignment. There is an especially good market for books about loggers and lumberjacks in northern California.

The following is the beginning of a chapter from the book called, A Cat's Tale:

An earsplitting screech shatters our evening as my mother and I stand by the sink doing dishes. My mother, hands wet with soap, picks up her rifle. I grab the flashlight. We both rush out to the back porch. I shine the light on a huge black tom cat tearing out of the storeroom and leaping to the top of the porch railing. Just as the he dives out into the night, my mother takes aim and squeezes the trigger. For a moment we both stand frozen as the acid smell of gunfire fills the darkness.

“What on earth are you trying to do, Ruby?” My stepfather shouts, as he stomps out of the house.

We ignore him and run to the storeroom at the end of the porch. Even though I am only eight years old, I get there first.

“Are they alive, Sharon?” my mother cries.

I count the small kittens. “They’re all here and it looks like none of them are hurt. Mama cat must have fought him off.

“Is moma cat ok?”


“She’s just fine. But why do tomcats kill kittens?”

“I wish I knew,” she says. If we hadn’t gotten here in time, the big tom would’ve killed them all.

“Ruby, I’ve told you again and again how dangerous it is to be shooting that gun,” my stepfather Al hollers from the porch. “And now you’re out here blasting away in the dark. Don’t you have any sense?”

“I’ve been shooting guns all my life,” my mother says. “Just because you don’t know one end of a gun from the other doesn’t mean I don’t know what I am doing.”

Answer to What the Little Boy Shot at

He missed!

Question of the Day

My mother often used this expression: "He got what the little boy shot at." As I child I could never figure out what she meant. If you want to submit an answer click on comment.

Copyright 2009 Sharon Porter Moxley

The Church and the Bar

The church and the bar in Whitethorn were always at odds. The Pentecostal Church members often hoped that the bar would close. They believed that drinking and dancing were sins. They were also concerned that the bar was a place where "backsliders" might resume their sinful ways and begin drinking and dancing again.

The people who frequented the bar were often hostile about what they felt was unfair judgement by the church members. One defender of the bar stated, "The bar is the only other place where people can get together and visit. George and Virginia do a nice job of running it. Virginia cooks good meals in the restaurant and families bring their children to eat and have a coke. Living a good life is fine but rolling on the floor and babbling in tongues is another thing."

A defender of the church claimed that some people didn't understand the teachings of Jesus. "Everyone makes fun of us because some church members roll on the floor. Rolling on the floor and speaking in tongues means Jesus has baptized you with the Holy Spirit and you are saved."

Since my family were members of the bar and my best friend was a member of the church, I visited the bar regularly and went to church every week. As I look back on my life I realize the teachings of the church actually did "save" me. I have never been a drinker and I have never smoked cigarettes. I did not engage in sexual intercourse until my wedding night. I was able to avoid these behaviors because of the Pentecostal Church.

My family moved to civilization when I was twelve. In my teens I joined the Methodist church, was baptized and sang in the choir. I quit the church in my early twenties and lost most of my faith when my unborn baby died when I was 8 months pregnant.

Copyright 2009 Sharon Porter Moxley

George and Virginia Martin-The Whitethorn Bar

George and Virginia Martin ran the Whitethorn Bar in the40's. Al Sharpe and the Martins shared ownership in this rough and tumble place. George was a big man with black hair. Virginia was a feisty, overweight woman who was from Oklahoma or Arkansas. She had an accent pronouncing "farr" for "fire and other interesting words that was incomprehensible to most Californians. Virginia was a pretty good cook. She served the loggers lots of greasy meat and potatoes which they claimed to enjoy. George usually tended bar and was liked by his burly customers.

Although it was against the law, children were allowed in the bar. Since there was no law enforcement in Whitethorn, there was no reason for the kids to sit outside in the family car while the parents guzzled beer. Most of the time the bar was peaceful. But on occasion, a fight would break out traumatizing any innocent kid who was hanging around.

One infamous Saturday night a group of Indians came into the bar. The result was a huge brawl between the Indians and the loggers. The Indians lost and the loggers bragged for years about their victory. There was no concept of civil rights for minorities at that time and it was actually illegal to serve alcohol to Indians.

As a child, I was outraged by this event. Since I believed I might be part Indian, I was against the loggers and their violence.

Henry Behrenst

Henry Behrenst and his family went to the Whitethorn Pentecostal Church. Henry 'Hank' was a tall, sinewy blond fellow who had a very nice singing voice. I remember him singing The Old Rugged Cross on Sunday mornings or at evening services. He was a good man who provided well for his family. Like all members of the church he did't drink or smoke. I don't remember exactly what he did for a living but he undoubtedly worked in nearby mills or in the woods.

Copyright 2009 Sharon Porter Moxley

King Edward 111 and Whitethorn kid

I have been doing my genology for several years. While the first 10 generations or so were of very very modest beginnings, I have recently found that my line goes back to a King of England, Edward the third, born in the year 1312. Of course going back that far in the records I may have stumbled on some errors and will eventually find I am mistaken. But for now I am having great fun thinking about this possibility.

I also go back to a fellow named Garret Null who was convicted of treason by the Canadian government when he and his companions tried to claim a small bit of Canada for the United States. His companions were hung but he died in Jail. This event took place in the early 1800s.

And then of course there was Mary Johnson and her family who passed depression, bi-polar disorder, anxiety and agoraphobia down to the present generation. The other day I received an E-mail from a distant cousin who desended from that family. She described the terrible agony her family endures because of this disease. When I read her E-mail I couldn't help but imagine myself as a tiny baby born unknowingly under the shadow of this inherited malady.

But cheer up folks. Here is a list of a few people who endured this terrible brain disorder while giving their wonderful gifts to the world: Winston Churchill (He called it his Black Dog), Leo Tolstoy (at the height of his success he reported that he couldn't keep a rope in his house for fear of hanging himself), Earnest Hemingway, Peter Tchaikovsky, Edgar Allan Poe, Michelangelo, Herman Melville, George Frideric Handel, F Scott Fitzgerald, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Cole Porter, Vincent Van Gogh, Walt Whitman, Virginia Woolf and many many more.

Researchers have found at least some connection with creativity and mood disorder. A study of children who were adopted at birth found that the level of creativity in the biological parent predicted illness in the children, but there was no corolation to the level of creativity in their adoptive home.

If you want to know if your children are at risk for mood disorder, do a chart of the family history. Look at symptoms of depression if there is no actual professional diagnosis. Symptoms would include mood swings, sleeplessness, irritability, feeling like a failure, loss of appetite, loss of interest in things that used to be interesting.

If you suspect bi polar disorder watch for periods of excessive talking, risk taking, sexual acting out, drug/alcohol use, or excessive anger when crossed. With kids in their late teens you might see psychosis, and paranoid delusions.

Of course you should check with professionals in the field of psychiatry to confirm and treat the person. This blog in no way seeks to take the place of identification and treatment by a mental health professional.

Copyright 2008 Sharon Porter Moxley

Mary?

Around 1949 a woman named Mary arrived in Whitethorn. What a show. Mary was flamboyant blond woman who claimed she was formerly married to a famous writer. I can't remember for sure, but I think she said she had been married to John Steinbeck. Whoever he was her story was undoubtedly not true. However, Mary obviously came from a well to do background. She brought with her a magnificent grand piano, antiques, bamboo screens and several Siamese cats. She played beautiful classical music on her piano and entertained everyone who knew her. She reportedly danced for some of her visitors and one bit of gossip claimed that after dancing in front of one spellbound group she turned around and exposed her bare butt to her audience.

Despite the fact I didn't have a piano, I took piano lessons from Mary. She made a cardboard copy of the piano keys and I practiced my lessons on this soundless board. While I never really learned to play the piano I did learn to read music.

Mary stayed in Whitethorn for a little over a year and it wasn't until my mother Ruby found her in Eureka did we know where she had gone. My mother told me she was walking on second street in Eureka when she past a bar where someone was playing a piano. Recognizing Mary's style, my mother went into the bar and there was Mary and her fantastic piano. That was the last we ever heard about her.

New Year in Whitethorn

Happy New Year everyone. Since most people in Whitethorn had guns the whole valley boomed at the stroke of midnight. No telling where the bullets landed but there was plenty of open country so no one was shot as far as I know.