Pure Florida... Pure Confession: Hubcap and Pocketbook

In the past 4 years, I have lost my father, my big brother, and most recently, my mother.
Suddenly, I am an orphan, the lone survivor of my sweet, loving childhood family.
And so it falls to me to be the caretaker, cleaner-outer, and custodian of the family "stuff".

I have helpers of course. My own nuclear family has been a tremendous help both as emotional support and as a motivated labor source. 

Every work session at Mom's turns up emotional treasures that may cause laughter, tears, WTH's, or combinations of these.

"So where is the confession, get to the confession part!"

Patience grasshopper... I'm telling a story here.

The job of cleaning out the Dad's garage fell to me. His garage was a time capsule whose contents had not changed substantially since the year 2000. Most of the stuff in the garage had sat undisturbed since the late '80s and '90s.

Much of the stuff in boxes and on shelves was easily tossed as junk, but not before inspecting everything carefully. The old musty cigar box on in the rusty locker might contain treasured photographs of teenage Dad (it did) or photos of Mom and Dad as twenty-somethings (did that too).

You get the idea ... go slow, inspect everything.

At one point in this adventure, I looked up and there, hanging from a rafter nail was a hubcap.
A Chevy hubcap.
Now, my parents never owned anything, but Chrysler vehicles, with 2 exceptions... a 1957 JEEP Wagoneer and a 1970 International Harvester SCOUT.
This was MY hubcap!  (I never owned a Chevy either).

Okay, here is the confession part... or at least we are getting closer. Let's set the scene...

My childhood neighborhood was one big playground for my cousins and the other neighbor kids. We roamed all over, often only heading home when we heard one of our parents calling us in from the front porch.

My Dad's kidcall went like this, "RAAAAAAAAAYMUUUUNNND, COME HOME FOR DIIIIINNNNNER!"

You could hear it anywhere in the hood and you could smell dinner as you got closer, because like most folks back then, we did not have air conditioning, so the windows were open.

On Summer and weekend nights, we went back out after supper. Sometimes we played neighborhood tag in which one person was "IT" and everyone else hid ... well... anywhere.
There really weren't boundaries, so this game while fun, often ended with a frustrated "IT" person getting mad and loudly announcing, "Okay, I quit. I'm going home!"

Somewhere around the age of 13, we learned of a new game, called "Hubcap", from some older kids. 

(Super close to confession time now...)

Hubcap had simple rules.
1. Get a hubcap ... preferably legally.
2. On a dark night, pick a spot with clear escape routes just in case.
3. Wear dark clothes.
4. After sunset, hide and wait for a car to approach.
5. As soon as the car passes your location, toss the hubcap and yell, "Hey mister, your hubcap came off!"
(Most cars still didn't have A/C at this time, so windows were usually down allowing the driver to hear both our yell and the clang of the hubcap.)
6. When the car stopped and began to back up, run out, grab the hubcap, and keep on running to avoid the driver with no sense of humor. 
7. Regroup, reload, and do it again.

That was part one of the confession in case you were wondering...

Part two:
At some point, after the shine had worn off the Hubcap game, we found an old purse. It was empty but intact and it inspired a whole new night game called "Pocketbook". 
"Pocketbook" was a direct descendant of "Hubcap"

Pocketbook had similar rules and was played at dusk or dark, much like Hubcap. 

To play Pocketbook, we first attached a long length of 20-pound test monofilament fishing line to the handle of the purse. 

The purse was then left on the edge of the road in plain view, but not out far enough to be run over. The other end of the line was in our hands of course.  

Once the purse was in place, we waited like any good fisherman does. Looking back, it seems very few cars can pass a purse on the road without inspecting it.
  
As soon as the car stopped, and the door opened, we'd pull in that purse as fast as we could and scoot.
The drivers' responses were a mix of laughter and profanity mostly. (Ours was entirely laughter).

Once a guy gave chase, but it was our territory and we vanished into the night with our purse.

Once, and only once, a lady jumped out the passenger side, tossed the purse in the back seat and the car zoomed off. The line tightened for just a second and then "ZING!", it popped.

I don't remember when we outgrew these games, but somewhere along the way to full teen status, they faded into our collective history...but not from our memories.



Cautionary note: This was all back in the "Wonder Years" era. I don't advise playing either of these games today. The world is a crankier place.
Plus ... few cars have hubcaps anymore so ...

Stupid Things I Have Done Part 5,6, ? ... oh, who's keeping track anymore. A tale of a belly and a jelly.

There's a story behind this photo ...

It was one of those spring days when the beach seems like a good idea, but only if you stay dry.

The kids, Katy, Emma, pal Emily, and Raymie, didn't mind ...but me? 

I like cold water on hot days, but this day was a sireniday 😎tempting the unsuspecting into the water.

Oh, the Sun was out and it looked like a beach day, but the brisk wind flowing out of the North and the still wintry water temps kept this Dad on shore.

It was the kind of Spring day where you can simultaneously freeze your buns off while you sunburn beneath a sparkling sky... like being 12,000 feet up in the Rockies.

But I am off chasing rabbits at this point in the tale, because the chilly weather is not the story behind the picture.

It only explains why I remained on the beach while my little flock dashed off into the waves.

While the kids romped in the shallow shore break, I kept one eye on them and one eye on the beach at my feet. 

The waves did their usual, rushing up as high as they could and then swashing back. 

Tiny mole crabs, and Coquina clams excavated by each wave, frantically reburied themselves before the next foamy roller.

I was in the zone.

Happy kids and an almost empty (see, I told you it was chilly) beach.
That is my cup of tea ... toss in a dog for sweetening and it's about perfect.

Just as the kids were finally feeling the cold, I came across a Cannonball Jellyfish freshly stranded and pulsating.

When I picked it up, the kids came running over to see it.

"What is it?"

"It's a Cannonball Jellyfish."

"Won't it sting you?"

"No, this kind of jellyfish can't sting us."

Okay, before I tell you what happened next, let me just say that in my life, at that point, I had handled a blue million Cannonball Jellyfish and never, ever, never, had so much as a tingle.

Ok, so, just keep that in mind ...

I did what I always do, when I have kids and a critter. I point out parts, describe what the parts do, explain how it eats, moves, etc.

I was in my element ... on a beach with an engaged audience and a critter. As I talked, they moved in close, to see and touch the harmless Cannonball Jellyfish.

As I wound up this little impromptu Phylum Cnidaria lesson, I was holding the jellyfish upside down so the kids could see the short fleshy tentacle fringe. Every so often I would dip the bowl shaped body into the ocean to keep it alive.

As their interest waned, I did this random Dad thing.

They were all in a semi-circle around me and my young son Raymie was directly in front of me.

Just being a silly Dad, I dumped the Jellyfish bowl water on his belly.

They all laughed and took off for one more splashy run through the shore wash, but almost immediately Raymie came back to me.

"Owww, my belly itches" ... he was rubbing his belly and trying not to cry.

When I look closer, sure enough, his belly was red where the jellyfish water splashed him.

How could this be? I have handled so many of these and never been stung. I splashed cold ocean water over his belly and rubbed him with a towel, all the time kicking myself for not realizing that as weak as the nematocysts are in a Cannonball Jellyfish, the thin, young skin of a 5 year old's belly is no match for them.

(Note: This is before I started packing vinegar on any beach or boat trip.)

My hypothesis here is that filling the medusa bowl with water dislodged nematocysts, which I then poured over that delicate thin belly skin.

Well great Dad, good job!
What a rookie mistake.

Fortunately, the stinging was subsiding even as I called a halt to the beach day. 

The kids were freezing anyway by then.

I thought I would need to stop by a drugstore on the way home to get some soothing ointment, but as it turned out a trip to Tastee Freeze worked just as well.

By the time we got our soft serve cones, Raymie had stopped whining about his itchy belly and all was good.

Now, go back and look at that photo taken just before we left the beach ... notice how the girls are happy and smiling?

Notice Raymie?

Surviving Sunday, ... But Just Bearly.

The sun visor on my JEEP.


Sunday morning I was flying low heading out to Cedar Key Scrub to meet with Doug Taron of Gossamer Tapestry for a bug hunt. Doug is a butterfly restoration scientist down from Chicago for a gig at the UF museum in Gainesville. He had emailed me about being in the area, and we had agreed to meet at Cedar Key Scrub.

I was running a little late as usual, so I had the JEEP in warp drive as I headed out 345 to Cedar Key. Bear was with me. I thought it would be nice for him to go on a real adventure since much of his work week is pretty uneventful.

I glanced over at him as we blew down the two lane road through piney woods and swamps. He was looking mighty cute with his ears up, all alert and enjoying the breeze through the open window.

"Great picture" I thought. I reached for my camera, fumbled it out of the case, turned it on, and held it with my left hand while I steered with my right. I glanced too long at the viewfinder screen as I tried to compose the picture.

The road curved.

I did not.

In a flash, I was off the pavement at 60 miles per hour on a grassy shoulder of a banked turn.

Words came out of my mouth that I don't use on this blog, so use your imagination.

I dropped the camera in my lap and gripped the wheel as the rear of the JEEP began to slip out to the right. I think, "We are going into a skid, the rollover should happen any moment now."

FLASHBACK TO 1984.
LOCATION: FEDERAL LAW ENFORCEMENT TRAINING CENTER, GLYNCO GEORGIA, HIGH SPEED PURSUIT TRAINING TRACK ... the instructor puts his hands on the car we will soon be racing around the track, he speaks ... "Do NOT brake during the turns, if you do the car will spin out. If you feel the car beginning to skid left or right, TURN INTO THE DIRECTION OF THE SKID! I lean over to the cadet next to me and say, "yeah right, that's like, if a guy throws a right hook at you, you should lean in to it."
The instructor hears me and picks me to go first around the track. He has me purposely put the car into a high speed skid and pull it out by turning into it. Repeatedly.

FLASHBACK OVER.

I gently turn the wheel to the right, the JEEP straightens out, and begins to skid left, I turn left, keeping my foot off the break.

As much as I would like to stop the JEEP and have this high speed, shake your guts out of your body ride over, if I brake, the tires will dig in and we will roll. I may love,love,love my JEEP, but I am aware of it's faults ... rolling over is the big one.

I am seatbelted, Bear is not.

I focus on keeping us straight, turning this way, then that way, and letting friction with the grassy shoulder slow us. Eventually it does and I ease us back on to the road after a hundred yards of nail biting unscheduled offroading.

An oncoming car in the opposite lane has stopped a safe distance away to see the impending wreck, but I'm back on the asphalt and okay.

I give him a thumbs up as I zip past him.

I get to the meeting spot about 5 minutes before Doug and never mention the harrowing near death experience on the way out. In fact, he will hear about it for the first time when he reads this.

At Cedar Key Scrub State Preserve, I stuffed a park brochure/trail map in my back pocket and we take off along a sandy trail.

It's fun to get out there with someone who is excited to be there and Doug was. It was cool but warmed up as we hiked, and his beloved tiger beetles began to show themselves after a while. Bear and I let him go ahead whenever a good patch of beetley sand appeared.



Like the SS Minnow, what was to be a short walk turned into a marathon hike when we missed a turn, and then another, and another ... all the while me with a trial map in my back pocket.
It wasn't a big deal, we were having a good time, but Bear was warming up and needed breaks from time to time.


If we hadn't have taken the wrong trail, we would have missed this scrub jay on a powerline when we came out of the woods along the wrong highway.
Serendipity baby!




A few times, Bear just quit and plunked down in whatever shade was available, and we did the same, while he cooled off. He had a little swamp water once, and later a kind hiker shared his water with him.
I was feeling really guilty since I had not brought water along for the short hike we originally intended.

Bear, Doug (who is NOT an axe murderer), and FC at Cedar Key Scrub.

We made it back to the parking lot eventually, Bear drank a water bottle and all of my 52 ounce Bubba Keg mug of water from the house, so he was feeling pretty good back inside the JEEP.
Doug, and I had a coke at a little store and then we headed for Shell Mound.

The last time I endangered my sweet Bear was at Shell Mound where Doug hoped to find a different group of tiger beetles.
In the newly gravelled parking lot, I parked the JEEP and stepped out to get a photo of my new magnetic sign that the Harbor Branch folks had sent me. Any picture is better with Bear in it, so
I left him inside with the window down for the shot.
I clucked my tongue to get an alert expression from him ... and he leaped out the window ... with the leash still on, briefly hanging himself when it caught on the seat.
He only hung for a second before crashing to the gravel parking lot.
GEE WHIZ!!
He was okay and shook it off.

So, let's look at Bear's day ...

• Almost in a car accident.
• Overheated and dehydrated.
• Briefly hung by the neck before crashing to the rocks below.
• Narrowly missed stepping on a diamondback rattler ...

Oh ... I didn't mention the rattler?

Tomorrow.

Tree Surgery Post 2: Like Father, Like Daughter ... or The Nut Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree

This is the tree that I took pity on 20 years ago when it was a wee tiny thing. It wasn't a problem back then and I let it live, only cutting the occasional overhanging branches off to protect my blueberries.
Somewhere along the way, it did a growth spurt and became too tall to prune easily. That allowed it to grow even higher and shade my blueberries and now grapes entirely too much. It had gotten so large that pruning involved me up high in the tree (dangerous) and any pruned limbs would fall onto my delicate blueberry bushes... so I decided to take it out.


It's a laurel oak, known for fragility and short (in tree years) lives. My job was to drop it not on the old truck, barn, or BBQ platform. That's the old grill in the left bottom corner, it sits upon a little wooden platform that I did not want to crunch ... or have to move.
It's not THAT little after all.


I like to add a little direction when I fell a tree in tight quarters, and since I had two trees to fell this day, I took the easy one down first. That allowed me to use it as an anchor to apply tension on the tree in the direction I wanted it to go.
To do that, I hooked a Come-A-Long jack to the fallen, bucked log and then ...

... tossed a rope around the tree to take down. Hooking the rope to the Come-A-Long jack allowed me to apply a directive force to the tree to guide it down. The target area was tight and I didn't think I should rely on my notching ability alone.
This was done after the notch was cut. You can see it high up on the tree ... about chest high ... (not for you Cindy... more like head high.)
I usually cut my trees high like that so a nice tall stump remains for the woodpeckers to attack in the years to come.


It worked like a charm as you can see in this arboraerial photo.
The old grill is just visible through the leaves and the platform and all it held came through unscathed.

Emma found the ladder and was up it like a flash. She's so daring ... must get that from her mother.

She certainly didn't get it from me.

Sometimes hugging a tree can save your life.

Y'all be safe out there, ya' hear?

Tomorrow: A video view from above for wordless Wednesday.

Time In A Box

Years ago, I started a time capsule project with my eighth grade students.
Sometime during their 8th grade year, I would have them write letters to themselves, describing who they were at that point in time. They would also predict what high school would be like, what sports they'd play, people they'd like, etc.
With some classes, we even made a video tape of them interviewing each other.
They were also invited to put anything (no food!) they wanted into the time capsule along with their sealed letters.

Once the stuff was all together, we put it in a box, taped it shut, labeled it, and in my closet it went.
It was not to be opened until May of their senior year just before they graduated.

They always asked ...
"Will you read our stuff?"
No. That's why you are sealing your letters in envelopes.
"What if you die?"
Then just ask my wife for the box when it's time.
"What if we move?"
Then you won't be here when we open it.
"What if you lose the box?"
I won't.

But then ... I did.
I lost the box for the class of 1998 and when May of that year rolled around ... I had to tell them I could not find it.

God, I hate to disappoint kids. I took it harder than they did as they were all caught up in graduation and the end of the trail. For me, it was a stupid, stupid failure.

It bothered me enough, that I quit doing the project with later classes.


And then ... years later, I found the box.
I had broken my storage routine and placed it in a different location from all the other time capsule boxes ... and paid the price.

It's a small community and the 1998 class president just happens to work at the courthouse now, so for several years, I've been reminding her that I have their box and when they have their 10 year reunion, I wanted to make amends and bring it to them.
She was happy to oblige.


The Class of 1998 Ten Year Reunion was last Friday night and I showed up with the box and a video tape. Those 8th graders are all around 28 now and many had children of their own running around the school cafeteria while their parents ate and reminisced.

After dinner, they gathered around the dusty old box, opened it up, and passed around 14 year old letters to themselves.

It was a sweet moment. I stayed for the box opening, but Junior's football game was starting, so I left them to watch their 14 year old video tape on their own. (I had previewed it anyway to make sure it still worked ... it did ... what a hoot!")

When I found the box a few years ago, and the flood of relief finally subsided, I started the project up again.

In my school closet, 3 time capsules sit on a shelf, percolating, curing, and waiting for May of various years to come.

I know what you are thinking ... what if I lose them?

Trust me, I won't.

Stupid Things I Have Done: Frosty Floridian

(A scanned old photo from December 29, ... 1997?)

Way back in the latter half of the 1990's, my college roomie Dave, and his wife Tammi, came down for a visit. It was in December, a time of the year when frozen midwesterners sometimes think about the warm Florida sunshine. They had some free time, needed sun, and we were thrilled to host them, so down they came.

We were having those perfect Florida crystal blue skies that grace us in the winter and the temps were mild, so we all went out to sea in "Summer School", our 19 foot Carolina Skiff.

The weather was sparkling and the Gulf of Florida was cooperating with glassy seas and clear water.

(You have to call ahead and reserve those conditions and I was glad that for once I had done so ... FYI: 1-800-NEPTUNE)

The Gulf at Cedar Key is dotted with a sprinkling of sandy keys that are merely the iceberg tips of broad shallow sandy flats that go on and on and on. Much of these are covered in meadows of seagrass that literally teems with marine life.

We were doing one of my very favorite things on Earth ... cruising slowly at idle speed over water so clear that every detail of the bottom was visible. I love doing this, just gawking at the life below, the birds above, and the interface interruptions of seaturtle or dolphin breaths.

We were laughing alot too. You do that when you are with Dave and Tammi.

Somewhere along the way, someone (was it you Tammi?) spotted a large whelk below and on a whim, I dove over the side for it.

Now, at the peak of the summer's heat, water temp in the Gulf of Florida gets into the high 80's ... so warm that you crawl out of it and back onto the boat just to cool off.

This was not summer.

This was December 29.

At first, when I entered the water, it was shocking, but not too bad. We're used to diving into springs around here, and in the triple digit heat of the summer air, their 72 degree water temp feels icy. It was kind of like that for the first 20 seconds or so, and then you could tell, this was really, really different.

Of course, now everybody in the boat was looking at me, expecting me to do something FC'ish, like dive down and bring up that big whelk.

The nurse was looking at me with that, "You are out of your mind" look, but I'm so used to that I hardly noticed ... that could be because tiny icicles were beginning to form on my eyelashes and you know how that can interfere with your vision.

Funny, the water was deeper than I expected too. That's the thing about really clear water, its depth can be misleading.

Someone tossed me a mask, and with a few rattly hyperventilations, I dove down for the big snail.

It was pretty cool down there, and with my increasing numbness, the cold didn't seem so bad anymore.

I brought up the whelk, went down for a few more items a starfish I believe, and poked around beneath the boat a little while.

Funny, but I didn't remember my arms and legs weighing so much back on the boat. Had I put on weight during this swim?

And what were all these ripples surrounding me? I was starting to shiver pretty violently ... kind of like a Whirlpool agitator in a brand new washing machine.

The nurse, who had assumed control of my crew the moment I left the boat, was now commanding me back aboard the boat. This seemed like a pretty good idea, so I paddled back over to the side and hoisted myself up and over the gunwales.

Somebody wrapped a big ol' beach towel around me and THAT is when some serious body wracking shivering set in.

That was a weird feeling ... to be shivering vigorously and uncontrollably for at least ten minutes, although it seemed much longer.

Eventually, my blood, which had left my extremities for the comfort of the core, returned to my feet and fingers, and all was well.

So, maybe the next time I'll tote the shorty wet suit along just in case the urge to leap into the sea during the middle of winter strikes me again.

See? I'm older and wiser now.

What?

No, really, I am.

It was a neat snail though.

Stupid Things I Have Done ... Part Six or Seven... is anyone really keeping track anymore?

I lost him in the woods behind that trailer ...





In the early 80's I completed the National Park Service Ranger law enforcement training course at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center. At the time, it was where all federal agents went for law enforcement training except for the FBI ... the suits had their own academy. Border Patrol, Park Rangers,US Marshals, Customs, DEA, Fish and Wildlife Agents, Federal Protective Service and any other "Guvmint Cop" you could think of went to FLETC.



The training and the food were very good and after two months of intensive training in LE skills like defensive tactics, high speed pursuit driving, marksmanship, forensics, civil rights, law, and terrorism, I returned home fully bulletproof and fully full of myself.



One evening, shortly after finishing FLETC, I was over at Mom and Dad's house. Ben the smuggled pup, now full grown, was barking his Labby head off outside. That was pretty unusual behavior for gentle Ben so Mom and I stepped out to see what was going on ... expecting to find an armadillo.



There was no armadillo, but the garage door was open so I took a step inside and flipped on the light. I guess because I'm a fisherman, I noticed immediately that Dad's castnets were missing from where they always hung on the opposite wall. Also the little black and white TV that sat next to his workbench was gone.



I backed out the door.

"Mom, we've been robbed, you need to call the police."



She headed back inside the house and I walked towards the back of the yard where Ben, stopped by a small picket fence, was focusing his barking towards my grandparent's lot next door.



I stepped out through the fence gate and shut it to keep barking Ben from coming. He was NOT happy about this, but it seemed like a good idea ... if anything happened to that dog, my Mom would be devastated. I walked through the pines looking carefully for what had his attention and I came across both castnets and the TV neatly hidden behind a big pine tree.






Almost immediately the guy who was hiding near the stolen items jumped up and started running.



Instinctively, so did I.



We ran through the dark yard and onto the asphalt street. He had a head start on me and the advantage of shoes. (I was barefoot since I had not planned to chase burglars that evening.) Still, I was gaining on him after a bit as we ran down the road like we were at a high school track meet.



I was furious at the violation of my parent's house and as I ran, I yelled something intelligent like,

" You're a dead man, you SOB!"



That comment seemed to shift the burglar into overdrive as he picked up his pace and we flew by my uncle's house and around the corner in the dark. My uncle's house was the last house before a dark woodsy corner back then, so once past their house, the perp and I continued our foot race in total darkness.



I had quit yelling threats at him by now, as this only seemed to make him run faster. We ran on in silence, the only sounds his shoes and my bare feet slapping the asphalt.

When we rounded the dark vacant horse pasture at the corner, the road straightened out and we headed into another area of homes on Varella Street.



The first building we came to was a small trailer and church ... the one in the picture.

( I took that picture this Thanksgiving, and it's amazing to me how the scene is essentially the same as the night of the chase 23 years ago)



As we approached the trailer, my quarry made a sharp left and disappeared around the corner of the trailer. I rounded the trailer just in time to see him slip into the dark woods behind behind it.



At that point, I stopped. Barefoot, I couldn't proceed through the dark tangle of blackberry and smilax along the forest edge.



He was gone.



I stood at the end of the trailer gasping, catching some air, when the door of the trailer flew open and a sleepy headed preacher who lived in there stepped out into the glare of his porch light waving a revolver.



Dang!





He was not in a good mood.





"WHAT'S GOING ON?!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"





I ducked back behind the corner and spoke to him from my position of cover.





"Mister, don't shoot, I just chased a burglar through your yard, please call the sheriff. I'm not the bad guy."



He hesitated, I did some more explaining from around the corner, and then, hands up so he could see them, I walked past him and back onto the asphalt road.



Walking back to Mom's, I could suddenly feel my barefeet complaining about a shoeless run down a tarmac road.

By the time I got home, the deputy was there filling out the report.



Thanks to Ben, nothing was lost ... except some of our sense of security.
Score: Good dog 1, Burglar 0.

Ben's barking allowed us to short circuit this burglar's plans. It was obvious that he was making multiple trips into the garage and caching the selected items closer to the dark road behind our house, where a pickup would have been made later.



It would have been a good haul of Craftsman tools, nets, tv, and fishing rods. If not for Ben, we would have woke up the next morning to find we had been burgled.



But, not this house.



Not this night.

Stupid Things I Have Done: Rat Smuggling

My baby, 1978.

I began my short career as a smuggler in college. While a few friends and at least one family member were smuggling more lucrative contraband from across the Gulf Of Florida, I went off to school in my Gremlin.

(All right, you can stop the snickering right now! The abuse that Gremlins get in the current media will be the subject of some future post. It was a fun zippy car.)

I lived in a dorm on the UWF campus in Pensacola during my college days. The dorm rules did not allow pets ... maybe fish, but no fellow mammals. I found this rule to be ... uncomfortable, and it wasn't too long before I was looking for a way around it.

After some thought, the solution practically fell into my lap. The local pet store had a special on young pet rats and a cute little black and white one caught my eye. I was on a student's budget, so I bought a tiny 5 gallon aquarium (no top ... important point) instead of a proper rat cage to house "Ratty".

This small abode was also easily concealed if Joan, the dorm R.A. dropped in for a visit.

I did not know at the time that male rats stink and are therefore hard to conceal.

Ratty lived in my room, incommunicado, for a few months before becoming harder to keep secret and Joan was giving me the impression that she knew about his presence, so I decided to take him home when Thanksgiving break came around.

Eventually, it did.

The night before break, I loaded the Gremlin with all my dirty laundry, etc. I had one morning class the next day and then I was free to drive hundreds of miles back to St. Augustine. The Gremlin was in a shady spot, so that night I also snuck Ratty's aquarium with Ratty out to the car and loaded it into the back seat. The aquarium was leaning a little in the sloping seat, so I laid a Marine Invertebrate Zoology textbook over the top with a little gap for air.

The next morning, after class, I flew out to the Gremlin and hopped in for the long ride home. I glanced in the back to check on Ratty ... the aquarium was empty.

I hopped back out and did a thorough search of the car, shoving clothes around, moving shoes, books, etc.

No Ratty.

"Well, he has to be in here somewhere ... he'll probably pop out somewhere while I'm driving and I'll catch him"

After all, it was a seven hour drive ... he was bound to turn up at some point.

I fired up the mighty Gremlin and pulled out of the dorm parking lot.

During the ride from Pensacola to St. Augustine I kept one eye on the road and one roving around the Gremlin, seeking Ratty. Alas, the hours of asphalt crept by and there was no sign of the rat. Eventually, I pulled into the front yard of my boyhood home and was greeted with joyous hugs from my folks and then I unloaded my stuff, carefully searching for the rat as I did.

When the Gremlin was empty, I decided to leave one door ajar. At least the poor thing could get out. I left the door open all night. Not a good solution for a domestic rat, but at least he'd have a chance outside, vs. roasting in a closed up car the next morning.

Thanksgiving vacation went great, lots of high school friends were home for the holidays and all too soon it was over. The rat had never shown up, I figured Ratty had escaped out the open door during the night.

With the holiday over, I drove the long Interstate 10 corridor back to Pensacola ... ratless ... I thought.

Living on campus, in good ol' dorm 68, I didn't use my car for days at a time. Sometimes a whole week would go by before I needed to go into town for anything.

Ya gotta eat tho, so I headed out to the parking lot after having been home for a week. When I got to the gremlin, large blue bottle type flies were crawling all over the window glass. That was odd, but what was odder was the fact that they were inside my car.

I opened the door, shewed them out, and drove into town to the Delchamps grocery store. I picked up my $40 worth of weekly groceries and headed back to the dorm. The flies had already been tucked away in the back of my brain as just another oddity of life.

Fast forward about three days. I was going off campus again so I headed out to the gremlin. Imagine my surprise to find more of the big flies inside the car. I opened the door and a musty stench rose to greet me.

Now, it dawned on me that maybe the rat had not made it out of the car back in St. Augustine.

It was pretty stuffy in the car so I started it up and turned on the air conditioning. To get the stink out as fast as possible, I turned the fan control to maximum. As cool air began flowing out of the two dash vents so did hordes of maggots.

Big ones.

Now I knew where Ratty was.

For the next week, I made daily trips out to the Gremlin to air it out and toss maggots out onto the asphalt. After a while, a long while with no dates, the stench level dropped to bearable.

It actually got to the point (about a year later) that I didn't notice it anymore unless I turned on the heater. When the heater was on, a faint musty odor would flow from the vents, giving me cause to remember poor Ratty and my first fairly unsuccessful attempt at smuggling.

Lucky me, in Florida we don't use the car heater much. If we did maybe I would have thought twice about my second, more challenging attempt at smuggling in the dorm.

But, that's another story.

Disclaimer:

Emma darling, if you are reading this from your dorm at USF, remember to do as I say, not as I do ... er, did.

Stupid Things I Have Done: "Don't Worry, It Won't Sting You."

From left to right: Katie, Emma, friend Emily behnd Emma, and Jr ... poor Jr.

A few years ago, (seems like yesterday) the kids above and I cruised over to St. Augustine beach for a little early spring beach day. It was grey and a little chilly, but being kids, they came prepared and went splashing off into the calm, cold surf. I hung out at the water's edge, waiting for June and bathtub temperature ocean water.

As I wandered around playing life guard, I came across a cannonball jellyfish like the one in the bottom picture. Cannonballs are big, thick jellies without the ability to sting humans. I swear I had handled a zillion of them and never once experienced a sting ... nor had anyone I knew of.

The kids saw me staring at the sand, so they came bounding out of the water to see what I had found. It seemed like a teachable moment, so I picked up the jellyfish and started on my dissertation. They stared at me as if I had papayas hanging from both nostrils. "It'll sting you!" they chorused.

I explained that cannonballs were "safe" jellyfish and you could handle one without getting stung. We even got into how the nematocysts work when jellyfish do sting something.

"Don't worry, it won't sting you" I told Emma as I handed her the upside down jellyfish to hold for the picture. I took the picture and Emma handed me the jellyfish. We chatted a bit more about jellyfish in general and then their interest began to return to the rolling waves. The teachable moment was over. They were itching to get back in the water.

In my hands the upside down jellyfish was essentially a bowl containing about a quart of seawater. Just being silly, I tipped it over and poured the water on my son's chest. They all jumped back laughing ... and then ... Jr. got kind of whiney. Actually real whiney considering there were girls present and he was trying to be tough. Then he started rubbing his chest and complaining of an itchy, stinging sensation.

Did I mention that I had handled a gazillion cannonballs and never been stung?

Okay, it seems that the belly skin of young lads may be more sensitive to the weak nematocysts of cannonball jellies than say ... the thicker skin of our hands. I had never been stung by cannonballs, but then again I had never rubbed one on my belly either.

Apparently, the water from inside the jellyfish carried some bits of tentacle with it and those had stung poor Jr's thin belly skin.

OOPS.

I had not brought my spritzer bottle of vinegar for jellyfish sting neutralization either so we had a little problem.

I knew what to do though.

We gathered our stuff and left the beach. By the time we got to the Tastee Freeze, the itchy burning feeling had subsided and a hot fudge sundae seemed to eliminate any traces of discomfort.

Stupid Things I Have Done, Part 3: "Don't Worry, I Can Fix It...Whoa, I Just Cut My Finger Off"

Every year we have a family scalloping adventure just before the summer ends. I have a great extended family and my inlaws all love to swim and snorkel in the Gulf. If we actually get any scallops, well, that's just icing on the cake. The important thing is the fun and togetherness.

Last year, I had taken the boat out to the marina the day before to scout out some scallops and do a little shake down cruise. I left the boat at the marina dock that night...I also left the little depth finder on. All night long it dutifully read the depth at the dock until the boat battery ran down.

The next day, all the inlaws are there with multiple boats, eager kids, and lots of anticipation. It takes a little while for a couple dozen people to
load 5 or 6 boats and get going, but finally we were ready to set sail.

I turned the key...nothing. I turned it again in disbelief....nothing again.

I looked at the depthfinder...the switch was ON.

Ever get that sinking feeling where you know you have screwed up royally and everyone else is about to know it? ...Never? Well, I have and it is not fun.

So you are thinking this must be the stupid part...no, forgetful maybe, but not really, really stupid, ...

The family boats are starting up all around me, my kids are happy and getting in the boat...and I have killed my boat battery. My motor is noticeably silent among the happy chatter and rumbling outboards.

Katie noticed and said, "What's wrong Dad?"

"Don't worry, I can fix this." I looked in the drywell for the rope and handle that came with the outboard motor. This is for starting it when the battery is dead. (How did they know?)

The pull rope was not there. I had cleaned the boat and left it in the garage.

"Don't worry, I can still fix this." I grabbed a piece of pink rope and cut a couple of feet, knotted one end, wrapped it around the manifold, pulled hard on the rope and Brrrrummble! I was in business!

"Katie, you can call me Mcguyver!"
"What?"
"Never mind, let's go scalloping."

Our family flotilla ran up the coast till we found the scallops. We anchored and snorkeled for some time before deciding to move to a new spot.

My battery had not recharged on the short boat ride, so again I wrapped the pink rope around the manifold and again I pulled the rope.

Okay, here's the stupid part...In my haste to get going, I carelessly wrapped the rope around the fingers of my left hand.

This time, when I pulled on the rope the motor pulled back. Ideally, the rope comes off the flywheel as you pull...not this time. As the motor started, it snatched the rope back. In an instant it cut through the my ring finger...bone included.

I clutched the injured hand to my chest and looked down. The last section of my finger was dangling by a thin flap of tissue. I pressed it against my t-shirt to stop the bleeding. Whoa...I just cut my finger off.

My wife, the RN, (you see how well I planned this marriage thing, I knew that a medical professional would come in handy considering the things I like to do) said, "What did you do?"

I kept my finger covered, "I just cut my finger off."
"No way!"
I uncovered the finger. She looked. It dangled and dripped.
"Oh, my God", and then the neatest thing happened. She instantly went from concerned (although dubious) wife to Super Nurse the Commander of the Ocean Sea.

"Emma, wrap some ice in that t-shirt and give it to your Daddy!"
"You, (me) sit down before you faint."
"Chuck, pull your boat over here. We have to go in NOW!"
"Katie, throw up OUTSIDE the boat please!"
"You...I SAID SIT DOWN BEFORE YOU FAINT!"

I was in a wee bit of pain and was fighting off some interesting tunnel vision as my t-shirt continued to redden. My stupid male was coming out.
"I'm okay, I can stand."
"SIT DOWN!"
"Yes, maam"

My brother 'n law Chuck pulled his boat up and I stepped carefully aboard as did my wife and another brother 'n law, Gene. They made me lay down and Chuck opened up the throttle for the 10 mile ride back to port. The afternoon seabreeze had kicked up a chop and each wave jiggled my very sore finger. I remember Chuck apologizing each time we hit a wave ...as if they were his fault.

At the marina, we hopped in the car for the hour long (we are pretty rural) ride to the hospital. Chuck took his boat back to bring people in, Gene went along with us in the car.

At Shands hospital in Gainesville, I walked into a Saturday night emergency room full of people with the sniffles. The nurse took one look at me, bare foot, bare chested, a blood soaked T-shirt around my hand, and moved me to the front of the line and into the exam room.

She looked at my finger, gave me some Ibuprofen, and said, "I'm gonna ask you one question...Why in the hell didn't you call an ambulance?"

She obviously didn't understand the reality of rural EMS. Ambulances are few and hospitals are far apart. Our county is 1118 square miles...about the size of the state of Rhode Island. There are 3 ambulances on duty at any one time. They are stationed about 40 miles apart.
I looked her in the eye.

"No one is going to die of a heart attack because I have tied up an ambulance for a cut finger." She shook her head.

They put me in an examination room, gave me a morphine drip, and a young doctor cleaned the wound and sewed me back together.

There was follow up therapy, an operation to screw the fractured bone pieces together, and lots of bills to follow.

All because I forgot to turn off the depth finder.

Stupid...



Postscript: For Christmas that year I was presented with a portable charger/jumper cable thingy.

Stupid Things I Have Done: Part Two: Swimming With Bait

Sometimes I do things that may appear stupid, but are really well thought out and carefully planned...so those don't really qualify for the STUPID label. This post is about truly stupid things I have done(you may remember the hornet nest, August 4 post) and is one in a long series. Here's the second installment...

Back in 2000, we took a trip down to the Keys. We hauled the boat down and stayed at a quaint older motel called the Seahorse Motel. It was reasonable and had a boat ramp and dockage.

We had a blast snorkeling Sombrero Reef and the kids did fantastic snorkeling in depths of 20 to 30 feet over a beautiful reef. The reef was loaded with colorful fish who soon learned that our boat leaked crumbs of food. We always seem to take Fried Chicken as the boat picnic food and this came in especially handy as we could feed breading and bits of chicken to the swarm of Sargent Majors and other reef fish that clustered around the boat. The kids were only 12, 10, and 8 at the time, but the clear blue water put them at ease and they even got used to the 4 foot long barracuda that hovered over us where ever we swam.

You are forgiven for thinking the above was the stupid part...'cause it ain't even close.

Barracuda are a regular thing when you dive or snorkel in the tropics and they almost never attack anybody. Really. It's so rare, I can only think of 2 or 3 recent news stories about barracudas attacking people and 2 of those cases happened to people in boats, not divers! Buddy, if a barracuda jumps out of the sea and latches on to you while you are sipping a drink in your boat...don't bother buying a lottery ticket.

Middle daughter Emma and I were snorkeling together and along the bottom came 2 nurse sharks. They were about 4 feet long and looked like big catfish as they slowly, sinuously swam along the bottom. I spotted them and pointed them out to Emma. We hovered and watched. They stopped, seemed to notice us, and began rising towards us.

Now my daughter has the biggest, most beautiful brown eyes you have ever seen, but on this day they outdid themselves. The closer the sharks came, the bigger her eyes got. I wasn't worried, I knew what the sharks wanted and it wasn't Emma.

The local divemasters fed the nurse sharks on Sombrero (A practice since made illegal I believe) and these nursies were just checking us out for tidbits. Besides, nurse sharks almost never bite anybody and when they do, it's usually because someone tugged on their tail or otherwise harassed 'em. Really, I can only think of one or two nurse shark attacks in the news recently. Curiously, in both cases the shark would not let go and actually went to the emergency room clamped onto the bitee.

Calmly watching 2 sharks approach your daughter might be stupid if they were great whites or bulls, but they were not, so this was not really stupid. Honest, it wasn't.

When they got too close we pushed our fins at them and they immediately descended and continued their search for handouts. Emma's eyes gradually squeezed back into their orbits. It was a great day and one I will always remember...Emma will too.

The stupid part happened later that day. We had left the boat moored at the motel and drove to Bahia Honda State Park to play on the beach. If you have never been to the Florida Keys, there are few beaches. The islands are rocky not sandy, but Bahia Honda and Long Key both have nice beaches.

It was late in the day, the water was warm, shallow, and very clear. The kids were having fun splashing and wrestling in the shallows, so I donned a mask and went out a little deeper. In about 8 feet of water, there were tiny coral patches, reef fish, and even lobsters (it wasn't lobster season).

As I floated, there was movement at the edge of my vision, and I turned to see a huge school of small baitfish moving my way. The school was nervous and the fish were milling into a tight ball. It was hard to see exactly how big this school was because it was just on the edge of the gloomy green where the late afternoon light met the deeper water. I hovered and watched as the school moved and flexed as if it were one organism. Then it happened...

The entire school shivered and bent to the left and a silvery tarpon zoomed out of the murk and through the school, then another and another, and they just kept attacking that school. It was incredible. Tarpon are huge fish, these guys were all about 4 feet long and so graceful.They would pass by so close you could feel the wash from their powerful tails. Pretty soon some smallish barracuda showed up and they too zipped in and out of the school. I waved to my wife and she snorkeled over. We both watched awestruck as the light faded and the school and it's attackers slowly moved down the beach.

Later, back on the beach as the sun set, we were still stoked and still talking about it. She said, "You know that probably wasn't too smart, hanging out in a feeding frenzy like that."

I nodded, " I know, the next thing that zoomed out of the gloom could have been a tiger shark. Actually, I'm surprised you went for it...you are usually the sensible one."

She looked at me...firmly, "We won't do that again."

"Yes, dear"



This really was stupid. We broke two very important rules for avoiding bad shark encounters.

Never swim in a school of baitfish. You are asking for a mistaken identity bite from a feeding shark.

Never swim at dusk or dawn. Sharks move in close to shore for nocturnal hunting. We were in the water at one of the worst times of day.

Do as I say, not as I do.

Next installment: "Don't Worry, I Can Fix It...Whoa, I Just Cut My Finger Off"

Red Eyes At Night, Gator's Gonna Bite

Here follows a tale in which the names have been changed to protect the ...

About 4 years ago, this guy...we'll call him Smiley, walked down to his pond at night with the flashlight. At the time, Florida was in a drouty period and the pond had shrunk considerably. When water holes begin to dry up, gators will go on the move looking for wetter habitats. Smiley and his wife...we'll call her Patience, had noticed several gators crossing the road lately, in fact Patience had found it necessary to stop and let an 8 footer cross before she could proceed.

Smiley felt like he should check the small pond for gator visitors since the dogs swam at the pond daily and the kids played around the edge. On this evening, Smiley's flashlight beam revealed 2 glowing red eyes lurking near the willowy swampy end of the pond. Dang!

Smiley told Patience the news and said he would call the nuisance gator guys at the state. Turns out, gators too small to be a threat are low on their priority list for removal, especially in rural areas where gators actually belong. This little 4 1/2 footer wasn't going to eat anybody...this year, but they grow a foot a year for the first 6 years or so. Next year this guy might be dining on Lab...or worse.

So Smiley (whose name is NOT Patience for a reason) who has had some small amount of critter experience began his own gator relocation program. First Smiley studied his opponent's behavior. The gator was wary, but curious and would pop up when Smiley fed bread to the bluegills in the pond.

Smiley tried a stout fishing rod, strong line, and a large fishing lure. The gator grabbed the lure, rolled , the hook straightened, and the gator went back to the willows to pout. Score: Gator 1, Smiley 0.

Smiley tried tossing an old castnet over the gator as it sunned on the bank. Gators move really quickly. Score: Gator 2, Smiley 0.

Patience found Smiley's new found obsession amusing...Smiley did not.

As the pond continued to drop to historic muddy, knee deep water levels. Smiley knew his day had come. "Come Patience, we will seine the pond. Mr. gator will have no where to go with the water so low." Patience shook her head, muttered something like..."for better or worse" and agreed to help.

Smiley and Patience stretched the seine net across the pond and slowly walked it forward towards the opposite end. When the net reached the other end, it was full of fish and turtles, but no gator. He had slipped beneath the net and was floating a few feet behind them with a bemused expression. This happened over and over again.
Score: Gator 10, Smiley 0

Once Smiley and Patience almost had him, but did not have a great plan for grabbing him as he lept over the net between our two adventurers.
Score: Gator 11, Smiley 0

Finally, the gator got tired (the disadvantage of being an ectotherm), he had just had enough of this nonsense and made his first mistake...he left the water.

Up the bank and into a tangle of smilax vines went the gator. Up the bank and into the smilax vines went Smiley, yelling for Patience (who was not very by this time) to grab the old castnet.

Deep in the smilax Smiley was being cut to ribbons as he pursued his reptilian foe. Smiley finally came face to face with the gator, and made his move...so did the gator! Snap!Lunge! Smiley parried and grabbed, but the gator dashed for the safety of the water.

At this point, Patience had retrieved the castnet and was standing between the gator and the pond. When the gator and Smiley burst from the smilax, she was the only thing between that gator and the sanctuary of the water.

He was running straight towards her. "Throw the net, throw the net!" yelled Smiley as he ran after the gator running towards Patience.

Patience had a momentary "deer in the headlights" expression as Smiley and the gator charged towards her, but she snapped out of it just in time to drop the net on the gator as it ran between her feet.

Smiley dove on the tangled gator, pinned the head, and it was all over except for the ducttaping.

A few minutes later a very tired gator was swimming in the Waccasassa River and the pond was safe for Labs and kids.

...Score: Tie Game.


SAFETY NOTE: DO NOT MESS WITH GATORS. EVEN A SMALL ONE CAN DO LASTING DAMAGE AND A BITE CAN CAUSE A SERIOUS INFECTION. PLUS THERE ARE ALL KINDS OF LAWS PROTECTING GATORS EVEN FROM WELL MEANING , FRIENDLY PEOPLE LIKE SMILEY AND PATIENCE.

Stupid Things I Have Done: Part One Of A Long Series: The Hornet Nest

Sometimes I do things that may appear stupid, but are really well thought out and carefully planned...so those don't really qualify for the STUPID label. This post is about truly stupid things I have done and will be one in a long series. Here's the first installment...

A few years ago, when my children were little and still cute and my best dog Ranger was still alive, I found a nest of hornets. Actually, they found me. Ranger and I were walking around a quiet corner of our property when ZAP! A hornet stung me on the arm...POW! Another sting followed by KA-POW! Two more stings in quick succession. All this in a matter of seconds.

It was hard to know which way to run because we were in a fairly open area and there was no sign of the source of all these angry insects. So we just ran for the pond, cartoon style, followed by a small cloud of hornets. Eventually we got away from them. This is not the stupid part.

Later in the cool of the morning, when I knew the hive would be calmer (SCIENCE!), I returned to scout for the nest. POW! Stung in the arm again, but only once and I had a chance to spot the nest site just before running for the pond again. The hornet nest was in an abandoned animal burrow, beneath an old live oak. Dozens of hornets were buzzing above the entrance and a few were beginning morning patrols of the area.

I tolerate a wide variety of unpopular critters on my place, but this nest was so large and so aggressive it had to be eliminated for the safety of my kids. The next morning, I returned with a can of Wasp and Hornet spray. You know the kind. It sprays 20 feet and kills them instantly. Very powerful stuff... I think kryptonite is one of the active ingredients. I crept to within about 15 feet of the awakening nest, held my breath, and let 'em have it. The whole can of Wasp Killer emptied onto the nest opening. Then I ran for the pond. This is not really the stupid part either.

Next day, I checked the nest, fully expecting to find a pile of dead hornets. POW! No change. As I ran for the pond I pondered my next move...

A little creative gasoline work might do it...creep in close, pour gas, toss match, run for pond. There was a problem however. In Florida, we have a saying, "You spill it, You drink it". With our porous limestone, it's easy to contaminate groundwater. I really don't like the idea of pouring gasoline into the same ground where we get our water. Plus, this burrow was right on a property line and burning down my neighbor's forest would not be very neighborly. So I nixed the gasoline idea...definitely not the stupid part.

It was about then that I had my entomological epiphany. My truck! Of course that's it! I'll roll up the windows and drive over the burrow/hornet nest and crush them like Sherman rolling through Georgia. Okay, we're alot closer to the stupid part now.

Excited about my fool proof plan, I whistled for Ranger, he hopped up in the cab with me and we set off for the hornet nest. A hundred feet from the nest, I rolled up the windows and did a quick mental check of the plan. Drive forward over the nest crushing it, back up quickly to crush it one more time, then drive away from the attacking hornets. What could go wrong? Time for action.

I drove slowly forward until I was only a few feet from the nest burrow. Already, a couple dozen hornets were crawling over the windshield...TAPPING ON IT WITH THEIR STINGERS. At this point I could have still cancelled the idea, but chose not to. We are deep in the stupid zone now...but you already knew that didn't you?

Clutching the wheel tightly, I drove forward.

As the right front tire moved over the burrow, the ground caved in, and a cloud of really ticked off hornets covered...I mean COVERED my windshield. All you could hear was buzzing and tapping as they tried to defend their colony. I hit the wipers and slammed the truck into reverse. Nothing happened. The rear tires spun, but we were stuck. Stuck with about 10,000 justifiably angry hornets. The collapsing burrow was deeper than I expected and the right tire was mired in it. I remember turning to my faithful Lab and saying, "Ranger, we're dead". His response was unprintable...that was the first time I had ever heard a dog swear.

I was really worried now, because at the time my truck was about 10 years old and like most good trucks, it had a few rusty spots and...holes. I considered my options as I dreaded the first enterprising hornet to lead the way in through some gap in my GMC.

If we ran for it, it was going to be bad...multiple stings and my big worry was Ranger. Dogs tend to stop and whirl around at whatever insect is biting or stinging them. If he did that, they would be all over him and I would not be able to help him. Plus, he was about the same age as the truck and not so spry anymore. No, that option was definitely out. Even worse, I had not told my wife of my plan,(she always tries to talk me out of stupid things) so when she came looking for me, she was going to walk unsuspectingly into a hornet's nest...literally. This processing only took a few moments, although it seemed longer with the hornet horde covering my truck.

So I began to rock the truck, slowly easing forward til the wheels began to spin, then backwards to the same point, until finally the rocking momentum lifted that wheel out of the burrow.

Once that wheel became unstuck, we flew out of there, windshield wipers flinging hornets left and right as we drove past the pond and out onto the paved road. I had to drive a couple of miles at 60 mph to get rid of the last tenacious hornets, but finally we were able to return home.

About a week later, when all the adrenaline had finally drained from my body, I carefully crept down to the nest site to see if any hornets remained. Nothing. My plan had worked even with a considerable stupid factor figured into the calculation.

It was a long time before Ranger would get back into my truck...



Next Installment: Swimming With Bait.