Too Close for Comfort...

The long-range forecast map

It seems that just about anywhere you choose to live, there are issues with some kind of unpleasant weather.  I grew up in Upstate New York.  We had our share of blizzards and plenty of lake-effect snow.  Our summers could be sweltering and terribly humid.  When the Navy sent me to Norman, Oklahoma, I quickly learned why the government established the National Weather Service Storm Prediction Center there.  Later, when I lived on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, we had to be concerned about hurricanes.  And for the last 40 years I've lived in the North Alabama/South Central Tennessee region known for its devastating tornadoes.

On more than one occasion, we've gone to our "Safe Place" at the bottom of the basement stairs, in an area reinforced by the structure surrounding the stairs and with a couple walls in most directions between us and the great outdoors.  This past Monday turned to be one of those days.

Over the weekend, our local weather teams had been forecasting some nasty weather that could potentially breed some strong winds, large hail, and even a few tornadoes.  Monday morning we started to see "closings" being announced by schools, businesses, and government offices.  I've been working from home, so around 4:00 PM, I joined Mary Ann in front of the TV, where every local channel was totally devoted to weather coverage.  Several cells popped up, mostly to the south of us, moving almost due east.  Nothing appeared too threatening until this bad boy decided to rear its ugly head:

Bottom line was a tornado spotted on the ground near Ardmore, Tennessee, moving due east at 45 miles per hour.  Note on the picture the location of our "Safe Place."  Soon, we started to see reports of wind damage and very large hail in Russellville, AL and Athens, AL.  There was a large tornado heading toward Cullman, AL as we decided to seek safety in the basement.  The Ardmore twister was predicted to reach our area at 7:06 PM.  "If you live anywhere between Hazel Green, AL and Parks City, TN, take shelter immediately!  We have a tornado on the ground that has been sighted by storm chasers."  It was eerily quiet in the basement.  We stayed there for about ten minutes, able to watch the live streaming of our favorite weathercaster on an iPad.  We emerged to the first floor to find no issues.  We soon learned that the storm had tracked a couple of miles south of us, where it wiped out some lumber storage warehouses:

Further to the south, closer to Lake Guntersville, they received baseball-size hail.  Ouch!

Once again, we dodged the bullet and once again offered prayers of thanks.

The Chestnutts of Whiteville, NC...

World War II was in my opinion a high point in this nation's history.  The nation and its people were called upon to perform the impossible.  Our resources were strained to the limit.  Our people sacrificed in every way.  The results are staggering -- the very survival of our civilization as we know it.

In the course of responding to the call, many families were caught up in cataclysmic change.  Families moved, youngsters were taken by the armed forces, trained, and sent to places they'd never heard of.  People who had retired and housewives who had never planned to have a job outside the home suddenly were employed in the war effort.  One such affected family was that of Mr. and Mrs. Norwood B. Chestnutt of Whiteville, North Carolina.  Mr. Chestnutt was a state Agricultural Agent and part-time tobacco auctioneer.  He and his wife Mabel lived at 106 N. Madison in Whiteville.  That is, until Uncle Sam came a callin'.

In early 1942, the U.S. Army conscripted Mr. Chestnutt, and, because of his professional standing and experience, commissioned him an instant Lieutenant Colonel in the Quartermaster Corps.  He was now Colonel Chestnutt!  After he finished a few months of training he was informed of his first duty station - North of the Mason-Dixon Line!  Colonel Chestnutt became the proud commandant of the Schenectady Army Supply Depot.  And that's where he and Mabel crossed paths with Dr. and Mrs. Harold R. Mead.  Thus he and Mabel became Uncle Ches and Aunt Mabel to me and my siblings.

From my first recollection of the Chestnutts, I loved to hear them speak.  They had a syrupy sweet southern drawl as smooth as molasses.  Aunt Mabel could stretch the word "darling" into a daaahlin' that was 5 seconds long.  Both of the Chestnutts were avid golfers, so they fit right into the social circle of my parents, centered as it was at the Mohawk Golf Club, a friendly club dating to 1898.  In spite of the northern location, I think the Chestnutts felt very welcome and loved by a wide circle of friends.

My clearest memory of the Chestnutts came on Wednesday, August 14, 1945.  That was the day that brought an end to World War II, the day Japan surrendered.  We were at Lake George, at the cabin my parents rented each summer.  The Chestnutts were spending the week with us.  On Wednesday morning, the news came over the AM radio that the Japanese had surrendered.  Aunt Mabel announced that she would be preparing her "famous southern-fried chicken" to celebrate the end of the war.  It was an all day affair with lots of chicken parts being shaken in paper bags of flour and seasonings.  But there was a steady flow of celebratory bourbon underway as well.  I recall that by the time we had chicken and fixin's on the table, we also had flour on every surface of the kitchen, including walls and ceiling.  The celebration was boundless.

Not long after the war ended, Uncle Ches and Aunt Mabel moved back to their home in North Carolina.  Ches became a state Agricultural Vocational Training Supervisor.  Their friends in Schenectady stayed in touch over the years.  In 1959, my parents bought a new Ford sedan and decided to visit the Chestnutts.  After my Midshipman cruise had ended, I was recruited to be the driver.  We took two days to get to Whiteville, and it was a joyous reunion of old friends.  During our stay, their commode malfunctioned.  (it was a tiny, 2-bedroom, 1-bath house.)  Aunt Mabel called Mr. Simpson, the plumber.  "Mr. Simpson, this is Mabel Chestnutt and I have a problem.  I've got company from the Noath, I got a stopped-up commode, and I've got the dysentery!"  Mr. Simpson was there within minutes.  We stayed a few days.  My parents relished the time they spent with these unlikely acquaintances.

A Weekend Well Spent...

Pampas Grass in a landscaping application

When we landscaped our property in 2005, the landscaper included lots of Monkey Grass (a low-growing localized plant, no more than 1 foot tall) and 14 Pampas Grass (a localized grassy plant that can reach over 10 feet in height).  According to one garden supply house, "'Erianthus' Hardy Pampas Grass (also known as Ravenna Grass) is cold hardy, and makes an excellent specimen plant all year. Airy, white plumes form in mid-summer over green foliage. Leaves turn to bronze then red in fall. Plant can reach up to 10 feet tall. (Saccharum ravennae)."  My experience with this plant has shown it to be very hardy, but requiring an annual trim that becomes something of a chore as the plants grow inevitably larger.

A few weeks ago, Mary Ann asked me to cut back the Monkey Grass and Pampas Grass -- their annual "haircut."  It's an easy chore on the Monkey Grass.  I simply use a push-type rotary lawn mower.  I tip it up on its back wheels, roll it until the blade is directly over the plant, And tip it back towards level, removing the tops of each plant.  Simple, but effective.  Here, you can see the result of that "shearing."

This weekend, I finally got around to the Pampas.  It's usually a 2-person undertaking.  Mary Ann gets on one side of the plant with me on the other.  We pass a ball of string around the plant to tie up and secure the stalks of grass so we can handle them.  Once we have tied them, I cut the stalks about 8"-12" above the ground with hedge trimmers.  Then the two of us working together, wrestle the huge shock of grain into a wagon, from which it migrates to a dumpster.

But this year I was on my own, as Mary Ann is dealing with a painful pinched nerve in her back.  I started by pounding a piece of steel re bar into the ground near the first plant.  I tied a piece of twine to the upright bar a few inches off the ground.  Then I walked the twine around the plant a couple of times eventually tying it back to the starting point.  Then I did the same a few inches higher on the plant.  After three or four of these trusses were tied, I could cut the plant near its base using the hedge trimmers.  It took the better part of an hour for the first plant, but I got faster with each one.  After two days and 14 plants, the place looks like humans live here!

Rubber Molds...

When I was growing up, my father had his dental offices in our home, in the two rooms that would have been parlors or sitting rooms when the house was built.  He was by modern standards an "old school" dentist, doing much of his own laboratory work -- the fabrication of dentures and partials that today would be turned over to a dental laboratory.  He therefore had a small work area in which he could melt and cast precious metals, polish, and finish his work.  Interestingly, at one point he took a class in lost wax jewelry casting, although he never pursued that avocation after making a few small jewelry samples.

On weekends, my brother and sister and I often hung around Dad's lab as he worked on his craft.  To help us occupy our time, he had certain activities that we enjoyed participating in.  Sometimes we'd make things out of dental wax.  I recall one wax product that was in a small box.  It contained sheets of rose-colored wax resembling sliced cheese, separated by thin paper sheets.  I would cut pieces out of these sheets using a scalpel like tool and "weld" the individual pieces together with a flat tool heated in a Bunsen burner.  I would make small houses, bridges, cars, airplanes, and animals out of wax, an activity that often occupied me for hours at a time.

Another activity we enjoyed was making plaster castings of comic strip characters in hard rubber molds and once they had hardened, painting them to match their printed images.  My father had apparently acquired this set of molds somewhere and realized they would make an ideal craft activity for us kids on bad weather days when we couldn't be outside.  For some unknown reason, I recently thought about those silly rubber molds and decided to see if I could learn anything about them.  To my amazement, a set of the exact same molds I knew as a child were for sale on eBay!  The description brought back a flood of memories, "Vintage 1930s rubber molds for casting plaster figures of "Famous Funnies" characters. Made by Play Products, Inc. in Chicago, Illinois. Great item for vintage comic book or toy collectors. "Famous Funnies" is considered to be the first true American comic book and character molds include Little Joe, Skeezix, Tiny Tim, Winnie Winkle, Smitty, Andy Gump, Terry and Moon Mullins. Character names are printed inside each mold. Not a complete set. What you see in the pics is what you get. Comes in original cardboard storage box featuring Little Joe and Orphan Annie on the lid. Each mold measures 3.5" to 4" high. Box measures about 4.25" wide, 8.5" high and 3" deep. Very Rare Item!! Very good overall condition. Most rubber molds have hardened over time, but are fully intact and a few are still pliable. Paint set may not be original to the box and has been used. Box shows normal aging and wear from handling, but is complete. Small tear along top edge as shown in the pics."  The pictures reflect my precise memory of the molds themselves -- a kind of dark brownish maroon color, rather thick and quite rigid.

We would begin by covering my dad's marble workbench with newspaper and carefully lining up the molds in an orderly row.  We'd mix a batch of plaster-of-Paris in a small measuring cup.  Once the consistency was that of pancake batter, we'd carefully pour it into each successive mold, filling it to the top edge of the mold.  Then we'd tap each mold several times with a small tool to loosen and eliminate any bubbles in the plaster.

Each molded figure stood on a base with lettering identifying
the character - in this case, Smitty.  Smitty was a character developed
by Walter Berndt who appeared in the Chicago Tribune and about
100 other papers.

In a few minutes, the plaster would set up, and usually within an hour we could flex the mold and eject the small cartoon character.  We'd relieve the sharp edge where the surface of the poured plaster met the mold by scraping it with a small metal scraper.  Then we'd spend hours painting and talking about our creations.

A Smitty comic from the 1930s

Interestingly, with the exception of Dick Tracy and Li'l Orphan Annie, I don't think we were acquainted with any of the other comic characters.  That didn't seem to matter as we painted faces and clothes belonging to Little Joe, Skeezix, Tiny Tim, Winnie Winkle, Smitty, Andy Gump, Terry and Moon Mullins.  It didn't matter that they were cartoon strangers.

Several things have crossed my mind as I thought about the countless rainy Saturday mornings that the Mead kids spent with the "rubber molds."  There were no batteries or electronics involved.  We were engaging creative portions of our young brains.  We were socially engaged with one another as we gabbed about our creative efforts.  There are certainly far worse ways to occupy your time.