The beginning

Since I am going to try to be diligent in this blog forum I thought I would simply start at the beginning and communicate whatever comes to mind. I am sure that as with anything the format and content will go naturally where it will as time and passes. Keep in mind, this is probably mostly for me to get things out of my head and communicated in some form. I am told that is healthy and therapeutic. Hopefully, I won't bore your to tears. Of course, you have free agency and can choose whether to keep reading or not.

I was born in Yreka, California. That is within an hour of Medford, Oregon on the California side of the border. My dad worked driving heavy equipment in the sawmills and mountains. When I was born my folks lived in a quaint little home in Greenview, California. The home's only heat source was a wood burning fireplace. I believe the manufacturer was Roylance or Royce because my little brother Roy was burnt by it and had most of his name branded to his arm if my memory serves correctly. I promise I had nothing to do with it. But, since we had 3 older brothers I can't speak for them. As an older brother I may very well have thought it a good idea to brand him under the circumstances. I have a few vivid memories from when I lived there. I was sitting on a picnic table with my Father and my Uncle Lyn. I had been given a new (sharp) pocket knife. As I was crudely whitling a stick the knife found its way into the meatiest part of my thigh. I have a 4" scar on my right leg from that experience. We had a large dog that as kids we of course loved. When our family moved down river 70 miles to Happy Camp when I was in 3rd grade we could not find our dog. I was heart broken. We ultimately learned that Mr. Perrera (sp?) that lived up the hill from us had shot our dog. I believe that was the first time I felt hatred. A truly powerful emotion. I actually remember his last name 37 years later. I have since forgiven him. But, we will have a discussion if I run into him in Heaven. I remember a small stream that ran alongside our home. As kids we lived in it. We picked wild mint that grew along it's banks and chewed on it. We caught poly-wogs and frogs (depending of course on their stage of growth). I vividly remember how curious the little frogs with tails were to my imagination. We were truly young explorers finding a new species. Why a boy would think saving a creature in a glass jar half full of stagnant and progressively warming water was a good thing to do escapes me now. But, I know for a certainty that many poly-wogs failed to loose their tails and become little frogs because of my curiousities. They have probably forgiven me but will likely want to communicate with me later if frogs go to Heaven. I bet a few grasshoppers, butterflies and even a kangaroo rat may as well.

We moved to the magical town of Happy Camp when I was in 3rd grade. I experienced the rest of my childhood as one of 800 original Happy Campers. All others are imposters.