Columns
More from the general store
Jim Atwell
Once, back in 18th-century
England, Samuel Johnson
was bouncing along in a
crowded coach, heading for a
town some distance from his
beloved London. He was
probably deep in thought, ignoring
whatever scenery was
beyond the open windows. (A
stolid urbanite, he once described
the countryside as
unused space between
towns.)
Next to Johnson, jostled
every time the coach struck a
rut and bounced his considerable
weight, was a society
woman in all her traveling
finery. She was breathless,
not from awe for The Great
Man, England’s most famous
citizen, but for the stench
rising from that large and
rarely washed body. Finally
she struck him on the wrist
with her closed fan.
“Dr. Johnson,” she cried,
“you smell!” The compiler of
“A Dictionary of the English
Language” opened his hooded
eyes and spoke, but only
to distinguish between active
and passive verbs.
“No, madam, it is you who
smell. I stink.”
These days Johnson comes
to mind every time I enter
the barn and hit, face on, the
stench of the caged turkey
poults. I do the smelling;
they, passively, stink. I also
recall advice from an old
nurse, veteran of a thousand
sickrooms: “Just breathe
through your mouth, dear.”
That’s what I do.
Thank goodness, the birds
will be moving soon to larger,
airier quarters in the former
pig shed. And after a few
weeks, I hope, the barn’s
downstairs will again smell
pleasantly of sawdust, machine
oil, and stored hay. By
then the turkeys ought to
look a lot better, too. Right
now, they’re downright ugly.
I’ve watched generations
of baby chickens and enjoyed
their transition from fluffy
yellow down, through fledging,
and into full feathers.
These turkeys had a very
brief stage of downy cuteness
and then leaped into a gangly,
awkward adolescence,
careening around on feet too
big for them, knocking into
each other, making a mess of
their room. And eating, eating,
eating.
And, like some of our own
species, these teens dress
terribly. Their present first
feathers are mostly dull
brown and always rumpled.
It’s unkind, I guess, to comment
on their faces, but these
young birds are downright
ugly — sharp beaks; long,
naked necks; eyes bright and
beady like a vulture’s.
Of course they’ll grow out
of all this and end up handsome
birds and credits to society.
Now, more from the Fly
Creek General Store and the
Sages who gather there for
coffee. The same day we were
talking about turkeys, wild
and domestic, we shifted to
the signs of the times, especially
changes around here
that suggest more and bigger
ones to come.
A first one noted was the
near hysteria of the relentless
car ads now on TV. The
archetypes, of course, are
Billy Fuccillo’s, who uses
megaphone tones to tout
smaller cars with modestly
improved mileage. Billy’s
backed up now, not by a
straight man in a suit, but
mostly by a leggy girl in
skirts reaching to meet her
cleavage. Billy himself, his
pitch all sweat, spit, and
stammer, shouts nothing
about the big clunkers on his
lot. If you buy a compact from
him next year, I bet he’ll
throw in an SUV.
But there are other, far
more positive signs of change.
Lots of us are driving slower,
keeping a lighter foot on the
accelerator, even coasting
down our long hills. (Advice
from Michael Thrower in
England, where petrol is now
the equivalent of $18 per gallon:
Drive and accelerate
softly, as if you had a raw
egg under the pedal.)
And another positive sign,
if a frustrating one: waiting
time for a new Prius (about
the best around right now) is
up to seven months. By luck
or providence, Anne and I
got ours 14 months ago, just
before things began to get
wild. We love it, found it
great last winter with snow
tires all around. And in June
we traveled comfortably
around southern Canada,
four adults and four big suitcases,
plenty of leg room.
The only flaw of the Prius,
I’m told, is that their owners
talk incessantly about them.
So I won’t mention the 55-60
mpg we got on that Canada
trip.
But here’s the best positive
sign around here just
now. Through spring, vegetable
seeds flew off the
shelves. And lots of us are
building chicken coops.
Friends at Cooperstown Agway
tell me their one store
sold over 3,000 chicks this
year, and is still selling. Good
signs, I think, of growing
awareness that a major sea
change is under way. All but
the most stolid nay-sayers
acknowledge that, these
days, it’s not only cheaper,
but far safer to buy locally
produced food. The booming
farmers’ markets are proof of
that.
I have a gentle suggestion
for the Cooperstown leadership.
Consider dropping the
prohibition on raising fowl in
the village. Instead, establish
a minimum lot size for
doing it, and permit up to 10
hens. No roosters, since their
cock-a-doodling can be really
annoying, especially if several
are at it. And, you novices
to egg production, you
don’t need a rooster to do it.
Hens can handle it all on
their own, thank you, and up
to an egg every 30 hours.
They aren’t fertilized, but
who cares?
Well, maybe the hens ...
Find out about Jim Atwell’s
book, “From Fly Creek
— Celebrating Life in Leatherstocking
Country” at www.
JimAtwell.com.
- Columns
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From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
(I owe the first part of this column to an informal writers’ workshop sponsored by the Smithy Pioneer Gallery. The small group, led by Gallery Director Danielle Newell, meets Sunday afternoons and is open to anyone interested in the writing craft. As a warmup exercise on that very rainy afternoon, we each wrote a few paragraphs on the weather and emotions. Here’s what that keen group prompted me to scribble down) The dour old Scotsman, the one featured in jokes without number about buying lottery tickets, pinching pennies, scorning worldly ways, etc., once silenced a friend who was praising the beautiful weather.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: We're back from Michigan ...
Unfortunately, we once again find ourselves stuck in a time warp. When we look at the calendar, we realize that Labor Day is fast approaching. Yet, we seem to be operating under the misconception that it is still early July due in large part to the fact that we spent the almost five weeks from July 15 to August 17 in Grand Rapids, Michigan. We feel the summer has sailed by and we, unfortunately, have not kept pace.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Censorship?
All those indebted to John Lawrence, Post-rider, and do not settle the same IMMEDIATELY may rely upon having to pay cost!! Otego, Aug. 24.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1984 comes to a close ... finally
As we continue traipsing through 1984, we realize that even though we were supposed to be covering the comings and goings of Cooperstown, we actually were able, even then, to touch on a number of pressing community, as well as personal, issues. Of course, much to the relief of the powers that were at CCS, the school was not among them. The he-we ran for the school board in 1984 and was elected. Thus the school was deemed off limits by the powers that were at the paper. But we discovered there was still a wide range of issues upon which we could write.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: New school book
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, Aug. 18, 1810
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Books offer tennis insights
Professional tennis sometimes seems to be the ultimate life. Where else could you travel the world, earn gobs of money, get in great shape, and have groupies from the opposite sex chasing you all the time? And you get all your equipment free to boot (which may explain why players smash racquets without remorse). Quite a glamorous life, isn’t it?
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Continuing our 1984 musings
Now that we have undertaken the beginnings of this column, we fear we find ourselves unable to stop our review of the early writings. In fact, we seem to be completely addicted to the project. And thus, we will continue to explore the very foundations on which this column has been built.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Burnett's book recalls 'Golden Age'
It’s a shame that today’s young generation missed the golden age of television from the 1960s and 70s. The fact that Hollywood studios with their ``original’’ ideas of constantly remaking hit TV shows from that era into new movies and reunion specials is quite telling. Even Fox with its ``That 70’s Show’’ is a reminder of that whimsical time.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: A place to cherish
As we enter into the middle of summer, let us pause and relish in the fact that we have been blessed with such lovely weather.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Hurray for Mother Bassett!
Just back from my annual week at Lake George’s Silver Bay, in company with about 600 other Quakers. As always, it was a great time: Friends shared silence in the early morning by the lake and during the day in the big brown-shingled tabernacle. (Silver Bay is an old YMCA camp.)
Continued ...
Plenty of fine stringed music and singing in the evenings; lots of daytime rocking-chair stints on the deep veranda, facing across rolling lawns and lake to green mountains and skies of startling blue. -
In These Otsego Hills: In the beginning
Our remembering Jerry in last week’s column has now lead us to muse about our early days of writing a weekly newspaper column.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Prohibition should not be ignored
I was an American history major in college and one topic that my professors never discussed was prohibition.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Elopement
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 21, 1810 Compiled, with comments BY HUGH C. MACDOUGALL
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Home Notes: Personal Care is a rewarding occupation
When I was a young girl in the early 50’s my family would often take rides through Cooperstown and the Cherry Valley area.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Remembering Jerry ...
Difficult as it is to believe, we have been a widow for eleven years this week. And yet it seems as if our late husband Jerry just died yesterday. The memory of it remains most vivid in our mind. We suppose there is much that we don’t remember about July 20, 1999. But we do remember just how much that day changed our life forever. We lost not only our spouse of 28 years, but also our best friend.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Celebrating the 4th
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 14, 1810 Compiled, with comments by
Continued ... -
Our Opinion: What’s good for the goose...
The board of trustees has decided to hire an engineer to review the work of CLA Site, the firm hired to do the site assessment and design work for the Village Gateway Project _ now known as the Cooperstown Intermodal Transit Project. That review will cost up to $12,000.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: ‘Thump-thump, dum-lum’
Since I last wrote to you I’ve been several times embraced to Mother Bassett’s bosom.
Continued ...
(Oh dear, I hope that’s not a disrespectful metaphor. But if you’ve seen photos, you know she was a handsome, dignified woman with an ample superstructure.) This time, for variety, the hospital visits at first seemed to have little to do with Parkinsonism. But a new problem had turned up that had me tested in every part of the hospital except obstetrics. -
In These Otsego Hills: Travels with The Widge...
We have decided that the role of grandmother is quite to our liking. As we have been told any number of times, as a grandparent it is perfectly acceptable to hold, play with and fawn over the grandchild until such time as said grandchild becomes fussy. And then, and this is the best part, it is completely within the purview of the grandparent to return the fussy grandchild to the parents. We love it.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Shocking accident, American arrested
On Wednesday last, as Joseph Faulkner, esq. of Middlefield, was returning home from Cherry-Valley, a gust of wind arose up suddenly, a large Elm was blown across the road, directly on Mr. Faulkner, who, together with his horse was instantly killed.
Continued ...
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From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
