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
More from the general store
- Columns
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In These Otsego Hills: Continuing on from 1986 ...
We continue this week by answering the question we asked if anyone remembers the old Cooperstown National Bank? On May 13, we wrote: “Martha Dickison, Delaware Street, called to tell us about the Cooperstown National Bank where she worked at her first ‘real job’ after her graduation from school.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Spring inventions
The second line of Lawrence Durrell’s novel “Justine” reads as follows: “In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of Spring.” I first read all four novels of his magnificent Alexandria Quartet during the year I traveled from Saigon to Paris after working in Vietnam for a refugee organization for several years.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
Time to bring you up to date on Fly Creek’s happy clambering into Spring. First, the eatery scene. “Is Jerry’s open yet?” The answer is, “Oh, yes!” The porches are freshly stained; the lawns a uniform green, and the hop vines are already climbing the posts on the covered side deck. Blue and I went up there to lunch earlier this week, and I celebrated spring with my traditional bacon, onion and Swiss cheese hamburger. We two sat on the deck, enjoying the broad view and some spectacular clouds marching across, up toward Schuyler Lake.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: More from 1986 ...
This week we continue with the discussion of telephone service from the pre-dial days. On March 12 we noted that: “No one has yet produced a telephone directory from pre-dial days, but Doug Preston of New Hartford recalls that some business (which one?) in the village had the phone number 7.”
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Celebrations abound at the Thanksgiving Home
April was a month of celebrations and much to appreciate. We had a 90th birthday celebration for Wanda Noyes on April 4 including her family and friends. Personal care staff Dee Bouck worked with residents to hand paint Easter eggs for the tree in the activity room.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1986 continues ...
This week we continue our journey through the columns of 1986 with the answer to the question “for whom, according to tradition, was Hannah’s Hill named?”
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Baseball book features local contributors
Baseball is part of the nation’s fabric. Most kids have a memory of the game either from playing Little League, attending a major league contest or meeting a favorite player. In Cooperstown that feeling is magnified since we are the official home of baseball. We get to see firsthand what has made the sport the national pastime.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Ya really wanna know?
SETTING: Fly Creek General Store. CAST: Assorted seated geezers, drinking coffee. [Door opens, enter heavy-set geezer; walking slowly with wide stance, maybe prostatitis.]
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Returning to 1986 ...
For the past several years now we have undertaken sharing some of the area’s oral history we have collected over the years that we have written this column. Therefore, this year, we would like to go back to 1986 to share that rather unusual year. Those who were here then no doubt remember that it was that year that the village celebrated the bicentennial of its founding.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: For reasons unknowable
[Jim’s reached back to 2002 to share one of his favorite columns.] My father was born as the last century began into a river village in tidewater Maryland. He told me once of a man there in his boyhood who, like so many, made a thin living tonging for oysters in the cold months and, in the hot and humid ones, crabbing and raising vegetables.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: CCS balancing act ... side two
Last week we shared a number of activities in which students at CCS can participate. We thought it was an impressive, if not overwhelming, list. And we are indeed pleased that the young people of our area have these opportunities. However, we think it is also important to keep in mind that these undertakings do have a cost associated with them. They are not free. In fact there are, no doubt, those who would say they do not come cheap.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: A graceful crowd
Make of this what you will, friends. I feel I’m really meant to share it with you. Despite good medication for my Parkinsonism, every four or five weeks I can sensethe symptoms building up on me, giving me more than ordinary trouble. Lately it’s been falls, and last week brought a typical one. I’d gone out to get the paper, moving along with penguin steps on the snowcoved ice patches, and usingmy spike-tipped cane the waya climber uses an ice axe. But circumstances overcame me. Parkinson’s wipes out the possibility of multi-tasking.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that and the other side ...
We note that the CCS Class of 2012 is presenting its senior class play, “Snow White” by Tim Kelly, this week with performances 7:30 p.m Thursday and Friday, March 29 and 30, and at 11 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. Saturday, March 31. All performances will be at the Nicolas J. Sterling Auditorium at the Middle/High School.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: That green thing ...
Of late we have noticed that our email inbox has been much busier than usual. In fact, we find ourselves hard pressed to keep up with all the various messages we receive. As a result we suspect we have not answered some in as timely a fashion as might be thought appropriate.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: What you need to know
In their last Sunday’s bulletins, all 84 churches of Otsego County were to have carried announcements of an important meeting; most of them did. But because the announcement is so important, and not just to the churched, here it is again.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Living the magic of ‘Hoosier’
A lot of people consider “Hoosiers” the best sports film of all time. The 1986 classic follows the exploits of a fictional small town Indiana high school basketball team in 1952 as it attempts to achieve the impossible dream of a state championship. The story is inspired by the true life achievement of the 1954 Milan team, who with an enrollment of only 161 students shocked big city power Muncie Central on a last second shot to win the state title. It’s the kind of sports story that represents something that is hard to grasp unless you live in a small town.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: The most perfect village... home to heavy industry?
We suspect we would get a whole lot more accomplished if we spent less time thinking, pondering and musing about things. In fact, there is a good possibility we might actually have completed our goal of cleaning the basement if we only focused on the task at hand, instead of trying to figure out the world around us. It almost makes us wonder if it is possible to think too much about things. We certainly hope not because should that be the case, we are in deep trouble.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: The past in the present
Clichés abound about the value of photographs. Most are probably true at least to a certain extent. What I do know about an image is that it represents something of the past that is not the pastitself. But that is the power of any image. It represents something that once was. The beauty of an image, revisited, is that it functions as a catalystfor reliving in the present a past experience. My own view, one that I thank the Spanish writer Jorge Luis Borges for, is that all we ever can experience is the present.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Workshops held for Thanksgiving Home residents
We welcomed Linda Keller, Ph.D. of the Bassett Research Institute and Ida Baker of NYCAMH who presented a six-week workshop for residents and staff.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Late-winter hamlet news
Well, at least I’m “guessing” it’s late winter now — in the winter that wasn’t. But, if not snow, I can provide a flurry of Fly Creek news to share with you, scooping Associated Press, Reuter’s, and United Press International, not to mention all local news services except our General Store.
Continued ...
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In These Otsego Hills: Continuing on from 1986 ...
