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Aldo Leopold

Sometimes events align in an uncanny relation.  I recently parodied a book from my youth: A Sand County Almanac, by beginning a series of posts from my childhood journal.  I recalled that the book’s setting was in Wisconsin, so when we took our trip up there recently, the book was on my mind.

Then, when driving into town on a liquor run, I saw this:

Curious, I delved deeper and discovered that there is no “Sand County” in Wisconsin, at least not as a political delineation.  The name is used in reference to the geographical region of Wisconsin which has sandy soil.  I wondered: how far did that region extend, and was this turn of phrase in the common local lexicon–and therefore this business name being of no relation, or was this business name indeed an intentional nod to the author?

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a clear physical boundary of “Sand County”.  But the Wausau region is still very glaciated and sandy, being interspersed with a lot of lakes, so I think it qualifies.

Additionally, I discovered Leopold has a historical marker.  Obviously the marker would be placed in the physical region, so I input the coordinates into a map:

Wausau is about 50 miles away, and on the way home, the closest we got was 31 miles.  So while I’ll never know the above business owner’s intentions, I think this concludes that we were officially in Sand County, and enjoy the historical significance for what it is.

–Simon

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A Lubbock County Almanac (December 30, 1994)

Now that christmas is over and all your presents are open, you get that sad feeling.

It hasent snowed yet but I still have hopes (very little)  We usally don’t get much snow here because we live in Texas.  When we do get snow it’s a half inch and it melts before noon!  I really dont know what to write so by.

–Simon

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You’ll Burn Your Eye Out!

One of the parental killjoys that has stuck with me over the years has been my father’s aversion to sparklers.  Liz, however, had a very different childhood experience, so fireworks are less of a novelty to her.  Admittedly, I still giggle whenever I set off a bottle rocket.  I guess the bar’s been set pretty low.

I will attempt to quote my father’s response to a childhood inquiry regarding purchasing sparklers: “Those things are made of magnesium, which burns at 3000 degrees centigrade!  They use magnesium flares to weld underwater!  No you can’t have one!”.  That may not be a direct quote, but it includes all his points.

So when Liz picked some up for the kid, I thought about this past conversation.  A quick Google search reveals that, depending on the composition, they burn upwards of 1600 degrees Celsius–not quite as hot as my father claimed, but I still wouldn’t want to touch the flame.

But, like getting salmonella from raw cookie dough, some experiences are worth the danger risk.  Personally, I think it was just an excuse to avoid spending money on something superfluous–a reason that makes far more sense to me now as a father myself.  I wonder what goofy thing I say that my own kid will remember forever.

Ah well.  For now–fire!

–Simon

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A Lubbock County Almanac (December 7, 1994)

Leigh recived a diry yesterday and she immeditly started writing in it.  So now, today, this morning, I read it.  It had a lock latch on it.  Unfortunatally for her, she left the keys on it.  When she found out she said she was going to hide it.  If I ever find it it will be easy to break into because its a simple key.  Like this – [Illustration]…It is 7:42 A.M. Central time (our time) I don’t think I wrote to much in Nov. is we had lots of guests over.  O my calendar today (Wed.) is “school and bring any canned food,” I don’t have much to say but I’m now starting a new book The Never Ending Tran.  Well I gota go.  Bye!

———-

Hi!  I’m back from school and I had just finnished my home work and I was verry frustrenated about it

J.t. (my friend) called and asked about what page the assinment was on.  It was pg. 533 in our math book.  Our teacher, Mrs Hines, told me I could do it at break ’cause I have make up work.  I was going to watch Full House but it was cancled for an after school special.  I will now read from my book, The Return of the Plant That ate dirty Socks.  Bye!

–Simon

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All About the Bass

This is another Wisconsin post.

I’m happy that my daughter, despite her girly-girl side, still enjoys getting her nature on.  We’ve fished before, and she’s caught her own, but this is the first time that she’s actively fished for an extended period without regular intervention.  And she was quite successful at it, too.

She stopped holding them after one got her with a fin spike
Bluegill

After the first day, the bluegills started swarming the dock, which made the fishing instantly gratifying–something which might have influenced her prolonged interest.

Like a pack of sharks
She advised me that she caught so many because since her shirt had a fish on it, all the fish trusted her

However, I was more interested in trying to catch a bass.  So after I de-hooked her 100th bluegill, I noticed a smallmouth bass near the shoreline.  I pointed it out, and told her what it was.  In a jokingly dad moment, I asked if she wanted me to catch it for her, and she agreed, so I took her pole and gently completed a perfect cast just in front of the fish.  The bass swam over and immediately took the bait, and I pulled it in.  It was a perfect setup that momentarily restored her belief in the magical powers of dad.  Here it is:

Feisty fish–you can see him fighting for freedom

Ultimately, I had to concede ownership of the fish though, as I was advised since I used her pole, it was her fish.

But the fishing was not without its casualties.  I noticed her reel wasn’t working so well anymore, so I took it apart:

It takes talent to do this to a Zebco

I wonder if Zebco has some military background.  I disassembled the reel in the field with just a knife.

Even so, I would say this was a successful fishing trip.

–Simon