Finding a zoo on the way to breakfast, and the oldest of the OFs turns 90

The day after the Fourth of July, the Old Men of the Mountain met at the Chuck Wagon Diner in Princetown.

The Chuck Wagon is the furthest point some of the OMOTM travel to a restaurant, while West Winds in Preston Hollow is the furthest in the other direction. There is a lot of geography in between.

Mountains, valleys, and streams on the rides both ways have the OFs encountering much of the wildlife this area has to offer. Tuesday morning, the OFs were talking about all the critters running about on their way to the Chuck Wagon; it was like going to the zoo early in the morning when most of the animals are frisky.

One OF commented there are so many of them splattered all over the roads that the crows are having a field day; even a couple of turkey buzzards were spotted.

An OF pondered what it must be like to be a rabbit getting ready to dart across the field from one brush pile to another. The rabbit not only must scour the field for cats, coyotes, foxes, dogs, and even good-sized snakes, but he must scan the skies for eagles, or hawks, all just waiting for the rabbit to make his dash across the field hoping he doesn’t become some other critter’s dinner. Then the rabbit must watch for the most dangerous of all, the occasional rabbit hunter.  

Albert Einstein’s theory really comes into play here, “Things are what they are, only in relation to where they are.”

The rabbit in the woods could easily be the rabbit in a cage in little Suzie’s bedroom with a bow around its neck and perfume in its fur; the rabbit with the bow could easily be the rabbit in the woods; it just happens to be who is where.

A left-handed duck

This next conversation was not part of the trips to the restaurants and the wildlife encounters, and road kill, but it fit well with the comments on wildlife and it has to do with a left-handed duck.

One OF asked an innocuous question while a brief conversation on turkeys, birds, and ducks was in progress. “Did you ever see a left-handed duck?” the OF asked.

Well, no one had, and the main comment was, “I never looked or even cared if a duck was left-handed or not.”

The OF then proceeded to tell how he once saw a left-handed duck. It seems that on a large industrial pond some of the workers brought a few domesticated ducks and put them on the pond. These ducks attracted other wild ducks until eventually there were quite of few ducks on the pond because the workers fed them.

One day, the plant manager said to the OF, “Do you want to see a left-handed duck?” to which the OF replied, “Sure.”

The plant manager took a loaf of bread and spread it on the ground by the pond.  Almost all the ducks came out to get the bread. When they left the water, the ducks would spread their wings and shake a bit and then fold their wings back over their backs.

All the ducks would place their right wing over first and cover it up with their left wing except one duck. This duck put his left wing in first and covered it up with his right. Different than all the rest — ergo, the left-handed duck.

Too soon old,

Too late smart

Now to the OMOTM’s standard fare.  OFs and YFs, with some real-time jumping all in one sentence, and complete paragraphs. A good deal of this will be paraphrased.

The OFs discussed life changes that have been brought about just by living, and life will continue to change even as the OFs get older. Many of these changes the OFs have discussed off and on almost since the group started, but this conversation lumped most of them together.

When the YFs worked on the farm (maybe not even a farm, but just worked outdoors) they, at that time, were hatless and shirtless, did not wear sunglasses, or ear protection, or even sunblock. As a matter of fact, some used baby oil just to get a tan. Many of the OFs are paying for it now.

One OF mentioned how his dad was covered from head to toe out in the field. The OF asked him one day why he covered up like that and wasn’t he hot?  His father said he didn’t know why he wore so much clothing, but, since his own father did the same thing, he did it too.

We OFs were too brash and young to tie in any connection between sunburns and cancers. One OF said it might be there weren’t many skin cancers back in the day because people covered up.

Darn! We are too soon old, too late smart.

Another OG mentioned some of these skin-care products were not even invented yet and in our rebellious years we probably wouldn’t have used the protection anyway.

Well, the OFs are paying for it now with trips to the dermatologist to have all these basal cells, and minor skin cancers cut off, or dug out, or frozen. Hearing aids, glasses, and false teeth — much of which, if the OFs knew then what the OFs know now, the OFs wouldn’t need.

“Back then,” one OF said, “We would see, in the National Geographic, pictures of Mexicans in their large sombreros, and covered like our fathers from head to toe, or even American cowboys in the Midwest and Southwest with their large 10-gallon hats, bandanas, and covered from head to toe and the OFs never questioned why they were dressed like that.”

The OFs here missed the hint.

An OF said we never had periods of extended heat like the cowboys and the Mexicans had to deal with. We would get a day or two at a time, so why would we even bother — even today we are not subject to all that oppressive heat.

Then another OF said, “It is not the heat, it is the sun, dummy.”

Still a further OF chimed in that, when he goes to the lake and sees his grandkids swimming, he yells at his granddaughters to cover up. Their bathing suits are only four pieces of string.

“You old prude,” an OF said. “Remember when after haying we would go to Fox Creek and skinny dip?  Four strings is a lot compared to that!”

All the OFs who made it to the Chuck Wagon Diner in Princetown and showed up ready to go skinny dipping because none of them brought bathing suits were: (Oh no!  What a sight that would be, count this OF out) Bill Lichliter, George Washburn, Robie Osterman, Roger Shafer, Jim Rissacher, Marty Herzog, John Rossmann, Harold Guest, Glenn Patterson, Chuck Aelesio, Art Frament, Bob Benac, Herb Sawotka, Joe Ketzer, Mace Porter, Wayne Gaul, Jack Norray, Gerry Irwin, Ted Willsey, Bob Lassome, Rich Donnelly (along with his son also named Rich Donnelly), Bob Benninger, Bob Fink, Mike Willsey, Gerry Chartier, Elwood Vanderbilt, Richard Vanderbilt, Harold Grippen, and me.

JUNE 28

For some reason, Tuesdays are always busy. The OFs think it is because Mondays are such a drag it takes Tuesday to get in gear.

Tuesday, June 28, was no different. The troop of Old Men of the Mountain converged on the Duanesburg Diner in Duanesburg and (except for the counter and one booth) filled the place up. That is the way most restaurants like it — keep the place filled; also keep the customers filled and happy, then the place will be in business the next day and the day after that.

Some of the OFs traveled to the birthday celebration of an OF who is now our oldest member. Mike Willsey made it to 90, and puts many of those younger to shame.

Mike and a few others joined the three OFs who started this breakfast club many years ago.  It was so long ago that Mike was a YOF, and he has proceeded through the ranks to now become the senior OF.

What many of the OFs have seen and experienced through the aging process (i.e., since they were able to understand what was going on socially, politically, medically, and technologically) is mind boggling.

One of the “way back when” stories that was discussed on June 28 was — you guessed it — vehicles. Back when the OFs were YFs driving down the road and approaching a hill with a truck in front of them, they would try their best to get around the truck because it would slow down to a crawl going up the hill.

Today, the OFs say, they can be on Route 20 going west out of Sloansville and traveling at 55 miles per hour, and see a huge truck going up the hill that will eventually pass them. Things have changed, and the truck driver is not rowing his way up the hill by shifting; he is probably driving on cruise, along with an automatic transmission.

The same thing happens on the New York State Thruway heading west, going up hills, especially the hills by Little Falls. Now the Tesla cars have a warning sticker to tell the driver not to sleep while driving in their cars that drive themselves.

We have even left some of our debris on the moon and Mars, and a probe that has left our universe and is still working. It doesn’t seem that long ago that the OFs like Mike were pulling on the reins and hollering “Whoa!”

The OFs mentioned flying. Back when the OFs were YFs, it was an adventure, planned for weeks, and enough of an experience to be talked about for a year. Today, the OFs hop on a plane like they were on a bus, cuss about the TSA, and the trip is so routine that what happened at the TSA (when the OFs arrives at his destination) is the point of conversation.  The means of travel is coincidental.

Marveling at a long life

Also there was talk about how long some of the OFs have been retired. Many of the OFs have been retired quite some time.

We did not compute an average but the numbers of years is surprising when the OFs started saying them out loud.  Twenty years, 25 years, even 30 years and more — some of the OFs did not expect to reach the age they are now.

One OF said he expected to be shot by a jealous husband.

“Not me,” another OF said. “The demise would be the same, but the assailant would be a ticked-off wife.”

One more OF questioned, “How did we escape all this and make it this far?  It has to be the medications for me because it sure wasn’t my particularly clean living. My early life was not for Ivory soap; it was a Fels-Naptha kind of life.”

Vanishing junkyards

The OFs hang on to many items for long periods of time. However, to keep these old things working, the garages and parts stores no longer carry the parts required to do that.

To many OFs, the junkyard is the parts store of choice because they are the only places that will probably have an old part. These junkyards are also vanishing as a parts store because now they crush the cars or whatever useless items they take in, and then the old items are gone.

What things the OFs are trying to repair are just old, but they are not yet antiques. One OF mentioned (and we have used this before but redundancy fits here) we are of a generation where items had to last; money had a different value because there was less of it.

Today if something breaks, just take it to the dump — oops, transfer station — and go buy another one. The OFs have trouble accepting this attitude.

Some junkyards look like junkyards and the junkyard dog lurks just around the next rusty hulk of an old vehicle or refrigerator. Then again, some junkyards are like shopping at Macy’s. Items are stashed in order and parts that are generally sought after are removed, labeled, and stored.

One OF said that going to a “junkyard/junkyard,” fending off the dog, locating the vehicle that he is looking for and spending half a day removing the part, is like finding gold — that is the fun of it.

But then one more OF said, “After the OF has done all the work, the junk dealer thinks it is gold and charges an arm and a leg for a part that may only have short time of use left in it before it too breaks.”

Son of gun, it looks like planet Earth has already established a portion of its worldly culture on the moon and Mars — the junkyard. Anybody need a part for a Lunar Rover?

Those OFs who made it to the Duanesburg Diner, in Duanesburg (including one birthday OF at 90 years old and nowhere near ready for the junkyard) were: Pete Whitbeck, Roger Chapman, Miner Stevens, Robie Osterman, George Washburn, Jim Rissacher, Marty Herzog, Bill Bartholomew, Dave Williams, Chuck Aelesio, Glenn Patterson, Otis Lawyer, John Rossmann, Harold Guest, Art Frament, Herb Sawotka, Bill Lichliter, Lou Schenck, Wayne Gaul, Mace Porter, Jack Norray, Gerry Irwin, Bob Fink, Bob Benninger, Ted Willsey, Bob Lassome, Rich Donnelly, Joe Loubier, Richard Vanderbilt, Elwood Vanderbilt, Gerry Chartier, Mike Willsey, Harold Grippen, and me.