Valley of the Dove

When I leave this earth for a home in heaven
may God grant me a small cabin in the hills,
nestled in some quiet peaceful valley
a place where spring flowers never wilt.

May a path carry me to a stream side
flowing gentle among the rocks and rills,
let the birds sing sweetly as the angels
as the gentle dove coos, my heart shall fill.

Rejoicing in God's grace I’ll never tire
as the whip-poor-will’s song rings ore the dell,
may there be peace for all in this valley
there shall never be a need again to kill.

May the cabin be brightened by lamp light
let the fiddles and the banjo's ever ring,
joining in our band will be the angels
in glory will their golden voices sing.

Old friends will gather around the campfire
in harmony we shall sing of God's love,
one by one as old friends come to join us
they’ll be welcomed to the Valley of the Dove.

EMERY BONES JONES

Deep in the swamp land lived Emery Jones
a thin little man, most all called him Bones.
Never known as a man to socialize,
lived his life among birds, beasts and the fly's.

At times he'd been heard talking to tree's,
some thought Bones had a mental disease.
Folks shied away from his moss covered home,
thought of as strange, people left him alone.

At the general store at "Swamp River Bend"
twice a year old Bones would come limping in.
Thin, pale and gaunt he never carried a grin,
just picked up staples, back to swamp life again.

He was accepted for years, then the gossip begin,
that old Bones was guilty of some horrible sin,
must have broke out of prison, hid from the war,
perhaps even murdered, would he kill anymore?

Coyotes steal chickens when wild food gets thin
old Bones would be blamed, folks knew it was him.
A group of men gathered to search the swamp
they'd drive this thief from his sod shanty romp.

Found Bones roasting meat on a long willow stick
then one huge towering man gave the fire a kick.
"You'll steal no more chickens, now get on your way"
Bones limped off like a child, had nothing to say.

With a few tugs and pulls the cabin came down
a few men remained still searching the ground.
Not one chicken bone, or feather did they find,
just one deer front quarter, hung up with old twine.

Then a small box made from split cedar tree
lay half covered in sand, very easy to see.
Inside this small box there was bound to be,
missing coins stolen from some burglary.

The box held a bible, papers, and a rolled up old flag.
There was no stolen money of which they could brag.
When leafing the bible a war picture was found,
seven soldiers lay dead on the battlefield ground.

A letter of commendation clearly defined
how private Emery Jones had fought through enemy lines,
opened a hole at least one quarter mile wide,
saving twenty nine soldiers, all trapped inside.

Shot in the leg he would hobble and crawl
over and back till he had saved them all.
Many metals fell from that old ragged flag,
one a purple heart on which he never did brag.

"Thou shall not kill" in the bible circled in red,
a prayer for each man he'd killed was daily said.
Prayed their families and God, could some day forgive,
self penitence, the rest of his life he would live.

Emery Jones had lost faith in his fellow man,
made a vow that never, would he kill again.
They rebuilt his shanty on that lonely swamp track
but little Emery ( Bones ) Jones, never did wander back.


Let Thee Not Judge
Matthew 7.1 Judge Not

DAD'S OLD RIFLE

Let me tell you a story
about this faithful old rifle
the many deer it has killed
would make your mind stifle.

It fed a family for years
yes! this worn out rifle did
like a heat seeking missile
guided each bullet shed.

From game wardens has hid
in mud, sand, grass and snow
in many old hollow log
where it escaped from the foe.

Thrown from a car window
traveling full speed ahead
there it lost a forearm
still the family it fed.

By light of an oil lamp
from a old block of wood
Dad carved and replaced it
did the best that he could.

A rifle needs not a license
so it provided year round
winter, spring, summer, fall
by no law is it bound.

Traveled miles through forest
of this there's no doubt
Dad said this old rifle
could point his path out.

Rifles pay no heed to signs
there's no place they won't go,
over fence, ridge and valley
much like arrow and bow.

Handed down with love
it shall hang on my wall
in reverence I'll cherish
as best old friend of all.


In Memory of Clarence Sherman Fritcher
1894 - 1981
Houghton Lake, Michigan

Dedicated to all who cherish family treasures with
their fond memories.

Methane

Michigan's Methane Valley, enjoy the great out of doors.
Without research the date oil and gas was discovered and the first
oil wells drilled in the area of Meredith located in Clare County
Michigan is not clear.  My guess is the wells were drilled in the
late 1930s or early in the 1940s.  Memory is sketchy but story has
it when the oil well relief shift came they found the two man night
crew dead.  It looked as if the deceased workers had been sleeping.
Casualty blame fell on escaping gas released sometime during the
night.  For years the smell of putrid escaping gas required closing
car windows when driving on M-18 in the area of Lindy Lake.

Winds from the west carry stench far enough to be smelled at the
intersection of Dutcher and Chappel Dam Roads a distance of four
miles and even beyond.  When I say stink it's not the type you just
wrinkle up your nose and say phew, it is the type you clamp your
nose between your thumb and finger gasping in search for fresh air.
Off and on the escaping gas was vented and at times set fire. (The
eternal flame.)

Why was this gas not utilized?  Rumor claimed the
gas to be poison and unusable. Future oil/gas well, spills, leaking
storage tanks, venting of storage tanks, slush pits, leaking pipe
lines, transportation spills, and polluted air would certainly not
add to tourism, recreational areas, or healthy quality life.  This
article was written from memory and should be researched for fact.
The Gladwin County Record should have the above incident recorded in
their archives.  One thing I personally verify is the strong putrid
methane smell which has plagued the area for years*

BLACK RIVER SWAMP

While hunting in the black river swamp, became lost as I could be
Stumbled upon a fur-clad bearded gent, said his name was Lee
He was puffin on a homemade cigar, smelled like skunk cabbage leaves
Shook hands, then sat down to rest on a fallen cedar tree

I asked for directions, which quickly he pointed out with ease
Just face the wind, follow the sun, check the moss out on the trees
Before I left, on question yet, what would his answer be?
When asked what he was doing there?, this story then relayed to me

There’s too many cars, pollution scars, and cruel society
Rumors of war, terrorist plots, we’ve lost our sanity
It made me sore, couldn’t take more, longed to be free
Headed for the black river swamp, to find my privacy

Took along a saw, axe, candle wax, a change of dungarees
Jumped bog to bog, crossed the river on a log, left no trail to see
Built me a shack, on a little hog-back, carved my initials on a tree
Grew me a beard, sure looked weird, changed my identity

Got bullets, backer, a coon hound tracker, swamp life is for me
Eat roots, berries, wild grapes and cherries, all of them are free
Time to stroll around, with my old coon hound, better it can’t be
Chew spruce gum, sit and hum, while I drink my wintergreen tea

Set beside little black creek, the blue jays talk to me
Grass lands loom, flowers bloom, birds sing sweet harmony
Where bear is king, whip-poor-will sing, all keep me company
I have no clock, time means naught, when living the life of ease

Winters long, nights are cold, at times it’s misery
Snuggle up to my old coon hound, he always sleeps with me
In a few short weeks spring will bring, mosquitoes, flies and fleas
They don’t stay long, then they’re gone, your troubles never leave

Summer days will come, the swamp will hum, nature’s activities
Turtle, coot, porky-pine soup, again my delicacies
Love my shack, can’t go back, I’ve found my liberty
When they find my bones, leave them alone, so the porky-pines may feast

Sooooooo long

PLANET EARTH

Seems our big quest of today
is find another planet soon,
Earth now ruined beyond repair
could it be we all face doom?

We probe the sky with telescope,
send spaceships to the moon.
Electronic ears search night and day
for a place where life will bloom.

Greed and over population,
natural resource in decline,
our lakes and streams polluted,
earths situation is not fine.

It only took a few hundred years
to bring earth to no tomorrow.
In just a few years our technology
could leave future worlds in sorrow.

What if our new world is inhabited,
will we commit the same old crime?
Drive them from their homes to starve,
their race unworthy of our kind.

Each night before I retire
I pray God will not let us find,
another planet in his creation
to plunder in such short time.

THE AMERICAN DREAM

We say the American dream is over,

this statement is not entirely true.

Look around, the dream still exists,

but only for an elite select few.

Those willing to plunder our resources

destroying quality life, mind and hand,

profiting by the misfortune of others

polluting rivers, lakes and our land.

They deem this destruction progress,

I say it's almighty dollar in command.

Our jobs shipped to factories in China,

while homeless set forlorn in the sand.

Many have lost homes, been evicted,

work at low paid jobs when they can.

Mortgage defaults by the thousands,

each day more join the jobless band.

Speculators predicting future recovery

are buying up these foreclosure homes,

profiting from the misfortune of others

the victim looking for shelter he roams.

We no longer call hard times depression,

recession holding a much softer tone.

Description makes but little difference,

jobless, homeless, stripped to the bone.

THE AUCTION

A gray haired lady sits in a rocker

on her face a near blank stare.

Her glazed eyes fix on a window

as a crowd now gathers there.

Her husband passed on last year,

her children no one can find,

a stroke now leaves her silent

near helpless and weak of mind.

The auctioneer begins his chant

holding items high in his hand,

her life’s belongings he will sell

to the highest bidder from his stand.

Who’ll start the bid on these old jars?

Some with glass lids, most are blue.

Did I here someone say one dollar?

Oh! Come on now do I hear two?

The old ladies hands begin to tremble

her fingers warped by work and time,

her tired hands had filled those old jars

to sell them would seem short of crime.

Here we have a row of box lots

in each treasures untold you’ll find.

Highest bidder will take first pick

the rest each same price, if of a mind.

Now we move on to the fire arms.

Quickly! No time to dally long.

The owner kept them oiled and clean,

each gun he cherished, now he’s gone.

Soon the outside grounds were empty,

selling what’s left inside won’t take long.

Left only antiques and family keepsakes,

and her life’s possessions shall be gone.

By now my mind begins to question

how can life be so cruel, unfair?

A rag doll lay upon an antique table

with rosy cheeks and red yarn hair.

The old lady's head turned slowly

tears filling her saddened eyes,

her aging fingers clutched the doll

a spark of memory seemed to rise.

“Raggedy Ann” from an old rag bag

stuffed with love by someone dear,

was a gift from her sweet mother

held to her heart year after year.

A man's voice echoed from the crowd,

come on“auction off that doll and chair.”

“I don’t want old grandma in the deal,”

such unkind remark, faces turned to stare.

Auctioneers deal with such cutting words

become quite callous and often hard,

only one bid on the doll and chair

then no hands, no bids, no card.

The auctioneer's heart softened

with quivering voice and in tears,

he placed the final bid himself,

"The doll and chair are yours my dear."

WILDLIFE AND HABITAT

With a heart full of love for nature

it is not hard for me to see,

with wildlife habitat dwindling

it will soon come but memory.

Immigrant population now crowding

still our government brings in more,

searching for homes, resource and food

we can bid wild land goodbye for sure.

Thought I could make a difference

purchased a hundred acres in one spot.

With the advice of several agencies

made a pond, planted trees, food lot.

Noticing within a few short years

my efforts had gained me naught,

what game the poachers didn’t steal

my surrounding neighbors shot.

They killed hawks, owls, ducks, heron,

coyote, coot, marsh hens, bobcat,

shot squirrel, crow’ spike horn, doe,

and squint my old pet blind muskrat.

Trapped skunk coon my project doomed,

captured turtle’s for soup while laying eggs,

shot blue jays, doves cooing their love,

stole mushrooms in sacks and bags.

Broke the beaver dam opened the lodge

this flooded turkey nesting flats,

washed out trees eroded stream banks,

floated old garbage down in mats.

Liberal game laws killed the red fox.

Extended season killed the last pat.

Everything that leaves my acreage

is shot, stomped or car crushed flat.

Never time to fish my private pond

but someone found time for theft.

Bullheads, three frogs, one old snake

I find is about all that I have left.

Spray programs for moths and weeds

killed off butterflies, bees and bat,

left me one old crippled grasshopper

and Im gonna try and fish with that.

The law refuses to get involved

D.N.R., D.E.Q., Police all under staffed,

seems I’m never on the winning team,

but the one who gets the shining shaft.

I’d put my land in conservancy,

save the flowers and trees so grand,

but with my luck new laws would pass

granting developers theft of such land.

Long as big money runs our government

little chance in saving, public and private land

for wild life, recreation or natural resources.

HEREAFTER/GOLDEN YEARS

As I near the end of my golden years

when my soul from body vacates,

I ponder over the Hereafter life

many questions to me this creates.

Some say we meet departed friends

inside of a beautiful golden gate,

will this include their old friends?,

many of them I could not take.

I wonder if married more than once

you meet your departed wives up there,

which one of them will wear your ring,

or up in Hereafter don't they care?

Will our souls be dressed or bare?,

I hope at least we wear a shroud.

Of course we could conceal our selves

in the silver lining of a cloud.

Will I know how to play a harp

so I can join Hereafter's band.

Shall I be fitted with silver wings

that obey my flap command?

Eight million years souls have winged

their way to join Hereafter's throng,

I hope Hereafter has a lot of room

to crowd, push, and shove is wrong.

Now this barely tips the iceberg

of the many questions I behold.

What will Hereafter's climate be

chilly, warm, wet, hot or cold?

CHESTER MOUSE

  This tiny mouse peeking out you see,

  once lived in a hole on a forest tree.

  A hole so small it could just turn around,

  still safer than nesting on cold ground.

  A bird house hangs on a tree not far away,

  the birds had gone south for a winter stay.

  Chester peeked in the house, lots of room,

  he best move in winter will be here soon.

  The birds left a nest of feathers and sticks,

  Chester added leaves, made a feather tick.

  Out of moss and bark made a roomy nest,

  then settled down for a long winter rest.

  Miss mouse came to visit his new home,

  soon they were married no longer alone.

 They spent the winter snuggled and warm,

  spring six little mouse children were born.

  I end this poem before the birds return,

  evicting the mice may be their concern.

  In the meantime things are going well,

  the birds may find a new place to dwell.

PYRAMID SCHEME

Born in nineteen twenty eight

been around a good many years,

may I relay a little history

how a small town disappears.

It was a friendly little village

never the need to lock a door,

most all run a grocery bill

at Mom and Pop's general store.

Was a quiet pleasant little town

what community could ask for more,

then the merchants sought a plan

certain to make their income soar.

If the village had more people

they would purchase at our store,

why! our income would triple

with population three times more.

The gates were thrown wide open

signs and brochures welcomed all,

it's your land of milk and honey

if you answer the beckoned call.

Growth was slow at the beginning

each passing year picked up steam,

soon peaceful life and solitude

was a treasured long past dream.

Soon schools and jails overcrowded

real estate priced out of reach,

demand for roads, sewers, ditching,

debt hangs on the county like a leach.

Heavy traffic, fast food and malls

burst our county at the seams,

crime and dope is on the increase,

long gone, the peaceful scene.

Need for rules and regulation

require paid enforcement staff,

County subsidized permit fee's

justified by modern math.

It's our tax free enticements

that fill our industrial park,

when forced to pay a living wage

most fold up and then depart.

Waste disposal's overflow

more pollution day after day,

a left turn requires traffic lights

or an hours wait you’ll pay.

Who reaped the dollar harvest?

Not those who first rolled the ball,

was the greedy corporations

who grabbed the profits from it all.

There are those who still can’t see

the pyramid scheme is but a sham,

if we only had more people

we could recover from this jam.

The sacrifice of our small village

by far to high of price to pay,

those who can still remember

wish the land turned back to hay.

I saved a piece of earth's heaven

working two jobs for many years,

after I’m gone it won’t take long

to meet the subdivision shears.

The sad truth. . .

Exceptions to every rule, we have two factories

started, run, owned, and operated by home town

families still with us who have operated to the

benefit of the community for many years.

Turtles

I've been feeding snapping turtles meat scrapes for ten years and they readily except offerings of hot dogs from my fingers or preferable from the end of a long stick. I do not recommend finger feeding. Turtles have excellent memories and if not killed or captured return to our pond year after year hungry for their annual summer hand out.

Snapping turtles have great vision both in and out of water with a life span of over one hundred years. It is said turtles do not have ears, though somehow they seem to detect my presence from great distance, jet skiing crossed the pond seeking my hand out.

It seems a little foolish to talk to something with out ears but I feel they get my vibrations. Many ask where did our pond turtles come from? Most found their way on their own, one was given to me and one giant I removed from an unwanted location. People say snapping turtles are mean, ugly and stink, friends many humans suffer from the same affliction. Each year our turtle count dwindles, trapped for soup, hit by cars, shot for sport and picked up on the roadside while laying eggs.

I do what I can to protect turtles and eggs by providing safe laying areas less frequented by predators such as skunks and raccoon.

Turtles are part of my life and bring me great enjoyment, would it not be sad if due to our needless slaughter and uncaring this prehistoric creature should become extinct leaving only pictures and movies to show how this so called ill tempered ugly creature will hiss and snap when tormented and teased with sticks. Law forbids the molesting of turtles laying eggs and tampering or removal of eggs from the nest. I can only ask “please do not” shoot, kill or run over turtles. Yes! A turtle shell will smash under the weight of a car. Please do not use turtles as tire targets for sport. There are endless delicacies which can be purchased on the market leaving little need to behead the poor turtle.

Recently I was informed by a friend ammonia sprinkled sparingly on top of the ground over a turtle egg nest will act as a deterrent to predators.

I have never tried ammonia as a deterrent. I protect the nest by installing an eighteen inch diameter by three to four foot tall large wire mesh screen extending both above and below the ground. Close in the top by pulling the mesh together and fasten. Be careful not to disturb the eggs during installation.

If the wire mesh opening is not large enough to allow the hatching turtles to escape they must be remove by hand.

Hatching time varies and requires a frequent watch during the months of September, October and November. I have read some newly hatched turtles do not leave the nest until the following spring, although I feel this is rare.

Written by The Turtle Man (Gene)

FOREIGN TRADE AGREEMENT

The first change was automation

it shortened up my week day,

worked a band of check free robots

that really cut my pay.

Then came the foreign trade agreement

I love it more each day,

we don’t have to work no more

it took our jobs away.

The government now supports us

but the money when it’s gone,

we’ll be eating rice and sushi

until our jobs they come back home.

Soon we’ll dwell in cardboard boxes

be living on the streets,

gathered around old burn barrels

to warm our hands and feet.

While the rich line their pockets

turn their nose up at hungry poor,

as they steal some countries crude oil

expecting us to fight their war.

When we get darn good and hungry

only soup kitchens on the street,

forced to work for a few pennies

with foreign labor we’ll compete.

Now look on the bright side of things

how could we ask for more,

over seas child and slave labor

brought us the dollar store.

It also brought us jumping carp

zebra muscles, bugs and worms,

weeds, walking cat fish and gobies

disease and anthrax germs.

Now add the good, subtract the bad

convert to dollars then again

subtract life style, failing economy,

you’ll come up with minus ten.

Who was it sold us into bondage

though it was against our will?

Our government and big business

the American dream pays the bill.

Imported beef, grain and honey

forced farm land sold, most gone,

orange groves cut, developers grin

all together now we sing this song.

The government now supports us

but the money when she is gone,

we’ll be eating rice and sushi

until our jobs they come back home.

FRACKING IN RHYME

Seems we are having a fracking war,

many oppose it, still others are for.

Each side having their right to choose,

for one to win the other must loose.

One side seeks money and natural gas,

the other clear water in drinking glass.

One has dollar backing to push it through,

the other pray their prayers come true.

Showered in this abundance of oil and gas,

a pipeline shall be built to seacoast fast.

Foreign tanker ships will line the shore,

gas prices will jump higher than before.

You may think I'm off, jumped my track,

I have eighty three years to recall back.

Been there, heard that, put in my time,

seen big money flip it's one sided dime.

Do your oil lease research long before,

that one sided contract comes in the door.

Take a drink of water before you choose,

many States already suffer fracking blues.

They say impossible, water won't burn,

no match by faucet if fracking a concern.

I'm not wealthy, my trucks 21 years old,

will drive 20 more, my oil rights to hold.

No fracture, fracking on my sacred land,

until the deed's ripped from my aging hand.

Frackers fear not you've got the dime,

government, big money back your behind.

Wildlife

BEAVER

It was in the early spring of 2006 when three beaver escaped holocaust finding refuge in our three quarter acre wild life pond.
In appearance they were young beaver looking somewhat bloated.
Two of the beaver seemed in fair condition the third having broken free from a trap or shot was dragging a paralyzed back leg. The cripple swam extremely slow and was reluctant to move when approached.

I immediately welcomed the homeless beaver by cutting aspen saplings and placing them in the pond. My offering of a new home and aspen were readily accepted. The beaver soon supplemented their diet by cutting unwanted willow and tag alter from the shoreline including small aspen located a short distance from the pond. I was forced to selective guard birch and spruce trees leaving the beaver only trees I had debated removing myself. To my knowledge beaver eat birch when other foods are unavailable and never eat spruce or pine. No attempt was made to make a feed bed or build a beaver house. These apparently were bank beaver making dens in the bank with underwater entrance. In late fall I found a dead beaver on the shore line possibly the cripple.

By fall there was no evidence of a feed bed but I noticed several bank dens. The beaver wintered under the ice surviving on cattail roots, pond lily roots, water weeds. Weekly I shoved fresh cut aspen under the ice. Paul Strong’s book titled “Beavers” states bark is not easy to digest so beaver prefer cattail, arrowhead, pond weed, smart weed, milfoil, pond lily, a variety of sedges, nettles, blackberry, gritty stems of bulrushes and large masses of algae or pond scum which they swim into and pull together with their front paws. When I fed the beaver aspen leaves were eaten first. By mid summer our pond was nearly free of unwanted weeds, cattail and pond lily which threaten to take over. Beaver are natures natural weed control.
Nature has played a great part in my life and I feel it’s time to give back. Our wild land acreage provides habitat for all wildlife be it bird, fish, amphibian, snake, or mammal.

The Mean Old Man

When I hear the term "Mean Old Man"

the finger usually points at me.

That old man's against all progress,

he'd have us crawl back in the sea.

The old man's seen many changes

of this we shall all agree,

his way of life robbed from him

his mind turns back to use to be.

He once knew every name and face

in the village and farms around,

shook hands and passed the time of day

with loving friends so true and sound.

Year after year the grim reaper

has taken toll upon his friends,

the few now left he seldom sees

lost in a crowd that has no end.

Seen the loss of natures creatures,

destruction of wildlife habitat,

plunder and waste of resources,

watched money weave its evil mat.

Did history not teach us a lesson

when we cut down all God's virgin pine?

Left the landscape cold and barren,

again trees cut with ease of mind.

The lake without a home or cabin

never again will it appear,

surrounded now by tiers of dwellings

weed filled, water no longer clear.

The small farm no longer lingers,

pickle barrel stores do not exist.

Mom and Pop's family grocery

have been crossed off today's list.

The past lies alone in memory,

left only his time capsule land.

He fears poison fangs of progress

will strike the deed from his aging hand.

The old man's new world is strange

it's way's he does not understand.

Waste and pollution run rampant

blessed by government command.

Yes! The old man's hurts are many

robbed by the progress band,

just what made the old man bitter

you may now understand.