The economic situation being what it is, there are virtually no jobs in Floyd. Especially for a retired pipefitter/welder. So, I had to go out-of-town to find something to do.

I formed a company and established a contract with a private organization in South Carolina that owns a large piece of property. This property used to be occupied by a gun club and the soil is full of bullets. I am mining the bullets out of the ground, smelting the ore and selling it to a recycler.

The up side of this is I have a job. The down side is I’m away from home and have little time to attend to the things I am accustomed to doing. Keeping up with my blog is in that category. It is what it is.

I’ll try to post more often.

Janet works from home and I’m retired. We each have our own space in two spare bedrooms that are across the hall from one another. That makes communication easy and we’re able to chat across the hall throughout the day.

We sometimes refer to our herd of domesticated animals as the ‘Floyd Zoo’. We have four dogs and two cats. With no real children between us, the dogs and cats keep us company and we enjoy them.

Janet is constantly worried about where they are and what they might be into. If she can’t see them, she suspects they might be into some kind of mischief. A few minutes ago, she asked “Where’s Dolly?” Dolly is our 75(+) pound thoroughbred Walker ‘coon hound.

We adopted Dolly from a rescue service in West Virginia. She was discovered wired to a house, outside, with no food or water in three feet of snow. Based on what the postal carrier had said on how long the mail had not been collected, it was speculated she had been left in that condition for about two weeks. She was down to about thirty pounds, starving and seriously dehydrated.

Having been left outside so long in bitter temperatures, Dolly really appreciates being warm. When Janet asked me where she was, I told her I didn’t know, but would get up and go see. “Is the heater in the living room lit?” We have a tower style kerosene heater to supplement the heating system. “Yeah, it’s lit.” I said. “Nevermind, If the heater’s lit, that’s where she is.”

Just to make sure, I got up and checked. Sure enough, she was parked right in front of the heater. I don’t blame her one bit. If I was left outside in the snow for two weeks, I’d be parked in front of a heater, too.

The Lord watches out for me. It’s a good thing I never caught up with the guy that tied her to that house. That wouldn’t come to no good.

People get tired of me harpin’ about idiots shooting themselves or others because they don’t know one end of a firearm from the other. I post stories about this because I HOPE that, just maybe, it will make an impression on ONE PERSON and save somebody’s life.

I was perusing the articles on Fox News this morning and found another one.

“Pastor’s daughter accidentally shot at Florida church.”

“Authorities say the daughter of a pastor was  accidentally shot in the head at a church in St. Petersburg.

The Pinellas County Sheriff’s Office was called to  the Grace Connection Church Sunday at about 12:24 p.m.

Investigators say Moises Zambrana was showing his  gun to another church member interested in buying a firearm.”

In church? Oh, yeah, that’s a perfect scenario for displaying a handgun with the intent to sell. Everybody does that, right? Why, I sold three just last week in the middle of the sermon. Dude! Man, what were you thinkin’? At the least, take it outside, OK?

“Zambrana has a  concealed weapons permit…” You’re kiddin’ me, right? This guy’s been background checked (I hope!) and been issued a permit to carry and he doesn’t have enough sense to know when and when not to display a firearm? I wonder if Florida DMV allows the sales of drivers’ licenses at Wal-Mart.

 ”…and reportedly took out the gun’s magazine but did not  know there was a bullet in the chamber.” YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO CLEAR THE FIREARM, MORON! I don’t suppose it occurred to you to open the action and check the chamber, huh? Apparently not. And, on top of that, obviously the safety was disengaged and he pulled the trigger. Classic ‘It ain’t loaded’ mentality.

“The gun went off and fired through a wall, striking  20-year-old Hannah Kelley. She was critically injured and transported to  Bayfront Medical Center.” So now, for this guy’s stupidity, ignorance and complacency, this young lady is laying in an ICU bed fighting for her life.  This guy needs to be charged with something that will STICK and make an impression on him. Furthermore, he needs to be relieved of his firearms and be prohibited from owning anymore.

Hey, I don’t wanna hear any bleeding heart excuses on how it was an accident. Accident my butt. Guns don’t go off by themselves. They go off because some human causes them to function. If he hadn’t had the gun out in church, which is no place to have one out to start with, this wouldn’t have happened. This guy is just plain too stupid to be allowed to own a gun.

Up until a few months ago, Janet had a Maine Coon cat she called Laura. Laura had been with Janet about ten years and it finally came time to take her to the vet and come home without her. That was not an easy thing to do.

In an effort to comfort my wife, I told her we could adopt another cat if she wanted to. That seemed to brighten her spirits a bit. She so enjoyed Laura’s company. She suggested we wait a while and I told her “Let me know when you’re ready.”

About a year ago, we met a couple here in Floyd that, like a lot of folks here, had migrated here from other parts. Marc and Kathy Poole have become good friends to us. Marc is an avid fisherman and likes to shoot. He and I fell in together like two scoops of sand in a bucket. Kathy is a wonderful lady, gracious and hospitable. We’re always welcome in their home and she has no problem with me visiting so Marc and I can ‘play’.

In casual conversation, we mentioned that Laura had to be put down and that Janet was under a dark cloud from it. Kathy pops up and informs us that she’s involved with the Floyd Humane Society and she could easily arrange for an adoption. well, there ya’ go, then!

Kathy put us in contact with Darcie Luster, a lady that works at Bell’s Art Gallery in downtown Floyd. Darcie is very involved in the Floyd Humane Society and does a lot of work helping people connect with cats.

We went into town, dropped by the Gallery and introduced ourselves to Darcie. Janet explained that she has an affinity for the Maine Coon breed and asked about the possibility. Being Irish has its advantages and one of them is good ol’ Irish luck. Darcie had two Maine Coon kittens in the back room of her shop! Go figure.

We looked them over and they seemed healthy, but homeless. Janet was obviously experiencing some difficulty in deciding which one to take. Me being the push-over I am for my wife, I told her let’s just take them both so they can play together. No sense in splittin’ ‘em up.

“REALLY? We can take both?” Her eyes lit up and she beamed like a kid that had just discovered what was under the Christmas tree. Hey, they don’t eat that much and they don’t take up much room, right? Besides, if it makes Janet happy, it’s worth whatever trouble might come from adopting both of them. I scored some serious ‘brownie points’ that afternoon.

Part of this arrangement was an agreement that we would allow the Humane Society to have them ‘fixed’. Suits me. Male cats have a habit of marking territory and since these guys would be ‘inside’ cats, that seemed like a wise thing to do. Besides, if the Humane Society is gonna’ cover the bet, it would be a win/win situation. We took ‘em home.  

People come up with some weird names for pets. I pulled my share of that stunt in my time. So, we now have two male cats that need to be named. Or re-named, should I say. Darcie had given them names, but we wanted to call them something that came from us. Besides, cats don’t answer to names anyway. Heck, they don’t answer at all unless you’re calling them for dinner.

I told Janet that I wanted them to be called “Mr. Bill” and “George”. “What?” Well, why not? What’s wrong with that? Yeah, somebody might think that’s goofy, but somebody else ain’t feedin’ these boys. So, They are officially known as such.

Janet asked me where I got “Mr. Bill” from. I told her that was a nickname for General William Tecumseh Sherman. She just shook her head and looked at me as if she thought I needed drugs. Or was on drugs.

Well, the day finally came to deliver them into the hands of the Philistines. I took them into town yesterday morning at the ungodly hour of 7:30 AM and gave them up to the Humane Society. I’m retired. I’m supposed to be drinking coffee and writing at that hour. But, in the name of being a responsible pet owner I took care of it.

I went back into town again this morning at 8 AM to meet the van with all the animals who’s lives were now permanently changed. Nobody was happy. I reckon not! An hour-long ride in a box truck in freezing weather, no food since they left home and they had been relieved of parts that identified them as true males? I might have been a touch cranky myself.

They’re back home now. They’ve had a good breakfast and they’re in Janet’s partially finished new office playing.  ”The boys are back in town.”

The advances made in technology since I was a kid absolutely astound me. I remember party line telephones, black & white television and extendable lens cameras with flash bulbs. The only wireless communication was done by ‘HAM’ (amateur) radio operators and you had to wait a week to get your pictures back from the drug store. All that is now in the museum with wooden ice boxes and carburetors.

About 10:30 this morning, I noticed there was a bit of snow falling. It wasn’t heavy or sticking, but the flakes were large enough to catch with a camera, so I grabbed my little Nikon L24 pocket camera and stepped out on the porch. Having grown up in Charleston, SC, I haven’t gotten used to snow yet and it still fascinates me.

My little ‘pack of smokes’ size camera has more technology in it that the Apollo Mission capsule had on board when it landed on the moon. I still can’t comprehend microchips. How does something the size of a pencil eraser hold that much data?

The camera came with a disk that has a program on it to digitally enhance the photos. My father would have auctioned off his right arm for that level of technology. Picture a touch blurry? No problem, just increase the sharpness level. Color not quite right? Nothin’ to it, go to color enhancement function. Oh, and don’t forget to click ‘people’ or ‘nature’. Too much stuff in the picture? Cut out what you don’t want with the crop & scale function.

I have to admit, I love shooting photos. I guess I got that from Dad. He was a shutterbug, extraordinaire. And when you can turn a simple snapshot into a photo that looks like it was taken from the Hubble or with a Hasselblad H2D-39 , it really gets to be a lot of fun.

Below is a ‘before’ and ‘after’ of one shot I took. I’m sure a more experienced photographer could have done a better job of editing and enhancing, but the point is to demonstrate the changes that can be effected with technology. I know a man who I couldn’t hold a candle to when it comes to photographic enhancement, but I took these photos and doctored them to suit me, not somebody else.

Now I know what Paul Simon meant when he said “Please don’t take my Kodachrome away!”

My wife and I moved to Floyd in 2009 and the first people I met were Fred First, author of ‘Fragments of Floyd’ and Doug Thompson of ‘Blue Ridge Muse’. How I came to meet these two guys before anyone else is because I was researching all things Floyd before I landed and found their sites. Of course, when I arrived and got settled in, I looked these fellas up and met with them, one at a time.

For some reason, I find it fascinating to look at people and find the similarities and differences. Fred and Doug are very different in a lot of areas, but they’re also similar, too. Obviously, they’re similar in the field of writing. Even in that, though, they’re different. Doug is a semi-retired (did I get that right, Doug?) photojournalist and Fred writes about nature, sustainability and conservation. Fred also has a couple of good books behind him.

If you follow me on a regular basis, you’ll notice I mention these two men from time to time. In their own ways, each has made an impression on me. I look at them as my mentors in writing.

Fred was very instrumental in helping me with the nuts and bolts of building the site. Picking out an appropriate theme, choosing a photo for the header, designing the look, that sort of stuff. One thing that impressed me about Fred was, rather than suggest ‘do it like this’, he showed me options that I could choose from for myself.

Doug contributed a lot to my writing style, unknowingly albeit. We met for lunch several times over the course of a few months and he shared a lot with me about writing. Kinda’ like Fred, Doug never suggested ‘do it like this’. He just shared stories from his glory days in the Capital and told me about events he had written about. Unbeknownst to him, that helped me decide what and how I wanted to write. I don’t write like he does, but he certainly gave me some ideas to get me started.

OK, five paragraphs and still no mention of the title and/or what it means. When I did start writing, I called my site ‘On The Porch’. I wrote about events I had been a part of or experienced and shared stories that I enjoy telling. Then I got the bright idea to start blogging, so I built ‘Smalltown, USA’. 

In the transition from ‘On ThePorch’ to ‘Smalltown, USA’, somehow I hit the wrong button and ‘On The Porch’ went POOF! I sat there, staring at the screen and looking at “This web site has been deleted.” Big dummy. Hey, it is what it is and I can’t fix it, so I just accepted it and poured myself into ‘Smalltown, USA’.

Back in 2002, I joined a forum called Shooters.com. It was a group of guys that like to shoot, hunt, handload their own ammunition and cast, by hand ‘from scratch’, their own bullets. A bunch of great guys they were and I fell in with them like a pack of thieves.

I’m still an active member of the forum, but it’s no longer called Shooters. Not long after I had joined, the host gave us the big kiss-off and we were flung in the dumpster. A couple of the plank owners got together and formed a new forum that is now known as ‘Cast Boolits’.

What’s all this got to do with STORIES ON THE PORCH? Hang with me, I’m gettin’ there.

One of the members of the forum has become a very good friend to me. I’ve never met the gentleman as he lives on the coast of North Carolina and, me being in the mountains of south west Virginia, we’re six hours apart. We do, though, talk a lot. It’s very common for one of us to call the other a couple times a week. We just like to chew the fat , that’s all. Nothin’ important, just two guys  shootin’ the breeze.

Awright, I’m comin’ around third base. About a week ago, my friend and I were tradin’ stories from our glory days at work. He asked me didn’t I used to write stories on a web site and what happened to that. When I told him what happened to my site, he mentioned that he always enjoyed my stories. That got me to thinkin’.

Last night, I set up another site with the intent to rewrite those stories. I couldn’t use ‘On The Porch’ again, so I named it ‘STORIES ON THE PORCH’. Like Paul Harvey used to say…”Now you know the REST of the story.”

All that just to tell you about my new site? I just told you one of my stories.

I heard that recently. I’ve heard it many times before, too. Usually, it’s a response to someone being addressed about a bad attitude or an inappropriate statement. I’ve heard it in the professional sector as well as organized groups.

With respect to the job place, it’s usually a good idea to keep relationships on a professional level with fellow employees, especially those that are above or below you in rank. Getting chummy with a subordinate or supervisor can go south quickly.

The same advice is good in organized groups. However, the outcome of things going south in that arena are normally not nearly as bad as in a professional setting. You can be terminated from a job. In an organized group, about the worst that can happen is you can be asked to leave.

I’ve heard that line many times in the professional sector, probably many more times than in an organized group. I took jobs to make money, not make friends. But, while one may not have taken a job to make friends, what would be the problem with just being friendly? Therein, friends and neighbors, is where the root of the problem lies.

Some people just plain ain’t friendly, that’s all. They might be opinionated, arrogant, bossy or just have a perpetual case of gas. For various and sundry reasons, some people are just plain butt heads. So, to get around having to explain why they act like somebody with the upbringin’ of Attila the Hun, they use the excuse that they’re not here “…to make friends.”

When I was learning to become a foreman in the industrial construction industry, my employer sent me to several seminars to learn things that I would need to know.  Communication & People Skills was one of them. The instructor was explaining how people respond to different ways of being spoken to. “Think about the last person you spoke to before you left work. If you had a blow out and landed in a ditch, would he stop if he came by?” If that don’t give you pause for thought, you ain’t thinkin’ at all.

You aren’t here to make friends? Hey, no problem, bro! I’m fine with that. But, when I pass you while you’re out in the rain trying to change a flat, don’t give me that scowl on your face. You started this, not me. Why would I want to stop and help somebody that I can’t get along with, no matter how hard I try? Change your flat tire ya’ dang self.

It would have been Larry, Moe and Curly, but Larry (Fred First) was a ‘no show’.

I had lunch with Doug Thompson yesterday at the Floyd Country Store. Doug is a local photojournalist and blogger that befriended me when I first moved to Floyd. Actually, my first contact with Doug was via email. I had begun investigating all things Floyd when I was still in Charleston, SC. Finding Doug’s blog, Blue Ridge Muse, I wrote to him and told him we would be in Floyd soon. His response was along the lines of “Drop by and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

I took him up on his offer and it seemed that we clicked. Doug and I, like so many friendships, don’t agree on everything. That’s OK, though. There’s plenty that wo do agree on and that gives us things to relate to each other on without having to get in the ring with each other.

I have to tell ya’, sometimes I don’t understand why some people act the way they do. Doug is considered by many to be, well, let’s say ‘controversial’. There are those that think he’s a trouble maker and lives to start something. Man, please! What it really boils down to is, some people don’t like Doug ’cause he’s not like they are, that’s all. He doesn’t fit in their design pattern, so he needs to be shot on the front steps of the courthouse.

I spent 32 years in industrial construction work and dealt with thousands of problems that had to be solved. Believe you me, brother, if there’s a problem, I can identify it. And I can easily and quickly find fault, and plenty of it, with those very people who find fault with Doug Thompson.

Doug and I sat in a booth at the Country Store for well over an hour and we had a grand time. We gossiped (God forbid!), talked about places we had been, interesting personalities we know,  my plans for going to South Carolina soon, cameras, technological advances, wind turbine generators….. Get the picture? We found no limit to subjects to discuss, and very amiably, I might add. And all that was easily accomplished because of one particular thing: RESPECT.

Doug and I have absolutely no problem whatsoever being respectful to each other. I call him ‘Ol’ man’ and he teases me about ruining my reputation by being seen in public with a trouble maker. I’ve also heard him refer to me as very possibly the last friend he has in Floyd.

I know he’s joking and having fun, but sometimes there’s truth in sarcasm. How would you feel if 95 percent of the comments and opinions you heard about yourself from others were negative? And the sad part is he really hears a lot of that. Gran’daddy used to tell me “It don’t take long to figure out who your friends are.”

You know why people are so free with criticism and fault-finding? They do that in an effort to elevate themselves. For some reason, some people need to feel that they’re better than others. I don’t have a snowball’s chance in a brick oven of being any better than I am, so I gave up trying decades ago. Maybe that’s why I get along so well with a rogue troublemaker like Doug Thompson.

I enjoyed lunch, Doug. Give Amy my best and be careful on the bike.

Well, if it ain’t global warming, it sure is ‘Floyd warming’. The forecast for Floyd at the Weather Channel site is predicting highs for today and tomorrow in the mid sixties! And sunny! Say what? The 31st of January and the 1st of February? Rod Serling must be in the middle of this.

Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t complainin’. At the opposite end of the spectrum, I’m eatin’ this up! I wonder if Food Lion has any Country Style boneless pork ribs. This sounds like a day to get out on the deck and fire up the grill. Or stop by Floyd Express, grab a can of worms and hit the pond.

Last time I wondered when winter was gonna’ show up, it snowed a coupla’ days later. Me and my big mouth. You watch. Now that I’ve posted this, we’ll get three feet of it.

Around these parts, some of the local churches have a ‘Wildlife’ banquet every year. A friend of mine, Jeff Webb, my ‘coon huntin’ buddy, calls ‘em ‘critter chomps’.  January is the typical month for such an event and there’s been a few lately.

All the fellas up this way that have put meat in the freezer via the barrel of a huntin’ rifle make up their favorites dishes and gather at churches to return thanks for a bountiful hunting season. It’s a lot of fun. There’s good food, good fun, and plenty of smilin’ faces. There’s usually a few door prizes,  some story tellin’, and an award for the best dish is handed out.

Jeff called me early last week and told me there was gonna be a ‘critter chomp’ at Little River Baptist Church here in Floyd County. I’ve been to a couple of these dinners already and had a great time, so I decided I would make this one. As it turned out, I’m glad I went ’cause I had a big time.

As I was getting my camera, steady stick and tripod together, I decided I would contribute to the door prizes. Being a firearms instructor, I sometimes get free ammo. I had some layin’ around, so I grabbed a 50 pack of 12 gauge buckshot, a 100 pack of 12 gauge small shot and a sheath knife and threw it in the truck. I fired up my old Ford and mashed the motor.

Little River Baptist Church is right on highway 221, goin’ north outa’ Floyd. It’s on the left side of the highway, just before you hit Bethlehem Church Road. The church wasn’t named by throwing a dart. The church property backs right up to Little River.

My first encounter with somebody there was very encouraging. I got parked just about the same time another fella did. We met in the parking lot and I spoke and offered my hand. “Evenin’, how you?” I asked. “I’m ’bout as blessed as a man can be.” he said. I figured if the rest of the congregation was as friendly and upbeat as he was, this was gonna’ be a good evenin’. Turns out I was right.

I walked in the ‘Family Room’ with this other man and had to lay down my camera and sticks to start shakin’ hands. Some of the guys that were already there were almost lining up to greet me. In my book, that’s a good indicator of the collective heart and mind of a church. If they don’t have time to speak to me, I don’t have time to be there. Based on the first five minutes, I dedicated the rest of the evenin’ to bein’ there.

Ya’ ever notice some pastors ‘look’ like pastors? They just have that appearance about them that makes them easy to identify in a crowd. You wouldn’t know Pastor Allen Vass from Adam’s cat. He looks just like any other fella you might see at the Floyd Express. He’s not pretentious, he doesn’t put on airs and he’s not plastic. He is who he is all the time, whether he’s behind the pulpit delivering a message or out in the woods tryin’ to put one on the ground. I admire a man like that. I got no use for a pastor that changes frequencies when he comes in the church house.

Whooooo! Good night, you shoulda’ seen the food! Three eight foot tables set end to end and covered up with all kinda’ pots and pans. Venison, bear meat, wild hog and fish are a few examples of what was there. An’ that don’t include the sides. And there was a separate table altogether just for the sweets. Man, if you couldn’t find somethin’ you like, you sure missed a good chance. I was full as a tick when I got done eatin’.

Just for fun, they were gonna have a turkey callin’ contest after dinner. As it turned out, only one young fella, Brady Adkins(sp?) was brave enough(or talented enough, I don’t know which!) to come up and give it his best. I was impressed! I’ve heard a lot of turkey callin’ in my time, but I’ve never seen a young man as comfortable and relaxed as he was. I shot a short video of Brady doin’ his call and you can WATCH IT HERE.

I took quite a few photos and picked out a few that I particularly like to share with you.

They’re very proud of their building and grounds, as they should be. It’s really a pretty.

The sanctuary is beautiful and very tastefully decorated. I was struck by the painting of Christ behind the pulpit and really appreciated the cross on the north wall.

Decorations for the dinner included mounts of some of the game killed by members. This beautiful gobbler was killed by one of the young men with a 20 gauge shotgun.

Pastor Allen.

Let’s eat!