Sarge, Where the Hell Have You Been?!?!

OAFS Family Photo

That's my Dad in the photo and my oldest kid brother, The Olde Vermonter, running around the trail of the artillery piece. Said artillery piece being a howitzer, which in those days were measured by the size of the bore and not the weight of the shot. What I refer to as a cannon (or gun, the terminology differs from country to country but I'll let the real gunners weigh in on that), was measured by the weight of the shot, anywhere from the little 3-pounders up to the big boys used for sieges firing shot weighing 24-pounds (and up, I believe).

That photo is from around 1958-60 (or so) at Fort Ticonderoga in Upstate New York (which New Yorkers tell me means anything north of NYC). If you look closely you'll see a pair of legs to the right of the howitzer (ahem, behind it in the photo). That would be Your Humble Scribe, even then knowing to stay out from behind a field piece about to be fired.

Though Dad (today is his birthday, he would have been 98 today) was in the Army, he was in the Signal Corps. His knowledge of the feeding and care of black powder artillery was lacking. One does not straddle the carriage of a cannon (or howitzer, or gun, take your pick) as when fired, that piece is going to roll backwards a few feet (the actual distance depends on the size of the piece).

But you will note that Dad has a handkerchief wrapped around his head. Gunners did do this but the cloth should cover one's ears as those cannon (or howitzer, or gun, take your pick) were noisy sumbitches when fired. So Dad at least did pay attention to paintings of artillery being fired.

I'm guessing the date, The Olde Vermonter, probably knows the exact date as it is no doubt stamped on the back of the photo. Now The Olde Vermonter looks to be four or five years old, maybe as young as three (which would make it 1958) but no more than five (1960). You can't see me (duh) so I would be anywhere from five to seven years old.

We visited Fort Ti (as we called it BITD) a number of times when I was nobbut a lad. A place I truly enjoyed. Haven't been there since 1982 (I think) when we returned from Korea and I learned that a bagpipe competition was taking place there. As was (and perhaps still is) my wont, I packed The Missus Herself and The Naviguesser into the trusty old VW Beetle and off we went to the fort. About 80 miles and an hour and forty minutes by Volkswagen.

It was that day that I learned that one does not travel without providing for provisions and beverages for the crew. That was my thing, hare off into the wild and buy whatever I needed when I arrived at wherever I was going. I don't think The Missus Herself has cured me of that habit completely, though she has tried very hard to do so over the years.

Sigh ...

OAFS Photo

So yeah, where have I been? Well, right here at Chez Sarge is the simple answer. Manning that beast in the previous photo twice a week since we returned from Maryland a cuppla weeks ago. Springtime is no time to let the grass grow as it will, DAMHIK.

But the lawn is once again under control, until the next time I need to cut it.

Lawn mowing aside, I haven't felt like writing as of late. I've been busy reading, playing games on my computer, and hanging out with friends to have any time (or desire) to sit down and write. Today, obviously, being an exception.

Now juvat has gone hog wild posting about Medal of Honor winners, mostly Air Force recipients, but I note that there are a few Army guys sprinkled in there as well. Prior to 1947 the Air Force was, of course, part of the Army. This post series seems to have taken on a life of its own, which is good, those folks need to be remembered. But I daresay juvat's not going to write about all of them. There are over thirty five hundred MoH recipients. I mean sure, that would give me a nice long break from blogging, but ...

Yeah, I don't need that long a break.

OAFS Photo

Another tradition at Chez Sarge is to quaff a brew when the cutting of the grass is done. Found the beverage above in the refrigerator and as it was the only one in the fridge, I drank it. Okay, there was a Guinness, but I won't drink Guinness out of a can unless I absolutely have to, I'm not a barbarian. Okay, I am, but not that big of one. I was too lazy to find my Guinness glass, so Brigadeiro it was.

The brew was most delicious, when I went looking for where I could get more, seems that they don't make it anymore, at least not locally. I do believe The Musician, my youngest kid brother, might have gifted me that brew for Christmas. So woe is me, I may not have that one ever again.

Welp, there are plenty of other beverages I like, so be it.

So yeah, not writing (it was starting to feel like work, something I had to do, and that grated on me) and relaxing to the full extent allowed by law (I guess that means I have to wear clothes). I'll get back to it sometime, probably sooner rather than later, but please, don't hold your breath.

I'm fickle like that.

Be seeing you.