Newspaper Page Text
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 11, 2017
THE JACKSON HERALD
PAGE 5A
There is no easy way out
It is a rainy, dismal Sunday afternoon as I begin this
article. As I try to come up with something upbeat to
write about, I am overpowered by memories of events
from this past week.
We lost Tom Petty, a well-
known rock artist from Gaines
ville. Florida, born just one
month and two days before I
was. You didn't have to be a
big fan of his music and you
didn’t have to be particularly
fond of the Florida Gators, but
you would have to be cold and
heartless if you did not feel some
powerful emotion at the tribute
given to him during the Florida/
LSU game on Saturday.
Then there was the horrible act
of insanity that took place in Las
Vegas on Sunday of last week.
Fifty-eight individuals were killed and many others
seriously injured by a complete stranger, shooting
from a room overlooking a concert they were attend
ing. No one will ever know what this person’s motives
were, but he definitely held a deep-seated hatred for
the human race.
I am not here to try to convince you that guns are
good, or bad. Nor am I here to defend the Second
Amendment, but we are going to be hearing a lot
about gun control and reform in the coming weeks
and months.
I have two grandsons under the age of two. I don’t
know what these children will do to entertain them
selves, but I do know they will probably know more
about computers and electronic gadgetry before they
reach the age of 10 than I know right now.
When I became old enough to play and interact
with kids my own age, a big part of our playtime was
devoted to war games, cops and robbers, or cowboys
and Indians. All these activities involved store-bought
toy guns, or at least some type of homemade repli
cas. These were some of the first objects I remember
playing with and it would be hard for many American
men (even those a lot younger than me) to erase the
memories of those symbolic firearms that were part
of our culture from the time we started walking and
talking in complete sentences.
If guns were outlawed today and the govern
ment started collecting them, those owned by decent
law-abiding citizens would be fairly easy to confis
cate, especially those bought new from gun dealers.
It would be almost impossible to get them from crim
inals or those who intend to use them in criminal acts.
Is it ridiculous to even suggest this? You will proba
bly be amazed at what will come out of the mouths of
anti-gun activists, both in government and members of
the mainstream media in the days to come.
The incident in Las Vegas was first reported as the
“worst” massacre in American history. As time went
by, however, some commentators began to refer to it
as the worst in “modern” history. It seems that they
might have remembered an incident that took place in
The harvest moon is nothing more than a full moon
which appears nearest the start of fall. According to a
modicum of research, the harvest moon coincides with
the September full moon although
it can fall in early October which
is the case this year.
The harvest moon rose on Oct.
5 at 2:40 p.m. You may ask, and
I wasn’t sure until I took to the
Internet, why is it called the har
vest moon? The answer has such
emotional capital for those of us
who have special affection for the
fall season.
Years ago when life was sim
pler, when technology, poor man
ners, common courtesy and self
ishness had not compromised our
lives, the harvest moon brought
about bright moonlight early in the evening and assist
ed farmers in harvesting their crops. The days were
getting shorter and it was important to “get the hay in
the barn.”
Among the many songs to hold dear is “Harvest
Moon.” The most golden of the golden oldies, which
warms your heart even if you hear it in the dead of
winter. Its resonating lyrics have stood the test of
time, the song having a connection all the way back
to the Ziegfeld Follies — real music if you know
what I mean. Those were the days of melody and
romanticism as opposed to noise, yelling and scream
ing which we so often hear today. “Harvest Moon,”
has been recorded by many legends of entertainment
including Kate Smith, Laurel and Hardy, Vaughn
Monroe, the Four Aces, Mitch Miller and Rosemary
Clooney. Kate Smith singing “Harvest Moon,” made
you feel that you should stand at attention and bow in
reverence at its conclusion.
While I haven’t committed it to memory, I often
look up the lyrics in my computer this time of the
year, just to bring them to life:
“Oh, Shine on, shine on harvest moon, up in the sky;
“I ain’t had no lovin’ since April, January, June or
July.
“Snow time, ain’t no time to stay outdoors and
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South Dakota back in December of 1890.
If you Google the incident near Wounded Knee
Creek that occurred just 10 years before the turn of
the century, you will find differing accounts of what
took place there. No one knows exactly how many
people died, but we do know at least 150 members of
the Lakota Indian Tribe lost their lives and at least 50
more were injured. Between a third and a half of these
were women and children. Many historians believe
the total numbers were much higher.
A detachment of the U. S. 7th Calvary Regiment
under the command of Major Samuel M. Whitside
surrounded this group of Sioux Indians with the inten
tions of disarming them. No one knows exactly what
ignited it, but many say the disarmament was almost
complete when a deaf Indian, who claimed to have
paid a lot of money for his rifle, did not want to sur
render it. Someone (it isn’t clear on which side) fired
a shot and afterwards, in addition to the Indians, 25
soldiers lay dead and several more were injured. Sev
eral of the fallen soldiers received Medals of Honor.
The Indians were buried in mass graves.
This is nothing about history repeating itself.
What I am saying, however, is that this incident that
occurred many years ago should not be forgotten
when our public servants try to resolve a problem
there is no solution to.
* * *
Still trying to come up with something upbeat, a
relative from Smyrna sent us a video he had made
from his drone. His son is the kicker for their high
school football team and he was trying to get a close-
up view of the ball going through the uprights. It left
the tee perfectly, but as it headed toward the goal post
the camera suddenly turned upside-down and started
going through all sorts of strange gyrations. The kick
was good, but Kevin’s drone was a total loss.
Our church was supposed to receive a shipment of
pumpkins from an Indian reservation in New Mexico
early Saturday morning to sell for an annual fundrais
er. Late Friday, they informed us the truck had not
departed as scheduled and it would not be arriving
until Sunday afternoon around 12:30.
I could not be on hand to help, but a church member
came by and picked up my tractor to assist with the
unloading. The weather forecast was for heavy rains
that day. When we got out of church at noon, we had
messages on our phones that said the truck must be
unloaded at 12:30, rain or shine.
When we drove by the “Pumpkin Patch” later that
afternoon, there were no pumpkins, no people, and no
tractor. I immediately got a 70s song stuck in my head
that went like, “Where have all the pumpkins gone
and.... where’s my tractor?
I assume the sun will come out eventually and we
will see an assortment of orange pumpkins on that
field and hopefully an orange tractor too.
Thanks for reading
Mike Rector is a local contractor. He can be reached
at mikerector405@gmail.com.
spoon;
“So shine on, shine on, harvest moon, for me and
my gal.”
When you hear “Harvest Moon” during the harvest
season, you usually are visually swooning to displays
of hay bales, corn stalks and pumpkins and know that
when the harvest moon comes up, there soon will be a
fire in a wood burning fireplace.
The fall is the best time of the year with all of the
aforementioned charming and inspiring us. We know
that following the appearance of the harvest moon,
that fall color will soon give us further emotional
sway and affection for the outdoors and nature.
There have been many times, when it was possible
to leave after a Georgia home game on Saturday after
noon, catch a flight to Albany, New York and drive to
Manchester, New Hampshire, to emotionally invest
into New England color which knows no bounds when
it comes to finding adjectives to describe the scene
and setting.
Pancakes and maple syrup. The Vermont Coun
try Store. The Battenkill River and a rainbow trout
moving about carefree and slothfully, cocksure that
no angler can get the best of him. The New England
experience is awe inspiring, but there is much compli
ment to be tossed about for October in our own state.
Fall in North Georgia is festival time—from apples,
to sorghum, to moonshine. Oktoberfest in Helen
practically lasts all fall, but the best the northern half
of our state has to offer is the Chattahoochee and
an opportunity to trout fish while the turning of the
leaves takes first prize with your emotions.
Most places, rightly so, are catch and release rivers
and creeks, but I have been able, in times past, to catch
a nice rainbow with autumn leaves falling about—
then filet the trout for the grill to be followed by
dinner and a nice bottle of wine while the host played
“Harvest Moon” on the tape deck. That is ultimate
fall fulfillment.
Is there some way we can make October last for at
least 60 days!
Loran Smith is a columnist for Mainstreet Newspa
pers. He is the co-host of the University of Georgia
football tailgate show.
Sickened by hatred
Dear Editor:
I am so saddened and sick to the heart by the hatred I see
in people today... even those who classify themselves as
“Christian.”
We no longer talk to or with one another. We scream at
each other and talk past each other using language that could
be classified as coming from the mouth of a long-shoreman.
Foul language is not tough. It is a sign of ignorance showing
that one does not have knowledge of the appropriate lan
guage needed to express oneself appropriately.
Compromise has been reclassified as a “four letter word.”
How do we think this country happened? Do we think our
founding fathers saw everything the same and we just sailed
into becoming the United States on a smooth sea? Never!!
But those people put aside their own biases and “compro
mised” for the common good.
Shame on us for considering those who want to compro
mise as terrible... shame on our behavior... shame on our
hatred of our fellow man (any of them). We didn’t create all
people equal...God did!... and it is time we remember that!!!
When Christ walked on this earth, he showed empathy for
all. In fact, he showed mercy for the downtrodden, society
rejects, the ignored, the suffering. He even used them in his
parables and teachings.
Thanks for the ear.
Sincerely,
Phyllis E Drehouse
Jefferson
Congratulates Alexander
on reappointment
Dear Editor:
On behalf of the State Bar of Georgia, I would like to
express congratulations to Jackson County State Court
Judge Robert D. Alexander Jr., also a partner with Davidson
Hopkins & Alexander PC. in Jefferson, on his recent reap
pointment by Gov. Nathan Deal as a member of the Georgia
Circuit Public Defender Supervisory Panel.
All Georgians will benefit from Judge Alexander’s con
tinued service on the circuit panel, which is responsible for
appointing and reviewing the performance of the public
defender for indigent persons charged with criminal offenses
in each of Georgia’s judicial circuits.
Judge Alexander’s acceptance of this appointment is
evidence of his ongoing dedication to serving the public, in
addition to his 18 years in the legal profession. His fellow
members of the State Bar of Georgia wish him well in a new
term of professional leadership.
Sincerely,
Brian D. “Buck” Rogers
President of the State Bar of Georgia
A crack in the door,
filled with light
By Nathan Almodovar
It has been a little over two weeks since my grandfather’s
passing and the burden of this loss has not subsided. The
heaviness I feel remains like a yoke resting around my neck,
pressing my shoulders down, bringing my spirit low. Quietly,
I presume on living, carrying this misery close to my heart.
Perhaps one of the greatest afflictions casted upon men
is the knowledge of their own mortality. Each of us under
stands that our time here is limited. We are bom, we grow
old, and then we die — a cycle of life that no one can escape.
The hands of death come as a surprise. I was not prepared
for my grandfather to leave. In my eyes, he was so much
larger than life.
Now he has been taken to some place where I can no lon
ger accompany him and see him off. Overnight, my grand
dad became like the ship that sailed over the horizon. On the
seashore where I stand, he has gone out of my sight, not to
return. My hope is that there are others on some distant shore
who proclaim, “here he comes!”
What is helping me deal with this tragedy is looking at
it like I’m in a dark room and there is a door with a crack,
filled with light. This darkness is merely representative of my
sorrow and the loss of someone who I built my life around.
However, this light is the hope of opportunity and the bless
ings that God will provide along this distant and narrow road.
If I allow myself to be beset by what has been taken away,
then I will rob myself and others of the good that is to come.
Though this is a natural part of Life, there is a discomfort
in the loss of someone that helped you survive. Someone
who had taken the time out of their own life to make sure
that you were comfortable; safe from the sort of hardships
that come to plague so many of us.
In burying my grandfather, I have buried the infant my
mother handed him. The small child who looked up to him
as a father has gone with him, for much of this child’s iden
tity had been shaped by this man. There is almost no greater
blessing than a grandparent who loves their grandchild.
In my last column, I concluded with the idea that there
would no longer be a purpose in writing for the paper.
In the beginning. I looked at this as an opportunity for
advancement. I was fresh out of college, and I wanted to do
something that was in common with my passion. Overtime,
writing for the paper evolved into a hobby I shared with my
granddad. On a weekly basis, if I made it into the paper, I
would share published works with my old man, just to see
his face light up. He was thrilled at the idea of me writing.
I think to stop would be an insult to the happiness and pride
my granddad experienced.
With this loss, a door has been shut. There is another, how
ever, that has light shining through the crack and it has given
me the hope to get by.
Nathan Almodovar is a columnist for MainStreet newspa
pers. He can be reached at nathanalmodovar@gmail.com.
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Harvest Moon
loran
smith