Jet Trails: Un-empathetic Version

Jet Trails Talking Blues: Un-empathetic Version

Jet Trails 
I was working in the milk house singing “Seven Lonely Days”
When I heard my first jet aircraft flying by
I think it was the Saber Jets from the SAC base out in Rome
That left those crisp white contrails in the sky

And after that I seemed to hear and see jet planes a lot
When the mountain skies were cloudless blue & clear
And I thought it must be always clean and cool up in that plane
While we worked in dust and grease and dirt down here.

I recall the old Case baler and a sea of seed and dust
As we pulled those “blocks” and pushed those wires through
And I’d see the long jet contrails like the white foam on the sea
And there had to be a better job to do.

I was “Leaving On A Jet Plane” long before the song was sung
As the summer gnats & horse flies buzzed my head
“Where the rain never falls and the sun always shines”
Was a lyric still unwritten in the attic in my bed.

“Away and westward bound, high above the clouds she’ll fly”
Was a thought that seemed to help us while we toiled
In the winter in the snow, in the spring time cool & wet
In the summer when the dust & hayseed boiled.

Now when I fly and see the country roll out far below
An I think of those old hard days on the farm
I don’t look back in anger, I just always look ahead
And realize it didn’t do us harm

And I wonder if there’s not some kid who’s watching us fly by
And he’s stuck there doing some damn dirty task
And he wishes somehow someway he was up here in this plane
And then I think...

“Tough shit, son, kiss my ass.
“I broke my butt while driving truck to get out of the shit
So if you want out, just suck it up and do your own damn bit.....
SEVEN LONELY DAYS
Recorded by Bonnie Lou
Written by Marshall Brown, Alden Shuman & Earl Shuman

[C] Seven Lonely Days, [F] make one lonely [C] week
[G7] Seven lonely nights, make [F] one lonely [C] me
Ever since the time, you [F] told me were [C] through
[G7] Seven Lonely Days, I [F] cried and cried for [C] you.

CHORUS
[F] Oh my darling you're [C] crying, boo [C7] hoo hoo [F] hoo
There's no use in [G7] denying, I cried for [C] you
[F] It was your favorite [C] pastime, making me [F] blue
Last week was the [G7] last time, I cried for [C] you.

Seven hankies blue, I filled with my tears
Seven letters, too, I filled with my fears
Guess it never pays, to make your lover blue
Seven Lonely Days, I cried and cried for you.

CHORUS

Cory Carlton, Grandson of Charlotte Haskin Carlton

Cory Carlton 

A 2003 Red Bank High School graduate, Signal Mountain resident Cody Carlton recently was named to the Dean's list (magna cum laude) at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. Majoring in History with a minor in Anthropology, Cody is the son of Larry & Dawn Carlton of Signal Mountain and grandson Wayne Carlton Of Chattanooga & Charlotte Carlton, also of Chattanooga. While at Red Bank, Cody was the advertising editor of the yearbook and a memeber of the varsity tennis team. He is a member of the Signal Mountain Baptist Church.

And you probably thought it was only the men on the Hubbard side that were smart & goodlooking...

Hayden & Friends And THE DECK

H 

An Incident While Backswathing

An Incident While Backswathing

We had to use our pitchforks when the back swath board broke off
To clear a path for the mower shoe to cut another swath

LaVerne the oldest, just thirteen, drove that old orange tractor
While sister Marilyn, then me, with pitchforks followed after

We’d follow close behind Laverne as the cutter bar cut hay
And swipe our pitchforks sideways to cleanly clear the way

The summer dry, the mower din would flush all sorts of critters
Bees and hoppers flies galore, and new-born field mice litters

Swallows from the barn would swoop and dive to dine in flight
Their slate blue wings would flash and gleam with flicking glinting lights

The new-mown hay, bright summer sun, our hats were made of straw
To quench our thirst, a quart of water in a canning jar

On one long pass, the mower noise put out a baby rabbit
I shed my boots to run it down  to see if I could grab it

It darted left then right then left then straight and when it did
I stepped on it and skinned it from its tail up to its head

All pink and red, it throbbed, alive, black flies began their peck
I picked it up, with one firm twist, I broke that poor thing’s neck

On that same day, I stabbed a dirty pitchfork through my foot
I got a bad infection, for days I just stayed put

I sometimes think if there be gods, they saw that step so cruel
And they then partially invoked the “eye-for-an-eye” rule.

And as I think about it now, that summer’s days’ long gone
The hayfield’s smell and the swallow’s dive I’m sure will carry on.

And if I get into those same straits and flounder on death’s seas
I hope someone will have the heart to do the same for me.

The Calf Man

https://hubbardfamilymusic.tumblr.com/post/4469004166/the-calf-man-a-feed-bag-on-the-mail-box-meant-we

Hey Hayden, Meet Your Great Great Great Grandparents

Hayden's Great, Great, Great Grandparents On His Father's Father's Father's Mother's Side, Sarah & John Haskin

The couple is Sarah “Tay” Mace Haskin & John Haskin, Hayden's Great, great, great grandparents.

The three women are “Tay” (1847-1934) in the middle, Phoebe (1870-1927) and Agnes on the right, (1879-1947). Agnes is my father’s mother.

The artillery men are how John might have looked in his unit.

The One hundred and Thirteenth Regiment N.Y. Volunteers, or Seventh Regiment, N.Y. Volunteer Artillery was organized as the Albany County Regiment in the 13th Senatorial District. The first man was enlisted July 24, 1862. Over 1,100 men were mustered in August 18, 1862.

The regiment left Albany August 19, 1862. It was stationed in the defenses of Washington. Changed, December, 1862, from infantry to artillery, and designated as Seventh N.Y. Volunteer Artillery. It built, re-constructed and cleared timber for garrisons around Washington DC.

May 17, 1864, the regiment joined the Army of the Potomac, near Spotsylvania Court House, Virginia. Was engaged in the battles of the Po River, North Anna River, Tolopotony Creek, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, Deep Bottom and Ream’s Station.

It suffered severely, and was greatly reduced in numbers.

February 22, 1865, the remnant was ordered to Baltimore, till mustered out June, 1865. It was stationed for awhile at Fort Pennsylvania in the picture.

John wrote a poem of his life and his experiences with the number thirteen.

From the poem, one can glean that he was born the 4th of 13 children in a log cabin and at 16, started working as a “month-hand”, or a “hired man” as we used to call them.

He probably worked for room & board and a small salary for about 12 years when he joined the Union army at 28.

He apparently served 3 years, and 6 months after his discharge, he married Sarah “Tay”.

I somehow know Sarah was his second wife but do not know what happened to her. He died three years after writing this poem.

“My Experience With the Fatal Number Thirteen”
by John Haskin, 7th N. Y Heavy Artillery Co. F , Middleburgh, R.D.1

I was born in old Schoharie in 1834
In a little old log cabin with latch strings out the door,
In the good old town of Broome, so loyal and so true,
To our glorious starry banner and the boys who wore the blue.

I there grew up to boyhood, on those rough and rugged hills,
Where I learned the art of farming and those rugged hills to till.
Until the age of sixteen, I thought t’would do no harm,
To hire out as month-hand to work upon a farm.

I kept on in that vocation, until August 62,
Then changed my occupation, put on a suit of “blue”
To march ‘way down in Dixie, because I thought it right,
To protect our home and country, although we had to fight.

I was one of thirteen children, the fourth one of the lot
On the thirteenth day of August in the morning at six o’clock,
There were thirteen of our neighbor boys, started off with cheers,
At night we all were members of the 113th Volunteers.

For near three years we tramped it through Virginia’s mud and sand
Sometimes we were down-hearted, sometimes a happy band;
When the cruel war was over, all but two came marching home,
To resume the occupation, that we left while we were gone.

On the thirteenth of December, I took to me a wife,
Who was thirteen years my junior, born the thirteenth of July;
Though this fatal number, thirteen, comes so ‘oft in my career,
I am still quite hale and hearty, in my eighty-second year.

John Haskin 1834-1919 Co. F 7th NY Heavy Art Civil War. Buried at Soldiers Memorial-Keyserkill Cemetary, Town Of Broome, Schoharie County, New York

Just a simple, small desire that I hope's all right with you,
May we all be writing poems at the age of eighty-two..Gerry Hubbard

Hayden & First Solid Food

Hayden Clark Hubbard First Solid Food 

The Elmer & Agnes Haskin Hubbard Family

The Family "Becoming" Before Ina Bell & Winifred 

I think this picture was taken in 1916 or 1917. Winifred, on Agnes's lap, looks to be about a year old or so. She was born in 1915. I think it is very interesting to think that our immediate ancesters survived the "The Influenza Pandemic of 1918"

from the internet...."The influenza pandemic of 1918-1919 killed more people than the Great War, known today as World War I (WWI), at somewhere between 20 and 40 million people. It has been cited as the most devastating epidemic in recorded world history. More people died of influenza in a single year than in four-years of the Black Death Bubonic Plague from 1347 to 1351. Known as "Spanish Flu" or "La Grippe" the influenza of 1918-1919 was a global disaster."

If you do a Google search for the Spanish Flu, you can get a full understanding of what the world went through during the time Agnes & Elmer were raising their family.