Hayden Birdwatching, Memorial Day

Hayden Birdwatching

The Soup Stone

The Soup Stone 

There is an ancient folktale about a wanderer who pulls a magical soup stone out of his pack and shows it to the astonished villagers.

Asked to demonstrate it, he has an onlooker fetch a cauldron, into which he places the stone, with appropriate ceremony and gestures.

Now, he requisitions a bunch of carrots and several large onions from the village storehouse.

Eager volunteers contribute beans, scraps of meat, and various spices, all of which goes into the pot.

Two strapping young peasants fill the pot with water from the nearby well and hang it over the communal hearth.

The water begins to bubble, and soon a tantalizing aroma fills the air. The wanderer sniffs at the soup, tastes it, then nods sagely.

He reaches in with a ladle, removes the stone, and returns it to his pack after letting it cool.

The grateful villagers fill a large wooden bowl with the delicious soup for him, and he eats until his belly can hold no more.

His hunger satisfied, he departs, leaving behind him a wondrous tale of a magical stone that conjures up the best soup that anyone can remember.

I've played and sung this song for years but do not have any very good recordings of it. Charlotte Haskin heard me sing this at a family reunion a long time ago and wanted the lyrics:

Here are the lyrics by Shel Silverstein.

Enjoy Gerry

I swear you could taste the chicken and tomatoes
The noodles and the marrow bone,
But it really wasn't nothing but some water and potatoes
And the wonderful wonderful soup stone.

Hanging from a string in my momma's kitchen
Back in the hard time days,
Was a little old stone 'bout the size of an apple.
It was smooth and worn and grey.
There wasn't much food in my momma's kitchen,
So whenever things got tight,
Momma'd boil up some water, put in the stone
Say, "Let's have some soup tonight."

And I swear you could taste the chicken and tomatoes
And the noodles and the marrow bone.
But it really wasn't nothing but some water and potatoes,
And the wonderful wonderful soup stone.

It'd been in the family for a whole lot of years,
So we knew it was a nourishing thing.
And I remember momma as she stirred it in the water,
And we could all hear her sing.
"It's a magical stone and as long as we got it
We'll never have a hungry night.
Just add a little love to the wonderful soup stone,
And everything will be alright."

And I swear we could taste the chicken and tomatoes
And the noodles and the marrow bone.
But it really wasn't nothing but some water and potatoes,
And the wonderful wonderful soup stone.

So it carried us all through the darkening days
'Till finally the sunshine came.
And the soup stone started a'gathering dust,
But it hung there just the same.
Ever since then, Lord, the food's been plenty
But every now and then I find
That momma in the kitchen and the wonderful soup stone
Drifts across my mind.

And again I taste the chicken and tomatoes
And the noodles and the marrow bone.
But it really wasn't nothing but some water and potatoes
And the wonderful wonderful soup stone.
We were nourished by the wonderful soup stone.
Oh, the wonderful wonderful soup stone.

Guess Who.....

Guess Who? 

Hayden Clark Hubbard @ 7 Months With Parents & Friends

Hayden Clark Hubbard & Friends 

The Elmer Hubbard Family With Some Of The First Born Grandchildren

Elmer & Agnes Hubbard & Family Circa 1935  

Carol Fights Back: A True Story

Bonanza BB Hole

Carol sat with a BB gun while all us kids were having fun looking at Bonanza on TV
A big gun fight at a mountain shack and Carol thought she'd fire back, she hit an outlaw with one brass BB
The television set just buzzed then died
While Carol grinned and looked around wide eyed
And we stared at that tiny hole till David dropped the popcorn bowl then we all laughed until we almost cried.

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.

Truck Driving

I’ve hauled bark for Timberland to make charcoal briquettes
Getting paid 8 cents a mile, I took all I could get.
Brockway diesels , Screaming Jimmies, Mack B63’s
Concrete batch truck, Andrews Air Base, Washington DC

I drove to put myself through school, to try and change my luck
Off the farm and just discharged, I drove those damned old trucks.
I’ve hauled clinker, ice and milk and charcoal by the ton
Double clutching, jamming gears making midnight runs.

Quarts of Pepsi with no food kept me tightly wired
Sleep deprived hallucinations, always over tired
Triplex, Duplex, 5-speed straights, vacuum shift rear ends
5 speed mains -auxiliary 3’s, combos with out end

I always got them figured out sometimes while on the road
And I always drove those damned old trucks, as fast as they would go
I’ve left smoking strips of rubber and watched those big duals burn
When I locked them up to miss a car as they made a no-left turn

I’ve endured the deadly boredom then the special thrill
When I blew the air brake diaphragms at the top of a steep hill
I’ve passed semis 3 abreast on narrow 2 lane roads
Trying to keep momentum up with twenty five ton loads

I’ve seen my trailer in my mirrors skid and come around
And damn near jack knife tires sliding on the icy ground
I’ve rolled backwards down a hill in a state of abject terror
When I missed a shift and stalled it out and my trailer brakes lost air

I got it started, revved it up and jammed it into low
The tractor reared high in the air when I popped the clutch to go

So now when I'm out on the road and I see a big truck roll
I want to be there in that seat but I guess now I’m too old
I know I’ll probably never get to go back to those times
But sometimes just before I sleep I hear a diesel whine

And I feel the deep vibrations of a big rig in my bones
And I drive a midnight highway, fast and young and wild, alone.
And I feel the deep vibrations of a big rig in my bones 
And I drive a midnight highway, fast and young and wild, alone.

Hayden Clark Hubbard At 5 Months & His Dad

Hayden & Craig

Clifton J. Hubbard & Family circa 1947

Dad, Marilyn Ann, Clifton LaVerne, Gerald Elmer, Mom
With Douglas Maynard

The Hubbard Hill Fire Tower

The Hubbard Hill Fire Tower

We'd sometimes climb that tower every day
And look at mountains 80 miles away

Then our dog Prince fell off a landing and all the kids were soon demanding that Dad not put that loved old dog away.

So we took that loved dog to the vet and dad and mom would always let us keep him in the house while his hip healed

And his stiff leg would catch and so he'd have to swing it out to go chasing cows and varmints in the fields

When Prince got old he got real sick and blind
Then one day Doug in order to be kind

Took the double 20 gauge and put that old dog in his grave and left him where some wild flowers twined.

.....The following is excerpted from “Fire Towers Of The Catskills, Their History And Lore”, Martin Podskoeh, Purple Mountain Press, 2000.

In 1947, the state took down the 80-foot tower that stood on Gilbert Lake State Park and rebuilt it on Hubbard Hill. The mountain is named after the Hubbard family who have owned land and farmed there since the 1800’s.

However, the state misnamed it Leonard Hill Fire Tower, after a lower hill owned by Dr. Duncan Leonard next to Hubbard Hill.

“It wasn't supposed to be Leonard Hill,” says Frances Hubbard. “Somebody got the maps mixed up. It always bothered me.”

Fred VanAken was the first observer at the tower. He started working April 8, 1949. He and the other rangers parked at the Hubbard farm and followed a rugged trail along the telephone lines to the tower.

“About 15 years after the tower was built, the state purchased 75 acres from my parents,” said Doug Hubbard, son of Clifton and Frances Hubbard. “The state built another road to the tower on the north side of the mountain, and we hardly saw the observers after that.”

One day during the 80’s, observer Judy Merwin gazed out the tower window at the beautiful valleys and woods of Schoharie. A young couple standing next to her had hiked to the tower and were learning about the area. Judy pointed out the Majestic Catskill Mountains to the south and the fertile Schoharie Valley to the north.

In the distant they could see a single-engine plane approaching the tower. As the plane got closer, they saw that it was pulling something. The young man said to his girlfriend, “Look! It has a sign.”

The words were now visible: “WILL YOU MARRY ME?” The young woman’s eyes filled with tears. She embraced the young man with a heartfelt, “Yes.”

Me & Marna

Marna & Dennis Ford, Sister Marilyn & Me.

My Own Ballad Of Forty Dollars: Me & Marna

From the language school in Monterey in 1958
I hitched to San Diego to take a needed break
My older sister Marilyn had lived there for a while
With husband Jim and Marna, a seven month old child

They picked me up in a 54 bright green Ford two door coupe,
The back seat full of groceries, to feed the weekend group
With Marilyn in the middle and Marna on her lap,
Jim drove, me in the death seat, in my beat-up Army cap

We were driving to Ramona on a fast 4 lane highway,
I recall the sun was brilliant on that cloudless summer day
At 65 we smoothly cruised through mountain vistas wide
Till some guy ran a stop sign and hit us in the side.

The death seat door snapped open, in a blink of shocked alarm,
I hit the road at 60 per with Marna in my arms
I recall my sister flying by in a storm of milk and flour
As Jim one-handed steered the car so he wouldn’t run us over

On heels and butt I slid along but then I lost my grip
As Marna’s legs began to slide real low beside my hips.
Then suddenly we took a bounce and then we flew like birds
As Marna’s leg outside my thigh hit a concrete curb

Then everything was blurry and my mind and body buzzed
As I wondered what had happened and where the baby was.
In just about a second, four Navy Corpsman came
And loaded us on stretchers & made sure we knew our names.

You see, a Navy ambulance was just behind our Ford
They quickly gathered us all up and took us to their ward.
Marna’s leg was badly bruised, my sister cut her lip,
I seemed fine but my old jeans were split up to the hip.

We finally got all sorted out and went on home to eat,
Bruised and sore and all of us unsteady on our feet.
When I got up next morning I felt a little sick
I figured every inch of me’d been beaten with a stick.

I caught a bus to Monterey an 8 hour painful ride
I had to get back to the base before my pass expired.
When I signed in next morning I heard the top kick say,
Who dragged you through a knothole? You look like hell today.”

“I heard you went much further than the limits of your pass,
If you did and you admit it, the CO will have your ass.”
I was stiff and awful sore for just about a week
Then Top Kick called me in to meet a slick insurance geek.

He said “I want to settle and my client wants release,
Here’s a check for $40 dollars, cash it quickly if you please.
The top kick growled at me and said “I can’t believe your luck,
You took the world’s best friggin ride and got paid forty bucks”

Marna’s a grown woman now, she grew up warm and sweet
She’s got a loving family and every time we meet
I remind her that I saved her life and that she had all the luck
While all I got was a skinned up butt and a measly forty bucks.

Hayden Clark Hubbard With Uncle Matt Clark & Abigail Sarmac, March 05 

Evelyn Glenn Hubbard Taylor

The Last Of The Original Eight Children Of Agnes & Elmer Hubbard
Born Valentines Day 1915 Deceased March 8, 2005, 90 Years Old.
Mother Of Sons Barry, Glen, David & Daughter Yvonne (Bonnie.) Wife Of Clifford Taylor.
Glen died when he was 21 and David died at about 6 months. Bonnie died a couple of years ago.
Frances Marietta Barber Hubbard, wife of Clifton Hubbard is the only one
of that generation left alive.

Happy Birthday Wayne Morris Hubbard

Born March 11, 1946 The name Wayne comes from an occupational surname meaning "wagon maker", derived from Old English wægn "wagon".

Now That We Are All 50...How Did It Feel?

David John, Carol Sylvia, Gerald Elmer, Susan Frances, Clifton LaVerne, Marilyn Ann, Wayne Morris, Douglas Maynard

How did you feel turning 50 that day
When your mind was still that of a kid
But your body was tired and could never again
Help you do all the things that you did

When your dreams of the life that you planned as a child
Never worked and you still don't know why
Why aren't you rich, why don't you have fame
And why's there a tear in your eye

When all of the hurts that you had still live on
Where nobody sees in your heart
And you'll never again have the glow that you felt
When you knew you were feeling life's start

You remember your childhood traitors and traumas
And all of the lies you were told
And all of the promises you first believed
Getting hollow and dark getting old

You're always young in your mind it is said
No matter the face in the mirror
That you see with surprise and think to yourself
"What is that old man doing here".

Getting old means life's colors are starting to fade
An it means that your losing life's breath
But it's better than the only plausible choice
Cause the only alternative's death.

So you look at your mate and you look at your kids
And you see all the joy that's been had
It's hard to believe that it's been 50 years
And most of it hasn't been bad

So you pick your self up, maybe not quite so fast
Take a deep breath and open life's door
Take giant light steps like a kid in his play
Starting life for 50 years more.

Seventeen

Gerald Elmer Hubbard At Seventeen

Seventeen just out of school with nothing on his mind
No job, no cash and damn few friends to count on in a bind

Milking cows and mowing hay and making tractors run
The nearest girls 5 miles away don’t want a farmers son

They smell like cowshit, work like hell and most will early die
Without a pot to piss in and no one there to cry.

So he joined the Army just to leave the farm
With hero dreams and fantasies of stripes all up his arm

Seventeen and on his own and off to meet the world
Of hard-assed sergeants, soft-eyed whores and tight assed Christian girls

Seventeen and off the farm, an Army PFC
Three squares a day, a uniform, and all the world to see

Let him rock & let him roll, 3 years is all its for
And then its time to face the world and grow up time for sure

Let him rock & let him roll, 3 years is all its for
And then its time to face the world and grow up time for sure.

The Red Wheel Barrow

The Red Wheel Barrow

When I was young and in my prime, I though that I could right
All the world of misery and fear and war and fright
I simply could not understand why folks did not agree
With all the brilliant activists that tried to set them free.

I chanced upon a shrunk old man beside a flowing stream
With continence of peace and joy and gaze like from a dream
I asked him why he did not fight the world to him unfair
He softly uttered these few words with a hundred mile stare

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens

Now what the hell is that supposed to mean I loudly cried
I could not understand his words no matter how I tried
You must be deaf or very strange or maybe quite insane
He looked at me with steady eyes and simply said again

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens

I left the old man by the stream and went to live my life
Full of work and happiness, turmoil, love & strife
I struggled hard to win the fights and tried to find my bliss
And everything I finally learned all comes down to this

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens

I’m getting pretty old now and deaths around the bend
I’m looking hard to find a way before the very end
To understand “The Moment” and live there all the time
While these wise words of comfort, drift across my mind.

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens

With Apologies & Thanks To William Carlos Williams

80 Year Old Mom Confronts Varmints With Extreme Prejudice..

Frannie Oakley; Ella, Mom, Steven

The Cousins At Craig's In San Francisco

Jeff, Craig & Hayden, Terry & David