The things you can see on a bike ride.

Dear Blog Reader.

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. Vacation is over and I am back in the saddle. Although the saddle is a bit different for a few days. The great city of Pittsburgh has opened its doors to the people of my chosen career. I make it a firm policy to not write about the job. I continue that policy here. I only share that I am away and with vacation, I will have been gone from home for a week and a half. More importantly, I am away from the lovely Miss Beverly for three days. I know you road warriors are sarcastically crying boo hoo . . . "break out the violin section. You poor baby."

You are right. I am blessed. Your lives are affected by those long absences. I know because my life is affected by this short term absence. So I take my hat off to you.

That is an aside. Back to the vacation. I mentioned in last week's blog that Bev and I were on vacation in Beverly Shores on the beautiful banks of Lake Indiana. It has become the "go to" vacation spot for the lovely Miss Beverly and I. It is close enough that we can get there in 3 hours and yet far enough away that we are away from home. We aren't going to run home to take care of the dog or (as hard as it is to say) I can't go home to pick some green beans or cucumbers. The garden is on its own for that week.

The thing about having that "go to" place is over time you start to get the lay of the land. You learn the best places for the farmer's sunrise platter or peaches by the half bushel. More importantly we have found numerous outlets for Sherman's ice cream. It is a wonderous ice cream that we found in South Haven, Michigan 6? years ago.

I love the area. That Michiana land around the lower curve of Lake Indiana. Every time I ride along the south shore past the power plant cooling tower that looks like a nuclear power cooling tower (but it isn't) past the little bars and rail yards at the edge of Michigan City, I am reminded of stories of Jean Sheperd. He is an Indiana author that grew up in the Region. He was a humorist and radio show host. In 1966, he put together a compendium of essays into a book called "In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash." I found the book 20 years ago and it has become one of the books that has made the transition with me through two media. I had it as a paper back. It was lost in one of the many book purges that the Sharritts have suffered during the years. I bought a second copy to store on my IPad. We will see how long it lasts.

It is one of the books that has made a lasting impression on my life. Some people look to the Self Help genre to find hints and helps to make their lives better. That route never works for me. I have started numerous self help books never finishing the third chapter. However, I may pick up a book about canning and find a pertinent pointer for my life. Six months ago I was reading one of the many murder mysteries in which I indulge and I found what it looks like to have a bunch of guys in your crew who watch your back. I was sharing another insight with my counselor and he was excited to write down the name of the book so he could share it with other clients. The advise was that good. Alas, it was one line in another mystery.

So I pick up these tips to live by in obscure places. In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash was one such gold mine. Sheperd has an essay that describes the difference between the famous and the great unwashed. His premise is that every person faces three or four turning points in their life. How they react in that moment of blinding self awareness, determines if they are one of the famous people or the throng. When faced with the blinding truth of our existence most of us slink off to the weeds where we hide what we see from those around us. The famous? The famous when faced with their inadequacy put on a pair of sunglasses walk down to the nearest coffee shop and order a latte to drink out on the sidewalk under an umbrella.

So I carry the brilliance of Jean Shepard around with me in Northern Indiana as I do my favorite thing on a vacation. Because of advanced technology, I can take a box full of electrons smaller than a pack of cigarettes, tell it that I want to ride 50 miles and the GPS pixies will discover a route on rarely traveled roads that are in pretty good shape. I attach my Garmin to my handlebars, ride in the direction it tells me to ride. 500 feet before a turn it will tell me to go left or right and count down the feet until I have reached that intersection.

So I leave the directions to the pixie and just ride. I ride wherever it tells me to ride. I turn right. I turn left, I have no idea of where I am at. I have not paid close enough attention to get back home if the technology fails me. I just ride. I ride and look at the world through someone else's eyes. For a ride in the Region, it is Jean Shepard's eyes. I see the ridiculous, the sacred, the harmonious and the tone deaf.

Last week, I saw an old time dairy farm. The farmer was cutting hay in anticipation of a few dry days. I say old time and I mean the kind of farm that was prevalent 30 years ago but has disappeared to be replaced by the Fair Oaks of the world. Fair Oaks milks 30,000 cows just south of Chicago; 30,000 cows. For perspective, it would replace 300 dairies similar to the one that I grew up on. As I watched the mower make I couple of laps, I was transported to our farm and the hours and hours that I had done the same thing. In comparison, when I drive by Fair Oaks, I think what are they going to do with all of that poo. It turns out that they turn it into natural gas to run their fleet of trucks and buses.

A ten acre field of cucumbers was three miles down the road. I was flabbergasted; ten acres of cucumbers. And to think that I am limited to one plant at a time. Although I have found that you can cheat a little bit if you plant 3 seeds in a hill and be covered up with cukes, but still ten acres. You get some really big garden tools for 10 acres. You would have a lot of pickles to eat.

My travels took me past several "Stop the Freight Trains" signs. Really? Stop freight trains. I thought that we had fought that fight back in the 1800's. In fact, freight trains probably was one of the factors that tipped the balance to the North in the Civil War. But for people along that transportation choke point around Chicago and Northern Indiana the war is just heating up. I found other interesting signs: the Independent Cat Society. What? Can you get independent cat's to band together in a society? It also appears that the Region has lost its leprechaun. The rest of the world goes hunting in March, but not Northern Indiana. They have a hunt on August 20th at McHenry park. It makes some sense when you think about it. In March, their leprechauns are probably hidden under five feet of lake effect snow. No, it is best to wait until things thaw out a little bit in August and then go hunting in a wife beater, shorts and flip flops.

Finally there was the prediction of the apocalypse at Frank's pretty good flower shop. "Book your wedding flowers soon," Frank encouraged because "open dates are running out." Who knew? It appears that only a few weekends are left before the end of the world. Or maybe Frank has all of the business in Michigan City, Indiana for the next three millennia or however long we get to see interesting things off the beaten path.

Take care,
Roger.

The winner of the 4th annual limerick contest is?

Hello all, 

It’s the Lovely Miss Beverly with the results for the 2016, 4th annual limerick contest held in honor of the late Doyle Hoover, my dad, who loved limericks. This year’s theme was love—it was tempting to go with politics, but only tempting in a “let’s stare at the accident” kind of way. 

Thank you to all of the family and friends who penned their passions for everything from kittens to their cousin’s dance moves. The entries came slowly early in the week, but the procrastinators came through with a surge of brilliance in the last 24 hours. It is not easy to express love in this compact form, but your expressions made us laugh about pig riding and pig landings, and sigh with love confessed for brothers, and the remembered hard work and joy of baling hay.

Late July brings the image of hay-making alive for many of you; from the childhood tumble-down construction of bale forts in the hay mow to the adolescent memories of watching the sweaty, sexy farm hands stack bales on the wagon. 

There were tributes to my mom and dad, with nuanced references to a love that led to eight kids—one of my favorite rhyme schemes this year was Bill’s use of “farmer”, “charmer”, and “alarmed her” that had nice story appeal. Another rhyme triplet worth mention was Danielle’s use of “harried”, “married”, and “carried” expressing her relief in no longer being interrogated by Aunties about her love life.

It’s good to know what we don’t love, by way of contrast, to help us appreciate ice cream, caresses, and bike gadgets, so we valued Patty and Grace’s mention of humidity and head lice.

Jane and Chris took on the challenge of describing true love with the paradox of the work and endurance needed to love (for example, in combing out lice in a loved one’s hair), and the effortlessness that love embodies when it takes flight—as easy as reaching your toes to the sky on that childhood summer swing. 

This week of creative play is becoming a part of the Sharritt summer rhythm—when the hollyhocks bloom it’s time to come up with a theme, then after Ben’s birthday just a couple of days until posting, leading up the early August judging sometime between a squeezed-in vacation or day at the State Fair. Like summer, we look forward to this contest, soak it in, and then move on the structure and schedules of fall. 

This year we chose a gold, silver and bronze winner from the 37 entries, with scores clearly elevating them to the pie podium. Cue the Olympic music!

In third, from 2014’s winner, Bill Hoover:

The aroma of morning mown hay

Fresh smell after summer stormy day.

All things that I miss,

Country living was bliss,

Pleasant memories are with me to stay.

In second, from last year’s winner, Judy Boggs:

The Hoovers were quite a hot number.

Eight kids left them no time for slumber.

With a house full of love,

And the good Lord above,

There seemed nothing, at all, could encumber.

And this year’s golden crust pie winner! Bonita Hoover:

They make fun of my bingo addiction.

I know it’s a crazy affliction.

But the friends that I made,

For the money I paid,

I could write a book better than fiction.

Take care
Bev

Ice doesn't grow on trees. Well mostly.

Dear Blog Reader.

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am doing fine. I am in the second week of my summer vacation. The 1st week in late June was recent enough that I still have some residual rejuvenation left. So when I add this rejuvenation onto the residual rejuvenation, I should be good to go through November. There is a lot to do between now and then; still plenty of garden to grow, and winter wood to cut during the fall weekends. It is always a great time to put the headphones on tune into the Purdue game on Saturday or the Colts game on Sunday and enjoy the great outdoors while cutting and splitting firewood.

We are back on the shores of the lovely Indiana Lake. For those of you familiar with the blog you know which lake I am talking about and the terrible injustice when the citizens of the Indiana Territories had the naming rights stolen by the usurpers to the North in what came to be derisively known as Michigan. Don't worry, the wheels of justice are rolling; preparing to reverse this wrong that was thrust upon we Hoosiers. You can help. Every time you speak of the lake on the Northern edge of Indiana refer to it as Lake Indiana. Over time, it will creep into the vernacular and its usage will become more wide spread. At precisely the proper moment, (the tipping point so to speak) my legal team will file the appropriate paperwork and the next thing you know the map makers will be doing bang up business making new atlases and fold out maps proudly proclaiming Lake Indiana starting at the Northern edge of Indiana and proceeding all the way to the Canadian border.

We are in a lovely cabin in the lovely lake shore community of Beverly Shores. We are in a big house that three brothers built into the side of a sand dune. The house has three doors on three landings  that come out on grade level where that part of the house tumbles down the hill. The brothers are engineers and using a winch powered sand sled to excavate the sand off of the side of the hill, created grade and built a house in the side of the hill. Most of us, most of the other builders in fact would look at the dune and take a bulldozer to knock the top of the hill off and start building. It is a unique building. The lovely Miss Beverly found this place a couple of years ago. So we switch back and forth between a small rental in Sawyer, Michigan and this huge 4 story four bedroom hole in the hill for our goto vacation solutions.

The lovely Miss Beverly does a great job finding places like this. I just wanted to make sure that I gave her credit publicly for her great work at finding hospitable places off the beaten path. I also want to give her credit for a line that I will use later in blog. I would do it at the time but by that time the blog will be running with so much momentum to its conclusion that I don't want to slow down to credit the lovely Miss Beverly and her very funny line. Up here though, near the top, the meandering bits of the blog, there is plenty of time to say it was a great line and she is great at finding places for vacation and offering her hospitality to those around her.

The Sawyer, Michigan cabin, the one from our June vacation,  is small and mostly for Bev and I to hang out together. This house is big and begs to have people here to enjoy all of the space. So Chris and Grace are here. Last night a couple of Bev's sisters and all or part of their families came up. In fact a few friends of Amy and Amy, Patty's youngest, came also. Patty is Bev's sister who migrated to Iowa and is fully assimilated to Hawkeye land. So, last night we had a house full of 5 teenagers in the house.

I want to take a second to declare my admiration for all of the nieces and nephews. I have made it a strict policy as an uncle not to pay attention to any of them until they become interesting. They have done nicely through the years. Of the 20 nieces and nephews, all have turned out to be interesting in their own time. What is interesting? Like that dirty old man on the Supreme Court, "I can't define it but I know it when I see it." Twenty for twenty is pretty good.

Like I said  we had three nieces and nephews and two friends here for Saturday afternoon through Sunday noon enjoying the fruits of Lake Indiana and a house full of fun. As much as I love these children and their interests in Purdue, AP this and that, running, volleyball and ice cream, I was dismayed at their lack of a certain life skill.

Everyone had spent an afternoon in the sun, looking at and wading out into about a billion gallons of water. When they got back to the cabin, they ran to the cabinet, got out a glass for water, and opened up the freezer for ice to make that water even more refreshing. Upon opening the freezer they were stopped in their tracks.

"Where's the ice," they moaned.

"It's in the freezer", came the chorus of adults.

"Where?"

"In the freezer in those blue plastic trays."

"What? Well how do you get ice out of those?"

At that I despaired. We have raised a bunch of children without this basic manual labor experience. So the aunts and uncles chimed in about twisting and turning the blue trays and expounded on how that torquing would cause the ice cubes to pop out. Some of us old timers even shared about the prehistoric times before plastics that could bend without breaking in sub freezing temperatures were developed; back when we moved into the 1970's. That's right kids back in the olden days our ice cube trays were made out of aluminum. They had this set of louvred paddles on a spine that slid back and forth when you pulled really hard on this six inch handle. A couple of pulls back and forth and the cubes would be loosened enough to pour into the bucket and refill with water. Let's be honest here. How many of you convinced your little sister or brother to stick their tongue on the frozen aluminum ice tray? Come on. It's okay your among friends. Really? Well you weren't very interesting as children now were you?

So the crisis was averted. Ice was put into glasses. Thirsts were quenched, and a few lessons were learned. Well almost. I thought that civilization had been advanced until I went to the freezer a half an hour later and found three trays with 1 or 2 cubes in each. What? Empty the tray and refill it with water for the next person. The ice fairies do not sense the empty ice tray and then automatically refill the tray with water to the proper level for automatic ice replenishment. No, considerate people realize that in order for the group to benefit from the cooling properties of cold water the near empty trays have to be refilled. Ice does not grow on trees people. Well . . . except durning ice storms then it does grow on trees. (Nice one Bev.) But still you get the picture.

What will happen if the government decides that automatic ice dispensers cause global warming, ozone depletion, earthquakes or the spread of zika? They will ban automatic ice makers. That's what will happen and all of your children of a certain age will stand in the kitchen, freezer door ajar, mouth agape, ice cream melting onto the floor, wondering how do I get the ice out of these blue trays and when it is empty how do I get it refilled.

I say people run to a cabin in the woods or unplug the ice maker in your house; run down to the nearest museum store and by two or three blue plastic ice trays; fill them up and show your youths how to empty them the first time and then berate them constantly that ice doesn't grow on trees until they figure it out.

Or have a crazy uncle do it for you. It will help make them a little more interesting.

Take care.

Roger.