Archive for June, 2017

A Friday Night Ritual…………#11 (the 50’s)

June 12, 2017

Home Delivery

Monday mornings were pretty much routine in the Willson household, Mike’s Mother having prepared his Dad’s breakfast by seven,   his Dad’s workday morning meal normally consisted of toast,  eggs,  bacon/sausage,   sometimes potatoes or pancakes/french toast, the  youth never having seen his dad eat a bowl of cereal.   No sooner had his dad finished and was headed out the door his mom would holler for the kids to get a move on, sometimes he and his sister would have french toast or pancakes if that’s what she had fixed for dad.  Normally it was hot oatmeal, cornmeal mush or a popular brand cold cereal if they had it.  Mike preferring Nabisco Shredded Wheat, mainly because of the Straight Arrow activity cards (the adventurist indian on the radio) they used as spacer between the rows of the large shredded wheat biscuits.  His sisters complaining about Mike getting to the milk first for his cereal, retrieving the bottles  delivered earlier on the front porch and being pasteurized milk,  the cream would raise to the top which.   The first pouring out of the bottle would be all  cream, what was left was what his sister referred to as blue milk,  commonly known as (skim milk).  Mike was an early riser and  lover of cream, the early bird gets the cream.

Supper was at 6:00 P.M.,  it was never called dinner except on weekends when a late afternoon meal sometimes was served.   Mike considered his Mother a good cook,  she was always able to provide a good menu considering her limited budget and what she had to work with.   The family always had plenty,  not always  his favorite, but he never left the table hungry.    The Willson’s  didn’t eat out very often, but when they did it was someplace inexpensive, but enjoyable like Italian, or Chinese food.  As a family they didn’t participate as part of the everyday world,  going places and doing things together, it was partly due to the fact his dad drove all day for a living and considered having to drive any distance on weekends was driving on  “a busman’s holiday”.   It didn’t really matter to the young man , eating in public as a family wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

There were three strict rules at supper.   Rule #1  You will not be late or miss supper.   Rule #2  The television will be turned off.  Rule#3  You will eat everything on your plate.  (if you didn’t,  it would be served to you for breakfast).    His Father set the rules, although never the disciplinarian in the family, these were his rules but mom enforced them.  The rules didn’t concern Mike very much as He was never late for supper.  If he was out of the house,  his Mother would take a lid from a stainless steel pan and go out onto the side porch,  striking the lid with the handles of a knife.  It would sound like a bell and you could literally hear it for miles.  Turning off the TV was fine. finding his interest waning in television more each day, discovering there  was more adventure outside or even between the pages of a book.    Eating everything never did present to much of a problem for the growing boy, the only foods he had a distaste for were peas and spanish tripe.   His mother remedied the pea problem by buying Early June Peas, their smaller size were more palatable and the she refrained from saying anything when he left the tripe eating only the tomatoes and peppers in the sauce.

The night wouldn’t be complete without The Friday Night Fights

His Father always  arrived home from work shortly after 5:00 P.M.,  a partially filled quart container of now warm milk left over from lunch in one hand and a cold quart of Lucky Lager  beer in the other, the beer would be consumed before  supper.    This Monday thru Friday protocol was set in stone, but one day a crack developed.  It began on a friday night,  his dads payday,  Friday Night Fights on TV,  and his parents making an unexpected trip to Koplos Market.   Once back from the store what they had purchased would establish the  beginning of a Friday night ritual.  Mike and his sisters  couldn’t believe what was transpiring,  Rule#1 was out,  supper was when they returned from the store.   Rule #2 was out,  you could watch TV and eat in the living room,   Rule#3 was out. it no longer had any meaning as they couldn’t help but like everything that was for supper.

A Friday Night Dinner Ritual

Dinner for Friday night and many other Friday nights to follow  became special and on most occasions consisted Fish Sticks,  IXL  Ravioli,  Cottage Cheese,  Sliced Pineapple  and 1/2 gallon of Big Dip Marble Fudge Ice Milk,  the 1/2 gallon of Marble Fudge to be finished completely,  as the refrigerator didn’t have a frozen food compartment.  Added were other amenities, his mother didn’t have to spend any length of time over the stove and there was no rush to finish supper in order to watch the Friday Night Fights.  Mike recognized it wasn’t just the food that seem to make Friday nights special, it endowed a non-regulative  family time together,  unlike the evening supper,  where there seemed to be a rush to finish the formal setting and each to his own and go their own way.  Mike having come to the conclusion, and  was amazed at the phenomenon, the family bonding power that fish sticks, ravioli and a 1/2 gallon of Big Dip Marble Fudge Ice Milk possessed.

The One-Eyed Monster……….#12 (the 50’s)

June 10, 2017

A large ten 1/2 inch screen

It’s arrival was unannounced, not a clue from his parents that it would suddenly appear,  the elder Willson consulting no one including  Mike’s mother of his decision to purchase the appliance.  Mike finding out that his Dad having bought it at the Eastmont Wisemans Store.  Mr. Wiseman saying he would take $20 off the payments for every customer his Dad sent him who bought one.  The family having  just acquired the 1937 De Soto, the old 29 Chevy relegated to history and now this,  a television,  spontaneous elation erupting from Mike and his Sisters, an aire of ascendancy beginning to prevail,  almost approaching a sense of superiority.   He believed he was the only person in his elementary school  class that had a television,  in fact he knew of only one other person in the school that had one,  but then again he didn’t know many outside of his class.  He had on a prior occasion to experience this new diverting entertainment device at Larry Smoot’s house, Mike having got acquainted with Larry at the playground after school.  Larry a year older was noted for two things, his kickball ability and that his parents owned an Ice Cream Fountain Shop on Foothill Blvd.    Mike always conjured that the latter was the reason for Larry’s popularity.

The Test Pattern - first thing in the morning and the last thing at night.

The Test Pattern – first thing in the morning and the last thing at night.

His sisters Kay and Nancy were overjoyed and he too was excited with the Magnavox, it wasn’t a six or eight, but a large ten 1/2 inch screen.   The television’s place of confinement  would be in the living room beside the front door entrance directly across from  the piano.   The inside antenna having an extra long cord, every time you changed channels you would have to move the antenna to another position in the room and for some  reason the best reception  was across the room on the piano,   therefore the extended cord ended up blocking the front door entrance.  The captive television bringing a change to everyone’s  evening,  after supper Mike and his sisters  who normally  found out-of-doors or downstairs  activities, now discovering themselves captivated and held prisoner by a television.  For a time  the Willson’s set  was the talk of the neighborhood  but soon television expansion  blossomed and  became commonplace.

Kukla, Fran and Ollie

Kukla, Fran and Ollie

The Howdy Doody Show

The Howdy Doody Show

Mike soon discovering television didn’t offer the suspense and drama that you could implant in your mind reading a book or listening to an adventure on radio.   He reasoned that you were nothing more than an observer to the small screen program, but with radio you became  part of the program, virtually able to place yourself in the program,  listening to the conversations, the  emitting sound effects,  the background music setting the ambiance of merging with the event, a feeling of presence, a conscious means to leave reality.   For now his radio program’s were still accessible,  but he had this feeling they wouldn’t be for long,  the likes of Kukla Fran and Olive, Howdy Doody, the music of Harry Owens and the Royal Hawaiians and the continuous old Hoot Gibson and Ken Maynard westerns didn’t spark his interest.   TV wasn’t that impressionable, Mike knowing that another adventure lay ahead,   it was called life.

Apportioned Cubical…………#13 (the 50’s)

June 8, 2017

Viewing Opportunity

He would always remember this exhilarating feeling, at last a domain,  a province, territory, estate, quarters, a sphere to rest, to formulate, and expand, mike was about to get a room of his own.   The youth watching as his Dad and Uncle Charlie stripped the old boards from the upper level floor joist,  removing the uneven flooring from the one time storage and pantry room adjoining the kitchen with its singular window .    The room from all appearances having been in disrepair long before Mike’s family had moved in and It wasn’t long before they discovered that they would have to replace more than anticipated.    This small room attached to the kitchen on the main floor in this hillside house would provide Mike with his first family ascendancy of recognition.     The immediate objective was to finished the upstairs portion of the room, leaving the ground level without flooring to be used as a storage area  for the time being.   After several weekends and the consumption of a quantity of beer, his Dad and Uncle Charlie completed the room.   His parents somewhat concerned about the rooms size,  the room less than 7 ft. X 10 ft., but not quite wide enough to accommodate a  twin bed but with a little ingenuity  his mother was able to shorten it and with an end table and a small dresser the room was an overwhelming first room accomplishment, the room size was of  no consequence to Mike having finally acquired his space, a room of his own.

A first…….

The double pane window faced southeast,  opening outward,  providing a protracted view of Mountain Blvd. below the cresting hills stretching towards Oak Knoll Naval Hospital and a majestic vista of the fenced in wheat field beginning a block and a half away at the end of Greenly Drive extending towards the horizon.   Lying in bed at night with the windows open,  the nocturnal air would deliver the damp fragrance of the new cut wheat into the room and its perception would bring thoughts of others times and other places.   In the silent tranquility of darkness, a full moon would bask the room with its effervescent glow, bestowing a feeling of  purpose and serenity.  It was during these moments of transcendent solitude that the young man’s mind would be filled with thoughts of those who journeyed before him, their exploits and adventure, sometimes fantasizing but more often conjuring his own tour de force.

Mike’s room off the kitchen provided a pleasurable aromatic experience,  most morning the youth waking to the pungent odor and sound of bacon frying, the radio news  broadcasting the morning public enlightenment welcoming the start of a new day,  his mother busy preparing Dads breakfast.  He and his sisters gathering in the living room to finish dressing, the living room floor furnace the only source of household heat besides the kitchen stove, the day begins, another epoch and a new chapter.

An Explicable Journey……….#14 (the 50’s)

June 6, 2017

Sadly replaced by a bridge

Mike’s Dad was never one to share his plans with anyone and for the most part this even included the boy’s mother.    On many occasions like this one, the family would pile into the car after supper on a Friday Night and  would soon realize  they were on their way out-of-town and only then would  be notified of where they were traveling to.  It might be San Francisco,  San Jose,  Walnut Creek,  or even Sebastopol.   Dads normal destinations were all what the family referred to as one beer stop destinations,   meaning that they were less than two hours from home and Dads propensity for a bottle of  beer could be filled before arriving at his objective.  Mike soon realized where they were going as they headed north on  Eastshore Highway recognizing the large oil tanks as they headed past Point Potrero in Richmond.   Soon the smell of the refineries gave way to that of the bay.   It was finally said aloud, Sebastopol, which meant Grandma and Grandpa Marvin’s house,  the journey now having purpose and destination.  Mike like the smell of the bay, but because of the runoff from the factories, canneries and even sewerage,   there was a consensus about its odor that found most people didn’t like.  To him it was a smell, not an odor, just the forming of the word odor conjured up something bad.  He could see the water now and his Dad maneuvered onto the access road approaching the toll hut for the Richmond – San Rafael Ferry.  The  access road to the ferry slip was wide enough for cars to park on  while waiting for the arrival of the boat.  On the San Rafael side of the bay, cars waiting at Point San Quentin to embark for Richmond had to wait until those aboard had disembarked before traveling almost down a 1/2 mile of pier. The pier with its ferry slip extending out into the bay because of the shallowness of the shoreline water.

The 1/2 mile extended pier from Point San Quentin

The  large white boat arriving was the Klamath,  the family having crossed on the Eureka and the Sausalito, but it was not the first time that they had crossed the bay on this ferry.  Mike always thought it strange that sailing vessels were called ships, but submarines and ferries were called boats.  He knew that ferry boats unlike ships, had not bow or stern, they were much like a streetcar, having a pilot houses at both ends, never having to turn around.  The Klamath gently pulled into the slip,  brushing her cushion of tires mounted on the pylons as she came to berth.  The docking crew anchoring her  mooring lines, while the deck crew began to lower the automobile ramp.  Mike never had counted the cars but looked on  as at least fifty departed the boat.

Arriving at their destination

As soon as the cars had disembarked, the old De Soto boarded the vessel with its five passengers.    Leaving the car, Mike and his family went to the stairway and up to the lounge that was in an area amidship.   Inside the benches were lined beneath the windows in rows for passenger seating and the center enclosures provided public restrooms,   a bar area offering adult beverages as well as soft drinks, and food items.  Outside, the boat’s railing extended the length of the deck, but to go from the port side to the starboard side,   one would have to transverse through the lounge area.

Inside seating

Mike spending the bay crossing outside on the deck with the clasp of the bay breeze buffeting  his face,  the  rise and fall of the boat with the swells and every present salt air.    The feeling of it made his enterprising young mind soar, wondered what attainment would be ahead to facilitate his esoteric sense of purpose.    The water, the smell,  the boat, the breeze, here, now, why,   all explicable.    The sound of the whistle breaking this wondering train of thought, it was time to return to the car and onto Sebastopol.

A Sebastopol Episode………..#15 (the 50’s)

June 4, 2017

Grandma doing her thing

The journey to Grandma and Grandpa Marvin’s in Sebastopol was more than fun, it most often was an adventure in itself,  partly because of the boat trip across the bay on the Richmond – San Rafael Ferry.   Mike’s Dad deciding on a late overnight visit to Grandpa and Grandma’s, the family settling back in the 37 DeSoto, the trip beginning.  The Ferry Boat ride across San Francisco Bay  fulfilled, the Willson’s continuing up Highway 101,  the Elder Willson halting their progression at Navato as was the norm,  the boy’s Dad stopping to buy a bottle of beer.  The DeSoto turning onto Highway #116 towards Sebastopol when Mike first noticed the visibility was beginning to subside.   At first just patchy fog, but the closer they got to Sebastopol the heavier the fog became.   As they approached the town, the car slowed, the normally bright lit streets now dimmed, shrouded in a dense fog.  The fog density having increased to a point that from the car that the darken stores on either side of the street were no longer distinguishable.  Mike’s dad telling the family that everything was fine as he could still see the railroad tracks that ran down the center of the road thru town.  All was well following the tracks until a sudden lurching, the car coming to a stop.  His Dad having followed the tracks to where they left the road, realizing the situation, having to back the car back onto the pavement.   Once  on the road, progressing very slowly, the atmospheric malaise beginning to thin,  the fog event another adventure fulfilled.

Where the tracks leave the road

There is always something  for a ten-year old to do when visiting Grandma and Grandpa at their rural country house on Molina Rd.,  three  miles north of  downtown Sebastopol.    The house was well off the road, down  a long drive with a wooden gate on the barbwire fenced in expanse.  The rural property encompassing several acres of land, Mike hearing the adults talking about the two acres of grapes that Grandpa  harvested on the land located on the backside of the house.  It never failed to amaze Mike that every time they came for a visit,  Grandma she was canning fruits or vegetables.  On occasion he and his sisters would volunteer to pick strawberries from the long rows in their giant vegetable garden situated in front of the house.   The actual residence  was a small two bedroom  home,  family and visitors were always welcome and if there was not enough sleeping room inside,  there was always the outside,  either in the tent like hut beside the house or  under the stars in WWII folding cots that for some reason were always in abundance and set up in a row beneath the long clothesline.   Mike was never concerned about the sleeping arrangements, if not outside on a cot, he would lay claim to the couch.  It was known to all there was an ongoing  problems with the small sleeping hut as it was also used to store seeds, grains and gardening supplies.  It seems the raccoons made a bonanza discovery with its contents, deciding to take possession and the start of  an ongoing battle to keep them out.   On one occasion  Mikes parents were spending the night in the hut hearing a visitor.    His Dad being waken by the noise wasn’t to concerned thinking it was a raccoon, reaching for a flashlight, assured that the light would scare the uninvited guest away.  Shining the  flashlight on the visitor,  its eyes staring back and then the pungent aroma giving notice that it was not a raccoon, but a skunk.  The nocturnal visitor realizing he wasn’t welcome, leaving the premises.  The next morning his Dad his thankful that the skunk didn’t have an issue with the light.

Acres of cattail

The dairy cows owned by a rancher across the way were pastured across from the drive and house and  in a separate pasture fenced off from the milking herd was the home of a very mean looking bull.   A good portion of the bull’s pasture was marshland and growing in one well dampen section were stalks of cattail,  the six-foot high stalks packed solid for what seemed at least an acre.   Mike and his sisters  would venture into the cattail pasture,  the three having a great time mashing down the cattail making paths and hidden rooms, their own secret hideaway,  but always being mindful that there might be a sudden appearance of a bull.  It was only later that Mike gave thought to the destruction of the marshland cattail, his realization,  a lesson learned.

Not a ladder but a spike

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

During a summer weeks stay  Mike had made friends with a boy name Sonny Iverson who live up the road on a nearby  farm.   The Iverson’s had an apple orchard and were also in the egg producing business.   The ten-year old spending time helping on the farm,  picking apples from a spike,   storing them in a shoulder sack and placing them in the wooden crates.    It was at this young age he learned that nothing on a farm goes to waste.   Another chore was to pick up all the fallen and rotten apples placing them in separate crates.  Once accumulated, the crates  containing  the bad apples were then loaded on the truck.  He accompanied the Iverson’s in the truck, watching as they dumped the apples into the receiving chute at the Apple Processing Facility in town.    Mike had to ask the inevitable question,  “what do they make with rotten apples?”   The answer came.  “apple cider vinegar”, another learning experience.

Guinea Hens – A watchdog in disguise.

The Iverson’s poultry endeavor included a couple of turkeys and  a pair of guinea hens allowed to forage for themselves.  The guinea hens were useful addition to the farm, subsiding on ticks, lice, worms, ants, spiders, an array of insects and weed seeds.  The hens were very aggressive and territorial,  the Iverson Farm belonging to them, their wandering freedom  serving a purpose.  Mike discovering that they were better than a watchdog,  soon learning to be careful when around them as they were very astute standing their ground not hesitating to initiate a charge  sounding a very loud vocal alarm.   The family’s interest other than their apple crop was laying hens, having  dozens of stacked nesting coops, the eggs being plucked from the unsuspected twice a day.    Mike inheriting a new chore, removing the gathered eggs from the collecting pails, placing them on the cleansing roller.    The mechanical appliance,  a machine that rotated the eggs on roller,  passing them under a sprayer so the water could remove any residue that had accumulated on the shells.  The eggs being removed and place in large container cartons, stored for shipment.

Grandma's ever lasting Gift...

Grandma’s everlasting Gift…

Grandma was a radio person,  Mike and her shared this common interest, maybe that’s one of the reason he enjoyed being with her.    She would listen to her soap operas during the day and in the early evening would tune in many of the  same programs that he enjoyed.    She subscribed to the book of the month club, the books mailed in sturdy folded cardboard boxes, Mike for some reason deciding they  were special, Grandma presenting him with a large selection, their purpose unknown, but to be explored.   He always admired the calendar with it’s picture hanging on her kitchen wall.  It was of a bear and her cubs going thru a fisherman’s  campsite foraging for food.  He never remembered saying anything to anybody about his admiration, but that Christmas Mike received a gift from Grandma, it was the calendar picture in a homemade frame, he decided Grandmas must be a mind readers.

Grandpa Marvin

Grandpa had two abilities that the young man had never witnessed in another person.   The first was, he could take hold of an electric fence, lifting the hot wire so you could pass under and not get shocked and do the same with spark plug wires on a car.   The second was clapping his hands catching yellow jackets or hornets between them and never getting stung.  The boy reasoned it was more of a mental determination rather that a physical attribute, but then again Grandpa’s are special.  Mike found that the effulgence of love resided in his Grandparents, something he would always remember.

First Trek North………………#16 (the 50’s)

June 2, 2017
Welcome to Scott Valley

Welcome to Scott Valley

It was after ten when they installed him on the bus, Mike Willson having situated himself in the seat as a bus station attendant came up the aisle with a handful of pillows, stopping, handing the young man one,  commenting about his comfort.    He determined that it had been arranged by his parents as it was Mike’s inaugural overnight bus journey and like most   “first”,   he had that alien feeling of uncertainty.    Settling in for the night noticing that he and all those aboard were not alone as the bus ventured north,  an unexpected guest had joined the travelers.   Even as sleep approached he would briefly open an eye to verify its presence through the bus window, its wondrous gracing glow could be seen traversing the night sky accompanying the bus, the ever presence of the moon.

First overnight bus ride experience

A traveling companion

The morning and his Yreka destination both having arrived as he stepped off the bus that summer morning greeted by an awaiting Aunt Della.   He hadn’t slept very well,  spending a lot of time deciphering why the moon appeared to be moving with the bus,  but the thought of food was foremost in his mind at the present.  The young man almost feeling he was among strangers, but realizing they were relatives, having only made their acquaintances sparingly in the past.  His cousins Johnny and Jenny were up and about as he ate a bowl of cereal while waiting for his Aunt Bernice to facilitate their trip to hers and his Uncle Sams Etna, Scott Valley home.  With his Aunts arrival Mike was reintroduced to a memory, the reserved looking lady, very correct and proper in her dress and mannerisms the  lady was familiar.  Her stay was brief, they soon departed making a stop at a  large grocery store, which the boy later found to be the customary for Scott Valley residence when in Yreka.

A two lane hi-way over Yreka Mountain

A two lane hi-way over Yreka Mountain

Approaching Etna on Sawyers' Bar Road

Approaching Etna on Sawyers’ Bar Road

    Leaving Yreka Mike couldn’t help but realized they were riding in a pristine late-model Mercury Monterey two door sedan with twin exhaust pipes and was impressed, but what was puzzling was it didn’t seem to fit the demeanor or character of his Aunt.   The trip over Yreka Mountain was one of remembrance,  when traveling downhill on the two lane blacktop which snaked its way up and down the mountain, the Mercury would back off under compression, the mufflers emitting a resonant popping sound.  Even Mike knew that the sound was made by new mufflers called glass packs and later finding out that the car had belonged to his cousin Bobby, Bernice’s son who had tragically was killed the previous year when his Air Force plane crashed during a flight training exercise.   The Yreka Mountain road  had numerous switch-backs and accommodating turnouts so an automobile could pass a laboring slow crawling logging truck that would pull to the side of the road.   On the Scott Valley slope of the mountain was a natural spring area that in years past provided water for the radiators of overheated cars making the up-hill climb, people still  paused but only to fill their containers with the pristine water for personal use.   On the way down the  mountain his Aunt pointed out Robber’s Roost,  the rock formation  from which the legendary old west outlaw Black Bart hid behind waiting for an unsuspecting stage-coach to appear,  or so the tale is told.

Mike’s aunt & uncle

Main St. Etna - Population 500

Main St. Etna – Population 500

Sam & Bernice’s – and the Cortez house

Descending into Scott Valley they passed Fort Jones, the town having gone through four name changes until acquiring its present name in 1860, and was the birthplace of his Mother, the Mercury continuing on to the community of Etna.   The small town of less than 500 situated below the beautiful majestic Marble Mountains and the Trinity Alps wilderness, even in the summertime,  the mountains still wore a crown of snow adding to their already regal appearance.  The young man getting settled in his aunt and uncles Diggles St. home, his aunt directing him to Bobby’s bedroom, Mike noticing that all of Bobby’s youthful accumulations of stuff was still present, his aunt mentioning he was the first to stay in the room since Bobby’s death.  Mike questioned when he had last seen his Aunt and Uncle, cousins Bobby and his sister Jerry but couldn’t recall them ever visiting his family in Oakland, it had to have been when he lived in Yreka during the war while his dad was overseas.

The first couple of day found Mike curious about the the old wooden house northwest of his aunt and uncles, to him it looked like a renovated barn from the turn of the century and he soon introduced himself to a girl about his age and her younger brother.  Soon was making friends with Patricia Cortez  and quickly was on the receiving end of an education concerning red peppers.   She wagered  that she could eat a whole pepper completely and  that he wouldn’t be able to and proceeded to promptly demonstrate by consuming the pepper.   A confident Mike with pepper in hand was ready to prove her wrong,  but with the first bite  discovering  she was correct, it was a hot pepper, immediately asking for a glass of water.  The younger Patricia  informing him that water wouldn’t relieve the burning,  handing him a slice of bread with a smile on her face, admitting that she had scraped the wall of the inner portion and also removed the seeds from her pepper which were the source of making it hot.  The two Sharing a mutual interest, Mike having discovered a pair of well used key adjustable roller skates that may have belonged to Bobby and Patricia also having skates, the two entertaining the sidewalk on the other side of Diggles Street.

      Young Mike soon discovering a side of his aunt and uncle that they kept somewhat hidden, they really cared about him.  At lunch one afternoon Mike was asked if he would like accompany his uncle back to work.  His uncle,  who was a contractor and  also an  architect, was working on a recent new apartment, instructed the young man how to drive nails properly and the consequences when  you do it wrong, Mike not hesitating, found that his error was aptly pointed out.  His aunt on several occasions not asking outright, but inviting him to joining her in a brief visit into town and of course he was rewarded with an ice cream cone, but that wasn’t the reason he accepted, it was an inner feeling that she wanted the company.  His aunt also was rightly corrective after noticing him engraving his name on a tree with a knife, amiably saying “fools names like fools faces are often seen in public places”.  Something that he knew would be ingrained forever.