A to Z Blogging Challenge: X is for Railroad Crossing Sign

 X is for Railroad Crossing Sign

Just about anywhere in the world, you will find railway crossings. They are a sure sign of progress, or at least they used to be, in the United States. Now we have automobiles to ride in and roads on which to travel. Once upon a time, there were just railways to bring goods and carry people across vast distances. They opened up new territories to the settlers who built this country's small towns and big cities.

Those parallel lines--a sign of the changing times--laid across hills and valleys, tunneled through mountains, and suspended high above rivers and bays inspired writers like Stephen Crane to describe a special milieu. It was instantly recognizable to anyone who traveled by train and paid attention to what was happening around him. Certainly, majestic vistas caught the eye, but a sense of being hurtled into the unknown, which could be dangerous, was for many people also part of the experience. The old, familiar way of life appeared to be vanishing right before their eyes:

The great Pullman was whirling onward with such dignity of motion that a glance from the window seemed simply to prove that the plains of Texas were pouring eastward. Vast flats of green grass, dull-hued spaces of mesquite and cactus, little groups of frame houses, woods of light and tender trees, all were sweeping into the east, sweeping over the horizon, a precipice... (Stephen Crane, "The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky," first published in McClure's Magazine in 1898.)

Anymore, we don't usually associate trains with something bad happening like falling off a cliff since most of us rely on other modes of transportation. And therein lies a real danger. Is it a lack of sensibility or too much complacency that's the crux of a potential problem? Railroad crossings--where the modes intersect--and motorists who fail to pay attention to signs are not a good combination. It can't be that the warning signs aren't recognizable. They really haven't changed much over the years. A simple crossbuck or crux decussata (the Roman numeral ten) with the words "Railroad Crossing" clearly lets you know that there could be a train about to cross your path. You would be smart to stop, look, and listen for it, especially if there are no warning lights or mechanical arms descending to block your path.

It's estimated that a 150-car freight train traveling 50 miles per hour takes 1.5 miles to completely stop. So why do people ignore the warnings and take chances? I found an interesting site developed by the Florida Department of Transportation (FDOT) that chronicles with video some near-misses. Some of them will make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. They'll make you wonder if those drivers got their licenses from Cracker Jack boxes.

Please visit A to Z Blogging Challenge for more "X's" posted by Challenge hosts and other writers.

A to Z Blogging Challenge: R is for Remember (Sign)

R is for Remember (Sign)

Rediscovering remarkable books and remembering the reason for buying them removes some of the pain of moving. I purchased this sign language book some years ago when Daughter and I took a beginners' course in sign language. It was one of those courses offered at a community college. Daughter had just begun her career as a licensed massage therapist, and one of her first clients was a young deaf-mute man. She had learned in school the importance of communicating with a client for determining his comfort level (enough pressure/not enough?) and likes or dislikes ("don't mess up my hair" or "oooh, my feet really need it today"). Intake forms are a good place to start understanding a client's history, but they're just not enough to realize all of his or her preferences, long or short-term. Maybe a client won't include minor details on the form and suddenly thinks of them during the massage session. At any rate, Daughter thought she needed to know sign language, and I wanted to learn right along with her.

I recall wanting to know just as much or more about the history of sign language and the reasons behind the signs as the signs themselves. For instance, what's the purpose of the thumbs in this particular sign for "remember"? As far as I've been able to determine, the thumb (pollex being the Latin word) stands for strength. We would be rendered powerless without our thumbs. The same thing could be said about memories. They help define who we are, where we came from, and why we choose certain paths in life. Remembering should be an integral part of any story. Is it part of yours?

Please visit A to Z Blogging Challenge for links to more "R's" from Challenge hosts and other writers.

Nature Notes--Si, el Arte en Mi

Each new summer morning in Florida, we, the grups, thrust our heavy legs out of bed and force ourselves to walk while the day is still cool and before the thunderstorms begin to build. We might not spring up as well as we once did, but once the coffee takes effect, inertia has been overcome, and we are almost as good as new again. Motion lotion gets us out of doors and into the early morning light where we find Nature stretching her legs too. We recognize another combatant once more waging war against entropy. The orchard orbweaver, Leucauge venusta, has been busy weaving all night while we slept. She may be tiny now, but she has a voracious appetite for lots of things, maybe even what a bean-eating caterpillar has wrought. Now I see in the photo above why those lovely green beans in my garden went missing and what they have been sacrificed for--el Arte--a long-tailed skipper--Urbanus proteus.


"All Nature's apparent reverses have been but tactical withdrawals. We thought we were beating her back when she was luring us on. What looked to us like hands held up in surrender was really the opening of arms to enfold us for ever...."

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"Every conquest over Nature increases her domain. The stars do not become Nature till we can weigh and measure them: the soul does not become Nature till we can psycho-analyze her. The wresting of powers from Nature is also the surrendering of things to Nature. As long as this process stops short of the final stage we may well hold that the gain outweighs the loss. But as soon as we take the final step of reducing our own species to the level of mere Nature, the whole process is stultified, for this time the being who stood to gain and the being who has been sacrificed are one and the same...." (from C. S. Lewis' The Abolition of Man, 1947)

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Please visit Rambling Woods for this week's Nature Notes and see what other bloggers have been inspired by in nature.

Flying Shields and Signs of Storms

Gustav, the storm we anticipated last weekend, bypassed our corner of Florida and hit the coast of Louisana instead. He stirred up a few sensational looking waves, though, before heading west.

Once when he was a little boy, grandpapa had gone with his parents to see [a] festivity...There were many shields to be seen; a hundred rooms might have been filled with pictures, if they had been hung up inside and outside. At the tailor's were pictures of all kinds of clothing, to show that he could stitch up people from the coarsest to the finest; at the tobacco manufacturer's were pictures of the most charming little boys, smoking cigars, just as they do in reality; there were signs with painted butter and herrings, clerical collars, and coffins, and inscriptions and announcements into the bargain. A person could walk up and down for a whole day through the streets and tire himself out with looking at the pictures; and then he would know all about what people lived in the houses, for they had hung out their shields or signs; and, as grandfather said, it was a very instructive thing, in a great town, to know at once who the inhabitants were...

--from "The Storm Shakes the Shield" by Hans Christian Andersen--

We flew back home last Saturday for a short visit and to secure the homestead ahead of the storm which never really materialized here. On Sunday we decided to visit the beach because we were not sure whether the storm would shift its anticipated track and perhaps cause some major beach erosion on Monday. It's clear from this picture (click on it to read more clearly) that hell or high water can't keep the advertisers for some local entertainment from their appointed rounds. Sammy's apparently offers free rides to the establishment but probably not while there.

All kinds of appetite can be stimulated by the signs in the sky. McGuire's Irish Pub is one of our favorite restaurants in Pensacola, but we wanted some time on the beach with our family, including our grandson Micah. The fishing pier now has a casual, open air restaurant that offers simple but satisfying fare.

Micah found these curly fries to his liking and sat still for a few minutes to enjoy them.


Grandpa found this trip to his liking but had to leave yesterday to return to Illinois and work. Grandma is staying in Florida for a few more weeks, just in case the next storms queuing up in the Atlantic decide to pay us a visit. The storm shutters are close at hand to be put up if need be, and the pantry shelves are stocked with necessary supplies in case of a power outage.


Sunday evening Sarah and I fixed homemade pizza, and we had a little party to celebrate Sarah's, my, and Alan's birthdays, all of which occur in late August and September. I guess winter was a fertile time for some people in our family.

Sarah is already teaching Micah some basic chords on the guitar. He seems fascinated by what some strings on a piece of wood can do.

Grandma Martha helps Micah follow in his daddy's footsteps.

After everybody went home for the evening, Grandpa relaxed on the floor with Miss Kitty and Peanut. They miss him already. We all do.

And this is what happened with these shields, when grandpapa came to the town. He told it me himself, and he hadn't "a rogue on his back," as mother used to tell me he had when he wanted to make me believe something outrageous, for now he looked quite trustworthy. The first night after he came to the town had been signalized by the most terrible gale ever recorded in the newspapers, a gale such as none of the inhabitants had ever before experienced. The air was dark with flying tiles; old wood-work crashed and fell; and a wheelbarrow ran up the street all alone, only to get out of the way. There was a groaning in the air, and a howling and a shrieking, and altogether it was a terrible storm...The barber's shield, the great brazen dish, was carried away, and hurled straight into the embrasure of the councillor of justice; and the whole neighborhood said this looked almost like malice, inasmuch as they, and nearly all the friends of the councillor's wife, used to call that lady "the Razor," for she was so sharp that she knew more about other people's business than they knew about it themselves...The inscription "Institution for Superior Education" was found near the billiard club, which place of resort was further adorned with the words "Children brought up by hand." Now, this was not at all witty; but, you see, the storm had done it, and no one has any control over that...The poor people in the town, and still more the strangers, were continually making mistakes in the people they wanted to see; nor was this to be avoided, when they went according to the shields that were hung up. Thus, for instance, some who wanted to go to a very grave assembly of elderly men, where important affairs were to be discussed, found themselves in a noisy boys' school, where all of the company were leaping over the chairs and tables. There were also people who made a mistake between the church and the theatre, and that was terrible indeed! Such a storm we have never witnessed in our day; for that only happened in grandpapa's time, when he was quite a little boy. Perhaps we shall never experience a storm of the kind, but our grandchildren may; and we can only hope and pray that all may stay at home while the storm is moving the shields.

On the Face of It

Putting a friendly face on the dangers along the way: Signs to show you the way and keep you in line.





When I looked up the word "face" in the dictionary, I found no fewer than 45 definitions of it. It seems that face is almost indefinable. And I kind of like that a word can be so elusive, so ripe with possibilities. Faced with another beautiful Sunday, May 4, hubby and I took to the trails of southern Illinois once more to see and capture another aspect of areas already familiar to us: Ferne Clyffe and Devil's Kitchen.



I love the artistic rather than conventional representation of the Rocky Bluff Trail on this map.



These trees in Ferne Clyffe will find a way to reach the light, even if it means crawling on their bellies and looking ridiculous!



Here you see a tree actually growing upside down, precariously propped against a rock, gathering nourishment and moisture from the porous sandstone. It somehow manages to sustain its own life and that of the ferns growing among its hairy roots. If you look closely beneath the "hairpiece," you can find a face in the rock peering out at you.




This rock seems to be surprised to see us.



So what if I'm lopsided? I'll sing anyway.



Here is a friendly (dare I say goofy?) face along the path. Maybe it's embarrassed about its complexion. I can remember feeling that way as a teenager.



Here we are, the two of us, face to face with another difficult but defining season in our life together. We'll weather it somehow. We always do.