highrailjon wrote:
Are they goin' to The Big Rock Candy Mountain...................
hev
Hobo Jungle
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P&R Pete
Not sure if this got there by messages. To make sure, sending in the Jungle. I think the other 'bo's won't mind.
My good friend Petey,
#10 is the real Palace Flophouse.
#19, Pacific Biological Laboratories (Western in the book) is also real, and I stopped in a few times while stationed at Presidio/NPG. They still had a lively trade in the collection of specimens, including ocotopus. A Coast Guard friend of mine who was a marine biologist had the run of the place.
I think you will find this good:
http://www.thehistorycompany.com/Research/Neighborhood/neighborhood.html
I knew the row was real when I read about it in high school. Living in the area, albeit as military, made it really take. Sadly, Cannery Row is no longer taught as literature at UC San Diego.
Not related to the Joads, but a similar story on the side of both maternal and fraternal grandparents. Dust bowl, bank got farms, kids (my parents) left to work in CCC, WPA, and a Harvey Girl (my Mom). My dad did ride the rails up until WWII. More than a few uncles picked fruit in the central valley, got involved in unions, and got in no small amout of trouble for doing it.
Now with all of that said, hope you and the redhead celebrate! Look in on those two sacks of potatoes and the duffle bag when they are sleeping and thank the lord you're walkin' the earth to see such miracles.
With warm regard,
San
PS: BTW, the principal cannery in the foreground is the Del Mar Cannery Company in Monterey. I live in Del Mar California. I like Santa Fe. The name of my neighborhood is Santa Fe Summit. We overlook the original Santa Fe ROW and groves of Eucalyptus (giant weeds, IMO) that were intended for railroad ties. I have an auxiliary office from the main campus on Lomas Santa Fe Drive. I do not drive a Hyndai Santa Fe (a Magnum and a pristine, vintage Mercedes will do, thank you). There are no accidents. There are no coincidences.
My good friend Petey,
#10 is the real Palace Flophouse.
#19, Pacific Biological Laboratories (Western in the book) is also real, and I stopped in a few times while stationed at Presidio/NPG. They still had a lively trade in the collection of specimens, including ocotopus. A Coast Guard friend of mine who was a marine biologist had the run of the place.
I think you will find this good:
http://www.thehistorycompany.com/Research/Neighborhood/neighborhood.html
I knew the row was real when I read about it in high school. Living in the area, albeit as military, made it really take. Sadly, Cannery Row is no longer taught as literature at UC San Diego.
Not related to the Joads, but a similar story on the side of both maternal and fraternal grandparents. Dust bowl, bank got farms, kids (my parents) left to work in CCC, WPA, and a Harvey Girl (my Mom). My dad did ride the rails up until WWII. More than a few uncles picked fruit in the central valley, got involved in unions, and got in no small amout of trouble for doing it.
Now with all of that said, hope you and the redhead celebrate! Look in on those two sacks of potatoes and the duffle bag when they are sleeping and thank the lord you're walkin' the earth to see such miracles.
With warm regard,
San
PS: BTW, the principal cannery in the foreground is the Del Mar Cannery Company in Monterey. I live in Del Mar California. I like Santa Fe. The name of my neighborhood is Santa Fe Summit. We overlook the original Santa Fe ROW and groves of Eucalyptus (giant weeds, IMO) that were intended for railroad ties. I have an auxiliary office from the main campus on Lomas Santa Fe Drive. I do not drive a Hyndai Santa Fe (a Magnum and a pristine, vintage Mercedes will do, thank you). There are no accidents. There are no coincidences.
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P&R Pete
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P&R Pete
San, you went to a lot of trouble. My appreciation. Fascinating photo, after having read the book!
I (*ahem*) blew up a section of the photo, and there on the side of the "Bear Flag" building, I believe I see some graffiti that says somethin' like "San wuz here". Can't swear to it though. 
I also noted you studiously ignored my question about the octopus!
A book, buddy, I'm tellin' ya, a book!
My reference to "The Last Picture Show" was the scene where Duane and Jacy exit a motel after their 'first time'. Guess it was too obscure a reference. I LMAO when I wrote it. Oh well. Another of my self-imagined great ideas that blew up before it even got out of the hanger!
Spent the last two days, after work, out on the Farmall mowing my fields. It's a hobo's job, sitting around and doing little, besides steering and enjoying the thrum of the motor, the hypnotic sway of the tractor over the rolling ground, the swallows swooping after the bugs I raise, and the setting sun and lengthening shadows.
I got in a crop-program that pays so much per acre to let it grow fallow, the idea being to stop pesticide/fertilizer/erosion runoff into the Susquehanna/Cheasapeake, and to provide undisturbed ground-cover for native birds like turkey/quail. Sounded like a nice idea to me, but it's turned into a bit of a nightmare trying to keep the multiflora rose/sumac/shattercane/poison ivy/etc under control, without disturbing the timothy/clover/orchard grass/broomsedge/milkweed/goldenrod/etc, and I'm locked-in for 10 years, and I can only mow in August.
REAL farmers have front end loaders, bulldozers, herbicide sprayers with booms and thousand gallon tanks, etc, while I have a back-pack sprayer and a weed-whacker with a blade. I know Sisyphus's pain.
The multiflora rose puts the shame to the plant used for Christ's crown of thorns. Brutal, vicious stuff. In a perfect world, I could go out in the fields with a military-issue flame-thrower... (Jon, ol' friend, ol' pal!) (ol' buddy!) (ol' neighbor!)
Anyway, I had a sweet 7 year old babe helping me get the tractor field-worthy, pulling the wrench to check the fluids, getting her hands all greasy helping me pull bolts to get a cover off one of the bull gears. Hey, never too young to teach a lady who wants to learn/help how to work a ratchet!
And this is a tractor before dipsticks were invented. The tranny has a 'level plug' on the side. Take 'er out, and add 90-wt until it starts coming out the hole. Same with the oil pan on the engine- two petcocks, one a half inch below the other. Add oil til it comes out the upper one. If oil comes out the bottom petcock, you still have enough!
Hev knows what I'm talking about.
Anyway, it was a beautiful day, clear as the proverbial bell, so clear the cumulus were luminescing. It was even so clear, when I stood up on the tractor, I could see Tramp sitting on his veranda drinking a beer! Couldn't quite make out the label, though. And I ain't saying what he and Daisy were doing. I ain't. Hobo's honor.
Now it's a full moon, and the fogs filling the valley, and the katy-dids are everywhere, and I'm tired as h*ll, and I'm falling aslee
I (*ahem*) blew up a section of the photo, and there on the side of the "Bear Flag" building, I believe I see some graffiti that says somethin' like "San wuz here".
Can't swear to it though.
I also noted you studiously ignored my question about the octopus!
A book, buddy, I'm tellin' ya, a book!
My reference to "The Last Picture Show" was the scene where Duane and Jacy exit a motel after their 'first time'. Guess it was too obscure a reference. I LMAO when I wrote it. Oh well. Another of my self-imagined great ideas that blew up before it even got out of the hanger!
Spent the last two days, after work, out on the Farmall mowing my fields. It's a hobo's job, sitting around and doing little, besides steering and enjoying the thrum of the motor, the hypnotic sway of the tractor over the rolling ground, the swallows swooping after the bugs I raise, and the setting sun and lengthening shadows.
I got in a crop-program that pays so much per acre to let it grow fallow, the idea being to stop pesticide/fertilizer/erosion runoff into the Susquehanna/Cheasapeake, and to provide undisturbed ground-cover for native birds like turkey/quail. Sounded like a nice idea to me, but it's turned into a bit of a nightmare trying to keep the multiflora rose/sumac/shattercane/poison ivy/etc under control, without disturbing the timothy/clover/orchard grass/broomsedge/milkweed/goldenrod/etc, and I'm locked-in for 10 years, and I can only mow in August.
REAL farmers have front end loaders, bulldozers, herbicide sprayers with booms and thousand gallon tanks, etc, while I have a back-pack sprayer and a weed-whacker with a blade. I know Sisyphus's pain.
The multiflora rose puts the shame to the plant used for Christ's crown of thorns. Brutal, vicious stuff. In a perfect world, I could go out in the fields with a military-issue flame-thrower... (Jon, ol' friend, ol' pal!) (ol' buddy!) (ol' neighbor!)
Anyway, I had a sweet 7 year old babe helping me get the tractor field-worthy, pulling the wrench to check the fluids, getting her hands all greasy helping me pull bolts to get a cover off one of the bull gears. Hey, never too young to teach a lady who wants to learn/help how to work a ratchet!
And this is a tractor before dipsticks were invented. The tranny has a 'level plug' on the side. Take 'er out, and add 90-wt until it starts coming out the hole. Same with the oil pan on the engine- two petcocks, one a half inch below the other. Add oil til it comes out the upper one. If oil comes out the bottom petcock, you still have enough!
Hev knows what I'm talking about.
Anyway, it was a beautiful day, clear as the proverbial bell, so clear the cumulus were luminescing. It was even so clear, when I stood up on the tractor, I could see Tramp sitting on his veranda drinking a beer! Couldn't quite make out the label, though. And I ain't saying what he and Daisy were doing. I ain't. Hobo's honor.
Now it's a full moon, and the fogs filling the valley, and the katy-dids are everywhere, and I'm tired as h*ll, and I'm falling aslee
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