Mark Steinhoff Archives

April 27, 2014

Taking Fencing Lessons

Curator Jessica sent me a text bragging about her time in a triathlon Saturday morning. We exchanged a couple of messages, then I texted her, “I’m busy taking fencing lessons, so I will probably be incommunicado.”

Mother has a porch on the east side of the house overlooking a woods that is the perfect place to sit and watch the birds and squirrels. Even on the hottest day, it’s usually shaded and comfortable. A few years back, Brother Mark cleared her a pathway to go from the front yard to the back and to get to her bird feeders and hanging plants.

The surface is a bit uneven and the hill is fairly steep, so we thought we’d put up a handrail to make her meanderings a little safer. Of course, we didn’t really know what we were doing, so don’t look to closely at our handiwork.

Since Mother’s age – 92-1/2 – and her weight are about the same, I don’t think there is much danger of her knocking it over.

The Rule of Threes

I wrote about the Rule of Threes when Kid Matt was building me a new computer. This project was worse that than. In 24 hours, I think I have been at Menard’s four times; Lowes five times and Ace Hardware at least five times. And, of course, when you are in the Big Box hardware stores, fencing materials and gardening supplies are on one side of the world and lumber is on the other.

One of the tasks Mark wanted to tackle was getting Mother’s fountain working again. We confirmed that the pump was getting power, so we deduced we were peering at a kaput pump. That was a trip to Lowes. Then, he wanted to replace a section of plastic hose with copper pipe for aesthetic reasons. That was Lowes and Ace, where he told a young worker that he was Frankensteining it and would welcome inspiration.

We got back to the house, installed the copper pipe, Gooped it in place so it wouldn’t leak, then turned on the juice. The water barely trickled out of the copper pipe. The pump was supposed to be able to handle a six-foot height, but Mark cut off about two feet of pipe to make the distance even shorter. The result wasn’t much better. He started to fill the fountain with a hose to make sure there was plenty of water for it to work with.

Leaking like a nursery school

That’s where the fountain base started leaking like a nursery school short of diapers. Water left in it at the end of the summer must have frozen during the winter and cracked the plastic.

We hit Menards again. The entrance is here, and the garden shop is waaaaaaaay over there at the far end. They didn’t have anything we liked at a price that we liked.

Back to Lowes. The entrance is here, and the garden shop is halfwaaaaaay over there. They didn’t have anything, either. And, of course, we also had to hit lumber at the far end, hardware in the middle and customer service at the entrance.

That’s just a small part of the day. My feet are killing me.

Mark went to bed three hours ago, which is where I’m headed as soon as I hit the Publish button.

Sorry for the iffy quality. I shot these with my cell phone because I didn’t have the strength to pick up a real camera.

April 25, 2014

Dancing in the Trees

Brother Mark and I have been looking at the trees around Mother’s house for some time. There are a lot of dead branches that could cause problems. I cut up a big one that had fallen during the winter, but there were plenty more just waiting to fall on the power line or roof. Here’s a Before shot of a maple tree that was planted when we moved into the house over half a century ago. You can see the dead branches.

I was working in the basement when Mother hollered downstairs that the tree trimmers from the power company were there. To be honest, I expected the hatrackers usually associated with utility company trimmers, and I didn’t expect them to be very flexible.

Florida Power and Light delivered excuses

The power line running along our back property line in Florida had a lot of growth around it since the 2005 hurricane season, so we called Florida Power & Light this winter to see if they could trim it back before hurricane season. (We pay to have a mango tree on the line trimmed by an arborist just to keep it from being hacked up.)

When they showed up, they said that trimming the vegetation was our problem because it wasn’t a main line. “This isn’t our service loop,” I pointed out,” this line feeds every house in this block.” Several weeks went by and I figured we had lost the battle, but some guys with chain saws finally showed up.

Shade Tree Service Company

Much to my pleasant surprise, the guys working for The Shade Tree Service Company out of Fenton were super nice to deal with. They told Mother what they planned to do, assured her they weren’t going to do anything to harm the trees and told her they’d clean up any mess they made. They also had a sticker on the side of the truck that said they were Professional Utility Arborists and members of the National Arborist Association and the International Society of Arborculture.

What was better was that they said they’d trim the dead branches out of the maple tree because they could fall on her service loop if they blew down. When they started cutting, I told them they could leave the larger pieces for me to cut up for firewood. They not only agreed to do that, but they offered to stack it. Since I had to cut into shorter lengths, I said that wouldn’t be necessary.

Artists in buckets

The guys in the buckets were artists of weaving their way between the power, cable and phone cables. After watching them hold chainsaws at arms length and grapple with logs that made a heavy THUNKKK!! when they hit the ground, I decided I wouldn’t challenge any of them to arm wrestle.

A tip of my hard hat to them

It has long been established that lumberjack is not on my list of possible occupations.

Tree trimming photo gallery

Here are random photos of the tree trimming project, including an After shot of the maple tree. They did a nice job. Click on any photo to make it larger, then click on the sides of the photo or use your arrow keys to move through the gallery.

March 25, 2014

Boy Scout Books

I don’t know what caused me to look up when I was carrying the newspapers out to the recycle bin, but my eyes locked on some of my old Boy Scout books that were on the top shelf of the living room bookshelf. My 1965 Boy Scout Handbook was up there, but I was disappointed that my favorite 1959 Fifth Edition wasn’t sitting next to it.

The 1959 Handbook was a smaller-sized book with a two Scouts and an Explorer sitting around a campfire whose smoke is forming an Indian behind them. The back cover had an ad for U.S. Royal bike tires that showed a uniformed Boy Scout pedaling his bike up a hill. You can see it on Troop 97’s website.

1976 Handbook is politically correct

By the time my boys entered Scouting, the 1976 Scout Handbook’s cover had embraced cultural diversity.

First Edition 1948 Scout Field Book

I think I liked my 1948 Scout Field Book even more than my Scout Handbook. It was a much-thumbed how-to book. The introduction to the next edition said that more than a million copies of the 1948 Scout Field Book (two words in my era) were “bought, used and treasured by Scouts and Scouters.”

Dad’s 1967 Fieldbook

This is Dad’s 1967 Fieldbook for Boys and Men that he used when he got active in Scouting with Brothers Mark and David.

The introduction to the Fieldbook (one word in 1967), says it “is a book of action. You won’t sit very long in an easy chair reading it – you’ll want to go outside to try the nature projects, to give the exciting menus a whirl over an open fire, to pitch your tent; yes, even to build an igloo.”

Merit badge books

The merit badge books all had a distinctive red bottom and a photo at the top. I had a whole shelf full of them covering topics I knew I’d never use to earn a merit badge. They were just too good to use as reference books to pass up for the price. This is the 1959 printing of the 1953 Citizenship book.

I only made it to Life Scout rank. It took 21 merit badges to qualify for Eagle, but they had to include specific ones. I had more than enough badges, but picked topics I was interested in rather than what was required.

The final step was when you had to make an appointment with a merit badge counselor to demonstrate your proficiency in the topic. That meant that you had to reach out to an adult expert who would review your qualifications and determine if you passed or if you needed more work.

Some troops that I dismissed as “Eagle Scout Factories” would bring in counselors who would pass a group of boys at a time. Even as a Scout, I thought that was shortchanging the experience. Screwing up your nerve to call the counselor, usually a stranger who could be a bit intimidating, was an important learning experience.

Dad served as a counselor for a number of merit badges. If he signed off on your merit badge, you knew that material. He wasn’t afraid to tell a boy that he needed more work and to come back when he was ready to try again.

Other references

When I think of the Scoutmaster’s Handbook, I think of Scout Executive Paul Berkbigler who was the epitome of a Scouter.

Colorado Troop 97 has some excellent information about the BSA handbooks.

You can see a Centennial Timeline of Scouting and the Boy Scout Handbook on the BSA website..

March 15, 2014

Grandfather’s Tackle Box

I was on hold with Comcast when I heard a shriek in the other room. Not a happy, “Look, Publisher’s Clearing House just pulled up the driveway!” shriek. It was a “You’d better get in here right now!” shriek.

Wife Lila was supporting a shelf end with one hand and attempting to lighten the load on the shelf with the other. Paper products – paper towels and toilet paper – were flying everywhere. It seems that one of the plastic supports that held up the shelf since the middle 80s got tired and decided to take a nap while she was putting supplies away.

Of course, THAT would be the time the Comcast rep I was waiting for would come on the line.

After the shelf was repaired and Comcast dealt with (a pleasant experience, surprisingly), it was time to reload the errant shelf. Of course, that involved looking up at the shelf above it. “What’s all that stuff? Can we get rid of it?”

One of the items was an old, old blue tackle box with, as you can see, a whole forest of dust bunnies living on top of it. [Editor’s Note: I didn’t know what a group of rabbits was called. For future reference they are, “a colony, warren, nest, herd (domestic only), litter (young); specific to hares…A down, husk. Since I have learned a new factoid, that means I qualify for a nap.]

I think it was my grandfather’s

When I was a kid, I lived to fish. Every chance I could get, I’d head down to 3-Mile Creek with this tackle box hooked though one handlebar and my fishing rod and reel cradled across it. My name is written in red plastic label tape, but I think Dad and I both used it at various times. It has to be at least 75 years old, and I’m pretty sure it originally belonged to Mother’s Dad – my grandfather – Roy E. Welch.

I recognize some of the lures as mine, but I also see some of Dad’s stuff in there.

I really liked fly fishing. There was something about dropping a fly exactly where you wanted it to go that satisfied me. Plus, there was never any danger of me catching anything big, so a fly rod made even small fish fun.

Truth be told, my interest in fishing ended when the object of my quest got within hand-holding distance. I’d have been perfectly happy if the slimy thing made a spectacular jump and threw the hook back at me at the last second. I just went back to look at an earlier story I did about fishing. Nope, my views haven’t changed much.

You might notice that all my lures and flies are small. That’s because even they were larger than most of the fish I’d catch. Still, I liked artificial bait rather than live bait: you didn’t have to dig it, catch it, dissect it or listen to rubber worms scream when you threaded them on the hook. Besides, I thought it was an act of positive Darwinism to weed out the fish dumb enough to fall for fake food.

Panatomic-X film can

I bought film in 100-foot rolls and cut it into 30-exposure rolls in my basement darkroom. Those empty film cans like this one that contained Panatomic-X were put to a multitude of uses around the house. This one found a home in my tackle box.

When I first moved to Florida, I’d sneak out west of town on a slow day and fish some of the pounds and lakes in the wilderness near the city. I could turn up the scanner and the company two-way radio and pretend to be working while casting, mostly fruitlessly. The few times I caught anything, I’d toss it back. The last thing I wanted to happen was have to roll on spot news and forget I had a fish under the seat.

Sons Matt and Adam haven’t shown any real interest in fishing. I’ll offer my tackle box to them, and if they don’t want it, I’ll carry it back to Cape to let Brothers Mark and David divvy it up. Mark likes collecting old objects that he turns into art, and David is an avid fishermen. Maybe David can catch stuff with lures that are half a century or more old. I certainly didn’t use up all the luck in them.

You can click on the photos to make them larger if you want to see what I fished with.