Thanksgiving Day

A wonderful view of fog rising from the Niangua River over McKee Ridge

The crossroads are the same

I can remember many Thanksgiving Days when when our families were still with us. It was a great day, some more elaborate than others, but most important was the gathering of families. This morning was beautiful with fog rising into the sky as ragged clouds that were quickly whisked away. The old town, our home for many years was once, I considered the crossroads of the world. But time has taken it's toll on the little village and now two old remaining store buildings are left and are remnants of a once colorful past. There once stood a barbershop, farrier building, a canning factory and an area where cattle, turkey and hogs where brought in to be driven to market. The roads are the sames, leading to the world around me. But I love it hear, for I can see the river fog, buzzards circling in the distance and deer that often quietly pass through. It it a good day as are most days in Windyville and this day will be a time for our family. Adios

A tribute to Tiddleson, Son of Tiddle

Page 205- Beautiful Shanna, from Ambersham

Beloved wife of Tiddleson

Page 180 An unexpected arrival

Page 8- First contact in Wilderness America


Page 231
A deadly encounter at the Wilson House


Page 38
The voyage of the Una Zoe across a storm driven sea

Page 1, Tiddleson,Son of Tiddle

The story of Tiddleson and the Amicus People

During my journey through life I have encountered many strange events, places and people, but none of them came close to Tiddleson, Son of Tiddle. I was forunate to have been allowed to write his story. Tiddleson's saga is indeed a remarkable event, in places that are beyond the realm of reality among the people of the of the world and beyond. It

is a tale of great adventure, drama, danger and undying love. I have often wondered why Tiddleson came into my life. Oh I know there are some people who say that perhaps I have let my imagination run a muck believing as I do of Tiddleson’s existence. This does not concern me at all. I remember the day clearly when Tiddleson appeared for the first time and became a part of me. It has been several years since that fateful day. My son Ronnie Jr. was but a small lad at the time. The boy loved to visit old homestead dump sites containing rusting tin cans, crock shards and many other items that had been discarded.
An old cedar forest that lies across the road from our home contains several of these small dumps. We were approaching the last one before returning home and my son as usual was ahead of me, eager to be the first on site. I heard something rattle inside a large tin coffee can. I hurried forward calling for the boy to stop. I feared a snake might be inside the can. Within a few seconds I was standing at the dump with my son, when a small creature dashed from the can and ran into some tall grass.
“That was a little man!” the boy shouted.
“Well I don’t thinks so,” I laughed. “I think it was a lizard running on its hind feet.”
The incident could have been easily forgotten, if not for a door so to speak opening in my mind and there stood Tiddleson, Son of Tiddle. He was a red haired man, with bright blues eyes, standing no taller than a dandelion stem.
“I have a story to tell,” he smiled and so it all began.
The Amicus People of which he was leader, were and are to this day a remarkable people, a part of an old clan appearing quite mysteriously long ago at a river that ran from the Garden of Eden. To the world they were misfits and were feared and considered evil by many among large humans, for since the beginning of time, superstitions no matter how absurd has often merged with religious beliefs.
The Amicus cannot lie and are totally compassionate to all creatures around them, including large humans, but sadly they have been forced on occasions to defend themselves. Horribly persecuted in medieval times they were ultimately driven from Wicklow Mountain in Ireland and fled the land after building a tall mast ship (The Una Zoe) no larger than a row boat and set sail to wilderness America. The journey to say the least was fraught with unimaginable dangers. After many, many months they arrived in the cedar forest, where they sought refuge in the numerous caverns within the pinnacle of a high stone located deep with a glade, surviving there within the glade and the magnificent stone some call Lone Rock.
The Book, Tiddleson, Son of Tiddle is a detailed story of these unusual people. There are some who have read the book and they too believe and are always looking, hoping to at least to catch a glimpse of the elusive Amicus.
I have heard it said a time or two that facts are often stranger than fiction and I can say with certainty the story of Tiddleson, Son of Tiddle is a true, fiction tale. It can be no other way and cannot be proven or disproved, for the road back to where the Amicus were created is narrow, so narrow a rabbit could hardly walk. The fleeting glimpse of something most people have seen or felt deep in the woodland or sage grass cannot be described but leaves one to wonder.
A friend of mine while visiting with his mother and about to fall a sleep on her couch the first night, he became aware of the sound of soft footsteps near the couch and without moving he opened his eyes and saw a tiny man walking by. The little fellow stopped momentarily, smiled and quickly walked out of the room.
The next morning my friend informed his mother of the incident and she looked away then nodded and said. “I know Son; the little people come and go quite often in the house. They have chased all the spiders away and cleaned all the webs from the windows.”
Most important, to me at least, is how fortunate I am to have been allowed to write the story of Tiddleson and the courageous Amicus People.
A book is nothing but an inanimate object until opened and carefully read and to do so with Tiddleson, Son of Tiddle will take the reader to a world of fantasy, adventure, drama and reveal a truly remarkable, but elusive people. Adios

Cat Hollow

A man called Ike and Butcher Redoak near sundown

in Cat hollow. My last painting for 2011.

The old carving brought to light

Cat Hollow lies along the Niangua and drains into the the meandering river. The hollow is very deep and the sun rises and sets over the hollow a couple of hours earlier than it does anywhere else. Cat hollow is bounded on both sides by very steep and rocky ridges. It has been used for many things in the past, including moonshine making, (white lightening whiskey). The Ozark Ridge Runners, a renacting group for mountian men and buckskinners used the site for rendezvous for a time. I was a part of the band and enjoyed the events very much. My last painting for 2011 is a winter scene in the beautiful old hollow. The found the carving pictured above after it stood for several years in a corner of my studio. It stands about five feet tall, carved from a slab of cedar. Adios.

The Invasion

My old neighbor is a fugitive for the next several days.

I hope he makes it

Not a safe place to be on McKee Ridge for deer gun season

A couple of mornings ago I was rudely reminded that gun seasons for deer was in progess. Five rapid gunshots rang out shattering the peaceful morning. I have nothing against the hunting of deer, for with out it the deer would become much too abundant. I was once a deer hunter, keeping in mind the safety aspect of it. Do not hunt in someones back yard or trespass. Shoot only when a deer is well within range and the list of do's and don't go on. Those five shots came from the same gun, and I qoute, "bang, bang, bang, bang, bang." unquote. The deer must have running through the brush. Where were the bullets going? In this country, with few exceptions, fifty yards is about max and in my opinion never shoot at a running deer. If you are a hunter, then stalk the deer, make one shot suffice. During my hunting years I hunted game for the table and did not care a hoot and hollor about the the antlers. You can't eat them. Bragging rights is all you get out of them and that ain't much if you have to shoot five times. It is not a war out there. I stopped hunting years ago because of too many people stomping through the woods carrying weapons that were powerful enough to bring down a bull elephant. I was brought up to make the first shot count and bring down the deer, dead when it hit the ground. I only used singe shot weapons. Adios

The last rose of summer and autumn roads

A new coat for winter

Beautiful Heidi

Defying frosty mornings

East Road out of Windyville

The last Rose of Summer and Autumn Roads

My summer has been a busy one and I have neglected my blog, “South Through Bare Foot Pass.” This morning was very cool at 32 degrees, but very refreshing and colorful. Despite the cold and frosty morning one of my wife’s rose bushes has survived and the blooms are beautiful. I have been to book signings sponsored by Home Grown Books. One was in Mt Vernon and the other in Springfield.. Book signings are not one of my favorite events, but I enjoyed them. I suppose it is the setting up and taking down that I care not for. I have completed three paintings this summer and one that I have near completion. They are a part of a series I call, “For The Ages.” They have a western theme with horses and people from the past. It is remarkable at least to me how the past can be brought to life in words, painting and woodcarving. And of course without the past as a reference human would be nothing more than herd creatures wandering through life with little purpose. The east road out of Windyville was especially beautiful this morning with autumn colors and restless leaves hurry along the old trace. Heidi, my beautiful dog is doing well and has come a long since I adopted her. She has less fear now and enjoys her home. I am looking forward to winter, writing, painting, carving and keeping my blog updated. Who knows what stories there are to tell? Adios.