Quickly gone ..racing forward

" it goes so quickly "  Emily ( Our town )  

No matter how hard we try this planet keeps on spinning . There must be something about whirling in orbit that ages us .

 By the time I was in the Seventh grade I was already looking toward High School . Our teachers were constantly reminding us how much more difficult High School would be . By the time we reached seventh grade we were the " Big " kids in the school .

 I entered the Seventh grade in the Fall of 1959 . There was a lot going on in that year .

Science had gotton popular : Two major events seemed to fuel it one was the Space Program ,April 9, 1959  NASA  announced the names of seven men who will become the first US astronauts. They are Alan Shepard, Jr., Virgil (Gus) Grissom, John Glenn, Jr., Malcolm Scott Carpenter, Walter (Wally) Schirra, Jr., Leroy Gordon Cooper, Jr., and Donald (Deke) Slayton.

 The other was the Results of the International Geophysical year which had begun in 1957 and ended in 1958 . BY the time we had returned to School in the Fall of 1959 the planet was beging to give up some secrets and was on the brink of looking a whole lot smaller as well .

 During the 50's there was a change in some of the underlying theories of earth Sciences . By 1959 textbooks on the formation of the earth were being changed dramatically. It had seemed almost over night we had gone from believing the mountains of the earth were formed by the cooling of the earths crust , a theory sometimes referred to as the shriveled apple theory . to the idea that the there were these huge plates of earths crust floating on the Molten mantle of the earth . And as they jostled for position they would occasionally slam into each other and the result was mountain building , earthquakes and volcano's .

 In 1957 the Soviet Union had surprised the USA by putting a man made satellite in orbit . Sputnik was a small device . but this 23 inch sphere was about to change the world as well . As a Seventh grader I was not able to fully grasp the implications of the Russians putting a satellite in Space befre we had a chance to do it , and to be honest not sure i understand as an adult as well .

The Barbie doll was introduced in 1959 . Bonanza was first aired , and as 1959 rotated into 1960 John F Kennedy announced his Candidacy for the president of the USA .

Events from years before were forming the events of my last years in Grade school and these in turn were rushing toward a political murder and a man on the moon .

and just as the great plates of the earth were being thrust together and pulled apart by forces we could barely understand ..The boys and the girls of the seventh grade were racing toward ...maturity.

It wasn't a sudden thing , nor was it the same thing for everyone ..but for many of us boys girls started to look a little different in the seventh and eight grades . The smiles were brighter , the skirts were tighter , and curves were curvier . Boys went to shop class in the Seventh and eight grade . Girls went to Home Economics .

At Multnomah Grade school the Shop class was next door to the Home economics class ...through the smell of sawdust and burned plastic came the sweet smell of baked bread and cupcakes next door .

There was a huge gulf between the opportunities for girls and the opportunities for boys in those years . There were a few occupations that were " suitable " for girls nursing and teaching were foremost . For boys it was a wide open field . Boys had more opportunity in the work place and in the education system . It was a mans world .

But we weren't men yet ..we were working it out , In play grounds and locker rooms we joked , we dispensed bad information , we told tall tales , and somehow in spite of our collective ignorance we found ourselves ..thinking more and more about girls .

IN time each of us would find our particular niche of girl magnetism. For some it came as sports , for some it came as snappy dressing . For a great number of us it didn't come at all , at least not yet .

I felt awkward around girls , a perfectly normal conversation about rocket fuel would turn to mush when confronted with a ______ or a _______ . A perfectly executed Yo Yo spin would dangle hopelessly when Pricilla went by . A normal 1/2 minute conversation on the phone would turn into an oral dissertation of War and Peace if I tried to call a girl .  I aslo found out that most girls were not intersted in a dissertation about War and Peace , nor the Nuances of rocket fuel .  

Fortunately there was more to These late years than girls , I found refuge in the science class , and had already successfully blown up several rockets and set the Science Laboratory on fire by an ill advised use of turpentine on a smoldering fire .

The boy Genius who in the 5th grade had been invited into the select ranks of the special Science Club for seventh and eight graders was by the 7th grade a full blown nerd. And even as a Nerd I was failing ...then a singular event , something i never saw coming and when first thrust into I resisted with all the wiles in my wiley youth , would despite my protestations change all this in just a few months ....

Little League Lessons

Summer was Little league season . In our area we had two groups for kids my age , the majors and the minors . I Played on a minor league team . I was not all that bad . ( pats self on back ) . I was very good at fielding , fast . Hitting was my downside , but I cold bunt and hit through the infield so usually I batted lead off .

I tried all the positions except First base , but most frequently was put in as either shortstop or Catcher .

My dad coached the team for two years . We won our division each year , and I was selected to be on the Minor league all star team twice .

Dad was a great coach for little league , he had this unusual idea that if you came to practice you should be able to play . He was even heretic enough to believe that what was important in the game was learning to play it , enjoy playing , and having fun. Radical.

I really can't recall how many games we played in a week I think we played twice a week . and some of the games were double headers . IN the photo attached to this post my father is the one standing back Left , I am the good looking guy holding the bat on the right hand side and my Brother bob is sitting beside me .

We practiced a lot . Dad was real insistant on teaching us the fundamentals of fielding . I can't Remember the name of the other coach I belive His name was Mr Feller and His son was the other one holding a bat .

As I mentioned Dad would make sure that everyone of the team got a chance to play during a game regardless of the score . Often this would create some heated remarks from the parents in the stands , occasionally my mother would get into it with another parent ..Baseball was a family game .

My friend Lee played in the majors , Often we would se each other at the baseball games . and once a year we got to play at Alpenrose which was the big league venue for Baseball in the West hills .

 

Most of the team members names are gone in my memory . My Brother and I , Jim Miller , Earnie Bartnick  ( deceased ) ,  I will try to recall the others as well .

Our team was Verdermun Oil . Our colors were Dirty grey and Dirty black .

Leaving things for others to find

Our Adventures on the Coast were weekend adventures ...Friday we would leave , sometimes after a little league game. And we would return Sunday afternoon usually before dark.

The house was always left clean and spotless as if we had not even been around . If we used wood for the stove we replaced it on the wood stack . There was always wood to split and stack . Dishes washed and put away , beds made .

We would pile into the car and Head home . Bob and I would recount the curves on Highway 53 , surprised I guess their turned out to be the same number . We would turn right on the Sunset Highway and head east back toward Portland . about 30 miles up the road into the Coastal mountain range there was a rest stop . Not much more than a very wide place on the road . there was a natural spring that came out of the hills there and there was a stone enclosure for a water spigot . The water here was cool and sweet . and we soul stop for a drink and rest . MY dad would take a short nap in the car as we played on the grass and explored the creek that ran by the fountain .

Several years ago I was sharing part of this " History " with Lori , it was a rainy day and we had headed over to the Coast for a small vacation . I stopped at this same location . the Faucet was still there ..I wandered a few feet to catch a glimpse of the stream we played in . but the hillside was wet and slick and the under brush was not very inviting . I retreated to the car and we head on our way ..within a few minutes we could tell something was very wrong . The car began to reek ..the smell was horrible . Someone had let there pet run around and the pet had relieved itself near the fountain , and I Had tracked the evidence of this into the car . Realizing the enormity of the problem I pulled over at the first wide spot and immediately began to wipe my feet on any grass ,bush or limbs i could find to remove the offending material .

 Inside Lori worked feverishly with what ever she could find to remove the same material from the Gas and brake Peddle , and from the floor mat . We put what we could not leave behind in a Garbage bag , probably double bagged it . and headed back out . But it was not enough , the strong stench still remained ....and Lori started peeling some oranges we had brought with us for the trip and placing them in front of the hot air vent , then I would grind them up with my foot on the floor ...It eventually got better ..but for years later on the dark and rainy nights if you held your nose just right .....

The next major landmark on our Journey home was the Sunset Tunnel . The Sunset Tunnel was built in 1941 it was a WPA project the Tunnel is 800 feet long. Heading east once out of the Tunnel you begin a decent in to the Willamette Valley . Dad would usually honk his horn as we traveled through the tunnel if He didn't do it we would remind him ,

We would try to get home before dark. This made the unpacking part much easier . each of us had our assigned Tasks . Mine was usually disappearing quietly , and heading across the street to see if Rex were out . Rex made this weekend trip with us a few times , but after the Wounding him with the knife episode , the breaking of his bike during the great raid event , and the burning down the woods catastrophe , Rex's Mother seemed to have plans for him when ever we asked if He could join us .

I always appreciated it when Rex was in the Yard ... If he was not to be seen I would knock on His door , but often no one would come to the door . I found it odd that with as little money as they had that they would leave with the TV blaring and all the lights on ...but People do as people do .

If Rex was available I would spend a little time with him and tell him about all the fish I caught usually adding a little length , and weight to them as well as number ..I did this not to brag but to encourage his Pleading with His mother to let Him join us the next time out .

Rex was usually unimpressed about my fishing adventures ..even at times going so far as to suggest I was gently stretching the truth , however He said it differently.

I had learned when to return to our home just in time to see my dad and brother dragging the tent off the back of trailer and depositing it into the garage . MY " what can I do to help " was warmly greeted and usually well rewarded.

I did take responsibility for unpacking my own gear . Putting my Fishing poles where mom could trip over them and my tackle box in the middle of the floor where i could easily find it the next time out . Leaving the tackle box indoors seemed to have a negative impact on the almost live bait i carried in it . At times it was kind of comical to watch my mother race around the house sniffing both Bob and I trying to figure out what we may have stepped in . As I gained maturity I learned to take the eggs and crawfish tails and clam necks out of the tackle box and store them in the refrigerator . Usually at the back in the corner behind several Jars of half eaten pickles . Sometimes these moldering baits would slip their hiding spots and present themselves to my Mother as she was preparing some meal or another , whenever this happened it did not go well with me or the bait . I don't think my Mother ever understood that some fish preferred old bait as some people preferred old cheese . She also seemed to be somewhat territorial about the refrigerator..when it came to what went into it . My mother was wonderful , but she was not perfect .

If we got home early enough I would watch Omnibus . Then settle in for the wonderful world of Disney ...

The weekend would end with Mom tripping over my fishing poles and dad Demanding I take the tackle box into my room or the Garage . Depending on how stuffed up I was ...I would make a decision and then it was lights out ....the weekdays were coming .

A Mystry to Solve

The Cabin on Buchanon Creek came with its own caretaker . Although it seems ot me He was more of a " squatter " than a Caretaker . We called him shorty . I have no idea what his name was . Nor do I know much of his history. I wish I did .

If Shorty lived in Nashville , or Portland he would be one of those people you would find living under a bridge . As it was He lived in a small shack that could not have been more than 10 x 10 in size . inside of this shack was a small wood burning stove , the only source of heat and were He cooked the meals he needed to cook. The walls were covered with various items , all apparently useful to him and in the back of the space a platform with blankets for his sleeping needs .

As his nickname implied He was short , Just over 5 feet . I can't remember if he had a beard ..if he did it was invisible because of the dirt and grime on his face.

Shorty bathed once a week . He would ride his bike to a friends house near Saddle mountain . there He would take advantage of the friends Shower and Suana . then return back to his shack .

I do not recall ever seeing shorty smoking or drinking . Most of the food he ate he either grew or caught . When we started using the Farm house i know we often brought him meals and left him with whatever we had left over as we parted .

I can't recall Shorty ever doing anything for money . I suspect He barterd , traded , and foraged for his sustenance. In today's terms he was definitely off the grid .

The farm had some Livestock , Goats , Geese and Chickens and I am sure they needed some one to feed them and tend them . The Chickens layed eggs and shorty was able to eat them . When ever we came down on the weekends He had some for us . Maybe money went from my fathers hands to his I don't know .

Shorty didn't talk much when He did it was with a heavy accent . I believe He was Swedish. He smelled badly and His cabin reeked . Mom did not allow him in the cabin . and He had questionable decision making skills . ON one occasion we pulled into the house late at night as we entered the house we were greated with the worst smell you could imagine ...it was so bad we all got back in the car while my father went to investigate . finally after a heated conversation with Shorty ..Dad got in the car , slammed the door and we returned to Portland . Turned out that Shorty had trapped some salmon in the creek , but they were too old and decayed to eat so he through them away under the farm house .

When we returned the next week the smell was all but gone . Im not sure what Dad said to him not what threats he threatened him with , but it seemed to work. There was only one more similar instance and that was when Shorty had managed to trap a skunk under the house . although I do remember my dad saying the skunk did improve Shorty's aroma .

The interesting thing is all this did not seem to deter my brother and I striking up a friendship with Shorty. He let us Help him feed the animals , chop wood , and allowed us to do some of the other chores he did around the house . whenever we arrived we would usually ask him about the fishing conditions , which fish were in the creek , and if any wildlife was around . Deer were always a given . but we had the occasional Elk and black bear that wandered into the property . espicially when the apple trees were dropping their fruit .

Once we were established at the Farm House I bought some Forest service maps of the Area . and discovered that there was what appeared to be a lake not too far from the cabin . The lake was unnamed on the map . Shorty told us the lake was named Soapstone lake , and not too many people knew about it ...there was an an abandonded homestead near it ..and a larger orchard nearby as well . Twice Shorty took us to the lake . It wasn't quite what I expected to find , and yet I don't know what I expected . The lake was small ..it had the appearance of a lake formed by a beaver dam . As it turns out it is a spring fed lake and yes there were beavers there . The area around the lake had several dead trees , in various stages of decay .

Not sure when ..a few years after we started using the Cabin Shorty was killed . He was riding his bicycle back from His weekly soak . The rain and wind must have blinded him as he road his Bike into the front of an oncoming car .

I find it interesting how God sews people into our lives ...sometimes we know immeadiatly  , what He is doing for us , and other times the fruit takes longer to ripen . Its been over 50 Years since Shorty and my path crossed ..but I have a feeling  that this story is not done yet ....

Bucannon Creek University

Just past Saddle Mountain there is a Junction . Highway 53 branches off of the sunset Highway. also known as the Necanicum Highway , 53 heads southwest for about 18 miles before it brings you out at Highway 101 near Mohler and Wheeler Oregon .

The Farm house we spent several years in on the weekends was Seven and a Half miles from the Junction. For Distraction Bob and I would count the turns on this Highway from the place where we entered the road to the driveway of the home . in Seven and half miles there were 75 turns . One turn in the rod every tenth of a mile . MY dad used to quip the road was laid out by a drunken cowboy chasing a Horse that had eaten Loco weed . The Road divides two great Forests , the Tillamook State forest and the Clatsop State Forest .

The Farm was dissected by Highway 53 the farm house and an old Orchard was on the left hand side of the highway , and on the right was an old Barn . A small creek named Buchanon Creek was just past the barn .

The house had electricity , and even had indoor plumbing . IT was not completely finished . the downstairs had a mud room , Bathroom , Living area and large Common Kitchen . The stove was a wood burner and I believe there was a wood burning stove in the Living room as well . Upstairs were four Bedrooms .

In front of the house was the remains of a very old Apple Orchard . The house also came with its own caretaker . An elderly Man we called Shorty lived on the property in a very small shack next top the main house . He watched over the property and cared for the Numerous , Goats , Geese , and chickens that also lived there .

Shorty appeared to be quite old , was usually very dirty and unkempt . He would ride His bike to a Friends house near Saddle Mountain once a week for a Sauna and shower . A journey of about 18 miles round trip .

On several occasions this man became our personal Guide , and fishing expert . Although for Him he was more inclined to illegally net the fish rather than catch them on hook and line.

The major attraction for me was the Creek that ran by on the opposite side of the road . Like the Necanicum river we were very close to a large fishing hole . where the fishing hole on the Necanicum was dark and mysterious , this hole revealed everything . There was no boundary of Basalt , both sides of the creek could be reached if you didn't mind getting a little wet . And on the side of the Waterhole facing the House there was a bank overlooking and peering into the deep . On this bank at one time two very large Sitka Spruce trees made their home . One had fallen and had been salvaged in part leaving a very wide 7-8 ft Stump to sit on and watch the river . across the hole the top half of the Tree still lay in the water .

Here also High water had eroded the soil under the trees roots , carving out small cave like place under the tree . When the creek was at normal flow this was a perfect place to sit and cast and stay dry when the rains came .

From the vantage of the bank and the stump when the water was not filled with sediments from Heavy rain and runoff you could look into the water . And it was a Dazzling site ..Huge schools of fish rested here ...The King Salmon the Coho , steelhead , and schools of Cutthroat trout . I have never seen so many fish in one place as I would see in this singular wide spot in the river .

At times the water was so clear you could make out the individual spots on the fish , you could see which of the salmon were beginning to molder . and directly under the stump waves of minnows were constantly on the move .

Upstream the creek widened into a long and shallow expanse ..and for some reason I cannot remember I rarely went upstream from my vantage point . Downstream from the hole the water emptied out into a narrow flute ..here the water went quite fast forming a very large rapid . at the point where the water enter the rapids ..there was a fairly shallow gravel Bar , and it was here we could cross over to the other side . On the other side our fishing place was the remaining stalk of the fallen Sitka spruce . The width of the pool was about 40 feet . and even forty fee away from its stump the tree measured over five feet in Circumference .

This place , this deep hole was where I Began to catch fish .

The first catch was me

"I'm going out to fish," Simon Peter told them, and they said, "We'll go with you." So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. John 21:3

The big hole on the Necanicum river was mysterious , the Black rocks, the forest canopy and the Depth of the water all conspired to hide what ever lurked below the water . while I would see the fish coming and going into the " hole " I can never think of a time I saw any fish in it . The current seemed to cut through the middle of the wide spot . The water that lapped at my feet gently tugged my boots . Further out the water rushed by. A cast into the current would swing the lure in a wide arc in a matter of seconds . Past the current , hugging the stone walls opposite me was an eddy . nothing moved in this place . Iif the Fishing hole seemed dark and mysterious , this eddy was even more so . Once i hooked a beaver, at least I thought it was a beaver in the tail in this area almost breaking my pole before I wisely cut the line. Nothing moved in the Eddy . Scum formed on top of it . It was a dead spot in a living river .

I cannot recall ever taking a fish from this " big hole" . Stubbornly I kept returning ..and while I wasn't claiming any catch ..I was learning I was becoming more familiar with the river , and the fish that called it home. It has been said that a Fisherman will forget the fish He has caught but not the place He caught them . And then again I have heard some fisherman relate stories of fish that dwarfed the place they were caught in . But its fair to say my early fishing years helped to conserve the native runs .

It was here on the river bank , alone lulled into a meditative peace by the sound of the water scratching the rocks . The smell of fir and cedar . Dark rocks and brilliant mosses. That i began to think of One who made this all. And then just as quickly I would be pulling my spinner out of the water , snapping the tough line off in my teeth and , looking into my tackle box for another lure, one that would bring that first strike . I would wrestle with God in due time , now was the time to improve my cast .

I now know I was working the water the wrong way . MY " Instincts " told me the deeper the water the bigger the fish. I did not realize that in the Depths the fish were resting , there would be very few strikes in these deep pools , the tail of the rapids and the mouth of the overflow was were I should have been . that knowledge came later .

I would have definitely loved to land a large fish , to struggle with it and be victorious , to carry the fresh caught animal back to the cabin and there receive a hunters welcome . But I took what the river gave me , a surprise visit by an otter , a great blue heron watching me across the way. A shinny bit of agate .

we would occasionally have visitors , friends of my father or even Jim the Park warden come over for dinner , and I would sit an listen to their stories of fishing and hunting , soaking up as much as I possibly could ..I was beginning to realize that the more information I had about the fish the better fisherman I would be.

I started to read as much as I could about the fish here . And about fishing . first there were children's books about fish , but with those soon exhausted I sought the adult shelves in the Library .

Soon my favourite Author was a British Columbia Fly fisherman by the name of Roderick Haig Brown. The first book of His I read was called " a river never sleeps " . written in 1946 it is a Hymn to Fly fishing for Salmon , and Steelhead. For me fly fishing was not practical The streams on the Coast are framed by trees the only way a proper cast could be made with a fly pole would be to place yourself in the middle of the river , not always practical for a seven year old boy and definitely not something His mother would want to encourage . The books contained a lot of information on Habitat and behaviour that I would make use of After that came others till I had read His entire collection of works . I spent my money on a subscription to Field and stream . There was a Sporting good store on the way to my Hay fever doctor and I would spend as much time as I could there , looking over lures , listening to salesmen , eves dropping on stories told around the sales counter. When we were on the Coast I took every opportunity to investigate and pry into the secrets of all who carried a rod and reel and who would let me within earshot .

. It didn't take very long for me to decide I wanted to be a Professional fisherman and live out my life pipe in mouth fishing vest filled with home made flies , chasing Steelhead as they took out 200 yards of line in a mad dash for freedom .

The three major types of fish included the Steelhead . the Salmon and the Trout .

 

 

Steelhead were the most prized . Difficult to catch , strong from years of swimming in the Ocean , Steelhead would average about 12-20 lbs . The largest Steelhead caught in Oregon weighed 38 pounds . There are several varieties of Salmon but the two most prolific are the King Salmon and the Silver Salmon King Salmon average about 25-35 pounds and the record was 83 pounds . Silver Salmon also known as Coho salmon are smaller From 7 -15 pounds . IN addition to these fish the rivers are filled with Native Cutthroat trout and a distant cousin the Ocean bay cutthroat trout . These fish will be from 1 to 3 lbs in size .

During this period of " book knowledge " about my quest . the cabin on Highway 26 became no longer available to us ...I suspect it sold. Mom and Dad had been able to live in it rent free ...and we were now Oregon Coast homeless ... My fathers friend Jim Webb , a park ranger at Saddle Mountain , had located this place for us , and He came up with a new home for us to use .

This home was much bigger , a two story farmhouse , on Highway 53 7.5 miles from the Necanicum Junction . This place was the one I remember best , it was from here I Caught my first fish ...and began my fishing career in earnest .


Photo Credits :

Lower Necanicum River
Cutthroat Trout
Silver Salmon ( Coho )
Steelhead
King Salmon

The Deep begins to stir

Sometime after 3rd Grade and before 7th Grade I think I began to " experience " God . In Sunday school and school ground chats God was always an Abstraction . MY parents spoke very little about God , they agreed that He must exist , and I believe they felt there as an after life . But Theology , bible discussion was not a fixture or topic of discussion in our home.

Understanding God for me began in the clear creeks and narrow valleys of the Oregon Coastal range . It began as a murmur , the taking of shape of individual trees in the first light of morning kind of way. And when I first saw the ocean the confirmation of God was sealed forever in my heart .

To be fair here I am not talking about the Christian Faith I embrace today . These first shadows and revelations where of God the creator , God the sculpture and painter and God the giver and taker of life .

During this period we were granted access to two different cabins on the Coast , Memory has failed me I cannot choose which came first , I believe it was the Cabin on Highway 26.

This cabin sat on the right hand side of the road a bare mile from the Gas station and restaurant at the Necanium Junction where Highway 53 corkscrewed into the Sunset Highway.

Next door and sharing the driveway to the Cabin was an abandoned School house. Across the Highway a large lava rock narrow the road .

The cabin was small at most two bedrooms , a primitive kitchen , no electricity . Bathroom facilities were out back .

Several hundred yards from the road the Necanicum river pushed toward the Ocean ..several miles down tream it was navigabile by Drift boat ..but the stretch behind the house was barren of boats.

The upper end of the hole and the lower end were quite shallow at the rivers normal flow . But the other side of the river was unreachable . That side was buttressed by a wall of Basalt pushed out of the earth . Steep , slick , black and menacing . Opposite the Basalt wall there was a gently sloping river bank , noving from the water with golf ball sized pebbles to soft sand at the outer margins of the " normal " creek flow . At high water and flood time this margin would spill out in to the field where the path from the House disected. There was a wide spot in the river there , we called these places Holes ..or fishing holes . The frequent floods of water from the storms of Spring and fall had gouged the softer earth away from the Basalt . it was deep and dark there , forbidding . If you waited you could watch the Salmon break out of this restful area and struggle upstream several inches of Salmon visible out of the water ..forcing themselves further up the river . and below the hole the same spectacle could be seen the Deep waters offer sanctuary for the Migrating Salmon . Along the banks carcasses of fish could be easily seen , and several of the fish struggling towards the place of their own birth could be seen decaying and moldering.

Death and life were here ..laid out in perfect order . Even at such an early age I new that if the river were an Orchestra there must be a Conductor , if the rich greens and water stained blacks were a painting there must be a painter .

I did not know who this Master musician , painter sculptor was . But I knew He was . and I knew some how some way that He must be eternal .

There was Mystery and discovery here . the house side of the creek , was very accessible and it gave up its clues easily during the months . BUt the Opposite side , those rock walls were too much of a challenge to investigate , there was no purchase here no place to lay a foot. Life had found a way in places , mosses , and occasional clumps of grass , clinging to the rock.

Sitting at the bank of the river , watching the seasons go by ..I knew with confidence from a very early age that This was His world and we were visitors ... Seems almost egotistical to make this confirmation about myself when I was so young ..but my conviction is unalterable . I did not know who this God was , I had no name for Him save God ...and I did not know that He provided a way for me to be with Him when I pass , I did not know about His plan of Salvation nor the curse of Sin . I Just knew there was a God , and I felt that by knowing more about His Creation I would come to know more about Him .

* Photo note , this is not the Necanicum river , it is the Duck river in TN , the rocks here are Limestone ...When we are in Oregon I Hope to photograph the Place I am describing .