tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52729388854956918632024-02-12T05:17:12.186-05:00NORDO News - Aviation UneditedWe want to fill a void in aviation by offering ideas, editorials, anecdotes, awareness, satire, critical and controversial reviews, and stories mainstream magazines would never print. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger577125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-91116385050509686312023-06-01T23:56:00.000-04:002023-06-01T23:56:01.272-04:00Gilmore - That Cat - Is Gone<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstHfPjbBw3tqSs0EZv4q0ou7YPqIQ6H8zVGQAGV3xoiKA3g_sW_fv90SFtpepDkkfDlbtvYiU7oUo5wyuOjIP7n87OZlUKDZQQeAyIpfGUC0X5Yoir1tePq3Mmw47BEjQ9aIQ3R2hzovT_VoMPil6AP3UfTh8fbR5jM8BzRRd5xTbyqUImNC9AzmhzQ/s960/336978712_2086692418203473_1068852429685852330_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstHfPjbBw3tqSs0EZv4q0ou7YPqIQ6H8zVGQAGV3xoiKA3g_sW_fv90SFtpepDkkfDlbtvYiU7oUo5wyuOjIP7n87OZlUKDZQQeAyIpfGUC0X5Yoir1tePq3Mmw47BEjQ9aIQ3R2hzovT_VoMPil6AP3UfTh8fbR5jM8BzRRd5xTbyqUImNC9AzmhzQ/s320/336978712_2086692418203473_1068852429685852330_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />The last four-legged member of the Davidson troupe is gone.
Gilmore has taken his last breath. Acute renal failure took him at 13.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gilmore arrived in the Davidson Shelter for Wayward Animals
in the oddest of ways. While walking the runway one sunny day, Ginger heard
what she believed to be a stressed baby bird. Slowly triangulating to the sound
she stumbled upon a slimy little fur ball out of its element.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Barely a few weeks old, square in the middle of the runway,
his attendance to this place would have been inexplicable were it not for another
four-legged critter named Bair; our black lab, of loveable fame, was prone to
grabbing baby things and carrying them in his mouth without damage. It was the
only logical explanation. Yet, it was also an unnecessary explanation. The
kitten didn’t care how it got there. He wanted, and needed, care or he was
going to die.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was away flying when I received Ginger’s message saying she
had found “something.” During a few spare minutes between flights I called to
see what it was. To be clear, when she told me I was not excited. We already
had three dogs and a cat living in a thousand square foot home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">However, Ginger explained it was so young it couldn’t eat
solid food and given its extremely young age it probably would not survive
without perfect care. That’s all I learned before my free time expired. When I
landed again I called for an update.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ginger had been online, found the chemical/nutrient
composition of cat’s milk and put her mind to work finding those items.
Unsurprisingly, she had gone ahead and home-brewed a batch. All she needed was
a way to get it down his throat. With that, my time was up again. One final leg
and I would be home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">A few hours later, on my way to the house, I pulled into a
drug store and bought a dropper. Arriving home with this item qualified me as a
temporary hero. It was exactly what Ginger needed. Before I could sit down the
little thing was taking excited swigs of Ginger’s snake oil. A concoction our
vet would later marvel over. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">A day or two later one of us took a photo we’d eventually
refer back to a hundred times or more. Despite having grown significantly since
Ginger found him, the little kitten could still fit in a shoe. Walking,
however, that was a problem.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzlwwAmQ43HXOG6tv747TotGIT923A1qmq5AGMtGsJgY2wetIBOFuuLJvyIV2tKfYLt3oV6scwEqCbYOIZOiIn0pg83RkFYhbIgoqkP6ZDnRCdmLpWO-0Tj4x-cgYYYpBWkPlR38XcpAUNAWL4OUyekv6ymgpIxsQl37q_sNWRfArngZmMIqnURYk3A/s600/337308237_180293458140625_3826074849119470980_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzlwwAmQ43HXOG6tv747TotGIT923A1qmq5AGMtGsJgY2wetIBOFuuLJvyIV2tKfYLt3oV6scwEqCbYOIZOiIn0pg83RkFYhbIgoqkP6ZDnRCdmLpWO-0Tj4x-cgYYYpBWkPlR38XcpAUNAWL4OUyekv6ymgpIxsQl37q_sNWRfArngZmMIqnURYk3A/s320/337308237_180293458140625_3826074849119470980_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">When the little guy had enough strength to be active he
pulled himself along with his front legs. Worried he would never be able to
walk, due to early separation from his mother, we contacted our vet again. The
news we received was that it wasn’t that odd and he might very well develop
normally if he continued to eat GSO. Before long, he was running around the way
kittens do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Feeling he was going to survive, and that there was no room
at the inn, we began looking for someone who might want him. The task would not
be easy. There were not many people we would trust to give him proper care.
Thankfully, some good friends stepped up and that weight left our minds. There
was, however, another growing problem. Every hour he spent with us made it more
difficult to give him away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">A week later we told our friends we couldn’t let him go.
This presented a new problem.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PRIKqw6uM-X0gvznohHus5StqsD_ZYv2P60-Ko6L7XzAC-puhNOIjCF8tNdoIQABW4MSBU52qjALgDEyL3h-ckhZecOANl_nYoDELkEgiy6vKS7DnU1CCBIpTIZ1ThydVq_gY45LAtx4i8iNs3yLJas_7NV0E0m1wExsYxSKvIoqQ_vyaZikuX2WZQ/s720/337581242_1211201712859566_6029352016670995822_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="720" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PRIKqw6uM-X0gvznohHus5StqsD_ZYv2P60-Ko6L7XzAC-puhNOIjCF8tNdoIQABW4MSBU52qjALgDEyL3h-ckhZecOANl_nYoDELkEgiy6vKS7DnU1CCBIpTIZ1ThydVq_gY45LAtx4i8iNs3yLJas_7NV0E0m1wExsYxSKvIoqQ_vyaZikuX2WZQ/s320/337581242_1211201712859566_6029352016670995822_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">At five animals the household was over capacity and the
newest addition struggled to fit in. Our cat, “Meatball,” easily one of the
chilliest cats to ever exist, was not happy. Gilmore was a different beast.
Uncivilized and oozing with sarcasm, he drove Meatball crazy. Nevertheless, Meatball
was sick and that problem soon, and sadly, rectified itself. A few months
later, with the original Davidson feline gone. Gilmore, as we had named him, eagerly
filled the spot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Right then, for the briefest of time, everyone was well.
We’d take evening walks and all four of them would follow. Every member of the
gang knew their place in the world and brought seemingly endless amounts of joy,
and vet bills, into our lives. Gilmore was the joker.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUPEDQB0Ccd2EY7adlXfTVgEUBX6BWYNaSMyvCtqqWVYiOXDxHJSnhvwlC187s1egXHyqedE7LD8sYXgNgOD7bl5rhrONNd3lzoSOL799RiHbdRaAiiggAtGPCNllJIC5x39w9fFuAS0wImstAj4mfPB01eFp77rWbpKDWOP7ZsgGb26HmOp1pF7nhg/s1125/336648229_1180026302495416_2021224628585855835_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1125" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUPEDQB0Ccd2EY7adlXfTVgEUBX6BWYNaSMyvCtqqWVYiOXDxHJSnhvwlC187s1egXHyqedE7LD8sYXgNgOD7bl5rhrONNd3lzoSOL799RiHbdRaAiiggAtGPCNllJIC5x39w9fFuAS0wImstAj4mfPB01eFp77rWbpKDWOP7ZsgGb26HmOp1pF7nhg/s320/336648229_1180026302495416_2021224628585855835_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">When you spoke to him he’d always talk back. If you scolded
him you received the attitude of a teenager. When you said hello he’d make a
little squeak, run somewhere, and flop on his side hoping you would pick him up.
If you asked him random questions, “How you doin’ little dude?” he respond with
a sound appropriate for the query. “That cat” was so vocal we came up with
things to say to him just to hear his response. He was never-ending
entertainment on four legs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Much of this came from something we learned raising Meatball.
When Gilmore was young we picked him up hundreds of times a day. If we walked
by him we’d grab him, turn him over, upside down, grab and lightly squeeze his
paws. This conditioned him for human interaction and came with a useful bonus. When
your cat is easily handled veterinarians love them, and in turn they get better
care.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Later in life Gilmore realized it was more fun if he
pretended he didn’t want you to grab him. Ginger would tell him she was going
to scoop him and he’d run – far enough away to make her run but also to a spot
she could easily reach down and lift him into her arms. Once there he’d purr
with every stroke.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0axWG8kcfRIHlfgzWBHPvtfBH9_xkhOBWBr9Ws537bu6vC4NeZHTgqpC5_7W7-8lx60ttkCOrvO-W9W0wLxRe7zibaCaBQooxA-9LKsPqYz2Z1B0oDeLMN4cKg8M9kkY3zFd62Cy7_V6Odb2Bj_yXQHi0DOeAflMIyFkAgnSnwSRfBxnHnz9pp5w6w/s1125/336635166_760001868979746_5714517432542018125_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1125" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0axWG8kcfRIHlfgzWBHPvtfBH9_xkhOBWBr9Ws537bu6vC4NeZHTgqpC5_7W7-8lx60ttkCOrvO-W9W0wLxRe7zibaCaBQooxA-9LKsPqYz2Z1B0oDeLMN4cKg8M9kkY3zFd62Cy7_V6Odb2Bj_yXQHi0DOeAflMIyFkAgnSnwSRfBxnHnz9pp5w6w/s320/336635166_760001868979746_5714517432542018125_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Looking back, perhaps the best part about him was that he
was “my cat” when he was good and “your cat (Ginger’s)” when he wasn’t. Somehow,
though, we both claimed and disowned him multiple times a day. Odd how that
works. Maybe it had something to do with the litter box or whose turn it was to
give him insulin injections.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">In truth, it’s amazing Gilmore made the age of thirteen. Seven
or eight years into his life he began to get cranky, have random problems, and
cause us infinite issues. Long story short, he had kidney stones. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">One surgery later, and his post-op bloodwork completed, we
learned he would be on insulin the remainder of his life. With that, Ginger
jumped into action again, this time training Gilmore to readily accept the
shots. The biggest headache was the insulin and needles.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ejZTGZB_womIArOICgP1O09JqBBQc2Pky_jugVBREolz69qVv6Cdbjy97fyMBZsaVKL20eTyEyRelgdSG_USiz6tF27d5kZkOkME72B_vD7bI7epjTwA78n4jIs5Io7SmI3ge640lmSlW47QZYHFBh0Y2CUB7KZT-6uEDCtM_a6uOSP-o6ju6nl21w/s2560/20210601_165952_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="2560" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ejZTGZB_womIArOICgP1O09JqBBQc2Pky_jugVBREolz69qVv6Cdbjy97fyMBZsaVKL20eTyEyRelgdSG_USiz6tF27d5kZkOkME72B_vD7bI7epjTwA78n4jIs5Io7SmI3ge640lmSlW47QZYHFBh0Y2CUB7KZT-6uEDCtM_a6uOSP-o6ju6nl21w/s320/20210601_165952_006.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">There were times it felt as though all we did was make
needles for Gilmore. Other days were spent finding insulin and rock bottom
prices. Then there were the days we expended great efforts to glue glucose
meters to him – yes, that’s a thing. Whatever he needed, we made sure the
little joker received the best of care. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Unfortunately, there comes a time all the effort isn’t
enough; nature wins out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I learned Gilmore’s kidneys were done, I was days away
from home. A week earlier Ginger and I had noticed him lying around more than
usual and not eating. After a short discussion, we made him an appointment with
a vet hoping it would be something solvable. It wasn’t. Gilmore was
experiencing acute renal failure.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVgnV6OvU6mJBIYx_b455EMxzc3FTfryEHymYcC0JUU9URACJOPfvA3twum-L5D_BYj_kiFQyofJZzK-4kZwpVIAZBQRkdjgvau0C-MN6TkV7qdyEIDdgCuEptECZhlrggJuFEvQRRYkKVUNtzpr9SeNJx-QsraaPawqlACf7jwKIcdos9AjzaENhDA/s1226/336976927_1342508106607480_8794800505169666033_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1226" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVgnV6OvU6mJBIYx_b455EMxzc3FTfryEHymYcC0JUU9URACJOPfvA3twum-L5D_BYj_kiFQyofJZzK-4kZwpVIAZBQRkdjgvau0C-MN6TkV7qdyEIDdgCuEptECZhlrggJuFEvQRRYkKVUNtzpr9SeNJx-QsraaPawqlACf7jwKIcdos9AjzaENhDA/s320/336976927_1342508106607480_8794800505169666033_n.jpg" width="294" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">That night, as I sat him my hotel room, Ginger told me the
news and we made a decision. The experience of the last few years made the
conversation much easier than it should be. For one brief moment years earlier,
our home sheltered five cherished animals. Since then, as they say, it had been
the long goodbye; one of them leaving us for good, every other year or two,
until the only one remaining was the cat named in honor of the world’s fastest
lion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Everyone who really knows us knows we love dogs. However, anyone
one can love a dog because they love you. Cats are a different story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">For a person to develop any kind of relationship with a cat
a person must be willing and able to pay attention to the animal, listen for
clues to its mental state, observe its body language, consider its age, understand
how food affects it, and consider every possible action and sound that could
possibly strengthen the bond between human and animal. This is why so many
folks describe cats as “assholes.” They’re just like humans. All successful
pairings are the outcome of hard work and understanding.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">The downside to all this effort is what awaits you if the
animal “goes” first. With all the effort put into a cat, there are seemingly
endless, unique, little, exchanges that come to be. Those small things, the ways
you interacted with each other, serve as never ending moments of melancholy
when you’re the last one standing. Where once there were the unexpected treasures
of life, there are pockets of space wherein those things will never again
occur. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Raised with dogs, Gilmore displayed many dog like habits. Whenever
you came through the door he was there. Ginger would lay in bed, call his name,
and he’d come running to lie on her chest or at her feet for the night. When I
sat in any chair, he’d be on my lap within fifteen seconds, no matter where or
what time of day it was. Now I just sit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sygfQ-7POeqZkS86epWnJURCUW--djbI7nkF1_l0g6SRveV14yKiuce-f920lcgsfNVXt8eZdT499FQbL_ep1ZNpN1ClwWvAdxTbFAgGsEij8shSNrxflU6JcNLnMuCptgRSjGBKacBxNW1799x0xsz6D0TSMhY6WShELMZtVWFvBdezG5fX3GR73g/s1125/336785841_1861715680888037_1822517906794139723_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1125" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sygfQ-7POeqZkS86epWnJURCUW--djbI7nkF1_l0g6SRveV14yKiuce-f920lcgsfNVXt8eZdT499FQbL_ep1ZNpN1ClwWvAdxTbFAgGsEij8shSNrxflU6JcNLnMuCptgRSjGBKacBxNW1799x0xsz6D0TSMhY6WShELMZtVWFvBdezG5fX3GR73g/w400-h300/336785841_1861715680888037_1822517906794139723_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gilmore has been gone for almost two months now. I wrote
this shortly after the little shithead pulled his final joke on us and left us
behind. He was such a part of our lives I still sometimes see him at the door
when I come home; whenever the curtains hang away from a window I expect to
find him behind them enjoying the sun. Today I sat in my chair and leaned back
to make room for him. Bummer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Losing this little guy was different. When we lost animals
before Gilmore, we always had others to take care of. Today our house is empty.
The energy his life brought to our home was certainly underestimated. Yet, none
can replace him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">He is missed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Meatball, Sky, Ace, Bair, and Gilmore</span><o:p></o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-63613117077574663252022-04-06T17:32:00.002-04:002022-04-06T17:32:36.080-04:00Memories Count as ROI<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFFiCSQ4DEq5Fb_MFPE5pab8hEDOsMPAdJfrBDk9_kYabx8iKDRo19JeC9jMSP8fGsBVwbueN2brdah7ZuO52966DxDTf9HhJXwPSLnifHe3ZNCm1bieboQhbb8371cNRhlrv4VrCe2SixbfZZTzGgoLyTUlgWFxw003Vdaq9U_KPQvwWjCPE0jLnKA/s436/all.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="436" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFFiCSQ4DEq5Fb_MFPE5pab8hEDOsMPAdJfrBDk9_kYabx8iKDRo19JeC9jMSP8fGsBVwbueN2brdah7ZuO52966DxDTf9HhJXwPSLnifHe3ZNCm1bieboQhbb8371cNRhlrv4VrCe2SixbfZZTzGgoLyTUlgWFxw003Vdaq9U_KPQvwWjCPE0jLnKA/s320/all.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Whenever I feel like strangling someone I always end up thinking
about better things, better times, and the great people I have known. Last
night it happened again. While searching out a bad ground I had a vivid memory
of an old friend who died several years ago. In my mind I could see the day he
bought the most insane car of the day and the fun he had letting me drive it. I’ll
never forget it. It was hilariously fun. <span style="font-family: arial;">I’m laughing as I write.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Thinking back to that day it hit me there was an interesting
connection between the bike I was working on, the car from my memory, my old
friend, and the person responsible for the creation of both the car and the
bike. This got me to wondering if latter person was still alive; it had been a
while since I had seen or heard him in print, online, or TV.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Searching his name I found an email and sent something to
remind him of our friend. In doing so I hoped to give him a simple sincere, “Thank
you..” for playing a part in creating an endless number of great machines which
in turn led to so many great memories like mine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">This morning when I woke up he had already responded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">People are just people, after all. Those who are worth knowing
don’t want fans. However, I’ve never met a hard-working man who hated to hear a
sincere appreciative “thanks.” I’ve done this for decades and I’m always amazed
how many “living legends” answer emails and calls. Most of them, if they live
to a ripe old age, are happy to not be forgotten. Now think about those who
were working class stiffs like you and me. They aren’t “living legends” and
they’re too old to matter to most but they're still there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">When things are not so great, I highly recommend you follow
my lead. Think of the good and </span><span style="font-family: arial;">thank everyone you can find for playing a part in it.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-13354108076167681642022-01-17T00:39:00.001-05:002022-01-17T00:39:44.907-05:00Best Supporting Character - Betty Davidson, Passed Away on January 7th. <span style="font-family: arial;"><u><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQiMUbV03ClTMHEANwcPKrzoB9n07udcE7M28Q6VCPFtka2O3neBNdlYq05ZcD9rzSlvM29DEWtNL_lmH__iNb-ouwzxB5BZSordOgpznWE3iI--My2YC0TOJatqsRE5xBU6CPLy22FgXR30b3BzhpLmGTVxrCRgFij1W_VfuuMld25p5BgRH-cXrriQ=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQiMUbV03ClTMHEANwcPKrzoB9n07udcE7M28Q6VCPFtka2O3neBNdlYq05ZcD9rzSlvM29DEWtNL_lmH__iNb-ouwzxB5BZSordOgpznWE3iI--My2YC0TOJatqsRE5xBU6CPLy22FgXR30b3BzhpLmGTVxrCRgFij1W_VfuuMld25p5BgRH-cXrriQ=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u style="text-align: start;">RIDE THE WIND</u><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">Soar with the eagles</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">Roar past the lions</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">And call the heavens home</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">May you rest in God’s arms</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">Walk in his garden and</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">Drink from his fountain</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">I shall feel your spirit</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">In the carefree breezes</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">And hear your song</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">When the wild birds sing.</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;"> </span><span style="text-align: start;"> </span><span style="text-align: start;">-Author unknown</span></td></tr></tbody></table></u><br />Betty Davidson, my mother, was a truly unique lady. A combination of great intelligence, inquisitiveness, stoic presence, and warmth gave her an innately pleasant demeanor. More keen to listen than talk, and always quick to smile, she made friends wherever she went.<br /><br />As it was with almost any child raised in eastern Kentucky in the first half of the twentieth century, she possessed the skills of the pioneers and the strong mind of a person firmly grounded in reality. These things never left her. She could do anything and excel at it but never felt the need to compete. This meant others always respected and admired her for her abilities. However, the wise knew better than to taunt her. The witty end of her sarcasm gene could be deadly – one of the many things my dad loved about her. <br /><br />As scandalous as it may seem today, when she married my father, a man who was her high school teacher and 14 years older, locals considered it a fairy tale wedding. Together they lived a largely traditional and happy life of marriage until he died in the year 2000. Up to that point, despite working as a full time teacher, she had never really been alone without anyone to look after her the way she looked after them. <br /><br />Silently, myself and my siblings wondered what she would do. What she did amazed us. <br /><br />She took up golf and excelled at it. “Ran the roads” with the energy of a kid, driving regularly for hours on end to see family and friends. Soon her clothes took on more color, she purchased the red convertible she always wanted, and bought herself a place in Florida. Refusing to wallow in misery or grow old, instead she adapted to expanding boundaries. She didn’t give up; she gave life a run for its money, and it was impossible to do anything but admire her for it. <br /><br />However, through it all she was there if you needed her to be.. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifnKBrAlnWz6zUPFurGA5KUNQMyvRfnrr5RL3X4jQoGjTXCpw5zNTkdcfnafLKdnxJr-fAoqIFSUArC_9gsk3FYBPcENUi-RGXdDJsxkyJeFF2rpbSZ06ZdAjVD7b8meiMjSmfxM2_0YVG2GtDgdY_OT7Vl9o2YXabXU8scFLYorQ90k1fdvfL1fEUZA=s800" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifnKBrAlnWz6zUPFurGA5KUNQMyvRfnrr5RL3X4jQoGjTXCpw5zNTkdcfnafLKdnxJr-fAoqIFSUArC_9gsk3FYBPcENUi-RGXdDJsxkyJeFF2rpbSZ06ZdAjVD7b8meiMjSmfxM2_0YVG2GtDgdY_OT7Vl9o2YXabXU8scFLYorQ90k1fdvfL1fEUZA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many of you knew her as the lady<br />who ran the fly-in store. Meeting everyone<br />on hand was something she always enjoyed.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />When she passed I was tasked with describing her and found it to be strangely impossible. Sitting here days later I still do. She did so many things with intent and so little self-promotion that nothing stands out even as I list them. I think about that and wonder how it can be. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMellxzUF9fjyW2dm-ipoLNPpDSP0g2E0FWXL15k5jZfgKh04GHNKU1Q0lla3CB5N74xaA4AM97Hv5GS6TiYV6hT_b6b3OasoENAkl6Nli3R9BYpErn6yNKeMIoSDcB-dfJmnUyoAaBKAie6syzwTNyFHLOLXCL6BcItpMWAjW4TC_IctaNGpeOatBHg=s4128" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2322" data-original-width="4128" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMellxzUF9fjyW2dm-ipoLNPpDSP0g2E0FWXL15k5jZfgKh04GHNKU1Q0lla3CB5N74xaA4AM97Hv5GS6TiYV6hT_b6b3OasoENAkl6Nli3R9BYpErn6yNKeMIoSDcB-dfJmnUyoAaBKAie6syzwTNyFHLOLXCL6BcItpMWAjW4TC_IctaNGpeOatBHg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I never thought of her and style together<br />but she certainly had it.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />She was a textbook housewife of yesterday, reliable friend, and hard worker. She also loved sporty little cars, had a closet full of color, was always where things were happening, and everyone loved her. Modern women would hoist her image as a poster child for feminism if it weren’t for her insistence on logic and reason and women of yesterday would find her too progressive. Men and women both said she was beautiful yet she never graced the roll of any pageant. She was always there, whatever “there” was, but never the focus. <br /><br />YES! Now I see it. That’s who she was and I am disappointed in myself for never seeing it before. <br /><br />She was the universe to our stars - the scenery upon which we imagined ourselves framed. In a world of portraits, she was a landscape. <br /><br /> <br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_V-uObu1dQUs1eGPTP1g6HIxBTnU0qIaRVZMj7pNetZv1VrNreS-63hHZ-EFO2WvJA4VbkPdH67ApG4zsfS3KtC-r7JckwAUzEEpKBoQFOqsXpSgx9_vUeWYG4gc2WBfWyMgL9dzVAuaiAwYGE3t7-_AZnwie5cvBwJN_RgTi17AopwhS0ZnmmxhWmQ=s554" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="554" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_V-uObu1dQUs1eGPTP1g6HIxBTnU0qIaRVZMj7pNetZv1VrNreS-63hHZ-EFO2WvJA4VbkPdH67ApG4zsfS3KtC-r7JckwAUzEEpKBoQFOqsXpSgx9_vUeWYG4gc2WBfWyMgL9dzVAuaiAwYGE3t7-_AZnwie5cvBwJN_RgTi17AopwhS0ZnmmxhWmQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br />Betty Sue Davidson</b></span><br />Novermber 16, 1938 – January 7th, 2022<br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">__________________________________________________________________<br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">After my mother passed, we found out (through Ginger) that mom had a poem written to her by my dad that she carried everywhere. Had Ginger not snuck a photo of it one day we would never have known it existed. Here it is below.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Until I met you I just wandered around, <br /><span> </span>searching for something hard to be found. <br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Searching for someone who maybe like me, <br /><span> </span>was searching for someone who would always be <br /><br />Honest and faithful, and true, and kind, <br /><span> </span>One who in trouble would always find, <br /><br />Time to listen and stop falling tears <br /><span> </span>To protect and defend from bewildering fears. <br /><br />One whose love was as sure as the dew <br /><span> </span>I was searching for someone until I met you. <br /><br /><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>- Eldon E. Davidson</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGanvRN7rQCsK7NqJAvHlcuSqyZf9Fs5_R14Y9ME0z_Zoqk2AoPPVS1DDifwSED8k_hwFADZPlJ3kRmRP25idus_IPl9N3-xVuytbhY60YvUK13mfJkLCInN-P4wE6yNJGxpat8dOAQqEa7jO6D6fQoFjUQrIW46rkOYnV114nRqylT8gk8bxmRhAgig=s1500" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGanvRN7rQCsK7NqJAvHlcuSqyZf9Fs5_R14Y9ME0z_Zoqk2AoPPVS1DDifwSED8k_hwFADZPlJ3kRmRP25idus_IPl9N3-xVuytbhY60YvUK13mfJkLCInN-P4wE6yNJGxpat8dOAQqEa7jO6D6fQoFjUQrIW46rkOYnV114nRqylT8gk8bxmRhAgig=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">___________________________________________________________________</span></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-48608946908269276932021-12-20T00:09:00.000-05:002021-12-20T00:09:37.149-05:00Jim Nolen - A Friend to All<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEia26z8Sxs67MxrCsLp3q0imiwCX8TOJD2D-dd98pfJT0N9mmUs80hbsEFV1YqSIMEetBmTChsghQM02hnfofaAeS1mWic-IJVIGtpnUVXtTFCRc_15P6hQNWCmiwKLzpcSLFBE_0zxHhf5ckzThkLwMgwRHY-33WI263w2G7Hwkvkam-L-qn8-YF1l1w=s960" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEia26z8Sxs67MxrCsLp3q0imiwCX8TOJD2D-dd98pfJT0N9mmUs80hbsEFV1YqSIMEetBmTChsghQM02hnfofaAeS1mWic-IJVIGtpnUVXtTFCRc_15P6hQNWCmiwKLzpcSLFBE_0zxHhf5ckzThkLwMgwRHY-33WI263w2G7Hwkvkam-L-qn8-YF1l1w=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Somehow Jim decided this job was his.<br />He always showed up to wash glasses<br />for Sinful Sundays. It was nice to<br />have him back there with us.<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last night Ginger and I reviewed our Lee Bottom photos hoping to find some good images of a friend who recently passed away. What we discovered instead was an
inescapable realization. A sizable percentage of our friends and airport
regulars, people who were pretty much family to us, are gone. Yes, as each of
them passed away we felt it. However, they went one by one.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">These things creep up on you. Often you sense it coming; sometimes
you see its light around the next turn. Yet, thing get real when you see it round the bend at
high speed and turn your direction. Heading your way is an
object most of us eventually feel. The loss of people for which there exist no
replacements.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">For us these individuals were part of our family. Many were like
family to our families. They volunteered, flew off the grass regularly, brought
us pheasants for Thanksgiving, shared amazing stories of early formation teams,
found and restored the rarest machines, loved on our animals, offered us great
opportunities, educated us, befriended our parents, painted great works of art,
made us laugh, and offered unique friendships. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Today the airport is busier with daily traffic than it used
to be. However, to me, it feels less alive. Think of living in a great
neighborhood and all your neighbors are wonderful. Then, over a period of a few
years, all those fantastic neighbors die. Your life is still good, you live in
the same place, but you know it will never be the same. That's probably the
best way to describe it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Nearly all the big personalities are gone along with the amazing
machines that transported them and their stories. The thunder of
booming voices and aircraft radials replaced with the soft spoken wisped along
with a Rotax buzz. Jim Nolen was one of the big voices.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Jim has been part of Lee Bottom since before I called it
home. One of our earliest Lee Bottom photos is of him sitting in the golf cart
with the airport’s previous owner, Fritz. Through the last decades of his life
he spanned all but the most distant generations and eras of the field.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Jim was always eager to help in any way he could. He was
such a significant part of the background of every event here at Lee Bottom we
considered him a bellwether. Being a Baptist minister his voice was well
trained to carry the message of fellowship. Both in sound and words, his
presence conveyed the feeling everything was good even when it was not. Likewise,
when he wasn’t around things felt a little off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">His presence was so interconnected with our events, when he
first missed one we realized our clan was on the cusp of collapse. Looking
around we could see the writing on the wall. Ten years of magic confluence were
about to end. A few calendars later there were no events.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">After that, time went on, he got older, and visited less. From
there it turned into the occasional email or word of mouth from mutual friends.
In his big personality way his energy was still there – only transported
through others.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sadly, we learned of his death a few weeks after he’d
passed. The leaves were gone from the trees by that time, cold days were
appearing, and talk about next year was in the air. No events were on the
agenda but the next era of Lee Bottom was. Jim’s death made it more real.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">His existence was that of a character, a string that tied so
many together. Every group, organization, event, family, and generation has
these people. Often unnoticed until people ask what happened to the good old
days, they rarely get the thanks they deserve. They can be the janitor, the
CEO, the friend, and even an enemy. But, they always exist. When they no longer
do, the thing their connection highlighted almost always vanishes in short
order.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Jim was one of the good ones. Everybody’s friend. His loss
marks the end of an era. Anyone who wishes to honor him should see to it the
next one is full of character, honestly, principle, and friendship. That’s what
he always offered all of us.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">* I only scratched the surface of his life. See below for more. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.lmgfuneralhomeeast.com/obituary/James-Nolen?fbclid=IwAR3WIiQZBH8ecwFJXKvdxUOBCB0FS_zwtrKbL3_Bo9Hg-48qY4kp8VbgFw0">Click here for Jim's obituary.</a></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-18195927887000491062021-10-14T01:10:00.001-04:002021-10-14T11:53:38.477-04:00The Last of the Monochrome Minidudes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEA0vyI4VocfWH4xqtWbpmOrKexbqfNArUVhQov1WOYLH7Np_MxzqLWFsmDZOsJJf87SL3ezlzMCOWWiCo8ZXlfiuS77tGQZnwDXP8WNUlI-dpPKcI05fsQKoUpq4gq91s9iSoKMoqtXEO/s600/534043_394015427340090_858521626_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEA0vyI4VocfWH4xqtWbpmOrKexbqfNArUVhQov1WOYLH7Np_MxzqLWFsmDZOsJJf87SL3ezlzMCOWWiCo8ZXlfiuS77tGQZnwDXP8WNUlI-dpPKcI05fsQKoUpq4gq91s9iSoKMoqtXEO/s320/534043_394015427340090_858521626_n.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The early years.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Today, Bair, the sole surviving dog of our once grand monochrome cadre moved on. Aging, aching, and anemic, he ambled at best. Devoid of the Labrador spirit, he laid his chin flat on the floor between his paws and quickly went to sleep just short of the age of 13.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Our family vet once told us you know it’s time when they can no longer do two of their three favorite things. Walking was out, leaning on us with his full 80lbs was gone, and his tail only sometimes pounded out a rhythm when we called his name. The only thing remaining was his not-of-this-Earth ability to absorb all the stresses we carried. There were two options. You could lie on the floor with your arm around him to receive instant peace. Alternatively, as he preferred, you could rub his ears until all your cares were gone; 43 minutes was the average time. However, to insist he stay only to benefit us would be wrong. He was ready to go and we let him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Years ago, an airport volunteer befriended Bair. That’s how he came to us. Back then he was just a pup living a rough life with no veterinary care. We told our friend Larry Hagen, “If you keep that up when you leave you’ll have to take him with you.” He didn’t. Honestly, though, I’m not sure we could have let him go.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtP6ckJsbqCMcAQFEuAvVUGO6_cL4LszcY1RtMZwpiFSOvgk8lm12OW8WFHMEzGRoxNpqYyBoNEhOj67A3y8rGCbyIOaIWXUTVtXB0BnIqizgbBMY-IhdjWt75Ib_XTJ2z0tUN8hB4IkS/s2048/20140718_175140.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtP6ckJsbqCMcAQFEuAvVUGO6_cL4LszcY1RtMZwpiFSOvgk8lm12OW8WFHMEzGRoxNpqYyBoNEhOj67A3y8rGCbyIOaIWXUTVtXB0BnIqizgbBMY-IhdjWt75Ib_XTJ2z0tUN8hB4IkS/s320/20140718_175140.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Walking by Ginger's side.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He was the perfect dog right out of the box.
Fun, gentle, and black and white; with zero training he walked beside you the way a soulless metropolitan something-doodle would after years of manipulation. When he wanted to go out, he did. When he wanted to come home, he did. Once, between all those ins and outs, we tracked him miles away making more friends and eating all the treats they offered. Whenever he started to gain weight we knew he'd found another friend and we'd have to track them down and ask them to stop. Somehow, everyone as far as you could see knew his name. Hilariously, it was not uncommon for strangers (to us) to ask how he was doing. Yes, a first class lover boy he was.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0pnzrtdhvlkrKltHoP5sPSvDEMJYUaoPM2nOeyBMatWNHFSz9qHBu_wqClo2Tbg6nWYLESW1oFdq-GFb5zPQZCgAUKI4p0nrt5xo1uH4oFWrqAk2mTRG4eNS4gW5BWFTsFnUsIr6FTdbG/s948/245182300_597335771510736_2115967190109780429_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="948" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0pnzrtdhvlkrKltHoP5sPSvDEMJYUaoPM2nOeyBMatWNHFSz9qHBu_wqClo2Tbg6nWYLESW1oFdq-GFb5zPQZCgAUKI4p0nrt5xo1uH4oFWrqAk2mTRG4eNS4gW5BWFTsFnUsIr6FTdbG/s320/245182300_597335771510736_2115967190109780429_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here you can see him saying with his eyes, "I know I wasn't <br />supposed to, but it was deer guts. I couldn't help myself."</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Bair’s only drawbacks were understandable. Before we adopted him the people where he lived would knock the crap out of him if he tried to jump onto anything then they would put him on a chain and leave him outside. Until the day he died he would flip out if a vet tried to put him up on a table or anyone attempted to lift him onto anything. A leash (chain) did the same. Thankfully, Ginger was able to work with him the way she did with Ace and get him over it. This allowed him to tolerate a leash and go for a ride in a car. Other than those rare trips to town, he was pure country boy.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Of all our dogs Bair was not the most of anything. Although, he was the second best at everything. There wasn’t anything about being a dog he wasn’t very good at. More than once during a long walk or hike, even simply sitting on the deck watching the world go by, I looked at him and thought to myself how much I loved that dog. An honest pup unspoiled by modernity; loyal, gentle, best friend to children, and always, by choice, coming home to us.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Oddly, his passing was in many ways less painful than others. Once he made it to us he lived what may have been the perfect dog life. He missed out on nothing, lived the way a dog wants to and should live - on edge of wild but wholly tame - and when his time came he didn’t suffer. However, in those same ways it is devastating as I realize I shall never see that again in my life.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">He was the best dog ever.</span></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTReIkOks2HoxBJIszC4jbs69KO96NkpgVzZ_ZI5K27zzA-bAvYbJFymNOQPjJIglL3RyGqEYt-QwhBgkDjPRnxDJI-udY4xueagoljAAo_5zBAIvt-niU2LKJqC5vUXbD_yQPepO5Cd8v/s960/245094794_609399690409052_9028725971562912417_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTReIkOks2HoxBJIszC4jbs69KO96NkpgVzZ_ZI5K27zzA-bAvYbJFymNOQPjJIglL3RyGqEYt-QwhBgkDjPRnxDJI-udY4xueagoljAAo_5zBAIvt-niU2LKJqC5vUXbD_yQPepO5Cd8v/s320/245094794_609399690409052_9028725971562912417_n.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">One of his last days on Earth,<br />hanging out on the deck.<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-85958754761144276142021-03-30T12:57:00.002-04:002021-03-30T13:36:01.813-04:00Already Mowing in 2021<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWmmzj6EIIHALY5nxnjXJjy61a42lbf1SKoXh-m-XmhwSf805ig0kG-7zw08Ru3_3N3ieVeKXOCfUIICVRZGKds9TcFLOFklox_rXjWmuQ-tTa6fV9TyTK1OSFFD8saDpokLbLg1c03re/s1620/67147560_2218939828403821_7437278993113415680_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1620" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWmmzj6EIIHALY5nxnjXJjy61a42lbf1SKoXh-m-XmhwSf805ig0kG-7zw08Ru3_3N3ieVeKXOCfUIICVRZGKds9TcFLOFklox_rXjWmuQ-tTa6fV9TyTK1OSFFD8saDpokLbLg1c03re/s320/67147560_2218939828403821_7437278993113415680_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">You may have already seen the golf cart we use for picking<br />up the cones in action. This is how it looked 17 years ago.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Thanks to everyone for your contributions to the Lee Bottom Aviation Refuge Operations Fund. We've already serviced several pieces of equipment and should have the first 2021 mowing finished today.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The next big project is bringing the water back on line. We'll keep you posted.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">*Throughout the years we've mowed as early at the second week of March and first week of May.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-75782312792561000052021-03-30T12:47:00.006-04:002021-03-30T13:36:25.546-04:00Ace is Gone<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4dxaJJgtiKEIa13FhvZ1fE_aJ0ZjG0PH1k_bmCHNJJiF8j6GL_A-4gRKVP0h-OimrRmMmTxGrdOcBkdKbxcoBs74hh3m4k9ZuQqtwUyhyphenhyphenMKarf4wbSlkVFV3f89wCga0BjMQWPP238c2/s2048/2_KszYjg.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1466" data-original-width="2048" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4dxaJJgtiKEIa13FhvZ1fE_aJ0ZjG0PH1k_bmCHNJJiF8j6GL_A-4gRKVP0h-OimrRmMmTxGrdOcBkdKbxcoBs74hh3m4k9ZuQqtwUyhyphenhyphenMKarf4wbSlkVFV3f89wCga0BjMQWPP238c2/w400-h286/2_KszYjg.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was no fooling this boy.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*I wrote this as a quick review of his life. 18 years of life makes it long. Not originally intended for widespread viewing I took little care to make it worthy of publication. Then Ginger suggested that because so many people always ask about Ace I should make it public. Here it is. If you don't like dogs, don't bother reading it. If you do like dogs always support efforts that reduce the number of abandoned animals - and people who abandon them. Rich</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I remember the day Ace arrived. We had been looking for the
right pup for weeks when we found and settled on a reddish brown female border
collie. Advertised by a lady who fostered dogs from a high kill shelter, the
dog was everything we wanted. However, by the time we could get everything
together, including references, she (the dog) was gone. Fortunately, that
canine had a brother in the same foster home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5kN7RsAHUKnRI5tlhcrOf2FkHBDbzK9no91r81Zu1PqqbZcAWfXhpXpaBStZFspo86_N20EzB5HgiFh5fb_LKHDCvVUHpn7ou4kRBFJxp1lVHkkbChgRMdYL77iYL0Q6lg0cbO5FFqydP/s727/167107658_268189071690088_8867001452908504884_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="one of" border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="444" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5kN7RsAHUKnRI5tlhcrOf2FkHBDbzK9no91r81Zu1PqqbZcAWfXhpXpaBStZFspo86_N20EzB5HgiFh5fb_LKHDCvVUHpn7ou4kRBFJxp1lVHkkbChgRMdYL77iYL0Q6lg0cbO5FFqydP/w195-h320/167107658_268189071690088_8867001452908504884_n.jpg" width="195" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of our earliest photos of Ace. This is Ginger's dad, Wayne,<br />watching him while Ginger worked.<br />Photo by Michael Cuy at the Indy Airshow.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><br />The way we heard it Ace was one of those special dogs who
the foster family had been unable to resist falling in love with. Yet, they
knew they had to move dogs to new homes because they needed to save more from
the shelter. Therefore, they suggested Ginger should visit. If Ace took to her,
we had impeccable references, and they felt we had good juju they’d consider
letting him leave with her. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LZr8EgjD5tUeEF0IdtJmmGHKMVgxoxu42C00bK-iXdfjESmtTu_gbFhU42Ud0NTS-rm2m5P6VUGK_YkXtNMzrICnKvQ30oHbodeIIos30_4YsR6gaTlRkorr48bq0GjhMRHnkb_6ECJ6/s2048/P1020581.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LZr8EgjD5tUeEF0IdtJmmGHKMVgxoxu42C00bK-iXdfjESmtTu_gbFhU42Ud0NTS-rm2m5P6VUGK_YkXtNMzrICnKvQ30oHbodeIIos30_4YsR6gaTlRkorr48bq0GjhMRHnkb_6ECJ6/s320/P1020581.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ace hanging out in front of the airport house with Ginger<br />and anotherfriend gone too soon, Ed Escalon.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />When Ginger arrived at Lee Bottom with Ace, my brother,
John, was there. I still remember him playing with Ace in front of the airport
house. Ginger remembers him saying, “I think he’ll fit right in.” He certainly
did.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc4LQd6R6JWhJw4lANShWaXKeTb2YmBWi80bSbGmYUPI9FRvCifypX_O5Om7hmFlYoTTlnDPOap0PVrZFgbHLK6kare8VLHo71LQeEsqlS1TGkQu7qYF-E1Q94JD_vE_OSf3U99ocUy8Pl/s2048/P1080736.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc4LQd6R6JWhJw4lANShWaXKeTb2YmBWi80bSbGmYUPI9FRvCifypX_O5Om7hmFlYoTTlnDPOap0PVrZFgbHLK6kare8VLHo71LQeEsqlS1TGkQu7qYF-E1Q94JD_vE_OSf3U99ocUy8Pl/s320/P1080736.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Always hanging out with the cool kids.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />There was a problem though. During the drive home Ginger
discovered Ace hated riding in cars – he drooled continuously. Since she was
still living in Indianapolis and driving to Lee Bottom on the weekends, one
very specific pup would need to develop a taste for executive transportation.
However, no matter how much he rode in a car it didn’t get better. A solution
was called for. Ginger pulled it off. The following is how she did it. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLW6cY4fQZr8AWB5fKV2Ezd5gV7rsKA4fxp5mPmMeOG8A5SkeEeM9UMg4-ElQdbOH5rH2CcBsVLoUn7SF1cy5rjb9qkIz8dxS_1reQsed3GatqlBZntjIjiNBg6McXVNQQ_OtJE2T91bU/s1280/P1100004.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLW6cY4fQZr8AWB5fKV2Ezd5gV7rsKA4fxp5mPmMeOG8A5SkeEeM9UMg4-ElQdbOH5rH2CcBsVLoUn7SF1cy5rjb9qkIz8dxS_1reQsed3GatqlBZntjIjiNBg6McXVNQQ_OtJE2T91bU/s320/P1100004.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Debating another shot at riding in the car.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Operation Ace Must Ride: First, Ginger started by taking him
to the car, getting him in, giving him a treat and getting him back out. Once
he could do that she got him in the car closed the door, left him there a few
minutes then got him out and gave him a treat. The next stage of the operation
involved both of them getting in the car. They’d sit in the car, Ginger would
read for a while, then they’d get out and Ace would get a treat. Next came the
noise.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXuWXLIS02IRei4Yk-bWNj7XWk7dVuUanlFTifh5kD9lTE9sQDRg7-jMY8HWDJDO1EflehiroMruOAgizxbFtM4R8b2UqAOub2kIXleNeEYyKHAijXLT51AoXXjs2-FiUIGs5aG8AUEsx/s2048/2007-10-29+179.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXuWXLIS02IRei4Yk-bWNj7XWk7dVuUanlFTifh5kD9lTE9sQDRg7-jMY8HWDJDO1EflehiroMruOAgizxbFtM4R8b2UqAOub2kIXleNeEYyKHAijXLT51AoXXjs2-FiUIGs5aG8AUEsx/s320/2007-10-29+179.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Debating a ride on the trailer.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Ginger would get Ace in her car, start it, let it run, then
shut it off and Ace got a treat. Are you spotting a pattern? After a few days
of that Ace graduated to being on the move. When Ginger started the car she
backed to the end of the driveway, stopped, then pull back into the garage
acting as though it was the greatest thing they’d ever done in hopes of encouraging
the smart little guy. Naturally, he got a treat.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpW0G8C3mfdoO5ufjm_WHqgCMbsEPkxSyJT5D3aNMqq6HEOzBpKk4NmhiILTjM7oi7gx6fIK0qBDMGgxHy6AAA-qiFlG6CQzHzv4eJjy3KVZHsXuTn6rO3hztj2Jl0EDgIfpTuWveTB18K/s2048/P1170692.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpW0G8C3mfdoO5ufjm_WHqgCMbsEPkxSyJT5D3aNMqq6HEOzBpKk4NmhiILTjM7oi7gx6fIK0qBDMGgxHy6AAA-qiFlG6CQzHzv4eJjy3KVZHsXuTn6rO3hztj2Jl0EDgIfpTuWveTB18K/s320/P1170692.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ace trying to get someone to take him for a spin.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Finally, after all those days or weeks, the big day came. Ginger
put him in the car, started it, backed out, and drove away. The clincher? She
took him to a local pet store, took him inside, let him pick out a treat on the
bottom shelf, let him enjoy it, then drove him home.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPAuVo0H0eal7Lut1O-NzBme9PzrlFaJT1nDROfLpD7ri3y01uKuEOahzwV5XwOb2PudyI8r4S0eIYFdFyIWsEB2nZFrNTAT1V_V3PuAQCMdVj42cjq7LUCC61SFCKHmzphTaNuBhLEeF/s2048/2007-10-29+065.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPAuVo0H0eal7Lut1O-NzBme9PzrlFaJT1nDROfLpD7ri3y01uKuEOahzwV5XwOb2PudyI8r4S0eIYFdFyIWsEB2nZFrNTAT1V_V3PuAQCMdVj42cjq7LUCC61SFCKHmzphTaNuBhLEeF/s320/2007-10-29+065.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Eventually Ace rode on or in everything except aircraft.<br />We never wanted him to associate a running aircraft with<br />a positive. All he knew was that when a plane wasn't running<br />and the people were out he could lay under it.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />If I remember correctly, she continued to do the same thing
with him every day for a week or more before she drove him to Lee Bottom again.
98% cured of his drooling, he would soon go on to be 100% convinced no vehicle,
truck, golf-cart, or even a four-wheeler would ever move more than six inches
without him on or in it. When he couldn’t do either, he’d run.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Z6cQtflZgpARfDoHWOEMYTxc2ZF4cEBUYHeP2wqXTX55dwZlJHC-8FXZU93I031fXBfhyphenhyphenfpuzLEh-dDJ31Wg24SHURAqjqjGl1JU1Jas_fsuyhxt8NJvFU4OdSg_Ek0-RzJE1yALUgO1/s2048/P1110978.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Z6cQtflZgpARfDoHWOEMYTxc2ZF4cEBUYHeP2wqXTX55dwZlJHC-8FXZU93I031fXBfhyphenhyphenfpuzLEh-dDJ31Wg24SHURAqjqjGl1JU1Jas_fsuyhxt8NJvFU4OdSg_Ek0-RzJE1yALUgO1/s320/P1110978.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sky attempting to catch Ace.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Once Ace was comfortable at the airport, we began noticing
an unexpected trait. In much the same way farmers found Superman in a field, we
discovered our little fur covered bundle of joy was wicked fast. He had no
visible traits of any exceptionally fast breed but somewhere in his genes was
rocket fuel. It’s still hard to believe how far he could chase a deer and still
be calmly jogging inches behind it. For the first few years of his life he’d
also run beside or in front of the tractor as we mowed. Note, we’ve always
mowed fast. What was crazy was that he didn’t run along with you for part of
it, he ran for all of it - ALL OF IT – MILES AND MILES OF IT.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOI4Oky2h4FDl7dq0o9tGndon9oAZBhmP_ABX7fBF9cWmiZaNaqQgAhbOEcIXzW1ZnxykSUJKh3f0pT4_WjI3u-C64zsVnN4RTk7hNiskQLq3lbSp7vZecD9PQDygBj7MltCnXu7idYkE/s2048/P1000260.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOI4Oky2h4FDl7dq0o9tGndon9oAZBhmP_ABX7fBF9cWmiZaNaqQgAhbOEcIXzW1ZnxykSUJKh3f0pT4_WjI3u-C64zsVnN4RTk7hNiskQLq3lbSp7vZecD9PQDygBj7MltCnXu7idYkE/s320/P1000260.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">There would be no honor in outrunning this human.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />When he wasn’t running another thing stood out. He had the
most head high proud trot of any dog I’ve ever known. If you’ve ever watched a
thoroughbred settle into a post work out trot you’ve seen how he traveled if he
wasn’t running or riding. This is what he’d do as he played his favorite game –
outrun the lazy human.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0QJDU2Rih0TXm12bSdmIhIPHmYR4yoxfqEUqW9VXz1jlF-Bf3jaQQYugOkDGw0OA3WU90WVbzP24Z4nzM2Wg6iJrZM4UJq0rTaZF4KGZAl_0Nh52XZyAiidLXhzYr6Yj11ByFJOrSSrp/s2048/IMG_20150307_175751.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0QJDU2Rih0TXm12bSdmIhIPHmYR4yoxfqEUqW9VXz1jlF-Bf3jaQQYugOkDGw0OA3WU90WVbzP24Z4nzM2Wg6iJrZM4UJq0rTaZF4KGZAl_0Nh52XZyAiidLXhzYr6Yj11ByFJOrSSrp/s320/IMG_20150307_175751.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">At home on South River Bottom Road,<br />aka - the Ace Davidson Speedway.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Ace always had to be in the lead. Where it became really
apparent was in our nightly walks. No matter how many people or creatures were
walking with us he had to be in the lead. From up front he’d look back to ask
why you were not keeping up. If you tried to catch up, he’d accelerate. If you
started to jog he’d start a slow run. If you took off in a sprint he’d run
faster and further ahead of you until you ran out of gas, then he’d fall back
into his trot then look back to point out you still were not keeping up.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7U1TxQ26zURJ90EJkrG-W9l2K9b5e51UAlOxf7UTlmTNrdrNIXQJVbYB5mjGE22o1XnGQl7Kj_EumU9Y2jQOvbsTMeOzUFOhO9YF2rQ9NquJIotwqxVp0hMvyClzRovxXXibUXFqS8EOr/s2048/P1110985.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7U1TxQ26zURJ90EJkrG-W9l2K9b5e51UAlOxf7UTlmTNrdrNIXQJVbYB5mjGE22o1XnGQl7Kj_EumU9Y2jQOvbsTMeOzUFOhO9YF2rQ9NquJIotwqxVp0hMvyClzRovxXXibUXFqS8EOr/s320/P1110985.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">He loved the cold. Anytime it was below 70 degrees<br />he was supercharged.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />When we realized this was a game to him we eagerly attempted
to make it our own, often trying to distract him then run by. The few times we
were successful it was a short-lived victory. Ace would sprint past us and we would
never got in front of him again. I’m pretty sure one such time was when I first
called him a peckerhead. He relished the title.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht3aSvn7NryJfL43jHpoz3_iHqtM9jNHXM7kER19hLR3kM6fJx4NmJY9iYgDZUUkECWp8tDMJcyye8tojDbP9o7DBnRQHjsF6-3YINciDVr6yWTBWV-mM6fBR96F7Cw6T83ZqOt_Y6Os5M/s2048/P1080842.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht3aSvn7NryJfL43jHpoz3_iHqtM9jNHXM7kER19hLR3kM6fJx4NmJY9iYgDZUUkECWp8tDMJcyye8tojDbP9o7DBnRQHjsF6-3YINciDVr6yWTBWV-mM6fBR96F7Cw6T83ZqOt_Y6Os5M/s320/P1080842.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">During one fly-in I was running to catch a plane parking<br />in the wrong spot and had to jump over Ace. As my feet left<br />the ground he jumped up as if it were a game and took my<br />feet completely out from under me. I flew threw the air and<br />landed with a thud in a flying Superman pose in front of a<br />couple hundred people. I honestly regret nobody caught it on film.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Then there were the days he’d chase a dozen deer off the
runway, following them all the way to the top of the hill. Each time he’d come
back to us with a giant grin on his face. An old friend was there once when Ace
took after some venison. With an exclamation our friend laughed and blurted
out, “That’s the fastest dog I’ve ever seen. He certainly was a fast mover.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIkp4-ThTrHO98CXr1iy6JrurbP1xh9VlIiZ2E7HdbqHbIXwYIJaWgZbcfCGiuSj4J9_14tRIsDv-cSKmlo9lcGKDuUZLwSA1QeWdaxFajEVjzmiz5Z5Wh9fnih7Y2edOClU0bh2LLPvBJ/s2048/P1020603.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIkp4-ThTrHO98CXr1iy6JrurbP1xh9VlIiZ2E7HdbqHbIXwYIJaWgZbcfCGiuSj4J9_14tRIsDv-cSKmlo9lcGKDuUZLwSA1QeWdaxFajEVjzmiz5Z5Wh9fnih7Y2edOClU0bh2LLPvBJ/s320/P1020603.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ace herded this fawn off the runway and to the house.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Thinking back on those days, I’m required to recount the
time Lee Bottom was in the running for Indiana’s Airport of the Year. Somewhat hilarious
to start with, a committee much too professional for our kind of airport
actually bothered themselves to do an onsite visit. While sitting at the picnic
tables reviewing the doubtful claims such a place could be special, they came
to the part about training Ace to keep deer off the runway. Obviously, more
than a few of them were skeptical. Then, as if we had a trained deer, a doe
stepped out of the woods toward the field and BAAAMM! Ace switched from
innocuous porch puppy to heat seeking deer dog in an instant - clumps of grass
flying as his nails pushed off the turf toward it, the animal turned and placed
its white tail in high gear. The look on some of the committee members’ faces
was hilarious. Ahhh, great stuff.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63uy4z1jubMGF1v-hmJvIk0hTBGaAsC5WBZEqkBNGcGzubXExDVS1dCVaqRvqla6yegqtMTjYCHckAElx-cDvn_5nzkZqWNWKuJuQva1jLewgMQuSd7YicVLCOdDBZc9ku6aedcrYQ29K/s2048/P1060720.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63uy4z1jubMGF1v-hmJvIk0hTBGaAsC5WBZEqkBNGcGzubXExDVS1dCVaqRvqla6yegqtMTjYCHckAElx-cDvn_5nzkZqWNWKuJuQva1jLewgMQuSd7YicVLCOdDBZc9ku6aedcrYQ29K/s320/P1060720.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ginger keeping Ace company on the floor after ACL surgery.<br />That rug had a heater under it and was a favorite of everyone.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Amazed by his speed, Ginger decided to take a shot at
training him for agility trials. His learning was fast also. Unfortunately, his
mind outran his body and sequentially trashed both rear ACLs. This was the end
of agility and the beginning of what would become a very thick book of
veterinary care records. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4i4QOaPxL6PCPC6yZuSQ0q5Rcl_fGAnrx6Un7HQ7Absz4myy5acByOefjlB0oUdYhl14wXqD_Ecph6Ep84Dxr-9QVvkFUJY1r-REtY6zWhTmnCxfksDkqo7aZjwz2-N23r1z8TyDL6ALZ/s2048/P1070977.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4i4QOaPxL6PCPC6yZuSQ0q5Rcl_fGAnrx6Un7HQ7Absz4myy5acByOefjlB0oUdYhl14wXqD_Ecph6Ep84Dxr-9QVvkFUJY1r-REtY6zWhTmnCxfksDkqo7aZjwz2-N23r1z8TyDL6ALZ/s320/P1070977.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ace had a love of the finer things in life.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Ace wasn’t unhealthy. To the contrary, he was so healthy he
found his way into many minor trips to the vet. Slashes, rashes, and gases,
were common symptoms. Whatever it was he received the best ongoing care money
could buy. A month ago, a very heavy package arrived on the doorstep. Similar
in size and weight to a hard back Oxford English Dictionary, I texted Ginger to
ask what it might be. She had requested a copy of Ace’s medical records.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6JslAIHRmeeShMqL6xDaClSceBTnp8pgciB5GukGk9eETE8oFqndCgHA4l_hmjpFhh_3OM_RmdbL829Sshd3-kaTP8LtkDkrg_6YHiWJ-GYiUp6y1PuY_fzhFjeqd7aYJXNfZVOW22fQ3/s2048/P1080223.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6JslAIHRmeeShMqL6xDaClSceBTnp8pgciB5GukGk9eETE8oFqndCgHA4l_hmjpFhh_3OM_RmdbL829Sshd3-kaTP8LtkDkrg_6YHiWJ-GYiUp6y1PuY_fzhFjeqd7aYJXNfZVOW22fQ3/s320/P1080223.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNHwJP8o4XJxuyBaErsQaJ2ez9WSxRN_5t4JYYVxQf_olz-Jifzd9F6WJnqIBtI7r4z5ssOHFB_Hw_poDUM7jib_hAaKC94kQb9Q9oRx2XzhV8jgaB-lEiZ2yiPw7FkGoZu2KoUd2AwHpo/s1280/P1090030.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNHwJP8o4XJxuyBaErsQaJ2ez9WSxRN_5t4JYYVxQf_olz-Jifzd9F6WJnqIBtI7r4z5ssOHFB_Hw_poDUM7jib_hAaKC94kQb9Q9oRx2XzhV8jgaB-lEiZ2yiPw7FkGoZu2KoUd2AwHpo/s320/P1090030.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;">He always thought it was a lot of effort just to bring him shade.<br />But he appreciated it.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Recently, as we debated the fate of our little guy, thumbing
through his records brought a welcome surprise. Every trip to the vet, good or
bad, marked a point in the first 18 years of our lives together. In retrospect,
yesterday’s emergency was today’s smile. Among the funniest was, “Taught Ace to
speak.”<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgho2R2oqL_4svUvXWB8s5jVdD6QmjMnr4IeE1CQZiNtGHEmle47a84gN-lv2Qc4VOMTWevuA2_V8X7kyidjhM4iMjokwZWO6QgiP7ZZeLwhhgHF0LnxZNAqtTDqT34Q0tfYFVSDJV9LLoZ/s2048/P1100464.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgho2R2oqL_4svUvXWB8s5jVdD6QmjMnr4IeE1CQZiNtGHEmle47a84gN-lv2Qc4VOMTWevuA2_V8X7kyidjhM4iMjokwZWO6QgiP7ZZeLwhhgHF0LnxZNAqtTDqT34Q0tfYFVSDJV9LLoZ/s320/P1100464.JPG" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3UmMGdXaV0IWSBK2-NbxDz_xbtbBaRUtcHLdMbtF1RR7HHWEqmtUGsURwx6Y46UCN0lo0EBhBweCxVYMgs_PhwNgGUSlEEqhY3KYFQ-ncONw8YkZIM3mvVbToY7oME3K0T35UCvKOXoy/s2048/P1100468.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3UmMGdXaV0IWSBK2-NbxDz_xbtbBaRUtcHLdMbtF1RR7HHWEqmtUGsURwx6Y46UCN0lo0EBhBweCxVYMgs_PhwNgGUSlEEqhY3KYFQ-ncONw8YkZIM3mvVbToY7oME3K0T35UCvKOXoy/s320/P1100468.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89lRQRPL5a9Z498039FWQ_llsii3b7_fLkBZ3vmwV9sJOuIKuzwIJvmLPT0CQrt9feWX6zkwNy9iKXI6TjPejSjJQL6YYam4dzD7QegakhHUaOBSpoU90GxuXz1K9ICvo42vS_1qT4RW8/s2048/P1100470.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89lRQRPL5a9Z498039FWQ_llsii3b7_fLkBZ3vmwV9sJOuIKuzwIJvmLPT0CQrt9feWX6zkwNy9iKXI6TjPejSjJQL6YYam4dzD7QegakhHUaOBSpoU90GxuXz1K9ICvo42vS_1qT4RW8/s320/P1100470.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;">Poor little guy was stricken with caviar tastes and<br />leashed to a Lee Bottom budget.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Not too long after we got Ace we realized he had never made
a sound. His vet, Dr. Foree, helped with that. Within a minute Ace had found
his voice. I can still hear it now. Several years later we realized he had gone
silent again. Our mistake was helping him rediscover it. After that he never
left the building without an announcement bark to let everyone know, “I’m still
here mudda fuddahs.”<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiycPuKRiv0MVLOcKbXmXHN30vjGm8ZdWLOG2p8WQ9WaSun3SrP-8vCIMo6KSktKLdgqiOBKK16CDLW_6_0Z_4ATKyf15oqz_ijyivCsfPXrq_lx8YWJ8lVLxJuM9i0SqdkDv301yj1e7sL/s2048/P1110638.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiycPuKRiv0MVLOcKbXmXHN30vjGm8ZdWLOG2p8WQ9WaSun3SrP-8vCIMo6KSktKLdgqiOBKK16CDLW_6_0Z_4ATKyf15oqz_ijyivCsfPXrq_lx8YWJ8lVLxJuM9i0SqdkDv301yj1e7sL/s320/P1110638.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Laying in bed with one of the most amazing people I've ever known.<br />My aunt Ursula. Crippled from polio, she spent her life on crutches and<br />in a wheel chair. She taught on the third floor, there was no elevator, and<br />she never quit smiling, and more importantly she never quit - period. She was<br />also the first person in my family to find out Ginger and I were married and that<br />Ace had been our best man.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Despite that cool gangster attitude, Ace was the most
intelligently gentle dog I’ve ever known. Some dogs are the fat dumb and happy
gentle. That’s not the same. Ace was considerate, less instinctual. It showed
through in his demeanor with kids and other animals. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLXuEUvMqrQqh7FaCmXkjFNphdnv2H3g9gaQzyw9-BLWRHgwaKOkgF7UNRQQCDMY3piS_0DxAPR9L7tuSUCtD8lPGFc5vd82FsHlfZfVnIpQibje5z1mIfHMf8N_JSvKyW6J-3TyykJ4g/s2048/P1000542.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLXuEUvMqrQqh7FaCmXkjFNphdnv2H3g9gaQzyw9-BLWRHgwaKOkgF7UNRQQCDMY3piS_0DxAPR9L7tuSUCtD8lPGFc5vd82FsHlfZfVnIpQibje5z1mIfHMf8N_JSvKyW6J-3TyykJ4g/s320/P1000542.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4P48a4JecNBL66F74PRvwjTA3eld4LzeZhSVbLYejsgouG6HD9G5RMURSXyTk6sV1O8AvkteGfFmy29beDkJQPXucS3C7S-CYeih5G0-MtDClEDZdquAgx4AwPMs-S0oROcvcJBfnmr35/s2048/P1000775.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4P48a4JecNBL66F74PRvwjTA3eld4LzeZhSVbLYejsgouG6HD9G5RMURSXyTk6sV1O8AvkteGfFmy29beDkJQPXucS3C7S-CYeih5G0-MtDClEDZdquAgx4AwPMs-S0oROcvcJBfnmr35/s320/P1000775.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13RfG6BD4vIGnVRtoY8lBD1IOELZrnogiRBFPsLlDUaoT__5pPRuDZHoXQG4zMVU6qqDu_F53ZRGqee9oVPXvRwkuLv00FtzcricYr7Vk_iMMmqH57q75oJ1sEg2ADP5Et1A3lGRZVDRO/s2048/P1110472.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13RfG6BD4vIGnVRtoY8lBD1IOELZrnogiRBFPsLlDUaoT__5pPRuDZHoXQG4zMVU6qqDu_F53ZRGqee9oVPXvRwkuLv00FtzcricYr7Vk_iMMmqH57q75oJ1sEg2ADP5Et1A3lGRZVDRO/s320/P1110472.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;">If there is something else after this world I'm sure<br />these two are hamming it up again.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Not very long after we got Ace we added Meatball, the cat,
to the family. The two of them became fast friends. Very similar in demeanor
and intelligence they made quite the duo. Often they’d fall asleep lying so
close the two appeared as one. Both of them being black and white, more than
once we were surprised to see a large growth on Ace’s side began to yawn. Yes,
it was Meatball. Their similar appearances also earned them the nickname, “The
Monochrome Mini-dudes.” Our friend Nick gave them the moniker after living with
them a few days during a fly-in.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaYdLiO3IHNFgqN5Q-_q28KzDY-J1zPXPIGXdUQSnjvrl7ANyCCC3uBCGNT0mma38ZguuwYSyRGbwAPWYXaqSxnvEksN8_xpP1nWTQSlDqlNkmJH2sk15nKvs5ywENazyqHEPMBAec6xm/s2048/2007-10-29+029.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaYdLiO3IHNFgqN5Q-_q28KzDY-J1zPXPIGXdUQSnjvrl7ANyCCC3uBCGNT0mma38ZguuwYSyRGbwAPWYXaqSxnvEksN8_xpP1nWTQSlDqlNkmJH2sk15nKvs5ywENazyqHEPMBAec6xm/s320/2007-10-29+029.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">After a big fly-in Ace makes sure Ginger is left alone<br />for a nap.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Ace also served as Ginger’s bodyguard and all around top-notch
security detail. He noticed everything and never left her side. For years he
slept with us in the bed. When he could no longer do so he slept beside the bed
nearest the door. Other times he’d sleep in the door. He noticed everything.
One winter’s morning he stood at the door and let out a strange bark – strange
enough to cause Ginger to look. Snow had collapsed our hangar and I guess he
thought she really should know.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KlFWnYRpgwD4TJMnqeOB4coMrfmcFenFrU65884eugSiAzQY7QGRMmzMMeKesOVOkdOG39vN8Rp-Sz8eCGE4Ka3CS6hyphenhyphenGgf3zwyTQ_nG3ZWzpltXRXZfeVirDXtW6WZp_393pyOZe9ae/s2048/P1110997.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KlFWnYRpgwD4TJMnqeOB4coMrfmcFenFrU65884eugSiAzQY7QGRMmzMMeKesOVOkdOG39vN8Rp-Sz8eCGE4Ka3CS6hyphenhyphenGgf3zwyTQ_nG3ZWzpltXRXZfeVirDXtW6WZp_393pyOZe9ae/s320/P1110997.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This photo was taken next to the sheep pen. I'm guessing<br />the sheep were doing something to get their attention.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Another year in the middle of winter he did the same thing.
This time when Ginger looked there was a beautiful but scared and hungry Border
collie outside the door. She became the next addition to our family, Sky. We’d
go on to add Gilmore and Bair. However, Ace always remained the animal Alpha.
He also was the only one that travelled.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjro1GMFb4c1cLyGOw50uYaQ_XY9iqKx6O9h9VAIyQRNM_eu13GpXyc7tQn9EdCFzcrZUo5WtClx_eHdxpr4k_hFKmGFa3i2VxFeH8WRIZjT4LcRAA5J5uQ8kpjf3cQCurjGB-2h2LNy4lF/s2048/P1000782.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjro1GMFb4c1cLyGOw50uYaQ_XY9iqKx6O9h9VAIyQRNM_eu13GpXyc7tQn9EdCFzcrZUo5WtClx_eHdxpr4k_hFKmGFa3i2VxFeH8WRIZjT4LcRAA5J5uQ8kpjf3cQCurjGB-2h2LNy4lF/s320/P1000782.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A trip to the Davidson homestead. Here he is with my uncle Walter<br />looking across the yard, and Mill Creek, at the bluff that helped<br />define the property.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />From the time Ginger taught him to love the car, he went
everywhere with us. Rarely was he out of our site. A few months after arriving
at Lee Bottom he even travelled to Tennessee to be the only attendee at our
wedding; our best man.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnPnVCPfwYaVFMHKQh5Z0HzndhnnjCTvNqyfAqhVcGj047zTG3wDfL3Qpi-aNzSPsfiMCifkkDaf-rhc5xjDYHMpckopkjTJM1zf0PBAJUr-VuyNd7G_gTFdd3KW9z_KKqBDVNczi3Iou/s2048/P1000609.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnPnVCPfwYaVFMHKQh5Z0HzndhnnjCTvNqyfAqhVcGj047zTG3wDfL3Qpi-aNzSPsfiMCifkkDaf-rhc5xjDYHMpckopkjTJM1zf0PBAJUr-VuyNd7G_gTFdd3KW9z_KKqBDVNczi3Iou/s320/P1000609.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Me sleeping with Ace on the floor during his recovery.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Unfortunately, one of the few times Ace wasn’t with us a car
hit him. His rear end mangled, head smashed, and very far from care when it
happened, I have no idea how he lived. Yet, everyone who could assist the
effort did and the surgeon was able to rebuild him. We were at Oshkosh when we
heard. Ginger immediately rushed home and I flew home with my brother the next
day.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimE-7hEwDPGHmMMUsRZJ5nrKee5mr5U7d2N7zR-mA5pDjX8XzlLrnObKkawz5i_f8252h0826tqaFQM2wEWWYKJ2PklBaUaYQUQkZaFnnVkR84lil8tKm8sgTvTV5MnV3UTeLJLHkSojv6/s2048/P1050242_edited-1.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimE-7hEwDPGHmMMUsRZJ5nrKee5mr5U7d2N7zR-mA5pDjX8XzlLrnObKkawz5i_f8252h0826tqaFQM2wEWWYKJ2PklBaUaYQUQkZaFnnVkR84lil8tKm8sgTvTV5MnV3UTeLJLHkSojv6/s320/P1050242_edited-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Here he is with the C3B Stearman. A few days later we flew it<br />to Oshkosh and that is where we were when he was hit by the car.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />When I first saw our injured pup I knew the next few months
would not be easy. All we had to do was to transport a broken egg home, take it
outside several times a day, unwrap and rewrap it, feed it and make sure it was
comfortable all without spilling any yolk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOd2HWFJu7Czhb9Tl62K5dq9P8L0nnn-1e2z6TGEJMMum4Ixv9JzTCkwP5cszSitHPO1C4KivY8nsy5GIZDmWEXJQX7cjUKb7uCAGb7mz0r0I5Xt-9_4TwIOpHGq-mDguKCvTQx3svXGd/s2048/P1080462.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOd2HWFJu7Czhb9Tl62K5dq9P8L0nnn-1e2z6TGEJMMum4Ixv9JzTCkwP5cszSitHPO1C4KivY8nsy5GIZDmWEXJQX7cjUKb7uCAGb7mz0r0I5Xt-9_4TwIOpHGq-mDguKCvTQx3svXGd/s320/P1080462.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">More shade.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Keeping his hip in the socket and having it heal in place
was a critical piece of the post op puzzle. Making this happen meant every time
he got up we had to pick up his rear and carry the weight of it in a sling. We
traded off nights of sleeping with him on the floor, taking him outside, changing
his bandages, and splints for the next three months. Did I mention how much we
loved this dog?<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsso1k05PSilMV0Wd-jrbLt07A4yLq_ICPR-Gbp326awwJnUmI0kJUqTlyYhOf878ZjJ30uI3muih16fzicdtx-8ueqSVp3kkQg5ibH6sYjGhsAuwVCG3q7fiD0CFp3t3UNAA9cn6ukyhb/s2048/P1100964.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsso1k05PSilMV0Wd-jrbLt07A4yLq_ICPR-Gbp326awwJnUmI0kJUqTlyYhOf878ZjJ30uI3muih16fzicdtx-8ueqSVp3kkQg5ibH6sYjGhsAuwVCG3q7fiD0CFp3t3UNAA9cn6ukyhb/s320/P1100964.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Standing at attention.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Once the surgeon said he’d healed enough to put weight on
the leg it had been so long we had to teach him to walk again. It started with
one of us holding him in the sling while the other articulated his leg to drag
his paw across the ground. He was reluctant. We were persistent.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirABKgYQiCxT989I1xXscLYRRAWSuxlfV7Jh5mITWL6YE9cK2CRbTdeVbZA2tHlJ3YaNIrFY2PzM0RhyphenhyphenMENEGIxoN6IzbRyLYoFZWsZuzg3oaokfMoizOp0o3TkQWsj-agdksVMEfUJNqc/s2048/P1100608.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirABKgYQiCxT989I1xXscLYRRAWSuxlfV7Jh5mITWL6YE9cK2CRbTdeVbZA2tHlJ3YaNIrFY2PzM0RhyphenhyphenMENEGIxoN6IzbRyLYoFZWsZuzg3oaokfMoizOp0o3TkQWsj-agdksVMEfUJNqc/s320/P1100608.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">When the power went out the week of the fly-in<br />we all relocated to a hotel.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Weeks of this therapy finally began to yield results as Ace
began to test the waters. Gently touching the ground with that leg, he’d hop
over it to keep the weight off. That’s when we introduced distractions. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjeYmmex0aQYPAKeggw1YTpCYuoU8NTOTI7PqrF4l2BHSdcOscwS0Xhsr0UqJDjEZgXqulhUFNjqOMMjH7tMClENpNZMp8l7SWtFfnSrS3px6hToHbhyphenhyphenYxnrLLqRn6uM2_lGb_rgbqGhb/s2048/P1100049.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjeYmmex0aQYPAKeggw1YTpCYuoU8NTOTI7PqrF4l2BHSdcOscwS0Xhsr0UqJDjEZgXqulhUFNjqOMMjH7tMClENpNZMp8l7SWtFfnSrS3px6hToHbhyphenhyphenYxnrLLqRn6uM2_lGb_rgbqGhb/s320/P1100049.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hanging out with the nephews.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Doing anything we could to get him to forget about his
injured leg wasn’t easy. However, eventually it began to work. Then one day, I
have no idea when, we all forgot about it. Only when the vets who knew his
history reacted to him as a bit of a marvel did we realize what the three of us
had accomplished.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpPazT7IVykfaPcBgHpiDQPg-g4t6m3xNFhhfBCWm5CHJqUYKM7J_-ihsaBeM6UcMGlRuB3xv7NCoLPGhTI2jgylA4e5MaqzRfyJ_CrMef0nItdw6dry8dv0yAHdcbDl1CIhiMOGzy6Vl/s1818/458696-R1-16-8A.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="1818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpPazT7IVykfaPcBgHpiDQPg-g4t6m3xNFhhfBCWm5CHJqUYKM7J_-ihsaBeM6UcMGlRuB3xv7NCoLPGhTI2jgylA4e5MaqzRfyJ_CrMef0nItdw6dry8dv0yAHdcbDl1CIhiMOGzy6Vl/s320/458696-R1-16-8A.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I just like the photo.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Eight months later, he survived the tornado. After that we
saw his first weakness appear. The deep rumble of storms rattled him until the
day he died. Anything with a low frequency made him uncontrollably chatter. It
was so bad I had to remove as much bass as I could from any sound system in the
house as it became nearly impossible to listen to music or watch a movie. Thankfully,
those changes allowed us all settled into a groove; Ace became an even bigger
part of our lives and life was generally good until he began to have seizures.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2gA2m0jbkodspuxpITPn-a3SmOV2c6h_-O5Kgce57U-_XbwMYYU1jnTVgZq2quAj41GURuE8WWMoVWADGUUmSEnljOjJov6Ea3AqNQFmunVBqTGuudhyFyt_NtIxIuezUN9jJ-MM8o_4/s1125/166432350_275181814140567_3594781076803735793_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2gA2m0jbkodspuxpITPn-a3SmOV2c6h_-O5Kgce57U-_XbwMYYU1jnTVgZq2quAj41GURuE8WWMoVWADGUUmSEnljOjJov6Ea3AqNQFmunVBqTGuudhyFyt_NtIxIuezUN9jJ-MM8o_4/s320/166432350_275181814140567_3594781076803735793_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Eagerly waiting to help Ginger with her bees.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Nobody knew what was going on. He would start pacing, teeth
chattering, and looking for a way out of the house. A canine panic attack was
the best way to describe it. Once again, after many vet visits, Ginger found a
specialist and off we went.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqt7FWcfxdJHKVAaN5a-zNtISX1XIiXZSvpkjpH-WtECHgBmjW29m-R66LOGcOpIwdBZtFWt_z_8WKcnBjpMqXEwcXI2797pziRDsXSTK0kuf49gSzGSIILy4UFMaxrqkuQ-kfIzB5dxYc/s1125/166876845_448045593128271_674597348136296338_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqt7FWcfxdJHKVAaN5a-zNtISX1XIiXZSvpkjpH-WtECHgBmjW29m-R66LOGcOpIwdBZtFWt_z_8WKcnBjpMqXEwcXI2797pziRDsXSTK0kuf49gSzGSIILy4UFMaxrqkuQ-kfIzB5dxYc/s320/166876845_448045593128271_674597348136296338_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Helping the guys get ready for the fly-in.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Amazingly, the veterinary neurologist knew in less than
thirty seconds what had been a mystery to many others. Seizures, most likely
caused by his run in with the car, were freaking him out. He could sense them
coming on, then he would try to get away from them and couldn’t.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jd1McM-ol0z7FRTjJMDXYpfwljsDLdM62iTfi9J-ehgEAI5c1XD2koo_-3M0NU-nCbiYyGX1cP9TBl2wsVZBzjujEd1qLaJhBKTe8Bd_ljeOOzFgkmR4dqT7DYxmiBuu64GjuqmUFaXt/s2048/_DSC0009.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jd1McM-ol0z7FRTjJMDXYpfwljsDLdM62iTfi9J-ehgEAI5c1XD2koo_-3M0NU-nCbiYyGX1cP9TBl2wsVZBzjujEd1qLaJhBKTe8Bd_ljeOOzFgkmR4dqT7DYxmiBuu64GjuqmUFaXt/s320/_DSC0009.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">He led a pretty good crew.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Thank God for this lady. She was brilliant. An hour later,
for all practical purposes, a medicine commonly prescribed for Parkinson’s
disease cured him. For the rest of his life we’d give him those pills morning
and night.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q20KOhlGZMJZC9fbDdMEsK5tSXLVGl2Lps0CQ2Btp0O8NAV8Moxgq7TbhoSgKA1fpraouDC6tw9GAlHHVDE8U2rcFD5qCL2OYI7ZLgECcRJWrSpwrxm5Ro84aHjLzHFLN1cC-Ryc12-k/s2016/164681966_475309807153932_3512718979347959082_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1504" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q20KOhlGZMJZC9fbDdMEsK5tSXLVGl2Lps0CQ2Btp0O8NAV8Moxgq7TbhoSgKA1fpraouDC6tw9GAlHHVDE8U2rcFD5qCL2OYI7ZLgECcRJWrSpwrxm5Ro84aHjLzHFLN1cC-Ryc12-k/s320/164681966_475309807153932_3512718979347959082_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of his many trips to "the vet."</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Finally, two years ago his right rear leg started to drag
and getting up became difficult for him. Conversations about how we’d know if
we should put him to rest became common. Twice it got so bad we were sure it
was days away. Both times he rebounded and continued to walk with us nightly. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmDL-cCszH69QnYKMEgPtFCvih6FWgXVI8RYOAjlSumFu-b2o5KyRVTjNvoypYQnIMhZr7TVGta5TsSbvBfdsS35WfiHOwg7cLDg2RlK4bfmABU2sh3oT-QQnvZjw3aIakPuGscWS77mh/s2016/164680454_199736801571433_7407384937987794294_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1504" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmDL-cCszH69QnYKMEgPtFCvih6FWgXVI8RYOAjlSumFu-b2o5KyRVTjNvoypYQnIMhZr7TVGta5TsSbvBfdsS35WfiHOwg7cLDg2RlK4bfmABU2sh3oT-QQnvZjw3aIakPuGscWS77mh/s320/164680454_199736801571433_7407384937987794294_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">As Ace grew older, Bair became what we affectionately called,<br />"Ace's hearing ear dog." When Ace lost most of his eyesight and<br />hearing Bair became his guide. Bair didn't leave him and Ace<br />stuck by his side. Ace still knew his way around but Bair could hear us. Therefore, the few times we let Ace out by himself then needed him to come in we had an issue. <br />The solution? When we really needed Ace to come in I would fire off a few rounds from the deck and Ace would hear them and come running.</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />We always joked his tail was his gas gauge. A few years ago
he’d easily walk three miles. Then we began to notice he could only do two. Then
one and a half. We knew this because his tail went from high to low in a linear
fashion in relation to the energy he had remaining. When he could only do a
quarter mile we became worried once more. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYr_4ikBRm4uAEgpbXbeKciACIQHHUWDtxLNRb4fIW0oxPVWIpUiHsC8oOx0eso0cAl8j5cAMtJC2TjDDzGX_tVnVCY6go3rhyphenhyphenwv1GCPBEQtVs5FeW9kTekogtxJ0CcSr28AcX0zeMSSq/s403/166132587_474507530357468_9120125226959574063_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYr_4ikBRm4uAEgpbXbeKciACIQHHUWDtxLNRb4fIW0oxPVWIpUiHsC8oOx0eso0cAl8j5cAMtJC2TjDDzGX_tVnVCY6go3rhyphenhyphenwv1GCPBEQtVs5FeW9kTekogtxJ0CcSr28AcX0zeMSSq/s320/166132587_474507530357468_9120125226959574063_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Forees. They gave Ace such good care.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />His life fading while we had another sick animal in the
house wore on our nerves. During one memorable call a friend asked how the
animals were doing and I blurted out, “I wish they’d just die.” Hearing the
silent shock on the other end made me realize what I had said. When they
verified I wouldn’t do anything to rush their demise, I realized they had no
idea how much I loved the animals in question and how often we were questioning
if our desire to keep them alive was for us or them.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6I4_U8wjx8shTETkwd0gsTgEeKJXIyHry_hz7jesemlxEkCDvkESUFNGlufm1Ep-ovvyvcOzxdEKJUQqs3O3pFQ579CFzGHCxik2UUS4OlvTUA660jKv68Jxo8KM9sBnHzwwLqrlwdwe/s2016/167295779_278119137264594_6288887030882928489_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="2016" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6I4_U8wjx8shTETkwd0gsTgEeKJXIyHry_hz7jesemlxEkCDvkESUFNGlufm1Ep-ovvyvcOzxdEKJUQqs3O3pFQ579CFzGHCxik2UUS4OlvTUA660jKv68Jxo8KM9sBnHzwwLqrlwdwe/s320/167295779_278119137264594_6288887030882928489_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Toward the end he would go outside, lay on this bank, and watch<br />the world go by. To me it looked like an old man sitting in<br />the sun thinking about better days and wondering when<br />and how the end would come.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />That was the maddening concern all along. Were we actually
causing Ace to suffer by doing everything we could to keep him alive? We asked
the vet, asked another vet, researched the topic online, and the best thing we
could come up with was what Ace’s original vet suggested, “Find three things he
loves and when he cannot do two of them, you have your answer.” Yet, if he’d
“just die” in his sleep it wouldn’t fall to me to decide when that was. That
was the source of the statement that caught our friends off guard.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfvI3xhF4KdRiqIbF9Xyu_KfTs3Ebn6ji_2gAg9C_XGI0AC0lQBZ4nvHfAWRt8pMHA31C-TVtTGNFEopL-98khbOvEuclqAE2xlwGYbcyQm-sfp944P9Zwgc9emBAKTBVweKiqwVupj1b/s2048/KCYvBkJw.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfvI3xhF4KdRiqIbF9Xyu_KfTs3Ebn6ji_2gAg9C_XGI0AC0lQBZ4nvHfAWRt8pMHA31C-TVtTGNFEopL-98khbOvEuclqAE2xlwGYbcyQm-sfp944P9Zwgc9emBAKTBVweKiqwVupj1b/s320/KCYvBkJw.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;">Always watching you.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />However, no matter how weak, old, or thin he got Ace
continued to do all the things he loved, only slower. Ginger had always
marveled how Ace knew when I was gone and would take on the role of guard dog.
Then as soon as I got home he’d play with me like a puppy. This too he did as
little as a month ago, although painfully slow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspKG1EF7KO_m6NZi4r1OFcMkmxBzGd8RBS4yOPaf8rny_sGYaXTFMPz318SkNs_ZIApsdYm-8vt__f32eqX0M-5-hnRKeI6H7xHVcrLJVjd_JUvKRf-kxHJF61ktYQF74Df6oRzzZw62X/s274/164878532_3896341580444485_6524066586693045129_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspKG1EF7KO_m6NZi4r1OFcMkmxBzGd8RBS4yOPaf8rny_sGYaXTFMPz318SkNs_ZIApsdYm-8vt__f32eqX0M-5-hnRKeI6H7xHVcrLJVjd_JUvKRf-kxHJF61ktYQF74Df6oRzzZw62X/s0/164878532_3896341580444485_6524066586693045129_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The last days were filled with hugs and clad in extra grip<br />booties for getting up and down. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Ten days ago, that all ended. Ginger and Ace had been
enjoying a warm Florida get-a-way, making new friends, walking nightly as we
always had, and generally relaxing when Ace decided he was done. I don’t know
if he couldn’t get up or he decided he was through trying. All I know is that
Ginger’s voice told me it definitely was not good. Unfortunately, I had just
left on a short trip.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: helvetica; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1E0u7jL67l5U__b52ZoPMzjlyeghPkNzZa-AN9iFMz0nu5c5BBqwPbqJZZ3mhx1ucjnM3kS8fGeV5_vMMsrRP2RXn3p2o_AwocIzEln0ympZyXQol2wIJ3lOBtPmODh7vMcFoGY-HR_cc/s2048/klBHMdzA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1E0u7jL67l5U__b52ZoPMzjlyeghPkNzZa-AN9iFMz0nu5c5BBqwPbqJZZ3mhx1ucjnM3kS8fGeV5_vMMsrRP2RXn3p2o_AwocIzEln0ympZyXQol2wIJ3lOBtPmODh7vMcFoGY-HR_cc/s320/klBHMdzA.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;">From a group of photos taken by Shelby Lynn Photography.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Over the next few days we talked frequently about what to do
and how. Ginger had already found a service that would come to where we were
and now she was asking me where that was going to be. All I knew was that it
had to be somewhere special – somewhere he’d love. Thankfully, she found it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvtIlmMFkt1jC_qduqt65QM50Worz3qod6SdJPxcxXTp5arYccbNeTDzCAlXZyyw7xInimi4REBjI12EVePskT_4RUK0Xw9dFWoM3ZUV6VWXOcBGJTGzie0m_fcmlPTWCIPrHW-rEfMP31/s2048/4e7oKdXQ.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvtIlmMFkt1jC_qduqt65QM50Worz3qod6SdJPxcxXTp5arYccbNeTDzCAlXZyyw7xInimi4REBjI12EVePskT_4RUK0Xw9dFWoM3ZUV6VWXOcBGJTGzie0m_fcmlPTWCIPrHW-rEfMP31/s320/4e7oKdXQ.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;">Ginger and Ace smiling for the camera in 2020.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />When I arrived in Ft. Meyers, straight from my trip, I was
exhausted and Ace was motionless on the floor. Walking over to him, his eyes
followed, nothing else moved. Lying down beside him I tried to express in some
manner all the ways he’d made my good life better. He made one small movement
he always made when happy, and that was the last real effort I saw.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWfsC3IFJE9-88yYYV1zcuZi5X1cqC72RJJK2aYv62QAQoI2QBtOsEvaPSTJYToM2JnHHNmxhhVlNSljFguK108G-W8CUma0dYuUXESzxiW0ljfnumg9XFKUSPLjsWZLjizBwsd9O7MWf/s2048/160724366_116081577109029_915886310752685644_n+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWfsC3IFJE9-88yYYV1zcuZi5X1cqC72RJJK2aYv62QAQoI2QBtOsEvaPSTJYToM2JnHHNmxhhVlNSljFguK108G-W8CUma0dYuUXESzxiW0ljfnumg9XFKUSPLjsWZLjizBwsd9O7MWf/s320/160724366_116081577109029_915886310752685644_n+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">My little buddy's last ride.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Picking him up for his last car ride, I felt the skin on his
spine as he, for the first time ever, assumed the fetal position in my arms.
Honestly, I have no idea how I took the next steps without folding. Looking
deep into my eyes, looking for something, I did everything I could to reassure
him everything was going to be better. Laying him in the car, his eyes followed
and nothing else moved. An expression of resignation was all he could muster.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMl51mlFPystGRnYnUe8FIhS3UnsJ4Gyi0kTq-O20_6ibGMcG5iG98kPeIB18d6R_S_xJ9IDOoITEal6vtMG5MmYikdxpmXgsP8XoPH4tm9gimlmHj7dDRW0c8SxcieOQkYEIrM8ChUw1/s2048/aGxAksug.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMl51mlFPystGRnYnUe8FIhS3UnsJ4Gyi0kTq-O20_6ibGMcG5iG98kPeIB18d6R_S_xJ9IDOoITEal6vtMG5MmYikdxpmXgsP8XoPH4tm9gimlmHj7dDRW0c8SxcieOQkYEIrM8ChUw1/s320/aGxAksug.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;">Our little boy made a good thing better.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />When we arrived at the spot Ginger had found it was perfect.
When times are tough she always pulls off miracles. We laid out a blanket, I
got Ace from the car, and we rolled him from my arms onto his side. For the
next half hour Ginger laid with him on the ground, petting his head, his eyes
focused on her, then trying to find me while I mostly paced.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocMG5dJCS3hNmxR24enxaU2e_pYxf3wcJlNwAaxpdSozte150tLA2nB8n8MH9PkGe0MRtYmm8Lh87hPpr9aTVjAt3abdvammZiatsr6BEO_1poGLjZ4kHoq9fRnKj6m5jNnW1wLfimVvX/s2048/160919980_477341947011905_318956744654849454_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1268" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocMG5dJCS3hNmxR24enxaU2e_pYxf3wcJlNwAaxpdSozte150tLA2nB8n8MH9PkGe0MRtYmm8Lh87hPpr9aTVjAt3abdvammZiatsr6BEO_1poGLjZ4kHoq9fRnKj6m5jNnW1wLfimVvX/s320/160919980_477341947011905_318956744654849454_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">On a day in March...</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />When the vet arrived she marveled at his health even in his near
motionless state. He was clearly ready to go and it was obvious we had spared
him nothing. After sedation, I kneeled down with him and Ginger and noticed his
breathing grow shallow and rapid. Knowing the drill I steadied myself for the
final injection. Resting my hand on his head, he took five breaths and was
gone.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A little while later I sent the following to those I knew
who’d care.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i>“It is with the greatest of sadness we inform you that Ace
Davidson left this Earth today, March 17th, at 1:57PM. Under the Page Field
pattern, in a shady spot next to a lake, birds chirping and butterflies flying,
his parents said goodbye to him – the truest of companions, their best man, and
all around great dog.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He was 18 years old.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Months earlier self-doubt filled our thoughts. Were we
keeping him alive for selfish reasons? On Ace’s last day I thought back on all
the times he could have died and wondered, “Was he living for us?”
In retrospect, it sure feels that way. Giving until he had nothing left to
give, the little peckerhead left us behind again.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0Aj_HT4gYaHgk0raNXYRzDIXV5sFDBfFTTzyguKhJTgJMFHpW2bVi_gOVjD4OpU_lFN-RhwCWQ_wQFDYJjJRQuOdhrasRL6kTAOA-VILmPxwktygw1cmIue4zCjJgdiDazQa-wsxYJeN/s2048/dBvstruw.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0Aj_HT4gYaHgk0raNXYRzDIXV5sFDBfFTTzyguKhJTgJMFHpW2bVi_gOVjD4OpU_lFN-RhwCWQ_wQFDYJjJRQuOdhrasRL6kTAOA-VILmPxwktygw1cmIue4zCjJgdiDazQa-wsxYJeN/w400-h266/dBvstruw.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">...and into our memories he went.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-69785149924134585822021-03-13T12:16:00.000-05:002021-03-13T12:17:26.495-05:00Walt Bowe's Vega<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2cYIzU8wEYgpR7pyezZ8Ulv7vlmuKCArxajgZbjTEpLpFSH8DwR5x8S9hyxMSm3uejYNTTnNuZcPjHdQYmgb4gTr-SAWMbL6PUi30dbe_J1Dq3WmKWHGF2wxzPg9B4YKHgGNIQOXo10D/s1920/vega.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2cYIzU8wEYgpR7pyezZ8Ulv7vlmuKCArxajgZbjTEpLpFSH8DwR5x8S9hyxMSm3uejYNTTnNuZcPjHdQYmgb4gTr-SAWMbL6PUi30dbe_J1Dq3WmKWHGF2wxzPg9B4YKHgGNIQOXo10D/s320/vega.jpg" /></a></div><br />When I set out to write about Walt Bowe’s Lockheed Vega I
had no idea how difficult it would be. I wrote one piece and scrapped it. I then
rewrote it only to scrap that one too. The third time I had something to start
with.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Three or thirty revisions later, I had something I was
willing to show a few friends. They said it was tolerable so I massaged it a
little more, added a few things that made me laugh, and submitted to defeat.
What I ended up with was what you see in Vintage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">When I write about an aircraft I usually have some sort of
attachment to them, typically from flying the machines themselves. This was
different. This piece was the kind of article you see day in and day out about
somebody else’s aircraft and story – the kind that drive me nuts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Why do I dislike them?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This type article is typically a matter of fact, cookie
cutter, rehash of information everyone has seen a million times before. There’s
nothing fun or personal other than a few quotes and the whole things is really
nothing more than an extensive caption for great photos. However, there’s
another reason I don’t like them. They’re difficult.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6cqig0gSc_R5jqaBtwXTdJIwIYwHYOnWEF0mSzrY6NcybYN7pGl7t9lI3FuaMwbSUHkJtJaj6MWgOyGxUvvyFBQG3_nA70CcEqho1BOoepX4PFT16Gq5Yd0P3OKqa_VtMQXADHmU4Yw-/s1885/vegabook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1885" data-original-width="1260" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6cqig0gSc_R5jqaBtwXTdJIwIYwHYOnWEF0mSzrY6NcybYN7pGl7t9lI3FuaMwbSUHkJtJaj6MWgOyGxUvvyFBQG3_nA70CcEqho1BOoepX4PFT16Gq5Yd0P3OKqa_VtMQXADHmU4Yw-/s320/vegabook.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />I have friends who can crank out one of these in under
thirty minutes and submit it ready to go. Not me. It feels like I am trying to
bed down someone whose mind I find boring. Fortunately, some people are into
that and they produce the vast population of articles you see. I’ve decided
never to do that again.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">What I’d really enjoy doing is video based stories of flying
these old machines, or maybe a political YouTube channel based around telling
voters how stupid they are and how not to be so dumb. Unfortunately, I’ve a
face for radio and a voice for print. That leaves me with writing – the telegraph
of 2021.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">***Thanks to the crew at Vintage, and Scott Slocum, for getting images that demanded a big caption. I really liked the one trailing fuel. It made me chuckle as that is the reality of old aircraft and I'm glad it wasn't left on the cutting room floor. And more importantly, thanks to Walt for correcting a wrong and flying the grand old girl once again.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Note: I have one factual story left to tell - the story of the sole remaining Northrop Alpha in private hands. It would be a great follow up to this Lockheed story. The Vega was born in the mind of Jack Northrop, who created what many consider to be one of the most significal aircraft of all time - the Northrop Alpha. If you've ever confused Northrops and Lockheeds, that's the reason why. Externally, to the untrained mind, many of them appear identical.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-21246431274289873082021-02-26T21:41:00.004-05:002021-02-26T21:41:52.879-05:00Calendars Delivered - Flying Season Nears<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8QCDxyxK-p6M0WbA_MfsKUmV-d7CX11Thn5k3fHrH_jZ1PJDjq6WDJtHfhEbxraU7o4OWit7xNOznLfgp0BDG4D-V6HDqfafcs07fxMvZk14OUQMizbWBYTMwmUtUL6dC5VrJA8OQcKx/s1080/20210123_003724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="1080" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8QCDxyxK-p6M0WbA_MfsKUmV-d7CX11Thn5k3fHrH_jZ1PJDjq6WDJtHfhEbxraU7o4OWit7xNOznLfgp0BDG4D-V6HDqfafcs07fxMvZk14OUQMizbWBYTMwmUtUL6dC5VrJA8OQcKx/s320/20210123_003724.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I hope that by now those of you who get calendars each year have received them. They went out around two weeks ago. Thanks to all of you who have contributed to this annual fundraiser.<div><br /></div><div>Amazingly, 2020 was one of our busier years at the field. Traffic was up across the board. We’re assuming it was the known quantity of freedom and peacefulness of the setting that drove the traffic. Whatever it was there was certainly an increase.<div><br /></div><div>As for upcoming projects, we still have some downed trees to clear in the next few weeks, a new windsock will be going up, and work on the tractors has already started in an effort to have things ready for the soon to be growing grass. Although I would love to have more definitive news about 2021 to share, until things have gelled that will have to be it for now.</div><div><br /></div><div>We hope to see you around the field, soon.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-76457394584842380462020-12-26T23:02:00.000-05:002020-12-26T23:02:31.069-05:00$300 Donation (by end of 2020) Allowed in CARES ACT<p><b style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></b></p><p><b style="font-family: helvetica;"></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UZoHiiZq6W5izQ8rICyM_M7LFw62nNdW5HeiBe8lqDkKCQzOsOOf5xYcdDGIqXmMYGbuSaFPXfl2P3zBliss7hyToBCP0_Qz0jRz1LZlaTZnlnkoLKwtnqk5SGjK0YxPFzjR8AYAMLdW/s1024/sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UZoHiiZq6W5izQ8rICyM_M7LFw62nNdW5HeiBe8lqDkKCQzOsOOf5xYcdDGIqXmMYGbuSaFPXfl2P3zBliss7hyToBCP0_Qz0jRz1LZlaTZnlnkoLKwtnqk5SGjK0YxPFzjR8AYAMLdW/w400-h300/sky.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></div><b style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Dear Friends of Lee Bottom,</b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">These are difficult times for everyone. We find ourselves in uncharted waters while the demand for our services continues to grow. In order to keep fulfilling our mission, we can always use your help.</span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We want to let you know about a few key provisions of the CARES (Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security) Act. This law, passed earlier in the year, was designed to assist you, businesses, and nonprofits facing economic hardship during the coronavirus pandemic. </span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><u></u> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">However, the law is specifically relative to the Lee Bottom Aviation Refuge as <b>it allows all taxpayers to take a charitable deduction of up to $300, even if you do not itemize</b>.<b> </b>You might think that this is a small amount that would not make a difference. But what if all of our donors gave “just” $300? Such support would have a huge impact on our ability to make improvements while also maintaining the field.</span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><u></u> <u></u></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For those who do itemize their deductions, the new law <b>allows for cash contributions to qualified charities such as ours to be deducted up to 100% </b>of your adjusted gross income for the 2020 calendar year. </span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As always, we are grateful for your generosity, which has greatly assisted us in keeping Lee Bottom open as a public use airport. We hope you'll take this one time unique opportunity to contribute again by following the instructions found at the bottom of this letter.</span></span><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sincerely, </span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><u></u><u></u></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Richie Davidson</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The Lee Bottom Aviation Refuge.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><u></u><u></u></p><div><br /></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><u>HOW TO DONATE - Step by Step: </u></span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><u><br /></u></span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">1. <a href="https://www.aviationrefuge.org/" target="_blank">Click on this link</a> or go to<a href="https://www.aviationrefuge.org/" target="_blank"> www.AviationRefuge.org</a> on your browser.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUFKvdkHxJAftlgGVaAViZMM7Io3p_mAd4PrEZ6Hbow6sT7iq7zZ1bl2Rztew3zYMb_R51cCM7rFTI9SRQK12b0rPvXw9gTr5IbmXXZ2i_Y15F1GN8Ip25JAcvnPIcDRl6yN4G-Q4GiI3/s462/paypalhowto6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="347" data-original-width="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUFKvdkHxJAftlgGVaAViZMM7Io3p_mAd4PrEZ6Hbow6sT7iq7zZ1bl2Rztew3zYMb_R51cCM7rFTI9SRQK12b0rPvXw9gTr5IbmXXZ2i_Y15F1GN8Ip25JAcvnPIcDRl6yN4G-Q4GiI3/s320/paypalhowto6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div>2. At the end of the black menu bar along the top you'll see the word "DONATE." Click on it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">3. Clicking on "DONATE" will take you to a location on the website where a yellow "DONATE" </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">button </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">will be visible in the center of the screen.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMqignIWKWQR2bG40yplZs_o9Pgk8NvkuuDmMK_L3UdxVURmeRamPCnzoFgty3DYMO010j-6KzraUgSKxZwP673MIobbhgtl6sinONpXIzpt9fg7Gs0R95Y59cyX0lBnJMgVsCOVVho2M/s442/paypalhowto5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="332" data-original-width="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMqignIWKWQR2bG40yplZs_o9Pgk8NvkuuDmMK_L3UdxVURmeRamPCnzoFgty3DYMO010j-6KzraUgSKxZwP673MIobbhgtl6sinONpXIzpt9fg7Gs0R95Y59cyX0lBnJMgVsCOVVho2M/s320/paypalhowto5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">4. Click on the yellow "DONATE" button to go to the first page of the SECURE DONATION PAGE.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdKVNg5Mvtzz1tmgO84YrEzuEdGZx3Oem-I4wGAJifT34NhYGk6gShxVZgjmCmqbQwHSr_IVXYHUhDEBHynLz8YcpUKskwfP4Br_P2F-kvenhX7E-wd-19FlDq_tr1pCH4_fRQ23_u3-0/s452/paypalhowto4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdKVNg5Mvtzz1tmgO84YrEzuEdGZx3Oem-I4wGAJifT34NhYGk6gShxVZgjmCmqbQwHSr_IVXYHUhDEBHynLz8YcpUKskwfP4Br_P2F-kvenhX7E-wd-19FlDq_tr1pCH4_fRQ23_u3-0/s320/paypalhowto4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">5. Enter the amount you wish to donate by using the up or down arrows, or typing in whole </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">dollar amount. This will change the appearance of the page.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">6. When you entered your amount the right side of the page will change to show to boxes, </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">PAYPAL CHECKOUT, OR PAYPAL CREDIT. Click on PAYPAL CHECKOUT</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJr62KaHkCAbVXgPIflK3jTC29ATQ5k6o7tveNa6T7vSpAlkoDEkxSBTBxa_d__JqtTwHff3ym9_3M1ddPSJVAGfQmIC1E8yqQ1zO-7MeEDmfP5ekepO1s2tgm6i-6ujgc0Moev1rqOyu/s480/paypalhowto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJr62KaHkCAbVXgPIflK3jTC29ATQ5k6o7tveNa6T7vSpAlkoDEkxSBTBxa_d__JqtTwHff3ym9_3M1ddPSJVAGfQmIC1E8yqQ1zO-7MeEDmfP5ekepO1s2tgm6i-6ujgc0Moev1rqOyu/s320/paypalhowto.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">7.The next screen you'll see is "PAY WITH PAYPAL."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>*</span>If you do not have a PayPal account you can pay as a guest by clicking the gray box at the bottom that says, "Pay with Debit or Credit Card.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span>*If you have a PayPal account you can "</span>LOG IN" to pay as a registered user or do the same as above by clicking the gray box.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTlizPdD3o9Wq-QyAHTUqDbmAP0-A4UhSI_nNZtqWcpzX3ITgDAJMOyHlW5hlHXWEfv2axF4DYUupNfvpowGvusNrQSImiJoBdMlfBtKGc1rglyPD6p8nmm3v2x0u6VQYp_bNQN0JmCfd/s412/paypalhowto2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="331" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTlizPdD3o9Wq-QyAHTUqDbmAP0-A4UhSI_nNZtqWcpzX3ITgDAJMOyHlW5hlHXWEfv2axF4DYUupNfvpowGvusNrQSImiJoBdMlfBtKGc1rglyPD6p8nmm3v2x0u6VQYp_bNQN0JmCfd/s320/paypalhowto2.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">8. You will now find yourself at a recognizable online pay information screen. Enter your </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">information</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">and click "Continue" at the bottom.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOml9XfP9cavMhZPm_j2ZqSKnNcTYSOqFF2h2w1w5E8HfdPNDskHlhyphenhyphenq-hQT-cNfSsylpN9raWp1Q1tifHkzTgEYnUmV043H3B_1j9JvhswR2rLI5PSKwsV-IKoT8NuQbLZm_H_Da8BVFi/s432/paypalhowto7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="357" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOml9XfP9cavMhZPm_j2ZqSKnNcTYSOqFF2h2w1w5E8HfdPNDskHlhyphenhyphenq-hQT-cNfSsylpN9raWp1Q1tifHkzTgEYnUmV043H3B_1j9JvhswR2rLI5PSKwsV-IKoT8NuQbLZm_H_Da8BVFi/s320/paypalhowto7.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">9. The remainder of the process will be very similar to any online purchase you have made </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">elsewhere. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">When finished making your donation, be sure to screenshot the page or print it </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">for your records.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Thank you for your support. We hope to see you at Lee Bottom in 2021.</span></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-11396928220995256222020-12-25T22:09:00.004-05:002020-12-25T22:16:02.994-05:00Christmas From a Distance<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLaRh4Y0xumUftjlMjlX2OX4r1VVehTbB4NtRmgCbAd4zoekhOCPpB51g_h4VrZT2OS52-ci4ZlHq7icAPsHMo-J9R3gUSveeqqttdC1JizMWOImMI18iMmIiuRnj12DuRG0x_thGBh8c/s1920/80195397_3402888866452716_8353007866486980608_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLaRh4Y0xumUftjlMjlX2OX4r1VVehTbB4NtRmgCbAd4zoekhOCPpB51g_h4VrZT2OS52-ci4ZlHq7icAPsHMo-J9R3gUSveeqqttdC1JizMWOImMI18iMmIiuRnj12DuRG0x_thGBh8c/w400-h225/80195397_3402888866452716_8353007866486980608_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now you know where to find me.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Each year as Christmas nears the same feeling comes to visit.
This time more than ever. Something good, an undefinable spirit among men, is
vanishing. The season’s Christian holiday no longer serves us best as a moment
to rejoice, but barometer of our collective character, a literal and
proverbial calendar on its last page.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Almost certainly some of these feelings come from being born
into my generation; one of many fed fantasies and unfounded ideas by
generations of parents who did so unknowingly, without introspection, and no
concern for what they’d incur. Even serial realists such as myself find it hard
to release our grip on the unrealistic notions of Christmas. Programmed from day one, by mothers and fathers living their own fantasies, they are etched upon our hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">My observations, however, are not meant to infer Christmas
is a lie, or the religion of its creation bad. They are written to state what I
feel to be the obvious - that a holiday once well rooted in religious faith
has been co-opted away from its true meaning, into the Switzerland of days off;
neutral territory defined by excess consumption. The biblical story of an
unskilled red-nosed reindeer </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">once guided our thoughts to peace, love, and joy. S</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">hooting approaches to minimums so that all the little
angels would get the Easy Bake Ovens and Evel Knievel motorcycles mail ordered from Sears taught us selfless servitude. Today, the tale of kerosene beasts, with microwave noses, fill the heads of children. Flying autolands in
the snow so all the little angels who lack for nothing can complain about
capitalism while enjoying senseless game consoles their parents purchased only
eight hours earlier from Amazon has taught us what?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Many argue times have changed. Can you see it? No?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Our biggest holiday has become a grand hyperloop of marketing and consumerism no
longer possessing the deeper meaning and purpose of Christmas - a foundation
that would give it everlasting strength. Instead, it is so lost to time few
remember when it wasn’t. I certainly don’t. But I do remember how it used to
feel, or how I think it should.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2z8rn_c0u83kiO1Cab9hYbIbImC20eWi-sv_T_FeEsNohiJMqQq7NN57NFG0rKJHIqZ-BFQP6BqBxJdoPpqzRRIAfRSpEbu3sxSGiuo8ExHryJwUuf4SLrPH-AGGqcIFdaGIJkGtHi9p/s1985/oneofmylandings.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1985" data-original-width="1985" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2z8rn_c0u83kiO1Cab9hYbIbImC20eWi-sv_T_FeEsNohiJMqQq7NN57NFG0rKJHIqZ-BFQP6BqBxJdoPpqzRRIAfRSpEbu3sxSGiuo8ExHryJwUuf4SLrPH-AGGqcIFdaGIJkGtHi9p/s320/oneofmylandings.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Denver landing captured by my GoPro.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Back then, for reasons unexplained, upon first observation
everyone was treated to a smile. Each person encountered also shared kind words. Every day delivered the peace of a
population wide truce. For at least three remarkably peaceful hours, depending
on when your family opened gifts and ate the big meal, we all assumed everyone
was good, had the potential to be, or would be better off punched on a
different day.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Sitting here today I don’t feel it. Days away from the 25th
and 12,000 miles from home, I can tell you it doesn’t seem like Christmas.
There are no gifts, no glowing red noses, and the only guiding star to be found
is actually two planets that have nothing to do with Christmas (sorry to burst
your bubble). However, I do find myself continuously thinking of the people
from my life, the principles life crudely engraved on my heart of stone, and
all the great memories I have been given, or opportunity to create, by the
miracle of life. Among them is a sunset flight over the Keys on Christmas day,
the notion of telling the truth ‘till it hurts, and the hundreds of people I’d
love to see again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZq3Zxsg887TK6bCYcdVxljbd920HaCWTs1ypxU1354qsOvpNR2AGsMJBc1ypP5le-YTh1Z6sIMt9AV3kLZXPpqIk80M3hWvvUq06I3mv6v5RdylkgxMe4zD2OG-iifzSfIvJAU9uwJfEE/s450/90853_w_450_338.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZq3Zxsg887TK6bCYcdVxljbd920HaCWTs1ypxU1354qsOvpNR2AGsMJBc1ypP5le-YTh1Z6sIMt9AV3kLZXPpqIk80M3hWvvUq06I3mv6v5RdylkgxMe4zD2OG-iifzSfIvJAU9uwJfEE/s320/90853_w_450_338.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Were the names of those people printed, many would
undoubtedly be surprised to find themselves on the list. Having last walked
away enemies, or unfortunate casualties of life, they have surely long since
forgotten me. Yet, for all of them I find myself hoping they have lived great
lives, corrected the errors of their ways, and forgiven me for mine. But, that
is all part of the fantasy - I guess. Or, maybe not.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Could it be the final embers of Christmas keeping out the
cold?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">If you need me, I'll be outside chopping wood.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">*Written on a long layover in Japan - December 23rd, 2020.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-58086090992786179142020-12-18T14:44:00.000-05:002020-12-18T14:44:51.672-05:00Invisible VS Visible<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqGB-KLQrVPvHBSEOcIOqCBN0XuOqG2wZuoZHyVsu8ZDF32Gwla2dFbjNs1ULGvonSVfe-G84CaLXpIlSAoBP1yhtYf1-S1l3ywxzM1FcmaIO6G-NwDRpzffTbodP5EkXcsneDOiY-tbL/s2048/survey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqGB-KLQrVPvHBSEOcIOqCBN0XuOqG2wZuoZHyVsu8ZDF32Gwla2dFbjNs1ULGvonSVfe-G84CaLXpIlSAoBP1yhtYf1-S1l3ywxzM1FcmaIO6G-NwDRpzffTbodP5EkXcsneDOiY-tbL/s320/survey.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Surveying the northern property boundary</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Yesterday, in freezing temperatures and drizzle, a crew
surveyed the final boundary of airport property. The project took over two
years to complete - over two years beyond the month originally estimated. It
was an arduous process. However, it was necessary for the airport’s long-term
outlook. The downside for us is that to outsiders it is invisible. A great task
nearly complete yet seemingly non-existent to those who use the airport.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We realize people would rather have events; pilots would
rather have stories to tell; followers would love to see tangible evidence of
work. Yet, all too often the real work goes unseen. But, for those who need
tangible, please allow us to point to the approach path of runway 36.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRKaXdXlZzN7qaNQq_UO2fU_zgE95cQ_5oBcoWVZvIVENwIf22jjVt6T3VqNzzSqs6l0PhA42XjPnVI6Css2VkgWqR7oOc15-uAYwMuNL9zRjvEdopLhoJsmM6XReBxAxDKDECkCnHW7i/s2048/survery2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRKaXdXlZzN7qaNQq_UO2fU_zgE95cQ_5oBcoWVZvIVENwIf22jjVt6T3VqNzzSqs6l0PhA42XjPnVI6Css2VkgWqR7oOc15-uAYwMuNL9zRjvEdopLhoJsmM6XReBxAxDKDECkCnHW7i/s320/survery2.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Working our way up the hill.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Trees have been steadily growing towards the certified approach
path (trapezoid) for years. Naturally, 2020 was the year they reached it. This
led to one of our most severe underestimations of all time.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">After drone flight, bucket truck, binocular, ground, and
satellite imagery surveys of the trees, we estimated removing five to eight of them would solve the problem. Then the work started.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Every time a tree fell another appeared behind it. No matter
how hard we tried (not just us, but also professionals) to identify every
suspect tree, it continued to happen. Eventually this led us to the only
solution that offered any chance of completing the task – we’d remove all but a
small handful of trees in the approach path area.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHp-t_rXi9Xx3JWUJmaBsJlycz-QV-rfhuYX5Mb2bAW42OGCfYMopKENnnm7ErxYmqU-htotHm19QQyDGwCObge0u2cR3VURoLHkqSDMuBc17BXyHO8wfCMQzLb-wJMjEpIcQ95wziLyv/s1125/treeremoval3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHp-t_rXi9Xx3JWUJmaBsJlycz-QV-rfhuYX5Mb2bAW42OGCfYMopKENnnm7ErxYmqU-htotHm19QQyDGwCObge0u2cR3VURoLHkqSDMuBc17BXyHO8wfCMQzLb-wJMjEpIcQ95wziLyv/s320/treeremoval3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Mind you, we love our trees. However, we would never have
been anywhere close to completion if we hadn’t made the call and gone with
absolute removal. As one neighbor who also loves his trees said, “Take them all
the way down so we don’t have to do this every year.” It turned out to be sound
advice. The approach path should be clear of trees for some time to come. After
all, somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred trees came down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhr82mlR7cAyPfjJ0B-jWijxNd2Q5XIc-xDeS6wwO2h_Y7S0oQ3w4fNiTo9c7dq2uCXAYBDdmF0hFHeeyZVLhmG9-GHuI9NXqCs1fl8IBGIaY6qMaXWANZtQ5QYtwdtDTScSFEGqevrAPE/s1125/treesremoval.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhr82mlR7cAyPfjJ0B-jWijxNd2Q5XIc-xDeS6wwO2h_Y7S0oQ3w4fNiTo9c7dq2uCXAYBDdmF0hFHeeyZVLhmG9-GHuI9NXqCs1fl8IBGIaY6qMaXWANZtQ5QYtwdtDTScSFEGqevrAPE/s320/treesremoval.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />That said, the project isn’t finished. There is a still a
lot of cleanup to do; several trees along the runway still have to come down;
the roadway needs landscaping to resolve the issue of the ugly stumps left
behind. Yet, anyone who uses the field can clearly see the massive amount of
work that went into this highly noticeable project.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5tPF6en3b1e9GGEJ-mVDzLSacXs_Es-6WIvEJmSFrADYwDjPZ06EvZGy1n8-OnLI4eMXUAJ9HiH89EUOCYbgN6c6cJpn4a12LgC1NoCbqEGy78z7JtzNl6IMxnps_l0Qte3kvnB7MBiUz/s2048/surverytreeswork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5tPF6en3b1e9GGEJ-mVDzLSacXs_Es-6WIvEJmSFrADYwDjPZ06EvZGy1n8-OnLI4eMXUAJ9HiH89EUOCYbgN6c6cJpn4a12LgC1NoCbqEGy78z7JtzNl6IMxnps_l0Qte3kvnB7MBiUz/s320/surverytreeswork.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">To do this job we've had to buy equipment, hire in a<br />professional tree removal service, then spends weeks<br />by ourselves and with friends to get to this point. Cleanup<br />is the next phase. For this we'll need a dozer, full time<br />skid steer/grapple work, and many<br />days of manpower. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-47706476085882302602020-12-16T20:51:00.002-05:002020-12-16T22:25:08.855-05:00Urban Archaeology<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmuNfvBFNrhGU5lCgEhIUgd5U7bAeEMXphI2jwZt6pERLgH22L_yqf6otdbYG06rZ1DltozhgeI64mx68-apBQ1528i5djkIPHTrNA3MHVuh_7FoKHE-eBhp5vug7attiejudBj5zU9bsF/s660/015-mclaren-m8a-big-block-car-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="660" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmuNfvBFNrhGU5lCgEhIUgd5U7bAeEMXphI2jwZt6pERLgH22L_yqf6otdbYG06rZ1DltozhgeI64mx68-apBQ1528i5djkIPHTrNA3MHVuh_7FoKHE-eBhp5vug7attiejudBj5zU9bsF/s320/015-mclaren-m8a-big-block-car-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The inspiration for the Manta Mirage.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I never cared for yellow cars until today. Why the sudden
change? To understand it you need a window to my youth; or, perhaps, an
archaeological dig into the strata of my childhood home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbut5DiVNu3tWu1f4EA6NP5r8GwhrZ4Bxo6Ouqwac3NVoRekcp3R7fDrqiLPEJ7CT42czPFg4GNht1vYXVNZgJtVQfM9qtKmh4COTII5H7vIC6X7taTUEvh907MLxPBiYbpuNVyysRrhaH/s1889/mantabrochure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="825" data-original-width="1889" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbut5DiVNu3tWu1f4EA6NP5r8GwhrZ4Bxo6Ouqwac3NVoRekcp3R7fDrqiLPEJ7CT42czPFg4GNht1vYXVNZgJtVQfM9qtKmh4COTII5H7vIC6X7taTUEvh907MLxPBiYbpuNVyysRrhaH/s320/mantabrochure.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Manta Brochure</td></tr></tbody></table><br />At the bottom of a closet in a poorly lit bedroom, with dark
blue walls and dusty aircraft models strung from the ceiling, lies an original
brochure for this yellow car. If you really wanted to find the cardstock sales
pitch intended to market dreams to dreamers, at some point you’d have to stop
to allow your eyes to adjust. Having dug your way past the black leather jacket,
a t-shirt that says, “Disco Sucks,” a giant papier-mache spark plug from art
class, old posters of airliners, and several 22 long rifle shells lost to the floor,
human physiology would reveal the next era. Exotic shapes appearing from the
shadows, thanks to enlarged pupils, would indicate you’re almost there. Cautiously
peeling back the stack of “Hustler(s),” scanning every page of every month, would
lead you to the prize. Hours later underneath Miss October, fittingly pressed against
a hard wood floor, you’d find a package labeled "Manta."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaeff50UKGB7fBfpOr-R0FCdOUJilS3J60hc0ZWWDx0Dzci15uq4ElvCS0KaUoZk3k3cBpo5mAWr_Ol6pZqjtzkn-IhDv5HhcVXALp55Y3cuOJiTFboLWxiFkE3mFESDtXB0TfHwkgXBQR/s1654/mantabrochurecolor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1654" data-original-width="1274" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaeff50UKGB7fBfpOr-R0FCdOUJilS3J60hc0ZWWDx0Dzci15uq4ElvCS0KaUoZk3k3cBpo5mAWr_Ol6pZqjtzkn-IhDv5HhcVXALp55Y3cuOJiTFboLWxiFkE3mFESDtXB0TfHwkgXBQR/s320/mantabrochurecolor.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />The placement was strategic. Being the youngest child in
family heavily swayed by aviation, I was intent they never discover I was a car
guy. Being a testosterone-fueled competitor in the championship of mating was
far preferable to that. In retrospect, that’s probably why I once knew Miss April
but never owned a Manta. Unfortunately, today I’m also quite sure the Manta
Mirage would have given me more lasting pleasure. That’s what led me to this
sexy yellow beast.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwUELt1NXOa4hdtFc5m5kAOSu4F985TWrwLA9po2JjnUWvEN_KxVJv3WoOabcVTaPrzSTudSuopuHzXbG-nh1zhBGGPbfYdAMd5IjtuhxlkjOqa9NKMCmARyumBA5eJtaFkN4F6LfG4HB/s940/mirage60seconds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="940" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwUELt1NXOa4hdtFc5m5kAOSu4F985TWrwLA9po2JjnUWvEN_KxVJv3WoOabcVTaPrzSTudSuopuHzXbG-nh1zhBGGPbfYdAMd5IjtuhxlkjOqa9NKMCmARyumBA5eJtaFkN4F6LfG4HB/s320/mirage60seconds.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A scene from the original "Gone in 60 Seconds."</td></tr></tbody></table><br />When I saw this car online I immediately recognized it was
different. Most Manta kit cars ended up rolling junk. However, Gregg Umek
bought this one decades ago and used all his skills to make it right. After a
career of racing his own cars, working as an engineer for Dan Gurney, helping
build a steam engine Indy car for Bill Lear, and many more automotive stops
along the way, he set up his own shop for retirement and began having fun with
kit cars. In turn, he created one of the nicest Manta Mirages on the planet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yfSkV-l0PWNHxg2zM0TRJ635zFPgSC01qHucUIVmlz5OCLoZpo02RvGzucMZ76mzo72rOZQN0ZG-BR8KJfFWHU8oik79LZcQFyvgAQGV2WZisZd1XdUaEQIN-Fhfk5Ms9h34szToAkwJ/s1080/mirage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yfSkV-l0PWNHxg2zM0TRJ635zFPgSC01qHucUIVmlz5OCLoZpo02RvGzucMZ76mzo72rOZQN0ZG-BR8KJfFWHU8oik79LZcQFyvgAQGV2WZisZd1XdUaEQIN-Fhfk5Ms9h34szToAkwJ/s320/mirage2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />Having never seen one in person, let alone sit in one, I
wasn’t sure what to expect. What I found made me smile. It was exactly what I
expected; maybe more. Gregg’s attention to detail is evident in ever part of
this rare machine and I’d love to have it. However, there was snow on the
ground, it had not been off the lift this year, and a drive was out of the
question when I arrived late. But, I got the next best thing – to sit in the
cockpit and hear it roar to life.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMpJeNxr5FKoLwRnRHgbsjgxtfQMHHgpGcK8arzd3tosCt2odg2faJnKuyAK5XJZLygVmCLE4B5VBMoK649VoTT9ESJaGLg-xap7SPmuwiZoprpYuSATHDqotaAXazfBz1ShxenyZsK9E/s480/mirge4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMpJeNxr5FKoLwRnRHgbsjgxtfQMHHgpGcK8arzd3tosCt2odg2faJnKuyAK5XJZLygVmCLE4B5VBMoK649VoTT9ESJaGLg-xap7SPmuwiZoprpYuSATHDqotaAXazfBz1ShxenyZsK9E/s320/mirge4.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />I had to laugh when Gregg began explaining how I could make
it quieter. “You’re advertising this to the wrong people,” I said. “I’d
want it louder.” From that point on we were great friends.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Who knows what will happen. It has no heat and no AC. That
means I’d probably always be alone in the car. That said, it might work in my
favor. Although it is a two seater, it’s tight. How tight?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">As I explained to a friend, I’ve been in many cars, some of
which you put on and wore like a glove. However, this was the first one that
inserted me like a tampon.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBp65cwQL93vetRG_BI_8ap44MwKWGCsbfjjZ8-0Q_qk-ndSOTnn8z-_5XgQD9g7dkmrWkQxHwyFsXAVXU-mOfNBi4dDzgurVk89GsFZ7zLT9xf5mEhtGTpUUm96GkYEt8XnbJYYSNgX3/s1080/mirage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBp65cwQL93vetRG_BI_8ap44MwKWGCsbfjjZ8-0Q_qk-ndSOTnn8z-_5XgQD9g7dkmrWkQxHwyFsXAVXU-mOfNBi4dDzgurVk89GsFZ7zLT9xf5mEhtGTpUUm96GkYEt8XnbJYYSNgX3/s320/mirage.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The chase is almost as fun as the buy.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-48647443498114603482019-09-25T18:24:00.001-04:002019-09-25T18:27:51.235-04:00The Madison Municipal Airport (IMS) Airshow is this Saturday - September 28th, 2019<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUo1DFtDHT3Ucx66PcRHGYrFa1A3_oEd-Ct7MXFOnxoVCLj2DYiRKpH95X78DboQbMp1icx2SkBSIVoD9Eu06OnwRfX0BiVLWV-dOdJfHSJyJrg1EPS48V2evM0jYU-YVNuTW7q1A1423A/s1600/madisonairshow.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="1100" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUo1DFtDHT3Ucx66PcRHGYrFa1A3_oEd-Ct7MXFOnxoVCLj2DYiRKpH95X78DboQbMp1icx2SkBSIVoD9Eu06OnwRfX0BiVLWV-dOdJfHSJyJrg1EPS48V2evM0jYU-YVNuTW7q1A1423A/s400/madisonairshow.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you're semi-local and would like to support a local airport here's your chance. Admission is whatever you like it to be - seriously. There will be fuel discounts - everyone's favorite excuse to fly. If you have a cool airplane they'll feed you for free (see website for details). And, AAAANNNNDDDD, you can take the opportunity to stop at Lee Bottom, take a photo proving you were here, and send it to ask where I was.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.madisonmunicipalairport.com/airshow.html" target="_blank">Here's the website.</a></span><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-33162401166080099362019-09-17T13:24:00.001-04:002019-09-17T14:46:47.543-04:00Our 2000 Club Car Transporter/Carry All is For Sale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGF3hEzrBAR_In8MJGCRuNwFAaMafTCxUuQmAKc9ldk57Hp6w5RhNC0pGNOdHwhuCKjEoBjEtXerVb-ID79nfVC8aJheYFQ6AxZJjIOuQ8A7pFDKJXGo0A3Z6K77ANQ1orij_RU-gKtt3Q/s1600/70778029_545401986203162_428765520007790592_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1342" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGF3hEzrBAR_In8MJGCRuNwFAaMafTCxUuQmAKc9ldk57Hp6w5RhNC0pGNOdHwhuCKjEoBjEtXerVb-ID79nfVC8aJheYFQ6AxZJjIOuQ8A7pFDKJXGo0A3Z6K77ANQ1orij_RU-gKtt3Q/s320/70778029_545401986203162_428765520007790592_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As we continue to reduce our 'inventory of things" toward a minimum of things, more and more things are finding themselves on the "things for sale" list. This 2000 Club Car is one such thing. It is redundant to our needs and we'd really like to move it down the road.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you want a great household mulch mover, local community cooler carrier, or a great airport tool this is it. It's in great shape, runs well, has a light duty hitch, four new wheels and tires, and red paint that makes it really fast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2000 Club Car (Gas)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1875+ hours with ongoing use.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">$4500 obo</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EbqndoBpyJiDlbuAG6HjHMp27rdhtSirWI7J7pKgPw_0KKm4zXzf91oQGhHqPKizfquGn_qwEkz5zvPQHTCST44uKGwIqDGskPuHeOYOIoXACaiEHtk7-r0rGRNCjO2xzhyphenhyphenfiBRcEZ05/s1600/70464593_672145976596873_13496724274282496_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1186" data-original-width="1600" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EbqndoBpyJiDlbuAG6HjHMp27rdhtSirWI7J7pKgPw_0KKm4zXzf91oQGhHqPKizfquGn_qwEkz5zvPQHTCST44uKGwIqDGskPuHeOYOIoXACaiEHtk7-r0rGRNCjO2xzhyphenhyphenfiBRcEZ05/s320/70464593_672145976596873_13496724274282496_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6yG9mXG2nHtApMCJtT4L_hgROEINpveW03cnFp-oihcjdUq5ZR0muYBTVXopgnNtD1PXBEhlfyg6XAaflj2_J4wMFcu8KEClOqhb3QFXPNR-SVGKneHNp-rmSb4NcKnYZib40dvgrRbwx/s1600/69733752_503662447066873_3900248097711718400_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6yG9mXG2nHtApMCJtT4L_hgROEINpveW03cnFp-oihcjdUq5ZR0muYBTVXopgnNtD1PXBEhlfyg6XAaflj2_J4wMFcu8KEClOqhb3QFXPNR-SVGKneHNp-rmSb4NcKnYZib40dvgrRbwx/s320/69733752_503662447066873_3900248097711718400_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-82056694083183260072019-09-17T13:11:00.001-04:002019-09-17T13:11:43.816-04:00Ed Escallon - A Friend to Everyone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQukPPFojKnbNQJcyoMXAJlAXJGj2_viYbYpn8ZEcSkekyYTpm_njOCYqEb06xjOxcay0Br6zDCorIKQ1bdNXFqyI4koRE2gMFaGLCsYslHANTO8QXQgWeZixNOhtQkxgbB1m2yFzQFYP/s1600/edlaird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQukPPFojKnbNQJcyoMXAJlAXJGj2_viYbYpn8ZEcSkekyYTpm_njOCYqEb06xjOxcay0Br6zDCorIKQ1bdNXFqyI4koRE2gMFaGLCsYslHANTO8QXQgWeZixNOhtQkxgbB1m2yFzQFYP/s400/edlaird.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed loved the old race planes and always had a smile on his face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week we learned our friend, everybody's friend, Ed Escallon, had passed away. It was a complete shock. He had the look of a guy who could run laps around a runner, the demeanor of person who had no cares in the world but took a year off to go to the beach to make sure, and enough love of life for a dozen average people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The news of Ed's passing left me wishing for one last visit. The old saying, "Always leave them wanting more," works with so many occupations. Entertainment, business, and even the black market work best when applying this principle. Yet, it is an extremely rare human trait. Ed possessed it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sincerely felt cheated not being able to see him one last time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's the strangest thing. When people are alive, even in the case of your closest friend, it seems odd to tell them, "You know what? You're a good dude. I mean it. You're a first class person and I thought someone should tell you." Maybe it's because we know it would sound as though, "..in case you die tomorrow," was coming next. Or, maybe it's something we know to be inherently difficult to respond to. Whatever the case may be, we don't say it. And, as we get older, we wish more and more that we had.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's to you Ed. You were a great person. Everyone knew you by your smile and the PT with a similar grin. Ultimately, though, most people will remember you as a guy they were always glad to see.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5FC63Gec8WCCQwnf6lIic14R3c8uklcZpqXLIjLjL4x0QRKAK7OW4rcIw5H_VjtNBDdsWeYgM2hdNEzGtGRg61SGZ00y8hXNYkkHWw7Oto1upGmcTkWIpGWWg6kM8uvt5BdcFr_-GaPy/s1600/Edescallon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="720" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5FC63Gec8WCCQwnf6lIic14R3c8uklcZpqXLIjLjL4x0QRKAK7OW4rcIw5H_VjtNBDdsWeYgM2hdNEzGtGRg61SGZ00y8hXNYkkHWw7Oto1upGmcTkWIpGWWg6kM8uvt5BdcFr_-GaPy/s400/Edescallon2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you remember Ed, you might want to attend the Ed Escallon Memorial Fly-In on September 28th, 2019, at Anderson (Indiana) Municipal Airport. Look for it on facebook for more details.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Additional bits about Ed:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About his passion for the Golden Age of Racing</span><br />
<a href="http://supersolutionproject.blogspot.com/2011/05/nobody-builds-airplane-alone.html"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">http://supersolutionproject.blogspot.com/2011/05/nobody-builds-airplane-alone.html</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About Ed and his most well known aircraft</span><br />
<a href="https://generalaviationnews.com/2010/09/13/it-is-a-p-26/"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">https://generalaviationnews.com/2010/09/13/it-is-a-p-26/</span></a><br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-68371592936793021032019-09-17T11:40:00.000-04:002019-09-17T11:40:15.681-04:00BOWMANFEST - An Aviation and Military Heritage Festival<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphenLDFvLf5LMxjwFTA1bRAsYMA3CWYmjbndmgCKNL_PtuZ8aN2OkbnPPQc-lmseeKXivvOLtsYJG0O3Wwu_U3Kri_suCSvw5VgeuJGlAsxVc2zHqDPA_NIog9lj2IJWeXvMjXCUp05kJRi/s1600/70233917_2998934183514254_1858018859592712192_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="511" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphenLDFvLf5LMxjwFTA1bRAsYMA3CWYmjbndmgCKNL_PtuZ8aN2OkbnPPQc-lmseeKXivvOLtsYJG0O3Wwu_U3Kri_suCSvw5VgeuJGlAsxVc2zHqDPA_NIog9lj2IJWeXvMjXCUp05kJRi/s320/70233917_2998934183514254_1858018859592712192_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bowman Field's conversation piece.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">October 5-6, 2019 is the date for this year's BOWMANFEST. Held at historic Bowman Field, in Louisville, Kentucky, the event has grown in size for many years. Thanks to enthusiastic supporters who step up to offer funds that in turn bring in amazing aircraft, this gathering has finally given Bowman Field what it's been missing - something to look forward to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still one of the oldest continually operating airports in the world, in the 70s Bowman field was the busiest GA airport in the world, and home to the most enthusiastic aviators in America. However, a few years back, after post 9/11 security mandates, decades of some of the highest relative hangar rates in the nation, removal of grass runways that were attractive to antique aircraft, and general neglect, the field appears to be turning a corner, getting the attention it needs. Life is returning to the field and BOWMANFEST is leading the charge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCH62JYZKHsluIVCNhh4Q-gYztzRXF6LKW6qSKI4ml-NjlCVNEwiSKbgkBOcrPcPOqRHHmwPouTSMaogj_Fiyb2Ba33yWA3ZE63M_8l-eL_vs1ImmhR6OCgkcsRgbeBcEoScZ8MMJ4Jizn/s1600/bowmanfest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1194" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCH62JYZKHsluIVCNhh4Q-gYztzRXF6LKW6qSKI4ml-NjlCVNEwiSKbgkBOcrPcPOqRHHmwPouTSMaogj_Fiyb2Ba33yWA3ZE63M_8l-eL_vs1ImmhR6OCgkcsRgbeBcEoScZ8MMJ4Jizn/s320/bowmanfest.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Produced by a group of people who believe in the airport, understand its importance to the City of Louisville, and most importantly, love aviation, BOWMANFEST is doing a great job of reminding the neighbors how fun it can be to have a great airport nearby. I hope you'll support their effort.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All that said, I have an admission to make. That's not the entire story behind why I hope you'll attend. The truth is, Bowman is very important to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhja-VZAmmy57KkcjBz1CAkNvpIGH3DyHRprBpQqQwp48Eg30u5qxdDMVB7CSTuAmtRnNhmKzykEDdkg1agNYJUpCd3wKy5V_Y7QzCfXPxtDsMFML-KX30Da_W4u5nFkozuD2raR3wh4WW-/s1600/71073553_393522924873652_6282034310631391232_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhja-VZAmmy57KkcjBz1CAkNvpIGH3DyHRprBpQqQwp48Eg30u5qxdDMVB7CSTuAmtRnNhmKzykEDdkg1agNYJUpCd3wKy5V_Y7QzCfXPxtDsMFML-KX30Da_W4u5nFkozuD2raR3wh4WW-/s320/71073553_393522924873652_6282034310631391232_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The airport is where I earned my pilot's license (certificate) and first soloed, rode in and flew my first 220 and 450 Stearman, first took off and landed a T-6, first flew a twin, turbine, experimental, and a seaplane out to a water landing. I also had my first flight in a business jet there. At Bowman I started an air tour business, drove my first Ferrari, Lamborghini, Viper, etc (thanks Jay), bought a low mileage TR-3B I still kick myself for selling, saw what was probably the first GPS in the state, made a million mistakes, made what would be (so far) some lifelong friends, burned thousands of gallons of gas and more than one bridge, lost a rare gas cap in the grass on takeoff and actually found it after landing, and helped market the oldest aviation business in Louisville. I also departed from Bowman in search of Lee Bottom.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the historic field, KLOU, I first saw the B-24 "All American" I would, decades later, get to fly. Bowman field is where I found the world's greatest AME, went six months with a flight every single day, and figured out how to use a 300' triangular piece of grass to land and take off in a Champ(with a passenger) without ever allowing the wheels to touch unholy pavement.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was there that I would talk to a transient pilot in a BT-13 who would later hook me up with a place to hop rides in the Keys. A few years after that I wound up flying that BT and still have the friends made from the experience. I met Marvin Rowe at Bowman. He deserved a book and I wish I'd have written it when I could.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From Central American's self-serve pumps I air-mailed a parcel, via Curtiss Helldiver, to my brother flying a show in Geneseo. Today I still find new details on the 1920s Curtiss Hangar still in use, wonder if the remnants of 1-19 are actually the oldest piece of hard surface runway in the world, think about the filming of Goldfinger, marvel at the fact Connies once used the field with tighter patterns than modern pilots in 172s, and wish the place still had a reason to land three abreast - hard surface with grass on each side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsXVpQYU7p90ZYrhPgbDRfiyY98lxPym3Q_SuxLpqHUo0GWE5eXoCzVqtvsta2bwtGBaBKfxgPf3xLUlu2W80n8JgTPZPo5aVxdKNIdZEVY6aq2d-Es-q6dRt44ay791Sk6dxsghCKBkTL/s1600/Bowmanfieldsunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="1080" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsXVpQYU7p90ZYrhPgbDRfiyY98lxPym3Q_SuxLpqHUo0GWE5eXoCzVqtvsta2bwtGBaBKfxgPf3xLUlu2W80n8JgTPZPo5aVxdKNIdZEVY6aq2d-Es-q6dRt44ay791Sk6dxsghCKBkTL/s400/Bowmanfieldsunrise.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So much happened here, for me, the local aviation community, and aviation as a whole. Heck, I haven't even touched on the real history of Bowman - once a must stop location for the world's who's who of aviation when aviation was at its greatest. However, you can see some of that history if you stop by the "old terminal" when attending the event.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Airports like Bowman need real public support to stay alive and well. <a href="http://bowmanfest.com/">BOWMANFEST.com</a> is certainly doing its part.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For more information, visit the website. <a href="https://www.bowmanaviationfest.com/" target="_blank"> BOWMANFEST.com</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLu44t3JMgZzwFGVbjKVmHJTcgxfJJFTvGu2FTWVNiVJn6EmwEq-17H3BrQMXNGjnjMyarpz0ChpFlYgbbVM0gNYrA5Mxc6YShf-oUkod2qOQGQpY9hT_uxBzAmZlCR6sO9hVmf_75RF76/s1600/70498422_527570884716735_7577058506193240064_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1230" data-original-width="1600" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLu44t3JMgZzwFGVbjKVmHJTcgxfJJFTvGu2FTWVNiVJn6EmwEq-17H3BrQMXNGjnjMyarpz0ChpFlYgbbVM0gNYrA5Mxc6YShf-oUkod2qOQGQpY9hT_uxBzAmZlCR6sO9hVmf_75RF76/s400/70498422_527570884716735_7577058506193240064_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Butt Buster"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-37847846578288470842019-07-29T23:57:00.000-04:002019-07-29T23:57:10.475-04:00Sinful Sundays Update<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7h2xpJJhk-w314HWiV_YiiwYul8IHfyvbn9ka6B9utezPC57CQcCT6DIvVnn29TR1g_7nyTZjvGV3VP8QcWTnOzb7uKH9kpMr81MqtpErV_At6Ic7ow3E9WGhhqjUo_ov3QiNPcXyoqm7/s1600/paddlewheeleramericanduchuess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="1536" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7h2xpJJhk-w314HWiV_YiiwYul8IHfyvbn9ka6B9utezPC57CQcCT6DIvVnn29TR1g_7nyTZjvGV3VP8QcWTnOzb7uKH9kpMr81MqtpErV_At6Ic7ow3E9WGhhqjUo_ov3QiNPcXyoqm7/s320/paddlewheeleramericanduchuess.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The air over Lee Bottom.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I’m sure you already suspected, there will be no Sinful
Sundays this year. There are many reasons we chose, early on, to forgo events
in 2019. And, someday we’ll tell you what they were. In the meantime, please
know in the absence of the events we have been working on several projects critical
to the long-term future of the field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, throughout the year we have implied there may still be
some kind of small event which might still happen. IF it does, it will not
actually be an event, but us grilling some burgers for ourselves and those who
choose to attend. It might even be after the leaves have turned and the air has
gained a chill. It could also be on a day most people wouldn’t fly. Whatever
the case, if you want to be on the email list please message us to let us know.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Enjoy the remaining days of summer. As always, thanks for your
support.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-31298034386240132392019-06-24T01:40:00.000-04:002019-06-25T19:23:50.289-04:00The Passing of a Great Man<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc147zAZ598aJZWZcxvIxwHa8BcRhCbb_vOgJ-_L7QRn7t0WadnfxAagjnYgQ6VAuejy8aghB5gdpvkYANrc3ZCNvyREE3pW4jTGfXBqLBItf430rymZXeqPpbFygEuR0DSQP0JmQdmKo6/s1600/64877479_2079025015554072_3985029077097512960_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc147zAZ598aJZWZcxvIxwHa8BcRhCbb_vOgJ-_L7QRn7t0WadnfxAagjnYgQ6VAuejy8aghB5gdpvkYANrc3ZCNvyREE3pW4jTGfXBqLBItf430rymZXeqPpbFygEuR0DSQP0JmQdmKo6/s400/64877479_2079025015554072_3985029077097512960_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two years ago I took some photos of Doc at his desk, of him signing a medical at the podium<br />
the way he always did, and some images of his office. I've spent hours looking for them.<br />
Unfortunately, I have not found them yet. Meanwhile, here is a photo of his B-17 training certificate.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I find it increasingly interesting that as society
accelerates toward ferality, individuals are still able to recognize greatness
in a man. The case for a lack of examples may carry weight but I myself have
known four. Unfortunately, the last one standing, my longtime friend, "Dr.
Art J. Shulthise, known to all as "Doc," passed away yesterday (June 22nd, 2019). Through the years, nearly every person who met him would go on to use the word
"great" as his descriptor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With greatness there's something gravitational, perhaps even
medicinal, about it. With Doc you felt its power - once you were in his orbit,
you didn't leave. In his light, you were warm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His passing has generated many thoughts for my never-ending
search for meaning. It’s impossible to record them all. However, it is the
great example he unwittingly provided for all of us who knew him that continues
its climb to altitude in my mind. Kind, soft-spoken, generous, caring, and
stoic in his resolve to be of use to his fellow man – this combined loss has
made me the deepest kind of sad – the expiration of his light has cooled my
universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Laughing to myself, in a moment of grief, attempting to smile
the tears from my eyes, I cannot help but wonder if he was wasted on us,
pilots. A grand construct of a man attempting to provide care for the
incurable. A virtual saint for whorehouse piano players.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yet, I also know there were thousands of us, and each thousand
touches a thousand more. Be the man, or woman, Doc would have wanted you to be.
Set good examples, care for those who need it and those who could use extra,
and always do your best to be uplifting. Cast a weary but non-judgmental eye
toward things you know are wrong but feel compelled to leave to others. Always smile.
Be of use to others. Do your best to leave this world better than you found it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As individuals we all have the ability to recognize greatness.
Therefore, deep down, we also know how to be great. Yes, “it takes all kinds,”
and few of us, if any, will ever have what Doc had. However, we can all do our
part to share what he taught us about being the best person you can be. Give
back what he gave. Be the sun in someone’s cloudy day. Remember my friend, our friend, by
never allowing his example to die.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">________________________________________________________________</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Visitation will be at Highland Funeral Home on Tuesday, June 25th, 2019, from 1-8pm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The funeral will be held at 10:00 am at St. Raphael Church on Bardstown Road on Wednesday, June 26th, 2019. The burial will follow at Calvary Cemetary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Following burial, a life celebration will follow at the Old Terminal Building, on Bowman Field.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">________________________________________________________________</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><u>Points of Interest</u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Preface: Doc was a local AME and legend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Doc was a pilot before WWII and was an early member of the OX-5 Club.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">During WWII he commanded a B-17 and his B-17 training certificate was signed by Bob Hoover.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">During the war Doc was a scrounger. Through his trading he made good friends with a specific family that lived near the base in England from which he flew. Decades later, when he returned to visit the field he had flown from, a guy on a tractor working the now farm field recognized him just as Doc recognized the guy. The tractor driver was a kid in the same family when Doc was there during the war.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While in medical school, Doc would crop-dust during summer breaks to pay his way through. While other students were doing things that would look good on a resume he was working. Video exists of him doing so.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He was instrumental in figuring out how to preserve and transport blood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He once owned a bottled water company fed by the spring used for Maker's Mark.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He owned the old Maker's Mark distillery and preserved it. Before he passed away he sold it to a company that will rehab and preserve it and it will eventually be a stop on the Bourbon Trail.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Doc's 450 Stearman was the reason we met, Ginger and me. Later he suggested we take it on one of our early dates. We did. Later, Ginger used it to get checked out in 450 Stearmans. Years earlier it was the first Stearman I was ever in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He was still riding a Harley in recent years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Doc ran a few miles every early morning on the treadmill.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He once had a heat attack one of those mornings, drove himself to the emergency room, and while walking past the deck told the attendings what was happening and continued down the hall and hooked himself up to the appropriate machines. He was back doing medicals a week later.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The first time Doc told me he was proud of me is something I'll never forget. He probably told everyone but coming from him it was special. He was a truly great man.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When he passed away he was 95 and as vibrant and active as many 60 year olds.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">>There are so many things that could be listed here it would take me forever to finish. I included only a few of the items I felt everyone would find interesting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLk18O-uevRIMnoYrnVItFVfzjEIV0caBFUfWbPYncfqC-5JWeDH4zmwLH_CpbPyb-ksfmZeVZX4e4H9xPmF6r7M45_WdmVSUPkPoYJ7fA-_bNgRnfC_UvMIrboXM4a5cy9B1nrAzkybWs/s1600/64721525_587657874974153_6794258144781402112_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1195" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLk18O-uevRIMnoYrnVItFVfzjEIV0caBFUfWbPYncfqC-5JWeDH4zmwLH_CpbPyb-ksfmZeVZX4e4H9xPmF6r7M45_WdmVSUPkPoYJ7fA-_bNgRnfC_UvMIrboXM4a5cy9B1nrAzkybWs/s320/64721525_587657874974153_6794258144781402112_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back in February, Ginger and I stopped to get gas, in Louisville,<br />
around 12 midnight to 1 am. While pumping gas, a voice from the other<br />
side of the pump said, "What are you doing out at these hours young man?"<br />
It was Doc. I never take selfies but I could not resist. We stood there in the<br />
cold, chatting, then he went back to work! There was a pilot having medical<br />
issues and Doc wanted to make sure he built a strong case for the individual<br />
and had all the paperwork perfect.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-15245824748285305772019-06-04T23:20:00.003-04:002019-06-04T23:20:52.378-04:00No Sinful Sundays in June and July<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanmX0DagFtDcTd45nO6iE3Voa9acAciP4QVi9sRa-ZCjtfjoDVRq6RefEBnwLmzhkQ7i6b3FW_oWVFN5NhRTPRYNcj3WinMjYkx0WsqeVHhtX-rE8LrLiKsjDwAe_OOWqdLUHf0Jh12az/s1600/rossbuckland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="473" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanmX0DagFtDcTd45nO6iE3Voa9acAciP4QVi9sRa-ZCjtfjoDVRq6RefEBnwLmzhkQ7i6b3FW_oWVFN5NhRTPRYNcj3WinMjYkx0WsqeVHhtX-rE8LrLiKsjDwAe_OOWqdLUHf0Jh12az/s400/rossbuckland.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artwork by Ross Buckland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We're sorry to report we will not be having Sinful Sundays in June and July of 2019(Please pass the word). The reasons are many however there is no reason to make a list. We are still here at the field though.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Drop in to see us or fly into the field because it exists when so many others no longer do. We're keeping the grass cut for those who still fly and continue to stand up the cones whenever someone blows them over. The tables are still here for picnics - the fire pit ready for a fire.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Enjoy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-28564775640400612992019-02-18T18:34:00.002-05:002019-02-18T18:34:34.314-05:00The Ongoing, Ever-present, Repetitive Rebuild of all Things Digital.<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you get our emails and find them to look a cluttered, you aren't the only one. With the ever changing digital field of marketing, new formats and protocols are coming online daily. Unfortunately, if you are tasked with keeping up with them all it often gets tiring and you let them go. That's on me, Rich.</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the upside, slowly we are making progress. Slowly we are updating. Hopefully, we'll be fully done before the next round of major changes.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Question: When is the last time you were at NORDONews.com? </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-8733178483770278572019-02-18T18:06:00.001-05:002019-02-18T18:27:47.451-05:00Donations Via Website<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcAABe5LaFNuOXBsZJslxDp5fv9sDh9SAzuKvA_ul_odcSfc4hED4Z7b8sej6xEc0DIogj2EhDc1STKbu9ktXH86vhLChuj9wk_DA76RgKYdPU30OLwPIBxO99vnFunpsxO88UnHUL2Qd/s1600/Screenshot+%2528492%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcAABe5LaFNuOXBsZJslxDp5fv9sDh9SAzuKvA_ul_odcSfc4hED4Z7b8sej6xEc0DIogj2EhDc1STKbu9ktXH86vhLChuj9wk_DA76RgKYdPU30OLwPIBxO99vnFunpsxO88UnHUL2Qd/s320/Screenshot+%2528492%2529.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There have been some problems with the donation page at <a href="http://aviationrefuge.org/">aviationrefuge.org</a>. Currently WIX is working on the issue, as are we. We apologize for the inconvenience. Thanks to all of you for pointing out the issue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Meanwhile, there is an easy solution. For some reason the button needs to either be close to center on your screen or you have to double click the <a href="https://www.aviationrefuge.org/" target="_blank">"donate"</a> button. These temporary workaround methods should help.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-89740773986314138852019-02-18T17:02:00.002-05:002019-02-18T17:02:48.667-05:00A Beast, Thought Extinct, Spotted at Lee Bottom<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_r8UCmBkiv-9_MiMpNmVT2VOwbNm6LOOWHTqHUeu-iJkeV2tGa7puQ81pW93eP-It3LjTTLE_LMtqm6tGPlC3Km6z4xtO1ErVYceOoA2b0ZWCL1WqC1G2pTkaMwk16ozbqdHg56g4H3A/s1600/22019calendar0181010_232640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_r8UCmBkiv-9_MiMpNmVT2VOwbNm6LOOWHTqHUeu-iJkeV2tGa7puQ81pW93eP-It3LjTTLE_LMtqm6tGPlC3Km6z4xtO1ErVYceOoA2b0ZWCL1WqC1G2pTkaMwk16ozbqdHg56g4H3A/s400/22019calendar0181010_232640.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A "survivor" visits Lee Bottom.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you seen the image above? If so, you most likely
received a 2019 Lee Bottom calendar. Although it may not be the flashiest photo
(purposely aged), it is easily the most historically correct ever used.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lee Bottom’s timeline is dotted with nearly every kind of
aviation that exists, or has existed. From Barnstorming to maintenance, flight
training to salvage, the place has seen it all, including a long stint as a
duster field. Along the south side of the runway you can even find parts of
junk Ag-cats, used as landfill, sticking out of the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The plane featured here is one of the last “survivor”
Stearman dusters. Still in its duster configuration (unrestored), and powered
by a P&W 1340, it’s most likely the only one of its kind remaining – a true
time capsule of aviation history.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every time I see this plane I wear the grass in a continuous
path around it. There are endless details to find and ponder. Some things are
almost comical; others are mechanical exclamation points. In short, I love it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks to Mike Rutledge for bringing it by on a rare
cross-country. “The Beast,” as it is affectionately known, isn’t something usually
chosen for flights more than an hour or 100 miles long.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
_______________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">***Thanks to all of you who participate in our annual calendar fundraiser. Each year you help us a do a little more to the field to improve it, and keep it open for future generations.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Would you like to contribute? <a href="https://www.aviationrefuge.org/" target="_blank"> Click here.</a></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVap5SNTIYNWIZOl2JYTr6RjJIWuw4DS-TCmtj8MeceXVNPtVLu9dS1N8q32GpynjWmgZD74hczfY_QuH8upXx-lsVVIl2G-SxnKeMxVeuB0QDfOPICowt-VahISP2A1kCE_KNyyCUdfQ/s1600/beasttail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1369" data-original-width="1369" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVap5SNTIYNWIZOl2JYTr6RjJIWuw4DS-TCmtj8MeceXVNPtVLu9dS1N8q32GpynjWmgZD74hczfY_QuH8upXx-lsVVIl2G-SxnKeMxVeuB0QDfOPICowt-VahISP2A1kCE_KNyyCUdfQ/s320/beasttail.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The End</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-73338326793814571152019-02-03T20:59:00.001-05:002019-02-03T20:59:51.721-05:00Nature's Reveille<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRdvPeQkUsq_xvyXxP-aGvH8EeyoFTfjXYXgBzUOdkpPlRYG0jtg2yQqkiYmBdsqDYX_3Zzt6-LC-nom_xfHs17b86qCruWNNZCpWqBaHZPj9o65pl4TH1FJvfI6PkEHFSBtscQSp4uL0u/s1600/robinredbreast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRdvPeQkUsq_xvyXxP-aGvH8EeyoFTfjXYXgBzUOdkpPlRYG0jtg2yQqkiYmBdsqDYX_3Zzt6-LC-nom_xfHs17b86qCruWNNZCpWqBaHZPj9o65pl4TH1FJvfI6PkEHFSBtscQSp4uL0u/s320/robinredbreast.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo - All About Birds</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier, as a not so permafrost melted Hanover into mush, I
laid in bed contemplating the day. A week long deep freeze, and a night of sleepless
"Reserve A," had robbed me of the energy to stand upright. Within my
head, dreams and reality wrestled for the win. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Times like these are common. Sleep is my friend. Coming
through for reality was a list of things to do. Dreams’ strong rebuttal was a
final scene I wished to experience. It was the perfect balance of ambition and
sloth. Then, there was a sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Outside the window, low in the maple, was something unheard
in a week. Until then it had not occurred to me, the world had been silent. Everything
was hiding; trying to survive; fighting its own reality, or dreams.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A single
robin was the first to announce results.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Singing louder than before, the redbreast derided my
laziness. Was it avian attitude, personal guilt, or nothing but perception of
volume after an extended and unrecognized silence? It is impossible to know. Whatever
the case, nature’s reveille telegraphed sharply through the glass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first report of winter’s death, received. The battle for
spring, nearly won. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5272938885495691863.post-61611142621140297842018-12-30T01:13:00.001-05:002019-12-29T19:18:28.936-05:00What's In A Name?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSAjdqsVScdy4BeqGzLo2s5fo7_eex2G8DSgXpkGjPfzbaP9Ty26brLmM6QgA9-BMhcVWoWeOMMdU5aIsCaDftInFN7oQ6utroTnuSqw-RZcW6fNEgA0xqISQpnIwSUkHTTvuIUVW5D6l/s1600/20181210_215402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSAjdqsVScdy4BeqGzLo2s5fo7_eex2G8DSgXpkGjPfzbaP9Ty26brLmM6QgA9-BMhcVWoWeOMMdU5aIsCaDftInFN7oQ6utroTnuSqw-RZcW6fNEgA0xqISQpnIwSUkHTTvuIUVW5D6l/s320/20181210_215402.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a list of things to do, the annual calendar letter
needs finalized, a rating exists that must be completed, clothes need folding,
and a bulb has gone dark, yet for some reason, tonight, I can only think of my
Dad’s Dad, Orlando Davidson. A man who did what was right, not what was popular
– my grandfather.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Other than the many grand stories passed down by family, to
me he exists in two places, my single but unwavering memory of him, and my
name. I’m proud of that more than ever. Although, it wasn’t always that way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing about my name was ever easy. First, it breaks many
of the unspoken but subconsciously recognizable rules of flow, consonants vs
vowels, and easy speech patterns. In short, it doesn’t flow off the tongue.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you’re young, the name Richie is an invitation to a
dozen childish jabs. It’s also greatly misunderstood. Everyone believes it’s
either Ricky, short for Richard, or spelled wrong. Yes, people have told me I
spell my name wrong. After all, who would name their kid, Richie?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, there’s also the obvious point that Richie sounds
like an eight year old. Several weeks ago, when checking into a hotel, the guy
behind the desk, seeing the full spelling of my name, said, “Hey, you know, I
know a Richie. He’s a buddy-o-mine, and you know, he’s actually pretty cool,” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">as if it was an anomaly</i>. My response to
him was, “Yeah, it’s kinda like a boy name Sue. You kinda have to be.” He
thought about it, then with a loud laugh, he said, “HA. I guess that’s true,
hu?” Thus, completely affirming what I had always believed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For all these reasons and more, years ago I started going
by, “Rich.” Right out of school it seemed more capable of hiding the reality of
my age than my behavior, so I went with it. Unfortunately, Rich is also
difficult off the lips – the sound, reminiscent of a German teaching behavior
to a dog, is impossible to express with the smoothness of butta (sigh). Still,
it seemed better than Richie, which actually is descended from the German name
Ritchie. Hence, the accusations of incorrect spelling. Again, one reason why I
continued to go with Rich.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, there is one thing about my first name that I have
always cherished. It is my mother’s maiden name. Despite all the pitfalls of
Richie, not only did my parents bring me into the world, they managed to keep
both families alive with me. For that, I am ever grateful, and regretful for
shunning it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Names really do have an effect on who you are. In my case, a
strong sense of person comes from the Germans and my total distaste for bullshit
from the Scots-Irish – Davidson. The latter being a tough brand of human who worked
their way into the country, moved down the east coast, then inland, through the
Cumberland Gap, to become some of the poorest yet most proudly self-sufficient
people on the planet. These are my people. Well, wait. There is the Creek
Indian part that I can’t talk about since my membership is not up to date, but
I have always wondered if that’s why I’m so good at smelling the white man’s
bull. However, I’ll save that for another page and paragraph.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Orlando and Nettie Davidson, my father’s parents, lived in
the bottom of a deep valley acquired through trade. Elder family members
exchanged a Kentucky Long Rifle, a hunting dog, and a fifth of whiskey for the
acreage upon which their shack rested. There they had six children.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Orlando, known to family and friends as “Lando,” was, for
the most part, your typical hard working dirt farmer and all around capable
Appalachian man. Three things were important to him, his family, his land, and
his people. Asking for nothing, except to be left to his resources and property,
he planted row crops on the sunny side of a steep hill, terracing the land with
a plow pulled by cows and mules. Below, in the shadows, was a typical Eastern
Kentucky homestead by a creak. Everything you needed to survive the land offered.
Then came the strip mines via broad form deed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crony Capitalism has always been a Kentucky specialty. The
timber and coal industries perfected it. Buying politicians to cast aside those
without power, these industries extorted, from the simple people of Appalachia,
the minerals below their feet and the timber that gave them shelter. For some
it was an annoyance; for many it was a nightmare; to others it was deadly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Acting without malice, and with the permission of
government, corporations who claimed ownership to the sediment below ripped
landowners from their land. Adding insult to injury, this left shell-shocked
families with no logical choice but to sell all the timber. After all, were it
not sold it would be bulldozed and left to rot. Unsurprisingly, mine owned timber
companies offered pennies on the dollar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With the permission of government all the streams went dead,
mountains were clear-cut of trees, and the mountain tops sheared off – the rubble
pushed over the hills. More than once, boulders rolled onto homes below. More
than once it was intentional.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today most people know only the populist slogans pushed by
politicians to stir up their base. Many believe coal has helped Appalachia.
Kentucky has an “I support coal” license plate. However, the area has, on
numerous occasions, qualified as the poorest area in the nation. It ranks high among
the areas of drug use, low in the rankings of health and education, and no longer
has the land that once rivaled any park in the nation. Put bluntly, it is “the
hood” for white people - where folks were used up and spit out by government and
corporations, taught no other options, and left with no ability to fight back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, you will find people made slave to the industry –
people who always go back to the jobs. However, it is difficult to argue they
are better off than their grandparents who had the same quality of life but
they also had freedom. Today, those that depend on the mines sound more like proud subjects of the Kentucky king, coal. They live and die on the
decisions of others. Moreover, as any good subject would do, they support
their dealers (anagram for leaders).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My single memory of my grandfather, Lando, is of him and me
sitting on a bench at the base of a shade tree, on a warm summer afternoon. Within
a few seconds run, on a child’s legs, of a creek once full of life gurgled over
rocks. By my side my Grandfather whittled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember this moment because I felt, for the first time,
the greatness in someone. He was a good man who loved his family, who knew
wrong from right, and stood for it even when he was alone. His appearance was
old but inside was something beyond time – a presence. I’d give anything to
have what he was carving that day. In some ways I guess I do. I certainly got
his name, "Lando."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, my name has been problematic from the start. People
have problems with my first name, although it’s simple. Some have even accused
me of spelling it wrong. My last name gave me a spirit that doesn’t fit in the modern
world and its spelling gets me confused with some old coot (and friend) who
flies a Pitts and spells his name wrong. However, it is my middle name, Lando, which
earns the biggest chuckle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many years ago, when I was trying to fly shrunken heads from
the Amazon into the USA, I had to produce a birth certificate. When it arrived,
I was shaken to my core. On the document was, LANDAU. Fortunately, since my
core is little more than a tiny burned out ember, it really wasn’t much more
than a curiosity until I learned the why behind the spelling - at my birth someone at the hospital
spelled it wrong. HA! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was young people who didn't know me always assumed my middle name to be, Lee.
I never mentioned it, only printing “L,” so they guessed the most likely
country middle name and that’s what I got. The day after I finally told some
friends who had been calling me, "Richie Lee," Stars Wars debuted. That didn’t help. The
name was as alien to small town Kentucky as cars without giant bird decals on
their hoods. And yet, today, every time I look at my work ID it pisses me off it’s
spelled wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish there was more about Lando remaining. I wish I had
known him better. After decades of watching his beloved land and people
struggle against the evils of government and corporate tyranny, he had a stroke.
That day, a coal train blocked the only road to the hospital.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
____________________________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Knowing that ending you know Lando's son; my dad, Eldon. To know my
dad, you know me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.kentucky.com/news/special-reports/fifty-years-of-night/article44430654.html" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;" target="_blank">https://www.kentucky.com/news/special-reports/fifty-years-of-night/article44430654.html</a></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">An article reprinted from NORDO News. Written by Rich Davidson - Co-owner of Lee Bottom Flying Field - your favorite GRASS RUNWAY AIRPORT!
www.LeeBottom.com</div>Rich Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11594451963540379003noreply@blogger.com2