Fun with dynamite

I first started to learn about the joy of explosive when Wilmer
Dicken and my Dad and others were clearing the lower field for the
install of the first circle pivot sprinkler system.

There was a road with a row of poplar trees on at least one side of
the road. The trees were cut and then the stumps were pulled,
chopped, pushed and blasted out of the ground. I remember there were
two old Minneapolis Moline tractors that were used for pulling, I
don't think either tractor had any three point hitch on the back,
just pulling.

Then later there was the blasting up at the old gravel bank up at the
top of the valley. Dad would use an old three wheel "skip loader" to
load truckloads of gravel for campus use. Up there at the gravel bank
was the first time I ever saw diesel and fertilizer used for
blasting. Later in life I passed on that info while a student at
Weimar, but to admit more would suggest that a felony was committed.
Ah the changing times.

Some other bits and pieces of from memory.

Always use caution when shifting a two lung John Deere 70 tractor
with the hand shifter, could break your arm.

When irrigation sprinkler heads are plugged and poking with a wire
does not clear the problem, something probably died and work will be
involved.

Always use care when using siphon tube irrigation from a ditch, baby
carrots and tomato plants wash away easily.

The first green plants to show up in the spring are weeds. They make
a tasty salad or spinach replacement. Dave, can you remind me of the
weed I am thinking of... I used to pick mountains of leaves in the
spring and they would cook down to almost nothing.

Goats produce milk but are not actually one of God's creations.
Especially male goats, rather one minded creatures when penned next
to the she goats.

Coyote traps can be used to catch any number of varmints, including
magpies. Some dogs are better at finding small creatures in
irrigation pipes and some dogs are better at dispatching varmints
then others.

Muskrats will always dig their den in the thinnest part of the dam.
And that is how I first got a chance to shoot a shotgun. Dad borrowed
an over/under 22/410 that he used on muskrats. I have always been
glad that I learned how to handle a gun safely from my Dad. Great
memories.

Brian and Kelvin Philpott could share a couple firearm related
stories if they wanted. They also have a story involving hitching a
ride to town, but I will leave it with them.

Here is a story for you

Here is a story or two for you.

This includes Jack Rose, he lives in AZ and I believe he is a lurker
on this list. I told this one several years ago.

I attended CVA my sophomore year, 1978-79, lived in the Kulisek's
boys home and roomed with Doug Gould and Vern Fisher at various
points. Jack Rose and I were pretty good friends.

It was in the spring, when he and I decided to climb Parriot Mesa at
night. I had been up there once before and a night hike seemed like
just the thing to inspire hope and joy in the moment. I have no idea
what night of the week it was, but I suspect it was a school night
since everyone quieted down sooner in the dorm on school nights and
room check was earlier.

We went to bed and "Brother Kulisek" did room check before we got up
and headed out around 10:30PM. I remember there was a moon and I
remember we knew we had to hike all the way up to the base and around
the corner on the South (east?) side before we could use our
flashlights. My memory says we had to pass across the ball bearing
section with the cable hand rail before we could use a light. After
turning the next corner and moving into the back alcove we realized
we had miscalculated on just how much Spring had sprung at that
elevation. The back side was still choked with snow. We pushed on,
making first tracks of the year up around the alcove and across to
the "chimney" where we had to slither up using the old fixed rope
from previous years. Above the chimney I remember climbing up the big
stair step section with snow on each level but also with snow melt
water running off each level and down onto us. I know it was a very
warm night despite the snow. We reached the top and strolled over to
the front side that looked down on the campus where we then sat, legs
dangling over the edge while we each ate a Snickers Bar.

I still love Snickers, just had one today. I know our descent was
uneventful and we never got in trouble over our private excursion. I
suspect we told other fellows the next day so I don't know how the
faculty never found out.

OK, time for one more. I have probably shared this one before also.

Same year, 1979, Spring boys camp-out.

Participants, oh my let me think, Brian and Gordon Lyle, Jack Rose,
Doug and Dodd Gould, Glenn Pritchard, Monty, and at the end of the
story Jon Cooper.

The Kulisek home went camping down the Colorado River in the Kane
Creek drainage. We fellows encouraged this location since there were/
are many mines in the area to explore. The fellows spread out in
various small group camps for the weekend with the goal of search
mines for what ever might be interesting, usually this meant things
that go BANG. Remember this is 1979, the uranium boom had ended in
the region, not that long before and there were still semi active,
semi abandoned mines all over the region.

Brian Lyle and I camped together (I think) and we found blasting
caps, explosive plastique cap covers and little more. Each of the
separate groups of fellows did independent foraging until Sunday when
we were all collected for the ride back to campus. Brian and I were
pretty proud of our finds but disappointed that we had not procured
any blasting fuse or larger explosives. When we were all gathered
together in Kulisek's old Suburban we all began quietly comparing
discoveries in the back of the truck.

Turned out we were traveling in a rolling supply store of mining
explosives and supplies. I think it was Doug Gould who had half
sticks of dynamite stuck vertically in his pants around his middle.
Somebody else had blasting fuse, slow burning, wrapped around like a
belt, and Brian and I were the only ones who had found any caps. We
were in business.

I had learned the basic details of farm blasting from Mr Dicken and
from my Dad. None of us seemed concerned at the time regarding any
danger. After arriving at campus we discovered that somebody had
found some very old sticks of dynamite and we had carried back
several sticks of very crystalized explosives. I believe these items
were removed from the basement of the Kulisek home promptly and I
believe we buried them deep in the dirt, somewhere near Castle Creek.

Fast forward to graduation weekend, June, 1979.

Sunday morning, very early, still dark out, a group of us gathered up
the loot, Jon Cooper was at CVA for graduation and he joined us, and
we hiked up to the "rock garden" to make some noise. We blew up
trees, we blew up rocks, we climbed the "horse trail" and blew up
rocks behind the "saddle". We truly had a good time. I suspect we are
lucky no one got hurt. Good teachers I guess.

Later, "Sister Kulisek" told me, "I heard all you fellows sneak out,
I was concerned you would get into mischief, but when I heard the
loud bangs I knew what you were doing and figured you would be fine."

P. S.

When I came home to California that summer, I loaded a lengthy bit of
fuse and several blasting caps into my airline "checked" luggage and
flew it San Francisco.

And a cheery good night to all. Craig

President Bush Landed at PUC

President George Bush landed his helicopters (4) at the PUC airport
on Friday.

He spent the night at Meadowood Resort near St Helena. On Saturday
morning he went mountain bike riding in the State Forest next to PUC
property and on Saturday afternoon he flew out to Sacramento.

My family and I had opportunity to see his motorcade drive through
town twice. The helicopters landed less then a 1,000 feet from our
home. It was a thrill.

I don't care what your political bent is, to see the President drive
by, waving to the crowd on the sidewalk, which is waving flags, is a
thrill. And hopefully an encouraging sight to him after passing all
the protesters that he usually sees in his travels right now.

Here is a link on the PUC website that tells the story.

http://www.puc.edu/PUC/newsevents/news/2006/20062304_president.shtml

Ruts? Adventist in Ruts? Oh no, it is the path of truth

Right now I am immersed in a wonderful book.

A Generous Orthodoxy, Brian D. McLaren, Zondervan, 2004

The long title, which the author concedes is somewhat difficult and
unwieldy is:

"Why I am a missional, evangelical, post/protestant, liberal/
conservative, mystical/poetic, biblical, charismatic/contemplative,
fundamentalistic/calvinist, anabaptist/anglican, methodist, catholic,
green, incarnational, depressed-yet-hopeful, emergent, unfinished
CHRISTIAN. "

To quote the dust jacket.

"He is founding pastor of Cedar Ridge Community Church, an
innovative, nondenominational church in the Baltimore-Washington
region. He is a sought after speaker and author focusing on the
church and the postmodern culture shift surrounding it. "

At the moment this book is the best description of the approach I
have taken to in regard to doctrine, belief and the more elusive
concept of "truth" as presented in the Bible.

Brian McLaren does a masterful job of pointing out how each and every
protestant and catholic sect and denomination has gone wrong and lost
their way by focusing on just one or two facets of the the Gospel to
the exclusion of emphasis on others. His comments strike a cord with
me as I live in at least three worlds of the SDA church. This list,
which is a mix of fundamentalism and liberal thought, the church I
attend which is mired in fundamentalist thought and inaction, and the
greater PUC community which is progressive and looking to prepare
youth to lead the church of the future.

This mix of old and new, fundamental and liberal, are tensions that
are felt in all denominations, and here is the point... and these
tensions take us away from the one thing that should unify us all in
the first place. JESUS CHRIST AND HIM CRUCIFIED.

I am so tired of the squabbles over doctrine. I am so pleased to be
on the edges of a Christian community that loves Jesus and is proud
to say so. Oh, sorry, that is the Protestant Christian community at
First Christian School where Mark is enrolled. We are the only
Adventist student family in the school and I see Jesus Christ every
day on the campus and in the communication with the teachers and
leaders that I NEVER saw in an SDA grammar school. What makes the
difference? I suspect one of the biggest differences is the fact that
First Christian focuses on what we all have in common rather then
what we may not agree on.

And.... to quote my Calistoga SDA pastor, "How do you know that is bad?"

We have spent to long as SDA's being proud of our deep and profound
understanding of end time events, activities in heaven, death, the
Sabbath, church structure, and along the way I think we are at risk
of becoming Pharisees, smug in our grasp of the "truth" and ignorant
that we misplaced the little box we placed the Savior in along the way.

Adventist have placed our picture of God and TRUTH in such a narrow
little frame that we end up leaving out a lot of ideas, beliefs and
concepts that are understood by other members of God's family. But
no, we have the "truth", don't bother us with facets of God we did
not think of. That would be heresy.

Well, parts of me must be a heretic. God is a concept so huge and
vast and beyond me, I think, he/she smiles at our feeble grasps at
concepts beyond our mortal minds. But the smile is in love and the
thought is, "just wait till I get all of my people home with me,
those Adventist are sure to be surprised at who else shows up in
heaven. "

Cerro Gordo

We got away from the rain. Mark has the week of Easter off from
school so we scheduled up a short trip to the desert. Gerald and
Quincy joined us from Upland and we met at Lone Pine.

This time we pulled the Chalet and it was so much nicer then a tent.
The first night we camped near Lake Isabella in the mountains above
Bakersfield. We chose to take the southern route over the mountains
since going north to Tahoe and then down Hwy 395 is a long drive and
requires more passes and mountain pulling and worse gas mileage.

On Saturday we arrived at Lone Pine and set up camp at Diaz Lake.
This is a county park around a natural pond created in a land
subsidence during the big earthquake of 1872. At only $10 per night
it was pretty nice. Gerald and Quincy arrived late Saturday after
taking a long scenic to Lake Isabella, thinking that was our meeting
point. Proving of course that two men giving directions to each other
is twice as bad as one man not asking for directions.

Sunday was the highlight of the weekend. We drove up into the Inyo
Mountains to Cerro Gordo, an old ghost town and hard rock mine that
is now privately owned and being restored into a rustic destination.
The road is steep but otherwise quite passable and we visited with
the caretaker when we arrived at the town. She showed us the old
general store which is now filled with the finds that have been dug
up around the mine and from the dump of the old town. Chinese laborer
clothing, lots of old bottles, rusty tools and newspapers from the
1870's have all been found. The hard rock mine still has a working
winch and cable and the owner descends into the mine from time to
time to check on a water pump system he has installed. We also looked
in the old hotel and one restored home. We were told we could make
reservations and stay the night in the old bunk house, sleeps 12, for
only $300 per night.

We then pushed on, down the east side of the mountains and into
another mining district on the edge of Death Valley Park. Here we
stopped to do some shooting with Gerald's two Glock automatics. He
has a Glock 9mm and a new Glock 40. The 9mm is about 17 years old.
Gerald bought it new and then ran short of money and sold it to a
friend. Just last year, after Butch (the friend and best welder I
have ever known) died, I redeemed the gun from his widow and gave it
back to Gerald.

We again started driving south on the dirt road and this time Mark
drove for over 40 minutes. This was his longest desert drive so far
and he is getting better. The whole driving thing makes him nervous
and tires him quickly but I want to get him ready for his permit in a
few years. After hitting pavement and switching drivers, Linda drove
us down into the Panamint Valley to Darwin Falls. Darwin Falls is a
year round natural spring that runs out of the side of a mountain,
down a canyon, over three water falls and sinks back into the earth
like it had never happened. It is a wonderful, short, hike and we
walked from desert and cactus into trees and water and cat tails and
birds.

Sunday was a long full day of hiking and driving. Back at camp we
packed up Gerald and Quincy and sent them home for a Monday at work
and we spent a windy night in camp before heading home ourselves on
Monday.

Brief update on Mom

So many of these post start with the phrase, "I was talking with
Dad....and he said".

This one is no different. Dad called while Mom was out on a walk and
we had a good chat. He updated me on Wilbur and told me that his
condition has stabilized some. He has had a tracheotomy and it is
possible that he may be able to breath on his own. Do not know yet.

Then Dad shared that Mom was preparing for bed the other night and
she asked him why she only had one breast. He reminded her that she
had been sick and the doctors had done surgery to keep her healthy.
She seemed, at that moment, completely unaware. As these little steps
in her deterioration add together they really shake up Dad from time
to time. He is so strong and resilient and then she will make a
comment that tells him another piece of her history has slipped away
and he is temporarily devastated.

Gosh this bunch sounds old

This is just what this list needed, a invigorating reason to roll out
the old tales, tell em tall, tell em true and laugh around the fire.
Thanks Susan, I am glad you are here.

Dave, we all sound really old, AND WE ARE NOT OLD.

Most of us on here are what? 40's to 50's plus Dave, who I believe
can see 60 from his front porch. Working horses, wringer machines,
uphill to school.... both ways.... Yup, me too. And since I was a kid
at Castle Valley, I would do it all over again and I wish my kid
could have just a taste of the freedom we had out there.

Ok, my turn.

The Philpott's arrived at Castle Valley Institute the summer of 1970.
I was starting 3rd grade. My two older brothers, Kelvin and Brian
were also in grammar school and the family moved to Utah from New
Mexico where we had been a staff family at La Vida Mission on the
edge of the Navajo Reservation. My dad, Edward Allen Philpott was a
mechanic at CVI plus so much more. Marjorie (Sister Philpott) was in
turns elementary teacher, English teacher, home mother to 7-8 academy
boys and a pretty fair cook.

Brother Philpott (someday someone should explain to me why we were
all acting like and Amish cult) who responds to Ed, Edward, Al,
Allen, Alan and Phil operated on trucks and machinery in the shop,
did town trips as far as Salt Lake and San Bernadino searching for
discounted merchandise, dent can food and just about anything needed
to build a campus on virgin red dirt. He was also involved with
details of the mile long irrigation pipe that ended at the first
Valley walking pivot that covered 100 acres of wheat. He and my
brothers also dealt with the combine for wheat and the storage
graineries. That whole program led into cleaning our own wheat and of
course grinding our own flour on a big electric dual stone wheat
mill. I was never big enough to drive the combine alone, I felt left
out.

But I was just a kid. What was it like for a kid.

We lived in the old log cabin above the second pond. In 1970 it was
in need of some love. Floor coming up, ceiling coming down, almost
had to duck in the middle. That first summer, we lived in a single
wide trailer and often slept on old army cots on the edge of a hay
field rather then in the stuffy old trailer. Dad was working on the
cabin and we moved in that autumn. the house had a tiny kitchen, a
screened in back porch and a mountain of junk out back left behind by
previous tenents. Gradually the home was expanded, new kitchen added,
enclosed the back porch, added another bathroom, outside entrance,
and it was done.

I remember digging stumps out of the yard. Back then, all labor was
free labor, it was only later that I learned of the concept of stump
digging as discipline. Digging stumps, hauling junk out of the brush
to be burned, building a stacked log fence, installing a lawn front
and back, those are my memories. Later Dad proved he was a bit of a
rebel to all things totally vegan and we added a coop and chicken run
for the finest eggs I have ever had. As a kid it was just the best
place in the world to grow up. We had school classes before lunch and
chores and garden work after lunch with plenty of time for swimming
in the late afternoon. Of course we complained about weeding rows of
carrots and peas and tomatoes and eggplant, but we did it. Everybody
had to work. In the early years I was jelous of the older kids who
were allowed to join the "work crews" and do campus work supervised
by some one other then Mom or Dad.

I remember being involved in various water experiements. My memory
says it was either Richard Lettman or Jordan Dicken who needed to
know if a person could swallow water "up hill". I was suspended by my
feet over an irrigation ditch and dunked in with order to drink and
see if I could swallow. Yes you can. I was also involved in
experiements testing to see how long a 7-8 year old could hold his
breath under water during swimming sessions in the pond. Answer,
longer then you think. I suspect that us "staff brats" were a royal
pain the rump to the high school kids. I am sure of it.

I remember riding and steering one of the "work horses" between rows
of peas while "Brother Seibert" trotted behind with the cultivator.
The horse, without steering would always step on the plants. I
remember when the group worships were held in a living room and
everyone could fit in the room. I remember when the chapel was under
construction and one of the galvanized steel trusses fell over and
just about planted one of the academy boys. Who was it Dave?

Enough, enough, I have many memories more then I shall touch on tonight.

craig

Orthopraxy

Orthodoxy: "right" belief regarding the Gospel and the Apostolic
creed of the New Testament.

Orthopraxy: living a life in the Spirit of the Gospels rather then
focusing on "truth", or "correct doctrine".

I will take the living of the Gospel any day over the arguing over
truth. I will strive to live my life in harmony with the Jesus of the
Gospels rather then live a life poking at you because your beliefs
are "wrong". (and I know they are wrong since you don't agree with me)

But more importantly......

Wilbur Philpott has lived a life of Orthopraxy. His days have always
been filled with caring for others even when those he cared for did
not behave according to the "right way". He has always just soldiered
on, providing, caring, lifting up and living his life the best he
could according to his own internal compass. He has given more of his
time, energy, effort and finances then I will ever know, showing the
way to his family and living his gospel every day.

And now he is in trouble, a tube down his throat and worse. Mini
strokes have taken probably the last of his ability to move around on
his own, and worse they have taken (possibly) the ability for his own
body to breath without assistance from a machine. Not good, not good
at all.

I was down in San Bernardino a week after Christmas and I went out of
my way on a Saturday morning to go see Wilbur. I drove to the shop,
where else would I go.... and there he was, sitting in his blue truck
listening to the radio. Where else would he be... to me, he and the
shop on that corner at 13 1/2 Caroline St. are almost one and the
same thing. We talked, not long... I asked about the latest big dings
in the right front fender and he told of his latest accident, driving
blind and getting hit. He told me, again, of the trouble with his
fingers and the loss of touch due to the diabetes. I asked him what
he would do after going blind. He said he would be driven to the shop
each day so he could listen to the radio and talk with and advise
Cory with jobs in the shop. No problem, no big deal, life deals you a
lousy hand, don't mean you gotta play lousy poker.

He talked about Debbie, he talked about the grandkids, who is in
jail, who is on probation, who has a new baby. It was good to listen,
very good.

God Bless you Wilbur.