Access Milton has been asked to post this "Special Message for Rowdy" from Patti at Miltonville:"No you couldn't call Jesse a babe in the woods
He's just weak in self-defense'Cause he's so thin skinned
He can't take a joke at his expense
"You're a push down window" says Rowdy Yates
"I can run you up and downAnytime I want
I can make you my dancin'My dancin' clown!"
My sincerst appologies neighbor
ReplyDeleteI think I offended you,
but never meant to.
My fingers punch keys
that aren't always
connected to my brain
I would cut them down to nubs, and
end the quick clicky-click
but then,
I wouldn't have them
to scratch my beard,
and ponder.
If you forgive me, I will direct you to a secret place to take some really esoteric pictures.
A-ha, there you are back again
ReplyDeleteMy secret neighbor and a friend.
A beard and a poet
Dontcha know it?
You've not offended me at all
Cuz I like this kind of thing.
It makes me wonder
It makes me laugh
Are you right here on my path?
Have we already met
or have we not yet?
I look forward to hidden clues.
This bring me anything but the blues.
Rowdy, my secret friend.
ReplyDeleteDon't hide again.
I need a clue.
Who are you?
-Patti
I'm bigger than a bread box
ReplyDeleteDo you have a beard?
ReplyDeleteAnd are you tall?
Are you someone I've actually met
Perhaps last Fall?
Travis Allen, do you anything 'bout cows?
ReplyDeleteHow about you, Byron Burgess?
Am I getting warmer?
Trust me...I don't know that much about cows...
ReplyDelete-Travis
The cows know alot about Travis..
ReplyDeleteMoo..
you had me at hello
ReplyDeleteHave we ever met?
ReplyDeleteNo, I don't believe I have had the pleasure.
Hint[s] Hum,
Many, many years ago, I dusted off an old Anthrology and read Wordsworth's "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey" in the margin next to lines 95- 100 someone had written an inscription.
The inscription inspired me to look around and take notice.
And I guess, I noticed [through your photos] you do the same.
Then..... you asked about cows, and the rest [as they say} is "histoire"
Okay then, this is what I found. Let me read it and see what I can find out about ou, Mr. Rowdy Yates. Can you give me another hint while I'm at it. Do you live in Milton?
ReplyDelete-Patti
Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye During a Tour July 13, 1798
William Wordsworth (1770–1850)
FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.—Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, 5
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 10
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
’Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines 15
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 20
Or of some Hermit’s cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye: 25
But oft, in lonely rooms, and ’mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind, 30
With tranquil restoration:—feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man’s life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts 35
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight 40
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,—
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood 45
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things. 50
If thisBe but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,
In darkness, and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 55
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart,
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro’ the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 60
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 65
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides 70
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 75
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.—I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 80
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past, 85
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned 90
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 95
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts: a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air, 100
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods, 105
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye and ear,—both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense, 110
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read 120
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make
Knowing that Nature never did betray 125
The heart that loved her; ’tis her privilege
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed 130
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e’er prevail against us, or disturb 135
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years, 140
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, 145
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance—
If I should be where I no more can hear 150
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes those gleams
Of past existence,—wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came 155
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love, oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, 160
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
another thread, you did that............ wow.
ReplyDeleteI guess it's lines 91-100 I was speaking of. Don't you like that?
Yes, I live in Milton. [physically].
But I made myself hungry typing recipes. I gotta go to the "Awful House" for scattered,covered and smothered fix. I'm starved.
Look under "Patti-Cake" on www.miltonville.com for Rowdy's recipes!
ReplyDeleteIs "Awful House" a waffle house?
There was an old cow poke named Rowdy,
ReplyDeleteWho answered cow questions and simply said howdy,
Although he didn’t know,
Next the recipes would flow,
Now his eyes are crossed , as he reads until dowdy
One more clue. I gotta go to Publix to make Beuf Wellington for dinner.
ReplyDeleteYou will need to use your push button phone [not cell] to "Name That Tune" {Be careful or you will end up calling Australia long distance.]
Now see if you can name this tune,
6 6 6 7 8 8 7
9 9 0 0 4
Bonne Chance
Bon appetite
Old MacDonald had a Farm!
ReplyDeleteEe-i-Ee-i-O.
Give me another hint.
So I know where to go.
P.S. How was the Beef or Beuf Wellington?
Or is it Beouf?
The poor cows.
Surely someone on Access Milton
ReplyDeleteKnows this funny feller.
When you figure it out,
Could you give me a yeller?
Rowdy has left me another hint on miltonville.com!
ReplyDeleteIt's a great read.
I'm going to honor his request and not "bi-post" this fabulously educational and entertaining discussion.
So, if you're interested in reading it - or have any ideas how to help me figure out who he is - please look under the Rowdy Yates blog and read the Cowboy's comments on www.miltonville.com
Oooh, this is so much more fun than politics and sewer discussion....
Thanks Rowdy!
-Patti Silva
P.S. Rowdy, your last post on Miltonville had me think of this:
I last had raclette
In Switzerland, in Verbier
Afternoon lunch in the sun
In an upper chalet.
Where's the rowdy guy?
ReplyDelete