Crockett, Davy

Crockett, Davy: (Prop n) an early American adventurer

You don’t have to be famous to make the history books.

You don’t have to be beautiful.

You don’t have to be in charge of something very important.

You don’t have to be well-dressed.

You don’t need to be the sexiest man alive.

You don’t need to be a runway model.

You are not required to write a best-seller.

You don’t have to be a victorious war hero.

David Crockett was none of these.

Although he was fairly successful as a woodsman, when he tried to branch out and run for Congress, they made fun of him and laughed him out of Washington, D.C.

He lived off the myth of his accomplishments.

Even though he was a Tennessee man, he felt rejected by his own state, and headed to Texas, to join in with an uprising, linking with a whole bunch of other fellows who were equally as confused, ignored and lonely, ending up killed at a little fort called the Alamo—which should never have been defended in the first place.

David Crockett did not die believing he was a hero or a man well-thought-of by his peers.

But as time has passed and his life, goals, attributes and tenacity have been studied.

And compared to those around him he just ended up looking damn good.

There are many people walking the Earth today who are well-known who, in a hundred years, will not be viewed quite so favorably.

So like Davy Crockett, just go out and work on what you can do.

Do it well, ignore the critics, pick your fights and die with honor.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

 


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Burlap

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Burlap: (n) coarse canvas woven from jute or hemp, used especially for sacking.

I once was young enough that a hostess offered me accommodations in a barn. (You have to look like you’re brave and strong, able to survive the elements and sleep on hay.)

I was grateful. She explained that she had so many guests in the house that she had run out of blankets and pillows, but I was more than welcome to draw from a huge stack of burlap bags in the corner of the barn to use for such purposes.

Upon entering the barn, I first found a collection of hay that was dry enough, without suspicious damp portions. That was pretty successful, although I will tell you, a bed of hay gets thinner and thinner as the night goes on and you crush the straws.

As she noted, there were innumerable burlap bags, which I grabbed and pieced together to form a blanket and a pillow. I would not consider myself to be a woodsman or an individual given to outdoorsy experiences, but I’ve had my share. Yet on this particular night, it was impossible for me to sleep.

The burlap was so coarse, so itchy, that I was convinced I had thousands of ants crawling all over my body, which was further reinforced by the knowledge that I was lying on a bed of straw.

I tried to throw the makeshift burlap blanket off, but then I got too cold–but every time I covered with it, I got too itchy.

So I faced a perplexing situation in the morning when I stumbled out of the barn and headed to the house for breakfast.

I knew my hostess was going to ask me how I fared amongst the animals, so I quickly grabbed two biscuits, stuffed them in my mouth, took a big swig of milk, and kept my orifice filled the entire meal– so I was only able to communicate with nods and grunts.

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Bait

Bait: (n) food used to entice fish or other animals as prey.Dictionary B

My dad was a fisherman.

Some folks would say my dad fancied himself to be a fisherman.

My mother might have concluded that my dad went fishing to get away from home.

Whatever the case, he had an adequate array of rods, reels, hooks, sinkers, bait and tackle to be considered worthy of the aspiration.

My dad had five sons, and he quickly assessed which ones he thought were better suited for hunting and fishing.

Being the fourth son, for some reason or another, he decided that I was not bent in the direction of the standard woodsman. I don’t know how he came to this conclusion. I was actually the only one of my brothers involved in sports, and certainly had an aptitude for floating in a boat and throwing a line in the water to snag a hapless aquatic creature.

I only went fishing with him a few times–and because I wasn’t given many opportunities, on the paltry occasions when I was with him, I acted a little squeamish.

Especially when it came to the bait. We used two kinds: night crawlers and minnows.

Night crawlers are worms and minnows are little, tiny fish-like creatures with one big eye on them. (Or I think it’s one.)

I was not real thrilled about the idea of grabbing a worm from the peat moss and putting it on my hook. It wasn’t because I was sensitive about killing the crawler, it just felt funny.

My dad thought this was hilarious.

I also did not know where to place my hook into the minnow to make it the most appealing to the creatures we were trying to trick. I did catch on, but not before my father had a chance to stereotype me as a “weinie-woman.”

So much to my chagrin, I have not fished as much during my life as I would like to, because of those run-ins with the bait.

I think it is completely permissible to be a little bit nervous around worms and minnows…until you finally get the feel for it.

 

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