Genealogy and Stuff

Genealogy is something I've always been moderately interested in, but a few years ago I signed up at that one web site--you know which one. I've found some interesting things about my ancestors, but my intent is not to make readers fall asleep; rather, we'll have a picture show of some pretty cool--at least to me--photos of people in my family tree.

The best place to start is with my parents. Here's my mom's senior photo, the one that appeared in Freeport Illinois's yearbook called the Polaris: 

Mary Marler

And my dad around  the same age. Actually I believe this shows him a year younger at 17.

Stanley Hayes

My dad bore a strong resemblance to his older brother, Malvin, who went by Hans. This is his senior photo:

Malvin (Hans) Hayes

My maternal grandmother, Helen Mae Stewart. I think she was around 19 when this was taken:

Helen Mae Stewart

 And jumping back in time a few generations on my mom's side we come to a Civil War veteran--on the Confederate side: James Monroe Davidson and his wife, Prudence Ann Elkins. They are my maternal 2d great grandparents, at least two of them. They were born in 1825 and 1832, respectively.

Jumping back over to the Hayes side, we come to Lemuel Hayes, my great grandfather. He was born in New York in 1826, and was the first Hayes in my line to come to Illinois (along with his married sister and her husband). He was a wagon maker in Galena before buying a plot of land between Lena and Stockton, Illinois and becoming a farmer. He established his farm as a bachelor, but became enamored with his neighbor's daughter when he watched her jump a fence. (Don't laugh; your family has stuff like this, too.) Her name was Mary Mizner, and she's my paternal great grandmother.

Lemuel Hayes

A few branches of my family tree.

Purple Hearts from WWII

I read an article not long ago that indicated that the Purple Heart medals that have been awarded since World War II were created during the war. In 1945 the US military anticipated as many as a million casualties during what they thought would be an eventual and necessary invasion of Japan. Accordingly they created and stockpiled half a million purple hearts. Then when Japan surrendered on 2 September 1945, they were thankfully not needed, and placed in storage.

Over the intervening years the purple hearts that were issued for wounds received in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and a several other places all came from the stockpile created during World War II. And they still have 120,000 in storage.

Of course that includes the one that was issued to me for wounds received in Vietnam with my name stamped on the back.

Because I questioned the veracity of the article, I conducted my own search, and found the same information in Stars and Stripes, the military's independent newspaper (available online at stripes.com).

http://www.stripes.com/blogs/the-rumor-doctor/the-rumor-doctor-1.104348/are-purple-hearts-from-1945-still-being-awarded-1.116756

My Old Coleman Camp Stove

I've been thinking of making burgers with onions and cheddar cheese in my cast iron skillet on the camp stove out on the deck. So last week I got out my old stove to make sure everything's in working order, and it wouldn't light.

I tried new fuel--same thing. That came as no surprise because I remember a few years ago pulling Dad's old Coleman Camp Stove--like mine--from a shelf in his Pecatonica, Illinois garage where it had been for probably ten years or so, and it fired up "right now," as Dad would have said. I cooked that night's supper on Dad's stove.

Next I figured a spider web had blocked something, but I couldn't find any obstructions. Then I remembered that when I checked for fuel, the o-ring in the generator filler cap fell apart. Maybe too much air was entering the generator, changing the mixture to something less combustible. So today I made a trip to a hardware store with the filler cap in hand, and found a replacement o-ring that fit.

Boom: The stove works again. Not sure whether you can tell, but the right burner is lit. The left works, too. I've had this stove since my sons were little guys. According to the stamped date on the bottom, it was made in October of 1978. 

I don't want one of the newer LP camp stoves. Sure, one has to pump up the generator, but once that's done it will cook meals or make tea or coffee in a campsite for a weekend with no additional fuel. These camp stoves were designed to last, and for .63 cents, the cost of the o-ring, I figure mine is good for another 36-years.

Understrength in Vietnam

My platoon in Vietnam was never full strength. An infantry squad for the times--probably still true today--was eleven men: a squad leader and two rifle teams of five men each. The concept, I believe, emerged from World War II. The squad leader could maneuver his two teams in leap frog order: "Alpha team, lay down a base of fire. Bravo team, move out!" Then Bravo team, once sufficiently advanced, could lay down covering fire while Alpha team moved.

That's the concept, and one we were trained with but didn't use. Why not? Doing so in the jungles and lush tropical vegetation of Vietnam where visibility was limited would have resulted in an increase of casualties, and we already had enough of them.

During the times when we had sufficient visibility and cover (they can't shoot you) and concealment (they can't see you), we conducted fire and maneuver with squads or platoons rather than rifle teams. We didn't even have rifle teams although we sometimes referred to the assistant squad leader as the Alpha Team Leader. That's as close as we came.

Back to the main point: My platoon and squad were never full strength. Rather than the eleven soldiers on the staffing chart, the most we ever had in our squad was eight, and that wasn't for very long. Usually we had around half a dozen. Likewise my platoon was always under strength. Each platoon was composed of four squads plus a platoon leader (lieutenant), platoon sergeant, and a radio-telephone operator (RTO), the guy who carried the lieutenant's radio. Doing the math, that's forty-seven men. The most we ever had during my year in Vietnam was twenty-eight, and we usually operated with fewer. On four occasions we were down to less than ten. Following one prolonged battle we were left with six men standing.

At the time, we felt we were understrength because of draft dodgers. I once read that the huge majority of young men eligible for the draft in the 60s and very early 70s--the draft was suspended in 1972--successfully employed a variety of tactics to dodge it. Be that as it may, we felt that if more guys back home hadn't tried so hard to get out of the draft, we would have had more men in our platoons and squads, which would have resulted in spreading the work load among more men. We would have been a bit less busy and less exhausted. If only. . . .

But I later found out that the reason we remained consistently short handed had nothing to do with draft dodgers. I learned the truth from a university professor with five books about war to his credit and a PHD in military history, which he earned by studying the 25th Infantry Division, the division I served in.

Very simply he explained, "There was not one day during the time the 25th was in Vietnam that they were understrength by a single man. The reason you were so short handed in the field was that the division created additional jobs in the rear and pulled slots from the infantry brigades to fill them."

My mouth dropped open, and you could have knocked me over with a napkin. So it was our own division that was doing it to us! Who would have thought? And I'm sure such shenanigans were not limited to the 25th, but rather I presume that all divisions in Vietnam did the same thing.

It's crazy when you think about it. My division was there to plug a hole caused by the southernmost exit of the Ho Chi Minh Trail into South Vietnam. It funneled North Vietnamese regulars and their equipment and weapons to an area near a town called Tay Ninh where sufficient overhead cover (woods, jungle, rubber plantations) existed so that an army could be massed without observation from above (planes, helicopters), all within a night's march--albeit a long one--of Saigon. The fulfillment of that mission required infantry units, lots of them. But instead of properly staffing the brigades and battalions, etc. that engaged in combat, the higher ranked NCOs and officers in the rear diverted infantrymen to what we called REMF jobs. (I'm not gonna define that just now, but a quick internet search will pull it up.)

Two thoughts come to mind: 1) I'd love to see a list of the positions created in the rear that were so important that we in the field had to go on more ambush patrols, listening posts, pull guard duty or radio watch more often, and lose even more sleep each night than we would have had we been properly staffed, not to mention have enough soldiers to increase our chances of survival when we made contact with enemy forces. And 2) this brings to mind the saying, "We have met the enemy, and he is us." Interestingly, that quote originally came from the Pogo comic strip.

On most days he is covered up with other things and the passage of time but that soldier is still in there. 

Roger Out 

King Rail

I participated in Illinois's Spring Bird Count on Saturday, 10 May 2014, in Washington County, the one below where I live. I joined four other birders in the largest contiguous block of bottomland forest in the State, which is along the Kaskaskia River.

We walked along an east-west gravel road that leads into the dense forest. On the north side of the road is an oxbow, marking a former channel of the Kaskaskia River. It's over a quarter mile in length, and about 150- to 200-feet in width. The eastern half of the oxbow has some open water, but the western half has become a marsh.

One of the birders lives along the gravel road near the edge of the forest, and her family dog, a black lab called Cali, accompanied us.

Mosquitoes were terrible, and it was a warm day with temperatures topping out in the mid-80s. Cali occasionally left the road, and we'd hear him splashing through the water, maybe because of the mosquitoes, heat, or perhaps simply because black labs love water.

On one such occasion as we approached the western end of the oxbow, clicking noises were heard from the marsh as Cali went for another noisy swim. I commented that it sounded like a King Rail, but because I'd never seen one, I wasn't sure. The noises stopped, and my attention eventually returned to vireo and warbler songs.

My birding companions with Glenn in the foreground.

We continued birding, and leaving the marsh behind, entered a piece of ground that was higher than the surrounding area. My companions explained that it was sufficiently high that it didn't flood. The vegetation was different and very thick making us almost disappear in the foliage as we followed a narrow trail.

Later we returned to the gravel road, and followed it back the way we had come. I was out in front of the group, and Glenn, one of the birders behind me reported seeing a large, brown bird with trailing legs flying over the marsh vegetation and dropping back into it. He had his bird book open to the rails, but wasn't sure which one he had seen.

Later that night after the count had ended, I put two and two together, or in this case, one and one. I remembered the clicking sounds we had heard, and that combined with Glenn's sighting of what surely sounded like a rail led me to believe we had encountered a King Rail.

King Rails have been diminishing in number over recent years, and this was the first King Rail reported this spring in Illinois. Although it took a while to figure out what it was, it was an exciting birding moment, and one that keeps me returning time after time to the woods with binoculars in hand, and wondering what natural wonders I will find. 

Autumn's Great Horned Owl

Two years ago when she was five-years old, my granddaughter Autumn said to me, "I want to see a Great Horned Owl with my own eyes."

Although I'm not sure what touched off this fascination with the owl, this was typical of her; she has loved nature since she was two or three. Perhaps she read something about Great Horned Owls, or maybe she saw a video at school or on television that peaked her interest. In any event, since she told me she wanted to see one, I've watched for opportunities to show her one.

I've seen them before, but to my experience, they are best spotted about half dark as they emerge from their roost and begin their nightly hunts. That means one must be out and about at dusk and be in the right place to hear or see them--not easy.

In October, 2013, I walked a trail that led along Silver Lake, on the north side of Highland where Autumn lives. I was with another birder, and we had spent the better part of the day looking for migrating warblers and whatever else we could find. In late afternoon we were heading back down the trail toward the parking lot when we heard the hooting of--you guessed it--a Great Horned Owl. It was followed shortly by another owl a bit farther away and with a higher voice--a female. They are easy to discern: females are larger than males, but since part of their bodies are dedicated to egg development, their voice boxes are smaller, and as a result their hoots are higher pitched.

Great Horned Owls mate in late fall or early winter, and I presumed this was a mated pair in the vicinity of their nest. I've seen half-grown owlets in a nest in mid-March. The timing of this breeding cycle means the young hatch around the time mammals emerge from hibernation, so food is more readily available. And the young have all spring, summer, and fall to learn hunting skills of their own, which they'll need to survive the next winter.

Once back home I checked the area where we heard the owls on Google Maps. It was the largest block of mature forest around the lake. So I presumed that this wooded spot must be near their nest location. It was a good place to take Autumn. But in order to allow her to see one, I'd need better intelligence--I had no idea where the nest was, and since I hadn't seen an owl there, it wouldn't be easy to show her one.

I returned to the spot along the trail where we heard the owls in February 2014. I arrived about fifteen minutes before sundown, and stayed until it was too dark to see. With owlets in the nest, the parents should be active hunting for food, but I heard and saw nothing. Perhaps the parents left to hunt elsewhere before I arrived. I wasn't sure, and it didn't look promising.

A week ago, 28 Feb 14, I played disc golf with my sixteen-year old grandson Zander, Autumn's brother, at Silver Lake Park. The course is between a quarter and half a mile of the spot where I heard the owls, but I wasn't thinking of them on this day. We played twenty-seven "holes," and toward the end, as we were retrieving our discs from a basket, we heard a Great Horned Owl. We silently gazed in the direction the sound came from, but saw nothing.

I made a note of the time; it was 4:15 in the afternoon. This was early for one to be hooting. The sky was overcast, and Barred Owls are known to hoot in the middle of days with cloud cover, and I wondered whether Great Horned were a bit like that, too.

The road leading to the park entrance passed the general location where Zander and I heard the owl, and we stopped there to watch and listen. Zander said, "There he is," and pointed to the top of a tree. It appeared as a dark blob but was shaped like the tail of an owl protruding from behind a branch. Pulling forward a bit allowed the rest of him to come into view, and he turned his head and looked at us. Bingo!

I took Zander home, and if Autumn and her mom, Molly, had been there, I would have taken them right back to see the owl if they were able to get away. But they weren't home. I coordinated with Molly over the next few days, and we agreed to see if we could find the owl the following weekend. And in the meantime, Molly and Autumn stopped at the park, and spotted the owl, but it was very high in a tree, and they didn't have binoculars.

Last night I picked them up, and we headed to the park. We parked along the road offering a view of the owl area. We arrived a little after 4:00 p.m. and sat in the car talking quietly and listening for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then we heard a hoot. And then another. For the next 15 minutes we heard hoots about every minute or so but couldn't find the owl. The car windows were open, and Molly thought it sounded as though it was coming from her side of the vehicle, while I heard it more from my window. On a whim, I examined the top of the tree in which Zander had spotted the owl with my binoculars, and there, on the same exact branch, sat the Great Horned Owl! It was almost directly ahead of us. I guided Molly and Autumn, both using binoculars, to the tree, and to the branch way at the top on which the owl was perched. Molly found him first, and Autumn did so a minute or so later.

The owl is in this photo, about dead center

We slowly drove a bit closer, and we all had a good look. Autumn was holding her binoculars upside down, and I said, "That will make the owl appear upside down." She responded, "No, it won't." She's on to me. 

A cropped version. Binoculars helped! 

We watched him for another twenty or so minutes after which I took them out for pizza. As our waitress approached our table to check on us, I asked her if she has ever seen a Great Horned Owl. She responded that she has not. I pointed to Autumn and said, "She saw one half an hour ago." Autumn beamed.

Nature Messages to my Grandchildren

I have four grandchildren ranging from two to sixteen in age. They are interested in nature, and I share information with them via email. Most of the messages relate to things I've experienced, noticed, or that come to mind while observing nature either in the field or through my kitchen window. 

Bird Tracks:

We had a dusting of snow last night and no wind--perfect for making and preserving these bird tracks that were on my deck.

Some birds walk; others hop. All of the ones that hop are perching birds. (Perching birds are capable of landing on tree branches. Their feet clamp onto the branch, which helps keep them from falling, even while they're asleep.) These tracks were made by a perching bird, probably a Junco or House Sparrow, both of which are very common at the nearby feeder.

But some perching birds walk, like doves and Starlings, for example, so we can't always tell by their tracks that it's definitely a perching bird.

What do you think made the marks in the snow in the center of this picture? 

Answer: They were made by a bird's wings as it took flight. See the heavy footprints above and to the right of the wing marks? That's probably where the bird stood, and pushed off with its legs while taking off.

Grandpa Roger (Papa)

Winter Irruptives:

The term irrupt is sort of the opposite of erupt (like a volcano) and is used to describe animals that move into an area, appearing outside their normal ranges. Winter irruption of birds occurs when they fly south to escape extreme cold or heavy snow cover that prevent them from finding sufficient amounts of food. Several winter irruptives (birds that came here because of harsh winter up north) are in our area now (as of 18 Feb 2014). 

From the top of the dam two days ago I joined another birder, and we saw:

Glaucous Gull, White-winged Scoter, and Long-tailed Duck: These species normally winter on the Great Lakes. I heard that Lake Michigan is frozen, so they flew south and some of them showed up at Carlyle Lake.

Lapland Longspur and Snow Bunting: Range maps show these birds here or nearby during winter, but they are seldom seen. I think more of them moved south because of the amount of snow in northern Illinois and Wisconsin as well as other northern states. I found over a hundred of them mixed in with Horned Larks a few miles north of Carlyle. (I heard some had been spotted there, and stopped to see them while en route to Silver Lake to check for Great Horned Owls.) =)

Grandpa Roger (Papa)

Snow Melt:

Here's something I learned in college, and have noticed multiple times over the intervening winters. 

In the above photo the snow is a uniform depth. Its white surface reflects almost all sunlight. But the tree trunks are brown, and they absorb heat from the sun. The warmth is spread downward into the trees' roots, which extend two- to three-times farther than the branches. And many of them are near the surface (3/4ths of the water taken up by most trees is in the top 4- to 6-inches of soil).

All of this means that the soil under trees warms up a little faster than elsewhere. And once warmer weather appears, the snow melts under trees quicker than areas without trees. Here is the snow pictured above, beginning to melt.

The warmth that spreads from the trunks into the roots is not a lot of heat, but it's enough to help the snow under trees melt quicker.

Grandpa Roger (Papa)

Bald Eagle Nest: 

 Snow Goose Numbers: I spoke with a former coworker at the lake office, and he told me the State conducted an aerial waterfowl survey of Carlyle Lake last month and estimated the Snow Goose population at 1.1 million. That's a lot of geese!

Grasher Eagle Nest:   I also visited an eagle nest reported by one of the Audubon members. The photo isn't the best quality because I was looking toward the sun. Through my spotting scope I could see what appeared to be two small heads moving about. Young in the nest already? Looks like one of the parents on a branch to the right of the nest; I didn't notice that while there.

Grandpa Roger (Papa) 

Woody Plant Buds:  Did you ever wonder what buds on trees are for? Well, they're for the next year's growth. Trees and shrubs produce buds during the growing season (summer). Inside the buds on this Bitternut Hickory--see below--are tiny, folded up leaves and stems. When conditions are right with respect to temperature and moisture, the buds will swell up, the scales will flake off, and leaves will unfold and grow. Once unfolded, they'll begin the process of photosynthesis, which converts sunlight and water to produce food for the plant. That will in turn make new leaves, stems, twigs, tissue for moving water and photosynthates (food made through photosynthesis), bark, and roots. Oh, and buds for next year.

The definition of a leaf involves buds. A leaf is that portion of a plant that extends beyond a bud. So this summer beginning around June, if you look, you'll find a bud being produced at the base of each leaf. The only exception will be trees with compound leaves, such as Ash or Hickory. These compound leaves have leaflets, so called because they do not have buds at the base of each leaflet, but follow the stem down, and you'll eventually find a bud, which means that everything above it is the entire leaf. The number of leaflets can range from three (Boxelder) to about twelve (Black Walnut or Pecan). (Some evergreen trees, like Pines, may not have buds. They don't need them because their needles remain green all winter.)

The bud below is from a Bitternut Hickory, which has yellow end buds--the buds on the end of each twig. (My glove is in the picture to allow focusing on the bud; otherwise, the camera wanted to focus on the ground.) 

 

 Some trees, even in winter, can be identified by their bark, like this one. Check the closest tree. The bark is composed of blocks about in inch in size. 

 

 Here's a closer view. This is a Persimmon. Animals and birds love its fruit.

 

Tulip Tree is Blooming: 

Here's a tree like one in my yard. It's blooming now. (These were taken at the lake.)

As you can see below, the flowers resemble Tulips, and that's where one of its common names comes from. It has several names: Tulip Tree, Tulip Poplar, and Yellow Poplar. I think I mentioned before that this is why Latin names are used. The Latin name for this tree is Liriodendron tulipifera. (I think tulipifera means Tulip like.)

It's the tallest tree that grows east of the Missisippi River, and in the right conditions can reach 150 feet in height. That's big, but out west some species are much taller. Giant Redwoods, for example.

September Hummingbirds:

Hummingbirds here are engaging in what biologists call "post-breeding dispersal," which means spreading out in search of food after they leave the nest and before migrating south. They'll build up a layer of fat that will be used to provide energy as they fly across the Gulf of Mexico.  And since they don't weight very much--.11 ounce or 3.2 grams--they'll fly south only when the wind is from the north. They'll ride the winds.

My digital camera is silver in color, and I couldn't get too close to the feeders because the birds would spot the camera and fly away. But my phone is black, and I sat in my recliner and pointed the camera lens at the feeder, then waited for a bird to show up. The same one has been feeding here for days. As a result, I got the best hummingbirds photos I've ever taken.

Grandpa Roger (Papa)

Cooper's Hawk:

A while ago this Cooper's Hawk, wearing adult plumage, swooped into our backyard. They eat song birds, and this one was looking for a meal. Cooper's Hawks look a lot like Sharp-shinned Hawks, but we can tell this one's a Cooper's by the placement of the eyes closer to the front of the head (or so it appears because Sharp-shinned's heads are smaller), and the hint of a crest, which Sharp-shinneds don't have.

Buds of Trees and other Woody Plants: 

Buds on trees, shrubs, and vines are remarkable little bundles of life.  Inside are folded leaves and stems for the next year’s growth.  When days get warm and moisture becomes available, buds swell up, and green tips of folded leaves begin to emerge. After a few days they unfold, and photosynthesis begins.

Buds are an important part of any deciduous plant. Deciduous means they shed their leaves in winter so the plant or tree will stop bringing water up from the roots, which otherwise would make them break apart during winter. [1 cubic centimeter upon freezing exerts 10,000 pounds of pressure.]  So one of the main objectives of the growing season, besides adding leaves and stems, thus making the plant grow, is to produce buds, which will allow the plant to survive the coming winter with miniature leaves and stems ready to go for the following spring. Without buds, woody plants would not survive.

On April 14, 30-days ago, I planted a Sugar Maple in our backyard.  Its buds had not yet begun to swell with moisture.

Here, four days after planting, the buds have begun to swell, and green, folded up leaves, are pushing out from the tops. I planted the tree just in time.  Obviously the roots are bringing up moisture, so everything’s working properly.

Leaves beginning to unfold

The contents of one bud: four leaves and their associated stems. 

15 days after planting they look like Maple leaves. 

And today, 30-days after planting, it looks like this. The leaves are not yet full grown, and the stems haven’t grown a lot yet. That may be because of the shock of transplanting.  

Further, the tree is a “ball and burlap,” meaning the roots have been pruned, and are inside a ball of soil inside a burlap bag.  The tree is taller than I am, and the ball and burlap process enables one to plant a tree that is already taller than a sapling.

To plant, one digs a hole, places the burlap bag inside, and fills it completely with soil. Then it’s watered quite a bit to help settle the soil and provide needed moisture for the roots. During this first year the roots will grow through the burlap bag, which will disintegrate—it’s biodegradable--and make contact and grow into the surrounding soil. The first year is a critical time, and the tree should be cared for by watering it once a week. After the first year, the roots will be established, and the tree will survive and thrive on its own.

​

Fort Dix: A Post-War Story

If I were able to publish a further edition of On Point, this would be the final chapter. 

I returned home from Vietnam on 15 October 1968 with six months left on my time in the US Army, and with a month's accumulated leave to spend in my hometown of Freeport, Illinois. After refueling in Anchorage, we landed where we had taken off a year earlier, at Travis Air Force Base outside Oakland, California. From there I flew commercial (civilian) to O'Hare International in Chicago, where my mother and her best friend, whose husband had been at Pearl Harbor when it was bombed, picked me up. I sat in the backseat anxiously anticipating glimpses of my hometown as we approached from the east on US Route 20. 

For the previous year I had been in the reemerging jungle, rubber plantations, and rice paddies of what was then South Vietnam, and it took a while to become readjusted to life in my hometown. One would think that I had only been gone for a year, and it wouldn't be all that difficult, but my mind, body, and soul had been in Vietnam with no contact with anyone I knew except for that which came through the US mail, and only my mother and my ex-girlfriend's mom wrote to me while I was at war (my girlfriend had broken up with me two months into my tour). Further, the only human contact I had during that year was with fellow soldiers in my platoon, and all my thoughts for that year were about my role in that war, and most of my activities involved preparation for company- or platoon-sized operations during which battle with the enemy was a constant factor. It was where my head was.

So here I was, plucked from from the world of Charlie Company, 1/5 (Mechanized) Infantry, 25th Infantry Division, and a little over 24-hours later, I was alone in the living room of what had once been our family's home--only my mother lived there now, and she was at work. The phone rang.

I had not spoken on a telephone for a year, but I had sent and received messages over military two-way radios on multiple daily occasions over the course of the past year. Our most common radio had a handset that resembled that of a telephone, but this was different. At first I wasn't sure what to do, then I remembered. I picked up the handset and put it to my ear, and said, "Hello." A voice on the other end said, "Oh, hi Roger. I heard you were home. Is your mother there?" I wasn't sure how to proceed, but did so with the instincts of a soldier. "Negative, over."

Over the next week or so I rode my Honda Super Hawk motorcycle to town, and visited the old hangouts, looking for social contact--people I knew. In one place a high school classmate approached me. "Roger, I haven't seen you in ages. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

"I'm in the Army. I just returned from Vietnam." Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Later, while conversing with another high school classmate, the subject of the war came up. I don't remember how it happened, but that's where my mind was, and I may have made a comment relating to my experiences in the war when something reminded me of it. My friend said, "The real heroes are in Canada."

The implication was that since the war was so unpopular, the socially acceptable course of action would have been to dodge the draft. In other words, I should have gone to Canada rather than reporting for military service.

Not all of my month's leave was like that. I also reconnected with friends who didn't mind where I had been, and the month passed enjoyably and all too quickly.

I received orders assigning me to a basic training unit at Fort Dix, New Jersey. I was to report 30 days after arriving home, which was 15 November 1968. I don't remember how I got to Fort Dix, but I most likely flew to Philadelphia, then took a bus to the fort, 30-miles to the northeast across the Delaware River. I found my unit, Company B, 5th Battalion of the 2d Training Brigade, commonly referred to as B-5-2. A group of trainees (they wouldn't be called soldiers until they graduated from basic training) were gathered at the building's entrance. One of them spotted the sergeant stripes on my uniform as I approached, and called, "Make way!" The young men sucked up against the walls to make room as I passed among them. I was inwardly amused, and thought to myself, hey, it's just me, guys.

I reported in, and was assigned to the 1st Platoon as an assistant platoon sergeant. The first couple of days I watched and helped out whenever and wherever the platoon sergeant wanted or needed me. The company was about halfway through the eight-week training program. The platoon sergeant was an E-6, staff sergeant, and was due to get out of the Army shortly after this group of soldiers graduated from basic training.

Over the course of the next few weeks, the company commander, a first lieutenant, searched for the next 1st Platoon Sergeant. I suppose he watched me and the rest of the cadre members, looking for someone whom he felt had the right leadership skills.

One day he assigned me the evening formation, which was held before the evening meal. He gave me a clipboard with announcements I was to read to the company, and told me that the order of chow was 4-1-3-2, based on the results of that morning's barracks inspection. The 4th platoon won the inspection, and its trainees were rewarded by going into chow first. Serving 120 men, one at a time, took a while, and the rest of the company would wait their turn in the order they finished the morning's barracks inspection in a single-file line extending outside the mess hall. On this day the 2d platoon ate last, and stood in line between 30 to 45 minutes.

The company's four platoons were in formation as I walked out of the barracks and took my place in front of them. I called them to attention, then had the platoon guides (trainees who acted as junior cadre members with leadership responsibilities for their respective platoons) report the status of their platoons to me. It was a way of taking attendance. The response we wanted to hear was, "All present or accounted for." Some trainees may have been on sick leave or on KP, and therefore "accounted for."

I ordered the company to stand "at ease," then read the announcements from the clipboard. The trainees knew how they had finished in that morning's inspection, and they knew the order of chow. But I announced, "The order of chow will be determined by the order of which each platoon successfully completes 25 pushups." I noticed disruption in the ranks, but ignored it. "Platoon guides, take charge of your platoons and execute the assigned exercises." This was met by several platoon guides saying, 'But, but Sergeant. . ." But then they noticed that one or more platoons had already begun pushing out the prescribed exercises, so they hurriedly got their platoons down into the front-lean-and-rest position, and completed the pushups.

When they were through and back on their feet, I loudly asked, "Which platoon came in first?" They responded, "We did! We did!" I yelled, "I can't hear you!" and the sound of 120 young men yelling at the top of their lungs filled the company street and the area between our barracks and the next one.

When they finally settled down, I announced, "I don't care which platoon came in first. The order of chow is 4-1-3-2. Platoon guides, take charge of your platoons and move them to the mess hall. Company, Atten-hut! Dismissed."

I didn't know it, but the company commander had been inside the barracks with a window open, listening and observing as I held the evening formation. Apparently he liked what he saw, because a few days later he announced that I would be the next 1st platoon sergeant.

As I walked alone to the mess hall I found myself behind several trainees unaware of my presence. One of them said, "That Sergeant Hayes is alright."

Most of the other cadre members were married, and lived off post. A few of us who were single had rooms in the barracks. Mine was near the 1st Platoon's bay, a large room containing bunk beds for the platoon's trainees. Between my room and the platoon bay was the platoon's latrine. I became the only platoon sergeant who lived in the barracks, which meant I had more contact with the members of my platoon than the others. I was also the only one who had served overseas, and of course, the only one who had been in combat in Vietnam. My rows of ribbons contained more decorations than the others, and I was the only one with a Combat Infantryman's Badge (CIB), which was the only decoration worn on all uniforms including the daily fatigues we wore (see photo below). Another difference was that I was the only platoon sergeant who was not a drill instructor. Drill instructor school took six or eight weeks, and I wouldn't be around too long thereafter. As such, I did not wear the drill sergeant's Smokey Bear hat, and from a distance I more closely resembled a trainee than a member of the cadre, but when my hat was off, it became apparent that I had more hair. Up close my CIB set me apart. And I was capable of doing everything the drill sergeants did.

At the conclusion of the training cycle that was in session when I arrived, my former platoon sergeant left the Army, and I was on my own for the next training cycle. The next group of trainees arrived the following Sunday, and those assigned to the 1st Platoon found bunks in the platoon's bay. They numbered about 35 young men. The first night I sat them on the floor of our platoon's bay in a large circle, and took a place in the circle with them. I introduced myself, and told them I'd be their platoon sergeant. Then I spoke of the training they would receive, letting them know what to expect over the course of the next eight weeks. I told them that I saw my role as helping them make the transition from civilian to soldier. Then I opened the floor--no pun intended--for questions, one of the first of which was, "Sergeant, how old are you?" I was 22, only a year or so older than most of the members of my platoon, and younger than some.

Fort Dix, New Jersey

I taught my platoon basic military concepts and lessons including recognition of the various ranks, how to stand at attention, when and how to salute officers, close-order drill, marching, how to polish their brass and boots, etc. I reinforced formal lessons and training the company received, and helped them with bayonet training. We marched a lot. I showed them how to clean the barracks and our platoon's latrine--make it so clean you can eat out of it--and although at first we didn't do well in the company inspections, we gradually improved, and came in first more often. On several occasions, perhaps because no-one else wanted to, I marched the entire company from our barracks to the rifle range, a distance of several miles through the New Jersey winter.

Every day offered long hours and challenges, but we made it through. I was more of a coach than the type of drill instructor one sees portrayed in the movies. I didn't yell at them, berate them, or belittle them. One morning as we were gathering for the morning formation before breakfast, I noticed that one of my trainees had not shaved. "Why didn't you shave this morning?" "I didn't have time, Sergeant." The formation would begin in a few moments, and I knew it would last at least ten minutes. "Can you shave and be back here in ten minutes?" "Yes, Sergeant." "Okay, go." Cleanly shaven, he slipped back into formation a few minutes later. If the company commander or first sergeant had spotted his unshaved face later in the day, he would have been in trouble. I gave him the opportunity to sidestep that outcome and the punishment it would have led to. That was my style, and the members of my platoon appreciated it. 

On the day the company graduated an event occurred that will stay in my memory the rest of my life. The ceremony was held in a gymnasium or a similar large building. I was assigned to be a part of the color guard that posted the flag, during which I wore a chrome helmet and marched with an M14. I was to report early for coordination with the other members of the color guard and to make sure we knew what to do and where to be, and didn't get a chance to say good-bye to my platoon, men I'd worked with for two months, and for whom I had developed quite a fondness.

Their wives or girlfriends, and parents were waiting for them at the conclusion of the ceremony. And I was still with the color guard as the events ended. I walked to the back room to replace the chrome helmet and rifle in their locker, thinking that I had seen the members of my platoon for the last time. I went out a back door that provided the most direct route back to the company barracks and my room therein.

As I closed the door someone behind me called, "Platoon, atten-hut!" I turned to see my platoon standing in formation at attention with the platoon guide executing a perfect salute. They had delayed their reunions with their families and loved ones, and figuring out which door I'd come out of, had come to pay their respects and say good-bye. I was flabbergasted. I shook each of their hands and wished them well wherever the Army would take them.

The war in Vietnam was still going on, although President Nixon had implemented "Vietnamization," which involved turning over more of the actual combat to South Vietnamese forces. The war was beginning to wind down, but American soldiers fought in Vietnam for the next three years, and I assume that the majority of my platoon served there, and I'm sure at least some of them died there.

Despite receiving twenty-five re-enlistment talks administered by the first lieutenant who served as my company commander, I left the Army two years to the day after being drafted. I became a civilian on 7 May 1969. Combat troops served in Vietnam until 1972, and the United States provided air and other support for South Vietnamese forces until 1975 when Congress refused to further fund our efforts in southeast Asia. Two months later South Vietnam fell to the North Vietnamese Army. For years I had felt that I still belonged in Vietnam, not knowing that my battalion had been reassigned to Korea in 1971. The pull of my old unit ended when combat troops were withdrawn in 1972. I was no longer needed there; my war was over.

Purchased at the Fort Dix PX in 1969

Winter Birding: Carlyle Lake

This is Carlyle Lake in Illinois where I worked as a park ranger, my first job out of college, and a very good one at that. It led to a career with the US Army Corps of Engineers, first at the lake, then in the district office in downtown St. Louis.

At present the Corps is releasing a large amount of water through the dam. That creates a boiling action that brings fish to the surface where they are easy pickings for gulls that spend the winter at the lake. After grabbing a meal, they fly to the ice north of the dam to rest, and do so in large numbers.

Most of these, around 99%, are the numerous Ring-billed Gulls, but a few other species are present, such as Herring Gulls, the next most common species. Others migrate through or irrupt from areas north, particularly the Great Lakes during harsh winters. A Herring Gull is seen below--the dark, slightly larger bird, which is an immature. Adults more closely resemble Ring-billed Gulls. 

 

A more infrequent visitor is the Lesser Black-backed Gull, which winter off the Atlantic coast and the Great Lakes. When the Great Lakes freeze some of them, as well as other species, venture south and find Carlyle Lake. Here's a Black-backed Gull resting among the hundreds of Ring-billeds. (I like the gull flying through the foreground.)

 Snow Geese:  Over the course of the past decade or so, thousands of Snow Geese have wintered at and near the lake. Two flocks of Snow Geese are seen in this photo, one closer and the other more in the distance, which shows up as a horizontal white stripe on the ice. Shortly after taking this, some of the geese in the farther flock took to the air, and made known their enormous population. The camera captured less than a third or fourth of the flock.

From a closer vantage point the next day. Here I was close enough to hear them. We've heard Snow Geese honk as they fly over, but it came as a surprise that they do that as well while resting on the water or ice. It sounded as though all of them were honking at once.

Another species increasing in numbers at the lake are these White-fronted Geese, which appear a uniform dark at a distance. They've previously been seen in small numbers mixed with other species of geese, but now they appear in flocks.

White-fronted Geese mixed with Canada Geese. The White-fronted are the ones with orange legs and feet. Some in the center have their heads tucked.

Chasing Rare Birds:  The federal property around Carlyle Lake is an island of wildlife habitat in an ocean of agricultural fields. Because of that it's a good spot to find lots of species of birds including some occasional visitors or rare ones.

Northern Shrike:  A friend reported seeing this species along a saddle dam on the east side of the lake, so I went to investigate. It was an easy find; the bird was perched at the top of a small tree silhouetted against the sky. Hard to miss. It was a lifer for me--a bird species I'd not previously seen.

Harris's Sparrow:  While on an Audubon outing, I spotted a bird that flushed and landed in the branches of a small tree. It remained there for several minutes, giving us a good view. But it took a while to figure out what it was, or rather what I think it was. It was obviously a sparrow but different than the ones I'm used to seeing. The closest I could come in a field guide was a first-winter Harris's Sparrow. I was unfamiliar with the first-winter plumage of this species, so wasn't sure what to look for. Such are the challenges of birding.

 From Sibley Guide to Birds:

And another illustration from National Geographic's Field Guide to the Birds of North America. The plumage version in question is the bottom one labeled immature.

But following the process of elimination I concluded that the sparrow I'd seen must have been a Harris's. Several attempts to relocate the bird failed, but a week later I received a phone call from a friend who reported that he was in sight of a Harris's Sparrow. He wasn't far away, and I joined him. Sure enough, an adult, winter plumage Harris's hopped out of the shrub he'd been observing. That sighting strengthened my conviction that it was indeed a Harris's Sparrow I'd seen the week before. It's possible that several are in the area that have not yet been observed.

And I was able to take my granddaughter out to see the Snow Geese, which are still putting on a show in huge numbers of individuals. On the way to see the geese, we passed the spillway for the lake, and spotted a Bald Eagle sitting near the top of a tree not far from a parking lot. I mounted my scope on my car window, and Granddaughter watched an adult Bald Eagle for about fifteen minutes, loving every moment.

Here's the eagle she was watching--taken through the spotting scope:

The Bald Eagle population has recovered nicely in the past few decades. Autumn and I counted about 30 of them over the course of an hour, most of which were on the ice out in the middle of the lake, not far from areas of open water.

Out My Kitchen Window

Understanding Nature:  My favorite quote from Henry David Thoreau is, "Of course I am well traveled; I know my backyard intimately." I like to think he was a referring to nature--that if one understands what goes on biologically in one's backyard, then the entire natural world comes into focus. 

Project FeederWatch:  I am participating in Project FeederWatch, a program operated by Cornell University's Lab of Ornithology. It involves counting the largest number of individuals of each bird species seen at any one time over a two-day period each week. Participating volunteers pick their own count days, and mine are Fridays and Saturdays.

I have several feeders in my backyard, and I count species that come to them as well as others that are attracted to plantings in my yard. Flyover birds or those seen outside my backyard are not included. I'm relatively new to the program, but it offers a fun way to watch nature in one's backyard.

Over the past few weeks I've photographed critters from my kitchen window. Click on the photos to enlarge them.

A Cottontail Rabbit at the base of a Rough-leafed Dogwood at the side of my yard. Violets, a pretty decent ground cover, grow thick along a 15-foot strip along the side of my yard, so I don't mow there. It adds a bit of wildlife habitat to my yard. It's a good place for bunnies to hide.

And a male Northern Flicker that posed on the side of a tree while probing presumably for insect eggs stashed in the the bark:

A Red-breasted Nuthatch (left) compared with a White-breasted Nuthatch (right) taken last year:

A Carolina Wren planning to grab a sunflower seed:

And last spring an immature Robin that flattened itself on the railing of my deck:

Sharp-shinned and Cooper's Hawks have frequented my neighborhood recently. This "Sharpie" is watching activity at my feeder, hoping to pick off a meal--their chief source of food is birds.

This Kestrel was first spotted on a wire behind my neighbor's house, and later, in better light, on the top of a utility pole at the rear corner of my yard.

Another, front view of an adult Sharp-shinned Hawk watching the birds at my feeder: 

And a Cooper's Hawk, taken 9 January, 2015