I am still laughing about this post. Don’t pass it up.
Part three of my father-in-law’s memoir about life and the people in Waterford in the 1930s.
Chapter Three – The Crane
The Grey Heron was always known as “the Crane” among the locals of Woodstown when I was growing up there. A large and apparently solitary bird, frequenting bog holes and other lonely places, it fascinated those of us who hunted rats, and anything that moved, along the banks of the streams near our home.
For my own part, I found the mysteries of nature so amazing that I was able to believe most of the lore I was able to glean by talking to those more knowledgeable than myself in that pursuit. Often I stood quietly and listened avidly to the conversation of the local men when they sat on the stone at the “Gap” of a summer’s evening, smoking their blue fumed pipes, or playing…
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