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AirDancer said:
The Irish do a fine job with pipes as well :crossed
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"As a bagpiper, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper's cemetery in the Saskatchewan back country. As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost and, being a typical man, I didn't stop for directions."

"I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn't know what else to do, so I started to play."

"The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I've never played before for this homeless man. And as I played 'Amazing Grace,' the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together."

"When I finished I packed up my bagpipes and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full. As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, "I never seen nothin' like that before and I've been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."
 
now I have one more but I have to edit out some things. so I will post this first. these are all next to each other the two story home predates the street I shot it from. it had its own trail to it in ww2 topos as did the bungalows. I have been able to find most of these old homes as far back as the early 40s topos.
 
this is not the largest of these homes(single family has it) but it is the second biggest west of 27th ave. there is one across rt 60 from these homes that is large, very large. it sits on a 10 acre lot. im afraid it might be rotting. I may sneak in and shoot it and its gates from 28th ave.
 
Mike S said:
"As a bagpiper, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper's cemetery in the Saskatchewan back country. As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost and, being a typical man, I didn't stop for directions."

"I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn't know what else to do, so I started to play."

"The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I've never played before for this homeless man. And as I played 'Amazing Grace,' the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together."

"When I finished I packed up my bagpipes and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full. As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, "I never seen nothin' like that before and I've been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."
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:hysterical Oh, you evil man! We should have been on stage together.
 
The bag player is a Christian.he is one my customers. His wife gives me bible notes haND written on tip cards.i thought it was him as Hyde is a rare name
 
Mike S said:
Great photos, Jason. Makes me feel like I've been there.
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I will take pics of the methodist church here.its in a Spanish revival style but not as old as the other edifice. Built in the late 50s.its sanctuary burned down
 
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Mike S said:
View attachment 7072 I thought it best to not introduce it as a joke, just let it develop on it's own.
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That is the same way I tell both the three legged hog and the three legged chicken jokes. It always goes best for these type of gags to tell them just like they are the absolute truth and allow the truth of the kmatter to just pop up.


In fact, when I was still working with the Glory Bound Prison Ministry, before this stupid disease grounded me, I was driving my Ford Ranger, south on I-45 one Sunday, after service completed at the Walls Unit in Huntsville, Texas.


My A/C had quit a month or better earlier so I had my 2/55 A/C running. 2 windows down and sticking that 55 mph speed limit to the wall when I heard a strange noise. I opened the rear slider window but no change. I looked all around my cab but I could not find that noise.


Then I bent my head and hung it out the window and there it was... a three legged Dominecker Chicken running right beside my Pickup... fifty-five mph and he did not look like he was even straining.


I figured... okay, I'll show him, so I punched the gas and broke the speed limit and took it up to sixty-five. I just grinned... for about ten, maybe twelve seconds. Then, there she was again, still not straining but looking me right in the eye, like she was daring me to out run her.

I thought, "Alright, I'll show her," and I put the metal to the metal and my little Ford with the Mazda four cylinder roared to life and in nothing flat I was thirty mph over the speed limit and cruising at eithy-five mph.

For... it must have been twenty-five or thirty seconds my chest was p-o-p-p-i-n-g, I had showed her who was the king! Then, suddenly, there was that strange sounding clicking again. I eased my head out the Driver's Window and sure enough... there she was.

She had stream lined herself by pointing her beak dead straight ahead with her head lowered so it was flat with the top of her body. Her wings, no longer, as is common with the Dominicker, made her body look fat but were extended, straight back, past the tip of her lowered tail and as she ran, her little legs could no longer even be seen. A pin feather drifted off her body, one here and then another there, she was moving!

I thought, "She deserves my respect" and I backed off the throttle, she passed and cut into my lane, leading me down the highway.

I thought to myself, I need to find out where that chicken comes from so I followed her for about ten more3 miles toward my cut off to Waller and she took an Exit. Well I went, right behind her. At the overpass she turned left down the cross road for about a mile and a quarter where she turned into a little farm and in the dust, approaching the house, I lost her.

But I pulled up, turned the engine off, climbed onto the porch, stepped back and waited. A farmer opened the door, peered out saying, "Well, howdy, youngster! Can I help you?" I said, "I hope so. I don't want you to think I'm crazy but I followed a Three Legged Dominicker from just outside Huntsville to your place."

He grinned and shook his head up and down, just a little and I asked, "Do you know anything about that chicken?"

He grinned real wide and said, "Why son, of course I do, I have four hundred and thirty-one of those Three Legged Dominickers.

I almost dropped to the ground but the porch post caught me and I leaned there... for a moment or two, just, thinking. Finally, I stood up straight and asked him, "Where in the world and how did you get over four hundred of them chickens with three legs?"

He grinned, just a little and he answered, "Well, I did some plowing for the widder, Miss Lizzy, and she sent me home with a dozen of the lumpiest, bumpiest, brown, double yoke Dominicker Eggs the wife and I have ever seen, they were delicious!

Come August she need that crop brought into the barn, for sale and after I harvested and put it in the barn, she gave me five dozen more of them eggs. We had a dozen and a half left when I told the wife not to cook any more of them because I wanted to hatch them to see what then chicks looked like.

In the hatchery they hatched, right on schedule, and every one of them chicks had three legs. My wife and I thought, the way folks like Chicken Legsl, we'll make millions of dollars with our three legged chickens, "Why, even the rooster has three legs!"

I leaned against the porch post again, lost for words! Finally, I gathered myself together, stood erect and I asked him, "What do those Three legged Chickens taste like?" He pull his Bull Durham baseball cap off, wiped his brow with a red Cowboy Work Hanky, looked at the planking on the porch a few moments and finally, he looked, timidly, up at me and said, "Hellllllll, son, I don't know, I'm old and I cain't catch one of'em."
 
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