Grandpa Cummings and the Horse-Killing Witch

Genealogy is encouraged in our church.  But, it presents a problem for me.  On the one hand, I get to know who my ancestors were.  On the other hand... I get to know who my ancestors were.

At times, its best to live in total ignorance.  I like believing the possibility that I stem from a long line of royalty or war heroes or something.  Genealogy removes all doubt about this fallacy.

Last week, it was discovered that my great-great-great-great-grandfather (I may have too many "greats" in there) testified against Elizabeth Howe during the Salem Witch Trials in the late 1600s.  Yes, grandpa Isaac Cummings Jr. had turned down Mrs. Howe's husband when we came one day asking to borrow the Cummings' horse.  Because it was on a Thursday and the Sabbath was just around the corner (plus, all the Cummings had at the time was a mare... something that they claimed wasn't a real horse), Mr. Howe went home empty handed.

Two days later, the mare was found sick.  Grandpa and grandma stated that the horse looked as if she had been ridden hard all night long.  The bridle had apparently left burn marks.  The horse wouldn't eat or drink.

So, after fetching his brother in a neighboring village, Grandpa and his brother came up with the bright idea of stuffing a smoking pipe full of tobacco, starting the tobacco on fire, and then inserting the puffing end of the pipe into the horse's... well... into her rear-end.

Yep... certainly this was a Jensen predecessor.  This simple stunt left no doubt in my mind that we are somehow related.  Only a person of this lineage could have come up with an idea like this.

Once the puffy end of the pipe pushed its way inside, the gas from the horse ignited the flaming tobacco, and **POOF** out shot a fireball that scared the knickers off Grandpa and his brother.

Not ready to claim defeat, they tried it again.  This time, they said the fireball was big enough that it found its way to the rafters of the barn (where the barn began to creak as a result) AND ignited the horse's butt on fire.

It took both of them to put the fire out.  Now, not only was the mare suffering from some illness, she was also suffering from indignity and humiliation.

Grandpa and his brother tried "other things"-- apparently things too crazy for even strict superstitious Puritans like them to mention-- and when those didn't work, they sought the advice of  Mr. Hunkins.  He proposed that Grandpa cut a chunk of meat off the horse and burn it (why?  Not sure...), but because it was proposed on the Sabbath (and because Grandpa was a Puritan deacon in the First Church of Salem), Grandpa decided to give it one more day before he attempted the meat-burning cure.

As if on cue, the horse died.  I would have, too, after hearing the next exorcism scheme that I was going to be subject to.

Eight years later, when Mrs. Howe was accused of being a witch, good ol' Grandpa (being 59 years old) recalled the mare incident and the apparent instigator of it all-- none other than Mr. Howe, the husband of the Accused.  Logically, to Grandpa, the cause of the mare's death wasn't an illness or the 3rd degree burns from the pipe-in-the-hindquarters affair, but was the result of the curse Elizabeth put on the horse for being denied the request for the loan 8 years earlier.

And so he testified at Elizabeth's witchcraft trial, after which she was convicted and hung at Gallow's Hill in Salem Massachusetts and, after she was left to hang in the trees for a few days as testimony to other would-be witches in the area that the Puritans don't mess around, flung into Gallow's Gulch to spend eternity with her witch associates.  Never mind she was 59 at the time of her death, too, with 6 kids under her wings.  In all fairness, it wasn't just Grandpa's testimony that did her in... she had other accusers as well.

I'll spare you all the number of puzzle pieces that this story has filled for me regarding the character and nature of my present-day relatives.  Needless to say, it says a lot!

But the moral of this story isn't about horses or witchcraft... its about the perils of genealogy.  Just be careful... you'll never know what you'll find out about your ancestors!  Second lesson... Puritans ARE stranger than Mormons. While we (Mormons) can call someone a witch, the Puritans have the backbone to actually do something about it.

Sadly, we were in Salem last fall.  I had no idea we had such a colorful history in that area else I would have stayed longer.  Thus, I'm going back. I've got to find Grandpa Cummings' grave.  Perhaps only then can I really ask him, "What were you thinking?  A pipe in the horse's hind-end?  Really?"

Cal-Amberlee Jane & Preston The Kid

CAL-AMBERLEE JANE & PRESTON THE KID

Retired gunslinger Cal-Amberlee Jane (Amberlee Jensen) reluctantly takes one last job -- and even more reluctantly accepts a boastful young cowboy, Preston "The Kid" (Preston Jensen) as a partner. Together, they learn how easily complicated truths are distorted into simplistic myths about the Old West, especially when one wears a tutu.  Cal-Amberlee Jane with Preston "The Kid" (both won Oscars) and Cletus Beaker stand out as old foes who have an unhappy reunion. The film also earned Oscars for Best Picture and Best Director (Cade Jensen).

LIVE AT THE GARDEN!

We always knew Amberlee had talent!

For one night only at The Garden, catch Amberlee singing "CIRCLE OF LIFE" with Elton John!

We thought the glasses would be her ticket to stardom.

Pennsylvania Wildlife

Most people I know that live back in my home state believe Pennsylvania is overcrowded with no room for anything but houses, people, and shopping malls.

Au contriare.  PA has farms, wildlife, forests, and the like.  Here are just a few examples.

Here we have the American Toad (I'm referring to the small green thing in Chrissa's hands... not my kids).  We found this beefy thing in our flowerbeds as we were trying to clean them out and ready them for mulch.

Here we have a closeup of the toad with Preston doing his best impersonation of it.

Here we have the Snotty Toddler.  This animal is easily spotted by its constant runny nose and high-pitched scream.

Note: the above photo was taken at a local dairy, where the kids took a tour of the operations.  Now, all of you Idaho folks, try to remain calm as I continue with my presentation...

Here, we have the Holstein Cow, the largest milk producer in the US (background), and Preston-- the largest consumer of milk in the US (foreground).  Preston was confident he could work in this dairy, though his mom didn't let him.

He also knew the nuances of raising a calf, which he was carefully overseeing.

Now these two characters can easily be mistaken for something sweet, harmless, and lovable.  In reality, they can be as loud as a hyena, as smelly as a skunk, as mean as a rattlesnake, and as nasty as a silverback gorilla.  Rumor has it that they eat fruits and vegetables, but we wouldn't know... we've found that as long as chocolate, ice cream, root beer, and cereal is thrown at them, they remain fairly stable.  However, they can turn on you in a heartbeat.

Our House: A Before and After

After a year and a half in the house, we are now proud to show off our first "before and after" photo.  What you are about to see is the outside of the house, looking at the front.

You can see how perfectly ugly it was:

After a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, the front of our house now looks like this:

My Dad and I in Pakistan

I’m glad we have Navy SEALs to take care of the bad guys. Once UBL was declared “dead”, I got to thinking of what our world would be like without them (the SEALs). In desperate times, and without SEALs, the government might ask those of us with hunting experience to fill in for them. Crazier things have been done by the government before, right?

Enter me and my dad.

Here is how it would have gone down.

Dad believes in GPS, but not while hunting. Despite its accuracy, he has routinely threatened the device with imminent and painful destruction for leading us in circles, or so perceived. During the UBL hunt, dad would have likely disagreed with it yet again, throwing it out of the helicopter on our way to the target. Flying blind isn’t totally new to us… we usually have to rely upon a map of some kind anyway—a map that puts the entire state of Idaho, for example, on an 8”X11” piece of paper, and from there, we have to determine how to find our hunting spot. So, dad would pull out his postage stamp sized map of Pakistan to get us to our location.

After parking the choppers in the wrong spot two or three times and denting them up as we try get out of seemingly impossible parking spots (dad always likes to venture off the beaten path to find some secluded place to camp), dad would invariably have to use the bathroom. So, with minutes to spare, we’d have to crash-park the choppers anywhere we could so that he could bunny-hop into the bushes with a wad of TP. The spot we parked in would likely be a swampy, muddy bog or a dust bowl of some kind, with only marginal chances we’d be able to get the machine back out of it in one piece.

Once the correct location was found, we’d be forced to repel out of the choppers with our gear. Grace has never been part of the Jensen DNA, so out of the choppers we’d fall with our gear and our guns following us, bouncing off the rocks and bushes in the surrounding area.

From here, we’d set up camp, only to realize that we forgot to bring at least 3 or more of the following essentials: food, water, shelter, ammunition, hunting licenses, clothing, fuel, or eating utensils. Nevertheless, we’d set up as best we could then get to work on the hunt.

After a few miles hike, we’d find a bush barely big enough for one of us, much less two of us, to hide behind as we waited for our prey. At this point, we’d realize we left all of our TP, food, and water back at camp (provided we remembered to bring them on the hunt in the first place). Thankfully, dad would reach into his hunting jacket or backpack—the same he has worn for the past 30 years—and find an uneaten Snickers bar whose expiration date precedes the birth of Christ. I just assumed at this point that these candy bars were meant to be eaten only in the event we get caught behind enemy lines and need some way to instantly kill ourselves.

Four or five hours go by, when suddenly (and surprisingly) the prey would emerge from his house. Dad would say, “OK, I’m going to take the first shot, but right after you hear my gun go off, you shoot, too. One of us should hit him.” Bang! Bang! The bullets, surprisingly, would have rattled out of our barrels and hit the dirt about 10 feet in front of us. “What the *!$@?” he’d say. Shots #2 and #3 soon would have followed with the same results.

Confused, our prey would stand there for a few moments while we checked our magazines, astonished to realize that we put .25-06 shells in our .30-06 rifles. Duh. However, by the time we got the right bullets in the guns, UBL would be running off into the distance.

In an attempt to get UBLs attention, dad would make some odd noise—something between the sound a squirrel makes when he’s being run over by a car and the sound a cow would make suffering from foot-and-mouth disease—and, oddly enough, UBL would stop and turn broadside.

Dad would again aim the rifle at the target—an impossible 800+ yards away— and fire. Sure enough, down UBL would go.

Out of nowhere, our blind, broke-back white horse, Bandit, would arrive. “Let’s go get him,” dad would say, and he’d jump on Bandit just about the same time the horse would get a belly ache and fall to his side in writhing pain. And, just in case we hadn’t scared every living creature out of Pakistan with our noise, Bandit’s “gaseous expulsions” would do the trick-- all clear within a 100 mile radius, for sure.

Once we are able to get the horse back on his feet, we’d arrive at the corpse, fling him on Bandit and tie him down. Curiosity would take over, and once Bandit got a good look and smell of UBL, off Bandit would go in full rodeo fashion, kicking and bucking until UBL came loose and flipped cartwheel style into the air. After landing on the ground, Bandit would then do the River Dance on him, just to be sure.

“Follow me,” dad would say as he grabbed the biggest stick he could find. After a thorough lashing, UBL would be back on Bandit and off we’d go to the waiting helicopters, each of us exhausted to the point where we would, at times, be envious of the dead guy's free ride on horseback.

In 6 months, UBL’s feet would be found in dad’s house, screwed to some piece of wood and mounted to the wall, the feet acting like hooks for coats and hats.

In the end, we’d get our prey, but the process would have been much more comical.

Kid Quotes - Ethan

****

Ethan: "Our teacher today said that we killed Osama Bull-ada."
Dad: "Who?"
Ethan: "Osama Bull-ada.  Is that true?"
Dad: "Well, Osama bin Laden, yes.  Osama Bull-ada must be his brother."

****

Anniversary Surprise

I had been hinting at Michelle for months about buying a lawn tractor.  It isn't because I think they are cool... if that were the case, I'd be asking her for a Harley Davidson V-Rod.

And, at only $1.03 million, I'd be riding in style.  No, the bike doesn't cost that much... Michelle said I'd need to get a $1 million life insurance policy before I spent the $30,000 on the bike itself.

Anyway, I had been hinting at it for months, risking life and limb in the process.  I even passed her a note in church that read, "Can I buy a lawn tractor?", to which I got the Death Glare for being so disrespectful in church.

My reasons for the tractor are simple: I'm tired of mowing uphill.  Our back lawn goes uphill for most of the way, and while it is great exercise, I'm just not that interested in turning into Mr. Universe due to my lawn mowing experiences.

I had shopped around and came to the conclusion that the mower I would get would be the Husqvarna 21 HP with a 42-inch cutting deck.  It is one of the smaller and least expensive tractors, but it would serve my purposes just fine.

Nothing ever came of my incessant prodding, until this past Friday.

I came home early to mow the lawn.  It had been raining all week and had been threatening to rain the weekend, so I had a small window to get the job done.  I tell Michelle I'm coming home to mow and she says, "No, I need to spray the weeds first!"  I tried to inquire more about this oddly stated response, but she persisted.  So, I waited... she was out on errands at the time (with my truck, mind you) and would be home within the hour.

She gets home and says she had purchased some trees to plant in the yard and needed my help getting them out of the truck.  I go out and-- viola!  A shiny new Husqvarna sitting proudly in the back of my truck!  I knew she had taken my truck to get plants, but the tractor was a total surprise.

I take the tractor around the yard for a quick cutting--it performed great, minus the smoking from the deck belts (which I hope go away soon).

So, that is my anniversary gift.  While it is not a Harley, its probably as close to it as I can get right now.  And, I'm not sure, but it also might be a peace offering for the trees I'm not on spot for planting...

Easter 2011

Once again, we returned to the Victory Family Church in Cranberry this year for Easter.  It is a community wide egg hunt frenzy... appropriately named Eggstravaganza.  Kids by the thousands line up to grab the eggs dumped out on the lawns.  Thankfully, there are eggs 2 deep that cover virtually every square inch of grass.  The scene is remeniscient of American Gladiators as we watch kids battle each other for the plastic confections using their strength, buckets, or siblings to wrestle eggs out of their opponent's hands.

It was a rainy day, which made for a better day, oddly. The day finished at 6:00PM, so we strategically arrived at 5:00PM in order to grab eggs and candy, make a quick run through the church for anything else we can steal or do, and head home.  The rain made it better because it allowed the kids the opportunity to hunt for eggs as fast as they could, then encouraged all of us to leave as fast as we could.  We didn't have to deal with all the balloon rides and concession stands like we did last year, thank goodness.

I'm still convinced that their church has it right... not the teaching, but the building.  It had at least 2 restaurants (deli style), theaters, game rooms full of arcade and video game systems, and a dozen rooms for kids of all ages.  I'm half tempted to drop my kids off there while Michelle and I attend our church a couple miles down the road... at least we'd get one Sunday off from running kids out into the hallways for being snotty.  I think we would get a lot more converts, too, if we had La-Z-Boys in the foyers (I'm talking about the chairs, not the High Priests) and vending machines in the hallways... not to mention the electronic ticket thingies where you can buy tickets to Pittsburgh events.

Oh well.

After the egg-fest, we went to IHOP for breakfast/dinner.  Kids choice, as if we didn't have enough egg exposure for the day.  See photos in our slideshow depicting the various talents our kids performed while we waited for our pancakes.

The next morning was, of course, Easter.  Its a dying holiday at our house, sadly.  Ethan "figured it out" this year-- who and what the Easter bunny is all about (even though he asked me, "Why is it a 'bunny'... shouldn't it be an Easter Chicken since we get eggs?"  That kind of question has no logical answer).  Chrissa... she slept in, and although she still secretly wants the eggs and treats and toys, it is no longer cool to admit it.  Michelle didn't get out of bed.  So, I had the luxury of being excited for the kids while they searched the house over for their buckets.

Ironically, as my earlier blog indicated, we bought a ton of candy for each kid, filled their buckets to the brim, then spent the rest of the weekend trying to keep them from eating too much of it, too fast.

Slide show, off to the right, if you care to see photos of the events...