I wrote this here an' thought I'd tell it to y'all.

GOLD

I like gold a lot                         

It is the lifeblood of me                                                                           

Shining, glistening

THE END

That there is what them Japanese calls "Haikus".  They're real easy to write.  Anyone can do 'em really.  Well, I guess I'll talk to ya soon.  I oughtta sit down an' tell yas another prospectin' story.  Until then, this is Red Jenkins.  Farewell.

Well hello there ever'one!  How is y'all doin?  I know it's been a fine piece since I spoke with ya, but I got to think o' another story to tell ya.  There are too many to pick from.  So while I think o' a story 'bout prospectin' I figgered I'd tell ya 'bout what I did this past week.

As you all knows I'm sure, Mr. Arnold Schwartzennegger is the president o' California.  I don' know how I feel 'bout that yet, but I'm startin' to figger it out since las' friday night. 

Friday, I decided to go into the nearest town to a bar an' meet some ol' friends from my days o' prospectin'.  I hadn't been to the town in nigh 20 years, so it shocked me blue when I got down there an' saw how differn't it was.  All them new-fangled automobiles an' such.  It was dern impressive.  Donna was one o' the fellas I met there, an' he couldn't hardly stop sayin', "Boiled cabbage!" to ever'thin that was goin on.

Well, to cut to the tale here, we was down in what we used ta call "The Mother," which is a bar.  Now I think i's called "The Old-Tyme Rhyme" or sumthin' blasted ignorant like that.  An' suddenly, in through the door came this guy:

Yes, that is Arnold.  Hail to the Chief o' California.  He jist started walkin' 'round an' shakin' everyone's hands an' buyin' people drinks "Courrrrrtesy ove Cally-forrrrnya."  Hey, I sure weren't gonna argue with 'im.  Some people, like the missy in the picture got pictures with 'im for their scrapbooks an' such.

I wasn' really one to get caught up in excitin' events so I just sat at that there bar an' drank my whiskey an' watched the goings on.  Until 'e himself walked over to me.  "Meestah Jinkinz?" he said.  'E knew my name?  So I said, "Yes, sir, what can I do fer ya?"  Arnold said, "Yoo noe I rrrread yore zan-guh, and I lock eet."  I never was good with accents, but I never worried 'bout it before that there moment.  Ya know, if I asked 'im to repeat 'imself he mighta got real mad an' punched my head through the dern bar!  So I said, "Thank ya sir, nice meetin' ya." 

After 'e walked away, people started comin' over to me an' sayin' stuff like, "What is your xanga?"  I didn' know why they would ask that, but I tol' 'em anyway.  Finally ol' Donna figgered it out straight.  "Ya know Red, I think that there Arnold fella said he reads yer website."  Heavens!  That was what he said weren't it?  I got excited then an' tol' other people who asked 'bout my site what it were with pride, 'cause I was read by the President of the great state of California! 

With that said, I bid you farewell.  Now you know that when you read this here xanga, you are reading the same site as a very great man.  Yes, I reckon' I like 'im.  Until next time, this is Red Jenkins.  Farewell.

If any o' ya read my int'rests an' expertise section, you'd know I do a fair bit o' trappin'.  I thought I'd tell ya a little bit about it.

First of all, these are some o' my old traps from back in '49 an' round about that era:

An' this is one o' my walls in ol' Betty Marie Fledgins (my shack):

These are some mighty fine ol' foxes.  Well I thought mebbe I could tell ya a story from my 'xperiences with trappin'.  I thought this'in would be good.

ONE BAD PELT

Back in '49 when I was runnin' my large trappin' route quite regularly (when I wasn' minin' for gold that is!) I had a strange occurance.  Mebbe I should give ya some backgroun' information first.  My trappin' line cover'd a loop of about 47 miles if me an' ol' Lionel counted 'em right.  I had 'prox'mately 3,451 traps of all shapes n' sizes out there at all times.  It would take me 'bout 1 an' a half weeks to fully run the route.

So one mornin' bright an' early before it was fully light, I was runnin' the route.  I was on 'bout mile 23 which was mebbe 5 miles straight walkin' from Betty Marie Fledgins.  When ya walk up to a trap, ya want ta do it real quiet like 'cause ya don't want to spook the animal, if'n there is one there.  If ya spook it, it might go wild an' mess up its fur.

I knowed that there was a trap right up over yonder rise.  So I was creepin' along with ol' Desmond (my musket) at the ready should there be anythin' in that there trap.  When I got close enough ta look at the trap, I was shocked!  There was an ol' injun layin' on the groun' caught in the trap!

I started creepin' towards it to see what was really goin' on.  'E musta heard me, 'cause 'e came awake an' started sayin' stuff that sounded like "Why yoo cuss Chicken Feather, man wid thunder stick?"  I couldn't believe what I was seein' or hearin'.

Sudd'nly the injun was gone an' there was an ordinary animal sittin' in the trap.  It musta been the light or my tiredness as made me think there was an injun in my trap, but flapjacks an' maple syrup, it sure did look like an injun.

So I was still tireder than a big ol' grizzly durin' the winter, ya know, when they're hibernatin' an' whatnot.  I rubbed my eyes an' looked 'roun to make sure there was no one aroun' to witness my strange reactions to the trap.  I kina stumbled up to the trap an' hit the animal o'er the head with the butt o' Desmond to kill it.  It sorta twitched an' lay still.  It was still purty dark out, an' me, tired as I was, didn' think to even look at what kinda animal she was.

I reached out my hands to try to undo the trap an' let 'er free so I could put 'er in my pouch an' take 'er home to skin 'er, an I felt lots o' little needles stick all in ma hands.  I yelped somethin' awful an' probably cursed "Thimbles an' sewin' needles!"  Porcupines don' have good pelts as ya could probly guess.  I lit my lantern an' let the ol' porky out an' kicked it down a hill.  I went straight back to Betty Marie Fledgins to dress my wounds.  I counted an' I had 32 needles in my right hand!

THE END

Well, take it from me, Red Jenkins (an' also Donna, as 'e saw my hand), never try ta grab an ol' porky!  You'll be sorry!  Until next time, this is Red Jenkins.  Farewell.

Well, greetin's to y'all!  I promised I would talk 'bout my friend Nedthin "Ned" B. Jacksman.  Yes, this is the Ned from THE TRAGEDY AT RIVER NUGGETS.  An yes, it is him who we call "Donna."  My oh my, I always chuckle when I think o' why he got that name.  Well, I reckon I outta tell you 'bout it 'cause maybe it'll make you chuckle s' well.

THE MADONNA

Back in '49, when I had done moved into ol' Betty Marie Fledgins (see BETTY MARIE FLEDGINS) I was checkin' out the lay o' the land, an' seein' if'n I had any neighbors.  So me n' ol' Lionel were walkin upstream by ol' Goldilocks, an' we came to a spot where Goldilocks an' another stream merged t'gether like.  So we followed the one to the left fer a coupla miles, uphill most the way.  We came upon a shack.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot, on the walk up, we came upon an ol' rattler.  E' was all curled up, rattlin' at us like crazy.  Now, I know what they tells ya these days on the television 'bout what to do if'n you sees a rattler.  They says to stand real still an' edge away real slow.  That ain't right.  Them rattlers is too smart for that kind o' hoe-down.  An you might think, "Well there, Red, them folks on the television is experts ya know."  I say, "Look here young'uns, I done lived in the wild by myself an' Lionel most o' 50 years an' the only time I got bit by a dern rattler is when I tried to edge away slow-like."  I did too.  So here's what ya should do:  do what me n' ol' Lionel did.

So the second I saw that there rattler, Lionel an' I stopped.  I pointed at the rattler an' guffawed loud as a cye-ote, lookin' at ol' Lionel.  That there rattler started lookin' aroun' wonderin' what in tarnation was goin' on.  I jus' kep on laughin'.  Then Lionel did the bravest thing I ever seen.  He joined me in laffin' with is brayin' and strutted right up to the thing an' stepped on 'is head!  Lionel sure is smart; he didn't even waste none o' the meat!

Back to THE MADONNA.  We came upon an ol' shack.  I let Lionel outside an' walked onto the porch.  Another prospector greeted me warmly.  So to make a long story short, we became real good pals, an' started workin' together a lot--either for minin' companies or pannin' in our own streams.  We also started gettin' together with a group of other chaps from places we had worked at before.  We was 'bout 7 in all.  We would meet at Donna or my shacks an' drink lots o' whiskey, smoke lots o' pipes, an' swap good stories.  We all got purty close.

Somewhere 'long the line, we found out that Donna (though we didn' call 'im that at the time) was Catholic.  Once when we was in his shack we found a little shrine to the virgin Mary with a little figur'ine o' the madonna herself.  So the rest of us boys started stewin' up this idea to mess with ol' Donna.

So one night, we was at my place.  We all got real drunk 'cept for Miles, our one pal.  Miles walked up to Donna's place without Donna knowin' an' stole 'is statue o' Mary an' came back.  We was havin' a grand night.  Then suddenly, ol' Donna started talkin' bout 'is little shrine in his house.  We was all tryin' not ta laff, but it was sure hard!  He said, "Youss peopssle don't bleeve me?  Well I'll juss havst to show ya!"  That's about how it sounded 'cause 'e was purty dern drunk if'n you ask me. 

Donna disappeared out the door an' Miles was yellin' "Ned, where you goin'?"  It was no use.  So we jus' stayed where we were an' talked.  Suddenly we heard a shriek echo through the forest.  Then runnin' feet (accompanied by a "TUT!", "PFFFFT!", an' a "Oh Peaches" which were the sounds of 'im trippin' over a log) then we could start ta make out, "Where is my Madonna?  Where is my Madonna?"  Repeated over an' over.  By the time 'e burst through my door, all that was comin' outta 'is mouth was, "Donna!  Donna!" with the saddest look on 'is face ya ever did see!

We all laughed harder n' we ever did before an' gave 'im his statue back.  But the sight an' sound o' him standin' there, whimperin' "Donna!" jus' stuck in our memories, an' we called 'im Donna from then on.

THE END

I'm almos' in tears meself right now jist writin' about that.  That was truly funny.  Well, until next time, this is Red Jenkins.  Farewell.

Greetin's to y'all!  Well, I was lookin' through my ol' scrapbooks, an' I came across this here picture.  I had ta chuckle to myself 'cause it reminded me of a sorta funny incidence.

TRAGEDY AT RIVER NUGGETS

Back in '49 I was workin' down at the river Nuggets.  As you can sorta make out from the picture, it was a pretty mushy place with a lot o' 'quipment an' debris scattered all 'round.  It was a rainy Monday mornin' an' me and all the other fellas were doin' our normal routine, trudgin' round the gully in our big rubber boots carryin' heavy pices o' machinery around an' sortin' through sludge the big machines scooped offa the riverbed.

One o' the machines was a huge grinder with two huge wheels that we'd put big ol' rocks through an it would chew 'em right up an' spit em out into a chute (we named 'er Jamie).  Well, we had 'bout 20 chinese fellas workin' there with us an' none of us could understand anything they done said!

So I was standin' next ta Jamie with my friend Ned (but we all called 'im "Donna" for a reason that maybe I'll tell ya 'bout sometime).  We were chattin' like usual an' 4 o' the chinese fellas were mannin' the chute, an' 3 others were carryin' rock for us to put through the grinder.

Suddenly one o' them orientals started yelpin' somethin' awful!  "Cheese curds an' biscuits!" I muttered under my breath.  I looked at Donna an' he was jus' grinnin'.  It sounded to us like the chinese chap was sayin', "Wie note tee tigers churning?"  I hadn't seen no tigers nowhere an' I was sorta confused.  He kept on screamin' bout the tigers while me n' Donna jus stood there not knowin' what to do.

Then I looked up at them big ol' grinder wheels on Jamie an' they wasn't turnin' at all.  Oh yeah, you can kinda see this machine I'm talkin' 'bout on the picture.  The big wheels are right smack in the middle o' the photo.  So I started tryin' to figger out what was stuck in the wheels.  Then the dern oriental said, "Zheng he note hear no!"  Zheng!  He was no more'n 4 foot tall an' he had been helpin' Chang at the chute.

So I started runnin' 'roun the grinder to see if I could see where ol' Zheng went.  I fell down in the mud an' was completely covered.  But when yer a prospector you know all 'bout bein' dirty an' it don't matter to ya.  So I got up all covered in mud an' peered up the chute.  Sure 'nuf ol' Zheng was up there.  "Mustard!" I thought.  I tried climbin' up the chute but kept slidin' down 'cause I was all covered in the dern mud.

I started thinkin' I wished I had brought my flask ta work that day.  I coulda used some whiskey right 'bout'n then. 

So after somethin' like 30 minutes me, Donna, Chang, an' the other 6 chinese fellas managed ta pull ol' Zheng outta there.  He was barely conscious, we discover'd, an' wasn't really hurt 'ceptin his left hand was completely cut off.  So we got one o' the carts we use to truck stuff 'round an' carted 'im to the foreman's shack an' let 'im handle Zheng.

Well, ol' Zheng was back to work in 3 weeks an' still worked as hard as any man 2 times 'is height.  Somewhere in all the confusion I lost my lunch pail so I had to go without that day.

My my I could go on 'n on 'bout mishaps at jobsites back in '49.  Work was jus' not safe back then.  No worker's compensation or nothin'.

THE END

That sure was a stressful day, an' you can bet yer buttons that that night Donna an' me were in my shack gettin' as drunk as all hell.  Boy that's what ya gotta do I'm tellin' ya.  After seein' someone with their whole hand chopped off'n their arm...ya don't know what to think.  They never did find 'is hand.  I reckon it's still down there in the mud somewhere.  Well I gotta git my old bones to bed.  Until next time, this is Red Jenkins.  Farewell.