The Antediluvian Adventures of Noah's Boys: 1. Escape from Mother Earth

It sure looked dead to me.   We had offered to feed our son’s bearded dragon while he and his family were away, but when we came in that morning, the lizard was upside down in its cage, its stiff legs outstretched from its final agony.   I sighed, and called in my wife.   She agreed: it was obviously dead, and probably dried out. I hesitated to call our son.   The children would be heartbroken, and even more, it was our granddaughter’s birthday.   After giving the bad news, I figured I would dig a hole, bury the body, and take the empty cage away so that the children would have no shocking reminder of the tragedy when they returned.   When I called, I gravely informed my son that I had something to tell him.   Unfortunately, he immediately put on our granddaughter to wish her a happy birthday.  Though my mood was somber, I cheerily wished her well, and heard how she was doing.  Afterward, I asked to talk again with her father.   Surprisingly, our son was not fluste

In the days of Noah, when the lifespan was nearly a thousand years, many generations could share stories about what it was like when they grew up.  Today, it is rare to go back even a hundred years.  Our own family has a true-life adventure story from 1873, when my great-great grandfather decided as a young man to see the Old West while it was still wild, and buffalo still roamed the plains.  Here is the final part of the letter he wrote to my father in 1931. BUFFALO HUNTING ON BEAVER CREEK Along the latter part of October, a number of us got a notion to go Buffalo hunting (as there wasn’t much work in sight), so eight of us laid in a stock of grub, such as flour, some canned goods, coffee, salt & pepper, and a couple of slabs of bacon, tin plates, knives and forks, tin cups, a coffee pot, a kettle or two and a frying pan.   We took an ax, plenty of ammunition, and plenty of bedding.   Our party had two wagon outfits.   So, the first day of November four men c

In the days of Noah, when the lifespan was nearly a thousand years, many generations could share stories about what it was like when they grew up.  Today, it is rare to go back even a hundred years.  Our own family has a true-life adventure story from 1873, when my great-great grandfather decided as a young man to see the Old West while it was still wild, and buffalo still roamed the plains.  Here is Part Three of the letter he wrote to my father in 1931. BEAR HUNTING But two weeks after that the Sheriff of Collins and a couple of his friends from Missouri that came to visit him were going up into the mountains Bear hunting, and wanted me to go along, so I did.   We went 15 or 20 miles beyond this Cloud’s sawmill.   The second day we were there (it was on a Friday), we got in sight of two Bears playing with each other at the foot of a mountain in a little Park.   So, we maneuvered around until we thought we were where the Bear ought to be.   There was quite a patc