| This column first appeared in The River Reporter on January 23, 1986, and was republished on January 28, 1999.) |
By Bert S. Feldman
The Recusant Reporter
Reprinted Thursday, January 21, 1999
Do you want a perky, chirpy, little bird to brighten your home? One that requires no feeding, no care, just something to bring you a smile?
Illustrating the idea that retirement shouldn't mean idleness, Toby Terranova of Callicoon has parlayed an amusing hobby into a productive business. Utilizing a fondness for whittling, Terranova has started carving little birds out of scrap lumber and bits of down trees on his property. Utilizing models of cheerful little songsters around his house, he has faithfully reproduced them in wood, polished them to bring out the beauty of the natural grain, and perched them on various bases resembling their usual habitat.
If you would like to add a cheerful note to the decor of your home, give him a call. These little birds can be had for a song.
From the Old Philosopher's notebook: If you have made a pig of yourself over the holidays, and if you are thinking whether or not you should be going on a crash diet, let your contours be your guide.
The natives of Australia speak of an animal, which they call a bunyips, whose roar is so terrible that, upon hearing it, everyone falls over in a swoon. (Since no one has ever actually seen the bunyips, just how ferocious he is is not certain — but, oh, that terrible roar!)
It seems that the bunyips are on the loose in the Town of Fremont. Led by the Great Educator, who also seems to be the Head Bunyips, the new Town Board has trembled in fear and withdrawn Marge Hillriegel from her position as their representative on the board of COUP, and thus from its chairmanship. This is a shame, since the matter of the plan for the management of the Upper Delaware is of such vital importance to all of us here.
If the Head Bunyips had an alternative plan, we would listen attentively. But the Head Bunyips only roars — and everyone trembles in fright.
However, all is not gloom and doom. A fine choice has been made to replace Marge to head the COUP board — Craig Stewart of Callicoon. Recently retired as the elected supervisor of his town, an avid river angler, a businessman, a man who appreciates the worth of the Upper Delaware, a man well versed in the intricacies of political wheeling and dealing, Stewart looks like the sort of man who isn't afraid of bunyips.
Here is a social note for those of you who might like a night out but are tired on the usual bar scene. Over in Liberty, they have opened a sort of nightclub, featuring such changes of pace as folksingers, good jazz, country western, comedians and the like. Called the Pursuit of Happiness, the club is located on South Main Street in Liberty. Give it a try — you're sure to like it. (And the food is good, too!)
We have been asked how the name Delaware came to be. It all began way back in 1610, when an English ship's captain, Samuel Argoll, exploring the Atlantic coast of the New World, came upon a large bay. Under orders to explore given by the then Governor Royal of Virginia, Argoll knew on which side his bread was buttered, and decided to give the newly discovered bay and river the Governor's name — title actually. Now the Governor Royal came from the city of Ware, Hertfordshire, England, where he was the lord of the manor. Ordinarily he would be known as the Lord of Ware, but, preferring the French style, which was popular in the royal court, he called himself Lord de la Ware. And so a mighty river, a state, a New York town, a water gap, and lots more, came to bear the name of an English lord who never saw any of the "property" which bears his name.
