Carl DiFranco Tribute

Since September 11, 2001, when one of the planes that flew into the World Trade Center turned south just east of here over Amsterdam, it is hard not to notice the rattle of the kitchen windows when a jet passes by. I still stop to listen every single time I hear a plane. In the first days after the attacks it was estimated that more than five thousand people died in the assault. As bodies were counted and some of the missing found, authorities finally decided that only 2996 people actually died.

Only.

As if any single one of the souls who were lost that day, heroes and homebodies, doctors and stockbrokers, firemen, policemen, cooks and secretaries, could be encompassed by a word like only.

They were not only.

They were not some incomprehensible count of the dead and missing.

They were our friends and neighbors. People loved them. People wake still wake up today missing them and mourning them and go to bed each night bereft because they are gone.

One of those 2996 friends, neighbors and loved ones was 27 year-old Carl DiFranco.


This is to honor Carl on the fifth anniversary of the nightmare that took him from his loved ones. Raised in Huguenot, NY and a lifelong resident, Carl was assistant vice president of Marsh & McLennan Cos. Inc., located in the World Trade Center. He graduated from Monsignor Farrell High School and cum laude from St. Johns University. He liked to bowl, play tennis and jog. Married a short time before the attacks he was widowed within months, when heart problems while awaiting a transplant took his longtime sweetheart, Loren Bosso.

Carl must have been a wonderful person. He supported his sister through the birth of his niece, then helped through the difficult weeks that followed. The day he died his mother’s car had a flat tire, so like the decent son he was, he offered her the use of his truck. This made him a little later than usual, but not late enough to be saved. He also took his mother on “dates” and surprise trips. He pitched in willingly to help her with projects around the house and yard. In a New York Times article she said, “I keep thinking I hear him coming in the door, that I'll have a chance to help him get through it," (referring to the loss of his beloved wife.)

From what I read in many tributes from people who knew him, his kindness and caring for his mom reflected the way he always was. Friends remember him as someone who was brave and confident, kind, generous and quick with a joke. There are many poignant references to him by the people who knew him to be found all over the Internet. They make hard reading, but they put a face on what our nation lost that terrible day.

I hope this small tribute will help to remind us of Carl and the many other special people who were taken from us on September 11. I will try to think of him and the good life he lived when I hear planes overhead, instead of reflecting on the terror of those days.

***I would like to thank everyone whose written tributes at the time of the tragedy provided me with a glimpse into Carl’s life. I couldn’t know him, but I admire him just the same.
***The picture appears many places on the Internet, so I don’t know to whom to attribute it.
***I will cross post this to my other blogs in hopes that it will reach just a little further.

Foggy morning

*Cows crowding up to the barn door*

*Take the E-Train*

E-Train is a Golden-Oaks Andy calf, born last May out of my Citation R Maple daughter, England. I kept her up to show, but she didn't grow up either very big or very stunningly beautiful. She is a sweetie just the same. She runs with the milk cows and doesn't bother so she gets to stay down from the heifer pasture on the hill.

Bucky caught

I am sure anyone with in half a mile of a TV knows that Ralph "Bucky" Phillips was caught yesterday evening. I am pretty darned glad. Even though we are a goodly number of miles east of most of his hang outs, the guy stole cars like elephants eat peanuts. For five months he pretty much went wherever he wanted to, thanks to the shameless idiots who helped him hide.

I think we will keep up our new habit of locking the house while we milk anyhow. After the theft of our telephone pole a couple months ago, we obviously can't be in two places at once. Can't rely on the dogs for everything.

Apple Season

*Honeycrisps*

Just brought home a half bushel of the first apples of the year. We eat a lot of apples when they are in season...probably a couple of bushels or so. I usually like the later varieties best, but there are a couple of early kinds that are good too.

The very sweet man who owns the orchard around the corner from us lost his wife a few weeks ago and it was a sort of sad trip. First time we have seen him since that tragic event. I wish I was better at knowing what to say.

I think we will make some jelly with the Honeycrisps we bought and maybe take him up a jar.

Looking out my front door

Fonda Fair Butter Sculpture

By Betty Myers

Once a public record, always a public record

Or so says this story about consolidated animal feeding operations, or CAFO s in Idaho.
An Idaho Supreme Court decision there maintains that feedlot nutrient management plans that are not held in government hands are still accessible under freedom of information laws. This may mean that even if National Animal Identification databases are held in private hands activist groups can access them. This has been a big sticking point to implementation of the plan as no one wants every Tom, Dick and troublemaker in the country to know how many animals they own, where they are, how old they are etc.

Bucky hunt affects everyone

Last night we had to rescue the girls. The transmission on the truck started giving them trouble on the big hill on the way home from college. We told them to find a safe place to pull over to wait, and hurried to town for some transmission fluid. Then we hustled south to meet them. It was a roughly half an hour drive to where they were parked in the driveway of an old hay barn.
With some added fluid, Liz and the boss limped home with the little Dakota, while Beck and I followed in the van.

However, what happened while they waited made us even more aware of just how intense and frightening the hunt for fugitive Bucky Phillips is, for both civilians and police.
The girls had been waiting there by the road for only a few moments when a county sheriff pulled up behind them after giving them a thorough once over.


He exited his car, strapped on a bullet-resistant vest and loosened his side arm before approaching the pick up to ask if the girls needed assistance. They explained the circumstances, and were very, very glad to see him. Becky tried to screw up her nerve to ask him to stay with them while they waited for us, but she couldn’t quite get the words out.

I’ll bet he would have been glad to. At least I am sure he checked to see if they got away all right. There is a very noticeable police presence on the roads even here, miles from the search scene. I for one am glad to see them. I turn the news on a dozen times a day hoping to hear that he has been captured. We are keeping things very thoroughly buttoned up and locked and dogs are loose in the house when we are out. I wish this would end.

Steve Irwin killed

I couldn't believe it when I heard the news this morning. Even though he was famous for taking risks, it seemed as if he staged his stunts carefully enough to get away with them. At any rate he was a television icon, easily recognized and sometimes fun.


Here at Northview it was very popular to make teasing remarks in his instantly recognized Australian accent. Becky loved to sneak up on me and say, "Here we have an example of the very rare mommy bird, a very rare species, very rare," in awkward Aussie. This was followed by a sometimes much needed hug. I guess it won't be funny any more.


For all of the controversy over his methods, Irwin certainly made an effort to remove our fear of dangerous reptiles, handling them as if they were cute and cuddly. He was killed by a stingray barb to his chest.

Bossed around by little birds

*goldenrod on the long lawn*

Yesterday when I came in from chores the tame chickadees were ticked right off. You see when a friend gave the boss about a million old Holstein World magazines, not quite all of them made it upstairs to the spare bedroom. A hefty few languished on the back porch….smack dab on top of the bag of sunflower seeds. I was too lazy to move them (besides the principal of the thing) so the wild birds have been on their own.

However, the little black and white birds had had enough deprivation. They clung, up side down, to the lower branches of the honey locust and cursed me mightily in chickadeese.

Dee! Dee, dee, dee!
Peep, dee, dee…Peep! Dee!

I had no trouble translating. So I hoisted those smelly old magazines in their battered, crumbling boxes off the birdseed bag, along with Alan’s blue tackle box and spinning rod, (which have been there since camp). The feeders were so starkly devoid of sustenance that I took them down and hauled them inside to fill them. As soon as I hung them back up chickadees lined up on the clothesline still chirping impatiently for their turn at the seed spouts.

It was well worth it. This morning a sassy male cardinal did a hummingbird act in front of the plastic tube feeder trying to extract a seed. Cardinals can’t hover for beans, but it was fun to watch him try. Half a dozen chickadees, a veritable Christmas tree of goldfinches, some downy woodpeckers and titmice joined a pair of white-breasted nuthatches eating seeds at the feeders and drinking from the pond.

Then a small brown bird slipped unobtrusively down the bark of the honey locust to pick around in the rocks of the herb garden. It searched each flowerpot and walking onion looking earnestly for something to eat. It was a house wren, probably the one that spent the summer ferociously defending the bridge to the barn. It seemed out of place among all the tame seed feeders, but I enjoyed watching it as it jerked its way around the pond eating whatever it found there.

Blogger Beta ain't Mo Betta

To all my friends who would like to comment here, but can't, or are are wondering why I haven't commented on their blogs....it wasn't me.....Blogger Beta strikes again.

So FC I am sorry about that. And Karen, nobody should have days like that, although I guess everybody that has animals does now and then. At least here at Northview the rattlesnakes are all over on the mountain on the other side of the river. Big Nose Mountain that is.

(See below)

The mountains here sure aren't the Rockies, but Big Nose is a famous landmark here. The picture isn't the greatest as it was taken from the car on the other side of the river (safe from those infamous snakes.)

Happy 55th Anniversary Mom and Dad

I am so very glad that you met on that blind date so many years ago. Thanks for the good times and for all you taught me!
Love,
Dotter

Ralph "Bucky" Phillips

The low life jail break artist who lately has become the topic of many supportive blog posts from pals and family members is now alleged to have shot two New York State troopers who worked out of our local Troop G at Loudenville. It has been clear from comments on other New York State blogs that people have been laughing at his ability to escape the police and helping him stay on the run.

The police officers were shot from ambush about forty miles from Buffalo...in the back, according to news stories, by armor piercing bullets.


One radio station even started a sort of a joke reward system, making fun of police, and offering such enticements to turning the slime ball in as car window darkening and custom birth announcements. Somehow this has lost its humor as 32-year-old Joseph Longobardo and 38-year-old Donald Baker lie in critical condition, fighting for their lives. I hope they catch him now and I really don't care if they aren't very nice to him.

Wow

You can't imagine how happy I am to find Northview Diary back where it belongs. Last night it went bye-bye and was replaced by an error message. I was surprised to realize how much it means to me to write here, to "talk" to my friends and put my scattered thoughts in order. Due to lack of space and general personal disorganization many of my photos are only here. Not that they are all that spectacular, but I sure would hate to lose them. Ouch.

Sunset today

Barn Fire

This story is about the farm of one of Liz's classmates at college. So terribly sad. Our hearts go out to them.

Pale touch-me-not

Flower

Seed pods

Not so itsy bitsy spider

Blogger beta

Northview Diary was switched to the new beta version of Blogger yesterday. It took most of the day to occur. I find the end result ugly. Dull colors in the template, much loss of photo clarity.

Am I alone in not getting quite as crisp a view?

Committee

Big discussion going on in the kitchen. Bayberry is in season. What bull, what bull? Everyone has an idea and a reason why it is the right one. Rain, Kingpin, Citation R Maple, young sire, proven bull, golden oldie, they can hear the shouting in Fonda. I am staying out of it. I have cows of my own that I need to plan matings for.

I lost one of my favorites this week, sweet little Erin from my Trixy family (pushed in a ditch by other cows, and suffocated from the weight of her stomachs when she couldn't get back up. She was fine at night milking and gone when we went out in the morning. I was sick. Really sick. I cried over a cow for Pete's sake.)

On the other hand, England, from the same family, gave me a pretty heifer calf, which I named "Encore" because she looks a lot like old Dixie. Hope I can raise her. It is heartbreaking to lose a favorite cow and exciting to get a promsing calf. The latter keeps us going, the former makes me at least want to quit. It is one thing when an animal gets sick, but to lose a healthy vibrant young one for such a stupid reason. Bah. Cows are not the sweet little placid things that a lot of people think they are. They fight like crazy, all the time, because they have a pecking order just like chickens. However, they are a hell of a lot bigger and more dangerous than chickens when they get to squabbling over who's the boss. It gets me everytime I walk by the empty stall with the grain uneaten. Farming can be a bitch.