Perspective from Harmon Seawel

Before addressing the primary subject matter of the column, I must comment on a thought that struck me at the annual Maynard Pioneer Park cake and pie auction. I have attended this event every year since 1976. If I had the money back that I had spend on the delectable desserts I could afford a new boat and my diabetes would be under much better control.

The auctioneers this year were Tommy Taylor and grandson Ian McDowell assisted by Caleb Taylor, Tommy’s son. Bill Swindle, the father of Becky Swindle Taylor, grandfather of Caleb Taylor and great-grandfatehr of Ian McDowell, was for many years the Pioneer Park auctioneer. The family tradition continues in excellent fashion.

I have no doubt that if Bill Swindle still lived and we had quail he would make a dedicated bird hunter out of Ian McDowell. Hite Mock, Ian’s great-great grandfather, was also a legendary pursuer of the bobwhite.

The impetus for the rest of this week’s literary effort was a philosophical discussion at the Maynard Café, a rare repository of in-depth analyses. The philosophers holding forth were Jim Bob Jackson, Bemiss Poore, and your humble scribe.

Paraphrasing Charles Dickens, we observed that our times could well be termed “the best of times and the worst of times.”

 

 

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