The Ribbon - Part Two - Trees

My stepfather, Lou Hammond, must have been born with river water in his veins. I'm not sure if my mother had any clue of this when became a family in 1956. Lou worked for his family’s company, Hammond Tree Service, and would come home sweaty, smelly and often covered with scratches and scrapes from trimming and topping trees. When I was out of school for summer or Christmas break I would ride along as he called on homeowners to see if they had any trees that needed to be cut, trimmed or removed. First he would call on people who had contacted him then he would cold call by stopping by homes with large trees that could use some work. Most days at least one house would need his services and I would sit in the truck while he went about being a “tree surgeon.” After he had finished and loaded the back of the truck with brush and limbs, we would head home, stopping first by a dumping area. I would hold my breath and grab whatever was available while Lou would accelerate and back the truck up towards a steep embankment. I would scream as he stomped the brake to make the load slide out of the back of the truck into the ravine. As I got older, my screams were not appreciated and I just held my breath tighter.

My brother Frank and I in front of Lou's truck

Lou was a well-read man and knew everything about trees. I loved to walk with him through yards and forests and have him recite the Latin names of the trees and bushes. When I was with him I could climb tall trees, knowing that he would be there to rescue me if I climbed too high and couldn’t get myself back to earth.

At Christmas time Lou and his brother Bob would take my brothers and me to a Christmas tree farm and the men and older boys would spend the early morning cutting hundreds of trees. We younger kids would hold the twine as the men would wrap the trees to minimize their girth and then load a large truck with as many trees as it could hold. For helping, each of us was given a small number of trees of our own to sell and make Christmas money. While Lou would sell his trees at an empty lot in downtown Newport, we kids would stand outside the local grocery, bathed in the smell of pine and get about $2.00 per tree. Being the smallest, I usually only had a few trees that were considered mine but it was one of my favorite times of the year.
In the coming years he made less and less calls and instead would drive around and stop at marinas and boat harbors. Lou would sit and smoke and talk with the river folk at these boat docks. Sitting quietly by his side, I’d sip my coke and maybe play with the occasional mutt that was wandering about. Lou knew for certain what he wanted and it had nothing to do with trees.

The Ribbon - Part One

As a child I felt no guilt for not loving the river. It was my stepfather’s passion and my mother’s obligation but to me it was something I feared. I worried that the dark, foreboding water would snatch me under when no one was watching. To that end my best friend and smelliest companion was the bright orange life preserver I wore like a second set of skin.

Living on the river was lonely, too. My friends and cousins were never permitted to visit because of the dangers that lurked on the shore and on the boats. So I would spend many hours wandering the river bank or just sitting quietly among the grownups, listening to their stories about this boat or that. I didn’t think much about the river once I grew up and started my own journey through life.

That was until one January evening in 2002 as I was driving eastbound on Columbia Parkway from downtown Cincinnati. To my right I saw the black and white image of a large tow, loaded with coal, coming down river, ready to make her delicate dance through the multiple bridges of the Cincinnati riverfront. Something about that image through the winter-bare trees brought back memories of my life on the river. If my stepfather Lou would have been with me, he could have told me the history of the boat that was passing as well as who might be on the crew. We grew up on the river off and on during my childhood and that tow coming down the river just as the day was ending, caused a million memories to flood my mind.

When I reached home, words were swirling in my head and I quickly sat down with my guitar to write “The Ribbon”, a song of faded memories that flood back at the sight of a “lady” slowing coming past the Port of Cincinnati. After the song was written, I retrieved my diary from 1988 and reminisced about the last trip I had made on the river which caused me to go even further back to when I rode the ribbon as a child.

The Story of the "The Ribbon"

In January of 2002, as I was driving home from work, east on Columbia Parkway, I saw a towboat heading for the bridges which link Ohio and Kentucky. At that moment, for some unknown reason, memories flooded into my head of the life we had led on the Ohio River and the many times I had come down that stretch toward the bridges. By the time I pulled into my driveway, less than a half an hour later, the muse had whispered a new song into my soul.

I wrote a small booklet also called "The Ribbon" with memories and journal entries of my life on the Ohio. I will post it through this blog over the next two weeks as I "rest" my knee.

I hope you enjoy my story and my song.

The Ribbon

Driving home at sunset heading east along the river
As the sky is turning pink and grey
Through the silhouette of darkened trees I spy a lady,
Riding on the ribbon, southbound on her way
She’s loaded full and loaded deep with coal she must deliver
Her diesel engines turning night and day
With Mehldahl Lock behind her and the bridges fast approaching
She’ll make the Port of Cincinnati before the end of day
My mind begins to wander back to when I rode the Ribbon,
Back as far as thoughts can really go
My mom was in the galley and my dad was in the wheelhouse
The boys would rally ‘round to check the engine and the tow

The world is slow & peaceful when you’re riding on the Ribbon,
Under summer sun or under winter snow
When school was out I’d get to ride the beautiful Ohio
I’d even get the hold the wheel when Dad would go below
Folks are more like family when they're living on the Ribbon
You’re always greeting someone that you know
The trips were long for some
But you would always bridge the distance
Trading news and stories all across the radio
My mind begins to wander back to when I rode the Ribbon,
Back as far as thoughts can really go
My mom was in the galley and my dad was in the wheelhouse
The boys would rally ‘round to check the engine and the tow

It’s hard to tell a stranger ‘bout the colors of the Ribbon
Emerald green at noontime, sparkling diamonds great the night
Then it winds like velvet through the quiet, blackened hillsides
Turning pink to red to gold in early morning light
I stop the car and wander out so I can watch the lady
Riding down the Ribbon as the sky is turning grey
She’ll tiptoe through the bridges of the Port of Cincinnati
And make the Port of Louisville before the break of day


Copyright - Prudence Hunt (January 2002)

Superstition Ain't the Way

I'm superstitious. I know that I shouldn't be but my upbringing by a family of superstitious women either rubbed off or is a part of my DNA. I try to ignore the little things that creep up each day and tell myself its silliness but I can't shake it. We're not the black cat type of superstitious, more the offbeat and kookie type.

I should have known better when I wrote in a blog a few days back... "It seems like each time we had tried to make time to fix it, something has come up that takes us away from the project." Oh, how I tempt fate, karma and Mr. Murphy all at once. Hadn't I been told not to say things (or write things) that those three could hear?

The afternoon of August 31st had been quite productive.... and then we heard, "Poppi, why is the computer screen all blue with just some white writing?" Sitting there minding its own business, our Frankenstein computer decided to kick the bucket. Jim had built it over years and it crashed from time to time but he always got it back on track. Not this time, it was dead and it wanted to stay dead. Jim worked on it for a few hours on Sunday evening, trying not to take too much time away from the kitchen remodeling. He finally declared that it had truly passed and a few words of farewell were muttered over its plastic casing.

Monday went better but on Tuesday evening, as soon as we set up the horses and the circular saw to cut and mount more backsplash, it started raining. Hmmmm, this seemed a bit strange because we had just had dinner while watching news & weather which promised no sign of rain for days. By the time the rain had had its fun, it was too dark to work out back. Of course, it wasn't enough rain to water the lawn or soak the plants, just enough to keep us from using power tools in the yard.

On Wednesday I was told by my orthopaedic surgeon to keep off my bad knee and use crutches or a cane for the next two weeks while we wait for some improvement in my meniscus. Its hard to carry backsplash or countertops with both arms holding up crutches.

Do we see a pattern forming?

So progress is slow. With Jim's persistence the shiny white tile now covers more than half the back wall. Unfortunately the new window is on hold until Jim finds one he likes and we can have a contractor install it from the outside. With luck, and I mean luck, the new countertop might be in by the weekend. So until then its take-out burgers, chicken and pizza with no dishes to wash! Might as well accentuate the positive!

Sports Injury

Well, it was as expected, the MRI shows that I have a torn meniscus in my left knee. It would be a better story to say that I suffered a sports injury from football, rugby or soccer but that would be a tremendous lie. I still am not sure how I suffered this knee ailment because all I did was get out of my office chair to go home and couldn't walk. Dr. Harding is going to give it two more weeks before he schedules arthroscopic surgery because in some cases the tears heal themselves. I will be hobbling for the next few weeks with my cane or crutches so please, please don't make fun. Either of those could be a lethal weapon.

Demolition Man

Nick was in the backyard with us while we measured and cut the new backsplash. The heat didn't deter "Mr. Demolition Man" as he chopped up the old paneling into smaller pieces that the garbage men could haul away. After pulling out approximately 2 million nails, he whacked and hacked it using feet, hands and a few broken chair legs. Go for it Mr. D.

Hard Hat - Labor Day

With the help of Nick, Cody & Justin the cabinets and old paneling came down quite fast. After helping where they could, they settled in for computer games and movies while Jim and I worked with graph paper to decide what would go where. The new window is a blessing and a curse when it comes to laying out the wall. We charted the new location of cabinets then called it a night.

On Labor Day we labored. First order of business was purchasing our backsplash and countertop. Getting them into the van was difficult but with the help of a good Samaritan we were loaded and Jim and I crammed our seats so far up that I don't know how Jim drove! I was laughing about how squished we were until he mentioned that it would be a bad time for the airbags to go off. The rest of the trip I held my breath and kept my fingers crossed.

With our building materials, a new circular saw and a florescent green hard hat, we were ready to remodel. Jim measured twice and cut once, just like the carpenter he was trained to be. As he has always told me, prep work is the hardest part of any job and this was no exception. By late Monday evening we had only two sections of backsplash up. Our work is on standby until we get the window framed in and know our dimensions for the remaining backsplash. My new countertop is safely stored in the Volvo wagon, waiting for this turn to be added to our new kitchen. I have to admit that I am very impatient and would have worked through the night if we could have. My gimpy knee certainly isn't making the task any easier, either.

We looked at the window Jim had saved and decided that we might not use it after all. It's a much bigger window than we would have chosen and the frame has yellowed just a bit over the years. The final decision was based on the amount of space the existing window would take. If we go just a tad smaller we will have room for one more cabinet over the counter and that is a major factor in our small kitchen.