When Grumps was a little boy, he loved to read. This was a good thing; it made his momma and daddy very proud. He was a good reader and one of his favorite stories was Tom Sawyer and painting the fence.

There’s something about a tin can full of good fishing worms that can make a boy feel like a million bucks. As a kid, the smell of those big night crawlers sliding around in a rusty old soup can never failed to bring a whistle to Grumps’ lips or to quicken his step all the way to the creek. The summer he was nine, fishing for sunnies and bluegills down at Sam’s Creek was pretty competitive sport for the boys in New Windsor, Maryland, and they didn’t take nearly so much pride in the fish they caught as they did in the bait that brought them in.

Grumps loved holidays.  He loved the 4th of July and the big parades, he loved Halloween and Christmas, but one of his favorite holidays was Thanksgiving. On Thanksgiving morning his grandparents, who lived a long way from his house, came and it was always fun when they arrived. He and his sister EA called them Papa and Nana. It seemed to Grumps that Thanksgiving was always cold and grey; he loved the smell from the kitchen as his Nana baked pumpkin pies, and then later for the grand finale, roasted the big turkey for the Thanksgiving dinner.

When Grumps was a little boy his Uncle Chub had a nice little meadow just outside New Windsor, Maryland, where Grumps dreamed he’d someday pasture a pony. The setup was perfect. There was a nice old barn, seven acres of pasture, and an understanding uncle, all within walking distance of Grumps’ home.