Clothes Make The Man

Needless to say, this was one of Carl's stellar costume moments. His wife doesn't look too shabby either. The occasion was a Halloween party thrown by Ohio neighbors, Howard and Norma Lamprecht. Their costumes were hand made except for Carl's red tights. No cheap store-bought costumes were acceptable at a Lamprecht Halloween party.

Those tights took on a life of their own later that same year when first-grader, Scotty, informed his mother at 9:00 p.m. one evening that he had to be a pixie for their Christmas play tomorrow.

There was no time to shop. In a frantic, last-minute effort to make her son look good at this late date, Scotty's mom looked through her fabric scraps and managed to sew a blue & white pixie shirt, a red felt pixie hat, and felt pointed slippers to be worn over regular shoes. The next morning Scotty completed his costume with the above red tights, pulled up as far as they would go on his little pixie legs and held there with rubber bands.

A couple of days later, Scotty's teacher relayed the following conversation to his mom:

Little girl classmate: "I'm wearing my sister's tights."

Scotty: "Big deal! I'm wearing my Dad's tights!"

The teaching staff at Colonial Hills Elementary School never viewed Carl in quite the same way after that.

The Atkins Boys' Dream Vacation

The Atkins Boys' favorite vacation spot is the Burns family farm near Leon, West Virginia. Due to the generosity of its current owner, Juanita Burdette, many wonderful memories have been created there.

With no phones, no television, and nothing else to distract, the necessity of amusing oneself takes over and peace descends. It's a place where guys can practice target shooting, have paint ball battles, and fish to their hearts' content. When all else fails, there is the option of sitting on the porch or walking over to explore the barn and confirm that nothing has changed since last year.

Evening brings the joys of reading or fast moving games such as dominoes. One can also examine the wonders of a square-winged dragonfly up close.

When the lights go out, the youngest Atkins boy experiences dark like no dark he has ever seen before and silence like he has never heard before. There's nothing to see except moonlight and starlight and nothing to hear except the croaking of the bullfrogs at the edge of the pond and, occasionally, a whippoorwill.

No wonder that, given the choice between an Alaskan cruise and one more week at the farm in Leon, the Atkins boys chose the farm for their 2004 vacation together.

It's Finally Confirmed. All Of The Atkins Boys Can Cook

Carl has been renowned for his chili for many years and his other favorite recipe, Pork Roast on a Bed of Potatoes so impressed one of Scott's high school buddies that he asked for the recipe to take home to his mom. Steve later reported that his mom's version didn't turn out nearly as well as Carl's.

We knew that Scott could cook after a neighbor observed him standing in front of our kitchen stove at about age eight, stirring the chocolate pudding he was making. Howard leaned over, looked into the pan, and observed, "Whatcha' making there, Scotty? Chocolate soup?" This episode was followed later by one of Scott's friends exclaiming in horror, "You mean you put eggs in your milkshakes? Yuck!" Scott's matter-of-fact response of "What do you think makes it thick, Dummy?" convinced Mark to drink it and declare it really good.

In case you're wondering how eggs worked their way into our family's milkshake recipe, let's just say that desperate mothers will do almost anything to get nourishing food into the stomach of a picky eater.

Although we have heard that Greg cooks, none of us has seen any real evidence until a couple of weeks ago when the phone rang. "What's for dinner?" (Haven't decided yet.) "Uh, I thought I'd fix dinner tonight." (For EVERYONE?) "Yep." And that sealed the deal.

Above you see concrete evidence that the youngest Atkins Boy can, indeed, cook. He can set the table too. Our menu that evening was roasted marinated pork tenderloin, green beans, and mashed potatoes. Yummy stuff. Dessert was little lime cookies our neighbor, Faye, brought us from her trip to Savannah.

Guess who did the dishes?

SNIPE HUNTING

If you're a male of certain age who grew up in a rural area or had relatives who did, chances are you went snipe hunting when you were a boy. This is a rite of passage that seems to have died out lately and that's too bad.

A snipe hunt usually began after supper with older male members of the family reminiscing about their adventures while snipe hunting; how hard it is to catch a snipe, and how tonight might be just the right kind of night to catch one if anyone wanted to try. By the time they were finished, most little boys ten years old and under wanted to go.

What could be more exciting than bravely standing in the middle of a pitch black field or forest, alone, holding a bag, while waiting for your older male relatives to drive the snipes toward you? The scary dark night, the suspense building, the certainty that tonight, for certain tonight, you are finally going to be the one who captures an elusive snipe. The waiting. The sound of voices that gradually grow more faint and then disappear altogether. What was that rustle? A snipe? Maybe I should rattle the bag a little louder to attract it in! But what if it's not a snipe? What if it's a big snake? Or something with claws and teeth? Where is everyone?

Then, finally, you can't stand it any longer. "Dad?" you say in a quavering little voice. "Uncle Carl? Scott? Where are you?" Miraculously, they appear from the darkness of the trees, strolling casually toward you. "Did you catch one? You weren't scared; were you? Didn't you even hear one? Oh well, maybe next time. Maybe you didn't hold the bag just right. You sure did try, though," they say as all of you walk toward the safety of the house where the females of the family are waiting to hear all about your experience.

Although it may take a while, it finally occurs to you to ask what snipes look like and to wonder if there is really such a thing. Don't hold your breath waiting for a definitive answer. After all, no one has ever really seen a snipe – they've only hunted snipes.

We were reminded of our nephew, Neil's, snipe hunting experience recently. This is what he said: "Out of all the memories that I have of your family, the first thing that pops in my mind when I think of you guys is fearlessly attending my first (and only) snipe hunting expedition in your field. Doggon' it, I thought I had really nailed the ability to rub the paper bag just right to attract a snipe into it. I still chuckle at that and I continue to hope that I'll have the ability to repeat the prank someday."

A little boy has to be very brave to go snipe hunting.