the rafter that got away

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When I was a kid, telephones were heavy, came in one color (black) and were owned by Southern Bell Telephone and Telegraph Company, i.e. Ma Bell. And when they rang, the entire house shook like there was a three alarm fire. The clanging beast was mounted on the wall in the kitchen, so having a private conversation was close to impossible, besides Mom was always cooking collards or some such so it was no place to be. 

Our original phone number in Gatlinburg was 127. Easy to remember. Three digits. Area codes and zip codes and dress codes were still years in the future.

Flash forward. Today, cellular phones are small enough to fit in your pocket, you can buy them practically anywhere and some—believe it or not—actually double as cameras. (I'm not making this up, it's true.) I got one for Christmas and today managed to take my first photograph and e-mail it to myself.

It was a photo of a rafter (flock) of wild turkeys walking down a gravel road, very bucolic, very take-me-home-country-roads-ish, right out of Field & Stream, although you might note that by the time I figured out how to use my oh-so-smart camera, the gobbler hens had strolled away with a chuckle.

And yet, for this Luddite, methinks a modicum of modernization has occurred?

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