<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338747379718297686</id><updated>2011-11-27T15:56:06.856-08:00</updated><title type='text'>These Old Hills  by Tony Smith</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Keith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05885693789562046737</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338747379718297686.post-2428337322643284259</id><published>2011-10-01T17:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-18T06:57:34.695-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tony's new book now available</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9154TszVtzA?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9154TszVtzA?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;To order&lt;br /&gt;visit &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.authorhouse.com/Bookstore/BookDetail.aspx?BookId=SKU-000375772"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Authorhouse&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;     &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;or email &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="mailto:keithalc06@yahoo.com"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;keithalc06@yahoo.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338747379718297686-2428337322643284259?l=theseoldhills2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/feeds/2428337322643284259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338747379718297686&amp;postID=2428337322643284259' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/2428337322643284259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/2428337322643284259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/2010/11/tonys-new-book-now-available.html' title='Tony&apos;s new book now available'/><author><name>Keith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05885693789562046737</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338747379718297686.post-7612993989334792988</id><published>2010-10-31T06:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-23T08:23:50.344-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tony Smith: Author</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHEHlBNnBI/AAAAAAAAAAM/tm6Tw9M-uB0/s1600-h/Tony_cover_2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229176276829182994" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHEHlBNnBI/AAAAAAAAAAM/tm6Tw9M-uB0/s400/Tony_cover_2.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; These old hills they cradled me when I was but an infant. And when I was bigger they let me play in and around them. Oh yes, these old hills..Oh how I love them. And when I was older they let me hunt in them taking rabbits, squirrels, coon and sometimes a deer. Oh yes these old hills...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of my people left these hills to get jobs in the factories but not me. If I have to leave these hills to make it then I won’t make it. Oh these hills... The old people say if the hills could talk oh the stories they could tell.&lt;br /&gt;Tony Smith , born in 1960 wrote these words during one brief time in his life while he was away from his beloved hills. He has always listened to the old people tell stories and he remembers the good times while they were happening in his life. In this collection of short stories Tony, the old people and the hills are talking and telling great stories of earlier and simpler days .Many times they had to leave the hills but they never left them behind in their thoughts, dreams and memories. Tony has stayed to tell the tales .Read along with Tony, those who grew up here will cherish the old days. Those who grew up in other places will learn how to cook ground hogs and squirrels, hunt rabbits, butcher a hog, and truly enjoy family life on a farm in the Kentucky hills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Order "These Old Hills"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://hillsorder.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;http://hillsorder.blogspot.com/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;What inspires Tony to write his stories&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well the time is 6:30 am. I have been awake for about three hours now. I sometimes wake up in the night or early morning hours with people that I used to know on my mind. I can see them all so clearly and I remember us all talking together. In my mind I can hear them and see them just as good now as I did back then. When I woke up this morning it was still dark out. As I was laying there I was thinking about some of my friends that I camped out with for weeks at a time down on the Red Bud River.&lt;br /&gt;We would camp out and fish in the middle of the day and we would squirrel hunt of the morning and of the evenings. Oh, I can see all their faces so clearly and I can still hear their voices just the way they talked with me and each other. Yes, I can see them as they talk. I can see Virgil Houndshell and his brother Cecil, Art Wynn, old man Fee Spurlock and Joe Gilbert. Now they are all dead and gone and I miss them all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338747379718297686-7612993989334792988?l=theseoldhills2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/feeds/7612993989334792988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338747379718297686&amp;postID=7612993989334792988' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/7612993989334792988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/7612993989334792988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/2008/07/tony-smith-author.html' title='Tony Smith: Author'/><author><name>Keith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05885693789562046737</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHEHlBNnBI/AAAAAAAAAAM/tm6Tw9M-uB0/s72-c/Tony_cover_2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338747379718297686.post-9024292573866363702</id><published>2010-07-27T06:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-21T13:29:02.207-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who Was William Shakespeare??</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHF5dAGp5I/AAAAAAAAAAs/VPbThnB1aZk/s1600-h/shakespeare.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229178233182136210" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHF5dAGp5I/AAAAAAAAAAs/VPbThnB1aZk/s400/shakespeare.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="7002058413987774226"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://theseoldhills.blogspot.com/2008/06/who-was-william-shakespeare.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Who was William Shakespeare??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2TJQhv5PYE4/SG1DJccSwQI/AAAAAAAACN0/w09aVGUR-vI/s1600-h/shakespeare.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a title="Permanent Link to Just Who Was William Shakespeare? Pt 1" href="http://tonyredhill.wordpress.com/2005/07/22/just-who-was-william-shakespeare-pt-1/" rel="bookmark"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Just Who Was William Shakespeare? Pt 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;From " A Cousin and a Friend"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Nineteen year old Billy Wynn came down from Dayton, Ohio to spend a week or so visiting his seven year old cousin Tony and family in Kentucky back in 1967.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Billy asked, “Tony have they told you about old William Shakespeare yet?” I said, “No who is he?” Billy laughed a little and said, “Why, he is some old man that died before our Papaw was even born and all he did was set around and tell lies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Billy went on to say that I would be hearing about him sooner or later. He said, “You will not like hearing about him.” About that time I went to sleep.The next night when we all got in bed, Billy asked me again, ‘Tony did they tell you about old William Shakespeare?” I said. “No they did not talk about him any.” Billy said, “Oh, they will tell you about him some day, you can bet on that. Then they will be giving you tests on that old bird.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I asked Billy, “Well just who was William Shakespeare?” Billy said, “I already told you Tony. He was some old man that lived a long time ago and he was not from here. He was from somewheres else way off, maybe California. You know where all them heathen people live. I asked Billy, “What is heathen people?” He said, “Why Tony, don’t they learn you nothing at school? Heathen people is people that believe that they can live how ever they want to and still go to heaven when they die.” After that I went to sleep.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;?__________________&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHGKfge0oI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CTfhqkeOjV4/s1600-h/shakespeare.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229178525912584834" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHGKfge0oI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CTfhqkeOjV4/s320/shakespeare.jpg" width="192" height="255" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;_______________&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a title="Permanent Link to Shakespeare Part 2" href="http://tonyredhill.wordpress.com/2005/07/20/shakespeare-part-2/" rel="bookmark"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Shakespeare Part 2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/104/1334/1600/untitled1.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I decided in the morning, as me and Isabelle were walking over to the store to get on the bus, I said to myself; now when I get to school today, I will ask my teacher was there a man by the name of William Shakespeare? I will see if big Billy had been lying to me or not.I remember setting in the back of the room and I wanting to ask Miss Parsons, if she ever heard of a man by the name of William Shakespeare but I also knew that I was not her pick of the litter because about a week before, she gave me a hard paddling just because she caught me cheating on an old spelling test. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Then I got to thinking, what if Big Billy lied to me and there never was anyone by that name. If I was to ask her about some one she never heard about, she might give me another paddling for asking her a stupid question. So I decided that I would just wait and ask someone elseThe teachers would always stand at the end of the playground watching all of us. I remember looking down at the end and I could see that my teacher was standing on one side of the playground and could see another teacher standing on the other side of the playground. I said to myself, I’ll go down and I’ll ask that other teacher if there was a man by the name of William Shakespeare. So what if it makes her mad. She will not paddle me because she’s not my teacher.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I began to walk through all the kids to the other end of the playground. As I got closer and closer to her, I said to my self, she is younger and prettier than my old teacher, maybe she will not get mad if I ask her about old William Shakespeare. But my legs seemed to get weaker with every step I would take. Just as I was getting up close enough to talk to her, my teacher walked up to her and began to talk with her. So I just stopped and looked down at the ground and went back to the other end of the playground.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I remember thinking as I walked back, why Big Billy probably was lying to me anyway. Who ever heard of a name like William Shakespeare anyway? I bet Big Billy just made that name up. In a little bit it was time to go back to the room. I remember all that day I wanted to ask my teacher about old William Shakespeare but I was just too afraid to ask her about him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a title="Permanent Link to Shakespeare Part 3" href="http://tonyredhill.wordpress.com/2005/07/20/shakespeare-part-3/" rel="bookmark"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Shakespeare Part 3&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/104/1334/1600/untitled2.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The next night we had not been in the bed five minutes and Big Billy asked me again. He said, “Tony have they told you about old William Shakespeare.” I was already mad at myself because I did not have the nerve to ask my teacher about him so I told Billy. I said, “No they did not say anything about him and I don’t believe there ever was a William Shakespeare.” Billy laughed a little. He said, “Now Tony there was a man by the name of William Shakespeare. I would not lie to you about something like that, you just ask your teacher.” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;In just in a minute or two, Billy began to snore. In a little bit I too was asleep.In the morning I remember wanting to ask my teacher, “Was there a man by the name of William Shakespeare?” But like the day before, I was just too afraid of her to ask. Like always, that day at school was as long as three or four days at home.At last the long day was over and we were on the bus and on the way home. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;As I sat there I looked over in the seat just across the aisle from me and there sat one of the best looking girls on the bus. Her name was Judy Cox. She had long blonde hair and she always wore pretty dresses and she was in high school. She once gave me a lollipop for free.It just came to me, if there was ever a man by the name of William Shakespeare she would know about him. I looked over at her and said “Judy.” She looked at me and I just asked her, “Was there ever a man by the name of William Shakespeare?” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;After a second or two went by she said, “Why, yes there was but I don’t believe he would be anyone that you would want to know about.” She did not say any more. But that was okay. I knew Big Billy had not been lying to me and that just made my day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I can remember going to bed that night. I was just laying there waiting for Big Billy to ask me about old William Shakespeare. It was not long until he did. Just all at once Billy asked, “Tony did you hear about old William Shakespeare today?” I said, “Yes, today I heard about old Shakespeare.” Big Billy laughed out in a loud voice and said, “I told you that would be hearing about that old bird. They will be giving you tests on him too. You just wait and see.” Then he said, “Who told you about him, your teacher I guess.” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;After Big Billy stopped talking, I said, “No it was not my teacher that told about him, I asked a high school girl if they ever was a man by the name of William Shakespeare. She said, “Yes there was,” but she said he would not be someone that I would like to hear about. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Big Billy said, “Oh” and just for a little bit Billy did not say anything. Then Billy said, “Well she is right, he’s not someone you would like to hear about, but like it or not you will be hearing a lot about him.” Then we went to sleep.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a title="Permanent Link to Shakespeare Part 4" href="http://tonyredhill.wordpress.com/2005/07/18/shakespeare-part-4/" rel="bookmark"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Shakespeare Part 4&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2TJQhv5PYE4/SG1DRccSwRI/AAAAAAAACN8/51TyTR0ccIQ/s1600-h/shakespeare.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The next morning just before daylight Mom came into the bedroom and told me to get up. She woke Big Billy up and said, “Billy, I am going to do the washing today so get your belongings out of your pockets and I will wash your clothes too.” Then she said, “Here is a pair of Charlie’s old overalls you can put on until yours gets dry.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Big Billy began to get up and before I could get on my clothes Billy looked at me and said, “Well I guess you will be hearing some more about old Shakespeare today.” I said, “Well I hope not, I have already heard too much about him..”I never will forget that morning. Big Billy was setting on the bed across from me and all he had on was his underwear. He was smoking a cigarette and he was teasing me about old Shakespeare. I was putting my clothes on as fast as I could. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;He could tell that I did not like hearing about Shakespeare. He was having fun out of me. But to me, it was not fun at all.I can remember big Billy telling me, “Now Tony, you got it made. You get to go to school and look at all the good-looking girls. Why, you get to go out on the playground at recess and play with the boys and girls. After all that, you get to go back in your room and study math, spelling and old Shakespeare.What about poor old me? All I get to do all day is go hunting, and kill them poor little squirrels. I have to go way out in the woods. Why, I am going to have a bad time doing all I got to do today.” I could tell Big Billy was enjoying teasing me. He knew I wanted to go hunting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;____________________________&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Look up William Shakespeare and tell who he was.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Tell when he lived and the names of some of the stories he wrote.________________________________________________________&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a name="112014200417571741"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338747379718297686-9024292573866363702?l=theseoldhills2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/feeds/9024292573866363702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338747379718297686&amp;postID=9024292573866363702' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/9024292573866363702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/9024292573866363702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/2008/07/who-was-william-shakespeare-just-who.html' title='Who Was William Shakespeare??'/><author><name>Keith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05885693789562046737</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHF5dAGp5I/AAAAAAAAAAs/VPbThnB1aZk/s72-c/shakespeare.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338747379718297686.post-2136220497090411331</id><published>2008-07-31T06:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T10:52:32.023-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seven Squirrels</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHFDsDUVqI/AAAAAAAAAAc/F5vHvaVjuFU/s1600-h/7suirrels.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229177309509211810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHFDsDUVqI/AAAAAAAAAAc/F5vHvaVjuFU/s400/7suirrels.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a title="Permanent Link to Seven Squirrels By Tony Smith" href="http://tonyredhill.wordpress.com/2005/07/27/seven-squirrels-by-tony-smith/" rel="bookmark"&gt;Seven Squirrels By Tony Smith&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In his right hand he was carrying his old model 12 Winchester pump shotgun and swinging from his left side was a bunch of squirrels. Me and Ernie took off running to meet him. We wanted to see the squirrels. When we got up to Dad, we asked him how many squirrels he had got. He said, “I am not going to tell you boys. You will have to count them yourself.” Me and Ernie walked along beside Dad and we were trying to count the squirrels, but with every step he would take, the squirrels were swinging back and forth. We were not having much luck counting them. When we got up to the house, Dad reached down and got the squirrels off his britches’ leg. He pitched them up on the porch and said; “Now boys, you can count them.” So we began to count. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7. Seven squirrels.. Dad had a little stick about six inches long and as big around as a pencil. On one end it was sharpened off to a point and was sticking through each squirrel’s back leg.After we counted the squirrels, Dad reached down and pulled the stick out of their legs. Then he hollered and told Mom to bring him out two pans of water. In a few minutes she did. Me and Ernie were watching Dad sharpen his pocketknife on the whet rock. After he got his knife sharp he reached down and picked up one of the squirrels. He cut it across the back. Then he laid the knife down and with both hands, he placed the ends of his fingers in the cut that he had made on the squirrel’s back. With both hands, he slowly began to pull the hide off of the squirrel.When he had the hide off, he turned it over on its back and he cut it from its head down through its belly, to the tail. Then he reached in, pulled out the guts, and pitched them on the ground. I can remember the dogs. They would fight each other over the guts. Ernie and me liked to watch the dogs fight. To us that was fun but Dad didn’t like it. Sometimes Dad would jump in and kick the dog that was acting the most piggish. That way the other dog could have some to.After Dad got all the squirrels skinned, he put them in a pan of water and washed them off real good. Then he put them in the other pan of water and handed them to Mom. He said, “I want them cooked for dinner.” Mom took the squirrels in the kitchen and put them in a big black kettle, filled it up with water and set it on the wood cook stove to cook.After the squirrels got tender, Mom got a bowl and put some flour and milk in it. She mixed it up. Then she poured it in the kettle on top of the squirrel and began to stir. She called it “squirrel gravy” and it was good.Seven Squirels Quiz 1. What is the limit for squirrels per day?________&lt;br /&gt;2. What are the names of the boys in the story?&lt;br /&gt;3. Why was it hard to count the squirrels at first?__________________________&lt;br /&gt;4. How did Dad hold the squirrels?&lt;br /&gt;5. Who got the guts of the squirels? ______________&lt;br /&gt;6. Tell the way Tony’s Mom cooked the squirels and how they tasted .___________________________________________&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338747379718297686-2136220497090411331?l=theseoldhills2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/feeds/2136220497090411331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338747379718297686&amp;postID=2136220497090411331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/2136220497090411331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/2136220497090411331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/2008/07/seven-squirrels.html' title='Seven Squirrels'/><author><name>Keith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05885693789562046737</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHFDsDUVqI/AAAAAAAAAAc/F5vHvaVjuFU/s72-c/7suirrels.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338747379718297686.post-6055180201135392409</id><published>2008-07-29T06:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T10:52:32.555-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hellacious Loggers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHFd4T36iI/AAAAAAAAAAk/v9PuZ4xsOSk/s1600-h/hell+loggers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229177759476476450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHFd4T36iI/AAAAAAAAAAk/v9PuZ4xsOSk/s400/hell+loggers.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Hellacious Loggers&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Art and Tony were buddies living in Rockcastle County Kentucky in the late 1970’s. Art was in his sixties while Tony was about eighteen years old.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;After Art and me had talked for a while, I asked, was he planning to “try out his shotgun when squirrel season come in?” Art said, “Well Tony, I wanted to but where I generally do my squirrel hunting, the hellacious loggers has went in and cut down all the trees. Where once there was big Hickory nut trees and acorn trees now is just briar thickets. Tony the loggers has destroyed the forest. Why they are cutting down trees that ain’t no bigger than a broom handle. There ain’t going to be nothing left for the squirrels to eat.”Then he went on to say that he hated what the loggers were doing to the forest. He said, “There ought to be a law against logging the way they are doing it nowadays. Tony two or three loggers can walk into the woods with chainsaws and create an eyesore for everyone to have to look at. Why they do that just for the all mighty dollar. Tony I absolutely hate what loggers has done to the forest.” Then Art stopped talking.I don’t believe I ever heard Art talk so long about the same thing before. I could almost see fire in his eyes as he talked about what the loggers were doing to the trees. After he had stopped talking I said, “Art I agree with you, but Art we have a lot of kin folks that is loggers you know.”Art looked across the table at me and said, “I know that Tony, but they’s a right way to do anything and there’s a wrong way to do anything. And Tony I know deep down in my heart that clear cutting timber is wrong.” Then he went on to say that loggers used to go in the woods and pick out the very best logs and get them out and then they would leave all the little trees alone and let them grow but now they are taking it all.&lt;br /&gt;From The Butcher Knife by Tony Smith Livingston ,Kentucky&lt;br /&gt;Copyright 2004&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338747379718297686-6055180201135392409?l=theseoldhills2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/feeds/6055180201135392409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338747379718297686&amp;postID=6055180201135392409' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/6055180201135392409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/6055180201135392409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/2008/07/hellacious-loggers.html' title='The Hellacious Loggers'/><author><name>Keith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05885693789562046737</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHFd4T36iI/AAAAAAAAAAk/v9PuZ4xsOSk/s72-c/hell+loggers.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338747379718297686.post-2880063948483716182</id><published>2008-07-29T06:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T10:52:32.804-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blame Your Sorry Hides!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHHbNwNmbI/AAAAAAAAAA8/A2YqDhcL2Z8/s1600-h/black+and+tan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229179912716130738" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHHbNwNmbI/AAAAAAAAAA8/A2YqDhcL2Z8/s320/black+and+tan.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a title="'Permanent" href="http://tonyredhill.wordpress.com/2005/07/27/blame-your-sorry-hides-by-tony-smith/" rel="bookmark"&gt;"Blame Your Sorry Hides" By Tony Smith&lt;/a&gt;It was hot that day. Dad’s old black and tan dogs were laying on the porch like something dead, but when Mom opened the kitchen door to pitch out scraps, the dogs would take off like a bullet to go see what she had pitched out for them. Sometimes them dogs would fight over the scraps. Me and Ernie liked to see the dogs fight but Dad would not let them fight. He would kick them and make them stop. He talked bad to them. I remember when they would fight; Dad kicked them until they stopped.Then he would look at them and say, “Sport and Hank, here you all is good hunting buddies and fighting one another over a piece of cornbread. You all ourt to be ashamed of yourselves. Blame your sorry hides anyhow.”Do you know them dogs would stand and listen, looking up at him with them big brown eyes and their long ears hanging down? It was like they knew what he was saying to them. In a little bit they would just walk off and lay down somewhere. Just before it got dark them dogs would come to life. They would be running around all over the place. Nothing moved, what they did not know about it. If any kind of varmint got around the chicken house it was dead meat. Them dogs had no mercy on coons, fox, opossums or any other animal&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338747379718297686-2880063948483716182?l=theseoldhills2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/feeds/2880063948483716182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338747379718297686&amp;postID=2880063948483716182' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/2880063948483716182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/2880063948483716182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/2008/07/blame-your-sorry-hides.html' title='Blame Your Sorry Hides!'/><author><name>Keith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05885693789562046737</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHHbNwNmbI/AAAAAAAAAA8/A2YqDhcL2Z8/s72-c/black+and+tan.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338747379718297686.post-212588245995998049</id><published>2008-07-29T06:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T10:52:32.948-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Shooting</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHEe-2-RSI/AAAAAAAAAAU/OE5GSYth8QU/s1600-h/grey_squirrel_180_tcm3-60334.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229176678902547746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="227" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHEe-2-RSI/AAAAAAAAAAU/OE5GSYth8QU/s400/grey_squirrel_180_tcm3-60334.jpg" width="215" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://theseoldhills.blogspot.com/2008/07/good-shooting.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Good Shooting&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2TJQhv5PYE4/SG1Nb8cSwTI/AAAAAAAACOo/ik52QJUYIxI/s1600-h/grey_squirrel_180_tcm3-60334.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a title="Permanent Link to Good Shooting By Tony Smith" href="http://tonyredhill.wordpress.com/2005/07/27/good-shooting-by-tony-smith/" rel="bookmark"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Good Shooting&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;By Tony Smith&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;All at once a squirrel began to squack at us. Dad and Billy were looking for the squirrel but they could not see it. I can remember Dad saying to Billy in a low voice, “Billy, he seen us, that’s why he’s squacking.” About that time Billy said, “I see it Charley.’” Dad asked, “Where is he at?” Billy said, “He’s right in the top of that big Hickory tree way down yonder and I’m going to let him have it.” Dad said, “Why Billy that must be 70 or 80 yards from here. You don’t have a Chinaman’s chance of getting that squirrel.” About that time Billy let go with a blast. Me and Dad were waiting to see if the squirrel was going to run off or not.A few seconds went by and nothing happened. We were beginning to think the squirrel had gone down the backside of the tree, but then all at once the squirrel began to fall down out of the tree. When the squirrel hit the ground Billy turned and looked at me and Dad with a big smile. He said, “I got him,” and he handed his long gun to Dad.Billy took off down the hollow to get his squirrel. After Billy went down the hill a ways, Dad said to me, “Tony, as far away as that squirrel was, he may have hit the ground running.” After two or three minutes had gone by, Billy found the squirrel. He held it by the back legs and lifted it over his head so me and Dad could see it. He said in a loud voice, “ Here it is, I got him.”Billy came walking back up the hill to where me and Dad were at. By the time he got back, he was out of breath. Dad said, “Set down for a minute or two Billy, and let me see your squirrel.” He handed the squirrel to Dad as he set down on a big rock. Dad looked at the squirrel good and said, “ I don’t see but one little drop of blood on the whole squirrel and that’s good.” He said, “Just look how fat it is.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338747379718297686-212588245995998049?l=theseoldhills2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/feeds/212588245995998049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338747379718297686&amp;postID=212588245995998049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/212588245995998049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338747379718297686/posts/default/212588245995998049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theseoldhills2.blogspot.com/2008/07/good-shooting.html' title='Good Shooting'/><author><name>Keith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05885693789562046737</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XFs3RzR-8Ic/SJHEe-2-RSI/AAAAAAAAAAU/OE5GSYth8QU/s72-c/grey_squirrel_180_tcm3-60334.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
