Author Archives: Jerry Johnson

About Jerry Johnson

Curmudgeon. Bird hunter and dog trainer; indifferent wing shot. Retired journalist and college public relations director. Novelist and short story writer. Freeholder: 50-acre farm with 130-year-old log house. Husband, father, grandfather. Retired teacher, coach, mentor. Vicious editor. Blogger.

Eclectic houses of Santa Cruz

The city of Santa Cruz, located on the northwest shore of Monterey Bay, has fascinating residential neighborhoods, homes as eclectic and diverse as California itself, each with its eccentricities. These houses may be somewhat constricted by prohibitions against multi-story structures, … Continue reading

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Monterey Bay

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The instinctive urge to hunt

“T. Rex doesn’t want to be fed, he wants to hunt.” Dr. Alan Grant (actor Sam Neill) from the motion picture Jurassic Park THE PASSION, the instinctive urge to hunt, the genetic memory that connects me to prehistoric humankind, has … Continue reading

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God gets drunk every now and then

Last week God got drunk and shouted “To Hell with this world I created! I’m tired of the whole mess and sick of all the whining.” He sang three songs with dirty lyrics before He fell into a drunken stupor … Continue reading

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November musings

Standing in sunlight on a warm November day I return to my youth of twenty-eight years with the youth’s paint pallet of colorful thoughts and aspirations. I take a step toward potential adventures, prospects hungered for but as yet unknown, … Continue reading

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Narrowing the focus

ON THE DRIVE to the North Shore of Lake Superior for a few days of ruffed grouse and woodcock hunting I came to the realization that the pallet of colors with which I tint my life is becoming more and … Continue reading

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September hunting truck ablutions redux

COME SEPTEMBER, my annual ritual is preparing my pickup truck for the bird hunting seasons that will open later in the month and extend into January. I have done this for 50 years now, and it always excites me with … Continue reading

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In the Catbird Seat

These days, Abbey rides in the Catbird Seat. The seat in my Ford F-150 pickup is a split bench with its center section over the driveshaft hump, a seat that could only be comfortable for a seven-year-old child with short … Continue reading

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A name for the escape pod

A reader asks: “What did you name the new Scamp camping trailer?” Although I am not in the habit of naming my vehicles, I may make an exception with the Scamp. I am calling it Ramblin’ Prose.

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Ramblin’, Scampin’ Coot

The drive to Backus, Minnesota was long and tiring, more than 350 miles. But that is where Scamp trailers are manufactured, and we chose to take possession of our new Scamp at the factory rather than have it delivered. This … Continue reading

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