For followers of the Talking Bear Clan, welcome to our circle of friends and family! Keeping the Council Fire is our objective. This site is just for us to exchange ideas and celebrate the memory of Talking Bear, aka Edward B. Feathers, Extraordinaire in Heavenly Realms.
We welcome all the related clans to create pages for their families. Additionally, you can create a Flikr account or such (Kodak, Snapfish) where you can upload photos from your family and we can create a link to it on this site. Let’s grow the family/friend tree!
See the Watauga House Flickr site link on this page where Kathy is loading scanned jpegs of the boxes and boxes of loose photos we found at Dad’s. Eventually we can organize and link albums but for now we can just start loading them up here! Send me your link and I will put it up here.
The Chief would have loved this!
Barb visits Liz’s kindergarten class in Jersey City 2016
Our father, Edward B. Feathers
My father, Edward B. Feathers, served in the Army Air Corps during WWII. He flew the new wonder machine, the B-29. When he and his young crew jumped into their bomber, most of them had had about 20 hours of flight time in the new aircraft. The B-29 was fast tracked by Boeing so that the U.S. could reach Tokyo and return home on one flight run. Dad’s crew would fly 35 combat missions before The Three Feathers (the crew’s ship) was retired and used for other purposes.
Dad passed away in 2012 on Pearl Harbor Day. He was 95.
In his latter few years he was unable to sleep in his bed for a number of reasons, but one stood out for me: dreams. When he slept in his bed he entered into deeper sleep than in his easy chair, which he used exclusively in the last year of his life. The dream was always the same: he smelled burning flesh from the low level bombing runs our military conducted on Tokyo. Many Japanese civilians died by those American fire bombs.
Dad couldn’t shake the morose memory of that action he took in defense of his own country and family. He wondered toward the end of his life if he would “get into heaven” for his actions in the war.
The scars of war are deep and veterans among us, close to us, may never talk about them. But they are there as emotional and physical badges of their sacrifice for us. Let us honor every veteran on this national holiday but let us also strive to make no new veterans of our young men and women, the hope of generations.
I always dreamed of having a deck, my own private Idaho. In 1990 Brooklyn it seemed many Brownstoners like myself were contracting Bart, a local entrepreneur for his specials on deck building. Alas, we needed a kitchen, too, so the deck was put on hold.
My husband and I bought our home on a tree-lined street from the estate of a recently deceased matron whose family had grown up and departed for even greener pastures. It was sadly in need of repair and on teachers’ salaries with two small children only essential remodeling and coddling were possible.
However, the roof of the garden shed below the parlor floor seemed promising. It was directly off my kitchen and accessed with some difficulty by climbing through a window- bingo! I could have my proverbial cake outside, alone, looking down on the 100 year old wisteria, balancing precariously on a rotted trellis below in the “garden.” Not a proper deck but a reasonable facsimile.
The children have grown up and departed (husband, too) and I find myself recently retired from 36 years of teaching and living in the lovely Hudson Valley with a new husband- and a deck! It’s also off my kitchen but easily accessed by a door (complete with handle and screen). I waited for summer all winter long counting birds in my backyard and anticipating decklife.
My morning ritual begins with coffee in hand and just a look around my estate (condo-quick) to check on any perceptual changes in flora and fauna. The mint seems to have doubled in height and the groundhog is barking its displeasure at my arrival. The bird feeder is bent strangely over the small side yard adjacent to my perch- that damn bear again! And who knew black rat snakes could grow so long? Did I mention my rock garden? I have been arranging the rocks since spring around the patches of herbs I have managed to grow aided with water from a hose hooked up to my kitchen faucet. I’ve had to cultivate my fine motor skills of navigating the spray around my small Eden while sipping wine in the long summer evenings from my wooden ship.
Everyday I marvel anew at my good fortune transitioning to a new beginning from the deck of my dreams in the Hudson Valley. And wonder what fall will bring!