Welcome to the Clan Site!

The Chief

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!

Welcome Charlotte Rose!

Stork Delivery: 1 Beautiful Girl


Charlotte Rose George was born today to Nathan Feathers George (Nate) and Elizabeth (Liz) Colrick George. She weighed 7 pounds and is gloriously healthy for which the clan is grateful. She came in the midst of the pandemic to brighten our horizon.

Charlotte Rose joins Libby Johansen, and Raleigh and Milly Theisen as the fourth member of that prestigious Talking Bear and Sweet Leilani Star Child Club!





Liberty Marshall Johansen


Milly Theisen

Raleigh Theisen



A Veteran’s Story

Our father, Edward B. Feathers

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.

All Decked Out

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!

Because We Flew

Because We Flew

Once the wings go on, they never come off whether they can be seen or not.  It fuses to the soul through adversity, fear and adrenaline, and no one who has ever worn them with pride, integrity and guts can ever sleep through the call of the wild that wafts through bedroom windows in the deep of the night.
When a good flyer leaves the job and retires, many are jealous, some are pleased and yet others, who may have already retired, wonder.  We wonder if he knows what he is leaving behind, because we already know. We know, for example, that after a lifetime of camaraderie that few experience, it will remain as a longing for those past times. We know in the world of flying, there is a fellowship which lasts long after the flight suits are hung up in the back of the closet. We know even if he throws them away, they will be on him with every step and breath that remains in his life.  We also know how the very bearing of the man speaks of what he was and in his heart still is.
Because we flew, we envy no man on earth.
Author Unknown

Bitchin’ Betty Retires

The voice of a woman has long been utilized in flight control warnings to alert pilots of very dangerous situations. One of these voices, Bitchin’ Betty, as she is known, is retiring.

Joe Donaldson recently sent this to Talking Bear’s Clan. He and mom would both have loved this story!