text:
Natural freshwater lake in Florida, United States
Photographed from space, September 1988
Shown at the oul' top of this map of South Florida
26°56′N 80°48′W / 26.933°N 80.800°W / 26.933; -80.800Coordinates: 26°56′N 80°48′W / 26.933°N 80.800°W / 26.933; -80.800
Primary inflows
Kissimmee River, Fisheatin' Creek, Taylor Creek
Primary outflows
Everglades, Caloosahatchee River, St, be the hokey! Lucie River
Basin countries
Max. length
36 mi (57.5 km)
Max, grand so. width
Max, bejaysus. depth
12 ft (3.7 m)
Water volume
1 cu mi (5.2 km3) (estimated)
Residence time
Surface elevation
12 to 18 ft (3.74 to 5.49 m)
Kreamer, Torry, Ritta, Grass, Observation, Bird, Horse, Hog, Eagle Bay
Lake Okeechobee (US: /oʊkiˈtʃoʊbi/),[1] also known as Florida's Inland Sea,[2] is the bleedin' largest freshwater lake in the bleedin' state of Florida.[3] It is the eighth largest natural freshwater lake among the 50 states of the United States and the oul' second largest natural freshwater lake contained entirely within the bleedin' contiguous 48 states.[4]
Okeechobee covers 730 square miles (1,900 km2) and is exceptionally shallow for an oul' lake of its size, with an average depth of only 9 feet (2.7 metres). C'mere til I tell ya. The Kissimmee River, located directly north of Lake Okeechobee, is the feckin' lake's primary source.[5] The lake is divided between Glades, Okeechobee, Martin, Palm Beach, and Hendry counties. All five counties meet at one point near the feckin' center of the oul' lake.[6]
1.1 Hurricanes
1.2 Rim Canal
1.3 Environmental concerns
2 Geology
3.1 Congressionally authorized uses for Lake Okeechobee
3.2 Florida National Scenic Trail
3.3 Fishin'
The name Okeechobee comes from the bleedin' Hitchiti words oki (water) and chubi (big), enda story. Mayaimi, meanin' "big water," is the oul' oldest known name, as reported in the 16th century, by Hernando de Escalante Fontaneda.[7] Slightly later in the oul' 16th century, René Goulaine de Laudonnière reported hearin' about a large freshwater lake in southern Florida called Serrope.[8] By the bleedin' 18th century the largely mythical lake was known to British mapmakers and chroniclers by the bleedin' Spanish name Laguna de Espiritu Santo.[9] In the bleedin' early 19th century it was known as Mayacco Lake or Lake Mayaca after the oul' Mayaca people, originally from the oul' upper reaches of the feckin' St. Johns River, who moved near the bleedin' lake in the oul' early 18th century.[10] The modern Port Mayaca on the feckin' east side of the oul' lake preserves that name.[11]
On the southern rim of Lake Okeechobee, three islands—Kreamer, Ritta, and Torey—were once settled by early pioneers. Here's another quare one for ye. These settlements had an oul' general store, post office, school, and town elections, you know yerself. Farmin' was the feckin' main vocation. Be the hokey here's a quare wan. The fertile land was challengin' to farm because of the oul' muddy muck. Over the first half of the feckin' twentieth century, farmers used agricultural tools—includin' tractors—to farm in the bleedin' muck. Holy blatherin' Joseph, listen to this. By the 1960s, all of these settlements were abandoned.[12]
All of Lake Okeechobee was included in the bleedin' boundaries of Palm Beach County when it was created in 1909. In 1963, the feckin' lake was divided among the feckin' five counties surroundin' the bleedin' lake.[13]
Hurricanes[edit]
In 1926, the bleedin' Great Miami Hurricane hit the feckin' Lake Okeechobee area, killin' approximately 300 people, Lord bless us and save us. Two years later in 1928, the oul' Okeechobee Hurricane crossed over the lake, killin' thousands, bejaysus. The Red Cross reported 1,836 deaths, a bleedin' figure which the oul' National Weather Service initially accepted, but in 2003, the number was revised to "at least 2,500".[14] In both cases the bleedin' catastrophe was caused by floodin' from a storm surge when strong winds drove water over the bleedin' 6.6-foot (2-meter) mud dike that circled the bleedin' lake at the oul' time.
After the bleedin' two hurricanes, the feckin' Florida State Legislature created the oul' "Okeechobee Flood Control District". Would ye swally this in a minute now?The organization was authorized to cooperate with the oul' U.S. Soft oul' day. Army Corps of Engineers in actions to prevent similar disasters. Chrisht Almighty. U.S. G'wan now. President Herbert Hoover visited the feckin' area personally, and afterward the Corps designed a feckin' plan incorporatin' the bleedin' construction of channels, gates, and nearly 140 miles of levees to protect areas surroundin' Lake Okeechobee from overflow.[15] The Okeechobee Waterway was officially opened on March 23, 1937, by a procession of boats which left Fort Myers, Florida on March 22 and arrived at Stuart, Florida the feckin' followin' day. Chrisht Almighty. The dike was then named the bleedin' "Herbert Hoover Dike" in honor of the bleedin' president.
The 1947 Fort Lauderdale Hurricane sent an even larger storm surge to the bleedin' crest of the bleedin' new dike, causin' it to be expanded again in the oul' 1960s.
Four recent hurricanes –Frances, Jeanne, Wilma, and Irma – had no major adverse effects on communities surroundin' Lake Okeechobee, even though the feckin' lake rose 18 inches (46 cm) after Hurricane Wilma in 2005. Jesus Mother of Chrisht almighty. Tropical Storm Ernesto increased water levels by 1 foot (30 cm) in 2006, the feckin' last time it exceeded 13 feet (4.0 m).[16] However, the feckin' lake's level began droppin' soon after and by July 2007, it had dropped more than 4 feet (1.2 m) to its all-time low of 8.82 feet (2.69 m). In August 2008, Tropical Storm Fay increased water levels to 2 feet (0.65 m) above sea level, the bleedin' first time it exceeded 12 feet (3.66 m) since January 2007. Here's another quare one for ye. Over a seven-day period (includin' some storms that preceded Fay), about 8 inches (20 cm) of rain fell directly onto the feckin' lake.[16]
Rim Canal[edit]
Lake Okeechobee, from Canal Point, Florida
Sounds of Lake Okeechobee, from the Canal Point Recreation Area, Canal Point, Florida, USA
Durin' construction of the bleedin' dike, earth was excavated along the inside perimeter, resultin' in a deep channel which runs along the oul' perimeter of the feckin' lake.[4] In most places the oul' canal is part of the bleedin' lake, but in others it is separated from the feckin' open lake by low grassy islands such as Kreamer Island. Whisht now and eist liom. Durin' the feckin' drought of 2007–2008, this canal remained navigable while much of surroundin' areas were too shallow or even above the bleedin' water line. Even when the oul' waters are higher, navigatin' the feckin' open lake can be tricky, whereas the feckin' rim canal is simple, so to reach a holy specific location in the bleedin' lake it is often easiest to go around the rim canal to get close then take one of the oul' many channels into the bleedin' lake.[citation needed]
Environmental concerns[edit]
Lake Okeechobee from space in July 2016
In 2007, durin' a bleedin' drought, state water and wildlife managers removed thousands of truckloads of toxic mud from the bleedin' lake's floor, in an effort to restore the lake's natural sandy base and create clearer water and better habitat for wildlife, what? The mud contained elevated levels of arsenic and other pesticides. Accordin' to tests from the South Florida Water Management District, arsenic levels on the feckin' northern part of the oul' lake bed were as much as four times the feckin' limit for residential land. Whisht now and listen to this wan. Independent tests found the bleedin' mud too polluted for use on agricultural or commercial lands, and therefore difficult to dispose of on land.[17]
Through early 2008, the feckin' lake remained well below normal levels, with large portions of the lake bed exposed above the oul' water line. Soft oul' day. Durin' this time, portions of the bleedin' lake bed, covered in organic matter, dried out and caught fire.[18] In late August 2008, Tropical Storm Fay inundated Florida with record amounts of rain. C'mere til I tell ya. Lake Okeechobee received almost an oul' 4 feet (1.2 m) increase in water level, includin' local run-off from the bleedin' tributaries.
In 2013, heavy rains in central Florida resulted in high runoff into the bleedin' lake; risin' lake levels forced the oul' CoE (Army Corps of Engineers) to release large volumes of polluted water from the feckin' lake through the feckin' St. Lucie River estuary to the bleedin' east and the Caloosahatchee River estuary to the bleedin' west, grand so. Thus the bleedin' normal mix of fresh and salt water in those estuaries was replaced by a flood of polluted fresh water resultin' in ecological damage.[19]
Since 2013, the oul' CoE has been forced to pump billions of gallons of water out of the feckin' lake to avoid jeopardizin' the feckin' integrity of the bleedin' Hoover dike holdin' back the bleedin' water from inundatin' the feckin' surroundin' populated area. Some claim that sugar plantations have been pumpin' polluted water from their flooded fields into the oul' lake, but U.S. Would ye believe this shite?Sugar claims back pumpin' is only to avoid floodin' of communities, never to protect farmland. In March 2015, the bleedin' rate was 1 billion US gallons (3,800,000 m3) daily. This results in pollution problems for the bleedin' Treasure Coast, St. Lucie estuary, and the feckin' Indian River Lagoon.[20][21]
In May 2016, 33 square miles (85 km2) of the southern portion of the lake were affected by an algal bloom.[22] The outbreak was possibly due in part to nutrient-laden waters reachin' the bleedin' lake from farms and other sources.[22][23] Microcystin was found among the bleedin' other species involved in the feckin' outbreak.[22]
In July 2016, the feckin' Federal Government denied Governor Rick Scott's request for Federal Disaster Aid to the Treasure Coast as a result of the oul' toxic algal bloom in the St. G'wan now. Lucie Estuary which was responsible for millions of dollars of lost income for local businesses: this reaffirmed the feckin' Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) findin' that the feckin' lake's water quality was a State issue. Soft oul' day. The Florida Department of Environmental Protection and Martin County had carried out toxicity testin' on the algae, but had not funded any work to clean up the oul' water, and a holy FEMA spokesman said that "The state has robust capability to respond to emergencies and disasters."[24]
On June 23, 2017, the bleedin' South Florida Water Management District was granted emergency permission to back pump clean water into Lake Okeechobee to save animals and plants in bloated water conservation areas."[25]
Lake Okeechobee sits in a bleedin' shallow geological trough that also underlies the Kissimmee River Valley and the bleedin' Everglades. The trough is underlain by clay deposits that compacted more than the bleedin' limestone and sand deposits did along both coasts of peninsular Florida. G'wan now and listen to this wan. Until about 6,000 years ago, the trough was dry land. Jesus Mother of Chrisht almighty. As the sea level rose, the feckin' water table in Florida also rose and rainfall increased, fair play. From 6,000 to 4,000 years ago, wetlands formed buildin' up peat deposits, grand so. Eventually the oul' water flow into the bleedin' area created a feckin' lake, drownin' the wetlands. Arra' would ye listen to this. Along what is now the bleedin' southern edge of the bleedin' lake, the feckin' wetlands built up the oul' layers of peat rapidly enough (reachin' 13-to-14-foot or 4-to-4.3-metre thick) to form a dam, until the bleedin' lake overflowed into the feckin' Everglades.[26] At its capacity, the bleedin' lake holds 1 trillion US gallons (3.8×109 m3) of water[16] and is the bleedin' headwaters of the Everglades.[27]
The floor of the bleedin' lake is a holy limestone basin, with a maximum depth of 13 feet (4 m). Bejaysus. Its water is somewhat murky from runoff from surroundin' farmlands. Jaykers! The Army Corps of Engineers targets keepin' the oul' surface of the oul' lake between 12.5 and 15.5 feet (4 and 5 m) above sea level.[28] The lake is enclosed by a holy 40 feet (12 m) high Herbert Hoover Dike built by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers after an oul' hurricane in 1928 breached the feckin' old dike, floodin' surroundin' communities and claimin' at least 2,500 lives.[29] Water flows into Lake Okeechobee from several sources, includin' the feckin' Kissimmee River, Fisheatin' Creek, Lake Istokpoga, Taylor Creek, and smaller sources such as Nubbin Slough and Nicodemus Slough.[30][31] The Kissimmee River is the largest source, providin' more than 60% of the water flowin' into Lake Okeechobee.[32][33] Fisheatin' Creek is the second largest source for the bleedin' lake, with about 9% of the bleedin' total inflow.[31] Prior to the 20th century, Lake Istokpoga was connected to the oul' Kissimmee River by Istokpoga Creek, but durin' the feckin' rainy season Lake Istokpoga overflowed, with the water flowin' in a 40 km wide sheet across the oul' Indian Prairie into Lake Okeechobee.[34] Today Lake Istokpoga drains into Lake Okeechobee through several canals that drain the bleedin' Indian Prairie, and into the oul' Kissimmee River through a canal that has replaced Istokpoga Creek.[35] Historically, outflow from the lake was by sheet flow over the oul' Everglades, but most of the bleedin' outflow has been diverted to dredged canals connectin' to coastal rivers, such as the bleedin' Miami Canal to the oul' Miami River, the bleedin' New River on the east, and the feckin' Caloosahatchee River (via the bleedin' Caloosahatchee Canal and Lake Hicpochee) on the southwest.
Congressionally authorized uses for Lake Okeechobee[edit]
Lake Okeechobee from Pahokee
Accordin' to the bleedin' U.S. Army Corps of Engineers,[36] the feckin' Congressionally authorized uses for Lake Okeechobee include the bleedin' followin':
Flood and storm risk management
Water supply for the followin':
Salinity control in estuaries
Regional groundwater control
Agricultural irrigation
Municipalities and industry
Enhancement of fish and wildlife
Florida National Scenic Trail[edit]
The 30-metre (100 ft) wide dike surroundin' Lake Okeechobee is the basis for the Lake Okeechobee Scenic Trail (LOST), a holy part of the oul' Florida National Scenic Trail, a feckin' 1,300-mile-long (2,100 km) trail, like. There is a well-maintained paved pathway along the majority of the bleedin' perimeter, although with significant breaks.[37] It is used by hikers and bicyclists, and is wide enough to accommodate vehicles.
Fishin'[edit]
The most common fish in this lake are largemouth bass, crappie, and bluegill. Story? Pickerel have been less commonly caught.
^ Lake Okeechobee Area, Visit Florida
^ "Welcome to the feckin' Lake Okeechobee".
^ a b Heather S, grand so. Henkel (2010-04-15), Lord bless us and save us. "SOFIA Virtual Tour - Lake Okeechobee". Sofia.usgs.gov. G'wan now. Retrieved 2011-11-27.
^ "Lake Okeechobee | Location & Facts". Encyclopedia Britannica. Here's another quare one. Retrieved 2019-02-19.
^ Counties of Florida map from U.S. Stop the lights! Census Bureau.
^ Hahn:11
^ Hann:148
^ Hanna:32
^ Hann:99
^ "Mosquito County, Florida, 1830 (map)", Lord bless us and save us. University of South Florida, like. Retrieved 24 April 2011.
^ Wills, Lawrence E. (1977). Be the holy feck, this is a quare wan. A Cracker History of Okeechobee, for the craic. West Palm Beach, Florida: Palm Beach County Historical Society.
^ "Palm Beach County Interestin' Facts and Figures". Jesus Mother of Chrisht almighty. Palm Beach County. Here's a quare one. 2019, for the craic. Retrieved December 29, 2019.
^ "National Hurricane Center: The Deadliest Atlantic Tropical Cyclones, 1492-1996". Nhc.noaa.gov. Retrieved 2011-11-27.
^ "Lake Okeechobee | Location & Facts", enda story. Encyclopædia Britannica. Retrieved 2019-02-19.
^ a b c Kleinberg, Eliot (2008-08-21), Lord bless us and save us. "Lake Okeechobee surpasses 12 feet for first time since January '07". Palm Beach Post. In fairness now. Archived from the original on 17 June 2011, enda story. Retrieved 2011-11-27.
^ "Polluted Muck Taken from Florida's Lake Okeechobee Prompts Fears on Land", Environmental News Network
^ Lake Okeechobee Brush Fire, WINK News "Archived copy". Right so. Archived from the original on 2008-05-17. Retrieved 2008-06-17. CS1 maint: archived copy as title (link)
^ Lizette Alvarez (September 8, 2013). "In South Florida, a bleedin' Polluted Bubble Ready to Burst". Here's a quare one for ye. The New York Times. Chrisht Almighty. Retrieved September 9, 2013.
^ Hiaasen, Carl (March 13, 2016). "Where's Rick Scott in Lake O pollution crisis?". Sufferin' Jaysus. Florida Today. G'wan now and listen to this wan. Melbourne, Florida. pp. 23A. Retrieved March 13, 2016.
^ LaPeter Anton, Leonora; Pittman, Craig (March 19, 2016). Arra' would ye listen to this. "Lake Okeechobee flood control creates environmental disaster". Sufferin' Jaysus. Tampa Bay Times. Sure this is it. Retrieved 22 March 2016.
^ a b c "Water quality concerns grow as toxic bacteria found in Lake O", to be sure. ABC 7 WZVN. 20 May 2016. Retrieved 21 May 2016.
^ Andy Reid (17 May 2016), the shitehawk. "Lake Okeechobee algae bloom threatens to worsen water woes". Sun Sentinel. Retrieved 21 May 2016.
^ "Florida can pay for algae recovery on its own, FEMA says", that's fierce now what? TCPalm. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. 18 July 2016. I hope yiz are all ears now. Retrieved 1 August 2016.
^ "Emergency Lake Okeechobee back-pumpin' granted to save wildlife". 23 June 2017. Retrieved 23 June 2016.
^ Lodge:110
^ South Florida Water Management District: Okeechobee Watershed Overview
^ Reid, Andy (April 21, 2011). C'mere til I tell ya now. "Declinin' Lake Okeechobee water levels threaten South Florida environment, water supplies". South Florida Sun-Sentinel, the shitehawk. Retrieved 26 June 2012.
^ Brochu, Nicole Sterghos (2003), you know yourself like. "Florida's Forgotten Storm: the feckin' Hurricane of 1928", begorrah. South Florida Sun-Sentinel. Here's a quare one for ye. Retrieved April 6, 2008.
^ Lodge:105, 109
^ a b Fisheatin' Creek Sub-Watershed Feasibility Study:11
^ Bonin':212
^ "LAKE OKEECHOBEE / Water Management > Jacksonville District > Fact Sheet Article View". Whisht now. Jacksonville District, U.S. Bejaysus this is a quare tale altogether. Army Corps of Engineers. 2012-10-09. Retrieved 2017-01-08.
^ "Lake Okeechobee and Florida National Scenic Trails CURRENT CLOSURES" (PDF). Whisht now and eist liom. US Army Corps of Engineers. Me head is hurtin' with all this raidin'. Retrieved 1 October 2016.
Bonin', Charles R. (2007). Sufferin' Jaysus. Florida's Rivers. Sarasota, Florida: Pineapple Press. Right so. ISBN 978-1-56164-400-1.
Fisheatin' Creek Sub-Watershed Feasibility Study - accessed 18 April 2011
Hann, John H, so it is. (2003). Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Indians of Central and South Florida: 1513-1763, bejaysus. Gainesville, Florida: University Press of Florida. ISBN 0-8130-2645-8.
Hanna, Alfred Jackson; Kathryn Abbey Hanna (1948). Bejaysus. Lake Okeechobee, enda story. Bobbs-Merrill, like. Retrieved 24 April 2011.
Lodge, Thomas E. (2005), would ye swally that? The Everglades Handbook: Understandin' the oul' Ecosystem. Second Edition. CRC Press, begorrah. ISBN 1-56670-614-9
Media related to Lake Okeechobee at Wikimedia Commons
Significant waterways of Florida
Larger rivers
Alapaha
Aucilla
Caloosahatchee
Chipola
Choctawhatchee
Econlockhatchee
Ochlockonee
St. Jaykers! Johns
Withlacoochee (North)
Withlacoochee (South)
Blue Cypress
East Tohopekaliga
Harney
Iamonia
Istokpoga
Miccosukee
Talquin
Tohopekaliga
Tsala Apopka
Smaller rivers
Alafia
Alapahoochee
Banana River
Chassahowitzka
Econfina
Hontoon Dead
Ichetucknee
Little (Biscayne Bay)
Little (Ochlockonee)
Little Econlockhatchee
Little Manatee
Little Wekiva
Mosquito Lagoon
New (Broward)
New (Carabelle)
New (Santa Fe)
Oleta
Pithlachascotee
Ribault
St, so it is. Lucie
St. Here's another quare one. Marks
Tomoka
Waccasassa
Wekiva
Creeks and
Blackwater (Hillsborough)
Blackwater (Lake)
Fisheatin'
Myakkahatchee
Pottsburg
Canaveral Barge Canal
Cross Florida Barge Canal
Haulover Canal
Hillsboro Canal
Miami Canal
Mud Lake Canal
St. Would ye believe this shite?Johns-Indian River Barge Canal
Tamiami Canal
Tampa Bypass Canal
Coastal waters of Florida
Indian River Lagoon
List of Florida rivers
List of major springs in Florida
Okeechobee Waterway
Okefenokee Swamp
Outstandin' Florida Waters
Paynes Prairie
Geography and ecology
Drainin' and development
Guy Bradley
Ernest F. G'wan now and listen to this wan. Coe
Hamilton Disston
Marjory Stoneman Douglas
Arthur R. Whisht now and listen to this wan. Marshall
Garald G, enda story. Parker
Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park
Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary
Florida Panther National Wildlife Refuge
Loxahatchee National Wildlife Refuge
Caloosahatchee River
Fisheatin' Creek
Florida Bay
Kissimmee River
Lake Worth Lagoon
St. Be the hokey here's a quare wan. Lucie River
Taylor Slough
Biscayne Aquifer
Burmese pythons in Florida
Comprehensive Everglades Restoration Plan
Environmental Impact of the bleedin' Big Cypress Swamp Jetport
Everglades Foundation
Friends of the bleedin' Everglades
South Florida Water Management District
The Everglades: River of Grass
U.S. Jasus. Sugar
Book:Everglades
Category:Everglades
Portal:Florida
Retrieved from "https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Lake_Okeechobee&oldid=1001340057"
Lakes of Florida
Lakes of Palm Beach County, Florida
Lakes of Glades County, Florida
Lakes of Okeechobee County, Florida
Lakes of Hendry County, Florida
Lakes of Martin County, Florida
Quadripoints and higher
Articles usin' infobox body of water without alt
Articles usin' infobox body of water without alt bathymetry
Mickopedia articles with NARA identifiers
Mickopedia articles with WorldCat-VIAF identifiers


Michael was our son for 28 years, now he is with Jesus forever. He is loved and missed dearly by his parents Jack and Gail alone with his brother Jeff and two nephews Brandon and Landon.
Born on October 19, 1977 in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, United States.
Passed away on February 16, 2006 in Samantha, Alabama, United States.
PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT SEPTEMBER 25,2011 AND SAY A SILENT PRAY FOR PARENTS OF A MURDERED CHILD.
13 years ago today you gain your golden wings, it was the hardness thing in my life to have to give you back to God. We love and miss you so much Michael.
Baby I'm sending you this rose to Heaven, it is so full of my love, hold it close to your heart. I'm sending it on the wings of a pure white dove. I love you Michael!
Michael Son I send you a red rose to heaven on the wings of a white dove. It will be wrapped in all my love.
Happy Birthday in heaven sweetheart!! There is never a day that goes by that I don't think about you in some way or another. It might be the sun shining bright or a red rose that I see in a magazine...but it is you I think of when I see these things. I loved you more than I ever let you know or see....I'm sorry that I didn't reach out to you more...forgive me Michael..
The hardest thing in my life was losing you son. It has been 7 years since God called you home. But you didn't go alone a part of my heart is missing. It is with you baby. We love and miss you more than anything. It has been 7 years but it feels like it was yesterday that you left us.
Dear Michael, Yesterday it was seven long years since your mom held you, hugged you, or heard your voice. The pain of losing a child is like none other. I know you are watching over her and helping her get through this world without you. God bless your mom. She has helped me so much.
Love and miss you with all my heart. You've got a new little cousin that you would just fall in love with...I will make sure Morgan tells her about her big cousin that loved her mommy so, how he would play and dance with her when she was a little girl. Loving you is so easy...missing you is the hardest.
Merry Christmas in Heaven my precious son. I know it has to be beautiful in heaven. With all the countless Christmas lights and the angel's singing. I love and miss you my precious son here on Christmas Eve night.
Son, I miss you more than anyone knows. As time goes by my grieving grows. I try to talk, laugh, and play the part. But behind my smile is always a empty spot.
Son, if kisses were raindrops, I'd send you a shower. If hugs were seconds, I'd send you hours. If smiles were water, I'd send you a sea. If love was a person, I would send you me. I love and miss you so much my precious beloved son.
Dear Michael, Happy birthday, Darlin'. I understand your sweet mom's pain. In your 28 short years here on earth you brought so much joy to her and all your family. While time helps, the devastation caused by your senseless loss never leaves. I pray for you and all your family today and every day.
Now your gone, your face I can no longer see. I look toward Heaven I know there is where you will always be. I miss you now, I miss you so. Son I will never let you go. Your my son I love u so.
Michael Son loving you comes easy, it is missing you that is ripping my heart apart. Along the path of memories, I will walk with you everyday. Just how much I miss you no one will ever know. I try to hide my tears with a fake smile. I love and miss you so much Michael.
Son, no matter if my life has changed. I will always love and miss you the same. The hurt and pain I have will never go away. And my life will never be the same. You may be gone from my sight, but you are still a big part of me...I Love You Michael Shane.
You are not far from my thoughts and always in my heart. Today, I want you to know that you were loved more by me than you thought for....my little family misses you so but we know that you are in heaven with our Lord, that one day if we God's child we will see you again. Love you forever.
You've been in my thought today, remembering you with loving memories that I will cherish for the rest of my life here on earth. I love you Michael Shane Miller!!
It will soon be six long yrs. since you were taken from us and it is still so fresh in our minds but we know that you are in such a beautiful place where there is no more pain, saddness, just happiness and love all around you. There were a lot of things that I missed out on and so much I should have said to you but I didn't, for this I will forever regret.Just know I loved you dearly.
Son, I wish I could have my old days back when we all were together. But secret tears & loving thoughts will always be with me forever. Your life was a blessing. Your memory a treasure. You will always be loved and missed be yond measure. Love Always Mom.
Michael baby in our life we loved you dearly. In death we will continue to love you just the same. Son your precious pictures of you will always remain hanging on the wall in a picture frame. Just because God called you home you will never be forgotten you will live in our hears just the same. Son we love you just as much as we ever did (Love Mom & Dad).
You were a very special part of our family, with your big smile and kind heart. You love everyone and found no wrong in any person you came into contact with..always there to lend a helping hand when needed. Loving your family was easy and loving your aunt Shelia wasn't easy there for a long time but you did without questions.Never got to tell you that I was sorry but you knew. I love you.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON" Today you are spending your 34th birthday in Heaven with the Lord. And all the Angels are singing "Happy Birthday To You. We released you some balloons they went toward Heaven. They went out of sight. Son we love you and miss you today on your birthday.
Son, Remembering you comes so easy. I do it everyday, It is the heartache of losing you that just want go away. I cryed a tear in the ocean and when someone fines it, That will be the day I will stop missing you.
Son, I know I cannot see you or hold you close to me. But I only can close my eyes and see you right beside me holding my hand. I also know you are always in my heart where you will always be. I will always love and forever miss you.
This a beautiful tribute created by a loving mother. The music is beautiful and I just may have to borrow the words you wrote Gail. Just beautiful. Many tears streaming down my face for you and Michael and my son, Mark and myself.
Son, I can't have my old days back when we were together. But my secret tears and loving thoughts of you will be with me forever. I thank God for the 28 years I was blessed with you.
I know there are no phone lines in Heaven. But I just want to pick up the phone and call you and say I Love You! And just to hear your sweet precious voice, it will be 5 1/2 years tomorrow since we lost you. My tears I cry for you is because I miss you so much.


Nestled in the quintessential English landscape of Stow-on-the-Wold, this 17th-century coaching inn has been lovingly restored by owner, Jim Cockell, and interior designer, Jordan Littler, to create an elegant, yet homely hotel.
Forme UK has just completed the refurbishment and fit out of The Metropolitan by Como, the luxury hotel in central London overlooking Hyde Park.
Standing empty for a considerable number of years, The White Hart pub in Bedfordshire has finally been restored to its former glory.
Studio Duggan, leading interior designers, have completed the refurbishment of 16 suites at the Dart Marina Hotel & Spa in Dartmouth.
Universal Design Studio has proudly revealed its design of the eagerly anticipated Odette restaurant, located in the newly refurbished Singapore National Art Gallery.
The German Gymnasium in London's King's Cross is undoubtedly one of 2015's landmark hospitality openings.
This new boutique hotel in Chippendale, Sydney, offers luxury with a difference.
DesignLSM has created a striking urban-style interior for Rohit Chugh's second restaurant, Chai Ki, in Canary Wharf.


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Home > Magazine > Features > Domestic Violence Survivors Speak Up
Domestic Violence Survivors Speak Up
By Pooja Garg
Khabar brings true life stories of domestic violence survivors who made it to safety. The ones who come out are a very small percentage of the ones who go through abuse. As they share their intimate experiences in their own words, we hope that this inspires others to make a choice towards living without fear. We are grateful to these survivors for their generosity in sharing what couldn't have been easy.
These personal narratives are part of the Empowerment Project's Storytelling with Sakhi undertaken by Pooja Garg for Khabar magazine in partnership with Raksha and The Woman Inc. It is supported by USC Fellowship for Domestic Violence Impact. Survivors of domestic abuse from Indian-American community were guided in writing their intimate stories of experience with domestic abuse. It is an endeavor to give them agency in sharing their stories which often go unheard.
[Left] Acrylic on Canvas, "I am" by Alka Writes
Names have been changed to protect the identity of the survivors.
This content is intended only for mature audiences. Reader discretion advised.
Content Warning/Trigger Warning: domestic violence. violent imagery, language, mental and physical health, depression, anxiety, trauma.
Bent But Not Broken: Uma's Story
A sprightly, ambitious young woman looking for fresh career horizons, Uma was one of the many Indians who came to the U.S. for higher studies. An independent woman, Uma had her own visa. When she got married, she added her spouse to her visa.
Yet this independent woman, now an IT Director with a well-known firm in the U.S., went through domestic abuse. She put up with it for a long time hoping and wishing that things would change. When they didn't and she spoke with her family and friends, they told her to accept and bear it.
In the midst of a cancer diagnosis, she found the courage to leave the relationship.
This is Uma's story written by her as a personal narrative.
My name is Uma. I am a domestic violence survivor, and this is my story.
The girl that I was.
I grew up in India amidst a loving, middle-class, traditional family. I never in my wildest dreams thought that I would be someone who would get caught up in domestic violence. I was the enterprising one, the first girl in my family to get an MBA, have a job in the big city, and live in a new place by myself.
But life happens and who can stop destiny.
I got married. It was the start of my abuse.
I came to the U.S. almost twenty years ago for my M.S. and soon after met my ex. After a brief long-distance dating period, we decided to get married. His parents were against the marriage because I was from a different caste. We got married in India and then came back to the U.S. I came back to my studies. and he went to another city to his job.
Within a few weeks, he started making sarcastic remarks about my studying in a different city and not being able to come on the weekends to visit him. He told me that I should leave my studies and move to be with him. I told him that he knew that I was studying before marriage and wanted to finish my M.S. But he got angry at me and said that I was putting my studies ahead of my husband. I started seeing his temper explode more and more.
As it progressed, it turned into verbal and emotional abuse within weeks. Not having had much experience with relationships, I thought that friction was a normal part of getting to know each other for a newly married couple. But it grew worse.
And then I was hit for the first time barely three months into the marriage. He hit me on my jaw and then started choking me. Then he hit me again on the face and threw me on the bed. This was the first time he had ever hit me. I was shell shocked, I started crying. My jaw was hurting, and I had trouble swallowing.
"Hit" is such a small word and does not quite encapsulate the despair and sadness I felt that night. The first time it happened, I remember looking at the mirror at the bruises on my face, neck and swollen jaw, feeling heartsick and numb as if I was in a bad dream.
The next day he apologized profusely, told me that he loved me, and promised not to do it again. I wanted so badly to believe him but there was a part of me that grew frightened. I was frightened because he had shown me what he was capable of if I did not listen to him or agree with him. However, I buried my fear and pretended to myself that he would change, and things would be fine. I was wrong.
I supported him in every way—studies, visa. And yet.
Soon after, my ex lost his job and was in danger of having to leave the country. I applied for an F2 visa on his behalf, and he became a dependent on my student visa. He then moved in with me and said that he wanted to do his MBA instead of a job. I supported him in his wish, and he started applying to MBA programs. During this time, he often yelled and screamed, but I put it down to his frustration of being at home. He would yell at me about going to meet my project mates, putting dinner a bit late on the table etc. It started becoming unbearable but then luckily, he got admission to an MBA program.
Things were ok for a while, but I started seeing more of his controlling nature and explosive temper. I could not read books because it meant that I was not paying him attention. I could not fall asleep in the car if he was driving since it meant that I was treating him as a servant. Sometimes we would meet for lunch at the university since now both of us were students there. If I was late by even 5-10 minutes, he would shout at me that I was selfish and wasting his time and I did not care for him enough to make sure I was there on time.
After I graduated, I started looking for a job. It was difficult since the economy was bad, and no one wanted to hire an international student that needed to be sponsored. Finally, I joined a local startup.
Most of my salary went to a joint account that was controlled by him. When I suggested buying a car for myself, he forbade it.
When I got pregnant in 2006, I told him that with the baby, now I would really need to buy a car. He got very angry with me and told me that I was wasting 'his' money and he could not allow that.
When I got pregnant again in 2008, my pregnancy was much worse. I had terrible nausea and was very sick most of the time. He started getting more and more irritated and angry with me. His shouting at me became more frequent. He was angry that I wasn't able to cook or clean like before. He said that it was just an excuse that food smells made me nauseous or sick. He refused to let me get help saying he would not waste his money just because I am lazy. Sometimes he would throw whatever was in his hand at me. Sometimes he would push me or shove me if I kept quiet when he was shouting at me.
In the next few years this cycle would repeat, few and far between at first, and then more and more as time went by.
His behavior towards me continued to worsen. He started threatening me that he would hit me or kill me or throw me out on the streets if I did not listen to him or if I disagreed with him on something. I remember when I enrolled one of my children in a class. He yelled at me and said they are 'his' kids; that I could make any decision regarding them; that if I did so in future, he would break my bones and throw me on the street. When I told him that they are my kids also, he got very, very angry and yelled at me that nothing in the house belongs to me—not the kids, neither the house, nor the car, nor the money in the joint account in which I had been depositing the salary for several years.
In the next few years, we bought a house in a good school district. If I bought even a small plant for the house by myself, he said I was wasting 'his' money and that he would beat me to a pulp. I started becoming very scared of him and was apprehensive whenever he was in the house. I did not know what would set him off. He started hitting me more regularly—slapping, choking and hitting me with his fist, shaking and shoving me. Sometimes he would do it in front of the kids. When I asked him not to do it, he said that the kids should know what their mom is like. He once choked me and slapped me because I had gone out for an evening walk in the neighborhood. He accused me of trying to attract men's attention.
I tried to find support.
Whenever I talked to my family about our issues, they said that being a wife, I should not do anything to make him angry, that I should try and maintain the peace of the house. When I talked to my friends, I heard echoes of the same thoughts.
When our communication totally failed, I emailed him asking him to stop his abusive behavior and come with me for marital counseling. He refused. He said he did not like washing dirty linen in public, that it was not the Indian culture, that this was not abuse.
When I had no support and no way to save myself, I went and took a self-defense class.
And then I got diagnosed with cancer.
And then one day, I got diagnosed with breast cancer stage 3. The next day, I wanted to go to the temple to pray. When we got there, he kept making jokes about others who were coming to pray. When I told him to stop, he said I deserved my cancer because of my behavior.
My parents came from India after my diagnosis. But my ex started showing irritation and anger especially the days following my chemo sessions. He was angry that I was no longer helping in cooking, household work or taking care of the kids. When I told him that I could barely stand or sit up due to severe nausea, dizziness and bone pain, he accused me of making excuses. He said I was using cancer, chemo and bone marrow treatment as an excuse not to do any work and that I was just a bad wife, bad mom and lazy.
After I lost my hair, I was very sad. Some of my friends took me out to take my mind off it. When he came to know about it, he created a big ruckus. He yelled at me that I was sick enough to not do much housework, but not sick enough to not go out with friends.
During my entire cancer treatment, he has shown callous disregard for me and my health. He told me several times that he didn't care if I lived or died. My friends would often take me to the hospital for treatments, therapy, meeting doctors, scan, etc. But he did not show even the slightest sympathy even when the cancer was suspected to have spread to the bones or when they said that I might lose the mobility in my left arm. He would laugh, crack jokes and listen to music loudly while I was upset and in pain. I could never have believed that he had so much cruelty in him if I had not seen it myself.
As I faced my mortality, I broke free of all fears.
And then it reached a point where I could not pretend that I was fine anymore. I was walking around with wounded eyes because of all the hurt I carried in my heart, not knowing what to do, how to get help.
After more than a decade of surviving like this, I finally had to call the police for help. My mother-in-law became very angry and furious with me for having taken this step. In the years since our marriage, she had admitted to knowing that my ex had a temper and abusive nature, just like his father. But when I called the police for help, she denied there had ever been any problems.
Divorce is a taboo subject in my Indian community and a huge stigma. The women, especially, are ostracized along with being blamed for "breaking up the family".
But facing mortality up, close and personal made me finally break free of all my fears. I filed for divorce in the middle of my treatment and got a protective order. It was a difficult time but curiously enough, I felt relieved. I was no longer scared in my own home.
I have moved on.
Over the past few years, I have healed enough to be cured of my PTSD and found love with an amazing man. I volunteer and run a support group. Helping others helps me heal. I want to help others who are in abusive situations, bring them hope and remove them from harm's way.
My message to anyone else facing extremely challenging circumstances: let that experience make you better. Let it bend you but not break you. Hardship presents a unique opportunity for us to become a better version of ourselves.
This is Your Truth: Jaya's Story
Quiet and soft-spoken Jaya came to U.S. as a newly married bride. An engineer from India, she determinedly worked her way through a career in IT. Anyone seeing Jaya from a distance could be forgiven for thinking that just like so many Indian Americans, she too was living the American Dream. Yet, all wasn't well at home. A domestic violence survivor, Jaya took the bold step of leaving with her kids. After so many years, Jaya shares her intimate experience in hope that it helps another going through the same circumstances.
In this space, Jaya wants to draw attention to the trauma the survivors continue to go through. That it doesn't end with leaving the abusive situation. That court systems need to think of ways to alleviate survivors' suffering instead of retraumatizing themin the process.
It is the hidden truth. It is right in front of everyone, yet everyone around her, including she, herself, denies it.
One day, the morning glorious sun rises just a bit warped. The next thing you know, there is loud arguing booming and tearing apart the serenity of that peaceful morning. Raw tension is palpable. Everyone anticipates what would come next, but fervently hopes that today is different. Alas, now we hear screams and cries, first in anger, then in pain, and then in desperation. Her pleas for him to stop. His angry tones as he rains a series of blows on her. Slowly, it all becomes quiet. His pent-up anxiety has been released, now that he has put her in her place, taught her a lesson.
What starts out as a simple slap (Yes, I know! It is anything but simple to imagine one adult treating another adult this way. But let's go with the story, shall we?) so what starts with a simple slap quickly escalates. She raises her hands to cover her face, to cover her head from the blows that are now raining on her. He innately thinks of these as her resisting him and twists her fingers. She writhes in pain. Before all is said and done, in a matter of a few minutes, she has a split lip, black and blue fingers, and her whole body is hurting. Her spirit is broken.
The surprising and sad bit in all of this? By now, neither he nor she remembers what was the grave mistake that had deserved this punishment? Everyone around her wonders the same. Nobody dares say a word. She ices her swollen fingers, gets the kids ready for school, talking to them gently but in a defeated, dull voice.
Years pass by. These memories are etched in her brain, no, burned in her brain. There comes a time when she is finally able to make a break. Finally, one day she picks up her kids and leaves. She hopes that now her painful past is behind her.
Life's plans
But life has other plans. Society has other plans. The courts have other plans. The police have other plans.
They ask her to tell exactly what happened that morning. She hits the mental recall button and regurgitates the story. Then they separately also ask him what happened that morning? He regurgitates the story as he recalls it. And here's the catch--her story and his story are not even close. He tells them that all he did was to hold her hands so that she would not hit him. That all he did was try to calm her down, that it was just an argument that went a bit out of control.
By now, the split lip has healed. She had not taken any photos, had not called the police as she did not want to bring shame to the family. The only evidence that she has now is what she is carrying on her—her broken finger that was later reset.
When a victim of domestic abuse is able to make a break and leave the relationship, she is often faced with the legal and law enforcement systems. This is complicated further if she has minor children with the abuser. As soon as she separates from her abuser, who is also the father of her minor children, what comes into focus then is custody, visitation, child support, and temporary alimony.
Had she been in her familiar surroundings back home in a different country, she would have instinctively known what to do—taken a rickshaw and headed over to her mother's house or a sister or a cousin. This would not have been an option given the shame it would have brought to her family, for having left her husband's home. Daughters are only welcome back at the mother's house if they are home for the delivery of their first child or to celebrate Teej. She knew even in her familiar surroundings, leaving was a non-option. Leaving an abusive husband to seek shelter and help would have resulted in a "Beta, thoda tum bhiseh lo, bacchon ki tarafdekho" and sent back. Now thousands of miles away, in foreign surroundings, she is dependent on him, and she is away from even that small sliver of hope and help. Her limited support system and her family and friends who have the best intentions at heart and want to help her and her children, at times, unknowingly set her on a path of conflict. Not because they are wrong but because what is straightforward and obvious to the outside eyes is far more difficult, if not impossible to prove in the court of law. They might say to her that she must fight in the courts, that she must not allow the children to see their father and especially that she must make sure that her abuser gets punished. However, the courts insist on regular visitation, despite the volatile situation and having one's day in the court is only for TV drama. Reality is that she is just another case that the judge wants cleared from their docket.
She is often strapped for money, unable to get or keep a well-paying job, since now child rearing responsibilities are hers, on top of dealing with the legal process. All this while, the abuser, who has thus far been mostly absent in the children's lives, becomes a super dad, showering the kids with gifts to win them over. If that does not work, he resorts to threats and often openly aggressive behavior towards them in the name of discipline. She is left to pick up the pieces, wipe the tears from her children's eyes and continue living.
While all this is happening, the abuser also plays at her heart strings, begging for forgiveness and promises of a romantic true love, waiting for her, should she give in. Now in a safe place, away from her abuser, her fears have subsided. When he calls her begging for forgiveness and asking her to meet him, she does so in the hopes of true remorse on his part and a reconciliation of the marriage. But meeting him makes her realize that she is once again set to make the same mistake that she has made many other times.
Later she comes to know that this is the cycle of abuse--which starts from honeymoon phase to the tension building, walking on eggshells phase, followed by a violent outburst in the abusive phase and back to honeymoon phase again. This loop keeps a lot of women in that relationship for years, even a lifetime. Research shows that women leave and go back to their abusers on an average of seven times before making a final break. Yet, the courts fail to understand the raw fear and pain she expressed when she left her abuser is as real as her efforts to meet her abuser to work things out, to have the marriage stay but the abuse to stop.
Stacking evidence
Within this backdrop, there is the legal system which is based on assumption of innocence until proven guilty. The onus of proof and evidence is inherently stacked towards the domestic abuse victim. She often does not have any evidence. And the truth is only in the eyes of the beholder--the only two people who were present.
Abusers can then use the courts to their advantage, especially if they have the financial means to do so. They may bring in expert witnesses to discount her story, and may say what she recounted is HER version of the truth, which albeit is true scientifically, in how memories are recalled and stored back. However, it is very misleading and forces her to go on the defensive. Oftentimes, this is the first time that she has shared this dirty secret with anyone outside her abuser. The one time that she finally reaches out for a helping hand, she is denied even the acknowledgement of her story. Just on the basis of technicality alone, she can be buried under paperwork on account of discovery.
Lengthy depositions of multiple individuals from her support system is another such legal weapon. It has a sharp edge forcing her to shell out money she does not have for legal representation in these depositions. Simultaneously, it has the other sharp edge of shattering her support system since no one wants to get tangled in a legal mess. Her friends who had stood by her, who had seen her struggle up close, now move away worried for themselves, their families, and sometimes their own immigration status.
Additionally, the raw fear that she expressed when she left the house, and got the temporary restraining orders, is in sharp contrast with the woman who now appears in court. Although both are very much true, her story and her fear become less and less believable in the eyes of the courts. While living with the abuser, she learns what to do and what not to do to try and avoid triggering a violent episode, walking on eggshells all the time. However, this behavior which may have been what saved her life, now comes across as manipulative. While she misses the father that her children deserve, she has to protect them from his tirades and manipulations. Her actions are perceived as parental alienation.
Although all of these are real challenges that many women face, these may possibly be addressed with appropriate domestic violence awareness training of legal and law enforcement.
However, there is one significant area where knowledge of scientific facts may protect the domestic violence victim from being further victimized by so-called expert witnesses who question her memory when faced with a 'he said-she said' story line.
The way human memory works is that every time we remember something, especially something that happened a long while back, the memory is pulled from our long-term brain storage and then after we process it, talk about it, or think about it, it is resaved as a new copy of the memory. So even though what we remember is truth as we know it, every memory slowly changes over time.
Additionally, we may remember very specific details about a particular event, but some other details that we should have obviously remembered, we are totally blank about. Trauma has the capacity to play havoc with our memories. Long term trauma, such as what domestic violence victims endure, has an everlasting effect on their ability to remember. Thus, even though we are telling the truth and are convinced that we are telling the truth, it is our truth, truth as we remember it now.
An understanding of how memory works would save so many victims from becoming a target of ridicule; or worse, accused of lying. As they tell their truth, they have to endure more grilling for details that they do not clearly remember. When the grilling continues, they get frustrated; and it becomes easy to label them as difficult and argumentative. The abuser, who has gaslighted and manipulated the truth, now comes across as very calm because his story comes across as the more logical one, hence more believable.
Having the knowledge of how memory works would put domestic violence victims in control. They would be able to start off by telling their story as their truth without fear of judgement. If their legal counsel has the knowledge of how memory works, they would be able to position the cross examinations of the expert witnesses correctly. In all the messiness and danger of life after abuse, the domestic violence victim would be able to stand with their head held high, knowing the power of their truth. Their story would be weighed in the right light, the courage with which they made the final escape.
Here is hoping that the blind legal system for once won't be deaf and would stop allowing abusers to use it to further abuse the victims of abuse.
This feature is part of Empowerment Project undertaken by Pooja Garg for Khabar magazine in collaboration with Raksha and The Woman Inc. It is supported by USC Fellowship for Domestic Violence Impact Reporting.
Pooja Garg is City Editor & Community Engagement Editor of Khabar magazine. Member of Cobb County Domestic Taskforce, she is Founder Chief Editor of The Woman Inc., an advocacy and literary nonprofit magazine. To connect with her: linktr.ee/poojagarg .
(The Woman Inc. has been working for the past five years to provide survival resources for DV victims through sharing survivor stories, information and safety resources and network, and organizing phone donation drives for DV victims.)
Alka Writes is a California-based poet, artist and women's rights advocate. Her work has been reproduced here with permission from The Woman Inc. where it had previously been published as part of a series.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


So, insanity happened today in the form of grilled cheese. I feel like my arteries are really mad at me, but my taste buds are justifying their hatred. Everything is going to be FINE - just make this please and eat it so you can understand how I am feeling at the moment because I'm not really sure what else to say right now.
Get your hands dirty and mix together the raw sausage, minced garlic, chopped sage, red pepper flakes, salt and coarse black pepper until combined.
Remove sausage from the skillet with a slotted spoon, leaving the grease in the skillet. Set sausage aside.
Melt a few slices of butter in the skillet and whisk in the flour. You should get a pasty texture. Once you've created the flour/butter paste, add in the milk, whisking slowly. The milk should thicken and turn into gravy. Add more milk if it becomes too thick.
Add the sausage back into the skillet. And now you have some of the best damn sausage gravy you'll ever eat!!
Next, get out another skillet - one that has a matching lid, and put it on the stove and turn the heat to medium.
Scoop and stack as much of the sausage gravy as you would like onto one of the slices of bread, and cover with the other slice. Cover with lid and let cook for about 3 minutes, then flip and let the other side cook for about 3 more minutes.
Once the cheese is melted and everything is all gooey, remove the sandwich from heat and dust with fresh Parmesan and more sage. WARNING: it's messy, but oh so worth it.


2 demo's and 1 gig.
Soon after taking up the guitar at sixteen I began playing with an old school mate, David Blackley, who took up the guitar about the same time. I played rhythm guitar and occasionally Sang while David played lead and even less occasionally sang. Mostly we played instrumentals, even our songs tended toward instrumentals with thirty seconds of singing followed by an eight minute solo. Anyone who might have heard either of us sing about this time would of approved of this balance. We might not of been in the same league guitar wise as Davids' favourites Dave Gilmore and Carlos Santana but on the whole our guitar playing was a heck of a lot less offensive than our singing.
We made two visits to the country singer Stu Stevens Ash ( or Eagle ) eight track studios at Annesley Woodhouse to record demo's. We recorded five tracks the first time and three the second. All original, all crap. We navigated the awkwardness of our voices with a variety of other devises besides long instrumentals. On one track David whispered the lyric inaudibly over the constant backdrop of a wind machine. For another track I simply read a short Phillip Larkin poem (Wires) over an electric guitar arpeggio augmented by a distorted sound created by using an electric razor to pluck the strings ( with blade removed ). I'm not sure this is what my dad had in mind when he gave ne the razor but it was the only use it ever got. The track then went into a long meandering instrumental. Another track featured David talking in a gruff voice and yet another had me screaming.
We were a mixture of low energy socially conscious punk and poorly executed prog rock. We played songs about the futility of everything with titles like " Blow the world to f******pieces".
In 1985 we made our one and only live appearance as third support at a punk gig at The Poplar in Ilkeston. We'd rehearsed five songs but after two someone suggested we might like to make the next one the last. And so we did.
We continued to jam and rehearse songs throughout the 80's until life took us separate ways, but never attempted to play live or record again.
Numerous demo's , three gigs and a radio interview .
In early 1980 my friend Graham Cooke, usually referred to as Cookie, suggested we form a pop band. I brought a guitar, he brought a bass, I took some lessons, he took up with a punk band, called Solvent Abuse and started playing live almost immediately. Actually they were originally called the Government till it was discovered that name had already been taken. Looking back I think they should of stayed as the government and Maggie could of had solvent abuse. So they changed names to Riot squad but that was needed in Mansfield so they became Solvent Abuse.
While he played with Solvent, Cookie and I were writing and rehearsing songs with Cookie singing, and when he quit the band we decided to make a demo at Ash studio where David and I had already recorded. Solvent had done a couple of demo's in Broadway studio in Hockley Notts - a converted basement. Ash was a more up market studio - a converted barn.
Cookie suggested the name White Feather for the project which seemed innocuous enough to me, at least until a couple of months later when Kajagoogoo used it as an album title which put me right of the name but by then we were committed. Or would of been if the psychiatrist' report hadn't got lost in post.
For our demo we were joined by Darren Warner on drums. Darren didn't have any drums himself so we hired some the night before which was the only chance Darren got to rehearse with us. Cookie and I knew the songs backwards but Darren hadn't heard them before and since one of them was a twenty minute epic with a dozen tempo changes we entered the studio's with fingers crossed. Which perhaps explains why I messed up the guitar part and Darren got his bit right.
After Cookie had left Solvent one of the demo tracks on which he'd played bass was selected to go on a punk compilation album . Perhaps inspired by a certain amount of jealousy we decided to make a self financed single . Using one track recorded with Darren " Summer days and a golden haze ", and a second from another session with just the two of us, " Feathered girl ", we had 500 copies of a single pressed in December 1983 . We sent out a number of promotional copies and in January we were interviewed on Radio Nottingham by Bob Rowe for the late afternoon/teatime show. Both tracks were played , though not in full - even our short tracks tended to drag on, and Cookie told the world how we spent a lot of time playing together in my bedroom. We were also reviewed in a local free paper being likened to Echo and the Bunnymen and Syd Barrett.
And then. Well, er nothing. That was it. We sold just over a hundred copies, lost, left behind and otherwise mislaid the best part of another hundred and the rest sit forlornly in my wardrobe with my seventy eights and my reel to reel tapes.
We continued making demos' until 1989 although often involved in other projects simultaneously. All demos were recorded at Ash studio mostly with Stu at the controls. Not having a car we'd either borrow my mums' or go on my 150cc Gilera Arcour motorbike, which was quite fun when we had a guitar sticking out of each pannier and various effects, bits of Percussion, drum machines, music stands and sundries packed in the top box and a bag on Cookies back. We sent some of the recordings we made off to record companies but mostly we just stuck 'em in a cupboard. We sent one demo tape early on to Graham Neal at radio Trent. Years later we got it back with his memo which read " White Feather- psychedelia is supposed to be on the upsurge - maybe they're onto something? "
Various friends joined us for certain sessions to contribute their talents. Steve Birch a work mate of Cookies sang harmonies on a song called "It makes me sad" , David Blackley added atmospheric guitar noises to "The ocean" , John Harrison played lead guitar on a number of tracks and Anton Grzesiczek joined us to play Guitar and add some backing vocals on a number of our better tracks.
In late '89 or early '90 we decided to switch from being a studio band to a live group. We recruited Simon Withers on Drums and the three of us rehearsed for two years played three gigs, two at the news house on St.James st. Notts, one at the Old Angel Hockley, and then split up. On each occasion we supported Cookies rockier outfit The Little Pigs. Cookie had often been in another band throughout White Feathers existence, first with a reformed Solvent Abuse then Emily and then the Little Pigs. At one point he was rehearsing with three bands. Now he felt he was in one band to many and he left to concentrate on playing live with The Pigs and helping his wife have a baby.
1 jam and 1 demo .
In August 1984 with my parents on holiday we had a jam at my house. With Cookie on bass and backing vocals, Jar (Lynda Sanderson) - formerly one of Solvents' two singers - on vocals , John Harrison on lead guitar (mainly), me on rhythm guitar (mainly) and Jono - another former Solvent member on drums we made a raucous row, with which we were sufficiently impressed to book Ash studio to do a demo.
The day before the demo John, Jar and I had been to see the Dammed at a " keep the GLC working for London " gig, Red Kens' last stand, or so thought Maggie . We got home rather late. Come demo day and I over slept and was late. Jar failed to turn up at all and so Cookie did the singing.
With enthusiasm for more high energy music held over from the Tin jam we formed a rock band. The personnel was as for Tin except with Shelley (a fella) Eaton in for Jar (Shelley was Solvents' other singer), and Darren Warner taking over from Jono. We rehearsed, recorded a three track demo, played one gig, at the Nelson and Railway Kimberley, and then kicked Darren out for being unreliable at turning up for practice. Auditioning a couple of Drummers underlined the fact that Darren was an above average drummer not to be easily replaced. And so he was invited back, and I left rather then be in the band with him. They played another gig and then Shelley left. After a couple more gigs and a performance at a song contest at Britannia park, where the judges included such musical luminaries as the boxer John Conti and the mayor of Erewash, John left and was replaced by Anton Grzesiczek with whom they played a number of gigs and recorded a demo at Ash. And then they went the way of all flesh - saggy, a little loose at the seams but.......nobody loved them.
Emilys' high point came when we were still a five piece. We entered The Sony Rock'n'Pop Challenge, a national band competition the winner of which ended up on The Whistle Test. We got as far as a regional final, having a track played on Radio Trent along with seven other hopefuls. Sundry judges offered opinions and then selected a winner. We felt slightly aggrieved because the competition rules obliged us to send in two tracks. We had demos' of three songs one of which we were happy with and the other two of which were pretty poor. We sent in the good one along with the least offensive of the other two. But on radio Trent they only played one song for us to be judged on. And which, do you think, they chose? It's one thing to be judged at your best and be found wanting, quite another to be judged at your worst.
After White feather split up Sam ( Simon Withers ) and I decided to play as a two piece, Sam on drums and me on amplified guitar and singing. I had sung, or rather shouted, one song at the gig I played with Emily, had sang, or rather talked, a song at each of the three White feather gigs and had also been used to shouting, screaming, squawking and talking with David. Recently I'd taken to singing new songs to Cookie, originally anything I wrote on my own I would just pass him the words, play the guitar part and let him work out a melody. DHSS, Move along, and Prometheus were written like this. But I'd never really pretended to be a singer. And now I was going to - though I'd see what I could get away with by talking, shouting and screaming first. Also instrumentals. They'll help. So we set off experimenting with what we could achieve with drums ( scraped, scratched, hammered and hit ) guitar and feedback. Lots of feedback. But not just any old feedback. No, rhythmic feedback. Controlled feedback. Alright, nearly controlled feedback. Nearly rhythmic feedback. Nearly controlled rhythmic feedback.. Hmmmm. But before we got the chance to introduce the public to the wonderful world of Boccionni on horseback, I was sent down.
Some say it was for crimes against music. Some say it was for daring to believe in freedom of expression. Still others say it was for " screaming like a banshee " in court and biting a police officer, in my own very personnel protest against the poll tax. After nine and a half weeks I was released. I should of only done six but they liked me so much they kept me longer. Brian Adams was No 1 when I went in. He was still No 1 when I came out. Every Sunday evening I would press my ears against the bars of my cell window to hear the chart show coming up from the cell below, and every week it was the same record at No 1. God how I hate Brian Adams. But he's not the worst. I worked in a t- shirt workshop making ....... T- shirts, well what else does one make in a T-shirt workshop. My particularly demanding T-shirt production task, the one they chose especially for me ( or was it Jason Donovan ) on account of my high E.Q, the one upon which the accurate implementation of depended the entire process involved sniping off the dangly bits of loose cotton. A procedure known in the trade as " dangly cotton bit snipping ". Apparently this was all to enable me to become a useful and fully rehabilitated member of society on release. But I didn't want to be a useful member of society, I wanted to be a student. As we worked away on our T-shirts we were allowed to have the radio on. This gave us the untold pleasure of listening to Rozella singing " Everybody's free to feel good " and Belinda Carlise "Live your life be free ". Silly cows.
After I got out I went off to Bath. I'd been advised not to shower in prison or at least if I did not to bend down to retrieve the soap if I dropped it. At Bath I was starting a degree course in music, but after two weeks I felt I couldn't cope and gave up. But Boccionni had fallen off his horse and died without us having to explain our name or point out that we were supposed to sound like that.
When sam and I were joined by Shelley Eaton on Vocals and John Cooper ( Trapper ) on bass for a short term project Sam, a practising artist - which at one time would of made him ineligible for military service, suggested we resurrect this name since it had gone unused in anger. Boccionni was an Italian artist of the futurist movement who died falling off his horse. Persons of a more superstitious nature might of taken the premature demise of the previous band bearing this name as an ill omen but not us. We got together with the intention of practising for a few weeks before playing two gigs on the same day and than splitting up. The first gig in the afternoon was in a long field behind a pub in Riddings. No matter how long the field it could never of been long enough. No matter where you stood you were always going to be too close to the stage when we were on. We were truly awful. In the evening we supported The Little Pigs, who had also played at Riddings, at the Narrow Boat in Notts, which was later knocked down. This time, awful would be a hopelessly inadequate adjective to describe us. Never in the history of human endeavour have so many been so appalled by so few. Well if anyone had been there that is. Fortunately this appalling demonstration of inability was witnessed by a mercifully small number, otherwise the casualties could of been horrendous. I found it difficult to believe that after so many years trying I could be part of something quite so appallingly bad. We were crap to start with but when Trapper turned up late with all sobriety of the crested newt and proceeded to break off playing in the middle of songs in order to imbibe more pond water, when Shelley decided he'd had enough and walked off stage leaving me to sing unrecognizable versions of ABBAs' Mamma Mia, The Dead Kennedys' Let's lynch the landlord and Peter Gabriels' D.I.Y. Well it was more than flesh and blood could stand. It ended with me cordially enquiring why Trap just didn't F*** OFF, and Sam getting up at the end, walking from his drums out the door down the road and out of the city. He didn't stop walking till he'd reached Newark!
Every now and then, Trapper - who has somehow managed to remain a friend - will say to me " Why don't we start a band " , and I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
And then ... we got fed up and split. Cookie has reformed the band on a number of occasions but I have not been a part of them.
The little Pigs Myspace site.
Sam and I were involved in a number of jams with various people throughout the mid '90's most commonly with John Harrison on guitar especially in'95/96. Then in march '97 we formed a new band. At South East Derbyshire College the lecturer Tony Morgan, who more than any other single person is responsible for my musical education, encouraged me to take a course on computer music run by Dale Perkins. This involved learning how to use a sequencer on an Atari computer. I thought this was fantastic, it was a bit like the multitrack recorder I'd always wanted but couldn't have - except of course you couldn't record vocals ... or guitars ... or in fact anything but synths. But hey, synthesised drums, fantastic, synthesised strings, phenomenal, synthesised brass, brilliant, synthesised pianos, great, synthesised synths, err. I found the Atari with C-Lab Notators' software a great creative tool, I could write and arrange with it, and so I invited it to become the third member of our band. As a member of the band it was given fully democratic voting rights within the band, though as Sam couldn't understand computers I had to interpret its wishes. Such was the empathy between me and the computer that our views nearly always coincided and as a consequence Sam tended to be out voted. We played two gigs at the Britannia Inn Huntingdon street Notts, which was later knocked down. We got eighty pounds, forty pounds each, the most I've ever made from music.
Playing entirely original compositions we made no effort to compromise our ascetic values or indeed to entertain our audience. You either liked us for what we were, bloody awful, or hated us. But we were pure of heart, and sound in mind and limb. Well Sam had a bad back, but I had been officially declared sane while in prison by a visiting psychiatrist I had to see when I went on hunger strike in protest at their not allowing me to wear my hat. Since I was also refusing to wear the prison uniform properly I went to see him with trousers round my neck and a shirt round my loins. He asked me if I was a practising homosexual, I told him I didn't have to practice as I was naturally talented. That last bit was untrue, I was too scared to say anything smart. After I'd been on hunger strike a couple of days I was moved from the block, a cold place they keep naughty prisoners, to the hospital wing, where they first led me into a padded cell at the sight of which I thought "oh s***, what have you done now you silly sod", but then a more senior guard muttered something about there being too much paper work if they put me in there, so I was put in a normal cell. At the time this seemed like a deliberate attempt to scare me and it worked. Anyway the shrink declared me as sane as he was, two weeks later he was arrested for an improper relationship with a goat. Meanwhile back at the band we played a mixture of songs - in which I played guitar and sang, Sam played drums and the Atari played bass, keyboards and other parts - and instrumentals - where we would experiment with sound, for these I mostly played synthe rather than the guitar.
I didn't really feel comfortable singing. I didn't like the way my voice sounded, I didn't like the way it wouldn't do what I wanted it to, and I didn't like the way it would do what I didn't want it to. So we decided to get a singer. A girl singer. I reasoned that having worked only with male singers before a female voice would make a change. Also, although many of my favourite artists are male, Pink Floyd, Paul Simon, Billy Bragg, it's not usually the quality of their voice that attracts me to them. The voices whose qualities I most appreciate tend to be ladies, Liz Fraiser, Eddi Reader, Natalie Merchant. So we put an add in add mag, " wanted female singer, with or without large bosom". For some reason we got very few replies. Eventually we did end up with a singer called Sarah Hewson, with whom we rehearsed for a while but never played live. When she left due to work commitments, Sam suggested we replace her with Denise Weston, an artist in his studio group who had been in bands previously but was not currently. Sam said that as this was a new project we needed a new name and now that I could no longer count on the casting vote of the Atari I found myself playing in a band called Milch - this is German for milk and apparently has some artistic connotation that was explained to me but I forgot. The image of Bottcionni falling of his horse was much easier to remember, but harder to spell. Milch played much of the same material as The Watnalian Institute except that we were less experimental and did less improvising. We also included one or two covers in a vain attempt to be more approachable. We played three gigs, two at The Old Cricket Players Notts and one at the Cattle Market Tavern Notts, which went bust shortly afterwards. The sound was always rather muddy as various synthesised instruments battled with each other to get out of the p.a. speakers.
We also made some recordings using my new Apple Mac computer which could record real sounds like voices, though it was easier to record a drum machine rather than Sam, so we did on our main demo effort.
Sam was never really happy having to keep time with the computer backing and he and Denise wanted to replace it with more musicians. A band meeting was called and we split down the middle Sam and Denise went off to play with more musicians and me and my Atari went off to play with less. They are now in a five piece band called ZOO .
It seemed to me that I'd been in a number of bands that all basically had the same problem. We rehearsed a lot, played a handful of gigs and then split up. The obvious way around this was to play on my own, I could hardly fall out with myself over musical differences now could I. I would no longer be dependent upon other people remaining interested in the project. The only draw back as I saw it was having to sing and listen to my own voice, but that could not be helped. I would be self reliant, self sufficient, and self supporting except for the company of a corpulent corrupter of flesh who had accosted me in the toilets of a public bar some years earlier. Sometime later that pub was raided by the police and the landlord lost his licence.
I carried on with much the same material as Milch with added programmed drums, but resorted to the earlier name with an added extension. After months spent rehearsing I set out on the road, playing two gigs at the Town Mill in Mansfield and one at The Old Cricket Players in Notts. Then I split up. A muddy sound continued to be a problem, the lack of an audience was disheartening and the level of effort required daunting. I'd stick to doing home made demos.
At South East Derbyshire College I was for part of my nine years as a student involved in a guitar quartet. We played one lunch time recital at college the undoubted highlight of which was our performance of John Cage's 4'33". This is a three movement piece of unadulterated silence. The original is for the piano but we labouriously worked out our own arrangement for guitar quartet. For the performance of the piece we all wore different hats, sombrero, flying helmet, pompom and souwester. We adopted different positions, standing, sitting, lying and standing on a chair and between movements changed positions. At the end we bowed. I think the performance was appreciated more by the staff than students most of whom just thought it a bit silly .
As part of my A-level course I had to do a lunch time recital at college on the piano. After some Bach, Bartok and Shostakovitch I announced the next piece as being by a one legged Russian ice cream man called Borris Badinov who worked in Red Square shouting at the tourist to go home. The piece dealt with the alienation of the human spirit in the modern age. I then hoped from the piano to the door and back and bowed. A lot of people thought this was a bit silly .
I became involved with our colleges' early music group playing pre 1700 music. The group consisted of a lecturer, Wendy, on a viol (a bowed fretted instrument tuned in fourths that comes in a full range of sizes, not to be confused with the viola of the violin family), a number of recorders, a couple of guitars fulfilling the role of lutes, and a singer. We played a small part at a serious concert at the Titchfield library at Welbeck Abbey. It was really a Ryton Chorale concert, a choir conducted by S.E.D.C lecturer Tony Morgan, with various S.E.D.C ensembles playing little spots between choir numbers - including a steel band performing Bohemian Rhapsody! I thought this was a bit silly . But then again I've always thought Queen's version a bit silly .
We were required to dress smart for the gig. I'd had to borrow black trousers and shoes along with a white shirt off me dad. Tony lent me a clip on bow tie which I duly hid beneath my beard.
There were perhaps two hundred people in the audience and I felt really nervous. Trying to hide I played almost inaudibly allowing the good guitarist to carry the burden of responsibility. In the first piece I forgot to play any repeats and rushed through to the end then realising everyone else was still playing I just kept repeating the last section till they caught up. In the next piece the singer, Jane Cockell, who had a lovely voice, missed one of the repeats, but singers can't hide themselves like cowardly guitarists.
Our second concert was much more informal, in a church hall in Bramcote with a number of other early music groups that Wendy taught at the university. I enjoyed this more and very nearly played at an audible volume.
After Warblingson I decided to move in a more commercial direction. I felt I needed an audience. I would have to play music for which a gig going audience already existed. I considered the possibilities. What about heavy metal. I could play biker pubs eyeing up chicks in leather skirts, and getting me ead kicked in by blokes built like out houses. Perhaps not. What about being a club singer, would not being able to sing be a hindrance, and not knowing any popular songs be a draw back. No, what I needed was a style of music where it didn't matter if you sang out of tune and you were a little obscure. Then it hit me. What was that fellas name? You know the one that couldn't really play the guitar, sang through his nose and played the harmonica like it was some piece of agricultural machinery. What kind of music did he play. I'd have a go at that.
In the company of a fiend who has asked me not to refer to him by name or body size I went to the White Cow folk and blues club Ilkeston to dip my toes in the water. I was delighted. People actually sat and listened. Even if you sang microtonaly or just mumbled they would listen sympathetically and with an apparently open mind as if they'd left musical prejudices at the door, or come out without them. This was definitely it. If a crummy little town like Ilson could have a club as good as this just think what the clubs in good towns must be like!
Unfortunately it soon became clear that Ilkeston folk club was one of the better folk clubs, many others seemed to to be comprised of half dozen members one of whom would read passionleesly the lyrics of a CD cover. It also became clear that the outward friendlyness of Ilkeston folk club disguised the seeting bitter political in club rivalries. I began aimlessly treading water. And herre I remain, waiting to drown.


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