PrunePicker: Two year old boy with a broken wrist.

My niche in the Blogosphere.

My blog is about me, my family, my interests, my opinions, and my daily activities. My name is Chuck Monson. I am a native born Californian. I worked in the oil exploration and production business and am now retired and living in Ruston, Louisiana. I am a 91 year old widower. I blog because I really enjoy it. Posting gives me a schedule and is a wonderful make work project. I like pictures, both the taking and looking at them. I really like old historic pictures. I enjoy a good photograph. I like putting pictures and text together in a way that is hopefully interesting to others and that will be interesting to me in the future. I like to be silly now and then. It is also putting my memories down on paper. My blog serves as a diary. I have used it for a reference quite a few times.

I do mix it up. Some of my blogs are “what I had for breakfast”, some are just pictures, some are items of genealogical nature, and there are items from my family history. I have a history of the Munson/Monsons in America. The study of this history has led me to the discovery of much American history that had previously been unknown by me.

I have had a lifelong interest in history, archeology, philosophy, religion, politics, architecture, technical subjects, music, food, and sports. I spend time every day reading blogs and posting to my blog. I do not pontificate on religion or politics because I do not consider myself wise enough to try to persuade others to my beliefs. My beliefs are quite nebulous anyway.

I was started on blogging by my late son, Christopher David Monson. Chris wrote the blog "snaggletoothie of the Loyal Opposition" There is a link to his blog above. I look at Chris's blog often. I have read most of his posts.

My adult years.

I married Jackie Lois Ireton in 1944 in San Luis Obispo, California. I met her on a blind date when I was taking amphibious training at Moro Bay. We have been blessed with four children, nine grand children, and nine great grandchildren. They are an exceptional group. I love them and I am proud of them.

I was an army combat engineer (infantry with shovels) during World War II. I served in the Pacific. I was wounded on Peleliu Island helping the marines on Bloody Nose Ridge. I was shot in both legs just above the knees. The wound locations indicate that I was not running away.

I received a BSME in 1950 from Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, California. Jackie received a PHT. (pushing husband through.) I retired from oilfield work in 1985. Jackie and I moved into a fifth wheel trailer and enjoyed the RV lifestyle until Jackie's health failed. We traveled across the continent 3 1/2 times. We spent a summer as volunteers at Acadia National Park. For 17 years we helped build an Escapee RV park in Chimacum, Washington. Jackie passed away in 2007. We had been married 63 years. We were married on June 3, 1944. I still live in our fifth wheel trailer. It is parked in the yard of my daughter Kerry's home in Ruston, Louisiana. It is by far the nicest RV park that I have ever lived in.

My teen age years.

I was born in 1925 in Pomona, California. Pomona is on the east edge of Los Angeles County. It is halfway between Los Angeles and San Bernardino and halfway between the mountains and the beach. I thought that it was great to be an hour from snow covered mountains and an hour from the ocean surf.

In my days of growing up, Pomona was completely surrounded by orchards and truck farms. Oranges, lemons, grapefruit, peaches, apricots, olives, persimmons, and walnuts. Watermelons and strawberries. During the depression I had many meals from the orchards.

They say that you cannot go back home. That is true of the Pomona Valley of my youth. Because it is no longer there. Most of it is now covered with asphalt and stucco buildings.

My ancestors.

I am getting more and more into genealogy. I have a trove of information on the Munsons/Monsons. My father is buried in California. His father by adoption (He was an uncle.) is buried in Kansas. His natural father is buried in Kentucky. So I have two grandfathers. I have a grandfather and four great grandfathers buried in Kentucky, one great buried in New Jersey, and three greats buried in Connecticut. I have two greats buried in Rattlesden, Suffolk, England. I have been led to believe that my ancestors before that came from Denmark and Normandy.

Captain Thomas Munson was the first Munson to move to America. He was baptized in Rattlesden, England in 1612. The baptismal font is still in use. He served in the militia in the Pequot Indian Wars in 1637. He served in the militia all his life and reached the status of Captain. His signature is on the founding document for New Haven, Connecticut.

In 2011 I visited New Haven and took pictures of his gravestone. In May 2012 my oldest daughter Nancy Ann escorted me to England and France. We visited Rattlesden and I took some pictures of the Captain's baptismal font.

Why is the old prune picker living in Ruston, Louisiana?

In 2006 my wife Jackie was in poor health. Jackie had kidney failure and was on dialysis. She had heart problems for some time with A-fib. She had fallen and broken her hip. She had broken ribs and vertebra just moving around normally. My family thought that I needed help caring for Jackie. My daughter Kerry and her husband John offered to park our trailer in their backyard in Ruston and help. Jackie and I accepted their kind offer. My daughter Nancy accompanied Jackie in an airplane flight from the Olympic Peninsula in Washington to Ruston. My son Mike took time off to help me pull our trailer for five long days to our new home. We were and are grateful. We enjoyed our new home very much.

Unfortunately and sadly, Jackie passed away in six months. I had sold our truck and was permanently parked. I was ready to give up full time RVing anyway. It is very pleasant in Ruston and I am close to family. So that is why I have been living in Ruston, Louisiana since October 2006.

PrunePicker

prune picker

Friday, May 27, 2011

Two year old boy with a broken wrist.

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