A fine wine named after SWAGGER Russian Jack

Russian Jack the Man and the fine wine 

I remember very well as a child growing up on our farm in Kimbolton,  the many visits from a swagger nicknamed ‘Russian Jack.’  His real name was Barrett Crumen and is believed to be from Russia or Croatia.

We were always excited when we passed by Russian Jack in the car, walking along the country roads,  as we knew we would see him in the next few days.  He didn't speak much and he had dough plugged in his ears and  he could not hear.  But he always had a lovely smile and kinds gestures and showed how he appreciated Mums kindness when she gave him food for his pack. He always returned!

His memory lives on in NZ with many memorial tributes to him including the divine Martinborough, Pinot Noir, Russian Jack.

Russian Jack walked mostly through the roads of Manawatu and Wairarapa. It is reported that Russian Jack died in September 1968 on the roadside at Ponatahi, between Martinborough and Carterton.  I remember this being in the 'Dominion' and I still remember feeling sad at the time.  

Russian Jack was part of our lives and now he lives on with us,  as we serve in our Restaurant,  the beautiful wine named after him.

RIP our dear Swagger - you left us with memories of intrigue.

http://www.thesortingtable.com/uploadedFiles%5CWEB___FS__0436_YDOx2.pdf

A good google "Russian Jack"

Blogging is new to me!

Today I think I have mastered the blogging thing.  Its new age to me and a bit of a mission to get things up and running - I have had a few attempts. While I learn to blog I am sure I will make some silly mistakes but it will be what turns me into a blogger convert. I hope to do a blog each day of each memory so my blog is really my diary of a life time.... onwards and upwards......

Snoozies view

All through life I was known to many in my family as Snoozie. So here is Snoozies view.  A new blog.  As a dear friend told me on the weekend,  we are a product of our  childhood and the experiences make us who we are.  I am on my journey down the other side from the uphill climb to 50. Having learnt so much and being happy with the way I see life, when I finally get to the bottom of the hill and end up in the valley I will sip on honeysuckle and pick buttercups.

Memories and experience influence each moment in my day, either through my subconscious or in my planned and spontaneous life.  The hurt I have suffered, from skinned knees to the loss of loved ones have made me who I am. I hope  to record wee stories often of  memories, of my life, through my eyes.

For all those who have been a part of my life have been and are my teachers.  The teachers from the fleeting people passing by, the old man in the diary picking my threepenny bag of lollies, to my parents and their parents before them,  I owe so much.  I owe for the learning and all the things they gave me while they were on their own journeys along side me. Their love, their kindness and their influence will never go unappreciated or unacknowledged in my heart.

I owe the universe so much for what it has sent me and for the paths it has led me down , but most of all I owe myself some time to recall the memories and record them as my history. This time may help me work through some pain and rejoice in the fun, happiness and laughter that I have had so much of.

I welcome followers who may enjoy life 'through my eyes' .  These blogs are dedicated to  someone I would give my life for.  If my recall on my history gives  small pleasures  to anyone reading them my history 'through my eyes'  will have been worth every moment spent.