Mid-week Holidays

 

Having Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in the middle of the week throws off my mental clock. And when New Years Eve and the Day of the new year follow a few days later it still has not balanced out. Life still feels tilted, even staying home makes me tired. The day after the holiday feels like it should be Sunday, or at least Saturday getting ready for Sunday. I don't kick into daily chores or meal planning, that might be because I ate enough on the specified holiday that my tummy doesn't send out the normal signals. My mental alarm doesn't go off at the right time to get up. It is nice to not be going to work, but it feels like I should be.

The fact that this year our area of the globe is without its normal covering of snow might influence it in some way.  Things already feel like it might be beginning spring, or just shutting down for fall. However, I feel it is more of a holiday impairment.

I am sure I am not alone with these disruptions. There is probably a fancy term for the confused situation. If you know what it is please share that with me. Words can be very fascinating and I am sure this term would be.

Parade of Undecorated Christmas Trees

 This  entry was intended for mid December, but life took some unexpected twists and I totally forgot it.  Hope you can enjoy the read even though 2025 has turned into 2026.

As the colder temperature are coming in the motorcycle traffic roaring down East Highway 36 and through Mink Creek community is hardly noticeable. The traffic that has been greatest in the past two month is that of those vehicles in search of a specific evergreen to grace their homes for the holiday season. Trucks, cars, some pulling a trailer, some taking more than one tree. They come into our canyons to select and chop down the Christmas Tree that meets their individual qualifications to decorate their homes, short or tall, full or slim.

For many families it has become a yearly tradition. Some years it takes place with the people wading in snow to reach the tree of choice. It has not been the case during November of this year, but snow has come more recently.

One observer, sitting for a brief time on his porch in Preston, commented that at least 50 trees had gone past, going south on State Street. Evergreens tied to the top of cars, some stacked on a trailer or in the back of a pickup, another with a lengthy tree tip sticking out of an open car window on the back sear. That observation was in a short amount of time and on only one day. Imagine that amount, plus, for most of the days of November. Many of the vehicles are displaying Utah license plates. As the holiday gets ever closer, the parade continues

Rambling on Small, Simple things

Ramblings on Small, Simple Things

How much do simple things play a part in my life?   When did they come into being, filling or improving a need for every day living?  Many have been in existence a very long time and  we don't even consider when they might have been unavailable.

Lately I've had reason to wonder who was the genius that created a pencil and with it an erasure.   Was it meant to replace the goose quill and a bottle of ink?  We need erasures in many areas of our lives, not just in the writing of the written words or drawings.

The safety pin...safer, with a better hold that a straight pin, assuming that the straight pin would be the forerunner to the wonderful safety pin.  Both have their place,  but there is often an absolute  must for the clasp of a safety pin so that an injury doesn't result.  One reads of encounters from long ago where a hat or hair pin was literally used as a weapon, with harm intended and achieved.  

Old-fashioned popcorn poppers---the thin wire basket with a long handle, that required lots of shaking on the top of a cookstove, fueled by coal or wood.  What a difference from the bag of kernels now placed in a microwave.  The taste doesn't compare, I vote for the past, plus the health involved.

Matches, the old individual wooden stick with a magic flame on the tip.  Again, not talking about a handy little packet of cardboard matches, but the kind that probably replaced a flint.

String-- not yarn,  simple boring string. When I was a child we always had a ball of string handy, plain old string,  cotton strands twisted together that filled many needs.   Tying a parcel to mail.  Flying a kite,  activating a pet toy,  drawing an accurate circle,  fastening any number of things that needed an anchor, etc.   I still have that need, but not the string.

When did a saber become a pocket knife?  And from there, a pocket knife became a screw driver, a can opener, etc. all in one small tool?

Rubber bands,  a stapler,  scissors,  thumb tacks, hammers, pliers, sponges. Especially scissors!! Look around, there are small, simple forgotten-until-needed items that help us manage our lives, no matter how modern and up-to-date we may think we are with our phones and computers.

I have no idea when or where these 'inventions' took  place. There was a need and a thinking mind improved and made it better.  I like recognizing it.

Deliveries, Then and Now

  I am the daughter of a man who delivered mail to a rural ranching area back in the days when his first days as a mail-carrier was on horseback or by wagon and a team,  and his parents had the mail contract for the area prior to his. The job carried responsibility and commitment to being well done. He shared a number of stories of the excitement and the challenge of fulfilling that idea that "the mail must go through."  His area covered 60 miles, picking up mail at a town post office located on the railroad, that had brought the mail that far via the rails.  He also delivered to some ranches between the official post offices, the one by the railroad and the one ranch that was designated as a post office in the ranch country, about sixty miles north. When he could afford a Model T Ford that became his means of conveyance, but still the mail got delivered, rain or shine, blizzard or toast.

Delivery was important.  When I now hear of the delivery of Fed Ex or UPS, or even businesses of a purchased product,  it is often beyond belief, and these who are responsible even have our modern GPS to guide them to the recipient's homes by the addresses on the parcel or item.   I hear of packages being left off at the neighbor's, some left at the door of a nearby church, one left in a barn, and  quite often outdoors where the supposed delivery is subject to whatever weather might come before its whereabouts is discovered. These are  just samples of the ongoing problem. It seems that the GPS might get the drivers somewhere in the vicinity of the correct address, but then it is left up to the actual human to make the correct connection.  Occasionally a language barrier contributes to the situation, compounding the difficulty of landing items at the right place. 

It could be taken as amusing, but only if you are hearing the story, not if you are anticipating the arrival of an item in order to move forward.  We think of ourselves as modern, up-tp-date, etc.  but this is not much of an example of progress.  Just my opinion.

Revolving weather

 

It has been  a while since I have posted on this site.  The writing has been going on, if not literally, at least mentally.  When I finally think this would make a good post, it seems to fall flat, and I know you don't want too much dullness.   One would think as a retiree I would live a life of intentional leisure, but it is not what I have accidentally chosen.  No complaints,  life is good, but quite  different from those that I recall witnessing with my own grandmothers.  Perhaps my own perspective has broadened as I have gotten solidly in that role. 

I have told you that I am a Jill of multiple interests.  It has always been so.  One interest has been history and genealogy.  I was one of those kids who always wanted a story from the true life of my adults when they were younger.   When I requested this from my Dad his response was a grin and the question, "you mean when I was a little girl?"  In this teasing way I heard lots of stories.   I gave some thought to teaching history as my career, but was directed in a different direction that was every bit as good for me and I hope for my students.

As a historian I am regularly looking into the past one hundred years or so of the everyday life of the residents in the western part of the United States. As I write about it in my newspaper columns I have had current residents give me feedback and one that is interesting is the  frequent comment about weather.   People always wonder why I notice reports of weather in my historical research

 Number one, I have been a farm wife for 63 years and weather is a big part of the daily ins and outs of an agricultural life, today just as much as it was a century ago. The first thing to note as the day begins, the weather report that is heard before calling it a day, in order to prepare for the next day's labors.  #2, it is interesting to see the repeats of droughts, blizzards, hurricanes, volcano eruptions, tidal waves, etc. over the period of a whole century. At the present time it may sound like a certain weather pattern is the first  that has ever happened and perhaps is so threatening, yet when one looks back over 100 years, usually it has happened more that once in those years past—and we got through it.  Perhaps  not without loss, but survived, sometimes even thrived, as the world recovered.  #3  Weather is a world-wide item, what happens on the other side of our mother earth  will very likely  affect  our immediate surroundings, given some time, and the winds, currents, sun and storm move around our revolving globe.   How can we  humans feel like we are in charge?   Only in our imagination, regardless of our efforts when it comes right down to it.  Just my opinion. 

Simple learning that Lasts

 We are always learning, even though we may be unconscious of the effort.   Lately I am reminded how often some of the simple, early  messages  are ever useful in my life. At the time I didn't realize I was learning important things for my future. 

 How about the multiplication tables?  I don't think they use that tool any more, but I haul it out of my mental file regularly for all sorts of tasks requiring measurement.  Simple division is another one.  I am glad that old-fashioned math works for me in my life, not sure I could manage the new versions.

 "Thirty days hath September, April, June and November,,,,etc."  That is another one. Think of the nursery rhymes that provides guidance, still, in behavior:  "one, two, buckle your shoe; three, four, shut the door; five, six, pick up sticks,"  and so on.

 The chants that went with learning to jump rope were a bit nonsensical, yet often held some instruction, as our nimble feet managed to miss the twirling rope.  Learning to count as the steps got higher and higher, was an accomplishment in more than one way, totally disregarding the exercise gained in the process. 

These simple tools and many others have spanned the years and continue to be helpful.  I don't need to wonder if the app on my phone will change or a new program come up with something beyond my understanding.   There is no need for constantly changing passwords.  It is a comfort to have something so enduring in the ever changing world of today.

A History chain, unplanned

 That title for this rambling of my thoughts sounds like it is going to be full of wisdom, etc.  That is not my intention.  It is simply that I am preparing to make a shift in some of my activities and it is causing questions to come my way.  Those questions have prompted this entry.  

    I have been the secretary of the County's Historical Society Board for the last six years.  It is a group of half a dozen individuals  who endeavor to come up with projects that will help the county citizenry, all ages, to become aware of what a rich historical heritage is claimed in this area.  It is interesting that the majority of the board are people who moved here as adults rather than having it as their home grounds. Now I am resigning, not because of lack on interest, but my age and problems connected with that limit what I can do to enhance the activities of the board.  I have not publicized my intentions, but I have given notice to those who need to find a replacement.  

    A question at our last gathering was that of when did I become interested in history.  My answer does not apply to this area, but the 'subject' as a whole.  Long ago I realized that I have had the interest my entire life.  As a child I was always pleading for stories about my Dad's life when he was little.  He would teasingly respond with, "you mean when I was a little girl?" and then I would get to hear stories of his growing up a 'real' cowboy on a ranch.  When my grandfather passed away I was 10 and there was a time that I got to sleepover on a regular basis with my grandmother.  She had been an emigrant from Lancashire, England when she was 19.  I sought more stories of her youth and life in the "old country."

    In high school my interests scattered out and I realized that I was 'a Jill of all trades' in the sense that lots of things appealed to me.  I loved English classes, I was good in Math,  music classes, art classes, etc., including history.   At this point my parents were looking into their own genealogy and I discovered that my father's lines took us back to the beginnings of the United States, the Puritans, Quakers, in the 1600's. Fascinating stuff, but I tucked it into a mental corner of my brain and went on with other  adolescent things.   However, one of my favorite leisure reads was that of history based fiction. Through the years I became more and more involved in tracing my ancestors past, not just their names and birth, but what they did, where they moved, when, etc. so that I could eventually weave a story together and get the feeling of knowing them.

    I got married, became a mother, drug my children to genealogy centers, until they became too many to haul.  History on hold, again. In 1981 the editor of the county newspaper phoned me and asked if I would be willing to write the rural news column for the paper.  With some reservations I accepted and he was pleased with my approach.  Weekly I gathered info from my village and contributed to the paper, hoping to make it interesting as well as true.  I really didn't think of it as being 'history.'    It was  just a fun sideline, a way of keeping me updated on my community.  I continued to write it, along with other news stories here and there, when I started to work full-time, teaching at the local high school.  Not history, family and consumer sciences, which I loved.

    Some years later I was given the opportunity to be the Ward Historian for our local congregation of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  The former historian was suffering some health issues and when I started looking at the past  entries in her ward history I recognized that she had been taking excerpts  from my weekly news columns  to tell the history of the ward.  She gave full credit to me, but I had no idea it was being done, or perhaps I would have made adjustments.  

      It has been a long time commitment to recording local history.  Upon my retirement from teaching, my editor suggested I write two more columns for the newspaper, both historical.  There are times I feel I know way more about the last 150 years than I do the present happenings around me.  I added the activity with the county historical board, and now, with that role in the past I will continue being a historical journalist.  A position I simply fell into, but definitely a part of me.  I  now intend to do more on my personal family history.  My audience is shrinking but it will  still give me enjoyment and these true tales will be there for  family members.  Maybe one of them will be bitten by the history bug, it can be contagious.  

Easters, many and varied

 With Easter coming up this weekend and the weatherman forecasting snow for our region I realize that I have had lots of snowy Easters, but it didn't take away from it being Easter.  It doesn't take away from the Holy Week.  In the long run, my Palm Sunday, the Holy Week, and all, it is up to me.  It is all up to me to Easter now, without my family, in whatever way works.

 There was always some family fun and there was always some church. In my younger days it meant something new in clothing usually a dress but maybe a spring coat and it might have a hat to go with it, maybe a pair of sandals. The dying of boiled eggs  and the hunting of them, generally throughout the house with it being too wet for an outdoors hunt.  It also meant Easter candy, but not the variety now offered.  This was more jelly beans, gum drops,  those sugary egg shapes that were about the size of a medium egg in lots of colors and at least one chocolate item, which might be gooey on the inside, or peanut butter or marshmallow.  Or it might be in the shape of a rabbit, the posed rabbit that was hollow, but had solid chocolate ears.  

    Easter was also a Sunrise Service at the Methodist Church, and Dad even came with the rest of us on that day.  No Daylight Saving Time, and I always felt it must be so very early, the sun just coming up over the hills to the east.  Now I realize it really wasn't that early.  But it felt special, even if we were trudging through the snow to get to the church.  The hushed feel, the reverence of that day  carried over, the rays of sunlight  lighting up the colored glass window scene on the eastern side of the chapel.  It was different from the weekly church-goings. Easter!

I knew there would be hot-cross buns at home after the meeting.  That was a part of my maternal grandmother's background being passed down.  I wanted my own children to experience hot-cross buns, the making of them, the story, the currants, the smell of them baking.  Not important really, just my feelings of heritage.

I loved the wearing of a hat, and still do, even though my hats are all stored away.  It really isn't a Easter thing, but that is when I was first introduced to knowing  that for me, a nice hat meant a 'step up.' A behaving as a lady. 

I loved Easter as the mother of my own family, trying to instill the importance of remembering Jesus Christ, yet still making the weekend one of welcoming the hoped for spring.  For years I endeavored to have hot-cross buns for my children,  until I had so many things to do--making Easter dresses for 5 girls and surely something for our son, dinner, eggs, etc, that something had to give.  And it was the buns that went after about twenty years.  Having changed locations I endeavored to incorporate the culture of my new surroundings, and my husband's families Easter activities.  

Easter is still a favorite time, a holiday of sorts. I still love to dye eggs, it has been a long time since I thought of a new Easter outfit for myself.  My priorities have changed and hopefully matured, along with my circumstance. The Inspiration of the week, the day,  has become more and more, of my own making, along with the interactions with others feeling the same.  Now I have lots of reading, learning more each year of the Real Reason.  We celebrate Christmas, the birth of Jesus, because of Easter, the Atonement and Resurrection.  As it should be.

Wash Days, now and then

 Lately as I load my washer or my dryer I reflect on the ease with which I can perform this task.  After sorting I throw a batch into the washer, add some detergent and any additional stuff that the load might warrant. Shut it, twist and poke a few dials or lights---and go about my business, wherever that might take me.  In an hour, give or take, the machine gives a few beeps to alert me that it has completed all the cycles and awaits my leisure to remove the contents, with the drying as the next step. It may be hours before I respond and move on. 

What a wonder this is!!   I don't have to go very far back in my ancestry to see huge changes.  Actually, I don't even need to go back at all, because I started my married life in a farm house that had a twin tub washer, wringers attached.  But even those were a far cry from the days of my grandmothers' days for laundry.   Wash tubs, bluing, heating water for the tubs, scrub boards, making their own soap (another long process in itself),  wringing clothes by hand,  hanging it all on the clothes lines with clothes pins, and likely I have skipped a few things that were needed because I have no literal experience. 

The choices of detergent, softener, additives are endless now.  Each product promising wonderful results. A person doesn't even have to estimate the amount of detergent, or whatever,  needed, it can all come in a  nice little cake that does more than one thing to give lovely laundry.

A few things have remained the same.  The laundry does not sort itself, still a manual job.  The rules still apply that if one tries to combine white clothes with colored clothes, they will not remain white.  And linty things don't mix well with others.  There still has to be some effort put forth in the drying.  It can be put in the dryer and that only requires a few more dials to choose to receive the desired dryness for the specific type of load.  One can still hang clothes on a line outdoors and there is a fresh scent to those cleaned items that is not duplicated in the dryer. 

Then there is the "putting away" that stays a manual job.  Folding clothes, placing in drawers, putting clothes on hangers and then in closets.  Ironing was a huge item on the task lists for the homemaker of the past. Just imagining the need to iron those floor length, detailed dresses with bounces and flounces on the 1800's, 1900's-- no, don't imagine, and they did it without the aid of electricity!  No wonder there was a need for the profession of "laundress" to have wonderful appearing garments.   

Fabrics have changed and contributed greatly to the ease in all three steps--washing, drying and the finishing up.  Rarely is there a need for ironing now.  It would be a whole new topic for this blog.  I recall melting a few items in my teenage years, best not recalled.

Facing the Unknown Reflections

 I learned recently that I have 15 ancestors buried in the Bridge Street Cemetery in Massachusetts. All my life I have known that my ancestral roots went back to the Puritans of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, but was surprised by this many.  My 7th Great Grandfather, my 8th Great Grandmother,  Great, (how many?)  grand aunts and great grand uncles. The earliest birth date for any of these 15 is 1638. Other cemeteries were listed on the site that I have not yet pursued.  One listed was Bloody Brook Mass Grave---just the name tells a story with few detail, and the results.

There are some in the Windsor, Connecticut Colony and Hartford.  I haven't looked at this cemetery site very closely. It has just came up on Family Search,  Maps indicates early relatives all across the nation, some even in the south.  

I can't help but reflect on how these individuals made the decision to sail into what was totally the unknown, and that one thing they would know was that life would be hard, that there were many dangers in that land across the ocean. Their ships were such small sailing vessels. It was like placing a tea cup at the place of embarking and expecting the cup to arrive in a harbor far to the west, with not even a chip on its surface. I have seen the one of those ships on display at Plymouth in Massachusetts.  What courage they had to have, what dedication to their cause!  I am sure there are more ancestors during this same time period who died on the voyage across the Atlantic and their graves were the watery deep.  

Since I have two family lines that go back into the 1600's, I realize that those graves that are located in the southern part of our nation might well be my Quakers rather than the Puritans.  The Quakers early years were in the Carolinas and Virginia, often islands off shore.  

There is a date in July that is celebrated as Pioneer day, referring to those who crossed the country coming to the west.  I have always felt a tad disconnected on that day, but thinking of these ancestors of the 1600's, one can't get more sense of pioneering than the legacy they left for many of us descendants still living in the land they sought and somehow survived.  

Elastic Winter

 Our winter seems to be stretching way out of bounds.  But maybe seasons don't have set boundaries? Is it just our imagination and terms that we have been given to title the cycles that roll through our lives approximately every 12 months.   Is it only winter than can seem long?  I can't think of any complaints about a long fall, or a long spring.  The heat of summer does bring yearnings for some cooler days, but that only means fall, not winter.  Personally, I have always liked living with four seasons, even in this winter of my own life. I am not wanting to move to warmer climates when the cold days arrive. 

This span of cold, snow, wind and wet has been a rare one.  I am old enough to recall the famous "winter of '49" and experienced it as a kid in Wyoming, so my perspective of the rigors of those months have a totally different slant than these of when I am aged and dealing with those added challenges.  The winter of '83 was spent in Idaho, with a little different circumstances--young parenthood, six children, farm wife.  Challenging, intense, but manageable with the right equipment, and an occasional thaw. 

Now this one, winter of 2022-23, so far about 6 months in length,  much snow, heavy wet snow, not quite daily, but several days each week.  And the need for the moisture brought  being acknowledged and appreciated. There have been some drought years. We have had help from family and neighbors in dealing with some of those things like continual shoveling of walks, driveways, of getting our garbage cans to the pickup spot and retrieving them, etc.  When it is such an unending struggle to manage the snow, wondering where else to put it as the scraped piles get higher and higher, the drifts deeper and deeper it becomes hard to maintain the positive attitude.  

It is beautiful, the sparkling waves of white.  Crystal ice hangings, but not the slippery and sliding surface underfoot, threatening falls and possible broken bones and bruises. The nights of the full moon on snowy slopes, glowing in that blue light, often with a coyote choir accompanying the mood.  The feeling of joy when one wakens to discover the snowfall, untouched yet by a footprint or tire mark.  There is that wonderful feeling of peace in the silence after a storm has moved on, up and over the nearby mountaintops, leaving them gleaming when the eventual sun breaks through.  I am ever amazed at all of the beauty that has been provided for us as residents of Mother Earth, no matter the season, or even the time of day.

Now it is mid April,  and some days are warming, and the earth is being nourished with the melting water.  Still, we are expecting more snow.  Stretching, stretching.  Just a glimpse of green blade of grass or even weeds boosts the hope of a growing season to come, part of those seasonal cycles. Winter is not forever. 

Pioneer Day, 2022

  This day, July 24th,  is a special, commemorated day for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, to which I belong.  It has been celebrated since 1847, the year, date that those first pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley after hard months of travel across the western part of the United States.  Persecution drove those families out of their homes in Nauvoo, IL after the martyrdom of their prophet, Joseph Smith, Jr. 

I don't have ancestral connections with those early settlers of Utah.  In fact, it was more than 100 years later that I even became aware of anything connected with them.  I do honor and respect, admire what they did and continue to be amazed at their strength and faith that carried them through the trials they experienced.  Diseases, malaria, cholera, lack of funds to move one more part of the distance, the early snows of Wyoming, crossing rivers,  giving birth, death, etc.  And once to the valley they were seeking, it was a wilderness : sagebrush, mesquite, and the shores of the Great Salt Lake.  It all took courage, grit, and faith.  

But I do feel a closeness to my own  ancestors, pioneers in their own right.  From the Puritan and Quaker families of the 1600's, to their descendants who made their way westward through passing decades, settling along the way, living lives that were not easy, but pushing on, forging ahead.  I have pictures of some of them.  Others arrived in the US around the turn of the 20th century from Sweden and England, looking to improve their lives.  More courage and grit. 

I am grateful for these ancestors, and that they felt the pull of coming to this new land, and later to this country.  Leaving behind homes, family, comfort for the unknown.  Some came alone, or struck out on their own once established within a community to find  their way again, among strangers, in lonely places.   It is the way of life, of progress, development, individually and with others. 

Life dominoes

 One thing after another lately.  Life with its computer connections  contributed its share of frustrations.  Technology in this day and age certainly qualifies  for that descriptive phrase, "Can't live with it, can't live without it!"

 Not complaining about the actual computer, but the internet  gave up the ghost for several days running.  Finally solved the problem, and it was individualized, my neighbor's were fine, my tower was fine, etc.  But of course I didn't have the necessary numbers to call the provider, because those numbers were on an internet site.  At least that is something I can fix for future needs.  No doubt but that there will be a need down the road. 

My refrigerator/freezer greeted me one morning with warm milk and thawing frozen foods.  On the day of my deadlines for my newspaper job, always the way things time somehow!  But with the help of a friend, things got unloaded.   There was room in  another freezer for a temporary transfer. A repairman showed up and was able to locate the problem.  It was fixable, I wasn't going to have to shell out dollars for a new fridge.   I was a little late, but the newspaper stuff made it in on the needed day.

A few days later the internet was back at it.  It was on, no, it was off.  Then it was on, etc. Refresh, gone refresh,  but---no.  Finally a message from the provider managed to come through in an 'on ' moment to say they were having problems.  But they were glad I was a 'loyal customer', can't say that helped any.  This  disruption in the normal routine of  my life took several days before it solidified  sufficiently to give any confidence that  there really was life 'out there'  wherever things go in computerland, and moving forward was not going to compromised. 

So, instead of feeling totally negative about  things I searched for the good lessons.  One, remembering life without technology was quite enjoyable.  Two, waiting, patience, is really a quality that all of us need to learn. 3. appreciate the skills of others, seen and unseen, who can come to our aid.    Life is good, with or without our modern challenges, it has been, and is, and will be.  Gratitude helps to heal frustrations. 

Smiles and Sharing

 This past week turned upside down for me on Monday.  Plans went to the winds while I readjusted to the unplanned that came into my life.

On a quick trip to the grocery store, only picking up a few items,  I had my mind on what needed to be done during the rest of the hours that day.  You know, the daily stuff--fold laundry, and put it away,  figure out food for the evening meal and fix it, etc.   Any more phone calls I still hadn't made?  Any personal visits I ought to make if time and energy allowed?    I got my milk--it was our weekly discount milk day--a loaf of bread, a plant to give my sister-in-law for her birthday, and a couple of bags of noodles.  The shelves had been empty of noodles the week before when I had them on my list.  

I was exiting the store, pushing my cart out into the parking lot, grateful for the cart to lean upon.   An elderly gentlemen was walking toward me on his way into the store.  I didn't know him, but I smiled as our paths intersected and simply said, "Hello."    Still keeping pace he replied with, "Thank you for your smile."

Those few words altered my day.  As I put the few items in my car, pushed my cart into the rack, I kept thinking how important a smile is.  It spreads good things, feelings of interest, caring.  I don't think he was evaluating if I had perfect orthodontic teeth, or that he saw the wrinkles on my face.  Smiles are so simple, and also so needed.  There are many things in the world around us, all of us,  in our everyday lives that cause us to feel down, overwhelmed, negative about life in general.  A smile lifts, one that is connected to the eyes a well as the lips, and not a word has to be spoken.  

My life is full of smiling moments and this one encounter made me conscious of the need to share them in as many opportunities as come my way. 

Feed the Birds said Mary Poppins

 

“Feeding the birds” requires no extra equipment, no high-out-of-cat-reach pole, or cute feeding station. The yard is sheltered by five huge pine trees that were near seedlings we planted when we first built the house, 46 years ago. Plus, there is an orchard of fruit trees just steps behind the pines. We have a horsechesthut tree that has been a part of this farm long before our purchase. A willow drops its leaves on the grass every time a stiff breeze winds its way up or down the canyon. Plenty of places to harbor birds. And harbor birds we do.

The pines have been the home for generations of magpies. Robins and oriels abound. Sparrows come from around the perimeter somewhere. Mourning doves, particularly those with a Spanish accent, have found spots in the pines, in spite of the magpies. Chickadees visit in flocks at a time, disappear, then visit again. An occasional nest sack that orioles construct finds its way to the lawn. Woodpeckers announce their presence with a noisy rat-a-tat-tat, when they hammer their way after an insect. Owls are constant, loving the rafters of our barns. Meadowlarks let us know when they have arrived with the call of spring. There is a little flock of chukars that work their way around the neighborhood. I am not even counting the pheasants, the crows, the swallows, blackbirds, the starlings. Then the waterfowl at the pond, the geese, ducks, sandpipers, an occasional swan. We have an adequate supply of feathered friends to entertain us if we just look out the windows.

Outdoor cats, those too are entertainment, but it isn't often that one of the feathered inhabitants fall prey to the felines. A slice of stale bread, or a cup of old cereal, tossed out the back door is swept up by greedy beaks quickly, even if a cat might be interested. The beat-up metal cat dish, (an old hub cap)serves birds as well as cats. There is a path of bird prints all about the back yard and directly to the cat's pan whenever there is a snowfall. The birds like the leftovers from our meals every bit as much as our mousers.

It is pure entertainment to watch a cocky magpie challenging a cat over some morsel. Those black and white beauties with a shine to their feathers are very savvy creatures. They know how close they can come, how quick to retreat, only to move in again. They will even team up, several teasing from different directions to distract the cat. They are playing a game, but the poor cat.

collector or trash item

 I have been accused, many times, of never throwing anything away and that always leaves me with a negative feeling about myself.  Perhaps some of you might relate to this.  But I still tend to keep 'stuff.'

The other day I happened upon a news article from the long ago past in the late 1800's about a spot in Indiana called the Hoosier Slide on the shores of Lake Michigan.   It was a 200 ft. sand dune where people came to slid down, a recreation for the people of the area and even brought in tourists.  Then glass manufacturers discovered that the sand was perfect for making glass.  The Ball canning company, and others, came in and loaded up the sand for their glass factories.  This went on until the Hoosier Slide sand dune was no more.  Gone! The article spoke of the canning jars produced at that time, with the Ball label now being a collectors item and having a tint of blue in the class. 

It suddenly occurred to me that I had a collectors item almost within arm's reach.  It was sitting on a shelf behind my office area, an old fashioned jar just the right shape to hold a light that I had glued together.  There it was, with some flaw bubbles in the glass, an indication of its age, a thin neck that no current lid would fit, with a slight blue tint and the lettering of Ball on its side.   How many times had I come close to tossing this?  And once I am no longer here to appreciate it I am fairly certain its value will vanish in the eyes of those cleaning up after me.  Still it is rather fun to think, however accidentally,  I have a collector's piece.

Since I have ancestors who were employed in the glass factories in Lancashire, England, this is another plus to having my jar.  And the story of the Hoosier Slide?   It did disappear but in 1966 the site was preserved land,  the other sand dunes were saved. The area is now part of the Indiana Dunes National Park.

Researchin, on and on

 I have become a researcher.  In some ways it was quite accidental.  Other than the need to do research for college papers so very long ago the main motivation  for any type of research in my life was my interest in genealogy.  As a child I was always asking my elders about their earlier lives.  It made the best stories, and I like that even now, both the hearing and the writing.

When I would ask my Dad to tell me stories about when he was little he would always respond with, "Do you mean when I was a little girl?"  with a big grin as he teased before coming up with a yarn to satisfy me.   He had grown up on a ranch, doing ranch life and was a cowboy, even for some years after my birth. By the time I was five my dream was to become a rancher, with or without a husband. 

When my maternal grandfather passed away for a time I slept at my grandmother's house to ease her loneliness.  She had some to the United States at the age of 19 from England, taking care of the household in Wyoming for her mining father, brother and two uncles.  Each night she would regale me with visions of the hedges, the streets, her family that she had left across the Atlantic, never to return. She had gone to school, she had been a seamstress apprentice(and did not like it), she had walked the streets of Liverpool, made the voyage as a young woman.  There were lots of memories to entertain me. 

As a young mother my interest in my ancestors was still very keen.  Now I was involved in doing genealogy.  Stories of my great-grandmother had always intrigued me, and even more so her mother.  At this point I knew her maiden name and that she had come to New York state from England--that about covered what I knew.  I went to a genealogical library in a nearby town, with 4 children in tow,  hoping to find out more.  In those days I had to use a library viewer and check out a film that had census records.  Riding herd on my little girls while seeking, it took some time.  I was rewarded for my efforts on this visit.  I found her, my Jennie, in New York, at age 17---the last name was correct, but the rest was confusing.  Judging from that record she was living with a family by the name of Hindle---a widowed woman who had several children.  Was Jennie a servant?  What more could I learn?  I did learn, with more researching as years went by, but that is another story.

I have continued to do research on my ancestors and it continues to fascinate me.  But now I also do research on both the people and the place where I have lived for my married life.   For the past five years I have written two historical columns weekly for the local county newspaper, going back a century or more in time on a variety of subjects and events.  Sometimes I feel like I know the residents and settlers of a century ago better than I do those around me at this time.  This expanded research keeps me learning and the assistance of technology is wonderful beyond belief.  When I think of the college days, and the first concentrated efforts with genealogy I am happy that my interest did not evaporate due to the difficulty of that time.  For me, research is fun!

Plants can bond

 

My Christmas cactus bloomed! Having just had it re-potted I wasn’t sure whether it could manage the process this year. You must understand that this plant has been part of my entire married life. It sat on top of my mother-in-law’s dryer in those first years. Buds would generally start appearing in late November.  Before long the to of her dryer would be a beautiful bouquet.    

            She lived within walking distance and we were the best of friends. She had a green thumb for plants, indoors or outside, and this was a booming cactus when the two of us became acquainted.  I don't know how many years she had it before my arrival.   Not doubt it has a history because Grandma had been a homemaker for nearly thirty years before I arrived on her scene.                  

            Many years later as she was moving into a nursing facility  she gave the plant to a friend who had admired it.  Only a year or two later that friend gave it back to me when they moved from the community.  Lucky me. 

            It has bloomed in my living room now for nearly twenty years.  I have taken many cuttings from it and shared them with others, but I have the Grandma plant. It was late to start blooming this year, but by mid-December the blooms were going, and it still is. Quite often this goes on until April and then it is due for another pruning and I am ready to share cuttings again. It is an old-fashioned cactus, not a hybrid, and it fits me perfectly. Many good memories go with the blooms,  the cactus and me, we understand each other.

Generation Bridges

 Pondering the importance of friendships in our lives.  This is an ongoing thing for me, I have been blessed by so many different friendships over  my many years.  Tonight I am thinking of Louise and Matt.

   As a child from  ages 6  until I left home this couple lived just two houses south of ours in the row parallel to Harrison Street.  Louise was the age of my grandmother and was one of my grandmother's friends through their lives as young mothers, raising children.   I was lucky to have my grandmother living just across the street  to the north and Louise so nearby.  It is wonderful to be totally accepted by someone who has the wisdom to serve as a guide during the difficult years we call "growing up." 

Louise had a rag rug loom in their home.  Often this was a place I could just 'hang out' and share thoughts of my life, problems I had encountered, difficulties with my peers and such, while I might be wrapping her strips of cloth into ever growing rag balls that she could use at her loom, passing it back and forth during our gabbing session.  The rug slowly lengthening,  me doing much of the gabbing, Louise doing much of the listening.  Matt in the corner, reading a paper, or just soaking up our chatter. 

Her husband played a big part in this friendship. After a big snow storm the path behind our houses was cleared for small legs to push through.  As I walked to school down the back alley behind our houses on a winter day it would not be unusual for Matt to be out of sight amongst the various out-buildings and he would throw snowballs  to announce his presence.  All year round he provided little moments of fun.  He always made me feel welcome to come into the warmth of their home for a bit of a visit, or a treat.   

When I got to the adult stage of my life I realized that this relationship with someone two generations beyond, unrelated, was not the common thing.  Louise  and Matt had likely had similar activities with their daughter and my mother, living so close, as they did with me.  My parents were totally comfortable with  my connections with these fine people, knowing I was safe and being positively nurtured by them.  They helped me to become who I am.  The bridge across our  years has influenced my interactions with others throughout my life. Acceptance is a major need in the lives of all people, all colors, all ages.  

Winter Has Its Own Appeal

 

Winter has its own kind of beautiful, even when it is dry and barren. Those leafless trees have such interesting lines and angles and the trunks exhibit a solidity that we don’t notice much when they are all full of green loveliness. When a winter bird--- owl, hawk, magpie, chickadee -- no matter the size, alights on a branch it is like a nature’s ornament added to the tree. Their vocal presentations just add to the scene

A pond or lake may be frozen, hard enough to invite skaters. Sometimes, however there is enough running water from the spring or creek that feeds the pond that it stays open and inviting. Then it’s color varies as it reflects the sky. Some days the water surface is almost a near-black mirror, disturbed only by the paddling of a winter duck. Other days that crisp winter blue color is accented by frozen shores whether they are covered with snow, or dry bulrushes and cattails.

A different breed of water fowl inhabits our pond during the winter. They pick up the winter colors—or lack thereof---of black and white. The winter coats of our wildlife are a cooler color and a thicker texture in this season and they move around our valley, up and down the slopes finding feed and water, often consuming the feed man has harvested for the use of his domestic herds. Even high fences can be scaled in a bad winter. An empty barn provides a perfect shelter for bedding down, until some  human investigates. 

The trails of our wild life make for interesting designs as they travel from water source, to food source, to bedding areas. Many times it is obvious that they are traveling single file, particularly as the snow deepens. The slopes make for diagonal lines as the ascend or descend.  Orchards with unpicked fruit bring the deer in while the world is sleeping. One might hear a clang from a feeding pan of an outdoor pet or some rattling in the darkness, not from the pet but from a visiting raccoon or other critter who has that spot on his food route. The print of the bird feet in the snow around those same feeding pans makes for a lacey design where they hustle in and out, keeping a wary eye out for the household cat or dog, owner of the pan.

Winter has many positive things to enrich our lives while the earth is resting. I am grateful for our Creator giving us so much beauty year round as His world goes through its seasons and cycles.