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.