Into the Forest and Home Again

With my participation in the Forest Stewardship Week over, I had to make a decision which way to drive home. I’d checked the mileage both ways, and both were about the same. I had an errand to do either way I chose, but I was also ready for some rest time before the final softball game between Georgia and Louisiana State, which was going to be broadcast on ESPNU at 8, with a supper to fix beforehand.

I chose the Harrisburg route again knowing I wanted to stop by and see Josie Brooks at the Book Emporium. But I was thinking longingly about taking a side trip to see Bell Smith Springs, which I’ve always wanted to visit. When my car approached the highway sign with an arrow pointing to it, the car turned on its on left blinker and headed down the side road. I was glad not to have to make the decision.

Soon on both sides of the road were amazingly tall trees—skinny trees actually because they were growing so thick and close together. As I enjoyed their beauty, a sign on the left explained I was in the middle of the Bay Creek Wilderness Area of the Shawnee National Forest. Googling here at home, I found such areas in national forests were created by Congress in 1990, and seven wilderness areas make up about ten percent of Shawnee with its over 270,000 acres and 1,250 miles of trails. More signs encouraged me that I was approaching Bell Smith Springs, and then an arrow pointed south to yet another side road. Still surrounded by trees, I drove on till I came to a parking area although the road continued beyond.

I had met no one since I left Highway 145, and no one was at the parking area. I was glad to be alone since I had been with people all day. Opening the car door, I realized I was not alone in silence. Winds sweeping through the rustling trees made almost a roar—but it was a comforting pleasant roar broken only by occasional bird sounds. I read the information provided in glass-fronted display cases and learned over 700 species of plant life surrounded me. Before starting down the rain-eroded path of small rocks glued together with some sort of hardening agent, I followed instructions and wiped my shoes on the provided boot cleaner lest I unintentionally carry in any seeds of invasive plant. (I was told to do the same when I left, and I did.)

I was glad for the path since the most common of the 700 species beside the path was poison ivy, but I also enjoyed a number of varying small blossoms among the ground cover beneath the towering trees. Far down the path and still enjoying being alone, I did recall from a decade or more ago, the story of a murder somewhere along such a deserted natural area. Shaking that ugly image from my brain, I determined to relish the beauty around me as I descended towards a canyon that the information board said had rocky sides of sandstone left by sand deposited millennia ago by some long-ago ocean. Unexpectedly, I came to stopping point where the path ended at a rock-walled viewing spot and then descended to the canyon by rocky steps between two such sandstone bluffs.

Another decision time. No banisters although the walls on both sides of the narrow steps going down were close enough together to offer some balance support. Did I dare go on? Common sense prevailed as I knew I am no longer as stable on my feet as I was a few years ago, and I really did not want to create an emergency if I were to fall down there in the canyon. I settled for sitting down on a lichen covered rock beside the path and looking down on the narrow rocky steps and the water below.

The ancient-looking steps assured me that many before me had appreciated this beautiful spot, and I marveled at how the steps had been created. I wondered who had done this for the rest of the world. Maybe during the Great Depression when Shawnee National Forest was being created during 1930-38, perhaps some of the young men in the CCC camps did this back-breaking creative work. Maybe even before this, it was some long ago nature lover who struggled and built these steps on his property to encourage others to come and picnic by the springs and swim in the river flowing through the canyon.

Videos on U-Tube show strong young swimmers in this century jumping and back flipping off the bluffs into the water here. My solitude was interrupted by a middle-aged couple, who had parked above by me and come down the path. After our friendly greetings that hikers exchange, they did not hesitate to descend the rocky steps looking for the natural stone bridge they’d read about. Envying them, I pondered again the possibility of trying the steps. (Now if I broke a leg or someone tried to murder me in the canyon, they could help me.) However, I really did not want to ruin that couple’s escape to the wilderness by going where my age told me I should not go, so again I refrained.

I was quite comfortable on my stone seat although I had scooted to the middle after seeing some spindly poison ivy I hadn’t noticed touching the sleeve of my sweater. I sat quite awhile longer enjoying the wind and bird sounds and then walked back up the incline to my car.

I could go back to Route 145 where I had turned off, or signs told me I could continue west to Route 45. New territory appealed to me, and I was glad I chose that way when I saw a sign leading to parking near Burden Falls in the Burden Falls Wilderness Area. I listened to the falling water there and smelled the damp forest aromas for awhile and then started west again. While I was at Burden Falls, a truck that I assumed carried forest employees went on by me onto a private-looking narrow road; otherwise the roads I traveled belonged to me alone ever since I turned off 145.

Occasionally there was a private home or farm tucked in an opening in the forest or then more along the road as I seemed to leave the forest behind. There were a number of side roads, but I stayed on what looked like the main road. Finally I was back on a well-maintained highway following a school bus and seeing many farm homes and rural churches. I knew this was not Route 45 and could only hope all my choices had been correct. Soon Route 45 appeared, and I was in territory I’ve traveled many times.

I was refreshed but tired when I reached Woodsong, and glad to read the paper and mail waiting for me there. Gerald was watching the afternoon game on game tracker between the Georgia Dawgs and LSU, and I joined him in his office. The night before we had watched their first game in the series at Baton Rouge as we celebrated Katherine’s birthday at her house. We had a good time. Though we would have loved seeing Tara’s family, we liked knowing Tara and her family were watching the same game down at Gma Shirley’s house as they took a road break before night-time driving for Tara’s Southern Force tourney down in Woodstock, Georgia. Yet despite our good time, seeing the Dawgs lose 5-1 after 15 straight wins did put a damper on the end of the evening.

Now despite our early lead in the afternoon game, LSU rallied and we lost that game also 5-3. Georgia is the team who are supposed to be experts at coming from behind and winning. LSU stole our game plan, and I wasn’t in too happy a mood as I fixed us a bite to eat so we would be ready to watch the third game on the television in the family room.

At last Georgia prevailed when freshman Alison Owen made her first game start as a pitcher and we won 3-2. Rains came during the night, but we woke up knowing our son was a happy guy when he phoned on his way to see Geri Ann, 16, and Tara’s Southern Force at their tournament. His three grandsons awaited him at Woodstock, and he was eager to join Vickie and Bryan in taking care of them. He was even happier when he could report that the Force had won the tournament and, thus, is already qualified for the 16U gold nationals for summer teams. He was also exuberant about Aidan, Maddux, and Payton whom he pronounced on Facebook as being sooooooo sweet.

Somehow Bryan, Tara, and the boys made it through the Nashville floods safely on their 12-hour drive back to northern Illinois. Meanwhile, our granddaughter Leslie, a Resident Assistant on the Belmont campus, was struggling at Heron Hall with its flooded basement. With no electricity, the RAs were on watch throughout the weekend, which might not have been as difficult if she had not been suffering a terrible sore throat and a final ethics paper to write. The electricity is back on now and the paper is written, but she has not said if the campus is closed yet. We have all prayed for her and sympathized with her on Facebook.  We sympathize also with those whose homes and businesses were destroyed in this unbelievable disaster, which makes us realize that winning or losing softball games is not too important.

Learning to Appreciate Our Forests

The morning drive down to the Dixon Springs Agriculture Center in the Shawnee National Forest was good preparation to fill me with an appreciation and a desire for good stewardship of our natural resources.

Going south from Harrisburg surrounded by the green of spring was a visual and spiritual treat. Neat manicured lawns and small businesses beside the silver highway were followed by golden meadows of wild mustard. There were signs indicating horse trails and bike routes and one temporary highway sign warning of the possibility of tractors on the road. I saw nary a one of any of those, but I did see a Black Angus herd vividly contrasting with the bright green grass they fed on. In some areas, the highway down steep hills was bordered by overhanging leaf-laden branches only occasionally broken by the large locust trees hung heavy with clusters of white blossoms. Then there would be more flat land with a village, farm fields and pastures, or another Social Brethren Church.  A sign pointing to a side road reminded me I had never seen Bell Smith Springs, a local attraction.

This was my first visit to the Dixon Springs Ag Center although I have heard Gerald and others speak of it often during my adult life. I pulled into the park-like facility set up for the 21st Forest Stewardship Week with tents, port-a-potties, and stations for children from sixteen counties. Jim Kirkland had secured almost l00 resource people to give the region’s school children hands-on experience in outdoor life and for each to take home a seedling at the day’s end.

Classes of children accompanied by their teachers went from station to station to hear twenty-minute presentations about topics, such as gardening, archeology, ecology, and many others. There were eight sessions for each class that could stay the entire day. Some had fewer sessions to meet their bus schedules. A huge activity tent gave kids a chance to make something between sessions. I would have liked to have wandered around the Center and attended the presentations in the other stations, but that wasn’t an option. I did sneak into the darkened faux cave tent during my noon hour and learned a bit from information in lighted display boxes in the cave’s walls.

I enjoyed lunch on Friday with “the bee lady,” dressed in her protective gear. Retired from the Chicago area, she and her husband returned here a few years ago and became interested in bees and now produce and sell honey, when the summer season cooperates for the bees to produce adequately. I was reared with bees both in Jonesboro and on the farm at Goreville since my father kept hives as his Craig ancestors had done. With bees threatened with extinction, I hope the bee lady inspires some children to carry on this tradition.

My station was typical of most—a table and three rows of benches. A very functional arrangement. With the wind blowing strongly both days, I appreciated the large block of wood Jim carried in to hold down my small stack of papers. The second day for even more anchorage, I brought some rocks I keep in our living room—one Indian relict, one piece of granite from the Crazy Horse memorial, one rock Gerald found after the Eiler grandkids made Easter nests on the lawn at Woodsong this spring, and a lovely smooth stone from the base of the Tetons.

I was impressed that this well organized event had what we needed but with little show of extravagance or waste of tax payers’ money. Someone had secured ready-made metal legs and mounted large pieces of plywood on them for the tables. The benches were three short sturdy carpenter horses topped by a long board for the children to sit on. All these could be handily stored for their next use, and the rustic simplicity certainly established the right atmosphere for the sad story of the Trail of Tears. I could easily point up to the sky and down to the grass at our feet when I explained that the treaties our government made with the Cherokee had promised their nation’s land east of the Mississippi River would be theirs as long as the sky was blue and the grass was green.
Sad but true stories of terrible mistreatment of the Indians brought pained looks of sympathy from the children. I also tried to help them see that in the midst of the greed and arrogance of those who thought they were more civilized than others, there were also white lawyers, missionaries, and ordinary citizens who fought for justice. And when they lost that battle, others along the Trail offered kindnesses that reduced the suffering that the cruel Removal caused.

Nearest to my station was one teaching the children to reduce, reuse, and recycle and another station just across the narrow road was trying to teach the children to use firewood where they found it and not contaminate other trees with the emerald green tree borer. A woman there costumed as the tree borer caused a lot of laughter, squeals, and excitement. Probably some parents will be scolded this summer if they start taking firewood out of the forest.

In our rural area, I am sure many of these children live close to nature and enjoy camping and exploring woods and creeks, and now they will be more knowledgeable as they do so. Yet many others living in towns with busy parents and sometimes with few extra funds have little opportunity for outdoor adventures. They had them this week as they trekked from station to station on beautiful warm windy days surrounded by the encircling forest in the not-so-distant horizon.

School Year Winding Down; Softball Winding Up

Katherine was interviewing a possible employee this afternoon, and wouldn’t you know that somehow her computer had corrupted files. When I tried to help her run off the application form on the computer, I kept getting boxed messages. I was about to give up when I clicked the x on the box instead of the OK button. Then the printing started—but important portions of the document were left blank and a three or four page document became nine pages.

Her life consists of many challenges, and this afternoon was a perfect example. One snag in her life kept being added to by another. I left with her still working with the computer and the potential employee, so I am not sure how she corrected or handled that problem. When Gerald, who was slightly under the weather today with a strained neck muscle, asked me how things went and I started explaining all the variety of difficulties that happened in a two-hour time span, I saw his eyes glaze over with the enormity of what she endured. You have to be a tough cookie when you can’t walk and your hands don’t work right. Fortunately, Kate is one tough woman.

We had planned to try and take her and the family out for dinner on Monday, which was her birthday. Her mother-in-law fixed a birthday dinner for them on Sunday—their birthdays are just one day apart. However, on Monday night, Sam had lots of homework and she and David needed the night at home, so Dave grilled steaks and served cheesecake for her birthday with cards and roses as usual. She said all the many many wishes on Facebook also made her day.

We agreed for her birthday that it would be fun for us to come in and order in food tomorrow night. The University of Georgia will be playing at Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, and the game will be televised on ESPN at 7 CST--our time. We decided today that pizza would be simpler than carrying in a meal that required serving dishes and some clean-up. We want to concentrate on the game. Sam will have completed his demonstration speech for language arts tomorrow, so he will be ready to celebrate—just as his cousin Erin down at A&M is celebrating tonight that she had finished her last speech—as well as a complicated group business project. Everyone is winding up classes and last essays and exams and panting for summer vacation to arrive. Our two seventeen-year-olds both have proms in their respective schools on Saturday night, so I know their mothers are busy with that on their minds.

After Katherine’s house, I arrived back to serve our supper of cold cuts at Woodsong—Gerald didn’t want any of the chicken soup I had fixed for something hot. We had some more fresh strawberries that we could dip in Splenda. He told me Tara had phoned. She, her husband Bryan, and the boys will be making a pit stop in Williamson County tomorrow night to give the two older boys a chance to run off some energy. They too want to watch Georgia’s game, so we are hoping they come to the Cedars for pizza as Katherine would then be the first Glasco aunt to be able to meet our Payton. Her sisters would be so jealous. After their break, the Archibalds will be driving throughout the night while the little ones sleep to arrive in Georgia for Tara’s Southern Force softball tourney. Bryan, too, has just finished a big project at work, so I hope this trip is a relaxing one.

I’m going to the Dixon Springs Agriculture Center tomorrow to talk to third and fourth graders about the Trail of Tears. My station will be one of many that groups of kids will pass through all day. On Friday, I will be talking to fifth and sixth graders. Younger children attended this Forest Stewardship Week extravaganza on Monday and Tuesday. Over 3,000 school kids will have attended this very annual  event this week right before Arbor Day. Everything is outside, so it should be a great day tomorrow ending with pizza with Gerry’s team on television. Home softball games are over for both Georgia and A&M, and tournament time is rapidly approaching.

Rainy Days, Puffy Clouds, and Softball Games

After last year’s rainy spring, farmers here have been pleased to have had a dry spring in order to get started planting. Then the rains began Friday night, and we had rains off and on all day yesterday. Driving to town in the afternoon, the cast-over sky seemed to enhance the freshly washed vividly green landscape all around me. Then it started pouring. The rain slacked off when I arrived at the beauty shop, but then increased when it was time for me to leave. I was grateful for Gerald’s large camouflage umbrella.

I had planned to run by Katherine’s, then pick up two or three items at the grocery store, and go on to the library in our village to check out the book I had ordered. Safely in the car and pulling in the wet umbrella after me, I decided after talking to Kate on the phone, to just hie myself home. Later that afternoon, it cleared off nicely, and I drove to the village and picked up The Healing of America by T.R. Reid.
That morning I had just finished reading Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, one of the very earliest of English novels. I’d chosen it from the book case at the Country Inn last weekend at Freeport. Guests are allowed to take an unfinished book with them when they depart and turn it in later after they finish it. I’d heard part of the story all my life, and I wonder if I may have read some condensed version in an elementary school book. At least I knew Robinson had a buddy named Friday and I kept waiting for him to appear. Robinson was alone on that island a long time before Friday came and was rescued from cannibals. I was beginning to wonder if Friday were actually a character in that book after all.

Published in 1719, the book has the stilted rhythm and the moral weaknesses of that era, but I found it very interesting to read. I liked all Robinson’s coping techniques to survive being stranded alone better than the last part of the book. All the exciting shoot ‘em up stuff at the end bored me as he had to fight his way off the island and make a dangerous trek through the mountains and France before finally becoming wealthy for a happy ending. But then I don’t like car chases and violence in today’s books or movies either. I can take happy or sad endings, but Defoe’s seemed too contrived. I felt bad to learn from notes in the book that Defoe died forgotten and unrecognized for his classic.

Back home from the library, I prepared Gerald and me a light supper and afterwards, we sat looking out the windows onto our lake while the clouds gave us a moveable feast of beauty. The skyline was filled with large fluffy white clouds with a couple small blotches of silver grey and an elongated streak of silver grey clouds above the puffy white. Leafy trees on our little island gave us a collage of greens from pale lime to bright green with the dirty green of the big cedar mixed in. The sun in the west was highlighting the trees so that they almost sparkled. Then the winds blew those clouds on. Above the lake was now a ceiling of grey. New puffy clouds blew in trimmed at the bottom with a row of silver grey almost like the rickrack that grandmothers used on the hem of little girls’ dresses. The sun was still making the trees shine, when rain hit the western kitchen windows. After a brief but intense bit of rain, calm descended again as the night darkened.

I quit the moving picture show in our windows and made the phone call I had been trying to make for a couple of days to visit with my sister. On Thursday, I called and visited with my brother, and I wanted to share that visit with her and to feel the better human connection that the voice gives us over emails. She was ebullient over the green earth club at the middle school across the street having been at her home that day. The kids have a grant to buy plants and provide neighborhood homes with landscaping help. They had visited her much earlier and talked over the plan for her house, and someone with a tiller and someone with mulch had visited homes that week. Now was the big day when the kids put the plants into the ground and completed mulching, and the students accomplished this despite the cold day in Amarillo.
Rosemary and Phil love kids, so knowing these children were involved with this impressive learning activity pleased Rosie very much. She was also still excited about the regular Friday evening supper she and Phil serve to their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. They will have anywhere from a dozen to 15 or so usually—just whoever has a schedule that allows them to show up. But with their grandson Philip Todd and wife Jennifer on leave from military service in Hawaii (after earlier serving a couple of times in Iraq), there were 18 present the night before. She fixed two roasts in her crock pots and Phil fixed a meat loaf. Lots of veggies and Phil’s famous cookies, and she made two big frozen strawberry pies with a new recipe. I always like to hear about the Friday night gatherings and imagine how good everything tasted.

After our long conversation, checking Facebook and hotmail, surfing a bit on a favorite writers’ site, I started my new book and went to bed later than I should have. Today was another off-and-on gently rainy day, but we were only away the farm for church services, since we wanted to follow Georgia and Texas A&M softball games.

Both of our teams won. The game with A&M (ranked 21) against University of Missouri (ranked 11) was on television, and it was an exciting game to watch. Missouri made us fearful we might end up losing the advantage three home runs had given us. But we did it. Rhi Kliesing hit a single in the bottom of the seventh that broke the 5-5 tie allowing a runner to cross home plate. Missouri had walked freshman Meagan May that inning because earlier she had hit two home runs breaking the school’s single season home run record. Since pitcher Mel Dumezich was on Tara’s summer team a couple years ago and Aidan still has a crush on her as his all-time favorite softball player, we were especially glad to see her victorious after the team’s discouraging loss yesterday. And, of course, we were happy Georgia has had 15 straight wins now.

Another Brief Visit from Tara and the Boys

After driving all night from Athens and taking Gma Shirley to her place down the road and around the corner from us and down that road (where Gerry used to ride his horse to visit Vickie during their high school days), Tara and her three boys arrived at Woodsong around 4 a.m. Tuesday.

Gerald had gone to bed very early with plans of hearing them when they arrived although we had left the porch light on and the door unlocked. They entered so quietly that we might not have heard except Aidan, who was carried in after Payton still in his carrier, was some what disoriented from sleeping. He spoke up while Tara went back to get sleeping Maddux from his car seat. Gerald and I both heard that sweet familiar voice form our bedroom beside the front hall, and we hopped out of bed to welcome our returning guests.
Tara had the two older boys in bed asleep almost immediately and as soon as Payton had been fed, they too retired to their downstairs bedrooms. Gerald and I were astounded at how peacefully and quickly Tara, Aidan, and two babies were settled for the rest of the night, and we too went back to sleep peacefully ourselves.

Gerald slept late—almost to seven o’clock, and when he returned from his daily walk down the lane to fetch our morning paper, Aidan had come up to the kitchen to join him for cereal. Of course, Aidan and Gerald both had big plans for the short time they would be with us. After playing in the lime pile and rides on the “mule,” the big lawn mower, the tractor, and the toy tractor, Gerald’s shed was emptied of vehicles, and they both ran down enough to come back into the kitchen.

By this time I was up. Aidan explained to me, “I’m a little tired. I don’t usually sleep this early.” I knew what he meant. I slept a little earlier than usual myself.

I asked Aidan if he would like an egg, and he said yes. (We do 30-second eggs at our house. Spray a microwave-safe dish and break an egg into it. Beat the egg and then cook in the microwave for 30 seconds.) Toast? Yes. Then when the toast was done, Aidan decided he needed peanut butter and jelly as well as the egg between those two slices of wheat bread. Of course, Gma Sue was glad to oblige although I supposed he would never consume all that. But with only a little crust remaining, his plate was soon emptied.

Nest our courageous Tara came up with 15-month old Maddux, who was feeling shy but cheerful. She fed him cups of milk and Fruit Loops. Then Aidan declared that Maddux needed an egg. I prepared to fix him one, and Aidan took the egg from my hand saying, “I want to peel it.” Then I understood why he wanted Maddux to have an egg. He enjoyed tapping it and breaking it into the bowl with just a little spilling on himself and the counter. Maddux didn’t eat much of the egg, but he did get some protein and his big brother got practice peeling a raw egg. Gma Sue got an early morning dose of pleasure.

Down in Georgia, Gpa Gerry had helped Maddux overcome his fear of the noise of vehicles—so much so that Maddux did not want to get off the four-wheeler down there. So Gerald had to take both the big boys outside for farm adventures. Payton woke up and Tara brought him upstairs freshly diapered and swaddled in a blanket. He was wide awake, content and cozy while I held him to allow Tara to eat breakfast and busy herself with other chores.

Occasionally he had a digestive pain of some sort and made noises of discomfort but would soon be happy looking around with his big eyes trying to discover who this new person was holding him. After quite awhile, his blanket was disturbed enough that I took him and laid him on the dining room table intending to re-swaddle him.

That was just what he needed—to lie free on his blanket and swing his arms and kick his tiny legs. His mother and I were a fascinated audience as he went through his round of exercises for us and showed us how close he could come to rolling himself over.

Eventually Tara brought his clothes to put on him. I had assumed he would go through life wearing his brothers’ well-furnished wardrobes. However, since he was born early and was smaller than the other two boys, she still had some never-used newborn outfits to use with him that they’d never been small enough to wear. As beautiful as he had been with just the diaper kicking and stretching his naked limbs, he now looked so sweet in his tiny soft shirt and pants, which his mother with all her experience placed on him with much quiet efficiency. Again in his blanket, I was gifted with him once more, and Payton and I enjoyed the morning together. And it was a gorgeous morning—warm with gentle breezes that felt so good.

By this time, Aidan and Maddux had been outfitted with life jackets by Gpa Gerald for a ride in the rowboat down at the lake. Tara, Payton, and I had to go see all this fun. The drive-way was cluttered with the vehicles that Gpa had shared, and the little wheelbarrow and shovel was left by the lime pile—a pile Gerald created for these great grandsons under the open shed at back of his shop.



All too soon, it was 11, and Tara wanted to get back on the road to avoid rush-hour traffic if possible. (She had experienced that in Atlanta.) We could not in good conscience encourage her to stay longer. We had had a great time, heard about Geri Ann’s six home runs in the Southern Force tourney, and had fresh news from her mother and daddy down in Georgia. Her car was repacked, and we saw how she managed to get three car seats in the back. With another round of hugs and kisses and silent prayers for their safety, we waved as they started down our lane for the long trip ahead of them to reach their upstate home where Daddy was eagerly awaiting the return of his family.

Maybe tomorrow I will reluctantly pick up all the toys scattered throughout the house.

A Good Weekend and All That Jazz

Tara and her sons left Woodsong Friday morning after breakfast, and we did the same. They were eager to see Gma Vickie and Gpa Gerry and also GGma Shirley, who is visiting at Athens, GA. Shirley had not yet met Peyton, so everyone was excited.

Tara’s summer team, the Southern Force, had a tournament south of Atlanta this weekend, so that was one purpose of this trip. Now after coaching at the tourney, she’ll have a good visit with her parents and Geri Ann (Tara’s high school sister who plays on her summer team), and she’ll have an especially good visit with Gma Shirley since she is riding back home to our community with Tara. This should make traveling with three little ones considerably easier than the trip from here down to Georgia.

We were on our way to Freeport at the top of the state, where our youngest grandchild, Cecelie, a fifth grader, was one of the 12 dancing princesses in the Carl Sandburg School spring play. Her big brother, Elijah, was one of the more than 50 kids involved for the second weekend putting on the Freeport High School’s 30th rendition of Showtime. We drove by our fields and saw our son-in-law Brian busy planting—and farmers were in the fields all the way up the state. (One sad sight was seeing one farmer in the field harvesting last fall’s corn crop. It was standing pretty good and so was worth harvesting, but that’s the latest I’ve ever seen.)

Half way up the state, we swung by Raymond and met our daughter Mary Ellen and our granddaughter Brianna at Subway for lunch. Brianna wanted to see Cecelie’s first big play. All our grandkids like it when life allows them to see any of the Freeport plays, musicals, or Showtime. Sam wanted to go, but he was going up to Illinois State with his band for state contest.

We arrived just had time to check into our favorite motel, Freeport’s Country Inn, grab a sandwich across the street, and find Cecelie’s school for her 6 o’clock performance. Jeannie was waiting outside to give us a good parking spot and take us through her art room on the way to the gym/stage.

Cecelie’s other grandmother and friend Jerome were already there. Rick was working at the track meet, but he had been there with Jeannie the night before to cheer Cecelie on. Jeannie had roses for her and Gerald took photos, so Cecelie was ushered into the Freeport theater world with sufficient attention. Having her big cousin Brianna come just to see her was quite an honor, and the two blonds had a great weekend together since Brianna is talented with younger children.

After that show, taking only time for the photo session and to view Jeannie’s students art work using perspective, we hurried onto the Jeannette Lloyd Theater on the other side of town for the jazz band concert followed by Showtime. Gerald dropped me off to go back for an early opportunity to sleep after the long drive up. Seats were sold out and we needed one more, but Jeannie went up to view the show from the balcony, so the blonds and I had good seats.

As always, neither the jazz band nor the Showtime cast/crew disappointed. This year’s final segment honored senior citizens—after first roasting us with humorous skits. I’d seen Elijah’s monologue during Easter weekend, and I’d already told him it was sometimes too realistic of my life to be funny—though I could not keep from laughing. Then, however, some very talented older people (friends and grandparents) joined the high schoolers on stage and showed that they too could sing and dance very well.

It was sweet seeing Sam Wellman (who was at Woodsong with Elijah’s sister Leslie who once brought a group down for a summer Eiler Grey tour she created singing at coffee houses) and his partner join the older couple dancing, and Sam pretended to take his dance moves by observing the senior citizen. Finally they changed partners. The entire ending with many messages flowing from the seniors to the kids was very endearing, and the kids’ adoring responses warmed the cockles of us oldsters’ hearts.

Saturday was spent sleeping in, helping Jeannie put photos of Showtime’s spring tour into frames for the entire cast, lunch at Culver’s and our usual Freeport activities—Gerald checking out their Rural King and Menard’s and the cousins swimming together in our motel pool. Before we knew it, it was time for the cast potluck. Jeannie found time to make Mexican chicken pie, and we joined other families for this annual event in the cafeteria before the sixth and final performance of Showtime. Then the kids had their annual balloon launch on the front lawn, another photo op for Gerald. We found out seats in the rapidly filling theater and anticipated the jazz band and this year’s guest artist Ken Jarczyk.

Towards the end of the concert, after director Bill Petersen’s introduction of Jarczyk telling of the many jazz greats he had played with, Jarczyk would enter. Each night Petersen would lead him into sharing an anecdote or two about these famous musicians. This last night, I noticed he had on a sharp looking cap he had not sported on Friday night and that Petersen’s questions were different.

Telling about being with an awe-inspiring alto sax player while still a very young man, Jarczyk explained how he got up his nerve to approach his hero for advice and hoped, of course, he might hear a compliment from him on his own playing. The great’s response went something like this: Kid, there will always be someone who has better tone than you. Kid, there will always be someone with better technique. So always wear a great hat!

Immediately, as the jazz ensemble began to play again, the kids pulled out and donned the most colorful variety of hats and headpieces you can imagine. We had a visual treat as well as an aural one as they ended their participation in this last Saturday jazz performance before the curtain closed. And quickly reopened with the show choir giving a rousing opening rendition of “Showtime.” Some had somehow managed to change from the jazz band tux into the required costumes for the opening scene.

From then for the next hour and a half, these kids moved sets, changed clothes with lighting speed, interacted with the audience, and sang and danced with intense energy. After their tour and six local performances, they were bound to be tired, but you could not have told it as they gave their all to make the last night special. I was so glad I was there. I was also glad to go back to the motel to rest, while these kids stayed to strike the set.

We met up with the Eiler family and Brianna again at worship this morning, and after lunch and final goodbyes, we headed toward our end of the state. We learned Tara’s Southern Force had won their tourney, Gerry’s Georgia team won their home games against Auburn, and Erin’s A&M also won. When we dropped Brianna off and visited with Trent at their house out from the village of Waggoner, we found out Mary Ellen had gone to help Brian at the farm and she was leaving about the same time. We agreed if we passed on the highway we’d wave at each other.

As it turned out, she needed gas and we were both going by Okawville’s DQ about the same time, so we agreed to have supper together. We hashed over the good weekend together, and a couple hours later we were here at Woodsong and Gerald showed me his slide show memento of our trip.

Daddy's Birthday

My father was born April 15, 1898, and so he would have been 112 today. Tonight his great great grandson Peyton Archibald is sleeping in his little crib that his grandmother paid 50 cents for.




Our granddaughter Tara and her three boys came to Woodsong around 6:30 to spend the night here before leaving in the morning for Athens, Georgia. We have had so much fun playing with Aidan (almost 4) and Maddux (16 months) and snuggling Peyton (5 weeks). The two big boys had to use their shovel on the lime pile and push the little wheelbarrow around. Aidan took a ride on the "mule." Maddux did not want to. Everyone is sound asleep now after supper, baths, etc. I am going to bed now too.

Another Teenager, Dandelions, Old Age, and Softball

We just came home from celebrating our grandson Sam’s 13th birthday. With a band trip coming up to Illinois State at Bloomington/Normal, he declined the recent custom of celebrating with buddies and asked his folks to just have his grandparents over this year. It has been awhile since we were the honored guests, so both sets of grandparents were glad to oblige. It was great fun to see him receive his new guitar that he is eager to learn. Lessons have been arranged, so we are looking forward to hearing him play at his next birthday--if we get invited for that occasion again that is. Otherwise we will just listen as we have opportunity.

The table flowers tonight were scarlet azaleas from their front yard. I had picked some lilacs from Katherine’s little bush on the side of the house Monday and taken them in so she could enjoy their fragrance. The tall dogwood in their back yard is flowering gloriously; and beneath the dogwood and even further out, the ground is covered with sweet purple violets. These are especially welcome to view out their bedroom windows since the derecho did severe damage to their back yard a year ago. They are gradually getting it back in shape, which was no small chore for David.

Going to town right now is especially pleasurable because so many lawns have bright flower beds and flowering trees and shrubs. Beautiful yards are probably kinder to passers-by than the home owners, who often see their own flowers briefly when they enter the house by the attached garage. This is similar to people who make efforts to look attractive. They only see themselves a few minutes in the mirror, while the rest of us get to enjoy their beauty for much longer periods of time. Some people think the beauty-conscious folks are vain, but I think they are generous and are being good to those of us who look at them.

Our azaleas are just now beginning to bud, and the other grandmother tonight said theirs were also still in the bud stage. We have the best crop of dandelions that we have had in years, and I notice many other folks do too. I love their bright circles and think they make a lawn even prettier, but Gerald does not appreciate them. Our lane was bordered on both sides with a row of dandelions that had not been there in past years, and I was enjoying them. But before they took over the grass on both sides, Gerald sprayed them last week. Since he cares for the lawn, I could not complain. (At least not very much.)

When I was working in the flower beds the other day, we quickly ran out of mulch. Gerald brought in a large amount in his pickup today and placed it in plastic garbage cans close to where I need it. So I have tomorrow morning’s work cut out for me.

Another neighborhood death occurred on Monday for a sweet friend from long ago. Our two youngest children were in the same class through twelve years of school. She has been housebound for several years now. Her husband also has been very sick for a long time. Their four sons and wives have coped beautifully during these many years providing care themselves when the parents were less handicapped and then adding extra workers when constant care became needed.

Today’s son and wife and the helper staying with the husband before tomorrow’s funeral encouraged him to brag on the cake I took over, and he graciously did so. But I could tell he did not remember me, and I saw a tear in the daughter-in-law’s eye as I felt a lump forming in my throat. It hurts so to see previously strong independent folk become weak and elderly. I remember those years when we watched our parents age. It makes me wonder what is ahead for those of us just a few years younger than the neighbor.

Since we don’t write the script, we’ll take what comes and try to reap whatever benefits are available in the often sad last chapters of life. My father especially had never known any kind of health problems until his last decade or so. He had always been intensely independent and always a helper of others rather than needing help. I was pleasantly surprised at how well he accepted the limitations that Parkinson’s Disease and heart attack and stroke imposed upon him. I am going to try and keep his example in mind as I continue to age in the years ahead. On the other hand, I may turn out to be a real pill.

To end on a happy note, University of Georgia softball team won both games in their double header against Mississippi State at Starkville last night.  Between phone calls and a visitor, we listened and cheered them on.

Goodbyes, Hellos, and Softball

After last goodbye visits to Ernestine and Leah from brothers Garry and Keith and wife Barbara, Gerald loaded the car trunk with multiple suitcases and bags. He transferred the car seat for Emmy over to our back seat from Garry’s car that Ernestine and Leah had been borrowing during their visit here from Wyoming. A little later than we hoped, we left Woodsong and headed to Saint Louis. We weren’t on a strict schedule, but Ernestine and Leah wanted to check into their motel by the airport in time to have a good night’s sleep before the flight back to Rock Springs.

We stopped at the post office in Marion for Leah to take in excess items collected while here to mail home, and we stopped at Saint Clair Square to find a restaurant for our evening meal. By the time we were in Saint Louis heading west to the airport, Emmy was protesting loudly that she had enough of that car seat. At that point, we began to notice that we were moving very slowly and finally to realize we were stuck in a traffic jam that had been created by a wreck ahead. With her mother on one side and her grandmother on the other to entertain her, Emmy quieted and really did well as we sat still or occasionally inched forward. When that ordeal was over, we were almost there.

Their first floor room was waiting for them with a crib in place, and Gerald quickly found a cart to pile their luggage on to take to their room as they would have to do the next morning when they caught the shuttle bus to carry them to their flight. We left hurriedly because we were saddened by farewells and we knew how tired everyone was. (We learned from follow-up phone calls this afternoon that Ernestine had not slept very much worrying that the crib was not up to code. Leah slept well because she had been up and down every hour and a half the night before with teething Emmy at our house.)

Gerald had been working in his shop all week when he had spare moments to redesign some part of the softball batting tees that he delivered last weekend and then found out one part did not work as he hoped. He thought our daughter-in-law Vickie would be coming through this weekend and could take them on to Athens. After we got in late Thursday night from Saint Louis, he also talked the next morning of delivering them himself to Oxford, Mississippi, where Georgia played Ole Miss. I just kind of shook my head in wonder at that idea, and he too decided he was too tired for that jaunt—which he had pointed out was only as far away (one way) as our round-trip to Saint Louis. Sure enough Vickie did come through here to pick up her mother for a visit in Athens, so early this morning Gerald took the redesigned parts over to her car at her mom’s place.

Because of so much rain and wind and the absence of my favorite hair fixer on the days I could get to town, I had a bad-hair week the entire time the Eilers and Ernestine and gang visited here. I was very happy to have an appointment for a much needed hair cut and styling with Stefanie on Saturday morning—another reason I was not going to go to Oxford, Mississippi. Afterwards I ran by Katherine’s hoping to complete a couple more coats of polish on her nails that we had worked on the day before when she said they were splintering. She was in bed and smilingly sent me on my way.
I knew the Taylors were down for Brian to start farming because Gerald told me as I left the house that I had missed a brief visit with our daughter Mary Ellen. I’d not heard her come in, and she didn’t want to slow me down when she learned I was going to town. So coming home from the beauty shop, I’d run by their camper. Only Brianna was there, and I asked her if she wanted to come over to Woodsong. She said no because Uncle David was bringing Sam out.

When I arrived back at our house, Sam was there thinking that was where Brianna was going to be. So he and I drove back to the camper and picked up Bri and Fifi. Fortunately, the lunch meat I had planned for Gerald’s and my lunch was adequate for everyone to have sandwichs. Brianna got to eat the last piece of the bunny rabbit cake—a cake that her mother, as a young girl, had started making us each year, but she had not had at their Florida holiday meal.

(I learned that Sam’s other grandmother makes the same cake but instead of a white cake, she makes a carrot cake. You know the cake where one layer becomes the bunny face, and the other layer is cut so you have two ears to place on the head and the remaining middle is placed under the head as a bow tie. I thought carrot cake was very appropriate, but since Mary Ellen did not like carrot cake, I know why she used the white cake mix we have used ever since.)

Sam and Bri had a good time together on the “mule,” riding bicycles around the lake, and doing their cousin Desyngia project (a book they are collaborating on), while Mary Ellen and I had a long mother-daughter talk we seldom have opportunity for. I was able to hear about their Florida vacation with Gma Dot.

The Taylors were back over today from the camper, but they had a very late breakfast and couldn’t eat lunch with us. When I came home from church and realized the chicken I had put out last night from the freezer and then into the fridge was still frozen, I hurried and fixed Gerald and me sandwiches again, so we could go catch the Georgia Bulldogs on the game tracker.

Bri was watching something on television in the family room, and Mary Ellen sneaked an afternoon nap in the brown room. For some reason, there was no audio announcer today and it was a long game (10 innings). It was not as thrilling a viewing experience as that close game should have been, which is why Mary Ellen chose to retreat to the brown room.

I fell asleep in my chair in the middle of the game. I was disappointed to learn I had slept through Brianna Hesson’s home run and Alisa Goler’s two homeruns. (All-American Alisa is so good and, thus, is walked so often, that she doesn’t have many opportunities to hit.) But I was wide awake during the extra innings and was able to experience Jenny Auger’s winning homerun in the top of the l0th. Alison Owen was pitching and held Mississippi scoreless in the bottom of the inning allowing Georgia to sweep the three-game series.

When Gerald then started telling me how close Starkville, Mississippi, is where Georgia is playing a double header Tuesday night before returning to Athens, again I just shook my head and went upstairs to cook the finally thawed chicken.

The Most Beautiful Time of the Year

Well, Duke won—barely—but regardless, I am sure Willie Veasley will be a forever hero in Freeport. What a great game! We were sad Butler came so close but not close enough, but I had to be happy for the Duke parents and fans. Tonight I am happy for Georgia (vs. Georgia Tech) and Texas A&M (vs. Texas) as our teams won both softball games.

Our Wyoming guests finally came back to Woodsong Monday evening after we met up with them and Keith and Barbara at The Old Homeplace in Goreville for supper. Our house has been filled with baby Emmy’s happy squeals ever since. She talks a lot—just doesn’t use English yet although Gma Ernestine says Emmy (ten months) knows several words. She will say a word all one day and then she will refuse to use the new word again. It is obvious she knows what we say.

When Gerald or I try to entice her into our arms, she lets us know that as friendly as she is with her constant waving and flirting with us, she prefers to be held by someone from Wyoming. Her body language and nonverbal noise-making are quite communicative and effective, so she probably doesn’t have too much need for words yet.

I have only been able to hold her each morning by bribing her with the out-of-doors, which she likes. We go out on the deck for a while so she can look at the birdies flying all around us, the flag flapping in the wind, and Uncle Gerald’s pretty flowers down below us--bright red tulips, daffodils, paper whites, and hyacinths. We talk about these things and she points and answers with her private language. We sit on the swing there a little while, but that doesn’t last long until the nonverbal communication tells me we must be up and going.

She loves for people to walk her holding her hands, and she can take a few steps by herself. Again she prefers to revert to walking with help even after she shows you she can make it from one person’s arms to another’s. Her mother Leah and Ernestine are actually happy that she is delaying walking till they get back through the airport and home again this Friday.

I have had a long talk with Ernestine at the breakfast table and a long table talk with Leah another day. Gerald brought Katherine and Sam out yesterday afternoon to visit and eat up Easter dinner leftovers for our supper. It was imperative that Katherine see her Aunt Ernie. Cousins Kath and Leah have always had a special bond, so Leah wanted to see Sam and Katherine wanted to meet Emmy.

Gerald and Ernestine went back to Goreville this morning for a long breakfast visit with the brothers, while Leah and I slept in. I was scheduled to be at Camp Ground Church in Union County for an Illinois Trail of Tears Association board meeting at 1:00, so I left lunch on the table and took off after grabbing a sandwich.

It was exciting talking with Carol Hoffman of the Southernmost Illinois Tourism Bureau about plans for the TOTA national conference to be in Metropolis on September 20 to 23. Several new sites have been certified in Illinois, and the National Park Service is having signs made, which should be in place before the conference.

We hope to have displays in the two Trail of Tears rest stops on Interstate 57 by May. Pope County brochures are already there for the asking. It has long been a concern for many in our area that while the rest stops bear the name Trail of Tears, there was no information available. Somehow the gravesite of King Nepture, the famous World War II war bond selling pig, (on the north bound rest stop) did not seem adequate for these two rest stops named for the Trail they are sitting on.

Because of so much progress made, which will make the Trail of Tears more noticeable and more accessible across the southern tip of our state, it was a satisfying meeting. Harvey Henson showed us the prototype of the new three-county brochure, which will also be available soon.

The drive down had been beautiful with red bud trees, which began blossoming on Easter Sunday and were in full bloom today. Despite the overcast sky and threatening rain, the drive back in far different muted light was just as beautiful. I arrived at Kroger’s for senior citizen stocking-up-on-groceries day just as the rain started, and I needed the big umbrella. Fortunately the rain let up when the young man helped me get the groceries in the trunk. Before I reached Woodsong, however, I was driving through a deluge.

Ernestine and Leah had planned to use this afternoon to see our sister-in-law Opal, who has been helping during their family crisis by caring for her great granddaughter Josie while her daughter-in-law Jaime was in Saint Louis following a stroke and heart attack. Leah also wanted to see her paternal grandmother’s grave in the Marion cemetery before they did some necessary shopping preparing for their trip back home. They were back to the farm late in the evening after the heavy rainfall allowed Leah to discover what her driver’s ed teacher had meant about hydroplaning. She hadn’t experienced this kind of rain in Wyoming. Lots of snow, yes, but not this much rain.
Today is our oldest granddaughter Tara’s birthday. It was also the due date for the birth of her new baby son, and her mother Vickie had made arrangements to be there for that occasion. Since this was spring break, it was surprisingly convenient for Vickie to plan to go from Georgia to northern Illinois. However, Peyton (one month old today) is already safely here before Vickie arrived for his scheduled birth. I bet they are having much more fun this week than if he had dallied. Three healthy little boys under four is much to be thankful for, and I know Vickie is having a great time with her daughter and sons.

At Woodsong what more could we ask? A baby in the house, blossoming pear trees, our little island abloom with redbud and daffodils, and Gerald’s little sister and niece here to help us eat up the eggs the grandkids died last weekend. Until autumn comes when I’ll make the same pronouncement, it is the most beautiful time of the year.

Easter Company Has Gone Back to Freeport—the Home of Willie Veasley

Well, I just moved the sheets from the brown room over to the dryer and stuck in a load of towels to wash as I write this.

When we built our retirement home, I found out Gerald truly wanted an underground house. I knew he was curious about them. I knew he sent off for information. Lots of it. We once went to see a partially built one here in our area that somehow Gerald had a connection with. We walked inside it (with owner’s permission), but we really did not see it after completion although I wanted to. (It either was never finished or was sold or something.) We also toured one, which was beautifully furnished and had been lived in for several years—built by the company Gerald wanted to use. It was a beautiful home. Since I kept saying I didn’t think I could sleep well with all that concrete and dirt over my head, I did not take any of this seriously.

A farmer’s wife like many ministers’ wives or military wives, etc., often does not get to choose her own home. You take whatever exists on the farm you are renting or buying. I like used houses, so that did not bother me. I was somewhat shocked when our first landlady Unile Bozarth, whom I loved and admired, casually said one time (nearly 50 years ago) that any woman worth her salt wanted a new house.

I had never considered wanting a new house until she said that. After I considered it, I came to the conclusion that I still loved old houses best. So I enjoyed living in the four houses on four different farms early in Gerald’s career. Nevertheless, when it came time to build a retirement home on the little lake Gerald had built, I did feel I should have equal say in what was built since I had never been able to choose before. When I woke up to the fact that Gerald was planning on an underground house, I suddenly caught on that he had not heard my repeated negative comments as I tried to be interested and politely appreciative of the homes we visited. Then I knew I had a problem.

The first solution was voicing my objections strongly enough that he heard me. Of course, it hurt his feelings since he thought underground houses were the way to go and such a house was already completed when he imagined the future. After all, he had never been able to choose a house either in all these years of marriage. (He did not say that, but I knew it. And he had worked much harder than I had during our years together.) I felt bad I had pulled the rug out from under his dreams. Still I did not want all that dirt on my head.

We were in Michigan visiting our youngest daughter’s family when Gerald saw a plan in the Sunday paper he liked. We both mulled it over, and he sent off for the inexpensive plans the paper offered. A couple of years later when we actually built and changed the plans considerably to fit our needs and our building spot on the lake, we had worked out a compromise we both liked.

The walk-out downstairs has three back rooms underground, but the upstairs has a regular roof over our head. (Yes, we had to have it repaired after the derecho, and I’m certain an underground house would not have had that problem. You know, of course, who the person was who handled the insurance people and the roofing contractors. I’m no good at that sort of thing.) Nevertheless, we have a compromise house—partly underground and beautifully above ground. We both like it.

Back to the brown room. It is the underground bedroom. With our grandchildren in mind, at first I was going to call the two downstairs bedrooms the boys’ room and the girls’ room. I decided that was a bad idea in case that sleeping arrangement needed to be changed, so they became the brown room and the yellow room. It turns out everyone loves to sleep in the brown room. With no windows, it provides the best sleeping in the house. Dark and cozy. Leslie like most college students is sleep deprived, and she especially likes to sleep there. I like knowing she is catching up on rest.

Because the yellow room has only a standard bed while the brown room has a queen-size bed, I had reserved it for Gerald’s sister and niece and baby, whom Gerald thought would spend Friday night here before going on to her brother’s house for her reunion. (The yellow room was reserved for Vickie and Geri Ann as they drove to Aurora—but those plans changed too. ) So the grandkids started filling up the couches although we didn’t have to go to air mattresses as we sometimes do.

When Ernestine and Leah arrived Friday afternoon, they decided they would be better off to go on to the Mississippi bottoms Friday night and wake up the next morning down there to go on to her afternoon/evening reunion, I told Les the brown room was hers. Now the sheets are drying to be put back on in the morning for our Wyoming guests.

We were disappointed that Ernestine and Leah missed seeing the Eilers who were shopping Friday afternoon, but since they were planning on having Easter dinner with us, no one was too concerned. We thought Jeannie and family would have a good visit today with her Aunt Ernie, Leah, and baby Emmy. Gerald took them down to Garry and Ginger’s farm—the home place where Ernestine was born and grew up, and we looked forward to today.

However, during the night, Ernestine became sick from all the weariness of travel and reunion with no rest. (The youngest sibling in Gerald’s family, Ernestine has a stroke a couple of years ago—but did remarkably well going back to work in about a month and not showing any observable after effects. But she knows to pace herself and get adequate rest—something you cannot always do when traveling and unable to completely manage your own agenda.) They had to postpone their visit till tomorrow.

The biggest disappointment for me was that Jeannie, who lives so far away and had to leave this evening, was going to get to visit her aunt and cousin, and she didn’t get to do so. Katherine had hoped to see them Friday night when David brought them out, but she enjoyed more visiting time with Jeannie since Ernestine was gone already. Katherine will be able to do so tomorrow or Tuesday when Mary Ellen is hoping to get to come down after they return from Florida. Gerry sent Aunt Ernie a hug by Internet that I’ll give her tomorrow.

Between cell phones and Facebook, families can keep in constant contact without too much time and expense. On holidays, we would all like to be together, but that is not feasible, so we enjoy the modern substitutes. We actually get more visiting done when there is just one family here, so we especially enjoyed Jeannie and Rick and their kids’ visit.

Saturday night was spent listening to Butler University beat Michigan State. If you want to see my quiet dignified son-in-law Rick vicariously coaching a ball team, visit Leslie Eiler’s Facebook video of the event. Willie Veasley had been one of Rick’s math students at Freeport High School. Leslie had Spanish with him. Jeannie remembered when he broke records while playing basketball at Freeport. All Freeport is very excited about this tournament.

When I explained that I had planned to be for Michigan because of Katherine McWilliams’ blog about how much it meant to Michigan to be in the Big Four with all the mood-depressing unemployment up there, Jeannie reminded me that Freeport had lost a lot of jobs also for several years now—and Willie Veasley was lifting their town’s spirits. So I caved and cheered for Willie. Sam, who was out to the farm to stay with his cousins, remained loyal to Michigan, and I was proud of his fortitude.

Actually, I missed the middle of the game because Gerald came in to announce that our granddaughter Erin was helping with the radio broadcast of Texas A&M softball team which was playing Nebraska up at Lincoln. So I rushed to his office and computer to see game tracker but to hear Erin’s sweet voice and splendid comments. When she went off the air, I hurried back to see Butler win and the Eilers wildly celebrate. If Butler wins tomorrow night, I am not sure I could stand the noise to watch it with the Eilers. But I will be pulling for Willie Veasley.

Blossoms for the Celebration

Pink blossoming tulip trees and bright yellow forsythia join the earliest spring flowers to make yards in town ready for the weekend celebration of the resurrection of Jesus. The full moon lights the sky, and the last two days have been delightfully warm with Spring’s promise. Soon we’ll have my favorite red buds decorating the countryside, and as the red buds’ blossoms fade, the dog wood trees will take over with white blossoms.

Leslie just arrived from Belmont, and the washer and dryer in my office/laundry room is already in motion. I like it that our college grandkids can do their laundry here and, thus, arrive sooner—just as our kids did more than a couple of decades ago when they’d come over from a Carbondale dorm for supper and save quarters at the same time.

When we moved here over eight years ago, the couple who bought our other house at the hog farm did not want our old washer and drier, so we moved them and stuck them in the garage. The new washer and dryer wasn’t hooked up for several months. By that time, I was in the habit of doing our laundry in the garage. It was right by the kitchen and much handier than this downstairs laundry. The builder insisted I put a laundry shoot from an upstairs bathroom down to this room, but I keep in covered for fear a little one might find it and explore where that hole goes. I do use this laundry room for all the downstairs linens and towels, and it is very convenient for this occasional use. I pulled the last sheets out of the dryer after Les arrived.

This winter we finally replaced the garage washer and dryer because they were in poor shape, and we figured the energy saving would be worth it instead of letting them completely break down. The last repair on them didn’t help them at all in my opinion, and it was a task for Gerald and our neighbor Scott to load them in his truck and take them to Harrisburg. I never thought about needing two sets of appliances, but it has turned out to be a very good thing. Twice we have had families living with us briefly during remodeling/schooling, and our frequent weekend guests like knowing there is a washer-dryer awaiting them at our house.

Tomorrow Gerald’s sister Ernestine is arriving in St. Louis escaping the snow in Rock Springs, Wyoming, for our warm spring weather. She is here for her high school reunion; and best of all, her daughter Leah is with her bringing her baby girl Emmy that we are all eager to meet. We had lunch with our niece Vicki yesterday so Gerald could put a car seat in Vicki’s car for Emmy.

Vicki is picking them up at the St. Louis air port and has a room all ready for them at her parents’ farm home down in the Mississippi bottoms, where Ernestine attended Shawnee High School. The Saturday night reunion will be at Fox’s Hollow, a favorite community gathering place for fish on the weekend owned and operated by a farmer nicknamed Foxy. I think they will be here Friday night and for Easter, but I am not really sure how this will all work out until the reunion is over.

At one time, we had three Vickie/Vicki Glascos in our extended family and at that time all three lived in this area, so sometimes doctors’ offices had mix-ups. It helped when Vicki Sue married Ernie and became Vicki Escue. We also have a son-in-law named Brian and a grandson-in-law named Bryan. At least the Bryan/Brian have different last names. More recently we realized that our newest great grandson Payton has the same name as one of Emmy's big sisters--Peyton and Kennedy.

The baby bed will be ready for Emmy as soon as Gerald moves it across the hall to the larger bedroom. (This is Mary Ellen’s baby bed that we traveled to Michigan and brought back with a truck load of other stuff when her nephew Samuel was born. After he went into his youth bed, the baby bed came to Woodsong, where it has had good use ever since.) Maddux’s high chair is still in the dining room from Christmas, so Emmy can use that too. (This high chair is one of two identical ones bought in 1993 when we had two grandsons born at the same time. One was passed on to Cecelie and ended up donated up there when Cecelie outgrew it.)

Leslie’s family is coming down from northern Illinois and will arrive tomorrow. Our daughter-in-law Vickie and granddaughter Geri Ann are coming through on their way to Tara and Bryan’s family at Aurora in northern Illinois. Gerry and Erin will have Saturday games and won’t be able to make the holiday. Mary Ellen and Brian’s family are going to the Villages in Florida to celebrate with Brian’s mother.

All the blossoms should make everyone’s trips pleasant. I wish the people in Rhode Island and Haiti and Chile and Iraq and Afghanistan had pleasant and peaceful conditions.

Meeting Payton Dean

There was no hyacinth smelling on Thursday. I opened the bedroom draperies that morning to rain. Later I saw from the deck that two or three more hyacinths had bloomed, but I didn’t wander down there. It continued raining all day as I prepared for our Friday get-away to belatedly celebrate Gerald’s birthday. Since we didn’t get to go to Knoxville last weekend, we were going to Lexington, Kentucky, to see the Georgia softball team play the University of Kentucky. When I went to town after lunch, I did not have an appointment and feared my favorite hairdresser might leave, so I went to the shop first.

Using the biggest umbrella we have to go in and out there, I stayed fairly dry. Next I visited with Katherine, and that didn’t involve much time from car to house. Then I picked up prescriptions and bought necessary bananas at Kroger. The rain was so hard that my shoes and stockings were wet from wading the accumulated water in the parking lot, and my raincoat was soaked through. As I left town and filled the car with gas, the heavy rain and strong winds continued and swept in to finish drenching my raincoat and demolishing my new hairdo. No, I had not been thoughty enough to bring an old-fashioned plastic scarf for my head. (For those of you fortunate enough to have known the late Arthur Farmer, the word “thoughty” was his.)

Friday the rain was over and Gerald, who had worked all day Thursday in his shop, was still out there struggling to finish the softball batting tees that he wanted to deliver to Gerry on Saturday. I not only had time to smell the hyacinth, but I chose the prettiest pink one for the kitchen table and insisted Gerald take time to smell it too.

Our goal was to get away after lunch, but it was more like 4:30 by the time we left Marion to head to I-64. Gerald had four tees completed and a new top for one of the old ones, but he didn’t dare paint them without enough time for them to dry. Gerry assured him that was just fine—that he and Geri Ann would paint them. The trunk and back seat was needed for the tees and our luggage.

We made it to Corydon, Indiana, for dinner at Cracker Barrel with a Christmas gift certificate and spent the night there. The sign in the motel parking lot said that Corydon was the first Indiana capitol established in 1816. Gerald has fond memories of Corydon and Louisville because of the many years that he and his brothers and various nephews traveled to the farm show. They did not get off their farms often in those days, but they enjoyed this annual event that developed its own traditions, such as Gerald dancing the “old soft shoe” where they lodged at some point in the night. They wanted one meal at a Corydon restaurant, where a woman there reminded the boys of their mother. Of course, that restaurant has been closed a long time ago, but Gerald enjoyed the reminiscing as we drove along.

After a good night’s sleep and breakfast at our motel, we were on our way to Lexington. After crossing the Ohio River and as we neared Lexington, the “horse capitol of the world,” we enjoyed seeing the fenced pastures on the rolling hills with beautiful horses or sometimes herds of cattle grazing on the bright spring grass.

We were staying in touch with Tara, who was traveling down from Aurora with the new baby, Payton Dean, and with his brothers Aidan and Maddux. In fact, that was the only good thing about having to cancel our trip last weekend. We had learned that Tara could no longer wait to show off their new son and she would be at the Lexington games. Vickie and Geri Ann are still going up to Aurora at Easter and spring-break time as originally planned before Payton decided he needed to see this world now, but Gerry can’t go with them. He was able to make acquaintance along with Vickie and
Geri Ann with his new grandson this weekend, and he was one proud grandparent.

Those three boys made the weekend very special for all of us. We are amazed at Tara’s mothering skills and the competent way she copes with her three sons. Aidan, almost four, had been up at 4 a.m. before anyone at their house, Tara said, because he was hyped for this trip. Before the day was over, he had not only attended two ball games, but he had also swam in the hotel pool twice with Geri Ann. Maddux, fifteen months, did not like the pool, but he played his harmonica for us and showed off his attention span and developing vocabulary until Gma Vickie finally had to hide the bottle of bubble solution because she was worn out from blowing for him. He even managed to blow a few himself, which I thought was as surprising as his harmonica blowing.

After locating the hotel where the team was staying but not connecting with anyone, we had started toward the softball stadium when we heard a honk and saw Vickie and Geri Ann driving in the same direction. We pulled over and followed them to a restaurant for their breakfast/lunch. We decided we better get a sandwich also since it would be a long time until dinner. After finding the softball stadium (always a challenge in a new city), we went on to the find a seat in the bleachers.

Tara and the boys had not arrived yet, so Vickie stayed available at the park to help her when they arrived and to see Payton for the first time. I am sure that meeting will always be a special memory to Vickie; for their family, meeting at a softball field could not be more appropriate. Tara has spent large amounts of time on a field since she was seven or eight and played on her first team with her little sister Erin playing in whatever sandpile or playground was available until she began playing on her own team at five. It was a boy-girl team in Marion that did not keep score. Geri Ann began going to games as an infant just as Tara’s sons have.

As loyal a fan to Georgia softball as Vickie is, she spent most of her afternoon playing in the grassy area beside the bleachers and back of the dug out with Aidan and Maddux. Of course, she was also keeping up with the games as well as she could. She had lots of help since others wanted to play with the kids too. Both boys were dressed in their Georgia red and black outfits and had a ball and a tiny bat as well as a willing teammate with their grandmother. Gerry could not resist being there too during breaks.

During the first game, Geri Ann had the honor of holding Payton, also dressed in Georgia regalia, but so bundled up with blanket and shawl that not many saw his finery. Tara went from son to son as need arose but also watched the games sometimes, where one of her summer players from Southern Force was on Kentucky’s team and one on Georgia’s team.

Guess who held Payton during the second game? Great grandmother Sue! Following instructions, I kept him completely covered. As long as he was wiggling a tiny bit or breathing so I could tell it, it felt wonderful to hold and sway a mite with this tiny swaddled infant. If it had been awhile since I’d checked and he wasn’t making gentle breathing noises, I would lift the shawl and make sure his little mouth and nose had plenty of air space and he was as content as he felt. Of course, I loved every peek. I adored the little mouth, the tiny nose, and the mass of dark brown hair showing out from under his bright red Georgia bulldog hat. Satisfied he was breathing properly and feeling guilty I’d cheated by looking, I’d pull the shawl back over and continue swaying, and I would tell him how fine I thought he was.

We won the first game 4 to 2 and thought we were going into a tie game with the second one. In the bottom of the 7th inning, the Wildcats hit a two-run homer and the game was over 4 to 2 in their favor. Not a pleasant ending for us, but I am sure it was for the woman in the blue T shirt proclaiming, “Beat Georgia.” We went back to the hotel and were able to unload the batting tees into the team bus. No one wanted to have to go back out, and Aidan needed to swim.

Eventually Vickie ordered pizza and we all ended up in our room. Vickie said the woman on the phone told her this Mad Mushroom special was large. It was humongous and so was the large box of cheese bread—biggest boxes I’d ever seen and more than our four generations could eat. But everyone made room for the pretty decorated cupcakes Vickie had made for Gerald’s birthday—the first birthday cake he had in this dragged-out recognition of his attainment of 80 years.

In addition to eating, the evening was spent sadly rehashing our two games, watching the Kentucky basketball Cats lose to West Virginia on TV, playing with Aidan and Maddux, and admiring Payton until his mother took him into the other room and fed and swaddled him and finally everyone went to their own rooms.

At the breakfast dining room this morning, we all met and visited again. Payton was wide awake and we took turns holding him. Rain had been predicted, and it had already started. But the game would not be called until nearer the l o’clock game time. Gerald had slept eight wonderful hours without waking, he said, but he really was not feeling well. If the game was called off, there was no point in our staying; and if it was played in drizzle, we knew Gerald did not need to be in that.

We were dressed to find a church somewhere and worship before the afternoon game, but we made the decision to give everyone a final hug and kiss and start towards Illinois. If we saw a church somewhere along the highway we might stop—something we like to do. But Gerald really was not up to attending with his cold seeming to take a turn for the worse. (Or maybe he was just rightfully tired out after all the work in the shop this week despite his cold and then driving to Lexington.) Anyhow we did not pull off the highway to look as we drove through rain off and on all the way home. At least it was not difficult driving.

We stopped for lunch at a roadside Denny’s that had replaced one we had gone to many years ago. The old one was special because it had a clear plastic bee hive built into the outer wall of the dining room that allowed you to see the bees working.

Back on the road, we learned by phone that it had cleared off in Lexington and softball was being played. We reached Woodsong about 3 in the afternoon--tired but jubilant because Georgia had played good softball today and won the third game 16 to 5. It was a fine weekend although I am making suggestions that maybe Gerald will need to see about an antibiotic. Everyone seems to report that this particular cold hangs on unusually long, so maybe another night of rest and Gerald will really be on the mend as he has kept thinking he was.

Spring Has Sprung

As I drove to town this morning through the countryside to Katherine’s, everywhere I looked at people’s lawns and the roadside, bright and sunny daffodils were welcoming spring.

Across from the large roadside expanse of golden daffodils that I especially love because it has been there for decades and always come up earlier than others, there is a tiny ancient cemetery. Someone has cleaned it in recent years. I don’t know if family members or strangers are now mowing and keeping this burial place pristine. I’ve never stopped at this tiny cemetery because it seems so private although there is a little driveway in, and maybe someday I will stop and view the few tombstones there and admire the caretaker’s work. Today one grave was completely covered with the cheerful daffodil blooms that symbolize so well the renewal of hope and joy after the cold of winter.

Weather was beautiful today. Frantically Gerald and I helped Katherine get ready for the hospital van, which came 45 minutes earlier than we expected. Evidently the time for the
Tysabri infusion at the hospital was misunderstood by either Kate or the van driver. So it was a wonderful relief as she wheeled outside the door towards the van and she asked if she would need a wrap to tell her that she would be fine without a sweater or coat.

I had already told her as she brushed her hair to try to catch a glimpse in her yard of her new daffodils that had started blooming since yesterday. Her plants are unusually healthy and pretty—actually four different kinds of daffodils. Today’s new ones are bi-colored with a slightly orange center and a simpler one that is just plain yellow. Yesterday the lovely large pale yellow ones at the end of their house were showing their stuff, and my favorites—the miniature ones under the light post—were waving at me in the breeze. I picked three of each and placed in her vases so she could enjoy them inside the house.

After helping Katherine out of bed since it was her morning aide’s day off, Gerald went on home to continue his work on the softball tees he is building to carry down to the Georgia Dogs this weekend at Lexington. (I stayed in town for several errands after having a cup of soup at Honeybakers, my favorite lunch spot.) Gerald did take time off to listen to today’s ball game (we lost) and then went back to the shop. He finally managed to make himself quit when he smeared the end of a finger with the grinder. The nasty cold that started last Thursday put him way behind on this project.

He still is not recovered from his cold, but is much better than the weekend and on his birthday Monday and even yesterday. The only celebration I could think of that he was up to on Monday was bringing home salads and chicken pot pies from Bob Evans for our evening meal. He had to cancel the traditional breakfast with his brothers that day, but they are planning to meet in the morning.

I am sure there will soon be another breakfast or two soon when their only sister Ernestine and our niece Leah come and bring our great niece Emerson Leigh to meet her Illinois relatives. Ernestine has a high school reunion to attend, but we are all focused on meeting baby Emmie. (Emmie or Emie or Emmy—not sure how they spell that diminutive.) Katherine is hoping today’s infusion will help her be able to attend some of those family celebrations where Emmie will be our star. We feel like we already know her from her pictures and Ernestine’s descriptions.

Sam’s trombone lesson was cancelled today, but he went with me to Small’s (a locally run store that has a good meat market and deli) to pick up some barbecued pork steak he likes and other sides for our suppers. With his classic rock station still playing, I drove home to Woodsong, where our double daffodils, which have had buds for weeks, are finally showing a bloom or two beside the patio. Gerald’s bulb garden had a single daffodil and hyacinth in bloom that I don’t think were there when I left the farm. I must go out and enjoy the fragrance of hyacinth in the morning.

Rainy Sunday Kept Changing Our Plans Too

Plans today kept changing too. (It is after midnight—but I am still thinking it is Sunday night.) We had planned to eat out today with daughter Katherine’s family, but with the rain and other problems, we did not. So I quickly opened a jar of spaghetti sauce and added it to already browned ground beef from the freezer. (Daughter Jeannie taught me the advantages or keeping frozen browned ground beef on hand ready to use.) Brian dropped by and ate a plate with us before he headed back to central Illinois.

Finally I remembered that I had planned originally to go our first 2010 meeting of the Illinois Chapter of Trail of Tears Association. But after Gerald decided he wanted to celebrate his birthday by going to the softball tournament at Knoxville this weekend, I had emailed our chapter president that I would likely be in Tennessee.

I had actually forgotten today’s meeting despite the great publicity given it. When I remembered, with the chilly rain coming down and a tie-breaker game going on that I wanted to follow, I was tempted to stay home and skip the meeting. But I wanted to hear Herman Petersen’s presentation, so I left the dishes in the sink and drove slowly to Vienna—not wanting to hydroplane in the rain.

I thought maybe the crowd would be slight with the rain, but I had to park a long way from the library door. (That is when I discovered the fold-up umbrella I usually carry in the car pocket was no longer there.) Entering the downstairs community room and shedding my dripping raincoat, I was pointed to a couple of empty seats on the back row by Sandy Boaz. They were filled when I squeezed back there, but one unfolded chair was there. Two or three people kindly lifted it out and passed it and set it up in the one tiny space remaining. Others came in who had to stand throughout the meeting after the chairs ran out.

I enjoyed seeing again the National Park Service video again about the Trail of Tears. I was very glad to hear Herman Petersen’s story of his own search for information about his Cherokee ancestor. Since there are few records of the Cherokee in the 19th century, such family history searching is quite challenging. Herman started his family story in Norway, from where his known ancestors came.

Since his great grandfather, the Cherokee, had moved out of Indian Territory before 1895, neither he nor his daughter were there to be on the Dawes Roll. But Herman did find this man’s mother listed as already deceased on the special census that was taken to prepare for the Dawes Rolls and also the sister who did not leave Indian Territory. Herman’s pride in his Cherokee heritage was made clear by wearing a ribbon shirt and a typical turban that the men often wore in 1838. At someone’s request, he had to demonstrate how to roll the turban.

The difficulty of researching Cherokee heritage was also clear by his presentation, but then all family research can be challenging. So often, as in my own family, relatives had the same first name. In our case the William Martins almost overwhelm us with confusion sometimes.

Johnson County Historical and Genealogical Society members, who hosted this meeting for TOTA, always serve homemade cookies to go with coffee and drinks. During this social time at the end of the meeting, it was interesting to find so many people searching for ancestors who had dropped off the Trail here in Illinois. One woman who had just started searching was referred to Joe Crabb, who knew her people. In fact, thanks to Joe, her relative from Womble Mountain recorded the family story for us shortly before his death. It makes us grateful that we did get some of these stories recorded before it was too late.

The first question I asked Gerald when I got back home—had Georgia Dogs been able to come back again after being behind when I left for the meeting. (My cell phone is not working again, so I couldn’t call on the way home. I thought I had the phone fixed—so now I must take it back for another fix.) The answer was yes—in an overtime inning. Then I fixed us a bite to eat.

We were both concerned because a young friend of ours from Texas was coming to Saint Louis for a seminar this week and had planned to come early and visit us on the farm for Gerald’s birthday. We were both excited about this, but overnight Gerald’s cold had taken a terrible turn for the worse. (Yesterday he seemed better.) We did not want to tell him not to come, but Gerald didn’t feel he should let him come and be coughed on either. When he called and asked Gerald how he was, Gerald said not so good. Brad said why, and Gerald said because he was almost 80 years old! Brad then explained that he was not so good either—he was in the hospital at Denton with shingles and so would not be able to visit us after all. He promised to come a weekend later in the year after he gets back from a trip to India, so we look forward to that.

It was too late to go to our evening church service, so while I glanced through a large file folder (a real treasure trove of information) that a lady brought me this afternoon from Michael Scott, I also watched the debate and media coverage of the historical passage of the health bill. That is why I am writing after midnight.

The Best Made Plans of...

The car had been serviced for the trip, arrangements had been made with various folk that we need to tell when we are leaving, prescriptions were filled, etc. etc. Our son Gerry was making our motel reservations where they were staying. Unfortunately, I caught a cold early in the week, but I was counting on feeling better by today. (And I am.) By Thursday, however, Gerald was catching the cold. He did not feel like driving to Knoxville yesterday (with a side trip to see our friend Tossie, he’d hoped), so suddenly we were staying home all weekend and all the preparation was wasted.

Instead we found out what was going on between University of Georgia and Tennessee’s softball teams with our old standby—game tracker. Since we lost the first game this afternoon, we were not too sorry we were absent from the stands although, of course, we wanted to see Vickie and Geri Ann there. The second game started badly and made us think it might be more of the same, but it changed in the fifth inning and we won 9 to 5. The tie-breaker tomorrow should be fun to see, but, of course, we won’t since we are still in Southern Illinois.

This first day of spring changed many people’s plans with floods at Red River and a historic struggle in Washington, D.C., to change our way of providing (and not providing) health care in this nation. That tie breaker will be of considerable more consequence that who wins a softball game tomorrow.

Nieces in Texas and a nephew in northern Illinois all wrote to each other on Facebook about waking up to snow-covered ground. Our weather here was quite beautiful, and Brian was down putting on anhydrous in anticipation of planting. Gerald had plowed our garden yesterday in preparation for planting his first potato crop and then he also plowed up a small part of the lawn where the moles have ruined it. Today he replanted that area.
He’s already mowed the lawn for the first time. The martin houses are washed out, dried out, and cranked back in the air.

Why is he planting potatoes for the first time in his garden? Well, before he took Leslie to Texas, our friend Don Dillow phoned to see if Gerald could bring him some Yukon Gold seed potatoes because he had not been able to obtain them. Now Don is in his 80’s and had a heart attack years ago, but he still gardens, gathers pecans from the trees in his yard, hunts turkeys, deer, and quail, and I don’t know what all he does do in addition to ministering to many people. So Gerald called their mutual friend Bill Tweedy, another champion gardener, to find out where to buy seed potatoes and became so interested in Yukon Gold potatoes that he couldn’t resist buying some to plant for us.

Gerald certainly planted potatoes as a boy, but we never had to after we married because Dad Glasco grew large patches to fill his cellar bins with enough for all five of his children’s families as well as plenty to take to various widows that he knew would appreciate them. (After he retired, Dad Glasco used part of his acreage and his farm machinery to grow multiple patches of many kinds of vegetables to share at housing projects and with friends and family. Garry, the son that took over the farming, was good to help Daddy with his vegetable projects. I always wished we had some way to export Daddy’s expertise to underdeveloped countries because was the best gardener I ever knew.) We will find out this summer how much Gerald remembers about potato growing from his boyhood. If nothing happens to change our plans, that is.

My First Corned Beef

Although I always want to be Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day, I am not and I don’t usually celebrate. Oh, I always wear green, and I made sure my kids had something green to wear, so they would not be pinched or have their foot stomped on. But that was about all the celebrating we did. I started wondering about this pinching/stomping tradition this week. Is this just something that is done in our area, or is it universal among school children?

However, I not only wore green this year, I cooked my first corned beef. I bought two from Kroger with the spice packages wrapped inside and directions for cooking on the outside of the plastic wrapper. I had decided to serve corned beef sandwiches to the church women who were coming to our house on Monday night.

A group of volunteers were having a fund raiser up at West Frankfort today and one of the names and phone numbers given for the event was a writer friend I had lost contact with. I phoned Kay and asked her for serving advice. In addition to the flax bread I love and had planned to serve, I found out I needed to offer rye bread and Swiss cheese and even sauerkraut could be available. I ran out of time and decided to forgo the sauerkraut, which I was somewhat uneasy might smell up the kitchen.

I fixed a large relish plate of green items with only bright red pepper slices in the middle to give a mite of color. I made pea salad, lime punch, and used a special Irish coffee packet I had been given for Christmas in addition to making a decaf pot. Chips and candies. Angel food cakes, with and without icing (icing colored green, of course), lime sherbet, and green grapes were offered for dessert.

Mary Ellen had given me beautiful green place mats two or three years ago as well as two new sets of Christmas tablecloths at the same time. With so many choices at Christmas, I had not yet used the emerald place mats, and they really brightened up the yellow cloth which I have used throughout the years since Gerry and Vickie’s wedding rehearsal dinner 30 years ago!

In fact, I looked through the house and found every green dish or vase or candle available, and green took over the environment. I had bought three beautiful candles for 25 cents apiece at the Carbondale mall in the Christmas season’s leftovers. So they decked the dining room table sitting in a dish I bought from Salvation Army to hold them. Yes, I did have a lovely vase of daffodils in the living room. If you read my last blog, you know where they came from.

After singing and prayer requests for friends and loved ones, Deana Odom gave a devotional. In our business meeting, spring plans were completed. We are preparing ten large buckets of carefully chosen food items to feed a family and then we will be tightly packing them. Someone in our area is to take them down to Haiti along with many other churches’ buckets.

Not so important but enjoyed by the children in our village as well as by visiting grandchildren will be our Easter egg hunt followed by lunch the day before Easter. I certainly enjoy not having to fix lunch that day for my gang since egg dying and other activities keep us busy. Then there will be the sunrise breakfast (I never make that) the next morning and finally our annual women’s banquet in May when we invite our friends and neighbors. The men serve our meal and clean up afterwards. Can’t beat that! We have fun decorating for it, and Jo Barger plans and executes the meal, which the men also enjoy after their serving work while we go upstairs for a program. I can’t imagine planning food for this large group every year, but Jo is more than capable. Our meal is always delicious.

Jo is one of the most knowledgeable food experts in our area and has a cook book to prove it. (I am sure she has been a valuable resource for her son’s popular Goreville restaurant.) She delights in serving family and friends at gatherings in her home or down in her special little backyard cabin with an old-fashioned cook stove to make biscuits and enormous old-fashioned breakfasts.

After all our plans were made and ready volunteers were quickly secured for every project, we moved to the kitchen/dining room to enjoy my efforts at green food. Better than the food was the visiting seasoned with laughter. There wasn’t much corned beef left over, but enough that Katherine’s family as well as Gerald and I were able to have a sandwich again today. I felt I made Saint Patrick proud this year.

Trounced But the Martins Have Returned

We rushed down to Gerald’s office right after a quick lunch in the kitchen after our morning church services. Gerald got the game coverage going for us. This afternoon's tie-breaker 3rd game in the series between Georgia and Alabama softball teams left much to be desired by us Bulldog fans. The final score of 13-4 hurt our pride, and losing two games out of three was not what we expected.

Gerald and I tried to take the bad taste out of our mouths by watching Gerald's slide show of his photographs of his and Leslie's trip to Texas. I noticed he did not have a single shot of Mike Bear, who showed up in many of Les's photos on Facebook. But I loved seeing Gerald’s photos of Bobby and Katherine Sanders' beautiful grandkids and seeing their resemblance to our late friend. Katherine was a natural beauty, and her daughter Regina and her five children carry on that beauty. Gerald had many great photos of Leslie, our blond beauty, as she enthusiastically enjoyed her first trip to Texas, and I especially liked those of her with Don and Helen Ruth Dillow. However, I admit Mike Bear having with breakfast with Don and Helen Ruth was funnier.

The crocuses are blooming at Katherine’s home, and I enjoyed them all week. I appreciated those flowers she planted with some of her last energy and physical ability. I saw my first robin there also. Gerald was excited this morning to see the martins beginning to line up on the overhead wire along our lane, which brings electricity to our homestead. Soon they will probably fill the wire down most of the lane. He realized that his first job in the morning will be to clean out the martin houses for these first scouts to check out.

As Leslie and I drove home from town through the country on Friday, I saw my first daffodils in blooms by the roadside. We have some here with buds but no blooms. This large roadside patch comes up early each spring, and I always day dream about the long-dead farm wife who must have planted them by a house which disappeared many decades ago. Their beauty is a legacy that we still enjoy when we drive by.

They are so profuse and the patch so large that I have never felt guilty when I have stopped my car and picked a few to brighten our table. Once when Katherine could not come home for Easter, I sent her a couple of them stuffed in an envelope. Maybe I will have time to run over tomorrow and pick a spring bouquet. One recent change, however, is the beautiful new house half hidden in the woods behind this patch. I don’t think these homeowners own this roadside patch, but I am not sure. Regardless, they might not appreciate my annual delight in this golden visual treat. On the other hand, maybe they would enjoy my enjoyment.

Back to Our Own Niches Now

Gerald and Leslie drove 13 hours straight and reached Woodsong between 2 and 3 a.m. Friday morning. After sleeping in, they phoned me at Katherine’s house, and I met them in Marion for lunch. I switched into Leslie’s car after lunch, and Gerald drove the pickup I’d used all week to go back to the farm. Les and I did a couple of errands and ran back by Katherine’s so Les could see her and I could pick up the items I’d forgotten and left in the bathroom I’d used. We met Kate’s new aide, a college nursing student back from her spring break. David and Sam were home from Kentucky and so we got to see them too—also Sam’s buddy Tyler before we left.

Back at the farm later in the afternoon, we watched a couple of very old videos that Leslie was putting on a CD for us. I loved seeing those youthful images and didn’t want to leave to go upstairs to prepare supper. So I fixed a quick meal of salmon patties, instant mashed potatoes, and peas with fruit for dessert. I was still disoriented from being away all week, and I remembered something my sister Rosemary shared with me that her mother-in-law taught her. Mrs. Parks always kept canned salmon on hand, so she could fix a quick meal if someone showed up unexpectedly at their farm. You don’t have to thaw it. It is quick and easy and you don’t have to think very hard. Ha. Down through the years, I have followed that advice.

I enjoyed telling Leslie about the large house that her Uncle Phil grew up in over in the near-by Carrier Mills/Stone Fort area. The Parks had acquired an old-fashioned hospital building and moved it to their farm. I think it was ten rooms or so. Was there a fireplace in each room? I know there was one in the living room. While Phil was in basic training with the Air Force, I moved out of the dorm and into their apartment with Rosemary for three months when I was a freshman at Southern Illinois University Carbondale.

Rosemary liked going to the Parks for visits since they missed Phil too and she was comforted by that shared understanding. The first time I ever remember seeing a jet air trail in the sky was when we made the trip there one snowy winter day. We didn’t know what that “split” in the sky was. We watched it for miles, and I wondered if the earth were coming to an end. When we got to the Parks farm, somehow a road was blocked by snow or ice, and we parked at the bottom of a very steep hill and Rosie and I proceeded to climb that hill—going up two feet and back one often times. Of course, it didn’t help that we got the giggles.

Today Leslie was introduced to a Woodsong custom. Georgia softball team was playing Alabama a double header starting at noon. So lunch was served in Gerald’s office as we followed the game on game tracker. She had to leave after the first game and head back to Nashville. She arrived there hours ago and has already posted photographs of the Texas trip on Facebook.

We loved the first game of the double header because fourth-ranked Georgia won 3-0 against seventh-ranked Crimson Tide. This was the first conference game for both teams. (Georgia’s games with Florida were rained out on Wednesday.) The second game later in the afternoon was not so much fun. We were ahead, and then illegal pitches kept being called on Georgia’s pitcher. Because of that, two runs were given Alabama to tie up the game. The radio announcer could not refrain from commenting that 16 previous umpires had seen her pitch and never saw an illegal pitch, but this third base umpire saw it that way today much to the season-high crowd’s dismay and disgust. Then we tied the score in the bottom of that inning. In the next, we thought we’d gotten a third out on a bunt when the umpire called Alabama safe. That gave them the opportunity to get two more on base before Olivia Gibson hit a home run, and Alabama won 8-5.

Now tomorrow the two teams challenge each other for two out of three. Alabama has a 16-6 record now, and gave Georgia their second loss this season making their record 19-2.

Checking Facebook to see if Leslie had made it safely back to Nashville, I’d read that Ryoma and Gina Collia-Suzuki over in England were having pizza for supper. That threw a craving on me, so when Gerald said he was running into town to get a part to fix our broken sink sprayer, I suggested he pick up one for us. He and our son-in-law Brian arrived at Woodsong at the same time, and we teased Brian he had smelled the pizza. We enjoyed having him at the supper table, and he left to go up to their camper at the other farm.

Life is somewhat back to normal now after everyone has returned to their own niches in this universe.

In and Out: Coming and Going

While Katherine’s aide has taken her to the doctor in Carbondale, I have run out to Woodsong to pick up the mail, eat a delayed breakfast with coffee, and catch up with a few things. So I need to blog now if I am going to do so today.

This is spring break for local schools, and son-in-law David and our grandson Sam are in Kentucky on a wild boar hunt. A text to Kate this morning tells her that they saw two wild boars today. Maybe tomorrow they will get one. We do not want these wild creature traveling to Illinois, so I hope they reduce the population down there.

Leslie keeps sending Facebook photos of her and Gerald’s road trip to Texas. The photos of Leslie’s stuffed bear (named Mike Bear after guess who) safely snuggled with a seat belt beside Gerald is bringing back memories to her mother and aunt and their Christmas dolls from long ago. Since this trip is to explore seminaries for grad school, I think Leslie’s mother questions the need of a stuffed bear accompanying a grad student. I think Gerald looks rather cute with a bear beside him and rock and roll music blaring.

Of course, our favorite photos on Facebook this week are the ones that the Archibalds and Tara’s sister Erin are posting of our latest great grandson Payton Dean and his sweet brothers. The opportunity to see these photos even caused our son Gerry to temporarily join Facebook to his sisters’ delight. Payton Dean got his middle name from Gerry and his father Gerald Dean.

Okay, I have checked hotmail, Facebook, etc. and need to pop in a load of laundry. So it is time to be going. In and out. Coming and going. That’s the schedule for this week.