Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

But before I do, let me write a bit. Our day started early as Katherine has a tooth pulled very early this morning. Gerald took her in their van, and after I had helped a tiny bit with her shoes and raincoat, I stayed behind and relaxed at her house reading on in a novel I started over the weekend.

Then Gerald got a haircut and I read some more. We did a quick run into Target as I have been looking at various stores trying to find four lightweight pots to replant the huge vine that has just gotten too long and luxurious in one of our windows. I still have not found exactly what I want, but at least am beginning to store what is out there that I must settle for.

Katherine’s night aide had to move out of the area and Katherine's bad tooth had made her MS worsen, so I have tried to help a bit this week before we leave for the weekend. Her sheet of directions from the dentist said she was to eat soft foods today, so I told her I’d make chili for supper since the rain had made the day not only damp but also chilly. She said that sounded good.

I try to keep chili ingredients on hand so if a shift in the weather calls for it, I can easily make a simple dish to warm us up. Unfortunately after I got home, I found I had used up my supply of beans and tomato juice usually on the bottom shelf of the pantry. So after a restful afternoon, I browned the hamburger and onion, but needed to run into the store before I was able to complete the chili.

Since it was Senior Citizen Day, I just went ahead and bought the monthly supplies I get from that store as well as the fixings for the chili, which I completed at Katherine and David’s house. I was glad I did since I found out Katherine had been looking forward to it. I am always a little self-conscious about my chili as David makes delicious chili from the deer he slays. But it was a cozy meal for us I did not bother with dessert other than taking in some bananas because they still had sweets left over from her birthday weekend.

Their family watches American Idol, and I completely enjoyed watching it with them. I have watched bits of it before but had never watched an entire program.

When I came home awhile ago, it was slightly foggy. Not enough to make for difficult driving, but enough to make the night scene look vaguely different than usual. I can remember one night taking home one of my mother’s assistants when the fog was so bad that I could not see houses to know where I was. I went by one turn-off on my way back home and was so relieved when I finally made it safely into our garage. I have driven in that kind of fog once or twice since.

Tonight, however, it was just foggy enough to make the drive seem romantically mystical and the road seem longer between landmarks. I remembered when we first moved over to the hog farm and I used this road for the first time at night. I had driven it many times in the daytime when our brother and wife lived at the hog farm; and of course, I had driven to work from there after we moved.

But we were in play practice at the high school at that time, and coming home in the dark at the end of the night’s practice, I drove the road alone for the first time in the dark. It was not foggy, but it looked completely different than in daytime and the country road seemed much longer than usual. I grew afraid I was lost. I wasn’t. I had the same sensation tonight of the road being longer than it usually seemed although I always knew exactly where I was. The damp misty quality of the evening gave just enough of an edge to make an ordinary drive seem heavy with mystery and stirred my imagination and my memories of days gone by.

Busy. Busy.

The martins are back to their apartment houses Gerald had all ready for them. As they create their nests and prepare to please us with a new generation, they are busy swooping and twirping and twittering . I am happy the barn swallows are back dirtying up our front porch with their annual mud and straw nest there. I cut dead branches off the rose bushes, which seemed to tall up over night and are green and healthy after their winter sleep.

Neighbors and our son-in-law are all busy getting ready for planting. Gerald has been tied up trying to get the sprayer he is modifying for Scott just right. He keeps redoing it but believes he has it correct now, so he repainted it and took it back down to Scott yesterday afternoon.

Friends and family are out on the lake fishing, and Gerald has planted the first of his garden after Scott tilled it. I urge him to make it small this year. I wonder if he will listen.

My spring took an unexpected turn when a reporter mentioned that I was looking for a photograph of Priscilla the Hollyhock Girl. Betty Baker read the story and dug into her box of ancient family photos to find a group picture of the Harrison family, which included Priscilla who had taken care of little orphan Laura Annear at the Silkwood Inn.

After the Silkwoods’ deaths, it was arranged for Priscilla to live with Laura, who was now married to Isham Harrison, the executor of Silkwood’s estate. (One of the tidbits I have learned is that the name Isham has a silent “h,” and the older generation pronounced it Isom. Proof of this is his son’s funeral notice, which Betty also shared that has the father’s named misspelled just as the local folks pronounced it.)

The photo of Priscilla is not as clear as we would like, but it is extremely significant that she is included in this family picture, which gives evidence that she was considered a family member. The picture was passed down to Betty by her grandmother, Effie Harrison Snyder Penrod, who looks about five in the photo. Effie was rocked by Priscilla just as Laura had been at Silkwood Inn.

I have had emails and phone calls from several who have their own Priscilla or hollyhock story to tell me. That has been delightful, but time consuming. I have talked by phone to two women over ninety years old, and on Wednesday I was able to interview Roma Craft at the Hurricane Memorial Assisted Living facility. It was an exciting interview, and Richard Kuenneke was there to make an audio recording of the visit.

Consequently, I still have one more flower bed to clean out a bit, and books I’d planned to read have been neglected while I have reread one book and perused numerous articles and notes refreshing my memory on various facts and legends.

Nevertheless, we still have taken time to watch softball games on game tracker often. Last night we were able to watch Erin on ESPN when Texas A&M played University of Texas. Today they were back on game tracker as they played a make-up game against Baylor. We had seriously talked of going to Arkansas to see University of Georgia play, but the weather predictions made us change those plans. Yesterday’s games were postponed, and they played a double header today. Our friend Bobby in Texas phoned rejoicing for all that rain down south.

Next weekend will be conference tournaments for both “our” teams. We want to be in both Knoxville and Oklahoma City, but are planning on going to Oklahoma since this is Erin’s last year and Gerry’s team can be watched next year. Our grandson Elijah is playing the role of Eugene in Brighton Beach Memoirs up at Freeport High School next weekend also, and I guess I have to face the fact that we cannot be there and Oklahoma at the same time. I like to be busy—but I wish things were spread out without conflicts, so we could do everything. Ah well.

Beating the Drums

A beating of tom toms (plastic buckets turned upside down) filled the St. John’s School gymnasium, where a single row of youngsters circled the gym wall and sat cross legged this afternoon.

Joe Crabb had enlisted Dr. Vann\ Burgess and me to help him present information to these children (kindergarten through eighth grade) who had been studying about the Trail of Tears.

After we arrived, the teachers called all the children together to sit on the floor in front of us and warned them to be quiet and encouraged them to be polite. They certainly were.

Joe told them about the arrival of probably 11,000 or more Cherokee to our end of the state, where more died on the Trail of Tears than any other segment. Why? Because of the unusual intensely cold winter that trapped the travelers between the two border rivers that meet at the tip of Illinois at Cairo.

On a large map of Pope County, Joe showed the kids where he lived and told how the Cherokee used a creek’s rock bottom on his farm to ford Sugar Creek.

In good weather, as Joe also explained, it took days to move a thousand people load by load across a river. With the record-breaking bad weather, such movement became impossible until the chunks of ice floating downstream finally diminished enough to allow the ferries to start their slow journey.

Thus, the detachments, each with around thousand people, bumped into each other’s camp sites and piled up. Food became more and more scarce as game disappeared and rations were used up.

Many families passed down the story to their children of sitting on their front porches and watching hundreds of Cherokee pass in front of them day after day. One such family was that of Theophilus Scott of rural Pope County. His great great grandson Dr. Burgess was a tiny child when his grandfather died at 96. However, by then younger family members knew the story and passed it on to him. Professor Emerius of Education from the University of San Francisco, Burgess shared a time line with the children and reviewed that early 19th century history with them as he told about his family and his own exploration of nearby Allen's Spring.

Because they were stranded, there was more time and need for interaction between the curious often illiterate white pioneers living here and the bedraggled, dispirited and depressed Indians sleeping on the frozen ground with their one blanket if it had not already been destroyed by the mountainous terrain, rough creek rocks, or snagging thorns. Moccasins too had often worn out, and bare feet bled on the snow.

Local men who had grist mills ground corn meal for the Cherokees. Some traded pumpkin pies for the Indians’ ration of coffee. Some whites took babes from their mothers’ arms to keep the infants from freezing. These local families promised to nurse them back to health and raise them as their own. And they did. When possible, they often kept the Cherokee ancestry a secret to help the child avoid the terrible prejudice against the people with whom the whites had broken treaties as they stole more and more of their land. Some whites, however, helped when they could and even let the Cherokee cut down their woods in order to have fires for warmth.

As Joe finished up the travel through Pope County, young inquiring minds started waving hands wanting their questions answered about what they had heard. They asked good questions and Joe gave good answers.

He had asked me to review briefly the trek through Johnson and Union Counties and ultimately over the Mississippi River into Missouri. He wanted me to finish with the story of Priscilla, the Hollyhock Girl of Mulkeytown, freed from slavery by Brazilla Silkwood who arranged her release from the Cherokee who had purchased her, we think, from the Borders plantation in Northern Georgia.

I was thrilled to be able to pass around a copy of the recently found photograph of Priscilla with the Harrison family that Betty Baker had received from her grandmother. Then it was dismissal time and parents were in the parking lot to pick up their children.

I hope some remembered to ask their parent if they could stay up to watch the third segment of We Shall Remain, which I am now stopping writing to watch. Next week we will learn about Geronimo.

Suddenly It Is Green Again

Almost overnight the greening that nature has been brewing surrounds us. The bushes and shrubs. The grass. The leaves on the trees. The green has all come alive once more joining the beautiful flowering that has been going on for a few weeks now. The temperature was in the 80’s today. As always on April 26, the lilacs are showing lavender. They know it is their responsibility to do so because it is our daughter Katherine’s birthday, and lilacs are one of her favorites.

Driving to Carbondale for our first Illinois Chapter of the Trail of Tears Association this afternoon, I tried to drink in every mile of the roadside beauty. The newly remodeled Morris Library is a venue to make our region proud. With its completion, once again Special Collections has been able to move back home from its temporary hangout during the remodeling.

It was good to hear Melissa Hubbard and Dr. Herman Peterson review for us the work that the 1930’s historians--George Washington Smith, history professor, and John G. Mulcaster, retired Makanda station master--accomplished for the l00th anniversary of the Trail through our region. I especially liked Melissa’s explanation of how the professional historian worked one way collecting documentation while Mulcaster, the amateur like so many of us doing current research on the Trail, worked out in the field interviewing old-timers and thankfully taking the few photos we have of buildings that have since perished. And it felt good to hear Dr. Peterson express gratitude for both kinds of researchers.

We saw a short preview of the next episode of We Shall Remain that will be shown in our region at 8 tomorrow night. Vickie Devenport and Harvey Henson of Southern Illinois University Carbondale had the wonderful “Mapping the Trail of Tears in Southern Illinois” on display in the beautiful new round reception room where we gathering before and after the meeting in the new auditorium. It was fun to see the new coffee bar nearby named Delyte after our beloved SIUC president, the late Delyte Morris. He was there when the library was built in 1955 replacing the old Wheeler Library.

After the meeting at the library and the board meeting following, Gerald and I had a date with our daughter’s family to celebrate her birthday. Gerald had stayed home to follow both Gerry's and Erin's softball games--and I would have liked to also.

Katherine was hoping to be up to going out to get out of the house, but I had also offered to carry in our supper. That turned out to be her choice. So the menu was chicken and dumplings with slaw from Cracker Barrel with some of their old-fashioned bottled sodas. I’d taken one birthday cake in yesterday, and her sister Mary Ellen had sent a second cake yesterday afternoon along with a beautiful bouquet of lilies that Katherine adored. David brought out the ice cream.

Brian carried the flowers and cake into Katherine yesterday because Mary Ellen was much too sick to go in—not wanting to expose Katherine to the lingering cold that seemed to have suddenly turned into something worse. (Mary Ellen came down with Trent and Bri and Fifi in order to meet with a realtor about some acreage they are in process of buying. Brian was already down here farming.) By today Mary Ellen’s whispering voice was more inaudible than yesterday. When Brian took her to urgent care, she had to get four prescriptions from the pharmacy before she and the kids drove back to Lake Saint Louis. Since Brian stayed down to farm, he was able to join us for the birthday celebration tonight.

It was really fun and restful to avoid the crowds at the local restaurants, and Samuel and his buddy Tyler were able to join us for cake without too much interruption to their basketball playing in the driveway. Scooter was glad to be included in the birthday party too.

Dogwood Time on the Trail of Tears

Weather was perfect yesterday as fifteen of us filled the Rend Lake College van to travel river to river on the Trail of Tears and then up to Silkwood Inn, the home of one of the most famous of the those who dropped on the Trail here in Illinois.

Whereas the Cherokee experienced a white landscape of ice and snow during the winter of 1838-39, we traveled with the spring beauty of snowy white dogwood filling the woods. Pink dogwood, redbud, and blue-purple sweet Williams were blooming the entire journey in yards and roadside. Road edges also held an abundance of may flowers, which always please me with their umbrella-like circle of leaves.

On our way to Golconda, we stopped at the Vienna park. While some viewed the poem on the totem pole put up in honor of the Trail, others of us spent as much time as we could in the visitor’s center for the Tunnel Hill trail with its fascinating railroad collection.

Back on the van we experienced the tiniest inconvenience as highway workers were repairing the bridge and highway through the cypress swamp. We had to wait a few minutes for our turn on the one-lane available, but we did not have to stop and build a corduroy road as the Cherokee and many early pioneers did.

We sat on top of the Ohio River levy at Golconda and imagined the influx of 11,000 or so weary walking travelers stopping in Kentucky to wait to come slowly over on the steam ferry that Mr. Berry had there charging them a $1 a head. (I deliberately chose to say “a head” rather than “per person” because these folks were treated much more like cattle than like people.) Many Cherokee were frightened of water travel. We don’t know which detachment saw the steam boat explosion that killed one white and one Cherokee on a return trip to pick up another load in Kentucky, but I am sure that incident did not reassure them of their safely. We continued on down beside the river past the remains of the old lock and dam system and the former houses there for the Corps of Engineers employees.

We enjoyed the many beautiful old Victorian houses that make Golconda so pretty as we drove to the 1840 Buel House. There I told the story passed down by Mrs. Buel, who in a previous home was cooking pumpkin and was shocked when a couple of the hungry Cherokee were enticed by the aroma and came calling. Not able to speak English, they still communicated their hunger and she fed them the pumpkin.

Rev. Daniel Butrick in his journal did not experience the hospitality that some of the 25 or 30 homes may have shown. He was in Richard Taylor’s detachment—one of the last. Not only were they greeted by curses abounding in this rough little river town, but after they passed Golconda and prepared for camping by chopping wood for the night’s fire, they were chased off. Even worse, this same thing happened a second time. By the third camp site on government land, it was too dark and late to chop wood for a fire. With so much of the game already hunted and supplies used up because of the unexpected delay between the rivers where ice floes stopped river traffic, the last detachments probably suffered the greatest scarcities.

Our van riders were given GPS directions written by Joe Crabb that would take them on a beautiful summer drive on the original routes just south of Route 146. There the Theopolis Scott family and the John Farmer family sat on their porches and watched the thousands of exhausted Cherokee trek by. We pointed out Hound Ridge Road that leads to the Joe Crabb farm where the detachments used the rock bottom ford to get across Sugar Creek. Joe’s farm is the second site to be certified in Illinois by the National Park Service and the National Trail of Tears Association.

We stopped next at the delicious smelling Chocolate Factory for a rest room break and a chance to indulge in an selection of candies in all shapes and sizes. I had never been there before, but had to be impressed with chocolate shaped for all different professions and hobbies. I resisted the temptation to buy the sweet treat for myself but was able to buy a birthday greeting in chocolate for Katherine’s birthday this Sunday. It even has colorful musical notes on it for our musical daughter.

On through Vienna and West Vienna (Boles), we looked out at various Trail sites and I told as many TOT stories as the shake and noise of the van allowed. We stopped beside the road where the old Bridges Tavern once stood before it burned in the 1930s. The tavern was a large two-story home used as the family home and an inn for early pioneer travelers. We pointed out the barn which has inside the log structure of the Bridges Store, where the Cherokee bought the forbidden illegal whiskey that caused so much grief when the drunken ones fought and hollered through the night disturbing the rest the tired walkers craved. This log building is the only known extant building on the Illinois Trail of Tears.

Stopping next at the first certified site in Illinois, we visited Camp Ground Cemetery where the old Trail is quite visible just north of the church house (which wasn’t there in 1838). The cemetery wasn’t there either although the George Hileman family, which had secured the title to the long-standing camp ground and built their home there, had lost two children and buried them in the field. The Hilemans not only sold corn meal from their grist meal to the hungry Indians but also allowed them to chop down the trees there for fire and warmth. Oral tradition had made it clear when the cemetery was added to the church that one hillside was not to be used for new graves because that was where the Cherokee had been allowed to bury their dead during that awful cold winter stay. SIUC’s Harvey Henson and his students have verified nineteen unmarked graves in that area using non-invasive technology.

We moved on to Anna, which also was not there in 1838, and we stopped for lunch at
Country Cupboard in The Potato Barn. I love to go there and know that my husband came here as a little boy with his father to buy seed, feed, and overalls. The display of artifacts always makes me wish I had the money and the place to put at least one or two of the many antiques that capture my fancy.

We’d been given a menu early on the van, and so many choices made our mouths water and the task of deciding difficult. Lori Ragsdale, RLC Community Education Director and our van driver, had called in our orders. Thus, our table and food was waiting for us. Everyone’s food was fantastic, according to all the comments I heard on the van afterwards. Then when we thought it could get no better, we were allowed to choose pie for dessert. My blackberry cobbler was perfect. Cindy Pickel and Lisa Hartline, who share the Godwin family tree with my husband, have done an outstanding job of offering a destination where memorable meals await.

We next stopped at the Jonesboro Square in front of the bank where Winstead Davie’s store house once stood. We had to point out the way to the Old Fairgrounds where Lincoln and Douglas debated, of course. And then on around the square and down 127 South near the extinct Flaughtown to the Old Cape Road, one of the many routes taken by the 11 detachments. The rural spring scenery was peaceful and lovely. We passed the sign leading to Ron and Deb Charles’ Trail of Tears lodge and restaurant (open on Friday and Saturday nights) and on past Lyerla Lake and finally to Reynoldsville and Route 146 again. (This south-bound stretch of Route 146 towards Cape is also Route 3 coming down from Chester.)

With the Mississippi River hidden by levies and trees although we could also see the trees over on the Missouri side, we traversed beside the river north and stopped at Ware. Here on Route 146 is where the Willard’s Ferry Landing Road would go a short distance west to the Mississippi River landing in 1838 and east through swampy land back to Jonesboro.

We had one more stop to make on this old Willard’s Landing Road, and that was in the Clear Creek, Dug Hill, and Dutch Creek area where 3000 or 4000 were stranded at the same time the later detachments were stranded at Camp Ground and all the way back to Golconda.

We were on a tight schedule to make Silkwood Inn at Mulkeytown by 4 o’clock. But Lori had it figured perfectly as she drove us up Route 127 to Murphysboro for another quick afternoon break. Right on time we reached Priscilla’s home where she lived with Brazilla and Mahala Silkwood after she was rescued from slavery on the Trail of Tears. We were sorry Barbara Spencer was prevented by illness from meeting us at the Inn, but her husband Gail graciously met us and had the Inn open for us to tour.

It is always shocking to see how small the Inn is to have provided a home at various times to 16 orphans. Fortunately the Silkwoods’ hearts were as big necessary when the next orphan came along. The descendants of the orphans and the descendants of Priscilla’s hollyhocks make our region richer yet today.

A Spring Week at Woodsong

As I drove into the Shawnee National Forest on Tuesday, the pinkish purple blooms on the redbud trees brightened the still bare tall black-limbed trees all around them. The drive there had been stunning with the redbud at the height of its glory. Inside the forest, there were also a few scattered dogwood showing white blossoms and foretelling that time was running out for the redbud. Sure enough by this morning, though still lovely, the redbud trees had begun to shed the blooms for green leaves. And everywhere in yards and roadside, the white of the dogwood was beginning to dominate.

Tuesday Gerald left the house early to go with his friend Herman on an Angel Flight. Before I was through my breakfast and coffee, however, he was back home because the weather had cancelled their flight. I unexpectedly needed to figure out something for his lunch before I left the farm, and I did and hurried on to errands in town and my plan to consider going up Hamburg Hill to revisit the cut of the 1838 road there.

I knew I would not go unless I completed errands quickly enough that I could go there and back in time for our grandson Samuel’s jazz band concert that night. Since this group of youngsters had just won superior at state recently, I wanted to hear their performance. Sam’s junior high band was playing at the high school before their jazz band played, and Sam and fellow trombonist Ben were going to be improvising together. Coming home, I cut through the country by way of Goreville, one of my favorite towns in the universe (cause my grandparents lived there), and I was home from the forest in time to fix our supper. Gerald and I were sitting in the auditorium as the curtain was ready to open.

Gerald did take the Angel Flight on Wednesday, so he wasn’t there for lunch. But I had the same sort of rushed day with emails and phone calls to take care of as I worked on the final collection of handouts to mail to Rend Lake College for copying for the thirteen participants who will be on our river-to-river van trip this week. On Tuesday we will traverse Route 146, the designated Trail of Tears auto tour across our state.

After I completed the handouts and stopped to replenish our fruit supply, I went through the drive-in for supper and then hurried to the car wash to get the mud from Hamburg Hill taken off so Gerald wouldn’t feel he needed to do it. I arrived early at our village church in Crab Orchard for a First Place meeting at 6. I had neglected the Bible study all week and needed to attempt to catch up before the others arrived. With only three of us there, we lingered sharing our thoughts, our troubles, and our opinions in addition to the Bible study review. Consequently, it was later than usual when I arrived home to hear Gerald’s stories about the day’s Angel Flight and find out who won Georgia’s and Texas A&M’s games. The stories were interesting as always, and we had won both games.

Thursday afternoon I left the farm with all kinds of extra trucks there as once again some service was helping Gerald burn off our fields of native grasses. I thought this was a government requirement for these fields, but he explained that it was just the recommended plant culture. The two women in charge were careful to burn by creating V-shapes that allowed wildlife to escape safely. The eggs of one turkey nest, however, required our brother Keith and nephew DuWayne to come rescue them for their incubator.

Again I had a tad of shopping to do, ran by Katherine’s, and got a sandwich at Subway before meeting Jari Jackson to go to our Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting. It was a Critique Night. I had hoped to have something new to read, but hadn’t completed anything. I did grab an article out of the file cabinet marked for revision and was amused to see it was written when my youngest daughter was still in high school as her son is now. I decided it was a little too old to share, but I may yet revise it someday.

It was fun just to relax and listen to the wide variety of offerings presented by more prepared members. When I got back to the farm, Gerald was in bed with the light on and his book of Appalachian humor in his hands and was fast asleep. I debated whether I should wake him and tell him good night or let him wake on his own when the book fell from his hands. That seemed the simplest, so I went on downstairs to check emails and surf a bit.

Friday morning for me started with a long welcome phone call from that youngest daughter who has been too busy with house revamping lately for leisurely calls. The weekend soft ball games would start on Saturday, and Gerald was hurrying to mow the yard and finish his shop project of modifying a sprayer for Scott, the next-door neighbor. This lengthy project turned out to be more complicated and challenging than Gerald, a perfectionist, anticipated. He was glad yesterday to take the completed sprayer home to Scott. In the meantime, our son-in-law Brian had arrived at the other farm for some weekend farming, and at the end of the day he dropped in and ate a waffle with us.

Yesterday Vickie and Geri Ann had gone with Gerry to Auburn University to watch Georgia play, and we were following them and also Erin at Oklahoma University at Norman, where she started the first inning with a RBI double. Gerald was also trying to follow Lucas Hileman at Baylor in the other room on TV.

Interspersed with the games for me was a trip to the village to return overdue library books and collect Revolutionary Road that the library had ordered for me. The florist shop where I owed a bill was closed but the wonderful owner/hostess of The Mustard Seed in adjoining quarters assured me she’d see that LaRonda got my check. There in that haven of crafts and antiques, I could not resist a small good-looking and inexpensive alarm clock for a downstairs bedroom. Then I took a drawing and some photographs that needed framing up to Tom Ribedeau, photographer, wood craftsman, teacher, and owner of the most beautiful long driveway imaginable through a certified wildlife habitat. I went back to Woodsong for more softball inspired by the beauty of the drive and Tom’s delightful personality.

After sleeping with the sound of rain on the camper all night, Brian dropped in to say goodbye before he headed home to the city. I was able to hand him John Elder Robinson’s Look Me in the Eye that I had told Mary Ellen about and wanted her to read.

As always today I was inspired by siblings Miranda and Caleb as they participated in various learning activities in our preschool classroom. Watching their faces as they learn new things and discover new words and new concepts is a joy. Since our story was about Jesus healing ten lepers and only one saying thank you, we played with band aids and wrapped bandages. Miranda had noticed my tiny “owie” on my hand and her band aid is still there tonight. Caleb was very interested in counting the ten pennies, ten marbles, and ten pencils that Miss Kim brought. He quit his independent play to go over and sit on her lap to try and figure out what this counting was all about. He could say the word “two.”

Since Erin’s game today was on ESPN, we watched as we ate lunch and then went downstairs to the bigger TV to see the rest of the game. David dropped in to pick up some left-over vinyl for a project he was working on to try and make Katherine’s chair more comfortable. We were quite unhappy to see Texas A&M lose, but despite our sadness, we had to be proud of Oklahoma’s D. J. Mathis who was back on the mound after a shoulder injury. D.J. played with Erin for Southern Force here in Illinois and won everyone’s hearts with her enthusiasm, and probably knew she needed to keep walking Erin.

At our evening service, Becky Belt handed me her copy of The Shack that Kim had finished, so it looks like I have plenty to read in the week ahead.

Priscilla's Photo Keeps Me Busy

Odd how a life in the 19th Century that ended in 1892 has kept me so busy recently in 2009.

Although I surfed a bit (okay a lot) last night, I completely forgot it was Wednesday night--my appointed night to write. Never mind that I had a Wednesday doctor appointment and Wednesday evening meeting, I still forgot that it was Wednesday. That is okay. I was obviously too tired to write although I did write a paragraph on Facebook since some of my kids and grandkids congregate there and I like to see what they are up to just as I do all the wonderful bloggers that I follow.

Anyhow let me tell you why my schedule has been overfull. Codell Rodriquez, an area newspaper reporter, who was covering a program that the Trail of Tears Association board participated in at the John A. Logan Museum at Murphysoboro, heard me say I was looking for a photograph of Priscilla, the young girl freed from slavery on the Trail of Tears and who lived the rest of her life as a member of the Silkwood family in Mulkeytown.

As a result of putting my request in his story, Betty Baker, who descended from the Harrison family with whom Priscilla lived the last 16 years of her life after Mr. Silkwood died, phoned to say she had a photo. The photo taken in 1891 was a large gathering of the adult children and some grandchildren of Isham and Laura (Annear) Harrison. Betty's grandmother said the third adult from the left was Priscilla, who was considered a family member.

Codell wanted to do a follow-up story about our finding a photo, and I agreed since I was glad to help the TOTA with publicity before our April 26 meeting at the Southern Illinois University Carbondale Morris Library, which is holding its rededication today of the remodeled library. Then Codell's paper moved his deadline up on him, and suddenly when I was supposed to be preparing for trip to Freeport, I was going to town for the interview and also passing photos on to Dr. Herman Peterson at the SIUC library, who made a special trip to our village to pick them up. (There were other photos of many members of Harrison family--unfortunately no individual picture of Priscilla.)

When I wandered into the kitchen Monday morning after our triip and Easter Sunday activities, I was somewhat shocked to see Codell's story on the front page. I have been covered up with emails and phone calls ever since. Some who phoned or wrote also descended from the Harrisons, some have Priscilla's hollyhocks growing in their yards, and some had been just been thrilled with memories stirred about Mulkeytown, and so forth.

I have Writers Guild tonight and it is a Critique Night, our first in 2009, and I don't think I have anything to share. Maybe I will find something. Anyhow I decided I better blog before I leave home for INR reading and trip to Carterville.

If you are interested in more about Priscilla, check the Southern Illinoisan story: http://thesouthern.com/articles/2009/04/13/front_page/28866350.txt.

A Blessed Easter at Woodsong

After a leisurely breakfast with the newspaper, we went to our village church to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus.

Our three little ones in our preschool classroom looked adorable. Wearing pink with ruffles and lace, Miranda explained, “Grandma made my dress.” When Miss Kim took pictures, we knew we were not the first to admire these children today, because one-year-old Caleb without prompting posed and said clearly, “Cheese!” Bobby, looking sharp in dress pants and matching vest, was all excited that Grandpa was coming to dinner. The Easter card he made was to be for his daddy and grandpa.

In the service after Bible study, many had visiting family members with them to worship as a family on this special day. Our oldest member, Zella Cain had family members filling two entire rows. And that was only half of her family, she told us. We sang, “Up From the Grave He Arose” and other traditional hymns. Deanna Odom had a special reading for us, and we sang “Happy Birthday” to Dewayne Covey, who had been looking forward to this tradition, and he had visiting cousins and aunts and uncles there to participate.

Our beloved interim pastor had a second sermon prepared—he and several had gathered earlier at the church for the sunrise service and breakfast that Gerald and I seldom make. In the early years, I would have been out on the lawn hiding eggs and candies in our children’s nests they made on Saturday—just the way my mother was taught to do as a child. Then when our children took over the nest filling for their children, I would be in the kitchen preparing the ham and lunch for the bunch when we came home from church.

Today was different. For the first time in our 52 years of marriage, I did not dye Easter eggs. For the first time in decades, I did not cook Easter dinner. For the first time in several years, most of our children and grandchildren could not be with us. Yet it has been a special and blessed Easter.

We arrived back in Marion last evening from our trip to visit daughter Jeannie’s family and see Elijah and Cecelie participate in the 29th annual Showtime at Freeport High School. Before we refilled the gas tank and I ran inside Kroger’s to get fresh fruit and milk, Katherine phoned and said, “Mom, David has arranged to pick up a prepared Easter dinner for all of us, and we will bring it out to the farm tomorrow. There will be plenty for Mary Ellen’s family too if they are able to make it.”

We took Samuel on home as he was eager to check out the Easter egg doings at Josh’s house—his buddy just behind the park and their house. Sam carried in a large portion of the colored eggs that he had helped dye at the Eiler house and his Aunt Jeannie had sent home with him. So they became part of our dinner today.

He even was invited to participate in the dyeing session going on at my brother’s home when we stopped at Mattoon for a break. Jim’s wife Vivian, who always remembered her grandmother’s huge dishpan full of colored eggs for her many grandchildren, has always tried to approach that sense of bounty for her kids and grandkids. She and her sister Jo, who had arrived from Chicago by train the day before, were laughing and working with a dozen of so cups of color on the large dining table and assisted by my niece Judi getting ready for the egg hunt at their house today. When Sam unobtrusively took a wax crayon from the kit and put a star on an egg, his mother’s cousin Judi had a moment of wonder and confusion when she took a green egg out and unexpectedly saw a star on it.

So after we dropped Sam off at his house, we returned to shop for the few needed items. With the delightful surprise and neat gift for the next day arranged by our son-in-law, I did not even think about what I might need to buy to go with the little half ham I had stowed in the fridge for Katherine’s family and also Mary Ellen’s family if they were able to come down from Lake Saint Louis. I knew Easter dinner would be scant in comparison to some past feasts, but I also knew my children would understand.

David works extraordinary hours already both at the plant and at home helping care for Katherine and Sam, and that he would go to the work and trouble to arrange to bring an entire holiday dinner out to the farm was very touching—and absolutely lovely. When I phoned her an invitation, we found out that Mary Ellen’s family had gone to Springfield—she had known we might not even get back from Freeport for Easter.

So I took the usual leaves out of the dining room table. With Sam’s friend Josh added as a guest, we had six present. Thus, I was able to use the white china with pink roses that I bought long ago at the thrift store when our family had only six members, and the light green cloth that usually only fits the kitchen table. The green stemmed glasses (also from the thrift store) made a pretty table with lilacs and white tulips for the centerpiece.

While the men talked and rested, Katherine and I looked at photo books and enjoyed seeing Tara, Erin, and Leslie as tiny ones. Sam and Josh went looking for minnows and rode the “mule” and played with Scooter and whatever boys do outside.

All too soon the Cedars had to go back home, and Gerald and I were alone again at Woodsong after the flurry of weekend activity. We enjoyed ham sandwiches and reflecting on the day.

We knew from Facebook that Leslie, who’d been in Freeport for the weekend, had succeeded in getting her first car yesterday and was driving it back to Belmont. Tomorrow she finds out about her summer job. Gerry had been off work from recruiting and had been able to go to church with Vickie and Geri Ann at Athens. Like Gerald, I am sure they were in touch with Erin down at College Station and with Tara’s family in northern Illinois, who celebrated with Bryan’s family this weekend. We were still enjoying Gerry’s proud accounts of Erin’s winning home run on Friday and A&M’s second victory against Texas Tech yesterday. And the Georgia Dogs won all three games against Ole Miss this weekend despite rainy weather and lightning delays.

We know that softball is fun and despite its importance to our family, it is not that important in the grand scheme of things. We know that every one of our family members have challenges and concerns—some of which cause us to live life with broken hearts. We know that many good people are out of work in our state, and they didn’t sit down to ham and all the good food that David carried in. We remembered the poignant presentation of world hunger that we saw at Freeport’s Showtime. We know that they are still pirates and thugs and terrorists in the world despite our rejoicing at the captain’s release. We are grateful for a living God who is willing to help us through the struggles here on earth.

Everyone is Home Tonight--for Now

Well, everyone is back to their individual homes, and I am back on my blogging schedule while things are calm again. Because Gerry and Erin both had at-home games today, they got to stay there. I was in meetings at their game times, so I didn’t get to watch on the computer but Gerald did. He even had to fix his own supper. I think Erin and Gerry will be playing at home Friday and Saturday also. Both are free on Easter Sunday.

Leslie, however, will be arriving in Freeport tomorrow night from Belmont for the weekend, and we have reservations there for the next two nights. We are really excited about getting to see Cecelie and Elijah on Friday night in the annual extravaganza Showtime that knocks me off my seat and up on my feet every year. This is Cecelie’s first show since the grade school kids don’t always participate. For Elijah, it is his second year, and I am very eager to see him and the other talented crew since I had to miss his fall play.

I spent this morning looking at old 19th century photographs loaned to me by Betty Baker. I visited her yesterday afternoon after I had spent an hour on the phone interviewing 92-year-old Nola Hertel that Betty had connected me with.
At Betty’s, I heard more family stories and then was entrusted with the photos of the Isham and Laura (Annear) Harrison family of Mulkeytown, who were so important to Priscilla the Hollyhock Girl rescued off the Trail of Tears by Brazilla Silkwood. Priscilla spent the last 16 year of her life living with this family.

My morning was short today because I slept late after staying up late last night sorting and studying these Harrison family photos that Betty inherited from her grandmother Myrtle Snider Browning Penrod. Working with the photos at the dining room table, I was able to get noon dinner on the table for Gerald and me.

Then I shared the photos and information with two other folks this afternoon and evening, attended two back-to-back meetings at church, and in-between activities I got to pick up Sam and his trombone after jazz band practice and then visit with his mother Katherine awhile. She is excited about his upcoming concert next week with the high school band, so maybe I will finally get to hear this group that recently received a superior rating at contest.

Oh and I visited with Scooter, Sam’s dog, too. I forgot to put my large over-the-shoulder bag up when I entered the house, and Scooter rapidly found it and started scattering coins and stuff across the floor. I understand that when he escapes the front door, he gives everyone merry chases in the park next door. Yesterday it took their big dog Lucy, the golden doodle, to chase Scooter down and stop him until he had his lease on again. Today he scared Sam when he ran in front of a motorcycle driving through the park. I am sure he scared that driver too. Scooter is one of those little dogs who just seems to be everywhere. He is an adorable fluffy white puppy, and we can’t help but forgive him for his mischief.

Changing Plans

We thought we had the next two weekends all planned out. In fact, I wrote an email to our immediate family last night telling where we would be when.

However, our daughter-in-law Vickie’s grandmother here in our community died last night. Her visitation is tomorrow and her funeral is on Saturday. Consequently, people away from here are making plans in order to get here quickly.

Grandma Borum was a very dear lady, who has cared for many years for her adult daughter, who is handicapped and continued to live with her. Not too many years ago we enjoyed her and her daughter Janice’s company at all the wonderful family parties that Vickie gave for birthdays and various celebrations. As Mrs. Borum grew older and developed health problems and Janice’s health deteriorated, Vickie’s parents, who lived next door, pitched in more and more to help.

After Vickie’s father died, her mother has continued caring for her two loved ones with help from her brothers. Everyone has been amazed that she was able to handle all of this caretaking, and we knew it was only because of selfless love and dedication to her mother and sister that she endured always putting them ahead of herself. Fortunately someone had been trained to help very recently.

In the morning, Vickie and Geri Ann are driving up from Georgia and picking up Erin from the Nashville airport, so that Erin can attend the visitation. Gerald will be taking Erin over to Columbia, MO, after the visitation tomorrow night for the two games that have been rearranged for Saturday since rain is expected on Sunday.

Our granddaughter Tara and two baby boys, who were just through here last Sunday, will be coming down from the northern end of the state. We are grateful that her husband Bryan can come also to drive. I haven’t touched the bedroom where Tara had three hours sleep Sunday before driving north, so I guess you can say it is waiting for her.

With all this going on with the people we love, I will not be blogging again for awhile. We covet prayers for our family’s safety and health during all the traveling that is necessary during this time of sorrow. I’ll talk to you later.

A Sad Front Page

Would you die to write? Many journalists have, and one of our own in Southern Illinois was honored for doing so. Ryan M. Rendleman, a Batavia native and Southern Illinois University Carbondale student photo-journalist for The Daily Egyptian was killed April 29 on his way to photograph a child who had Tay-Sachs disease to be featured in a story about the disease.

Rendleman, 22, was the youngest journalist and the first college newspaper journalist to have his name placed on the crystal monument inside the Newseum of Washington, D.C.

A senior honor-student, Rendleman was killed when a tractor-trailer barreled into his car, where he was stopped at a construction zone in Washington County. He was among the 62 killed on assignment in 2008 and another 15 journalists honored from earlier years making 77 names added Monday. After each name was read, a single chime was sounded.

Thirteen journalists were killed in Iraq in 2008. Mexico, Pakistan, and the United
States each had five fatalities. Many of the foreign journalists were intentionally killed, but others like the five in the United States were accidentally killed on assignment. Ken Paulson, president of the Freedom Forum which operates the Newseum, told how he had often sent reporters on assignments that would put them in harm’s way while Paulson was editor of. top-selling USA Today.

Rendleman had worked on the university paper for several years and had served as copy editor, reporter, photo editor, and staff photographer. He was scheduled to work as a photographer as a summer intern for the Southern Illinoisan this summer. His membership in Vine Community Church was very important to him, and he was well liked and respected by his peers and professors. His family and friends established the Ryan Rendleman Photojournalism Scholarship in his memory, and the first recipient is to be announced soon.

The story in our area paper was written by William Recktenwald, senior lecturer and journalist-in-residence at SIUC and a retired reporter for the Chicago Tribune. Recktenwald explained, “The Newseum blends the history of news over the past five centuries with interactive exhibits and current technology.”

Chief executive officer of the Freedom Forum is Charles Overby, and he reported more than half a million people have visited the Newseum in its 11 months of operation. Recktenwald quoted Overby as saying, “While many will run from danger, journalists often run towards it.”

The Journalists Memorial soars two stories within the seven-story Newseum building near the Capitol on Pennsylvania Avenue. On the front of the building is the text of the First Amendment.

The first name on the memorial is that of Editor Elijah Lovejoy, who was killed here in Illinois at Alton by a mob opposing his abolitionist views in 1837. I was pleased that Rev. Daniel Butrick, one of the missionaries who with his beloved wife voluntarily traveled the Cherokee Trail of Tears on their terrible march in 1838, mentioned this in his journal. Lovejoy was on Butrick’s mind when he entered our state, and I wonder if Lovejoy’s martyrdom inspired the Butricks to make their sacrificial journey of conscience.

Directly beneath this sad story in our morning newspaper is the large headline and photo of a beautiful little girl named Abbie Adams, who died Saturday in a St. Louis hospital while waiting for a heart transplant. Abbie has united our entire area in prayers, concern, and now tears. The newspapers, churches, and her mother’s blog on the Internet have kept people informed of her progress as she was put on a pump device implanted to save her until a transplant heart could be received. When I went by Katherine’s in Marion yesterday, she was absorbed reading all the comments recorded—more than she had ever seen before on one blog.

Abbie was a charming healthy first grader who seemed to have flu that caused her parents to take her to the doctor. At Heartland Regional Medical Center the Drs. Al-Sharif worked together to recognize that her heart had become involved by the illness and Abbie was taken by air ambulance transport to St. Louis on March 3.

Abbie’s mother, the choir director at Carterville High School, has had the concern of her students. A special showing of the annual spring musical was performed Sunday and raised more than $6,000. Everyone has wanted to do what they could to comfort this family in their terrible loss.

Jamie Adams wrote, “We feel so blessed to have had this precious child for the past six years; she was such a beautiful, precious little girl. I feel so fortunate to have been her mother.”

Funeral services will be at 11 a.m. Thursday at Third Baptist Church in Marion.

Like many Southern Illinoisans, I read the morning paper with tears and sadness. Yet I was also inspired by the too brief lives of Ryan and Abbie.

Old Toys for a New Generation

After taking Geri Ann to high school Thursday morning, Gerald just kept driving towards Illinois and arrived at Woodsong with beautiful weather here that afternoon. Very soon he had photos of all the family in Georgia printed and spread out on the family room coffee table.

This morning shortly before 5 a.m. after driving all night and taking her Gma Shirley down the road to her home, Tara arrived at Woodsong from her parents home in
Georgia with our only great grandchildren, Aidan and Maddux. Today we had chilly rainy weather. Gerald had been up since before 4 and had called her to make sure she was awake. (Gerald assumes that responsibility when he worries about family on the highway) Gerald told her he’d have our car slot in the garage open for her, so she would have a dry place to bring the children into the house.

When I heard Maddux crying because he was hungry, I knew they had arrived and hopped out of bed. Tara fed three-month-old Maddux and the two of them disappeared in the bedroom so Tara could get some sleep before driving on to the Chicago area. Aidan, who’d slept coming up, was going strong, and we fed him breakfast and enjoyed having him as our special guest while his mother and brother slept.

Before daylight with bright lights flashing, Gerald had given him a tractor ride much to Aidan’s delight. The rain prevented also riding the lawn mower or the “mule,” which Aidan was also hoping for. However, he is an agreeable and reasonable child and took that disappointment in good grace.

We soon rounded up numerous toys bought for earlier grandkids or else left behind by them and a couple that I remember buying at a rummage sale when his mother was born. In the bathroom, which he handles like a pro, he would not allow me to put on the little seat, which makes the stool opening a more appropriate size for someone not yet three. He assured me he could manage and he did.

Then he decided he would like to take a bath. So I pulled out our net sack full of accumulated toys and sundry plastic junk that our grandchildren have played with in the tub down through the years. I figure they are learning science as they pour water from one cup to another, watch the water come out the holes of the metal drainer planted with the toys, and they soon notice that some things float and some do not. I checked to see if he could count the plastic baby ducks he had caged in a plastic container that had once held produce from the grocery store. He could.

Later I showed him photographs of his mother when she was a baby. I am not sure he knew his mother had once been a baby. That was hard for him to believe. I understood. I have the same problem—except for me it is difficult to believe she is an adult with two precious children.

It was hard to see them heading up to their home in northern Illinois, but we knew Tara was eager to get there before dark. And we knew her husband was even more eager to see her and than boys than we were reluctant to see them go. The family grapevine kept buzzing until we knew Tara and the babies were safely home. I hope she sleeps good tonight.

Spring Is Blossoming Out All Over

Last Friday night, the first day of Spring, Gerald and I experienced the awakening as we drove down to Union County amid the white blossoming pear trees, tulip trees already shedding their pink blossoms, yellow forsythia, and golden daffodils in yards and roadsides.

We went early to have time before we met his brothers and wives, so he could take me up to Hamburg Hill again in Shawnee National Forest. I had taken the wrong turn with Samuel the week before and missed it. I wondered if it were a good thing. When Gerald and I went up, I knew I had been fortunate to miss the right road. The road was rough and I think if I had gotten as far as Hamburg, I might have been foolish enough to try to drive to the top of Atwood Hill, where the fire tower was. Gerald started also but soon turned around in a road so narrow that I closed my eyes and clinched my fists—even though I knew with my mind that he would make the turn safely. Somehow my stomach did not know this.

Although the grass was greening, the forest itself was still stark trees with leafless limbs—still beautiful in their abundance up and down the steep hills, but not yet breathtaking as they will be when the leaves come back. We were looking for the cut in the forest where the old road used to go. We did find the cut and the pioneer cemetery. We then explored another narrow road through the forest to the top of the hill, where other explorers had left behind their beer cans and trash. There was plenty of turn around room here, and after walking around a bit, we headed on to Fox Hollow for fish with the brothers and sisters-in-law.

This is definitely the time for seeing the countryside. Each day is greener and different as new plants come from the ground. I was able to carry in sweet-smelling hyacinths for the women from church who gathered at our house on Monday evening. I only picked two for each table because it was Gerald’s bulb garden he planted last year, and I did not want to have it too barren when he returns from his birthday trip to Georgia.

I had forgotten he had planted one yellow and one white daffodil there, so I was richer in daffodils than I thought. Each plant had three blossoms, and I picked one yellow and one white to stick in a tall narrow vase. I resisted the urge to pick a fifth hyacinth to go with the two daffodils for a table in the living room.

I had put out the elaborately painted eggs that my friend Jane Perr made years ago. She had learned the craft from an elderly gentleman from the Russian Orthodox Church in Royalton. So I invited Jane down to our meeting, so she could see I was still enjoying her beautiful eggs. She surprised me by bringing me another beautiful egg in its own little holder and also a purple hyacinth that completed the daffodils just the way I wanted the vase to look.

Today after eight hours sleep, I came out of my bedroom at 10 a.m. with the idea I’d walk down the lane to the mail box to get the newspaper that Gerald always walks down for at 6 or 7 a.m. I was somewhat startled to see daughter Jeannie walking out of the other bedroom.

“When did you get here?” I queried. “I figured you’d be driving back today. How did you get in the house?”

Evidently shortly after I went to bed at 2 a.m., Jeannie and Cecelie had arrived from Nashville to our dark house. When we built this house, we gave each of our children a key, but no one seems to remember that they have one. We, of course, leave the door open for them when we know they are coming. Fortunately, one of Jeannie’s kids had found her key and wanted to know what to do with and she had told them to put it in the van. So they had let themselves in and we all slept peacefully, and I got a report on her visit with Leslie as we ate a bite of breakfast.

Much too soon, we had a late lunch and she and Cecelie were off to Freeport although they planned a drop-in visit with her sister Katherine in town before they got back on I-57 to head home.

Cecelie had enjoyed a piece of left-over angel food cake from our women’s meeting, and I put another in a plastic bag for her to take on her trip–along with the left-over chocolate eggs that I knew I should not eat.

As I followed them outside to wave reluctant goodbyes, our eyes focused on the ornamental tree in the driveway’s circle, which is just starting to bloom. Jeannie commented on how she enjoyed our spring down here and in Nashville knowing it will still be three or four weeks before the trees blossom up north. So she will do spring twice.

When Gerald phoned later, he told me that it was chilly in Georgia. Nevertheless, he and Vickie and her mother Shirley, Geri Ann, Tara, Aidan, and baby Maddux were all heading out to the softball stadium at the University of Georgia to support Gerry and the Dogs, now ranked 7th in the nation again. They were to play Mercer. I read tonight it had rained but didn’t rain the game out, which was good since we won.

However, the inclement weather at Waco did cause a postponement of the A&M game with Baylor until April 29. I had to laugh when Erin blogged about the tailgate party last Saturday night for the team, friends, family, staff, and Sugar Daddies. The Broussard family had generously supplied an abundant supply of crawfish. Erin had to fess up, that as an out-of-state girl without crawfish in her menu background, she was grateful for the table laden with desserts.

Since Gerald took the car on his trip, I drove the pickup over to a small-group meeting at our village church. I stopped at the end of the lane and finally picked up this morning’s newspaper.

Praying for Traveling Mercies

Our oldest grandchild, Tara, and her two little boys Aidan (almost 3) and Maddux (3 months) are on the road coming down from Chicago and will be here before I finish this, I hope.

Daughter Jeannie Eiler and her Cecelie (who was 10 on Thursday) arrived last night about 10, and were up at 6 this morning. After a quick breakfast, they left the house by 7 in hopes of arriving at Belmont to go to worship service with Leslie this morning—if they did not get lost in Nashville. (What I remember about Nashville from our daughters’ lives there is that it is one of those cities where a street can suddenly change its name.) I suspect Cecelie is already known there since Leslie had a goodly number of her buddies plus the college choir send her birthday greetings Thursday. (You can see it on Facebook.)

In the morning, again after a quick breakfast, Tara and boys and her other grandmother are starting to Georgia to see Tara’s parents. Tara’s husband is taking some kind of architect exam this week, and the mother of the baby she baby-sits for is on vacation, so it was the perfect time for Tara to go. And her Grandma Shirley has just trained someone to help her brothers take care of their mother and handicapped sister. So Shirley was free to accompany Tara down.

Gerald, though still somewhat red and blotchy faced, is much better and braved his first public appearance at an annual farm management meeting Thursday night. Since then we have been celebrating his birthday, which was today. Because he had been telling me he wanted to go to Georgia to watch softball for his birthday, I did not plan any celebration up here. Actually I could have since he is not going to Georgia until tomorrow when he follows Tara, Shirley, and the boys down. He and Aidan have great plans for play.

However, we met his two brothers and wives at the Friday night fish place called Fox Hollow near the Mississippi River in Union County. Then today, he and his brothers had their usual brother’s birthday breakfast meeting that they always make sure to have when one of them has a birthday. (They do get together for breakfast often in addition to the birthday times, but those are special to them. Various wives, nieces, and/or nephews sometimes join them as schedules permit. Nephew Tim did today. I was home eating breakfast with Jeannie and Cecelie, so I did not plan to go.) They had a big debate whether to go to Cracker Barrel, where they’ve usually gone in the past, but they settled on the Old Home place in Goreville.

Gerald had helped our neighbor with a break-down of some kind yesterday morning and then needed to run to Wal-Mart, so I asked him to just eat lunch in town because I would be off the farm.

I was busy yesterday with the usual Saturday activities plus running over to Murphysboro to the General John A. Logan Museum, where the traveling exhibit on “Mapping the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois” is currently displayed. Vickie Devenport of SIUC television had arranged a program with the Illinois Chapter of the Trail of Tears Association to promote the upcoming We Shall Remain programs on PBS. We got to see a 20-minute preview yesterday. I finally got to see that museum that I have read so much about. Mike Jones and the others have done a tremendous work there, and now is a perfect time to go see the TOT exhibit and all the beautifully presented memorabilia of John A. Logan if you haven’t been before. Or for that matter, even if you have been before. .

Well, it is 11 and Tara and the boys are here. I am going upstairs to greet them.

Now I am back. Aidan went right to bed, and as soon as Maddux is fed, so will he.

Once again, I thank God for traveling mercies.

Running Late

When life is too abundant, sometimes I don’t have time to write. Sometimes I simply forget. And that happened again this week. So I am running late with this blog.

Monday I told the story of Priscilla the Hollyhock Girl from the Trail of Tears to a large group at the Centralia Historical Museum. As always, there were those who had ancestors who dropped off the Trail of Tears. In fact, that night I had a former English teacher tell me that she would have one or two students a semester who would tell her about their Cherokee heritage. We are trying to collect those stories on video tape to create an archive of the families with a Cherokee member who enriched our area when they dropped off the TOT for some reason. (For example, sometimes a mother gave away her baby—to keep the baby from freezing or starving.)

The Centralia museum is quite impressive in a huge cavernous building, the historic former Kohl & Meyer wholesale grocery warehouse. The museum collections fill two floors. You would not believe the still-working old-fashioned warehouse elevator, which I saw some people taking. (I took the stairs. Ha.) The building is near the Central Illinois railroad tracks that did so much for this small city.

There are thousands of items in the museum, even a full-size caboose. The railroads, coal mines, the oil boom, and agriculture are all represented.. There was a exhibit on our newest senator--Roland Burris, a native of Centralia, who had previously served in our state government.

Director Margaret Loomis was a gracious hostess and obviously had done a great job publicizing the event since almost all of the 125 seats she had set up were taken. I am sure credit also goes to Judith Joy from the Sentinel, who was there to do a follow-up story.

These community museums and historical projects require many hours of hard work by dedicated volunteers, and I am always impressed and encouraged that so many people give willingly of their time and energy for the public good as opposed to trying to create more wealth for themselves. In retirement, many volunteers work as many hours as they might have at a salaried job—and put up with many troubles they could avoid by just playing golf or bingo. I am glad they choose to volunteer.

Yesterday I again told the story of Priscilla to an lifelong learning class sponsored by John A. Logan College and taught by Marilyn Schild. Afterward there was time to go for coffee and try to catch up with each other’s lives. The berry sugarless pie at the Country Cupboard was delicious, Marilyn and I both agreed.

I went back to the college for our Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting in order to hear Jon Musgrave. As always, he gave a informative and stimulating presentation. We liked hearing how he did his various books, and it was exciting to hear about his newest project—a screen play he is writing with a fellow Southern Illinoisan now living in St. Louis.

Spring Breaks and the Western Part of the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois

Spring breaks have started for our grandchildren. Samuel like all the kids here in Williamson County has been off school this week. And so has Geri Ann down in Georgia, which allowed her to go with her mother to see Erin play softball in Boca Raton. Her sister Tara, husband Bryan, and the two little boys also took a vacation there. Leslie was in Puerto Rico with her church group since Belmont was having spring break.

The Eilers up at Freeport will be off next week, so Jeannie is bringing Cecelie thorough here on their way to visit Les at Belmont while Elijah goes to Mount Rushmore and that region with his high school choir performing most of Showtime at various venues. They’ll be well rehearsed when they get back to perform at Freeport. Trent and Brianna will be off that week also and are going to Florida to see their Grandma Dot.

I wanted to grab some time with Samuel while he was on vacation, so we planned a day trip down to Union County to see the western part of the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois. We first stopped at the Trail of Tears rest stop on Interstate 57. Oddly, that rest stop has pictures of Cairo but no mention of the Trail of Tears. Our Illinois Chapter of the Trail of Tears Association finally got permission to place brochures there—something Sandy Boaz, Illinois TOTA president, had tried to do for years but wasn’t allowed. But the brochures were all taken the day Sam and I stopped by. We obtained an Illinois road map there, and Sam was able to follow our journey to the west where we were to cross the Mississippi River.

The Trail of Tears rest stop is actually on top of the trail. When I-57 was built, that spot on the highway goes over a short tunnel on the road beneath it, where the Cherokee actually walked. To see that, Sam and I exited I-57 less than a mile down the highway and were on State Route 146, Illinois Designated TOT highway and also the National Park Service’s TOT auto route.

Next we took the first country road to the right and were driving through beautiful rural land, which has been built up with many fine homes in recent years. Soon we were down below I-57 and drove through the tunnel and down the actual Trail. It was chilly enough that we weren’t tempted to get out and hike, and we turned around and went back to the cemetery where Southern Illinois University Carbondale geologist Harvey Henson and his students have located at least 19 graves in the area that oral tradition had always indicated the Cherokee had buried their dead during the bitter cold of December 1838 and January 1839.

Since there had been perhaps as many as 3,000 camping there at one time and more before and after those weeks, it is a sign of land owner George Hileman’s kindness that there were so few deaths. He allowed them to cut down the woods to obtain firewood for warmth, and he sold them corn meal from his grist meal for sustenance to go with the wild game they foraged. He approved their graves in his pasture where he and his wife had buried two small children a few years earlier. Later he was to donate land for the church established there, and he donated more land for the cemetery.

Sandy Boaz, a descendant of Hileman, has been searching for what roads went from Camp Ground over to Jonesboro in the first half of the 19th Century. As a favor, she recently was helping someone with their genealogy questions, and serendipitously found some good hints about the road, which she intends to investigate. She has often talked about Dog Walk Road, and since Sam and I were not on schedule, we decided not to return to Route 146 but to leave on the Camp Ground Road going west until we came to Dog Walk, which we took over to the Lick Creek Road and finally back to Route 146. It took a little longer than it should have since I have no sense of direction, and I turned in the wrong direction on the familiar Lick Creek Road. I turned around when I noticed on the dash we were headed east. On 146 in Anna, we soon were passing the Trail of Tears Junction, the elaborate gas and more station owned by Ron and Deb Charles, who both descended from Cherokee families around Elco.

We were hungry by then, and we stopped at the Country Cupboard, more often called The Potato Barn, created in the old Goddard Feed Store, where county farmers always headed to buy garden seed, tools, and bib overalls as well as feed. As always, the food there was absolutely delicious. I had a bowl of creamy potato soup and a Reuben while Sam had a shrimp basket. I should have ordered either soup or a sandwich since both turned out to be over-sized. I had fun explaining to Sam the complicated family connections to the Bridgeman daughters who own the restaurant now. His great Grandma Ada’s Aunt Ollie Bridgeman is seen holding Sam’s mother in the first baby photo we have of Katherine. Part of the pleasure of going to the Potato Barn is wandering around looking at the antiques and artifacts, so we took time for that before we got back on the Trail.

We left Anna by Heacock Street and down Boettner Hill, and I was able to tell Sam how folks used to block off traffic on a few nights when the snow made that hill a perfect place for sledding. I took him out to the Old Fair Grounds, where Lincoln and Douglas gave one of their 1858 debates while running for the Senate. Sam enjoyed the new statues there of the two famous debaters.

And then it was up to the Jonesboro Square, where the bank stands on the storehouse site of Winstead Davie. Behind the store was his and Anna (Willard) Davie’s home, where the Davies invited Rev. Jesse Bushyhead and his pregnant wife Eliza and another “chief” and his wife and baby to stay with them. The name for this second so-called chief has been confusing, but I am convinced this was native preacher Rev. Stephen Foreman and his wife Sarah and baby boy Jeremiah Evarts Foreman. Darrel Dexter tells us that Davie applied for a license to keep boarders the very day that little Jeremiah was born, and Davie family tradition tells of the Cherokee baby and parents who stayed with them.

On the west side of Davie’s store on the other side of the road from the Old Fair
Grounds was where Davie’s brother-in-law and competitor William Willard had his store. Sadly William never married but died of tuberculosis at age 31 in 1843. His two brothers, Elijah and Willis, ran the two ferries near Willard’s Landing on the Mississippi River. (Some folks still called the Landing by its earlier name—Green’s Landing.)

Sam and I drove down Cook Avenue past the school , and I showed Sam where I grew up. Then we drove as far as the road went to the top of Bauer’s Hill where some Cherokee crossed over and down to the other side to camp at the southern end of Dutch Creek. We came back and got back on Route 146, now also called Willard’s Ferry Road.

Because of the swamps in The Bottoms by the river, the Cherokee were backed up in the Dutch Creek-Clear Creek area. Perhaps as many as 5,000 or more were waiting for the ice floes to melt or float away. We turned at the Lockard Chapel sign onto Berryville Road and explored one of the many routes some of the 11,000 took. As usual I got lost and took a wrong turn before we reached Hamburg Hill and Atwood Tower, but eventually we were back on Route 146 and continued to the village of Ware.

Directly west of Ware was the road that took early travelers to Willard’s Landing, where there was a storehouse and some homes to greet the boats bringing merchandise from Pennsylvania for Davie and Willard’s Jonesboro stores. (The eastern boats came down the Ohio River to Cairo and then up the Mississippi.) Since the river has changed and been changed so radically by levies and flood control since 1838, we have never discovered any residue of Willard’s Landing.. Several Cherokee detachments crossed here including Jesse Bushyhead and his wife Eliza Wilkerson Bushyhead, who gave birth on January 3, 1839, to Eliza Missouri Bushyhead at what is now called Moccasins Springs. There Bushyhead’s sister Nancy Bushyhead Walker Hildebrand died and was buried.

We drove on south now on Route 146 past Ware Baptist Church, where Sam’s mother was enrolled in Sunday School as an infant, We continued on the TOT Auto Route past the fine goose-hunting and corn-growing farms there in The Bottoms. At Reynoldsville, we noted the road crossing called The Old Cape Road, but we kept on the new highway to the Flea Market, where the Route 146 turns back west to cross the bridge to Missouri. In Cape Girardeau, we enjoyed the beautiful murals on the river flood walls u before we turned to go back across the stunning Bill Emerson Bridge into Illinois.


We did take the Old Cape Road on our way back to Jonesboro because no doubt some of the Cherokee detachments went to the ferries at Hamburg Landing through there. Either there or further south, some Cherokee found themselves crossing on the Smith Ferry and going to Cape Girardeau. We got Sam back to his house, so he could get to bed early for the spring vacation trip his dad had planned for him on Friday to Saint Louis sites.

Yesterday I went to Sam’s last Upward basketball game and found out that son-in-law Brian and daughter Brianna had come down late the night before from Lake Saint Louis to their camper up at Wayside Farm. So in between watching softball games for Georgia and Texas A&M, Gerald and I had Samuel with his new puppy Scooter and Brianna .with Fifi to play here at the farm on Saturday afternoon.

That was a good diversion because Gerald is still at a painfully red and quite ugly stage of his skin peel treatment and has been reluctant to get off the farm much. He did take neighbor Scott to Carbondale to catch a train, but they went through the drive-in for breakfast rather than going inside. We hope by his birthday next Sunday, he will have skin as soft as a baby’s. Reckon?

Daffodils and Eating Humble Pie

Yesterday I was privileged to drive into town twice and observe the world turning beautiful. I always take the country road to town if I can, and so twice yesterday I passed by the special roadside filled with blooming daffodils in front of a woods. Every spring I enjoy them and love to wonder who the former resident was who planted them. I was sure long ago there was a house there and the farm wife planted a few of the bright yellow flowers to pleasure the end of winter.

Now they have spread to a wide area, and they spell spring to me. Since there was no house or living person anywhere near this spot on the road, I have felt free to park the car and pick a bouquet of the blossoms to place on the Easter dinner table or even one year to press and send one to a daughter living in far-off Tennessee who could not come home for Easter.

About a year ago, I began to notice a new road cutting through the woods behind the daffodils, and now there is a beautiful new house back there barely visible through the trees. I wonder if they bought this lot in the spring time because they too fell in love with the spread of the daffodils.

I may need to plant some bulbs of my own now. I have bought bulbs from school children before, but they were delivered late in the after-Thanksgiving rush and I never planted them. Gerald planted some here at Woodsong in a bed by the patio from an old house site far back on the farm, but they turned out to be double daffodils. He also planted some over on the island. From a distance, the yellow is pleasing, but I really like the traditional single daffodil for its grace.

The infundibuliform center surrounded by petals is so lovely to my eye. Why did I use the word “infundibuliform” instead of simply saying funnel-shaped? Well, I am just having fun and showing off. This is the 15th anniversary of Wordsmith.org, and this week they are sending us emails with words that have 15 letters. I did not even like this word and quickly deleted the email. But I just went into the delete file and rescued it.

Talking of things I don’t like, I did not like what happened to the Georgia Dogs today when they played Florida. Florida like Washington, whom the Dogs beat on Sunday, is rated #1. (There are more polls than one, and I am not sure which are in which poll.) Georgia’s Sunday win moved Georgia to 7th place in one poll and 8th in another.

And then we played Florida at Gainesville today and they beat us by the mercy rule with a score I am not going to report. Oh me. Oh my. Talk about eating humble pie. I am trying to digest it, but it does not taste good. We lost again 4-0 in the second game. That was better. I did not think that was such a bad score to play with the best in the nation. We will see how quickly our girls can shake this off and go back to having the mercy rule end games with them in the winner’s bracket.

Weekend Isolation and Wanderings

Gerald has been in self-induced isolation this weekend, and I think he has enjoyed it. He also enjoyed getting out and digging a little in the dirt yesterday after the recent winds have dried up the ground sufficiently that he could do some tractor work. Why has he avoided other people—except on the phone where he has been quite active? (He’s also been having fun checking Facebook.) If you saw him, you would understand.

The dermatologist gave him “mean cream” to treat his sun-damaged ears from all the years he spent working in the sun. After that somewhat painful treatment was over, she suggested he use the cream on his face to treat it. Frankly, we had never noticed any damage there, but with her trained eye, she could see it. And once he started using the “mean cream,” it became more and more apparent that his skin had many places changed by the years in the sun despite the caps he always wore.

On Monday, when he went to the funeral of a friend of his youth, he definitely had some red spots on his face, but I truthfully assured him that I was not offended by them. I would not even think about them as I would look at him. No one would mind sitting by him, I said.

By this weekend, however, the cream is completing its job, and I think more of his face is bright red than not. Many spots and splotches of red and then great circles of red on both cheeks. He looks as if he has some terrible disease rather than remediation. I understood why he wanted to stay home and avoid answering everyone’s questions. Does it hurt? He has never complained, but when I asked him outright, he assured me that yes it is painful.

I let him fix himself a frozen entrée in the microwave yesterday when I went up to Mount Vernon to the Brehm Memorial Library, where the Jefferson County Genealogical Society was meeting. The meeting started at 1, but I had hoped to get there in time to lunch with some of the officers who’d invited me to meet them at the DQ. I ran late and did not know Mt. Vernon enough to find Main Street soon enough, so I ate a solitary quick lunch at Taco Belle.

On the way up, I ran by the Mulkeytown School Museum to pick up more brochures since I’d given out my last on Monday night. At the school, Jim Jones gave me a tour of all the wonderful work that is being done there since I last visited. They are going to be in great shape for the annual Memorial Day barbecue and observance on that Saturday and Sunday in May. The former gym is already completed, and it is absolutely beautiful and a long ramp to allow those in wheelchairs or with bad knees to avoid all stairs to enter there. A stage is almost done, and a local musician has already promised to give concerts there. The kitchen and dining room are near completion, and the volunteer crew was hard at work. The military room is close to being finished with a beautiful huge built-in glass fronted cabinet awaiting the collected treasures to be displayed.

I was glad I took the time to obtain more brochures because this will be a great Memorial Day venue to visit. That weekend someone will take you up to tour Silkwood Inn if you request it. On January 26, a vote was taken, and the Mulkeytown Area Historical Society (which rescued Silkwood Inn from destruction) and the West Franklin Historical District and Genealogical Society (which saved the Mulkeytown school building and created a wonderful collection of artifacts and historical information for genealogists) officially united. The school building is open every Saturday morning, so drop by. Call ahead and you can probably be given a tour of Silkwood Inn also.

It has been astounding that a community as small as the Mulkeytown area could do so much preservation of history with volunteers—many of whom worked in both organizations. So it is logical for the two organizations to unite. Now we need local history teachers to get their students interested and ready to take over the volunteer work in the decades ahead as the oldsters have to retire from all this active physical work.

It was pleasant to meet up with old friends and to meet new ones at the Jefferson County Genealogical Society where I was able to tell again the wonderful story of Priscilla, the slave girl who was freed from the Trail of Tears by Solomon Silkwood.

After I left that meeting, I drove a block off Broadway to slowly drive by St. Mary’s Church where my grandparents attended before that building was built. (If I remember correctly, my grandfather had made a pledge for this building and died before his pledge or the building was completed.) With many childhood visits there, I grew up thinking Mount Vernon was the home place of my mother’s Rockenmeyer-Franklin relatives. Only in recent years have I discovered that much earlier in the 19th century, Jefferson County was also the place where many of my father’s Martin-Garrett relatives had made their homes.

I stopped on the way home at Benton to get some gas and with the intention of visiting Candace Lahr at her book store on the square there. Imagine my shock to discover the store was gone. I walked on around to see if The Buzz was open. Actually its closing time on Saturday is 3 o’clock, but the door was open and I walked in to enjoy meeting Lee Madden, the new owner. After a lifetime in Saint Louis, Lee has come down and already was greeting other store owners by name as she insisted on walking with me back to my car to enjoy the lovely weather. And I left some of my books with her to sell at The Buzz with the other local books she handles. As we were talking, another would-be customer for Candace’s store drove up and was puzzled at the store’s disappearance. I said goodbye to Lee and she went to comfort the young woman desiring the book store. I think Lee’s love for people and books will serve her and her customers well. I know the patrons of The Buzz are grateful to see that gathering place staying open.

I had been keeping in touch with Gerald about the Saturday softball games, so after stopping at Small’s, our favorite place for lunch meat, I headed home with sandwich fixings and went straight to Gerald’s office to join him watching Erin’s game on his computer.

We had a great softball weekend despite Texas A&M’s 8-4 loss to Stephen F. Austin’s Lady Jacks in the final game this afternoon. Vickie was there in the stands at College Station all weekend along with over 1200 other people, so at least she got to see Erin’s great catch against SFA, but they had gotten ahead 5-0 in the first inning, and we never caught up. This ended A&M’s five-game winning streak.

But on Friday night Georgia won against Baylor and A&M won against Utah. Yesterday, Georgia did lose to Washington, rated number one in the nation, but I felt that losing only 2-0 with that team and that pitcher was quite respectable. A&M beat Utah for a second time yesterday and also Kent State. At their first game this afternoon, A&M beat Louisiana Tech with the mercy rule.

The most fun for us, however, was watching on Game Tracker as Georgia played Washington again today. Thjs time, however, things were reversed from yesterday. Georgia got ahead 2-0 early on, and Washington could not catch up. Sophomore Sarah McCloud pitched a complete game shut-out and earned a place on the All Tournament Team along with senior Kristen Schnake, a graduate of Nashville, Illinois, High School. . Georgia’s offense gave Danielle Lawrie her first loss of the season (15-1). Gerald’s phone call with Gerry was useless because Gerry was too hoarse to talk after that exciting game. He had to text his dad instead.

Remembering Priscilla and Other Things

Whew! It has been a busy week until today. I had a volunteer board meeting Monday night in nearby Marion and a different board meeting last night way up at O’Fallon, and in between on Tuesday night I drove up to DuQuoin to speak on “Remembering Priscilla.” That meant researching, reviewing, gathering papers for each gathering, and leaving the farm in plenty of time to arrive safely and on time.

I got to the closest place, Marion, by the skin of my teeth on Monday night after finding all the parking places taken at our Williamson County Baptist Association board meeting. I didn’t want to park on the street as so many had to do, so I parked behind our pastor’s car and made certain I left before he and his wife did. That was good because it made me forsake socializing and got me home early, which I needed to do.

The meeting was interesting as several men were there in their yellow hats and vests and reported ever so briefly on helping elderly homeowners clear fallen trees after the recent storms in Metropolis and Kentucky. Their goal is not only to increase the numbers of those on “the chain gang,” but to obtain a trailer so their supplies can be kept on site as various crews come and go according to the free time they have to donate. We voted to adopt their goal.

Then Myron Taylor gave us handouts and explanation about the five-gallon bucket project that the men in our churches will be participating in soon. The idea is to fill the buckets with needed items so they can stay clean and untouched by ants or animals in the homes of AIDS in Africa. Just $100 can create a bucket that can make a tremendous difference in care on a continent where home care is more likely for terminal patients than hospital care.

As soon as I was back at the farm, I was doing a little more study and preparation for Tuesday night’s presentation. It has been quite awhile since I had spoken just focusing on Priscilla on the Trail of Tears, so I enjoyed digging into and updating her story with new information.
I went early enough to find the home where the DAR was meeting, and I was thrilled when I saw the beautiful old house beside an ancient brick-laid street. (The hostess told me the house was built in 1863, I think it was.) It was as simple to find as Mary Haines’ clear email had explained.

One member was a descendant of next door neighbors of the Brazilla and Mahala Silkwood family, and she brought seeds to share of Priscilla’s hollyhocks that had been passed down in her family and which now grow in her own garden. Another member Sharon Dollus was a descendant of Levi Silkwood, Brazilla’s older brother and she had been to Virginia and had information I lacked about Brazilla’s parents there. She has already emailed it to me!!

The group thoughtfully rearranged their business meeting after I had spoken and we had had refreshments. So again , I was on my way back to Marion early after the more than gracious hostess Doris Rottschalk had gone out and skillfully unparked my car between the one in front and one in back

(I realized later maybe I could have done this without her help, but Doris did it in a minute while I would have been getting in and out of the car being fearful I’d ruin the evening by bumping someone else’s car.) When you aren’t a good driver, and I am not, you have to be an overly cautious one. And I am. That explains my excellent driving record. It also explains why I often walk quite a ways to avoid parallel parking.

Our Illinois chapter board to the Trail of Tears Association has been meeting during these winter months up in the O’Fallon/Cahokia area to make up for our two board members up there having to drive down to Carbondale the rest of the year. Our president Sandy Boaz is a great driver, and we connect in Marion to ride up with her. After quick sandwiches at the local Subway, which has become “our” place, we then head to a meeting room at the O’Fallon library.

We heard reports and made plans. We saw Cheryl Jett’s publisher’s copy of her new book on the city of Alton, which will come out March 23, and we heard about Herman Peterson’s book contract soon to be signed. We congratulated Gary Hacker on his great book on the Trail of Tears through Johnson County that we’d read and studied since the last board meeting.

Herman reports that everything is go for our first 2009 general meeting of the Illinois Chapter of the Trail of Tears Association, which will be at the newly renovated Morris Library at Southern Illinois University. If the auditorium does not quite get finished by then, another room is already waiting for us. I am so eager to see the new facility. I wrote feature stories as a student journalist when the library was being built in 1954-55, and I am excited about the improvements bringing one of the nation’s great libraries up to date.

Despite the pauses for laughter that our TOTA board can’t seem to refrain from, we have to be efficient and leave before the library closes. Without making any coffee or restroom stops coming home, we were back in the Marion Kroger parking lot by 9:30.

That gave me opportunity to run in for Senior Citizen Day and shop for the items on my grocery list that I made in the morning. The frozen and fridge stuff was put away last night, and today I’ve been putting away the rest of the items. We’ve been eating soups and sandwiches quite a bit, so I actually made a nice dinner at noon today.

Oh, yes, the first thing I heard from Gerald when I woke up this morning was that Erin made a three-run homer last night when the Aggies beat Houston again—this time on Houston’s home field. Gerald completed our income taxes yesterday with Doug Hileman, and Doug and Beth are on their way to Baylor at Waco to see Luke’s baseball games there this weekend.

Way to Go Aggies!

Since University of Georgia softball team was rained out at its tourney at Columbus, they had to come home on Saturday without being able to play a game. Consequently, our weekend softball watching schedule was simplified. This afternoon Gerry said they had already gotten four inches of snow at Athens.

Geri Ann had to stay home for a basketball event, but Vickie was in the stands at College Station braving the winds and cheering Erin and the Aggies on. Vickie’s flight out of Houston was at 5 today, so she may be driving in slick conditions right now as she left her vehicle at the Atlanta airport. She is excellent driver, but we hope she will pull off and check into a motel if roads get too slick down there.

Texas A&M were not only hosting Monmouth on Friday and Saturday, they had three home games scheduled against University of Arizona, who was ranked tenth in the nation. As expected they won over Monmouth, but I don’t think too many predicted they could win two out of three games against Arizona. But they did.

After playing Monmouth Friday afternoon, the Aggies faced Arizona, It took us until the eighth inning, but we won 5-4 when Erin’s housemate and fellow senior Holly Ridley hit the winning homerun. So I am sure there was much celebrating in Aggie Land that evening. There was at Woodsong. We were suddenly very excited about the next game on Saturday against Arizona.

Gerald and I met up at the junior high gym in Marion to see Samuel play with his Upward basketball team on Saturday morning. It was fun to see how far these kids have come with their skills. Since Upward does not promote winning, score is not kept. This oldest group has only two teams this year, so they keep playing each other. Wanting to shake things up a bit, suddenly at half time, the coaches had some of the boys turn their jerseys inside out, and some of the guys on the black team were now members of the silver team. And vice versa. This was a first since the teams had played with the same players all year without such a switch-a-roo. The players did not seem a bit fazed having to remember who their new team mates were.

I learned the hard way four years ago that Upward basketball has six quarters. Sam kept trying to tell his grandmother this—but I assured him that there are only four quarters in a whole. Was I ever wrong! There are six “quarters” in Upward ball. This insures that every team member gets to play during the game. In fact, if you score too much, you may be taken out to give someone else the opportunity.

Since his friend Josh was staying with Sam this weekend while Josh’s parents went to Chicago with his sister and a pom pom group, David took the two boys to McDonald’s for lunch after the final three “quarters.” We went on to Fazoli’s for lunch, and then I ran by Katherine’s before the Monmouth game.

I also needed to go to the library, and I missed that game. But I carried down cups of soup for our supper and we settled together before the computer screen for the televised game against Arizona. I was pumped as we listened to Coach Jo Evans in the pre-game show saying how much it would mean if A&M beat Arizona twice this weekend. We rapidly got ahead only to have Arizona pull ahead as the game progressed. We lost that game 9-4, and we went to bed discouraged.

When we got back to the farm from church in the village this morning, I hurriedly fixed sloppy joes while Gerald got the game going. Arizona soon pulled out ahead, and it looked as if the game was theirs--until the 7th inning, that is. Then A&M loaded the bases, and Alex Reynolds hit a fly to center field and brought in three players to tie up the game. Arizona didn’t score in the 8th, and A&M loaded the bases again. Erin came up to bat. As much as she wanted that game-winning hit, she was patient, and the pitcher walked her. That brought A&M across the plate from third base, and the game was over 5-4. The 21st ranked Aggies won two out of three games with 10th ranked Arizona.

I can’t wait to see Holly Ridley’s blog tomorrow. She and Erin are taking turns writing the team blog each week. After last week’s good showing at the Houston tourney, Erin wrote on Monday: “Now that we have our confidence and swagger back, we are looking to come out on top this weekend.” Swagger some more, girls. You’ve earned it.

Gerald had to make some phone calls to discuss that game, and also he was busy checking the TV to see if Lucas Hileman, freshman at Baylor was getting to play today. Luke’s dad is our area representative for the University of Illinois Farm Management Association and so visits our farm regularly. Gerald followed Luke’s football and baseball career at my alma mater Anna-Jonesboro High School, and he is eager to see him play at Baylor. Gerald keeps noting that so far Luke is batting a 1000. (That may go down when he gets to play more.)

We had a regular meal at the kitchen table for supper as I'd thawed a steak, and we have talked to all of our adult children this weekend on the phone or in person, so we are feeling smug at Woodsong.