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.

"Ate Up With Softball"

A few years back, one of our son Gerry’s cousins pronounced him “ate up with softball.” No one argued. What with his own coaching and his three daughters playing on various teams, their family spent much time at the ballpark. Consequently, so did Gerald and I. And also his siblings and their families when time and location allowed them to attend and cheer the three daughters on.

Starting with watching Tara play summer ball at age 7 or 8, then Erin even earlier with a coed team, and finally Geri Ann on the diamond, we often filled our spring, summer, and fall calendars with dates of the various games since school teams were added when the girls reached the age for that.

Their mother Vickie, who had also played softball, coached some of the early teams, but then Geri Ann was born. Vickie became an expert at watching her older daughters and keeping Geri Ann happy at the same time. I remember Gerry saying once when Geri Ann was about two that she had already attended 2000 games or some other hyperbolic number.

By the time Geri Ann was ready to play, the local park teams started at an even earlier age. I know her buddy and teammate Allison was a tiny three-year-old when I first watched her play—so Geri Ann must have started playing at four. They didn’t keep score with these kids, but no one competing for a state championship could have been more determined and competitive than Allison. Home runs were frequent, and balls in the outfield required movement by committee. Daddies were ready to comfort any hurt or disappointed player—whether it was his child or someone else’s. We have photos of these kids playing, but I don’t need them because the mental “photographs” still exist, and they make me smile.

We have a large collection of lawn chairs from those days, and I still wear some clothes I rushed up to the dollar store to add to my original clothing at one spring all-day tourney at Johnston City. (The wind was much colder than I expected.) I have watched ball in winter coats and gloves with a blanket added and also watched with sweat blurring my eyesight. I have frozen on the aluminum bleachers and come home with a sun burn despite sunscreen.

One of the results of Gerry’s family moving from nearby Johnston City to Georgia, where Gerry is assistant softball coach to Lu Harris-Champer of the Georgia Bulldogs, is that our social life has diminished locally. Of course we had already gone to California, Georgia, Michigan, Alabama, Iowa, and other away places to watch the granddaughters as they progressed to college ball. And then after her college graduation, Tara began coaching, and we had to see her games when they were close enough and we had the time.

With Erin at Texas A&M last year, we couldn’t go to many of the games, but we discovered we could watch or more accurately listen to game tracker on the computer and sometimes even a video of the game. Thus, Gerald and I found ourselves in his office eating meals and cheering as we watched.

Well, the college softball season started this weekend, and we were at his computer watching again on Friday and Saturday. Texas A&M was hosting a tournament there, and Vickie was in the stands to cheer Erin. Gerry was at a tourney in Cathedral City, CA, with the University of Georgia team. (Geri Ann was in friends as she had a high school basketball game to play.) Gerry's games were not on game tracker that we could find at least. We had to keep up with his team by phone calls or emails from the Georgia website. Both of “our” teams won their two Friday games, and both split yesterday.

I was relieved they did not play today, so we did not have to rush home from church with Gerald getting the game going in his office downstairs while I hurriedly fixed us a bite to eat and carry down. We were having a Valentine potluck after worship at church today, and I am really glad we didn’t miss it.

Shirley Butler had outdone herself making the basement dining room absolutely gorgeous. She has great talent for decorating. (Her daughter’s wedding reception in our outdoor pavilion was the prettiest fairyland I even attended.) Adding to the fun was a beautiful birthday cake for our interim pastor’s wife, also named Shirley, who had driven out to join us. The cake featured bright red roses and a black piano in honor of this Shirley’s talent. (She plays at her church in town, but she frequently manages to come to our six o’clock evening service. When she and Kim Barger play together, I feel as if this must be what the music in Heaven will be like.)

Barbecue and Italian beef sandwiches from Patrick and Tina Barger’s new restaurant in Goreville was our featured main dish. The aroma was wonderful when we went down the stairway, and the sandwiches were as good as they smelled. As always there was a multitude of congregation-brought side dishes and desserts.

I had taken baked beans because at our last gathering our friend Eddy Wiley was there all the way from a not-so-close village hoping I’d brought the baked beans he liked as a teenager. And that I have taken especially for him many times since. I like to send the beans and left-over German chocolate cake home with him. But that day I had not fixed them.

Of course, today when I did fix them, Eddy wasn’t there. (No one had thought to send him word.) So I sent the remaining ones home with someone with kids since Gerald and I can’t eat them. Some of the left-over cake was used on the plates Shirley Butler was fixing for shut-ins, and I left the rest in the car, so we wouldn’t be tempted here at Woodsong. It will be delivered to Katherine’s family tomorrow. But we will be eating a barbecue sandwich tomorrow. Shirley was encouraging everyone to take sandwiches home. I couldn’t resist that. All the food sharing is part of the fun and fellowship in our village.

Also tomorrow we’ll have to get softball game times off the schedules and in our minds for next weekend. Some folks might say that Gerald and I too are “ate up with softball.”

Fifi's Loaning Me Her Rubber Chicken

My three-week search for a rubber chicken for VBS has been successful. Brianna told me Sunday afternoon that Fifi has a rubber chicken. I called Mary Ellen the next day to double check and told her to ask Fifi if I could borrow it. Everyone agreed Fifi said yes. Brianna said Fifi didn’t like the old thing anyway. Now if the Taylor household can locate Fifi’s rubber chicken and not forget to bring it down to Woodsong, I have escaped the dreaded thought that I was supposed to spend $l0 on one. (I had decided as a matter of principal that I would not, but I had not been able to think of another way to pull off the on-going gag each day about the safety of the captain’s pet parrot.)

The called-for colorful ten-foot “parachute” was neatly packaged and delivered to my front porch today while I was away. I have never played with a pretend parachute before, so I have to learn how to explain to the children how to rolls balls around on it and flip them off. Kim coached me tonight. (I still better read those suggestions in my leader’s book again.) Probably some of the kids have already done this and can teach me.

In the same box was my copy of The Cherokee Trail of Tears by photographer David Fitzgerald and with text by Duane King. I had just finished reading Marilyn Schild’s copy she loaned me, and it was so beautiful that I had to add it to my TOT books. I wish I had time to sit down and read it again.

Sonja filled the side of our garage with inflated animals yesterday while I was gone, and tonight I hauled them to a storage room at church. My back seat was filled with sharks, whales, a sea horse, a flamingo, and other air-stuffed objects to use in and around the tropical island I am supposed to create for our games. These are joining the stuffed cat that Charlene has loaned me and the monkeys from Samuel’s house.

The dining room table is still covered with boxes, papers, and the things I had laminated yesterday for the children to use. Tomorrow will be my first day at home this week, so I will need to finalize plans and make efforts to clear that table before grandkids start arriving.

We were saddened when our crop of seven ducklings quickly reduced to three. Gerald was somewhat comforted, however, by getting to see a nest full of baby quail make an appearance.

The ducks and geese cross our lane all day long going to the wheat field for the grain left behind after Scott combined it. Something about an approaching car causes them to want to go from whichever side of the lane they are on to the other side. I slow down and talk to them as I wait. I talk sweet when I am feeling patient. When I am not, I tell them to get off the road. They don’t act like they hear me. Reckon they have bird brains?

We received a gentle half inch rain last night and another during the day today while Gerald and I were both off the farm. As I went in and out of stores this afternoon, the rain wasn't good for the new perm I got this morning, but Gerald says this is just the right time for Brian’s pollinating corn.