Country Confessions

Arrowhead Hunting and Bean Picking

2011-07-15T06:15:00.000-07:00

You will remember I wrote recently about my unsuccessful arrowhead hunting trip. Also, I shared my green bean canning experiences. Would you believe both of these could come together in a happy coincidence? Sunday evening, Vanita and I decided to tough out the heat and finish picking the green beans. (Actually, she decided she was going to, and I could not let her think she was tougher than me, so I trudged out there with her.) Stanley and Lance stopped by after a day of putting up hay, and I gave them a tour of Blaine’s garden. I heard Vanita ask, “Who put this here?” I went over to see what she was talking about and found she was holding up an arrowhead that she had found in…my…garden! She thought maybe someone put it there to play a prank on her, but Blaine had obviously tilled it to the surface.

I admit I did some whooping and hollering! I have been tramping around in poison ivy and briars and through creeks searching for arrowheads, and here was this gift, in plain sight by the bean plant in my own backyard. It is an almost-perfect, beautiful little pink and cream colored arrow, just about an inch and a half long. Native Americans (probably members of the Missouri or Illini tribe, according to my research) actually roamed the hills of our farm.

Clutching the tiny piece of history in my palm, I graciously told Vanita she could have the arrowhead…after I die, that is.

Bountiful Beans

2011-07-07T12:16:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed I was snapping and canning green beans. That is probably because in the past two weeks, I have processed over 150 jars of beans. All of my children and most of the grandchildren helped in the picking and snapping of these beans. My husband deserves the credit, though, because he planted, tilled, and fertilized the beans to create this bountiful harvest.

Our favorite variety is called Jade, because they do not get tough like some varieties. Here is how they looked in the garden:

In the picture below, my canner has almost reached the correct setting of 10 pounds of pressure to begin processing for 25 minutes. More jars are being prepared to go in next:

We also like to make a few dill beans. They are a family favorite, and go over well at carry-in dinners. We use Mrs. Wage's Dill Pickle mix and add a sprig of fresh dill from my herb garden.

Canning green beans is hot work during the picking, time consuming during the snapping (although I admit I was able to watch House Hunters International and the Anne of Green Gables mini-series guilt-free while working), and it takes nerves of steel to operate the pressure canner.

The result is a product that I know is high quality. I know these beans were grown in dirt that we own. I know whose hands planted, snapped, and washed the beans and packed them into the jars. I enjoyed the comradeship and sharing with my family that went on during the process. It was a bountiful harvest in more ways than one.

Arrowhead Hunting

2011-06-24T15:15:00.000-07:00

"You are the only adult I know who likes to go exploring," my grandson Logan once told me. I took it as high praise. One of our favorite activities was going on exploring adventures on our farm. Today I decided to go exploring by myself along our creek to see if I could find arrow heads. While I have never found an arrowhead, nor do I know the first thing about finding one, I would like to, so I trekked through what I am sure was poison ivy to the creek. Round, little coon tracks and sharp, pointy deer tracks lingered there in the soft mud. A green glass bottle and a complete red truck light sparkled in the sand by the creek. I wondered if someone hundreds of years in the future would be excited to find something like that. I imagined this futuristic person telling a friend, "You'll never believe what I found. It was a light that was made for one of those huge gas guzzling trucks from back when people actually used fossil fuels to operate vehicles!" I carried the light home and proudly showed it to my husband. "Yeah...I'm guessing it probably doesn't work," he said. He has no imagination. I think I will set it on a shelf until I find that arrowhead to replace it.

Walking East

2011-06-08T11:54:00.000-07:00

My last blog was about taking a walk west of my house; in this blog I will walk east. It is a more scenic route, but much harder on the legs, because there are steeper hills to hike. Since I am always thinking of songs that fit the situation, and because my Bane relatives came from Scotland, I kept singing (in my head, of course), "Oh, ye'll take the high road and I'll take the low road, and I'll be in Scotland afore ye...." This is the low road, because it leads to our low water crossing. Today I took my camera and looked around to see what I could share with my friends.

The first beauty I noticed was this pink old-fashioned rose blooming on a road bank.

Below is the Middle Fork of Salt River. I always pause here to soak in the sound of the flowing water, and cool off a little.

A tiny orange butterfly feeds on nectar from the middle of this white morning glory.

Is that a rabbit over there?

I hope you enjoyed our walk in the country this fine Missouri morning!

You Come, Too

2011-06-05T07:41:00.000-07:00

As I was walking on our country road yesterday, I kept thinking of the Robert Frost poem, "The Pasture" and particularly the line, "You come, too." I wanted to share some of the sights I saw with you, so today I brought my camera to illustrate the poem. Here are Frost's words with my pictures of our pasture. Come along with me!

The Pasture

by Robert Frost (1874–1963)

I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;

I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away

(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):

I shan’t be gone long.—You come, too.

I’m going out to fetch the little calf

That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.

I shan’t be gone long.—You come, too.

* I hope you enjoyed the poem and our walk in the pasture. If you did, I may take you on more walks with me this summer.

Mushroom Hunting in Missouri

2011-05-01T17:24:00.000-07:00

Can you spot the mushrooms in this picture?

“Grandpa, do we have to keep quiet when we are mushroom hunting, too?” our grandson asked when he was about five years old, having already been well-coached on the need for silence when hunting and fishing. Fortunately, silence is not required when hunting for those jewels of the forest - morel mushrooms. Getting outside and tromping through the woods in the spring air is just part of the fun of mushroom hunting.

This morel was easier to see.

A grove of maple trees

Yesterday, I went mushroom hunting with my husband. Morels are not easy to see, camouflaged in the leaves, sticks, and spring greenery, so it is always a thrill to claim the first spongy prize poking out of the dirt. Every time I spotted one, Blaine would insist I leave it until he could see where it was growing, adding it to his mental file to look there next year. Here are the secrets of finding mushrooms from my husband, some handed down to him from his father, who was also a master mushroom spotter. One tip is to look for a grove of maples. For some reason they often pop up there. Pay special attention to rotting logs, which sometimes provide shelter for the mushroom spores to take root. Also check under elm trees, as mushrooms may also be found there. We also search under some favorite old, big trees every year. Basically, just look all over in the woods or small groves of trees, and if you find some mushrooms, remember the spot and look there again next year.
Many people worry about the safety of eating mushrooms, and it is certainly important to know which mushrooms are safe to eat and which are not. Some varieties of the fungi are poisonous. According to the Missouri Department of Conservation, edible morel caps are attached directly to the stem, while poisonous mushrooms are not attached at the stem. If you are not familiar with the different varieties, look at pictures online, or take them to your local Conservation Department to help you identify them to be safe.

To prepare the mushrooms, we cut them in half and soak them in salt water to kill the little bugs that live inside. You can soak and rinse them all you want, but you might as well accept the fact that you are going to eat some hidden bugs. One time a tiny snail was hidden in the folds of a large mushroom, and my son bit into it. He did not eat mushrooms again for several years, even though we tried to convince him he had eaten the French delicacy called escargot. We then dip the halves in a beaten egg and roll them in cracker crumbs. I fry them in a skillet in equal parts of butter and olive oil. (The olive oil just makes me feel a little better about the calories in the butter.) The results are a plate piled high with crispy bites of goldenness that are best eaten warm. Morels are a tasty treat that are as much fun to find as they are to eat! What is your favorite way to cook and/or eat mushrooms?

Kite Flying

2011-04-16T06:50:00.000-07:00

April is National Kite Month. Last week Blaine pulled out our red and yellow airplane kite on a windy day for our grandson to fly.
“This is the first time I ever flew a kite!” 6-year-old Jaron exclaimed in delight, as he mastered the art of letting out the string and watching the kite soar into the blue spring sky.
Flying a kite is somewhat like raising children – a combination of letting them go, but still holding tight to the family bond between parent and child. While you proudly watch them soar high, part of you is aware of the chance they may dip down once in a while, and possibly even crash to the ground.
If that happens, do what you would do with a kite, pick them up, hold on for a little while as you move ahead together to gain momentum, then lift them up and let go, to watch them soar again.

Riding on the Tractor with Dad

2011-02-03T10:22:00.000-08:00

I glance out the window and see my 34-year-old son riding on the tractor with his dad, after helping him grind feed and sort the cattle. The image blurs for an instant as unexpected tears flood my eyes. I blink them away as I flash back to when we bought this farm. Our son was so excited to move to the country, where he could hunt, fish, and explore the hills and woods. He loved learning how to drive the tractor and was so proud the first time he raked hay for his dad. Our little boy grew up so quickly. Now he lives just down the road from us in his own home in the country. We are fortunate to be able to see him often. He still enjoys hunting, fishing, and exploring the hills and woods on our farm.
By the time they come back by the house and I snap this picture, the tears are gone, and I smile back as he grins and waves at me. I am happy my adult son still likes to ride on the tractor with Dad.

Happy Birthday to My Brother

2011-01-25T16:33:00.000-08:00

My only brother's birthday is today. Many times I have been proud of him over the years, but I am more proud of him than ever for his positive attitude as he awaits a double lung transplant. For his birthday, I tried to remember a few of the highlights of our relationship.

Happy Birthday to My Brother

You have been there for me since the day I was born,
Even though you said, “I told Mom I wanted a boy!”
I remember the first time driving the tractor, while you picked up hay,
Daddy explained how to give it gas and put it in gear,
When he yelled, “Whoa” was the moment I realized he neglected to tell me how.
You ran alongside, jumped on the tractor, pulled back the clutch and demonstrated how to stop.
I remember driving home with you in your Chevy, taking the bridge too fast so we could jump a little on the end. (Our little secret, of course.)
I remember you carrying me to the car when my I had appendicitis, because it hurt too much for me to walk,
And feeling honored when you and Freda chose me to light the candles at your wedding.
I remember being scared, but so proud of you for fighting in service of our country,
And the joy the day you brought home that little red-haired baby.
Although they were sad times, I treasure the closeness we all felt as we were together to say goodbye to our parents for the last time.
You are my big brother, and I will love you and treasure the memories we share forever.

Winter in the Country

2011-01-12T06:55:00.000-08:00

Today the six inches of snow on the ground mirrors that of the snow and ice in my china hutch – on my plates, that is. They are blue and white Currier and Ives plates, first manufactured in the 1950s by the Royal China Company (according to the Currier and Ives “official” website). Currier and Ives were lithographers in the 19th century, who manufactured many prints depicting life in America. The prints on the plates are mostly from the series “Winter in the Country”. When setting the table for any company Sunday dinner when I was growing up, I asked my mother if I could use these plates. As a wedding gift, my parents bought me my own set of the beautiful blue dishes. I have used them for years, and yet my research today taught me new information about them. For example, the 7-inch salad plate is called “Washington’s Birthplace” with George Washington’s two-story home on the banks of Pope’s Creek. I wonder if my mother knew that, since her father’s name was George Washington Downey. The dinner plate is called “Old Gristmill”, and includes a horse and wagon, as well as a pair of oxen in front of the snow-covered mill. A creek and bare trees are in the foreground. I discovered the cereal bowls are called “Old Schoolhouse – Winter”, with a man driving a horse-drawn sleigh passing by a school where the children are obviously enjoying recess. The younger children are sledding and running while the older ones huddle in small groups, talking. The meat platter shows men “Getting Ice”. I also have a pie plate that I could not find the official name of, but I would call it “Hauling Hay”. Three head of oxen or cattle are sheltered in a lean-to, and a man hauls a bundle of hay on a pitchfork on his back. The message of these images to me is that life in the country was a mixture of work and play, but it was good.

My husband is outside doing his chores in the biting cold right now. If I could do a lithograph of our “Winter in the Country”, it would show him carrying buckets of grain to the black cattle, puffs of air from their corn dusted nostrils clouding around their heads as they nudge each other for position at the trough. That chore has not changed much over the years. What has changed is that he will then crawl into his John Deere Tractor with the heated cab to haul the hay to cattle in the pasture. That is the image of our own 21st century “Winter in the Country,” and life is good here, too.

Why do I love to cook?

2010-12-23T12:26:00.000-08:00

When I hear someone say she hates to cook, my response is similar to the reaction to hearing someone hates to read – somewhat akin to horror. I have loved to cook for most of my life. I remember taking over the cooking of my morning egg as a kid at home, because Mom over cooked it. I wanted the white cooked, but the yellow still runny enough to dip my toast in. I do not remember a time I could not cook pancakes from scratch without a recipe, a skill that impresses my grandchildren today. The same goes for cornbread. My dad ate it every day, so I learned to cook it just the way he liked it. I measured the baking powder on a fork, no need for a measuring spoon.
After I married Blaine, I joined the family of an outstanding cook, my mother-in-law Elaine. She made fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy almost every Sunday. She taught me how to cut up a chicken. She also baked bread from a yeast starter she had kept alive since Blaine was a baby, a tradition I am maintaining. Every time I put my yeast out to set, I think of her and the years of “Mama Bread” she baked for her family.
As a young mother, I baked a sweet treat almost daily. I greeted the children at the door after school with a plate of cookies or brownies and wanted to hear all about their day. We also had fun times cooked together, mixing Blonde Brownies, Aunt Rosene’s Saucepan Brownies, or my friend Beth’s Soft Sugar Cookies, all of which were best eaten warm from the oven.
Since I am on Christmas break from school, today I cooked a turkey breast, mashed potatoes, and dumplings. The dumplings were made from a recipe in the Laura Ingalls Wilder cookbook I bought when I took my daughters to visit her home several years ago. As I mixed them up, I revisited memories of reading the Little House books to my kids, and the overwhelming emotion that gripped me as I entered Laura and Almanzo’s house in Mansfield, MO.
Blaine and I filled our plates and tucked our feet under the old oak pedestal table we inherited that belonged to his mother, and before that, his grandmother. This table is the one we gathered around to eat Elaine’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes and homemade bread, all slathered with gravy.
Later, as I washed the pots and pans, I thought again about why I love to cook. I believe I finally discovered the answer. For me, cooking is all mixed up with love.

Flying

2010-07-07T08:35:00.000-07:00

Number 34 on my Bucket List was to go parasailing. I shared that with my 14-year-old grandson, Lance, who said he would like to go, too. "We'll do it," I declared. "Let's go parasailing this summer!" The opportunity presented itself when I had a workshop to go to at Tan-Tar-A, and Lance had no ballgames for three days. It was providence! We decided to go for it the first afternoon we arrived. I grew more nervous with each passing hour, but I was determined to fly.

When we arrived at the boat dock, I grilled the captain about his experience. He assured me he had been taking people out for years without an accident, so into the boat and out into the open water we went. Another question I had was, "Uh...do we get a life jacket?...'cause I can't swim." Of course, we did. We were strapped into the harness, and his assistants put out the red and white parasail. "Have a good trip!" the captain said.

I squealed as we rose up. Higher and higher we went, until we were drifting along, over 400 feet up into the gorgeous blue sky.

It was so quiet up there. I felt like a bird gliding on the air. When I looked down at the boat below, it appeared to be about four inches long, so I chose to look at the million dollar houses perched on edge of the rocks and the sparkling water in the distance instead.

As I clung tightly to the straps holding me up, Lance pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and was snapping pictures. "Don't drop it!" I said. I finally became brave enough to release one hand long enough to wave for the camera.

After a good ten-minute ride, the crew began reeling us back into the boat. Lance and I could not stop grinning. "That was stinkin' awesome!" he exclaimed. I could not have said it better. I kept telling Lance I was glad he went with me. It made the experience even more special to share it with my grandson. It was an amazing experience...almost indescribable with common words.

Maybe the pictures will help you see what I am having trouble saying.... I think Lance said it best, "It was stinkin' awesome!"

Why do I teach?

2010-06-04T06:22:00.000-07:00

I once read a teacher's coffee mug that stated: "There are three reasons I teach...June, July, and August." I thought of that yesterday, my first official day of summer vacation. Having summers off is a glorious experience....those long, carefree days stretching out in front of me like a shimmering mirage, but those who know me well know why I teach.
I don't remember a time when I did not want to be a teacher. I remember telling my 6th Grade classmates I wanted to be an English teacher. Their response was, "E-e-w!" accompanied by a wrinkled up nose, as if they had just caught a whiff of a skunk. When I finally reached that goal (at the age of 40), I was deliriously happy. I have loved every one of the 14 years since then.
Before school was out this summer, my Juniors had a book signing party. I had assigned a ten-page book detailing various topics, such as their favorite writing assignment, funniest incident, hair and clothing styles, etc. We then passed the books around and they wrote in them, so they could share their junior year memories and good wishes for each other. I passed around some papers for the students to sign for me. Here are a few of the responses from these 17-year-old young adults:
"Mrs. Harvey, I hate writing with a passion and you make me do a lot of work, but it's ok because you are a good teacher and I learned a lot from you."
"I love the way you teach and our assignments are fun. I'm looking forward to next year!"
"Not sure how you did it, but you turned some of my most hated classes into some of my favorites. I've enjoyed all of the compliments you give on my assignments. It's nice to hear them when they come so seldom."
"You always encouraged me to do my best and I have felt that you will always be there for me. Thank you for that!"
"I wish everyone taught the way you do."
"You have always been there to explain something when I didn't catch on. Thank you for that."
"I really love the way you don't let us talk bad about each other. We were bad about that. Thank you."
"I am glad I could express my love for writing music. It's cool that you like your students."
While I am going to thoroughly enjoy my summer vacation, that is not why I teach. I teach for the reasons listed above.

Spring

2010-03-28T11:44:00.000-07:00

I love spring! It is my favorite season of the year. I love the soft breeze and fresh green grass after the cold, harsh months and and endless sea of white and brown. Every year I think I will notice the exact day the grass in the yard turns green, but I miss it. One day, I look around and notice the yard and pasture glowing as vibrantly green as a four-leaf clover. Today, as I was pulling the dead stalks of flowers that I should have taken care of last fall out of the flower bed, I noticed them! Two yellow crocuses blooming by a flower pot. Hallelujah! I thanked God for this day and for bringing the promise of spring to me in the form of green grass and yellow crocuses. I love spring!

Dance Routine Video

2010-03-27T06:13:00.000-07:00

I survived the dance routine. We had so much fun! I will let the video speak for itself. Click on the youtube link if you would like to see it. I am the one with the pigtails if you can't tell.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ZQowJwul8Y

Dance Routine

2010-03-18T17:42:00.001-07:00

I am going to perform in front of the entire school with six teenagers in a dance routine for a pep assembly next week for standardized testing. It is hard to explain, but we are going to have different words on the fronts and backs of our t-shirts and we spin and twirl around to spell out sentences to the techno tune, "Daft Bodies." The plan is for me to do "The Pony" and twirl around. I will also do some Breakfast Club dance moves, as well as Stomp the Yard. We are doing a wave and sending it back. I was jumping around in circles, until I practiced in front of the mirror. I told my students that for a couple of reasons, I was not going to jump anymore, but would instead just turn. They laughed. This is a little out of my comfort zone, but I am going for it. How many more chances could I possibly have to be in a dance routine? I will tell you how it goes, and possibly post a video or pictures for proof.

Thoughts

2010-02-28T09:57:00.001-08:00

I went for a walk outside today after being cooped up so long this winter. Lately, I just dash to my Jeep, and go where I must, hunched over, fighting the biting cold. Today there is a softness to the air that says, "Spring" to me. I walked by the smooth, snowy area which will become Blaine's abundant garden and bales of hay wrapped up in the blazing heat of summer, but which now look like cupcakes slathered with white frosting. I even walked past the junk ditch and grew nostalgic thinking of the discarded dreams resting there; two faded, old trucks which had once been shiny and new, metal lawn chairs that had rested on a front porch, and remnants of a little shed I helped Blaine build from recycled materials. We were so proud of it at the time, but we have fancier, much larger sheds now. I thought about discarded dreams, as well as dreams that came true beyond our imagination as I looked at the snowy pastures surrounding me and the towering pine trees we planted from tiny seedlings. "Embrace the day," they whispered to me. I walked and I thought, and I thought and I walked. Then it occurred to me, 'I should write a blog'....and so here it is.

You Can't Beat That With Roses

2010-02-12T15:52:00.000-08:00

Last night I stayed after school for my first Young Author's Club meeting, then tutored a young man for another hour, so I did not get home until 5:30. I smelled the smoky barbecue aroma as I pulled into the garage. As I walked to the house, I was surprised to see my husband sitting in the hot tub. "Are you getting in?" he asked.
"Sure!" was my reply. Grilled pork sirloin chops and vegetables were keeping warm on the wood stove. I dashed out of the house in my swim suit and terry cloth robe, and sank into the 101 degree hot tub with my hubby. Snow flakes drifted down around us.
Today is Valentine's Day. Some teachers received roses. I didn't, but do you think I care? No, I just smiled, and remembered the luxury of coming home to a hot meal, a hot tub, and yes, I'll say it, a hot man. You can't beat that with roses!

Outdoor Leadership Experience

2010-02-03T11:49:00.001-08:00

“I’m not much of a risk taker.” This was the quote that my new friend, Craig, recorded me saying in his journal at the Outdoor Leadership Academy I participated in last October. He shared it with me at our recent reunion at Osage Beach. The Outdoor Leadership Experience will always be among the high points in my life. I knew that we would have the opportunity to rock climb, rappel, and hike through the woods for hours. I was just getting over some kind of nasty virus, and felt kind of weak. Numerous worries plagued me. What if I held my group back, because most of them were younger than me? I worried that I would need to use the bathroom, and there would not be a tree wide enough for me to hide behind. On our first night, we met to discuss the next few days. We were encouraged to ask questions. An extremely well-groomed woman from St. Louis asked, “Where are the bathrooms?”

“Behind a tree,” was the answer.

“No, I mean for the ladies,” she drawled.

“Behind a lady tree,” our leader answered.

We discovered we were to be one of the first groups to rock climb and rappel in the morning. We trudged through the rain to our unheated cabins, took showers in a bathroom with cement floors that made our feet dirtier than they were when we went in, and snuggled into sleeping bags and blankets for our first night’s sleep. We awoke early, ate a hearty breakfast, and loaded in the van to go to the rocks. There, a group of young men explained the equipment, procedures…and passed around the paper that we signed to say we would not sue, even in the case of death. I was strapped into a harness to rock climb first. When I was halfway up the rock, my legs began to shake, and I said I wanted to come down. I was encouraged by my teammates and the rock climbing expert to press ahead. “You are almost there,” they yelled up at me. So I gritted my teeth and climbed on. I made it to the top!

Next came the rappelling experience. My stomach flip-flopped as I looked down the ledge. “Lean back as far as you can, put your feet apart and hop,” said the expert, who held the other end of the rope in case I fell. The first hop was the hardest. Especially since I heard that another man on our team, Henry, an ex-Army man, who went all out, had straddled a tree on his way down! My main concern was that I had to rely on myself to hold the rope. I was afraid I was not strong enough to hold my own body strength. Taking a deep breath, I hopped. Hey! Maybe I can do this! I continued hopping down to the ground. “Belay off,” I called. I still do not know what that means, but it is at that point they let the rope go. Woo-hoo! I survived! We spent the afternoon day doing team building challenges, reflecting in our journals, and preparing our required skit for the evening. I volunteered to sing “I Will Survive” with my group members as backup singers. We laughed at the skits, then were moved to tears when members shared their private thoughts on “the stump” in front of the fire.

The next morning we set off for our orienteering experience. Various flags were hidden in the Ozark woods, and we were trained to read a compass and plot the direction of the flags. Our expert outdoorsman “Sparky” also addressed the bathroom issue by demonstrating how to dig a hole by a tree, lean against it, and…well, I will leave the rest to your imagination. (My new-found friend Craig was the designated shovel carrier, and delighted in asking us if we needed the shovel when we tried to head unobtrusively for a tree.) Our mission was to take turns leading our crew through the woods. We piled in a van and were dropped off at the designated area. We were fortunate to have a beautiful, mild fall day for our hike. I came to appreciate my group members. Craig and Dave, true gentlemen who gave us a hand across creeks, Jennifer and Andrea, who thrived on being leaders, Mary, always sweet and encouraging, Kim, my Macon friend who looked out after me, Shantel, our designated “Raccoon Circle” caller when we needed to regroup, Holly, who always had a smile and was quietly confident, Parisa, the down-to-earth principal who collected an armadillo shell in a bag and carried it miles to take back to show her students. We were led by our facilitators Carol and Mel, who repeatedly told us we were the best group they ever had!

We trekked up and down hills, through the woods, across creeks, and through pine trees. We stopped and built a fire to cook a meal, then pushed on to cross the lake before dark. When darkness fell, it was more difficult to go through the woods, but it was my favorite of all the experiences. Sparky told us the best way to navigate was to send someone ahead to go several feet, then turn and shine a flashlight back for the others. Whoever was reading the compass would shout out, “To the left,” or “A little more to the right.” When the scout was in the correct spot, they would come toward the light. David and I volunteered to go ahead in the dark and “blaze the trail.” I loved it. Sparky highly complimented me later when he asked me, “Where did that crazy pioneer woman come from?” I had one moment of uncertainty. I climbed a steep hill, crawling on my hands and knees. When I arrived at the top, I turned off my light for a while to conserve the battery. I quavered, “Sparky, are there mountain lions around here?” No response. My teammates climbed toward me, and we found the spot where we were to eat our evening meal. As my friends and I headed for a private spot in the trees together, Craig generously asked us if we needed the shovel. We politely declined by yelling at him to direct his flashlight in another direction! We made it back to camp, singing loudly in case anyone else dared to sleep, at about 11:30 p.m. We headed to the kitchen to wash our campfire dishes, stumbled back to our cabins for showers and sleep.
When we said goodbye on our last day, I could not help but cry. These people became my friends for life through this experience. I learned to value the strengths of others, as well as my own. I built self-confidence. If I can scale rocks, rappel down them, and trudge through the woods for 12 hours, I can do anything. More importantly, I learned the importance of building strength in others. It is amazing how a few words of honest, heartfelt encouragement can motivate someone to go farther, climb higher, or solve a problem by looking at it in a different way. I know it worked for me. I can only aspire to pass that gift on to others in my life.

The Fog Has Lifted

2010-01-17T06:29:00.000-08:00

Photo by Lane Hartill/CRS

When I looked out the window this morning, my first inclination was to whine, “Oh…it’s foggy again. I need some sunshine.” Then I watched CNN. I saw video footage of bodies piled in the streets after the massive earthquake in Haiti. The estimation is now that at least 100,000 people have died. The survivors desperately need food, water, medical supplies. I heard about surgeries being performed without anesthesia. Not minor surgeries… amputations. I heard about doctors, fearing for their safety, who left their patients due to threats of violence. Dr. Gupta and the TV crew treated those people through the night. He said these conditions had not existed since the Civil War. I saw a baby being pulled from the rubble after days of being trapped. What impressed me most was the church service being conducted on this Sunday morning. People with their hands raised in the air, praying, crying, giving thanks they have survived. The minister told them they had been saved for some great purpose in their lives. Haven’t we all? Do we pursue that purpose with the passion that we should? Do we give thanks enough for the abundant blessings we possess?
I look out my window at the fog-kissed farm fields and thank God for my blessings. The fog has lifted from my selfish mind.

New Year's Resolution

2010-01-04T14:52:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about what I want to resolve this New Year 2010. I even Googled the top ten list of resolutions. There were the obvious ones I always pick, exercise more regularly, lose weight, eat more healthy foods, but I want to be different this year. So one resolution I am going to make is to allow myself to write more without thinking it has to be perfect. As an English teacher, I always think everything I write should be perfect, and, of course, while I will always strive for grammatical and mechanical accuracy, but I am letting the fear of not being perfect hold me back from expressing myself. I read my talented fellow bloggers' posts, and I feel that I must strive for those lofty combination of words that tug at my heart and bring tears to my eyes or make me laugh. If I were making my teacher comments on them, I would write "this flows well" and "you captured that emotion perfectly". I let myself be stifled by a fear of not being perfect like all of you. I am setting myself free of that expectation this year. If I want to write a few lines about nothing in particular, then I am going to do it! Being a writer means writing! The courage to put pen to paper. Work on volume and value will come along with it. Write on!

My second resolution is to not worry so much. I have wasted years of my life worrying about my family, friends, and students. Worrying does not help anyone, and it actually hurts the health of the person doing it. Most of what I worried about never came to pass. I read a magnet stuck to a computer recently that said, "Worry about nothing. Pray about everything." I am reading Joel Osteen's It's Your Time, and it is inspiring me to think positively that great things are possible if I am open to them. Instead of worrying about something which may never happen, I am working on changing the negative messages to positive ones. This is easier said than done, but I am working hard to consciously put on my mental brakes when worry creeps in and say, "Stop it. Go away. You are wasting my time." Then I replace the negative thought with a positive one.

My third resolution is to live in the moment. Appreciate my blessings. Spend time with those I love. Make memories. The recent deaths of young men in their 40s in our community prove there is no guarantee of a tomorrow, so make today count for something. I am going to savor every experience that comes my way.

Well, there you have it. I have written down my resolutions and shared them with my friends and family, which is supposed to increase my chances of being successful in keeping them. I will keep you posted on how it goes. And, oh, yeah, I want to exercise more, eat more veggies, and lose weight, too.

Reaching for the Phone

2010-01-02T11:10:00.000-08:00

Celebrating Christmas without loved ones who have passed on is no easy task. This year marks the first without my father. I miss him terribly, often thinking of tidbits of news I would like to share with him. I remember having a conversation with my “second mother,” Virginia Grubbs, on this topic.
“Oh, you don’t know how many times I reached for the phone to call my mother after she passed away,” she said. I found comfort in that when my hand was inches from the phone after my mother passed away. I had thought of a recipe I needed and I actually walk toward the phone to call her. I shared this with my sister-in-law after her mother’s death. She is several years younger than me and gave me her, “Yeah, but you are old and senile” look. Later, she admitted I was right. She, too, had reached for the phone to call her mother. Yesterday, as I drove along in my Jeep, I found myself missing Daddy in a wave that washed over me without warning. There were some family updates I wanted to tell him, so I decided to talk to him anyway.
“Lance's hens laid their first egg, Daddy, and Kevin said he really likes your old car. He drove for a week on $15! You always said it got good gas mileage, but were afraid to brag. Blaine and I went out and cut down a real cedar tree this year. It made me think of Christmases on the farm when I was growing up. I miss you and Mom. I love you.”
Somehow, I felt better sharing that with him. No, I didn’t actually reach for the phone, but I would like to think he heard me anyway.

New Bike

2009-12-27T12:27:00.000-08:00

This Christmas Vanita and Blaine Lee's families surprised me with a new bike. I have been wanting a plain bike to ride on country roads. My wish list included: no hand breaks, because I am old school and ended up pedaling backwards and running into things or flipping over on my head; no multiple gears because anyone who knows me knows I do not like anything mathematical, and I do not know whether to shift up or down to climb a hill; and most importantly, no skinny little seat that does not begin accommodate my ample derriere. Somehow, they found a Hornet royal blue La Jolla Women's Cruiser that fit my wish list perfectly! They got it into my utility room without me knowing about it. When I saw it, of course, I squealed with delight. I jumped on it and rode it through my kitchen. Later that night, I realized it is my first new bike. As the baby of four children, I always rode my sister and brother's bikes. Janie had a nice green one, and Clayton's was red. I never thought about it until Christmas night, when I experienced the thrill of receiving the gift of a shiny new bicycle. Now I am seriously considering tricking it out with a wicker basket for the front and maybe a horn for fun!

Memories of a Friend

2009-11-14T07:51:00.000-08:00

To my lifelong friend, Kathy Marlene,
This is your birthday poem from Judy Coleen,
A lifetime of memories and love we share,
We have always been quite the pair!
We never whined, “We’re bored; we have nothing to do.”
We loved playing dress up, wearing your mother’s red shoes.
And remember getting lost in the woods, playing pioneers?
The times we shared all of our secret hopes and fears,
Comprehending feelings and thoughts with just a glance
Remember the “sock-hops” and the Sadie Hawkins dance?
And the summer we sang at the Atlanta Homecoming talent show,
I sang high and you sang low.
Sometimes we laughed, often we cried,
My true feelings from you I never had to hide.
As “mature women” by others we may be seen,
But when I am with you, I feel about sixteen.
Even though we may only see each other once a year,
I find comfort in knowing that for me, you will always be there.
You are tucked away in my heart and mind,
Our lives are destined to be forever intertwined.
Love you always,
Judy Coleen

Exercise

2009-06-24T18:40:00.000-07:00

I have made a vow to exercise this summer. I walked every day last summer with some success, then, during the school year, I fell into my old bad habits, one of which was eating school lunch. I like the school lunches. We have a lunch lady who makes homemade hot rolls that are excellent. Homemade desserts, like cookies and apple crisp are also on the menu. So, during the school year I quit walking and ate school lunch, and snacked too much in the evening and gained back the weight I had lost.

This summer, I decided to get back in shape. I have embarked on a varied exercise regimen. I walk, ride a recumbent exercise bike, do yoga for flexibility. Yesterday, I even did a “Dancing with the Stars” video, even though those skinny girls in the video who slink around like a cat when they walk made me feel a little inferior. I cha-chaed and rumbaed and even jazzed danced a little. Today I got out the stability ball and exercised with Denise Austin. ‘This is fun!’ I thought as I rotated back and forth on the ball. ‘Why haven’t I been doing this every day?'

Then I went a little too far to the left, and the darn thing bucked me off! I fell to the floor and couldn’t even stop myself! My hip and my pride were both a little bruised, but I was taught to get back on the horse, so I did. Tomorrow I am going to baby sit the three youngest grandchildren. I think for my weightlifting, I will lift little Megan up out of her bed; my core abdominal work will be to rock her in the rocking chair. For aerobics, I might push Jaron off on his bike as he is learning to ride, and run a few steps beside him. I will use my leg muscles to push the swing back and forth in the yard as Madison and I read a book. It sounds like an excellent workout to me!

Take Time to Play

2009-06-21T06:27:00.000-07:00

Grandchildren give me permission to play. When Lance and Logan were younger, we went exploring along the creek or in the woods. Logan said, “Ma, you are the only grown up I know who likes to explore.” I took that as a high compliment. Although I have never been very good at sports, I play “Around the World” shooting the basketball with Matthew and Lance. Occasionally, I even win. We often go fishing with Grandpa.

Last summer Taylor came over, and we canned green beans and made dill pickles. Maybe you wouldn’t think canning is playing, but with a buddy, it can be. She said, “I didn’t know cucumbers turned into pickles,” as she carefully cut the slices and spears. It was fun to teach her a disappearing skill, and she said, “Mom and Blaine are going to be so proud of me for making all of this food!”

One of my favorite playtime activities is to blow bubbles, so there is a supply waiting for those days when the grandkids come over. While I would prefer the beautiful multi-colored bubbles float as high and far as possible, Madison wants to ride through them on her bike, and Jaron wants to whack them with his bubble-wand sword. I just smile and let them have fun. At least they are letting me blow the bubbles. We go for walks; we go to the playground and pretend to be princesses and princes in the tower. We have tea parties on the front porch. We play with Barbies. We ride bikes. They swim in the hot tub, even though I tell them it is for relaxing, not swimming.
With little Megan, the only playing I do so far is to coo at her and rock her. Then I claim someone else must have spoiled her, because she likes to be talked to and rocked so much.
At the end of the day, I am worn out. Playing is more exhausting at my age than it used to be…but it is still fun. I challenge you to play today with a child, or if you do not have one handy, buy some bubbles, blow them into the wind and watch them float away. I learned from my own children that is how quickly childhood floats away. Take the time to play with them while you can.

What's In a Name?

2009-04-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

I have to share two precious grandchildren stories about names. One day I called Jaron, my 4-year-old grandson, Sweetie Pie. He frowned at me and said, "I'm not a pie! Just call me Sweetie." My second story happened with Madison (6) as we were going to Macon recently. She asked if it was hard for me to leave my parents when I moved out. I answered, "No, because I was in love with Grandpa, and I wanted to live with him." She hesitated a moment, then said, "You don't have to call him Grandpa, you can call him Blaine."

Something to Cry About

2009-04-16T19:48:00.000-07:00

I am told when I was a baby I would cry in my baby bed, and then stop when Mom picked me up. My father was not going to put up with that, so when he came in from working in the field one day, he smacked me with his straw hat every time I cried. I would stop from the surprise, and I was cured of crying for attention. Later in life, I remember a July 4th celebration (my friend Kathy was there) and a fire cracker went off in my hand. I blubbered self-righteously until Daddy threatened to “give me something to cry about” if I didn’t stop. Now, I do not feel I was abused one bit, because I never remember getting a spanking in my life. Daddy would just look at me, and I would stop whatever I was doing! One would think, therefore, that I would have learned not to cry, but I cry very easily. I cry at sad movies and AT&T commercials where they phone home to their mothers. I cry when someone else is crying, just in sympathy. My dad is 91 years old. I cried when I left him in the assisted care unit of the nursing home, even though he asked to go, and he likes the regular meals, care, and socialization.
Daddy called me today. He said he didn’t want to bother me, but I told him to call me anytime, and that I was glad that he called. He said, “Thanks a whole big bunch. Bye.” I heard his voice choke with tears.

I guess I gave him “something to cry about.”

My First Blog

2009-04-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

My daughter, Valerie, began blogging and told me I should do it, too. "But I don't want everyone to know what I am thinking," I told her. Then I began reading her blogs, and I loved them. I think she is an excellent writer. Wonderful connections came about because of her writing. Valerie was able to share her feelings about motherhood with her dear friend Tabitha. She also found my lifelong best friend's daughters and began to know them through their shared experiences. The final push was when my aforementioned best friend, Kathy, began blogging. I read her entries and love feeling reconnected. I remember following Kathy into the first grade room to sign up for school. This was the time before we had kindergarten. We received balloons and mine popped. I remember a slight disagreement in which Kathy said it "burst" and I said it "busted". We always did love words! Then we wrote stories together in grade school and high school. After we married we did freelance writing and wrote letters to each other (before the days of e-mail). So here I am, following Kathy into the blogging world. Thanks, Kathy Marlene, and thanks to Valerie, who encouraged me and helped me set up my account.